MGMT, la droga que no daña a la salud.

Puerta del Ángel, Madrid, 19h00, de camino al recinto:

Al salir del metro de Príncipe Pío, caminé con un ritmo elevado hacia el Paseo de la Virgen del Puerto para llegar cuanto antes a la sala “La Riviera” (“Bohemia” dicen que se llama ahora) donde tocaban MGMT, un grupo que emergió de las entrañas neoyorkinas para ofrecer al mundo un estilo que no se venía trabajando o por lo menos no conoció tanto éxito en los últimos años: el pop psicodélico. Mientras caminaba por ahí con mis Adidas Vespa y mi gorro peruano, un atracador podría haberse encontrado de todo en mis bolsillos, de todo salvo una entrada que ponga “MGMT-Sala La Riviera-Apertura de puertas 20h”. Las entradas habían salido en abril y no tenía prisas en adquirirlas, ingenuo que fui, a finales de julio quedaban exactamente 0,00.

Aún no había mucha gente haciendo cola, con el fresco que hacía no te vayas a extrañar, me metí en la cola y esperé a Álvaro que tenía que pasarme el € para la entrada. Pocas veces te toparás con un tío más pacífico y tranquilo que Bravo (de su apellido) y, además, gran amante del rock. Sus greñas le podrían facilitar el billete para los años 60’. Álvaro es un chico que conoce la luna mejor que Neil Armastrong, siempre está ahí, y a pesar de que muchas veces llegue tarde a los lugares, es imposible que haya mal rollo con esta persona, demasiado buena. Una de las razones por las que me quedé sin el papelito mágico fue por un malentendido que tuve con Álvaro durante julio, pero yo no podía perderme este concierto, demasiadas veces floté y volé con esta música como para perdérmela en directo, así que aguanté en la cola, pidiéndole a un tío que vendía una entrada que me la guardase.


Sala “La Riviera”, 19h30, estudiando el material:

Aún no había visto ningún concierto en “La Riviera”; he presenciado tan buenos grupos como “Mystery Jets” o “The Wombats” en las pequeñas salas “Moby Dick” y “Heineken” respectivamente que para la que estaba haciendo cola me parecía una normalita. Sin embargo, ver a los miembros del grupo ir tranquilamente a los autobuses aparcados justo en frente de nosotros me hizo entender que la interacción sería bastante íntima. Me fascinaba ver a los artistas mezclándose, de un cierto modo, a la gente que iba a verlos. Puede que el creer tanto en este grupo y en lo que aportará en el futuro me hace colocarlo ya en un sitio en el que tal vez no está aún, o en el que tal vez nunca estará, aunque creo que las cifras por ahora me dan la razón. Las puertas abrían dentro de media hora y ya comenzaba a helarme mientras buscaba a Álvaro en el repertorio del iPhone, llegaría a La Riviera “dentro de diez minutos”. A las ocho, con las puertas abiertas, sin entrada y con el tío amenazándome con vender la que me tenía reservada, mi quinto Beatle (con permiso de George Best) seguía sin aparecer. Cuando por fin llega Álvaro, encontramos a otro tipo que vende una entrada al mismo precio. Por otro lado se encontraba Andrew (Vanwyngarden), el líder del conjunto, firmando autógrafos en la entrada para artistas, nunca acabaré creyéndome que esa cara angelical sea la de un hombre de 27 años. Tenía mi billete al mundo psicotrópico.


En “La Riviera”, 20h09 , tiempo de embarque:

La sala es bastante grande, sin llegar a la categoría de los denominados “estadios”, pero toda la gente que estuvo haciendo cola delante y tras mío ocupaba una pequeña porción del lugar, sorprendiéndome alegremente. Pudimos situarnos bastante cerca, justo al lado de una barra con Red Bulls a 6€. Realmente debería agradecer al frío por dejar a los asistentes en casa hasta bien acercado el horario del show. Los teloneros, cuyo nombre sigo sin saber, fueron bastante entretenidos, aunque no creo que hayan conseguido calentar al público, sobre todo en un concierto como el de MGMT, en el que la interacción sería ante todo musical; un karma más difícil y lento de alcanzar.


La Riviera, 21h03, despegue:

Los integrantes entran con unos diez minutos de retraso sobre el escenario al son de un sonido de flauta tribal que recuerda te sitúa a orillas del Orinoco en el Amazonas. Cinco segundos para colocarse y empieza a sonar la melodía inicial de “Time to Pretend”, menuda forma de enchufar nada más comenzar.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CAW2pTprnZs

El sonido es bastante bueno, tal vez porque estoy cerca (dicen en los foros que la acústica no es muy buena). La escenografía es simple, una lona en el fondo y un simple juego de luces que ofrecen exclusivamente el protagonismo a las melodías alegres y lejanas del primer bombazo de “The ManaGeMenT”. Esta primera canción me agilipolla totalmente, he despegado del mundo racional y ya puedo apreciar y sentir ese mundo psicotrópico a la vez que esa euforia siempre presente en los conciertos. Al acabar la canción recuerdo los tiempos en los que descubría a MGMT allá por 2oo8, junto a Alex Tejedor en la planta indie de Wasabi. Presentación de “Congratulations” con “Song for Dan Treacy”, que no conozco aún muy bien, sigue “Weekend Wars”, también una vieja conocida de las masas ahí presentes. La siguiente parada es una de mis canciones preferidas del segundo álbum y que me gustó desde el principio, “I found a whistle”, esa tranquila y surrealista (como muchas de sus canciones) canción entorno a un silbato. “Flash delirium” (de clip absolutamente delirante) viene a continuación; la había escuchado alguna vez, omitiéndola para centrarme en “I found a whistle”, “It’s working” o “Someone’s missing”. Ahora me cuesta pasar de ella al encender mi iPhone, y a pesar de que la letra sea algo escalofriante, ese crescendo a lo largo de los cuatro minutos de canción está lleno de energía.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=avqJnaSJoig

“Electric Feel” fue el siguiente punto de excitación general tras “Of Moons, Birds & Monsters” y “It’s working”, con una letra más simple y fácil de memorizar, la mayoría de nosotros hacemos escala en esa tribu en la que Andrew conoce a la chica-electricidad.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2tSKk2lW0go&feature=related

La escala más larga se da tras pasar por “The Youth” y “Destrokk” y se denomina “Siberian Breaks”. Esta canción ambiental de doce minutos es a sí misma un mini-álbum, una conexión de diferentes canciones, melodías, sueños y paisajes. Es difícil mantenerse enganchado durante una canción tan larga y ambiental pero a medida que miraba a la gente de mi alrededor los ahí presentes observaban y escuchaban alucinados como un niño delante del “Cortilandia”. Una de esas partes (parcialmente instrumental) me recuerda increíblemente a una melodía escuchada en “La Naranja Mecánica”, no recuerdo bien en qué momento de la película era. Tras un final que te lleva de paseo por las estrellas mediante unos sonidos sintetizados que recuerdan a un peli de ciencia-ficción, veo a Andrew que deja la guitarra para no volver a colocarse otra, la única canción que me sepa de Andrew sin rascar es “Kids”, que efectivamente es el tema que sigue. Excitación, ahora se puede notar alguna que otra marea. En mi exaltación del momento me separo de mis compañeros y me encuentro coreando la melodía y letra de la primera canción que descubrí de MGMT en octubre de 2008. Me parece que instrumentalmente es playback pero en ese momento la verdad da casi lo mismo, lo que importa esta vez es poder estar con la gente desafinando una canción más rítmica y dance, ver a los dos fundadores del grupo sonreír y pasarla bien con nosotros y, como se venía haciendo durante el concierto, seguir viajando.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uBLYqwCwrhQ&feature=related

Sigue “Brian Eno”, el bis, “The Handshake” y “Congratulations”, para felicitarnos por ser un público cojonudo ya sabes. Faltó en mi opinión “Pieces of what” como canción de clausura, pero es navidad pronto, acabamos de asistir a un buen concierto con buena gente y por tanto, no importa.

