CHARLES AZNAVOUR

Let's get a few things straight. Any entertainer who, at the age of 93, is still giving two hour live concerts all over the world is pretty special. Any entertainer who has sold over 180 million records, written over 1,300 songs and recorded over 1,400 is pretty special. Any entertainer who was, in 1998, voted by CNN and readers of Time Online as the entertainer of the century (20th), beating Elvis Presley, Frank Sinatra, you name it, is pretty special. Add to that appearances in over 60 films and you must realise this man is a giant of the entertainment industry except...........he;s only 5ft 3in tall (1.60)

He is, of course, Charles Aznavour, born in Paris to Armenian parents in May1924. His songs have been recorded by everybody who is anybody and he has sung to everybody who is anybody, everywhere. It's pointless to say more really except I love his songs, I love the way he sings them and, as you will see right at the end of this. I love how he has appeal to all generation, certainly in France.

Here is my Aznavour five(ish)

Charles Aznavour died at the age of 94 on October 1st 2018.

This is the first choice because, quite simply, it's the only one without a video clip. The song is all about returning to Venice to be reminded of a love that shared the place with you last time. I'm sure the sentiments, applied to somewhere else, must apply to many of us. I often wonder whether there are more people who have remained in a relationship than those of us who have lost one or more. Memories are magical but don't always have to remind you of the bad part of a relationship. I spent some time in Venice with a love of mine, the memories of those times are still beautiful.

Some of the words are pure poetry. The moon rising and silvering the lagoon and the thought that a place is too lonely to bear because you have lost the love you discovered there paint a picture as good as those of master poets.

This clip comes from a concert Aznavour gave at Carnegie Hall in 1994. He was 70 then. This song topped the UK charts in 1974 and was my first introduction to him. Unlike the last song, this one is more about a love that stays firm through everything, the ups and downs of life. The beauty or the beast, the famine or the feast, almost parody the classic wedding vows of for better or worse, in sickness and in health.

Let’s just say I identify again with this song. When you are young, life seems to go so slowly; when you are old, you wonder where it all went. And for those who know me well, refusing “to see when youth was gone, pretending it might never end” is still a big problem. When I first went to Poland, in 2002, and met my girlfriend’s friends, there was a small age difference between us, someone asked me if I was frightened of getting old or dying. “Dying”, I answered without any hesitation as this had caused me many problems over the years. However, while reflecting on that answer over the next few days, I realised that I wasn’t frightened of getting old, because I didn’t think it was happening. I still felt I could do things in the same way I had thirty years before. I still do although we are now up to nearly fifty

But, when I think about this honestly, it frightens me even more. If you have a gradual curve of ageing, it is far easier to cope, I think. I, and others like me, may just suddenly hit a wall at some stage, or, as nearly happened to me, be hit by a fast-moving vehicle. Explanation? I am not a good example to young children when crossing roads. I am a most impatient person. I drove to see my son some time ago and arrived and asked him why old people were so slow. An elderly gentleman had taken several minutes to park his car, causing me to wait, and then couldn’t fit in the space he had chosen. My son’s answer was to ask why I was a grumpy old man, an acceptable phrase without the old of course.

Anyhow to return to the vehicle story and crossing the road, I recently saw a gap in the traffic and my mind, using all its experience but operating several years past its sell by date, said go. As I set off, at a brisk run, my body informed me that we didn’t run that fast any more. I argued with it and we made it but, as I reached the other pavement, my smile hid the tightening feeling in the left calf muscle. Badminton tomorrow night and there are still moments when my mind says, “dive for that”; so far my body has declined the invitation but there is a large part of me that wonders if I still could. And an even larger part of my mind which tells me “of course”. Watch this space for details of which hospital to send the flowers.

I like to see someone perform a song and all of these are just that. Watch them all and watch the body language and the facial expressions. You know the singer is living both songs as he sings. This song contains one of those lines I wish I could have written. “You’ve got to learn to leave the table when love’s no longer being served, just show them all that you are able to leave, without saying a word”. I’ve done it a few times and had to live with humiliation from people who only heard one side of the story. Learning “to show a happy face, although you’re full of misery” was a lesson I learned in the school playground when I was very young. The other things I learned through life. Going back to those low times a few years back, this song helped get me through, I played it often. I was not giving in.

