La Camargue from Germany 1982 (gorgeous acoustic guitar duelling)

A gorgeous cover painting as we can all agree.  The Camargue of course is that French marshy park that is as famous to them as it was boring to us upon visiting it some years back.  Of course to this we will hear the French say, "Je suis la Camargue!" to which I can only answer, "super, vachement chouette!" and "s'il vous plait garcon, ne pisse pas dans mon cafe!"  But truly, we love the French, especially their toast. How could we forget the time we brought our two kids there many years ago and were told strollers were not allowed on the grounds of the aeroport Charles de Gaulle and our six-month old boy was forced to walk even though he had not yet learned to crawl?  We all learned so much that day! Or the time the Starbucks in Paris near the city hall told us they didn't have milk for our coffees?  Or recall that beautiful cafe in front of la Cathedrale de Chartres where we couldn't sit because children were not allowed on pain of arrest?  Or when we went to Galeries Lafayette and fed our kids croissants to keep them occupied and were told to clean up their crumbs in the womens shoe department or we couldn't purchase anything?  How quickly we ran away from that floor-- a tragedy for my wife, less so for myself.  Or that time we went to Versailles and my wife suffered a nosebleed and rushed to the only washroom on the palace grounds (which cover 100s of  hectares) but had to stand in line for half an hour behind dozens of uncomfortable women who didn't permit her past?  And then some kilometers down the grounds I finally found another washroom to my relief-- but upon entering saw all the toilets had overflowed and poop was seeping down the floors?  Sure, I thought, this must be an authentic evocation of the revolution, when the peasants stormed the palace...  or what about that little chichi toy store behind the Palais Royal where the owner yelled at our children for touching the rubber giraffe toy?  No, they certainly were not welcome there, and yours wouldn't be either, unless you go to Fauchon at Place Madeleine and pay 8 euros for one little eclair au chocolat, 2 cm long.  Perhaps it seems a little impolite to make fun of the French at this time, but I am Charlie too, aren't I?  ...aren't I?  Non?  Well OK it's obvious I will never be accepted as Charlie, not even if I spoke the language perfectly, wore a beret, and bought a baguette every morning and carried it in the back of my bicyclette, no, they will still sneer at me behind my back and behave as if I am trampling all over their precious land, me and my kids who spilled crumbs all over Paris next to the never-picked up dog poop on sidewalks...  so I guess it's time to start a new movement here, "je ne suis pas Charlie, monsieur!  et ne pisse pas dans ma biere-- merci!!"

Oddly enough this record is from Germany.  The players are Rainer Pomplun and Uwe Schreckenberger (what a name!)

The beautiful title track: