ROADLOG: Giverny, France 
Staying at the guest chateau 
Of the Carriere family 
that runs the venue.
It's like my own little private house 
In France for the next two days. 
Giverny, France is a village and former artist colony 
that was home to many painters, most notably, 
Claude Monet, 
who spent the last 30 hrs of his life 
painting in Giverny.
Many of the houses in the village are 500 yrs old
Including the one I am staying in.
They're all brick gingerbread 
Looking houses.
Very quaint and peaceful.
I go for a walk up the hill 
Past the farms 
And see a group of white horses.
One of them approaches the fence 
And I pet him.
Not sure what it is
But ever since I put out 
I see a white / grey horses
In Europe. 
I do not question why.
I just accept it.
Like many other things.

ROADLOG: Gig: Giverny 
Small theater, packed.
Very responsive and respectful audience. 
I'm not used to that.
Usually, during solo shows,
It's a war of volume with the crowd
And I lose.
But tonight,
It is hushed and quiet,
So much so that I think
I played the quietest show of my life. 
Acclaimed French-Belgian actress 

Yolande Moreau attended the show 

And sat right up front throughout 
The set.
She's won three Cesar Awards
Which is the European equivalent 
Of an Oscar.  
Been in some cool films. 
I meet her afterward.
Very sweet person.
We make arrangements with my hosts
To visit her house in the country tomorrow.
After the show,
I drink beer and vibe with the natives
Of the village.
Nice people.
I kick myself in the nuts 
For not learning and remembering 
The French language when i was a kid.
Now I must apologize for not 
Being able to speak their language 
Even though I am from a French speaking 
Part of Louisiana.
Shame on me, I know, I know.
Youth is wasted on the dumb.

My host Martin and his friend Francois 
And myself
Jump in an old car and tear across 
The French countryside 
To the home of 

Yolande Moreau, the actress I mentioned.

Beautiful. Big sky weather once again.
We hang with Yolande and her family
And walk around the property.
They show me the permaculture garden
And various things.
We play a game with steel balls
Called Pantook or something like that.
It's fun. 
Being around a tight group of French speakers
Who know little English 
Definitely makes one feel 
Like a dumb American. 

GIG: Évreux, France
Cool club.
We load in 
And roll with the dudes from 
French psych band You Said Strange 
Who are my hosts.
Good dudes.
Only 17-21 yrs old
And they already have a really good sounding
EP out. 
It should be law that your first record 
Sound like shit.
But this is not the case here. 
I bang out the gig.
Good crowd.
They throw down and jump around
When I get in the Audience. 
After the show,
A handful of local rock & roll MFers
Invite me to jam, drink, smoke,
And hang
At their basement practice space
Located two blocks away.
It's the First week of tour 
And I trying to pace myself 
And not get too crazy just yet.
People may assume these gigs
Are first class affairs with some of the luxuries,
Pampering, and benefits of rock star 
Or even folk band tours 
But the majority of them are not.
Most of them are punk rock level affairs
In clubs, bunkers, regular venues 
With a nice festival or two thrown in,
Which is nice.
But if you don't pace yourself,
You end up a ragged mess.
And crap out. 
Or get sick. 
So basement jam and hang??
What the hell.
Fuck it!
Let's go to the drunken dope jam session.
A group of strangers lead 
Me up the ancient streets
And down a flight of stairs 
Into an old French building 
Into a dank basement 
Where you can smell the bricks.
Room is Filled with band gear.
Somebody gets on drums
Another few guys get on the other instruments.
A toast is made, wine passed around.
Somebody counts it off 
And we kick into a 30 min freak jam
With me singing crazy shit
And about 15 drunk people 
Dancing around in this small room.
Just making shit up
And letting it fly. 
And wine passed around. 
Fun people, the French.
There really is a thing about them
Where they truly like to enjoy life.
I don't know what it is
But it's very evident here 
Just like Louisiana.
Although I wasn't expecting it,
This basement jam will serve 
as a very good memory 
Years from now.
Funny thing,
You do all this planning for the tour and gigs
To make it special and make it an "event"
But it's the unplanned things 
That you have little control over
That always knock you in your ass.
Somebody was shooting video 
So I may actually get to experience this again
One day
And either raise a toast to the French of Évreux 
Or wince at our buffoonery. 
Sante, Évreux.
You were a good surprise. 





