Serge Gainsbourg & Jane Birkin - Je t'Aime... Moi Non Plus 1969

This collection of vintage 1960s orchestral pop from the master of surreal Gallic eroticism includes kitsch masterpieces like "69 Annee Erotique" and Jane Birkin and Serge Gainsbourg's chart-topping "Je T'Aime (Moi Non Plus)," in a procession of jazzy instrumentals accompanied by Gainsbourg's throaty, Gitanes-coated vocals and the pertly sexy interpolations of his stunning wife. AMG.

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Serge Gainsbourg - L'Homme À Tête de Chou 1976

Even tolerant music fans shudder inwardly at the mention of the concept album, a largely prog rock genre that spawned many of the greatest aesthetic indiscretions of the '70s. L'Homme à Tête de Chou (The Man with the Cabbage Head) is a concept album and shares some of prog's general characteristics, but it's unlike anything emanating from rock's beardy depths. In the spirit of his 1971 masterpiece Histoire de Melody Nelson, Gainsbourg sets this album's brief tale amid a widescreen musical canvas. Whereas Melody Nelson was provocative without being explicit, the gravel-voiced Gallic lecher goes X-rated here -- albeit without sacrificing his poetic élan. In this morbidly comic song cycle the narrator's muse is Marilou, a black shampoo girl: during their ill-fated fling, he descends into unhinged obsession, beats her to death with a fire extinguisher and ends up in a psychiatric hospital (convinced his head has turned into a cabbage). Although the title track retains something of Melody Nelson's cool Baroque pop gravitas, Chou doesn't replicate that earlier record's alternately brooding and soaring melodic grandeur. Instead, it draws on an adventurously varied palette, spanning rock, country, disco, jazz, reggae, and funk. In places, the shifting styles match the different images or situations that Gainsbourg presents, sometimes without concern for subtlety: "Marilou Reggae" finds Marilou grooving to Caribbean sounds, while tribal rhythms on "Transit à Marilou" heavy-handedly signify her exotic sexuality. The songs are most satisfying when the relationship between lyrics and music is less literal, more evocative -- especially "Lunatic Asylum," where tympani, didgeridoo-like drones, dramatic organ, and insistent percussion soundtrack the protagonist's insanity. Elsewhere, subject matter and sound are divorced completely, the cheery funk of "Ma Lou Marilou" contrasting with the narrator's murderous thoughts. L'Homme à Tête de Chou is an underrated Gainsbourg album. Notwithstanding some dubious synth coloring, it's his second-best '70s release, ranking among his finest recordings. AMG.

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Serge Gainsbourg - Vu De L'Exterieur 1973

Serge Gainsbourg's fascination with the noisier bodily functions has been well-documented, both by his biographers and by his own records. Who else, after all, would commission Sly & Robbie to lay down their earthiest, dubbiest reggae rhythm, then punctuate it with nonstop farting noises ("Evguenie Sokolov" from 1981's Mauvaises Nouvelles des Etoiles album)? Who else would write a novel about a gas-stricken painter who turns his body-burps to his artistic advantage? And whose else could conceive an album dedicated in its near-entirety to...well, the song titles tell that story: "La Poupee Qui Fait" translates as "The Doll That Goes to the Toilet," the title track documents the messier consequences of anal sex, and "Des Vents, des Pets, des Boums" means, simply, "Wind, Farts, Booms." "Titicaca" is, of course, smuttily self-explanatory. So, it's dirty, filthy, scatological fun, but it's all wrapped so smoothly, so sweetly, and so irresistibly seductively that even the backing musicians -- a team of crack English musicians led by Alan Hawkshaw -- were not aware what he was singing about. The melodies are as lush as any, the performances as immaculate, and the soundscapes as varied. Vu de l'Exterieur ranges from gentle rock to mild funk, from dreamy ballads to heart-stopping tunefulness, and it's all delivered so romantically straight-faced that one cannot help but shudder for all those suave non-French-speaking lotharios who woo their ladies with low lights and Gainsbourg. "Sensuelle et Sans Suite" might feel like a beautiful Beatlesque ballad, but that's where the resemblance ends. Lyrically, it laments -- you guessed it -- the barrage of flatulence that bedeviled a one-night stand. It is a joyful album and one of Gainsbourg's best, edging the critically acclaimed (but possibly overrated) Melody Nelson and possibly nudging Aux Armes Etcaetera. And higher praise than that would be difficult to find. AMG. listen here

Serge Gainsbourg - Initials BB 1967

The Comic Strip compilation may be an ideal overview to Gainsbourg's pop oeuvre, but for those sick puppies interested in exploring his entire catalog, this collaboration with then-lover Brigitte Bardot is a good place to start. Many of his most infamous songs ("Bonnie and Clyde," "Comic Strip,") are here, and the lesser-known numbers achieve the same giddy decadence. Yes, the subject matter is transgressive, the performances often silly, but long after the initial shock wears off, Gainsbourg's work continues to surprise and delight. The sensuous melodies and sumptuous arrangements aspire to the visual; they are little technocolor movies in sound. Moreover, Gainsbourg was perhaps the only songwriter of an earlier tradition to wholeheartedly embrace the wild and adventurous spirit of '60s rock. Strains of the Who's garage/show tune fusion is discernible in "Bloody Jack." "Marilu" makes obvious reference to the Beach Boys' white-bread doo wop. Initials B.B. continues to sound as stylish and mod as it must have the day it was released. At 31 minutes, it is sure to leave both hedonists and former teenyboppers wanting more. AMG.

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