OOSTENDE, 11/15
This was for sure a surprise hit. I remember the Posies show there last year being a bit sleepy, and in fact Oostende in the off season has a kind of half empty luck to begin with. It doesn’t seem like the kind of place that is full of kids looking to get down and smash their heads on the punk rock. But, it’s a cozy place, the Manuscript, and Glenn, the owner, is a lovely guy. Our soundcheck consisted of half a song, since it sounded great onstage, and the bar is open all day, we didn’t want to bum the patrons out. Then we had some downtime, so we checked into the Hotel du Parc, which is where bands from the Manuscript stay--it’s a really good hotel, small with great decor, and as an added bonus we had single rooms. This really helps--I was able to sneak back and forth until showtime (it’s only a block from the club) and get my head together. Dinner was brought to the dressing room, and it was rabbit, one of my favorite things, so that felt good too.
Manuscript is tiny so it filled up fast, I think we outdrew the Posies last show--it was seriously SRO. And people were into it, and somehow the restrictions made my antics more extreme--and they didn’t need to be, but it’s always nice to have four walls to push against. The club is so small I put my set list on the opposite wall in front of me. The audience is kind of divided in two--there’s a small space in front of the stage, but more space off to the right of the stage, where there is the entrance and the bar. So I had to entertain the two groups, (a big post and the sound desk divides them) and that was fun too. I crawled on the bar, I dove thru the audience, I crawled from bar stool to (occupied) bar stool. I was manic and in great spirits. At some points with my long cable I actually ran out in the empty street, and yelled at the buildings, listening to my voice bounce of the street, then came back and pounded on the window, and sang to the people inside. At the breakdown of ‘I Got Tired’ I felt everyone should hear that cool echo thing, so I brought much of the audience (and the rest of the band) outside into the cold night (the streets were empty) and tried to get them to listen to my shouts but then this guy who came out the bar next door started to sing back to me, and we had this little jam, and then it was cold so I ran back in, and started to play like the intro to ‘Thunderstruck’ on the drums and then we jammed to the end of our song. Nathalie, a fan, had written ‘Oslo’ on our setlists so we did that, me sitting on the bar.
Awesome night. The guys had to be up at 5am to get their train back to the airport, but I didn’t have a train til 11.45 so it was my duty to accept Glenn’s free drink, as he dribbled wine from his glass on my leg (I am pretty sure it was accidental!)
The next morning I walked thru the town to the train station, and stopped at one of the little seafood shacks by the harbor, and bought some crevettes gris (shrimps so small you can eat them whole, legs, antennae and all) and a rollmop (pickled herring around onions) and had that smelly lunch in the train station. Then trained home, via Brussels. The Oostende train was in to Brussels a little late but I just made my train and all was well. Upon arriving home, I went back to work on mixing Oh, Libia!, managing to get pretty close to finishing the album. And still worked in a nice long dinner break with the three generations in the house that evening. Had to make a post office and wine run.
Tuesday was one of those there’s-no-cabs days, but finally one pulled up to the cab stand (a feast or famine kind of cab theme inhabits Paris, marking yet another similarity between the Big Apple and Le Pomme de Terre Enorme) and I was on my way. CDG was delightfully and uncharacteristically depopulated that morning, even tho my flight turned out to be reasonably full. I went to what I thought was my seat, and was on the phone saying bye to Dom as I sat down in my aisle seat on the outside (meaning I had just one seat next to me). Eventually I hung up and a woman in the center group of four seats said “you’re in my seat”. Hmm. I realized, she was right--and two people were in the row in front of me where my seat was, which threw me off. And of course, she was getting pissy. So, I said, please take your seat. And in one of those great passive aggressive moments said ‘oh, no, I’ll just, you know...sit somewhere else’. Oh, am I supposed to feel bad? I mean, you were on this plane a long time before I was...why weren’t you in your seat already? Give me a break.
Landed in NYC and threaded my way to the Gershwin Hotel, which is an arty little joint in pretty much no-man’s-land in the 20s--a neighborhood so boring that only insurance companies use it for their HQ’s. There is the new Ace Hotel there nearby, you know, owned by some guys from Seattle, the Ace Hotel Bar being the hippest thing around (with a Stumptown Roasters--now the Starbucks for groovers) so it’s jammed with...uh, assholes.
