Fantasy

Last weekend I lived out a long-held dream and sang Patricia Kaas in public. With a microphone.

I fell in love with Patty back in the Winter of 1989 when, as a student in Paris, I spent long hours in front of the TV watching the afternoon teen music shows (to perfect my aural comprehension, obviously). Kaas had just released “Mademoiselle Chante” and was on high rotation. I rushed out to FNAC and bought the cassette which I played obsessively on my walkman. (That sentence makes me feel so old.)

Every morning my head would fill with her husky, jazzy, sophisti-pop voice, all the way from the Porte de Clignancourt to St. Michel. I would step lightly up the boulevard as dawn broke, humming with pleasure at the exhilarating arpeggios: “Elle voulait jouer Cabaret…” Turning into the place de la Sorbonne: “En buvant dans les verres, Un fond de picon bière…”. Taking my seat in the Amphithéâtre Richelieu: “Je peux vous dire qu'elle en rêvait, D'un jazz band sous un clair de lune…” And all the while feeling swooningly Continental.

No doubt any French readers are pointing and laughing at me now: I’ve probably just outed myself as the biggest dag on the planet. (While I’m at it, I might as well tell you that my other favourite chanteuse was Mylène Farmer. I know.)

Which is why it took so many beers to get me up on stage in that fabulously low “gayraoke” bar last Saturday night to fulfill my teenage fantasy:

“Mon mec à moi il me parle d’aventures, et quand elles brillent dans ses yeux, j’pourrais y passer la nuit. Il parle d’amour comme il parle des voitures, et moi j’l suis où il veut, tellement je crois tout c’qu’il m’dit.”

For those present, thank you for your generous and indulgent support.