In Pompei a couple of days ago...currently listening to: the gentle rhythms of Simon sleeping
Saturday, April 29, 2006
Purely in the interests of vanity
In Pompei a couple of days ago...currently listening to: the gentle rhythms of Simon sleeping
Thursday, April 27, 2006
65 vs ML live
65daysofstatic vs the Media Lounge... last night in Naples. Sorry about the huge file size, my options are limited on the road....
currently listening to: the silence preceeding a gig.
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
Fish supper
Having just eaten the finest seafood of my life, I am retiring full and content.
I am writing this on a Italian version of Firefox. Its all rather exciting. Look! a € sign!
currently listening to: Italian television and the meowings of a cat.
I am writing this on a Italian version of Firefox. Its all rather exciting. Look! a € sign!
currently listening to: Italian television and the meowings of a cat.
Sunday, April 23, 2006
An ode to Simon
Always the most photogenic of the band, here are a handful of phone snaps of the great warrior viking bassist on tour...
currently listening to: 65 playing live, still...
...with his cat friend...
...gazing at a Swiss mountain...
...next to a sign about a bin...
And here are a couple of other low-res, poor framed shots from the road...
...close up of the poster for tonight...
...the sunset I was watching whilst writing the last post...
...Damo takes a snap...
...tonights venue...
...Paul at customs...
currently listening to: 65 playing live, still...
The laptop is the pen of the 21st century
I took this tour on as I figured a man could have a lot of adventures in Europe during the course of 5 weeks.
I was right. It has begun.
Yesterday was one of the surrealist days of my life. Even if you didn't factor in the stop and search at the Italian border, the remarkable scenery and the crippling long drive, the day got increasingly weird as the night drew close. The support acts were two guys who toured together but played separately - the first was the Ian Curtis of the guitar world. A man whose music came close to simple noodling, short atmospheric strumming punctuated with the occasional blast on a harmonica. What made him fascinating was that his leg would compulsively jiggle with every chord he played, and with each jiggle he looked like he was about to cry, He was, however, an entirely charming Frenchman and I bought his album at the end which is really quite good.
The second act, his partner in crime, was a middle aged American who most resembled Allan Ginsberg. He also played solo guitar, but his songs were a bizarre cross between 70's childrens television and cliched hippy optimism. Each song was accompanied by a kids drawing, and most of the songs were about 30 seconds long and comprised solely of sub-Jim Morrison style poetry. Simon, and in fairness many others, had to leave the room for fear of laughing too loud.
The gig was played, we hung around for several hours talking to locals and waiting for the man whose house we were staying at to stop getting horrifically drunk and leave. We followed the pissed man as he drove at scary speeds through the unlit Italian countryside, pursued by the two support acts in their live-in camper van. The drunk Italian, who we shall name Trotsky, lived in a remote village farmhouse about 20 minutes outside of Mirandola - which miraculously contain 9 fully-prepared and made up beds for us all to sleep in. The supports acts went to bed where Allan Ginsberg read a map of Italy from cover to cover, occasionally laughing to himself. Us, we went outside to drink a nightcap and watch shooting stars... it was very beautiful, in a Texas Chainsaw kind of way.
Woke up the next morning to find Trotsky was meant to be having his entire family over for lunch, but had decided to meet them elsewhere - leaving us with an unlocked farmhouse and two banjo playing hippies. We took a walk, smoked a joint and played with the cat which turned out to have ticks. Playing Frenchmans album of improv jazz we sped to the next venue, stopping off in Palma for pizza and church visits. I am now sat on the fire escape of an old farmhouse turned arts centre cum venue cum sports hall watching the sun go down over an open meadow. It's about 8 at night and gorgeously warm, my face is numb from sun and I've just been given a free beer.
There are people I miss at home, and there are things I'd like to be able to do. But right here, right now, there is no better life.
currently listening to: 65daysofstatic play live
I was right. It has begun.
Yesterday was one of the surrealist days of my life. Even if you didn't factor in the stop and search at the Italian border, the remarkable scenery and the crippling long drive, the day got increasingly weird as the night drew close. The support acts were two guys who toured together but played separately - the first was the Ian Curtis of the guitar world. A man whose music came close to simple noodling, short atmospheric strumming punctuated with the occasional blast on a harmonica. What made him fascinating was that his leg would compulsively jiggle with every chord he played, and with each jiggle he looked like he was about to cry, He was, however, an entirely charming Frenchman and I bought his album at the end which is really quite good.
