WORLD OF WHA?
Monday was Aden’s third birthday…Dom had to work, but it was a bank holiday, and there was no crèche. Unfortunately, the weather was quite dreary, it rained and rained, most of the French Open was rained out, e.g. Thus, we didn’t get to do some of the things we talked about doing, like going for pony rides in the Jardin du Luxembourg. But, we played together and had fun. In the evening, Dom, Aden & I went for dinner at a local favorite, La Polichinelle. Just a little bar and restaurant down the street from us, they are very friendly, and the food is really quite good. We usually go there or to Les Gallopins, and we’re never disappointed, or feeling like Aden’s toddler energy is bumming everyone out. We ended the night all sprawled on the Hide-A-Bed that we bust out for movie nights, and I put everyone to sleep with Antonioni’s
“La Notte”. Including me! I was tired, and the movie takes its time to set up each little scene. The results are wonderful, tho’—it’s a great film, no doubt, and I really love Jeanne Moreau’s acting, look, and character in the film.
Tuesday and Wednesday I really tried to rest, knowing this weekend in London would be take a lot of energy (and I find Disciplines shows to be very hard on the old bod, I am more tired after one of these than even a Posies thrashfest). I watched quite a bit of Roland Garros, took care of various undone tasks in my life. Tuesday evening I went to a fine restaurant with Dom, called
Chez Michel, and then I met up with my long time friend Kite and Fly, of the band
Blonde on Blonde, who were in town; we went to see
Antibalas Afrobeat Orchestra, who are a New York-based band playing music very similar to what Fela Kuti played, but with bits of other styles layered in. Excellent band.
LONDON, 6/1
I went a day early to London (I never like to do international travel on the same day as a show if I can avoid it). I came by Eurostar, which is truly the only way to fly, haha. They have security but it’s much more reasonable than what you go thru boarding a plane (and I have a feeling it’s just as effective). You do your ‘formalités’ on the departure side, so when you arrive in London or Paris you have no customs or immigration b.s. to do. And best of all, I can get to and from the stations by metro—it takes me maybe 20 minutes to walk up to Bastille, board the metro, and get to Gare du Nord. If I want to, I can take the line by my house as well, I just have to change somewhere along the way to line 5.
The trains are comfortable, quiet, and you can even get a meal service if you want (ten euros) and I imagine there is a bar car I just never really needed to investigate that.
I stayed with my friend Meggean, who used to be the Posies/my booking agent, in the early part of this decade. She quit the biz and went back to school and is now pursuing her master’s here in London. She lives in a flat in Crouch End, which is a leafy and pleasant area in the north of London. She lives right by a huge park, with walking trails, tennis courts, and of course a cricket ground. We dined in her neighborhood and met some other friends for a coupla drinks.
On the day of the show we went walking thru the trails (I don’t usually bring a change of clothes so imagine that I am wearing what I wore onstage that night—a button down tight black shirt, a silver silk tie, skintight black jeans and white shoes!! What a jerk) in the park, and took lunch at a pub. I started to make my way to central London, taking bus and tube (the Duloks gave me an Oyster card when I worked with them—a regular ticket on the Tube can cost you £4!! That’s almost $8. The Oyster card knocks it down to £1.50).
I got to the Borderline, and found the backstage entrance, buzzed in. I helped Havana Guns, the headliners, load in (they were letting us use their backline, after all). They soundchecked; I sent zillions of text messages trying to sort out the guest list and such. Dom arrived, fresh off the Eurostar, with Audrey from Liquid Architecture. My bandmates had come and gone, having arrived before Havana Guns meant there was nothing for them to do. Anyway, the sound guy at the Borderline knows the place, and with a minimum of fuss had Havana Guns running thru songs in like 5 minutes—somehow avoiding that awful part where each drum gets banged for five minutes—truly the most awful part of my day on tour, typically. So, suddenly it was our turn, and the D-plines arrived just in time. We blazed thru some songs and voila. I was really impressed by that sound guy, the thing is, people running sound unfortunately aren’t often noticed until something is * wrong * with the sound, so I’d like to give three cheers to this man.
Disciplines, Dom, Audrey, Chris (rec. engineer who worked on Briskeby’s album, and assisted me when I mixed Jim Protector at the same studio) all strolled out into the madness that is Charing Cross road, and Soho, on a Friday night. Soho looked like the set of a movie where a bunch of yuppies take to the streets and make a Calcutta of business school dudes (I am basing this image on Darius’ description of how crowded streets were with pedestrians in India). Actually, the really Indian part of Singapore is like this, bajillions of people walking the streets and sidewalks, to the point where you can feel a bit vertiginous and start to…freak out.
But, we persevered, and actually found a place with a table big enough for us opening up. We were joined by a very energetic couple who have a management co.; this trip was also about meeting some people who might be able to help us getting from point A to point U for Universally Known Household Name…or whatever interesting destination might be out there worth pointing at.
