I won’t make the claim that Paradis is a great singer, but there’s something about her purr — which can go low and throaty, or æthereal (especially when double-tracked) — that I find extremely pleasing. And the accompaniment, incorporating bits of country, soft pop, even dance music, is never obstreperous or saccharine.
French pop, like Hong Kong gangster films or Bollywood musicals, seems to have no qualms, no embarrassment about entertaining its audience, no need to appear superior to the genre. It’s an unselfconscious approach to pleasure that American pop could learn from. And it has few instructors as consistently delightful as Paradis.
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