PART 2 Hello. Again, Jennifer here. Before I allow too much to fade away, let me try to at least get to a bit more of the last visit.
In my post Montauk haze, it is hard to focus on last weekend, which now seems light years away. I am left with spurts. (Love comes in spurts- oh no it hurts!)

The first evening, a walk around the town, then a drink with Seb and his compadres. The festival catering made a lovely dinner, crevettes. Chloe was there, the groovy gal who sings and goes out with Alain Bashung. She is very sweet, and has a strong energy. Also sorry to have missed Bashung, I so love his voice. (must get his latest album!)

We were put up in a beautiful old vine covered villa, just 5 km outside of town. My room had a lovely little juliet balcony, with a stone balustrade, from which carpets of pale indigo passion flower loosely draped. The balcony overlooked the back of the house, outer farm houses, an expansive and well kept garden, and a separate fenced in area where roosters would roam. The garden outback was delightful, where one could take morning coffee, suck on a succulent peach, leisurely reading one's book, amongst dahlias, mums, giant nasturtium, blood colored wild roses, and a trellis covered in tangles of honeysuckle. That first night sleep resisted me, and it wasn't until the tenth crow of the cock that she finally took me. Yes, the cock would crow every morning, at the first hint of morning's light.

We were informed that we had at our disposal the use of a set storage facility, from which we were permitted to withdraw any artifacts that we might desire for the enhancement of our show. What a treat this was! In the bowels of this dank space, we picked out a dark velvet Victorian style love seat, along with a matching overstuffed chair, a red tribal carpet, several free standing candelabra, a Moroccan tile and iron end table, an African figurine made of wood and grasses, and a large mysterious portrait of a lady, who could have resembled me 150 years ago. Soon after, the fabulous crew had our set delivered to the theatre, and quickly assembled and hung. Oren and I also bought hundreds of tea lights, which we filled our whole stage area with.

For the Parc Secretes concerts, of which we were a part, a bus delivers the audience to a secret unknown location, and perhaps they don't even know what they will experience. Seb had arranged it so that everyone could be on pillows, sitting before us. The room got filled to the outer edges each night, and the whole thing was very intimate. It really felt like we were all conjuring something. Everyone who worked at the theatre was warm and lovely and very fine and professional. There was also a very special dog named Hope (she must be some kind of Shepherd mix), and she belongs to the sage-like theatre manager. That second night she came to me in a dream. Extraordinary.

Any way, the concerts were great, especially the second night. I love playing in a space for more than one night. I would love to do a tour of just short residencies. It can be draining to be in a new place every day. Seb, who is very talented musician, sat in with us on Lady in the Lake and India song. His friend Camille, who was also playing in the festival, in the garden space, came to the show the second night with some of her musicians, and she was a very sweet girl. Unfortunately I had to get back to NY, so I had to miss the third night, but it was great that Oren did a solo show. I hope people know how lucky they were to hear that, for he doesn't play out as often as he might.

Other highlights that come to me- The pleasure of listening to, and becoming acquainted with Joung-Ju. She is a wonderful master of the geomungo. Very cool! And she and her manager Mee Ra, are both very interesting and kind women. I hope they can come play in NY. And I hope we can go to Korea!!! Was sorry to miss Taraif de Haidouks, but at least I have seen them live before. There is never enough time to hear other acts in these festivals. OH! And Seb and An-Em took us on a drive and to a wonderful French thrift store in the country that was just filled with interesting little treasures. I found an early edition of Dostoievski's Le Joueur (the Gambler), and stuck between the old pages, hid some beautiful ephemera - a pressed verveine flower dated from 1945, as well as a hand written poem and letter. Seb was dear to get me a record de la poesie lyrique Francais. They are a lovely couple. What else? Oh, and Olivier the director of the festival, whose generosity was mirrored in the appearance of his appealing mouth. All in all, a fine jaunt to France, where the music once again, could come alive. xo, JC

PART 1A few hours before I was to leave for the airport, I had a little accident. I was on my bicycle, having come from a quick run-thru at Oren's place. My head wasn't so much in the clouds as it usually is, but gears clicking down to-do lists, I had yet to pack, blah blah. I was looking ahead, but it was all too fast. He came from behind a blind curve, full speed velocity. Another biker and I crashed head on into each other. There was a split second where I realized what was going to happen, I attempted to turn my wheel slightly, but it had to be a fine balance, or I could fly right into moving traffic. Each of us went crashing down, smash up derby style. Amazingly I didn't hit my head. And he seemed just fine. I'm so sorry I said, it must have been my fault. No, no, it was my fault, I'm sorry he said as he helped pick my bike up. He was very kind, and offered to pay for a taxi cab. I thanked him for his offer, but politely declined. I'm glad he was OK, as well as his bike. I hobbled away pushing my then unrideable bike. My leg was bleeding and I was rather shaken. Lugging the bike down the street was quite an ordeal, dead weight. I ended up locking it up along the way. Dear Oren was so kind as to pick it up for me and take it to be repaired while we were in France. Always the unexpected before travels.
I slept the entire flight to Paris, thanks to a little pill. And I could make a temporary hiatus from my sore and aching banged up body. I slept for the two and a half hour drive to Aulnoye-Aymeries. We were taken right to the venue. The theatre Leo Ferre. That was a good sign, I thought. You see, we had gone to France to play in Les Nuits Secretes Festival. Seb Martel was kind enough to invite us to be a part of it with him. Seb was very welcoming and gave us the lay of the land. That first day we didn't have a gig, so we had a little time to make the transition, and to prepare.
Something very exciting happened. Oren and I were going to sound check a bit after we arrived, rehearse some of the songs, get a feel for the space. Oren takes his guitar out, which luckily was permitted to travel with us in the cabin of the plane, after much debating with Air France officials. So when the guitar comes out of it's case, even after some not too stressful travelling, one always momentarily holds one's breath. All good. Beautiful. He slackens the strings for travel, not to stress the instrument.
He started to play the instrument with the slackened strings, this bizarre warped tuning, and he's playing this really cool riff. Hold that! I say. But my strings, he says. No, no, it's fucking great, I want that and I've got something for that; I start singing a bit on top of it, then grab a pen, feverishly writing. We're sitting there playing and writing, in this strange town, just hours off the plane, and there it is being born, a new song. I am never so happy as when a song is coming, being born, is born. And of course there are many types of birthing processes. Some are very painful, and you're in labor for ages, even years some times. This one was more like when Brooke Shields was giving birth in The Blue Lagoon, she parts her pretty legs, makes an appealing moan, wipes the golden beads of sweat from her brow, and bizarrely and rather instantly a little baby appears that she has just birthed by herself, and it lets out a perfect little cry. Any way, I'm being silly now, but the writing thing... I can't explain how this feeling feeds me so completely. In those moments when you finish a song, it's as if anything, everything is possible. Suddenly life is really worth living. I mean your not just holding on, but you're soaring, soaring ahead with life. I don't know what to compare the song writing process to. But sometimes it can be so unexpected and unpredictable when it's coming. It just takes listening for it. But when you can hear it, Man! It's like when you happen to see a rainbow. Any way, I'm excited for us to record this song. Maybe I'll wait to say what it's about. Any way, that fully charged our batteries that day. xxx jennifer