You claim that we are currently in Paris, France. You’ve been pointing at that river and calling it “the Seine” for hours. You keep waving that croissant in my face like it’s proof. You dragged me somewhere to watch a bunch of people driving around in a massive circle and said, “Look! Look! It’s the Arc de Triomphe! Now will you believe we’re in Paris?!”
I’ve just got one question for you, my friend: If this is Paris, where are the accordions?
Everybody knows that Paris and accordion music go together like baguettes and butter, cheese and wine, waiters and rudeness. I’ve watched Ratatouille a hundred times, and if that movie has taught me anything, it’s that you’re not in Paris unless you can hear the melodious honk of a concertina somewhere nearby. That, and rats make amazing chefs.
But am I hearing the sweet, sweet sound of a concertina right now? No. I am not.
Stop pointing at the Eiffel Tower. That could be anywhere. Texas has an Eiffel Tower. Las Vegas has an Eiffel Tower. Hell, Epcot has an Eiffel Tower. But do any of these places have accordions? No, sir. I refuse to believe I’m in the “City of Light” unless I start hearing something right this minute that sounds like Ethel Merman on helium.
You said you wanted to take me to Paris because it’s the most romantic city on earth. Well, if Paris is the most romantic city on earth, it’s because of accordions. Accordions are pure passion—that’s why they sound like a drunken organ after an unhappy love affair. When Parisian lovers whisper sweet nothings to one another, those sweet nothings are whispered to the accompanying squeal of a stomach Steinway.
When Humphrey Bogart told that crying chick in Casablanca that, “We’ll always have Paris,” he was clearly talking about accordions.
I don’t care if the guidebook says that the national instrument of France is a fiddle. All that tells me is that the French are getting French-ness wrong. La Vie en Rose, my ass. Accordions are French-er than any fiddle. They’re French-er than a goddamn French horn. The French national anthem was originally nothing more than accordion music, but then the people filming Casablanca insisted on something with lyrics that could be sung in a café full of Nazis. The only reason the motto of France isn’t “Liberté, Égalité, Accordions” is because they wanted it to rhyme.
Some dude once said, “Going to war without France is like going deer hunting without an accordion. You just leave a lot of useless noisy baggage behind.” First of all: how dare he. Second, he clearly said that because accordions are France, and France is accordions. Also, I’m sure you’ll agree that accordions would improve both hunting and war by a thousand percent.
Next you’re going to tell me that Irish people don’t wear green every day.
Stop telling me to calm down—I am not overreacting. I demand to speak to whoever is in charge of the local soundscape. The total lack of squeezebox is wreaking havoc with the ambiance. And don’t tell me to go back and ask that fellow behind the counter at the boulangerie if I’m in Paris. I did ask him, but he just made a rude gesture, muttered something that sounded like “imbécile,” and went on strike. That’s not helpful to anybody.
Do these people have no pride in their musical heritage? Did they overturn the monarchy for nothing? The accordion is their euphonious birthright! If ever there was a crime that called for the guillotine, it’s the total lack of accordion music I’m hearing right now.
I guess what I’m saying is: if you ever take me to Scotland, there damn well better be bagpipes.