Getting to the studio was not as easy as it seemed. Especially when staring at the rather simple metro map became more like staring into a bowl of spaghetti: the routes mish-mashed and intertwined like old shoelaces. Actually I would never eat shoelaces. I knew it would make perfect sense the following day, but for the moment I decided it best to shut my eyes and put the map away lest I look anymore like the tourist that I already was.
I love the metro in Paris. There's so much involved in the experience that is different to me - a native Californian who has been driving everywhere since graduating high school and prior to that was taking the bus. Well this is nothing at all like the bus. I think most of my love for it lies in the people and having to associate with the city around you. I like that feeling of being connected, even if others riding the metro may desire escape from that same feeling. Through my daily commute I always found someone who would look me in the eye and smile. I miss that now actually. I miss all the little things like flipping the handle of the sliding door and feeling that click of the lock as it disengaged - that was one of my favorites. Even the walls of the stations were amazing, extending upwards in a concave fashion creating a domed ceiling that was covered in porcelain tiles shimmering in the fluorescent light. Such charm. Such a romantic place in your untraditional romantic sense. Probably why I liked it.
When I finally got off at my stop and up to street level (two hours late I might add) I gave Lotfi a call. I think this is a good time to talk a bit about a crucial part of the story that has been missing:
Half the reason I decided to visit Paris in the first place was to audition for a band called Straightaway. Fast melodic Parisian punk rock and I wanted to see just how far things could go. I found out on the net that they were looking for a guitarist, messaged them and exchanged a bit of info with their front man Lotfi. He really liked the song on my website so the both of us talked a bit, we sent some demo riffs back and forth and things progressed from there. You never know what the future brings these days.
I remember Lotfi and Digo (drums) meeting me on the corner by the metro stop. I also remember them both being way taller than me in person: two friendly Europeans towering above me like Vikings dressed in black band t-shirts resembling so-cal skateboarders. I knew that you loose an inch of your height for every day that you don't sleep (or something like that) so I wasn't too worried about it. We walked to the studio around the corner and inside I met Fab, the bassist (who actually did remind me of a Viking thus rounding out the whole experience for me) and Leivan, who was the roadie of sorts and also comedy relief that I would experience later that evening. And so we jammed...
The first few songs went good. They (the band) were good. Really good. Shit man, I'm out of shape with this punk stuff! They opened with a few new songs that I found very melodic, heavy and intuitive. Good tunes. We played a couple songs off the record and I immediately realized how important it would have been if I had gotten better computer speakers back home; there was a lot I didn't hear when I sat figuring out the songs earlier. I felt below the standard of professionalism I hold myself to, and that sucked. We had a nice improve jam in A minor for several minutes and then moved on to a new song. They wanted to see what I could come up with over the top of it. This was the question I had traveled so far to have answered. Could we write music together? Here I was and it was all about to happen...
Something happened anyway: jet lag. It hit me hard. I was totally plowed off the beers I didn’t get to drink on the plane. I couldn't focus whatsoever, let alone try and recreate all the cool things I heard myself playing over the songs when they played them earlier. I stumbled through, doing my best to keep smiling despite the failure I began to feel. For all you who are not versed on certain musical terminology, we refer to the style I was demonstrating as "blowing chunks." Yes, it was naptime for sure. It would be many hours before I got my wish.
After practice we went to a café around the corner. Kat, a longtime friend of the guys had joined us so we were six-strong. Now it was time for me to see what Europeans do best: socialize. Perfect! What better way to get over a terrible practice performance! We got a table outside and Digo rolled some nice cigarettes for the both of us. I tried a fabulous biere blanche (white beer) and midway through I was beginning to feel better about the practice. I tried learning a bit of French firsthand from Lotfi and it didn't go unnoticed by the pair of girls sitting at the table next to us giggling from time to time. Who doesn't love a rock star tourist?
A few things I can recall as we sat there:
A guy riding his moped at full speed up onto the sidewalk and back without thinking twice.
Mercedes ambulances. Weird. I guess I was pretty close to Germany…
So many people coming and going. A mass of life being lived right in my face.
"Ou sont les toilette Sil vous plait?" “Merci.”
Great beer.
Leivan was drunk. No one was surprised.
The girl on my left had pretty brown eyes.
Ordering what I thought was a glass of water. Getting another beer instead. Stupid American strikes again. Such laughter…
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