I'm not from Barcelona

Cause I already made the joke, can I throw it out there that "I'm From Barcelona" is the most uncreative, uninsightful, and typical name for an indie band.  Their music is abhorrent, too.

But yeah, I went there last weekend.  I had been before a few years ago, but this trip certainly left a very mixed impression in my mind.  Sure, it is beautiful, the food is delicious, everyone parties all night long, and it is leagues cheaper than Parigi.  That's a given.  But, Barcelona is distinctly not Paris.  The overwhelming and irritating presence of sleazy whores and cerveza-hash sellers all over the city is troubling, to say the least.  The pickpockets are everywhere.  Everywhere.  Over four days, I had five run-ins with thieves.  Some more subtle than others, but none successful.  Sometimes there was a front, an obviously maligned attempt to charm naive tourists before grabbing a back pocket, and other times, it was just a not-so-subtle threat of force.  

As all of this went on, I thought about the Bresson film "Pickpocket," and more than anything, as Jon not so subtly told an attempted thief, "you're absolutely terrible at your job.  Find a new profession."  I don't know what to say other than, you would expect someone intent on making money by stealing to at least show a little bit of finesse--hell, even Bernie Madoff managed that.  After one older man unsuccessfully  tried to take Jon's wallet, as we walked away, his friend apologized and then tried to sell us hash.  Seriously?  I guess I'm shocked that the general

 tourist naiveté was outdone by the pickpockets' general naiveté.

I was able to get back to Paris in one piece with wallet in pocket, even if missing my easyjet flight probably cost me more than a would-be thief.  The real thiefs work at the airport.  They took the cool corkscrew I bought when I went through security, too.

On the other hand, it is a beautiful city, and I did eat like a king.  The main market is sensational.  Hundreds of stands boast every kind of vegetable, animal, and fish known to man, and to our delight, the juice of every fruit at 1E .  Kiwi is a severely underrated juice.

As a general repercussion of living in a landlocked city for months, I was the most fascinated by the seafood section, with its vast array of shelled life I didn't know existed. I particularly liked this one shot.  I'm not really sure what this fishmongress is doing, but I do wonder whether or not she washes her banana before she touches raw fish.

Paella and red wine.

"Razor clams." Delicious.

There was also a fair bit of exploring Gaudi buildings.  Everyone you know has been to Barcelona and posted pictures of themselves in front of that mosaic iguana in Parc Guel on facebook, but it does truly go without saying that his architectural style is totally unique and beautiful.  I found Casa Batlo extremely mystifying and I can only hope that one day I have the capital to rent out the building for my own private usage.  You know, when I win the lotto.

I thought that the scene was awful Hitchcockian and I would not have been at all surprised to see this woman in black jump from the roof à la Vertigo.  Maybe she already did, and this is really her.  Well the roof is a brilliantly colored architectural beauty, and I was happy to walk around it for far too much time taking in the long-awaited sun.  The interior was equally beautiful, although half the building is actually owned by private citizens, who actually get to live and work there.  Fuck them I paid 13E admission.

All in all, it was an enjoyable trip and highs, lows, and cadences. 

fail / flâneur

I apologize to my vast readership that I haven't posted anything in a couple weeks. I blame the weak internet connection in my room.  Yep, that's it.  I guess my method, like many things in life, is to delay until it's the 11th hour, and then make up for my laziness by impressing.  Well, at least I'll try.  

I accidentally burnt off a little eyebrow one morning using this.  Always make sure your lighter is not set to two-foot-tall mode.  

I'm really phased by the fact that I just paid my third month's rent, and I leave some time after the 6th.  Far too soon.  My quest for S.... A.... 'meaning' is far from 1/3 complete (honhonhon ... jeer).  Far too much to do and see and say and while there's probably enough time to do most things I wanna do, I like taking my time.  Moreover, staying-here-indefinitely is not a feasible goal in six months.  Damnit.

