Simon Paradis

Earlier today I found myself wandering through a bayou down in New Orleans. Mud caked upon my shoes, and with each step the murky ground below tugged at them, as though threatening to draw them from my feet like quicksand. Insects hummed and buzzed everywhere, their warbling like some ethereal choir. I was tired, dirty, and out of breath.

I blinked, and the reeds and rushes parted way. Suddenly, tents and attractions surrounded me, each one different than the next. On either side, barkers hawked carnival games and trinkets and mysterious foods from hidden deep fryers. Clowns and bearded ladies and little people dressed in garish costumes moved this way and that, a sea of living shapes and colors.

Then there stood a man before me, tall and imposing, clad in a top-hat and coattails. As I watched, he bent down slowly, and into my hand he placed a message. “Bring this to the masses,” he said to me in a deep, commanding voice, “so that your sojourn has not been for naught.”

And then he was gone, and so was the carnival, and the bayou too. The very next moment, I found myself back here in the ShowClix offices - just as the last few notes of Simon Paradis’ eccentric new album Swamp Circus faded from my headphones.

The only thing that remained was the message, the ink still wet, clutched in the palm of my hand. It contained a website, and these words: “Download Swamp Circus for free. If you like it, it’s available in lossless formats for whatever price you deem worthy. Listen… and come and see us again whenever you like.”

- The Shlog