Last night I drank too much beer and danced on a beach to live Canadian-German rock and yéyé 45s at the Glaz’art Plage. What a great place.
It was said that it didn’t feel or look like Paris, what with these youth in interesting outfits – Parisians generally don’t do costumes – cheering on a crowd-surfer who lost his short-shorts and underwear in the fray. But at the same time we were very much in Paris, beside the Parc de la Villette, watching fork lightning-infused storm clouds all around us as the sun miraculously kept shining.
There are few things better than outdoor concerts, especially ones by crazy motherfuckers like King Khan. But add an afforable barbeque, free-flowing headachy beer, sand everywhere and pétanque à volonter and you have the makings of a great evening.
So I’m moving a little slowly today but it was worth it. It’s nice to have these kinds of nights in Paris. Not all Paris dancing has to be done in a dark room behind a burly bouncer at the door, and not all indy bands must be seen at the Maroquinerie. There exists a sunnier, gentler Paris where mod kids in flip-flops slurp beer and let loose to rock’n'roll.canada, germany, paris, rock