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ANOTHER NOT REVIEW: A Physical (Handicap) Theater – at the Festival Future Composé and the Williams Syndrome Opening Piece

June 11, 2018
bradspurgeon

Auriane Vivien and Denis Taffanel in Si Ce N'est Toi.

Auriane Vivien and Denis Taffanel in Si Ce N’est Toi.

PARIS – If theater is about emotion, intellect and the physical world, then there is clearly a powerful formula to be harvested from the approach that is behind the festival called “Futur Composé” – running in several theaters and institutions around Paris from 8 June to 1 July – the opening play of which I attended on Friday at Le Carré du Temple. “Si Ce N’est Toi,” is a very personal piece by Marion Coutarel, inspired by her brother’s diagnosis in his 40s of Williams Syndrome. The festival and its association, were created 18 years ago – and this is its 10th edition, as it runs every other year – to allow an exchange between handicapped people (mostly autistic), and others who are not handicapped, and to bring them together on the stage and through other artistic events and activities – such as singing, writing, painting. The striking thing about Coutarel’s play was nicely put to words by a psychiatrist I spoke to afterwards: “In some ways, the people who are supposed to be handicapped look much more naturally alive in their role on the stage than those who are not.”

It was with a huge variety of emotions, on many different levels, that I watched this piece of 1 hour 20 minutes: On the one hand there was an education about an illness I had never heard of – Williams Syndrome – on another level was the actor on the stage before me who is afflicted with the illness, and on another was the actress, author and director whose brother inspired the show. But it truly did make me question the very nature of what it means to be “handicapped.” And in this way, the play is a challenging and worthwhile venture for the spectator. I left the theater – a 250-seat auditorium in the 3d arrondissement – feeling happily enlightened and uplifted about a part of our world that I knew so little about, and now will never see the same way again.

The play comes in the form of a sort of story-telling acted out by the three main characters, Coutarel, Auriane Vivien and Denis Taffanel. The latter is a dancer and choreographer, who plays the role of John Cyprian Phipps Williams, who was born 16 November 1922, a New Zealand cardiologist who discovered the syndrome in 1961, while he was still quite young. As part of the story, we learn also of the strange, eccentric life of this mysterious, multi-talented doctor who apparently disappeared for years and was presumed dead – until he made contact with the author of a book about the poet Janet Frame, asking that a relationship he had with the poet please not be mentioned in the book!

But the most intriguing performance of the story is that of Auriane Vivien, who is affected by the syndrome. And it is here where I was the most touched by my questions about what constitutes a handicap. Vivien, who has played the role several times over the last year elsewhere in France, was – as the psychiatrist noted – perfectly at home on the stage. In fact, had it not been for some of her physical characteristics matching those of the typical case of Williams Syndrome, it might have been impossible to know whether or not she was truly affected by this disease.

This was a theater of personal exploration, especially for Vivien and Coutarel, as the author wrote the piece in order to try to come to terms with her own brother’s illness. Williams Syndrome affects about 1 in 10,000 people, and is characterized by certain physical attributes – notably the shape of the face and head – but also often by problems with visual spatial tasks, and, unfortunately, frequent heart problems. People with this genetic syndrome often have some moderate intellectual deficiencies as well, but other things are above average, for instance, they often possess a high musicality, often having absolute pitch. It is often marked also by an outgoing, friendly personality; which is something that is really touching in the circumstances as well.

The play takes a form somewhere between a recounting of personal history, self-questioning, demonstrations of what it is to have the syndrome, and even occasionally feels like a university lecture on the topic. But it was highly choreographed, and much of the physical interest comes from the contortions and movements of Taffanel, whose physical traits might actually lend themselves to questioning by anyone who did not know it, as to whether or not he himself suffered from the syndrome! Ultimately, the play’s main interest for me was, in fact, this questioning that it made me do about what exactly is that thing that we like to call “normal.”

* Not Reviews: This is a format I use on this blog to write about the music I am listening to, the books I am reading, the shows or films or other things that I do that are often in the habit of being written about by critics – book critics, music critics, theater critics, cinema critics, etc. And my feeling has always been that I believe in Ernest Hemingway’s dictum about book critics and how fiction writers themselves should not be writing criticism of other writers, in the spirit of the phrase: “You can’t hunt with the hare and hunt with the hounds.” My idea is just to talk about the books, plays, films and music I listen to or see. Talk about the way it affected me, everything and anything it inspires, but not to place myself on any kind of judgmental pedestal as critics are supposed to do – or are at least notorious for doing.

