GRAZ, 11/18
I spent as much of this day asleep as I did awake. Rising up to catch my flight to Copenhagen and on to Vienna, I slept almost the entire duration of my time in the air. Stumbling into baggage claim, the promoter of the Autumn Leaves songwriter festival, Michael, met me at the airport--we got in his car for the two-hour drive to Graz, and I fell promptly back asleep. There are some things that when German speakers speak English, their enquiries can sound like critiques--not intentional. So, when I woke up as we arrived in Graz, and he asked me rather sternly “but are you so tired?” I tried not be defensive...”I guess so...” I demurred. Is this a real verb, by the way? It should be.
I checked into my spacious digs at the hotel
Weitzer, following the odd path to my room--up one elevator, across into another building, up another elevator--and commenced to chill, somewhat. I had dinner in the hotel’s restaurant, where I was served an excellent red wine by the glass--and dammit if I didn’t forget to write that one down. The restaurant actually opens up into a wine store, which seems to have almost the same hours as the restaurant--pity that I had only a soft bag for luggage--I hope they repeal the liquid ban soon for flight carry on luggage.
I almost bailed on going to see the bands playing that night, but I was a good sport and checked out
Neuschnee and
The Poem Is You. The former is a Vienna-based group, really a songwriter who happens to be able to write his own string arrangements, which he then passes on a quartet for accompaniment. The latter is a quarter, recently downgraded from a sextet, from Berlin. A mix of male and female voices, and the inclusion of bassoon, sax, keyboard bass, give the group a rather quirky and patchwork kind of sound. I liked them. The singer bears an uncanny resemblance to John Malkovich, he should play him in a meta-movie.
The next day I spent in my room. I was short on Euros, and needed to rest, play guitar, and be still. Michael picked me up in the afternoon and we drove the short distance to the venue, the Postgarage. This is a lovely little place--well, actually it’s two venues, the larger one was being used as the backstage, and the small one was where the festival was taking place. Perfect size--the room is lit by illumination seeping thru intricately patterned metalwork, giving the room a kind of Moroccan feel. The stage is low and set into the corner, and the festival organizers had hired in a lovely upright piano. I did my soundcheck, and then had the inspiration, this also being my 4th show in Graz since the release of my last album to make this so-named songwriter festival a showcase for songs I’ve written--new songs, that is.
Meanwhile, I joined the band
Esteban’s, fronted by the singer of Garish, for vocals and piano on one of their lovely songs. The singer, Boff, looks like a kind of 50s John Roderick. He plays for the most part of the set a nylon string acoustic, and is joined by a drummer, a stand up bass player (who also occasionally diverts to ukelele) and the formidable talents of Ben Martin, who was part of my band for the show I did at B72 in Vienna early last year. Ben mostly plays electric guitar here, but occasionally could be seen on the piano. The song that I joined them on, “I'm Below Your Balcony” can be heard on their myspace...the album version, that is!
For my set I launched straight into 5 new songs: “110 or 220V”, which I’ve been playing for awhile; “Even the Forgers Were Left Fingering the Fakes” which I’ve played a few times; “History Buffs” which I might have played in Barcelona last year? But maybe only at soundcheck...; “Shit Talkers” and “Savior’s Hands” which I’ve definitely never played anywhere else. The audience was incredibly into it, and the fact that I didn’t really know these songs well, and was often leaping without a net, made the performances much more interesting for me, and I think the audience, too. I did a few songs from each of my albums, a cover or two, and then brought up Ben Martin to duet on one of his songs “I Only See” and then all of Esteban’s came up for a monster version of “Any Love” that brought down the house. Seriously, people were freakin’ out! So, I had to keep going. I ended with a version of “Here’s to the Future” that I dedicated to the American people, for not giving into the fear and cynicism that was rattled in their faces, and to the Obama era they helped usher in.
After the show I sold an entire box of CDs, which is certainly a good sign! Me and the Esteban’s crew walked back to the hotel in the chilly Austrian night.
I was up super early to drive back to Vienna with Michael the next morning, and was home by lunchtime. That evening Dominique and I dined at a great little place in our neighborhood that has previously escaped my attention--
L'Ebauchoir--joined by out of town visitors--my friends Lasse and Jenni, Lasse being one of the central figures in the Helsinki music scene and just an all around sweetheart; and the violin/guitar duo
Tin Cup Prophette, who reside in Athens GA and had played Paris the night before. Add a couple of locals to the mix and we have something interesting going on.
Thursday I mostly watched over my daughter who was home with a cold, but in the evening I worked on vocal contributions for an album by Mark Lassiter, a North Carolina resident who has managed to get quite a few heavyweights on his album.
BERGEN, 11/21
The next morning I was up super early to head to CDG for my flights to Copenhagen-Bergen; Terminal one was a madhouse when I arrived, packed flights to Saudi Arabia, Tokyo, etc., just slammed with people speaking a multitude of languages, babies crying, you name it. Oddly, out at the SAS gates, which usually has a massive security line, there was almost no one when I went thru.
