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Snowboarders have been listening to their MP3 players for years as they carve down virgin powder slopes and half pipes but surfers being surfers and water being water its taken somewhat longer for wave riders to catch on to the potential of listening to their favourite music during a session. Recently however, that has started to change with the release of the DryPod, an i-Pod compatible waterproof case and headphone set which allows surfers to listen to their favourite tunes whilst out on the break. Another company that has been keen to produce something surf friendly is Freestyle Audio who have created the Freestyle Audio Digital Media player and enlisted Billabong team rider and former world champion Andy Irons to promote it. Whether these devices catch on; surfers being notoriously cheap when it comes to spending money on non essential items (wetsuits, plane tickets, boards and hoodies excluded) is another matter.

Perhaps, these devices will only appeal to the Wilbur Kookmeyers amongst the surfing community. Who knows ?

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A comment ("...back in the days when it meant something to him...") left by the reader 'Wazza' on my first blog entry has got me thinking. It was in reference to Robbie Williams and seemed to suggest that Williams' heart is no longer in his music, that somehow he'd lost his muse. Williams' rise was certainly a dramatic one - from making it massive by proving his old mates wrong, by having 250,000 people chant his name. Maybe now Williams is suffering from the Rules of being a Celebrity in the Modern Age that dictate that he cannot stay on a pedestal that high. He has to fall. Maybe that fall has everything to do with his manic depressive nature but, personally, Williams has, in recent years, become a much more interesting artist (though both Williams' record company and would probably disagree based on the quite dismal performance of his 2006 release, Rudebox). It seems to me that the music now means more to Williams than his audience.

"...back in the days when it meant something...". Another interpretation of Wazza's comment applies to the quite extraordinary number of 40+ year old rock stars who are returning to their old stomping grounds in the hope of rejuvenating both their lives and their music. The Who's Endless Wire was a tired rehash of Tommy except the main protaganist wasn't a deaf, dumb and blind boy but Townsend himself explaining away his rather unusual websurfing activities. The beauty of the Stooges was that their thrillingly ugly slabs of sound raged against their perceived lack of respect. Now their first release in over 30 years, the Weirdness,  sounds cleansed, anodyne and should never have been allowed to happen.

The Pixies have reformed. The Police are reforming... and are guaranteed to make huge amounts of money from their impending world tour. Indeed Pixies legend Black Francis has clearly stated that he is in this game for the filthy lucre (and let's not even talk about that Sex Pistol's reunion embarrassment). Does the music still mean something to them?

Not that this drive to recreate the glory years can be a totally negative thing.... The elder statesman of literate Aussie rock, Nick Cave, has regressed on his latest release, Grinderman, to the clanking, discordant days of the Birthday Party. And rather thrilling it is too with its dirty laughs (No Pussy Blues) and garage beats. Indeed the original press release for the band describes them rather perfectly - "Foul-mouthed, noisy, hairy, and damn well old enough to know better."

Grinderman stands out because, whilst it is a nod to the past, it doesn't pander to the past. Cave is 50 years old this year and he sounds it. But you can hear his heart is still in it. And he kinda sounds like the Stooges...

There are some bands that I would love to see reform, for purely selfish reasons of course. REM (the original Bill Berry lineup), the Band, Midnight Oil. Any other suggestions? 

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"Two waves diverged in the ocean, and I,
I rode the one less surfed,
And that has made all the difference"

Robert 'Waimea' Frost 

Ok, I am being cheeky but I have never been that gone on roads. Suffice to say that I am just back from a surfari in a seldom surfed part of Spain which most surfers would say is not worth a visit. More fool them because from beginning to end it was an exquisite experience.

