I have a vegan sister-in-law.  As a present to her, I made reservations at Le Potager de Charlotte when we went to Paris in the spring.  Note that I am definitely NOT vegan... but this place is fantastic, and even if you are an omnivore, if you happen to be in Paris, I recommend you stop by.

First, it's a family run restaurant.  There are two of them... one is in the 17th arrondisement, and the other is in the 9th.  One of the co-owners greeted us at the door and was also our server.  I like to support small businesses, especially the kind where the folks who own the place put so much work and energy into their restaurant.

Second, the food is outstanding.  Here, have a look at the menu. Note that some things on the menu change, based on what kind of vegetation happens to be fresh and in season. 

I started with the chickpea and rice crêpes.  (A side note to the folks at Le Potager de Charlotte... I'm an anglophone, and personally, I think it sounds strange to call these "pancakes".  Sure, they're thicker than your normal French crêpes, but I feel that your English-speaking customers know what a crêpe is without needing to translate it.  Just my opinion.)  You can see a picture of this starter on their website.  That cashew cream filling... wow.  It tasted fatty and cheesy, and the espelette powder on it added just a small background spiciness.  This was outstanding.  As you can see in the picture, it was served on some mixed salad.  No complaints about this course.  For my second course, I had another entrée, the avocado.  This is where I wish I had taken a picture.  It was basically a riff on a hard-boiled egg... but this is a vegan place, so the avocado was standing in for the solidified egg white.  The substance that made up the "yolk" was a deep yellow color, no doubt due to turmeric... and also a creamy and fatty mouth feel... see, this is the challenge with vegan food to me... how to make up for the taste and texture requirements where animal-based fats traditionally exist in a recipe.  These folks were super successful doing so.

I had small tastes of what my wife and her sister had ordered.  One of them got soup.  It was good, but could have used more salt. I forget what the other one got... suffice it to say that every bite I had was delicious.  Again, let me repeat... I am NOT vegan.

As for dessert... well, the description doesn't do it justice.  The picture doesn't either, but here it is anyway:

 

 

Coconut whipped cream... and the texture was fantastic.  Roasted hazelnuts.  Beautiful flowers (yes, I ate them).  Chocolate powder.  Under all of that stuff was this substance that strongly resembled chocolate mousse... turns out they make that with avocado... they need the fat for the right texture... but you couldn't taste avocado, it tasted like chocolate mousse.  This dessert was delicate and flavorful, and I would eat it again any day.

Wonderful food aside, let me tell a brief story about our arrival experience in order to show just how great the folks were here.  The day we had this reservation was our first day in the country, and I made the reservation at a normal French dinner time (read: very late for your average American) in order to force us all to be awake and active all day so we could sleep well that first night and beat the jet lag.  Well, through no fault of my own, we were running quite late to dinner.  No worries, I called the restaurant and told them that we would be late.  See, the restaurants are small, so if someone misses a reservation, that costs them money... they combat this by charging your credit card if you don't show up.  Well, when I called from the phone of the apartment we had rented, I managed to call the wrong location.  They are a small enough business that they could handle this... the very nice lady who I talked to said she would pass the message along.

Fast forward.  We are late, and we take Métro line 12 to Notre-Dame-de-Lorette.  Now, I've been to Paris many times, and know my way around some parts of town very very well... well enough that on more than one occasion, I have been able to give directions to actual French people.  This part of town is not one of the ones I know.  I had never been to this Métro station, nor had I been to this part of the 9th.  When we exit the Métro... chaos.  It's one of those odd French intersections where multiple roads converge in a less-than-logical fashion.  On top of that, there is construction.  On top of that, the street signage leaves much to be desired.  We get lost.  I am not often lost in Paris, so this was frustrating.  We wander one way, and when that clearly is wrong, we wander another way... and then I decide to wander into a local hotel to ask for directions.  The folks in the hotel are not familiar with this restaurant, and are also not familiar with the street it is on... but I was able to point out to them on one of their hotel tourist maps where I thought it was, and they were able to tell us how to walk in that direction.  Ok, finally headed the right way... and from that point, it's only about 15 minutes to get to the place.  We get there, and we are so late... very much later than we had possibly foreseen.  We're so late that they have locked the front door, as they're not letting any more folks into the restaurant.. However, upon seeing us, they open the door and ask if I am Mike.  I say that I am and explain that we got terribly lost getting there on foot, and profusely apologize in the most respectful French I could summon.  The very kind co-owner gentleman who I mentioned before lets a sigh of relief and immediately shows us to the table that had been reserved for us.  We received a fantastically warm welcome.

