Ken Strinfellow - NEWS

2010-04-03T09:49:00.000-07:00

I posted a ton of new photos to the photos section

I continued my week, recording with Hanggai in Beijing. We spent most of the week tracking the band live (sometimes with live vocal), and then the last couple of days doing overdubs--although I have to say, the basic tracks (hardly basic, really, when you consider there are 6 musicians playing at once) turned out wonderfully. They sound already mixed, just the perfect dynamics, interaction and diverse tonalities of the players and their unique blend of instrumentation. I've been getting to know them better, and building a great relationship with Travis, the engineer of the studio. So far, it's been a drama free session (touch wood). I get up in the morning--I've been waking up early--have a great breakfast at the hotel (steamed buns with green vegetable), go BACK to bed for an hour or so, get up/ready, bike the 7 minutes to the studio (most of Beijing seems to be quite flat, so it's a great biking city--oh, they have bike lanes too), dismount and immediately search out some midday vittles, usually a tiny sandwich of chopped up lamb guts in some kind of chewy, herbed bread; stroll into the studio and make music all day, with a break around 6 or 7 for a HUGE meal from the restaurant on the alley that the studio is on--there's quite a few little eateries there to choose from but generally our evening meal comes from the place that does a great crispy duck...there's a dish of meat, and for the truly indulgent experience, a dish that's just the duck's oily skin. Yummmm. Sea cucumber, spicy noodles, chicken feet soaked in white pepper oil. It goes on and on.

Last Sunday I woke up early, my body finally not feeling like I'd been on the Long March, and biked at 8.30 over to the Forbidden City, and was amongst the first people there, beating the rush for the most part. It's there that I detected the first hint of spring, tho it's still a bit brisk in general...and the winter was so hard this year that the trees seem scared shitless, there's not even a *hint* of green buds on the branches. But the former Emperor's Garden had cultivated cherry blossoms, and the scent of the junipers reminded me of the approach to certain Spanish beaches I love.

I did a little shopping for Aden's birthday, did lots of interviews--the Seattle Weekly is doing a feature on the Posies the week we're in town...and China Daily and other papers here are talking to me this week. And now...bed time.

Love
KS
Beijing

2010-03-27T10:00:00.000-07:00

Just added a ton of new photos to the photos section.

BEIJING, 3/24

I was pretty messed up leaving Paris. Tired, sick, quite heartbroken from the Alex weekend. It didn't get any better spending my third night on a plane in 5 days, more or less. I arrived in Beijing sick, groggy, unable to fight. Direct flight, tho, which was nice, and the formalities were pretty easy. It was cold, grey. Not that I could keep my eyes open. Ilichi from the band i was to be working with, Hanggai met me outside customs. Hanggai make revved up music based on Mongolian folk music. Most of their songs are sung in Mongolian, a few in Chinese. Most of the band is originally from Inner Mongolia, i.e., that part of China which lies next to Mongolia. The band formed in Beijing in 2002 and has released an album that shows their acoustic side, but has since then developed a much more dynamic live show and has been a hit at festivals around the world. They are signed to a Dutch label for Europe, and like the case the The Girls who I recently worked with, this project landed on the desk of JB Meijers, who was too booked up to do all the days needed, so trusted me to get the project going and work on the basic tracks and hand it off to him--he'll show up here in a week or so, soonest he could do it. Actually, there's something really great about doing a major part, but all of, a recording--you don't get overwhelmed, you can concentrate on details, and you know that in potential the more brains work on something, the better the results. It takes like-minded brains, but JB & I have established we have a pretty consistent and compatible POV, so all good.

So, first mission: sleep. I know, breaking the jet lag rule, but with all I've been thru, it's been some months since I've thrown that rule out the window. Straight to my incredible room at The Emperor Hotel, just outside the Forbidden City (so I guess, it's in the Allowed City). It sounds corny to say, but I really believe that some principle has been applied, perhaps just good design (and perhaps those are two ways of saying the same thing) but this is far from the standard room in terms of look, feel, layout or shape. Shoebox shape, but don't let that throw ya. The bed is kind of tucked in and the two windows facing outside blocked by a pillar which holds the TV...hard to explain but I sleep so incredibly well here. The view of Forbidden City and Jingshan Park from the 4th-floor breakfast room is marvelous. In general the impression I have of Beijing is spaciousness. Trees, broad streets, lots of stretches where most buildings don't rise above three or four floors...of course there are tall buildings too, and some of the most radical architecture I've ever laid eyes on. The popular form here (and I believe *is* influenced by Feng Shui principles) is to have a huge arch-shaped office building that engulfs a massive glass walled atrium. This I see over and over. There's a hotel that is typical skyscraper shape until you get close to the top then it is shaped like...smoke, or a dab of shaving cream, or a melting skyscraper...not sure. The Holiday Inn that looks like it's made out of sandstone. Weird and wonderful stuff.

The other odd feeling of Beijing, again, at least in this area, is the emptiness. Biking home from the studio tonite, there was nobody on the street, just after midnite on a Saturday...what the...?

Ok, ok....I digress again and again. I got up in the evening, and cabbed to the venue. Driver was bummed I gave him 100 Yuan note and tipped himself a tenner accordingly. And gave me a lecture. I found a few Europeans heading towards an unmarked doorway about five and half feet high and found myself in the Yugong Yishan, where I was to support Hanggai. I made my way backstage and found the band and introduced myself. Huricha, the singer, and his wife and 3 year old son; Lead guitaris Iko; Bagen, who plays what they call a fiddle but is more in the range of a classical western cello--it has two strings, and you make notes by balancing your fingers on the neck next to, but not really on, the string of choice--but sometimes on, making harmonics. It's amazing what sounds these players can get out of deceptively simple-looking instruments. What's more, Bagen is also great at throat singing (what singing *isn't* throat singing, you all ask). This is the art of singing a low droning note and then getting your vocal chords to oscillate a harmonic that moves independently, it sounds like whistling, in way. You sing two things at once. Bagen can sing regular notes at astounding depth, so I guess he is working with 8 octaves--at least. We already met Ilichi, who plays a small banjo-like instrument and other small acoustic instruments of local origin. There's Xu, who plays guitar and a lute-like instrument. Xin, who plays bass and Li Dan who plays drums, but a mix between a conventional rock kit and a batch of percussion...no hit hat, no snare. Also there was Ilichi's wife Jennifer who speaks excellent English and an American expat, Tracy, who goes way back with the band ans speaks excellent Chinese, both have been invaluable as translators, as the rest of the band speaks little to no English (that they are comfortable trying, anyway). A few other friends trickled in and out. I got my act together and went onstage, the club was pretty full, so...lots of peeps, lots of chatter but it didn't bother me, I'd heard audiences in China could be jabber-y. I walked out with my guitar and Jennifer announced me in Chinese, and I announced myself and off I went, a short, fun set, my voice sounded OK even tho I was sick and tired, technically. Maybe even better than oK! I hopped off the stage and took my mic, and delivered the goods for about half an hour, point blank. One audible 'no way!' came out of one Scott from the band Argo, Seattle guy now living in Hong Kong who was in town for biz. He used to live literally around the corner from me in Seattle. So did I.

After the show, I watched Hanggai's set and chatted with people, there were a lot of expats in the room. And then...crashed.

Since then, I've been here three days--the day after the show/arrival day, I slept in, went to a freezing cold gear rental/rehearsal place to pick out what amps to rent for the session, and we had a fun dinner with the band talking about the session, drinking 'Great Wall' cabernet, etc. Another good sleep and it was work time. The first day was a set up day, at A-String Studio, basically trying to find the proper mics etc to record a 7 piece band live. There isn't a ton of equipment here, in fact, my only choices are really mic placement and making sure the instruments sound good--I have no compressors or other trickery to work with. Even the mic selection is a little limited, but I brought mine and JB sent a couple over, so we're OK. I have a great engineering team, and the band is superb. Jerome, a Dutch fellow who made all of this project happen--he's technically their booking agent but is really so much more, arrived on Friday and he's been great too, he's been here a few times so I have various perspectives on how to navigate. What's been brilliant is that we now have bikes given to us by the hotel, and the studio is like a seven-minute bike ride from the hotel. The sun is out, even tho it's still cold. The Hang-guys said this winter was one of the coldest (they are from Inner Mongolia, for crying out loud! So, not to be taken lightly) they can recall. It gets in the low thirties F at nite. But the days are pleasant. I'm amazed at how calm and spacious this city of some twelve million (!) people is...I'm sure there are more bustling neighborhoods but where we are is considered the center. Think of it more like Central Park, tho, and I think that gets an idea.

Today was our first official day of recording stuff and it's been awesome. Despite/because of the limitations, we've made beautiful, natural, live recordings; the studio room is big enough to get some separation but just enough bleed to sound organic. They guys are patient and I am just very happy to be there, you know! Great players, so things come together quickly. It will be a great record, no doubt...

Love
KS
Beijing

2010-03-22T19:33:00.000-07:00

This week was not the kind of thing you can just blog away about. But in a sense, the best way to write about the the injury I feel, is to build the week up.

Lately I have been in a pincer between forces well outside my comprehension, let alone control. And that�s unpleasant. We like to think we have a thing called freedom of choice, and that a destiny shaped by will is a destiny superior to one directed by the slavering shibboleths that have been boiled down in the pit of your subconscious...you don�t want your abject need running the show, that�s for sure. But there are times when our safety is challenged, and we are picked up by the Eagle of Bad Shit, and that fucker can hold us, let us go, stash us away, at will. And you just have to go along for the ride. You think you�re tough? Until fate, the universe or whatever decides to makes a sucker punch...little hungry dogs nip a chunk out of your ass and scurry back out of sight. You laugh, and then realize...woah...I�m losing a lot of...blooooooooo.....d..you�re dead, and the joke�s on you. Oblique strategies indeed.

So, on one hand, I�ve never officially recovered from my illness that beset me...when exactly? Sometime shortly after I got back from Australia, the change from summer back to winter got me sick. That simple. Even before I went to Vienna, five days after getting home, I had swollen glands and such. Fair enough. But then singing with The Disciplines...that�s just provocation--the yelling, the sweating, etc. The jig was up already. By the next weekend, I was seriously sick. And the German doctor who gave me a shot of cortisone said the shot overrides your body�s better judgement and turns off your immune system. That�s why your throat starts working again...your defenses, formerly rigid, go all limp. She predicted I would get an infection from that point, and she was right. But she had put me on antibiotics in anticipation. But, still, a day or two later, I was coughing up green crud and feeling pretty drained. Since then it�s been a slow climb back to health, but oddly, being at home this week, it was slipping backwards. My cough returned, the green crap returned. And my energy level was just depleted. I was really planning on jamming hard in the studio and busting out all the mixing for Hannah Gillespie�s album in the 5 days I was home but I didn�t even come close. For one thing, I had to divide the days between the massive amount of communications needed for the various Posies, Big Star, Disciplines and solo work I do; then there are all the things that I need to do while I�m home--not the least of which is spend a little time with my family, and take care of Aden when Dom is working--but also do family shopping, get Aden to school, go my Pilates classes, therapy sessions, etc; then there�s interviews, several a week usually. And normally, by working til 3-4am and getting up at 7.30 (when I need to get up to get ready with Aden for school) I can cram in a good 18-hour day and make some progress. Not this time. I was finding it pretty difficult to even stay up til midnite, and also, my workflow was just slow in general. The results were good, tho--the first mixes of Hannah�s music have been excellent. But, I�m just not quick at the moment.