Al final me encuentro con los chicos y decidimos darnos prisa para recoger las cosas en el vestuario, me volveré a perder como viene haciéndose habitual este año, y tras no obtener respuesta a la llamada de Álvaro, decido volver a casa. El cansancio me consume, la vuelta a la realidad es fría, espontánea. Necesito dormir.

23h23, Metro Puerta del Ángel, reflexión:

Varias veces leí que los directos de la banda no eran buenos, no sé qué es exactamente un buen directo, pero sé que un buen directo (como uno malo) puede tomar diferentes formas. Otros factores pueden determinar que sea un directo de calidad o no. Por ejemplo hace dos años vi a Bob Dylan en el Rock in Rio de Madrid, y el fallo sin duda para mí fue el entorno. Su música y letra tan líricas no se acoplan bien al concepto de mega concierto, en un enorme espacio abierto, sobre un escenario inmenso y con el público a 20 metros del artista. Ese entorno requiere una aportación escénica espectacular (juegos de luces, pantallas y unos artistas activos), que ahogaría al personaje de Dylan, su música, su mito. Con él la interacción es puramente musical y esta se da mejor en un espacio más pequeño e íntimo. En este aspecto los de Brooklyn se sitúan en el mismo plano que el de Minnesota. Con MGMT, la música y letra en sí son muy sensoriales, autosuficientes y si llegas a sentirlas, despegas. La diferencia con el álbum es que esa música se está elaborando en directo, ante tus ojos y sobre todo tus oídos. Puede que estos artistas por su forma de ser y su música no sólo no necesitan realmente juegos de pantallas o luces espectaculares, sino que incluso en ocasiones pueden tapar lo realmente interesante de la interacción. Que guste o no el grupo, eso es otra cosa. En este aspecto, “La Riviera” parece una elección acertada.

Al día siguiente del concierto he podido leer la crítica del concierto por parte de la revista Rolling Stone, que hice pasar a Álvaro, ambos quedamos sorprendidos. El periodista aseguró que el show llegó a ser “vulgarmente pop”. No he visto nada en el concierto ni en la música de MGMT que pueda parecerse mucho al pop, que sea el pop-rock de los 60’ o el pop comercial de los 90’. También echó la culpa al segundo disco, “Congratulations”, que “abandona el territorio de la inmediatez y frescura del primer trabajo para adentrarse en una propuesta mucho más ambiental y pausada”. Personalmente el segundo álbum me parece igual o mejor que el primero y en cuanto al concepto de “inmediatez” voy a citar un comentario que me soltó mi querido Alex Tejedor mientras hacíamos cola para el concierto de Oasis: “Aprecio aún más un álbum o grupo cuando me va gustando poco a poco”. Descubrir algo nuevo en arte siempre resulta interesante, si además gusta, extremadamente satisfactorio. Que no sea inmediato no significa que sea malo (ni tampoco bueno). “Inmediatez” me hace pensar en una canción comercial (que puede hacer pasar muy buenos ratos también), que gusta enseguida pero de forma efímera, mientras que si a medida que se descubre un artista o música se va apreciándolo cada vez más en el tiempo, ese artista se solidifica enormemente, como una amistad que se construye para toda la vida. MGMT no me convenció de primeras exceptuando a “Kids” y “Time to pretend” (el primer álbum es más fácil de acoger) y ahora son para mí una referencia y promesa. En cuanto a la “frescura”, si se refiere a innovador, ambos discos lo son a su manera. En cuanto a la “propuesta más ambiental y pausada”, no consigo mentalizar algún título realmente movedizo a parte de “Kids”. MGMT no propone hacerte saltar y chillar, más bien te propone otra herramienta que el ácido para marcarte un viaje. Nos habla también de un David no sé qué, el productor del primer disco y quién a buena parte del público le importa bien poco.

Esa tranquilidad en el escenario, esa “no-actitud” de la que habla el periodista en el artículo podría después de todo ser una de las señas de identidad del grupo. La simpatía y alegría se notaba en sus caras, factor que siempre alegra al público (“Si te diviertes sobre el escenario, el público también se divierte”, me dijo una vez mi profesor de teatro), y a pesar de que para algunos la falta de chicha por parte de los integrantes o la falta de más implicación escenográfica con juegos de pantallas y luces les dejó un poco deseosos, piensen que la adición de estos elementos podrían romper vuestra concepción de MGMT: unos chicos cuya seña de identidad para mi es su música y sus videoclips. Aunque extraño un poco el toque hippie de Andrew y Ben en los tiempos de Oracular Spectacular, no creo que eso haya llegado a forjarse como EL elemento que les caracteriza, y abandonarlo tal vez sea una señal de madurez, quien sabe. La actitud no debería tocarse, concuerda perfectamente con el estilo de música: melodioso, colocado y soñador; y es difícil de acoplarla con las letras mayoritariamente surrealistas. Si no son de los que se exaltan sobre el escenario, que no se fuercen, si que quedaría horroroso.

Una decoración tribal o exótica que remite a los entornos de sus clips más originales y fantasiosos más un vestuario como el que se pudo ver en algunos conciertos de la primera gira podrían estimular las gentes del público, yo incluido, esperemos a que el grupo haga más dinero. Por ahora me conformo con la camiseta de la portada de “Unknown PLeasures” (Joy Division) y ese pantalón con motivos orgánicos y colorados del guitarrista. Me imagino que como en muchas cosas, es una cuestión de gustos.

Discovering something known: New York

Thursday, October 28th, 2010 (and 1972):

16h55, T1, Barajas:

“The next day, Keith is more sicker. After vomiting his methadone, he feels weak and nauseous. He has green skin and suffers a crisis of acute shortage.” Those are the lines I was reading when the speakers in the airport woke me from my trip to 1972. This book was “Exile on Main Street: A season in Hell with The Rolling Stones”, this creepy and funny story about the recording of the better said Rolling Stones album.

