Photo credit to Berny Sèbe.
Indochine. If the group remains clouded in obscurity for most Brits, the following which this nascent 80s new-wave icon commands a short hop across the Channel needs no further introduction.
From the heart of Paris to the depths of rural Provence, French citizens unable to recall at least a handful of their prolific number-one hits are few and far between. Indeed, the legendary aura and astonishing work rate surrounding Indochine seem to have passed like a cultural heirloom from one generation of listeners to another. It is a fact to which the author of this piece can himself bear testament, having been introduced to two of the band’s most memorable melodies (L’Aventurier, Le Troisième Sexe) during an ear-splitting Chambéry University student karaoke night. Combined with a run of concerts and legendary tours which as recently as May this year saw the 100 000-capacity Stade de France arena sell out within days, Indochine’s four-decade grip on the collective French imagination is well and truly on par with the likes of David Bowie, The Rolling Stones, or even The Beatles.
The reader can only imagine the author’s astonishment when he learnt that band frontrunner and lead vocalist, Nicola Sirkis, would be gracing Oxford with his presence as a discussion soirée’s very special guest.
It would seem that Le Cinéma et la Culture Francophone en Fête, Oxford’s French-language cultural society and organiser of the soirée in question, has quite the habit of enticing the continent’s greatest artistic personalities to the city of dreaming spires. The star-studded list of names to have appeared under the spotlights of lecture rooms and college theatres is too lengthy to reproduce in its entirety: standout highlights might include César-winning actor Richard Anconina, director-cum-musician Sylvain Chomet, or acclaimed singer-songwriters Alain Souchon and Francis Cabrel. In this regard, Nicola Sirkis’s latest appearance is clearly a statement of the society’s intent as they return from a Coronavirus-induced hiatus with a bang – and much to the delight of Oxfordshire’s sizeable French cultural contingent.
The number of audience members filing into the venue with vinyl, autograph collections, and other treasured Indochine memorabilia in hand was hard to miss on the night itself. Equally conspicuous were the Oxford students who, as the excitement brewed at the very mention of the star’s arrival, realised the magnitude of what they were attending. Spotlights flickering into action for a punctual six o’clock start, Nicola came escorted into the premises under raucous applause and the watchful eye of his security detail, greeting the audience with a confidence transplanted directly from television screens or music videos into the three dimensions of real life.
Seated a mere handful of metres from the stage, the proximity underpinning the event was surreal. Discussions of history, genesis, artistic inspiration, and the process of musical composition itself (this latter reportedly spontaneous to the point of ‘laziness’) were all accompanied by the humanity of a furrowed eyebrow or a pensive hesitation as Nicola mused on how he might attack the topic at hand. Indeed, as interviewer Michaël Abecassis’s careful probing gave way to general questions from the audience, the singer would make a conscious effort to meet the gaze of his interlocutor with the same attentiveness and reflection that an Oxford tutor may well exhibit. No wonder as to why the soirée had been billed as a rencontre or ‘encounter’: this unique format systematically displaced Indochine’s lofty, epic public image down to the realities of everyday life, one intimate question at a time.
Yet it is precisely this sort of environment which permitted a deeper exploration of the realities of stardom, as well as the responsibilities that come with it. Casting his mind back to the band’s first ground-breaking record deal of the early 80s or the ebbs of the mid-90s, Nicola’s tone betrayed a hint of retrospective anxiety which he explained as a personal and professional sense of duty: to do both his fans and his band justice. Meticulously looking after much-loved vocal cords; pushing for an ever-greater rate of music output; remaining true to one’s sound in the face of highs and lows; jotting down scraps of inspiration in a notebook for future use. Savouring, on-stage, the palpable expectation from thousands of fans in a split second before the opening number’s first note. Striving for more than what has already been achieved: decade after decade, day-in, day-out.
With the discussion drawing to a close, Nicola offered a rare opportunity for photographs and signatures prior to his departure. The theatre’s capacity might well have been limited to one hundred and fifty attendees: it nonetheless took the combined efforts of Indochine’s bodyguards and Magdalen College porters to form something vaguely resembling an orderly queue.
As one of the organisers would quip shortly afterwards, ‘it would be impossible to recreate this sort of thing in France without starting a full-blown riot and having to call in the army’.