Fists Buried in Pockets is one of my top five records of 2008 by one of my favorite new bands, The Riot Before. It also happens to be fantastic advice of what to do for unwitting tourists who seek to see where Amelie had sent Nino Quincampoix on a wild goose chase for his photobook. You see, at the base of the hill leading up to Basilique Du Sacre Coeur De Montmarte is a group of con men known as the String Mafia. They take a very innocent child activity of making friendship bracelets to a whole new level. If you're not careful and actually respond in some friendly manner, next thing you know you have some shitty colored string hopelessly attached to your wrist and some men intimidating you for ten euros for their so called work. Sorry dudes, you are way over valuing your "friendship" and it sure doesn't beat the offer I got tonight to make friendly with a nice brunette for five American dollars and you know how worthless the dollar is here.
Anyways, the night was brought to somewhat of a close with a bit of familiarity seeing Regina Spektor play in a foreign land. I think she kept her usual humorous banter down to a minimum due to the langage barrier. The last time I saw her at the Bowery Ballroom, I instantly fell in love with her live show and the way she interacted with the crowd. But a few thousand miles away in a much larger and hotter venue, she apologized for her terrible French as she wiped the sweat away from her face after every song. "Next time, lets meet at a pool." Ha, her show at McCarren Pool last summer was spoiled by the usual summer thunderstorms. Doubt that would be any better Regina.