The show was a typical first-time-in-London-trial-by-fire; people had their cool costumes on, but, we managed to get the applause for our unknown band above the polite level, and after the show we got lots of compliments. I didn’t want to appear too eager to please, too nervous, trying too hard, etc. I didn’t spend the whole show confronting the audience in the space between the stage and them; I didn’t even bother chastising them to get closer. We just rocked away like we didn't need them, and I think this was the way to go. I will experiment with a bit more confrontation, but in a fun way, tomorrow night.
As always, after the show I was fairly empty, I really found it hard to talk to anyone. But, I shook a few hands, talk to some new fans, and a few KS/REM/Posies etc etc fans who came, plus friends like Willie Williams, who has designed the lights etc. for REM & U2; my bro Neil from Fender/Gretsch who converted me to those lovely black guitars you see me play; and so on. After awhile, I was starting to seriously fade, so Dom & I walked out to the neighborhood around the Mean Fiddler and had the naïve notion we would get a cab. Yeah right, Friday night after the Tube stops running, about 40,000 drunk Londoners all trying to go home…we were fighting nasty drunk blonde chicks for the opportunity to get close to a cab that had disembarking passengers. Fucking hell. Amazingly, one snuck thru the melee, and we were finally on a trajectory towards sleep. Dom had booked us at the EasyHotel, yes, part of the EasyJet and EasyCafe family. Now, I fly Easyjet from time to time, and it’s not ideal (I really hate fighting for optimal seats) but it’s cheap and they fly to lots of places from Paris. The EasyCafes around London have been useful for checking mail on tour from time to time. I’m not sold on the hotel, and I’m not sure that at £60 it’s even competitive with the little B&Bs (just easier to book in advance online, I guess). You get: a little cube with a bed that’s really just a mattress on a dias that’s part of the structure of the room, not really a piece of furniture. There’s just enough floorspace left for luggage, provided you don’t need to open the door. Then there’s a small bathroom with a tiny shower and a toilet and sink. It’s even called ‘a tiny loo’ on the door. I mean, it’s very clean, but…no elevator, and a particularly harsh check out time (10am, tho’ they didn’t seem to be concerned when we came down around 10.30). Kind of emergency use only, I guess. It wasn’t awful, but…I’m not sure to come back.
We ended up stumbling to a Sainsbury’s near the hotel, breakfasting at (forgive me) a Starbucks that lives inside; then we did some shopping for Aden’s expected cadeaux for when Dom & I return, and then made our way to our friends’ place, who were putting us up for the night. One is a tour manager who’s worked for some really big bands, and one works in a posh member’s only club here. They have a cute little house in a pretty quiet neighborhood near Queen’s Park. Strolling thru the park yesterday on our way to have lunch, and going on my treks with Meggean the other day, made me realize how lucky Londoners are to have parks in such quantity and quality. The parks in Paris always seem to be either pathetic little patches of gravel with a few trees, or just downright dangerous. Or out in the sticks. Chateau de Vincennes and environs seems the best bet, where I usually play tennis. But, seeing everybody out on the grass dozing in the sun yesterday…it’s just a little more complicated to that simple thing in Paris.
Eventually Dom & I headed to Shepard’s Bush, and went to see
Emily Haines play at Bush Hall. Upon arrival, I realized that REM had played the place a few years ago, we played a little show that was broadcast for radio. It’s a lovely, shabby old place with red carpet and crystal chandeliers. Mike Andrews, who composed the score for Miranda July’s film “Me and You and Everyone We Know” (I loved both the film and the score very much), as well as being the producer for albums by Metric, Les Sans Culottes, Gary Jules and doing score for “Donnie Darko” as well…well, he’s a talented man to be sure. And he has a geeky charm, he reminds me in so many ways of Jon Brion—they are LA guys, who have a kind of preppy feel about them, and accent that with sort of clown-colored, old-fashioned thrift store suits, like cartoon preppies, if cartoon characters had to go to prep school. They are approachable, and seem to make an effort to show humility at all times despite their massive CVs (at times during the set, I thought MA’s self-deprecation became kind of annoying, like it started to feel forced). And, they seem to really be good at what they do when it’s in collaboration with someone else. Netither Brion’s nor Andrews’ solo work has thrilled me as much as their scores or productions have. MA’s set was interesting to be sure, intricately fingerpicked guitars and a lot scale climbing melodies…but it didn’t quite burn a hole in me, so to speak.