David Douglas Duncan, a Great Photographer, and an Equally Great Man, Dies

June 9, 2018
bradspurgeon

Duncan and Picasso

Duncan and Picasso

PARIS – A 102 year old chapter of history ended on Thursday with the death of David Douglas Duncan, one of the world’s greatest photojournalists, a man who had started his career with a photo of the gangster John Dillinger in 1934, before documenting several wars and many iconic historic events, while also making a sideline career of photographing his friend Picasso from 1956 to the artist’s death in the 1970s. It was also the end of a five-year long chapter in my own life, from when I first learned that Duncan was a fan of Formula One racing, read my coverage of the series in the International Herald Tribune and wanted to talk.

Meeting DDD – as he was often called – in 2013 and maintaining a relationship occasionally over the telephone since then was the most satisfying consequence of my 25-year Formula One writing career. It also kept me humble to think that stories I wrote would be read by a man of this stature. But it was learning from the example of the man himself that was the most important aspect of having known DDD.

You might expect a man who had met and photographed Gandhi, dined with Khrushchev, befriended Picasso, and been in WWII, the Korean War and the Vietnam War among countless other jobs and experiences would be somewhat unapproachable, full of himself and perhaps haughty. But I don’t think I ever met a man as humble, genuine, simple in his personal approach to people, and gifted with an ability to make people who met him feel great about themselves. In fact, I was reminded again and again of a quote I had once noted in my youth by G.K. Chesterton: “There is a great man who makes every man feel small. But the real great man is the man who makes every man feel great.”

I could not believe my good fortune in having known Duncan. I learned through a common friend in Formula One that he wanted to contact me about a story I had written, which he wanted to use as the preface to a book of photos of Formula One that he had taken off the Monaco Grand Prix on the television. I got in touch at the end of 2012, and found it was a story I had written in 2000, which he still remembered the details of! It turned out also to be the most unexpected revenge – in my mind only – against an editor at the newspaper who had pulled the story from the page before publication, as he thought it was not worthy of the newspaper. (Another editor defended it, and it was published the next day.) I got a copy of the story to DDD, and then with great pride again, I watched as he prepared the book and ran my story as the preface.

David Douglas Duncan Soldier

David Douglas Duncan Soldier

I then went to meet him, and his wife Sheila, at their home near Grasse, in the south of France. While there, I asked him if I could do an interview with him, as just meeting him had given me the idea of running a regular column of interviews with famous Formula One fans. He said I could, and told me just to call when I was ready. He was just days away from turning 97, and quite honestly, I was very worried that at that age, I could lose my opportunity, as he might die any day. In fact, while he walked most of the time with a cane after a broken hip, he was still going around his home up and down a hugely steep and narrow stone staircase with no railing – another reason I feared for the future – and was in fact in such incredible health that, yes, he would go on to live more than five years more.

DDD's first Picasso photo

DDD’s first Picasso photo

I cherished every time we spoke – the last time was in February – even though our typical exchanges would be quite short, as he seemed not to want to intrude! So I was instantly plunged into shock and remorse yesterday when I saw the headline about his death while reading my daily New York Times.

Duncan was truly a great man, and the greatest part was what he gave to others. I recall asking him what his favourite subject to photograph had been in his life, and while I had expected to hear any of the usual things – Picasso, a war, a great leader or the jewels of the Kremlin – he said it had been one of his most beloved dogs. He had even made a book of photos of the dog. It was the genuine response of one of the most genuine people I have ever met.

I am today posting on this blog the interview that I did with Duncan that day in January 2013, and in future I hope to perhaps create a kind of video of his photos and the sound recording of the actual and full interview I did with him, which was at least an hour long. But for the moment, here is the interview with David Douglas Duncan as it appeared in the International Herald Tribune, and New York Times in 2013.

From the Don Camilo to a Paul Ricard Room Near the Champs Elysées, a Couple of Bits of Playing to Remember

June 6, 2018
bradspurgeon

Circuit Paul Ricard book

Circuit Paul Ricard book

PARIS – Sunday night I suddenly discovered that one of the coolest jam joints in Paris, the Carré jam of Thursday nights, run by Olivier Domengie, had decided recently to try out a singer-songwriter night, at least once a month. So I thought this a perfect moment to get back to the street-level barroom of the legendary Don Camilo cabaret in the Latin Quarter, to play my own songs, in a completely different environment. And two days later, I ended up doing a hugely satisfying private moment at a reception in Paul Ricard’s offices off the Champs Elysées in honor of a book launch before the French Grand Prix, of an oeuvre dedicated to the Circuit Paul Ricard in the south of France. A crazy fabulous couple of moments….

