Imagine: Paris, 1925. You walk into a seedy, but sincere enough bar. As you step inside, you can't help but notice the place is a bit snappier and sharper than the rest of Paris, perhaps with an aftertaste of the modern era lingering in the background, despite the authentic people and fixtures inside. Your eyes are lined, your hair is swingy and swishy, and your silvery sequined dress shines brightly in the dim light of the smoky bar. The skirts are short, the heels are high, the liquor is pretty loose. You have a drink in one hand, a cigarette in the other, and a F. Scott Fitzgerald look-a-like chatting you up with his witty tongue and sparkling eyes. What's the band playing behind all the hub-bub?
They are playing this playlist.
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