L.A. Vie

Having fronted a punk rock band, it was hard for me to believe Dante that Malcolm McLaren was even worth a listen.

Though I was more a fan of The Clash than the Sex Pistols, I was aware how thoroughly vilified McLaren was (still is) in rock music.  I'd read about his ugly divorce from the most notorious band in history -  a band he helped (and exploited, some say) become famous.

Of course, the credit for inventing punk, that musical revolution which also became a subculture and philosophy, is debatable. It depends more on which side of the Atlantic one is. No one can deny,  though, that it was Mclaren's who gathered (rounded up?)  teenagers Johnny Lydon,  John Simon Ritchie, Paul Cook, and Steve Jones and made them poster boys for his fashion boutique called Sex if not members of a rock band.

As we worked on direct marketing campaign materials, Dante played electronica and all its various ephemeral incarnations like drum and bass, jungle, house, rave, big beat, trip hop, trance . Although I was opinionated about my music then  I didn't mind. To me, it was music that was not demanding. It was perfect background music as I wrote copy for a Unicef or a Citibank mailer. Dante was also the head of Creative Department so no one dared replace the Orbital cassette with Rage Against the Machine's debut.

Despite his penchant for electronica, Dante looked more of a rocker than a raver. It was easy to mistake him as a fan of The Ramones than  McLaren. After (almost) nightly binges with the guys from the Creative Department, it became clear to me that Dante was not particularly a fan of what I called then as artificial music. In fact, he dug rock music, too. I leaned later on that he listened to jazz, classical and world music. He was  open-minded about music that it suddenly struck me as something both profound and liberating.

So there I was, limiting my choice of music to rock when an entire spectrum of music had been there all along. This was a turning point in my listening life. I guess it also helped that there was indeed a blurring of the genres during this time. The Chemical Brothers and The Prodigy proved that the perfect marriage of electronica, sampled beats and rock was possible. Soon, other genre-bending acts appeared like acne of many a teenager's face. DJs began ruling the music scene. That was 1997. A year ago, Trainspotting had already immortalized this era with a cool soundtrack to boot.

Eventually, Dante loaned me his Paris CD. He told me that he didn't want me to listen to McLaren's earlier album called Fans because it was more dance music. Together with this, he also let me borrow Dead Can Dance's Toward the Within, Beastie Boys' The In Sound From Way Out, and Massive Attack's Protection.

I was resisted at first. I was skeptical about the use of French. I was also wary of the Dada sensibilities in some tracks and the attempt at poetry reading in Miles and Miles of Miles Davis. McLaren is one to name-drop every chance he gets  (Josephine Baker, Eric Satie, Mile Davis, Catherine Deneuve).  There was also some echoes of Enigma in  Paris, Paris and the Serge Gainsbourg cover of Je T'aime Mon Nom Plus where the moaning in the end sounds not only real but also excitingly near.

At best, Paris was so fluid in its genre adventurism it rinsed my rock-weary ears. I still listen to this album because it tells me to be keep an open mind in music. And it worked. Even though I couldn't understand 80% of Paris, Paris  because it is in French, I thought  there was something in it that I thought I might like, say, a feeling or a perspective. Ultimately, it is Ms. Denueve's lilting French that saved it all. In fact, she didn't even need to sing to make this track celestial.

Here's the lyrics and the video that shows one aspect of the album I deliberately didn't discuss because talking about Paris as oozing with sex is just like saying a sugar is sweet.