Jeanne Deckers. Singer songwriter with #1 Billboard Hit and Grammy award

I saw her soul fly through the clouds

Since popular music became a money making machine there was a saying “You’re only three minutes away from a million dollars.” Three minute pop songs that topped the biggest chart of all, the Billboard Hot Hundred, made real money. Serious seven figure sums in a time before free internet downloads, when people bought vinyl and listened to Radio stations that played the hits and paid real money in mechanical royalties for the right to play those hits.

In the nineties, my Irish friend Aidan Day told me that when he ran BBC Radio 1, on any given day the #1 hit would be played on rotation, generating mechanical royalty payments to the songs writers averaging £2,000 a day. Whether he was exaggerating after a few Irish Whiskeys or not, smash hits that spent weeks at #1 would be played daily, on heavy rotation. Those mechanical royalties would add up. My friend Alan Tarney wrote several #1 hits. As did Terry Britten. As did many of my friends from when I lived in musical England. The reason for this disclosure is this; not one of them had a #1 hit on Billboard without taking away a big chunk of cash. A life-changing chunk. Like a lottery win.

Terry Britten wrote ‘What’s Love got to do with it”. He told me; soon after he collected a Grammy for that song how much a publisher had offered to collect his writing royalties. A LOT in Dollar terms. In eight figures. For a copyright lasting little more than three minutes. Tina’s single went to number one on the US Billboard Hot 100 and remained there for three weeks.

In 1963 Jeanne Deckers self penned song Dominique went to #1 on Billboard for four weeks in December. The song won the Grammy Award for Best Gospel or Other Religious Recording (Musical). Dominique was played on heavy rotation on radio all over the world. It was the U.S. Christmas No. 1 of 1963. The Singing Nun became the first artist in American chart history to hold the No. 1 single and No. 1 album simultaneous, both of which sold over a million copies.

Calculating the Mechanical royalties that copyright generated would take some doing in the age before algorithms tracked every play, but certainly, its highly likely Dominique has generated millions of dollars in royalties from radio play since it’s release in 1963. In 2024 her song Dominique has 9 million views on Youtube. Still generating royalties 61 years later.

Although contracts were very different in the pre digital age, its worth considering that if Jeanne Deckers released her song today in a typical independent release of a three minute pop song on streaming platforms, she would almost certainly expect to receive 100% of all royalties paid, less the distribution, an average of 15%.

I remember hearing this song when I was a young kid in the 60’s. It was the first French song I heard. I was at that time unfamiliar with the existence of France or the French language. It was thanks to Jeanne Deckers that a young Greek boy learning music in South Africa could now examine the merits of this French music playing on the radio. I was curiously interested in this mellifluous phonetic sound. Harmony. Lots of reverb. Nylon guitar. But what did it mean. What was the song really about. I already knew some popular music. Another popular song on the radio at that time was about Sugar. He sang ‘Sugar, Honey honey, you are my candy girl.’ I knew what it was about. It made sense. he is sweet on the girl. Like sugar and honey are sweet things.

Dominique was different to anything I had heard. Before I reached the end of that first three minute listen I was overcome by a feeling of dread. Something in the writers choices spoke of a dark place. Something was off to my musical ear. Something about the way that song moved spooked me terribly. From the first listen I went ‘What the hell is THAT.’ I didn’t know what it was but I didn’t like it. I had never heard French before. I had never heard of Catholicism before. Subsequently I would turn off the radio when it came on. Whatever was going on in that musical process frightened me.

I must have been eight or nine when I heard my second French song. The 1967 radio hit Je t'aime moi non plus by Serge Gainsbourg and his then girlfriend Jane Birkin. My second experience of French music. When I heard Je t’aime I realized what was wrong with the other French song. It wasn’t the different language after all. This one sounded right to me in what seemed the exact opposite of what made the other so wrong.

