Meditations on Music Abroad

Hello, and welcome back. I have been off of this beat for a while for two reasons. The first is that I was traveling in France, which is part of what this whole post is about. The second is that my old laptop—that I took from my mom’s house in 2019 and that she owned for years before that—finally crapped out on me. It put in a good run, but when it won’t charge anymore, you have to just go ahead and shut it all down. So, with a new, much faster computer, we get back to the project of this newsletter.

While this may seem like an extremely obvious comment, music does much more than just serve as an expression of one’s creativity. In our late capitalist era, it also serves as a sonic interpretation of a brand, displaying particular aesthetic concerns that are important to its overall image. To explain, I start with both the beginning and end of my French excursion.

We had transfers both to and from the airport. In both cars, which were extremely well appointed, they were playing music on French radio stations. The first station was Radio Lovely. As one might ascertain by the name, the music was all love songs and/or romantic songs. Nothing particularly offensive or wild. There was some Lana Del Rey, but it was one of her milder songs. On the way back to the airport, the driver was playing FIP, a station housed under the larger Radio France umbrella. Again, nothing particularly offensive.

Both stations had good music on them, but it was clear from the setting that it was not the particular purpose of listening to those stations. Their function was to fill the space with non-offensive sounds. The process of getting into and out of Paris, past all of the Free Gaza/Free the Hostages and Fuck OM graffiti (there was so much football-related graffiti), can be long and stressful. The music worked as a balm to make the ride more soothing and pleasurable. I found myself getting caught up in Radio Lovely as we sat in bumper-to-bumper traffic by Stade de France, in a situation so bad that our driver got out of the car to yell at a taxi.

Aside from acting as a balm, it was a clear class marker. As we drove around the city, there were billboards for various pop artists and rappers, but that wouldn’t be played in this car. That was not the music that would be played for someone who would be getting a private transfer. I would have been good with it because French rap, with its slightly odd cadence, interests me, but the slightly wealthier regular clients who use the service might be appalled by the MC’s tales of suffering through racial/religious discrimination and the difficulty of coming up in the banlieues.

As my wife and I moved through the various spaces of Paris and rural France, we both started to notice the usage (or non-usage) of music in various locations. To start, hotel music, while never particularly loud, is always particularly telling because it gives a clear indication of what the hotel’s brand is. For example, the sort-of corporate/mid-tier hotels tend to play a bland mix of inoffensive smooth jazz tracks, music that you can zone out to while you ride the elevator down to the continental breakfast in the morning. It is meant to fade into the background and not take up much of your mental space. You know that you’re in a “cool” hotel if they are playing soft house music. While it shares the same inoffensive qualities as smooth jazz, it has a bpm of 120, making it feel as if you could almost dance to it. I mean, you can’t; you’re going to fall asleep to it just like you would if you were listening to David Sanborn or Kenny G. While it is as anodyne as smooth jazz, it does make you feel slightly more chic and edgy, but in a boring way, like someone who wore a lot of Ed Hardy when that was still a thing. A hipster hotel will play music that you could actually dance to or has some indie cachet, because, you know, they’re fun and eccentric and play by their own rules. For example, when I was recently leaving the Ace Hotel at 3 AM to make a morning flight, I was guided out of the door by the dulcet tones of Tessa Murray singing on Still Corners’s “The Trip.”

So, with these metrics laid out, my confusion immediately set in when I heard the music at our first hotel. It was not the bland smooth jazz or equally dull-edged soft house that I expected. It also wasn’t cool. It was pop music. Specifically, it was “30 for 30” by SZA ft. Kendrick Lamar. (For reciprocity reasons surely, they also played “Luther” by Kendrick Lamar ft. SZA later that afternoon.) I didn’t really know how to interpret this at the jump, but the vision became clearer as our days there continued on. During the succeeding days, I heard Bob Marley’s “One Love,” a song from Thievery Corporation’s The Mirror Conspiracy, a song from Nicola Conte’s Jet Sounds, and other songs that would populate the playlist of your garden-variety college stoner.

Given that this was a nice place, the choice of songs struck me as strange. Who is this soundtrack for? Many of the people I saw at breakfast in the morning were older travelers. They don’t care about this music. The youngs that were staying there probably grooved on the Kendrick, but do people under the age of, let’s say, 35 care about the Thievery Corporation? I own multiple Thievery Corporation albums, and I don’t care about Thievery Corporation. I am pretty sure that young people don’t think about them, if they even know who they are. There is a lounge on the first floor, but it was a place to drink casually, not wind it up like at the Ace Hotel (Seriously, full ass party one night when we stayed there. And it was a random, non-holiday weekend.) So, it gave me the overall vibe of one of those aging hipsters who is trying to be with it without having any idea of what “it” means nowadays. As a result, they end up being completely washed.

This stood in deep contrast to the other two hotels that I stayed at on this trip. At the second Paris hotel, there was no music in the lobby or in the elevator. The establishment was presenting itself as fancy, providing a sedate location for travelers to retire to after their day of seeing various sites and waiting in various lines around Paris. In addition, it is targeted towards an older clientele, as was clear through both the hotel’s aesthetic and the many traveler-centric design choices in the room (e.g., a retractable clothesline installed in the bathtub, a suitcase scale).

