Be sure to stake out your spot early, cuz it’s la Fête de la Musique 2011.
At this time last year, I was out of Senegal and taking my first trip back to Europe since moving to Africa. Deliriously happy to once again be amongst modern comforts like sidewalks and nutella crêpes, I must have announced my prensence via social media- because this was the message soon found its way into my e-mail inbox:
“Come down to Lyon for the Fête de la Musique!”
This was the urging of my cheese loving yet tragically lactose intolerant and sometimes morally questionable pal from my high school exchange year. He was back in Lyon to relive some of his glory days during the June 2st holiday, and I had no doubt what his “vacation” would entail.
“I can’t go down to Lyon,” I told him, “I’m in a conference all week!”
“Just come down for the night- you can take the first train back to Paris.” he argued (this is such boy logic, by the way).
“There is no way in Hell that I’m going down for one night of debauchery and silliness with you and your crazy drunken friends.”
This was more or less the response that I wanted to give, but I was probably a bit more measured in how I said it. I wished him well and relegated my Lyon fête invitation to the annals of Megan’s passed-on opportunities.
As it turns out, with old friends, the window is never quite ever shut.
This year, I am once again back in the regionally-significant land of Europe. This same friend, who has not been on vacation since last year’s Lyon trip, is once again heading back to Lyon. As such, I shouldn’t have been surprised to receive pretty much the same email from him again this year.
Long story short: travel plans are easily modified and soon enough I am sitting in a bar with this view. It would appear that you are never too old to go home, or return to the bar scene that formulated your teenage years (and the people don’t really change, either).
Fête de la Musique translates as the Festival of Music. Here in France, it essentially gives musicians the opportunity to play outdoors on various street corners to wandering crowds of thirsty pub patrons. I had no idea what was in store by hopping a TGV two hours south of Paris, but whatever happened I knew it would be great craic.
Taking up residence at The Smoking Dog with my pal Marc. Really, I don’t think we look that different from how we did in 1993…and I don’t now if that is a good or a bad thing…
In the days leading up to the festival, I hang out as the band start to trickle in from the United Kingdom. They are all really great guys- quite a collection of stereotypical British dudes that you might guess were in a band- except that they are not a-holes. I find myself highly entertained as I sit for hours on a barstool or on a cafe chair and watch them converse about topics that would be otherwise completely banal, but in this setting are a high entertainment. I tell one of them that watching him is like watching television (he would later tell me that this was the highest compliment that he had ever been paid).
Anyway, I have fun catching up with Marc and getting to know the band. As for the Brits, It is funny to see their bemused reaction when I tell them I am in the American Navy and have driven ships for a living. After three day of watching these guys roll about Lyon for a bit of live music and disorganized drunken revelry vacation, I have a hard time trying to figure out exactly how good they will actually sound when they finally take the stage on the 21st.
At around 5pm on the day in question, I head for the pub to watch the various musical stages being constructed through the town. I cross over one of Lyon’s beautiful bridges, and head for the Quai de Bondy.
The motley crew is all at The Smoking Dog, and they have transformed themselves into a military-style group of rock stars with a serious job to execute. I wander around to take pictures.
This is the Asian band who was playing about 200 meters away. I think they were supposed to be a heavy metal cover band.
Soon enough the rain starts to fall but the festival kicks off with guitar, drums and feedback echoing around town. Back at The Dog, the band isn’t set to go on until a couple of opening bands warm the crowd up. First up, the pub owner has his 16 year old son and his band play an opening set. Here is a bit of that:
Oh yes, that is a 16 year old French boy singing a Britney Spears song. He even apologizes before they start playing it by telling the crowd, “je ne suis pas fier” (I’m am not proud of this).
Soon, it’s time for The Voxx to take the stage. Just before, the lead singer shows up wearing a military-esque button down shirts with a rank on the sleeve. My fellow military friend and I inform him that tonight he is dressed as an Air Force Tech Sergeant, which he finds quite acceptable.
Despite the crazy rain falling in Lyon, the band kicks off their set of great original tunes that are received well by the enthusiastic crowd. After watching their shenanigans throughout the week, I am very impressed at their ability to transform into a tight, professional group of musicians.
We jam for awhile, and I get a shout out from the lead singer before one of the songs. “This one is for all the ship driver out there….I am your Deck Sergeant!” he yells, referring to the “rank on his sleeve. I felt like such a groupie.
This is actually another section of the band playing, but they are playing just outside of the barricade (and in the rain). The guy in the gray shirt has been a part of our group all week, and he has some fantastic dance moves that you can see in the video below.
“Nous sommes The Voxx, ou Le Voxx.” Check out the dance moves in the background.
Whenever the rain breaks, I walk around Vieux Lyon. This Jamaican rapper group was up the street from The Smoking Dog, and they sounded pretty great.
The night kind of went on pretty much like this: drink a pint, try not to get soaked, eat a kebab, and dance to some great tunes. Although the evening might not have been the most culturally-enhancing experience from an Olmsted scholar perspective, I will say that it was well worth the time to connect with some long-lost things that I really missed. And an opportunity to make some new friends.
One more photo, which I won’t elaborate too much on. Taken after hours, this goes to show that I’m not always quite sure that it is a good thing to “know the band” and get to hang out wicked late at the bar.
Voilà La Fête de la Musique. Thanks again to my friends (especially my ageless pal Marc) for a really great time in Lyon. Where I’ll be next year is anyone’s guess, but all of you at least should strongly consider heading down to Lyon and checking out The Voxx.
