Les Sans Culottes minus Robespierre


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I took the usual brigade out again this past weekend for yet another musical adventure–although, it being in Hell’s Kitchen vs. Bushwick I’m not sure that it truly counts as an adventure, perhaps more a routine mission of sorts? I mean, it did take us (including dear Rabidy) very much above 14 Street, something we tend to find quite taxing and generally upsetting.

We headed up to Bar Nine (9th Ave at 53rd), a comfy sort of place with a downtown vibe: lots of ratty couches, a stage literally in the middle of the length of the place, greasy bar food, a gypsy ATM, mildly scary restrooms, a regular bar at the front and a limited cash bar at the back. Clearly it’s a lot bigger than many of its downtown sisters, such as that delightful stand-by of yore: Johnson’s.

At any rate, after the success of our Bishop Allen outing I decided to look up other New York based bands who might have random local shows coming up for less of a price tag than say, Vampire Weekend. And lo’. Les Sans Culottes delivered. They’re a French language band based out of Brooklyn (so no they’re not actually French) that just sort of revels in the fun of 1960s French pop with such songs as “Deux Boules de Glace,” “Jeux Vélo” and “Téléphone Douche.” We had a table in the ill-designed back of the bar, so we only scooted up front for a few songs and after each Rabidy fulfilled a never-ending quest to irritate me by sprinkling his applause with French superlatives. He also apparently had a bathroom exchange with the bass player who couldn’t work the paper towel dispenser… but I digress.

We ended the night by allowing Rabidy to drag us through Times Square (the mistake of a LIFETIME), where he proceeded to shout at people in French and indulge in photo bombing (apparently also a preferred pastime of Michael Cera/I’ve been watching way too much late night television, must stop). He also paused to pose in the “Joe” chair on the pedestrian walk… sigh.

To sum it up: great fun, and they’re playing again on February 5th at my favorite Williamsburg burger/pub destination: Spike Hill. I suggest you head on over for fun times indeed.

And to close on a sidenote: I clearly enjoy the existence of Les Sans Culottes because of my deep love and fascination for their namesakes of the French Revolution, in which I am–in fact– an expert with a degree to prove it. So there.

Up next… Marie Antoinette? Maybe. May. Be.

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