Spookily, eerily wrong, imaging a place my imagination told me to steer well clear of, although I had no idea what any of that meant. Je t’aime felt like the exact opposite, imaging a place that intrigued and fascinated me. I wanted to hear it again and imagine what it was about. Thanks largely to Jane Birkins unintelligible lyric that spoke of mysterious intimacy intertwined with that lovely musical organ phrase. Of course, at that time I had no idea what Je t’aime meant. But the song filled my imagination with possibilities.

In terms of popular reaction to these two songs, Je t’aime peaked at number 58 on the Billboard Hot 100 chart while Dominique spent four weeks at #1, which goes to show how little I knew about commercial music from the start. But from the start of my musical journey, I knew what I liked. I took a valuable lesson from those two songs.

Upon reflection, the life of Jane Birkin when compared to the life of Jeanne Deckers on an axis of joy and sorrow is eerily predicted by the musicality in those two songs. My musical lesson from that is; how frequently life mimics art. Jane Birkins life was always going to be as lovely as the song sounded.

The writers destiny mysteriously foretold in the song. Perhaps subconsciously, I ruminated.

So who was this sixties singer/songwriter with the #1 smash hit that dominated the Billboard chart for four weeks. How and why did she write this hit song. How did they get that ringing overtone on the harmony vocals that sounded like it was recorded from very far away. How did it get to #1 at a time when Louie Louie by the Kingsmen was the gold standard. What did she spend her hit record windfall on? Fast cars. A yacht. A villa in the South of France? And what about her personal life? Did she get married and have kids and live happily ever after off the shrewd investment of her lottery win hit? Did her manager rip her off, leaving her broke, working ‘One Hit Wonder’ shows at Butlins. What was that spooky feeling I had when I first heard the song as a young boy in South Africa.

The answer to all of the above is; I had no further interest in the Singing Nun. Life moved on. I never heard Dominique again. I didn’t even notice when it disappeared from the radio. I had never even heard of Jeanne Deckers.

Until sometime in 1985, I saw a News report. The Singing Nun dies at 52. I read Jeanne Deckers obituary and flashed back to when I first heard Dominique. The spooky discomfort I experienced listening seemed to me directly linked to this news of her death. A subliminal musical frequency from that song. I found some sense in my reaction to the life of this singer songwriter and resolved to learn more about what happened to The Singing Nun. What exactly had informed those voices I heard singing so mournfully on the track.

The artist known as The Singing Nun was Marie Jeanine Deckers, known as Jeanne. She was a Belgian singer-songwriter. Who became a working catholic nun known as as Sister Luc Gabriel.

Born in 1933, Jeanne attended catholic school in Brussels. Had she been born even 70 years later, her sexual orientation would not have been a matter for such torment in a young girl. Her mother described her as a Tomboy, most likely as her way of explaining absent feminine development. When Jeanne was fifteen she announced a premonition that she would become a nun, possibly a reaction to her developing sexual awareness. Imagine being a gay girl in catholic Belgium in the forties? Becoming a celibate nun made a whole lot of sense for the sinners guilt quota.

Teen-aged Jeanne became an avid Girl Guide who bought her first guitar to play at Guide evening events. While studying for her three-year teaching diploma she considered dedicating her life to religion in a Catholic convent. From the age of 21, between 1954 and 1959, Jeanne taught sculpture to youngsters. From the beginning it’s clear, her motivation was to serve others with unselfish kindness, often in the role of teacher.

At scout camp in the summer of 1959, aged 26, she met 16 year-old Annie Pécher, with whom she fell in love. Jeanne was conflicted. In what must be unimaginable confusion to us in today’s more temperate climate of gay tolerance, she resigned her teaching profession, shortly after which, in September 1959, she entered the Missionary Dominican Sisters of Our Lady of Fichermont, headquartered in the city of Waterloo, close to the place where Napoleon lost. There she took the religious name Sister Luc Gabriel and Jeanne became a full blown nun. Abstinence was her way of dealing with what she knew to be a sin. Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending, Jeanne took her guitar and her years of singer songwriter training with her to the Convent, famed for its choir. The nuns of Fichermont.

