Le Havre was a formerly quaint little port town until an event some have called “a bad time” occurred in the early 1940s, transforming the town into a smoldering wreck. It was rebuilt in the 1950s with a consistent modern/linear/square style by a team of architects including Raymond Audigier (thankfully not Christian Audigier). This gives it a clean but somehow slightly cold neorealist utopian style. What the hell am I talking about? You got me.
We arrive at McDaid’s, an irish pub in the middle of town. That’s right, an irish pub in France. Why not? I saw one in Moscow, too. They are everywhere. I guess some people just like the comfort of home.
Tonight we played with We from Le Havre and Ultra Panda from Paris/Lyon/Tours. Bands these days, what can we do? We play on the internet since rent’s too damn high. Both bands prove their mettle and we get our act together and improve on our inconsistent modern/linear/square style to make it more people friendly.
There is some sort of hazing university ritual going on today where hundreds of students dress in tyvek/painters suits and pelt each other with paint and eggs all the while singing songs and drinking, of course, champagne. I’m pleased to announce that the U.S. does not have a corner on the market of really annoying drunk college students. Celebrate! Nor do we have the corner on drunken idiots smashing bottles and getting in fights. Tonight, for example, one clean shaven headed individual approached me and said something like, “byrlrkrrk bleeehhhhh frrrgrgggg wjssnnttttt….” which I took to mean “hey, I would like to engage you in some pointless banter and then get pissed off about something pointless and then commence fighting with you. A’right?” I carefully declined his offer but a larger more able bodied individual took him up on the challenge and the chaos ensued. After smashing some bottles and glasses, getting into some chokeholds and tossing each other around, including a quick detour inside our van, they took the action around the corner. Bottles breaking, words exchanged, shirts ripped off, adrenaline and fluids adequately swapped, the fighting eventually ended. The “no no, he’s not a stupid skinhead” guy returned, unbloodied but slightly chastened announced he had beaten “the english guy.” Then he turned to the crowd and said, “are you english?” Everyone was quick to admit that, sadly, no, they were not english. Maybe next time. See? There are idiots everywhere-we are one-remember that the next time you point your fingers and denounce u.s.!
