Concert #2: Salon Edition

Yesterday marked both a national holiday and my second Parisian concert in the last month. While my first concert took place under somewhat rushed and harrowing circumstances, I had been preparing for yesterday's performance with Dominique Fournier (piano) and Anne-Chantal Carrière (soprano) since late fall. You can listen to our entire performance by clicking "play" below, or choose individual tracks by clicking "Les Sonorités du Salon." Click "download" on the player below to get the whole album in mp3 format. (If you're desperate to hear me play clarinet, skip to tracks 4-7.)

The concert took place in a private salon in the 9th arrondissement, just across the street from former residences of Chopin and Georges Sand. The salon, decorated in authentic Louis-Phillippe style, transported us to the era in which much of the music we performed was written. 

Playing chamber music is always a pleasure, but I especially enjoyed the "ethnographic" element this concert adds to my year of research. After all, I'm writing a dissertation about the period in French history that saw the last great flowering of salon culture, so I've spent a decent amount of time reading about concerts just like this one. To have participated in the planning and execution of a concert that could have easily taken place a century ago gives me a strange, almost cosmic sense of connection with the composers, performers, salon hosts, patrons, and audience members that I've been studying. It's fitting that this rich moment comes towards the end of a rewarding year.

I hope you enjoy listening to the recording. Let me know if you're interested in coming to a repeat performance of this concert, which will take place on May 30 in Longpont.

Into the Streets, May 1st!*

You may not have noticed, especially if you don't live in a big city in the US, but yesterday was May Day.

France, like most European countries, has designated May 1 as Labor Day, and people celebrate it with great gusto. (Too bad "Real Americans" wouldn't even consider celebrating May Day, given its roots in Pagan rituals and its present identity as the Christmas of International Socialism. They forget that once upon a time, Tea Party-like populists played a big role in the advent of the modern-day holiday.) Anyway, like I was saying, great gusto:

As you can tell, Paris is a particularly exciting place to be on May First. All the major labor unions and dozens of other groups mobilize their members and enlist as many people as possible to march in what the French call a "cortège," or a parading group. Starting in the morning, different groups assemble at different parts of the city and steadily converge on Place de la République, from which a collective cortège eventually departs.

While everyone's waiting to get in line in the cortège, they engage in all sorts of musicking, dancing, and general frolicking.

Even non-Anarchists and -Socialists participate in the tradition of buying sprigs of muguet (Lily of the Valley), which are supposed to bring good luck and happiness all year. (We participated.) One of the labor unions referred to this tradition in a slickly-designed poster which also emphasizes some of the issues at the forefront of demonstrators' minds, namely the rising retirement age, unemployment, and wealth inequality:


Another major controversy addressed by a large proportion of participants was the status of sans-papiers, or undocumented immigrants. Supporters of immigrants' rights came out in force to insist on the humanitarian dimension of this challenging and divisive issue. We watched the group below pass by the café where we had lunch on their way to join the masses at République.

As much as we would have liked to have followed the cortège to its conclusion, we ultimately had to get back to the apartment so Gladis could collect her bags and head to the airport. But all that demonstrating in support of social and economic justice was hard to leave behind. Couldn't May Day come more than once a year?

* This post's title comes from a protest song I once studied in a Music and Politics class. The text was written by Alfred Hayes in 1934 and set to music by various modernist composers for a song competition. Aaron Copland won, but my favorite setting was by Hans Eisler.

Emergency Population Warning

We're nearing the first Wednesday of the month, and that means it's time for a somewhat chilling moment: the testing of the emergency population warning network (Réseau national d'alerte, or RNA). First developed as an air-raid siren network before WWI, it currently includes about 4,500 electronic or electromechanical sirens, spread out over the entire country. At noon on the first Wednesday of every month, unless you're expecting it, you might wonder whether the world is ending.

Why can't they just interrupt your regularly scheduled television program, rather than spook you just as you're settling down at the library (which should be soundproof, but isn't) to get some real work done? Sheesh.

Release Party

For all those who couldn't make it to the concert on Sunday, Noël, Jake, and I are pleased to present a complete recording. Everything is available for free, high-quality download from a nifty music-hosting site (thanks for the tip, Margaret!) - click "download" on the player below to get the whole album at once, or click "Pour le plaisir de jouer" to get individual tracks.

Enjoy, and let us know what you think!

