Contrary to popular belief, I did not run out of PPPills, but rather it was deemed a 'nonessential' medication, and so it stayed on the shelf. But my PPP loan finally came through, so I can resume production and distribution.
The weird thing about being told to stay inside is that, all of a sudden, I stopped wanting to read and write. Without the optionality, reading and writing felt like work, when I really don't spend that much more time at my desk now than I did prior to corona. Much to my chagrin, this seemed to be exactly when people wanted (or at least, tolerated) reading and music suggestions, but when they needed me most, I vanished for 100 days.
That's another thing - please stop asking me if I've 'watched Avatar: The Last Airbender'Â on Netflix. Like any other savvy early 2000s internet user, I acquired the entire series through sailing on public wi-fi networks a decade ago. (But if you haven't watched it, I do highly recommend it.)
I personally have a love-hate relationship with France, and anything French in general, and it's reflected by the fact that there's no other Western European country I've ranted about more. Perhaps it stems from a series of misunderstandings where, rather than me being at fault, it obviously has to be the country itself, or that maybe to a discerning alcoholic, their wine really isn't as good as they think it is. But my favorite writers, one of the best meals of my life, and my current favorite music all hail from la république de france, so it seems fitting to take a closer look at a country who currently won't let me in.
Apparently 3-michelin-star dining really is just throwing caviar on quality foods
The main cultural exports from France to the US seem to be marked-up wine, Camus, Daft Punk/Justice, and films too artsy for my level of patience. A constant point of emphasis in PPP, though, is the fact that when music is in a language you don't understand, the vocals become another "instrument". And for the first time in my life, I found myself understanding why French is a romance language - if languages I don't understand were instruments, French is the saxophone to, I dunno, the rest of the world's kazoo. Women sound 30% sexier, and men who look like Gérard Depardieu are on their fourth marriage solely through the power of correct pronunciation. If French music solely existed to insult me to the point of tears, I would probably keep listening.
Hit Sale - Therapie Taxi
It might just be me, but I was instantly hit with The Naked and Famous vibes when I stumbled across this album. However, rather than the high pitched female vocals, everything sounds a little more throaty and less intense. Electro-pop with a cigarette in hand, so to speak. I particularly appreciated the blend of deep male vocals - the title track doesn't give the listener a second's respite, and remains acceptably intense yet not up-tempo the entire way through. Another notable track was Salope, which feels through and through like a summer pop hit from the late 2000s. Perhaps I would have liked the Beatles more if, instead of Paul McCartney shouting "OH darling!", he sang "Ma Chérie" instead.
Caravelle - Polo & Pan
The electronic world has changed pretty dramatically over the past decade, with a much heavier emphasis on 'drops' and heavy bass almost as if to cover up the simplicity of the melodies being treated as filler. From the first track, I was enticed to listen through given the piano-esque fantasy-electronica dreamscaping. Throughout the entire album, the focus remains on crisp instrumentation and driving rhythms, without requiring a club's speakers blasting you with cranked-up bass, yet it still sounds fun to listen to in both a home and dance-centric environment. I particularly liked the variance of tempo between tracks, and sometimes, in the tracks themselves. Also, the album artwork is flat out incredible, and definitely worthy of at least putting on your wall and never listening to.
Matahari - L'Imperatrice
The most clearly Daft Punk- influenced album linked, L'Imperatrice focuses more on the disco angle rather than electro-funk. Of course, it is easier on the ears to listen to non-electronically distorted voices, and L'Imperatrice remains remarkably consistent from track to track to sound like a band I'd listen to while sitting in a café deciding how bloody I want my steak. Matahari is an album that sounds like an intro to 30 different Daft Punk songs that you know on each track, yet takes it to a neutral, discotheque place while not sounding in any way like a remix. Oh, and for you healthy people that don't fetishize building castles in the air, there's an English version as well, but you'd just be disappointing me if you listened to this one.
Perhaps the most amusing 'stereotype' of France I have in my head is that of the Louvre art thief. Robbery has a way of becoming romantic when not done for monetary gain, but for love, and what indicates love greater than great art? And what is more enticing to read about than an art thief that honed his parkour skills as a kid jumping between tombstones? When I read about the subject art thief, I wholly understand the concept of building your life up through a meticulously constructed image, with an irreconcilable problem - in this case, that you are robbing for a living and committing crimes - at the center. And in the face of an irreconcilable problem, having it written about you that you have 'great taste' might be the brightest shining endorsement possible.
If it sounds like I've been fetishizing the Louis Vuitton version of a Parisian that has been marketed to me, that would be a fair criticism of my French pop music taste. However, a more aligned work of art with my thinking isn't a pop album, or Camus, but rather a book so good, that even though the author was an open anti-semite, Le Monde put it in the top-10 of their "best books of the 20th century". (That's right, I pretend to read Le Monde.) Somehow, this book has gone unread by many people, though being far superior to L'Étranger.
Journey to the End of the Night by Louis-Ferdinand Céline is the force of a thousand rants contained in a singular novel, where nobody is spared the wrath of a Holden Caulfield who actually knows how to harness the power of language, rather than whining about things. Although I am immensely disappointed in not being able to read it in its original French, the colloquial style of writing lapsing into fantastic prose is truly a special experience. I don't want to spoil it, so I will say that the thing I most appreciate about France isn't the music, or the literature, but the fact that they so definitively answered correctly the question of "Can you separate the artist from the art?"
Looking back, possibly my biggest regret in grade school "academia" was choosing to study Spanish, rather than French, in high school. Back then, I inherited my father's distaste for France, and internalized his distaste for the inherent "pretension" I found spread out throughout the entire culture. What I didn't realize then, and what I do now, is that the 'pretension' is extremely authentic, and, furthermore, is extremely similar to how I think myself. After all, there's nothing wrong with striving to enjoy the finer things in life. It has not gone lost on me, though, that the part of high school curriculum I find most people even bother remembering is "The Stranger", one of my favorite books of all time. But while examining my literary history, I noticed that one of the first "real" books I ever read (unless we're going to call Bob the Builder an iconic part of literary history), was Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, written by Jules Verne, a Frenchman. Not only was it infinitely more readable than Moby Dick, it could be argued that it was part of the foundational basis for the armchair literary critique I am today.Long story short - I'm glad they're French fries, not Freedom fries.