Wednesday morning I had the pleasure of having former Seattle-ite Terry Lee Hale, who lives just outside of Paris now, come over and play some dobro on one of Hannah�s songs. I knew Terry Lee well back in the day, we played shows together in the early days of the Posies, and Terry Lee was the original booking guy for the Crocodile Cafe, and of course the first band to ever set up on the stage of the Croc was none other than we�s truly. But here in Paris, since Terry is in les banlieus we are in effect worlds apart. Plus I�m gone a lot. But, it was great to have TLH come give some flavorful licks on a very important song on Hannah�s record, and after he left, I went straight into mixing the song. I worked on it til about midnite, sent a work-in-progress mix to Hannah, and went to bed.

Thursday morning. Began like others. I woke up, got dressed and took Aden to school with Dom. We went to have breakfast at our usual spot. Time to get to work. So, I went home, and Dom went to the cafe across the street to shoot the merde with some friends. I logged on to see if Hannah had any comments about the latest mixes. I connected our ADSL, logged into gmail and set about doing something else. It was about 9:15am at this point. BTW I turn my cell phones off at night to avoid people who can�t fucking understand the concept of a time zone. They were still off--I usually keep the American one off the whole time I�m in France. Anyway, as my gmail inbox came into focus across the room, I noticed a whole lot of white had filled in during the last 8 hours. Emails stack up from newest to oldest. So, the first one was from my friend Carsten in Germany saying...�I am sure you�ve heard by now, but let me just say how sorry...� WTF? I read on. And then...saw #AlexChilton as a leading trending topic on Twitter. And then...my hands started to shake, and my pulse shot up to like 300BPM. The evidence was overwhelming, and not a hoax. While I was sleeping Alex Chilton had died of an apparent heart attach while en route to the hospital. Age 59.

Please understand that from that moment on, I�ve been speaking about Alex in dozens of interviews--it wasn�t long before NME, Uncut, various US papers were calling my cell phone (which I turned on, and watched with horror as the text messages rolled in, like an endless wave of B52s crapping on my life. Since then I have said so much...I can�t repeat it all here. In the meantime tho...I was alone. I looked out our 3rd floor window and saw Dom in the sunshine, on the terrace of the cafe across the street, laughing with friends. I didn�t panic, but...I was crushed in a vice. Dom came home. I sat her down and told her what was happening. And then, most surreal of all, a previously scheduled interview with a German college radio station started, the house line ringing. The interviewer had no idea what had happened and was just catching up about The Disciplines and Billy & the Firm. I didn�t have the heart to break in and start talking about Alex. I spoke in a kind of fake cheeriness and hung up the phone after 45 minutes. In a way, it was a relief to go into an alternate reality where the fact of Alex�s death wasn�t like a black fog raking across my lungs. Jon was still up, he texted. I called him. Before we spoke I had a temporary thought that there was no way I should get on Friday�s flight to Austin. But even as I dialed his number, I knew we had to. And he agreed. A rough plan was already in shape to have special guests fill a miniscule portion of the empty space that would be so apparent on that stage.

Pilates class at noon. Again, a break in the throb that was taking over my body. Replacing it with another. After I came back home, laying in the bath--not really thinking, or remembering Alex, or running thru memories, but in fact, the response my body chose was adrenalin, for whatever reason. I couldn�t grab onto one clear thought and follow it, they were like minnows, darting to avoid me. I don�t really know how the nite ended. I don�t remember. I packed...I spent a little time with Aden, journalists were already calling. Dom had to go to a work function. At some point...I went to bed. Who knows.

In the morning, I had that weird feeling, that I have only had a couple of times in my adult life--when I woke up in jail, or as a relationship was imploding. Your ears turn on, your eyes start to open. You become aware of your breathing, and maybe you hear a bird chirp or something and you have a wonderful amnesiac period as your OS boots up. And then...the ironclad unavoidable truth hits you--you fucked up, she fucked off, the world is fucked. Maybe I had that feeling Sept. 12, 2001, too. No knowing any better you start off with All is Well and then you remember, with horror...all is NOT well.

I had a cab booked, i got my shit together, Dom, Aden and I went downstairs and Aden and Dom started to head for school. Aden wanted me to carry her backpack and she too had forgotten the world is indeed well and truly fucked at this moment and when I said I couldn�t, I wasn�t going with her, she cried--not because of me, but because she was so desperate to ride her bike w/o training wheels to school and the backpack would throw her off her already precarious game. We calmed her down, Dom came back and took the backpack, we said goodbye, I went to the airport. Of course it was a monstrous line for check in, all kinds of extra security now that the underwear bomb era has commenced-- I was going to buy wine at duty free for some sorrow drowning but no time, I got to the gate, boarded, took a piss before we took off, and slept slept slept til Chicago. Once there, I got to the gate and found the flight delayed by an hour, started to get online but the wifi sucked ass and thus I went for the phone--checking in with Jon (Jody was impossible to reach in light of the news and the calls he must be getting), Mike Mills who was in town already, and my production contacts for Saturday�s show. As I was struggling with basic wifi, a punky young lady with that unmistakably midwestern blend of vintage eyewear and nasally flattened vowels asked if she could use my computer...I said...give it a try, it�s not working well. She didn�t have better luck than I did, but we started talking and she had just gotten the news about Alex as she was just back from Mexico City. It was she who pointed out that Alex�s obit was in the NYT that day, so I bought one.

I landed in Austin. So not ready for this. My driver met me at bag claim and I was deposited at the Radisson. Of course on the 2.5 hour flight from Chicago to Austin there was nothing to eat--the only things for sale were like fucking Pringles and trail mix. I mean, I would have paid $20 for a turkey wrap. And I know I�m not the only one that stupid when he�s hungry. Why can�t the airlines get it together--we don�t care about free food. But when we spend money...we want FOOD. Not the scales that fell off of food. Anyway, one of the only things I was really into seeing was Jonna Lee, my friend from Stockholm and now that I had landed an hour later than planned, it was panic time. I got it together and chugged up Congress to the Intercontinental Hotel, was directed to Stephen F�s bar upstairs, and she was just getting going. So that was nice. Sound was a little murky, but she was superb. Small crowd, but she wowed �em. I was actually relieved that the first show I went to wasn�t a mob scene. I was pretty comfortable with my $16 glass of cabernet (see??) and a lo key setting. My health was falling like a bowling ball in a shaving cream mountain by this time. My voice all Pleshette�d out. I invited Jonna and her friend from the Swedish National radio to the show and went in search of FOOD. Thank god for Manuel�s. It drew me in with those sultry red neon lights and I sidled up to the bar and ordered shrimps all sizzled up with things and more wine. Julia, who was my contact for this show, took pity upon my and actually walked into the restaurant and delivered me some meds. Bless her. I had this half crazed idea that I could actually get in to the Broken Social Scene show at Parish. And I spoke to friends about meeting there. As soon as I was done eating, I realized there was no way on God�s brown, Texan earth that I was going anywhere but to bed. So I went back to the hotel, patiently waited for midnite to come, and crashed.

AUSTIN, 3/20

Got up at 11, I think. I don�t know. It was hard to tell. The weather was abysmal--ice cold, pant-whipping blasts of air from apparently every possible direction. Rain had been dumped liberally. I ran to the pharmacy for more meds. Gulped down food from the lobby Starbucks. Headed to the convention center, where I was to appear on a previously arranged panel to discuss Big Star and their legacy...sheesh. It actually turned out to be a good thing. Jon, Jody, Andy Hummel, myself, plus Chris Stamey, Tommy Keene, and the moderator, writer Bob Mehr, with John Fry participating via Skype from Ardent Studios, traded Alex stories in a roughly chronological order about his life, his ideas, his jokes. I found out that he was married and had a son when he was 19. How did I not know that....there was a really good crowd...better than for the panel we did in 2004 with Terry Manning....I mean...it really is true...someone has to die before people realize what he had to offer. Somewhat sickening.

After the panel I collected myself in my room, but also, more emails, more calls. Then we assembled in the lobby and headed to soundcheck. Now, you�ve read the reviews. You know what took place. Jon did an amazing job of locating and wrangling the special guests while I did my usual logistics/detail work. And Julia, again...saved our ass over and over. Things were pretty disorganized...a daytime party in the venue, Antone�s, seemed to be still in progress when we arrived. But they got it cleared out and and we started setting up. People started to show up for run thru�s and soundcheck. After this, some goddam good barbecue arrived, and we all shared it and I caught up with Mills, and Kurt Kirkwood. When I sorted out the guest list, my work was done...Mills and I took off for a couple of glasses of wine at his hotel, and then we proceeded back at the venue to check out Dwight Twilley, power pop legend from OK. Unf. he didn�t do my favorite song of his, but he rocked out....kind of a real old school kind of show....very enjoyable. During the next band, we had photo ops, and then it was showtime.

A letter from Alex�s lovely wife of just a few months, Laura, was read. So sweet and so true.

We opened with Back of a Car, the three of us only. My voice was far away and weak, but serviceable. Kurt from the Meat Puppets rocked out next to me for two songs, �In the Street� and �Don�t Lie to Me�. Both Kirkwoods were grooving pretty hard on my bass playing at soundcheck. You gotta love that. Chris Stamey joined us for �I Am the Cosmos� and �When My Baby�s Beside Me�. What else...excellent version of �El Goodo� from Sondre Lerche. Evan Dando cradled �Nighttime� in his arms, solo acoustic. Pretty transcendent �Big Black Car� with M. Ward. Mills was ebullient, which lifted things up, for �Jesus Christ�. He gets the award, along with Mr. Kirkwood, for making me smile, if briefly. A friend of Jody�s with whom I was previously unfamiliar, Amy Speace, did a knockout version of �Try Again� with Jon, Evan and I on vocals. I hope *that* got filmed. Pretty stunning. John Doe, Jon and I did �I�m in Love with a Girl�. Chuck Prophet did a devastating �Thank You Friends� Jon a wonderful �Thirteen� and I had �Daisy Glaze� and �Feel�. Now guess what...�Daisy Glaze�: �You�re GONNA DIE. YES, YOU�RE GONNA DIE� �Feel�: �A Feeling like I�m DYING....� I forgot those were coming, and it was pure chlorine in my eyes. Pain like when Tom swallows the grenade he meant to toss at Jerry. Insides blown. The finale was �September Gurls� with the Watson Twins and Susan Cowsill. All sweet as pie. And, so important, but very few reviews pointed it out: Andy Hummel onstage with Big Star, playing guitar on �Way Out West� and bass on �September Gurls�--I played Alex�s licks and solo on guitar and Mills harmonized. All the show was filmed by the crew that had been working on a Big Star doc for some time (and whom Alex had denied permission to film the NYC show...now there�s a tragedy).

And then it was over. the venue was empty, plastic cups everywhere...I was standing alone on the main floor talking to a radio station reporter. I had nothing left. We did it, and we did it well. We did it so well, in fact, that almost no review pointed how the hell a band could lose its main guitarist, singer and creative force and 72 hours later, pull it together and totally recreate the framework of those songs solidly enough for everyone to recognize them and provide solid footing for our guests. I guess it was a compliment in a way.

