French fries, festivals, fear, and fucking fever.

© Eddy
I kick this off with the electric picnic. I know, this happened before my last post…just go with it…think of it as a jumpcut tarrantino kind of post without the violence and cool soundtrack. The Electric picnic is my  favourite festival in the world. I sang two songs as Gaeilge (in Irish) at the Irish tent, I have enough Irish to hold a broken conversation as long as we are not discussing metaphysics or postmodernism. Writing Songs in Irish is a fearful adventure akin to standing on a ship staring at on of  those old maps you see with the phrase “Beyonde hereth there be dragons” scrawled across the ocean of no return.

Luckily I had the help of my good bud Síle Keane to help with the translations. Irish along with Arabic doesn’t translate directly into English. It is kind of why i love it so much, and it’s why Irish English (hiberno English) sounds more enticing than the “Queen’s English”. It is back to front in a lot of cases and lot’s of things are stated in the form of a question. Win.

Anyway Síle did a great job taking the essence of what i had written and translating it into lyric. Both were a pleasure to sing, thank you to Orla and the seachtain na gaeilge for inviting me down and plying me with free festival tickets. Highlights for me were Jape, Neko case, Billy Brag, Low Anthem and Brian Wilson. It was like musical tapas. Only let down was Roots Manuva whom I was a big fan of. He just walked through the set like he couldn’t give a fuck. No fitness witnessed.

The next night I played some songs in the Dublin Fringe festival in the cool Bosco theatre. THis was the beginning of the weirdness. I could feel my throat drying up being balanced by a super factory working in my sinuses to produce snot at a biblical level. It is like singing and gargling liquid frogs  at the same time. Finished the songs and headed home.

Woke up with a head like the last days of the 9th army in stalingrad…fucktarded. Somehow i made it to the airport with whatever clothes i had managed to stuff in a bag and my guitar.Now we are caught up to the last post ‘Hit by truck, France, fever and fancy cakes’ . So I played the Radio France show as per post and spent most of the next day sleeping, sweating and swearing on the floor of my rec co guy Tim’s flat. I have 3 shows to get through at the sunset club.

Day 1. WHY IS THIS LIZARD TALKING TO ME?
Awake. I am just hearing NNNNNNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGG! I don’t eat. My minced meat head is playing the last scene of Requiem for a dream backwards with a soundtrack of Brujeria being played by little monkeys with different toned semi automatic weapons. I grab my guitar and in a delusional sweat swim the whole way to the venue for soundcheck. I meet Guillaume Thomas for the first time, he of the youtube cover of ‘Throw your arms around me’. We run through the song and someday soon also. He is a genius on the piano with lots of feel and i am happy. I somehow appear human and speak relatively coherently before passing out on the stage and sleeping for 2 hours.

Show time. I am sweating profusely and have a falafel in my belly so i think i am invincible and walk to the stage, people are sitting and they appear to be swirling and shining pretty little lights from their auras. Everyone is beautiful maaaaaaan…i realise that i am sick and when i get sick  i tend to sound like a demented hippy. I kick in with the first 2 songs, all good. The 3rd my fingers seem to be lagging behind my brain signals and i am making mistakes with the songs. One good, one shite, one good… By mid way through i am thinking i will have to stop, i am short of breath and the two headed dragon playing the piano beside me is pissed off i am playing out of time. The audience have all turned a lovely pink colour. I see them all as cooked lobsters with masters in early german expressionism. I think i am going to faint and have to stop for a second and hold my self up.

Of course tonight is the night that all the video guys, and agents and reviewers show up. Why frankly i would be upset if they had not showed up at the worst show of my entire life. Most of all i felt sorry for the people who have payed the price of a nice dinner (by my cheap date standards) to see me and i was giving a c performance. I tried with everything i had and squeezed out the last few songs i had in me. To be honest i don’t remember much fo the last half, or of speaking to anyone afterwards. I remember waking up int he middle of the night in Tim’s flat thinking …did i walk here…where is my guitar.

DAY TWO : SALVATION RISE OF THE FLU RIDDEN.

I awaken to the sound of a building being demolished in my head , the earth actually appears to be shaking. I am obviously going to die. I then realise they are actually demolishing a building next door.

They stopped for lunch but the noise continued inside my head. I expelled the entire cast of District 9 from my nose and throat at least once every ten minutes. Tim carried my gear to the venue because i was still too weak. thanks Tim.  If anyone wanted a shot at the title…now was your chance. A baby could roll me. I did a few interviews and played a few songs for some blogs and then fell asleep on the stage again. Thank you Marie K  (my french net pr guru below )for the interviews…

So I lay down on the stage after the interviews a few hours before i was supposed to play. I decided there and then that if the show was shite i was going to quit music forever. Then i put my head back and slept like the dead onstage until the first punters arrived. I woke up and went downstairs into the cellar and hung out with jazz musos till i was supposed to go on. Well i sang out of my skin and totally fucking slayed it, no mistakes on guitar, Guillaume was on fire with piano. the crowd were warm and lovely. I finished and had nothing left by the end. Completely exhausted. Clemence my agent bought me dinner and her cool fellah Benoit plied me with vitamins and painkillers. Here they are being remarkably Parisian.

DAY 3 – Let’s do this like a nudist buddhist called Judas.

Woke up to the dulcit tones of jackhammers and buildings collapsing. Reviews are coming in saying nice things about the show and thank fully the footage going up on the web is not me fucking up chronically. It is always scary these days, as you look out into the crowd you can see yourself being videod and youtubed as you speak. You can imagine twitter…at d de barra gig…yawn…oh wait he just totally fucked up that guitar part.

Anyway the last show in  a row at the sunset was also a blast and nice and full with cool people. Even better i was joined on stage by the wonderful Maeva le Berre who came and played for fun despite the fact i couldn’t afford to pay her. I said no. she said fuck you i have a knife. So she played along with Guillaume Thomas on piano. What can i say about Guillaume. I asked him to come play thinking he lived in Paris. It turns out he actually lives in Lyon and traveled up just for the 3 shows. Here are the three amigos …

All 3 shows were made more special by having Carly Sings come up and do a few of her songs in the middle of my set. Just her and a piano…a wee Wicklow girl with a great voice and skillz to pay the billz living in Paris. And she looks great in sunglasses…

So spent the last night after the show with good friends of mine who have taken great care of me while i navigated my way through Paris over the last year. Anne pictured below gave me a cool hoody. (Just as mine has died) Thanks to everyone who invited me to their homes, hung out with me, came to the shows, took photos, interviewedm videod, bought cds, bought me meals, laughed with me and encouraged me during this mini tour. Ye are all fucking brilliant.

more photos here http://www.soul-kitchen.fr/declan-de-barra-au-sunset/#more-5348