Don't worry, everyone calm down, I found them. They live on Rue du Faubourg St. Denis. More on that later.
Today I fucked up, big time. Of course, I follow IRCAM on twitter. So when they decide to post a concert you better believe I know about it, and moreover you better believe I'm going to go to it, especially if that concert has music by Philip Manoury, Pierre Boulez and Olivier Messiaen all on one night. Two things happened last night. 1) I tried very, very hard to go to that concert. 2) I did not go to that concert.
Look at the announcement for this concert. Don't keep reading; look at it: http://www.ircam.fr/mois_en_cours.html?&event=1087. What time would you say that concert was? When do you think you should show up? Well, if you're like me you would have been at IRCAM at 15 minutes to 17h00, trying to understand why the night watchman is telling you that the concert is in London. "You mean the first concert?" "That's right, the second concert is in Barcelona." Fuck.
So I stumble like the jackass that I am out into the afternoon sun with something like six hours to kill before the dubstep concert I'd planned to go to at 23h. Looming before me is the tangled edifice of the Pompidou Center, looking like the kind of nightmare a plumber would have if he read Lovecraft before bed. I figured what the hell?
As I think I've mentioned before, the Pompidou Center is what happens when you're the president of France and you unilaterally decide that your country needs more art and somehow everyone's okay with your spending big wads of taxpayer money on a huge and, it must be said, questionably aesthetic museum. Of course, the French's favorite pass time is scrutinizing how their tax money is being spent and this, coupled with free admission for EU citizens, makes the Pompidou Center massively popular. I can't find any other way to explain the museum's unusual status as a simultaneous tourist trap, hangout for local cool people, venue for talentless mimes and place to find wholly legitimate art. Did I mention that the stone terrace outside the museum is also apparently a great place to lie down an read a book? Seriously, the paved courtyard outside the museum is the closest thing I've yet found in this city to Dolores Park.
Like I said, the Pompidou Center actually tends to have pretty great stuff. One exhibition on the first floor was full of commissioned works on the subject of art informatique--computer art. Generation, Fabrication, Representation: these were the three categories that organized the various works in the collection. My favorite, predictably, was a series of 3D printed sculptures inspired by chapters from Borges' Book of Imaginary Beings. This was one called Kafka; I love the way it blends together human and insect features, managing to exist somewhere at the intersection of chest and thorax.
The Pompidou center has a few other remarkable features, including giant plastic tubes that transport you up the outside of the building and some of the best views of Paris the city has to offer.
As great as the Pompidou center was I certainly couldn't stay there for six hours and besides, I was getting hungry. So, what followed next was a long, long walk north, first through what remained of the fourth arrondissement. I walked past the Conservatory of Arts and Professions, which both has the least specific possible name for a conservatory and the most badass museum that I have yet to go to.
I also walked past a very fancy hair place. Is it typical to pay someone 20 euros to brush your hair?
And then it happened. I walked through this giant arch whose name I still haven't bothered to look up and I was there: the 10th arrondissement. It was a strange new land filled with strange new people. I found it odd: in all my adventures I'd come across a host of exotic cultures but never one quite like this. Why did they wear t-shirts with mottoes and slogans like "Capitalism Forever" and "I only drink Bourdieu"? Why did they spend all day in cafes smoking cigarettes and discussing independent film? Why, given the choice between a hundred sandwich shops on a single block, did they choose the most expensive, simply because it had authentically short tables? And then before I knew what was happening I had my answer.
My eventual brush with dubstep was uninspiring, but I did enjoy walking around the neighborhood at night. That being said, I think you know you've been gentrified when your street art is lit up at night. Sort of says something when your graffiti has museum lighting, huh?
That last one's all for you, Stephan. "The state is watching us. Let's smash his eyes!"
Today I fucked up, big time. Of course, I follow IRCAM on twitter. So when they decide to post a concert you better believe I know about it, and moreover you better believe I'm going to go to it, especially if that concert has music by Philip Manoury, Pierre Boulez and Olivier Messiaen all on one night. Two things happened last night. 1) I tried very, very hard to go to that concert. 2) I did not go to that concert.
Look at the announcement for this concert. Don't keep reading; look at it: http://www.ircam.fr/mois_en_cours.html?&event=1087. What time would you say that concert was? When do you think you should show up? Well, if you're like me you would have been at IRCAM at 15 minutes to 17h00, trying to understand why the night watchman is telling you that the concert is in London. "You mean the first concert?" "That's right, the second concert is in Barcelona." Fuck.
So I stumble like the jackass that I am out into the afternoon sun with something like six hours to kill before the dubstep concert I'd planned to go to at 23h. Looming before me is the tangled edifice of the Pompidou Center, looking like the kind of nightmare a plumber would have if he read Lovecraft before bed. I figured what the hell?
As I think I've mentioned before, the Pompidou Center is what happens when you're the president of France and you unilaterally decide that your country needs more art and somehow everyone's okay with your spending big wads of taxpayer money on a huge and, it must be said, questionably aesthetic museum. Of course, the French's favorite pass time is scrutinizing how their tax money is being spent and this, coupled with free admission for EU citizens, makes the Pompidou Center massively popular. I can't find any other way to explain the museum's unusual status as a simultaneous tourist trap, hangout for local cool people, venue for talentless mimes and place to find wholly legitimate art. Did I mention that the stone terrace outside the museum is also apparently a great place to lie down an read a book? Seriously, the paved courtyard outside the museum is the closest thing I've yet found in this city to Dolores Park.
  |
| Let's play spot the difference |
The Pompidou center has a few other remarkable features, including giant plastic tubes that transport you up the outside of the building and some of the best views of Paris the city has to offer.
As great as the Pompidou center was I certainly couldn't stay there for six hours and besides, I was getting hungry. So, what followed next was a long, long walk north, first through what remained of the fourth arrondissement. I walked past the Conservatory of Arts and Professions, which both has the least specific possible name for a conservatory and the most badass museum that I have yet to go to.
I also walked past a very fancy hair place. Is it typical to pay someone 20 euros to brush your hair?
 |
| I would brush your hair for like a dollar. If you'd let me smell it. |
 |
| No idea what this giant arch is called |
 |
| Absolutely the best place to get food in Paris. Shits all over Bi Rite |
My eventual brush with dubstep was uninspiring, but I did enjoy walking around the neighborhood at night. That being said, I think you know you've been gentrified when your street art is lit up at night. Sort of says something when your graffiti has museum lighting, huh?
That last one's all for you, Stephan. "The state is watching us. Let's smash his eyes!"
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