I finally got on my rescheduled flight to Paris, getting home early Monday morning rather than late Sunday night. I spent the day working on itemizing all my Disciplines-related expenses for the year, and I wrapped that work by about 7pm. Dom was working, and we had arranged for a babysitter to stay til ten o clock. I had been in touch with the booking agent for
Bob Log III, who was playing that night at La Maroquinerie, to get the exact stage time for his set and had suggested that to a couple of the kids from
Chameleonic Cadence, who were visiting Paris this week. No need to say, I got lost like I always due trying to find La Maroquinerie coming from Gambetta, and showed up at 9.10, thinking I had missed the first ten minutes and would only get to see half an hour or so, only to find that he was going on at ten. I left and went home, very frustrated, esp. by the fact it was cold, and I traveled by bus each way. Depressing.
Tuesday I entertained Aden in the morning while Dom slept in, her job is event manager for a venue and every other Monday there is a TV show filmed there, the production lasts late into the night. So we did our best to leave her alone and let her recover, I took Aden to the cafe where we pass most mornings. was still tired and a bit sick from a hard weekend of Disciplines shows, Northern Hemisphere weather, etc. so back at the flat I played Barbies but also fell asleep for snatches when Aden was into her own story, then she’d slap me awake and we’d subject Barbie and Polly Pocket to more medical treatment. Aden told me she wanted to be a veterinarian so she could ‘get paid a lot of money’. It all makes sense if you know her.
With Aden having two weeks off for winter vacation, we took her to Dom’s parents place, a couple of hours train ride from Paris. We had dinner there, and Aden played with a kind of step-cousin that’s about the same age. I had to of course be on two different conference calls that night which was a pain in the neck but eventually could join the table--then up at 5 to catch my train back to Paris...getting back home in the early morning and then crossing Paris by metro and bus, guitar in hand, to rehearse for my upcoming show at
Le Scopitine.
Kristov & the Commoners, who are joining me on the bill, had offered to back me up for a few songs. I hopped on the bus from the end of the metro line, figuring I would know the neighborhood around Mains D’Oeuvres when I saw it. I’d just been there a couple of months ago to see Lydia Lunch perform, and I’d rehearsed and recorded there a few times over the years. But the bus recommended as the quickest connection by RATP actually went on a different road, not the usual one, so I hopped off and was totally lost. I called Kristov and he helped me find the way. No need to say it was in absolute pissing down rain, that I walked the 4-5 blocks I needed to get to the place. But, I just didn’t care. I set up and we started to run thru stuff with me playing guitar and piano, Kristov on and his guitarist Clement, and drummer Julien. The bass player couldn’t make it, but we worked on the songs and Clement, being a schooled kind of muso, wrote everything down and said it would be no problem to teach the parts to a bass player he was going to call in for the show. So, all was well. I could go home and rest, uh....right? I had dinner with Dom that night, on the terrace at a place we often go. Some slightly odd folks, speaking really bad French but thinking they were really cool, sat down at a table near us, which I wouldn’t have really taken much note but at one point I was talking to Dom about watching cartoons with Aden the night before and the guy, while the girl was probably hoovering up more lines in the bathroom, started like, TRYING TO JUMP IN THE CONVERSATION! Like, turned to our table, and being all smarmy, when I said something funny about Aden said “c’est vrai?” -- like, look: British or American assholes--JUST KEEP TRYING TO MAKE OUR CULTURES LOOK SHITTY, will you? We REALLY APPRECIATE when you act drunk, cocky and invasive ALL OVER THE FUCKING WORLD.
HAMBURG, 2/25
Up early again. This is what makes me ill. The constant slog of up at 5, heading to airports in the cold. The thing is, this week there was (maybe still is?) a strike of air traffic controllers in France so I was stressing all week--would the flight happen? What’s my alternative? How much would I have to improvise? Bjorn’s flight narrowly escaped the Lufthansa strike...I am supporter of collective worker action. But that doesn’t mean it’s not a source of panic when I may have to improvise a way to get from Paris to Hamburg in one day, which might turn out to be an expensive day at that.