There are trips where nothing goes right, my surfari to Portugal last October being one such example, and there are trips where nothing goes wrong, as if God himself was your route planner. The first inkling that we were on to a winner was when we were in Arrivals and this dude comes up to me and says, “Hey, you guys are surfers right, listen I am a surfer too, lets exchange numbers and I’ll show you around”. It turns out he was in the US Navy, had served two tours in Iraq as a paramedic stitching up the wounded in theatre and as a reward was now living in Spain. He was also as good as his word, staying in contact with us all week, bringing us to ‘locals only’ spots off the beaten track, taking us on a sherry crawl (Muscatel Pasa, it’s the best) and regaling us with stories such as the time his upper lip was cut in two by a glass wielding thug in a bar and how he calmly talked his way past the bouncers holding him aside, knocked the guy out and then went home to stitch up his mouth with Superglue, which he informed us had been developed by the US Military to cope with war wounds. He also gave us a cast iron way to deal with heavy locals at breaks you want to surf; just paddle into the middle of them with a six pack of high quality beer on the deck of your board and hand them out whilst asking how many of the surfers in the water were actually locals, all the time keeping a big smile on your face.

Probably the highlight of the trip surf wise was when I got up at 7:30am one morning and strolled to the nearest break ten minutes away only to discover beautiful, empty, green, glassy waves. I rushed back, woke up one of my compadres and, realising we didn’t have the ticket to the car park where our rental car was stashed (it was with the guys in another hostel who were asleep and had their phones off) but did have the key itself, we decided to simply change in the car park and then walk across the town in our wetsuits with our boards under our arms, past amazed locals, to the break which we surfed alone for two perfect hours before getting out and, dripping wet, walking back past more amazed local cops and tourists to the car park and an incredulous security guard. I think we even whistled the theme to, “The Good, The Bad and the Ugly”, as we strode. Sweet as. When our other mates picked up the many messages we had sent in a futile attempt to dial them in on the action, they were both gutted and surprised as I am not known for going on dawn patrol. To be honest, I don’t do mornings…ever.

When we were not surfing we were enjoying the wonderful tapas, the crisp cervesa, the incredible warmth and hospitality of the gaditanos, the constant sunshine which produces a magical, luminous quality of light and the sight of endless numbers of beautiful Spanish Senoritas (very gorgeous but also very Catholic). All of this was sound tracked to Van Morrison’s ‘Astral Weeks’, an album of rare genius that I had the deep satisfaction to introduce to my circle of friends when we were in our teens; I think one of my musician pals even blurted out, “Astral Whats?” at the time, a lapse that he has never lived down. I tell you one thing, there is nothing like sitting on a warm sandy beach somewhere distant, after a surf, watching the sun go down as the local honeys catch the last rays of the day in front of you, with ‘Sweet Thing’ playing on the earphones, mixed in with the sound of waves breaking on the shore. It’s what Brian Wilson used to write about. Simply sublime.

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Having loved their latest album "Wincing The Night Away", we went to see The Shins live at the Elysee Montmartre last Sunday night. It was fairly boring, a big disappointment.

In truth, I should have expected as much when lead singer James Mercer came on stage - short hair, trimmed beard and shirt-and-tie set making him look like Babydaddy's brother in the civil service. Finicky retuning between every song, almost no interaction with the audience (it was his lackeys - sorry, bandmates - who fulfilled that obligation) - in short, the image of a humourless muso completely at variance with the joyous, romantic impression his lyrics and melodies give.

The concert opened with the first four songs off the album, in the same order and reproduced note-for-note - always a sign of overseriousness at work. The huge crowd (about a thousand people, I guess) seemed fairly sedate from where I was standing - only a rockin' encore cover of 'Girlfriend' by Jonathan Richman and the Modern Lovers brought people to life i.e. a bit of jumping and excitement.

But then, Richman is a master live performer who writes all his songs with a view to entertaining a concert audience. By contrast, The Shins seemed to think they were playing in the Louvre and we would just watch in reverential awe. Only guitarist Dave Hernandez seemed to get into the rock n'roll spirit - pulling rawk poses, talking to the crowd and (best of all) chopping out some killer riffs. I'd like to see HIS band if he ever has one.

And it was all over at 10pm! Now I know there are curfews in some Paris venues but it didn't help dispel the final verdict of a thoroughly boring night out. So out we spilled onto Pigalle, the seediest street in Paris, like leaving midnight mass in Temple Bar.