I went to bed, woke up at various intervals. Jon and his wife Michelle were leaving at 6am but I was up at least to make sure Jody�s transport was sorted. On the way out the hotel at noon, I ran into a friend from Madrid and gave her a ride in my motor pool Tahoe--we stopped at a SXSW best kept secret--the Sunday morning softball tournament with FREE BBQ. My god, was that ever a good idea. At the airport, I hung with friends from Spain, with Nardwuar the Human Serviette, and others. Short hop to Dallas, long hop (lots of sleep) to Paris.

Got home this morning, saw Dom saw Aden. Hoped to work on Hannah�s stuff but no way....Rolling Stone, various radio stations, went to talk to my shrink and my doctor--how un Big Star of me! hahah. About Alex. My doctor said it was natural my cold got worse those days after the news. And said allergies were a real problem at this moment, esp. in Paris. More meds.

Gotta get up in 4 hours to get Aden to school, hit the pilates class, and fly to China. you got that?

Love
KS
Paris

2010-03-14T16:15:00.000-07:00

MILANO, 3/7

Once again, Gianluca made sure I was stuffed like a sausage at his family restaurant, and once again, I was desperate for a nap at the flat in Cantu. In the evening we headed into Milan. I�ve passed a lot of time in Milan, it�s the media HQ for Italy so a stop there for promo with REM was obligatory whenever they had a new album out. We�d spend a couple of days doing TV shows etc. When Americans think of Italy they think of Tuscan sunshine, the Colosseum and mafia, and guys pushing canoes along with sticks while they sing about how alone they are. When I think of Italy, having spent more time in Milano and Torino, I think of big, imposing, grey industrial cities, full of extremely industrious people, who occasionally take a pause for some excellent eats. And then get back to work. There is a stereotype that Latin people are work-averse, but spend 8 minutes in Milano and you will see that people are relaxation-averse. I have a feeling that the Anglo-Saxon prejudice against Latin �laziness� is pure jealousy: strong unions in France, for example guaranteed a shorter work week, and a month�s worth of vacations...while we Yankees justify the plutocratic eradication of worker�s rights as the American �dream�. Just work harder...and it�ll be alright. Oh, except...most of the people laboring for American companies are stuffed into labor barns in Asia making less than 20 cents an hour, working 16-hour shifts. But really, if they just work harder, they can �make it� too! Prosperity is up for grabs! And you know what, French people would rather go home to their families after a day�s work...you won�t find a Microserf culture here. Now, I don�t know Italian culture as well but I can say that if activity is equal to productivity than northern Italy has to be socking away piles of stuff...somewhere. Milano to me, perhaps because of my awareness of all this busy busy work I find Milano quite unromantic...it can be so cold, foggy and grey (which is romantic to some people) and industrial to boot.

However, it�s not without its charms. The Lux, the place where we play, is a very open, split level restaurant that has a bit of an art deco feel. Diners were dining, and, more importantly, a match was on the tele so we were not obligated to do a soundcheck. I was ready for some vittles so went to the upper level, which was mostly empty except for a guy and what appeared to be his mom but I would feel pretty shitty if I was wrong...anyway, they sat watching the match there and yelling a lot at the tele. Remember, this is not a sports bar, like one of those dreadful PMU bars in France, but a rather elegant place (um, except for the seatless unisex toilet with the door that doesn�t lock...my ultimate tour nightmare). I sat down and the server and discussed what I�d like...and in fact the perfect meals for me consist of antipasti. I love salumi, mozzarella, and the like so very much. It�s great light food before a show, and I had over done it on polenta and such at Gianluca�s restaurant for lunch. So, we thought that a nice plate of antipasti and salad would be just the ticket. And what the chef brought me was so wonderful, so beautiful to look at and so delicious...I wanted to cry. It was a massive round wooden slab covered in sliced charcuterie, cheese, tomatoes, pickles, salad...one thing that is popular in the north is thin slices of lard...wow, now, that�s indulgent, isn�t it?

My show was a very good one, I played rather far past the limit of when people needed to go to bed (remember, it was a Sunday) so the crowd dwindled over the course of the evening but I was enjoying myself a lot, being able to sing even more freely than the days before, as my voice came back from the previous week�s illness. After the show we headed back to Cantu and Flav installed me at the flat.

In the morning, Flav picked me up and we went to a big bakery--very modern, stylish, tho tucked away in an industrial park--for cafe and pain au chocolat, and then we went to the mall so I could buy a pair of socks, since I had packed one pair less than I should have for the trip. Then we started to head out to Lake Como. A massive, monster-inhabited watery playground of the rich...it�s truly one of the most scenic places in Europe....skinny and deep like a fjord, with dramatic mountains shooting straight up from the shores, and lovely villages and castles/hotels/mansions clinging to the sides. Tiny abbeys are glued to random mountains in such a way as to provoke the thought of what in the world made them choose that spot for their hideaway--not hidden, but sticking out like a swallow�s nest from a giant planetoid-like boulder. We drove around the like, around and around, passing the little village where George Clooney has set up his getaway, and came to the village where were to meet up with Julio, who lives up on the hillside a bit. His parents are civil engineers from nearby Valtellina (home of the famous Sforzato wine I was so eager to try--and he had plenty in the family cellar!)--this mountainous zone where Italy and Switzerland meet has an insatiable need for bridge and tunnel builders, and Julio�s parents learned the skills and took them to Australia, which has massive needs in the mining department for engineers, for example. They still work there now, commuting between their home in Como and Oz. Julio was born in Oz, speaks English with an Aussie accent and Italian with I assume no accent. At the moment, he has the big family house to himself, it�s a lovely villa, very homey. Down in the basement he a modest recording set up, and lots of instruments...about 35 years� worth of Time, Newsweek and National Geographic mags...funny to see those 80s Apple Computer ads...anyway, the purpose of the day was to record a split single with a song from me and a song from Flav. We worked on both, but the fact is, I had to *write* mine...and so I did. I made a kind of jam on the super cool grandma-style console organ...you know, the kind that has a drum machine built in and all that. Added guitar, piano, percussion, synth bass...and then took a rough mix upstairs to work on lyrics. I gave Flav advice on what to do, which is somewhat less than producing, but hey. I helped with some lyrics, too, for his song. Since he lives in the area and I don�t, we had to finish my song more or less that day, and what I came up with was pretty cool....so cool I hope you hear it soon.

After the session we drove back to Cantu, I slept in the car, slept a couple of hours in the flat, slept in the car driving the hour or so to Malpensa, slept on the plane.

And then I was in Amsterdam, and JB was picking me up. I didn�t feel too bad, but it�s always a danger for me to be operating on so little sleep. We made our way to Studio 150, one of the most deluxe recording environments in Amsterdam, and I spent the day recording with the Girls for their album. Mostly we worked on bass parts as this was the first day their bass player, who just started a new day job, was available. When he had to go catch his train to Rotterdam we switched over to guitars. 150 has an amazing mic collection, so it was fun to dig around and choose from the cupboards full of vintage Neumann mics of various sizes, shapes, and sonic properties.

The next day we trucked out to Limmen to resume work at the studio there, which now had a fully functioning mixing console, and we finished up the drums for the album, worked on guitars, and also tracked a song that�s drumless, just a duet so far between acoustic and electric guitar. Rolf, the lead guitar player, who is all of 19 years old, had been asking since day one when he could get his parts going, he was more than excited, and he is a damn good player, really amazing. He had borrowed a badass Gretsch Black Falcon for the session this week we made sure to use.

We worked hard and it went by fast. By now I�m handing off the sessions to JB who take it from here, and I�m absolutely sure it�s going to be an amazing record...songs are really strong. Wishing them the best, we had a great, productive time in our 6 days of studio time together.

And, like always, it was time to go...next episode.

LA ROCHELLE, 3/12

I was on the train at 8.15 Friday morning, The Girls had dropped me off in Amsterdam and I crashed at JBs...I sleep in their office/studio room when I stay there, and JB�s missus, Wanda, an accomplished author, was still banging out a chapter in there when I arrived so JB put a plate of salumi and a healthy splash of red down and I forgot all about that goin� to bed thing...in the morning (at 6.30...ugh) I was up, and still a bit buzzed, I got a lot sloppier as the day wore on and the all-too-recent vin rouge wore off. I shuttled to Brussels on one first class train, then to Paris on another (normally they go straight thru but they had some tech prob); then crossed Paris by taxi and got on another, for the three hour ride to La Rochelle. When I arrived, Steve, the promoter, was waiting for me. He parked me in a bar with wifi and I sort of caught up on the mountain of work that always follows me around.

Now, La Rochelle is a place with which I am well familiar, as it�s the gateway to Ile de Re, where I spend my summers. As you may not have heard--because of a far deadlier earthquake in Chile the same day--La Rochelle and Ile de Re were very close to the worst-affected regions of the storm Xynthia that killed some 50 people (at least--more are missing) in Europe. Our house was spared, but many on Ile de Re were destroyed--friends of ours who are neighbors in Paris and have a house on a different part of the island found it filled with mud and other debris when a 4 foot wave crashed thru their town. Imagine tho, that in one town in the department of Vendee, their 200-year-old sea wall was smashed by a 25 foot high wave...this is where most of the fatalities occurred. La Rochelle suffered a lot of damage, but it wasn�t visibly evident when I arrived, less than a week later. The boats that were dumped on land were back in the water, debris cleaned up, etc. The bar I was to play in, La Java des Paluches, had a flooded basement but no other damage. Luis Francesco Arena arrived, and we put our stuff in the venue, dropped some stuff at Steve�s house, picked up the piano and other gear from here and there, dropped that back at the venue, and went to dinner next door. One of Steve�s friends was having his birthday party at the venue; the bar is already popular; the other show that was supposed to be happening that night was canceled, the venue too damaged by the storm to open. Our show was free to get in. So...with all that, the place was packed to the rafters. My phone credit ran out while I was in mid call to Dom, so after dinner I went over to the Tabac to buy a recharge, but found out the system was down from storm-related damage. But it seemed like they could still sell lotto tickets? Hmm.

Anyway, I went back to the venue, then...had the thought that it would be nice to use a clean toilet with a seat (why is that always the first thing to disappear from every venue?) so I went back to the restaurant next door, which was closing up, the last customers were putting on their coats. Jerome, the owner said no problem and as I got comfortable in the loo asked thru the door what kind of drink he should prepare? hahaha...I said vin rouge but he changed my mind for me and poured us a shot of vanilla-infused rum. And another. And another. Suddenly my French got pretty good. We blabbed away. About 7 shots later I was out the door, and it was showtime.

I set up my stuff and got into it. As you could imagine from what I described about the attendance, it was chaos there--but there was a wall of intent listeners, and lots of people sitting around enjoying the show, and the blah blah moved to the bar which was almost another room. Most of it, anyway...one guy was blathering away at some chick he was never gonna get anywhere with, right by me...so I poked him in the butt with my mic stand...I don�t usually get that confrontational, but...sometimes it�s fun! Now, the packed house, etc. meant that I was sweating soon. The cable for the sustain pedal on the piano was dodgy and we had to do a lot of jiggling to make it work...and of course after a few songs I yanked the piano up so I could play standing and of course fucked the any hope of getting that pedal to work. So, I played with a kind of player-piano feel. Totally weird, but funny. This was one of those manic shows--not musically pristine, perhaps, but definitely fun. Luis had worked up a guitar part for Death of A City which was a cool choice, even late in the set, with my funky piano. I am sure other stuff happened. It gets a bit blurry. Hahah.