Well, Air Berlin called and emailed the night before. My flight in the morning to Dusseldorf was canceled (what’s up with Dusseldorf, Air Berlin, me and canceled flights? Didn’t I just have this situation a few days before?). However, they had rebooked me on a flight to Berlin, which to my relief left an hour later than my original flight, and then they offered me a train ticket good for travel anywhere in Germany from there. Between Karsten at our label and myself we checked the train schedules and saw that I had quite a few options.
So, up that morning, and out the door early in case of any shenanigans (and each step of movement in and away from Paris is always beset by shenanigans). By yelling, which is the only way...I caught a cab, and we started to head to Paris. Of course, the route to Orly was blocked by the police for some reason, so after sitting in traffic for ten sweat-inducing minutes, we pulled around and headed on a big loop WAY outside of Paris and got to Orly eventually. And then checked in for my flight, and then sat at the gate and watched my flight get delayed by two hours because of traffic issued related to the strike. I landed in Berlin, got my train ticket, and hopped the bus that takes you to the train station from Berlin Tegel, and in short order and one burek hastily eaten on the platform later I was hurtling towards Hamburg rather much more quickly than an airplane would have done.
Off the platform and Karsten was there to meet me, and we headed directly to the offices of ROBA Publishing for a meeting. Then, it was already soundcheck time, and we cabbed to the Hafenklang, which is a very punk venue in what used to be a very punk part of town, down by the docks. Now of course, it’s all yuppie design boutiques and such, but the Hafenklang klangs on. The band arrived same time as me, and brought in our stuff. We were playing with The Flare-Up, who supported us in Stockholm last year. We had been added as support to their bill. Harry, JB Meijers’ drummer, lives in Hamburg so he came down and his friend Olli sorted us out an AC30! Brilliant. Well, we soundchecked, and it sounded pretty good. I had a lot to catch up on, so I spent some time emailing, and it wasn’t long before CEO, the punky local support band (reminded me of the Briefs) were banging away. In one particularly ’77 style number I asked Bjorn “Does this Clash wear with what I’m going?” but they were fun, and then we set up. The main part of the club was full and there seemed to be some genuine anticipation about our show. And we did not disappoint. It was furious, mad...balls out. The sound engineer hadn’t really done the most thorough job taping up my mic, so at more than one point the mic and the cable went in different directions...ooooops. Dude. Well. At each point I was desperate for action, so I tried: yelling the lyrics to each audience member, and then running onstage and looking for another mic. There was backup vocal mic, but it never came on. I used the hi hat mic, the tom mics (which are these ridiculous stubby things on short cables)...basically taking apart the whole stage...uh...but wait...we’re the *support* band tonite...oh.....buuummmmmerrrr.......the singer from the Flare Up was not pleased. In fact, he came out and demanded in between songs: “oh...and what about the soundcheck? What did we do that for? What are you doing, man?”. Well, I felt genuinely bad. I really was used to abusing Ralla’s kit in a way that would only affect our show. But, also...it *was* a punk club...and I am sure the exact placement of the tom mics...you know...but STILL I should have some respect. It wasn’t lack of respect per se, but really just plain old forgetfulness. (haha, cue Steve Martin: “I *forgot* that speeding was against the law”). So, I paused the show, and the sound guy put everything back together, and I apologized to the Flare Up onstage.
Of course, you realize, the people ate this shit up like crack-covered candy corn. That’s the magic of politics folks. *I* was the asshole who dismantled the drum set--the Flare Up singer had every right to be mad, but by the end of the transaction people were feeling sorry for *me*. I didn’t manipulate that--but I saw it play out like that. A PUBLIC apology is VERY IMPORTANT. You can get a long way with humility. Just by comparison, the Flare Up singer ended up looking arrogant when he was SIMPLY STICKING UP FOR his RIGHTS. How very odd.
