Barabbas Prends Tes Cliques Et Mes Claques: A Pop Gem That’s Still Kicking (Kind Of)
So, here we are, diving into Georges Chelon’s 1969 album Barabbas Prends Tes Cliques Et Mes Claques. Yeah, try saying that five times fast. This French-Italian oddball of a record is like finding an old Polaroid at the back of your grandma’s drawer—quirky, nostalgic, and kinda hard to explain to your friends. Released under Pathé and EMI in Italy, it blends chanson and ballad styles with just enough pop sparkle to keep things interesting. Oh, and let’s not forget conductor Lucien Lavoute, who probably had one heck of a time wrangling these tunes together.
Now, onto the tracks. The title track, “Barabbas,” hits you right away with its theatrical flair. It’s dramatic, over-the-top, and dripping with emotion—the kind of song that makes you want to grab a scarf, wrap it around your neck, and dramatically stare out a rainy window while sipping espresso. Or maybe that’s just me. Either way, there’s something about the swelling orchestration and Chelon’s voice that sticks. You can almost picture him standing center stage, mic in hand, as the crowd goes wild—or at least politely claps because this is 1969 Europe, after all.
Then there’s “Prends Tes Cliques Et Mes Claques.” If “Barabbas” is the grand entrance, this one’s the moody exit. It’s slower, softer, but still packs a punch. There’s a rawness to the lyrics that feels personal, like Chelon scribbled them down during a late-night existential crisis. The melody lingers long after the last note fades, which is impressive considering how many decades have passed since its release. Honestly, if someone remade this today, I’d totally stream it on repeat while pretending to be deep on Instagram.
What’s wild about this album is how unapologetically itself it is. Sure, some parts feel dated (hello, vintage production quirks), but isn’t that part of the charm? Listening to it now feels like stepping into a time machine where everyone smoked Gauloises, wore berets, and debated philosophy in cafés. And hey, props to Georges for making music that doesn’t sound like everything else from the era. He wasn’t chasing trends; he was doing his own thing, even if that meant naming an album something Google Translate struggles with.
In the end, Barabbas Prends Tes Cliques Et Mes Claques is less of an album and more of a vibe. It’s imperfect, slightly confusing, and yet weirdly unforgettable—kind of like that one friend who always shows up wearing mismatched socks. Give it a spin if you’re tired of playlists that blend together faster than milkshakes in July. Just don’t blame me when you start humming “Barabbas” in the shower tomorrow morning.
Oh, and fun fact: Did you know Barabbas was also the name of a prisoner in the Bible? Coincidence? Probably. But now you’ll never unhear it every time you press play.