I was hugely surprised and delighted to see that Olivier Domengie was using the Don Camilo room where I attended the jam a few weeks ago to host a singer-songwriter night. That meant not having to do cover songs, going into the same environment and doing something completely different, and depending only on my guitar and voice – as with everyone else – to communicate with this great audience and room. (Which, I remind readers, is located just around the corner from Serge Gainsbourg’s old home….)

As it turned out, everyone was invited to do two songs, and there was still a second round to do another two. By then, I had been preceded by a cool little band on its first public appearance – that’s what I think it was – and I was so bothered by their level and use of guitar, keyboards, vocal and bass, that I jumped at the opportunity to have this other guy play along with me on my second set. He had the coolest, strangest, instrument that sounded variously like a saxophone or a flute, and was, yes, some kind of synthesised “wind” instrument.

Anyway, there were lots of cool musicians, the usual neat vibe of this unique place that has been around for half a century or so, and a thoroughly agreeable evening. I hope they continue this singer-songwriter night (and don’t clash with the neighbourhood’s other such night, at the Tennessee with Paddy Sherlock).

But the real surprise and satisfaction of the week so far came when a former colleague of the Formula One reporting world got in touch with me and invited me to attend the launch of his new book, about the Circuit Paul Ricard, for the return of the French Grand Prix to the circuit in the south of France later this month. This was Daniel Ortelli, the former reporter for the Agency-France Presse of the Formula One series, who is now devoting himself to many different projects, including this new book.

The book, called, “Circuit Paul Ricard: Les Seigneurs de la F1” traces the story of the circuit, as well as Paul Ricard – the man who created the “vrai Pastis de Marseilles,” a wonderfully refreshing alcoholic drink à la anis. The book covers in text an photos, the whole history, in an entertaining and highly readable and visually beautiful manner. (Photos by my former colleagues Bernard Asset and Bernard-Henri Cahier, or the latter’s father, Bernard.)

Anyway, when I accepted the invitation to the event, much to my surprise and satisfaction, Daniel invited me to bring my guitar, as well. He knew about my adventures around the world playing music at all the open mics and jams in the cities of the Formula One race, and he thought it could be fun to have me there to play a mini-set. I was kind of worried, and a little modest, as this was, after all, taking place at the Salon Paul Ricard, at the posh offices and reception area in a building off the Champs-Elysées.

But Daniel’s invitation looked genuine. So I went with my guitar, and ended up doing exactly the mini-set he suggested, and it turned out to be a fabulous moment, and a great evening with many former colleagues and other interesting people from French motorsport, including the former director of the Paul Ricard Circuit, Gerard Neveu, who is now the C.E.O. of the World Endurance Racing series.

So, could I have possibly had two different kinds of musical moments and locales in Paris? Probably not – nor two equally fabulous moments either.

Oh, of course, my nerves had a bit of help last night with the imbibing of a 51 Picard before I played….

An Update to My Paris Open Mic Guide

May 6, 2018
bradspurgeon

Thumbnail Open Mic Guide

Thumbnail Open Mic Guide

Just a note to say that I have updated my main open mic city guide, The Thumbnail Guide to Paris Open Mics, Jam Sessions and other Live Music.

I have done a pretty big update this time, adding an open mic run by Stephen “Cat” Saxo, another new one from Sheldon Forrest, and I have updated the situation at the Rush Bar open mic, which has now been taken over by the Escargot Underground people. And then there is the very cool Carré jam at the bar beneath the Don Camillo cabaret and next door to Serge Gainsbourg’s place…. Check it out!

A Week of New (for me) Open Mics in Paris – Including a Visit to Serge Gainsbourg’s Old Joint

April 9, 2018
bradspurgeon

Gainsbourg's Home

Gainsbourg’s Home Photo ©Brad Spurgeon

PARIS – One thing leads to another and somehow things don’t lead to as many things as before…ok, start again. I finally, over the last week, had time to attend a few open mics – and a musical evening – that I have wanted for a very, very long time to attend. And I was wonderfully surprised, enlightened and inspired by them all – basically!

The first was Stephen Saxo’s open mic at the Cross of St. George pub on rue St. Georges, not far from Pigalle, called Finely Tuned Sundays. It was the first time I had played with Stephen for a long time, the last time being at his open mic – now defunct – in St. Germain en Laye.