The inn in rural France also did not play any music in its lobby or elevator. There was no need for music there though because the location was beautiful, and it was nice to hear the sounds of nature around you. That said, there was music during the midday snack time (yes, there was a snack time with baked goods, juice, and coffee), and it was Radio Suisse Jazz. The jazz was what one would expect it to be. It was funky and slightly challenging, the sounds one would expect if they went to a decent jazz club on any night. There was no music from young artists like Nubya Garcia or Theo Croker, who are merging different strains of (primarily Black) music into the jazz framework. This isn’t a bad thing, but it is clear that this was jazz meant for the largest audience possible. It is music that would not offend the inn’s high-net-worth clientele. Again, the class components of background music present themselves again.

These are thrown into a strange juxtaposition when considering the other space where I considered the relationship between music, class, and capitalism: luxury fashion boutiques. On this trip, we visited two stores: Rick Owens and Maison Margiela. The first one we went to was Rick Owens. After waiting outside of the boutique to be granted entry (they did give us glass bottles of Evian for our wait), the first thing that you notice in the store is the half-torso of Rick Owens lording over the store. (It was shirtless, for the record.) The second thing is the goth/industrial rave music playing over the speakers. This music matched the aesthetic of Ric Owens extremely well. It’s intense and dark. It has energy and frees the body and spirit. It is also a lot of leather, distressed denim, and metal as well as only in greyscale. The combination of the clothes and the music made it clear what Rick Owens was selling, and it is working; Rick Owens is a popular designer whose influence in the fashion world is massive. I was legitimately impressed that within thirty seconds of standing in the boutique that I completely understood what Rick Owens was about, and I can’t say that about a lot of different brands. Was it what I wanted? Not really. A little too intense for my taste, and I like pastels too much. But, I did respect the hustle.

I had the same experience when I set foot in the Margiela boutique. After we were let in, we came into a basement space, surrounded by exquisitely presented goods. The salespeople were dressed in white lab coats, symbolizing the playful, experimental aesthetic of Maison Margiela, where it is de rigueur to take disparate ideas and various materials and recycle them into something new, interesting, and timeless. The music playing in the boutique matched these ideas as it was from Italians Do It Better, the cult label run by Johnny Jewel. The IDIB aesthetic is both future and retro, sampling various genres of music and reconstituting them into something that is new and relentlessly cool. Hearing something like Glass Candy or “Looking for Love” in this space makes perfect sense, because they share a similar vision toward art. It was yet another example of a brand understanding how to present its aesthetic to its clientele. And that vibe appealed to me as a consumer.

So far, these locations having music isn’t particularly strange. You expect to hear music when shopping for clothes, traveling in a car, or riding in a hotel elevator. The one place where I didn’t hear music was at the restaurant, the place where I always hear music in the United States. We ate many meals in France, and the only time I heard music was at a pizza place that played the most Italian music possible. In restaurants, music helps to establish the mood for the room and provide an extra sensory element to the dining experience. As shown through the story of Ryuichi Sakamoto making a playlist for a favorite restaurant, music can make or break a meal. However, having no background music forced me to consider the dining experience anew.

This lack of music was not isolated to white table linen, Michelin-starred establishments, places where one might not naturally expect music. We did have meals at those types of restaurants, but we also ate at a hole-in-the-wall noodle place, a bistro, and a small Vietnamese restaurant, and in all of those places, there was no music playing. The first reaction was that it was kind of pleasant. While it would have been nice to have the music, it was also very pleasant to actually talk with my partner over the meal and actually hear her. As well, Paris tends to be a rather loud city. With the people talking in the streets, the sirens, the buskers, and the cars, there is always noise of some sort around you. It is nice to retreat into the quiet space of the restaurant. It provides a sanctuary and allows you to decompress with a quality meal. As someone who can get stressed out dealing with that many people all of the time, the quiet was greatly appreciated.

Furthermore, the lack of music highlighted the fine details of the dining experience. For example, in those Michelin-starred restaurants, you noticed the high amounts of technique and thought that went into the food. When a plate was presented to you, it was all that you had to consider. You studied the presentation as you listened to the server outline what was being presented. When you ate the dish, you focused only on its elements and taste. The silence allowed you devote all of your attention to the food in a truly mindful way. It made each bite hit a little harder than it otherwise would have. In addition, in such a quiet environment, you quickly notice the finesse of the service. There are so many servers, but you rarely see them. Often, they swoop in out of nowhere, refilling your beverages and bread and anticipating your needs before you know them yourself. It’s honestly remarkable to see in action, and it will make almost every other server you experience seem like a slacker. (For the record, I know that most servers are out there busting their asses. I see them and tip accordingly.)

Unlike with the smaller establishments, the lack of music plays into the brand of the high-end establishments by turning the space of the restaurant in a hallowed ground. Every step and bite within them feels like a form of reverence. Eating at Michelin-starred restaurants is, for the overwhelming majority of people, a once-in-a-lifetime experience. The lack of music feels like a way to respect how special the experience is. Diners can focus on the magical plates that are presented to them, plates that brim with intelligence, wit, and immaculate technique. In addition, diners can talk with their companions about the meal and enjoy their company while having this unique experience. In many situations, a lack can feel like something is missing. In the restaurant, no matter if it is the highest end or a hole in the wall, the lack of music can actually add in unexpected, profound ways to the overall experience.

With that, I thank you for sticking with the newsletter. As always, if you know someone who wants to be up on the new music or generally learn something, tell them to subscribe. I’ll be back to a regular posting schedule next week. I’ve listened to some cool shit recently, and I want to talk about it in the Spins. I’m also currently working through these lost Springsteen albums that were just released on Friday. I will probably spend my long post next week diving into these eight albums and considering how they fit within his larger project. So, with the world going to hell swiftly, please take care of yourselves and each others. I’ll be back again soon.