BRICK WALL LIMITING
I was getting into the groove of the Bud Reichard project. I think at the beginning of the project I was experiencing feelings of musical colonialism--I thought Bud’s relative lack of experience and his dissatisfaction with his own recordings thus far authorized me to take a greater degree of control than he really wanted--and my relative wealth of experience sort of made my ideas ‘better’ than his, in a way--or at least, I tried pretty hard to put him thru a typical KS filter. But, even tho he asked me to be the ‘producer’ he really in the end has a clear and consistent vision. And the more I got into it, the more I enjoyed the recordings and the process, and the more Bud enjoyed himself. These are subtle changes, my description makes the whole process sound more dramatic than it was, but let’s say that at the beginning I didn’t really see where it was all going, I didn’t even really know Bud at all but after working on it for a few days Bud’s vision started to make sense to me. And, yes, in some instances, Bud’s *relative* lack of experience in the *music* environment, makes him sometimes a little naive on certain things, but that’s a trait that can be exploited to his artistic advantage--he knows less of the “rules” and doesn’t weigh the pressure to conform against his own vision. Now, last time I checked, that’s the artistic prerogative, no? Anyway, in reference to the adjustments above, to both Bud and my credit, we never clashed on any subject. Bud is a very gentle guy. Prob. more polite than me, the old jaded music burnout!
Now, in the meantime, if you read this blog more than a little, you might get an impression that I work pretty much nonstop. And you’d be right. I have a very advanced case of freelancer’s disease--the absolute inability to say no to anyone who meets my price (and occasionally I give a break on projects I am really excited about). I have the luck to have a lot of opportunities to work--or, I’m not charging enough, but it seems like I make a more than decent living, so, hard for me to believe.
But, this year, with multiple Posies tours, KS tours, Disciplines tours and the finishing and releasing and promoting of the album, plus innumerable studio projects, plus perhaps a little psychic residue from turning 40, has been a very intense one. I’ve never been on so many airplanes in one year (imagine that each one of those days is more stressful or at least annoying in a death-by-a-thousand-humiliations kind of way). And in general I felt my health--thru improved diet, more exercise, and far less toxins--to be better than ever. So, sometimes I felt a little swamped by all the work on my plate, but generally I accepted and encouraged the calendar to be full to bursting (remember I have not only the workload, but I have to fit in pilates classes, getting my daughter to school, writing this blog, and managing the calendar/promotion/activities/tours/career of myself and most of the bands I am involved with). However, this week something odd happened. I woke up in the middle of the night in INTENSE pain--a continuation of a slight pain that had awoken me a little earlier than usual that same morning, but ebbed over the course of the day. However, at this time there was no escaping. I couldn’t sit still, I had to walk off the pain around the flat, and then put myself in a hot bath to try and meditate into and thru the pain. It would subside for a bit, then a new wave would come back. The pain was settled in my lower abdomen. A doctor from SOS Medicins came (this is a great thing about France--a doctor can be called to make a house call, at 2 in the morning, and it costs about €70 for the visit), and examined me. This started the first of what I expect will be a parade of latex-sheathed fingers marching up my rear end. Oh lord. Not finding anything definitive, he gave me some (ineffectual) painkillers and I went the rest of the night alternating bath, sleep in bath, sleep in bed, pacing. The pain coming and going. In the morning I cancelled my session with Bud and did get a little consistent sleep, and then headed for the hospital around midday. More exploratory fingers, and no conclusions. Only, it didn’t *appear* that I had cancer. This is good, but what was the cause of the pain? The good news: I got better drugs. Thru a combination of heavy pain killer, muscle relaxant, Xanax, and a few other perscription drugs, I have been able to function, and sleep for the better part of the night.
Just canceling the session did ease up on my ambient stress level; even tho I spent most of the day in the hospital or asleep, the fact that my constant workload had been interrupted for a day was something of a relief. I still went out that night--I had purchased a ticket to the Keith Jarret concert at Salle Pleyel, and I was not going to miss out on €70 worth of entertainment. In fact, the concert provided me with a superb distraction. I wasn’t sure even if I was going to like it, but in fact I was impresed by his explorations, I found them beautiful. I had a single seat along the side of balcony 1--the Salle Pleyel reminds me of smaller-scale Lincoln Center--and I had a great view of his hands. The acoustics in the venue are incredible, there was no PA used, and his piano and occasional Tourette’s-like grunts were clearly audible. However, I was pretty worn out by recent and cumulative general activities, so I only stayed for the first half, going home at the intermission.