I turned my head and watched again this incredible and fascinating Airbus a330-300 Air Europa (yeah I´m kind of a freak for this kind of stuff). The flight UX091 destination was New York, a city that definitely makes you dream, at least when you´ve read, watched and heard about she; the city of glamour, art deco, wall street, architecture, melting pot, the Dakota, Grimaldi´s Pizzeria, the Jazz shop on the 28th St. (Memory I trust you) between the 8th and the 7th... but also another infinite number of elements that draws her face and personality. From now on I will make reference to the time of New York.
07h23 p.m.:
That´s it, we can already see the first lights which describe the American coast. Palpitation, excitement, eagerness... I waited and begged for that moment the last four years. My father (Sergio from “Serge”), whom I´m travelling with, must have his brains consumed...Don´t ask me why this obsession with New York, because of something irrational that has charmed my unconscious, but also because of my love for art, architecture, theatre, design and music (By the way Julian, you and your Strokes must absolutely shake your asses!), and also because of all the stuff I was about to discover...The airbus was making its approach maneuvers while a was looking for Big Apple, even if it was only a silhouette or a vague image, such a dreamer I was. As we were descending I could observe an increasing number of planes, landing and taking-off, giving me a first idea of NYC’s dimensions.

08h03 T4, JFK airport, p.m.:
Landing at JFK Airport after eight hours of flight plus fifteen minutes to the parking, followed by a marvelous line for passport control, where the twin of Morgan Freeman took about five minute to get my digital printers. Then over another fifteen minutes to find the damned place where we´d take the van to Manhattan, from left to right, inside and outside the terminal, finally gotcha SuperShuttle! “Where do you go?”- “9**, 5th Av.” And then we went.
10h15 p.m. JFK-Manhattan:
The route didn´t give me anything, it was all dark, and I didn´t even noticed we were close to Central Park when they filed us, completely lost in that big jungle of buildings. The people who welcomed us were friends of my father. Antonin, a young man with a great future, even a little early, occupying a great place in the xxxxxxxxxx, was at a business dinner that evening with, among others, Woody Allen. Bérénice, her wife, is a very friendly and interested woman. She showed us the apartment, an unbelievable duplex flat, three big rooms, two kitchens, two living-rooms, a huge terrace overlooking Central Park...later I would understand that having an apartment like this one in the heart of Manhattan proved to be a great privilege. She told us a little bit about New York, her way of life, her people, how she works. Well, how she is. I was sleeping in a small room, my window looked out to the emergency stairs and old brick walls, both so typical of New York architecture. First night in New York City.

Friday, October 29th, 2010:

09h22 a.m., 9**5th Av, Upper East Side:

Noise in the kitchen, I distinguish Antonin and Sergio voices. When this last one finally opens my room’s door to wake me up there are only Bérénice and the charwoman, Rosita. One of the things that shocked me the most of New York was the cost of services. Rosita gets about 2000 $ per month while here in Spain 1500€ (make the conversation) it´s the average wage. Also Primary School at Lycée Français de New York: 1000$ (750€) and Nursery: 2000$ (1500€). Ok I stop that a sec fellas, 16º outside in Madrid? Tell me what the hell is going on this planet, yesterday was -5º, we’re going straight into the shit. All right sorry, let´s continue with the program. One primary stop for me is the Apple Store, not only because of my obsession for its gadgets, but also because of its architectural structure.

We go down by the 5th Avenue, a long straight line, partially along Central Park and ending on Washington Square. We pass through Salomon R. Guggenheim Museum, a jewel of the great Frank Lloyd Right, and watch some pop and New York pictures in a stand, 25 bucks the three, we’ll come on Monday buddy. The Apple Store is in one of the corners of Central Park, at the intersection 5th Av- 59th St. Just on the other side of the street a stupid dream of my childhood: the Hotel Plaza, appearing in the movie “Home alone 2”. As I am in the Apple Store, I take the opportunity to read some news on the net and ask my sister which color she wants for her iPod Nano, silver. We continue down by 5th Av and take the 57th East, the great brands: Louis Vuitton, Dior
(a wonderful work by Christian Portzamparc: http://farm1.static.flickr.com/66/169140003_5bdaa97b9f.jpg), and of course...Nike. The place is great and the employees very funny and welcoming, not like the prices, contrary to the Apple Store. After a promenade in the shops, we went down the 6th Av. (or Avenue of the Americas) and made a stop at the Radio City Music Hall, an essential visit for me. This place means to me glamour, greatness, art, music. It’s impossible to count how many videos and photos of this place I’ve seen: all the Grammys and Mtv’s awards there and those stratospheric performances by Michael Jackson and many others artists, well, all the best have been there...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rIG-Vv9vkew, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rljRKZMDJPE
But above all it´s the breeding place of The Rockettes, a female dance group. It belongs to the Rockefeller Center; its construction began in 1929 and was opened in 1932. Every fan of architecture and design should consider RCMH as a place of pilgrimage. Since when I discovered this place, I was absolutely impressed by the size of the auditorium, six thousand seats, this is why I wanted to go on the stage and feel like we can feel performing in this temple. I acted a lot in high school, our theatre was pretty big, and the feeling of being exposed, open your spirit and just be free is amazing, it won’t happen here. However, be submerged in that huge art deco ocean threw me into another universe. The hall is predominated by red color and two chandeliers. The carpet and the two lateral walls are impregnated by mystic paintings and images inspired by primitives and exotic cultures and seeking luxury, harmony and beauty...well, Art Deco. I can say that we’ve almost visited everything: all kind of lounges (Gentlemen and ladies separated, after-show) toilets, dressing-rooms with own lounge, meeting rooms, corridors, all built with every luxury materials you can imagine, like marble or gold. Regarding the auditorium, we just have been at the highest level (set design work required), which offered us a view of all...no limits boys, no notion of the dimensions...Ending the visit, the about eighty year old woman guide introduced us in one of the dressing rooms a Rockette, who told us their story and, of course, was so charming boys. After that, everyone could take pictures with her, big kids. I was completely stunned with everything I saw there, but this Art Deco submersion gave us dizziness, I don’t know why really...maybe because of the enclosed or the carpet, we just needed a huge launch at “Adrienne’s Pizzeria”. Next stop downtown.
