| The Techno Parade |
| Written by Francis H. Powell | ||||
I am sure the techno parade must be chalked in large letters on the Parisian police's yearly calendar. The one day in the year when hordes of young people can let loose, clamber on monuments and bus stops and strut about to an incongruous din, while the police look on like distant shadows, with the air of hunting dogs before the hunt.
I think a big exchange must be made by the organizers, with city bureaucrats and officialdom. This year the theme was a worthy but much vaunted theme "save the planet." One of the floats was "The young farmers" who had a synthetic tractor at the head of their float. There were also giant skips and people wheeling supermarket trolleys encouraging people to recycle their bottles etc. I am not sure if the far larger and much more notorious "Love parade" in Berlin has some kind of sociological or ecological message, or if it is just about indulging in dance.
I walked towards Republique, passing floats with music blasting out. One float even had a screen on its side, which allowed you to see the DJ scratching., all very high tech. As previously mentioned quite a lot of foliage decoration and floats with save the planet as their theme. Along the way there was a high police presence, with their shields and batons poised. The weather was perfect for the event. I spotted large garbage vans ready to sweep up all the fliers and other discarded objects, another techno parade had been scrubbed off the Police calendar.
I was dubious that dub would go down well, among shoppers and even more surprisingly pony clubbers, who the musicians were sharing the bizarre combination of music and horses. I was somewhat shocked to eye hunters on arrival, in their formal attire. The organizers liked our style, and lackadaisical performance. We got sandwiches and cheap beer courtesy of Carrefour. I discovered a new facet of France, the world of pony club en France. I also encountered a trio of tall walkers, one of whom told me had ventured from Marseilles
Francis H. Powell is originally from England and moved to Paris in 1999. In addition to being a writer (articles, songs and poems), he is a painter, DJ and English trainer. For more information, please click here to read his complete bio.
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I am sure the techno parade must be chalked in large letters on the Parisian police's yearly calendar. The one day in the year when hordes of young people can let loose, clamber on monuments and bus stops and strut about to an incongruous din, while the police look on like distant shadows, with the air of hunting dogs before the hunt.
I joined this event , a while after its inauguration at Bastille, where
the hub of the event is. There was a dance stand off between hip hop
dancers and those of tecktonic, a new style, or at least one I was not
aware of and one which I could not find too much enlightening
information. For me nothing in electronic music is new or innovative,
it is more just a mutation or variation. This event was sponsored by
footlocker and an mc was trying to psyche the crowd , intermittently
letting out raucous laughs. I began to notice more and more young
French kids, their hair vigilantly styled, but some wore a long stripy
sock on one leg, often fluorescent colors, a bright lime green for
example, similar to old fashioned rugby socks (for those familiar with
the sport). Had I hit on a new style ? Do they wear just the one long
sock in nightclubs and the like? I guess you buy a pair, give one to a
friend and you both are kitted out?
From the dance stand off I headed
off to gage the progress of the parade, which would soon be
congregating in Bastille. I had encountered the free hugs� person
before, on the Pont de Arts, during a Saturday evening picnic, here she
was again with an accomplice. What her objective is, I don�t know,
maybe she was deprived of hugs as a child, or simply she has a lot of
hugs to give to strangers, I guess she had a lot of takers at the
techno parade.
Perhaps one of the strangest concerts I have ever done was a forty odd
minute ride by train from Paris and a short car drive following this to
large shopping center. A sudden phone call and I am invited to play a
concert on a Saturday afternoon. I hastily gather equipment , contact
Josh, who is usually up for some kind of musical adventure. After final
arrangements are made, I make my way to the unknown, which turned out
to be a small stage situated by a large shopping center, Carrefour.
There were three groups playing at this event, the first suitably
mellow but somewhat melancholic music, with strummed guitars, pained
voices and keyboards.

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