Hymne A L’Amour

Edith Piaf is one of those musicians one knows upon birth whether it be her signature look, her life or that signature voice. Yet her fame and popularity also make her a rarity to see paid tribute to. Such was the oddity of _Piaf: The Songs_ at the Arts Centre on Sunday, which was a full homage to the French singer. Essentially a long monologue from the woman (Eve Loiseau), interspersed with renditions of Piaf numbers and further mixed up with instrumental pieces on the accordion and violin from her talented musical partners (Fiona Barrow and Edward Jay) it was a beautiful piece of theatre but not without flaws.

One must first pay homage to Eve’s spectacular voice, which never faltered. Every note was pitch perfect, every song sung beautifully… But this is also her greatest flaw; for everything Edith Piaf was, she was not a trained singer nor was she flawless. There was a roughness to her voice that Eve tried to replicate but failed to imbue herself entirely with. Although that Piaf vibrato was there, something far too clean crept through her singing at times that showed her up to be almost too talented. Her voice was a fine, glistening champagne whilst Edith Piaf had the voice of a tart burgundy someone had put a cigarette out in. One could not imagine Eve Loiseau standing before a noisy wine bar in Belleville and pouring out tales of the French people with impossible heart and that loud bellow so characteristic of the chanteuse. To sing songs of hopelessly romantic cafe owners or accordionists sent off to war requires something far more French than on display; the fact the video montage behind showed some of Piaf’s own performances did nothing for her as it showed that she lacked some of the originals’ sassiness, sexiness and fearsome conviction.

She was, however, not attempting to be Piaf but merely a fitting tribute and this must be remembered. What she did do was deliver the songs with incredible panache and emotion (although, when she sets up a song like ‘Hymne A L’Amour’ as the song Piaf sang after the death of her beloved Marcel, no act can ever hold a flame to the original’s fervour) and with incredible skill. Although calm and pleasant she embraced the fact that everything about her- age, figure and demeanour- was a far calmer, silkier presence than the rambunctious spitfire she paid tribute to. There was a great slinkiness to her performance of Milord quite unlike the tired seduction of the original, and her version of ‘Non Regrette Rien’ became a tribute to a troubled woman’s life, not a call for absolution from a fading star. The entire theatre sang along even in a language foreign to them for these two numbers and it was a haunting but powerful moment.

Whilst spectacularly talented and backed up by two wonderful artists (and performing, just to be selfish for a moment, all my favourites) there was something very much un-Piaf about this tribute to the late great singer. She was not gin-soaked, she was not troubled, she was not wild in the eye with the appearance of a gothic madwoman let loose on a Parisian stage. But this tranquil rendition gave us a chance to reflect on a storm long passed, and that was worth a listen if nothing else.