Rest

May 19, 2019

Actress and musician, Charlotte Gainsbourg, whose career began with the controversial “Lemon Incest” duet that she and her father, iconic singer-songwriter Serge Gainsbourg, performed when she was just 12 years old, has just released her first book. “Rest” — published by our favorite Parisian bookshop, Classic Paris — is an incredibly personal collection of photographs, drawings, notes and lyrics that the Gainsbourg created in New York, Paris and London while making her most recent album of the same name.

We met just following her book signing, which was powered by the iconic IDEA books, at the recently opened Dover Street Market in Los Angeles. Glass of wine in hand to overcome my nerves, I had a quick conversation with Charlotte concerning the book, the death of her father and her performances at Coachella that weekend.

Text by Paige Silveria
Photos by Johnny Le

How do you like being in LA?

For a short time it’s fun. A lot of fun. I’ve been here for long periods of time when I wasn’t working and it became depressing. I think it’s best when you have a project, when you're working on something and busy. I think it's a great place to be. It’s quite inspiring. Maybe it’s the isolation. But it’s sort of — I don’t mean to be rude — beautiful in the ugliness. There is a lot of decay, withering around the corners. Yeah, it’s quite dark, a lot of sides of it.

Tell me about the book. When did you decide to make it?

Oh, I didn't know that I would release a book. I would have found it pretentious to think about it from the start.

Why pretentious?

Because I’m not a photographer. I’m not an artist. You know? Not a painter. But it was fun, realizing that once the album was done, I had a lot of things that had accompanied me during the making of the album. A lot of it was visiting this cemetery where my sister is in Paris. And in relation to that, it was my new life in New York. The isolation in the cemetery in this very busy city. And a lot of auto portraits during that time. My friend Natalie, who was with me all of the time, she saw me draw, she saw le matériel. She saw the amount of stuff that I had. And she said it would be fun to make a book. So she was the one who persuaded me and who sort of put it together. I wanted it to be very random; there wasn't a story to tell behind the book, apart from what was going on in my head during the making of the album. That's it.

It’s the visual representation.

It's like a scrapbook, really, of me trying a bit of everything — photography, drawing, the beginning to the lyrics, which was a real process for me because I hadn’t done it in the past. I didn't feel I was confident enough to write them. I think the fact that I was in New York, there was a freedom. So it came together there. It's very obvious now why.

Like an anonymity.

Yeah. And it's a city that I didn't know and that I discovered little by little, but it wasn't an inspiration for the album. I never thought of New York as an inspiration. It was just the fact that I was on my own, discovering and escaping my old life with my children, with Yvan. Everything was new.

You didn't have that baggage.

Heavy baggage. It was a completely new sky, which was very exciting. And also the fact that in New York, or LA, I guess, everybody does everything. It's not that big a deal to write lyrics, or to take a few pictures, or to draw. Everybody is being an artist; having fun with it is not being pretentious. So, I found it very liberating.

Can you explain more about what your time in the cemetery was like?

Initially I avoided the cemetery because my father is there too. And because he died when I was 19, and being who he was, the cemetery was always filled with people, and so it wasn't a place I wanted to go to. And because of the depressing image for me. I preferred to go to his house, which I bought and left everything as it was. That was my cemetery during all those years. When my sister died it was completely different in the sense that I needed to talk about her. I needed to make her a part of my life still, and going to the cemetery was so obvious. I needed a place to visit, to talk. And I found myself like those little old ladies going to visit their époux, their husbands. It was a place that didn't scare me anymore. It's funny because with my father, it was a nightmare.

You were so young as well.

I was very young. I wasn't a kid, but I was in a very depressed time. So he only saw that. And I had so many questions; I had so many things I wanted to share. And it was at a time where I was going to live with him again, because I was so distressed, so it was really the starting point of something that was taken away. So, I had no more legs, and this cemetery was the last place I wanted to go to. But I met Yvan right at that time, so he was so important at that time. I realize, with being together for 28 years, I realize the patience he had those first years. Like eight years of having someone you have to drag along. (Laughs)

I can imagine such an experience would bond people in a way that no other circumstances will. What was it like performing Coachella? You did 10 years beforehand, right?

Yep.

Must be such an interesting experience— with all the other acts and the characters in the audience and everything.