Well, no need to say, we did our mission and then some. The show was insane, people loved it. And, I am very sad to say, the house pretty much emptied after that. This did not improve the Flare Up singer’s mood, but thankfully his band were much more forgiving. I apologized profusely, brought them beers on stage in their set, and they all said not to worry about the drum thing. Phew.
After the show, we were billeted at Karsten’s parents’ house, they were out of town so we had a warm, spacious house to bunk down in. I wasted no time, and tried to rest off my mounting cold.
POTSDAM, 2/26
Bless him, Karsten had a made a croissant run in the morning, and we were in great shape when we headed to the station for our train to Potsdam. We had time for a cafe at Hamburg’s cute Dammtor station, and then had a brief rocket-propelled ICE ride to Berlin. At the main station, we made our way onto an S-train and loped our way to Potsdam. As it turns out, after we cabbed to our hotel from the center, we actually were staying at a hotel across the street from the Griebnitzsee S Bahn stop, two stops out from the center. Oh, well, but...this was going to help us the next day, as we should be on the S-Bahn about 8am to get our train to Koln.
We had some nice chill time at the hotel, which was in fact a nice hotel and then we trooped over to the Lindenpark, which is kind of rock hall in the woods. Potsdam is a community of about 70,000 people significantly outside Berlin, but evidently they put on packed shows here from time to time...I’m not sure who comes out to the woods to see bands but hey. On the same street you can see the outer edges of Potsdam’s “studio city” a massive movie lot with huge building facades and such. The Lindenpark is notable for the London bus “smashed” thru its wall...another special effects trick...anyway, we arrived and Angelika Express were soundchecking. The opening band, Smokebox, had rented an AC30 for us...nice, very shy guys. Well, I felt like total garbage. So I croaked out half a song at soundcheck and went back to bed in the hotel.
Arriving back at the venue, Angelika Express were playing their rather full-length support set, including encore...I was like...hey...I want to go HOME. On with it! But they did give us a nice introduction, and what small crowd there was (the venue holds like 600) were pretty into it, so I couldn’t really fault them. I guess that was my ‘be understanding and forgiving to the support band” karma from the night before turning around rather quick like. So, I was thinking...man....not many people, I’m sick...how fun can this be?
And you know what: it was amazing--people kind of filtered in from the corners and we had a decent little crowd there. They were REALLY into it, dancing and jumping...and so it felt like a real show. Getting the notoriously shy German audience to jump and get crazy is REALLY a compliment so I took it as such. We had a lot of fun. Great, great, crowd. And then I went to bed. IMMEDIATELY.
KOLN, 2/27
Yes, that 7am wake up did nothing for my health. This is what gets me sick on tour...having to be up at 5, 6 , 7 am day after day to make trains and planes for the next show...then singing for two hours in cold winter air. Getting sweaty. It’s pretty much inevitable that I will be ill at some point. And tho I rested this night, just doing a high-energy show with a weakened body...the Disciplines show is like doing ten pilates classes in one night, plus a marathon, plus a couple hours of rock climbing thrown in for good measure. On the days after, I am bruised, pulled, sore, scratched. And to add insult, there’s always some ridiculous train or plane time thrown in the mix.
At 8am we were out the door, and quickly on the S Bahn platform. We got off at Kreutzberg, and there isn’t a lot of indication as to which platform is for which train but we soon determined it wasn’t anywhere near the one we were on...so we started heading to a logical, central point in the station and saw a sign with our train’s number on it, and arrived at the platform with plenty of time til the next train to Berlin Spandau. We arrived, and headed off the platform to the connecting passageway. Having passed thru this station on my way to Hamburg a couple of days before, I was under the impression it was a major, big station...but actually it’s quite compact. So, I was like, looking for a station hall thinking like a Hauptbahnhof, the S Bahn and and IC trains surely must be miles apart, right? Uh, no...there *isn’t* any station hall at Spandau. Our train was right next door. That tight, 5 minute connection I was so worried about was for nothing. We boarded and then had 4 hours on the train to sleep, have lunch, and all that good stuff. When it works...it works. Love the long train rides.
