Hello, here’s the blogger again. Long time no see 🙂 . I want to share my impressions on the first Munich Again Thursday yesterday, not from the booker’s point of view, but from the Emilie that watches the Munich Scene from afar, the Emilie that feels a lot of love for the artists that give her healing energy and the audiences that take the time to really listen to them.
Continue reading “The opening night from the blogger’s point of view”
The overwhelming notion of time slipping through my fingers is gone. Time goes with a slower pace than ever before. Coffee tastes stronger, beer tastes sweeter, and conversations sink into my brain a little deeper.
No more deadline of going back, no more guilt about missing something out (well, there’s always a little guilt left but it comes out of respect and not out of the fear of not being at the right place at the right time).
Continue reading “The (quite literal) point of no return”
The link between cities, universes. My universes. Munich meets Montreal, at long last! The last days before Pollyester comes to Montreal fly by at alarming speed as the POP Montreal staff is finalizing the last details before the opening party.
Continue reading “The Bridge”
I’ve been back for a week, already, but not quite completely. What I thought was going to be holidays became a intense race against time : let’s make as many things as possible happen before I leave. A sleepless weekend programming the Sausage Productions identities before the Manuela launch. The most intense two weeks I’ve had in a while for the organization of Peace and Noise and the amok aftermath (did you get a Post-Postrutsche-Postpartum too?). Meetings and dinners and evenings and concerts, all so lovely and beautiful. Another couple of nights past closing time at this certain bar…
Continue reading “An imaginary evening (or Chapter 3’s ending)”
Switching from Montréal Mode to Munich Mode is like turning the page to a new chapter, every time. The gesture is increasingly smoother as it engraves itself in muscles’ memory. Three times now. Three chapters that start in the unknown, with loved protagonists and cityscapes as anchors for an ongoing tale of music, passion and freedom.
Continue reading “Emilie in Munich, Chapter Three”
Dear friend, dear artist, dear Munich Scene,
Emotions are high, right now. Heartache and love and wanting to enjoy every last minute with you make me feverish, shaky and a little manic. I already miss you, so much. Continue reading “A love letter”
A train ride. A gig in Linz. A tour bus ride. A gig in Vienna. A day in Vienna. Another gig in Vienna. A night of dancing. A car ride back to Munich again.
When put like this, it seems pretty ordinary, the life on tour is pretty minimalist : travel, look for something to eat, perform / set up / do whatever your job is, drink a lot along the way. But life on tour is also about discovering or rediscovering cities and venues, meeting old friends scattered all over the world and making new ones, and enjoying this lovely feeling of being right here right now, somewhere else with other faces, for the sole purpose of sharing your art.
Continue reading “On Tour”
Let me tell you a story. The story of a fangirl living the dream. It’s a tale of diving head first into opportunities, a tale of shared passion for music, a tale of love fusing from all sides.
In this story, this fangirl left her fingerprints all over the musical stories of a city. Somewhere, in the last year, Emilie-the-crazy-girl-from-Canada, Emilie-from-munichagain, became part of the Munich Scene that she wrote so much about.
Continue reading “Peace and Noise and a new chapter of the story”
I have not written anything in two weeks. And no, it’s not because things were not interesting, far from it. The last days at the Praxis, the crazy parties all around, Die Lore at MajMusicalMonday, Christmas, and Imagine Peace, the glorious Rote Sonne evening with LeRoy+Band and Pollyester, yesterday.
Continue reading “(Trying to) Put an end to the Schreibblockade”
I don’t take a lot of pictures. It’s hard to portray the smell of dead leaves finding its way back into the city’s perfume after many days of the overpowering smell of sunlight. To portray the way the lukewarm breeze hits the trembling muscles of my thighs from such a long stroll by the Isar. To portray the vibrant palette of the landscape before me as I sit on a very carefully chosen tree trunk.
Continue reading “The raven hour”