Emily Haines’ talent really doesn’t allow her to anything unpleasant or ill-conceived. She’s really a great singer, a fabulous lyricist--to the point that I sometimes want to quit writing lyrics after listening to her—she is illustrative, elaborate and unusual when the situation calls for it, or simple and direct when the situation calls for it. She shows strength, vulnerability, intelligence, playfulness, wisdom…She plays piano really well, her chord changes are interesting and far from run of the mill. The staging was clever too. In front of the stage (I was too far back to see this during the show, so there’s a bit of speculation here) was a table and chair, a laptop, a musical keyboard, and a projector, Power-Point style, projecting images onto the wall behind the musicians. From that spot, someone ran the backing loops, played along, and stopped and started the projections. The images projected were all black and white snippets of Guy Maddin films, which she incorporated with his blessing. On stage a string quartet accompanied her piano playing, that was truly marvelous. It was assembled with great intelligence, and incredible attention to detail. Her stage banter, when audible (I was in the back, so if she didn’t speak in the mic, there was no hope of me hearing it) was disarming and goofy, not so spot on that you’d find her intimidating. My bandmates came along and all loved her show.
If I had to level a criticism, it’s that the show, and the songs, are so intelligent, the brains tend to trump the heart. The best moments are where her voice wavers, and her emotions threaten to dirty up the proceedings with their messy human energies. I would love to see her let go and dig up something painful, a bit of the ugly side of life. Without that, the environment is a little too controlled for it to be a fully moving experience, so one is left to gain meaning from the masterful execution and the few little glimpses of intensity that come thru the cracks. That’s not to say I don’t recommend going to see her, or to listen to her wonderful album “Knives Don’t Have Your Back”—both experiences are highly recommended. In fact, I admire her work so much, that I have set my expectations much higher than I would for most other artists, and I only see where I think she get to with skills that intense.
After the show, Dom & I went to look for a quick bite to eat; somehow, we ended up on Edgeware Road, and stopped into a Lebanese place (there are many on that street) and were about to see what they could make quickly, when Dom pointed out we should go elsewhere, as the building was on fire…sure enough, when I looked out at the street, the defined beams of all the cars made geometric shapes in the accruing pall. We went into another place, and had a kind of shwarma and some dolmathes, and in a couple of minutes all the fire engines started to arrive, and we saw the huge ladder extending up to a long chimney that seemed to be the source of the trouble. Then we realized that the small amount of ambient smoke we had inhaled was really making us cough, it took awhile to calm my quivering lungs—imagine what it must be like to * really * inhale smoke in a burning building.
Our next stop was the Dorchester Hotel Ballroom; I’d stayed at the Dorchester many times in the past, but I never went to the ballroom; usually it was a disco for guests consisting of a few Emirs in pursuit of suitable company for the night. But this night it was the site of a massive party to celebrate the launching of Damien Hirst’s new show, featuring perhaps the most expensive object d’art ever-you can read all about that
here. The party itself involved about 1000 guests, a band and DJs providing music, open bars, food, bottomless champagne, and little chocolates that look like silver pebbles (and little cupcakes with metallic silver frosting that were superb). Amazingly, the only celebrity I spotted was Jarvis Cocker. The rest of the guests were people involved in the contemporary art scene (like Audrey from Liquid Architecture, which explains our invite) and then presumably the only kind of people that can afford to buy Hirst’s art—hedge fund managers and other bajillionaires. Even Mick Jagger is a bit too under-wealthed to be in this market. It’s for billionaires. But we had a great time, the party had a great mood and I drained as much Laurent-Perrier as I could.
Incredibly, we still had enough energy to go to Momo, a Middle-Eastern grotto of a bar and resto; it was here that Madonna recently celebrated her birthday. For my part, about 13 coupes of champagne into the night, was starting to fall asleep. So, we called it a night, it must have been…4?
Today we spent the afternoon on Carnaby St., doing some shopping at “Beyond the Valley” a store of design-heavy casual clothes and household objects. Like a small Collette. Something funny, there was an American girl, about 20, and her mom, who looked like Lady Bird Johnson, shopping there. The girl didn’t find clothes she liked, but wanted a souvenir. She went to an accessories case and asked the sales guy what a certain object was. “A USB memory stick”, he replied. It was decorated with a golden virgin mary, the only clue was the USB interface sticking out of the bottom. “What’s that?” she asked. The sales guy had a hard time explaining what it was and having it be understood. To me he was clear as a bell—it was detachable flash memory for transporting files from a computer. She was still unsure what it was…(what 20 year old doesn’t know what a flash USB memory is?) BUT SHE WANTED IT ANYWAY! She asked the price. “90” he said. “90 dollars?, OK, yeah I’ll get that”. He reminded her that we were dealing with pounds here in London. Finally, he rang it up, and when she saw the bill…”Oh I thought it was nineteen”. And he had to unwrap it, refund the transaction…man, it’s good to see a brunette give the blondes a run for their money!!
The Disciplines play 93 Feet East tomorrow night at 10.
Love
KS
London
