RFI Musique: How did you approach the making of your new album?
Bernard Lavilliers: The main idea behind Samedi soir à Beyrouth was to have this sort of Jamaican base running throughout the album, but keep the possibility of adding a Middle Eastern touch over that. Originally, I thought Fairouz’s son, Ziad Rahbani, would take care of the string arrangements on the album, but with the onslaught of war in July 2006, that wasn’t really an option any more. It had to be put off. Anyway, we started working with these other musicians playing flute, reed saxophone and the ‘ud. We ended up with the title track, Samedi soir à Beyrouth, based on this really, really slow reggae beat. The track is pretty modal, actually. It’s more or less based on a single chord the entire way through the way Middle Eastern music is.

Why turn to Lebanon for inspiration on your new album?
Well, I’ve known Beirut since 1982. I went back out there on February 1st 2006 and I started writing about the city, how it had changed from the place I’d known before, since it had been rebuilt under Rafik Hariri [Ed.: The Lebanese prime minister between 1992 and 2004 who was assassinated in 2005]. The Lebanese are pretty strange when it comes to some things, like talking about the war, for instance. You’re not supposed to mention it, it’s considered bad taste. And I tried to translate that weird kind of atmosphere in the songs. It’s like you’re living somewhere with this war going on but it’s all kept under the surface of everyday life. People are in complete denial about the deaths of loved ones and you’ve got all this stuff going on with different clans as well as different religious factions. There are all these different layers to the problem. It’s extremely complicated. And at the same time the Lebanese go out and party like nowhere else in the world. They obviously have this urgent need to get out there and feel alive, because they know they can die tomorrow.
It was a very volatile situation. For instance, on Saturday night, I went out to see a concert in a venue called Le Music Hall. Then, on the Sunday, the Danish embassy was set on fire because of the cartoon caricatures of Mohamed. It was an extremely dangerous time where things could have tipped over into civil war at any minute. Given the tension in the air, I was amazed that the guns didn’t actually come out. It was at that point that I wrote a second song, Ordre Nouveau with the line "fear won’t kill us!" Maybe people listening to that song will think I’ve reverted to my anarchist past. But it’s not just about that. The rest of my new album wasn’t actually inspired by Beirut, but I have to say, my experiences there had a profound and lasting effect on me.

I know you recorded part of your new album in a famous studio in Kingston, Jamaica…
I love the way Jamaicans do those really slow, laidback beats. So, yes, I went out to record at the Tuff Gong studio where I’ve known quite a few of the musicians since 1979. What happened was I got them to sit down and listen to this really basic demo of what I wanted. I’d get up behind the mike and sing and we’d just do things over and over, a dozen times, until things came right and we recorded a final take.

And then you went out to another legendary music Mecca: Memphis, Tennessee…
Yes, I recorded two typical soul tracks over there - Ma belle and Je te reconnaîtrai. We worked in Willie Mitchell’s studio. He’s this veteran soul specialist who’s 80 years old now. He’s the only soul producer who’s still got a working studio. All the other famous studios like Stax are museums now. Working in Willie’s studio, we functioned the same way as in Kingston. I sang with the musicians and kept doing retakes until things felt right. That’s the only way you can be credible over there. If you don’t prove your worth, they treat you like a tourist and put in the strict minimum. After we’d done the vocals we got the studio guys to listen to Jamaican beats, asking them to add in strings, brass and even a bit of wah-wah guitar here and there. I actually got to meet Skippy, the guy who played guitar on Shaft. He’s a pretty amazing guy! But, you know, Memphis and reggae actually go back a long way. They know their stuff over there. It’s funny how in the U.S., people in different towns and states are just into their own music. They’re not interested in the rest. I think they found us pretty exotic. I’m not sure whether they’d ever come across a French singer using a reggae beat before!

What’s Memphis like?
he town centre is completely deserted - by 9 o’clock at night all the restaurants are shut! I used to get up early to go and do a bit of boxing at a local gym and it’s weird, at 7 in the morning there’s not a single car on the road! It’s like the town spontaneously combusted or something! Everything’s for sale. You get the impression everyone just walked out and left their stores. It’s like an old Gold Rush town, like the guys said, "OK, we didn’t find anything, so we’re moving on and leaving it all behind!"

There’s another song on your album where you turn the spotlight firmly back on France. Bosse (Work!) is an ironic take on a slogan used during the last French presidential election campaign. Are you taking some kind of political stand here?
Over the past year, the powers that be have kept banging on about how lazy the French are as a nation, how we don’t want to get out there and work. Apparently, we’re all either off on holiday all the time or signing on the dole!… But let me just say, my father worked hard, I work hard. We all have to work, there’s no way round it! But I’m not sure whether this idea of slaving away 24 hours a day is actually effective. The song’s a very tongue-in-cheek look at the work ethic. I’m not against the idea of working, this is me taking the piss out of political and media slogans. I shortened the famous phrase "work more to earn more!" to "Bosse!" (Work!) It’s got more of a swing to it! You could probably do a great video to the song - along the lines of Charlie Chaplin’s Modern Times!