Françoise Hardy, who has died of cancer aged 80, shot to fame as part of France’s génération yé-yé, the jaunty transatlantic and cross-channel collision between French chanson and American rock’n’roll that also produced Johnny Hallyday and France Gall. But from the start, there was something that set her apart: a wistfulness, a sentimental self-reflection, a poise that belied a lifelong shyness and insecurity. A 60s icon, as big, for a while, in London as in Paris, Hardy was, in many ways, the antithesis of that restive, revolutionary decade.
Unlike her contemporaries, when she sang of love it was about “suffering and frustration, illusion and disillusion; wretched, profound, endless questioning”. Her songs, she told Le Monde, were a necessary outlet: “I wrote about my experience … A beautiful, melancholic melody is what best transcends the pain.”
