Learn French With Julien Doré with these 20 Song Recommendations (Full Translations Included!)
Imagine waking up on a tiny island called Tomorrow, only to discover it has already sunk beneath the waves. That bittersweet image sits at the heart of “L’île au Lendemain,” where Julien Doré and Clara Luciani trade tender lines about shattered hopes. They ask “Il reste quoi ?” – “What’s left?” – and find that dreams have washed away, leaving only the fragile comfort of “Il reste moi” (“There is still me”). Their duet feels like a quiet conversation at dawn, equal parts resignation and devotion.
Behind the hypnotic refrain “Tout ça n'sert à rien” (“All of this is useless”), the song sketches a world where people strike poses in the mirror, talk instead of act, and ultimately let the future sink. Yet the presence of the two voices keeps a small flame alive: if everything else fails, we can still be here for each other. It is a melancholic love song and a gentle wake-up call wrapped in dreamy pop – reminding us that tomorrow survives only when we care enough to keep it afloat.
Picture a lonely street after hours: the city is hushed, a crimson neon flickers, and our night-owl narrator is down to his last cigarette. Rather than surrender to sleep, he slips into a glowing bar in search of chaleur — some warmth for his heart. Yet what he finds are the “démons de minuit,” those restless urges and shadowy thoughts that only appear when the clock strikes twelve. They lure him toward pounding funk records, swirling drinks, and the hypnotic sway of a woman in stiletto heels, offering a temporary escape from boredom and insomnia.
Julien Doré’s cover turns this 80s French classic into a sultry, late-night confession: the darkness outside mirrors the emptiness inside, and the cure seems to be movement, music, and momentary connection. While the catchy chorus invites you to dance, the lyrics hint at a deeper tug-of-war between yearning for genuine comfort and being swept away by nightlife’s fleeting thrills. Spin the track, and you might feel those very same midnight demons pulling you onto the dance floor.
Imagine someone looking you straight in the eyes and saying, “Stop putting me on a pedestal. I’m not your flawless crystal statue… I’m all the women in your life rolled into one!” That is the playful challenge at the heart of Toutes Les Femmes De Ta Vie. In lively, sparkling French, Julien Doré’s narrator refuses to be reduced to a single label. She’d rather be a fierce rival than a fragile ideal, and she proudly lists the many masks she can wear: soulmate, muse, oxygen when you’re breathless, even a “best enemy” who keeps you on your toes.
The chorus turns this idea into a joyful anthem of feminine complexity. Love, the song insists, has countless faces—glamourous, sexy, supportive, defiant—and they can all live in one person. By inviting her partner to “open his eyes,” she’s really asking him to embrace every contradiction and color that makes a relationship thrillingly real. The message is both fun and profound: true connection begins when we stop searching for perfection and start celebrating the wonderfully multifaceted human standing right in front of us.
“Waf” is a playful cosmic toast to staying human when the news makes you feel like you have slipped into a surreal cartoon. Julien Doré looks at a world where people swear the Earth is flat, penguins are thriving in global warming and every problem is somehow your fault. Rather than mope, he reaches for a glass of pastaga (slang for pastis, a sunny Provençal drink) and invites you to lean on the bar of the night sky, elbow-to-elbow with the stars.
Between humorous chants of “là là,” the song slips in clever nods to heavyweight writers Verlaine and Kafka, hinting that philosophy and literature can only take you so far before you just need peanuts, ice cubes and a splash of love. “Waf” ultimately says: the universe is strange, so share a drink, sing nonsense syllables, and pour each other a little more affection under the Milky Way.
“Larme Fatale” (“Lethal Tear”) pairs Julien Doré’s dreamy pop style with Eddy de Pretto’s raw edge to paint a bittersweet picture of modern love and disillusionment. The narrator steps into the song wearing both boxing gloves and tender kisses—ready to fight through “torrents of mediocrity” yet longing for genuine connection. His “fatal tear” is a poetic weapon: emotion powerful enough to cut through cynicism while revealing how fragile he really feels.
The hook “Elle est pas belle la vie” (“Life isn’t beautiful”) rings out like a weary mantra, but it is wrapped in warmth and irony. Amid rainy nights, salty tears, and dice-roll chances, the singer still reaches for a hand to hold, invites a lover onto his “pillow,” and dreams of escaping before sunrise. The message: life can bruise us with bad luck and empty ideas, yet vulnerability, honesty, and shared refuge turn even the ugliest moments into something defiantly alive.
