Paris, the City of Music

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People say that Paris is the City of Light, or the City of Love, or maybe even the City of Art. Be that as it may, in my experience, above all else, Paris is the City of Music.



You emerge from the metro to the sound of swing.



You change trains at Châtelet and an orchestra awaits you.



You open your window on a sunny day and a jazzy tune fills the air.



In Paris, music is everywhere. On your daily commute, in gorgeous concert halls, in shabby blackbox theaters. All you have to do is stop and listen.



Everyone knows how to buy tickets to a show and listen to beautiful music. But when you come to Paris, free music surrounds you. I'm going to tell you about a few of my favorite Parisian music encounters.



First, on the street:



I prance up the steps at the St. Germain metro stop, anxious to see what I already hear. A jazzy melody with a ragtime beat hastens my ascent. As I round the corner, the scene unfolds. Two gentlemen entertain a joyous crowd. The spectators clap and dance to the music as a duo of saxophone and piano plays familiar jazz, with expert improvisation that delights the crowd. I have seen this duo several times around the city, and I still can't for the life of me figure out how they managed to get a PIANO out on the street, and to move it around for subsequent performances. They are clearly very dedicated, and equally talented.



In the metro:



The metro is a hidden gem of musical performances. All genres, from amateur to professional, whether as a part of the official "Music in the Metro" program, as a promotion for CD sales, or playing for their dinner, they all offer their music to the bustling commuters in the metro. Just the other night, as I made my way home after a very long day, I was soothed by a bluesy guitar with an island feel. At République during rush hour, a string orchestra of 12 enchants the crowd. There's nothing like the surge of Vivaldi's Spring, expertly played, to lift you and push you through the throngs of people and endless confusion that is Paris during rush hour. Meanwhile, at Châtelet, a group of men with string instruments and accordions sings, perhaps in Russian, but my Russian is too weak to say for sure. You can almost taste the sweat as they sing of the daily grind. If you thought the accordion was a dying art form, a few days in the Paris metro will quickly change your mind. Today, a morose accordion player with a mournful melody serenaded me on my way to dance. And the list goes on: rock n roll, reggae, acoustic guitar, opera. Yes, opera. Last night on my way to yoga, I was enchanted by a gentlemen who acted and sang (with the stairs as his stage) an aria from Verdi's Il Trovatore.





And at home:





Every Saturday, I get home from dance at around 4:30. I return to my apartment, say hi to Pina, and open the window to a beautiful fall day. At 5pm, every week without fail, I hear the stylings of a jazzy trumpet, occasionally accompanied by a friend on the piano. I don't know where they are, or who they are playing for. But every week I stand at my window and listen, and if I know the words (which I often do), I sing along, loudly. There's nothing like shouting "TEQUILA!" to a street of confused French people.



In Paris, wherever you are, and wherever you're going, there's music in the air. And more than likely, an overexcited someone shouting "TEQUILA!"

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