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Here's what happens when an American performer sings in French toher American audience. A well-groomed twenty-something comfortably perchedon a couch yells, "Tell us what you're singing!" Other hipsters in theroom, by definition demure, clap and murmur in approval.
"Well, this song is called 'Mon Petit Ami,'" replies the performer,
the singer-songwriter who calls herself April March. "I'm singing
about a boyfriend, and wearing condoms and listening to rock
stations." Then she leads her four-piece band through a cheerful
song that sounds like what French schoolgirls would sing while
innocently skipping rope. Condoms? Rock stations? Many of March's
songs grow in the fertile terrain between being a girl and being a
woman, but this song would've driven Nabakov mad.
Tuneful, engaging and backed by an agile pop band, April March has
a language barrier to overcome. Suffering from a cold during her
performance at Tonic didn't help matters. Still, she made the best
of it and joked about the few notes she missed, croaking, "I don't
think Thera-Flu is good for the lower register." Her keyboard
player -- another indie rock songwriter, Jonny Polonsky -- played
the role of emcee, smarmily advertising the sale of April March
CDs, stickers and sewing kits (Yes, there really were April March
sewing kits on sale).
March counts Francoise Hardy among her biggest influences, and the sunny charm of Sixties-era French pop was very much in evidence. Despite her cold, March gamely sang the florid melodies of "Mignonette" and "Garcon Glacon" from her latest, Chrominance Decoder, with girlish, precise diction. Her muscular rhythm section of drummer Jason Batchko and bassist Steve Lack brought the songs a tight, light funk feel that white rockers almost never carry off these days. But even with the band's brio, March herself seemed bored onstage, clutching her microphone in one hand and barely moving. To be fair, she had a cold, but her excellent songs deserve more energetic performances -- especially since most of her audience can't understand French.
This problem was not in evidence on gentler songs, like the limpid "Martine," with its spare acoustic guitar and bongos. March sang this one beautifully, despite her illness. The set's high point was "Sugar," a mysterious cautionary tale sung in English over a churning beat. In it, March tells the story of a woman mistreated by her unkind lover in a dark forest, singing, "I was your girl / I had no fear / Till you took my sugar / And left me tears." Strangley, March revealed no anger in the performance, nor even annoyance. Instead, there was something a little cool about it. Her fans at Tonic seemed to enjoy the song nonetheless, but no one got carried away. Which is a bit of a shame, no one getting carried away over songs this good. If April March wants to enlarge her cult audience, she's going to have to add some live crackle to her snap and pop.
RODD McLEOD
(June 29, 1999)