Ne Me Quitte Pas

Natacha Atlas’ 2001 album Ayeshteni translates from Arabic to ‘rebirth’ or ‘you have given me life.’ It includes a cover of Jacques Brel’s 1959 big hit Ne Me Quitte Pas or ‘don’t leave me’ in French. Brel wrote the song in response to being thrown out of his mistress’ life and expresses his pain and yearning in a very poetic scheme. At first, I wondered why she might have recorded such a song—perhaps due to her desire to blend Arabic into European, and giving it that twist with varied vocalization styles. In an interview with Onda Rock, however, she responded that “I try to find songs with really good words and good melodies. That’s all,” and by taking an original song and transcribing it in Arabic gives it a completely different transformation and feel (Fabretti). The songs are about that continual change, a flexible, working piece that can be molded with an inherited diversity. She wants her music to be portrayed as exotic, full of emotion, like in traditional Arabic, but distinguishable enough so that one can recognize the roots of the song. “In the process of translating these classic songs to her more world-tinged template, Atlas realized that her skill for negotiating the space between two very disparate things had carried over into her music as well” (Pytlik).

In addition to Atlas’ 2001 version, Ne Me Quitte Pas was also covered by Nina Simone in 1965 and Sting in 1993. When comparing all to Brel’s original, I’ve been recognizing the underlying themes of powerful emotion expressed in different ways with empathic lyrics. The original begins with a very high-pitched, almost eerie solo violin, when equally high piano tones introduce Jacque’s Brel’s contrastingly deep voice. As I mentioned, the lyrics are very poetic, almost as if Brel is reciting them with diction rather than a completely fluid and traditional melody. The tone is extremely melancholy and solitary, as the piano is the voice’s only accompaniment. The second verse is starkly powerful, with lots of gusto that truly makes the listener empathize with Brel. Some of the verses indicate Brel’s longing to be reunited with his love, for his identity is only found in her, much like Atlas’ quest in discovering what exactly her identity is or means when her heritage is rooted in places all over the globe. Brel’s lyrics hold an aspiration, one that he claims to make real for his love, and all the while the audience feels the indulgent power of his prose. It ends more calmly again, with a trilling piano and violin crescendo slowly fading as Brel repeats a pleading ‘Ne me quitte pas.’ Nina Simone’s take on the tune is generally much faster as her voice starts right in, this time with full orchestral instrumentation. The words are slightly more drawn out with vibrato and she possesses the same emphasis on verses two and four. Her uniquely deep voice is also broken up by short instrumental interludes between the verses. Sting’s version relates more to the original in the duet with the piano. Yet, he takes even more liberty with the words and tones, often pausing and lingering to draw attention to the line. His is the only cover where I did not recognize as much of a contrast with verses two and four, as his voice was deeply passionate throughout, practicing a more flowing melody in contrast to Brel’s poetic sense. He ends in the same way as the original, though, with a definite slowing of tempo mimicked by the sole piano as he holds a harmonic chord.

Natacha Atlas brings an even greater transformation of Brel’s hit. The instrumentation is completely different and the introduction almost sounds upbeat at first. There are evident Western popular influences right away, also with a tambourine and tinny-sounding percussion. When her voice starts in, I am reminded of Brel in that the lines seem more recited, like powerful poetic statements and maybe not taking as much liberty as Sting does, for example. The one lyrical addition, of all four artists, is in Atlas’ cover where she adds the line, 'ma t'siibinish' in between lines of the chorus. The phrase is Arabic, meaning 'don't leave me' or 'ne me quitte pas.' This addition brings further Arabic influence to the song, as she literally takes Brel's original title and translates it so that listeners can also hear the juxtaposition of its sound against the French language. At this part of the song, she continues to undulate her voice with ‘melisma.’ She, again, adds the same passion to verses two and four, while the instrumentation, interestingly, sounds more Arabic and grows louder. Atlas does take freedom with the chorus, however, carrying her voice through the Arabic interludes. In the final verse, I finally heard the original piano along with her twist of Arabic instruments when they all concluded and….you think the song is over. All of a sudden, after a pause, Atlas continues to repeat the chorus in Arabic style, with much liberty and emotion here.