The now well-established French star responds to prudish critics with the hilarious Le Pornographe. No less hilarious is his irreverent poke at death with Les funérailles d’antan. On a more serious note, he masters the short verse form with Le vieux Léon, while Bonhomme is what then equally famous Claude Nougaro will sing in homage at his funeral, many years later.

Poetry takes center stage here, with no less than three Paul Fort poems that Brassens simply recites, which is touching but breaks the musical flow. That being said, the record holds classics like L’orage and Le mécréant, while the fair sex is beautifully served with paeans that range from tongue-in-cheek, tender, delicious to sublime (Pénélope).

Brassens was totally in the limelight by this time – uncomfortably so to his taste – so he fired back at media and fame with the irresistible Les trompettes de la renommée. He also harkens back to his humble beginnings with the moving Jeanne – a suitable companion piece to his earlier Chanson pour l’auvergnat. Always defensive of being labelled a poet, he nevertheless pens a flawless poem with Dans l’eau de la claire Fontaine, and it’s only the beginning of a delightful album full of tenderness, humour and expletives.

Brassens’ songwriting seems to only improve like a good wine with age. He fires off with an hymn to friendship that will quickly become an anthem for his fans and everyone else (Les copains d’abord) and then proceeds to get into hot water with Les Deux Oncles which tackles the troublesome heritage of WW II, pitting resistant against collaborator. An odd choice, and I won’t feed the polemic that rages on to this day but will simply remind the listener that Brassens goes on to confirm the hellish stupidity of that war with La tondue. As for the other songs, they’re all standouts.

My personal favourite, this is the album that I’d take to the proverbial desert island. Brassens is at his writing peak and from start to finish the songs absolutely shine. They are also perfectly served by the intimacy of their unique recording setting. No frills, just plain goodness. Mind you, this did not stop me from reinventing them my way…

La supplique… (see IX above) was a tough act to follow and Brassens took his time. He delivers a musically rich collection that demonstrates his constant evolution as a tunesmith with gorgeous adaptations of poems by Lamartine (Pensées des morts) and again Jean Richepin (Les oiseaux de passage), while ‘non-poet’ Brassens offers a true fable for our ages (La rose, la bouteille et la poignée de main). Always on his creative mind, women get the sweet and sour treatment with the raucous Misogynie à Part and the loving Rien à Jeter (a fitting way to describe the whole album).

Ha ha Georges, now that’s a good one! He fires off the most fabulous rhyme in a French song that will find its way on every tongue (Fernande). He follows it up with a melancholy ditty from a totally unknown poet (Les passantes), that soon some will dub their favourite Brassens song ever. Add Quatre-vingt-quinze pour cent and Le blason and ladies are bound to relish the attention. For some obscure reason Mourir pour des idées which picks up where Les deux oncles left off still manages to stir some controversy… go figure!

Originally released under the really imaginative title ‘New Songs’, the disc will sadly turn out to be Brassens’ last one and is to be treasured as such. The bittersweet opener Trompe la mort hits closer to the truth than we could then imagine. But then, the closer Mélanie is a riotous raspberry toward the studio executives who would repeatedly implore Brassens to please tone it down. It is a most fitting coda to a most extraordinary recording career.