The second act, his partner in crime, was a middle aged American who most resembled Allan Ginsberg. He also played solo guitar, but his songs were a bizarre cross between 70's childrens television and cliched hippy optimism. Each song was accompanied by a kids drawing, and most of the songs were about 30 seconds long and comprised solely of sub-Jim Morrison style poetry. Simon, and in fairness many others, had to leave the room for fear of laughing too loud.
The gig was played, we hung around for several hours talking to locals and waiting for the man whose house we were staying at to stop getting horrifically drunk and leave. We followed the pissed man as he drove at scary speeds through the unlit Italian countryside, pursued by the two support acts in their live-in camper van. The drunk Italian, who we shall name Trotsky, lived in a remote village farmhouse about 20 minutes outside of Mirandola - which miraculously contain 9 fully-prepared and made up beds for us all to sleep in. The supports acts went to bed where Allan Ginsberg read a map of Italy from cover to cover, occasionally laughing to himself. Us, we went outside to drink a nightcap and watch shooting stars... it was very beautiful, in a Texas Chainsaw kind of way.
Woke up the next morning to find Trotsky was meant to be having his entire family over for lunch, but had decided to meet them elsewhere - leaving us with an unlocked farmhouse and two banjo playing hippies. We took a walk, smoked a joint and played with the cat which turned out to have ticks. Playing Frenchmans album of improv jazz we sped to the next venue, stopping off in Palma for pizza and church visits. I am now sat on the fire escape of an old farmhouse turned arts centre cum venue cum sports hall watching the sun go down over an open meadow. It's about 8 at night and gorgeously warm, my face is numb from sun and I've just been given a free beer.
There are people I miss at home, and there are things I'd like to be able to do. But right here, right now, there is no better life.
currently listening to: 65daysofstatic play live
Saturday, April 22, 2006
Italian Dreamz
We've made it to Italy! 10 hours of driving and a lot of creative swearing has led us to the most beautiful town any of us have ever seen. The views, weather and people are incredible and I truly wish that our arrival had not been marked by an intense and quite scary stop and search at the Italian border. The drugs dog took a remarkable liking to me, despite my obvious innocence, and I was subjected to a thorough search of me and my belongings. Accordingly to Damo, our guitar tech, I looked like the most guilty man alive.
Thanks to a large queue of traffic we were let off without the usual unpacking and searching of the van, something that none of us wanted as it would have taken a phenomenal length of time... and shitted us up right good. Anyway, we're here and its too nice to be inside talking to you jerks.
Heh.
currently listening to: soundchecking: the soundtrack to my life.
Thanks to a large queue of traffic we were let off without the usual unpacking and searching of the van, something that none of us wanted as it would have taken a phenomenal length of time... and shitted us up right good. Anyway, we're here and its too nice to be inside talking to you jerks.
Heh.
currently listening to: soundchecking: the soundtrack to my life.
French Dreamz
I fell asleep somewhere near the French/German border. We didn't pass between the countries but we were close enough to pick up both German and French wireless services as we made our way through the winding villages. I dreamt I was talking with an Italian promoter about minor character differences between myself and my girlfriend, he nodded understandingly and then said he was surprised at what I was telling him because "of who my girlfriend was." I was puzzled by this sentence before realising that he thought I was dating Isobel Campbell of Belle and Sebastian fame. I rolled my eyeballs, as if this mistake is common, and started to correct him when a massive pothole jolted me awake, straight into the unblinking eye of a camera lens. "Have you just woken up" asked Paul in an interview style "tell us about it."
We bombed along 450 miles of foreign highway yesterday with sound engineer Avalon Gold and I sharing the driving, trying to get to the Swiss border by sundown. We stopped about 10 miles short and found a cheap hotel in a town called Mulhouses that is probably a French rural equivalent to Rotherham or Doncaster. A couple of beers and a deliciously continental pizza later and we crashed for the night... now we are at the Swiss border, literally being drilled by border control as I write this. Hope they don't find the nine and a half kilos of black-tar heroin that I've smuggled through for the days off.
currently listening to: lots of metal in the van
We bombed along 450 miles of foreign highway yesterday with sound engineer Avalon Gold and I sharing the driving, trying to get to the Swiss border by sundown. We stopped about 10 miles short and found a cheap hotel in a town called Mulhouses that is probably a French rural equivalent to Rotherham or Doncaster. A couple of beers and a deliciously continental pizza later and we crashed for the night... now we are at the Swiss border, literally being drilled by border control as I write this. Hope they don't find the nine and a half kilos of black-tar heroin that I've smuggled through for the days off.