We arrived in Koln and Karsten was there again to greet us. We had to hustle to make it to our radio session, and we found that the train on the other side of the platform was going to where we needed to go. Then it was a matter of orientation when we arrived, and but soon we were hiking up the 5 flights of stairs to Koln Campus Radio, for an interview and live session. And here waiting for us were
Billy & the Firm, who were to support us this night. Readers of this blog should remember Billy, I mixed her album last year in two sessions at my home in Paris, one of which was attended by Billy herself. Billy herself being a multi talented singer, director, video DJ and more, from Israel. Billy is married to Shy Nobleman, who arranged my shows in Israel in 2008. The album she & I worked on together is now released by Spark & Shine in Germany like the D’s so it’s all quite compact and familial, no?
Well, it was great to see Billy and meet her band. Billy & I were interviewed first, which was really fun and cool. We got to sort of clarify our mutual respect in a public way...say some things that in the middle of working it wasn’t the time to say. And then Bjorn & I tried to record a couple of songs...I croaked thru Oslo but anything more was impossible. Hmmm. How was I going to do this show? People were coming in from all over, incl biz folks from Hamburg, to see this show. I knew the house would be full. What the hell?
My usual strategy in this case: take a nap. The Sonic Ballroom has a band apartment upstairs, so as the late afternoon sun was glowing, blazing even, thru the window, I got an hour and more of sleep. But it didn’t do much for my voice. The soundcheck--impossible. I couldn’t sing at all. What to do? As I sat there panicking, Viktoria, from ROBA music offered to call me a doctor. And she not only did that, but managed to make it so I could taxi to a hospital just 5 minutes away, walk in, and was having a cortisone shot in like 5 minutes. Back to club and resting. Trying not to talk too much. I had to watch Billy, tho, I wouldn’t dream of missing that. They were great, Billy is really a unique, beautiful, fascinating artist...she acts out many little roles in her songs (not in a corny/cabaret way) just...little shifts in her eyes and voice do a lot. The band, different I believe than the people who played on the album, are really cool, and play the songs....like the album but more extended...more jams....great stuff. People ate it UP.
Then it was our turn. Uh oh....could I do this???
Yes, we can.
Needles in my arm that evening, voiceless that afternoon...and we SCORCHED it. I found my voice...and my body...and we really tore it up. Tiny stage, packed house...this is how a rock show should be. People REALLY loved it. Billy was a tough act to follow but...it was clear that I was backed against the wall with my health and I wasn’t going to let it beat me. I fought. Fought my way back. TRIUMPH. Bed.
AMSTERDAM, 2/28
It wasn’t over yet. I was up at nine, Various Disciplines and Firms conked out in bunk beds, oblivious to my departure. Martine, who via liking REM became curious to see the D’s when they played Holland, and now has become a real fan, and we have seen her enough now to say she’s a friend, had offered to drive me from the Koln show (she was one of many out of town fans at this show) to the JB Meijers show in Amsterdam. That sounded nice, and it was, we chatted a bit but also I had to seriously woodshed on the songs of JB’s that I hadn’t played live before...no days off recently to do any practicing on my own, which I felt bad about...but i listened and made notes during the two hour drive. Arriving at
the Paradiso in the pissing rain...I was pretty broken. It was nice to see JB and band and Rene the sound engineer...and the Paradiso of course is gorgeous. But I was in no condition, really, to be there. Which was sad, cuz my opportunities to play with JB are a bit rare, and this of course was an important night for him, and I wanted to be able to give it all the energy it deserved. At soundcheck I was sort half alive. I could play tho, my fingers were in good shape and the songs we were playing for the first time...hell, the guys had rehearsed the day before and I think I made less errors, at least, than the collective....hehe. Well. Anyway, the music part, I could do that, limping back to the RAF base on one engine as I was, it was doable. Singing? All those great harmonies from JB’s record...and the fact we were doing two Disciplines songs and “You Become The Dawn”....oh man...I had literally nothing but a broken victrola sound coming out.