I went for a hanging out with my dad and brother at a really unhip joint. That was great.
BROOKLYN, 11/18
I slept in and in and in. I was rather relieved to find that the two hour interview for the Big Star documentary was not happening, Drew the cameraman had been editing a piece for MTV until 5am, and needed to rest if he was going to be on duty for the show that night. Not that Alex had given permission for the show to be filmed or anything. But they were going to be there soaking up ambience and getting backstage shots (which Alex was fine with, as long as he wasn’t in them). So I took my time to get ready, and ran some errands. Being that France isn’t the land of endless choice (and subsequently, is also not the land of endless waste) I find the astonishing variety of products in a typical Duane Reed astonishing. I’ll go in one of those American ‘drugstores’ and just look. Here I made some impulse buys--things, again, you can’t get in a French pharmacy--Neosporin, Zyrtec in a 45-dose bottle. I went to a Mailbox Etc to mail a Disciplines T-shirt that was purchased on our website--and walked in to a place that has no lines--just the thought of going to La Poste in Paris--I’d fly somewhere just for the pleasure of avoiding my local post office.
Finally I gathered Jody, and Danielle, the force behind the Big Star doc, into a cab and we headed for Brooklyn. I gave the cabbie directions, even tho suddenly in Brooklyn he was able to improvise...hmmm. Suspicious.
The Masonic Temple of Brooklyn is an impressive, if slightly shabby, edifice. Its lived-in feel was oddly perfect for Big Star. Anyway, we sold the joint out. We walked in and the PA and backline were a work in progress even tho we were late as it was, but our tech Lola was organized and on the case. Since the show was sold out, the first order of business was to get paid. I had enough hundred dollar bills to stuff a toilet. Easily. I was eager to distribute them, so I spread out the cash amongst Jon Jody & myself (Alex wasn’t in a soundcheck vibe today). By then the sound system was ready. The in house backline tech was already checking the drums for Carl, our chipper Irish FOH engineer. Then Jody stepped up and BANG the volume of the drums quadrupled. Quite a marvel of human engineering that Mr. Stephens. He had discovered that one of the crash cymbals that had come with his kit had arrived broken, so I had sent the promoter on a scramble to replace it, which he did. I was using a bass completely new to me, a 1968 Guild Starfire that Baard Discipline had bought online, had sent to my hotel, and I was going to mule it back to Europe for him. Lola found the neck slightly bowed, and did a truss rod adjustment, and it was absolutely playable as is. Looked cool too. Gotta watch that push button that cuts the lo end, tho...
Jody wanted to run thru lots of stuff which suited me just fine. I felt pretty good, even tho doing these shows just 3 times a year means that I have to dredge up the notes from a filing cabinet somewhere behind the open drawers marked ‘Disciplines’, ‘solo album’, ‘mix engineer’, ‘Parisian dad’ and ‘put pants on before going outside--if you go outside and feel cold in the yarbles, look down and check’. But, like my accumulated bits of the French language, my knowledge of Andy Hummel bass lines is *in* there, I just have to reach in my head, find it, and dust it off. So the long soundcheck was perfect for me. I felt really good by the end, and Baard’s bass was too cool. I wanted that thing! Jody was already looking winded by the end of the soundcheck, he mentioned that even tho he practices for an hour or so every day in the weeks leading up to a show, when he actually gets on stage it’s a totally different animal, much harder.
I had more details to work out--guest list, what kind of passes for whom, getting the support acts, the dressing rooms, etc etc all sorted. I had a chance to chat with Kurt Vile, whose band the Violators are pretty much the War on Drugs whom I’d seen in Paris earlier this year. Very nice people. And Tara Angell, whom I’d spent time in the studio with this summer. She’s a great person and one of my favorite songwriters, in fact, and the only reasons I didn’t play with her at this show are that a) I play bass in Big Star so I didn’t have a guitar etc. to use and b) I just knew that as tour manager as well as bass player, I would have a lot on my plate and didn’t want to add anymore layers of complexity to an already intense evening.