I wanted to write something here about the last line but I have a problem. If you check the various websites that show lyrics, they all say the last line is “and learn to live with a broken heart”. Another version, by Nina Simone, also says this. But I have no doubt, on the version I own, Aznavour sings “but I won’t learn to live with a broken heart”, which is a completely different meaning and the one I had always believed. So, I listened closely to this live performance, and now I think he sings “for I won’t ………”, which changes it again. I looked up the French version but, as with many translations, it is not a literal one so that it ends differently. If we abandon that, and get rid of the “and learn ….” version, which I don’t like, we have two options.

If it says “but…”, then, to me, it means you can cope with everything else but not a broken heart. Good, I identify here but, if it is “for….”, then, again to me because all these interpretations are entirely personal, it means you go through all of the rest because then you don’t have to live with a broken heart. Does it matter, you may ask and, if you do, I feel a bit sorry for you. Everything has a meaning and if you don’t bother looking for it, you may miss out on a lot. I have always been someone who wants to know and also someone who notices things others appear not to see. I am an observer; of body language, intonation, facial expressions. Ever watched “Lie to me”, you should? Whatever the ending, I still love the song.

This is probably my favourite song of all time. The recording you can see was made on a concert held to celebrate the 80th birthday of Charles Aznavour and he sings it with his daughter. Beautiful enough, you might think. I mentioned this video to my own daughter yesterday and she said, “well that won’t happen”. It wasn’t, I hope, that she didn’t think I would make it to 80; more that her singing voice has been likened to five cats fighting in a sack. She is, like Ms Aznavour, beautiful in so many ways but, while Ms Aznavour may not be a superb, thinking and caring mother (I hasten to add I have no idea on this point), my daughter isn’t nature’s gift to singing, unless nature hates us an awful lot.

Seriously, and sadly though not surprisingly, the song is sung in French. I have been trying for a very long time to translate it so that it has the same beauty in English, but still rhymes and scans and doesn’t differ too much from the original meaning. “Je voyage” of course translates literally as I travel, maybe I journey but that doesn’t have that same beauty when repeated. You cannot tell me that “I travel, I travel” sounds as good as “Je voyage, je voyage”. But recently I have had an idea so, who knows? However, for those who can’t, or can’t be bothered to, translate here, in prose, is a rough synopsis.

A young girl sees an old man, with silver hair, sitting on bench in the sun, looking lost. She asks him what he’s doing. He says he is seeing his future time escape on a thousand white horses. He tells her he is travelling to wonderful places in his life, through mistakes and experiences, with no luggage just by images, dreams and thoughts. She wonders if this journey is a refuge, an escape or a new adventure. He replies that, on the calm waters of his age, where there is no thunder, he just travels back to time he has lost.

Then he asks her what is she doing there, having run away at sixteen. She replies she is trying to gain knowledge and understanding, to see life on the other side of the mirror, She is travelling to go ahead, has her backpack on her back, the wind in her hair, sometimes crazy, sometimes wise, refusing to accept old ideas in the hope of finding a new goal.

He then tells her she was a child born between two wars, into a harsh world with disorder and much misery among men and women, who only think of themselves. She says she is striking out to discover the future. Together they then sing that they are both travelling, a little more by day and night, through dreams and insomnia, on a clear day or through a storm, light-footed or heavy and by memory and love, they will go on.

And that, kids, is one of my great loves in life. There is a certain beauty in the links between generations where both, for different reasons, are doing the same thing. The literal translation comes thanks to one of those “wind in the hair, backpacking people” I was lucky enough to have crossed lives with in 2009 when I was, or could have been, at my lowest. I owe many of them a great debt of thanks for allowing me to, however briefly, walk through their lives and the images I have kept have been a great source of comfort. I enjoyed that time, your company, the discussions, your companionship for however long. If you read this, you know who you are.

2 for 1 becomes 3 for 1 this week because I wanted you to see Charles Aznavour performing when over 90. The second clip comes from a French TV show and he is asked to sing, with the audience, a song made famous by his early mentor, Edith Piaf. He does, the audience of all ages join in, and you wonder how or when this could ever happen in England.

The last clip goes back to my generational mix. Aznavour, aged 91, records a song with Zaz, aged 35. There is total respect between them. That is how our generations can mix. If both respect the other. I have never believed that young people have nothing to offer because I have been around longer. All I know is that my length of life has obviously given me more experiences but their lack of these experiences gives them a certain freshness not weighed down by the past. Together, when all is good, c'est formidable. By the way, I would thoroughly recommend checking out Zaz and her songs. If they weren't all in French, she would be here too.