Concert Announcement

In case you're in Paris and haven't heard, Louis is performing in a concert tomorrow (April 25) with famed composer/pianist Noël Lee and up-and-coming cellist Jacob Saunders. Here's the program:

Beethoven - Trio for Clarinet, Cello, and Piano in B-flat Major, Op. 11, 1st Movement

Noël Lee - Interstices for Clarinet and Piano

Debussy - Nocturne for Cello and Piano

Debussy - Première Rapsodie for Clarinet and Piano

(Intermission)

Brahms - Trio for Clarinet, Cello, and Piano in A minor, Op. 114

Here's a free sample (the first movement of the Brahms), to get you hooked:

Finally, here are the deets:

Where: Rendez-vous d'Ailleurs, 109 Rue des Haies, 75020 Paris (Métro Avron or Maraichers)
When: 5 PM
Concert Length: approximately 1.5 hours
Cost: 15 euros (full), 12 euros (reduced)
Fun Level: High

Hope to see you there!

Guignol

On Wednesdays, weekends, and holidays, a particularly French form of entertainment sends ripples of laughter across the Parc des Buttes Chaumont. It's the Guignol, a kind of puppet show invented in the late 18th-century by a silkweaver/sometimes dentist named Laurent Mourget. The puppet show started out as a way to entice customers to sit for teeth-pulling, and the fact that it succeeded suggests that Polichinelle (Punch in English), Guignol (after whom the artform was named), and the other stock characters created over the years were just what the dentist ordered. (Unlike Guignol, I am not funny.)

The poster below shows some of those stock characters (extra points to anyone who can name each one) and to the right you'll see the guignol we know best, near the entrance to the Parc des Buttes Chaumont at  Avenue Simon Bolivar and Rue Botzaris.


We still haven't gotten around to going inside (we're too embarrassed to enter without small children in tow) but from the sound of it, fun is had by all who attend, adult and child alike. So much fun, in fact, that I couldn't resist the temptation of recording a few minutes of the show. Yes, I was that creepy guy you saw standing by the entrance with an audio recorder. In my defense, I was technically walking Panda, and checking out ticket prices . . . yeah.

Maybe one of our intrepid native French-speaking readers can translate the jokes and wordplay that caused all the laughing and audience participation. And maybe one of the same readers would be willing to loan us some children so we can experience the guignol from inside the theater for once!

Outside the Opéra

Way back in September, during the Journées Européennes du Patrimoine, Maggie, Robert, and I happened upon a ragtag group of young musicians blasting pop and folk tunes from the steps of the Opéra Garnier.

Who were these musicians, we wondered, and what was their deal? We never found out.

Fast forward to last week, when I saw, in the same place, a strikingly similar group of young musicians blasting similarly pop- and folk-oriented tunes. Were they the same group? Answering this question requires a close-up comparison:

At first the orange and green threw me off - did they just change clothes? Then I realized that the line-up is slightly different, with clarinets in the second group, and a euphonium in the first group. This is the stuff that musicology is made of - doing that newspaper puzzle that asks "what are the 5 differences between these two images," just, you know, music-related.

Anyway, now that we've established they're probably not the same groups, we can pose further questions (this is also something musicologists love to do): just how many groups do play on the steps of the Opéra Garnier? Do you need a permit for that? When's the next time either of these groups will play, so I can be sure to bring my trusty audio recorder?

And finally, does either group need another clarinetist? I'd totally do it, if only to be able to say that I played at the Paris Opera . . .

Sounds of the City: Boulangerie

The boulangerie just around the corner from the BN's Département de la musique happens to have a few stools at which one can sit when the weather is bad, and throughout a long winter of bad weather, I did a lot of sitting in there. This gave me lots of time to listen to the boulangère (female baker) do her thing.

There's a kind of musicality to the back-and-forth between baker and customers. Add in the percussive nature of rustling paper, the ch-ching! of the cash register, and the opening and closing of doors, et voilà! It's a perfect environment for another documentation of the sounds of the city.

In this clip you'll hear a common refrain, "Avec ceci, Monsieur?" which translates to "Anything else, sir?" and which used to really throw me off. Late in the clip you'll hear the proper response: "Ce sera tout"- that'll be all.

This second recording focuses on the conversation between one somewhat talkative patron and the boulangère, who ends with a sprightly, "Bon weekend!"

If you're ever in the neighborhood, I recommend this boulangerie not only as a great place to get a bite to eat, but also a great spot to sit for a minute - and listen.

Rehearsal Excitement

So as Maggie recently reported, I'm getting ready to perform in a few concerts in May, and yesterday I had a rehearsal/coaching session at the apartment of the piano teacher of our group's pianist. This teacher, Noël Lee, happens to be an American composer and concert pianist who's been living in Paris for more than 50 years, so it's always a pleasure and an honor to play for him.