Julien Doré’s “Nous” is a poetic call to drop the weight of society’s pressure and escape to a place where we – the dreamers, the lovers, the slightly bruised – can simply breathe. Imagining a trip to the sea lit by the moon, Doré paints a cinematic scene: two rebels standing at the shoreline, watching the tide rise while caring little for material loss. Their only luggage is “a bit of belly and ego,” proof that imperfections are welcome on this journey of renewal. The chorus repeats like a mantra, “Nous on s’en fout de vous” (We don’t care about you), flipping the script on judgmental outsiders and celebrating a community built on tenderness, not trophies.
Under the surface, the song wrestles with disillusionment – yesterday’s mistakes, stones we could not drop – yet finds hope in unity. Doré reminds us that tomorrow is just “yesterday on its back,” so why not choose connection over competition? “Nous” invites listeners to let the waves wash away ego, lift their heads above water, and discover that real strength lies in being gentle together. Grab your headphones and meet him at the shoreline; the only ticket you need is an open heart.
Julien Doré’s “Barracuda II” is a playful yet urgent pep-talk wrapped in silky French pop. The singer watches a world where people argue about trivial things like his hairstyle while ignoring looming crises such as climate change. He urges us to open our eyes, think for ourselves, and refuse the convenient blindness that lets problems grow. The repeated line “Ne te prends pas pour Barracuda” is a friendly reminder not to become a cold-blooded predator, even when anger bubbles inside. Instead of striking back, he invites listeners to keep smiling, stay curious, and speak up for what truly matters.
Hope and self-liberation drive the second half of the song. Doré imagines packing a suitcase for a brighter tomorrow, far from those “grey-souled” sleepers who gave up long ago. If the world does explode, he asks that someone “parle-lui de moi” – tell the world about him – highlighting our shared desire to leave a meaningful mark. Ultimately, “Barracuda II” celebrates resilience: face reality with clear eyes, protect your kindness, and chase the future you deserve.
Kiki sounds like a playful nickname, yet Julien Doré turns it into a heartfelt letter to a newborn stepping into a shaky world. Over shimmering pop-folk melodies, he paints a landscape where “la peur gronde” (fear rumbles) and people have “broken the world,” but he quickly cushions that darkness with an uplifting promise: the child will still shine with a unique style, just like football star Kylian Mbappé sprinting past defenders. The contrast between looming danger and carefree swagger gives the song its magnetic tension, making it feel both like a lullaby and a pep talk.
In the second half, the singer admits his own exhaustion and guilt—“Faudra que tu pardonnes, on était fatigués”—while urging the child to forgive the older generation’s mistakes. Yet the closing chant “On n’est pas fatigués” flips fatigue into defiance, rallying everyone to stand back up and fight for a better tomorrow. The result is a bittersweet anthem about handing the next generation a damaged planet, but also arming them with hope, freedom, and style to rebuild it.
La Bise by French singer Julien Doré turns a simple social ritual—the quick kiss on the cheek—into a witty exploration of romantic hesitation. The narrator wants a real kiss, yet ends up with a polite peck while his partner literally “leans like Pisa,” unsure which side to offer. This comic image opens the door to deeper doubts: promises of strolling through Venice get washed out by rain, and love is compared to poison in the water. Every small gesture feels loaded with meaning, showing how easily passion can be reduced to ceremony.
Behind the playful wordplay lies a bittersweet message. Doré pokes fun at long-term relationships that look perfect on vacation photos but avoid saying what really matters. The couple dreams of paradise, but senses they might never get there; instead, they keep “paying for what they don’t say.” In just a few cheeky lines, the song captures the mixture of desire, irony, and vulnerability that lingers when love is strong enough to hurt yet too tempting to ignore.
Welcome to a sun-kissed dream! Coco Câline whisks us away to an imaginary beach where love, saltwater, and sweet coconut perfume the air. Julien Doré paints the scene with vibrant splashes of French poetry: rolling waves “scissored” by a lover’s body, silvery dolphins gliding in a lagoon bleu, and the mysterious pull of the tropico-spleen – a cocktail of tropical joy and gentle melancholy. The repeated chorus “Je te veux, prends-moi” (“I want you, take me”) turns the song into a playful tug-of-war between innocent cuddles and bold desire, all under a velvet “nuit noire” sky.
Behind the breezy melody lies a deeper longing. The narrator craves a perfect, almost surreal connection that feels as vast and fluid as the ocean itself. Every image – from “algues” (seaweed) to “un seul cygne nage” (a single swan swimming) – suggests that love can be both fragile and boundless. Coco Câline is not just a summer postcard; it is a poetic invitation to dive headfirst into intimacy, let the tide of emotions wash over you, and savor the bittersweet sparkle of a paradise that might only exist in our imaginations.