So, in the meantime, I paced the building and got to know its twists and turns--as impressive and mysterious and exclusive an organization as the Masons allow themselves to be perceived, this place smelled, depending on where you stood, of cat piss and or long-dead rat. Our dressing room was a dining hall, behind which was rather gruesome kitchen. There was a Green Room, like we call the place to hang out before a show, which was Tara & Kurt’s dressing room. And, a nice change of pace, there was a Blue Room, which was the bar for the venue (and, being that technically the Masonic Hall is for members, you can smoke there...woah. All of this, and the bathrooms--a grungy men’s room and a ladies room with a lounge (old school) were downstairs from the hall. In the foyer between these rooms one of the walls had a mural based on Masonic themes--stars in mysterious Colgate-practices-witchcraft alignment, calipers, etc--except this tableau looked like it could easily have graced the cover of a vintage Santana album.
I would say that despite the idea that Masons are kingmakers and world puppeteers--the ultimate dead white white guys runnin' the world, Bavarian-syle--the vibe of the Masonic Temple of Brooklyn was mainly working class African American. They tolerate the odd rock show to add a little upkeep money. But, our invasion of the Blue Room was a serious disruption on the regulars, working guys who just wanted to watch the Knicks in peace.
Jon, Jody, the Big Star doc crew, Christophe from Warners (our publicist now) and myself had dinner at a great little Mediterranean place called
Olea just one block away from the venue. I took the risk and had oysters, flown in from Washington state...I didn’t die. Evidently 15 Americans a year do die from eating bad oysters, enough to foment a movement for a ban in certain areas in certain months. No smoking, no foie gras, and now no oysters--but of course Whoppers and other corporate heart cloggers are fine. Notice how the banned items (not ciggies, but the food ones)--raw milk cheese, foie gras, and the like are all items that are made by small farmers--these bans for ‘health reasons’ get signed into law. Meanwhile, McDonalds and other corn-crammed agrishite stop more hearts than the average ground war each year and somehow they are allowed their relentless march over the bulging bellies of American eaters. We’re all getting fragged on Hamburger Hill, and Capitol Hill is fine with it as long as their War Chests are full of big bux from the big companies. Again, you wonder why I live elsewhere? Hell, last time I checked even blowjobs were illegal in Texas. This country blows (where permitted), often.
But it was a beautiful fall evening, in fact. Yellow maple leaves made a damp parquet on the sidewalk. It was warm enough to pleasant but not unseasonably so. You could detect November. I walked back to the venue, after a hilarious dinner episode where Jon, who *was* playing with Tara Angell, canceled and subsequently un-canceled his salad. I loved watching the waiter roll his eyes on that one.
We got back to the venue and I was surprised to find Alex already there--which was good, so I could get Lola working on his guitar. In fact, I didn’t have much to do, so it was calm enough that I could watch Tara’s set with no stress. Everything was in progress. Guests were coming in, and getting the right passes. All was well. I did find that the ice bucket holding our champagne and other cold beverages was leaking all over the dressing room floor, so I was constantly applying towels to the hemorrhage, and mopping up the tracked-over water so people didn’t slip and break their necks.
I watched
Tara Angell from the wings and then went out in the house and found one unusual sonic attribute to the building--Tara being basically an acoustic opener, a lot of people were walking in during her set, and talking. And in the cavernous main hall, which had a seated balcony level so we’re talking 50 foot ceiling here, the ambient chatter reverberated on itself and compounded to make quite a lot of noise--and of course the broken window theory means that if there’s some talking noise, that will encourage more talking. However, going back to the wings, that noise was undetectable--it sounded like Tara was playing to a completely hushed audience. I’ve never experienced anything like it. Tara’s set was excellent. Watching Jon play along and play a bit too much of the unrehearsed hand reinforced my decision to not take another set of music on.
Kurt Vile & the Violators made a mighty squall, I was into it, tho I think some of the older Big Star fans were horrified by a couple of the longer, dronier numbers. I heard some scuttlebutt as I worked the room making sure everything was in order.