To sum up... food outstanding, service outstanding, experience unforgettable, you should go here if ever you are in Paris.

 

The first time I saw La Joconde was 1999.  (English speakers generally know her by a different name.)  She was small and dark, but out there in the open, and you could get as close to her as you wanted.  Things have changed... she is still small and dark, but is now protected by some thick glass and special lighting and a railing, and you can't get close anymore.

A couple of years later I wrote a song about her.  By this time, I had learned some rudimentary bass skills, and I wrote a lot of songs.  Most of them were garbage, and were discarded as such.  This one, I liked enough to actually type it and print it... and I wrote the chords on the sheet in pen.  The song didn't have a name at the time.  It disappeared.

Many many years later... in fact, I don't even remember when exactly... at least ten years had passed.... anyway, I was doing some cleaning, and I found this folded up piece of paper.  I unfolded it, and behold!  Lyrics.  Chords noted.  I didn't have a song title, and didn't even remember writing it... but I knew who it was about because I had included an inside joke for myself in the lyrics, calling her "mysteriously jocular", a play on words with her name.  There is only one person I would describe that way.

When I finally got around to making an album, I felt like this song had to be on it.  This is really what drove me to come up with a title.  Why is it called "Every Last Time Is like the First"?  Well, like the lyrics say, I have come around again and again, walking through those marble halls... and she's always there with that sly little smile, surrounded by dozens of people taking pictures with their flashes turned  off.  The last time I saw her was in April.  (This was the first time for my wife.)  I stayed at the back of the crowd, I had no reason to attempt to get close... I'll never be able to get as close as I did the first time I saw her.  But every last time I get some small measure of satisfaction from being back in her home, in her city.

 

 

This happened almost twenty years ago.  Mobile phones weren't ubiquitous.  No social media.  Cameras used actual film.  What follows is a verbatim excerpt from the travel journal I was keeping.  (To clarify, the "money problems" I mention are due to me leaving my wallet in a cab exactly one week prior.  I only had $15 US cash in there - which was not useful, as the currency one needed was francs - but I also had my bank card in there, and my plans to withdraw money from the ATM as needed took a big hit.  Also, at this point in the trip I was staying with some friends in Lyon, so had to travel to get to the show.)

 

***

MERCREDI le 27 Octobre 1999

 

11:04h  I'm up and preparing for the trip to Paris.  I am very much looking forward to the concert, I'll be able to forget about my money problems at least for a couple of hours.

19:29h At the concert.  Security temporarily confiscates my camera. It is like the Newport , but smaller, darker, no balcony.  I remember that Europeans don't mosh. I wish I had some cash on me, because this atmosphere is just screaming for a beer.  There is no opening act.  I met a guy on the crew.  Chris will play for ninety minutes.  I met some other Americans... girls from Wisconsin.  They had backstage passes... girls always get backstage passes.  The place is filling up... if it's not sold out, it sure is close.  This concert brought to us by OUI 102.3 FM, rock radio Paris.  They are doing a live TV appearance tomorrow on Canal+, according to the crew.

20:05h  The set list just got taped down.  

20:17h  It's on now....

Sunshower
Can't Change Me
Flutter Girl (key bass)
Mission (key bass)
Preaching...
Seasons (no keys 2 guitar)
When I'm Down
Pillow of Your Bones
Fell On.... (solo, for Kurt)
Moonchild
Sweet Euphoria  (for Paris, no drummer or bass)
Like Suicide
Follow My Way
-------
All Night Thing
Steel Rain

 

JEUDI le 28 Octobre 1999

 

07:29h  It's a six hour ride to Lyon, and I have to change trains in Dijon.  Hope that goes smoothly.  The good thing is that my railpass covers it.  I had expected to get more miles out of my railpass, but I have been rendered rather sedentary.  Last night's concert was great... the only thing that could have improved it would have been meeting Chris.  Chris kept up a good-natured banter with the crowd... in English.  Most of the younger crowd at the concert definitely understands English.  Highlights were the rockin' "Pillow of Your Bones", the crowd sing-along on "Fell On Black Days" and "Like Suicide", and the signature Chris Cornell scream/wail on "Steel Rain".  The crowd was very unfamiliar with the new songs, but they were very enthusiastic.  European concert goers don't heckle like their American counterparts.  And no moshing... everyone is in there all tight, and people kind of dance or headbang a little, but there isn't any real bodily contact.