Researching this story I cam across a Catholic Ministry web page explaining ‘Queer folk’ to young Catholics. They tell the story of their fallen Nun as follows:

“As they grew older, Pécher visited Deckers in the convent regularly. They grew such an attachment that, when Deckers was almost sent out on a missionary trip, Pécher “fell into a deep depression and tried to kill herself.” While this attempt was unsuccessful, it was clear that she cared deeply for Deckers but also struggled with mental health issues. 

As Pécher fell more in love, Deckers remained true to her religious commitment and her musicianship. The nun began to write and perform her own music for her fellow sisters, often putting on concerts. The sisters loved her music so much that “her religious superiors encouraged her to record an album, which visitors… at the convent would be able to purchase.” Many people, secular and non-secular alike, recognized and cherished her musical talent. 

As her fame grew, the identities between her religious life and her worldly life began to clash. In 1966, she left the Dominicans, explaining that she was forced out because of disagreements she had with the superiors.

After leaving the convent, Deckers chose to live with Pécher, at first refusing to have any type of romantic or sexual relationship with her. Her diaries indicate that after 14 years of living together, they developed a lesbian relationship.”

Once resident in the convent Sister Luc Gabriel, 26, wrote songs, and sang them to entertain the other nuns. The encouraging reception by her fellow nuns and visitors led her religious superiors to agree she would record an album, which visitors and residents at the convent would be able to purchase. Philips Record label saw the commercial value. A deal was done between the convent and Philips records, in line with a typical record deal in 1962. She recorded live with four outstanding choristers from the nuns of Fishermont choir.

Jeanne’s debut album was recorded in Brussels at Philips. In 1963 the single Dominique became an international hit. A best seller, that would, at that time, have generated millions. Her album and the single both sold over a million.

Sister Luc Gabriel became an international celebrity with the stage name of Sœur Sourire ("Sister Smile"). She gave live concerts to growing audiences, usually accompanied by three nuns, all in their habits. She appeared on The Ed Sullivan Show on television on 5 January 1964, wowing all of Christian America

The song was an unprecedented cultural phenomenon. In 1966, a biographical film loosely based on Sister Luc Gabriel was released called The Singing Nun and starring Debbie Reynolds in the central role.

But Jeanne Deckers was a troubled pop star. Her songwriting efforts had to pass the approval of her Mother Superior. She was creatively ring fenced by the Convents strict dogma, making her creative process a tragedy. Pulled between two worlds, her own thoughts and the Catholic dogma that she found increasingly intolerable, three years after becoming a world famous singer/songwriter Jeanne left her convent in 1966. Washed up as a Singing nun at 33.

Leaving the convent was not Jeanne’s decision. She reported a personality clash with her superiors forced out, denying the other nuns contact with her after describing her as a bad influence. Possibly the frequent visits by her enamoured friend Annie Pécher, who started visiting Jeanne at the convent soon after her arrival, had some bearing on the decision. Gay relationship were not acceptable then.

’But what about the money from the hit song’ I sense you wondering, as you learn of her leaving the convent who owned her.

At this point, Jeanne had not received one brass bean. And yet Jeanne continued being religious, still considering herself a nun, praying several times daily. That part the church allowed her. But taking her professional name with was a different matter. The convent contract with her record company retained her professional names, "Sœur Sourire" and "The Singing Nun".

Now free from the convent if not its teachings, Jeanne attempted to continue her musical career under the name "Luc Dominique" without success. Launching the brand Luc Dominique with no promotional budget and no hit song had the predictable outcome.

In 1967, a year after losing the habit, angered by the Catholic Church's failure to implement the reforms of the Second Vatican Council, Jeanne released a song in support of contraception, "Glory be to God for the Golden Pill". (Ironic perhaps considering she had never been in any situation where pregnancy was a possibility.) Her feminist stance led to a vindictive, punitive backlash from the Catholic hierarchy that saw a succession of her planned concerts cancelled. Her promoters threatened unless they pulled her shows. Causing her financial hardship.