ROUEN, 3/13

We were up in the morning--Steve, his g.f., Luis and I had gone back to Steve�s for a late glass of wine, and at one point I said: I am laying down now. Bye! Luis was supposed to stay with a friend nearby but when they went there that guy was still out on the town so he ended up crashing on the floor. I was out by then. Anyway, we got up, and Steve put out quite a spread--beautiful croissants and mandarins and all kinds of goodies. Then it was road time. We were traveling in Luis� car, a rather handsome Dacia Logan great little touring vehicle for a solo musician, or duo. Or more. It was about 5 hours to Rouen all told. I fell asleep. It�s been a busy week or two, you know? I�m still recovering from being sick, even. We pulled into town and via cell phone triangulation we met up with Matthias, our promoter. We went to his flat, where we were staying. Driving around in the city of 1,000 churches. There are a couple of enormous churches that would easily qualify as cathedrals anywhere else, but Rouen has a massive one--in fact, Notre Dame de Rouen was the world�s tallest building for a few years in the 19th century. Rouen has beam-and-plaster medieval buildings a-plenty...its quite scenic, although I have to admit I didn�t have time to see much. We soundchecked, we ate at the venue, I had a cafe and a tea, and played. Also, it was FREEZING in Rouen, so walking around was not an option for someone in my health. In fact, during this show, I could feel how my lungs had been scorched by the bronchitis that set in as the last stage of my illness the other week, which made singing difficult. I�m still not able to hold notes for as long as my theoretical maximum. I don�t think anyone else can tell tho. Well, the venue tonite was down in a classic �cave� French style, a cellar. Cold, not exactly moist but giving the impression of moisture...somehow. I mean, a bottle of Bordeaux could live here for decades. But me...I was...chilly hahaha. Esp. since I had a kind of spring-y outfit on. But anyway, I did my best. And I think it was good, better than good. Kinda small crowd. Mederic from Tahiti 80 did come and represent. I did my show, I sang well...people dug it. But towards the end this girl was started laughing during one of the songs, �Je Vous En Prie� I don�t know if she was laughing at me, but....it threw me off, since generally this was a very quiet audience. I mean, I wrote the song when I was first with Dom and didn�t know French very well. It�s not something you would really say in French in the way I use it, and I know French people can be total bitches about that kind of thing too. So, perhaps that�s the last time I will ever perform that song in France. Hey, other than that tho...good show. hahah.

I stayed up til 4 am watching �Human Nature� which Matthias had on DVD. Now, that�s a fucking funny film. I love how Gondry uses cheap FX very boldly, and there�s a stream of suggetive consciousness, where something is implied in reference and then its visual analog comes along and completes the pun--this is something you see on the Simpsons quite often.

In the morning, Matthias drove me to Evreux--I needed to get back to Paris and due to work on the line, Rouen trains don�t run on Sunday mornings. This train was packed, but it�s only an hour to Paris. The problem is, you end up at St. Lazare, not the most convenient station for me. I exited and tried to find a taxi, but found only typical Parisian every-man-for-hisself combat and no clear order about who deserved what few taxis there were, so I manned up, and headed to the metro and eventually, got home. Perfect. It was great to be back with my home, family, good food, some nice wine (courtesy of Gianluca�s restaurant) and my daughter, back from a play date (in Versailles!). I was supposed to get mixing on the Hannah Gillespie album today, but I had so much to do in terms of tour managing for upcoming Posies, Big Star and Disciplines shows, plus emails, plus unpacking and so on...well, I loaded in the audio and got my sessions organized, and started to pick away at one song, but really, I�ll have to dig into it tomorrow. Hopefully I can catch up on one of the days I do one of the really minimal songs. I mixed one of the songs in Australia from the tape, it took about 30 minutes. You can�t fuck with tape like you can with ProTools. Should remember that.

Love
KS
Paris

2010-03-07T08:35:00.000-08:00

DOMODOSSOLA, 3/6

Kind of a weird one. But then again, I was rather ethereal myself. We had a nice lunch just outside Cantu, at the home of Massi, Flav�s musical partner in crime, his g.f. Anna cooked lasagna and Massi made sure I had seconds, so...oof. And a cake, too. Ahhh! So, no need to say, I zonked out in the car. We arrived in Domodossola as the sky was settling into the vibrant blue of twilight in the clear mountain air. We worked our way into the village to arrive at the niche called L�Oste, which is short for osteria, which is not where you get oysters, but is traditionally a working man�s pub. L�Oste is a neighborhood place, where you can watch the football match, have a glass of nice wine, munch some bar snacks...and see live music. There were two important matches in succession, so soundcheck was going to be MUCH later. Unf. the food menu there is limited to panini or focaccia, and I was craving something more so the guys and I went in search of. We found a cool place, obv the hip bar on the corner had taken over the stuffier restaurant next door and chaos was the result as staff, furniture, etc. was splayed all over creation...not so much a work in progress (which would match the construction that means all over Domodossola you are walking on boards next to freshly dug ditches) but just...an anthill....but the food was good, and the wine wonderful. We stumbled back to the venue and set things up but we still had a couple of hours to kill til showtime. Which meant, for me, another opportunity to sleep. My body was still craving rest to get over my last couple weeks� worth of ailments. So, it was in a state of pure post-sleep surealism that I rose at 11.15 in our tiny hotel and walked to the club, and walked straight onstage and went into it. Pretty odd little show, I was kind of stuffed in a corner, often with no light~! The bar was full of people and very noisy, but I still put on a two hour show, instead of one audience for the whole thing like the night before in Cantu, there were people kind of coming into the corner where the music was happening, watching a bit, moving on, and being replaced. People loved it...the bar owner in particular was extremely....demonstrative!--whooping and hollering like a crazy fella, he was thrilled to have me playing it seems. After my set, a guy in his 60s started DJing with great...60s music! hahah. The PA was still on so I played barrelhouse piano along with Kinks, Hollies, Box Tops etc. songs....which I have to say was pretty fun. Then I scampered off and went to bed.

Waking up today, it�s the first day in the last couple of weeks where I don�t feel like going back to bed as soon as I get up. I�m not feeling drained, exhausted, beaten up, or frail. I�m still coughing a bit, and not breathing 100% clearly, but...hey. It�s a big improvement. Driving thru the alps listening to Lucio Battisti, heading to Gialuca�s family restaurant for what�s sure to be a great Sunday meal.

Love
KS
on the highway to Seveso, ITALY

2010-03-06T08:02:00.000-08:00

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

2010-02-21T12:54:00.000-08:00

At the last minute, airport officials came thru saying the flight from Abu Dhabi to Paris had changed gates-confusing because on the departure screens the flight was still shown at the old gate. In fact, the new gate was in another terminal, which meant another security screening, but when we hustled to the new gate (past this insane atrium that was lit like a casino but in fact was a giant doughnut--the lining of the hole was in blue and green tile...startling) there was no crew yet to take care of us so we had to stand there for quite a while til they got it sorted out. The control tower of Abu Dhabi is a giant sail-shape it was floating in the mist. The fog that had made our landing so eerie--it clung to to the ground, glowing from the submerged buildings--had lifted, but now things were running late as a consequence of the now dissipated mist. But, we took off, and landed in Paris just an hour late, and it wasn�t long before I was pulling up to my home and Dom & Aden came down to the street to help me and my things upstairs. One month and one week and one day since I left them, it was great to be home again. Normally westward travel gives you a kind of jet lag that is beneficial--you never need sleep. When I land in Seattle, I have practically limitless energy and no need for sleep. It�s when I go east, like home to Paris, that I usually pay the price--it feels like I�ve been hit with a tranquilizer dart and basically my brain decides that when in doubt, fall asleep, and it�s always in a state of doubt. So, here I was, arriving in Paris but from the east, so this should work out great. But it wasn�t *quite* the same--I would nod off around 9pm, and be bolt-upright awake at 5. On the first day, I had some stomach trouble, so I crawled into the bath to sooth my innards and took the meds I have to take for that trouble, and that made me sleepy. I used a washrag to maintain a little Adam-and-Eve style dignity, and Aden took it upon herself to nurse me, bringing me water, and toys, should I need to play in the bath. In fact, when Dom tried to care for me, Aden chased her off...�you�re BOTHERING him� �Yes, Aden, but I think he is OK with it� �NO. It�s *my* papa and I am taking care of him�. Don�t worry, folks, within a day or so Aden was back to telling me I�m fat and stupid, and nasty besides.

Most of the week was spent catching up on emails and activities that had just been impossible to get to while I was traveling. This included organizing all the info for the upcoming Disciplines shows in Germany & Austria...I was cutting and pasting show schedules, train and flight times, press requests, etc into one document. Now, where are those flights for the guys...we soon discovered that the guys had forgotten to buy their plane tickets to Hamburg and home from Cologne...and that was NEXT WEEK. AHHHH!!! But they sorted it out, and it was only a little more expensive than it would have been if they had done it when I asked them to, back in December. So, no big deal in the end. So, more or less, I slept a lot, hung out with Aden & Dom, watched Star Wars on TV in French, and itemized my receipts from 2009. Listened to some music, and took Aden to school, and took Dom out for Valentine�s (we traditionally have our Valentine�s date on a different day than the 14th Feb--that night is when restaurants serve overpriced menus and the real chefs take the night off) at the Meurice (yes, it was expensive, yes she�s worth it). On the Monday after my Sunday return, we dropped Aden at school and then went to have our traditional cafe and pains au chocolats at Maison Karrenbauer, our favorite little place that has the best ones in town (and Pierre, the owner, is always giving us little treats--like a slice of flan, just �cuz. Well, not just �cuz. Aden has charmed her way into being the local rockstar, and every cafe/store/restaurant on the street falls over themselves to give her free hot chocolates, candy...I mean, I spend hundreds of euros a year on that block and am lucky to get bread with my meal!)...I was so looking forward to it, and their oven was broken so they didn�t open that day! AhHhhhH! and monday means no boulangeries are open. Oh well.

One afternoon I was at the computer and I decided to bite my fingernail, and some how, a whole bunch of one of my teeth just pulverized and broke off. What the??

VIENNA, 2/19

I felt a bit bad that I hadn�t been able to do much to promote these shows in Austria and Germany, and hoped that the label had been able to do enough, etc. I hadn�t seen a lot of activity online, but then again, I hadn�t had time to look. But, Vienna is usually pretty good, but still...I had some doubts. I did what I could via MFT (myspace/facebook/twitter, naturlich) and prayed for rain.

No problem getting up at 5.30, in fact I was up at 5 anyway. I padded around and got ready to hit the trail, kissing Dom & Aden goodbye before heading out the door, they were still asleep tho. I caught a cab relatively quickly and at that hour we had no problems getting to Orly, cheaply--so cheaply I tipped the guy 2 Euros, which is kind of unheard of, but...it�s nice to boost your karma with a little generosity. Check in was done, and I headed to the gate. Kind of bummed that nowhere I looked were Herald Tribunes available. Do they even print it anymore? Maybe they stopped making newspapers while I was in Australia. This kind of stuff happens--you go on tour, and come back, and all your friends have changed their names and grown beards and joined communes and you don�t know what the hell is going on anymore.

