Circle + Quintron & Miss Pussycat

Samedi 9 Avril à Montreuil !

Grosse soirée en perspective

+ Konon n°1 + Api Uiz (connais pas)

https://www.facebook.com/events/1674374012779913/

https://www.yesgolive.com/sonic-protest/sonic-protest-2016-9-avril

C'était génial !

j'avais pô vu l'annonce
(mais bah, j'étais crevé...)
BDS dtaleur mon beatounet ?

ratel a écrit:

j'avais pô vu l'annonce
(mais bah, j'étais crevé...)
BDS dtaleur mon beatounet ?

C'était 17 balles de plus - mais ces deux groupes les valaient
Oui

Quintron publie sur FB de chouettes notes pendant sa tournée européenne!

A propos du concert à Paris :

Citation :

I am not a music fan.
I listen to music of course, and I own a million records but the soundtrack to my life mainly consists of me practicing, AM talk radio such as "The Tom Fitzmorris Food Show", and Weather Warlock drone...usually all three at the same time.
Occasionally however I will get turned onto a band and become consumed. Enter CIRCLE from Finland. I discovered these guys three years ago thru a promoter / record collector in Sweden and I have been fixated ever since. I always figured I would never see them live. Surprise! We shared the stage with these heavy prog metal wizards at a large festival called "Sonic Protest" in Paris last night and I sacrificed myself at the alter. You see CIRCLE is kinda my favorite band right now. Their LPs are on my Ebay watch list; last night in Paris I bought every album and also the tee-shirt; I pretended to fix my organ near the stage during their afternoon sound check, just so that I could watch their mastery up close without the distractions of alcohol and sweaty other people; I GOT THE DRUMMER'S PHONE NUMBER!
In short, I kind of lost myself for a moment and that ain't me...I'm all about control and I usually don't really care about other bands and records that much.
I have friends, like Lefty Parker and Steve Kenny, whose knowledge of music is beyond encyclopedic. These guys are like PHD biblical scholars when it comes to their love and understanding of mankind's recorded musical output. Most of the records in my collection were thoughtlessly acquired on the advice of people like Lefty and Steve.
When I was a kid of about 15, my first real job was as a bar-back in an alcoholics dive called "Honey's Hidden Hive" in the suburbs outside St. Louis. I got paid cash under the table and would steal a six pack of Stag from the walk-in every weekend and get buzzed by the interstate with my best friend Doug. The owner, "Honey", was a real lady. She was 50-ish, tan, petite, and attractive with a beehive hairdo; always fully made up and dressed in fur, and ALWAYS holding a small glass chalice of Crown Royal in one hand and a dark brown Moore Menthol in the other.
Across the street from Honey's place was a record store called "Street Side Records" and working there was this new wave girl named Risa. Risa was one of these genius taste-making musical scholars and I would take my entire salary from the bar each week and just give it to her, asking could she please pick out any records she thought I might like. Risa NEVER steered me wrong. This suburban shop girl, a total stranger (who I of course secretly worshipped), changed my world forever and very much for the better. She unknowingly curated the audio documents which were to shape the rest of my life and helped to turn me into who I am at the moment. Miss Pussycat once called records "the secret teenage news" and it's so true. As a young person you look to music for life's REAL answers and explanations and brother you best have the right shop girl delivering you the right kinda news or you could be in big trouble.
I loved my Street Side records. I remember taking them home and sitting in my bedroom with headphones on, devouring every groove. I didn't really delve into the liner notes or cover art or really even consider what "kind" of music I was hearing. Dead Kennedys, Phillip Glass, Jacobites, Liquid Sky soundtrack...it was all the same opiate for my fucked up teenage mind. I just needed weird aggressive sounds, not details about the creators.
I'm still like this today. I could not begin to tell you who wrote, recorded, and played on every Ernie K-Doe single, not even the ones that I recorded and played on; but I could probably tell you what key they're in. Also I can hardly ever remember band names unless they are real good ones like "Buck Biloxie and the Fucks".
As I grew up and got more and more into creating my own music, the less and less I cared about other people's. For instance, I am not the kind of person who will watch the opening bands on tour. Some musicians can pull it off and it always impresses me. Miss P can do it. Gary Wrong is down in front watching and supporting every band he plays with and then is then able to jump right up onstage and totally kill it. Ian Svenonius is like that too. It's fucking incredible. Me, I got that diva gene. I must be alone in a silent velvet cocoon (or van) for three solid hours prior to show time or I'm too distracted to jam. It's selfish and stupid but the girl can't help it.
Well this all changed in Paris with CIRCLE
who played right before us at Sonic Protest. I not only watched every single moment of their set, but I got a bit drunk (something I NEVER do before a show) and I totally went into outer space with these guys, rocking out in the sweaty throng of Gauls for over an hour. It was exhausting and exhilarating and oh shit! I have to get up and play now!! Where is the backstage? Where's my organ? Where is JOHNATHAN???
Long story short, we made it to the stage and the show was incredible; best one of the tour so far. We were on fire and full of the spirit of the night; at one with the hundreds of drunken Parisians and bonded, through workmanlike comradery, with the mighty Finnish circle.
So I guess what I am saying is um...like yea so check out this band CIRCLE, they're like, a really good band and stuff. Also, don't forget to look outside of yourself and indulge in the musical fruits of your fellow inhabitants on planet earth; it's the secret teenage news baby and it can save...your...SOUL!!!
https://youtu.be/KX8y8C9F7y4
P.S. Also I am convinced that if record store employees and public school teachers went through rigorous testing and were paid as much as doctors and lawyers, the world's problems would be fixed forever.

