Philippe Avron Claude Evrard by Avron Et Evrard: A Timeless French Gem from 1974
Let’s talk about this album like it’s an old friend you bump into after years apart. Philippe Avron Claude Evrard by Avron Et Evrard isn’t just another record—it’s a snapshot of France in the ‘70s, full of charm, wit, and a little bit of that je ne sais quoi. Released on Barclay Records in 1974, it blends genres like Non-Music, Stage & Screen, and Pop with the unmistakable style of Chanson. And oh yeah—François De Roubaix did the music? That guy was basically magic.
Now, let me get real for a sec. You know how some albums feel like they’re stuck in time but still manage to grab your heart? This one does exactly that. It’s not trying too hard; it just is. The tracks are quirky yet heartfelt, painting vivid pictures of life back then—but honestly, they hit home even now. I wanna zoom in on two songs that really stuck with me: “La Cité Irradieuse” and “Les Gardiens De La Paix.”
“La Cité Irradieuse” feels cinematic, almost like walking through a dreamy black-and-white film where everyone’s wearing trench coats and smoking Gauloises (even if that’s historically inaccurate). There’s something hauntingly beautiful about it—the way the melody sneaks up on you, wrapping itself around your mood. It’s nostalgic without being sappy, kinda like remembering a place you’ve never actually been to. Weird, right? But good weird.
Then there’s “Les Gardiens De La Paix,” which is pure storytelling gold. It’s playful and tender at the same time, like overhearing a conversation between two friends who can’t stop laughing but also mean every word they say. You don’t need to understand every lyric to get the vibe—it’s universal. Plus, François De Roubaix’s touch is all over this track, giving it depth without weighing it down. Honestly, I found myself humming it while making coffee the other day, and it made my morning better.
What makes this album special is its unapologetic Frenchness. It doesn’t try to be cool or trendy. Instead, it leans into simplicity, warmth, and those tiny human moments we all recognize. Sure, it might not appeal to everyone—some folks probably won’t get past the dated production—but for those willing to dive in, it’s a treasure chest of emotions.
Here’s the kicker though: listening to this album felt like finding a handwritten letter tucked inside an old book. It reminded me that sometimes, art doesn’t have to scream for attention to leave a mark. Sometimes, it whispers—and that whisper stays with you long after the record stops spinning.