*******

Last week, I spent a few hours wandering around Père Lachaise cemetery, one of the several famous cemeteries in Paris, full of famous and rich corpses.  Yes, Jim Morrison is there.  If you intend to look for famous writers/artists/philosophers/politicians/musicians/etc etc etc, well, you can.  But in that case, you should probably buy the map from the guy at the entrance.  Cause otherwise, you will wander relatively aimlessly indefinitely (obviously what I did).  Not that that was a bad choice at all.  The posted maps in the cemetary are vague and confusing.  Everything I saw, I found by accident (a true flâneur?) while looking for something else.  

The first confusion stemmed from the fact that the French have a set of pretty popular names, leading to endless numbers of people with famous namesakes  (indeed, my host family, the Legrand family, constantly makes reference to their famous ancestor from Macedonia (Alexandre Legrand). Har har.  Like a fool, I took pictures of 'famous graves' before realizing that they were just ordinary joe's with enough pull to get themselves buried in Père Lachaise.  After that, I decided to accept that I was aimlessly wandering, and it was readily apparent, that taking a photo of Jim Morrison's grave (diminutive, if you ask me) was NOT the goal.   

The opulent wealth of nearly everyone buried here is fairly obvious (especially when contrasted with the nameless piles of bones in the Catacombes, for example).  There are a lot of families named "Bourgeois" (yes, it is a popular name), but even without such a glaringly expensive name, the wealth buried in the cemetery is evident.  I don't mean to connote anything negative (right now) because walking through endless rows of beautifully decorated graves was extremely peaceful and beautiful.

I thought it was somewhat awkward because these celeb-teries are just as much tourist attractions as they are places of mourning and memory.  I wasn't sure whether or not I should feel guilty taking pictures of people in the cemetery, or even the gravestones.  While the graves date back several hundred years, there are also people buried in Père Lachaise today.  It is not just a historical monument; on the other hand, it is not just an anonymous cemetary. 

But what is for sure is that the corpses in Père Lachaise lie in style, even if they went out without it.  The countless mini-mausoleums containing entire families of bourgeois Frenchmen are beautiful and elegant.  Yet, most of them are rusting or in some relative state of disrepair. It makes it feel more authentically old.

Of the famous graves, Oscar Wilde's was probably the most interesting and obviously the most flamboyant.  I think that the picture speaks for itself (and the reputation preceding it, as well).

Next time, though, I'll probably go with a map; I couldn't find Maurice Merleau-Ponty or André Breton and I'd like to pay my respects (or at least say whatup).

Picasso sans Picasso

Daniel Buren's installation piece "La Coupure" in (over, around, between) the Musée Picasso uses giant mirrors to alter the apparent spatial field around the viewer, heightening the effect of Picasso's cubist and abstract body of work.  If museum-going is experiential, which I believe it is, then Buren's installation may even have overshadowed the enormous permanent collection.  In the center atrium of the Hôtel Salé, which houses the museum, an enormous mirror divides the museum in half, using vertical symmetry to closely replicate the other half the building, which is apparent only by looking behind the mirror.  While I wonder how many birds have met their end flying into this hundred-someodd foot tall invisible wall, it has a more subtle affect on the human eye.  At times, it was perfectly apparent that there is a giant mirror doubling the visual plane.  Yet at others, there was the implicit knowledge that the building was mirrored, however the affect was subtle enough to feign an actual continuous plane from one side of the building to the other. 

I'm not quite sure, but I believe the colored window panels were also part of the Buren exhibition.  The museum is quite well-lit, with a litany of large windows allowing natural light to enter.  From the upper floors, the windows provide a spectacular view of the surrounding buildings in the Marais and the Hôtel Salé luxurious sculpture garden.  The colored panels highlight the view outside, catalyzing the beautiful architecture surrounding the building in exotic and uplifting tones--green, blue, red, yellow, and pink.  Combined with a beautiful day, it makes for great pictures, even between the pictures you paid 6E to see (Picasso's, that is).

