Biot is an ancient walled town overlooking the Mediterranean. The villa was surrounded by jungle-like gardens, an ideal place to ensure privacy. Explore our Rolling Stones Artist Page. The band did what was necessary, and I am thrilled they kept making music. I get such a great feeling inside when I hear them play. Thank you for sharing your legacy!
The Rolling Stones!! Just a little mistake. He spent here several years with his wife and son, sometimes with Mick and Keith. We think he bought the farm in Ales later, according to Bill Wyman. Keith went to Cap Ferrat, up the coast towards Monte Carlo.
The Rolling Stones
Mick was in Biot, which is near Antibes. Ales is not very far from Arles 50km you need to confusion between the two names. I never heard that Charlie Watts had a house near Arles. Am I as arrogant as all the french people seem to be to all of you? Un gars sympa… Hardly arrogant. Simply telling it like it is. Brown Sugar Sway Wild Horses Can't You Hear Me Knocking You Gotta Move Bitch I Got The Blues Sister Morphine Dead Flowers Moonlight Mile More Hot Rocks It's All Over Now Jumping Jack Flash Out Of Time Get Off Of My Cloud Honky Tonk Women Child Of The Moon What To Do Fortune Teller Poison Ivy Come On Money Bye Bye Johnny I Can't Be Satisfied Rocks Off Rip This Joint Shake Your Hips Casino Boogie Tumblin' Dice Sweet Virginia Torn And Frayed Sweet Black Angel Loving Cup Happy Turn On The Run Ventilator Blues Let It Loose All Down The Line Stop Breaking Down Shine A Light Soul Survivor Goat's Head Soup Dancing With Mr.
Coming Down Again Doo Doo Doo Doo Doo heartbreaker Angie Silver Train Hide Your Love Winter Can You Hear The Music If You Can't Rock Me Ain't Too Proud To Beg It's Only Rock 'n Roll Till The Next Goodbye Time Waits For No One Luxury Dance Little Sister Short And Curlies Fingerprint File Black And Blue Hot stuff Memory Motel Fool To Cry Some Girls Far Away Eyes Some Girls Before They Make Me Run Beast Of Burden Shattered Emotional Rescue Emotional Rescue She's So Cold Tattoo You Start Me Up Hang Five M.
Richards Worried About You Tops No Use In Crying The most startling feature of the presidential poll, however, lay neither in the gross miscalculation of the PS, nor in the fact that Le Pen overtook Jospin.
There was actually no net increase in the combined vote of the far right at all, compared with The salient reality was the depth of popular antipathy to the political establishment as a whole. Far larger than the vote for any of the contestants was the number of abstentions and blank or invalid ballots — nearly 31 per cent. Another In all, nearly two out of three French voters rejected the stale menu of the consensus presented to them. Establishment reaction was unanimous. What mattered was one, apocalyptic fact.
The media were flooded with editorials, articles, broadcasts, appeals explaining to the French that they faced the brown peril and must now rally as one to Chirac, if the Republic was to be saved. Chirac — afraid he would be worsted in any argument with Le Pen, who would be sure to embarrass him by recounting past secret tractations between them — declined any television debate, and knowing the result was a foregone conclusion, scarcely bothered to campaign.
The second round duly gave him a majority of 82 per cent, worthy of a Mexican president in the heyday of the PRI. On the Left Bank, his vote reached virtually Albanian heights. The media switched in the space of 15 days from the hysterical to the ecstatic. The honour of France had been magnificently restored. After an incomparable demonstration of civic responsibility, the president could now set to work with a new sense of moral purpose, and the country hold its head high in the world again.
On this occasion tragedy repeated itself as farce, since there was not even a trace of an emergency to warrant the consecration of Chirac. In the first round of the elections, the combined poll of the right was already 75 per cent higher than that of the FN and its split-off — a difference of more than four million votes. At the same time the lack of any major contrast in the ideas and policies of Chirac and Jospin made it clear that many who had voted for the latter would anyway switch to the former in the second round.
There was never the faintest chance of Le Pen winning the presidency. The frantic calls from the left to rally behind Chirac were entirely supernumerary, merely serving to ensure that it was crushed in the legislative elections in June, when as a reward for its self-abasement the right took the National Assembly with the largest majority in the history of the Fifth Republic, and Chirac acquired a plenitude of power he had never enjoyed before.
Under the Fifth Republic, the French have increasingly resisted collective organisation.
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Today fewer than 2 per cent of the electorate are members of any political party, far the lowest figure in the EU. More striking still is the extraordinarily low rate of unionisation. Only 7 per cent of the workforce are members of trade unions, well below even the United States, where the comparable figure still falling is 11 per cent; let alone Austria or Sweden, where trade unions still account for between two-thirds and fourth-fifths of the employed population.
