A lot of effort goes into protecting French from being polluted by foreign words, but despite all their best efforts, English will always be the language of rock'n'roll, writes DONALD CLARKE
IS ANYBODY ELSE confused about the controversy surrounding the French entry to the Eurovision Song Contest? Certain figures in the Gallic cultural establishment have allowed themselves to become annoyed at the news that Sébastien Tellier, their country's representative at next month's event, would be warbling his song in English.
"The French language is the tool of a huge industry in terms of cultural influence," Jacques Myard, an MP for the centre-right UMP party, pronounced loftily. "I think that even in a song, especially in this Euro contest, we have to sing in French." As le weekend loomed, others jumped up to denounce the unwelcome ubiquity of English in French culture. M Tellier had, it seems, scared up a genuine scandale.
Over here, after noting that the French had, at least, managed to keep poultry away from the microphone, some of us stopped to wonder if Divine, Tellier's perky slice of electropop, was, indeed, written in English. A few of the words are, it is true, somewhat familiar. And, yes, the syntax is not unlike that used on the streets of Bognor and Birmingham. But what can the chorus mean? "I'm alone in life to say / I love the Chivers anyway / 'Cause Chivers look divine," Tellier, a curious bearded figure, sings at the song's climax.
Nobody would deny that the popular preserves made by Chivers can turn a humble piece of toast into a taste sensation, but Sébastien must have some other interpretation of the word in mind. "Chivers", capitalised and treated as a plural, appears to refer to a collection of attractive beings whose very presence fills the singer with joy. English, my eye. Only European pop dares to be this odd.
Let's tell the truth here. Though some Parisian commentators may have got their culottes in a twist about l'Affaire Tellier, the pavement cafes are not really alive with debate on the matter. The news stories on this side of La Manche have been driven by an irresistible desire to depict the French as pretentious, aloof and stupidly bearded. "Look, Jean-Luc Godard's giving out about the Eurovision Song Contest. What a tool!" we long to say. (Jean-Luc has, so far, remained silent on the issue. But you get the idea.)
All that noted, the French do have a tendency to be overly protective when considering the supposed corruption of their language. In 1994, Jacques Toubon, then minister of culture, helped bring in a law mandating the use of French in a wide range of contexts. The Toubon Law, as it came to be known, even went so far as to insist on the strict use of the language in commercial advertisements and public announcements.
Yet it should be apparent to even the most severe of conservatives that all European languages have profited from centuries of cultural miscegenation. The distinguished Quebec author Mordecai Richler once addressed the mongrel nature of everyday vernacular by composing a story in which all words of French origin were brutally anglicised: "Clarissa and I got together for a head-to-head later that morning. Ah, but how attractive she appeared, seated on her long chair, wearing a linen article from her woman's wardrobe, through which I could just catch a glimpse of her mammary-gland hanger."
But Tellier's song goes further than dropping in the odd "weekend" or "shopping". The entire number is delivered in something a little like English. Surely, there can be no excuse for jettisoning the French language entirely.
Now we reach the nub of the debate. French was once the language of diplomacy and it is purportedly still the language of love. Latin is useful for naming plants and diseases. Japanese will do nicely if you need a word for some class of raw fish. But English remains the language of rock'n'roll and of all its descendent genres. Even Tellier's eccentric brand of electropop can be traced - via disco, funk and rhythm and blues - back to African-American work songs of the antebellum south.
French is too formal to accommodate the rude vernacular handed down from those ancient laments. German is too angular. Swedish is too glacial. Let's face it. Sooner or later, every pop singer will have to sing "Yeah, yeah, yeah". Ask the contestants at next month's Eurovision - more than half the performers in 2008 will be bellowing in English. At Waterloo, Napoleon did surrender. They have all met their destiny in quite a similar way.