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rue-madame's Diaryland Diary

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Hey Mr. Dj

I always seem to be complaining about San Francisco, and here I am listening to an SF band named Oranger. “The Quiet Vibrationland” is a great, great, great cd. The band is superduper live, and Oranger’s drummer is as close to Keith Moon as any living drummer can get. He rocks and if you ever have an opportunity to see them perform, you should go.

So pretty much, music is one of the things I miss most about SF. Paris is an amazing, gorgeous, magical place to live, but musically, I find it lacking. Admittedly, my tastes are pretty retrograde. I like jangly 60s pop, in the Beatles/Kinks/Beach Boys vein. Throw in a little punk rock, some garage, and I’m as happy as a clam at high-tide. Unfortunately, France is in the grips of an electronic revolution, and albums labeled “French Touch” are selling like hotcakes. Air and Daft Punk are close to being knighted Chevaliers de la Legion d’Honneur.

And don’t even get me started on the state of French radio. The only good thing about Radio Nova in Paris is that they regularly play Grace Jones, and I defy anyone to listen to “Pull up to the Bumper” and not shake their tailfeathers.

(And of course the irony of her entire look being the invention of Jean-Paul Goude, a brilliant French designer, is not lost on me.)

Christ, I didn’t think it was possible for my sentence structure to get worse with writing, but there you have it.

10:33 p.m. - 2001-07-27

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