The story of this new one is kind of funny: I had noticed for a couple of months that there was an open mic on Sunday nights early, through dinner time, from about 6 pm to 9 pm, and it was not so far from chez moi. I kept on intending to go, but those hours never worked out for me. Then, one week all of a sudden, my friend Stephen the sax player, ie, Stephen Saxo, announced on Facebook that he was hosting this open mic at the Cross of St. George. He had not been the host when I discovered it, and it turns out, from what I understand, that it was not really very active. So Stephen took over and …boom!

Yes, it was a good evening, and in the end a nice time of the day to have an open mic, because you can play music early, then eat your dinner either at the pub or wherever else you might choose. Stephen accompanies those who like that, but otherwise, it’s a classic open mic, where you can go up and do your stuff. The pub had quite a large crowd, but most of them looked like regulars, for whom the music was not the main attraction, but something they appreciated nevertheless.

From the Cross of Saint Georges to the Cave Café and Sheldon Forrest

The following night, Monday, I was ready, willing and able to finally go to Sheldon Forrest’s lates open mic, at a pub nestled in not far from Montmartre, on the other side of the hill…. I have written about Sheldon’s various open mics and vocal jam sessions over the years, starting with where we met, at the now defunct Swan Bar in Montparnasse and most recently with his Ozmos Café open mic, also near Montparnasse.

But I had been itching to go to this Cave Café open mic and jam for a while, since I had the impression that it was a little different than the others where Sheldon officiates, playing his piano accompanying singers, often with a jazz or cabaret leaning. It turned out to be different, entirely different, except for Sheldon’s always genial hosting.

The Cave Café is a corner bar owned by an American who is so discreet you wouldn’t know he was anything but a local French bar owner. The open mic takes place in the cave of the café, as you might expect by the name of the joint. The cafe is a classic Paris vaulted cellar, and this one is complete with a bar and a nice little stage. The vibe is 100 percent open jam, music-loving, anything goes.

There’s a piano on the stage as well, but Sheldon only plays according to when it is appropriate. You can do solo guitar and vocals, or you can be joined by other musicians – I did both. I enjoyed being accompanied by a lead guitarist, Sheldon on piano, aand even an acoustic guitarist and harmonica player. The sound constantly being tweaked by the barman/soundman, using his iPad to control the sound.

It was a fabulous night, and I look forward to many more. The one thing that really stands out is that it’s a music-loving joint that attracts musicians of all kinds.

And finally a visit to the Carré open mic and Jam beneath the legendary Don Camillo and around the corner from Gainsbourg’s home

It has been many months also that I have been intending to attend the open mic and jam of Olivier Domengie, the Carré open mic and jam in the heart of the Latin Quarter. I know Olivier from his various other open mics and jams, notably the one that used to be at the Paradis bar near Barbès, the Nul Part Ailleurs bar near the Bastille, and the Carré jam that happened in the bar near St. Michel.

I was particularly curious to see what this Carré jam at the new location would be like, as it was so much in the classic art gallery, up market part of the neighborhood. And I wondered how it was possible to have his kind of anything-goes sort of jam in such an area. The first idea of how it might be came when I suddenly recognized the name of the street upon which part of the bar sits: Rue de Verneuil. I said to myself, “Wait, isn’t this the street where Serge Gainsbourg lived?!?!”

Later in the evening I not only had it confirmed by Olivier that it was the very same street, but also that 1) Gainsbourg’s home was just around the corner, and 2) Gainsbourg used to go sometimes to play and hang out at this bar! The bar is part of the Don Camille, which is upstairs, and its walls are plastered with the photos of famous popular musicians.

The jam is a classic Olivier jam, and I took the opportunity to play here with a drummer, sax player, bassist, and lead guitar. I had not brought my own guitar, but I got to use the nylon string semi-electric of Olivier – which dictated a little the songs I had to do (“Wicked Game,” “Mad World” and “Don’t Back Down”).

The feel of this bar, with its broken mirror walls, is really 1970s, 1980s, nightclub, but with the stage perched in the front window, and the comfortable chairs and couches, and the large number of musicians present, I cannot recommend it enough.

And then there is the need to do the little visit around the corner to the home of Gainsbourg, with its famous graffiti covered walls. I took a photo or five of that.

