World Music

The modern British tradition of the summer music festival usually consists of overpriced beer, campsite debauchery, mud and the rain. But have you ever wondered if it’s a more sophisticated affair on the continent? This summer James Labous discovered that the French do it standing up…

During the past ten years, the popularity of music festivals in Britain has soared. Organising such events has become a lucrative business, amassing huge profits from ticket sales and sponsorship. The Mean Fiddler's Vince Power who stages the Reading and Leeds festivals, says that the public's declining interest in dance music and manufactured pop is boosting the popularity for music festivals. "I think that kids have grown tired of the Pop Idol thing and we're seeing the backlash."
Indie Rock n Roll’s increasingly worldwide listenership flock both for an opportunity to see the latest and up and coming acts and often more importantly to party for the weekend with friends and other music fans. You might know that it can become ridiculously expensive though, camping tickets can cost upwards of £120 and there is captive market for all the necessities of food, beer and merchandise. It does seem cheaper nowadays to pay for a flight to a European city and go abroad to watch live music and it’s easier to get tickets too, whilst Reading and V Festival tickets sold out within two days, weekend passes for the Rock en Seine in Paris were selling well into June. It just so happened that a friend of mine was working in Paris and after missing out on Glastonbury and discovering that Radiohead were headlining this relatively new festival in Paris we decided to bite the bullet and spend the meagre £50 on a weekend pass. This doesn't include a camping pass, but still a hundred quid less than you might expect to pay in England.
Now, if you’ve ever been to Paris then you’ll know that there is something special about the place. It’s a certain ambiance, and the people have a charmingly superior air to them. A city festival has a different feel too. The camping is a low key affair, most of the festival goers flock from various quartiers of the city, arriving by metro and spilling out onto the street adjacent to the river. St Claude is a comparatively innocuous quartier, on the periphery of Paris but this festival is called the ‘Rock en Seine’ for a reason, the culture and ambiance flowing down the river (and arriving by metro) from the centre of Paris.
The first thing I noticed whilst queuing up at the gate was how multicultural the music fans were. This worldwide embracement of rock n roll breaks across barriers of culture and language, and Paris is the perfect place to celebrate this. Well, Reading and Chelmsford are not exactly noted for being the two cultural hubs of Europe and Glastonbury takes place in some far flung corner of the British Isles so it’s little wonder really that more North American’s and Europeans (including lots of English) decide to go to the Rock en Seine.
Apart from the novelty (for the men) of using strange spaceship like urinals, (toilet facilities generally were ok, although the French are not renowned for this), one had to put up with the impatience our garlic chewing cousins. When the musicians decided to take a well earned minute break between songs and perhaps swig a cheeky mineral water, they were greeted with the spoilt cries of many a young French person. “Allez! Allez!” they chimed in unison.
Despite this, the atmosphere was chilled, the smell of marijuana resonating through the air in the true spirit of the summer music festival, and not a dog's doodle in sight! The young French are interesting with their music tastes. They love rock, especially the British rock and Indy that manages to permeate across the cultural border but they do have less exposure to the scene and therefore miss out on hearing a lot of good music. This does seem to be changing, particularly in Paris. I have unfortunately heard the dull thud of nineties house resonating from an otherwise very cool surfing club in a far flung corner of Normandie.
Wolfmother had opened proceedings on the Scene de la Cascade, but unfortunately we missed them due to a crowded metro system and being too laid back. We arrived then to the distinctly unrocky tunes of soul diva India Arie.
Now although public toilets aren't their strong point, we all know that the French have somewhat of a reputation for their culinary excellence and sophistication, at music festivals it's no different. The fact that there is a captive market did bump up the prices to some extent but compared to English festival prices it was good value and the food was so much better! Baguettes, pain au chocolat, crepes, croissant, galettes and even some particularly delicious West Indian dishes. Beer however is extortionate but this is no different to any other place in Paris.
After our petit goux it was chill out time and we sat and watched fellow festival goers play frisbee and socialise. The Parisian culture of young twenty somethings is vibrant and diverse, people come from Brazil, Holland, Canada to work in bars and to mix with the young hip French and this weekend they were all at the Rock en Seine.
We returned to the Scene de la Cascade for Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, visibly nervous but they played a storming set. The crowd devouring their cheerful blend of American melodic pop and Irish folk influenced rock, the quintet departed leaving a flavoursome atmosphere and enthusiastic cheering. Then came Kasabian, the late replacement for an absent Richard Ashcroft but their laddish British attitude jarred on the crowd especially in contrast to the modesty of the previous artists.
The headline act, for Vendredi at least, were the Raconteurs, led by Jack White of the White Stripes. They were another American act full of energy and charisma, one of White's guitar solos was particularly impressive. They were good fun and definitely worth checking out if you're a fan of the White Stripes, but for me they were nothing new. The younger members of the audience rather annoyingly used this raw rock energy as an excuse to mosh their way through the entire set. My flip flops were not amused to find themselves not on my feet but also moshing, don't worry though, Gilbert and Jemima were rescued. So, footwear recovered and buoyed by the energetic show given by Jack White and friends, we spilled into the Parisian night. Nightlife here is, like the people, varied and hopping, though expensive. We decided to head for the Latin quarter to check out some bars but attempted to keep fairly fresh for the next day, you can party all night if you want to.
Next morning, we rose bright and bushy tailed of course, I was eager to arrive early as Broken Social Scene were starting proceedings on the Scene de la Cascade but once again the metro system and our slothfulness were mitigating factors. We managed to catch about half of the set nevertheless, the light drizzle of the afternoon only adding to the soothing sound of violin.. The Canadian post-rock or art-rock scene is flourishing, Broken Social Scene consist of a collaboration between musicians from Godspeed You! Black Emperor and Do Make Say Think amongst others. Together they have created an extremely original sound, combining the art rock feel with a more accessible hint of Indy. They succeeded in creating an infectiously delightful sense of peace, one of the best performances.
The it was on to the Grande Scene to watch Phoenix, a French Indy band who put on a really good show and were well received not just because of the local support. Then came Liverpool four piece, The Dead 60s with their distinct fusion of Reggae, classic punk and showmanship, which by the end of their set had conjured enthusiastic cheering.
By the late afternoon, one could sense the anticipation of what was coming. People were already staking their claims for a good spot for Radiohead. Beck were the only remaining act, entering the stage along with their puppet counterparts who stayed for the duration of the set. Puppets and puppeteers included, it was an enigmatic and imaginative display to match Beck's highly original flair and style which perfectly complimented the mysterious and haunting music which followed.
Then of course came what everybody was waiting for, the mighty Radiohead. The French adore them, intellectualism and artiness appeal to the young French particularly which perhaps explains why Kasabian were so poorly received. Paris was certainly a fitting city to see them in, home Jean Paul Sartre and other existentialist philosophers, there is more than a hint of the transcendental contained within Radiohead's music. It is emotional and avantgarde as the streets of Montmartre, where artists like Camille Pissaro used to live.
We departed, haunted but strangely uplifted, once again heading into the night, perhaps we would meet Thom Yorke and friends in a bar somewhere, but then I have lived in Oxford (we are in Radiohead's home town for those who didn't know) for three years now and the dream has never come true. Oxford, an equally intellectual city of course!