Recreating Tame Impala's 'Lonerism' Album Cover at Jardin du Luxembourg, Paris

There are plenty of musical pilgrimages to make in Paris as a rock fan—Jim Morrison’s grave at Père Lachaise perhaps being the most obvious, and arguably one of the grimmest. But parks are far more pleasant.

So on my first exploration of the city over the past Easter weekend, I decided to skip the cemetery and incorporate a less morbid meander into my itinerary.

It's moments like these that music-geek morsels find their way to the forefront of your memory, and you realise some obscure biographical detail about one of your favourite artist's work could actually come in handy for plotting where to go in the French capital and still make it feel like you 'Let It Happen' naturally.

For those of us who still pay attention to album art, the fenced-off cover shot of Tame Impala's second album Lonerism was voyeuristically captured by frontman & producer Kevin Parker in Jardin du Luxembourg, a pristine park in the Latin Quarter of Paris.

Over a decade on from its release in 2012, Lonerism remains a modern psychedelic masterpiece of proggy pop. Its cover closely ties into the album’s themes of isolation and introspection and the boundaries between self and society.

The packaging places the onlooker at a distance but draws them into a sunlit scene of people lazing about on a lawn, with a palace beyond, just out of reach. A moment caught mid-wonder, mid-withdrawal.

A morning getting lost in the Louvre and its ludicrously opulent rooms meant we needed some fresh French air and an outdoor stroll for the afternoon. With the famous Notre Dame cathedral floating on an island in the middle of the River Seine nearby, and some dinner spots on the Left Bank to the south, I saw an opportunity to see Parker’s view for myself and try to recapture some of that sunlit scene—sans the lounging locals, and with a sunset mood instead of midday haze.

The layout of this inner-city oasis hasn’t changed since the original pic was taken, but the access rules have. These days, the elegantly manicured lawn is off-limits, with a small, stern sign plunged into the grass to remind visitors.

Yet the park remains very much alive and bustling.

As I wandered through it, I witnessed families gathered by the Grand Bassin pond, children prodding 1920s wooden sailboats with long sticks around its edge, and couples lounging in the iconic green metal chairs you see dotted across the grounds. The people are still here, just not where you expect them to be.

Standing in front of that very gate on a sunny April afternoon, I counted the bars and lined up the hedges as best I could. Adjusted the angle. Took more photos than I care to admit (when every part of me says, "Go ahead" and take another).

And then, with a little editing wizardry, I ended up with this homage. A loner’s lens on the City of Light.

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