Colin Randall writes: 'When you go on your summer vacation/ You go to Juan-les-Pins.' I could swear Peter Sarstedt, in his 60s hit Where Do You Go to My Lovely?, sang Juan-la-Pins and that lyric transcriptions have simply been kind to him. And. sadly, he is not still with us to settle the argument. No matter, I go there most years, if only for one night rather than a proper holiday, at the time of the French resort's renowned jazz festival …
Not much to with folk, you may be thinking. But in its 65 years of existence, the Juan-les-Pins Jazz Festival has attracted a fabulous parade of great singers and musicians. How about this for a list: Ray Charles for his first concert in Europe, Charlie Mingus, Miles Davis, Ella Fitzgerald (who famously contrived a duet with a chirping cicada), John Coltrane, Louis Armstrong, BB King, Dave Brubeck, Fats Waller, George Benson, Oscar Peterson, Pat Metheny, Sonny Rollins, Stéphane Grappelli, Stevie Wonder, Muddy Waters and Wynton Marsalis. I'll have left some out.
The inclusion of occasional blues artists gives some validation to the idea of devoting a page to the festival. But we're pretty open-minded around here and while predominantly concerned with folk, Salut! Live will always find room for music belonging to other genres.
That brings me to Ibrahim Maalouf, a Lebanese-born French trumpeter, pianist, composer (including film scores), arranger, producer and more. His Juan concert, Ibrahim Maalouf and the Trumpets of Michel-Ange, reproduced an album of that name, combining elements of jazz, the Middle East, Latin-American, Armenian influences and – the nearest I can get to folk – the big band sound of Bellowhead. I think I could get away with listing it as world music.
View from the Paupers' Gate
A charming tradition has evolved at the festival. For those cannot afford tickets, a stroll through the lush Pinède leads to an entrance to the arena called the Entrée Carré d'Or or golden gate. There, sitting on walls, benches and the grass, or just standing, the ticketless gather.
When Paul Anka performed three years ago, the gate was open for much of his show, closed only when a jobsworth took umbrage at the sight of a non-paying little crowd enjoying a clear if distant view. This year, the gate remained firmly closed throughout but standing on tiptoes, or far enough back, and you could see quite a lot. And hear everything. As you'll gather, that is where I do my festival-going.
For Paul Anka, couples old enough to remember his hits first time round danced to his music, still compelling. Maalouf had everyone jigging along as they stood, so irresistibly uplifting was his music.
Near us, a man clambered far enough up a tree to position a camera trained above gate level on the stage. And when Maalouf concluded his set with a piece called Au Revoir, everyone our side of the gate joined everyone inside in singing the la-la-la lyric.
I would have liked to be inside. One day, I promise the organisers, I will buy tickets.
And back to the 60s:
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