Julien Doré’s “Sublime & Silence” is like walking through a deserted ballroom after the party has ended. The French singer paints a picture of two lovers who can no longer be together, yet each echo of their romance still twirls around the empty room. Every line contrasts dazzling memories (“you dance around me”) with the aching hush that follows (“silence around me”). The repeated chorus Le vide aurait suffi (“emptiness would have been enough”) suggests that, even though nothingness could have closed the story, tiny reminders – flowers left behind, a river that looks like the loved one – keep the relationship hauntingly alive.
Underneath the poetic images lies a tug-of-war between holding on and letting go. The singer flees Paris, caresses absence itself, and runs to mountains and rivers, yet he knows the other person “still stays” in every symbol of their past. Love is shown as both violence and promise – everything the loved one hates, yet everything that keeps their memory burning. The result is a bittersweet ode to love’s persistent afterglow, proving that silence can shout just as loudly as a heart in full song.
🌊 "Le Lac" invites us to a hypnotic lakeside rendez-vous where nature, desire, and danger swirl together. Julien Doré paints the water as a mirror for passionate love: “Your heart on my breathing body.” The lake’s ripples echo the lovers’ pulses, while forests twist, horizons sigh, and even angels wobble. This is a place where life and death, gold and shadow, mingle in one shimmering scene.
✨ Beneath the romance hides a daring thrill. The singer longs to be watched by the world — “May the men look at us” — celebrating a love unafraid of its darker shades. If regret comes tomorrow, the lake itself will beg you to forget. In short, the song is a poetic plunge into head-over-heels passion, set against a wild, almost mythic landscape that blurs the line between ecstasy and peril.
Welcome to Porto-Vecchio, a sun-kissed Corsican paradise where heartbreak meets crystal-blue waves. Julien Doré paints a cinematic scene: divine light sparkles on the harbor, yet dark clouds of spleen (deep melancholy) linger over a recent breakup. Instead of running away, the singer dives straight into the sea, letting the rhythmic murmure des vagues wash over the pain. Every splash is a battle between memory and oblivion – he has left her name on the sand, but her absence still burns like venom on his skin.
This song is a lyrical swim through the stages of letting go. From nostalgic sighs to fiery determination, Doré turns the Mediterranean into an emotional playground. Waves become whispers of the past, flames symbolize the sting of lost love, and each promised return to Porto-Vecchio is a chance to erase the taste of her kiss a little more. The result is a bittersweet anthem that feels both cinematic and cathartic, inviting listeners to dive in, float with their feelings, then rise renewed under the Corsican sun.
Picture two ex-lovers scribbling late-night letters they never send, wrapped in memories that feel as heavy as a winter coat. In "On Attendra L'hiver," French indie-pop poet Julien Doré paints a cinematic scene of half-empty wine bottles, borrowed navy pullovers, and words that never quite reach the other person. Every "Puisque" sets up a new reason why the narrator keeps circling back to the same ache: he still feels her perfume, still hears her language, still wants to fight for their love even if it means wrestling ghosts.
The chorus becomes a bittersweet promise: "We will wait for winter to write that we miss each other." Winter stands for honesty, the moment when distractions freeze and feelings finally surface. Until then, time stretches painfully long, and both lovers hide behind seasons, cities, and foreign tongues. Doré’s song is both a confession and a delay, capturing that universal tension between wanting to move on and craving one last heartfelt message.
Picture this: one moment you are sipping a huge bottle of Chasse-Spleen in the rainy streets of Angoulême, the next you are watching the sunrise sparkle on the pristine sands of the Seychelles. In Paris-Seychelles, French singer-songwriter Julien Doré turns a love story into a postcard collage of vivid places, lush colors, and literary allusions. The verses hop from wine cellars to tropical lagoons, from historic Saint-Hilaire to ancient figures like Lucretius, creating the feeling of a whirlwind escape where city grit and island glow collide.
Beneath the glamorous scenery lies a bittersweet message. The couple daydreams, makes promises they know they will break, and fights to keep passion alive even as time and doubt creep in. Doré’s hypnotic refrain — “I need your soul, I won’t let you go” — reveals an obsession with something deeper than simple romance. He craves a lasting connection that can survive storms, seasons, and the chaos of life. The result is a song that feels like a sun-drenched postcard hiding a love letter on the back: beautiful, urgent, and tinged with the fear that paradise might slip away the moment you look down.
