Many visitors to Salut! would struggle to recognise a Pigeon Detective if it fell from the sky and landed in their soup.
But some of us need to stay abreast of youth culture. This need, plus a degree of domestic persuasion (Mme Salut! is fond of rock and was never going to miss the newspaper reference), lured us along the coast to Port Grimaud to see a band that people in the know seem to think is going to be the Next Big Thing.
As it happens, we were aware of their existence from our non-footballer daughter. When not looking after publicity for film stars, she can occasionally be found at the cooler gigs.
The Pigeon Detectives, she reported, were "good old-fashioned Britrock" - I think that was the phrase, though it conjures images of Status Quo without the bus passes. But she'd been right about the American band, Killers, so her recommendation was worth following again.
They played, and this I found remarkable, at a free concert on a camp site, Les Prairies de la Mer. And before them, there was another British band, Hey Gravity.
Camp site is an understatement. This one covers a sprawling stretch of the coastline looking across the Golfe to St Tropez and as well as tents and caravans, there are rows and rows of smart cabins. And hundreds and hundreds of holidaymakers, served by an impressive selection of bars, shops, entertainment and restaurants.
It was all a far cry from the sort of sites, pleasant as they often were, that we took the girls to when they were young. Perhaps this concert was cast in stone before the PD were being tipped as the NBT.
The crowd loved it. Camp security men were less enthusiastic as 20 or so teenyboppers poured on to the stage to jig around and take mobile shots of one another as the band played. My guess was that the safety issues this exuberance raised may have been responsible for the set being on the short side, but I now believe stage invasions may be a common ritual at their gigs.
In any event, one perfunctory encore and they were gone. Hey Gravity had worked harder, the lead singer Justine Berry's huge personality, with at least as much manic jumping around as the Pigeon Detectives' Matt Bowman, matched by the right levels of noise and technical competence from her band of garage rockers.
But it hadn't cost a bean, unless you count 7.50 euros for three soft drinks between us. We know how to rock 'n' roll.
Living in the Var in the summer is like being on perpetual holiday, In Le Lavandou, there have also been a string of free shows. The Commitments swept in from rainy Ireland to play a grand feel-good concert on the beach and a French band, l'Orchestre Trocadéro, came close to trumping them with a Bastille Night concert on a stage outside the seafront mairie.
Next week, before I head off for one blast of Fairport Convention and another of Sunderland AFC, there's Jimmy Cliff, again on the beach. A little of him, I suspect, may go a long way for me. Or do I under-estimate both his talent and the openness of my mind?
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