Doctor?
Soon we had one. It wasn’t long before a rather shocked JB was squeezing my arm to pop a vein, and ANOTHER needle was going in (I don’t like them...but I am starting to feel like a made-for-TV-movie of some rock star that needs to get jabbed before every show). I felt a little better. Remember, that since Koln I was on antibiotics too. Still, I was pretty messed up, and it was clear that jamming steroids in me wasn’t going to make me a great singer. After check, and some delicious Thai food from a friend of JB’s who owns a Thai resto, I went back to my lair--for musical and health reasons I had claimed the prod. office as my own dressing room, and after check I moved my keyboard down there from the stage to do more rehearsing--using ear buds and larger headphones over them I could listen to JB’s record and the keyboard at the same time. Then The Girls, the support band, went on, and it got REALLY loud. So, that was rehearsing, although when I went to the toilet to get something to blow my nose into, I would pass the old, funky piano in the hall and practice a few things. JB showed me this great Dr. John lick from his song “It’s Not Easy” so I wanted to work that in (and I did...like twice per verse! haha). Now, The Girls were the band I was scheduled to work with starting the following day, so I wanted to watch them, but I had to settle for snatches between all the getting ready stuff I had to do. But they did sound really, really good. I was familiar with their demos but....man. This was much bigger, stronger...ballsier. But that’s demos for ya. Let’s say that I wasn’t so much surprised as I was pleased at how much better the show sounded.
Now, another factor had entered my thoughts--actually, two. Saturday night was a night when Mother Earth fired a shot across humanity’s bow. As usual, no one in the wheelhouse was paying attention. But for several hundred Chileans and several doezen Europeans, the message was profound, albeit perhaps not clear. I have some great friends in Chile, who all turned out to be OK. But the storm called Xynthia had local repercussions, the extent of which I am still trying to determine. La Rochelle and my beloved Ile de Re were battered. Ile de Re was reduced to its medieval component islands--the sea reclaimed that which humans had lain claim to for centuries. The dikes failed, the land flooded. St. Clement-les-Baleines, evidently, is underwater, perhaps permanently. And our house? We still don’t know. The island was not accessible, but Dom is headed there today to have a look, and start photographing for insurance. Neighbors of ours in Paris who have a house on the northern side of the island found their house, which was just remodeled last year, filled with mud.
But, then, in Amsterdam, we were on....I truly had nothing to lose. My shot kicked in enough that I could, with effort, sort of sing. I did my best, anyway, and it wasn’t horrible. Sound came out, it was just a little hard to control and it wasn’t that powerful. I did have a lot of fun playing keys...basically, I just listened to changes and improvised like I always do, but with the foundation that I know the songs in my head, but then in the show it’s time to throw away the road map and drive wherever the sun is shining. True, I have notes with lyrics and chords, but I take a glance only when needed, and generally....feel it. So, after the Disciplines shows, this was like, liberation. However, I was still scheduled to sing three songs--”You Become the Dawn” and “Oslo” in the set, and we did Best Mistake in the encore. I went to the front of the stage for the D’s songs, and by encore time, they actually kinda brought down the house. People admired the energy, anyway...and the weird interlude that this music (excellently played by JB & band) provided in JB’s program. I mean, it’s all music, in the end, but...when you’re a songwriter it’s also personal. But it shows the confidence and generosity that JB has, to slide these curveballs in....we also did a song from the band of the guitar player, Wouter, that was like “So Good to See You” by Cheap Trick but in half speed....all in all, a great fun show, much less nerve wracking than the first show we did (last October)...well-attended, well played. No need to say, as soon as it was done...I high-tailed it to my hotel and immediately crashed.