02h43 p.m., Bowling Green, downtown:
Subway from Rockefeller Center to Bowling Green, in downtown. Bérénice told us the city of New York doesn´t have much money and most of the time the private sector finances by providing funds to galas and other events. The consequence is a bad maintenance of infrastructure like the streets or the subway, in which one I was feeling like Tony Manero at the end of “Saturday Night Fever”. We’re looking for “Adrienne’s pizzeria”, released by “Le Guide du Routard”, my father’s faithful friend. 54 Stone St, it’s a short street, so short that it only goes up to the number 21, not understanding what’s happening, we look if the street continues to the other side of the avenue, but there is a so-big-Wall Street-building in its place. After asking some traders we finally find this nice street, behind the said so-big-Wall Street-building. It’s covered by tables, Halloween is coming up and the waitresses of the restaurants seem to be promoting it, with devil horns or pink eyebrows. Once the big “formaggio” and my Pepsi finished we took the direction of Battery Park and Ground Zero. It wasn´t my priority, it´s obvious that what happened there turns out to be one of the most horrible moments of recent history. But no, I couldn’t project, draw that awful scene in my mind, despite my imagination. I wasn’t able to really imagine or feel what happened nine years before. Now that I think about it I feel guilty in a sense but there is one thing I was sure: I was missing something really great there. Close to Ground Zero was materialized a word I heard and read several times during the days we prepared the trip: Century 21. This big shop is famous among guides for its prices but, to be honest, it disgusted me. Of course such idiots we were to go there on a Friday afternoon, when a mass of people run into there to get the best bargains. Apparently you can find incredible stuff for a very good price but we weren´t really motivated for that. Around forty-five minutes later, we were arriving at Brooklyn Bridge, new mention required of “Saturday Night Fever”, where Tony ensures a workman rests in peace in the cement, T or F? First occasion for me to see Manhattan from outside. It’s certainly here/now where/en I realize how enormous and extended is Manhattan, reminding me something a friend told me: in USA everything is bigger, cars, buildings...After the RCMH and this view I have more reasons to believe it. We stayed there for almost twenty minutes, to contemplate the nice side of the human work, after what we went down to Seaport. Marina Lopes is a curious girl, very nice and funny. She was one of the people who asked me to get them stuff; in her case, a Yankees cap (she forget it two minutes later damn Marina!). Anyways, at Seaport was the Yankees shop, first purchase. I really didn’t know about Seaport, I think it’s not an area so exploited, and it’s very pleasant with its bars, shops and views on East river and Brooklyn. We were looking for the heliport, my father came about twenty-five years ago and made a helicopter tour over Manhattan, but the prices have increased since then and the helicopters don’t fly over the island anymore, must imagine because of security? Taxi to the Soho.
05h26 p.m., Prince St, Soho:
Soho...the neighborhood of artists, of lofts, of shops. We haven’t spent too much time here, your first time in New York requires looking the essential, but we’ll have more opportunities. We just took a drink in a warm place after our ride from Wall Street to Seaside, passing by Ground Zero and Brooklyn Bridge. This milkshake was just...GORGEOUS. Subway to next stop: heavyweight but glamorous, imposing but refined, please allow me to introduce the MOMA.
06h40 p.m., meeting the elite at the MoMA.
“Le vendredi soir c’est gratuit”, Le Guide du Routard said. MoMA’s free Fridays night. Last year I had the occasion to study “Contemporary movements of art, XX Century”, which means study great artists like Picasso, Modigliani or Dalí. “MoMA” was a recurrent word in these classes, and of course when you learn about something you love and the teacher associates it with famous places, those places become a Mecca for art fans. “Excited” describes the best my mood while we were walking to the museum. As we expected, there are lots of people. We begin doing the long line to leave my Sergio’s bag, during this time we can hear incessantly weird screams coming from the 2nd floor hall. I first think it’s some kind of piece of theatre, EIN, wrong answer! Just a fucking micro there in which people can express themselves, what an idea man...Let’s begin with the surrealist Magritte with his “Ciel”, always seeking to confuse like “Ceci n’ est pas une pipe” or “Ceci n’est pas une pomme”. Following with Amadeo Modigliani, from l’ École de Paris and the perfect stereotype of the bohemian, with one of the portraits of Jeanne Hébuterne. Pablo Picasso occupies a great part of the collection with of course “Les Demoiselles d’Avignon”, a work that means a turning point in the history of art, introducing the cubism (for those who say: “the Otherside clip by the Red Hot Chili Peppers is curious”, staging is inspired by cubism) and which exposes the artistic life in Paris in early XX century. I won’t develop about this “chef d’oeuvre”. Other works of Picasso are “Trois musiciens” ou “Deux femmes nues”. There was too the series of Mark Rothko’s “carpets”, the most expensive work in the history of art a years ago. MoMA made us enjoy with a Marilyn Monroe of Andy Warahol, with Jackson Pollock, Joan Miró and Max Ernst among others, a sea of geniuses. With maybe a too quick visit we leave the water and take the direction of another museum, Times Square, the museum of people and commercials.
08h15 p.m., Times Square, the mosaic:
We took the 53rd St. till the 7th Av. As we walk down by the 7th, we are increasingly bombarded by lights and commercials, an amazing artificial show. Here you can be aware of all the musicals of Broadway: Mamma Mia or The Phantom of the Opera to quote the most famous. All the big brands are around: Kodak, Pepsi, Dunkin’ Donuts, Yahoo, Toshiba...the luxury place for announcers, I’d rather not imagine how much does cost the space here.

