He was the irritating pint-sized, wet-look Belgian who seized the reigns of punk rock and made a laughing stock out of the movement with his frenetic (and, darn it, very catchy) 1978 hit single, Ca Plane Pour Moi. It rocketed him to international fame, albeit briefly, for after this song there were no more Top 10 or Top 20 hits.
His initial path to glory came in mid-1970s Belgian bands such as The Bisons and Hubble Bubble. Following a spell of classical studies, punk rock became the Next Big Thing.
Originally conceived as a song for its creator, Lou Depryjck (yes, there is a merry prankster theme developing here), Ca Plane Pour Moi was introduced to Irish and UK audiences by the sight of Bertrand pogoing on Top of the Pops as he recited quite possibly the most nonsensical lyrics outside of a Jonathan Richman album:
"Allez hop/La nana/Quel panard!/Quelle vibration!/De s'envoyer/Sur le paillasson/ LimΘe, ruinΘe, vidΘe, comblΘe/ You are the king of the divan!/ Qu'elle me dit en passant/Hou! Hou!Hou! Hou!/I am the king of the divan/Ca plane pour moi."
By the summer of 1978, Bertrand was a bona fide pop star, living the life of sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll. And what a naughty little boy he was: while holed up in a Cannes hotel room, he set fire to the curtains; in a New York hotel he smuggled an axe into his room (as you do) and proceeded to hack everything to pieces - and then he threw the debris out the window. The upside to the dysfunction appeared in Japan, where he was followed by hundreds of young girls who gracefully threw rose petals under his feet as he walked.
Such grandiose, girly tokens of appreciation wouldn't last for much longer, though, as Bertrand's career plummeted almost as fast it rose. He entered the 1980s as a cast member of Abracadabra, a musical inspired by Abba songs, in which he sang a song dedicated to his very large nose. Mon Nez, Mon Nez, Mon Nez (My Nose, My Nose, My Nose), was set to the tune of Money Money Money. By the mid-1980s, Bertrand had ballooned from a svelte, faux-punk rocker into a rotund figure of fun.
"My life spiralled into excess," he recalled. "I got so bloody fat I couldn't recognise myself, so I decided to stop." What happened next is, perhaps, a salutary tale for all one-hit wonders: Bertrand developed a passion for Scrabble, to the extent that he is now on the panel of the, ahem, Festival of Board Games. He also owns an art gallery, where he once hosted a show celebrating the varying charms of cows.
As if that wasn't enough, Plastic Bertrand is currently involved in promoting classical music from the Russia of the Tsars. As our friends in the tabloids would say - you couldn't make it up. Quelle vibration, indeed!