Then they were done, and off stage efficiently, and Lola did a great job preparing the stage for us. I made sure all had towels, water (Gatorade for Jody) and after a visit to the secret toilet next to the stage (I blocked it off with a huge waste bin to discourage overuse) all were ready. In fact, in classic style, Alex just nonchalantly strode onstage and started fiddling around. Well, there wasn’t much we could do wrong. There were over a thousand people there ready to worship (it was a temple, after all) at the altar of Alex. We kicked in, and from my POV we were great, the stage sound was great, and in fact I was so calm that I could just explore and have fun. I was incredibly centered--in the old days, not being nervous would mean that I wouldn’t be amped enough, the show would be flat, I wouldn’t be able to find the energy. But I am at a way different level now. Ken the 2009 Dude...abides. Actually, I did more than just abide. I went for it. Took lots of swooping chances on the bass, made only a couple of tiny errors that didn’t matter one bit. And I had energy--as a man without a time zone I was in a surreal place of calm but with inspiration. As the smell of cheap weed drifted in I pointed out that was the ‘Secret Masonic Shake’ which set Alex into giggles. With the weird separation of the stage and room acoustics, I couldn’t hear it but I guess everyone was singing along loudly with all the songs. I sang ‘Feel’ and in fact, I had some extra gut juice so I was really into it--and evidently, it brought down the house. I had such an ovation that it was embarrassing, actually. Again, Alex was laughing and digging it. Then we launched into ‘September Gurls’ and for some reason Jody didn’t start. Alex didn’t restart tho, he just chugged along, and Jody came in for the chorus. Well, it was a moment.
We did only ‘Slut’ as an encore. People were freaking out, leading up to that, and freaking out afterwards, they wouldn’t leave and the stage manager cut the music playing on the PA after the encore, giving people a false hope we were coming back--I yelled at him PUT THE FUCKING MUSIC BACK ON-- I like yelling, but while smiling, it’s double dirty. I love being a tour manager, at times.
The bass was beautiful sounding and beautiful looking, but it had frets with a different size and marking than what I’m used to, so I had to really pay attention to where I was. It was also some time (well, July) since I’d played a full set on bass, and since I play with my thumb, I had a blister the size of a kidney bean rising up soon into the show. It hurt, so of course I just dug in and played harder.
After the show I did guest wrangling, getting people who didn’t know to go to the Blue Room. I had some good hang time with Bob Mehr, the freelance writer whose piece on Chuck Prophet I’d just read on the American Airlines inflight mag. There were
Steve Wynn and Linda Pitmon, and just tons of New York friends. I had my champagne, and after all that--the show, the after show wrangling--I was suddenly just done. Alex was too at the same time, so called cars for all of us and headed into the city with Jon, dropping him at some LES dive bar. Like, no thanks--I was ready for bed. Nothing good happens after 1am. Ever. Well, maybe in Spain.
I had a good night’s sleep and the next day I had my interview for the movie, finding myself in good wit, I was rather articulate for a change. Danielle walked me out to the nearest corner to flag a cab, and of course it was shift change (I mean, can’t these guys figure out to stagger the shift changes so people can still catch cabs). One off duty cabbie saw my suitcase and stopped anyway and took me to JFK. That was it--my visit to the USA was over. It’s only when I’m leaving do I suddenly feel a little tinge of regret, like, was there something I didn’t do? Did I tell my dad I loved him enough?
ARNHEM, 11/20
Just before I got on the plane to Amsterdam two Dutchmen were in contact--Leon from the Gasoline Brothers, who have played numerous Benelux shows with the Posies, walked up and gave me their latest CD; and
JB Meijers, who you may know from my recent blog entries, offered to pick me up at the airport. Are you sure? I get in at 8? He was just finishing up a show in Haarlem, so it had to be like 1am. No problem! I’ll be there at 9, after I drop my daughter at school. Woah. What a mate!