***

 

So, those are the thoughts of the 21-year-old version of me.  Looking back, what a fantastic set.  Chris mentioned that he happened to be in that very building - Elysée Montmartre - when he got the news that Kurt Cobain had died, so he dedicated "Fell On Black Days" to Kurt.  He also remarked more than once that Paris is a very beautiful city, and dedicated "Sweet Euphoria" to the city and people of Paris.  As I mentioned in a previous blog post, I had been listening to the Euphoria Mourning album a great deal, so I was quite familiar with all of the new songs.  I would go on to eventually see Chris Cornell solo two more times... but this show topped them.  This is definitely one of the most memorable nights of music in my life.

Also, I miss Chris Cornell about as much as someone can miss a person who they have never met.

When you miss somebody 
You tell yourself a hundred thousand times 
Nobody ever lives forever 
So you give it one more try 
To wave goodbye, wave goodbye

Well said, Chris.  Well said.

When I was in my early twenties, I stayed with a friend a couple of times in the 15th arrondisement in Paris.  Because I spent so much time in that part of town, I became familiar with an Italian restaurant there, and I would visit them on every return trip.  This was one of my go-to lunch spots in Paris.  I liked it because it was out of the path of the crowds of tourists... a normal neighborhood restaurant, and at no point had I ever seen any other Americans there.  It is, therefore, with just a little bit of sadness that I must admit this restaurant has been replaced.

On my spring trip to Paris, my corporate colleague Guido was kind enough to take the time to meet me for lunch one day near our apartment in the 14th.  (We ate at a Lebanese place, but that's a story for another blog entry.)  Guido lives in Paris, but he is Italian, from the north, near Lake Como.  I showed him a picture of the pizza I had consumed at the aforementioned Italian restaurant in the 15th.  Guido was disappointed in my selection.  He then recommended an alternative.  He said to go to Arrivaderci.  He's Italian.  I'm not.  He would know better.  

I dragged my wife and my in-laws with me to Arrivaderci on Thursday 11th April.  It's in the 5th.  We arrived near the end of lunch time, but managed to get there before the restaurant closed.  Upon entering, I was greeted with a hearty "Buon Giorno!".  I replied in kind, and then said that there were four of us in the best Italian I could manage.  Then, I immediately switched back to French and apologized for not speaking decent Italian.  

We were seated.  We were brought menus.  Dish names in Italian.  Descriptions in French.  Ok.  

I started with the salmon carpaccio.  THIS salmon carpaccio:

 

It was outstanding.  

The folks here take pride in their pizza, and an actual Italian told me that it was good, so I had to try it.  Mine looked like this:

 

Now, I've read about Neapolitan style pizza, mostly due to pizza enthusiast Keith Law.  This was my first experience with the real thing.  I had always wondered what the taste and texture was like when he would describe the center as being "wet"... well, now I know.  Also, LOOK at that char on the crust.  This was the best pizza I have ever had.  Not close.  So yeah, apologies to the folks in the 15th, but I won't be visiting you for pizza anymore.  This is my new favorite Italian restaurant in Paris.

We were there well after closing time, and we saw the staff leave one-by-one.  Some of them might head back to the restaurant for the dinner service, some of them perhaps had other jobs.  I apologized on our behalf for keeping them there well past when they would normally have closed up shop, began cleaning, and taken their afternoon rest.  Upon mentioning that I am a musician, Gaitano and Antonio immediately found my album and started streaming it on the restaurant speakers.  That was a very cool life moment.

I listened to the staff talk to each other... yes, all in Italian.  Antonio told me that the only ingredient they have in the place that is French (local) is the water... which comes out of the tap.  All of their ingredients, they import from Italy.  I totally understand why my colleague Guido comes here.  If he is feeling homesick, this has to be the spot.

There is no shortage of Italian restaurants in Paris.  There are surely hundreds and hundreds of places you can get pizza.  I strongly doubt you'll find a better one than here.  Outstanding food, very friendly staff.  I can't wait to go back.