The concert was filmed for eventual DVD release - probably with the title "Yawning The Early Evening Away". Get the album; leave the tickets.

Anyway, you can judge for yourself - here's 'New Slang' (the song that Natalie Portman in the film 'Garden State' says will change your life) live from the Elysee Montmartre last Sunday:

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Very impressive show by Nina Hynes at the Flèche d'Or in Paris last night, performing tracks from her new album 'Really Really Do' (featuring her backing band The Husbands). You can read a full review in the CLUAS gig review section.

Despite recurring technical problems, the songs sounded great - catchy, dreamy pop songs along the lines of Saint Etienne and Goldfrapp. The album promises to be one of the best Irish releases of the year.

Having surmounted the sound problems during the show, afterwards she was well able to deal politely with your blogger interrupting her while she was chatting with a former collaborator of hers - none other than Hector Zazou, the esteemed French electronica producer most famous for his 1995 album 'Songs From The Cold Seas'.  In fact, Nina is a former Paris resident herself, having spent several summers here in her late teens.

Now based in Berlin, Nina's in the middle of a short jaunt around Europe, taking in all the major rock capitals: Berlin, Paris and next stop The Stables in Mullingar on Sunday 8 April, followed by shows in Dublin (13 April at The Sugar Club) and Cyprus Avenue in Cork on 1 May.

Check out Nina's new material, tour dates and snazzy white outfits at www.ninahynes.com or www.myspace.com/ninahynesandthehusbands

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Back in 1999 when I started CLUAS the most visible music website in Ireland was www.muse.ie. At that time it was run by Eircom's digital publishing division (christened with a - of course - cooler than thou name: 'Rondomondo').

Remember, this was the time before the dot com bubble burst and those working for this new interweb thing were going to become masters of the universe. Or something like that. Ronodomondo somehow persuaded some moneyed (but gullible) people to hand over loadsa dosh to help them get a place on the frontline of this, er, new world order. Rumour has it that the Rondomondo boyz'n'gals then - holy Batman - splashed a good wad of it on flash offices and even flashier dot com furniture, all necessary for the cause of course).

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Nina Hynes and her band The Husbands are playing in Paris on Monday 2 April at La Flèche d'Or, for many reasons the best live music venue in the city.

First of all, it's free - and unlike other 'free' music bars in Paris you're not constantly being harrassed by aggressive floorstaff into continually buying an overpriced 'consommation', the obligatory drink often imposed instead of a cover charge (for this reason, stay well away from the Guinness Tavern near Les Halles, no matter how much the guidebooks rave about its great live bands). In other words, you can just come for the music. The staff are chilled out and friendly - even the doormen.

Secondly, the music is usually great - three or four young, up-and coming bands from France or elsewhere before a DJ comes on at midnight. The current Paris fad is for Franz Ferdidand-like art-school indieness, sung in English - but there's room for punk, guitar pop, techno and even Balkan and Turkish folk music (courtesy of a recent show by French actor Tcheky Karyo). Walking up without checking who's playing is a no-risk way to have a good night out.

And the venue itself is impressive. A former train station, it's large and spacious, with room to move and breath. But be warned - no doubt for an authentic rock n'roll experience, the toilet (singular and unisex, like in most old French bars) is of 'Trainspotting' quality.

La Flèche d'Or is in the 20th arrondissement (not far from Père Lachaise, all you Doors fans!), a direct metro ride from Montmartre on line 2, and there are some really great little bars and restaurants in the vicinity. Our own favourite is the Bar de la Reunion just down the street, where the pool table is red and the walls are covered in photos and texts of Spanish and North African poets.

If you like live music and you find yourself in Paris some night, here's where you should go.

* More info (for punters and bands) is available at www.flechedor.fr or www.myspace.com/flechedor

Contact this blog with discretion by email at frenchletter(at)cluas(dot)com

Check out Aidan's previous articles in the French Letter archive

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