At last, I arrived in Bergen, which was experiencing a kind of blizzard. I bused to the hotel--this takes about an hour, as the road from BGO to the city center is essentially two lanes, with construction every step of the way. When I arrived at the SAS Royal Hotel, the line to check in was four people wide and 20 rows deep. Sigh. Eventually I made it to my room and immediately went for a swim.
The rest of the band, save for Bjorn, who lives in Bergen, was coming from Oslo and their flight was delayed by an hour. So I didn’t even go to the venue until 9pm. I thought about walking, but after about ten steps I gave up on fighting against 50-mile-an-hour winds stuffing snow up my nose and got in a cab.
The Garage, where Jon Auer and I had already played this year, and the Disciplines had played last year (plus the Posies in 2005, and a solo show of mine in 2004) is run by the eccentric Dennis, a true rocker--he reminds me a little of Frank Gorshin’s character in “Twilight of the Ice Nymphs” meets RiffRaff from Rocky Horror. Wispy white hair retreating from the central battlefield, and scattering while doing so. You don’t really converse with Dennis so much as receive his part of the conversation; you have to sneak your requests in while he takes a breath now and then.
The guys arrived, we soundchecked, I set up the merch. We went upstairs for a few moments and then back down, and magically the place was full. Bergen folks ALWAYS rock, especially at the Garage. It’s the kind of place that, if you play on a weekend, you just don’t have to worry if people will be there. They were there, they were drinking, jumping, and singing along, and it was marvelous. No complaints about this show! It was what a good Disciplines show is all about. Fun, spilled beer, and conviviality par none. After the show Bjorn’s medical school buddies drank all our beer, so it was time to go home!
OSLO, 11/22
I was up in the morning for a swim, and barely got my guys on to the airport bus (I won’t say who I was waking up at 12.10 to get him on the 12.20 bus that we needed to be on, but I will say he plays bass) but we all made it and got on our flight to Oslo. We took the train into central Oslo, and then loaded up a MaxiTaxi--a Mercedes sprinter that accommodated easily the band, crew and gear. It also had karaoke, but we didn’t take advantage of that.
We pulled up to the Parkteatret and brought our gear in. The Parkteatret is a lovely old theater in the hipster neighborhood of Grunelokka; in fact, it’s just a block from Tim Wendelboe, my favorite espresso stop in all of Europe. It’s kind of a big place, probably too big for us to be playing so early in our career, but the fact is we padded it out with a big guest list and by the time of our show we had a nice looking house. We were sharing the night with a Balkan Beat Party, a super popular destination on Saturday nights, with DJs and a live band playing that Croatian Klezmer that is all the rage at the moment. The band--Copenhagen based, mix of Croats, Poles, Danes and Macedonians--were really good, I managed to watch their soundcheck. They had a drummer plus a guy banging on a kind of marching band bass drum, a tuba, an accordion, a kind of tiny clarinet, some oud-looking thing, and bass. They set them up on the small stage at the back of the room, and we were on the big stage. Probably in terms of popularity and appropriateness the places should have been switched, but, the big stage here is so lovely and prestigious, I didn’t make a fuss.
Oslo concertgoers, especially for a show whose headliner goes on at 9.30, are pretty standoffish. The difference between Oslo and, say, Bergen is polar. Hahaha! Nordic jokes. nyuk nyuk. But, really, there were a lot of people cramming into the back behind the sound board, a few really young kids up front going nuts, and a kind of no-fan’s-land in between. I had to work HARD to rectify it. My strategy was simple--this venue is so refined, so genteel, that I felt I had to bring the dirty crust of true rock and roll insanity. There were points when I saw my Oslo friends in the audience (including much of the TIm Wendelboe staff!) and I felt totally ridiculous--shaking my shoulders and pouting a la Robert Plant in 1974; sucking a spilled beer off the surface of the stage; spitting on myself, etc. I whipped the mic cable in the spilled beer, flicking it and smelly liquid on the audience. I brought a (male) audience member up and proceeded to do a kind of Prince-meets-Deliverance bump and grind on this extremely good sport. I stood on tiny barricades, bounced on the little wood slat that runs in front of the sound board...walked from table to table, basically risking my neck about 1000 times. It worked--by the end of the night, we had convinced Oslo to loosen up and give in to our charms. But I tell you it was hard work...today I am basically one big bruise. It was a great show, but it took awhile to break the ice...but, I think we won the respect of Oslowegian hipsters, the kind who get into shows for free so aren’t there as fans as much as just to be somewhere without paying cover on a Saturday night. We won the hard fight.
Back to Paris this evening, and yes, I was at Tim Wendelboe’s this afternoon!
Love
KS
OSL