As you'll hear in the clip below, we were in the middle of working on a section when I saw something strange through the window. (I've taken the liberty of amplifying the sound around 30 seconds in so you can hear the conversation better.)

Here's a little transcript of the beginning, showing just how much work my French still needs.

Me: Il y a un mec qui a, qui vient de . . . comment tu dis . . . he just climbed in the window over there
Noël: What?
Me: There's a guy who just climbed in the window. Il a . . . [Noël: Where?] grimpé, il a grimpé dans la fenêtre, juste en face . . .

There were two problems with my observation. First, no one quite believed me, since how crazy is it that someone would just climb in the window of a 2nd-floor apartment across the street? And second, I kept saying "greeempay" when I should have been saying "grampay" (as Noël quietly acknowledges around 1:07), so it's possible Dominique (my accompanist) didn't understand.

We all kind of laughed about it at the time - you can hear Noël say, "well, bravo!" at the end, and just after that, he wonders if maybe the guy just lost his keys. But today I got an email from Noël proving that what I saw was no laughing matter:

You might be interested to learn that the man you saw yesterday climb the building opposite was a thief; he got away with money, restaurant tickets, and such and left by the same route, but I guess you didn't see him go down.   My neighbor who lives underneath told me this morning.  If you have any details about what he looked like, let me know.

Oops. All I remember is that he was wearing a white jacket, he was skinny, and he had dark hair. That describes about a quarter of the guys in this city, so it probably won't be very helpful.

The rehearsal, on the other hand, was very helpful. Dominique and I are making good progress on a piece we're playing for fun, rather than for either of the concerts in May. Just in case you're curious, it's the Sonata for Clarinet and Piano in F minor, Opus 120 No. 1 by Johannes Brahms, and so far we've gotten through the first and second movements. Below is a somewhat choppy cut-and-paste from our rehearsal/coaching yesterday so you can get an idea of what the two movements sound like.

M is for Music

Last June, between coffee and Bingo, Louis strutted his stuff for the residents at the Friends Home in Woodstown, New Jersey. 

That's right, in addition to being a scholar, chef, and master blogger, Louis plays a mean Ravel (and Chopin and Debussy, etc.). And just as he did last summer in Woodstown, Louis will be demonstrating his musical talents this spring at a salon (literally, in someone's living room) concert here in Paris (he'll be playing the clarinet, though). He's been rehearsing with the two other musicians nearly every week for the past few months, and regaling our neighbors with his sweet sounds in the evenings before dinner. Listen to a preview here (scroll down to the bottom of the post).

Let us know if you'll be in Paris this May - we'll send you the deets!

Accordéoniste dans le métro

I know I've already shared the sounds of the métro with you, but last week I managed to record another clip I think you should hear. Accordion + Métro = Paris? It happens just as often as you probably imagine.

In Bruges Part III: Sounds of Two Cities

This is what Bruges sounds like around noon on a Friday:

You hear the ringing of the bells in the belfry, the tower that houses the privileges of the city of Bruges (and the tower that figures so prominently in the city's namesake film). You also hear the horse-drawn carriage that pulls tourists around the central square (from which the following picture of the belfry is taken) and you hear the preferred form of transportation for the locals - bikes!

As a completely unrelated complement to that soundscape, here is what I sound like playing Schubert's Shepherd on the Rock with Anne-Chantal Carrière, soprano (who performs frequently with the chorus at the Paris Opéra), and Dominique Fournier, piano, who happens to be the French husband of an American organist and scholar (Carolyn Shuster-Fournier) whom I met in the microfilm room of the BN one afternoon when I recognized her name (from footnotes in a few articles and books I've read) on a box of film. I struck up a conversation, mostly in the interest of getting help on my dissertation and making a new contact. She asked me what instrument(s) I play, I said clarinet, she exclaimed, "But my husband needs a clarinetist for a concert he's giving in a salon in the 9th in April!" and I said, "Sign me up!" We rehearsed Shepherd on the Rock for the first time on Saturday, and it wasn't terrible. Except at the very end.

Daily Routine

Dear Loyal Reader,

I know the only thing that remains unclear to you about this entire adventure is what I do every day, besides blog. Hopefully this post will help explain things.

Best,

Louis

Every day, I go to the Bibliothèque Nationale Département de la Musique, at 2 Rue de Louvois in the 2e Arrondissement.