The following day JB picked me up and we drove out to the country, where JB is a partner in a studio, built in a barn. Well, sort of. It’s an old school farm house, which means, there’s a little house that’s actually part of the barn. The house part is where the studio is--you enter and you’re in the small kitchen--the sole bathroom is also the shower stall. You go thru a door and you’re in the main room, where the music happens, as well as where the dining room table is. Then there’s a control room, which must have been the main bedroom back in the day. The rest of the building is barn....it’s big, it’s lofty, it’s raw, it’s freezing cold. The rain stopped after the first day, and the two days I worked after that...I started to feel better, physically, and the sun came out, and that really seemed to help.
The project: the second album for The Girls. The G’s are a young band, led by singer Robin, who is all of 23. Their guitarist, Rolf is like 19. Then there’s Sander, the drummer, who’s in his 20s (Lagwagon fan) and there’s in theory a bass player--they are playing live with a guy named Tim, but he’s busy with a new job and couldn’t make these sessions.
We had other issues too--the mixing console didn’t work. The power supply was in the hands of a studio tech in Amsterdam and he wasn’t really returning calls. So...a little repatching, and such...but also, we weren’t allowed to do drums after 7pm. No bass player. Hmmm. Lots of limitations. We spent the first day waiting to see if the repair would happen or not, then setting up when we realized...not. OK. Anyway, we got the drums mic’d up. I was silently relieved that we didn’t get too heavy into it...I just needed a day to recover some physical and mental strength. Normally, going into the studio the day after a show would be...normal, even fun. But I was pretty beaten up. So, I helped make the drums sound a little better--advising tuning, dampening, changing a head, snare whatever. We played a little music with me on bass, working on song arrangements. Then everyone went to their accommodations, and I pulled out the duvet that JB had provided me and curled up on the studio sofa. I *love* sleeping in studios, with the warm gear, and comfy couches...ah.
The next two days were really productive--we got the drums going, and managed to cut most of the drum tracks for the album. I was constantly making advisements on styles, parts, drum fills, many things came to light and to life in the work we did. I played some bass on a couple songs, and by the last day, Robin was putting on some great guitar parts on a song. We got along really well, and to help with the craziness in the mixing-console-less studio, we had Wieger, the engineer who was happy to plug in cables and troubleshoot. I nibbled smoked horse meat from the local supermarket. I slept reasonable amounts in the evening, and rose to see the sun shining in the windows. I caught up on emails on the off hours, and finally listened to the Disciplines new master (amazing). And I really enjoyed the boys in the Girls, and their music. We got along really well, and I believe they came to trust and respect my counsel. When JB rolled in to pick me up last night, I was in a great mood, feeling so much better (if not 100% back in shape). We went back to Amsterdam, and paid a visit to studio 150, where I’ll be working for a day next week, and crashed at his place.
PARIS, 3/4
In the morning, we dropped me at the train station and I went back to Paris on the Thalys, in first class much to my surprise. The three+ hours on the train went by quickly in that compartment--between lunch, wifi and just being pleased with myself there was a lot to be done. We arrived at Gare du Nord and I took the metro home. My reunion with Dom was brief, but enjoyable, she had lunch prepared, and we joked and caught up while I unpacked and packed for tomorrow. We checked out the attic, which had been cleaned up and drywalled. Then, I had to go to soundcheck. Yes, it was tough to be at home for such a short episode. Plus, it was a local show--that meant, unlike most days, where I just show up at a club and magically the gear is all there (except, perhaps, in Seville)--I was on my own here. We ordered a minivan cab, and I hauled my stuff down our three flights of stairs--guitar, amp, my enormous Kurzweil digital piano, its stand, and a duffel bag of cables, CDs etc. Dom had to help me with the keys. The cab and I headed to the center of Paris, and we pulled up Le Scopitone. Kristov and his guitarist Clement were waiting for me on the street, I called when we were close so they could be on the kerb when the cab pulled up, and we took my stuff down into the club. Le Scopitone is the former Paris-Paris, a place I never went to, but was certainly trendy in its day. My gut feeling is Le Scopitone is much better in terms of sound, atmosphere etc. --Paris-Paris was mostly for dancing but when bands did play there it was legendary for horrific sound. But Le Scopitone has great sound, a sophisticated atmosphere, and a little separation between showroom and bar. Well, arches anyway.
