Learn French With Bénabar with these 10 Song Recommendations (Full Translations Included!)

Bénabar’s “Oui Et Alors” is a playful philosophical shrug at the fear of being forgotten. Through witty, conversational lyrics, the French singer imagines a future where our victories, defeats and even our names are quietly erased from history books and family trees. The song acknowledges that one day we will slip into “la cohorte des défunts” – the silent crowd of the departed – and that memories of us will fade just as naturally as morning mist.

But instead of letting that thought depress us, the chorus flips the mood with a spirited “Oui, et alors ?” – “Yes, so what?” Bénabar turns looming oblivion into a rallying cry to savor the present: watch the sunrise, toast the summer nights, and dance in the dew. The message is simple and energizing – if nothing truly lasts, then every ordinary dawn becomes a precious invitation to live, laugh and create memories right now.

Feeling low? So are the two narrators of “Chez Les Corses”. In a wry back-and-forth, Bénabar and Renaud list every possible reason to sink into gloom: war, invasive hornets, climate anxiety, heartbreak, lost dreams, even the sheer pointlessness of life. They mock the idea that simple hope could fix anything, insisting instead that what we really need is tendresse et force — tenderness and strength — while gleefully bad-mouthing anyone who dares praise existence.

Their antidote to this tidal wave of misery is disarmingly simple: “Allez, viens, on va manger chez les Corses.” Let’s head to the local Corsican restaurant, kill time, toast failed romances, and complain together over hearty food and wine. The song turns shared depression into a bonding ritual, reminding us that when the world feels cruel and absurd, good company, good jokes, and good plates of comfort food can be the most powerful medicine of all.

Where have all the hopeless romantics gone? In Les Belles Histoires, Bénabar strolls through crowded streets, airports, and classrooms, searching for the grand love stories that once made hearts race. With playful references to Romeo and Juliet, blushing students, and a world without Tinder, he laments how dramatic declarations of love seem to have vanished. Each witty line is a nostalgic wink to first quarrels, first “we,” and the flutter of panic that used to accompany an uncontrollable crush.

Yet the song is not just wistful; it is a spirited call to action. Bénabar clings to the hope that the man sprinting through the terminal is chasing a teary lover, not merely late for a flight. He urges listeners to believe that passionate gestures still exist somewhere—perhaps hiding behind crumpled Cupid wings or muted Chopin sonatas—waiting to be revived. Les Belles Histoires invites us to rediscover the thrill of heartfelt romance and keep those legendary love stories alive.

Tous Les Divorcés is Bénabar’s witty, tongue-in-cheek tour of our sentimental CVs. He starts with the grand frisson of the very first love — the one we all swear will last “for eternity.” Soon enough, though, a second, third, even sixth romance arrives, each bringing fresh hope and fresh doubt. In a playful seesaw between optimism and realism, the singer reminds us that loving more than once does not make those feelings any less real. Every chapter matters, whether it is fireworks at sixteen, a calmer passion in mid-life, or the simple dream yet to come.

Behind the humor lies a tender message for divorced parents and their children. Weekends are shared, hearts may be bruised, yet everyone involved once did love deeply. Bénabar gently poses the recurring question: Which love counts more — the first or the most recent? The answer, he suggests, is that every love tells its own irreplaceable story. Even if you have not met “the one” yet, keep the elevator doors open; there is no age limit on soulmates, only new floors to explore.

Bénabar’s “Politiquement Correct” is a gleeful slapstick anthem for everyone who has ever been mocked for simply trying to be decent. Over a lively, cabaret-flavored melody, the French singer ticks off an almost comically wholesome checklist: loving his family, recycling, respecting women, rejecting racism, homophobia, antisemitism, and war. Each time he declares another everyday act of kindness, he imagines a scoffing critic labeling him “politically correct,” and fires back with a rebellious “je t’emmerde” – roughly, “screw you.”

Behind the humor lies a smart piece of social commentary. Bénabar flips the insult “politically correct” on its head, showing that empathy and basic respect should never be controversial. By exaggerating how ordinary these values are – who doesn’t want to save dolphins? – he exposes the absurdity of framing compassion as censorship or weakness. The result is a cheeky, upbeat celebration of humanism that invites listeners to wear their kindness proudly, no apologies needed.