 

 

 

Aux amis et aux autres lecteurs francophones, je m'excuse pour écrire en anglais.

I begin by mentioning that in this blog entry, I will refer to the world’s most popular sport as “football”.  It is called this because it is played with a ball that is moved around by foot. If you happen to be from the United States and think that I should refer to this sport as “soccer”, perhaps you should know that the word “soccer” comes from a shortened form of the word “association” in the sport’s formal name, to wit, “association football”. 

The idea 

My wife and I were planning a long-overdue vacation to my favorite city, Paris.  I have been there enough times that there are few tourist activities that I have yet to experience.  We did our research, attempting to make some new memories. I knew that Paris has a football club that plays in its country’s highest league, Ligue 1.  The club is Paris Saint-Germain. If you are not familiar with French football, I will use a baseball analogy… you could consider this club to be the Yankees of Ligue 1.  They have won the most trophies, they spend the most money, they probably have the most fans. They were also playing a home match during our trip. 

Here was our chance to have a unique experience.  In the United States, football is not played at the same high level as in Ligue 1.  (Not that Ligue 1 is the world’s top league, but it is a higher level of play than we have here.)  This was a chance to see some stars in person who I’ve seen on television competing at the World Cup… Neymar, Cavani, Draxler, Mbappé.  The process to buy tickets was simple… the match was sold out, but tickets were available on PSG’s official website. It was kind of like using StubHub, but officially sanctioned by the club. 

The stadium 

PSG plays home matches at Parc des Princes.  This stadium is in southwest Paris, the 16th arrondisement, and is easily reached via Métro.  Well, let me clarify… the nearest Métro stop to the stadium is easy to reach.. .the stadium, not so much.  We arrived early on the day of the match because our tickets were in a section deemed to be “free seating”.  Now, all of the tickets have a row number and seat number, but this is apparently not enforced unless someone in attendance insists... so in practice, you can sit wherever you like, and your chances of sitting where you like increase if you arrive early. 

 

 

The route to the stadium from the Métro stop was circuitous.  We were routed through a residential neighborhood, along with thousands of other people who were headed to the match.  On the way, we noticed a great deal of security folks… some of them appeared to be employed by the club, and some were the armed national police.  The approaches to the stadium and the entry gates are not well marked, and we had some trouble finding the correct entrance for our section. (This was different than my experience going to baseball games in the United States, as you can generally enter the stadium anywhere you wish.) The problem was exacerbated by the club crowd control staff, from whom we received conflicting vague instructions. 

We eventually made our way inside and to our section. The stadium was much smaller than I was expecting.  The Internet tells me that the capacity is 47,929. That’s awfully tiny. For any readers who do not live in the United States, I say this because the university American football stadium in the capital of Ohio seats more than 100,000 people, and NFL stadiums also tend to be larger than 47,000 capacity.  That said, our seats were rather comfortable, given that we were probably in the least expensive part of the venue… and it’s not like we sat in them very much anyway… at kickoff, everyone is on their feet. 

 

 

 

The sight lines were glorious.  There didn’t appear to be any obstructed seats.  The design of the stadium is simple, there appear to only be two decks, and it’s a bowl shape.  The ends of the stadium behind each goal are farther away from the pitch than the seats on the sides… there is a great deal of empty un-used space between the stands and the goal.  The pitch was immaculate and the stadium lights made the bright green really pop. 

 

The atmosphere 

Briefly, French football fans are insane. 

Each end of the stadium - the cheaper seats - is filled with the more rowdy supporters.  Thankfully for us during our first experience, the side opposite ours was definitely rowdier, as it seemed to be the home base of a few supporters clubs.  Well before the match began (even as we were outside attempting to make our way in), groups of supporters were cheering, singing, chanting, banging on drums and other noise-makers, and putting up all kinds of ruckus.  I was thinking that these locals were enthusiastic and amped up… and that’s when the visiting team’s supporters began to arrive. 

