l'éclat de nuit et le brigand

«Puzzle», 2007

Four years ago it was in December, I clearly remember, the baron’s train arrival at the Gare Matabiau. With a spirit akin to Mahler’s or Poe’s, he stole his way into the heart of the Ville Rose. An ivory cane to fend off the gloom he retained, and to repose his young and restless mind; but a sparkle there glinted, or at least there hinted, in the shadows of his grey-green eye. And he strolled at leisure under festivity’s pleasures, without once ever heaving a sigh. But twilight then fell, and under its spell, notes of jazz and java combined. He fashioned a sonnet and toasted upon it, with cinnamon-and-nutmeg-spiced wine. In the glow of December’s Christmas splendor, I tasted my first mulled wine…

And now, as the night was senescent
And star-dials pointed to morn —
As the star-dials hinted of morn —
At the end of our path a liquescent
And nebulous lustre was born,*

And in the crystalline light, I did not tarry to uncover, that among the bright-eyed baron’s arts, he was fond most of robbing young girls’ hearts.


* Excerpt from Ulalume by Edgar Allan Poe

a recipe for glühwein aka vin chaud aka mulled wine

Bei mir bist du schön

I discovered Waldeck some time ago while searching for a tango nuevo-adapted piece called "Addicted to you." Since then, the copyright lawyer-turned Viennese DJ and his Ballroom Stories album has been on my favorite dance numbers list.

The mélange of hip-hop, jazz, electro with retro dance variété cannot fail to mesmerize.
Pour moi, tu es belle!

L'Idée d'Europe

A voyage to the north this weekend, to the city of one of the founding fathers of Europe...

Milonga on the rails

In the lonely outskirts west of the city, overlooking the rails to Frankfurt, lies a former train depot, covered in ivy. To reach it from the town center, one passes many a nondescript warehouse, many a faded or peeling sign, many a billboard plastered with articles one doesn’t need.

If one were to take the train to the north via Darmstadt on a blue Sunday evening, one perchance might be surprised by a glimpse of lights dancing from glasses, bottles and chandeliers in this same brick depot, and by the shadows of pairs in close embrace. One might even be struck by the notes of red on the walls, without realizing that they are the blooms of amaryllis perched on the windowsill.

One would watch the scene as in a silent film, oblivious to the notes of the bandoneon or the voice of Carlos Gardel, from that train to Frankfurt or Cologne. Inside the depot, the dancing pairs would feel a slight tremor of the passing locomotion, and those waiting at the bar might glance through the windowpanes and meet the fading eyes of a passenger peering curiously out into the night.

Welcome to Weststadt Bar, on special Sunday evenings, when a train depot transforms into a ballroom, and a milonga brings cars from Wiesbaden, Heidelberg, Mannheim, Frankfurt, Aschaffenburg, to such a forlorn part of Darmstadt. What is it that makes people drive hundreds of kilometers for a tango?

«Un ilôt de beauté parmi les décombres» (An island of beauty among the ruins), 2011 (watercolor and digital collage)

Listen to Anibal Troilo and Alberto Marino's Milonga Triste, 1946 version