La veille :

Citation :

The French psyche can be summed up with one word: "Voilà"
The dictionary definition would have you believe that "voilà" simply means, "there it is." or "here you go.", but there is so much more going on behind this unique utterance.
The French say "voilà" with a lilting joyful tone and just a hint of amazement; as though something completely unexpected has just happened right before our very eyes.
In English this expression and the attitude with which it is spoken would really only be appropriate if used by a professional magician; "Voilà! The girl in the box was NOT sawed in half!!"
In France, the word is applicable to almost any circumstance, both mildly interesting and totally banal; "Voilà! Here is the change I owe you for the gas you just bought!!"
I recently got a major dose of "voilà" inside a truck stop near the outer ring of Paris. It was the morning after a very difficult show involving a decibel meter and lots of children...more on that later.
So, after purchasing a tank of diesel fuel and a carton of blue window washer fluid, I received my magic change. Then I was presented with a magic croissant followed by a very tiny cup of extremely magic coffee; "Voila! Voila! "Voila!". The cashier even gave me two pieces of hard strawberry candy with my receipt just to highlight the incredibleness of it all. It was as though David Copperfield had taken the place over and rabbits were popping out from behind every counter. I love this word! "Voila" makes what would normally be a dull transaction into something so much more special and noteworthy.
I understand it is not wise to declare universal truths about the people of any one nation or culture, but I think that we can all agree that the French language is damn sexy, especially when spoken by a female. The etherial French tongue was made for cooing songs of love and heartbreak...and of course for kissing.
You know what is NOT sexy about France? The rules.
Did you know that you are required by law to keep two safety vests and a breathalyzer in your vehicle at all times or face huge fines and possibly jail time? No? I didn't know that either, but now I do.
Did you also know that in France if your vehicle is taken in for service and they find ANYTHING remotely wrong with the braking system, they are required by law to hold your vehicle hostage until you either pay them to fix the problem or fill out tons of paperwork and then pay to have your almost perfectly running automobile towed to another French mechanic who you then must either pay to fix the non-problem or shot and kill, forcing you to go on the lamb for the rest of your life? You didn't know that??? Gosh, neither did I but now I do.
There are more inane rules and layers of bureaucracy in France than any other place on earth. It's no wonder the wine is so good and lunch lasts for three hours; you have to be slightly drunk and extremely relaxed just to navigate a regular work day.
The abundance of French rules and bureaucracy carry over to the wonderful world of rock music. All over Europe you will find state funded "culture centers" and like anything which is run by the government, they are often models of senseless inefficiency and utter soullessness. In France they are the worst.
Guess who just played one of these depressing giant beehives the other night in Lille? I should not complain but I'm gonna.
We arrived to our soundcheck 5 hours prior to doors (as required by law) to get the party started. About 7 employees greeted us and led our van into the bowels of this gigantic cement and glass complex. The employees aren't wearing uniforms exactly but I notice that they have all dressed in very dark colors with long sleeves and turtlenecks like you would if you were a grip working backstage at a large production of Hamlet. Invisible.
