French avant garde comes to London with Camille at Barbican
I can sum up Camille's set in two words; c'est magnifique.
I know that wouldn't satisfy the appetite for those of you who are fans of prose. Camille came to my attention a few years ago when I accidentally stumbled on her music video for Ta Douleur from that point onwards I would describe her as the French Bjork.
Seeing her live affirmed that she had the same eccentricity and innovation as the Icelandic one, but since people in the music like to draw comparisons, she also has a touch of Kate Bush and possibly Florence and The Machine to her.
Armed with a pianist/percussionist, a violinist and a double bass player, Camille's small ensemble were secondary to her best instrument, her voice. She effortlessly switches from Edith Piaf to a soprano that Katherine Jenkins would be envious of.
Camille came out and as a human lampshade to the sole light bulb on the stage. Declaring that it was poubelle planet (dustbin planet) with the opening track of Aujourd'Hui she treated the audience to a shadow show against the white cloth hanging at the back of stage.
The first few tracks were serious, Camille was showcasing her versatile voice and just as Bob Fosse taught the world to dance using more then their feet, Camille was teaching us to sing with more then our voices. Everything was used to make music; from her feet, to her thighs, her chest to her fingers and even her breath.
The thing that strikes you watching her is she uses imagery, dance and her voice to add to the drama and theatre of what she is singing. This adding to the overall experience of the night, stimulating all of your senses.
We got to see more of the fun side when she sang Mars Is No Fun, a song about living on Mars while belting out a song declaring that she'd rather live in social housing and going to the shopping malls of Milton Keynes, you got to see a more playful and childlike innocence to her.
It was time to sing what she called France's national anthem La France, she asked for two members of the audience to come on stage. She enticed the first, a man, by flashing her cleavage and allowing him to 'kiss her tits'. She then took him to find his dancing partner, asking if he liked women with big or small tits. A lady volunteered and the pair waltzed while Camille sang.
In the song My Man Is Married But Not To Me, we saw Camille break out some dance moves and this tale of love lorn despair. She did a dance that isn't disimilar to my Killing In The Name Of dance, but she did it with far more grace, poise and artistic merit then I ever could (I blame the vineyard of wine I drink).
For the song Wet Boy, she was laying on the floor with an unnoticable guitarist. These explicitly romantic lyrics were sung in a breathy, girly tone that could've been used in a Serge Gainsbourg track as she demonstrated the sort of overt, yet subtle sexuality that only the French can pull off.
Just like beatboxers make a track using nothing but their voice, Camille did a similar thing with Tout Dit. It was beautiful and you never noticed that there were no musical instruments.
At this point there was a little break and quick costume change before she came out to sing her most famous song Ta Douleur to an excitable crowd, stamping her feet and blowing raspberries.
During her song Paris, she invited the audience to stand up and clap along. And during Cats, she sang about cats and dogs not really loving you, but she made the entire audience miaow and bark to the music while showing off a beautiful jazz voice.
Camille's avant garde music is complimented by her playfulness. I fear that this will be a hindrance to her ever been taken seriously as an artist. Her genius lies in her voice and her ability to turn the sort of annoying noises children make into music is nothing short of pure, unadulterated art.
The audience agreed and she was treated to half an hour standing ovation.
I love Camille and I have to live with the fact that I'm not French, can't sing and not an artist everyday of my life.
First published 27/04/2012
I know that wouldn't satisfy the appetite for those of you who are fans of prose. Camille came to my attention a few years ago when I accidentally stumbled on her music video for Ta Douleur from that point onwards I would describe her as the French Bjork.
Seeing her live affirmed that she had the same eccentricity and innovation as the Icelandic one, but since people in the music like to draw comparisons, she also has a touch of Kate Bush and possibly Florence and The Machine to her.
Armed with a pianist/percussionist, a violinist and a double bass player, Camille's small ensemble were secondary to her best instrument, her voice. She effortlessly switches from Edith Piaf to a soprano that Katherine Jenkins would be envious of.
Camille came out and as a human lampshade to the sole light bulb on the stage. Declaring that it was poubelle planet (dustbin planet) with the opening track of Aujourd'Hui she treated the audience to a shadow show against the white cloth hanging at the back of stage.
The first few tracks were serious, Camille was showcasing her versatile voice and just as Bob Fosse taught the world to dance using more then their feet, Camille was teaching us to sing with more then our voices. Everything was used to make music; from her feet, to her thighs, her chest to her fingers and even her breath.
The thing that strikes you watching her is she uses imagery, dance and her voice to add to the drama and theatre of what she is singing. This adding to the overall experience of the night, stimulating all of your senses.
We got to see more of the fun side when she sang Mars Is No Fun, a song about living on Mars while belting out a song declaring that she'd rather live in social housing and going to the shopping malls of Milton Keynes, you got to see a more playful and childlike innocence to her.
It was time to sing what she called France's national anthem La France, she asked for two members of the audience to come on stage. She enticed the first, a man, by flashing her cleavage and allowing him to 'kiss her tits'. She then took him to find his dancing partner, asking if he liked women with big or small tits. A lady volunteered and the pair waltzed while Camille sang.
In the song My Man Is Married But Not To Me, we saw Camille break out some dance moves and this tale of love lorn despair. She did a dance that isn't disimilar to my Killing In The Name Of dance, but she did it with far more grace, poise and artistic merit then I ever could (I blame the vineyard of wine I drink).
For the song Wet Boy, she was laying on the floor with an unnoticable guitarist. These explicitly romantic lyrics were sung in a breathy, girly tone that could've been used in a Serge Gainsbourg track as she demonstrated the sort of overt, yet subtle sexuality that only the French can pull off.
Just like beatboxers make a track using nothing but their voice, Camille did a similar thing with Tout Dit. It was beautiful and you never noticed that there were no musical instruments.
At this point there was a little break and quick costume change before she came out to sing her most famous song Ta Douleur to an excitable crowd, stamping her feet and blowing raspberries.
During her song Paris, she invited the audience to stand up and clap along. And during Cats, she sang about cats and dogs not really loving you, but she made the entire audience miaow and bark to the music while showing off a beautiful jazz voice.
Camille's avant garde music is complimented by her playfulness. I fear that this will be a hindrance to her ever been taken seriously as an artist. Her genius lies in her voice and her ability to turn the sort of annoying noises children make into music is nothing short of pure, unadulterated art.
The audience agreed and she was treated to half an hour standing ovation.
I love Camille and I have to live with the fact that I'm not French, can't sing and not an artist everyday of my life.
First published 27/04/2012
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