It's very ... when you realize that you're nothing, you have to become very modest. That people next to you are so huge, it's hard to understand what you're doing there, you know? Like, are people really coming to see me? No, not really. They're just passing by. But people were very, very warm, which was just a big surprise. Each time was a big surprise. The first Coachella I did, I was such a beginner. It was my fifth concert. It was so overwhelming.

I can only imagine with so many people … there are like 125,000 tickets sold.

It was exhilarating, really exhilarating, compared to the four other shows I had done before. This, I couldn't relate it to anything else. It was a wonderful first experience. After the first performance, I found it hard knowing that you have two to do. It's not just this one performance. No, you have to go back and be better the second time. I like progress.

What do you mean when you say you have to be better?

To be more at ease, to have fun, and if possible — not sure I could get there — but to not be stressed. People are there to have fun. And I realized that, once I went on the other side of the stage, and had fun looking at other artists. That's the point, really.

Tell me about yourself. Who are you?

I hope I'm changing, I hope I'm not the same as I was yesterday, and... I have this sort of evolution, in a good way. But I wouldn't be able to define myself, and I wouldn't want to. That's why when people ask, “You're more of an actress or a singer? What do you prefer doing, if you had to let go of one?” That's why I just did photography and drawing; I don't want to have to choose. I don't want to have to explain anything, really. And I thought that writing my own lyrics would finally give me a chance to not have to explain, you know, because everything is there. Everything you want to say is there. But no, people want explanation. (Laughs) I like keeping things a little secret. Today, we have Instagram, and the media. You feel that you have to give everything, and I love the idea that I have secrets.

Today, we have Instagram, and the media. You feel that you have to give everything, and I love the idea that I have secrets.

You just opened your Instagram account. How do you feel about that?

It took me a very long time, because I didn't feel that it was legitimate. I felt that I was completely the opposite of Instagram, the opposite of doing selfies and just in what I wanted.

What changed?

I want to tell people that I'll be in that city, doing a concert, in two weeks. But it's not only to promote my tour because, if not, I would have done it two years ago. I think it's a pity not to take advantage of that kind of media. I don't do it spontaneously at all. I like to think about it as work. I like working, so I like to imagine that it's not my private life, but it's a vision of a bit of who I am—who I want to be, what I like. And why not take advantage of that? Maybe I'll stop in a month (laughs). That's the thing, is to be able to be consistent, because doing a tour, it's easy to be inspired with your own work. When I'm back in my private life, cooking for my children, I'm not sure I want to share my meals.

What were you like as a child?

I wrote a song about that; it's called “Les Crocodiles.” I felt so different. I was such a free, free human being. Not to say that I was happy and everything was jolly, but I was so... intègre... whole. I didn't doubt myself. I felt very confident. And then, suddenly, the confidence was sort of pulled off my skin. I became very vulnerable.

When did that happen and why?

I don't know. My parents split when I was nine, but I don't think it affected me in a very dramatic way, because I was able to have my father to myself in a very selfish way. But, I don't really know. I was happy to do films, to be suddenly recognized for myself and not the daughter of my parents. So that was a big step, but maybe it meant looking at myself a lot, at an age where you're not comfortable. I remember doing interviews and that I didn't know what to say. I had nothing to say. And I didn't like the words I chose; I was so picky about everything. Everything was important. So, I think that was maybe a place where my childhood had gone away, I think. So quite early, at 12.

Wow. I can't imagine all the pressure of choosing words for cameras…

Yeah, just also understanding what people wanted to know about at that time. I do remember my sister, Kate, when I used to say, “Ah, my childhood was so, so beautiful, remember those times in Nottingham?” She would say, “But we were so bored. Our parents were never there. We didn't know what to do.” She had that dull recollection, and I was all flowery with my beautiful memories.

You’ve described your childhood as mysterious. What did you mean by that?

Not mysterious. I think it was just very... I used to talk to things. I used to talk to objects. I used to have a person that accompanied me, that I would have a dialogue with. So it was sort of a fantasy world that I really was very, very attached to. I think that made me very confident, and I had no doubts about where I was, who I was, what I wanted. I was very stubborn, very stubborn and very... how do you say, cholérique? Bad-tempered.

I interviewed Connan Mockasin, a few months ago, and he was talking about his time with you, and he said it was just so lovely.

