Juliette Gréco is a force of nature. In her eighties, she is still performing and recording. Gréco Chante Brel brings her full circle. This icon of French chanson began recording the Belgian composer, songwriter, and singer Jacques Brel's songs in the late '50s; she was among the very first. Arguably it was she who paved the way for Brel's work to achieve its place in the Gallic canon. His collaborator was pianist and arranger Gérard Jouannest, who, since 1989, has been Gréco's husband. This album, recorded in three days, features the singer accompanied by her husband and orchestra. He reset all 12 tunes to new music, with arrangements on all but two of these songs (that he did himself) by conductor Bruno Fontaine. Gréco's voice here is a tad weathered, and she dramatically speaks almost as much as she sings. But that adds rather than detracts from her interpretations. Her utterly original style is evident throughout. While the music retains Brel's essence, Fontaine and Jouannest blur the lines between classical, café, French folk, modern avant-garde composition, and at times jazz. The taut, spacious "Ces Gens-Là" (a Brel set piece) is daring with its repetitive three-chord pattern, elliptical piano, and swirling winds. They underscore Gréco's dramatic vocal that walks a tightrope between salaciousness and anger. When the brass and percussion enter, they threaten to become almost anthemic, but excess is held at bay. Gréco is not only arresting; she is commanding. Other highlights include her thoroughly re-imagined reading of the bawdy "Amsterdam," the smoky, brooding "Je Suis un Soir d'Été," the tender "J'Arrive," the decorous "Le Prochain Amour" with its tempered brass harmonies, and the gorgeous "Fils De...," with its otherworldly harmonica and timeless accordion. Via Fontaine's brave charts, Gréco confronts the image the world has constructed of Brel. Her takes of these songs express what the man and his songs mean to her intimately, imparted without filter via the grain of her voice. Fontaine understands this implicitly, yet he encourages -- even dares -- her to reveal more, creating a tension at once intimate and heartbreakingly beautiful. Only Jouannest's piano stands in the gap. Gréco Chante Brel is an astonishing recording, musically, creatively, and emotionally.© Thom Jurek /TiVo

Juliette Gréco is a force of nature. In her eighties, she is still performing and recording. Gréco Chante Brel brings her full circle. This icon of French chanson began recording the Belgian composer, songwriter, and singer Jacques Brel's songs in the late '50s; she was among the very first. Arguably it was she who paved the way for Brel's work to achieve its place in the Gallic canon. His collaborator was pianist and arranger Gérard Jouannest, who, since 1989, has been Gréco's husband. This album, recorded in three days, features the singer accompanied by her husband and orchestra. He reset all 12 tunes to new music, with arrangements on all but two of these songs (that he did himself) by conductor Bruno Fontaine. Gréco's voice here is a tad weathered, and she dramatically speaks almost as much as she sings. But that adds rather than detracts from her interpretations. Her utterly original style is evident throughout. While the music retains Brel's essence, Fontaine and Jouannest blur the lines between classical, café, French folk, modern avant-garde composition, and at times jazz. The taut, spacious "Ces Gens-Là" (a Brel set piece) is daring with its repetitive three-chord pattern, elliptical piano, and swirling winds. They underscore Gréco's dramatic vocal that walks a tightrope between salaciousness and anger. When the brass and percussion enter, they threaten to become almost anthemic, but excess is held at bay. Gréco is not only arresting; she is commanding. Other highlights include her thoroughly re-imagined reading of the bawdy "Amsterdam," the smoky, brooding "Je Suis un Soir d'Été," the tender "J'Arrive," the decorous "Le Prochain Amour" with its tempered brass harmonies, and the gorgeous "Fils De...," with its otherworldly harmonica and timeless accordion. Via Fontaine's brave charts, Gréco confronts the image the world has constructed of Brel. Her takes of these songs express what the man and his songs mean to her intimately, imparted without filter via the grain of her voice. Fontaine understands this implicitly, yet he encourages -- even dares -- her to reveal more, creating a tension at once intimate and heartbreakingly beautiful. Only Jouannest's piano stands in the gap. Gréco Chante Brel is an astonishing recording, musically, creatively, and emotionally.© Thom Jurek /TiVo

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Everyone knows the tragic context surrounding the making of this album. It is almost more famous than the content of the album itself. Having lived in the Marquesas Islands for years, Brel was already very sick when he started thinking of an opus, which will be conceived as “the last”. Once the text had been written, he took off to Paris where he entrusts the arrangements to his lifetime accomplice, François Rauber. As for rehearsals, they took place on rue de Verneuil at Juliette, Gréco’s home. The singer who wrote Ne me quitte pas knows he’s doomed when he creates Les Marquises, so it’s not really surprising to hear him talk about death and old age, like in the magnificent La Ville s’endormait and Vieillir, an overexcited tango where he hammers that “la mort, cela n’est rien” (Death is nothing). Jojo also reaches new heights of emotion, as a love letter to a deceased friend, in which Brel is only accompanied by a solo guitar. But this morbid context doesn’t make this album a formulaic spiritual quest, or even a succession of bleak tunes. Therefore, Brel puts Man above God in Le bon dieu, a humanist waltz that isn’t 1000-count but, on the contrary, serenely slow and benevolent. Marcel Azzola’s accordion works wonders here. The same serenity is displayed in Les Marquises and in Voir un ami pleurer (which owes a lot to Gérard Jouannest’s sensitive piano). The poet wishes to get away from the morbid fatality that gnaws at him, which can also be felt in the politically engaged texts, such as this hagiography of Jaurès, or Les Flamingants, a violent charge against Flemish nationalism. The testimonial aspect of this album is thus relative, and in that probably lies all of its strength. And of course, Jacques Brel’s biting and legendary humor couldn’t be missing. Let’s cite Les Remparts de Varsovie, an incredibly potent satirical sketch. Despite being sick, Brel hadn’t lost an ounce of his energy or irony, as evidenced by Le Lion, a mad fable which doesn’t know if it’s samba or circus music. Let’s note that the present release contains five bonus titles, among which La Cathédrale, one of the most radiant waltzes composed by Jacques Brel. © Nicolas Magenham/Qobuz

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