currently listening to: lots of metal in the van
Friday, April 14, 2006
Notes from the Underground
Well not quite... I'm in a hotel in Rotterdam. I have been menaing to update quite alot recently but it's been hard to find time to have any thoughts, let alone collect them. We're off to the venue any second so I shall have to to be brief - however I'd just like to tip my hat to the faultless hospitality of the Belgians who were very nice to me and the band when we were at the Lovely Rhaa Festival last weekend. It was a festival much like Truckfest which, as you may or may not know, holds a special place in my heart.
Rotterdam is lovely and I wish there was more time to describe it. Alas there is not, but maybe soon. Answers to the 82ask questions will come as soon as we get back to the UK and the service is back on the proverbial books.
currently listening to: the silence of an almost classy hotel
Rotterdam is lovely and I wish there was more time to describe it. Alas there is not, but maybe soon. Answers to the 82ask questions will come as soon as we get back to the UK and the service is back on the proverbial books.
currently listening to: the silence of an almost classy hotel
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
82ask
I'm back on the road... I set sail on the good ship 65 on Friday as part of a nine 9 support slot with Hundred Reasons. They're a nice set of boys, although it is a little odd being not being on a headline tour. We're usually done by 10 these days which leaves us far too much time to idly drink and yell abuse out of van windows.
We finish this little jaunt on Friday, then its a few days in Belgium which I'm really looking forward to. Ignoring the fact I've never driven on the continent before, which I'm sure is an almost irrelevant fact anyway, it should be a great experience - a big foreign festival, a whole bunch of crazy talking kids and a completely new landscape. Plus I have a nagging feeling I won't be required to do the merchandise table which'll leave me free to wander.
It is slightly peculiar doing the driving and merch again after being a performer on the last tour. I do find myself mentioning that to people a little too often - it's very narcassistic and sounds very attention getting, but I do it almost without thinking.
We've discovered a great new service - 82ask. For £2 a week you can text an unlimited number of questions to 82275 and receive an answer within minutes. Now while this may sound like a twee little gimmick, it is actually incredibly useful. Alongside the silly questions designed to trick them ("How can I become funny?" , "is Tony Blair a war criminal") we've also learnt the following stunning facts;
- Port is left, starboard is right
- 'Some Dispute Over T-Shirt Sales' by the Butthole Surfer was released after 'Jesus Built My Hotrod' by Ministry.
- That Jillys Rock World in Manchester is owned by the same people who own the Music Box venue next door.
- The orgins of the phobias that are concerned with sex and elbows.
We are, frankly, addicted and it helps pass the time on the long vibrating journeys. If anyone has any questions then leave them in the comments section and I shall endeavour to answer them for you.
currently listening to: Simon play the bongos
We finish this little jaunt on Friday, then its a few days in Belgium which I'm really looking forward to. Ignoring the fact I've never driven on the continent before, which I'm sure is an almost irrelevant fact anyway, it should be a great experience - a big foreign festival, a whole bunch of crazy talking kids and a completely new landscape. Plus I have a nagging feeling I won't be required to do the merchandise table which'll leave me free to wander.
It is slightly peculiar doing the driving and merch again after being a performer on the last tour. I do find myself mentioning that to people a little too often - it's very narcassistic and sounds very attention getting, but I do it almost without thinking.
We've discovered a great new service - 82ask. For £2 a week you can text an unlimited number of questions to 82275 and receive an answer within minutes. Now while this may sound like a twee little gimmick, it is actually incredibly useful. Alongside the silly questions designed to trick them ("How can I become funny?" , "is Tony Blair a war criminal") we've also learnt the following stunning facts;
- Port is left, starboard is right
- 'Some Dispute Over T-Shirt Sales' by the Butthole Surfer was released after 'Jesus Built My Hotrod' by Ministry.
- That Jillys Rock World in Manchester is owned by the same people who own the Music Box venue next door.
- The orgins of the phobias that are concerned with sex and elbows.
We are, frankly, addicted and it helps pass the time on the long vibrating journeys. If anyone has any questions then leave them in the comments section and I shall endeavour to answer them for you.
currently listening to: Simon play the bongos
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