Inside, I read books, search through the card catalogue (yes, a real card catalogue, which for whatever reason is much better organized than the online catalogue), get chastised by librarians for requesting things the wrong way, and I learn. Oh boy, do I learn. I love learning. That's why I'm in this business.

Still, research is taxing and sometimes frustrating, so it should come as no surprise that my favorite part of the day tends to be lunch. Around 1:30 every afternoon, as long as it's not raining, I head just across the street from the music library to the Square Louvois, located on one former site of the Paris Opéra (it kept moving around due to frequent fires until 1875, when the Palais Garnier was completed).

This is what I look at while I eat lunch (usually from the other side, which is ensoleillé (sunny)):

This is what it sounds like to eat lunch there:

After enjoying four courses (usually some kind of sandwich, peanuts, dessert, a piece of fruit) and the conversation of my neighbors, I head back inside, rather full and a little drowsy. Surprisingly, the sounds the microfilm machines make have the habit of lulling me to sleep:

That's why I try to avoid reading from microfilm right after lunch. For the rest of the afternoon, I alternate reading from books and reading from microfilm. Sometimes, if I need to wake myself up or to hear a music example in a book I'm reading, I play piano in one of two small rooms they make available to lecteurs (readers/library patrons). Thoroughly wood-paneled, these rooms not only smell like a sauna but are woefully un-sound-proof. I can't decide what's worse: that you can't get recordings in this music library, or that you can't avoid the faint sounds of people like me playing out-of-tune pianos in rooms adjacent to the reading room. Maybe they should start offering earplugs.

France v. Austria, Part C

One of the highlights of the game last Wednesday (has it really been a week already?) came at the very end, when a French victory was all but assured. Over-enthusiastic fans took it upon themselves to get the celebrations started early - by running onto the field and avoiding security for as long as possible.

This happened twice. In a row.

The more restrained public expressed their excitement in a series of quality "waves," one of which you can hear here, after a chant I couldn't quite make out, and followed by a different wave of unhappy "woooos":

At French sporting events, the wave isn't something people just get up and do when it comes to them - they prepare for it, starting to stamp their feet and make noise when the wave is still a few sections away. I've also seen people put their arms straight out in front and shake them a little while they're waiting for the wave to arrive, and then when it does, the effect of everyone's arms moving in concert is a neat thing to see. (Unfortunately it doesn't really come out in this video, but you do get a sense of the crowd, the game, the security presence, and the use of those fans/noisemakers/banners.)

France v. Austria, Part 2

More videos and audio from Wednesday Night:

The game started later than we'd expected, so we stopped in a Quick (France's home-grown fast food chain) for some (un)sustenance. Everything was gross: the high cost of the disgusting food being bought by a surprisingly large (in number, not in physical size) group of people.

Walking to the entrance gate, I was impressed to see these children so brightly attired, and dismayed to realize that the horses the police were riding (I guess for just-in-case crowd control?) were not wearing bags. They won't let Panda in most parks, and they let their horses defecate (chier) over the crowded sidewalks outside the national stadium? Give me a break.

Once inside, we discovered these on our seats:

Folded up, they make the percussive noise you hear amidst everything else here:

The chant you heard goes, "Et ils sont où, et ils sont où, et ils sont où les Autrichiens," which taunts the Austrian fans by asking where their team is (since, with the score at 3-1, they were no longer really in the game).

Everyone not under the awning, it seemed, got flags instead of fans/posters/percussive noise objects:

To be continued tomorrow . . .

France v. Austria, Part I

Wednesday night, my friend Damien and I went to the France-Austria 2010 World Cup Qualifying Match at the Stade de France, just north of the city. In lieu of any long narrative or explanation, I'm just going to post a few batches of video and audio so you can get an idea of what it was like to be at the game.

Outside of the stadium, and Damien

La Marseillaise

"Allez les Bleus," (Go French Soccer Team!) and you'll hear the crowd boo something - except apparently in France they say "wooooo" instead of "boooo." (It's a low "wooo," whereas the high-pitched "woooo" still indicates positive excitement.)

One thing you can't get an idea of is how cold it was! We're in the middle of an early cold snap here, but I hear it's the same at home . . .

Sounds of the City

Today I inaugurate a new series on Panda-à-Paris, one that emphasizes the aural over the visual, making it near and dear to my musicologist heart.

I urge you to spend the next few minutes with your eyes closed and your ears open. And earphones on, if your speakers aren't loud enough. For these are the sounds of the city:

Ligne 11, Goncourt to République

(Boulevard St. Michel, arriving at Luxembourg)