Well, I landed, and JB found me, and we went to his place. What a guy! You see, I knew that our accommodations in Arnhem were a hostel, so possibly very undeluxe, and quite far from the center. I wasn’t even sure when they would be available--most hotel/hostel check in times are 3pm, and had I left directly from Schiphol I would have been in Arnhem like at noon at the latest. So, JB’s offer was a godsend. I went to shower up, and JB went to meet his missus for lunch. I was in the bathroom before he left, and pulled out a bottle of black nail polish--which instantly shot out of my hand, landing--in pieces--on the slate floor of the bathroom. Blobs of black goo on the floor, door, wall...luckly only two pieces of glass. But still. Fuuuuuuck. What a bummer. JB said thru the door ‘I’m off to meet Wanda, back in 45 or so’. ‘Uh, no problem dude...see ya’ and frantically set to cleaning up the mess. It took a lotta TP and a full bottle of polish remover, but I actually managed to undo the damage. Then at last I could shower.
I told JB what had happened, tho, so that no nasty surprises happened when they emptied the waste bin in the bathroom...of course he’s cool so he didn’t care. And my handiwork was quite thorough, and no paint was damaged. Phew.
JB and I went downtown, and he hung with me til my train came, and helped me get sorted. In fact, on the track just outside of Arnhem someone had jumped in front of a train, so the trains from Amsterdam were re-routed to approach Arnhem from the south, via Den Bosch, adding 30 minutes to the trip. I had better get a move on, and I did.
Stepping off in Arnhem, I got my bearings to find out which door of the station to exit, as the Luxor is across the street. Thar she blows. I rang the bell, and the staff was there to greet me and get me settled. Really cool people. The Luxor is an early 20th century cinema that became a disco, and finally went tits up in the 90s. The city paid to have it restored to it’s Art Nouveau glroy, repainting all the murals and details (while retrofitting it with a modern basement and other helpful things). The main room that night had a show with Vanvelzen, a singer, who happens to be also be a dwarf who sings very commercial, U2-lite commercial pop. That kind of thing goes down big in Arnhem tho--lots of secretaries and other normal squares going for their one big Friday out that isn’t NYE. Backstage, the band was somewhat obnoxious--they just wouldn’t shut up! Singing ELO covers, like, hyping themselves nonstop. I am all about enthusiasm, but sometimes...it’s like, dudes you are playing a small theatre in Arnhem, this is not Live Aid, just stop with the prayer circles and shit. These guys did a prayer circle and RAN onto the stage with the tour manager doing the paratroop drop “GO! GO! GO! GO! GO! GO!” ....for SOUNDCHECK. I was thinking of the Royal Tennenbaum brother who makes his kids do the fire drill over and over again. Like: crazy.
We were playing in a small cafe upstairs, also with beautiful art nouveau touches. Perhaps not the most acoustically pristine environment, but it worked for us. And although VanVelzen was soaking up most of the populace, we had a good crowd that grew as the night went on...and we were insane. The stage was low so I could leap off and go nuts non stop. Again, jet lag can give you that ‘I’m so tired--fuck it’ kind of gentle nihilism that makes you do crazy stuff. The fact is, the people ate that shit like MSG-coated skittles, and we made some VERY loyal fans. Everybody in that room bought a CD or shirt or both.
Bjorn and I took the gear in a cab to the Stayokay (read: it’s not called the StayAwesome for a reason) Hostel, which is in the freaking woods a ten euro cab ride from the center. Baard and Ralla were convinced that Friday night in Arnhem would be good, and also they always need to eat after the show. I ironed my clean clothes and went to bed. I never heard them come in--or the snoring that kept Bjorn up for two hours.
HAARLEM, 11/21
We were up and breakfasted. Yep, it’s a hostel so we had 4 bunk beds, isn’t that cute. It’s like being one of the Seven freaking Dwarves. Eventually we got a cab sent out to us and the guy was very nice and helped 4 guys and a bunch of guitars (including one extra bass) get in his Mercedes and to the train station. We had time to have lunch, and for me to return the key card that opens all the doors in the Luxor. I used it to open the back door, in fact, even tho the venue was empty. I was relieved not to hear an alarm beeping however. The office was locked with a conventional key so I left the card on the floor right in front of the office door where they were sure to see it.