I perceive the M&M’s store, now I understand why Jérôme asked me to take him a package, “le malin”. The square is a melting pot of people: styles, nationalities, age...From the soberest guy to the most wild, from a classic and chic suit to a multicolor hair, all that stuff stimulated by the lights, images and spots enclosing us. In a corner of the square is hidden by scaffolding something I might add to my list of “temples”, The Hard Rock Café. The “boutique” is enormous, just like the line for dinner. At first, I wanted to bring to Elisa two presents (three months after her birthday...what a boyfriend!), The Sims 3 and the typical “I NY” sweat. But suddenly there I see a wonderful black Hard Rock t-shirt for girl. The logo “Hard Rock Cafe” is written with subtle sequins, “New York” printed in white/grey, I take it. It won’t be the only garment leaving its house with us. One more Hard Rock in my list, and return to the 5th Av. to eat something and take the subway to our housing, good night...

Saturday, October 30th, 2010:

09h30 a.m., 9** 5th Av, Upper East Side:

Entering Central Park, the sky is blue, no clouds. We’re Saturday and new-yorkers take the opportunity to run out. With all those runners there, be a normal walker turns into a high-risk activity. Despite this the walk was perfect, our next objective: The Museum of Natural History. When we arrive we take the ride including a show in the planetarium, which one was regular. The museum is pretty full and you can find everything you’re looking for, we visited the african and south-american civilizations offering us all kind of objects and models, dinosaurs skeletons and few other collections. I guess we didn’t have too much time, a real problem in the case of museums definitely...As we were leaving the place I saw one of those hot dog stands, look to Sergio... all right that’s it I can’t stay four days in New York and to not taste one of those, one thing less!
11h02 a.m., Dakota Building, the other place marked:
You may think I’m kidding you, and really not! Irony of fate, something has wanted me to write about the Dakota a December, 8th of 2010. Thirty years passed since Mark David Chapman shot four bullets on John Lennon’s body and entire world’s soul. I wasn’t even realizing on which date we were, it was only after turning on the TV that my face became the “Oh man...” one. “He was an incredible artist”, Sergio said, “You should watch Chapter 27” I retorted. Chapter 27 is that movie about the three days of Chapman before the murder, incredibly performed by a transformed Jared Leto (just knew that a minutes ago on Wikipedia of course). I found a chilling and obsessive character who wanted to turn his life into Holden Caulfield’s life, the main character of the novel “The Catcher in the eye”, a tragic character. Obsession towards John Lennon gives way to hate. I must have seen this movie about two years ago and I don’t really remember exactly sentences or words he said, but I can say that Leto plays a scary and obviously disturbed man, and I assure you, not worth to be a psychologist to see that. The film produces very well the Dakota portal, and once arrived in front of it, I was iced. I find myself in the scene of the crime recreating this atrocious act, the same scene where I saw (on screen all right) Mark Chapman depriving the world of a marvelous artist, a genius, and even more than an idol for some. Nothing crosses my mind, I’m away. Sergio offers me entering Central Park to see the honorary mosaic to Lennon. We continue down by Central Park West when I launch a last look to the Dakota, it really happened.
11h41 a.m., Columbus Circle Timer Warner Center:
Here we are, Columbus Circle, the crossroad between Central Park West, Broadway, 59th St and 8th Av. Coffee time for Sergio. I appreciate that, I need a pause. Antonin calls us, we’ll finally have lunch we all the family in an Italian restaurant a little lower on the 8th Av: discussing about New York and Business with my raviolis. We also plan with Béré(nice) our ride to Woodbury, the outlets of Central Valley, one hour from the city. Time becomes short. Antonin goes home with the children whereas me, Béré and Sergio continue through the 8th Av until Port Authority, where we must get the bus to Central Valley. Too short, so short that the next bus is at 6:00 p.m. One hour to go, two hours at least there (with me and a woman you know...), another hour to come back...heck, blast, tut. Béré goes back home, me and Sergio we’ll continue down by the 8th Av.
02h53 p.m.,New York Times/ Madison Sq Garden/Jazz shop:
During the afternoon we won’t visit any recognized place. Sergio read about a jazz shop not far from the Madison Square Garden, on the 28th St I believe. So we went lower on the avenue, passing in front of the New York Times headquarters. I was discovering another face of New York, more modest, buildings and streets not very well maintained, I’d even say poorer; but I’m not in a position that allows me to confirm it. However, the charm is still there, an incredibly powerful energy dances in the air, a desire to get lost (but not too much) and see. Here is the Madison Square Garden, a great place where play the Knicks and the Rangers (basket and hockey), where The Rolling Stones offered an incredible show some days before Altamont free concert tragedy and where Michael Jackson performed his last great concert for his thirty years of career. We turned left at the 28th St., Sergio was looking for jazz music store, the best said in New York (so in the world according to him). I can’t really remember the number, but we were expecting a visible stuff, a place which must be noticed. No stores, no windows exposing Miles Davis vinyl. After having almost given up, I see on the intercom the name of the store, this damn place was in the 6th floor, letter B of a grey discrete building! Surprised that the best said jazz shop of New York was in a flat, I started thinking the material up there had to be really excellent and complete. I don’t know much about jazz, but entering in this (not so big) flat with two meters high shelves, full of jazz stuff, gave me a strong feeling. All the history, the creativity, the music, the designs, the way of life that jazz represents was concentrated in that little pretty flat, transmitting an extraordinary and strong energy. Sergio buys three albums. I ask the seller where I can find a good videogames store and he sends me to the intersection between Broadway and the 33rd St. “Sorry can we put this game in French?”, the guy looks at the “The Sims 3” box and goes to ask to another girl. “Yeah, sure!”. I think Elisa will have what she wanted; my debt to her birthday is done! We leave the store and I look around me.
04h37 p.m., Broadway:
While we were going to the 5th Av, in the buildings I could imagine those old studios where The Velvet Underground rehearsed in the seventies with a blond Andy Warhol in his turtleneck sweater and his cigarette, creating an image in his mind, sat on a chair in a corner of the room. I also was recreating the first steps of The Strokes, imagining Fab Moretti playing drums in his soundproof room. We pass by the Empire State Building where some guys try to sell us tickets to the top, we’ll be here tomorrow. Once on the 5th Av, we take a cab to Washington Square and see this famous arch that appears often in “Friends”. Coffee time to get forces, well... “whisky-soda” time would be more appropriate. Wifi offered, we liberate the geeks we have inside (hope you like the mix tourist-artist-geek) and get informed about what happens in the world and in Europe. Real Madrid wins 3-1 with a Benzema very performing, then...then... “The check please!”. Little tour in the prestigious Greenwich Village, where apparently lives Woody Allen. It’s a very charming neighborhood, a quite place in the middle of the tumult. The buildings are about three levels and the streets are bordered by trees that have lost their leaves. Homes are getting prepared for Halloween, the following day, and turn into haunted houses with a witch/ghost/skull deco. We continue taking a tour in West Village and we enter Chelsea trough the 7th Av. We make a stop in a market which imports premium products from Europe like French cheeses or Spanish olive oil, expensive. We pass to the 6th Av. to get to the New York Hamburger and Co. Not only we had a discount and were absolutely hungry, but also Sir Michael Chazareix (my favorite dumbass in the world, and a friend of mine) told me well about this place. Once there I was feeling like Danny from “Grease”and his band in this so incredibly 70’s-80’s fast food restaurant: hamburgers made in front of you, big red seats, old radios...fantastic. Oh hell... I have a terrible lack of memory right now and I can’t really remember what we’ve done after dinner. I guess it was not a big deal.
10h15 p.m. Somewhere:
Green line again to go home, all the family is in the children room. A wonderful image, a wonderful joy. The children are close to Sleep, Bérénice is going to bed too. Antonin offers us a glass of wine in the upper living room. My role here is mainly to listen. It’s been talked about France, the retirement, the lazy or bossy secretaries, the “war” against some c****** in the U.S.A., how French people is perceived by American people (very well apparently) and a long etcetera which lasted about four glasses of wine. Sweet rest.

Sunday, October 31st, 2010:

08h28 a.m., 9** 5th Av, Upper East Side:

Bérénice won’t come to Woodbury outlets, this evening is Halloween and early in the afternoon the parents will take a tour with their children to ask for candy and live the festivity. We’re up early to take a cab that will drive us to Port Authority where we’ll catch a bus to Central Valley. The cab drivers aren’t very pleasant, it’s looking at that stupid cab driver face when I sing in my mind the famous “Mr. Cabdriver fuck you” from the song “Mr. Cab driver” by Lenny Kravitz. No “hello”, no “bye” just a straight “where?”. We had already took our tickets the eve, when we saw the line awaiting the bus we were like “Jeez, it must be really profitable”. We leave Manhattan through a tunnel drug under the Hudson River. Another panoramic of Manhattan, this time from the west side. A last commercial and industry area gives way to the rural world, dominated by a brown and reddish complexion. Woodbury is a real little American village in the middle of the wood, with its small white houses and little streets. Each brand occupies a box. You may find all the great brands: Polo Ralph Lauren, Tommy Hilfiger, Lacoste, Calvin Klein, Massimo Dutti...We won’t do the entire tour, to long and to boring. My harvest is composed by a Lacoste beige polo (40€ instead of 80€), Calvin Klein belt and wallet (all for 35€ instead of more less 100€). I also buy two Ralph Lauren polos, one for Joaquín and the other one for Pepe. Sergio bought a Calvin Klein sweat and a Ralph Lauren scarf, plus a Davidoff fragrance ordered by the matriarch. In the middle of the mission we stopped in the restaurants area to eat something, I took nachos with a 500% disgusting sauce and Sergio a gluttony almost as big as the Chrysler Building. The disposition of the “come and shop village” makes enjoyable the shopping because even if there are lots of people, you’re in such a large area that you don’t feel the magnitude.
02h01 p.m., from the wood to the top of the world:
Time to take the bus back. The containers, empty first, are now full of shopping bags. I slept during most of the route. Once in Port Authority, we went to an American restaurant in the station to get some forces. We’re thinking about what to do. We might call Antonin and join them, or maybe go home. Sergio proposes the Empire State Building, I agree with him, the sky seems to be ok. Still on the street, at the foot of the building, I lift my head and look at the three hundred and eighty-one meters of marble and steel (102 floors) topped by sixty-two meters of antenna; trying to imagine Philippe Petit (tightrope walker) walking on that cable between the tops of the twin towers (WTC)

; here is when you realize you are nothing. We encounter the same guy of the day before, we buy tickets allowing us to skip the line and make a touristic attraction. Once again I rush into the Art Deco universe, immersed in this rococo design. On the walls and the ceilings are drawn and carved all kind of mystic and faraway images like an Aztec sun or pyramidal forms on the elevators. The attraction was a little tour of New York in a moving-cinema, after what they took a photo of you with the Empire State as background. The first elevator you take climbs you up to the 80th floor, where The Empire State is represented in an Art Deco way: Its white silhouette occupies the center of the composition on a blue background. From this blue background, behind the building, white rays gush forth, highlighting the architectural work.

