There is No Funk in France

I'll be leaving Paris soon, and I'm sad about that, I truly am. In general, this town has been good to me (despite the toll its climate takes on my thin Texan blood) and for the most part my time in Paris has been divine. Save one thing. Though Paris is the infamous resting place for Doors vocalist Jim Morrison, The City of Light has yet to "Light My Fire" for one main reason: I miss my rock n' roll. Along with bagels and peanut butter it seems to me that rock music - good, string-slapping, sing-a-long with the windows down rock n' roll -– is as funny to the French as a basket of Freedom Fries. Perhaps this is why it took me so long to get into the groove when I first arrived here. There is no groove in which to be gotten. In Paris, there is Jazz (there is always good jazz) and there is Techno and House, and pseudo-intellectual electronica abounds. But how long can a music junkie go without hearing the comforting melody of a guitar lick she can hum to? Search for a solid Soul standard in this country and you'll end up like I did, in the Federation Nationale des Achats de Cadres (FNAC, the French conglomerate for all things digitally inclined) copping a listen to your favorite Al Green album and wondering how you ever got this desperate for a little "Love and Happiness"... Continue reading "There is No Funk in France"