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Serge Gainsbourg died 15 years ago, though you'd think it was his centenary, the way his ugly mug has been plastered all over magazines and CD racks. In Britain, he'll be forever typecast as the dirty old roue of Je t'aime, moi non plus.
In France, he is a national treasure, a sort of Elton John with knobs on. And there's none of that debate, as there was in the UK over George Best, as to whether a man who essentially drank and smoked himself to death is a fitting role model for the nation's youth.
And role model he is; the dress code for all the would-be musicians I know is scruffy denim, sneakers, stubble and cigarette. What they tend to forget is that Gainsbourg reinvented himself as often as Madonna: dandy, ye-ye maestro, family man, paedophile, misanthrope.
Only towards the end of his career did he perfect that pulled-through-a-
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The dress code for all would-be musicians is denim, sneakers, stubble and cigarette
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hedge-backwards aesthetic, though by then it was debatable as to how much of it was intentional.
French-speaking Brits who still think he's just a one-song wonder should check out a DVD set entitled De Serge Gainsbourg a Gainsbarre, which traces old Cabbage Head's changing musical styles, from cabaret and pop-art duets with Brigitte Bardot, to prototype-lounge and reggae. It also includes notorious acts of public naughtiness such as when he said, "I want to fuck you", to Whitney Houston on live TV.
My favourite clip, though, is a duet in which, dishevelled and apparently drunk, he wraps his arm around an uncomfortable-looking Catherine Deneuve as they sing. Her smile never wavers for a second but, each time his wandering hand threatens her impeccable coiffure, she discreetly but firmly steers it away. 
FIRST POSTED MARCH 29, 2006
 Eating out: six Paris restaurants |