In the same level, luckily, was King Kong, still alive! Not wanting planes shooting at me, I avoided the photo. The marketing machine works better than ever! New elevator to the 86th floor, the mirador one. The feeling was similar as in a plane, at the take off you get a bit nervous, but when you’re flying you live. When I was in the elevator I couldn’t even imagine the three hundred and twenty meters of vacuum under my feet (new thinking of Philippe Petit, who danced between the twin towers of the WTC), but once at the 86th floor, you are amazed. It’s a new point of view to appreciate the dimensions of Big Apple and New York. I have never been so high since the Tour Eiffel, unfortunately it was a time I was more interested in Power Rangers than the beauty and the feeling of being kind of floating over this whole universe called New York. On the east side we can appreciate another work of art, a little bit older than the Empire, the Chrysler Building, whose offices above (in that splendid top) appear in the movie “The Aviator”. Further are situated Queens and further south Brooklyn. On the north one are Central Park and the Rockefeller Center (where the Christmas tree has just been established), further are Harlem and The Bronx. On the west face is the Hudson River, with West New York along. Wall Street and the Statue of Liberty occupy the south side. After about twenty minutes we came down, with an obligatory passage through the official store.
While the world was suffering a terrible economic crisis, Alfred E.Smith, ex-governor of the Empire State (New York State) and director of the company that financed the construction, struggled to achieve his objective: offer to New York the title of city with the higher building in the world. The construction began in January, 1930, and lasted one year and forty days, an incredible record. 3400 workers participated, most of them European immigrants, dying five of them (a small quantity when you see the famous shots from Lewis Hine showing workers: https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-EGJbONFJqAbpR-uEjVb4oa64n920P2RIXOk3X3qnJNrEs9MpWBHyJTcsixRwF9AQhHWiaeuLI3JNP3yRiyZ_ezBNBhQCpprw_mSMxYTtZZGhKgGKa6x4FyrnTw0ZHvJTd8mB8780aLCi/s1600/37.jpg / http://imgs.obviousmag.org/archives/uploads/2008/08041705_blog.uncovering.org_hine.jpg )
The building is 381 meters high, 443 with the antenna, and has been the highest in New York since 1931 and 1972, when the WTC towers have been built. Destroyed in 2001, since then The Empire State Building is the highest building of New York again.
05h38 a.m., 5th Av with 34th St, from the top of the world to earth:
Down from heaven, in the street most of the people are disguised for Halloween. We walk down by the 5th Av. and arrive at the curious Flatiron Building at the intersection with the 23rd St. where firemen enter a building, some Pokemons and some assassins from “Scream” are watching the scene. We’re getting at the level of Greenwich Village, where most of the streets are cut and monitored by New York City Cops (song by the Strokes though). No cars in the streets, we take a street and become spectators of the importance of Halloween for American people. All the houses were decorated, in the interior and the exterior, with cobwebs, skulls and pumpkin. It’s a real staging, with a long work of preparation.

Lots of people are at the portals, from babies to grandparents. We walk until the 7th Av. where a mass of people stay behind barriers along the avenue, it seems there is a Halloween show coming up. We make a break and decide to take something to eat in a bar where a game of football is retransmitted. The atmosphere is very warm and joyful, the servers are pleasant. We ask for some fries, we get a sausage combo first...and the fries. Following this little mistake they decide to give us the sausages for free, I definitely love this neighborhood. Just coming out of the place, Antonin calls and proposes us to attend an intimate concert of a friend of Sergio, Éric Vincent, French singer touring in the U.S.A. The event takes place on a flat on the 104th St. West. To go there we take the red line, number 3, from 14th St. Station. A route that should have taken us about twenty minutes took us more than forty-five minutes because of work on the line.

07h33 a.m., 104th St West nº I don’t remember, “la chanson française” in New York:
The flat is on the 4th floor and is corner with Columbus Av. It’s an old building, there is no elevator and a lady had to go down to open us. The place is very curious: the entrance opens itself to a narrow corridor. Once you arrive at the end, on the left is the kitchen. When you enter it, this one is connected with the living room, making the corner. There are two spaces, one where are the seats and a table with food and drinks, and the second one with all the music stuff and two enormous speakers hanging from the ceiling. I feel suddenly in a kind of place where the New York groups could have started their carriers, scribbling their first accords on a sheet of toilet paper. The continuation of this particular stage ends with a mezzanine, where probably is the room and the bathroom of the owner, a man originally from Alexandria and friend of Georges Moustaki who organizes concerts every month at his place. Apparently we missed the first part of Éric’s performance, when he presented his new work; at least we’ll have a second part.
The man is an old friend of Sergio, since the time he was working in Ecuador, where he saw me for the first time. I didn’t really know about him until last summer. Sergio called me while I was in Paris for an internship, proposing me to dinner with friends of him on a barge, Éric’s barge. Well, once in twenty one years, and twice in four months, one in New York, delirious! Even if I don’t identify with this Georges Moustaki music, it’s enjoyable to listen; the charm and energy of Eric captivates everyone there. He will make us enjoy, laugh and, for some, sing! He talks to us at the same time he’s playing, establishing a good mood, something essential in a concert. With his new album, we’ll leave the place before the end of the show. Home is situated at the opposite side of Central Park. When Antonin asks if we take a cab or we just cross the park, I imagined the answer was obvious, CAB. Well fellas, what seemed so obvious is that Antonin wasn’t so altered by the idea of crossing a drill in the city in the middle of the night, so it doesn’t have to be really dangerous, I thought. I must admit it was a pleasant tour, walking in that empty Park with all that illuminated skyscrapers around. The calm into the mess. The next day Éric, connoisseur of the city, will tell us it was a great imprudence. When we finally arrive on the 5th Av., I look at the sky and the skyscrapers while Sergio and Antonino are still talking about the job and New York, its wealth and poverty, its costs of living... bad points in sum. I should be a little bit disgusted of that, but no. There’s something there that keeps calling me, and will keep calling me. Good night.



