Over my one-day weekend to milk the last of the “I’m just jet-lagged” excuse, I decided to listen to music I don’t know. I had just come out of a music conference crawling with independent artists, so didn’t that make sense? Thanks to midem, three artists have slowed my blood and calmed me down:

Eamon McGrath

Cannes was awash in grey rain and grey skies when I touched down. Clearly my German cabmate was not as interested in small talk as I was, even though, hello, my trip required four times’ the distance of his, not too mention multiple hops and jumps over time zones.

I looked outside instead, playing my connect-the-rain-drops game. Once we got into the city I tried to read as much as possible, as many signs as I could. It took me a couple of repetitions of each to recall the English definitions for soldes and demarque. We reached a point where I knew we were circling (My hotel’s address did not match where the actual front door was. Oh, European travel hiccups. I know your kind!), but knowing I wouldn’t have to pay or tip, I didn’t mind. “Take your time, monsieur.” We circled ’round a cobblestone parking lot a second time when I saw a melancholy or possibly lost-looking youth standing on one of the corners. He was particularly misshaven, wearing a brown leather jacket over a carefully worn-in Nirvana T-shirt. I saw him and I immediately thought “So French.” Continue reading »