Truly a photographer's delight.

 

scènes autour de la seine

Pictures of things I saw.  Tourist after all.

f(art)

So many museums, so much art, and I spent half an hour walking around a basketball court taking pictures of graffiti ('Tony Parker -- he is ze best player in ze werld, yes?").  Right next to the Eiffel Tower, amidst luxury hotels and administrative-looking buildings, there is also an enormous parking lot.  Well, it's really just an open dirt lot.  I don't know why it's there, but the f(art) was pretty good.

trop bouffé

Yeah, I spend a lot of time eating.

And looking at, photographing, and tasting food.

Expect more vacuous shit like this. MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM.

L'Inauguration at Harry's Bar

Just pretend that this is not weeks overdue.  I am somewhat disappointed that I haven't gotten to experience the changeover in 'the states' since the inauguration, but on the other hand, the French perception of the inauguration and more generally the new president is interesting, to say the least.  Not unlike many Obama supporters chez nous, many Parisians love Barack Obama almost blindly.  Last summer, he drew a crowd of over half a million Berliners, and that was no isolated incident.  Obviously, this level of enthusiasm is in large part due to the overwhelming dislike for ze late president boosh, but it is also, like Facebook and Gossip Girl, very cool to like Barack.  I mean, yeah, the cult of personality is overwhelming and speaks nothing to his ideologies/policies/anything, but nonetheless, for once I actually feel like the masses might not be too far off the mark.  

Shuffling back a few weeks... I figured that the most cliché, the most ridiculous place to watch the inauguration would be Harry's Bar, the legendary American bar that has seen the likes of Ernest Hemingway, Humphrey Bogart, and now, Jacob Levi.  Yeah, quel cliché.  I know. 

I was literally the last person allowed in the bar before it was officially 'full.'  Needless to say, it was filled to the brim with lush Americans vacationing in Paris.  White wine and champagne everywhere.  A few Parisians joined in the commotion, seemingly just to take part in the spectacle.  Major news networks from France and Germany stuck their cameras in too, if only to get a recognizable backdrop for events taking place across the ocean.  If you happen to watch French/German TV on a nightly basis, there is a decent chance you saw my big head of hair in a few shots.     

Sure, Harry's looks like a 20's hangout for ex-pats with Ivy League degrees and a habit for binging.  It probably was. Now it's where bougie Americans watch the inauguration.  But then again, that is exactly what I expected, and most Americans in Paris are bougie vacationers.

On the other hand, I admit that Obama's opening address as President of the United States was both inspiring and meaningful (eek).  I hate to say things like that.  But, as many of us will agree, even watching the speech was an experience not soon forgotten.

Of all the 7.50E cocktails I've had at bars around this city, my Martini at Harry's was probably the only drink I actually felt justified paying.

Alan Braxe

IMG_0330
Originally uploaded by jel02006

please upload, photo

Animal Collective

http://fr.youtube.com/watch?v=zol2MJf6XNE

Just watch this.

I remember back in the spring of '05, I was in Lexington, Kentucky for a weekend and I kept seeing these signs for a concert at the University's student center by this group Animal Collective.  I knew the group, vaguely enjoyed it, but I didn't really "get" it.  Either way, I couldn't go to the show, so it was a non-issue.  I saw them play in New York in the winter of '06 during their Feels tour, and as I recall, I was mesmerized by their stunning live set.  I knew Sung Tongs and Feels, and their live set sounded nothing like anything I had heard on the record.  It was eclectic, free form, but always maintained the semblance of intentionality, that is, during the set, during long periods of sustained dissonance, it was evident that the noise was going somewhere, that the three kooks on stage actually prepared this noise for it to be used towards some more melodic, or at least structured development.  It was extremely unique and hugely progressive.  

Fast forward two years.