I bought the train tix to go to Haarlem, and for the boys to go from Utrecht to the Schiphol, and had itineraries printed out for both journeys. We got on the train for the hour-ish ride to Amsterdam, had a quick but successful transfer to the Haarlem train, and then had just a fifteen minute ride to Haarlem. We got in a cab who wound up gummed up in the market near the cathedral, so we got out and walked and eventually found our hotel, which is in fact right next to the cathedral. A little down time and we were then off to find the venue. I’d seen a map, but didn’t have it in my head that day--I just asked the guy at the front desk, since bands from the Patronaat often stay there. And of course he gave us totally fucked directions that took us the wrong fucking way. I realized something was wrong and asked for further directions. And this guy gave us the WRONG FUCKING DIRECTIONS again. Finally I went in to a cafe, and the girl working there had a map, and I sussed it out myself. For Fuck’s sake. Thar she blew, the new Patronaat, which I had never seen before, I’d only played the old one. The new one is huge, has all these different venues inside (three different concerts that night). Huge loading dock--if you go in, you find the main hall actually floats on these giant springs inserted into the concrete pillars that hold it up...earthquake proofing? I mean, what the...we went up to our dressing room and found out that even tho we were late we were early--the FOH wasn’t there yet, the backline was still being set up. We went down to check it out, eventually.
The Vox AC30 amp was a rental, and it was stuck in traffic. So we worked on the drums, bass and vocals. Then, Exile Parade, our support band, from the UK, arrived. We set up the merch table with room for both. I got Ralla talking with the drummer and they agreed to make a hybrid kit out of the best parts of the house kit and EP’s kit. Then the Vox arrived and we were able to soundcheck.
The elevator for the building goes to the lowest level--the backstage of the small hall. Then up one level it lets you out ON the stage of the small hall. Next up, the 0 level, is of course the loading dock, which is big enough to accommodate repairs on mechagodzilla. Up from there there’s stuff for the main hall, then on level 2 are all the dressing rooms, all in a row. You’d think the bands would hang out in that case, but...they didn’t. The headliners were this Dutch hip hop trio who are supposed to be really good. They got on at the loading dock and rode with me to the dressing room level, and were all like, serious and cool and shit. So I just subtly made fun of them for the ride. They didn’t get it. Oh well. They had that vibe of ‘we don’t...hang out. We sit around in brand new jeans looking all Euro badass’. Puhleeeze.
There was enough down time after eating dinner at the venue to go back to the hotel, and stop off and have a coffee on the way back. We came in and saw the end of Exile Parade’s frantic, shirtless rock. That was a nice surprise, it wasn’t brooding Britpop, that’s for sure. A curtain came down and we started to do the change over. I got water and towels onstage, and set lists, and then went up to put away my jacket, have that last pee that always waits for the last possible second to make its presence both known and undeniable, and drink a little water to soften the blow of the opening song on my throat.
Somehow, I must have been there for awhile, as when I strolled coolly out of the elevator onto the stage, my band was there waiting for me, curtain up. It could have been 30 seconds, it could have been two minutes. But you bet I felt like a rock star, and it played well with the audience. I walked on, ‘as if nothing had happened’ and we went into it. Another burner...as always, I think at the beginning, man, we are gonna bore these people, I can’t breathe, I have to take it easy....and by the end of the night I’m sliding down bannisters and engaging in all sorts of tomfoolery. We did, however, have a great ally tonite--
Igmar, who happens to be the air guitar champion of Holland. I didn’t know this, but it was him I selected to dance with me for “I Got Tired”...and he went into this routine of...undescribe-able awesomeness. Something like the dance scene in ‘Napoleon Dynamite’ meets the dance zone scene in a recent episode of The Office, meets the ‘Beat It’ video...we were dancing in synchrony, as best as I could, but honestly, I had so much to learn from this jivemaster. So cool. I brought him up on the stage to work his magic, but not before using his leg as a limbo pole. Yes!
At one point when Bjorn broke a string, I was asked to do air drums, so I did a really nasty drummer satire, then made Ralla get up and make fun of me and all lead singers. He wasn’t too evil tho. Dang!