“L’effet Papillon” is Bénabar’s witty reminder that tiny flutters can unleash massive storms. Borrowing the scientific idea that a butterfly’s wings can spark a distant tornado, the French singer zooms out to show how decisions made in far-off offices (especially a certain oval one) can melt ice caps, sink workers’ jobs, and rattle the planet’s finances. He then zooms in on everyday life: over-eating becomes the effet cachalot, a flirtation turns into a head-butt from a jealous husband, and a night of bar-hopping lands you in court at 8 a.m. Each playful vignette proves the chorus true—“petites causes, grandes conséquences”—small choices often have outsized fallout.

With tongue-in-cheek humor and catchy rhythms, Bénabar turns the butterfly effect into a musical cautionary tale. He invites us to see the hidden links between our shopping carts and harpooned whales, our sneezes and someone else’s cough, our sunbathing and tomorrow’s sunburn. The song is both a fun sing-along and a gentle nudge: before you act, think of the chain reaction you might set loose, because once the butterfly takes off, tout bat de l’aile—everything starts flapping.

Ever been brushed off in love? In French, that awkward moment is nicknamed prendre un râteau – literally “to take a rake”. Bénabar turns this everyday humiliation into a hilarious field guide, cataloging every possible refusal: the public rejection that stings your pride, the tragic one that shatters real feelings, the dramatic kneeling-with-a-ring flop, even the polite yet deadly "gentleman" brush-off. Packed with playful word games and animal metaphors, the song reminds us that beneath every self-confident flirt lies a vulnerable heart, and that getting knocked down is part of the dance of seduction.

Behind the jokes, "Les Râteaux" delivers an encouraging wink: persistence beats discouragement, and laughter heals the bruised ego. Whether you are a jeune loup (young wolf) or a seasoned hunter, a single "yes" can still bloom after twenty "no"s. So dust yourself off, smile, and maybe turn your next romantic misfire into a catchy song – just like Bénabar!

Bénabar’s “A La Campagne” is a cheeky postcard from rural France, listing everything a city dweller dreams of when escaping the concrete jungle: hunting mushrooms, chopping wood, spotting hedgehogs, and wandering past centuries-old castles. With humor and a touch of nostalgia, the singer piles on scene after scene of rustic charm - crackling fireplaces, mismatched board games, mysterious night-time creaks, and sturdy tractors driven by even sturdier grandpas - painting the countryside as a place where time, schedules, and cellphone reception happily disappear.

Yet the song is no simple ode to nature; it’s a playful satire of urban fantasies. The narrator craves “authenticity,” talks terroir, and imagines himself as a mustachioed, taciturn patriarch… but only until Sunday evening when traffic back to Paris looms. By exaggerating every cliché, Bénabar shows the gap between postcard-perfect dreams and real rural life, inviting listeners to laugh at their own weekend-warrior escapades while still savoring the irresistible lure of green fields and fresh air.

La Berceuse is a lullaby only in name. Across playful verses, Bénabar paints the portrait of a bleary-eyed father stuck in the midnight trenches of parenthood, cradling a baby who absolutely refuses to doze off. What begins as a gentle serenade quickly spirals into a comic monologue: he praises sunrise and fairy-filled dreams, then pleads for mercy so he can make an early meeting, then bargains with extravagant gifts—a phone, a herd of ponies, even a kangaroo. Each new tactic shows another shade of exhaustion, love, and sheer improvisation that every sleep-deprived parent will recognize.

Beneath the jokes and threats beats a warm heart. The father’s frustration never outweighs his affection; even after cursing under his breath, he apologizes and promises a trumpet solo as a peace offering. Bénabar’s song captures the universal tango between parent and child: a mix of wonder, impatience, humor, and tenderness, all wrapped in a melody meant to lull the little one—while reminding grown-ups that sometimes the real bedtime story is about them.

In Le Dîner, Bénabar turns a simple refusal to attend a friendly dinner into a hilarious cascade of excuses. The narrator’s shirt feels like a tight sausage, his mood is low, a diet is supposedly urgent, and—most enticing of all—a goofy Louis de Funès movie with aliens is on TV. Every line piles up a new pretext: sudden fatigue, imaginary illness, even a grand social critique hiding under the blankets with pizza. You can almost see him clutching the phone, inventing reasons while already dreaming of melted cheese and remote-control bliss.

Beyond the comedy, the song pokes at something universal: that lazy little voice begging us to ditch polite obligations for cozy comfort. Bénabar’s playful lyrics spotlight how quickly we trade “being sociable” for sweatpants, how creative we become when dodging responsibilities, and how love can be complicit in the sweetest small rebellions. It’s a lighthearted anthem for anyone who has ever chosen couch and carbs over formalities—delivered with a wink and a catchy melody.