C’est moi

Obviously French. Not too obvious that the “tutoye” is permeating a culture predominantly focused on the collective Nous.

Weeknight, karaoke with live accompaniment.

Weekends, professional singers, one of whom singer/owner I heard came back from France (probably under dual citizenship).

This is a hybrid of crowd-sourcing and the old Command-control stage craft.

It seems to work. The audience enjoyed themselves (who wouldn’t cheer for one’s own).

Healthy depressurization.

Outside, it’s still a boiler. 40 degrees Celsius. Bike traffic is everywhere including on the side walks at peak hours.

Inside, the roses keep coming (with VN money wrapped inside for the musicians).  I held the mike, and let myself go. The song brought me back to Art Sullivan time, when he was sooooo young and vulnerable. Adieu, sois heureuse, Adieu, et bonne chance.

I never wanted to say goodbye to my (younger) self. Still here, against the wind.

Wonder if they have the lyric for Bob Seger, husky, uncompromising yet lava-filled.

At C’est Moi, you sit among people who at least can carry a tune. No need to torture yourself elsewhere. The best of all, there are pros sitting there, very much like American Idol, cheering you on.

I haven’t heard a negative comment though. Only the Pavlovian roses for group therapy. C’est moi. C’est toi. C’est nous. Not dead yet!