Rabbi Jacob - The Musical

Don't ask me why, dear reader, but at the moment my life seems to be all musicals, detective novels and birthdays. How did that happen? :-) Anyway, sticking with that theme, look at this shocker which I found in the metro yesterday. Rabbi Jacob - The Musical. Whatever next? For those of you who aren't hexagonal (as we say here), "That Mad Adventures of Rabbi Jacob" is a French (my italics) comedy classic about a man who's forced to disguise himself as a rabbi, one of those films that's always on TV on high days and holidays (here's a quick synopsis - what DID we do before Wikipedia?) I know, I know, it doesn't sound that promising but it is actually quite amusing. But to make a musical out of it? As my friend Sandrine said yesterday: "I don't think it'll make it to Broadway."  Here's a little extract from the movie via the magic of You Tube (what DID we do etc. etc.) Anyway, suddenly my own scheme - with the lovely Nardac - to write a musical version of "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?" doesn't seem quite so outlandish. You have been warned.

"Tell Me It's Not True..."

OK, that's from "Blood Brothers," but Meryl Streep and Pierce Brosnan singing Abba? In a movie? My darling Agnetha must be spinning like a top on her secluded island in the Swedish archipelago. Of course, I shall HAVE to see it as soon as it comes out (my italics) in order to confirm all my worst fears. On the plus side, Meryl sounds quite a lot like (pre-vocoder) Cher and we all love her, don't we? Don't we? (Is it just me?)
(with thanks to the wonderful Words Dept. for alerting me to this.)

Ridiculous

So, according to Der Spiegel, French Foreign Minister Bernard Kouchner and his German counterpart are going to lay down an R 'n' B-stylee track on the sidelines of the Franco-German ministers summit in Berlin on Monday. It will be premiered on YouTube and the German Foreign Ministry website. And will probably be the most ridiculous thing you hear next week. Don't forget to come along and buy me a drink on Saturday by the way!!

Just Jack at the Bataclan

Although he released his debut album in 2002, amazingly (my italics) Just Jack didn't really cross my radar until the beginning of this year. I think the first track I heard was Writer's Block and I couldn't get the hook out of my head. It was soon joined by the rest of the Overtones album and my palms got all sweaty when I heard he was going to be performing at Rock-en-Seine in Paris in August. However, I wasn't as excited by the rest of the festival line-up and, when push came to shove, I wimped out of going. Then I heard he was going to be playing at the Bataclan - mere minutes from Rhino75 Towers - but...it was sold out. Luckily, my saviour appeared on Friday in the shape of R. who said he might have a spare ticket and was I interested? Was I ever!! Let's just say it was lucky I was wearing rubber pants. Which is how I came to be bopping along last night to North London's finest. And he didn't disappoint, fizzing and bouncing all over the stage, accompanied by some great lighting effects and a superb backing singer. I missed the first couple of numbers (grrrr), but for me the highlights were Glory Days, I Talk Too Much and Goth in A Disco (which I hadn't heard before). R. even got to chat to him afterwards and pronounced him to be "a very nice bloke". Last night marked the end of his European tour but catch him next time. Another Rockin' Rhino Recommendation. (Yeah, I KNOW the photo's sh*te, but FEEL the atmosphere :-))

Etc. Etc. Etc.

Deborah Kerr died yesterday. Probably best-known for rolling in the surf with Burt Lancaster in "From Here to Eternity" (not a bad thing to be remembered for, I grant you), to me, dear reader, she will always be "Mrs. Anna" aka British governess Anna Leonowens in "The King and I," one of Childe Rhino's keynote films. Obviously, I only ever saw it on tv but it made a HUGE impression on me. Was it the oriental setting? At that time, Thailand/Siam was so exotic that not even the Blue Peter team had been there on one of their famous Expeditions. I certainly didn't know anyone who'd been and never dreamed I would ever go there myself. (Although I DID think I would go to the Moon and eventually live there - luckily, I'm not a betting man.) Was it the razor-cheekboned Yul Brynner, all slinky, sexy and powerful, like a panther? It wasn't the annoying children, that's for sure. No, the reason I loved it was the scene when Mrs. Anna (in a HUGE meringue of a dress) and the King (in his best pyjamas) whirl round the empty throne room (is it a polka?) singing "Shall We Dance?." I just found it wonderfully, impossibly romantic. Not (necessarily - my italics) the swirling round the room in a big dress. It was the feeling that, no matter how hard they fought it, no matter how wary they were, or how impossible the situation, it was inevitable they would fall in love. Even Childe Rhino felt there was something beautiful in that. I say "impossible" and, unusually for a musical of its time, it doesn't have a happy ending. Mind you, also unusually for its time, it features an overlong Thai musical version of "Uncle Tom's Cabin." - I think they call it "Very Small House of Uncle Tom." But that ballroom scene, for me, is touched by magic. :::Sigh::: Romantic Rhino - who knew? Next week "Brief Encounter" with Rachmaninov's 2nd Piano Concerto ("Rach' 2" as we musicians call it) - Bring your own tissues and an eclair.

