We first met Jake Mckeown on our Australian stint this summer.
It was at one of the numerous gatherings at the house of filmmaker extraordinaire Max Zappas — one of the finest hosts of the South Coast we dare say. The fire in the backyard was warm, Cooper’s greens were on ice, and the likes of Trisomie 21 and The Pastels were being played whilst the sky above the Eucalyptus trees was turning pink. In between conversations taking place, our ear pricked when this lanky dude with the blondest haircut mentioned he would soon be heading to our ends in South West France.
As able on the nose of a single fin or under the ledge of a bombing slab as he is with his hands on a microphone in the late hours, Jake’s dedication to having a good time didn’t take long to charm us. Needless to say we spent many a days enjoying his company.
No longer than two weeks after our return and Jake rolls through at Wasted Talent Boutique — it was now our time to show him around. Witnessing foreigners first discovering the charms of the old world is always a fun sight, although Jake’s enthusiasm for all the little subtleties of France was something quite unique. As you can see, he’s taking french customs very seriously. That seriously that he already looks like he’s lived all his life in St-Paul-Les-Dax.
Despite Jake’s ability on the board, you have more chance of crossing paths with him book in hand, cigarette in the other, drinking a noisette and people watching at the most random café, rather than scratching for a wave in between the hordes of pros and wannabes at La Graviere. And to this we say bravo.
Photo: Patrick Murphy
Despite finding much joy in trying out all the low-shelf reds at Leclerc and biking around town in his béret, one of Jake’s favourite occupations has been digging into old European bands. After returning from his daily coffee the other morning, Jake started telling us about his affection to everything electronic piano related. Soon after, a 30+ song playlist entitled ‘Synthpathy’ was in our iMessage thread, and we knew it was too good to keep to ourselves.
We’ll leave it with some words of wisdom from the man, as well as a little poem he wrote the same morning, which should do justice to his obvious love for the calm moments that make European living unique.
“ I look beyond, to try to predict a moment in time. To capture this you must see before it comes. Like driving you must know a drivers next move before they have decided it for themselves. “
—
The bell rings, the cigarette smoke dances ; and as I sit in silence I can smell the romance.
I round the corner and she waits, the cigarette smoke dances and I pause. I can smell the romance. He walks with grace, floats like a feather and the only sound breaking the silence is the “tap tap” of his oak cane.
He sits, she smiles and the silence lifts as conversation hums to life as sweet as the smoothest choir. The foreign tongue entrances me and the songs floats through the empty streets like fog.
The bell rings, the cigarette smoke dances and as I sit in silence I can smell the romance.
France.