Monday, November 1st,2010:

09h34 a.m., 9** 5th Av, Upper East Side:

Last wake in the little pretty room. In Twenty-Two hours we’ll be back in Europe. The program today is lighter, we’re going first to the Rock n Roll Hall of Fame Annex in the Soho. Elisa’s been in Cleveland some years ago, when I didn’t know her yet and at the same time she had the opportunity to visit the Rock n Roll Hall of Fame. Being a witness of my obsession for the music world, she told me many times about it, so when I saw its subsidiary (recently opened) in the “Guide du Routard” I put a cross right next to the name. We go down by the 5th Av. and make a stop at “L’Alliance Française” on the 60th St to see it and have a coffee, but there’s no cafeteria. We continue till the Apple Store where we take a last look, then at FAO Shwarz (a toys store), recommended by the crazy Michael Chazareix. We’ll walk down by Madison Av and take the subway at 14th St-Union Square station to Spring St, The RnR Hall of Fame Annex is on Mercer St, but it’s also closed. This is the kind of situation where I want to YELL. Sergio read it was only opened from Tuesday to Saturday or something like that, the weird thing is that the place looked really closed, with nothing in. We take the walk back to the station and made a stop at the MoMA store. The next stop is “Grimaldi’s Pizzeria”, a very well said place in Brooklyn, just below the Bridge. We change at Fulton St station to take the line C, which send us to Brooklyn.
01h56 p.m. Brooklyn, The Super-Pizzas:
This restaurant is world famous, it’s written in the guide that some people have made a long distance to have lunch or dinner there, the place is definitely prestigious. It’s hard to believe that small and even ugly place is world recognized, not hard at all when you look at the line, about twenty meters long on a Monday midday. Luckily the people enter and come out quickly. Inside, a single room in a school canteen style, decorated with pictures of Frank Sinatra, Marlon Brando, Al Pacino, Robert De Niro and many more on the walls. On the tables are such enormous pizzas, just delicious to look at. When we order we take to small pizzas, thinking that pizzas we saw entering were the big ones. Well...surprise, those ones were the small size, I won’t let you imagine how the others were, you should just see it, and because I even can’t imagine. After that heavy lunch we went along the East River to take some pictures of Manhattan. While we were walking back to the subway station I started to think about “Saturday Night Fever”, with those superb hits like “Disco Inferno”, “Staying Alive”...I looked at Sergio and imagined him in a 70’s style, with flared pants, a tight shirt and an afro hair. Gorgeous movie, no doubt about it.
03h27 p.m. Chelsea:
We took the subway to 14th St station, to see a little bit of Chelsea, here is where we ran into Éric and his wife. Hallucinated, he told us he was thinking about this and it was very unlikely to happen, even on a great avenue. We went to “Le Pain Quotidien” where lots of people where working on their Macbooks. The singer detailed to us his tour, what cities he will do, and why Americans follow his music more than French. He’s been touring for more than thirty years, and knows very well the country and the business. He told me New York was a schizophrenic city, full of energy, with a huge rhythm of life. Bad or good, the way he pronounced those words made me want to stay. It was too soon to leave, there is too much to see, too much to live, too much to discover. The couple stays in the neighborhood, Sergio and I take the subway, suitcases are waiting to be filled. Antonin went to Washington and he’s not home, we thanked Béré for everything and I thank them again from here for everything. We go down and pick a taxi on the 96th St. Kurshid Qureshi probably has been the only nice cabdriver. It’s already dark and like the first day, I couldn’t see anything.
07h38 p.m. T4, JFK Airport:
The Boeing 767-300 is out there. As I had expected, this went too fast, but I finally, touched, watched, felt and experienced an object of desire to me. She was not what I imagined, she was several, she was more. But I can’t really know what that “more” is, because in four days you only feel and watch a thousandth of this macrocosm. It’s weird but NYC always meant something special for me, even if I didn’t really know her, because of theatre, music, architecture, design... This trip was a first contact, like when you start talking with a pretty girl and you agree well, and after you are satisfied but you want more, because you guess she’ll offer you nice moments. This girl showed me in four days different faces, different ways to live, different looks, different mindsets... I have to come back, to stay longer, and see. However, it’s a scary, hard place to live too I think. Make a life here must be difficult, but I’m sure spending one, two, even three years here can give millions of experiences, knowledge and inspiration. A schizophrenic town, full of energy, grandiosity and madness, where you are a tiny thing; I don’t have doubts about it, but it’s definitely a challenge I like.

Une nuit à voler sur Madrid avec Mystery Jets.

Une nuit à voler sur Madrid avec Mystery Jets.

