Jacques Dutronc’s “Paris S’éveille” is like an early-morning postcard that catches the French capital in the split second between night’s last yawn and the city’s first cup of coffee. At cinq heures du matin (5 a.m.) the narrator roams through iconic spots—Place Dauphine, Montparnasse Boulevard, the Eiffel Tower—describing what he sees with playful, almost surreal detail. Milk trucks rumble by, cleaners brandish their brooms, and tired lovers shuffle home. Monuments turn into characters: the Eiffel Tower has cold feet, the Arc de Triomphe gets a wake-up call, and the Obelisk stands tall against the pale dawn.
Beneath the lively snapshots lies a gentle social commentary. While night-owls head to bed, workers in the suburbs crowd train stations, bakers pull fresh bread from the oven, and printers roll out the day’s newspapers. The narrator, wide-eyed and sleepless, feels out of sync with both worlds, highlighting the uneasy rhythm of city life. “Paris S’éveille” is a charming blend of whimsy and realism that invites listeners to witness the magic—and the melancholy—of a metropolis caught on the border between dreams and daylight.