Anyway, I fell asleep immediately after we took off, I have really grown accustomed to the window seat, now that�s my preferred position in any flight, it�s great for sleeping. No one crawling over you to get out and a wall to wedge yourself against. We landed in Berlin, and I found myself in Air Berlin�s cute little departure barn. On the flight to Vienna I managed to have a row to myself and I stretched out my legs and fell profoundly asleep. I woke up when the tires hit the tarmac, and as we pulled up to our parking spot I turned my phone on, and found either we had time traveled or we had circled a hell of long time. Turns out to be the latter, for an hour, and everybody else was in the same boat (Plane, actually). Even my bandmates� plane was pulling up right alongside mine, and they were supposed to be beating me to Vienna by more than half an hour.

The VIE bag claim was anarchy, as usual, but we got our stuff and emerged and found that the the whole cab rank for the airport was...gone...vanished! Now they send you across the street to a hotel where unmetered taxis charge a pretty expensive flat rate to get you into town. This is all new to me, and I was just there in December. We got in a brand new big Merc and zipped to the Hotel Furstenhof, my preferred address in Vienna. We just checked in, dropped our personal effects and got in another cab for the venue, Szene.

Szene was the site of a great solo show of mine a couple of years ago, supporting Trouble Over Tokyo to a nearly full house. It�s prob. the most professional of the club-sized venues, great sound, great big stage, and they are cool about letting the bands and audience hang out at the bar or in the dressing rooms (or in spring/summer, in the terrace) til pretty late. The only drawback is that it�s kind of in the middle of nowhere, so it�s not so easy to get to--but that means there�s no neighbors to complain about noise, which is why they can be so relaxed about their curfew. Shows there are kind of expensive, too, but that didn�t seem to matter....so, some months ago, when this show was announced, a couple of bands lobbied me very hard to be the support band. I knew that Szene was pretty big for us to be playing our first show, so the support band had to be worth some people. The hardest lobbyers, who did all they could to demonstrate they had a good draw, were a band of 18-to-20-year-olds called Chameleonic Cadence. they were really enthusiastic, very nice, and stayed on the task (good, when I have too many things going on to keep track of every detail). I also needed to make sure we had an appropriate backline, including the elusive Vox AC30 amp for Bjorn. And these guys drummed one up for us. Wow. Ok, you�ve got the gig. And you know what? They pushed this show, which had a very high (�15) ticket price, high and low, and really saved our butts. A lot of my regular attendees were not in the house that night, and there were a LOT of young people, which are really the D�s ideal demographic anyway--we play well with the 15-25 age group. So, the joint was totally packed. And we had a super show. Opening band Tanaka were also supported by T-Mobile, so they brought people too, and really, the night was a total success, much to my surprise and relief, actually. FM4 had also done their part to support the gig, which was invaluable. Now, this was unusual, but not only had it been three months since our last shows, but we had a new drummer--Ivar, was filling in for Ralla, as Ralla�s other band was showcasing at By:Larm this weekend. I didn�t even meet Ivar til he arrived in Vienna, but the guys rehearsed with him and said it had gone well. And Ivar, did an amazing job, actually. He really didn�t make any mistakes, and aside from not being sure about a few tempos, his memory was incredible and it really fit right in. I was much more worried about *my* part--soundcheck was great, but when I started moving around, I was winded pretty quick. These are difficult shows to do from a physical point of view, it takes a LOT of energy. I had really grown accustomed to the gentle pace of my solo shows, unfolding in a tropical environment, where my voice is moist and loose, and flexible. Now I was sprinting, lunging AND singing, and in dry winter air that�s twice as hard to get the vocal chords moving in. It was painful, and I held back a little on the running around. A little. Still I managed to drag the audience out of the club for some weirdness in �I Got Tired� and get the whole audience to lay on the floor with me and all that good stuff. Bjorn was rocking so hard he got a nosebleed! Finally we ran out of songs, with �Oslo� being the encore but people were not going to let us go...they were REALLY into it. So, I made Judith, the drummer of Chameleonic Cadence, come up and play �Shadow of Your Doubt� with Bjorn and I. Totally loose and fun. People love that stuff, when it�s off the cuff and unique just for their show. I love it too, actually. Hey, it should be said that CC were really great, and super fun, they have an unusual lineup with a female lead singer but also one of the male guitarists sings lead too, so all kinds of things happen in the vocals as the songs go along. They are so into it, and I found out afterwards that their bass player was totally sick, he left as soon as they were done, but he really gave it 1000% since they were so into doing this show. They shared their Jack Daniels with us, and were just sweet as pie. In fact, after the show, we went back to the Furstenhof, and I discovered something I didn�t know in all my times staying there--you can drink in the lobby, the desk clerk serves you (like in old school hotels in UK), as late as you want. Perfect--I wanted to hang out, but I didn�t feel like going to a bar, and it was crappy and rainy out...so, we had a couple bottles of wine and I held court with the CC kids. They are so nice, and it�s funny but of course I still think that everyone is older than me in my head, so I had to remember at times that they are TEENAGERS. Crazy. They�re just nice people, with a lot of enthusiasm, generosity and good spirits.

REGENSBURG, 2/20

When I got down to the lobby to check out the next morning, I found that our drinking session on my room�s tab came to a whopping 7 euros--for two *bottles* of wine and a beer! Gotta love the �Hof! Anyway, the guys and I walked across the street to the Westbahnhof, and our train was already waiting. All of Vienna�s (and also some of the regional ones, like St. Polten) train stations are undergoing massive renovation. The main hall of the Westbahnhof is totally torn apart, but the station is still functional, and soon we were on a Deutsche Bahn ICE train zipping at 200 km/h to Regensburg. Still, the trip takes four hours, there�s a lot of stops. But, I had time to have a sit down lunch (I LOVE dining cars on tains) and do some work on the computer, and shoot the shit with the guys and discuss various aspects of strategy for the new album.

We arrived in Regensburg and Dieter, our promoter and a great guy and buddy, was there to meet us on the platform. Dieter is a Posies fan (and an even bigger fan of Redd Kross) who has now hosted me four times in his lovely, medieval town of Regensburg. R�burg is small, about 130,000 people, but has a lot of students so it�s great to play. There�s been a Posies show and two KS shows at the Alte Malzerai, all put on by Dieter, but this time he had us play a new venue, the W1, which is more in the center of town. It�s very chic and modern, also REALLY tiny and cozy, and it�s right in the center so easy for people to get to. We went straight there and started to set up. We were playing with a local band called Old Death Whisper, kind of punk/grunge/art noise...they were like a kinder, if not gentler, Amphetamine Reptile band. Fronted by a fellow named Sebastian who speaks absolutely like an American, having lived in El Paso for a decade. Now, this was news to me, but evidently there is a German Air Force base there?? And later, we met Nadia who was exactly the same--German, but speaking English in 100% accent-less American vernacular. Sebastian is a memorable person, very friendly, funny, cool guy. This show was their first, the band being assembled from components of other musical entities. They rocked it, too.

Dieter�s girlfriend Andrea actually cooked for us! Vegan and vegetarian strudel, which different vegetables. Delicious. And carrot/ginger soup. And Dieter�s flatmate, also named Andrea, baked a cake! THAT is punk rock. ODW did their set, and then we set up, and did ours. There was about 100 people there, which all said was the most that had shown up for a gig at this place ever. It�s small, folks...which was kind of a relief cuz I was hurtin�, i�m a little out of shape, I had no time to get to Pilates the week before the show, and I was already beat up from Vienna. But still, it was great, and let me tell you...Regensburg people are REALLY shy. I was used to it, but if you aren�t...you can be fooled into thinking people aren�t digging it, cuz they don�t move much, don�t clap that much, don�t even look at you much...but it�s totally normal and you always find out after the show how much people are into it. So nice, people in R�burg.

Another problem with D�s shows is that there�s never enough time between dinner and playing, and jumping up and down with food in my stomach means that after the show, I often feel nauseous. It was nice to hang in the backstage room, and we were invited to a DJ night with club NME DJ from UK who was absolutely lovely, but I just couldn�t hack it...plus, we had all our gear to deal with. So, we cabbed to Dieter�s, where we were all staying, and Nadia suggested we try one drink at a nearby bar, a little cinema and late night bar one block away. I said no, but then yes. And we went over, but when we arrived, my stomach was too upset for me to really socialize and I was really tired. I chatted a bit, but then asked Dieter to get me back to his and I immediately crashed, sound alseep.

When I woke up, the guys, Dieter, and Andrea were having breakfast in the kitchen and I joined them...then the guys had to get to their train. Mine was quite a bit later so we hung at Dieter�s and listened to his awesome vinyl collection and chilled. Then at midday Dieter and Andrea drove me to the train station (where we ran into Sebastian and his g.f.) and I took the train to Munich, changing at the Hauptbahnhof for an S-train (a kind of express metro) that took me to the airport, and now...I�m waiting for my flight to Dusseldorf, where I�ll connect to my flight to Paris and be home later tonight. In the meantime, the sun is out, and I�m on my way home.

Or so I thought. Once we arrived in Dusseldorf, I went to the gate, and then we went thru the gate, down some stairs and got on a bus. I was on the phone with my dad, so it sort of took me awhile to realize we hadn't moved. Then they asked us to get off, the flight was delayed. So, we went back up to the gate, waited 45 min...then got back on the bus, waited...and then got off again! Canceled! So, now I am at the provided hotel room, having eaten the free schnitzel (which I love) which Air Berlin gave us, and wishing I was home! boo hoo!

Love
KS
Dusseldorf

2010-02-15T09:51:00.000-08:00

I rounded out my work week with Hannah Gillespie, and in fact by the end of the week, we were able to work at a fairly casual pace (not scrambling to cram everything in like in many cases), taking our time and not having to push Hannah�s voice too hard. The main room of the studio wasn�t air conditioned, unlike the control room, and with temps in the mid to high 80s and no ventilation (it�s a closed space, for purposes of sound) it actually wasn�t that easy for Hannah to be in there too long. Me, for my parts, I didn�t mind. But I have come to realize that I am basically a lizard. Dressed in black, long sleeves, etc. most of the time, I was absolutely happy with the heat. In fact, as I write now, on my way back to Paris, I am ever so slightly nervous about my first encounter with weather other than tropical for the first time in weeks.

When we weren�t in studio, our routine was that Hannah would come and pick me up in the late morning, and we�d go *do* something, something not to do with being in studio. We visited Canberra�s Botanic Gardens, which replicates as many types of vegetation zones as can be found in the country--scrub, temperate rain forest, etc. To my delight, the place was populated by a kind of blue iguana called a water dragon, who were accustomed to human presence to some degree--at least the big ones showed a mix of confidence and laziness that made them approachable.

In terms of cuisine, Duncan, owner of the studio turned us on to Brodburger, which operates out of a bright red caravan in Bowen Park, which is a nice spot, with black swans paddling in a flat lake (pretty much any standing body of water in Canberra is sure to be man made. In fact, the city sits astride an enormous man-made lake...and the structure of the Parliament House is integrated with actual living turf, all odd choices in what is essentially a drought stricken chunk of arid scrub. Ahem. Getting back to Brodburger--I ate there twice--and it is superb, any patriotic feelings for the homeland were erased when I realized this rivaled my beloved Red Mill in Seattle for top burger on the planet, and this place is co-operated by a FRENCHMAN. Which led me to think, why are hamburgers so awful in France, when this is the potential? It�s not like French people don�t eat them--MacDo�s abound--but....nothing that I�d want to eat. I had the BrodDelxue for one meal--two patties, juicy red in the middle, topped with bacon (the Australian kind, which we yanquis would call �Canadian�), and, the stock model comes with a fried egg but I opted out on mine. You have to choose your cheese, and the next day I went for a regular Brodburger--single patty, no egg, but bacon for an extra buck and in all cases you choose your cheese--and for my reg�lar sized burger, I figured all that sizzling beef wasn�t harmful enough from a coronary POV so I chose BRIE. You haven�t tried it = you haven�t lived.

