The passing of a French icon
Françoise Hardy died on June 11, 2024, age eighty. Hardy was an actress and a singer-songwriter, releasing over thirty albums since her debut in 1962. She was more a recording artist than a performance artist, struggling most of her life with stage fright, anxiety and shyness. Her albums run the gamut, from early yé-yé hits to tasteful, orchestrated LPs, and although she didn’t always like everything she recorded, the music was always presented with elegance and class. Those who are only familiar with her music through a Wes Anderson film are missing out on a lot.
I first discovered Françoise Hardy when I was searching for any recordings that featured Brazilian guitarist Valeniza Zagni da Silva, better known as Tuca. Singer Nara Leão was living in France, in exile from the Brazilian dictatorship, and Tuca, who was also living there, played guitar and piano on Leão’s Dez Anos Depois album (1971). Nara’s dreamy vocals matched with Tuca’s chiming guitar make Dez Anos Depois one of the most imaginative albums of bossa nova standards ever produced. That same year, Tuca played on another album recorded in France, co-writing the songs and acting as musical director. Françoise Hardy’s La question is a masterpiece and one of Tuca’s last recorded works before she sadly passed away in 1978.
I remember first buying the compact disc of La question at Tower Records on Sunset in 2005. It was after I had left a grueling marathon job interview in Los Angeles and I needed some stimulating new music to complete my recovery. Over the next week, I played it over and over on repeat, and La question is one of my favorite albums—sometimes I think it’s my absolute favorite (I go back and forth between Forever Changes and this one). Tuca’s guitar was the reason I purchased La question, but I quickly fell in love with Françoise Hardy’s voice, which sent me on a whole new journey to discover all her albums. There was a large catalog to go through, and the albums I play the most fall between 1967 and 1974, when her records sold poorly but gave her the most satisfaction. Of course, as it goes with many great works of art, they aren’t fully appreciated until several years later.
Françoise received a guitar from her father when she was sixteen, and almost immediately, she began composing songs. She went to a tryout with a record label, only to be rejected, but after taking music lessons and tutoring, she passed another audition and signed a recording contract with Disques Vogue. Her early sixties albums mixed the yé-yé style, as heard in Moonrise Kingdom, with pretty ballads and French chansons. I’m not a big fan of the early records, although there are occasional glimpses of the guitar and strings music that was yet to come, like the gorgeous “Le premier bonheur du jour.” Not all of it suited Hardy either, and as her fame grew, she took greater control of her recordings and began making music she found more inspiring.
Ma jeunesse fout le camp… (1967) and Comment te dire adieu (1968) were the last two LPs she made for Disques Vogue, and both are lush recordings with exceptional songs and sweeping arrangements. In the sleeve photos for Ma jeunesse fout le camp…, Hardy is pictured giving a rude gesture (thump on nose, fingers wiggling) behind one of the “suits” at the recording. It was probably in jest, but it could also be seen as her parting kiss off to the label. In 1970, she signed with the independent imprint Sonopresse, releasing three exquisite albums that were ignored by the public. La question is the best of the three, but Soleil (1970) is also excellent with its vibrant baroque arrangements. Et si je m’en vais avant toi (1972) is a bit of a left turn for the singer, stepping out with a country-rock album. During this period, Hardy probably had the greatest control over her music. Nevertheless, these records didn’t sell and Sonopresse did not renew her contract.
Since she began making albums, Hardy also released records singing in English, Italian and German. The English records were mostly issued in Australia, New Zealand, South Africa, and the UK, and they included songs translated from her French records or covers of American and British hits. Her cover choices are commendable, picking songs by Ray Davies and Leonard Cohen, and she had a special affection for her version of Elvis Presley’s “Loving You.” For my money, of her four English language albums, the fourth and last one, creatively titled 4th English Album (later renamed If You Listen), is the best of the bunch. The selections include lesser-known songs by Beverley Martyn, Buffy Sainte-Marie, Neil Young, the British folk group Trees, and Mick Jones (later, the Foreigner guy). The song arrangements are majestic and this 1971 release, recorded right after La question, is another outstanding record from the Sonopresse years.
In 1973, Hardy moved to Warner Brothers and released two more splendid albums. The late sixties/early seventies were a difficult time for Hardy personally, mostly relating to her challenging relationship with her long-time partner: actor and cigar-chomping rock ‘n’ roll rebel, Jacques Dutronc. Many songs from these years reflect on the anger and loneliness she was experiencing, and they can be felt in her voice, even if you don’t understand French. This is especially clear in her next two LPs. In her memoir, The Despair of Monkeys and Other Trifles, Hardy called Message personnel (1973) a “motley and uneven album,” but when it’s good, it’s spectacular. Songwriter Michel Berger produced four tracks, and the spellbinding piano and syrup thick orchestration creates some of Hardy’s most beautiful songs. Berger was getting over his own relationship woes when working on the record, and Hardy and Berger threw it all into the two songs he wrote, especially the title track. Message personnel is one of the rare successful album of this period.
Entr’acte (1974) on the other hand, flips the script. A concept album about a woman getting back at her wayward partner by having a one-night stand with a stranger, Hardy plays up the part fully on the cover photo, costuming herself in a dark hat and sunglasses. Del Newman, who wrote strings for Carly Simon, Elton John and Cat Stevens, provides the shadowy orchestration that makes Entr’acte Hardy’s moodiest record. Was Entr’acte based on the singer’s real-life experiences? Hard to tell, but a good guess is that the album is either a revenge record or a call for attention.
Hardy did not release another LP until 1977 following the birth of her son Thomas, born just before she began recording Message personnel. The albums she made in the late seventies and eighties are a mixed bag, some with sloshy synthesizer arrangements that should have been left for other singers. Although there are good songs of note, this is a mostly forgettable period of music. She wasn’t working with the right people, and she wasn’t always happy with the results. Looking back on the songs and arrangements for the album Gin toxic (1980), and in particular, the schmaltzy opening track “Jazzy retro satanas,” Hardy wrote:
“This kind of thing typically repulsed me, as I am only interested in lyrics and melodies based on emotions—painful ones preferably—and I have nothing to give in songs of this nature. But this album had even worse things: three songs made to order—as in the order of the musical costumes [producer/songwriters] Gabriel and Jonasz wanted to see me wear— “Juke Box,” “Bosse-bossez bossa,” and “Minuit, minuit.” The musical introduction of the last song ended in a break, after which I had to leap straight into the void while singing: “Minuit, minuit, faut q’j’me sauve qui peut,” over a syncopated beat.”
She wasn’t thrilled with the cover photo of her sitting in a refrigerator either, as one might guess from the irritated look on her face.
Françoise continued to make new records even after being diagnosed with lymphoma in 2004. She had once again returned to singing the melancholic and emotional songs. Her last album came in 2018, and Personne d’autre is a dark, quiet finale, that includes the single “Le large” and “Seras-tu là?” the latter penned by Michel Berger, who died in 1992. At age 74, there’s a rough edge to Hardy’s vocals on Personne d’autre, but the beauty in her voice can still be found in these somber songs. In an interview on CBC’s Q with Tom Power, Hardy described “Le large,” as a parting message from an older person to a younger person, possibly before dying. Listening to their discussion from 2018, it eerily brings to mind a final album by another mutual admirer of Françoise Hardy: David Bowie, who released Black Star (2016) before passing away from liver cancer two days after it was released. In Hardy’s case, she lived another six years before cancer eventually took her.