After another day of errands that took me from Caunes to Peyriac to Carcassonne, plus a meeting with an electrician about the set up for a mechanized awning on the terrace, I thought I would not have the energy to go out to the rock concert at the marble quarry at Villerambert tonight .
However, the meeting with the electrician went well --he will charge me about 80 Euros for his work, rather than the 500-1000 Euros the salesman suggested. I was particularly concerned to know the electrician's price for the work because all purchases and services in France are subject to a value-added tax. The tax is 10% for primary homes, but 20% for residence secondaires --which gets into money. In other words, in addition to the considerable cost of the awning unit (several thousand dollars), because the house is not my primary residence, one fifth of the awning's value is added on in tax, as is the case with the electrician's services. So a charge of 500-1000 Euros for electrical work would be subject to tax of between 100 and 200 Euros, not a derisory amount on top of the already high total cost of the awning unit.
The good news plus a trip to the gym and a shower lifted my spirits. Rock concerts are not my entertainment of choice, but the concert was well-publicized. And having attended classical music concerts at Villerambert with receptions in the courtyard of the chateau after, I thought at least the reception would be worth attending.
As it turns out, the concert was not where the classical concerts had been, but in a small corner of the quarry. And the food and drinks were not served in the courtyard of the chateau, but at the entrance to the quarry.
Still, I hoped for a Dionysian night, given that the main act, a band called 6'3", was fronted by Steven "Boltz" Bolton, who toured with The Who in 1989. I could certainly enjoy danceable music, and we were told that the 10 Euro ticket included two drinks.
Well, le tout Caunes was there (including the Mayor), but Woodstock-in-the-Minervois it wasn't. Firstly, one glance at the crowd-- mostly people in their sixties or older, retired English and French-- suggested the evening would be sedate Secondly, once past the entrance to the quarry, all alcoholic beverages were prohibited. My friend Chantal (with whom I attended the concert), had to down her wine and drop the plastic glass in a garbage bag before she could proceed, likewise me and my own non-alcoholic beverage. And the only drink that came with the ticket was a bottle of water. The concert was a "dry" one.
There were no toilets and nowhere to wash your hands, so that was like Woodstock. One of the ticket-takers joked that there were "men" bushes and "women" bushes to pee against --or behind, depending on your gender. And indeed, such was the case.
The first band, Bruise, was fronted by a woman, and played danceable music. There were folding chairs set up around the bandstand, although some people wisely brought their own --because there were not enough chairs for everyone who bought a ticket to the event. The band fronted by Steve Bolton, accompanied by a bass guitarist and a drummer, played "songs", rather than dance tunes.
By this point, Chantal and I called it quits. My sandals and feet were covered with marble dust, as was Beau. I'd had to "go" in the bushes, and we hadn't had seats. Neither Chantal nor me could enjoy anything other than water and listen to the bands at the same time. (Anyone who wanted a drink had to walk back to the entrance and consume it there, then walk back to the bandstand.)
Nevertheless, the audience in the seats was still there, no one moving, as Steve Boltz demonstrated his command of the electric guitar, riffs tumbling from his fingers, one after another. This was the act everyone would ask about the next day, the fame of The Who having travelled even to this remote corner of France. Which reminds me of hearing a young Frenchman tell me of his experience attending a rock concert with American friends in the United States:
During and after each song, his friends got up, screaming their approval and applauding furiously. He merely sat there and politely applauded. His American hosts were mystified:
Didn't you like the band's music? they asked.
Oh, yes, he replied.
Then why were you so restrained in showing it? they pursued.
Because in France we don't do as you do, we just applaud politely, he explained.
I wonder which group --the Anglophone ex-pats, or the French-- the audience mainly consisted of: that will determine whether the musicians feel appreciated or that they were just passing the time.
We had brought our dogs with us, and they were, a saving grace, allowed into the quarry. They frolicked gaily amid the marble, and both became covered with marble dust. They were far from the only dogs brought, and credit must be given where credit is due: I don't think dogs usually get to attend rock concerts, so thanks to the organizers for allowing them in. The dogs ran around everywhere, dug up the marble dust, and howled to the music. En bref, they were unbridled in their enjoyment and seemed to get the most out of the evening. They had a Dionysian experience, even if we didn't.
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