Earlier in the week I had also gone to see Micah P. Hinson’s show at the beautiful Theatre Marigny, up along the Champs Elysee where all the little Christmas market chalets are. A rich and influential media figure in France has commandeered the place and ordered them to insert indie rock amongst the plays and cabarets normally taking place there. Visually, it’s stunning. Acoustically, they are obviously not used to rock music yet, so the sound was a little overbearing (and definitely over the 90db limit mandated by law for concerts in Paris). Micah makes a kind of swampy drawl over Cocteau Twins-y guitar, mainly; he is accompanied by a precise, indie-rock central casting drummer, and also by his wife, who plays drony, sometimes barely audible keyboards. When not playing, she sits at a 90 degree angle from him and watches his every move...impressively so, as even if I was onstage with Led Zeppelin, after 5 months of non stop touring I would probably *occasionally* look at how my nails were doing or at the light show or weird people in the audience. But her gaze never wavered, and in fact her reverential attitude never changed at all. Hardcore. For stretches of the show, Micah moved to acoustic guitar and the drummer moved to banjo. A few notes of feedback that seemed to be caused by the banjo drew the kind of glares from Micah that you read about Neil Young giving his hapless bandmates, and the song in question was started over, the banjo player looking like he was afraid to breathe. Poor bastard. This was the last night of the tour--draw your own conclusions. Let’s say that for me, attitude is everything, and you can only get away with being kind of an evil princess if you are in fact Prince. Most people don’t practice enough to be that good, so you are stretching your credit rating by assuming you hold the world as collateral.
On Thursday I did feel good enough to do some vocals for an upcoming White Flag single, a cover of ‘The Witch’ by the Rattles. The Rattles are a German band, I guess late 1960s vintage (tho still active today)--sort of a cross between Blue Cheer, Sweet and Status Quo. Thursday night I flew up to Trondheim, changing planes in Oslo, and getting in to Trondheim after midnight. Needless to say, my health condition had put a small but noticeable dent in my enthusiasm--I wasn’t sure if I was in a state that would allow me to perform at all, let alone at my best.
A nice couple picked me up at the airport and drove me to the hotel. I checked into my room, first cranking up the heat to temperatures normally associated with Riyadh, then then going immediately to sleep.
I woke up in the night after Xanax-enhanced dreams where limbless strangers pursued me, wriggling on their chests in brain-starved-zombie fashion. I woke up and my room was humming, some kind of heating or other machinery was causing the whole room to throb. A storm whipped the skylight. The machinery noise gave the room an Eraserhead vibe. Ugh.
TRONDHEIM, 11/28
I did sleep most of the night without pain, however. Was it pleasant? Not really. I spent most of the day in bed--catching up on business, getting things organized for the show that night, etc. I only left my room twice--once to go to breakfast, where I found very little appealing; and once to find cafe and lunch. I vowed to patronize the first place I saw, which, to my delight, was next door. Kafe 19. No windows, not much to indicate if and when it was open. I opened the door, and found myself in a hallway. Another door ahead for the cafe. I entered, and a very friendly guy looking a bit like one of the ABBA guys greeted me with a big “Hello! Where are you from?” The landscape around us wasn’t exactly what I’d expect to find a cafe. Eventually I got the vibe: it was a community center staffed by and for the enjoyment of people with a diverse set of mental and physical issues. They were welcome here, and there were opportunities to work here. The menu was quite limited--a few cakes; or the meal of the day: Norwegian style pancakes and bacon. There was espresso, too. A really friendly guy waited on me, and I found it such a relief from the dour cafes of Paris--he was making little jokes and really engaging me in pleasant, light conversation about who I was and what I was doing. However, his interest was genuine. I enjoyed that meal more than many recent tour meals. Now, I could have interpreted the place incorrectly, there's nothing about the place online and even locals couldn't help me, and honestly, I just didn't have the strength to go into investigative reporter mode. So, feel free to tell me a little more about the mission statement of Kafe 19.
I slept much of the afternoon, and finally at 6pm I had to face the fact that I had to do my best to not look like shit. Showered, shaved, contacts in. I still really wasn’t ready, and there was no way in my condition to feel fully ready for the physicality of a Disciplines show.
