Sylvie Vartan’s "Ne pars pas comme ça": A Dramatic French Take on an Already Dramatic Disco Classic
Thelma Brought Energy, Teddy Had Depth, and Sylvie Delivered French Drama
Few songs define disco heartbreak like Don't Leave Me This Way. Originally recorded by Harold Melvin & the Blue Notes in 1975 with Teddy Pendergrass on vocals, the song found massive success when Thelma Houston’s 1976 version soared to #1 on the Billboard Hot 100. While Thelma Houston’s high-energy disco production became the definitive take, France had its own interpretation in 1977—Sylvie Vartan’s Ne pars pas comme ça. With her signature theatrical flair, Vartan reimagined the song as a melodramatic, French-tinged anthem, turning it into something entirely her own.
The Harold Melvin & the Blue Notes 1975 version is the original, with Teddy Pendergrass on lead vocals, and it remains my favorite version. But I do love a cover song.
When Thelma Houston (no relation to Whitney) took it on in 1976, she turned it into a disco classic. It could have just been the handling, but Houston’s is by far the most popular version, hitting #1 on the Billboard Hot 100 in 1977, while Harold Melvin & the Blue Notes' original was never released as a U.S. single and peaked at #5 in the UK.
To be fair, the orchestration is flawless, her delivery stunning, and her backup band both subtle and intricate, perfectly balanced. The break at 2:55 is incredible—I get it. Houston is amazing.
Then in 1977, France got its own take—Sylvie Vartan’s Ne pars pas comme ça. It’s big, it’s theatrical. It’s French?
Vartan is a Bulgarian-born French singer and was a defining voice of the yé-yé movement, most known for her glamorous stage presence and for bringing French adaptations of English-language hits into the mainstream – like this one.
Vartan leans fully into the disco diva aesthetic here, with somewhat repetitive dance moves and a standard disco march behind her, but her sheer theatricality carries the performance.
The sound on this version is also just okay, but it constantly impresses me how France held these amazing concerts back then, this one at Palais au Congres in Paris in 1977. They seem to have always embraced spectacle. It’s worth sticking around for the breakdown at 3:00, where she really shines. While Pendergrass and Houston come out strong from the start, Vartan seems to build up to her moment—and when it arrives, she’s amazing.
Vartan’s version feels like a French mélodrame updated for the era, the soundtrack to a tragic Parisian love story, where Catherine Deneuve sobs in a smoky Montparnasse apartment as it plays in the background. Something.
Why Wasn’t Teddy’s Version the Biggest?
I want to be clear: I don’t think it’s at all fair to compare Sylvie Vartan to Teddy Pendergrass. Pendergrass does more for that song in the first few bars than Vartan shows up with for most of the song, but it’s enjoyable.
Still - for me, the Harold Melvin and the Blue Notes version is the best version, most powerful, intricate and beautiful version of this song. Teddy Pendergrass owns this song with an intensity and a subtly few could ever match.
Oddly, Pendergrass’s original take wasn’t the most popular one. Maybe it was because disco was surging, and his version leaned more into Philly soul. But it’s also striking how male vulnerability—especially in the pleading, desperate genre—was both his specialty while being something that didn’t always translate to mainstream success. Not that Teddy was not a known performer. He’s legendary.
An unrelated video for the song that is still fun to watch, including a moment at 3:36 where I was 100% sure he was going to just drop that woman.
Pendergrass famously mastered the "begging song," an R&B staple, where a man pleads for his lover to stay (Baby, Come Back, Ain’t Too Proud to Beg). But for Don't Leave Me This Way, it was Thelma Houston’s powerhouse version that took off. Was it just disco timing, or were audiences more willing to embrace that level of emotional vulnerability from a woman?
Vartan’s version, a year later, reinforces that idea. A woman crying out for love—especially in France, where grand romantic gestures are practically a national sport—feels natural, even expected. It’s fascinating that in a genre where Pendergrass was a master, this particular song slipped away from him.
The Communards
I feel like I need to mention Jimmy Somerville’s version of the song, but it almost doesn’t compare. Somerville is simply amazing and I truly love his voice, but the song overall doesn’t quite compare - yet it is totally worth listening to and it was a big hit in the UK in the 80s.
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