IT'S SPRING IN FRANCE 2026: SOME NEW STUFF AND SOME RECYCLED

It's been a somewhat grayer than usual, very much wetter than usual winter. Yes, the winters here can be cloudy and damp, and maybe our advancing age makes us anticipate the blue skies and warmth of spring with greater urgency, but I do believe that this winter colored outside the lines.

Our dreary winter has led to an interesting run up to summer. The leaves of the vines present every shade of green imaginable to the eye. Some of us, with no particular experience in such things, gravely discuss what that might mean for the fall harvest. Every once in a while, we question local elders. Unfortunately, the answers are often contradictory. Particularly impressive, at least to me, were the Judas Trees this year. Red bud trees to Americans. And the roses have been popping early with abundant blooms.

Days dawn crisp and chill but warm up quickly, though a refreshing breeze may linger. The sky turns a color that the word blue doesn't do justice to. The still snow-capped Pyrenees, 100 kilometers or so away, line up along a good portion of the distant skyline. As those who know me well are sick of hearing me say,"The light seems to radiate up from the landscape rather than reflecting off of it. The Impressionists painted here for a reason." Well, they painted close to our little village of Quarante. And their painting reflects the light that we love to be able to witness.

But it's not all puppy dogs and ice cream cones.

Persistent wet weather means standing water means mosquitos - mozzies to our English friends. And the warmth brings out ants and flies and snails and all manner of buzzing, crawling, and/or biting things that go dormant in the winter. Also dormant in the winter are the swarms of bicyclists who appear on our narrow, two-lane blacktops in their full spandex regalia as soon as the weather warms. They are ubiquitous, sometimes alone, sometimes in impressive packs. They are entitled to a full lane, though most do move to the side. Still, finding a proper place to pass on our winding, hilly roads can be a challenge. Also challenging can be the sight of all of that spandex heading into the local watering hole for a quick break. And while we are on the subject of the local roads, spring also means that the tractors of the vignerons have fired up and that the camper vans of the French equivalent of snow birds have migrated to our corner of the south of France. 

I hesitate to mention the camper vans as a problem. I did so in a blog post some years ago and was angrily confronted by a van driver who took umbrage. But just the other day, on our way to a Sunday morning market, we found ourselves behind a new, particularly wide rig whose driver seemed to consider the white lines on the road as a suggestion rather than a demarcation. 

Parking! 

It's hard to believe that parking emerged as an upfront issue in the recent mayoral election of a village of 1,800 or so souls. But when everybody's home, and when the second homes fill up as the weather cooperates, your regular parking space may disappear. You may have to cruise Quarante a time or two to spot an empty space within a reasonable walking distance from home. So in the years that we've lived here, several underutilized spaces have become lots, some paved and lined, some a bit less manicured but OK spaces.

Anyone discussing life in the south of France is obliged to comment on the food, French cuisine, in our case Mediterranean French cuisine, a world classic. Cook what's in season and fresh, Respect the ingredients. 

 You know that summer is on the horizon when the Spanish tomatoes are being practically given away in the stores. They are a particular shade of red. The shade is called RED! In the veggie markets, the fragrance of the strawberries is an almost physical presence. The asparagus is about done, but not quite. And North Africa is just a ferry ride away. 

We particularly appreciate that the stores are obliged to post the origin of the produce that they sell. You can buy fruit shipped from South America or you can wait for the local crop. Either way, you know what you are getting.

And of course, no one appreciates springtime more than our cats, our indoor cats, who are finally comfortable on the terrace. Well, maybe the purveyors of bedding plants are equally appreciative. But container gardening in a relatively small space with limited direct sun forms the basis for another post at another time.

FRENCH RESTAURANT CULTURE EXAMINED MORE CLOSELY: RE-EDITED

 

RESERVATIONS ARE NECESSARY 

If you are really hungry, if you really want to try that restaurant that everybody's talking about, or if you just want to be certain to get eats, RESERVATIONS ARE NECESSARY. In some cases, that's because the house has prepared the exact number of covers for the reservations in hand. I've seen consistent regulars on a first-name basis with the chef/owner turned away because they forgot to call ahead. And arriving for lunch after 1:30pm without a reservation is almost always a deal breaker. Yes, the posted hours may run until 2:00pm, but that's closing time, not the time of the last seating. In fact, in many French restaurants, there's only one seating for lunch. Arrive by 1:00pm to be safe or you take your chances. And don't forget. RESERVATIONS ARE NECESSARY. 

