Impossible à aimer

When Montreal singer-songwriter Béatrice Martin, aka Cœur de pirate, underwent vocal cord surgery in early 2021, she didn’t know if she’d ever be able to sing again. During her recovery, she recorded and released the instrumental album Perséides, which saw her lean hard on her trusty musical companion, the piano. Thankfully, Martin's voice makes a healthy return on the follow-up, Impossible à aimer, and she uses it to make peace with a part of herself: “The title [which translates to ‘Impossible to Love’] is an allusion to the fact that, since I started out in the late 2000s, my love life has been put on public display by the media, who mainly highlight the most tumultuous aspects using extremely sexist remarks,” Martin tells Apple Music. “No man would be treated like that. I actually got to a point where I thought I was the problem. But eventually I felt like setting the record straight.” In each of these songs, she dissects her past breakups as a way of starting fresh on more solid footing and focusing resolutely on brighter horizons, all through a vintage '70s lens. Here Martin talks through each of Impossible à aimer’s tracks.

“Une chanson brisée”
“I thought it would be fun to start off with a track with just piano and vocals, because afterwards the album progresses towards something with much more substance. It’s a response to someone who actually asked me if I was going to write a song about him if he hurt me.”

“On s’aimera toujours”
“This one was supposed to be at the very end, but I chose to put it here because I thought, with its disco vibe, it would be a good way to kick off the album. It’s a good summary of where all my reflections have led me. It talks about my current partner, who accepts me as I am, with all my fears and insecurities.”

“Une complainte dans le vent”
“It’s the story of two completely different people who fall in love all over again, and the questions that it raises—why didn’t it work out the first time around? I wanted a classic, timeless song, in the same vein as Alain Souchon’s ‘Foule sentimentale.’”

“Le Pacifique”
“This one dates back to 2011. I found it fitting to bring it out again here, because it’s about a relationship that went badly with someone who was fooling around elsewhere, who constantly needed to seek comfort from other people. Once again, it’s firmly rooted in the '70s, with a very cinematic feel to it that I really like.”

“Tu ne seras jamais là” (feat. Alexandra Stréliski)
“Initially, it was only me, vocals and piano, but I wanted it to sound less like Cœur de pirate, so I asked [pianist] Alexandra Stréliski to play on the track. I think the end result is really quite beautiful.”

“Dans l’obscurité”
“This is a tune I really like. It talks about a relationship I was in with a trans person, which made a lot of waves. Seeing how people reacted—some with acceptance, but many more with intolerance—was very difficult for me, but it was also very revealing. It hadn’t been planned at the outset, but quite naturally, and despite the sadness of the topic, the music went off on a disco tangent.”

“Tu peux crever là-bas”
“The title [‘You can die over there’] pretty much sums up what this song has to say. It’s a response to somebody who’s not worth it. People sometimes ask me why I waste my time on people like that, people who are real idiots. But for me, it’s very liberating. Obviously, I don’t want anybody to die.”

“Crépuscule”
“It’s the last song we did. It’s got a Michel Polnareff or Dalida sound to it. Me and Renaud Bastien, the producer I’ve been working with for over 12 years, felt like having some fun. I told him to cut loose, that if he wanted to do a massive guitar solo with a fade-out at the end, he could. I’m at a point in my career where I’m able to have fun, and not take myself too seriously.”

“Le monopole de la douleur”
“It’s a breakup song, but from the perspective of the person who decided to split up. This type of track often focuses more on the heartbreak experienced by the one who’s been jilted, but I felt like expressing empathy for the other person, and talking about the pain that person may also be feeling. It’s a track that’s guided solely by the harp. I wanted something very stripped down.”

“Hélas”
“I’d been wanting to try something with a vocoder for ages, and I indulged myself with this one. Because it’s a sort of lullaby that talks of restoring your faith in love after being really badly hurt, I thought it’d be interesting not to have any instruments at all. Just the lyrics, as though I’m all alone with my thoughts.”