The folks who supported Strasbourg either took a train across the country from the East, or live locally, but perhaps generally hide their support.  There is one section that appears to be reserved for visiting fans, and it is rather conspicuously separated from the cheap home seats by a fence and a few dozen security staff members.  (It told me a great deal about our section that PSG felt the need to fence off the visitors from our section of the stadium, but not from the section on the other side.) Every time another group of visiting fans arrived, they would be mercilessly harangued by the more rowdy people in our section… chants consisting of some words that I won’t repeat, chants made up of some words that I’m glad I didn’t know, and all sorts of obscene gestures from a variety of cultures, just to make sure the point got across.  Now, I’ve been to Strasbourg, and it’s a lovely city with lovely people, and I didn’t support that kind of abuse… really, nobody deserves that kind of treatment. Good-natured ribbing about sports is one thing, and abuse with threats of violence is something completely different. However, as the visitors filled their section, they seemed to collectively gather strength and hurl shouts and gestures back toward the Parisians. 

The stadium video boards (quite small by the standards to which I am accustomed) showed inspiring highlights from earlier matches in the season.  The players were warmly cheered every time the camera showed them on the pitch during their warm-up session… and then came the introductions… the stadium announcer hypes up each home player, shouting the player’s first name, and allowing the crowd to shout back the player’s last name.  When it was time to introduce the lineup for Strasbourg… well, I couldn’t hear any of the players’ names, as they were drowned out by the whistling and booing. 

The jumping and shouting and general craziness increased until kickoff… at which point it continued through most of the match.  The folks at the opposite end zone from ours were the loudest, starting cheers and chants that would then be picked up around the stadium… waving flags of all kinds.  For all the enthusiasm of the home folks, supporters of the most successful football club in France, they were outdone by the visitors. The visitors, outnumbered and confined to one small wedge in the stadium, never sat at any point during the match.  Not only did they never sit, they never stopped chanting, singing, cheering, jumping, clapping… even when the match was not going their way. (More on this later.) For most of the night, they were led by a portly gentleman who thought it prudent to not wear his shirt even though the temperature was probably 11 degrees (Celsius) and falling.  This gentleman stood down front of the visitors section with a megaphone in hand, and was, quite literally, a cheerleader. I don’t think he saw much of the match, as most of the time he was facing his fellow Strasbourg supporters, or occasionally gesturing toward our section. I have never seen anything like this level of crazy at a sporting event… I mean, I stood the entire match as well, but I didn’t pogo and scream for two hours.  I don’t know where these people find the energy. 

All of us - even those of us in the group who do not speak French - learned the main cheer.  It helps that the words are written on the inner stadium façade. “Ici C’est PARIS!” In order for this to sound authentic, one should first shout “Ici C’est!” and then wait for another party to shout back “PARIS!”... if you happen to be from Ohio, well, it’s just like the “OH!”, “IO!” cheer. 

 

 

By the way, “La Marseillaise” is not played before Ligue 1 matches, which is another difference from sporting events in the United States. 

 

The match 

PSG is the stronger club.  My dear friend Priscille, who accompanied us, told me before the match “Strasbourg n’est pas trop fort”.  Some of the PSG stars were missing. Neymar was injured with some kind of foot issue. Cavani and Di Maria weren’t around, and I still don’t know where they were.  Mbappé was there in warmups, but he started the match on the bench, as did Draxler. Hey, I get it… PSG were about to wrap up another league title, and figured that they could probably accomplish that while getting their stars some rest.  Strasbourg had other ideas. 

PSG players looked faster and more capable on and off the ball than the visitors.  Strasbourg apparently only had one striker on the pitch, and he looked very tall for a footballer, but incredibly slow.  (Note that I am not a football expert by any means, so take any of my observational analysis with lots of salt.) However, he seemed to get plenty of opportunities on the ball, because PSG didn’t appear to be that interested in playing defense.  They were awfully sloppy. 

After relentless attacks, PSG put one in the net down at the opposite end of the pitch.  1-0, home team. The sloppiness would come back to bite them rather quickly though.  Strasbourg kept looking to counter-attack when PSG would make errors in the midfield… and on one of those occasions, if memory serves, they had a 2 on 1 against the keeper on our side of the pitch and put the ball in the net to equalize the match.  The player that scored immediately ran toward the wedge of visiting fans to celebrate, and the group of white-clad visitors went even more berserk. As the kids say, “it was lit”. 

