THE DAYS ARE JUST PAQUE'D There are new photos up in the photos section, and the map is current. Have a ball!
I am away again. No sooner was I home from the tour than I found myself deep in the heart of Burgundy, in a tiny village, where I knew no one. Laurent, a.k.a. the one-man-band that is Paloma, was again my driver. The journey started with a stressful load out—I have to get all my gear down three flights of stairs (and up one on the other side when I got here). A few hours later I was dropped off in Cussy-la-Colonne, population 60. Why here? I am renting the live-in rehearsal/recording/whatever space that is owned and maintained by Didier G., actor/musician/whatever, who has lived here in the village for 13 years. Didier is an extremely kind gentleman who has been making things happen in theater, music, film etc. all over the world for quite some time, and helping make things happen for other people as well. He, his wife and their children live in a lovely 18th-century home (all the homes here are at least 200 years old), and over the years he bought the grange in which I am now working and the house next door to his. His brother lives on the other side next door. We’re talking more than 10% of the village in terms of population!
Cussy has no restaurants, no store, no businesses of any kind other than agricultural. A few artists live here, and there is magnificent house that I was surprised to find belonged to an English pastor and his companion who only live there occasionally. “I’m in the wrong biz, AGAIN”, I thought. Also, Burgundy is the new Tuscany, evidently, so much the worse for Burgundy. Next thing you know it will be retirees from Wall Street. God-for-fucking-bid. Yes, I know it’s Easter. Yes, I hope God feels the same way I do. Even if he is assigning his workers here, evidently. "An English pastor and his companion purchase a manor home in Burgundy for weekend escapes. Hilarity ensues..."--ok, who is going to help me write and produce this British comedy series? It practically writes itself.
The ‘colonne’ bit refers to a Roman column that stands in the middle of a field about 200 meters from the village. There’s much that is not known about it—it’s estimated to be from the 3rd century; it may have marked the entry or center of a village; it may have had a lamp on it; the identities of the faded carved figures on its side are educated-ly guessed to be Hercules, Minerva, Diana…or maybe not. Scholars are pretty sure the faces on the capital are representing the sun, the moon and the wind. Or, maybe not.
Around Cussy, you find a gorgeous valley, where runs the Ouche—not a deadly minotaur-like beast, but a pacific little stream, that runs through, among other places, Bligny-sur-Ouche, which is the nearest town that has stores and doctors and police and all those things we take for granted, until they’re 15 minutes away by car, and you don’t have a car.
The first day, the arrival day, Madame Therand, whom I later learned is the mayor, greeted me. She made sure I got in the place OK as Didier was on tour, and made an appointment with me for the next morning to take me shopping. I had bought a few groceries in Paris to get me thru so I did not starve—quite the opposite, I have found that cooking for one is always going to come out a bit heavy as this world markets many things in 2 portions together. A rather unfair assumption for all the lonely hearts out there. Also, Madame Therand gave me a steak as a welcome gift, from her son’s cattle farm. I spent the rest of the day setting up my gear, unpacking, etc. Didier had left me a bottle of Bourgogne rouge as a welcome gift, which is more than sufficient to cheer me up on almost any occasion.
Day 2, the first full day. I went to Bligny with Madame Therand, and did my best to guess what I might need. What I didn’t need, as I discovered when I found a cupboard I hadn’t checked, was olive oil, candles, matches, vinegar, salt, pepper, cornichons, moutarde…well, at least they will come back to Paris with me. Dom had also sent all the chocolate and cake in the house out with me. I was going to have to go into overtime to eat all that I had with me!
I picked at the piano on this day, but nothing was really coming. I felt glazed over. If cracks appeared in the glaze, it was only to emit melancholy. I recognized that I was not physically or mentally recovered from the tour, so I decided not to force things and take a rest day. Early bedtime. Cook up the delicious steak, and listen to Itunes. “Just A Little Bit Of You”, a Holland/Dozier/Holland hit for Michael Jackson early in his solo career, definitely lifted my spirits (“just a little bit of you every day is sure to keep the doctor away” is the song’s premise). Also, a demo of an unused Pete Townshend song for the Quadrophenia album, “Four Faces” completely blew me away. I don’t know if this has ever been released, but it’s such a great track.
Day 3 I was sufficiently recovered. I started to work on a song that I had started to theorize on Ile de Re last month, and it came quickly. I demo’d it and still went to bed early.
Day 4 I finished the demo—I was hoping to get some drums from Didier, but his drums were packed up on a truck for the tour he his on, he’s now home for the week but this is just a pause in the action. So I mixed the demo of the previous day’s song after adding a bunch more stuff to it, and wrote another, rather improvised, song, and mixed that.
During a break, Didier took me to the farm “des Levées”, a pig farm out in the sticks. The man who runs the place was until 5 years ago running a business in Dijon completely unrelated to farming, and cashed out to pursue his dream of running an organic farm. He raises pigs plus a few sheep, and I think grows a few spuds somewhere too. All organic. Unfortunately I had to limit my purchases to what I thought I could keep and eat easily, he had some beautiful roasts but I don’t really have an oven, and I don’t have time to experiment really, I’m here to make music, not cook all day. I did get some bits—pied porc panee, which I love (I ate two of them yesterday, and they were excellent), and some joue and groin (which is the snout, not the private bits!) cuit. And a terrine de boudin—meaning, a pâté of blood sausage. I know, all of you anemic Seattle-ite indie rockers are howling in agony right now, but, I am at least French enough to eat French well if not to speak it well.
Day 5 is today.
I will attempt to do a better mix of yesterday’s song, and hopefully another will come (I’ve got an idea already). It’s Easter, and Aden and Dominique are in Tours, and I am missing them.
At night, it’s so dark that the window looks out on pure black, like a square of black velvet is hanging on the wall. The only sound at night is the church bell, and very occasionally I hear an animal stirring, sometimes a steer lowing, sometimes just a whisper in the grass. About every other day a military jet or helicopter flies over, on its way to some nearby aerodrome, but the intrusion is brief, and it’s never after dark.
Now, I don’t care if you can find Cussy on a map. I know you will never come here. And you don’t know how long I’m staying. So I am confident to leave a full description of my days here on this blog. If you do come to Bourgogne, I suggest you visit the aforementioned pig farm, and the village of St. Roman, the mythical birthplace of the ultimate Jesus juice, Domaine de la Romanee-Conti. You are allowed to visit if you come bearing a bottle of La Tache 2003 and/or Domaine D’Auvenay 2002 Chevalier-Montrachet. No, we won’t be drinking them now. Just drop them off, get a quick tour, and off ya go!
Love
KS
Cussy-la-Colonne, FRANCE