Animal Collective releases Strawberry Jam; I saw them on this tour at the Henry Fonda in LA in '07 and then at the Pitchfork Festival in '08. Both were fantastic sets, meshing old and new material, going through progressions of highly uplifting melody to darker, more tribal percussive sections.  Both sets, while extremely different, ended with a superlative 10 minute rendition of  Fireworks, the obvious standout track on the album.  I don't need to sing their praises too much.  What I found shocking was this noise rock band from Baltimore, whose band members resemble mushroom-eating hobbits, had struck it pretty big.  The LA show was sold out long before, and they headlined the first night of the highly successful Pitchfork festival.  How was it possible that such a strange band could make it to the indie-limelight?  Was that a good thing? A bad thing?

Well, I don't know.

Now, as we all know, Animal Collective is at the forefront of the independent music world, and their latest album, Merriweather Post Pavilion, was so highly anticipated that threats of lawsuits were thrown around as several tracks leaked onto the internet. I had the foresight to buy tickets to their show in Paris last weekend, to see what would go down.  Is Animal Collective different  now? Has popularity ruined that strange quality that made their older material so good? I was not, and I am not sure.  

I only got the album several days before last week's show, and I gave it a good, hard listen.  It's good, granted.  It is not great.  On first listen of Feels/Sung Tongs/Strawberry Jam, I was able to pick out a selection of songs and declarative state that they were excellent songs that I would listen to for a long time to come.  I don't really feel that way about Merriweather.  Ironically I feel kind of like the Bobby D fans at Newport: Animal Collective has gone far too electronic!  Now, let's consider how ridiculous that statement is, primarily because it is coming from me, but secondarily because I'm using it as a criticism of Animal Collective.  Geologist's role in the band has always concerned electronic equipment almost exclusively.  Of course.  There has always been a digital bend to their music.  But not like before.  I was originally drawn to the band because of their intricate tribal rhythm section and complex melodic patterns.  The yelping and the screaming contrasted with the tingling melodic buildups in songs like Winters Love and Grass beautifully.  Of course, bands and their sounds evolve over time.  But Merriweather Post Pavillion, following Strawberry Jam, has seen the synthesizer elevated to the definitive element in their music.  I'm not sure that was a good move.  It seems a whole lot more like strange artsy-electro than experimental music.  In short, I enjoy this new album and will listen to it, but I think that a lot of what made them so unique and interesting several years ago is evaporating as they follow a new direction.

Then, there's the indie-popularity they now own.  Take this video, for example.  In one sentence, this video is: "iPod commercial + slightly trippy cell-like things floating around."  Is there anything more to this? I don't think so.  Is it that I don't "get" it? Have I changed? (Yes) Have they changed? (Yes)  For the better? (err)  

The concert in Paris was good.  Unlike earlier shows, they focused much more on their newest album and only played several songs from other albums.  Their rendition of Leaf House from Sung Tongs was pretty interesting, and they kept the same long version of Fireworks for the end of the set.  Besides that, and an extremely lackluster version of Banshee Beat during the encore (one of my favorite A.C tracks), the entire set was from Merriweather Post Pavilion.  My Girls and Daily Routine were probably the standout tracks, and the transitions were at times awe-inspiring.  On the other hand, for a good deal of time in the middle of the set, I lost interest and didn't feel the same pull I have during previous Animal Collective sets.  I admit, I think my taste has changed a lot and it has a lot to do with me. But on the other hand, I'm starting to think that there is also something to the fact that the Animal Collective I liked from 2k5-6 has evolved in a new direction. Meh.

Le Job, Le Bigmac, Le Studyabroad

V: Yeah baby, you'd dig it the most. But you know what the funniest thing about Europe is?

J: What?

V: It's the little differences. I mean, they got the same shit over there that they got here, but it's just – it's just there it's a little different.

J: Example?