Oh, I love him. It was the first time I was able to tour and have fun. It was wonderful because the musicians were so talented, and I felt really lucky to have such professionals with me. But I felt like a total beginner, and being my age as a beginner was weird. So, it felt as if I was pretending to be the professional I wasn't. So, I didn't really share much with my band because something was off, you know? With Connan, it was great. He made me feel so comfortable with the fact that he didn't know what he was doing, and everything was accidents, and that was part of the fun. And also, sharing the stage with someone made me relax. He also was the first person who made me write. After that tour we did together, he said, “I know you can't write lyrics, and we have to just be in a quiet place. I'll come up with melodies, and you have to come up with words.” And I remember, [my daughter] Joe was a baby. She was one. And that's what we did all day in a little cottage I had in Brittany. And it worked! He made melodies, and the words were coming, and I wasn't that embarrassed. It was great because it opened a door, completely. So that's really thanks to him. And then we kept in contact, and he's such a peculiar person. I love his personality!

I know! Have you seen the film, Bostyn and Dobsyn he recently released?

No, I haven’t. He's a real performer. He's a real character, performer, very authentic, and... And his band was so close, so close to him and his personality, everything was wonderful together.

Yeah, and it’s interesting that he didn’t study music in any traditional sense. He kind of just taught himself how to do everything and his mom pushed him to begin his career on his own terms. And you come from a family, obviously, of music. It's interesting for you to feel comfortable with him, where he literally just figured it out on his own.

Yeah, but with my family, there were no rules. Everybody did everything. I'm so thankful to understand that my father proposed things in a very heavy way. Because he did songs and I sang them with him. It was very obvious. There was nothing awkward or embarrassing. And my mother also, she was much more tactful in a sense that she left a note saying, “If you want to go to this casting, they're looking for a girl your age.” She didn't even say “You should try,” she just was very open. And I went—I can't remember what I had in my mind—but surely, I wanted something. I remember doing the casting, and then being so nervous, and... And then, when there were only two left, and I was still in the game. So exciting! A part of me, even at that very young age, part of me really wanted to be in that realm. But my parents didn't do it in a very professional, you know, “You have to,” or “This is how you do things.”

What are you doing next? You’re making a documentary about your mom?

Yeah, but it's still on hold. I have to understand where I'm going with it. Nothing's done. I just want to get into a new album, that's my goal. I know that I'm very slow, it took me four years for this one, so, hopefully, it will take less than four to get to where I need to go, and where I want to go. But around music, for sure.

And where would you do it, in New York?

That, I don't know, because Yvan, my partner, is completely fed up with New York. He works in France, so it's hard for him to commute all the time. So we've had a complicated organization till now. I want to stay, but we’ll see. I do believe that I need to be inspired by a place. Not write about the place, but to be able to write in good conditions.

I understand that. Maybe London?

I thought that I could, and then I went there, and no I don’t think it will work. I was born there, but it's very intimidating for me. It's very intimidating.

'Rest' by Charlotte Gainsbourg, is out now.

With my family there were no rules. Everybody did everything.

Culture

The Club Is Coming to the Stage

We enter and make our way to what is approximately front left of the DJ booth, where we’re accustomed to dancing at clubs in New York. “So is this a techno club or a dance performance?” yells an uncertain participant in my boyfriend’s ear. He laughs, bouncing along to Ben UFO, and yells back, “It’s both!” The club has long been a hot topic in European contemporary dance but it is only now making its way into New York performance venues, largely through transatlantic tours. R.O.S.E. follows recent examples like Michele Rizzo’s HIGHER xtn. at MoMA PS1 (May 2024), (LA)HORDE’s Room with a View at NYU Skirball (October 2023), and Gisèle Vienne’s Crowd at BAM (October 2022).

Do these performances compromise the club’s spirit — a space idealized for its anonymity, dark lighting, and thundering music? The notion of the club as a utopian escape is admittedly just that — an ideal — because of how its intense conditions can create barriers to entry. Still, the club remains sacred for many, a place to forge connections and embrace an alternative state of being. Looking at how performances transfer this spirit to new settings reveals what aspects of the club are essential and those that aren’t.

Sharon Eyal, R.O.S.E. 2024. Photography by Stephanie Berger, courtesy of Park Avenue Armory.