ON ENTERING

Wait at the door to be noticed. Don't seat yourself. Some restaurants move around the tables and chairs based on the reservations. That cozy table for two in the corner was reserved last week for the newlywed friends of the chef. If you've called ahead, there'll be a place for you. If you haven't, you'll just have to take what you get...or nothing at all. Wait at the door.  

And if you can't say Bonjour or Bonsoir or Merci or S'il vous plait at the appropriate times, what are you doing in France anyway?

There will be dogs. There will be large dogs and there will be small dogs. Some will not be groomed to American Kennel Club standards. Some will appear to have completely avoided any grooming at all. Deal with it. If the dog has been brought into the restaurant, the dog has probably been in every restaurant that its masters have visited, as many restaurants as you have visited. I have never eaten in a restaurant in which a dog has misbehaved. Adults, yes. Children, yes. Dogs, no

PROPER ATTIRE

Denim jeans are ubiquitous in France, on guys and gals alike. And ladies, the more bling the better. Ripped jeans are still a thing. God knows why, but She isn't telling. Don't. Just don't.

Shorts? Fine for lunch at that beach popup restaurant. Long pants for dinner, please. Yoga pants? If you don't plan on doing the Downward-Facing Dog during dinner, don't wear the gear for it. That NY Yankee baseball cap? Ditch it before you step inside. Why the hell do so many French people wear those things, anyway? I'm a (Brooklyn) Dodger fan, myself.

Use common sense. There's that phrase again. Common Sense. If Eppie Lederer (Ann Landers) and Jeanne Phillips (Abigail 'Dear Abby' Van Buren) could make careers out of dispensing common sense, why not Ira (Ira)?

WHEN THE WINE ARRIVES 

Don't pretend that you know what you're doing. You probably don't. 

We usually order the house wine en pichet (in a pitcher) when it's available. But some restaurants only serve bottled wine and sometimes you want to try something special.

Unless you spot a wine that you know and particularly like on the list, ask the waiter for a suggestion. You'd like a light, fruity rosé for the start, a full-bodied red for the boeuf bourguignon? Ask. Limited budget? Add the words pas trop cher (not too expensive). Rather than being laughed at for trying to be the expert that you are not, you may get extra attention for being willing to place yourself in your server's hands.

When the server opens the wine and pours you a sip, you are being given the opportunity to discover if the wine is corked. Just that. A small percentage of wines with natural corks can be tainted by a chemical called TCA. Screw-top wines and wines with artificial corks cannot be tainted in that way, but you'll probably be given the opportunity to take a taste anyway. After the server pours, smell the wine and take a sip. No dramatics. Just sniff and sip. If the wine smells like your dog smells when he comes in from the rain, if it tastes flat and perhaps a bit astringent (overly acidic or bitter), the wine is corked. Not drinkable. You may return it for a replacement. 

Just about the only reason to return a bottle after first taste is if it's corked. Sweeter than you expected? Drier than you expected? That's on you. Not a sufficient reason to return. Some will argue that you can return because the wine is simply not to your taste. Maybe. Not me.

TABLE MANNERS  

Don't eat peas with your knife just about covers it.   

The best restaurants make certain that everyone at the table receives their courses at the same time. Otherwise, the rules on when you may start eating are simple, keeping in mind that it's always polite to wait until everyone is served. 
1.) If your food is served cold, as a green salad, it's proper to wait until all are served. 
2.) If your food is served warm, it is acceptable to begin immediately. A courteous table mate still waiting for service will quickly give permission. 
3.) When dining with the Queen, wait for her to begin regardless. 

Don't slurp or burp (loudly) or chew with your mouth open or talk too loudly or laugh until the wine comes pouring out of your nose. 

TURN OFF YOUR PHONE.

And don't eat peas with your knife.

TURN OFF YOUR PHONE 

Do I really have to say that? 

A reminder. TURN OFF YOUR PHONE.

THE TAB 

Have the discussion sooner rather than later.

If you want separate tabs, ask for separate tabs. If you don't, decide beforehand how you will deal with the money. Will you split the bill in equal portions? Will you attempt to decipher who ordered the dry-aged Black Angus rib and who just had the mixed salad and how much was due from each? Whatever you decide, be quick about it. The meal is over. The longer you take to decide who owes what, the more likely you are to be driving home in tense silence. 

Having gone over the bill, it's alright to ask questions. Quietly and politely. I recently pointed out that our tab didn't include our carafe of wine. Really. I did. The server thought for a minute, then smiled and, walking away, simply said, "Offert." Free. My good deed for the day and her's too. She'll remember me.

