Paris Journal 2013 – Barbara Joy Cooley Home: barbarajoycooley.com
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Tom made sure I did not miss Maureen
Dowd’s latest column about the bad mood prevalent in France. I often don’t read Maureen’s columns
because her writing is generally too acerbic for my taste. But this was a good column, on la tristesse. We haven’t seen that much evidence of it yet. But we will be on guard, and will be especially kind – even kinder than usual – to Parisians this summer. We like to be kind. It feels good. People who know me know that I prefer to be called “Barbara,” not “Barb,” because, as I explain, a “barb” is something sharp that can hurt you. I don’t want to hurt anyone. It occurs to me now that we’re here, speaking French, that another reason is that it is perfectly possible to say “Barbara” in French (bah – bah- RHA), and it even sounds kind of joyful. It sounds like fun, like baba au rhum. But just try to say “Barb” in French. Just try it. Without an “e” on the end, it sounds like you suddenly choked on a sock. It is almost impossible to pronounce. The pastor at my church back home hasn’t known me for all that long, so he calls me “Barb.” But he speaks French beautifully, and I think he’d understand this explanation quite well (as well as my normal explanation). Speaking of bad moods, Doc Salzman was having a bad day yesterday. As we waited patiently in the waiting room, it was apparent in the moments that she appeared and interacted with the receptionist that she was distressed by a number of things. And then she discovered that the toilet in the bathroom was clogged. But when Tom was called in to see her, she was thorough, kind, professional, and a good listener. Good for you, Doc Salzman! We were very favorably impressed. And we feel “safer,” as our friend Barbara C. said, with a good doctor to rely upon, should the need for a doctor arise. Barbara, Barbara, Barbara. The name is so common among those of us born in the first 60 years of the 20th Century. I checked out the Olympia’s web site to see about the “Barbara” mentioned in the poster we saw on the Île Saint-Louis (see photo at right). The Olympia web site has an interesting page about Barbara, a popular singer born as Monique Serf in 1930, in Paris. She was Jewish. Her mother’s family came from central Europe. They had to flee Paris at the time of the German occupation. Like so many families, they went south, in this case, to Saint Marcellin, near Grenoble. I know of Saint Marcellin only because of its cheese. Now I will know it as the place where Barbara’s family went during the occupation. They returned to Paris at the time of the Liberation. She would have been 15 at that time. She already knew what she wanted to do with her life: she would be a singing pianist. Although she came from modest circumstances, she managed to study at the music conservatory on the rue de Madrid. Although she studied classical music, with her mezzo soprano voice, she was attracted to the popular song. Edith Piaf became her role model. Upon leaving the music conservatory, she tried to make it in the cabarets of Paris, without success. Off she went to Belgium, where she found some success, and adopted the name Barbara Brodi, which was based upon her Russian grandmother’s name. About the time I was born was when Barbara Brodi’s career started to take off. She returned to Paris in 1955, where she “forced open the door of the Parisian cabarets.” She came out with albums in which she sang her own compositions in 1964 and 1965. She was married once, briefly, but had many affairs. Success was difficult for her. She was afraid of the oppressive adoration of her fans. She was maniacal in her preparations for a new show. She was tormented by childhood memories (sexual abuse by her father, who later abandoned the family), and she suffered from insomnia. She tried to kill herself in 1974. She chose a place outside of Paris to make a comeback. It was in Pantin, on the outskirts of Paris. There she put on a show that was more “American,” with sophisticated arrangements and special effects. She was pushed by her perfectionism. Her friends thought she’d become a caricature of herself, but the show was a success. Her voice weakened, but the emotion was stronger than ever, and that's what appealed to her audience. While she was at Pantin, she met Gerard Depardieu, and began to work with him. Together they made a popular show in which she portrayed someone like herself, and he portrayed a criminal inspired by her singing to kill.. They went to New York with the show. She joined with other celebrities in the fight against AIDS. She even sang at prisons, and distributed condoms at concerts. On her last album, produced in 1996, her voice was more broken than ever. She died from pneumonia the next year. La tristesse. So sad. I wish that Barbara had had a happier life. She was so very talented, and she brought joy to others, through her music. After returning to the apartment following the medical adventure of the day, we had happy hour and decided not to make a big deal out of dinner. We simply walked down to Café le Commerce, not to be confused with the Café du Commerce, our neighborhood pub. We dined simply in that cheerful, bubbly place. The terrasse, in particular, was jammed with chattering Parisians. We detected no morosity there. Cheers! |
Wednesday, July 10, 2013
Across
from the Arenes de Lutece
is a shop specializing in jazz recordings.
Another
Barbara appeared for one night only at 28 boulevard des Capucines
(which I happen to know is the location of the famous Olympia concert hall),
according to this poster.
The
famous Tour d’Argent restaurant has a museum at
street level. The restaurant itself is
located on the top two floors, overlooking the Seine, at the beginning of the
rue Cardinal Lemoine.
We
wandered into a courtyard on the Île Saint-Louis
because the door was open. Looking up
behind us as we entered, we saw this sundial attached to the building one
level up from the ground. |
