Serge Gainsbourg – Melody Nelson (1971)

by Blake Thomas

Before Jane Birkin, Serge Gainsbourg’s muse was French pop princess Brigitte Bardot, and his work with her was a mutation of swirling chanson with slight psychedelic leanings. But when ol’ Serge turned his gnarled eye towards the Mod-era British model and actress, all bets were off. The two were like a perverse, twisted Sonny & Cher; but instead of warming hearts, they lit a dark fire, like some erotic demons possessed with sexual desire.

Here in the States in 1967, middle America got a shock with the moaning and cooing of Jane B on “Je T’aime…Moi Non Plus,” a scandalous bonjour from Frogland that caused more than a few uptight American blue-hairs to go into apoplexy. Bardot actually recorded a version with Serge which was never released, and he reportedly also asked Marianne Faithfull to sing one as well. And while a few tracks off the “Beautiful Love” album pointed in the direction of “Histoire de Melody Nelson,” nothing much else in Gainsbourg’s previous catalog even remotely gets into the same universe. Whatever trip Gainsbourg was on, he was gracious enough to take us with him.

Everything is scaled back here, until some passages consist of little more than a bass playing the lead and an in-the-pocket drum track. The strings and guitar are superfluous if not necessary, and add flourishes to an already expressive foundation. This is the perfect medium to convey Gainsbourg’s whispered storytelling, which as far as I know is an erotic sex story about a young girl a la “Lolita.” It’s simultaneously creepy, disgusting, beautiful, funky, and a certified masterwork. I would go as far to say this is one of the most important pieces of music in the history of pop culture. In my book it’s also one of the first Hip-Hop records.

The personnel on the record remained a mystery upon release, as there were no studio credits other than Jean-Claude Vannier arranging the orchestra while Serge played his usual piano and guitar. It came out later that in actuality, British session musicians “Big” Jim Sullivan, Dave Richmond, Roger Coulam, and Dougie Wright were responsible for the minimalist sounds heard here, all of which had careers playing for artists as varied as Dusty Springfield, Donovan, Shirley Bassey, and David Bowie.

The record is a master class in brevity, and is incredibly short at just under 28 minutes. Any longer would belabor the point, as the whole things builds like a slow orgasm; by the time it’s over the only thing you want to do is flip it over and play it again. Because of the length, that’s very easy to do.