When I rehearsed the week before with Kristov and band, we had no bass player, but one had been found, Thomas, with dreads and all. We ran thru each song once and then I headed back home on the metro, and had a steak tartare at home with Dom. This is always a good way to fuel up before a show. Lean and mean. Dom tried on 8 different outfits, and then we hopped a cab to the gig. Kristov and band were playing when I arrived, and friends of mine started to trickle in.
As it was kind of a tight schedule that evening, I was supposed to play from 10.15-11.15....easy money! I wasn’t going to fight it, you know...tho I can play for 3 hours, being that I wasn’t sure how well I was going to sing, still fighting the cold...I was OK with an hour show. Anyway, they were ready for me, and my friends were there, and people seemed ready so I went on at ten. Dragged the mic out onto the floor and played mostly new songs, some old. It was a little noisy at the bar even tho the people in the room were really quiet--which is a real compliment, knowing how much French people blah blah at any opportunity--but still, with my weakened condition and the ambient noise I felt it better to move on and off the mic rather than discard it completely. People were absolutely OK with the arrangement. I played a few songs on guitar and then got the band onstage. We started with me on guitar, still standing in front of the stage, then I moved to the piano. With almost no rehearsal I thought the band did an amazing job. “Shit Talkers!” was a highlight, and a general crowd favorite. I did my best to put Dom on the spot with a song written absolutely about and for her (I have many) called “You’re A Sign”...it was hard to sing and not get all choked up...! I told the band to take five and did a couple of songs on the piano, new and old. Then they came back we did “Doesn’t It Remind You” with the *very* tall Dorothee from
Control singing the duet with me...she was awesome. That was supposed to be the end, but in fact, people wanted more so I did a couple more songs on guitar and then wrapped it up. It was a short show by KS standards, but in fact there was a DJ set after me, and a whole other night of DJs starting at midnite, so I was slotted for my hour and actually played a little bit more by starting early. Everyone was happy. My voice was actually pretty good, I was able to sing well between coughs.
Dom and I went upstairs and called a minivan cab...that took awhile but we got my stuff loaded in, and I managed to get the piano up to the flat (3rd floor) by myself while Dom helped me shuttle the rest of the stuff up. Soon the flat was kind of back to normal, and despite the fact I was still sick and on antibiotics we allowed ourselves a celebratory glass of wine, watched a horrible variety program on French TV, ate an apple, went to bed.
CANTU, 3/4
Up at seven, with a new twist--it’s the first time I have been up in the morning at home for a flight and it’s not still dark out. The sun was out, the sky was blue--it was still quite cold, but it’s amazing what light does for the body and the mind. I was out the door at 8.30, took the bus around the corner to where there’s a cab stand and was at Orly in sort of short order. I hadn’t been able to check anywhere that the air traffic controller strike was still on, but I was pretty sure it had been stated to last five days, so I wasn hoping for the best. What I found when I arrived was that things were not only back to normal, but no one was traveling. Orly was pretty quiet, and checking in and going thru security was absolutely easy. Our flight left a little late but it didn’t matter. I was tired tho, and sort of wished it was a two-hour flight somewhere rather than a one-hour flight to Milan. We were there, I got my bag and guitar, and exited the bag claim area to find
Flav T Mastrangelo waiting for me. Flav is a drummer, songwriter, singer, guitar player and enough of a fan to make the effort to organize three solo shows in Italy, and here I was. We got in his car, and started heading to lunch with his record label partner Gialuca, at a restaurant in Seveso. Little did I know that his family *owned* the restaurant. Well, that was later...haha, first we had to get lost a few times on the freeways that wind around Milano--right then, I said....we put Cass McCombs and I went to sleep. And woke up when we arrived at the place, perfect. In my half awake state I managed to turn on an alarm in the bathroom, somehow. Awesome. Soon we were eating polenta and some kind of very salty, dried, large sardine-like fish called aringa. There was wonderful wine, too--I had to break with the antibiotic ban for that, it was a Tuscan red called Morellino de Scansano. On the wine list it was €18, so imagine a store it would be half that--what a great wine for the price....for any price, really.