I was met at the hotel by the super friendly Magnus, who was definitely an uplifting person to run into at this point. He walked me to the club, and my guys were soon there too. Jim Protector had decided to soundcheck, which was rather premature, considering we hadn’t even arrived yet--they would have to remove their stuff, let us put ours up so we could soundcheck, and then set up again. Which I had told them. But these guys live in a little JP Universe all their own, so sometimes they just do stuff. In the end, all the Disciplines arrived and we did our soundcheck. One thing was true: all the painkillers and mood calmers and what not had made me so relaxed that my voice was *fantastic*. I sang like a million dollars at the soundcheck...this was a good sign. We went back to the hotel, and returned some time later when JP was in full tilt. I joined them, as per tradition, singing and playing guitar on ‘Shields Down’.
When we took to the stage a good and typically rowdy Trondheim crowd had assembled. We tore into the set, but from the get go the added adrenalin canceled out the benefits of my meds. So, in fact, my voice was a little fragile. I was able to perform, but I didn’t have 100% of the usual energy, neither to move nor to sing. No one noticed tho--and of course, the limits just made me push myself harder. Like my last show in BLAEST, with the Posies in 2005, there was broken glass everywhere, and lots of people in knit hats going nuts. There were even two stage dives...truly ridiculous, and a Disciplines show is the kind of place where the ridiculous is more than welcome! In the end, I was shirtless, and covered in god knows what kind of filth; while I lay on my back, someone poured beer in my throat, and I managed to keep singing without choking on it. Blech, I just don’t like beer, sorry! No need to say I smelled like a chicken processing plant when I got back to the room. However, the show was great. No complaints.
DRAMMEN, 11/29
Drammen, as I’ve said before is the Cleveland of Norway. The mistake by the glacier. The butt of endless jokes. However, due to its underdog status, I have made a conscious effort to enjoy Drammen, and I will say this: they have an incredible venue complex, the Union Scene. We played here back in May, part of a little festival, and I think I described the place pretty well then--but, to catch you up, it’s a group of brick factory buildings roughly a century old, that have been encased in glass and modernized into a super structure of various theatres, rehearsal spaces, venues, bars, cafes etc. It’s a wonderful place. The only problem, is that Drammen doesn’t really have the population to keep a place like this busy. so there’s a lot of art here being put on for a rather miniscule audience. People in Drammen tend to be conseravtive--if they aren’t, they move to Oslo, just 30km up the road, so a lot of the great work at Union Scene falls on deaf ears.
Before going to Drammen, we flew to Oslo, and were met my Espen, our tech for the day, and our van and trailer. We drove to our rehearsal place, and loaded up the gear. At first, the lock the rental co. gave us for the trailer didn’t open with the combination we’d been given, and after some time on the phone we had permission to cut it. Cool! Breaking stuff with permission is cool.
We still had lots of time to kill so I walked up to Tim Wendelboe’s for a cafe, and actually met Tim himself--we had a chance to express our mutual fandom and we discussed other things. Very focused and interesting guy.
Eventually we hit the road to Drammen, and loaded in and soundchecked, and we *still* had hours to kill. I did more work and, also went to an empty room that had a piano, and warmed up my voice.
Finally, it was 10.30 and we could go on. We went onstage and there were like four people in the venue. Ooh, dear. OK, more like six, which I felt justified us getting on with it--I knew Drammen would be quiet. However, within a few minutes of our opening chords, people came in from other parts of the building--not a ton of them, mind you, but enough! And we delivered a violent, out of control show. I kicked the barricade away from the stage with my feet, to the edge of the timid bystanders, and then physically dragged it away--I crawled in the beams and on the PA and on the mixing desk and wherever. The people loved it, and they got a massive show for their money. I couldn’t really live with doing less. However, the tour ended at the perfect time. My voice, my body, my life, in this condition, couldn’t take much more.
After the show, I rode back with the van and crew and slept on the couch at our sound engineer, Lasse, ‘s place. Made the morning trek to Tim Wendelboe, then continued on to the airport. I actually feel like wet garbage today. Need a break. I pretty much feel what the white shirt I wore for these two shows looks like--dragged thru black ickiness of indeterminate organic origin, needing to be boiled and buried more than merely rinsed off.
But, tomorrow is back to work.
Love
KS
OSL