Eyal’s dancers make their entrance. The lighting shifts from roving blue to yellow spotlights as Ben UFO’s tracks transition to more melodic beats. Clad in deconstructed lace Dior lingerie with dark red tears painted on their faces, the dancers move cautiously in a tightly maintained pack, slicing paths through the horde with hoof-like steps and jerky leg extensions. After around ten minutes of this controlled choreography, the dancers vanish as the lighting shifts back to blue and Ben UFO picks up his dubby beats. The club, as we knew it, resumes. This cycle of tightly executed movements and free-flowing club-goers repeats several times, each time emboldening the dancers to plunge further into the crowd.

Clubbing in a building once built for the U.S. Army National Guard on Manhattan’s Upper East Side turns out to be surprisingly successful — at least for the audience. What starts as an awkward, scattered group searching for their non existent seats gradually gels into an engaged, bouncing crowd that erupts in cheers each time the dancers enter and exit. Performance patrons who might never step foot in a club find themselves swept up in its potential for communion, moving in unison with fellow ticket holders. But it isn’t until the very end of R.O.S.E. that the dancers finally break free from Eyal’s choreography and join the fired-up audience in a brief moment of improvisatory movement with the music. By keeping her dancers at arm’s length, Eyal seems more interested in the club as a backdrop for her signature movement style than wholly as a space with meaningful stories to be told.

Michele Rizzo, HIGHER xtn. 2024. Photography by Cameron Kelly courtesy of MoMA PS1.

Back in May, I attended Wire Festival, a multiday electronic music event at Knockdown Center that had no shortage of organically united dancefloors. It attracted a crowd of seasoned ravers who were eager to celebrate the start of spring as they danced alongside DJs who played well into the daylight. I left Wire in an afternoon daze to see Michele Rizzo’s HIGHER xtn. at MoMA PS1. My sleepless euphoria only deepened as the performance unfolded, starting with a lone dancer who looked plucked out of the festival.

The dancer, dressed in sneakers, baggy jeans, and a tight tank top, shuffled slowly into the gallery, perfectly in sync with the looping bars of an understated electronic melody. Soon, other dancers, clad in the same staple rave uniform, joined him — each having traveled from Europe for the U.S. museum debut of HIGHER xtn., which premiered at the Stedelijk in Amsterdam in 2018 and quickly became a fixture at kunsthalles and festivals across the continent. As the score’s tempo climbed, the choreography locked into a 16-count sequence, which the dancers executed with precise synchrony. They remained intensely focused, never making eye contact with each other, as they sought release in the endless repetition of synthesized beats. Once the dancers reached their limit, they stopped the sequence and exited the gallery, one by one.

HIGHER xtn. used the focused daylight of the gallery to highlight the meditative release found in the repetitive movements that dominate dark dancefloors. The performance’s restraint brought more consistency and intentionality than Eyal’s all-encompassing club construction in R.O.S.E. Yet both performances offer enticing entry points into club culture for those who may not frequent raves. Rizzo’s ecstatic, hypnotic repetitions reveal how the club can mirror other meditative practices, while Eyal’s interpolation of performance and clubbing helped hesitant audience members blossom by the end. Still, both works overlook one of the most underappreciated aspects of clubbing — its potential for individual expression. HIGHER xtn.’s pristine uniformity especially risks promoting the outdated techno trope that there’s a “right” way to dance to electronic music.

Maybe this shortcoming is, in fact, a benefit. For habitual ravers jaded by one too many sunrise sets, it’s a reminder to return to the club with more intention. If you pause and peer through the darkness, you’ll see hundreds of people moving to the same beat, each with their own subtle variations. This collective choreography is a ready-made spectacle that doesn’t need validation in a theater or museum. And when the music shifts slightly, you can watch the ripple effect sweep through the crowd while feeling the new beat in your body. Maybe this small bit of magic is best left on the dance floor.

Culture

Real Slick, Jack: Psyche Organic Arrives in New York

Shop Psyche Organic at Happier Grocery and Dimes. Coming soon to @citarellagourmetmarket @unionmarket @gourmetgarage @deciccos @fairwaymarket plus many more.