*Now* I needed a nap. Flav or the venue had arranged for an empty flat in Cantu, the small town about 40 min. north of Milano where Flav hails from. I zonked right out, and woke up when Flav came to get me for soundcheck. OK....it’s all going to be OK....hahah. It was dark now, and cold. We got to the venue, with the ridiculously long name
All’Una E Trentacinque Circa and found the piano set up, and it was a great piano, and an amp set up, and did some soundchecking, and it sounded just fine...then the venue fed me, a nice bit of carpaccio and salad. It’s a new space inside, might look a little clean at first, but when it started to fill up with people it seemed lively and friendly. Well, we had to run back to the flat for something, now I can’t remember why, hahaha. But we came back and Flav and his bandmate Massi went on doing Flav’s songs---they trade the acoustic guitar and tambourine back and forth and sing in unison, and Flav hits a kick drum pedal as it goes along...catchy tunes about Jesus and Italy.
Then I did my show, and found myself playing to an absolutely wonderful audience. The tiny stage has tables and chairs around it, but behind that, there were tons of people wedged in between the bar and the front door, craning their necks to hear and see. My voice was a little weak to do much off the mic stuff but it was working. Long notes that I sang caused pressure to build up in my sinuses and it hurt quite a bit, but I am nitpicking here. It was a great show, from the POV of vibe and feeling, even if I wasn’t technically at my best singing wise. People were really into it. I was able to play all my new songs, and old ones. They wouldn’t let me stop, actually. But at some point...I had to ahahah.
After the show one of the attendees said something really beautiful:
“Here in Cantu we live near the mountains, we do a lot of skiing. Most people ski down the easier runs, but a few lucky ones get to ski in fresh snow--they go where other skiers can’t or won’t. When we listened to your songs tonight, yes, we can hear a few familiar moments--a bit Elton John when you’re at the piano, a bit of this, a bit of that...but for most of the show...you are skiing on fresh snow. You are Ken Stringfellow, and nothing more and nothing less. And it’s for that we love what you do.”
Amen.
I went back to the flat looking up at the beautiful clear night of stars. I called Dom and found that the house on Ile de Re was miraculously spared any damage from the storm.
Laying down in the hide-a-bed in the flat, I drifted off...and woke right back up. The cold medicine that I had taken hours before the show somehow decided to kick in *then*. This is Rhinadvil, powerful French stuff. Dom had let me take some on tour with the words “these aren’t bonbons. Be careful!”. I had taken it the week before when I just couldn’t stand blowing my nose every two seconds when I was trying to get things done...and it was OK. But this time...hahah. Well, I woke up eyes wide open, my ears hypertuning into every ambient sound (and this is a small town, so it was pretty quiet). Water dripping in the radiator was tuning itself to piano notes, plink plink ploink...a bird that was cooing somewhere was turning into some kind of Martin Denny hoo HOO HOO ha HA HA...I was TRIPPING. Heart racing. I couldn’t tell if the flat was cold anymore...it had been quite chilly when I arrived and the heat was on some kind automated thing I couldn’t change so actually it was chilly and the interior of the bed was warm, but I was thrown off...AHHHHHHHHHHH. I fell asleep and woke up and all was calm. It’s sunny and warm-ish for winter near the mountains, and I’m waiting for Flav to pick me up, he has something special arranged for lunch. It’s worth putting my shoes on for and heading down to the lobby...so...
It’s not lightly that I take the receipt of the miracles granted me lately. The house on Ile de Re, me being able to perform well in these shows despite some pretty intense illness..just the gift of being alive and having a family and friends like I do...I must say a little prayer of thanks for that...to whatever drives the engine of miracles....call it God or good luck....it’s not me, whatever it is....and I plan to honor it.
Love
KS
Cantu, ITALY
