Phantom of the Apero

            A couple of days after posting about beer, we made a trip to one of our favorite supermarchés and I found myself standing in the spirits aisles contemplating the many hip and sophisticated ways a guy in France could get plastered, or bourré. I suppose most of this stuff is available in the States but an early brush with Southern Comfort coupled with a 21st birthday celebration gone awry made me steer clear of anything stronger than wine ever since. While living in San Diego I discovered my inner Casanova through tequila but my skills went mostly unappreciated so I ditched margaritas for the economy of beer.

C'est Fischer Time!

            Some weeks ago I decided to spruce up this blog with a gadget highlighting subjects mentioned in old posts. Soon after, one of the 2 or 3 people who actually reads these screeds (and, big surprise, a trombone player) pointed out that posts including dog shit outnumbered those of beer by margin of 6 to 1. So, in addition to disabling the subject counter, I've decided to address that disparity with this post.  I should point out that, while enjoying a good lager, I am not one of these people who can tell you all about top and bottom fermentation (as opposed to all the way through, I guess), where the best hops come from or, in fact, discuss the subject from any perspective other than that of an enthusiastic, if limited, consumer. I'm aware of the Reinheitsgebot of 1516 only because it was printed on the labels of the Bitburger I used to buy and I wouldn't be caught dead drinking American Budweiser. That fact alone qualifies me as more discriminating than most American hops heads.

Fred Wesley

Photo by Ray Ellis

            Having missed him, not only at Marciac but also during his recent European tour, it might be appropriate to do a Trombone Hero post on Fred Wesley whose autobiography, "Hit Me, Fred!", I just finished. This could be the best, most honest book about a musician's life that I ever read.  Anyone who wants to know what that life is like and every musician who's ever supported a "star" at any level (and that's most of us) ought to read this book. Fred, who made his name and reputation by working for James Brown, then George Clinton and Bootsie Collins, tells his story with humor and candor.

Our 1st Annual Marciac Festival

                  If a person played the trombone, wrote about the trombone and had trombone in the title of his blog, that person would reasonably be expected, as part of his first trip to the jazz festival in Marciac, France, to attend a concert that featured trombonist Fred Wesley and the New JB Horns. So when this person reported that his attendance at said festival did not, in fact, include Fred and the JBs but instead aging rock star Joe Cocker, one could reasonably respond, "WTF?"

Festival Swing*

          

              One of the best things about France is the huge number of jazz festivals. Although most of the biggest happen in summer, there's something going on here all year long. Jazzfests.net provides links to festivals in Europe and in France alone, I counted 183. By contrast, the most extensive list I was able to find for the U. S. counts 57.  And what's cool is that a lot of them are free and provide a showcase for local musicians, something else that's hard to find in the States. So if you're someone who spent years struggling to learn their scales and modes, listening to the masters, transcribing solos and can play through "rhythm changes" in all 12 keys just to live with the knowledge that some douchebag with a knock-off Stratocaster he bought at a pawn shop, who can't read music, knows 4 chords, maybe a couple of pentatonic scales and hacks his way through some blues and the Lynyrd Skynyrd canon yet scores more gigs and chicks - you should have been born over here. So far this summer we've been to two concerts of the Bordeaux area Jazz and Wine organization and heard American jazz royalty against the backdrop of a vineyard and free wine. Unfortunately you have to drive to these places, putting something of a damper on the bottomless wine glass idea.
             *hip reference to obscure Django Reinhardt tune