As I mentioned, getting our work done was not a problem. We went back & forth between the analog tape and Digital Performer, added stuff to the basics, including backing vocals from Hannah�s sister Briohny, who has a wonderful voice, which does those fancy little country trills...yeah! Twas a �trill to work with her. We had Tony the banjo player, a groovy older cat who �flailed� along (his words). He�s a great banjo player, and evidently and even BETTER dobro player but we didn�t have time to find out. Hannah�s cousin Ben, who plays a lot of far-out jazz, came up for an afternoon from Melbourne, and we assembled a section with him (trombone), Matt, our bass player (alto sax) and Cameron, a horn player. We got them on a song that Ben actually wrote, that really sounds uncannily like classic British folk girl kinda song. Ben is a sensitive soul...awesome. Ben also played on a song that we had tracked 100% live--Hannah singing in the room with us, me on Wurlitzer, Matt on bass and Kev on drums--I took Hannah�s kind of rock arrangement and deconstructed it to a kind of spacey jam, and then had Ben play the song�s only overdub--he played trombone into a mic that fed a delay pedal that was split to two guitar amps---delayed signal out one and direct out another, with amp reverb and all kinds of stuff...perfect addition and rounded out the track.

Temperatures hovered in the low to mid 30s C, (hi 80s F). At one point, Hannah took me one morning to a swimming hole--a lazy bend in a river a short drive outside of Canberra. The ACT was created in an area with not a hell of a lot of stuff around it, so, even now a hundred years later, you leave Canberra and its satellite cities and you are in ranchland and bush pretty quick. Hannah grew up here, so she knows all the spots. In this place, a brown river trudged gently around a little sandy beach on one side, and a small mountain/big hill shot straight up the other side. There was one bloke swimming, cooling his jets, when we showed up, he was in his clothes, baseball cap & all. He left, and we had the joint to ourselves, and got to swimming. As we did...a storm came in. FAST. It was beautiful--a wall of black clouds came over the hill, but the side facing us was still lit by the departing sun--thirsty grass (there�s been a bad drought for months) blazed yellow and the occasional trees were ghost gums so silver and eerie. Then wind came up, and actually made chop on the tiny little eddie we were in...and then lightning and thunder started to kick in, and it was time to get out. The wind was really strong, it was actually taking effort to walk back up the trail to the car. I had to stop to inspect a dead spider a little smaller than my hand if its legs had been extended. Then big drops of rain fell. Locusts with brilliant yellow wings shot out from bushes, fat drops started to fall, and at one point we had to stop driving because the rain fell with such ferocity we couldn�t see. Truly marvelous. From then on, it rained a lot, and Canberra needed it. It was delightful to get back to the house at night, and listen to the rain beat the crap out of the tin roof on the front porch. I fell asleep to that nightly. Yum.

And then it was done--on the last night, we put the last vocals and a guitar track down, started moving everything to my computer so I could take it away and mix it at home (but we mixed one track while I was there--straight off the live take�s multitrack master, no overdubs--on to 1/4� tape). My friend Anthony who works in the Parliament and also is a bird-oriented naturalist in his spare time came by, and Peter, a journalist at the Canberra Times and KS fan, came by, and a couple of Hannah�s friends came by to hear Hannah�s stuff and the new Disciplines mixes which had been arriving in my laptop every day as new mixes and updated mixes were being done in Tromso by Jon Marius.

I bid my farewell to the recording team--Matt the bassist, Duncan the studio owner who did much of the engineering, and engineers Tim and Cam. Wow, great people. That�s the best thing about music I think--these trial by fire situations are bonding experiences for all involved, and you make friends, and good friends, fast.

Saturday, my departure day--my interview and a huge photo ran in the Canberra Times, on page 5--meaning, in the real news section. That�s pretty cool, when you think about it. Coupled with the fact that Reuters had run a piece on my Asian tour, there was a LOT of press coverage on KS this week, all over the world.

Then, it was time to go--surreal, always, when I have been away for so long. At last on this trip my girls in Paris had a webcam set up at home so we could communicate daily and see each other...this is great. But still, I miss �em and the prospect of going home...wow. Add the fact that it�s St. Valentine�s and it�s all the sweeter. My flight from Canberra was in the afternoon, I got there early and they put me on an earlier flight since they were experiencing lots of delays as now the rain was quite intense. But still, I ended up in Sydney with hours of down time, then boarded my Etihad flight to Abu Dhabi. 14 hours of flying time meant I could watch two movies, listen to the D�s album and sequence it, listen to Hannah�s mixes and rough mixes, listen to the Sad Knights master V4 and still get plenty of sleep. I had a two-seat row to myself. We landed at Abu Dhabi in darkness, at 5am, and now I am waiting to board my Paris flight, which is late (lots of fog here this morning, which made for a surreal landing). And into the arms of home, and a little (very little--lots of stuff coming up) rest.

Love
KS
Abu Dhabi Airport Terminal 1.

2010-02-06T17:11:00.000-08:00

The night before my show, Rod and his family and friends took me out in grand style. First, was a Bia Hoi place--Bia Hoi is very light beer that�s made with no preservatives on a daily basis in Hanoi. This place flies it down to Saigon every afternoon. What a great marketing gimmick--you have to drink the whole lot, cuz it goes flat the next day. So it�s your patriotic duty to quaff as much as possible. This gets served with Hanoi specialities such as sliced up pig ear smothered in the sawdust-like poweder made by roasting rice husk and pulverizing it. Also: frog legs. And so on. Fucking awesome food yet again. And we followed that up by heading to a karaoke place, drinking Heinekens and screaming out all kinds of nonsense, but actually Rod�s missus did a really good job on the Vietnamese songs, and Rod�s visiting nephew�s gal Emma was absolutely stunning on Bon Jovi. After a couple of hours of squawking, I

HO CHI MINH CITY, 1/28

On the day of my show, I spent time in the War Remnants Museum. It�s a deliberate choice in naming this, as much of the impact of the display is to show that the cost of the war is still being paid--environmentally, yes, and most importantly--the toxic effects of the campaign against Vietnam afflicted thousands of people who weren�t even born when the conflict was in progress. Birth defects, unexploded ordinance, buried land mines.

Look, the trajectory is simple. The French took over Vietnam and other parts of SE Asia. They used the pretense of some missionaries--who were, of course, imposing an unwanted religion on an uninterested populace--were killed--to take over a entire subcontinent. It would be like America taking over entire regions of Asia after Americans citizens were killed, using the act a pretense to attach sovereign states in a gambit that did nothing to prevent such actions from reoccurring. Good thing we�re above all that. Ahem. Anyway, then the Japanese invaded and really put the thumbscrews on everyone, and when they departed, the locals who had been resisting them for a decade thought, hey, I think we earned our country back, paid for in blood--and declared themselves independent. France, however, thought the price too low, and returned. Uh, sorry guys but...I do believe if anyone actually *did* deserve to recolonize SE Asia if measured in terms of beating back the Co-Prosperity Sphere, France would be somewhere behind Albania. But the age of empire was well and truly over--insults to democracy like the Dutch coming in and machinegunning the Indonesians who had just been subjected to the Japanese empire�s brutality...I mean, hadn�t the world had enough? The fact is...colonial powers all claim that the peoples they subjugate aren�t capable of running things themselves, but I will guarantee that a P/L on most colonies would come up red. The ones that had oil, no. But the rest...you really think colonial admin was a brilliant model of efficiency? Why is it that enslaving the locals is the only way to make it run, then?

So, the French fought to keep it, and lost, and the Americans sought to keep it one way, and lost. The will of the reds was way too strong. And guess what--the world didn�t burst into flames when we lost. The Russians were happy to watch us fuck up, and rather than learn a lesson about experimental wars launched without provocation--we decided to spend the next 40 years (or more? It ain�t done yet) trying to improve the formula. I�m sure there�s Carlyle group think tanks right now eyeing Kyrgyzstan.

I have another theory, far more loopy and radical. You know why Americans make fun of the French and spent two decades raping Vietnam? Because white Anglo lack of sensuality cannot handle cultures that incorporate the sensual into their worldview. Feminine energy, no way. Where America excels is in pitched battle, man-to-man, as it were. Put us up against another industrialized nation of white guys and we will kick them to curb. You kill all the able-bodied men and the subdued nation sues for peace. But if a country is built around harmony between feminine and masculine energy--well, you basically have to destroy everything, right? Otherwise, if you just kill soldiers and take villages--the *spirit* of that nation is still 50% in biz.

It was Vietnam�s sensuality that really made me feel at home. Because they do share that with the French. That and a few other things that may actually *be* French--a love of paperwork, for one. I am not trying to idealize, or patronize, Vietnamese culture. There�s plenty of macho stuff in the culture, and of course some horrific prostitution and slo-mo prostitution--those unlikely 50-year age difference couples a la Philippines. But, I know what I felt, and if nothing else, certainly Vietnam has so many pleasing layers for the senses, and that, itself, qualifies my observation.

Well. After visiting the same mom and pop worker�s cafe I visited the other day, and buying a memory chip so I wouldn�t have to keep uploading photos and removing them from my phone�s tiny memory, it was time to meet up with Rod and head to the venue. The Cage is tucked away in a compound that�s owned by the armed forces (well, actually the government owns all property--people are only leasing, in rolling, 99-year, transferable agreements--their land from the government; and many, many buildings are in the possession of one gov�t agency or another, to be loaned or given as rewards for various kinds of situations...yes, corruption is a problem) but now developed into a warren of flashy restaurants. The Cage is nightclub, but it seems like they had a kitchen, too. It�s quite swanky, which should sort of disqualify either myself or itself from a potential evening together, but, they were happy to have us. Keith Nolan was supporting this evening; Keith is a wicked keyboard player, who plays a Harlem shuffle of RnB, at least he did this evening--he�s also working on techno, soundtracks, all kinds of stuff. He�s Irish but has been living abroad for many years, now living in Bangkok. A really cool person. And of course his alligator stompin blues is just the kind of thing that locals would and do love. So, peeps were groovin. The place was filling up with about 70 or so people, mostly expats, and sliver of locals. After Keith�s set, the house sound engineer put on earsplitting techno, for no reason whatsoever. There was about as much chance of people dancing as there was of them roasting rats on a spit. The typical expat here was a biz dude in his upper deck ages--it takes awhile before you get these kind of postings. Rod managed to chill things down a bit, but for everyone�s sake including my own, I thought it best to get on with it. Of course, being a classy joint there was quite a light system, too...which I did my best to evade by immediately leaving the stage and dragging my mic with me...as this was a big place, people were evenly spread to the tables...so, I needed to get to them, and I did, and it worked out great. Enter a three-hour show, pulling covers out of the hat, and blasting my songs out to the assembled congregation. People wouldn�t let it stop, and there were plenty of magic moments, I was really feeling in that �testify� mode. Mark, a visiting muso from Oz who lent me his stratocaster for the event, busted out great harmonies for my romp thru Neil�s �Tell Me Why�. I don�t remember what I did, exactly, but it was *everything* hahahah. I had to migrate back to the stage to play some piano, spending some time riffing on the fact that I didn�t just have a keyboard for the show, I had a �music workstation� hahaha. In other words, a Korg synth with plastic keys...but it sounded good and I played it with competency. And, my friend Curtis King, jumped up and blew some harp on a few numbers. In other words, in a very �classy� and �grown up� kind of place...we managed to make it a very organic, warm and friendly evening....

