The reveries of the solitary paleologist

Paleo Festival 2019 - Jonas Follonier

Paleontologists study the remains of living beings and their evolutionary history. Why not do the same with the Paléo Festival? There are human remains in this mud. It’s pretty fertile ground for a little sociological analysis. Let’s dive into paleology.

I don't hold Rousseau dear to my heart, either as a philosopher or a writer. However, like any genius - and I regard him as such - there are isolated areas that can speak even to those who don't find him brilliant in the majority of his work. So it is for me with Reveries of the Solitary Walker, a little gem that laid the foundation for the “promenade” literary genre. As a former student of Professor Claire Jacquier at the University of Neuchâtel, I had the opportunity to delve deeper into this book—to the point where, I must admit, I sometimes identified with Jean-Jacques.

As I wander around the Plaine de l’Asse all week long, on the rural outskirts of Nyon, for one of Europe’s biggest festivals, I sometimes feel like a stranger. «All I had to carry / Were words and images / To me, every face / Was a new landscape / So I would always be a stranger everywhere / Or would I one day feel at home—but where?», the friend-enemy sang. Music is where I feel at home—whether I’m making it or listening to it. But outside of music, things start to get complicated. At a festival, this absurd and tragic reality really hits home. So many people have come to hear music, not to listen to it!

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Here’s a first distinction that’s useful for our sociological analysis: there are those who come to listen to music, and others who come just to hear it. Just passing by, almost by chance, since the food and drink stands aren’t very far away anyway! And as everyone knows, people go to festivals to unwind. To let off steam and feel the damp earth beneath their feet. And don’t get me wrong—there’s nothing wrong with that. In the past, it was circuses; today, it’s festivals, plus a few women’s soccer matches in Valais and wrestling festivals. There’s something for everyone. The fact remains that at an event like Paléo, the venue is so vast that its diversity can’t be boiled down to a single category.

First, there are the people in their thirties today. Those so-called “youngsters” who never wear shirts—because it’s not cool – and who are very tolerant—except when it comes to anything that upsets them. Then there are the festival-goers in their 40s and 50s, who differ from those in their 30s only in that they drink a little more wine and a little less beer, and often have a few tacky tattoos. There are also people over sixty. These are either former ’68ers or simply very open-minded and curious people.

So I find myself feeling very positive about this joyful diversity. After all, music lovers are perhaps as rare as my very good articles, and what is rare is precious. But what a sight it is, all the same, to see all these people wallowing in the mud like pigs. Do I really want to identify with that? I don’t think so. So I find myself daydreaming about my winter evenings, snuggled under a blanket, listening to a vinyl record of good, classic rock. What a world away from this farce. surfing on trends and group dynamics. And then there’s that famous sound—that little, unexpected spark during a concert or in a situation that makes the joy of the’being-in-the-world Heideggerian spirit takes hold of me. Or perhaps this is even the beginning of being-in-the-world.

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Photo credit: © Paléo / Ludwig Wallendorff