The tiny size of industrial and political organisations speaks, undoubtedly, of deep-rooted individualist traits in French culture and society, widely remarked on by natives and foreigners alike: sturdier in many ways than their more celebrated American counterparts, because less subject to the pressures of moral conformity. The French aversion to conventional forms of civic association does not necessarily mean privatisation, however. On the contrary, the paradox of this political culture is that the very low indices of permanent organisation coexist with exceptional propensities for spontaneous combustion.
Again and again, formidable popular mobilisations can quite suddenly materialise out of nowhere.
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The great revolt of May-June , still far the largest and most impressive demonstration of collective agency in postwar European history, is the emblematic modern example, that no subsequent ruler of France has forgotten. The streets have repeatedly defied and checked governments since.
In , Mauroy fell from office after his attempt to curb private education unleashed a massive confessional mobilisation in defence of religious schools — half a million rallying in Versailles, a million pouring onto the boulevards of Paris. His government never recovered. Within little more than a year, he too was out of power. Aware that such social tornadoes can twist towards them out of a clear sky, governments have learned to be cautious.
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Signs of this characteristic duality, the coexistence of civil atomisation and popular inflammability, can be found in the deep structures of much French thought. But the most distinctive effect of the problem they pose has been to produce a line of thinkers for whom the social bond is basically always created by faith rather than reason or volition. The derision into which the Cult of the Supreme Being fell after the overthrow of the Jacobins did not discredit the theme, which underwent a series of conservative metamorphoses in the 19th century.
Comte conceived the mission of positivism as the establishment of a Religion of Humanity that would anneal the social divisions tearing the world of the Industrial Revolution apart. Cournot argued that no rational construction of sovereignty was ever possible, political systems always resting in the last resort on faith or force. In some ways most radically of all, Durkheim reversed the terms of the equation with his famous notion that religion is society projected to the stars. What all these thinkers rejected was the idea that society could ever be the outcome of a rational aggregation of the interests of individual actors.
The branch of the Enlightenment that produced the utilitarian tradition in England became a dead bough in post-Revolutionary France. No comparable way of looking at political life ever developed. Constant, whose assumptions came closest to it, remained a forgotten half-foreigner. In the late 20th century, this intellectual line has seen yet further avatars in the work of two of the most original thinkers of the left, at odds with every surrounding orthodoxy. In this version, set out in Critique de la raison politique , the theory sought to explain why nationalism, with its characteristic cults of the eternity of the nation and the immortality of its martyrs, was a more powerful historical force than the socialism for which Debray had once fought in Latin America.
Perhaps in self-absolution, Debray has since compromised himself by preparing the ground for the Franco-American coup in Haiti. But the establishment can scarcely count on him. Drawing on the work of the maverick legal philosopher Pierre Legendre, Supiot has renewed the idea that all significant belief-systems require a dogmatic foundation by focusing its beam sharply, to the discomfort of their devotees, on the two most cherished creeds of our time: the cults of the free market and of human rights.
Here too, the logic of the argument, in each case brilliantly executed, is ambiguous: demystifying, yet also in a sense underwriting each as the latest illustration of a universal rule, a necessity beyond reason, of human coexistence itself. A French habit of mind is at work here. The fact that the genealogy of such claims is so distinctively national does not in itself disqualify them: any general truth will have a local point of origin.
But the predicament they point to is an archetypally French one. If singular agents will not associate freely to shape or alter their condition, what is the pneuma that can unexpectedly transform them, from one day to the next, into a collective force capable of shaking society to its roots? For the guardians of the status quo, these are thoughts of the small hours, quickly dispelled in the sunlight of an exceptional morning in French history.
Much of the book, which ends with this peroration, is devoted to warning of the damage done to a healthy French selfunderstanding by critics like Debray or Bourdieu. In fact, the editor of Le Monde could have looked closer to home. The ebbing of the liberal tide in France has left a variety of unsettling objects on the beach. Enjoying a readership of some quarter of a million in France, Le Monde diplo has become an international institution, with over twenty print editions in local languages abroad, from Italy to Latin America, the Arab world to Korea, and a further twenty on the internet, including Russian, Japanese and Chinese: in all, an audience of one and half million.
No other contemporary French voice has this global reach. The journal, moreover, has not only been a counter-poison to the reigning wisdom, but an organiser as well. For any periodical, an organisational function exacts a price — typically, a reluctance to shock its readers, a failing of which the journal has not been free. Yet its animating role has been remarkable. Here, on an unfamiliar transnational stage, France resumed something of its historic place as vanguard land of the left, acting as the ignition for radical ideas and forces beyond its borders.
A similar interlocking of national and global effects can be found elsewhere in the gauche de la gauche that has emerged in the past decade. Yet if alter-globalisation has international heroes, the charismatic farmer who founded a Peasant Confederation at home and helped create Via Campesina at large, active from the Massif Central to Palestine and Rio Grande do Sul, is among them.
Characteristically, the French media put up with him as long as they could treat him as a piece of harmless folklore. Once he had the temerity to criticise Israel, it was another matter. The role of Pierre Bourdieu in these years belongs to the same constellation. They shared steep ascents from such backgrounds to elite positions in the academy, and then feelings of acute alienation within the oblivious worlds of the cumulard and the high table they had reached, that made each steadily more radical after they had won established reputations.
Even the typical complaints made of their prose — in the eyes of critics, sharpened by political hostility, a laboured, reiterative heaviness — were of a likeness. After induction into sociology in Algeria — it is striking how many leading French intellectuals were, in one way or another, marked by time in the colony: Braudel, Camus, Althusser, Derrida, Nora — Bourdieu developed work along two major lines, study of the mechanisms of inequity in education, and of stratification in culture. But in the last decade of his life, dismayed by what successive governments had done to the poor and the vulnerable, he turned to the fate of the losers in France, and the political and ideological systems that kept them there.
When it came, Bourdieu took the lead in mobilising intellectual support for the strikers, against the government and its watchdogs in the media and the academy. Soon he was to be found in the forefront of battles over illegal immigration, in defence of the sans-papiers , becoming the most authoritative voice of unsubdued opinion in France. He was planning an estates-general of social movements in Europe when he died. Le Nouvel Esprit du capitalisme , by Luc Boltanski and Eve Chiapello, links industrial sociology, political economy and philosophical inquiry in a sweeping panorama of the ways in which relations between capital and labour have been reconfigured to absorb the cultural revolution of the s, and engender new dynamics of profit, exploitation, and emancipation from all residues of the ethic that preoccupied Weber.
This critical synthesis so far lacks any Anglophone equivalent. For although its theoretical object is general, all its empirical data and virtually all its intellectual references are national. Such introversion has not been confined to sociology. The involution of the Annales tradition after Bloch and Braudel offers another striking illustration. Whereas British historians of the past thirty to forty years have distinguished themselves by the geographical range of their work, to a point where there is scarcely any European country that does not count among them a major contribution to the sense of its own past, not to speak of many outside Europe, modern historians of repute in France have concentrated overwhelmingly on their own country.
More generally, if one looks at the social sciences, political thought or even in some respects philosophy in France, the impression left is that for long periods there has been a notable degree of closure, and ignorance of intellectual developments outside the country. Examples of the resulting lag could be multiplied: a very belated and incomplete encounter with Anglo-Saxon analytic philosophy or neo-contractualism; with the Frankfurt School or the legacy of Gramsci; with German stylistics or American New Criticism; British historical sociology or Italian political science.
Yet if we turn to arts and letters, the picture is reversed. French literature itself may have declined in standing. But French reception of world literature is in a league of its own. In this area French culture has shown itself exceptionally open to the outside world, with a record of interest in foreign output no other metropolitan society can match. A glance at any of the better small bookshops in Paris is enough to register the difference. The difference has structural consequences. The great majority of writers in a language outside the Atlantic core who have gained an international reputation have done so by introductory passage through the medium of French, not English: from Borges, Mishima and Gombrowicz, to Carpentier, Mahfouz, Krleza or Cortazar, up to Gao Xinjiang, the recent Chinese Nobel Prize-winner.
Nothing like this has been attempted before. It might be called a literary Porto Alegre.
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That implies a beginning, with much fierce argument and discussion to come. The wider puzzle remains: what explains the strange contrast between a unique literary cosmopolitanism and so much intellectual parochialism in France? It is tempting to wonder whether the answer lies simply in the relative selfconfidence of each sector: the continuing native vitality of French history and theory inducing indifference to foreign output, and the declining prestige of French letters prompting compensation in the role of a universal dragoman.
There may be something in this, but it cannot be the whole story. For the function of Paris as world capital of modern literature — the summit of an international order of symbolic consecration — long precedes the fall in the reputation of French authors themselves, dating back at least to the time of Strindberg and Joyce, as Casanova demonstrates. Moreover, there is a parallel art that contradicts such an explanation completely. French hospitality to the furthest corners of the earth has been incomparable in the cinema, too. On any day, about five times as many foreign films, past or present, are screened in Paris as in any other city on earth.
Had directors like Kiarostami, Hou Xiao Xien or Sembene depended on reception in the Anglo-American world, few outside their native lands would ever have glimpsed them. Yet this openness to the alien camera has been there all along. The brio of the New Wave was born from enthusiasms for Hollywood musicals and gangster movies, Italian Neo-Realism and German Expressionism, that gave it much of the vocabulary to reinvent French cinema.
A national energy and an international sensibility were inseparable from the start. Such contrasts are a reminder that no society of any size ever moves simply in step with itself, in a uniform direction. There are always cross-currents and enclaves, deviances or doublings back from what appears to be the main path.
In culture as in politics, contradiction and irrelation are the rule. They do not disable general judgments, but they complicate them. It is not meaningless to speak of a French decline since the mids. It is too narrowly focused on economic and social performance, understood as a test of competition.