GENERAL RULES

Don't whistle or snap your fingers at your server. Just don't.

You can request off-menu items. You can request a vegan or a gluten-free option. You can request substitutions. Request is the operative word. Every server in every French restaurant that I have visited has listened to such requests politely. Honoring such requests is another matter. Désolé is French for I'm sorry. In other words, NO. Accept and move on.

Service compris means that the tip is included with your bill. There are various ways that this fact might appear on your bill because the French like to confuse you. Assuming the usual, that service is included in the bill and that the service itself was proper, we will often leave change in a bar or casual cafe, a small bill in a fancier restaurant.

GET ALL THAT? 

There will be a quiz. 

MOVING TO FRANCE: THREE CONSIDERATIONS

Although the vast majority of persons applying for French residency come from former French colonies in Africa, the number of Americans applying for French residency has shown a small but steady increase in recent years. I suppose that there's a Trump Effect, but that's too simple an explanation. There are a variety of circumstances that might make living and working in France desirable from an American's perspective. I won't go into them now. I will say, though, that I suspect that many of those deciding to leave the USofA in response to Trump's ascendancy will fail to successfully integrate in the long run. As I have said many times, one should always concentrate on going a place where you want to live rather than leaving a place that you no longer like. Running from a place for political reasons is bound to provide a less harmonious outcome than actively pursuing a place that suits your likes and your lifestyle, either in the States or around the globe.

Be that as it may, even in our little rural village in the south of France, not in Provence or near any other significant tourist magnet in the region, over the past twelve years a slowly building wave of Americans have been coming to visit, to buy second homes, and/or to move here permanently. And if we've noticed that trend, you can bet that both our French and our British neighbors have as well. Oddly enough, it is sometimes the case that the French are more welcoming than the Brits, but the animosity between Brits and Americans and the manner in which it manifests itself is a story for another time as well. The object of this particular exercise is to point out a few ways that Americans can more easily transition into their new French lives.

LANGUAGE

Yes. The French have their own language. It isn't English. And not every French person speaks English. Not every French person wants to speak English even if they can. Thus, moving to France without having at least some facility with the French language will make settling in more than difficult. 

Take community college classes. Join the local chapter of Alliance Français. Duolingo. Rosetta Stone. It's time to get cracking. If you aren't ready to do that, you're not ready to move to France.

Truth be told, I am anything but fluent, even after 12 years of immersion. I have a good grasp of simple verb tenses - past, present and future. I have no problem at the grocery store or the bakery or the butcher. I don't need an English menu to know what I'm considering ordering at a restaurant. But describing what's the matter with the car, or why I think that the plumbing needs work, that's another matter entirely. Requires preparation and investigation. And doing so over the phone is particularly difficult. But if you are going to live here, combining vocabulary with simple questions/explanations is vital.

Yes, Google is your friend, though deepl is probably better at providing a completely accurate translation. And yes, you can talk into Google in English and it will talk back in French. But that's no way to hold a conversation at the town hall or at a party.

Learn the language.

CULTURE

Learning the language and fitting in culturally go hand in hand. 

To be honest about it, if you were born and raised in the USofA and have lived in a relatively assimilated household, European culture should not be totally unfamiliar to you. And yes, I include folks of Asian and African descent in that statement. Assimilated, I said. Certainly, individual households can and often do reflect the ethnic and geographic heritage of the family's immigrant roots. But immersion in American culture has its consequences. One tends to melt into the melting pot. As a result, most Americans will eventually find their comfort zone in France if they stick to it.

Always greet the shopkeeper or the greeter behind the counter with a pleasant Bonjour. There's a joke about the cost of a cup of coffee, that it costs an extra euro if you don't say Bonjour to the waitstaff before ordering. And there are other rules about Bonjour. You don't say Bonjour to the same person on the same day. After about 6pm, Bonjour becomes Bonsoir. And on leaving, Bonjour becomes Bonne Journée. It's a simple thing, like saying Please (S'il Vous Plait) and Thank You (Merci). Opens doors.

People even say Bonjour to fellow patients when entering the doctor's waiting room or when joining the line at the bakery.

Such rules and customs abound. That's why customs are so difficult to navigate...and rewarding when you get it right.

