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Now close your eyes and picture this: A subterranean Parisian club. A thick haze of smoke hangs in the air, a floating veil between the audience and a cabaret stage. A waif in a lace slipdress serenades us, squeezing away on a classic French accordion. A long, lanky man in a cap finger-picks the acoustic guitar in a bossa nova rhythm, while the bassist, in ironic cowboy shirt, walks his way along the neck of the requisit beat poet's stand-up bass.
Nouvelle Vague in concert
Next, picture a faux Charlotte Gainsbourg fille, all long black tresses, pouty of lip and flounce-frocked in the miniest of mini-dresses. She's joined by a whisper-sweet brunette in white frills, playing the voluptuous kitten foil to the growling mod mannequin in black. One, the smoldering seductress, all sexy belting bravura. The other, the kittenish coquette, all flirtatious girlish promises. These are the two chanteuses hosting our Parisian cabaret evening.
It's an oh-so-French experience, with a sound straight from the tunnels of Le Metro, sidewalk cafes, and smokey cabarets, from Montmartre to the Champs Elysees. The bossa nova underpinnings of the accompanying musicians evoke the carefree beaches of Cannes and Nice.
But then you notice the lyrics. Wait a minute, that melody sounds familiar. Is that... Is that... The Clash?
"Guns of Brixton"
Yes my friends, it's The Clash. Not to mention songs by The Smiths, XTC, Echo & the Bunnymen, and even Billy Idol that follow. Reality check: This isn't a dancehall in Pigalle, but Webster Hall in the East Village. And onstage is Nouvelle Vague, one of the most brilliant concept bands to emerge on the live music scene in years. Far from Paris, the closest they'll come to France tonight is a Violent Femmes cover.
Nouvelle Vague -- its name an ode to the French 'New Wave' cinema of Godard, and an oral/aural play on words with the 'bossa nova' of Brazil, from whence its sound was plucked -- is the brain child of producers Marc Collin and Olivier Libaux. Their original concept was to perform covers of classic '80s Goth tunes, seen filtered through a bossa nova lens, and crooned in the classic French cabaret style by songbirds who had (supposedly) never heard the original versions.
"Sweet & Tender Hooligan"
No matter what the mythology, theirs is a fresh, creative, exhilerating take on some of the best (even if only in my view) music ever written. They truly transcend the strictures of the term "cover band."
With the gleeful abandon of circus performers, joyfully dancing and 'Expressing' themselves with a capitol E, they are wonderfully engaging performers. Everything is done with a playful wink and a nod to let us all in on the fun.
"Dancing With Myself"
Seeing Nouvelle Vague live is to sing along, laugh along, and even drink along -- as proven when wour angelic girl in white naughtily handed out shots of whiskey to the crowd during a particularly rousing chorus of "Too Drunk to Fuck." Oui, c'est vrai!
Lucky ladies, they are backed by an accomplished set of musicians who each have the opportunity to shine throughout the evening. A particular standout is the drummer, who performed a mind-bending solo with nothing more than a tambourine, and later brought the bossa nova beat to a particularly Latin high, playing not only the kunga, but also the snare, toms, and the rest of his kit with his bare hands.
With half the audience speaking French and the music worthy of Serge Gainsbourg, it wasn't hard to get wisked away to an imaginary Paris of the mind. But when they broke out the Bauhaus, playing my personal favorite, "Bela Lugosi's Dead," we plunged from Paris cabaret to catacomb.
"Bela Lugosi's Dead"
Drenched only in red light with chanteuses writhing on the floor, singing a mournful refrain of "Oh Bela, Bela's dead," the band broke character -- even if only for a moment. With the stand-up bowed like an ultra-low cello, it was less French than full-fledged Goth fantasy. And a rare but welcome glimpse into the band's joy in the original material that they make a living covering.
Nouvelle Vague are both darknessand light, playfully covering the morose musings of rainy-day lads from Britain, in a breezy, beachy style from Brazil, with a French accent that is, frankly, all their own. Regardez, écoutez, comprenez cette Nouvelle Vague!
"Making Plans For Nigel"
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