After the show we went to a preferred Pho place, now directly across from the construction of what will be a nearly 70-floor tower. As seemed to be the case everywhere I went in Asia, workers were working 24 hours a day on construction. So, we had excellent noodles and watched the goings on as we looked straight up the skirt of this graceful, curvaceous skyscraper. Again...feminine and masculine energy in harmony...these noodles, by the way, contained what looked like egg-shaped egg yolks but what were actually the undeveloped eggs from inside the chicken. Yum, by the way.

The next day Rod ferried me to SGN�s domestic terminal, making sure I had lunch in he car on the way...I mean, seriously, this fella has got to be the greatest host of all time. He saw me off and I went and found my place in line with about fifty million other people, and realized there was no point really to wait in line--as flights were closing down, a guy would come thru the line with a sign asking people who were on the flight in question to step forward. Vietnam Airways has two flights leaving for Hanoi at 2pm. So imagine, when they called those flights--like, the whole line just broke the Tensa-Barriers and went forward. But we all got checked in, and then...security. Same deal, a jillion people in line. There was no way--so I went to the front of the line and cut in in as friendly a manner as possible. And of course, I boarded the flight, and we left 40 minutes late as they did in fact wait for everyone to board. So there. 2 hours later, and I landed in Hanoi, claimed my bags, and went out to meet my driver, feeling cool. Only, that I arrived 45 minutes late, my driver had given up. After speaking with Nick, the promoter, I hopped a cab and headed in, in the dwindling light. On the way in from HAN, it�s rice paddies and buffalo, but new homes built up at random. But as the city of Hanoi started to show itself, it�s quite a different vibe from Saigon, less of the big colonial buildings and more...almost a kind of medieval Swiss vibe--little turrets and towers and balconies....I mean, if Switzerland was in tropical Asia. It�s intricate and detailed, perhaps we can say in contrast to Saigon, which was more broad and elegant in a grand way; this was elegant in a delicate way. We made it to my hotel, the Maison D�Hanoi, which is right in the center of the city, which seems to be marked from a spacious lake surrounded by, on the side that my hotel rests, thousands of shops arranged in speciality streets--a street for people making shoulder bags, a street for shoes, a street for musical instruments. The shops are crammed together, crammed with stuff....and in between of course, are people who offer every service you think of--from cutting keys, to fixing your shoes (hard to get down the street *without* being waylaid by, uh, helpful shoe repair guys, and the loose side on one of my Springcourts was not up to snuff. I was admonished pretty much constantly) to of course, books. Yes, Saigon was served by several top quality bookstores, and I loved this idea--but Hanoi might have one better--the bookstore comes to you--in the form of mobile book sellers carrying a crate of 20 paperback titles or so...you just keep holding out til someone has one you want.

Maison D�Hanoi is a beautiful, very stylish hotel right in the heart of things. Run by one Mr. Victor, whom I ran into at breakfast the morning of my show, who is himself stylish, as well as knowledgeable and just...super cool. My room had rich dark hardwood, black and white bed linens, and grey marble bathroom walls and floor. It was on the inside of the hotel, but unlike my windowless room in Saigon, it had glassbrick windows so light could come in without showing you were looking into a featureless courtyard. I loved it. Like my Saigon room, it was quiet, cool, and great for sleeping.

Nick, my promoter, picked me up and I hopped on back of his motorbike and we met up his crew, the CAMA crew, at a Bia Hoi place--the same unpreserved, light and, uh, fluffy beer that I�d enjoyed in Saigon, where it gets airlifted straight from the brewery every day. There was Nick�s partner Giles, former Seattle-ite Steve; and restaurateur Dan. We were joined by more friends, and we soon decamped to Dan�s place, Highway 4, to dine on various local specialities, and, perhaps most importantly, to consume copious amounts of rice wine, including the notorious brew made with an infusion of geckos. Evidently the critters have a toxin that in small amounts is very much a stimulant...so, this gets ya buzzed in two directions. Quite dangerous!

HANOI, 1/30

Spent the day just walking around exploring my �hood, and all the little shops etc therein. Then, we went to the venue. Cinematheque is just that: a cinema, the closest thing to an art house cinema in all of Hanoi, tho they show mainstream things, too...I think �Up� was showing that evening. Let�s say, it�s a temple to quality cinema. It�s tucked away, like so many things I found in HCMC and Hanoi, behind, inside, around...way off the street. Almost nothing to be seen from the street, but you go in an alley, where people park their motorbikes, and that winds around...and around, deeper into the labyrinth, and then you�re in a pleasant terrace. Open to the sky, but they�ve hung a tarp over the place to keep ambient vegetable matter from falling constantly from the trees on the patrons. The warren of structures that form a maze inside this warren include the cinema, beer garden, a travel agency, a hotel, an art gallery, several homes...and a small theatre, complete with a very small balcony. Evidently the whole block is owned by the Ministry of Culture, who tolerate all the activities therein. Except for one thing. The theatre had been built by the same visionary who runs the cinema, as a place for traditional Vietnamese opera...and this cultural activity is the one thing the MoC said no to, for reasons impossible to divine. So, the place is used for music concerts on occasion. And now, mine. Inside, red paint and gold Chinese letters. I soundchecked, adjusted a few things, and then Steve�s missus and her friend took me out for a delicious noodle soup with fat escargots. When I came back...the joint was PACKED. This was going to be good. I couldn�t even get in past the beer garden, so watching my support act, Josh Lee, was impossible. When I squeezed in there, and started to play...incredible. Maybe all told in and out there were 200 people, and even tho I played off the PA, and it was sweltering inside, almost everyone sat still thru the whole show...it was...wow. Surreal. With the heat, I started to get a bit out of body. With the layout--beer garden just outside, balcony, tons of people, I had to work with a bit of ambient chatter, but it was well under control, and I just did my best to deliver to what was quite a decent crowd for me. There was some pretty thunderous applause...coupla encores...and, I was really pleased to see, lots of Vietnamese faces, a more balanced crowd than in HCMC. Everyone seemed to dig it...very much. There was a film crew there making a doc on what was going on in contemporary Hanoi, and tho the camera man had a kind of obnoxious light that was bumming a few folks out, it was good to get a doc of this nite, it�s being edited now...

Basically, it was a massive, triumphantly wonderful night and show, and perhaps the best ending imaginable to the tour. It didn�t end there, either--the CAMA folks and a few others met up at a little bar that did a lock in, and eventually I was handed an acoustic guitar for a few songs, but I was toast by 3 and had to get up for my flight!

I managed to get out in the neighborhood for early cafe and croissant before my taxi took me to the airport. It was then that it sort of hit me...I was leaving Asia and my tour was over...man! And Vietnam, too. I wasn�t really ready to go, there was so much more to know and to see. So, more...to come.

A stop in Singapore. Some great movies and decent inflight grub...sigh, why can�t the other airlines learn that service is part of their value. Singapore Airlines and Qantas were my companies for this trip and they are both excellent. The only problem with this trip is that Singapore to Sydney is not a very long flight, for an overnight trip, and with all those good movies to watch...I had only slept maybe 4 hours or so when I landed in Sydney. The flight to Canberra was too short to really sleep on, and then I was there...Hannah Gillespie, with whom I�d be working for the next 2 weeks, was there to pick me up, and take me to her charming little home in Queanbeyan, NSW just outside of Canberra, which she was giving up for me to have my own place for the length of the project, she�ll stay at a friend�s nearby.

Hannah is a funny, generous soul who by day is employed in a government agency doing communication work. She made a record a year or so ago, but due to family issues and work, didn�t get to do much with it, and decided to make another, having learned about what she did and didn�t want from the first one. She is a really great songwriter, and due to modesty and general principles doesn�t take herself as seriously as I do when we�re working...she�s quicker to point out her flaws then take pride in her accomplishments. I am all for modesty, but not when it keeps you from moving forward...and I think this record will be a massive step forward, musically, for her, and bring out what she does best. She�s got a great voice, and great lyrics, and those things will come forward on this recording no doubt.

On this first day, we went out into the country, her dad lives about 50 k�s down the road, so we had lunch with him and Hannah�s stepmom. Her dad, Pete, is a cool cat who plays a mean mandolin and had a little band like the Band back in the 60s. His health hasn�t been the best lately, so he hasn�t been able to be on this record, which is unfortunate to say the least but he is certainly represented in the spirit of the music. Hannah�s music has rootsy elements, to be sure. She sort of gave me the impression she thought country was a four letter word, but, I hated to break it to her...she has a lot of country soul in her. She�s been cool with it, and I think we have done plenty to avoid cliches and corn.

After a swim in a river, that during these months of summer drought is more of a series of ponds, and a get-to-know-the-team dinner, under trees full of squawking white cockatoos (you know, the Baretta bird), we got to work. We�ve worked now 4 days, which is why this blog is so late in posting, between the travel, the very tired first day, and the work there�s been no time to write.

We work in Queanbeyan, just ten minutes or so by car from Hannah�s place. The studio, Infidel, is more than comfortable and I have an awesome engineering team. We are recording on 16 track tape, and moving to digital when needed (like when we need to edit between takes--we are renting the tape, hahah, if we cut it, we have to buy it!). Some songs are just Hannah and guitar; some have more--her musical right hand is one Matt Nightingale, who moves adeptly from double bass to guitar to...whatever you need! Wonderful, enthusiastic presence and a superb multitalented muso. We also had Kevin Nicol on drums on some songs, who played in a very big 80s AOR rock band called Noiseworks, don�t worry, we teased him a-plenty. He was great too--we had to establish the vibe of the rec in the first day, when we had him there, in an epic, 3pm to 3am session (Duncan, the studio owner, and one of 3 in house engineers that have obviated the need for me to do much of the dirty work, advised these hours as the studio is in an industrial area and his neighbors in the building run the heavy machinery more in the early part of the day) I really exploded many preconceived notions about what this record could be...all while keeping it grounded in some kind of credible framework. I played keys live on a few of the tracks...we had a banjo player drop in and play...everything we�ve done so far is to play live with 2-4 people playing at once. All the songs are on tape now, in some form, and now comes layering whatever we need to make it complete. We have the horn section coming tomorrow...morning...so...on that note, good night, and expect a very short blog next Sunday! But the players have been flexible and open minded, and above all, talented and able to go with whatever twists and turns my randomizing brain has been able to come up with...

Love
KS
Queanbeyan AUSTRALIA

2010-01-27T02:19:00.000-08:00

The weather did turn in my favor, and I got an excellent snorkel in that afternoon. Similar vibe to paragraph below.