Two Good Reasons to Get Into Jazz

When I tell you, dear reader, that I spent Saturday night in a dark cellar, drinking cocktails and watching four - and sometimes five - men perform on a small stage, you could be forgiven for thinking "Ha, as usual, plus ça change etc." - but NO! Because this time (my italics) it was all in the name of culture. Well, nearly all - these two hotties certainly helped to rekindle my interest in jazz :-) Paris, of course, has a longtime relationship with the genre, with American jazz musicians moving to the City of Light as early as the 1920s. Who can think of St. Germain without the Age of Cool, Chet Baker, Miles Davis? And the scene here is still very much alive and kicking, so I'm not really sure why I don't go and see more. Anyway, this weekend, Pierre's friend Benjamin Le Jean was playing with his group L'Esprit de la Maison at the Caveau des Oubliettes in St. Michel. Not only was the music excellent (click on the link to check out his MySpace) but all the other details were just as they should be - a packed, smoke-filled basement, killer double-rum cocktails, pretty girls, cool guys and three sets that went on until past 2 a.m. (FYI the two sax players in the pic are Samuel Maingaud of L'Esprit de la Maison and guest Benjamin Petit). There was just one tiny - and very French - hitch in the proceedings when Benjamin Petit, after being announced as a special guest, was prevented from actually reaching the stage fora good five minutes by a long line of teens going through the obligatory French kissing goodbye ritual. Hilarious. Just to keep the cultural mix nice 'n' eclectic, dinner earlier was okonomiyaki at Aki (11 bis rue Sainte-Anne, 75002 - highly recommended) All this, plus Raph's birthday picnic in the Parc Montsouris, where I found myself playing "Time's Up!" and trying (unsuccessfully) to mime Marie Trintignant, while drinking champagne out of small bottles. More birthdays coming this week too...stand by...

La French Touch - The Next Generation

I don't know whether you've noticed, dear reader, but your Rhino75 has become something of a music buff of late. Yes, you see, now I mention it...All part of my never-ending (my italics) quest to keep my people ahead of the curve. It's true, it's all about you!! So, hot on the heels of Bearforce1, I bring you the latest artist to embody "la French touch" - Lil'Maaz, with his chart-topping choon "Mange du Kebab" (which can loosely be translated as "Have a kebab!"). Ostensibly a simple Turkish kebab-maker from Paris's 18th arrondissement, Lil'Maaz released this self-penned ditty after being "discovered" by executives from a nearby production company popping in for a lunchtime doner. Hmmm, right. It does feature some corking lyrics though. "Chez nous, il y a des odeurs d'orient qui resteront sur tous tes vêtements" ("We have all the smells of the East that'll stick to your clothes.") Lovely. Anyway, before we all get too complacent and start snickering about French music, according to the evening news on France's most-watched television channel, Lil'Maaz is currently back in the studio recording an English version. Altogether now "Shish .... kebab... shish ...kebab" - you have been warned. (Click on the pic to go to web site and watch the video which is actually quite amusing)

Worse Than My Bite

The next time I post, dear reader, I shall be missing a tooth. In a matter of hours (my italics) I shall be making my way to my (HOT!! NEW!!) dentist's for an extraction. Soup and milkshakes are set to feature heavily in my life from here on in - pray for me!! BTW what are we thinking about Madonna's "rumored" new single "The Beat Goes On"? - I think I may be a fan...

