The MTelus was almost full on this Tuesday of the Francos, although it was sparse at the back, but then, two MTelus on two consecutive nights is quite a contract for a French artist. Since the 90s, Katerine has been a fixture on the French pop scene, as much for his antics, his sense of provocation, his humor chiselled from the absurd, his recorder solos, as for the finesse of his pen and the critical distance he establishes with our human existences and a world that, all in all, makes far less sense than the one or ones we’d like to lend it.
Clownish from start to finish in almost two hours of laughter, he takes to the stage in imperial dress for The Queen of England, with a classical anthem in the background to match the costume. We then surround him as he changes suits to being naked, or almost, a little more covered than during his world-famous performance at the Paris Olympics. A crown of plants, a beard like God the Father, a thong outlining his fifty-something buttocks. Hilarious, no kidding!
By the third track, the togas of ancient Rome are now the order of the day for the singer and his acolytes, both male and female. Comment tu t’appelles is another soaring flight into the absurd. Êtres humains is then sung a cappella, the drums join in with the soloist’s voice and it culminates in Afrobeat.
Katerine puts on his bob, finds funny rhymes, and the funky groove does the work under his bob. West Indian pop for Total à l’Ouest, a Western delirium if ever there was one.
This is followed by the “zou” moment of the evening, first of all for Des bizoux interactifs, where the audience is asked to contribute, and then for the zou machine-gun blasts from the bridge of the next song, which concludes in punk-rock, a song dedicated to his dog Zouzou, who defecates slackly, among other daily activities. We know that Katerine is a master in the art of pipi-caca-poil, and we’re back for more!
A whole lot of ringtones get tangled up, and Au téléphone becomes a funk sung in a Bourvilian tone. For La banane, another gem of absurdist humor, a fan disguised as a yellow fruit is invited on stage, and everyone laughs.
We’re now ready for Marine LePen‘s rocky pursuit, written long before the icon of the French far-right acquired that status.
Katerine follows with Blond on a stoner rock background, then Liberté (my ass), Excuse-moi… until the explosion of Louxor, j’adore, his absolute hit where the sound is obviously cut, edited, recut and so on. The singer then dons a hallucinatory costume, a sort of giant squash painted pink.
At the encores, he returns in a white bathrobe, crowned, it’s Patati patata! where he enjoins his audience to chant ras l’bol repeatedly. DNA in pop-soul-jazz form and a crooner ballad for Des étoiles, followed by Amour (de maman), Parivélib (about cycling through Paris at night) and Patouseul in the near-final, a disco pop that couldn’t be more Parisian.
He concludes with Moment parfait, alone with his keyboard player, to underline the very real quality of this communion with his French-speaking American audience. Katerine and his team return to greet the audience with Beethoven’s Ode to Joy in the background, a fitting anthem indeed.
Photo: Victor Diaz Lamich