La Fièvre feels like a musical temperature check on our era: Julien Doré pictures the world as a body whose spine shifted “quelques vertèbres,” now waiting for the fever that signals something is very wrong. With playful sarcasm he jabs at viral conspiracy chats, instant-fame culture, and our sunscreen-soaked beach selfies while icebergs melt in the background. The catchy chorus keeps repeating that the world has already changed, hinting that the real illness is our denial.
Instead of pointing fingers, Doré invites us to put on the stethoscope ourselves. His lyrics mix humor and eco-anxiety to show how beauty, fame, and even family values wear thin when everything is up for sale. The ultimate question he slips between the beats: will we keep scrolling until the temperature breaks us, or will we finally notice the fever and heal what can still be saved?
Chou Wasabi feels like biting into something sweet then suddenly discovering a burst of wasabi heat. Julien Doré and Micky Green trade French and English lines to paint a love story that has gone from tender to toxic. The playful title mixes chou (cabbage or “sweetheart” in French slang) with the zing of wasabi, hinting at a relationship that once tasted gentle but now stings. Over dreamy guitars and a hypnotic beat, the singers confess, “Baby I love you less and less,” while recalling fiery nights in Spain, burning memories of Paris, and the wild urge to run free. Their imagery jumps from crimson geese to lurking vipers, showing how beautiful moments can quickly turn dangerous when trust fades.
Yet beneath the bitterness, a fragile hope lingers: each voice pleads, “Baby just don’t let me go.” The song captures that messy in-between stage of a breakup where lovers swing from heartbreak to longing, from letting go to clutching at every memory. In the end, they sigh “C’est la vie,” accepting that life rolls on, love reshapes itself, and you may have to start all over again ‑ even with tears still on your cheeks and wasabi on your tongue.
French singer-songwriter Julien Doré invites us into a quirky, cinematic love scene where passion meets playful chaos. His narrator speaks to a tear-streaked partner, comparing them to a child in costume, while vinyl records spin and lipstick scrawls “Kiss me forever” across mirrors and memories. The imagery is deliciously retro: flipped records, car keys to a humble Punto, and a gifted Renaud album all paint a backdrop of spontaneous road trips and late-night make-ups.
Yet beneath the neon kiss marks lies a bittersweet tug-of-war. The lover vanishes without goodbye, leaving only scars, bites, and smudged messages as their trademark. Doré captures that thrill of a romance too wild to tame, where every goodbye sparks another urgent request for a kiss that might last forever—or at least until the next song starts.
Ever wondered what happens when you keep pressing the accelerator until the very end? In "Les Limites", French indie-pop icon Julien Doré straps us into a tongue-in-cheek joy-ride of excess. With playful vocals and jazzy whistles, he admits he loves to go too far: drinking "as much liquid as possible", devouring "solid" treats, and breaking every social rule in sight. He smirks at the brave people full of reason who stay inside the lines, while he splashes vivid colors outside them.
Yet beneath the swagger lies sharp self-awareness. Doré repeats that he knows exactly when he will stop and that he will "pay for all of this." He imagines fleeing Paris, ending up cracking rocks in far-off French Guiana, and ultimately coughing up cash for his wild nights. The song is a witty reflection on our craving for overindulgence, the thrill of ignoring limits, and the haunting certainty that the bill always arrives in the end.
“Moi… Lolita” plunges us into the playful mind of a young heroine who calls herself Lolita, the mischievous name made famous by Nabokov’s novel. In Julien Doré’s dreamy cover, the character struts between innocence and flirtation: she is a collégienne in blue-tinted stockings, giggling at taboo thoughts, yet constantly surrounded by hungry “wolves” who can’t resist her magnetism. Repeating “C’est pas ma faute” (It’s not my fault), she insists that the whirlwind of attention is something that simply happens around her. The French idiom “je donne ma langue au chat” (I give my tongue to the cat) shows her pretending to surrender or stay silent, while actually reveling in the mystery she creates.
Beneath the catchy chorus spelling L-O-L-I-T-A, the lyrics sketch a portrait of adolescence where curiosity, desire, and rebellion collide. Lolita owns her duality: part cotton-soft child, part stormy lover with “diluvian” passions. Doré’s airy vocals and shimmering production keep the mood light, but the song’s core question lingers: how much of this youthful seduction is a deliberate game, and how much is the world projecting fantasies onto her? The result is a captivating snapshot of teenage self-discovery that feels at once innocent, provocative, and irresistibly French.