Last year, in Leamington, I was one of a number of independent licensees and musicians planning a blues festival. It never came to pass, of course, Leamington being Leamington (or rather Warwick District Council being Warwick District Council), but it should have done. And had it happened, the headline acts would have been complemented by smaller, more intimate sessions in a dozen bars around the town.
The working title was the Leamington 12 Bar Blues Festival.
On Saturday evening, in Uzès, I saw and heard how it might have been.
The working title was the Leamington 12 Bar Blues Festival.
On Saturday evening, in Uzès, I saw and heard how it might have been.
On Saturday, France celebrated la fête de la musique. Its motto is homophonic: On faites de la musique à la fête de la musique. (Note to over-excited UKIP voters: the penultimate consonant is different.)
This year, it tombe Samedi and so the town and the bars were even more busy than normal. And Jill and I, in the company of a few thousand others, assiduously worked our way around the various venues.
This year, it tombe Samedi and so the town and the bars were even more busy than normal. And Jill and I, in the company of a few thousand others, assiduously worked our way around the various venues.
This is not as easy as it sounds, because each band has its adherents and each bar its regulars. Seats were at a premium. A table only by reservation. Nevertheless, it is of course de rigeur to take at least one glass in each venue which, in previous years, has resulted in a gueule de bois the following morning. But this year, I have become a true Frenchman. On these occasions, I favour the panaché over the vin rouge. Harder on the bladder but easier on the head.
With one or two exceptions, notably the jazz fiddle of Florence Fourcat, the quality is not wonderful. But what impresses is the sheer diversity of the musical offerings.
There was almost every genre of jazz. There was old-fashioned rock n roll and new-fangled techno hip-hop. There was bluegrass and blues. There was hard rock and dreadful soft rock. The Eagles were bad enough. Eagles imitators are to be avoided at all costs.
But it was all played, and listened to, in a spirit of joie de vivre and enjoyment.
There was almost every genre of jazz. There was old-fashioned rock n roll and new-fangled techno hip-hop. There was bluegrass and blues. There was hard rock and dreadful soft rock. The Eagles were bad enough. Eagles imitators are to be avoided at all costs.
But it was all played, and listened to, in a spirit of joie de vivre and enjoyment.
Which is how things are done down here. Rather than create a barrier of red tape, the local council embrace, enjoy and promote the event.
When the marching-band-cum-samba-band which processed noisily and happily from one venue to another, charged at the double the diners in one restaurant, they were accompanied and encouraged by the local police muncipale. And the diners - families, young couples and elderly citoyens - welcomed them all with smiles and laughter and applause.
When the marching-band-cum-samba-band which processed noisily and happily from one venue to another, charged at the double the diners in one restaurant, they were accompanied and encouraged by the local police muncipale. And the diners - families, young couples and elderly citoyens - welcomed them all with smiles and laughter and applause.
Which is pretty much how we felt throughout the evening. We had a great time. Merci, Uzès.
Today from the everysmith vault: Asked by a New York twitterer to name my favourite Grateful Dead show, I am working my way through the entire oeuvre in order to provide him with a considered judgement. After 24 hours, I am a week behind schedule!
Today from the everysmith vault: Asked by a New York twitterer to name my favourite Grateful Dead show, I am working my way through the entire oeuvre in order to provide him with a considered judgement. After 24 hours, I am a week behind schedule!