V: All right. Well, you can walk into a movie theater in Amsterdam and buy a beer. And I don't mean just like in no paper cup, I'm talking about a glass of beer. And in Paris, you can buy a beer at McDonald's. And you know what they call a Quarter Pounder with Cheese in Paris?

J: They don't call it a Quarter Pounder with Cheese?

V: Nah, man, they got the metric system. They wouldn't know what the fuck a Quarter Pounder is.

J: What do they call it?

V: They call it a "Royale with Cheese."

J: "Royale with Cheese."

V: That's right.

J: What do they call a Big Mac?

V: A Big Mac's a Big Mac, but they call it "Le Big Mac".

 

**

 

I’ve spent the last two weeks trying to think of some way to summarize or explicate the last two weeks to the blogosphere, if not to myself.  It turns out there is no way of describing S… A… without sounding contrived.  Shocker.  Everything I’ve been doing, and everything I will do for the next six months, has been done countless times before by dimwitted liberal arts school students from Boston to sunny Southern California.  Nonetheless, I refuse to let this project die, and this two week hiatus will come to an end right now, whether that implies I’m retracing a clichéd story or not.

It seems that the internet has surpassed cultural difference.  Of course, we all know this at least nominally, and the influx of foreign music, media, etc. etc. into America has been evident for some time now.  But I guess I remain somewhat shocked how similar “Bobo” culture is, from Paris to New York to L.A.  We sit around, we laugh about this that and the other thing, and we sip beverages to pass the time.  If we can’t find a suitable living room, we go to Starbucks, or we pay too much money to sit at a dimly lit bar playing music we probably have on our iPods.  Last night on the subway (ou bien, le Metro) I heard a couple girls discussing this song “Kids” that they’re really sick of hearing.  Of course, it’s a gross overstatement to say that difference has been wholly effaced. The cultural proximity of Paris to New York is a whole lot closer than, say, Sri Lanka and New York (M.I.A not withstanding). 

So yeah, there surely are barriers that remain intact and only the future knows what will become of the “rest” of the world.  But, as Vincent said, it’s the little things that really strike me.  No, not the little differences—it’s the little similarities that really get me.  In a conversation several days ago, in reference to a car, Antoine called “shotgun,” in heavily accented French, as though it were just another word, like “pain” “voiture” or “garcon.”  This was followed by calls of “non putain,” and an argument about the rules of the game.  When a head of state is inaugurated, one ought to describe the event as l’investiture; Tuesday afternoon, the talk around Paris was all about l’inauguration.  And, despite my rejection of the vile substance, the local supermarket has Skippy’s Peanut Butter.  Apparently, that is a big deal.

 

Every single time I've posted something on here, I've subsequently found some grammar/content error that bothers me a lot.  If I had the time, I would re-read things I write, but I don't, so I haven't.

I'm also really disappointed that I didn't get the Top Albums of 2K8 out in time for the commencement of 2009, but I'll do it now, sort of:

1. Cut Copy – In Ghost Colours

2. Dodos- Visiter

3. Crystal Castles – Crystal Castles

4. Syclops – I’ve Got My Eye On You

5. High Places – High Places

6. King Khan & the Shrines – Supreme Genius of…

7. Deerhunter – Microcastle

8. Hercules and Love Affair - Hercules and Love Affair

9. Neon Neon – Stainless Style

10. Sébastian Tellier - Sexuality 

11. Vivian Girls – Vivian Girls

12. Starfucker – Starfucker

13. Hot Chip – Made in the Dark

14. Metronomy – Nights Out

15. Caribou – Andorra

16. Beck – Modern Guilt

17. Megapuss – Surfing

18. The Notwist – The Devil, You + Me

19. air france – No Way Down

20. Love is All – A Hundred Things Keep Me Up at Night

21. Juan Maclean – Less than Human

22. The Magnetic Fields – Distortion

23. Fuck Buttons – Sweet Horrsing

24. Plants and Animals – Parc Avenue

25. Friendly Fires – Friendly Fires

I'll explain my choices when I can.