The demise of French as a useful way of communicating with the wider world has been one of the features of my years as a travelling musician. I can recall many conversations around Europe, the southern Mediterranean and Russia that would not have taken place 30 years ago if I and the local people had not been able to deploy French, which for both sides was a second language. It was then still possible to have the feeling that it was as valuable to know French as English. This was never quite the case with German or Italian (which I did use in Tripoli); nor Spanish — potentially the most useful — which was too site-specific.
The speed of this collapse is one of the remarkable things about it. The reason cannot be that the quality of spoken French has declined, though it remains much the most difficult big-country European language to pronounce, especially for English-trained throats, on which point I have a private theory that the Parisians sometime in the past deliberately exaggerated the sounds in their speech so that people like me would sound extra-ridiculous. But the ghastly truth is that literally everyone on this planet has decided that not to know English is a life-retarding debility.
They may not have the opportunity to do anything about it, and so stay at home, but the motivation is universally there. Where the famously unhumorous Parisian waiters used to treat you like a second-class person even if you were trying to speak French to them, now they rush to practise their English at the first hesitation. Armies of young people from all over the globe are working at international brand outlets, like Starbucks, in just about every country (I can vouch for the existence of Starbucks in Beijing, Beirut and Belgrade, to mention only the Bs) in order to practise their English without having to acquire permission to work in Anglophone countries.
I say nothing about the quality of the English they learn there, but I do realise that at the very least they are having to put sentences together in a foreign language, which is just what causes us so much trouble. Because no other language surrounds us as English surrounds the rest of the world, we have to make the greater effort to get beyond the most basic level. And we tend not to make it, since in most encounters the quickest way of getting what one needs is to find a language which averages out at suiting both parties best. The chances are it will be English.
My rule of thumb is to find out as quickly as possible which language does provide that average in any given situation, and if my French or whatever is the better to stick to it like a limpet. This can give rise to some wonderfully silly conversations where both sides are honing their skills, often resulting in raised voices and wrong orders, until one side gives way.
If this is me it can lead to a classic linguistic pile-up: I say what I have to say in English as clearly as I can, using simple words and syntax, but because I feel awkward and therefore on the defensive, I don’t project properly. The words get stuck in my throat and are not fully grasped. Making the mistake of thinking that I have used vocabulary which is too difficult, I rephrase the whole thing, trying to make my meaning clearer with hand gestures and a greater supply of information. This causes greater confusion, but because I have obviously gone to some trouble to communicate with this person it has become a matter of politeness for him or her to smile and look encouraging. At this point, realising that nothing has got through, I do not do what would be best — go back to the simplest words and shortest phrases — but go on with the process I have started, adding all manner of detail and new words, encouraged by a now constant supply of smiles and friendly gestures. Nothing has been understood, everyone looks happy, and no one at any stage has said, ‘What on earth are you talking about?’, or foreign words to that effect.
The best times for me on tour have been talking to our drivers. Outside the US they seem to defy the general rule and can never speak English, and within the US they are so heteroglot that you never know what you might learn. But at the end of the day it is good to be a musician. During the concert at least all these drearily limited conversations cease, and communication from us to everyone present suddenly becomes fluent and beautiful. We know better than most what that fluency and beauty are worth.
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