The home team managed to mess up a sure goal at the other end… one player had beaten the goalie, and the ball was going to go in the net, but a second player apparently wanted to tally the goal in the book and tried to touch it in… and he missed, and managed to allow the visitors to clear.  Strasbourg kept the pressure on with some more counter-attacks, and scored a second goal off a corner where the ball bounced around a bit. This player also ran toward those folks in the corner of the stadium, and they were going out of their minds. As for the home crowd, their energy completely dissipated.  The ultra supporters on the opposite end were still waving their flags and chanting, but the rest of the stadium seemed stunned. Strasbourg led 2-1 at the half. 

Fifteen minutes into the second half, PSG apparently decided to stop messing around, and sent Mbappé and Draxler into the match.  These guys no longer had a day off. PSG’s attack improved immediately. Let me talk a bit about Mbappé… I was aware of him before the World Cup from playing FIFA Mobile on my tablet… he’s fast… and then at the World Cup, he showed casual football viewers around the globe how talented he truly is.  You could almost see defenders quiver in fear if he had a chance to run at them in the open. I enjoyed watching his contributions to France’s World Cup victory last year, and he was so impressive to watch on television, but that is nothing like seeing him in person. Saying that Mbappé is fast is like saying the sun is hot… you’re understating it.  I was amazed to see this young fella easily run right past other people, all of whom are also professional athletes. There was no question that he was the best player on the pitch. Every time he touched the ball, it felt like PSG were in danger of equalizing the match. 

PSG attacked in our direction for the second half… and once the substitutions were made, they spent the vast majority of the time in possession and applying pressure on Strasbourg.  The match was almost tied by a bicycle kick (this looks incredibly athletic and near impossible in person), but the ball hit the bar. Our entire section thought it was going in. A few minutes later, PSG managed to level the match on a header… the header was a result of a corner won by Mbappé, taken by Draxler, and finished by Kehrer, who was the 3rd substitute.  I don’t know PSG, maybe all of these guys should have started the match? 

PSG missed a couple of very close opportunities as the match drew to a close.  It ended in a 2-2 draw. At no point did the visiting fans stop jumping and making noise… and when the match ended, they kept right on cheering.  For them, a draw was a great and unexpected result. For the hosts, they would have to wait for another match to claim the league title. 

 

The conclusion 

This was a fantastic life experience.  The crowd was energetic, the match was entertaining, and I have memories that will last a lifetime, as well as a plastic souvenir cup.  If you ever have the chance to catch a professional football match in Paris, I strongly suggest you go.

Chris Cornell - Euphoria Mourning

This album was released in fall 1999.  If you happened to have bought it back then, you might have noticed that the title as printed on the disc was Euphoria Morning, as shown above.  Apparently, someone at the record label thought that Cornell’s original title was too dark.  I have restored the title here as originally intended by the artist, and really, it fits the music better. 

This was my favorite singer.  I don’t know that I had a favorite band at the time, but as far as vocalists were concerned, this was my guy.  Such range. Such emotion. From quiet to loud. I mean, the only person I can think of that sounds even remotely like Cornell is Ian Thornley from Big Wreck… and he’s just kind of in the same neighborhood. 

I bought this album nearly immediately after it was released, but at first I didn’t listen to it much.  Then I noticed that Chris Cornell would be playing a show in Paris at the same time that I would be there.  Ok, now it was on. When I went to Paris for the first time in October 1999, I only had 5 discs with me for the trip.  Euphoria Mourning was one of them.  (I would tell you the others, but that will steal the thunder from future blog posts.  I think they call this “a tease” in the radio industry.) See kids, back then we had a thing called “Discman”, which was a CD player built by Sony.  It could play one disc at a time, and it was small enough to fit in your pocket. Well, it fit in my pocket, I’m a big guy. 

I was in France for three weeks.  Three weeks, five albums. Think of it as kind of a miniature version of the age-old “desert island album” question.  I listened to this album every day. Every day. I listened to it in Paris while walking around, on the train between French towns, in Amboise, in Lyon, in Avignon, on the Métro, in the rain, in the dark, and whilst falling asleep.  I was struck by the quality arrangements, and delighted at the departure in sound from Cornell’s work with Soundgarden. This is not to say that I didn’t like Soundgarden; on the contrary, I loved Soundgarden… I was just open to accept a change of pace.  These songs reminded me of “Seasons” from the Singles soundtrack and “Sunshower” from the Great Expectations soundtrack… but they were more layered, more textured, and more nuanced.  (The exception here is “Sweet Euphoria”, which Chris recorded by himself.) This album was my first exposure to Alain Johannes and Natasha Shneider, two great musicians who co-wrote many of these songs, and who played on the album.  (This reminds me that I still need to look into their old band, shame on me for not doing that.) 