We load the stuff out of our van and onto brand new rolling carts and then proceed down miles of windowless hallways and around several corners. I wish I had bread crumbs to drop. Key codes are required to buzz through every door and every wall and railing are painted the exact same colors making it extremely disorienting for us, the esteemed visiting artists. All public Euro art centers feature a similar design scheme. The two colors that this particular club chose were battleship grey and bright blood red, like the color of emergency room hospital doors. I kinda liked it.
Soundcheck is EXTREMELY tedious because of the 100 DB volume limit. This is actually fairly common in Europe, but most places are flexible within reason. Not here. I watch fucking television with the sound up louder than we were allowed to play in this club; bummer for me, but even bigger bummer for the audience and oh my...poor Jonathan! He has not experienced this shit before. In front of him lay the finest sound system that money can buy with a gag, a chastity belt, and handcuffs on. Imagine the frustration.
We finish our hushed soundcheck and discuss stage lighting with the TWO lighting girls.
"Yes please flash them on and off a lot and be sure to make it dark when I am breaking down my equipment later on stage...and oh yea... NO light on the Merch booth please. We don't want anyone to see that.", I said.
A unison musical, "Voilà!" was the reply from these serious professional girls, who then continued to practice difficult lighting tricks for the next two hours.
Now up four flights of stairs to the enormous private dressing room which is stocked with wine, cheese, little sweet pickles, Swiss chocolate bars, salami, and 4 types of strong Belgian beer. The cost of this nights "arrival snacks" surely cost more than Miss P and I spend on groceries for a week, and it's not even dinner!
Dinner comes a few hours later and it's is a huge 5 star affair. Perfectly cooked rare veal, pâté, fresh garden salad, something vegetarian specially prepared for Miss P, etcetera, etcetera. This government funded culture center has their own private chef who cooks for all of the employees and visiting bands. Rock and roll.
The show? Let's just say it paled dramatically in comparison to dinner. About 30 people showed up and they were delightful. Polite fun was had and quiet respectful dancing was performed to our quiet American rock music. I won't lie, it was hard. Everything about this place is trying to kill fun forever. Fuck dinner. I'm pissed at the universe; but then I remember something and the puzzle of the French psyche is unveiled like that golden Joan of Arc on Decatur Street. Don't hate the players, hate the game! The rule makers are the the real enemy here! But who are they? How did things get this far??
Earlier in the day, in the same venue, we did a quickie 30 minute children's show. First I played a short organ set during which one of the 3 stage managers continuously screamed at Jonathan, "TOO LOUD! TOO LOUD! HE IS DAMAGING THE CHILDREN!!". Then we did the puppet show. After that we let the kids play with the puppets.
I have seen kids who are natural puppeteers before, but these little French tots were REALLY good! It was like professional puppeteering was encoded into their DNA. As soon as show-and-tell began, two little girls, maybe 8 or 9 years old, ran up and grabbed the princess puppet and began expertly working her for the remaining 12 minutes of our allotted kid time. They were making the princess lip synch to some song that was playing over the quiet sound system and man, these girls were just OWNING the room! The sterile black box venue with no soul began to slowly melt away and voilà! There before my very eyes, Miss P's adorable singing princess puppet came to life in the expert hands of these little French angels. Mind totally blown.
The French people really ARE imbued with magic powers! I was slowly beginning to understand. This sexy French magic is ancient and of Darwinian importance; It is a defense mechanism - an invisible suit of armor to protect against the monstrous and ever preset rules. Voilà!
Or maybe I'm overthinking this...