Samedi 16 octobre 2010.
Madrid, Malasaña, 19h32:
Dire que les femmes n´ont pas la notion du temps lorsqu´elles se préparent pourrait se considérer comme une vérité plus grande que l´obsession que portait Mark Chapman pour Jonh Lennon, traduite par un tragique meurte qui aura choqué. Vous connaissez la chanson, elles vous lâchent “j´arrive”, et soit elles sont vraiment lentes pour aller de la salle de bains jusqu’à la porte, soit il s’agit d’un code pour nous dire “oui, oui j´arrive...dans dix minutes”.
Elisa, ma chère cavalière, ne devait en principe pas assister au concert de Mystery Jets, pour ma part je les avait déjà vus lorsqu’ils ont fait la première partie d´Arctic Monkeys en février dernier et depuis n´a cessé de grimper mon admiration pour une bande de jeunes qui créent de la bonne musique indie; et pour le chanteur, Blaine Harrison, dont la volonté est énorme. Je devais y aller avec José, grand admirateur de tout ce qui est original, péquenaud comme merveilleux, qui est tombé amoureux de ce son synthétisé de “Two doors down”. Sur ces deux curieux éléments que le monde a bien fait a apporter je reviendrais plus tard. Elisa a réussi à se libérer pile lorsque tombait le jour J et décidai finalement de prendre l´avion pour Madrid et de se présenter à la fnac pour s´approprier d’ un de ces tellement canon tickets de ticktackticket. Ils sont magiques. Nous sommes finalement trois.
Malasaña, 19h40:
La jeune fille a enfin fini son oeuvre, ça me rappelle une de ces putain de chaînes que j´ai une fois reçue sur pourquoi on aime tant les filles, et il est vrai qu´elle a valu vraiment le coup cette attente! J´espère seulement que ce coquin de Blaine sera suffisemment shooté au sushis pour ne pas l´apercevoir dans la petite salle du Moby Dick Club.
Moncloa, 20h00:
Et finalement ponctuels! Toutefois à seulement une heure de l´ouverture des portes, et pour combler la super idée de José de choisir ce moment pour arriver vingt minutes à la bourre. C´est un type grand, qui aime soigner son appararence. Sa tête est une vraie encyclopédie des sport collectifs mais également fort cultivé dans le milieu musical et cinématographique. Si tu veux te marrer un coup, imiter les Backstreet Boys ou n´importe quel artiste pop des années 90’s en guise de foutage de gueule, commenter à quel point se défonçaient les gens dans les 60’s, ou encore halluciner fasse aux minuscules shorts des footballeurs des années 70’s et 80’s, José Manuel Andrés Martinez est ton pote, qui en plus te fera triper avec son lexique. Mais bon...je savais bien que ce foutu kebab devrait attendre l´aftershow. Vous penserez que je suis un stressé, eh oui! Je le suis, je deviens nerveux avec les horaires lorsqu´un évènement comme celui-ci a lieu. Donc après avoir souhaité toute la médiocrité a ce sale match de présaison que disputait l´équipe de foot de la résidence de José, nous nous mirent à marcher dans la bouche du métro, ingérés par un début d´ambiance rock’n’rollesque!
Moby Dick Club, 20h51:
Le trajet a été rapide après tout. J´appréhendais un peu du fait qu’ Elisa parlait français et José espagnol, mais bon gros tu sais ce que c´est finalement, bon feeling. S´ils ont su s´entendre c´est parce qu´ils savent faciliter les choses. Entre traductions, imitations de Gareth Gates, ou commenter de quelle farfelue manière on va payer ce fichu voyage de l´Équateur, le temps passai vite.
La queue me parut plutôt longue pour ce qui est le Moby Dick Club, dont la salle possède une personnalité et charme attrayants. J´y avais déjà été lors du dernier nouvel an avec Élisa, courtoisie d´Alexis Vanhaecke. La salle peut accueillir environ 400 personnes...ou plus, c´est le typique bar où reignent une intimité et chaleur propres à ce genre de lieu. On peut apprécier des maquettes de navires, des rames, une guitarre géante...tout cela légèrement dominé par une petite scène dont le fond est décoré avec une baleine blanche, le logotype “Moby Dick Club” et un fare. Là tu te dis, “Putain, qui a eu cette idée démente?” C´est dingue, bien que je ne vois le capitaine Achab nulle part.
Moby Dick Club, 21h00:
Comme il se doit dans tous le concerts, pendant que la salle se remplit, il est classique qu´un groupe fasse la première partie du spectacle, ici “San León”, qui ont oublié d´amener leurs cds pour les vendre et que “on peut le télécharger ou l´acheter à la fnac”. Se sont des gars agréables, rien qu´en regardant le chanteur/guitarriste et le mec au synthé tu as le sourire aux lèvres. Le bassiste paraît à sa manièr, présent mais concentré. Le guitarriste au visage caché par ses longs cheveux nous rappelle le typique musicien en transe musical. Le batteur est sans doute le meilleur sosie de Fab Moratti, son homologue chez The Strokes. Leur musique est pépère, bon karma, en allant d´une charmante ballade jusqu’à un truc plus déchaîné qui t´envoie direct sur les tropiques avec ta chemise ouverte et une Pinha Colada à la main. Bref, un groupe correct et agréable avec lequel on passe un bon moment pendant que les Mystery Jets finissent leurs sushis.
Moby Dick Club, 22h07:
Derniers arrangements et balances. José blague sur un ingé qui ressemble à un ex-détenu, avec la coiffure à la Tony Monero et des tatouages sur ses bras fins mais fibreux. Elisa finit la bière qu´on a payé 4€. Saleté de bar.
Les lumières s’éteignent et me vient donc une sensation merveilleuse. J´étais habitué à voir des concerts au Palais des Sports, ou Vistalegre et même le Calderón, des foutoirs immenses ou le black-out provoque une marée de cris et de “YOUHOUS”. Pour être franc je ne pensais pas que ce serait la même au Moby Dick. J´ai eu tort. Ce fut différent, certes; mais ce macrocosme que j´ai expérimenté avec les RHCP, Oasis ou même The Killers s´est maintenu fidèle à lui-même mais s´est concentré dans univers beaucoup plus petit et intime. Une petit frère, bien mignon, un début par lequel passent grand nombre de groupes et un stade qui finalement s´avère être tout aussi grandiose qu’ en étant entouré de 50 000 personnes. Le dernier à monter sur scène est Blaine Harrison, chanteur et guitariste.
La première fois que je les vit jouer avant Arctic Monkeys le 5 février dernier, je pensai que Blaine avait eu un accident ou s’ était blessé lorsque je l´ai vu apparaître avec des béquilles. J´étais loin et je ne pouvais cerner clairement son physique. Ce n’est que quelques jours plus tard, en creusant sur le groupe, que j´ai compris cette scène: Blaine souffre d´une maladie attaque la partie inférieure de son corps, rabaissant sa force et masse musculaire. “J´ai commencé la musique car je ne pouvais plus faire de sport, avait-il déclaré à un magazine”. Je suis sûrement sensible et donc subjectif, mais depuis je n’ ai cessé d´admirer ce mec pour les effort qu´il accomplit, lors de tournées mondiales, ou même supporter tout simplement de travailler et vivre dans un milieu aussi rude comme le show-business et l´industrie musicale. À tout cela ajoutez cette fuckin’ great musique qu´ils nous offrent et qui ne fait que confirmer l´incroyable splendeur que vit le Royaume Uni vis-à-vis de l´éruption massive de très bons groupes de musique. Qu´est ce que vous voulez que je vous dise! C´est canon.
Moby Dick Club, 22h10:
Le show démarre suite à une brève intro avec un thème de leur dernier album Serotonin (Hormone du plaisir, bien vu les mecs!), “Alice Springs”, qui d´ailleurs commence à se reproduire sur mon iPhone. Soucis technique. Le son à fond fond les ballons, tout le monde se mate en se demandant comme si la réponse se trouvait là “Putain de bordel de merde, ils sont cons ou quoi?” En résumé: FAIT PAS CHIER. Il nous faut boucher nos oreilles pendant ces cinq premières minutes, eux dans leur coup évidemment, heureusement tout s´arrange, surtout quand démarre “Half in love with Elizabeth”, premier single du concert vraiment maîtrisé par le public avec son attrayant “lolo lo lo” (c´est bon arrête de te marrer!), jamais autant de monde avait été a moitié amoureux de cette fille nommée Élizabeth. Suivant de près arrive la chanson qui donne titre à l´album: “Serotonin”, un thème bien frais qui, bien sûr, propage le plaisir. Et ce sera ainsi de suite, avec des filles complètement timbrés à ma gauche et des serveuse qui profitent au maximum à ma droite, jusqu´au bis, en passant par une drôle “Young Love”, la nostalgique “The girl is gone”, une électrifiante “Show me the light” et finissant avec cette folle “Two doors down”, avec excitation inclue de José face à ce son si magnifiquement “eighties” du refrain. Suite à quelques “gracias” parfaitement prononcés et un flatteur “ vous êtes mille, mille, mille fois mieux que le public de Barcelone” de la part de Blaine, arrive un bis éclair qui sera suivi par le rêve de “Dreaming of another world” et la détente de “Flakes”.
Ces jeunes de Twickenham ont su faire preuve d´une créativité et musique très mûres en nous offrant un “melting pot” de genres et instrumentales qui sûrement nous apporteront des moments chauds bouillants dans le futur, s´ajustant de façon idéale dans ce panorama qui se donne au Royaume Uni ,et aux États Unis en moindre quantité, se réjouissant d´assister à la naissance de fabuleux groupes de rock dans leurs quartiers et villes. Pouvons-nous espérer l´arrivée d´une nouvelle période musicale aussi pleine que les “sixties”? To be continued...
Tribunal, 23h45:
Enfin cet enfoiré de kebab que nos corps réclamaient depuis 20h00. La soirée finira à l´Independance Club, où ont mixé nos chers Avions Mystérieux pour nous offrir une séance qui, si bonne fut-elle, ne pouvait faire face à ce qui l´avait précédé.
Heure de dormir.