True Story.

The other day, meeting a Friendster friend of a good friend's ex-boyfriend over there at the Bastille (that monument in Paris famous for no longer existing), I saw a cop put a gun to somebody's head. At first, I didn't realize he was a policeman and thought I was to be witness to a random shooting. Three plain clothes officers swarmed a slowly moving car carrying three young men; through the open window one cop screaming "Arretez!" pointed his gun an inch from this man's face, who, scared, hunched forward and braced for impact. He was not even the driver, who, in turn, gunned car (an odd turn of phrase in light of the circumstances) into the mess of traffic that is the Bastille roundabout and, at least, the cop was wise enough not to pull the trigger. They gave chase on foot to the moving car (here, those on foot probably had the advantage), but my eyes did not pursue the rest.

I seem to choose to live in places of great mythology. Paris buttressed by a chamber of commerce of Hugo and Hemingway. Before that was Olympia, WA a place either unknown (I interpolated once into a story describing Oly: “Oh, we’re not loved. We’re not even hated. We’re only sweetly ignored.” I no longer remember the origin of the quote.) or considered a nouveau Shangri-La. Before that was L.A., which, though quite a myth to many, I just never got over the idea of it as the place where the freeway (and thus my cross-country voyage) ended. I seem to be forever on the verge of developing cynicism living the reality of a mythical place. Yet I never do.

Besides folks being a bit gaga over the thought of "living in Paris," I'm often asked what's happening in music here. To outsiders, the French music scene is a bit insular (this is a more polite judgement than the popular "insipid"). Actually most of those "outsiders" are ex-pats living in town who've seen too many bad bar bands.

Needless to say, French music isn't American music: it doesn't carry that full-steam ahead produce more than anyone could ever consume value. Though it's no Sweden either. It chugs along quietly, thinking about things, maybe sending out a Gainsbourg, Air or Daft Punk every 20 odd years or so. It also seems to have that same contemporary problem of doing everything in English to "reach a wider market." Luckily, my favorite album of late is by a French woman, from her album "La saison volée." She does do an English song or two, and one in Spanish; but mostly it's in her native tongue. And it's a cuddle and a half.

Françoiz Breut -- La vie devant soi (2005)

Tomorrow too

Today too
out of this urge to cry
I went to the city
and out of this urge to cry
came home from the city. Kitahura Hakushu

Well another gig down there at Cité U. I had the worst gig of my life there (probably a year ago now): partially because of late arriving inefficient equipment (which, worse, failed during the set; crashing the party to a halt; until a replacement came in), bad communication, folks asking for too much for too little money (worse I didn't get paid what I was promised) (Although, all-in-all, I saw it through to the end and a lot of folks had a good time). Definitely worth a BLoG post recounting the blow-by-blow horrors. But a year later, I've got other fish to fry.

Anyway, my friend, David, became president of the American House at Cité U, and hires me occasionally for parties. Now this University seems a pretty great idea: 20 or so different nations, all with their own house, living and working together on one campus. The possibilities for diversity!

And yet, everytime I spin there all the requests are ripped from the top ten American R and B charts: Usher and Ludicris. I remember once getting a request for P-Diddy (during that worst gig of my life) and thinking: "P-Diddy? Do people actually listen to P-Diddy? (I've never heard a song by him, so I haven't an opinion on his artistic merit) Here's your chance to be away from home, experience what you may never experience again, and I've got some great Turkish psychedelic music that'll really blow your shit. Sure you wouldn't rather hear that?"

But the first rule of being a DJ of the Folk is "Sometimes you gotta play Madonna." I'll pack up the 50 Cent and Usher, Madonna and Kylie, just for the kids.

Of course, the second rule is, "And sometimes you shouldn't." That's why I'll also bring along things like:

E. T. Mensah & the Tempos Dance Band -- Save Me (1969)

The dance is free and open to the public. Stop by if you get the chance and request something that'll even scare me.

Jeudi 21 avril aprés 21h
Cité Université
Foundation Etats-Unis 15 Blvd Jourdan
Entrée libre

The Day the Music Died

My AudioScrobbler seemed to stop accepting my submissions, and just when I finally got a copy of MYPL. What is one to make of this?