We earned an encore for sure, and we did ‘Oslo’ in it--we’ve been doing this “Bon Jovi style’ which means sitting down on the edge of the stage and getting all unplugged and sensitive. But first I did some banter, and pretended not to know the difference between ‘Haaaaarlem’ and ‘Harem’ which Dutch people pronounce Hah-rem, nor Hair-’em like Americans would. And it totally worked, a woman came forward and tried to explain the difference...and I just acted dumber and dumberer. Then I switched subjects on her, and asked her if Haarlem-ers used Haaamsters for bedroom play. And without missing a beat Bjorn said ‘I think that’d be more in Hamsterdam, Ken’. I mean come on...you pay for the jokes, we do the music for free!
After the show our friends and we went to the hotel region, so we could drop our stuff, and then found a bar to order a drink at....with the slowest bartender EVER. I think it was his first day on the job (at least, I HOPE it was). Every question we asked him, he would get this look of panic, and go ‘uh....mmm...er...OK and come back 20 minutes later with almost the right thing--ONE DRINK AT A TIME. I had a glass of wine and then asked about the vintage port, since it wasn’t on the wine menu. They produced a port menu and I asked for a vintage ’67, €50/glass. “Oh, the bar is closed. Sorry”! I just saw a guy order a €2 beer...and I’m about to order (and pay cash) for the most expensive drink on your menu...are YOU FUCKING NUTS? Can people really be so stupid? Answer: ‘duh!’
UTRECHT, 11/22
Pissing rain in the morning. Bjorn and I had breakfast in the ridiculous Egyptian-themed breakfast room at the Ambassador hotel. At 11.30, Rene, sound eng. for JB Meijers, was waiting at a pick up point a 5-minute walk away (in the daytime, cars can’t drive into the market area around the hotel). I pounded on Ralla & Baard’s door, finding them in pretty terrible shape--they went in search of ‘the ultimate Haarlem lesbian bar experience’ and god knows what they found, after the dumbdumb winebar closed. I went to bed. Anyway, they were down in ten minutes and we got in Rene’s car and drove to Amsterdam, to take part in the 2 Meter Sessions. This is a long running show of live music sessions, that’s been on radio and TV (currently it’s radio only on Kink FM) hosted by Jan-Douwe Kroeske. The Posies have been featured on it a couple of times. JD has over 10,000 songs from over 1400 sessions in his archives. And he’s still happy to see me! That’s a compliment.
We loaded in to the studio, which is a broadcast studio with several different shows going on for different networks at once. Our thing was in a radio session upstairs. JB and his crew showed up, and we got the backline upstairs. Pim, the keyboard player from De Dijk, Holland’s biggest band (JB is the producer of their albums and their live guitarist) was there to do some photos and video. We did music for two shows--JD is going to do an hour on JB (since he is not only the solo artist I play with, but producer and musician for many of Holland’s biggest acts...and one of soul musics ‘biggest’ artists, the King, Solomon Burke) and an hour on me, focusing on THE DiSCiPLiNES. Cool! Well, we did JB’s music first. The D’s had learned 3 songs from JB’s album, I played keys on two and guitar on the rocker ‘Motherf***er, and I did backing vocals as well. We would run thru each song 3 times or so, and then record a couple of keepers. The guys did a great job, I have to say. Then we did 4 songs, of course, we know our stuff so there was no run thru, so we banged out three songs from the album plus ‘I Got Tired’ with JB on guitar and BVs. We were SMOKIN’. My voice sounded like Kim Carnes. Just awesome. It’s a great document of a band on fire.
Then we packed up and headed to Utrecht with Rene, and loaded into the Ekko. I’ve played now 4 shows at this nice small (but not that small) place. This was my 10th show in Utrecht overall--Big Star, REM, solo, The D’s, 2 x White Flag and 4 x Posies. Maybe even 5, maybe this was #11?
We checked, we ate the vegetarian meal (for some reason all the clubs in Utrecht serve veg or even vegan food??). JB arrived and we shot the shizz and then I realized we had a lotta down time so I opted to find the hostel and check us in. I looked it up on the map, and even tho’ the route was far from direct, I found it no problem. I have a mighty good sense of direction...usually. One great landmark I passed on the way is Utrecht’s huge brick water tower--a mighty thing that looks like a section of castle sticking up in the air. This was filled with water using steam pumps and used to keep Utrecht’s water pressure up via gravity, back in the day.