See you in the summer Louisiana. 
It's once again time 
to grind blackened flame 
from the sacred chalice of steel. 
Bro-Dege tour kicks off Saturday 
in Paris. 
Take care, 
but also go rage 
against the dying of the light, 
because life is short, brutal, 
and coded for mystery. 

Relatively painless flight 
from Lafayette to Paris. 
No hassles with the gear.
Packed my peddle board in the suitcase
With the clothes.
Combined, the Thing weighs 
as much as a E-car.
So glad to be out of the country.
Lafayette, my hometown
Is a big small town.
Great place, great people
But as with all small towns 
You must leave it occasionally
Or you become a myopic asshole.

4.11.15 Paris
First night in Paris.
Went out with Xavier 
My booking agent 
And saw bands: Moon Duo and Warm Graves.
Met up with my Paris friends 
Including the dudes 
From Aqua Nebula Oscillator.
The main guy, David
Lives in a cave somewhere in Paris.
His apartment is a cave 
dug into the earth.
They're a psych rock band.
After explaining to me 
how they tripped on LSD
During their live performances,
I ask how did they pull that off 
Without it devolving into a mess?
"It's easy. One chord, three trips,"

Slept on a quickly deflating air mattress
That wobbled and listed like a ghost ship
In a shit storm.
Round 4 am, I abandon ship 
And swim to the couch.
Slept till 2 pm.
Woke and looked out the window 
At this Paris neighborhood.
Good morning, Paris. 
I lived most of my life without you.
But now I see you are an old friend.
It just took me 
Decades to realize it. 

GIG. Paris.
A packed house in Paris.
This I like.
A packed house in Paris
Makes up for 50 dead gigs 
In the US. 

There once was a guy 
Who loved telling everyone 
What to do 
and how they should do it.
And was very critical of all the things
The townspeople tried to do.
But he himself didn't do shit
In his lifetime.
This annoyed the townspeople.
When the man eventually died,
They all pissed on his grave.
And he was forgotten.
The End.

An armless beggar 
in the subway tunnel with no shirt, 
Sitting crossed legged,
Staring at an empty plate
Placed at his feet.
Among the deafening roar
Of trains.

ROADLOG: The Drunks
Sleeping on Xavy's couch in Paris.
I'm awoken by drunken girls entering the apt.
It's Xavy's female roommate and friend,
Drunkenly stumbling about the place.
I say hello introduce myself, half asleep.
Someone begins banging on the front door.
Who is it?
It's two drunk French dudes, late-20s
Who followed them home 
And want to come in.
They knock and pound the door again.
Ring the buzzer.
The girls do not want them to come in.
More drunken chatter and pounding from the door.
Can you make them leave? 
I'm half asleep, jet lagged, 
And in my underwear...
Time to make the people leave now. 
I open door.
See two drunk French dudes
One is laying on the ground, relaxing. 
The other, standing.
They don't speak English.
I don't speak French.
Ok guys, you go to go!
Yeah, you got to kick rocks and leave.
One tries to walk past me
Into the apt 
And I have to shove him back out
Several times. 
They yak, Blah, blah.
..and more French stuff. 
Xavy wakes pissed off
Yells some French stuff at the dudes
And slams the door.
Then I go back sleep. 


ROADLOG: Caen, France
Rented a car
Packed my gear in it
And drove to Caen.
I'm Playing a former crack house
That's been converted into a 
Collective art space compound
Similar to what I played last year 
In Bordeaux. 
They're all 
Super sweet motivated
Organized non-bitchy people.
I like that.
I like people that do stuff.
These people are doers.
I play gig on outdoor stage
Under a giant French sun
And I feel good. 
Since I am the only person on the bill,
I get to stretch out the set
And interpolate the slide scapes
And ambient stuff I like to do
Into the songs. 
After show,
I watch an absurdist play 
They are putting on.
It's all in French. 
It's interesting.
All Characters in play 
Stand upon a giant wobbling platform 
That rocks back and forth throughout the play
Like a hobbled pirate ship.
They lead me to a tent
With a couch, table,
Fridge, and privacy.
I get that oddly surprised feeling 
When the venue actually treats 
you like a human being 
and hooks you up with nice meal, 
bottle of wine, 
and a private backstage tent...
after you've been playing shitholes 
for 20 years 
with disgusting bathroom facilities
And you actually feel 
like a smug twat
For sort of enjoying 
The temporary respite
From the eternal grind. 
Such is life.