L’INTERNATIONAL (Paris) – 2nd August 2012

Guili Guili Goulag, etcetera:

On a day when I realised that all of my hopes and dreams might be impossibilities, because of famous french bureaucracy.  No matter what my nationality happened to be, I would be encountering this problem at present.  I tell myself, ‘everything else on this jaunt has worked out by some minor miracle or other, up to this point, so there’s no reason why this perception of a problem won’t work itself out as well’.

            On a day when my first action was to break under the spell of an addiction which I told myself fervently I would not do once arrived back in my heartland.

            Perhaps due to having broken under my addiction, I began a real search for an apartment.  This search took up my whole afternoon – as is my wont, I took the search to extremes, and I was contacted by about ten separate real estate agent offices, sometimes by phone – I would prefer email or text message contact to be responded to via email or text message – and also discovered several apartments to go to inspections of.  It was necessary for me to locate my diary, such was the gravity of the situation.  I took stock of the situation, poorly.  I said to myself, ‘I should at least go to the real estate office situated four hundred metres away from my current temporary lodgement’.  I did so.  This was when I learnt that I was in the process of being thwarted.

            After returning from the real estate office, I attempted to relax, poorly.  I then went to an open for inspection.  The place was unsuitable. 

            I then felt like a slow walk, in the direction of the fabled International.  I took the fabled Rue de Menilmontant to get there (fabled by the fabled Camille).  On the way I came upon a small artspace that wouldn’t have been out of place in Berlin (that is, it was try hard).  I think an experimental gig was going to happen there later.

            I arrived at the International.  I somewhat knew that I was in store for an experimental gig, which I’m not opposed to at all, but when approaching a nervous breakdown, it’s not what one seeks out.

            Guili Guili Goulag is not an experimental artist.  He is a virtuoso multi-instrumentalist, and highly creative.  I have never seen such swiftness of fingers on a bass guitar fret board as I saw from Guili Guili Goulag, and his virtuosity was never for the sake of virtuosity – it was for the sake of creativity.  He had recorded backing tracks to go with all of his live performances, and the result was something approaching brilliance, I realise upon reflection.

            At experimental music events, all those in attendance (barring a few) attempt desperately to maintain serious expressions throughout the duration of the artists’ sets.  Above all, they try desperately not to yawn, sometimes easier said than done.  I hate to break it to them, but Guili Guili Goulag is not an experimental artist at all.  As I always say, his music would have been improved dramatically had there been vocals – instrumental music is always lacking in something (vocals).

            I left after the set of Guili Guili Goulag.  It’s not like me to leave before the end of a gig, but it had been a long day, and experimental music is not conducive to losing oneself in – experimental music is conducive to deep thought and reflection.  Although Guili Guili Goulag is not an experimental artist, I feared that there would be experimental music to come after his set, and even though he didn’t play experimental music, his music was still conducive to deep thought and reflection.  I thought that a good sleep might be in order, in order to give thought to the tomorrow which was to come with a clear head and conscience.

            …. on a day when my tenth suitcase became obviously destroyed in the space of the last six months or so (these figures are approximative).