A gray autumn afternoon in Paris, damp and cold. Inside Le Troisieme Bureau, a cafe a few blocks off Place Republique, it was warm, unpretentious, and insulated from the tourist swarm.
The food was good but the music was better. When John Lee Hooker segues into Mozart’s Requiem you pay attention. It was such good music it never occurred to me I was listening to a radio station.
There could not have been a better spot to discover FIP, one of the Radio France stations. FIP describes itself as “curious and demanding” and the station can indeed be demanding… long stretches of contemporary Arabic music don’t always settle well. Neither do the occasional high-pitched oriental women chirping syrupy stanzas over discordant strings.
Set aside some of the extremes and you are left with a stunning experience. Consider these segues.
- Handel’s Messiah into Erykah Badu
- Suzanne Vega into Dvorak’s New World Symphony
- Massive Attack into Mozart’s Piano Concerto 27
But FIP turns out to be more than thoughtfully interwoven contemporary and classical music. More than musical accents of Africa, Brazil and gems from the Great American Songbook. It establishes a mood that oscillates through a deliberate lack of consistency. You don’t listen to FIP to get jacked up or to calm yourself down. It is simply there for the taking.
The station stakes out a middle ground of tempo. Many of the songs simply drift by. And many demand attention.
Cover versions are particularly intriguing. When Nina Simone moans through an early and somewhat obscure Bee Gees’ tune, “I Can’t See Nobody,” the hopeless despair is haunting. When Ben Sidran covers Dylan’s “Gotta’ Serve Somebody” the song is transformed from a harsh admonition to a cheeky acceptance of the inevitable.
You hear people you know like Prince, Rickie Lee Jones and George Harrison.
People who have pretty much fallen through the cracks such as Julie London, Josephine Baker and Betty Carter.
Relative unknowns such as Bathaddak, Roudoudou, Tony Hymas and Omar Pene.
Jazz artists such as John Coltrane, Sidney Bechet, Wes Montgomery and Herbie Hancock.
Mainstream French pop from contemporary artists such Jean Louis Murat, sixties stalwarts such as Serge Gainsbourg and fifties crooners such as Eddie Constantine.
American songs that have rarely, if ever, been played on American radio stations. “As the Crow Flies” by Tony Joe White seems to work better for Parisians than it does for us.
The air staff… all women. All sublimely French and full of sub rosa seduction.
They don’t have to try. It is as if they have been coached to approach but never cross the line into overt on air sultriness. Yet each woman sounds as if she has recently and reluctantly emerged from a warm bed to which she could eagerly return at a moment’s notice.
These state-employed sirens read brief station IDs, time checks, and announcements of Parisian cultural events.
Diligent sounding men read the news every hour. You get weather and traffic. There is no advertising. But this doesn’t mean the station doesn’t motivate listeners to consume. FIP becomes an expensive habit, as you jot down the names of tunes you like and check the iTunes store to see what’s available.