I see things all the time that are probably different than what you are used to seeing. Get used to them. Dogs in bars and restaurants, often off leash. Children in bars and restaurants, often off leash. When a toddler drops a carrot on the sidewalk, Mom just picks it up, brushes it off, gives it back. Unaccompanied youth are a common sight, walking to and from school, hanging out after school and on the weekends. Two young girls that I don't know, no more than ten years old and without an adult in sight, just knocked on my door and sold me raffle tickets for their sports team. We're a small village, true. And that's the way that I grew up outside of a small New Jersey town. "Go out and play. Be home by dark." But that was 70 years ago. In fact, that's one reason that friends with two adolescent girls moved here more than a decade ago, so that their girls could grow up in the small-town atmosphere of past generations.

Invited to a neighbor's house? Bring a small gift - a bottle of wine, a homemade sweet or a bouquet of flowers. One dear friend often picks blooms from her garden on her way over. We write names on bottles of wine so that we don't regift to the same person.

The list of French cultural norms and the differences between those of the USofA and, in our case, the rural south of France borders on endless. Not enough room without writing a book, and I am not writing that book. It's been done. All that I can say is that the answer to successful navigation is usually as simple as an open mind and liberal use of Bonjour, S'il Vous Plait and Merci.

BUREAUCRACY

I am fond of saying that the French didn't invent bureaucracy but they did refine bureaucracy to a high art. And indeed, although the French economist Jacques Claude Marie Vincent de Gournay is credited with having coined the word, pejoratively at the very outset, there is convincing proof that bureaucracies predated the current French version by millennia. Why are our most common examples of ancient scratchings on clay tablets lists of mercantile goods or stockpiles in royal coffers if not for the overriding need of humankind to keep official records as though they had value in and of themselves?

We all hate paperwork. I get it. Damn those bureaucrats, keeping us buried in piles of paper so that they can draw a pay check. Petty. They find reasons to deny our most reasonable requests. Their rules are arcane, defying understanding. How wonderful life would be without those officious paper pushers.

You are wrong. Bureaucrats are your friends. Yes. I repeat. Bureaucrats are your friends. You just haven't been viewing them through the proper lens.

You see, you have the idea that bureaucracies are created to throw obstacles in the paths of the daily lives of ordinary citizens. Not true. Not at all. Rather, bureaucracies exist to confer power on the petty bureaucrat. That's the real secret. And though that sounds dangerous, think about it. The petty bureaucrat is so well versed in the confusing, often contradictory jumble of rules and regulations that they are charged to enforce that they know how to create any result, circumvent any prohibition. Approve any request.

Approve any request?

Yes. Approve any request. They just need a reason. Rubber stamping DENIED on forms all day can be boring. But having the power to find ways to use the APPROVED stamp is empowering. So, empower the bureaucrat.

Be on time. Be polite. Smile. Say Bonjour. Say S'il Vous Plait and Merci. Bring every piece of paper that the websites say are required. Then think of any other piece of paper that might remotely be pertinent to the matter at hand and bring it, too. Originals and two copies, if you please.

That's not so hard, is it?

 

 

 

TWO REASONS THAT I DESPISE MORGAN LUNA

   

You know that I must be in love with music in all of its forms to be concerned with stuff like the following when all of the political and economic systems that I have known throughout my life are headed straight for the dumpster.

One of Morgan Luna's YouTube videos has had several million views, others have hundreds of thousands. Why should I despise such a lovely, soulful, popular singer? Because Morgan Luna doesn't exist, that's why. Because reading this far, you might decide to check out one of her videos. Please don't. Just. Don't.

Of course, if you consider an AI generated personality as having an existence, I suppose that there are nits that you can pick. You see an image, you hear a voice. Therefore, at some level, Morgan Luna exists. But such philosophical distinctions are beside the point, beside the two points.

First, Luna represents the triumph of the algorithm. The look, the lighting, the lyrics, the backing vocals, the band, the guitar solo, all just the right shade of vanilla to be comforting and comfortable without being challenging. No quirky blips, no surprising chord progressions. No acne scars in sight. Smooth as melted butter on a piece of white toast.

But there's a more important reason that I wish that Morgan Luna's AI creators would unplug her, apologize, and never be heard from again. Every time Morgan Luna tunes are streamed, the oxygen necessary to support a real artist is sucked from the room. Jalen Ngonda's real-live soul on So Glad I Found You is passed by. Witchcraft by the guitar-playing young lady named Jackie Venson doesn't get played. 

And the real tragedy? Folks commenting on Luna's videos say that they don't care if she's real or not. They like the song. What difference does it make? In other words, they are OK with being played by people who have studied them carefully in order to use them for the sole purpose of extracting money from their wallets. This is the world in which we live, among a population manipulated by the algorithm and not minding one little bit.

