<\/p>\n

The plan was as simple as it was unprepared; utilize my two-week vacation in Paris and the UK to discover new music, catch some live shows, and, well\u2026write about it. It would be a piece of cake (or, as the French say, a piece de<\/em> cake). What I didn\u2019t expect was that my innate aversion to planning anything<\/em> while on vacation \u2013 even so much as Googling what concert to attend that night \u2013 was far stronger than my desire to potentially write off my entire trip (hiiiii IRS).<\/p>\n

You see, I\u2019m a big fan of the \u201cstumble-upon;\u201d those situations you find yourself in by complete accident. Like that time in 2013, when I somehow managed to wind up at a makeshift punk concert. In a cemetery. Attended by patients of a nearby psychiatric hospital and their families. You just can\u2019t plan this stuff.<\/p>\n

I like to think I have a particular knack for \u201cstumbling-upon,\u201d in part because I am a nosy journalist who is perpetually eavesdropping and looking for leads. The other part being my inability to read maps or best any skill related to cardinal directions. You\u2019d be amazed at the things you can find when it\u2019s taken you nine years to realize that Seventh Avenue turns into Varick Street, for instance.<\/p>\n

Instead of making a thorough agenda to catch live local music, I would let the music find me. I would leave the details of this vacation up to fate \u2013 a concept I absolutely do not believe in, but often pretend I do for romantic purposes. Like Baudelaire\u2019s fl\u00e2neur, I would \u201cwalk the city in order to experience it;\u201d though conceivably in less chic duds than the French poet, who rocked a cravat<\/a> with the best of \u2018em.<\/p>\n

Despite my brief and faux dependence on \u201cfate,\u201d I did not magically stumble upon a small and dingy jazz club in the 18th\u00a0arrondissement, or a searing disco dancehall in Belleville. I didn\u2019t even see one <\/em>accordion the whole time I was in Paris. What le fuck? Was the music angle of my trip stamped out for good? Not exactly\u2026<\/p>\n

There was one thing I hadn\u2019t considered while embarking on my journey: music is unavoidable. It\u2019s actually impossible to go anywhere without hearing something<\/em> \u2013 a car radio blaring, a subway busker, a woman singing on the balcony next door. Or, in my case, a variety of mundane and accidental situations that perhaps don\u2019t have the headline power of \u201cIn-patient Punks at Graveyard,\u201d but are memorable nonetheless.<\/p>\n

So here are my travel scraps; my sonic sampling platter that may seem unremarkable, but will always signify those two lovely weeks spent alone and abroad. The first notable event was a result of my traveling trademark: getting horribly lost. For like, five hours. During this unintentional excursion I somehow managed to wind up smack dab in the Paris Gay Pride Parade. Twice. Two times, <\/em>separated by two hours, I turned a corner, and was wedged in a river of half-naked bodies covered in glitter and sweat. Not so bad, you say\u2026unless you\u2019re claustrophobic, such as myself.<\/p>\n

Naturally music was blaring from every parade float, and there were moments when the mass of limbs felt like one big, mobile dance party. The playlist? Tous Am\u00e9ricains. There was a strange call-and-response adaptation of Del Shannon\u2019s 1961 number, \u201cMy Little Runaway,\u201d a healthy dose of Riri, and 4 Non Blondes\u2019 only hit, \u201cWhat\u2019s Up,\u201d shouted by a throng of women holding hand-painted signs. My personal favorite parade song, however, was the Adele vs. Eurythmics mash-up that blared down Rue de Rivoli. The smash-hit hybrid expertly entwined Adele\u2019s \u201cRolling In The Deep\u201d and Eurythmics\u2019 \u201cSweet Dreams Are Made Of This.\u201d (According to the Internet, this version is called \u201cRolling In Sweet Dreams.\u201d) The mash-up was oddly stirring, and admittedly gave me chills considering the context. The mash-up was empowering \u2013 which is a sentence I thought I\u2019d never write.<\/p>\n