BearForce1

Just when I was wondering what my next career move should be, I find these guys, who claim to be the world's "first true bear band." They also have a rather fab website. Marvellous. (via Absolument Gauthier)

Hang Out with My Friends!!!

While I'm busy tagging and untagging pictures of myself on Facebook and furiously listening to music on Last.fm, some of my friends are actually out there DOING stuff. Cool stuff, too. So if you're in Paris over the next few days, you should go along and watch them.



First up is the ever-lovely Nardac, whose band Blutschwester (check out their MySpace) will be playing this evening at 21h00 in the 20th arrondissement. If you can't make it along to La Féline (6 rue Victor Letalle, 75020) tonight, they're doing another gig June 13th at Le Cave de Zorba (137 rue Faubourg du Temple, 75011), plus one in Amsterdam on June 8th. Here's a pic of her in action, sorry, sorry, I meant HERE'S some pics of the band from their gig in January.





Now, Saturday may be a write-off, but by Monday you should be raring to go again. Which is good news because the equally lovely and talented Sandrine is going to be performing in "Cabarets Furieuses" - I suppose it's like a series of sketches, really. Anyway, I've helped her learn her lines for a couple of them and they're really good, sharp, quirky and a bit offbeat. Plus, she's a terrific actress.
They're performing at the "Mélo d'Amélie" (4 rue Marie Stuart, 75002) at 20h30 on June 4th, or if you can't make it then, again on June 24th at 20h00 (that's the one I'm going to).
P.S. I shall, of course, be doing my own little piece of performance art this weekend i.e. the traditional Saturday night trolley-dash round the Monoprix food hall just before it closes. Something of a Marais institution, it normally starts around 19h45, but please remember, it's NOT suitable for small children and there are no subtitles for the hearing-impaired. Come early, come often.

'Rokey

Karaoke. It's FAB, isn't it? I deserved 12 points, or douze points, for my version of "Never Can Say Goodbye" on Friday night. Was I channeling Thelma Houston or WHAT?? And then Micke and I blew the competition away with a version of "New York, New York" that would have had Frank Sinatra spinning in his grave crying for joy. Strangely, the rest of the crowd didn't seem to share this assessment. And before I knew it, it was 4 a.m., Micke and Bru had gone home and I was engrossed in conversation with a fellow performer - and then it all went black.

Coincidence? I Don't Think So...

Have just noticed that the first five of my top weekly artists in the sidebar are Swedish. And that Bob Hund even creeps in at the bottom of the list. Hmmm.

God Only Knows

June 26, I'll be in the presence of genius.

Fame

I remember saying last night - during a "Murder on the Dancefloor" moment - how much I love Sophie Eillis-Bextor. Imagine my delight, therefore, on finding this fantastic pairing of SEB and Dame Edna Everage "doing" a cover of "Fame" (thanks to Matt over at fiftyfivehundred.org.) As he puts it: "I think you'll find surreal is the only word appropriate." BTW, I have seen only one of these two outstanding performers live...can you guess which one? ::shame::

She's My Man

Last night, dear reader, I found myself in Ana Matronic's shoes. Not literally, thank goodness (I've never been good in heels). But when she told an anecdote about how she'd watched the New York Dolls perform on the very stage where she stood, just for a moment there she became one of us, a simple fan. We could relate. And that made me love her even more. Because, as far as I'm concerned, she was the lynchpin of the whole Scissor Sisters show, a pure charisma bomb. She even spoke French. I only had eyes for her. Well, her and the rather swoonsome Del Marquis (there's something about an axeman, I always say.) Don't get me wrong, I love Jake and he was giving it his all but, somehow, he was still outshone by his bandmate (though both the Captain and I remarked that he seemed taller than we expected - whatever that means). We'd been building up to last night's gig since December and the potential for disappointment was high, but NO, it was everything we could have wanted and more. For me, the highlights were - in no particular order - "Everybody Wants the Same Thing", "Filthy/Gorgeous", "Take Your Mama" (totally my idea of a night out) and "Laura". Honestly, I haven't sung and danced all the way through a gig like that since Madonna's "Reinvention" tour. It was tight, it was slick, it was almost exhaustingly energetic but they still looked like they were having fun. Tremendous. Afterwards, we found Meg and Petite and ran round to the stage door in the hope of getting in a little post-show screaming as the band left the building. Unfortunately, this wasn't so successful. Apart from ourselves, there were only four teenage girls and a boy with a tambourine. And the only person we saw leaving the building looked like support act Snax's dad. So after about 15 minutes, we gave up and went to McDonalds instead. Of such nights, dreams are made. (BTW, I didn't think Snax was quite as awful as everyone else made out, leading to the - frankly libellous - accusation that I'd bought his €10 CD. I thought his "Your friend called me a faggot" was quite catchy really.)
P.S. This wonderful photo was taken by Tolivier, who was a) even nearer the stage than we were and b) kind enough to let me use it here. What a star! See more of his pics from the concert and what he thought of it on his blog, either by clicking on the pic or here.

Flying the Flag

"We're flying the flag all over the world, we're flying the flag for you." I wouldn't want you to think, dear reader, that I 've been slacking off during my stay at Castle Rhino in the U.K. Tonight, I have been GLUED to the TV, watching the nail-biting (I use those italics advisedly) sing-off to choose Britain's entry for that red-letter event in every music-lover's calendar, the Eurovision Song Contest. My French readers should be proud to hear that one of their countrywomen, the very pretty and silver-tonsilled Cyndi - who now appears to live in Wales, doubtless for a good reason - made it to the final two, beating off (frankly pretty poor) efforts from former Atomic Kitten Liz McClarnon and East17's Brian Harvey (a man who, lest we forget, once managed to run himself over). But once Scooch hit the stage, you knew it was all over. Choreography featuring drinks-trolleys, the emergency-exits routine and a steward asking "Would you like something to suck on landing, sir?" - well, it couldn't get much more camp, could it? Plus, there's a certain desperation about them. The girls have that hard-as-nails, "eyes 'n' teeth" glamour that comes from working on too many cruise ships, the blonde guy has obviously been hitting the biscuit barrel and the other fella would make the MC in Cabaret look butch. This is their last shot and they know it. Glorious, I love them. Watch it here - and roll on May 12 and U.K. victory. Mind you, not everyone agrees. Here's Matt's view of the proceedings :-) P.S. While we're on a showbiz note, guess who I bumped into on the Eurostar? Think tall, think Texan, think Tom and... well, I won't spoil it, send me your answers on a postcard...

London Calling

As part of my gruelling (my italics) Eurostar-trash regime, dear reader, Friday lunchtime found me whizzing through the Channel Tunnel on my way to a date in Hammersmith with the rather gorgeous Dan Gillespie Sells. OK, there were a few thousand other people there - and, indeed, the rest of the band - but that's just details. I love him and he loves me, I can TELL. And boy did we have fun. All of us. It's a long time since I've been to a gig where not only did I know all the words and musical nuances to every single song, but so did everyone else. And where I had a big, silly grin on my face from start to finish. Yes, yes, alright, everyone else WAS 15, but that's not the point. I love him (did I already say that?). Look at him in the pic, trying to be all "rock 'n' roll," bless. Of course, if you're going to sing a lot of harmonies live, there's a danger you're going to be stuck behind your monitors most of the time. But as the evening warmed up, so did the band's stagecraft and by the encore (Queen's "Fat-Bottomed Girls") they were storming. And I don't know if I've mentioned this before but I love him. Fave moments: community singing on "Never be Lonely," a riproaring version of "Anyone" and "Sewn" (which I thought I'd heard too often, but no). And that moment when Dan looked at me and smiled. Well, he was quite far away, but I know he was looking at me. The rest of the weekend was spent eating yummy food here, buying most of Waterstone's, stuffing my face with delicious cheese and wine (thanks to Lady J. and A) and helping Matt get to grips with Argos AND Freeview (the blind leading the blind). The weather was crap, though.

