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A grey childhood, she was blind from age 3 – 7 due to keratitis, grew up in a whorehouse run by her grandmother, was adopted by the ‘working girls’ and from a young age started singing on top of café tables at her grandmother’s insistence - and afterwards in the streets at age 15.Įventually, a nightclub owner Louis Lepléé discovered the diminutive girl at age 19, groomed her for the stage, gave her a new name and picked out her uniform simple black dress. “I want to make people cry, even when they don’t understand my words.” – Edith Piafīorn in 1915, in the working class eastern end of Paris, Edith Giovanna Gassion’s early life set the stage for her eventual self-destruction. Frozen images of a time, invoking and inspiring romantic fiction, passion, and a strange sensation of wanting to know more, feel more, experience more. Throughout the rest of the world they endure in old black and whites. Sound waves streaming through café terraces, red wine in Pigalle, cigarette fumes entwining souls in French Brasseries, the eyes of a radiant Parisienne. One form or anotherIn France they linger in every nook and cranny, invisibly linking its people. Short list of favorite artists, all of whom, living or not, are still around in Literally hundreds of classical French singers. To be honest, I wasn’t too sure where to begin, as there are “Music expresses that which can not be said and on which it is impossible to be silent” - Victor Hugo
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Either way, one can’t help but be affected in some way, shape or form. And maybe, just maybe, the experience will illuminate (for you) a tiny (or not so tiny) path to the heart of the nation. I understand that for some people, French music might not be their idéale cup of café, but I’m guessing if you’re interested in French culture, you may want to (at the least) listen to a couple of tunes. Strange, how la vie throws little twists and curveballs in ones direction - and why is it that we only ever realize these things in hindsight? A subconscious prompt telling me I’ve either lived in France in my past life or will do so in the future. Perhaps, too, it was a sign of things to come. And so, for a wretched romantic like me, the songs and music induced a world of make believe, a distant memory or imagined love affair.
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There was something about the tunes, the sound of the language perhaps, that seemed to bypass the rational self and leap at the heart. Nevertheless, back then those tiny details didn’t seem to matter. Strange, as until recently, I couldn’t understand a single lyric. For as long as I remember, I’ve adored the sound and feel of French music.