In 1968, Jeanne turned to publishing, writing a book of inspirational religious verse, but that, too, failed to gain an audience. Jeanne went on to release an album titled I Am Not a Star in Heaven. She developed a repertoire of religious songs and songs for children. Despite her renewed emphasis on music, Jeanne's career failed to generate popularity. She blamed the album's failure on not being able to use the names by which she had become known, saying that "nobody knew who it was." The brand owned by the Philips record label "Sœur Sourire" and "The Singing Nun" continued to generate royalties from sales. None of which went to Jeanne.

When a second single, "Sister Smile Is Dead", also failed, Jeanne turned to teaching disabled youngsters in Wavre, Belgium. Her lifelong habit of caring for others led to her opening a school for autistic children. But again, without funding or support from the church, the school would struggle for want of funding. The autism centre for children had to close its doors for financial reasons in 1982 causing her enormous sorrow. Jeanne suffered from chronic depression, followed by two years of psychotherapy. It is not difficult to imagine how she might have used any royalties owed to her for this school for Autistic children. But instead, the money from her work went to Philips records (The Label) and her convent. (The Artist.)

The record deal between Philips and her diocese meant Jeanne received no actual payment for her success with "Dominique" or for any of the material she wrote and recorded in that time. Philips Records paid all royalties owed to the church.

Although Jeanne spent most of her life living with Annie Pécher, her sexual orientation remained a closeted secret. She consistently denied any romance.

"People at my record company think that two women who live together must be lesbians. They assert even that nuns in convents are in love. I deny these rumors as I testify against every creepy spirit. The answer is still obvious that I am not homosexual. I am loyal and faithful to Annie, but that is a whole other love in the Lord. Anyone who cannot understand this can go to the devil".

In the late 1970s, the Belgian Ministry of Finance sent Jeanne a bill for $63,000 in back taxes. Someone figured out no tax had been paid by the writer and singer of a world #1 smash hit. Jeanne countered that the royalties from her recording were given to her convent and that she was not liable for payment of any personal income tax. The subsequent investigation led to her former convent and her former record label, Philips, making a deal. The sisters gave her what they considered to be her share. A sum enabling Jeanne to acquire a small apartment in Wavre, Brabant. This payment followed her signing an NDA. Including the clause 'In full and final payment' releasing her rights to the songs to the church. Jeanne would get nothing more for her music from the Catholics or from Philips Records. The Philips contract gave the artist 5% while they retained 95% of all revenue. A common split at that time.

Jeanne and Annie continued their struggle against poverty. In 1982, Jeanne tried music once again, as Sœur Sourire, recording a disco synthesizer version of "Dominique". This last desperate attempt to monetize her singing career failed.

Jeanne then tried to make a living by giving lessons in music and religion. But that too failed to generate enough money for a healthy lifestyle. By now the years of struggle and living under the shadow she imposed on herself, on 29 March 1985. Unable to give up on religion, she gave up on life and love. Simultaneously. She was 52.

Jeanne Deckers, 52, and Annie Pécher, 41, died together by suicide. By overdosing on barbiturates and alcohol. Their suicide note referenced overwhelming financial challenges. “We are going together to meet God our Father. He alone can save us from this financial disaster.” Surprisingly that they also wrote they had not lost their faith and wanted a joint burial, according to the rites of the Catholic Church. They were buried together on 4 April 1985 in Chérémont Cemetery in Wavre, Brabant, the town where they died.

The inscription on their tombstone reads, "J'ai vu voler son âme/ A travers les nuages" In English: "I saw her soul fly through the clouds" a line taken from her 1966 song Luc Dominique.

How terrible to be born in an age of religious intolerance that made same-sex love a sin. How much worse that she was unable to shed the noose her catholic faith placed around her right to be her authentic self. A tragedy on so many levels. Except for Philips Records. And the catholic church. The Label and the Artist.