Culture

Porsche SCOPES Brings Art, Music, and Design to Toronto

The festival was a full immersion into Toronto’s dynamic creative energy. Day one set the tone with DJ collective Living Room, followed by an experimental performance by Claire Rousay that captivated the crowd. Jewelry designer Steff Eleoff unveiled her Porsche Taycan 4S art car installation—a bold fusion of automotive and wearable art inspired by her Sedona ring—while OVO Sound’s Naomi Sharon and DVSN wrapped up the night with powerful, genre-defying performances.

We witnessed SCOPES Toronto bridging underground and mainstream with day two’s lineup. DJ Korea Town Acid’s set paved the way for Angelphroot and Dameer’s debut of BASSMATI, a track blending South Asian influences with bass-driven sounds. Chippy Nonstop’s return to Toronto and Richie Hawtin’s extended set were milestones of the evening, proving that the city’s underground scene has a global resonance.

The final day featured standout performances from local pianist Harrison, Indigenous artist Tia Wood, and hip-hop visionary Sean Leon, who elevated his set with a live choir. Moonshine Collective’s film and musical performance explored themes of African utopia, showcasing art’s power to bridge culture and technology. Rising Toronto star SadBoi, who paused her tour to perform at SCOPES, further underscored the festival’s commitment to nurturing local talent.

Throughout the weekend, we experienced installations from artists like Mitsu Mitsu and culinary creations from Bar Mordecai, capturing the multifaceted creativity Porsche SCOPES brought to Toronto. This milestone 10th edition, open to all, allowed Toronto’s vibrant arts scene to thrive, underscoring SCOPES’ mission to celebrate local talent while connecting it to a global audience.

office had the chance to connect with rising star SadBoi ahead of the event. In our conversation, she shared insights into her creative journey and reflected on what performing and growing up in Toronto means to her and her work.

How are you, and where are you at right now? You told me you were traveling.

Um, I’m good, I’m feeling really good right now. I’m traveling back to Salt Lake City. I had a show yesterday in Seattle. I’m on tour right now with Coco and Claire.

How is touring life treating you? Do you like it?

I love being on the road. To be honest, I feel like I don’t know—like I’ve had good experiences and bad ones—but this time it’s really fun, especially with the people I’m surrounded by. It’s also the longest tour I’ve been on; I have about four more weeks to go. I’m trying not to think about how many days I have left.

Do you feel homesick?

Yes, because when I start thinking about how many days are left, I start to miss my dogs. I’ve just been trying to stay in the moment—I don’t even know what day of the week it is, to be honest with you.

Oh, sweet! What are your dogs’ names?

Jillian and Winston. I know, they’re crazy names.

You’ll be performing at SCOPES in Toronto, which is where you grew up. Do you feel like the crowd is different when you perform in Toronto compared to other cities?

Yes, I mean, Toronto just feels different because it’s home. Every time I come back to perform, something in my career has changed. The last time I performed in Toronto, people just wanted to have a good time, and I’m excited to perform back home again to see everyone’s reactions. I know it’s going to be different from the last time. It’s exciting to see your own growth. Toronto is a tough crowd, though. If we’re with you, we’re really with you.

So, they’re super picky? You have to gain their respect, or what is it?

I think Toronto people are in their own world, but when something really connects with them, they’ll lose themselves in the moment. But it takes something to bring them out of that. Toronto crowds are tough because even if they like you, they won’t show it outright until they’re really vibing with you.

It’s like a vibe check, right?

Exactly. They’ll enjoy your performance, but it’s hard to explain. When people visit Toronto, they often say, “Oh, you guys are so nice,” and I’m like, “I don’t think we’re that nice, we’re just polite.” Like, you can walk down the street, and no one will say anything, but it’s just our mannerisms.

You mentioned Toronto can have a moody energy, especially at night, and that the underground night scene there really inspires you. Can you talk more about what makes Toronto's nightlife so influential for you?

Absolutely, Toronto has this unique energy that comes alive at night. Similar to New York, there are the popular clubs everyone knows, but you need to find your niche—the people who know where the real parties are. I remember going to raves in high school yards, sneaking in because I wasn’t old enough. Events like Baby, Jerk!, and Yes Yes Y’all were pivotal, exposing me to DJs blending dancehall with EDM—something I hadn’t seen before. Toronto nightlife is moody and intense, but when everyone’s out, it’s like the whole city is alive.