And it was all preceded by a visit to the suburban Captain Fox bar in Bois-Colombes

This whole week began, by the way, with a visit to the cultural pub of the Bois-Colombe suburb, where it turned out a pianist singer from my own suburb right next store was giving a concert in this small, convivial bar. Such cool places are rare in the suburbs, but the Captain Fox, as it is called, gets the recipe right! And this performer, as you can see from the video I have put up, is fabulous – anyone who can sing this Queen number as well as him is exceptional.

And that ends the roundup of my open mics and jams and spectator-hood evenings of the last week.

Mike MacDonald, a Natural Born Funny Guy, and a Friend (1955 – 2018)

March 18, 2018
bradspurgeon

Mike MacDonald

Mike MacDonald

PARIS – It was the first time I had invited my high school friend Mike MacDonald to my home in Ottawa, so when the moment we entered the front door we found my mother sitting on the living room floor with a glass of whiskey and tears rolling down her face as she cried while listening to a Cat Stevens album, I was instantly embarrassed.

“What’s going on mom?” I asked, Mike at my side.

“I just discovered your brother’s collection of Cat Stevens records,” she said, clearly slightly drunk. “It’s so beautiful, I didn’t know he listened to this.”

The idea was that she was learning through this musical find that my brother’s tough outer coating – he was a hard fighting football player – had a sensitive, soft inner part to it that while she certainly knew about it, she was now seeing evidence of it that she had not suspected before.

But I was still wondering how this could possibly play out, certain that my mother’s explanation would never be enough to make up for the embarrassment I felt at having Mike’s first meeting my mom being one of alcohol and tears. Yet Mike, still not yet 20 years old, was a natural comic and reader of human situations. And he found the perfect line to diffuse the tension – and potential for worse embarrassment – when he said in a slightly low, disbelieving voice, but one designed to be heard by my mother as well:

“Jeez, if that’s how she reacts when she listens to Cat Stevens, I’d hate to see what she does when she listens to something good!”

My mother broke through her tears with a bit of laughter, and I chuckled as well, and Mike and I went off to my room leaving my mother with her Tea for the Tillerman, a sad situation having been turned into a happy memory for life.

In fact, the last time I was in touch with Mike, by Facebook in January 2016, I reminded him of the moment.

“Thanks for the story–I’m glad it made your mother laugh,” he responded. “Let me know if you’re ever in the Ottawa area–I would love to reminisce and possibly jam maybe–still play the drums…”

Had he heard my music, my voice and songs sometimes drawing comparisons to Cat Stevens (from people who have heard me sing in bars)? Probably. Mike, as far as I can tell during my last 34 years living in the country where he was born as an “army brat” – France – had not changed. Through many of his own hard times, most recently with Hepatitis C leading to a liver transplant in 2013, and treatment for bipolar disorder, Mike had continued to face life with humour as the best antidote to pain.

Yesterday, St. Patrick’s Day, in Ottawa, Mike MacDonald died of an apparent heart attack at the age of 62, that natural funny man talent he had as a teenager having led him into a career as one of Canada’s top standup comedians. *

We were not best friends, but we were mutual friends of a best friend – John Kricfalusi, who went on to fame as a the creator of the Ren & Stimpy cartoon show – and we spent enough important party nights together, and later some moments during his start in show business at the comedy clubs in Toronto, where I had had my own furtive efforts into “making it,” two or three years prior to him, for me to feel the bonds that true friendship and shared lives and experience never lets slip.

What I remember most about Mike’s show business transition from party comic to national comic was linked precisely to that moment of meeting my mother: Mike was a naturally talented, naturally funny man, but also with a sense of deep empathy. Throughout our years at Brookfield High School in Ottawa, Mike was the funny guy at the parties, entertaining us with air guitar before that term was even known, making jokes, acting strange, and generally be crushingly funny/accurate in his summations of people and situations.

Mike MacDonald and John Kricfalusi

Mike MacDonald and John Kricfalusi

As John Kricfalusi put it on his Facebook page today: “It’s a very sad day. One of my best friends from high school, Mike MacDonald has died. We used to sit in our parents’ basements during Ottawa winters and he would entertain us for hours. He could do devastating impressions of every one of us and we would laugh so much that we had tears in our eyes.”
“Mike was Canada’s top standup comedian for years, and he also did intense funny cartoon voices.”
“I will miss Mike. He’s the funniest guy I ever knew.”

When he was voted head boy of Brookfield – or student president, or whatever the role was called – I was astounded. How, I wondered, could a crazy funny party guy like him be voted into a position of responsibility and respect like that, above all the other “serious” candidates? Soon enough, I would understand that it was linked to what came later, both in terms of Mike being a popular guy, as well as in another aspect of his character, something more serious. This was a side of Mike that would also be visible later in life when he would transform himself from heavy drug user to finding religious faith, and using his comedy to help other people in emotional or physical distress.