This album has meant a great deal to me over the past nearly 20 years.  The lyrics from “Preaching the End of the World” that go “I’m 24 and I’ve got everything to live for”... well, when I was 24, that took on a new meaning.  The sentiment in “When I’m Down”... I feel like that every day, and that’s one of those songs that I wish I had written, it’s so good. I’ve really felt “Wave Goodbye” many times in my life as friends or family members have died.  So yes, I still love this album… but when I listen to it, I without fail remember that first trip to France… I hear a song from this album and I remember trying to figure out how to work the machines in a Paris laundromat. I hear another song from the album and I remember strolling along the Rhône on a dark night in Arles, nearly out of money, feeling so very alone, and considering jumping into the dark waters below.  I hear another song from the album and I remember that awful awful cold I got while I was in Lyon. 

“I’m a wreck when I look mighty”.   

Thank you Chris.

How many of you remember the year 2000?  It was a simpler time. (Looking at you, Kent Montgomery.)  You didn’t have to take your shoes off to get past airport security.  As I recall, you didn’t have to pack your liquids in a clear plastic bag either.  Twitter wasn’t a thing. Facebook wasn’t a thing. Fountains Of Wayne were still a thing… they had been a band for five years and had already put out two albums, but were somehow still three years away from getting nominated for a Best New Artist Grammy. (?) 

I went to Paris in December 2000.  I had been before, and wanted to go back to spend time with the friends I had made on my initial trip… and also to do touristy things and drink wine and eat baguettes… as one does.  Paris in December is rainy and chilly (for them) and perhaps a bit dreary at times, but it’s still, you know, PARIS. 

One evening, my friends invited me along to drink at TGI Fridays.  That’s not what I understood at first… upon receiving the invitation, I was perplexed as to why any French person would set foot in an American fast casual joint, let alone wish to eat food that was frozen and shipped and microwaved.  “On ne mange pas là-bas”, I was told - “we don’t eat there”. No, apparently, this place had a happy hour with cheap drinks, and since it’s quite expensive to drink in Paris, some of the young locals liked to stop by for what we might call “pre-gaming” these days.  With that explanation in hand, I was more than willing to go along. 

We get to TGI Fridays.  We head to the bar. At the bar, there is a friend of my friends.  We greet each other, cheeks are kissed. This particular friend (who is still a friend and whose name is still Greg) has two English speakers with him… an Aussie and a Brit.  Their names are Cerys and Ruth, and they are cousins. Ruth has red hair. Now, I hadn’t spoken English in a few days, and while I could manage just fine in French, it was nice to get a little mental break and spend some time with fellow anglophones.  By the time I left the bar, I had new friends. 

I just looked at the neighborhood where this took place thanks to the bird’s eye view of Google Maps.  That TGI Fridays isn’t there anymore… it would appear that good happy hour prices do not make up for American fast casual cuisine… or, I’m probably wrong, because in the same location there appears to now be a Chipotle and a Starbucks.  Grumble. Things change. What has not changed is that Ruth and I are still friends and she still has red hair. What is more, it turns out that she is an extremely talented musician. 

I was thinking that it would be nice to have Ruth sing on my upcoming solo record, so I started sending her my home demos.  Eventually, I sent her a home demo that I had completed without lyrics or melody… couldn’t manage to put anything I liked to it… imagine… a completed song structure-wise… chord progression, bass line, verse, chorus, bridge, all of the parts… but no lyrics and no melody.  Shortly, she sends the demo back with great lyrics and a great melody and all right - now we HAVE to write together. So now we write together, despite living on opposite sides of the Atlantic Ocean. As of now we have 14 songs in varying stages of life from “demo complete and ready to track” to “idea so nascent that it can’t even be considered half-baked”.  What matters here is that it feels good. It’s nice to write with another person, as that can take a song to a place that otherwise it would not have been. It’s even nicer to write with someone who has been your friend for nearly 20 years. We are making art that I believe in. I can’t wait for you to hear it. 

Our band is called We Met In Paris.  It works because it’s true.