I turned on Voorstraat, passing the ACU, where White Flag played last year. And found the hostel, much friendlier than the Stayokay...nice old hippie guy checking me in. That hostel thing is weird tho, when you go to some city, and just hang out at the hostel...I mean...this is one of those cases where the journey is not the destination...go somewhere and order a beer. It’s vegan.
I then paced out the route to the train station so I could time it for tomorrow and explain it to the guys, since they were leaving earlier than I was. Then I walked to the Tivoli (where Pete Doherty--no, I don’t call him Peter, the R evidently stands for ‘rehabilitated’ but I just don’t buy it--had a sold-out show, with Graham Coxon on guitar) and found the Cafe Belgie, where Bjorn, Rene and JB were having a drink, and I had a cafe. Rene and JB have each spent lots of time in India, and they had some rather amazing stories about their experiences. Then we walked back to the venue, in the biting wind. That black canal water never looked colder...
back inside I distributed keys and ID cards and breakfast vouchers to the band. Then I called Dom, and walked out the front door--much to the bouncer’s dismay. I had made sure when we entered to introduce myself and the band to him and the girl in the box office, and evidently it didn’t stick. Gerard, the bouncer, has been working at Ekko for something like 20 years. And of course he hit a TM nerve when I came back in, and he said--”you can’t just go out if you are not in the band, and I didn’t know you were in the band( this part was OK and understandable). When I am working it’s my show, and I have to ...” uh, hold on a second, pardner. I said: “I don’t want to get in a pissing match here. But I am the TM on duty. I made myself and my bandmates clear to you. Your venue doesn’t do wristbands, so it’s hard to tell who is who. But anyway, this show is as much mine as it is yours. Without one component, the other can’t function. So, I will introduce you to my bandmates again, so they can come and go with no problems, oK?” Grrrr. But a gentle grrr. He wasn’t a bad guy.
OK, now about those setlists. I had emailed our guest list, our set list for printing, and our passport copies to the manager on duty. “Any sign of those set lists?” “Ah, it came up as read only (which you CAN print, just not edit)”. “I see”. “Anyway, I didn’t think you needed them”. “And I emailed it to you just for my own entertainment? We can’t go on without it. You have a strict curfew at 23h. If we don’t have setlists in 5 minutes I am not going to be responsible for going over curfew and we are going to play our full set”. 2 minutes later--’aahhhh!! The printer is jammed!” I ripped a poster off the wall and Bjorn and I made a big set list each. And we went on. Here, the room was full, and the crowd was super into it. I was nice and wild, too. Just sayin’. But this crowd was easy (which is nice); many had seen us that week already, and they were ready for a good time. And I think we provided that nicely! Good moves included me stepping on the big set list by Baard’s monitor and having it tear away from the gaffer tape and become a banana peel for me to slip on (but I stayed upright). JB joined us for ‘I Got Tired’ again, and I did my best to call and response with his wild solo-ing. We did the Bon Jovi version of ‘Oslo’ at the end but slowly built up to being on our feet til the end was really rocking. And I sang like crazy....it was...insane. We sold the last of our CDs and lots of other stuff too.
After the show we went for a drink at the Bastaard Bar, the favorite hangout of Roel from Action Park/the Gasoline Brothers, and it was his birthday too. We had the customary coupla rounds before calling it a night.
In the morning, I got up to do my tour manager-ly duty and get the boys up for their train. Ugh, pissing down rain. But the room was warm. Mmm. And quiet, once they were gone. I had an hour to sleep still. Soon I was dreaming of hanging out with Bob Dylan but needing to give Aden a call...a call...calllllllll AGGH! I woke up at 10.30! Scheisse! I trudged to the station in the rain, and paid for a new ticket Rotterdam-Paris, and was soon having a steak in Rotterdam Central, and home by late afternoon. Aden was watching ‘Gremlins’, or ‘Greezlees’ as she called them...I put away the shirts and buttons and the dirty clothes...cracked open some Bordeaux, and was glad to be indoors, while the wind busted open the windows...
Love
KS
Paris
