Paris is Rocking

November has been, and continues to be, a rocktacular month. I've been putting off writing about it with various excuses (too tired, too busy, not inspired...) but too much is going on to let it accumulate in my psychic outbox.
After opening for the Gaslight Anthem, I took off to Paris for a few days. I spent several years growing up there as a child and like to return occasionally. The Paris I frequent now is completely different from the one I roamed as a young teen. Then, I escaped from International school or Bar Mitzvah class to explore the Latin quarter and Les Halles, eyeing the punks in awe and coveting the Doctor Martens in the shop windows. Now, I head east where artists have settled in amongst the large Muslim population that dominates the 18th and 19th arrondissements.

The closest I got to the Eiffel Tower

I went there for a concert. As part of a multiple-night festival in an old theatre, Alabama Shakes and Michael Kiwanuka were playing a show together with some other bands. The first one I saw was called Wild Belle, and play the sort of light reggae that Les Fat Jones does in our rehearsal space when we're fucking around. We often joke about doing an all-reggae set some day, but after watching these guys play, I'm even more convinced it's something only to be done in the privacy of basements in distant suburbs.

Willy Moon

They were followed by Willy Moon, a natty bean-pole with slicked back fifties style hair backed by a female Hot Topic drum and guitar duo and a DJ. The played the weirdest mix of rock and roll with hip hop tinges imaginable, a kind of reverse aesthetic to typical rap-rock. It was funny, endearing and lasted twenty minutes, the exact amount of time before the schtick wore out its welcome.

Michael Kiwanuka

Up next came Michael Kiwanuka, a Londoner who does a spot on take of "What's Going On" era Marvin Gaye. The sight of a multi-culti group of Brit hipsters reverently playing 70's American soul would be obnoxious but for two things: he's a pretty good songwriter, with strong melodies and riffs, and they were clearly having tons of fun. Their joy and his affability disarmed my cynicism and I thoroughly enjoyed the set.

Alabama Shakes

Alabama Shakes have been getting hyped in the music press, playing Southern rock- soul that sounds and feels like the real deal, a collection of music nerds fronted by force of nature Brittany Howard. She prowled the stage, guitar in hand or casually slung over her back, belting out her songs like a rapturous preacher. The crowd went nuts. The band got their hit "Hold On" out of the way early and rocked the house like a revival tent making fervent believers out of the Parisians who hollered and cheered for more even after the lights went up.
Watching to two bands got me thinking about identity and music. I wondered how Kiwanuka felt watching Alabama Shakes effortlessly pull off music that, by an accident of birth, they can claim as their own, while he and his cohorts will always be seen to be donning a look and striking a pose. I wondered how Howard felt, a black singer in a band that usually has a white singer trying to sound black (Janis Joplin, Black Crows), playing in a city that historically welcomed black American artists shunned by their own country.
Mostly, I just danced and sang along.
I'll be seeing more concerts this week, as well as recording with Les Fat Jones and playing next Tuesday, so hopefully, I will be better about writing. If not, you can always read the throwaway lines I drunkenly put as my Facebook status. People seem to like those.