But it is Mike MacDonald’s transition from head boy to successful standup comic that I want to talk about again: After my early, brief years in show business in Toronto and Ottawa (performing mostly bit-parts, TV commercials, and trying my hand at standup comedy, music open mics and circus) I went on a personal quest of self-discovery in England, Iran and then Africa, returning periodically to Toronto.

At one point during a period in Toronto in the late 70s, I attended one of Mike’s early shows in a bar/restaurant. He was just starting to try out his standup – after careers teaching ballroom dancing, caring for handicapped people, drumming in a government supported band across Canada, and other unrelated things – and I recall attending the show with my uncle, a medical doctor. Mike was not very funny that night, there was very little laughter in the room. My uncle remarked to me afterwards: “That man has a lot of anger inside him. He will never get anywhere as long as he is as angry as that in front of his audience.”

But this Mike was not the Mike I knew – even if the Mike I knew did certainly have anger, and anger was part of what made him funny. The Mike we had seen that night was a Mike who had decided he wanted to be funny, to be a standup comic, to “make it” in show business. Trying to be funny on stage in front of an audience is about a million miles away from being funny either on a stage in front of an audience or amongst friends. I think it took Mike a couple of years of trying to be funny before, eventually, he discovered that if Mike MacDonald simply played Mike MacDonald then it would all come together. Because Mike MacDonald was a very funny man.

When Mike began on stage to become the same Mike who made that comment to my mother, and who regaled us all with his craziness at parties, that is when the comedian was born and began having success.

Why did he never have huge success in the U.S.? He moved to California, he appeared on the David Letterman show, on the Arsenio Hall show, but he never broke out into the bigger, much bigger world of popular culture that his friend Kricfalusi did with Ren & Stimpy, “settling” instead, for a career as a well-known Canadian standup comic. He appeared more than any other comic on the stage of the Just For Laughs festival in Montreal, hosted Canada’s Gemini Awards show (Canada’s Emmy Awards), he hosted his own specials on TV, he appeared in some films – one of which was written by Mark Breslin, the founder of the Yuk Yuk’s Comedy Clubs of Canada, where Mike (and Jim Carrey) – got his start.

I have no answer as to why he did not enter that higher atmosphere of recognition, or reach more people. Recently, for me, sitting so far away here in Paris, but now with greater access than ever before to what is happening in the North American standup world thanks to Netflix, when I compare some of the performances I have seen of MacDonald to those of many of the comics on Netflix, he is on another level.

I knew of his liver problems, his apparent closeness to death at that time, his battles with bipolar disorder, but when I read the news of his death this morning, I was struck by how we all live with the idea that while the world may be falling apart around us, and people we do not know personally may grow old and die – or die young – somehow we and our friends will carry on into old, old age, never succumbing to the inevitable “before our time.”

Losing Mike is a blow. But reading the comments on his Facebook page and in the media covering his death, I can only feel proud to have known him, and to see how deeply he has touched so many people. If that’s how you reacted to life, Mike, I’d hate to see what goes on now in heaven!

* The news reports and some parts of the internet record give Mike’s birth year as 1954. But his own Facebook page lists it as 1955, and my memory is that he was only about two years older than me, not three or close to 4. So I’m sticking with 1955; he would have turned 63 in June.

The Crazy Mad Video Interview of Yours Truly by Escargot Underground Radio of Paris

March 5, 2018
bradspurgeon

PARIS – Everything you ever wanted to know about my life and music but were afraid to ask – or maybe didn’t really want to know! – is now in a 50-minute video just released on Escargot Underground Radio’s site via YouTube and Escargot’s Facebook page. This was a riot to do, and makes up part of a series of such video interviews that these people are doing – all in French, so watch out! – of musicians that are part of their Escargot Underground open mic world in Paris in the last half decade or so….

If you enjoyed the interview, they will be posting more of them in the coming weeks, so check them out. Or go to the Escargot Web Radio page and give a listen to the people they will be interviewing….

Oh, yes, and they also did this 50-second teaser for the interview which is on the Facebook page, but this is accidentally in English….

Escargot Radio’s Video interview of Brad Spurgeon

Escargot was/is one of the best open mics in Paris, so check out my Thumbnail Guide to Paris open mics also to find out how to attend their open mic nights….

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