Hot Club de Paris went on a rampage; they shot up the border guards, hijacked a horse and cart and galloped down the fault line leaving the peasants on the dirt road confused and breathless. They took their shirts off and shrugged in the silence of brand new bloodshed. They danced cheek to cheek with all the pretty girls of the day. They were gentlemen; aloof and serious, camp and devious. They swung for Judas on the red carpet at the awards ceremony. The paparazzi blinded the bystanders with their flash bulbs, whilst Hot Club de Paris slipped into the darknes of the city leaving someone else to figure out the whole contextual mess.