Our arrival at our summer
base in the Paris suburb of Saint Germain-en-Laye last month was greeted by a spate of
cold rainy weather that the had persisted through much of the Spring. This
caused widespread depression among the French (who are easily depressed
anyway), though they shouldn't have been surprised. Springtime in Paris is a cruel myth; the season is most often chilly and soggy. Sylvaine and I were not that unhappy about the weather, since we had left New
Orleans amid 95 degree heat and steam-bath humidity and found the
fraîcheur
a welcome relief—like having free air-conditioning inside and out. We even made
some fires in our fireplace, which was cheery and cozy, although it was late
June. The weather eventually warmed up—it’s in the 80s now, and the French are
starting to complain about the heat. The upside of all this is that our garden
is starting to explode with late-blooming flowers: roses, hollyhocks, wisteria, lavender...
Sun sets late here this time of year, so we sit on our patio sipping cool
drinks and listening to the birds sing until past 10 pm while the sprinkler waters our moss-infested lawn.
Not that we
haven’t been busy doing other things. Sylvaine set about repainting the
guest room while I grabbed my clarinet and took off on a brief music tour. On July 1, I played at Switzerland’s Zofingen Jazz
Festival with Dan Vernhettes’ Vintage Jazzmen and Gospel singer Denise Gordon. On July 4, I met up with my old friend Luciano
Invernizzi for a dinner concert in Castello Colloredo, Italy.
This picturesque village near the city of Udine boasts an ancient, crumbling castle and a restaurant
with an upscale menu that belies its nondescript name of “La Taverna.” We played in the Taverna's garden and enjoyed an
exceptional meal of asparagus mousse and braised veal.
Next day I was off
to Baden-Baden, where I linked up with drummer Trevor Richards, trumpeter Clive Wilson, bassist Bob Culverhouse, pianist Simon Holliday, and a terrific Scottish trombonist named Dave whose last name eludes me at the moment. For
centuries, the historic German spa at Baden-Baden has been a playground for Europe’s royals, rich
and over-privileged. The tradition continues today, though with more ostentatious
vulgarity than old world elegance. As we dined at an outdoor curry restaurant near our
hotel, we were treated to a display of in-your-face rolling stock that drove
nonstop down the narrow cobblestone street: Audis, Mercedes convertibles, BMW
roadsters, Ferraris, Porches. The town was crammed with upscale boutiques. Most of the people wandering around the
streets sported Swiss watches, gold bracelets, and designer duds that underscored the Germans’ reputation for conspicuous consumption. The next day we played an open-air concert in the garden of the famous Kurhaus, the white-columned 19th-century edifice that houses the town’s casino. Five days after my return to France, I teamed up with bassist Enzo Mucci and guitarist Christophe Davot for a trio job at a jazz-café called
the Gramophone in Marly-le-Roi. Next month I hit the road again for another Gospel set with Denise Gordon and
the Vintage Jazzmen in Femø, Denmark August 1 and 2.
Last week,
Sylvaine and I drove to the Normandy fishing town of Saint Valery-en-Caux,
where the sun was out but a cold wind was blowing so hard we could hardly stand
up. Swimming in the crashing surf was out of the question. So we headed further
west and returned via Trouville, where we had a wonderful seafood luncheon on
the terrace of the Hotel Central—an old favorite of ours—and sat on the sandy beach for a couple of
hours reading (Faulkner for me, a French magazine for Sylvaine) and listening to the wind and waves.
Shortly
after our return to Saint Germain, we were joined by visitors from New Orleans:
guitarist John Rankin and his wife Vitrice. We have spent the past few days
showing them around Saint Germain and Paris, eating and drinking, playing
music, and generally trying to make them jealous of the sybaritic French
lifestyle. Our scheme seems to be working: they have plunged into their sightseeing
adventure with cameras clicking and wallets emptying as they buy the tempting
wares of the open-air markets, sip coffee and beer at the outdoor cafes and
treat us to lunch at charming little plat-du-jour restaurants. Yesterday we took them around the Latin Quarter—the Sorbonne, Luxembourg Gardens, a superb Chagall exhibition, the 11th-century Saint Germain des Prés church, Saint Sulpice (where the albino monk killed the nun in The Da Vinci Code) et al. Today, they’re off on their own, guidebook and metro passes in hand. If they ever find their way back, we’ll have dinner in the garden and watch the sun set. It’s a
tough life, but somebody has to live it.
Our arrival at our summer
base in the Paris suburb of Saint Germain-en-Laye last month was greeted by a spate of
cold rainy weather that the had persisted through much of the Spring. This
caused widespread depression among the French (who are easily depressed
anyway), though they shouldn't have been surprised. Springtime in Paris is a cruel myth; the season is most often chilly and soggy. Sylvaine and I were not that unhappy about the weather, since we had left New
Orleans amid 95 degree heat and steam-bath humidity and found the fraîcheur
a welcome relief—like having free air-conditioning inside and out. We even made
some fires in our fireplace, which was cheery and cozy, although it was late
June. The weather eventually warmed up—it’s in the 80s now, and the French are
starting to complain about the heat. The upside of all this is that our garden
is starting to explode with late-blooming flowers: roses, hollyhocks, wisteria, lavender...
Sun sets late here this time of year, so we sit on our patio sipping cool
drinks and listening to the birds sing until past 10 pm while the sprinkler waters our moss-infested lawn. 
Not that we
haven’t been busy doing other things. Sylvaine set about repainting the
guest room while I grabbed my clarinet and took off on a brief music tour. On July 1, I played at Switzerland’s Zofingen Jazz
Festival with Dan Vernhettes’ Vintage Jazzmen and Gospel singer Denise Gordon. On July 4, I met up with my old friend Luciano
Invernizzi for a dinner concert in Castello Colloredo, Italy.
This picturesque village near the city of Udine boasts an ancient, crumbling castle and a restaurant
with an upscale menu that belies its nondescript name of “La Taverna.” We played in the Taverna's garden and enjoyed an
exceptional meal of asparagus mousse and braised veal.
Last week,
Sylvaine and I drove to the Normandy fishing town of Saint Valery-en-Caux,
where the sun was out but a cold wind was blowing so hard we could hardly stand
up. Swimming in the crashing surf was out of the question. So we headed further
west and returned via Trouville, where we had a wonderful seafood luncheon on
the terrace of the Hotel Central—an old favorite of ours—and sat on the sandy beach for a couple of
hours reading (Faulkner for me, a French magazine for Sylvaine) and listening to the wind and waves. 
The Classic Jazz Trio played at the Ogden Museum of Southern Art on Thursday, November 17, as part of the museum's "After Hours" music series. John Rankin (guitar), Tom Fischer (clarinet and tenor sax) and myself (clarinet) played selections from our "Classic Jazz Trio" CD and talked about our group andour music with WWOZ d.j. Sally Young. The turnout was good and the setting, the majestic entrance hall of the Ogden, was inspiring if a bit echoey (not sure that's a word). An extra treat was the excellent gumbo served by Linda Green, a.k.a. "the Ya-Ka-Mein Lady" of Jazzfest fame.
