Once upon a time Malcolm McLaren met a young lady at a Parisian party. I can only assume that happened before 1994 happened, because in that year Mr. McLaren released a solo album appropriately titled Paris. This album was utterly panned upon its release and for good reason!

Still, in 1994 when I stumbled upon this album, Paris sounded really far away (and it was — I didn’t get there for another 7 years), but this album represented a tiny fraction of what it might mean to go there.

I dug the album up in my iTunes upon Mr. McLaren’s passing earlier this week and I can’t say that it’s a very good album, but it’s definitely sincere. It’s the album of a man so in love with a city that he just had to declare that love with every forced metaphor and cliched image he could muster. Still, I got a kick out of it as a precocious 17 year old, so maybe you will, too.

This track is called “Jazz is Paris,” which should give you an idea of how the rest of the album plays out.