 

OUR FRENCH VILLAGE'S MUNICIPAL ELECTION

 

 

Shortly after we arrived in our little French village of Quarante in the spring of 2014, we attended a ceremony in the town hall square. Maybe it was 14 July, what we would call Bastille Day. A wreath was laid. The volunteer fire and ambulance corps stood at attention as the Marseillaise was played. There was speechifying. And when it was over, Mayor Gilbert Rivayrand invited those assembled to share a glass of wine in an old chapel across the street. 

 

Being new to the village, I decided to introduce myself to Gilbert. I stepped up, held out my hand, and said in practiced French,"Bonjour. Je m'appel Mr. Faro. J'habite à..." (I live at...) At which point, still holding my hand, Gilbert looked me in the eye and said,"Je sais ou vous habitez." (I know where you live.) Very matter of fact. A bit startling. But I guess that knowing stuff about everyone who lives in a small town is a mayor's job.

 

For all of the 12 years that we've lived in Quarante, Gilbert has been the mayor. We greet each other on the street. He asked us our opinion of the new caterer at a village affair. We've met once or twice to discuss village business. He's the only mayor of Quarante that we've ever known. But he's retiring and, just a couple of weeks ago, a new mayor was elected. I thought that y'all might be interested in the process.

 

In villages of our size and nature, you don't vote for a mayor and a town council as individuals. You vote for a list, a group of 15 or 20 citizens who, as a group, would be responsible for the administration of the village going forward. The top six on the list become the town council and choose the mayor from among themselves. The list is put together and is led by a person who wants to be mayor and, if the list wins the majority of votes, the members of the list chosen to form the town council are expected to appoint that person mayor. In our village, voters had two lists to choose from.

 

One list was formed by Loic Dété. A well-dressed, calm and confident retired administrator who was not considered a village native, having lived in the village for only a decade or so. Dété's campaign characterized Quarante as a village stuck in the past, a village that progress had passed by, a forgotten village. Finances had been poorly managed. Staff costs were excessive. His young, enthusiastic list would renew and re-energize Quarante.

 

Serge Ortiz was the principal of the second list. Everyone knew Serge. He had led the village maintenance team for years. His sons were local businessmen. As expats on the outside looking in without the ability to vote, it seemed to us that Serge was the logical next in line. And Serge had the advantage of Dété's early entry, complete with a serious social media campaign and a glossy campaign handout, so Serge could pick and choose what topics seemed to resonate and what topics to avoid.

 

Beside the fact that Dété only had a slim chance in the first place, his assembly sealed his fate. Each candidate held a meeting in the village public hall to introduce themselves and their list. Dété went first, a couple of weeks before the election. His assembly was well attended by quiet, curious villagers, most of whom needed to be convinced. After going around the room to give each member of his list a chance to say hello, Dété projected a PowerPoint presentation and, with his back to his audience, read from the screen with occasional commentary. It couldn't have been more boring and less welcoming. Forgotten village. Needing competent management. The question period was not very friendly. 

 

Serge's assembly took place just two days before the election, same room, twice as many people, completely different atmosphere. Handshakes and cheek kissing and a friendly buzz. During the question period, an attempt to bring up the negatives was met with boos from the crowd and a forceful response from Serge's second.  Clearly, the election was already over.

 

Elections are held on Sundays, France being a purposefully secular country, one that encourages voting. Serge won 80% to 20%.

 

One more French election oddity to learn. Depending on the percentage of votes that the losing list receives, the losers are entitled to a voice in the government. Dété will take the place of one person on Serge's list and have a voice, minimal as it may be. A French way of honoring the advice: Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

FROM DEMOCRACY TO FASCISM TO SOCIALISM

 DEMOCRATS ARE COMMIES WHO HATE AMERICA!!!!!

Every once in a while, a friend of a friend on Facebook worms her way onto my feed and yells stuff like that into the ether. She's swallowed the Kool-Aid whole, full on MAGA. The fact that Putin is the BFF of her savior Donald Trump doesn't bother her. Maybe she's mad at those other Commies, the Chinese. After all, the Chinese are better than the USofA at capitalism, and that must hurt.

What's that, you ask? China better at capitalism? Think about it. Capitalism profits most by forcing cheap labor to work in intolerable conditions, creating products using inferior components in order to meet a particular price point and designed to be fall apart the day after the warranty expires. Who does that better than the Chinese? 

Wikipedia stops listing the name of Chinese billionaires after the first 100. That doesn't sound very much like a communist state to me. 

Why are we talking about Commies at all?

Didn't you know that those crafty democratic socialists are really Commies in disguise? So, no difference.

OK. Where am I going with this? What got me to thinking about this stuff? Why does the progress of social orders move as it does in the title of this rant? While streaming a panel discussion recently, a talking head posited that democracies cannot move to socialism without first dealing with fascism. The 1% will not abide the diminishing profits that socialism would bring about without a fight. And that fight will center on grabbing control of the economy through any means necessary - centralizing power, gutting regulation, marginalizing the courts. In America’s democracy, the 1% floods money and favors into the political process, creating a political class willing to further their agenda in hopes of enriching themselves and joining the monied class. Their political platform is jingoistic, populist, and nativist. Ideologues are welcome as long as their ideology includes bending the knee to their patrons when it comes to legislation, regulation, or judicial rulings.

To be clear, Trump and Musk and Ellison wouldn't be wasting so much time doing what they're doing if there wasn't money in it. Big money. They manipulate democracy, and they've got real fascists doing their work for them, but they are not in it because of political philosophy. Democracy isn't the problem. Capitalism is.

So, I'm feeling uncomfortable that the hypothetical has democracy as its starting point. If the problem is money, and if in the USofA the money that has undermined the system comes from uber capitalists, maybe capitalism should be where the discussion begins. 

Only internal revolution or external intervention could end such a fascist state, the panel continued. Think of the end of the fascist National Socialism in Germany - never really socialism at all, regardless of the name. Once National Socialism had been defeated and the dust settled, Europe was built from the bottom up. Governments throughout the continent re-imagined themselves as one form or another of social democracy. 

OK. I assume that we can agree that fascism is not desirable. But now I'm uncomfortable with the implied ideal landing place for a post-fascist society in the title. It's not socialism. It's democratic socialism.

Take the example of Norway, for many years listed as the most democratic society in the world by multiple organizations that rank such things.

Norway's constitutional monarchy was established in 1905, the year that the country separated for the final time from Sweden. (Don't get either a Swede or a Norwegian talking about the relations between their two countries unless you have a lots of time and a full glass,) Having been occupied by the Germans during WWII, Norway reorganized its constitutional monarchy after regaining control of its government at the end of the war, but with one important change. Norway decided to maintain sufficient stake to be in virtual control of a number of strategic industries that the Germans had seized - banking, telecommunications, energy production and the like. 

But Norway also has its share of billionaires. Not as many as China, certainly. But you can make good money in Norway farming, in real estate, selling groceries, and running cruise ships - Viking Cruises, in this case.

Thus, I end where I should have started. Fascism must be overcome if a society is to move from capitalism to social democracy. Of course, what we need now is a fully formed definition of democratic socialism as applied to the USofA. Tricky that, without knowing the manner of death inflicted on the emergent American fascism. Topic for another day.

LISTENING TO MODERN POP AND BLUES: MARCH 2026

 

Yes, I watched The Beatles on the Sullivan show. At 15 years-old, I was already into their music. But by then, I was also into all forms of modern popular music, from Dion and the Belmonts to the Temps and the Tops. And 60 years later, the sounds of that era remain the mainstay of my listening enjoyment. Truth be told, my tastes run to the music of the late 60s to the mid 70s. And I kept up for awhile. I bought vinyl. After a while, CDs. But eventually disco and glam rock and punk took their toll on me. So while I occasionally found new pop and rock tunes/bands of interest, I almost always fell back on my old favorites - Linda and Joni and the Airplane and Little Feat and Bonnie and CSNY. You get the picture.

The manner in which I consume music has changed over these many years. I don't by albums or CDs. I stream. YouTube and Spotify are my friends. And YouTube in particular is more than happy to recommend artists for me to stream. Among videos that the algorithm thinks that I would like to watch are recommendations to listen to Reaction Videos, young folks one-third my age discovering that SRV could play guitar and Linda had one heckuva voice. I've explained all of this in a previous 'This and That' post. I said that I would start creating Reaction Videos of my own and eventually post a few. Well, here's a sampling. I really like Billy Strings. I kinda like Billie Eilish. I didn't particularly like Chappel Roan. My rave about Raye was too big to upload. But listen for yourself. Here's the LINK to my YouTube channel. Subscribe, s'il vous plait. The algorithm likes it when you Subscribe.

Billy Strings - Cocaine Blues

 

Billie Eilish - Wildflower
 

Chappel Roan - Good Luck, Babe!