Farewell to Nicole Croisille, the Timeless Voice of French Emotion
Today, I want to talk about someone who left a profound imprint on French music and cinema—Nicole Croisille. It’s with great sadness that we’ve learned of her passing at the age of 88, in Paris, following a long illness. And yet, even in the face of illness, her courage and strength never faltered. She fought until the very end, just like she lived—intensely, gracefully, and with deep artistic passion.
Nicole wasn’t just a singer; she was a dancer, an actress, a woman of the stage. Her story began in Neuilly-sur-Seine, in 1936. At only 17, she joined the ballet of the Comédie-Française. By 20, she landed a lead role in a musical by Jean Marais. And just a few years later, she was performing in the troupe of the legendary Joséphine Baker. That already says a lot about her talent and determination.
But it was in 1966 that a turning point came—her encounter with filmmaker Claude Lelouch and composer Francis Lai. Their collaboration birthed some of the most iconic musical moments in French cinema, particularly the unforgettable "chabadabada" from Un homme et une femme . That soft, rhythmic refrain became a signature of Nicole’s voice—warm, sultry, and instantly evocative.
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Through the 1970s, Nicole soared with hits like Parlez-moi de lui , Téléphone-moi , and Une femme avec toi . Her music always revolved around love—delicate, deep, sometimes melancholic, but always sincere. “I only ever sang love songs,” she once said, “and I know what I gave to people.” And give, she did. She gave voice to emotion, to vulnerability, to timeless human feeling.
Despite never marrying or having children, Nicole had a love affair with her art, and with her audience. In later years, she returned to her theatrical roots, appearing on stage well into her 80s. One of her last roles was in N’écoutez pas, Mesdames! alongside Michel Sardou. Even then, she said she was having “the time of her life.” That kind of energy, that hunger for the stage—it never left her.
Claude Lelouch summed it up best: “She wasn’t just the voice of my films, she was the voice of my life.” Her voice, once it touched you, never quite left. And now, even though she’s gone, the echo of that voice—those haunting melodies—will continue to resonate.
Rest in peace, Nicole. You may have taken your final bow, but your music plays on.
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