In Translation & A New Career In A New Town

On Monday past, I joined Mr. Bailie on his show, as usual, to discuss somebody on the ‘edge of the radar.’ Luckily for us both, it was the great M. Jacques Brel and, frankly, we couldn’t play enough songs to satisfy ourselves. In furtherance of that:

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I dislike thinking of the relationship between songs and singers as being like those between lovers or between parents and children, because isn’t that just the way that Billy Joel would put it. The relationship between singer and song is, I think, quite like that between any human and the clothes they wear: the question is one of fit, appropriateness to occasion, and the subtle display of personal style.

This is my preference, but, for the purpose of this thought, I will recant… the relationship between a song and its singer is like that between two lovers… okay? And the singer singing a foreign language song is having a holiday romance.

I am already sick to my bowels with this metaphor, but let me carry on. The holiday romantic need not be discrete, they need not be faithful, they need not even be themselves. They know that others will not judge them by this partner as severely as the partners that they take at home. The dalliance is but short-lived and nothing much is expected from it. The affair may be driven more by instinct than understanding. The attraction might be entirely aesthetic, with cultural differences never truly bridged. The purpose of letting anyone at home know, at all, that one took a lover abroad is to show one’s status as a stud or as big man on campsite.

Foreign-language hits in the UKoGB&NI are few: Dominique by the Singing Nun, J’Taime (Moi Non Plus) by M. Gainsbourg and Ms. Brikin, Guantanamera, La Bamba, and to add etc may even be stretching it. Still yet, songs that have moved from foreign charts into the Anglophone canon of standards are fewer: most who cover J’Taime keep it in French, as we all know what it’s about. I doubt anyone who tackles Joe Le Taxi would change it and, of course, Dr. Simone and Mr. Hannon have both recorded M. Brel’s songs in the original. This just proved to us how clever they knew they were.

My Way and She, however, come directly from French hits, while 99 Red Balloons had to be translated into English to make it. The latter fails a basic test, as ninety-nine has one fewer syllables than neunundneunzig, which throws off the whole cadence of the chorus. And, to make up additional syllables elsewhere, the superfluous ’luft’ (air) of ‘luftballoons’ become a mawkish red. In trying to sustain her vision across two languages, Ms. Nena must unnecessarily compromise it. While, Mr. Anka, in writing lyrics to the tune of Comme d’habitude, avoids the problem by avoiding the sentiment of the original at all. And, thus: My Way.

It would be a fool, though, who tried to ignore the sentiments of M. Brel’s songs, notorious as they are for their wit, their satire, and their descent. Mr. McKuen softened their severity, which is quite its own misdemeanour, but he would not change their basic premise. At least, though, he never treated the songs, like Comme d’habitude, as just a pretty tune.

The difficulty of a direct translation, especially in work held so highly as M. Brel’s, has its advantage. It is liberating, in that no one expects the translation to be perfect and, partly, the joy comes from the variation between each version. Listen, for example, to the difference between Mr. Shuman’s translation of Jacky and Mr. Nicholas Currie’s free-rendition, Nicky.

The free-translation allows that one can, at once, adopt a new persona or perspective, while consolidating your natural stance. At once, Mr. Currie (Momus) is both Jacky – Brel’s caricature of himself – and Nicky, a perversion of himself. He makes himself appear more of an artist by associating himself with M. Brel (and translating from the French), but, simultaneously, allows himself to play a character he would not otherwise play. He sings music that sounds more French and, thus, less Momus, while singing yet more self-referentially that he otherwise would have at the time.

There is also the possibility, through the free-translation, of resituating the situe in time. While it would mostly be decried as uncouth, sacrilegious even, to update the words and references of an old English-language song for the purposes of a modern singer, the same becomes charming, perhaps necessary, when translating a lyric from a foreign language. M. Brel’s Les Bourgeois became The Middle Class, when Mr. Shuman translated it in the 60s, but, when Tom Robinson performed it in the 80s, it had become Yuppie Scum: thick and dumb.

The most startling example of the translation to translate oneself, however, is the aforementioned Mr. Shuman. He had been, previously, a Brill Building songwriter of some renown, famously partnered with Doc Pomus, and responsible for such songs as Viva Las Vegas, Marie’s The Name (Of His Latest Flame), and Teenager In Love. However, on first hearing Brel songs in a New York cabaret, he moved to Paris, where he learned French in double-quick time and began translating the songs that would make up the revue, Jacques Brel Is Alive And Well And Living In Paris. For this production, he took the male singing role, coming out from behind the songwriters credit for the first time. The success of the show and his reception spurred him on to pursuing a career as a performer late in life. And, to some surprise, despite looking like Mr. Vonnegut Jnr., he became a star. In France, of course.

Incidentally, the most accurate translation of Brel’s works, meeting the standards of the writer’s widow, are by Professor Arnold Johnston, of Western Michigan University. But, naturally, his recordings are hard to come by, due to lack of demand.