Not Much Punch

"Performing when you're feeling less than 100% is VERY Judy Garland," Rufus Wainwright informed us at the start of his tribute concert in Paris this evening. Well, yes and no, Rufus love. With Judy, you knew about her life as a child star, the strapped-down breasts, the diet pills, the failed marriages, the drink and the uppers and downers. Watching her perform was thrilling not only because of her immense talent but precisely because there was always that risk that it would all get the better of her and her guts would come spilling out on stage. With Rufus tonight, well, we knew he had a cold. A bad cold, bless him. I felt for him, I really did. But there was no melodrama there, no crackle of electricity, no DANGER. Don't get me wrong, I had an excellent time and I certainly don't hold the cracked notes and slight dip in energy against him. Anyone who goes on stage when they're feeling like death and tries to entertain a crowd is a real trouper. And when he's on form and performing his own songs, Rufus is very, very good. Hearing him sing "The Man That Got Away," tonight, however, just brought back long-buried memories of the Sunday lunchtime drag cabaret at the Royal Oak in Hammersmith. You know, however much he shouts it, that Rufus hasn't "been through the mill," in fact, you very much suspect he's got someone rather tasty lined up backstage. Ditto sister Martha's HOPELESSLY overblown "Stormy Weather" - you can't stand snogging your boyfriend in the wings and talking about the price of fish and then potter on to tell people "Can't go on, everything I have is gone". Of course, you can fake it, lord knows even Judy faked it, but it has to be convincing. Otherwise it's just karaoke. Rufie was at his best in the uptempo numbers such as "That's Entertainment", "Chicago", "San Francisco, Open Your Golden Gates" where, whipped up a little by the FANTASTIC band behind him, his natural showmanship, humour and general pizzazz came to the fore. He almost had me convinced. I was tapping my foot and swaying in my seat. Then Lorna Luft came on and - in one song - showed them how it should be done. I wasn't even aware that I was giving her a standing ovation until I tried to sit down and found my annoying seat had folded up on itself. THAT'S Broadway, that's how those songs should be sung. Marvellous. Get well soon Rufus, I still love ya, but stick to what you do best, hon.
P.S. The Gayterati were out in force, naturally - you could hardly breathe in the loo at half-time for "designer" scent. I even indulged in a little air-kissing myself. I do love these "community" nights out - arf!

Something for the Weekend (Part 2)

THIS weekend I and all other right-thinking people will, of course, be going to see my partner-in-wine and favourite axewoman Sam Nardac perform with her band Blutschwester at the Point Ephémère. I'm telling you now so that you can rejig your schedule. Because no excuses will be accepted. Gottit?? See ya there.

"It's so funny..."

"...how we don't talk anymore," sang Sir Cliff Richard, Britain's self-styled Peter Pan of Pop (see left). I don't know to whom he was referring but it could easily have been us, dear reader. For which apologies, but the problem with this New Year's resolutions business is that it's just so time- consuming getting them all going. I'm exhausted already and I still have to sort out my two main ones. However, if all goes to plan I shall be over-achieving on such a MASSIVE (my caps) scale, international fame and fortune can surely not be far behind. Fingers crossed. But I digress. What on earth is a big poster of Sir Cliff doing in my local metro station? By that I mean, why is he doing a concert in Paris? In all the years I've lived here, never once has a French person asked me about, or indeed made any reference to "zis Cleef Reeechard." I've never heard any of his music on the radio. So who's gonna go?? The Palais des Congrès is pretty big, after all. I'm worried. Given that he's now Sir Cliff, will they round up all the British people in Paris and force them to buy a ticket? Will we all have to do the Shadows guitar-walk? Actually, the Cliffsta, as I call him, and I go back a long way (doesn't everyone in **showbiz**?). In my London days, I'd just popped into Fortnums to pick up a few bits, as you do. I remember I was rooting through the wine bins looking for a choice bottle of claret when, all of a sudden, I noticed that everyone was looking at me. I put it down to the old Rhino75 charisma and tried to continue my search. But now I'd noticed them, I could sense that they weren't just looking, they were staring - and when I looked up then I saw they weren't actually staring at me (hah!) but just to my left. At Sir Cliff. Looking very unlike the Peter Pan of Pop and more like an old turkey. And why was he in the wine section? I thought he was teetotal. True story. Oh alright, I KNOW that anecdote had a slightly less satisfactory ending than Abba The Movie, (i.e. we didn't shoot off into space in an elevator to the strains of "Bachelor Boy") but it still counts as a Rhino75 celebrity encounter (just like here, here and here). Still to come: how I once had Jeanne Moreau nestled in my armpit and discussed accountancy with Kristin Scott-Thomas in a lift (not at the same time though, I hasten to point out - otherwise it sounds like some bizarre gender-reversal version of "Jules et Jim"). Peter Ustinov eat your heart out.