Of The Aznavour Farewell Tour And The Cool Universe

Charles Aznavour, the "French Frank Sinatra," was discovered by the great Edith Piaf many years ago. The "Sparrow" went to that great cabaret in the sky in 1963, but Aznavour continues to do his thing. Last Sunday I was perusing the Boston Globe when I found an advertisement for "Charles Aznavour's Farewell World Tour" performance, which is to take place here in Boston at the newly refurbished Opera House. Oh, fuck, would I love to be there on September 21 when Frenchie takes the stage. Partly because I admire the man, but it would also be pretty wild to sit and listen to the man who chilled with Edith. She exists in a sort of alternate universe in my mind, along with Frodo, Luke Skywalker and Burt Lancaster. While I do recognize that people like Edith Piaf and Burt Lancaster actually did exist, it seems rather hard to believe. How could a world this square produce people as cool as that? Along with Humphrey Bogart, Peter Lorre, Sydney Greenstreet, Katherine Hepburn, and Ingrid Bergman...just to name a few. Senator Rick Santorum (PA) and Larry the Cable Guy breathe the same air that they did? They are all carbon based life-forms? Damned Hard to believe.

But I reconciled with that reality long ago. And now I have a chance to experience a truly somptueux, doué romantique enfant de dieux. Unfortunately, the price for this opportunity is $305 per ticket. Since I'm what the French call, "extrêmement pauvre." Edith Piaf sang about the poor Paris versions of me in La Goualante De Pauvre Jean. If I were inclined to be crass, I would say that I haven't a pot to piss in, nor a window to throw it out.

Even if I did, spending $305 to see anyone sing feels a bit ostentatious, French or not. But it still feels good to know that Aznavour is floating around the world, breathing the same air as our douchebag president and counter-balancing the evil of Ann Coulter.

I'd like to take a moment to thank Adam Sulkowski and Mikhail Zeldovich for introducing me to the magic of Edith Piaf, and Charles Aznavour by extension. Back then, Adam, Mikhail and I weren't above getting into a food fight at 3am with hummus and flat-bread. Adam is a business professor now, and Mikhail is a big-time attorney in London. I'm insane and like to complain about politics and pet my kitties. So I'm guessing they are too dignified for a food fight after an evening of drinking Russian vodka, but I'm not. For some reason, they broke out the Piaf that night and I was enchanted.

Oh, my beautiful torch singer, how le monde misses you! But it's good to see your protege, Aznavour, still walking the Earth...even if he is asking for $305 fucking dollars for a ticket. Jeez.