There was some sorta spyware on my computer the other day and perhaps the two have something to do with one another. It's a world full of thieves and shysters as much as it is filled with honest folk. The latter reacts by barracading within a bulwark (conservatives in religion or family, liberals in odd complex networks of communities).

Somewhere after 1976 American society fell apart (I mostly blame Star Wars and Ronald Reagan). My idea of Society simply being that though the thing doesn't work really well, everyone agrees to keep plugging away at it mutually together.

Case in point: DJing. My arch-nemesis, (recently downgraded to #2 position) Madonna, quips that "Music brings the people together." One would think; most of it has a 4/4 beat (except, oddly enough, A-ha's "Take on Me") and if a DJ has a sense of rise, fall, and rerise, they should do well. But there's so much cultural baggage attached to songs, one finds folks running behind specializations, sporting their badges and flags.

This isn't bad in and of itself. Culture develops as a small set of people pursue a specific idea and then react against it and rethink it. But to have no desire to explore the "other," to me is just bizarre. When someone comes up to me when I'm spinning and says "Can you just play hip-hop or we're leaving!" One doesn't really get the feeling like we're working on something here together.

This wouldn't be so bad if it weren't a mirror of society.

Then there's the internet. After 20 years of American "society" saying "don't go outside, your neighbors will shoot you," the marketing forces of software manufacturing forced everyone on-line. Now we're being thrown back into society: spyware, crazed lunatics, sex, love and innocence. Funny thing, all that.

Blah blah blah. How 'bout a song?

Corvus Trouteyes -- Love Your Crooked Neighbor (2002)

I met Corvus one night when I was hosting a soirée at Le Bistro des artistes (though we were at one time almost neighbors, he living in Seattle, WA). Un type d'un certain age with his guitar, wife, unassuming and flirtatious demeanor. With a voice that almost doesn't work but does (imagine if Jad Fair was born 15 years earlier in Montana). He gave me a copy of his CD and I'm sure he wouldn't me sharing a tune with you.

And since my Scrobbler thing don't seem to be working, I've got to spread the love somehow.

Hello World

Back in the day when John used to work at Golden Oldies in lovely downtown Olympia, WA, USA (a city ordinance requires this specific nomenclature, downtown Oly's not really that lovely), he had a theory that the music I loved most was by female artists, denoted only by their first name, singing bubblegum dance pop.

This could be true. I'm not without certain obsessions.

But the theory quickly falls apart when I DJ. Case in point, Madonna. She is my nemesis, as I am perhaps the only DJ in the world who can clear a dance floor by playing her music. Someone says, "Play some Madonna, fer chissakes!" I begrudging comply with "Cherish" thinking there's a tune by her they probably haven't heard in awhile. Everybody leaves the dance floor. "Not that Madonna!" How does that old song go? "You gotta please yourself..."

(As a side note, Madonna does have the distinction of having the only song I will not play under any circumstances: "Material Girl." Cheap attempt at Reagan era cynicism made worse, like the film Star Wars, of being lovingly embraced by the masses. Consider my refusal a first step towards a more enlightened future when the majority opinion will be, "Gee, what a shitty song.")

Let's not even get into Beyoncé. Outside that tune she did with Sean Paul, what's the point?

"Well," you might be saying "we've all got problems, kid, what is this music you actually like?" Ah, well how about Chandra:

Chandra: Concentraction (1980)

This little ditty came from the KAOS vinyl library, a collection someone should invest the time to digitize and distribute for it's cultural value. Hey, I do my part when I'm in town. Like the above tune. It comes from a three song EP issued in 1980. Not having the album before me, I can't tell you much more, except I remember she looked about 12 in her album photo and I think it was on a label out of England.

The net hasn't been of much use to me in finding info about her. One name artists may be a nice little sub-genre for collectors, but one is more apt to find out about Sheila Chandra than poor old (or, rather, young) Chandra. Any info you may have would make my day.

I might just play some of her stuff on Wednesday (April 13) down at OPA (9 rue Biscornet - 75012 PARIS Métro: Bastille - sortie rue de Lyon) between 20h and 2h. The singer/actress Alexandra Roos is the feature (she goes on at 9, I'll mix before and after), so I might lay down a poppy chansony sorta set, though if the kids start dancing, I won't do anything to interrupt the vibe.

Unless they request "Material Girl."