CEBU CITY, 1/22

And the next morning, too...I hopped in the boat with the divers, and we went just up the shore from Panagsama Beach to where the reef drops off to infinity or so it appears. The reef itself is under only a few feet of water, and you spend your time about 100 feet from shore. The boat dropped the divers, and then moved to the pick up point, maybe 100 yards further away. I was the only snorkeler so I was on my own. It was magical, the diversity and activity of the reef was mind boggling. The best spot was to hang out over the drop off, and look down the underwater cliff. I saw grey and yellow puffer fish, bright goldenrod boxfish, Moorish idols, parrotfish, many of them quite large, and all the stripey, spotty, colorful things you can imagine. As the corals breathed out, the fish would teem to feed, and often leave the reef to chase tasty bits, so I would find myself in a cloud of butterfly-hued small fish. Some fish congregate in dense, writhing clumps. There are also tiny creatures, who bear some resemblance to sea horses, but straightened out, who lay on the coral heads, sometimes two would appear to be snuggling. There were crown-of-thorns starfish, and more agile black brittle stars. Coral that glowed ultraviolet from within, coral that was vibrantly alive, and coral that that spread out like a huge birdbath covered in tiny antlers. A sea turtle would drift by now and then. I spent most of my time drifting over the reef looking down but when I looked ahead just under the surface of the water there were tiny sardines, and goofy looking trumpet fish. I saw something big off the cliff, roughly the dimensions of a sunfish, but not quite that big--but tall and skinny like that. No sharks, no real jellyfish. There are poisonous fish in the area, such as lionfish, but I never saw them. Sea snakes, too, but I never saw them. Sharks...but never saw them. The area is renowned for occasional whale shark sightings, that�s kind of the holy grail for divers coming to the area, but none were spotted (well, they are *all* spotted) while I was in Panagsama. Other highlights were tiny little fish that were as thin as leaves, that hovered upright together down by the coral like a kind of seaweed, but with black and orange stripes. And on the cliff face, bright yellow feather dusters, and balls of swarming sardine-like fish.

I�m a good swimmer, and had a good feel for how long the dives were lasting, so I was meeting up with the boat no problem. I had time for one afternoon snorkel, and the boat was heading to Pescador Island, where I had my first snorkel that week, which was pleasant and mellow. The weather in the afternoon wasn�t awesome, but I figured I�d have one more swim in. Like last time, the boat dropped me and the divers, and the plan was for me to swim around the island and meet the boat on the otherside. I jumped in and went off, again, I was the only snorkeler. Huge shoals of silver fish congregated, and the trumpet fish here were bigger and hungrier. The other fish, too--parrotfish and other large reef fish were even bigger, about the one foot variety. The boat was gone. I was all alone. But we were on the side of the island facing Cebu, and it was not the same big slab of reef, but a smaller skirt and then the rather intimidating drop off to open water. And the wind suddenly came up, and the sun was gone in the clouds, and then the waves were *really* rough. Was the boat 100 feet around the bend, or 100 yards? A free rock stuck out from the island, and no reef past it. And the waves increased in frequency, and suddenly, it was strange out there...and not good strange. Waves were making the snorkel useless, and swimming difficult. There was no way I was going to swim around that rock, the wind was blowing in and the waves were starting to crash with spray. Uh oh. All alone. Strong waves, and the island itself was a column of rock, no shore to swim to. Swim the other way? Nope. But, also, while I was trying to figure out what to do, I was also taking water in my mouth on occasion...this was really starting to get scary. I knew there was only one thing to do: get out. But the island is a cliff, with big waves smashing it...how? Miraculously, on this uninhabited rock, there was concrete staircase up the side of one cliff, a few stone carved steps below it. They were about 3 feet out of the water tho. I hoped there would be footholds and that they wouldn�t be slippery. I had to time my arrival between waves and then approach. I grabbed, there were some places to get a grip, and despite the pull of incoming and recding waves, I hauled myself up (no flippers, so my feet were free, thank the lord). The rocks were more pointy than slick, which was fine by me. I made it to the steps and went up to the top of the island. Phew. Contemplating the very real fact I could have drowned if I had been less of a swimmer, I set my mind on alerting the boat to my presence, which proved impossible--the surface of the rock was sharp volcanic stone, with impenetrable brush growing on it--I would have to fight and hack my way to any point on the circle, and no way of knowing *where* on the circle the boat was. So, I figured they would come looking for me after the divers came in and I didn�t. I was prob. 20 minutes, but it was a looong 20. But, I did what any sensible person would do: I enjoyed the view. I could observe Cebu and Negros, and the sun had come out a bit (still windy and wavy tho). Debris floated in to the island--leaves and the odd coconut. Fish would come up to investigate. And, then, a farily big turtle emerged and poked its head out of the water, and stuck around for a bit. Eventually the boat came around, and I went back down the steps, and had to again time my entry into the water between big waves. I dove forward with the mask around my neck, and had to actually swim around that damn rock to where the boat had grabbed one of the floating permanent moorings, a plastic tub attached to big underwater ropes. That swim of 50 feet or so was really difficult, and again I am a really good, strong swimmer. I had made the right decision to get out. I had some cuts on my feet, legs and elbow from the sharp rocks, but I was alive. It changes your day.

At 4.30 my car came to take me to Cebu. I paid my hotel bill, my whole week there had cost me a couple hundred bucks--hotel, meals, snorkeling, and the 2.5-hour drive each way from/to Cebu City--all told. Amazing. The car headed out of the village, and I spent the drive alternating between surreal dozing, further contemplation between the thin line between life and death, and observing the dense thicket of human activity that lined the road--steel plants, crowded churches full of singing, drum-beating church processions, markets and eateries, many just shacks, of all sizes. Goats, scrawny dogs. Big deluxe houses and thatch huts. We got into the city, past its industrial harbor old downtown, which seems to be largely crumbling, but looks of decrepitude can be deceiving here...just because something looks like an abandoned, nearly toppling shell doesn�t mean its not still an active enterprise. We started to head up the hill, past big modern hotels and gleaming malls, each inch of progress made in sheer willful defiance of the abject gridlock that had the city in lockdown mode on Friday night. My driver finally gave up his assault on the hill, and pulled into the parking lot of some gleaming tower to take a leak, recalibrate his approach, and like 2 minutes later (this is after fighting up the hill for 40 minutes on our first attempt) we were at the venue. If it was that easy....

The Outpost has a kind of Hollywood Hills bungalow vibe, nestled into a tranquil nook up above the fracas that is central Cebu City. There�s a main cottage that�s fully indoors, with a small stage, tables, a bar and restaurant kitchen (plus a little conference room for backstage) and then outside there are a couple different levels of patio, mostly covered, and integrated into the surrounding trees. Quite cozy, a little bit of a treehouse vibe. I was soon greeted by Sandy, the owner, a young and energetic guy, we�d been in touch setting up the show for some time. And, soon arrived Chicoy, the 40-something uncle of my Manila promoter, Joff. Joff was introduced to me by Mohd, my labelmate from Malaysia, and Joff in turn introduced me to Sandy in Cebu City, my promoters in Vietnam, and his uncle Chicoy, who offered me his home for the night. Chicoy is a painter, and he lives in a big house outside the city with his wife, a teacher who used to sing in a rock band, his teenage daughter and his twenty-something son. The whole family plays a little music, sometimes together...more on this later.

So, I had some food from the kitchen and then set up and soundcheckedd. Chicoy had brought his son�s Ibanez electric, modeled on the Jackson shape that you�ve seen in many a hair metal video. It didn�t stay in tune very well, and I asked about the beautiful �59 ES-135 hanging on the wall. �Oh, that doesn�t have all the strings, uh....� etc etc. Not a complete no, but I would need to work that small window of opportunity. �I have some strings....� and so I put on the top three strings, and soon the guitar�s owner, a local musician and partner in the venue came in and gave his blessing. It had no front strap pin but my sound engineer worked out some plastic twine and we were in business. Played thru a small Orange amp, it sounded beautiful and looked really cool. My piano sounded good too. People started to trickle in for the show. It didn�t take many of them to fill up the available tables. But there was some music coming in from the outside...the Children�s Joy Foundation was jamming out on the patio. CJF is an organization that takes orphaned and abandoned kids off the streets and helps them get cleaned up, educated and productive. Sometimes the kids go out with a supervisor and play music--an adult on guitar, and the kids sing, play guitar, banduria, a kind of mandolin with a banjo body,and percussion. Two little girls danced. They played sweet old-timey music, local and otherwise. They wrapped it up, passed the hat, and then I went inside and did my show. A collection of local musicians, a handful of curious expats from various non-Asian countries, regulars who had no idea what the program was for the evening, and a large table at which Chicoy�s family and friends were seated, had filled up the small room--we�re talking 40 people here, but it was full. Occasional stragglers would amble in, and more often as not, amble out, feeling too self-conscious to be the only one standing in a room full of people seated at tables. There was a trio of 60-something couples having a bottle of chilled wine; there were some nervous and giggly kids who had to have been about 20, and Chicoy�s daughter (named Chicay) and her teenage friends. Quite a diverse crowd. The place was pretty noisy, and the fact is that the door to the outside was immediately to my right, so, servers carrying plates from the kitchen (completed orders announced with a bell), as well as new arrivals coming in, all had to travel on the path between the stage and the audience. So, my ability to walk into the crowd and sing unaccompanied was hampered by the layout--there was no space really to wander in between tables, and I was quite nervous about my cables being something for a server to trip over. So, generally, I stayed back at the mic. Now, I would describe the reaction to what I was doing as mostly polite, curious, etc. I was thinking that something was off, like, was there a bird perched on my head I didn�t know about? I played my songs, and wasn�t really feeling like the ultimate connection had been made. Finally, an audience member timidly requested a Posies song, and the first notes of Solar Sister caused the room to go nuts. Basically, people had been waiting 17 years to hear the Posies live in Cebu City, and my unreleased solo stuff was rather in the way of that.....from then on, the ice was broken. I mixed my songs with Posies and Big Star songs, and people were seriously going completely crazy. It was then that I remembered looking at sales sheets for Frosting on the Beater and being surprised by significant numbers of sales in the Philippines and Thailand. I thought it was all expats and US army PX sales...and I was so, so fundamentally wrong. I thought I was done, too...but as I tried to wrap it up, I had requests for �Love Comes� and more stuff, and now, the kids (there was a group of local musicians who would definitely have been too young to have heard FOTB at the time of release, so word of mouth was expanding the Posies myth) were up at the stage, and I was playing songs from FOTB and more, and people were loving it. Photos were taken on every cell phone. I could see Chicoy rolling his eyes and laughing, he and his family were sort of counting on getting out of there a lot earlier, but they were cool. Finally I said my goodbyes, was handed some money (a surprise, as it was a free show) and piled my stuff into Chicoy�s van and we drove to White Sands, on a smaller island connected to Cebu by a short bridge. Bonus of this location, the house Chicoy inherited from his late mom, is that it�s only 15 minutes from the airport, which would make things easy the next day. But this day wasn�t over yet...as we settled in to their totally-Brady Bunch house, Chicoy�s boy busted out the guitars, Chicoy sat down at a drum kit set up on their patio, and we jammed, on Led Zep and Yardbirds tunes til like 2am...seriously, we were outside, and Chicoy was full on beating the drums, I was wailing on the Ibanez, and there was an acoustic for my jam partner. The neighbors actually put up with this for like an hour before they called and said, �uh....�

MANILA, 1/23

A wickedly strong coffee, a full blast broadcast of the guitar duel from the film �Crossroads� and we were off in the morning to Cebu City airport. Chicoy dropped me off, and wished me luck. I was quickly set upon by an airport roadie of sorts who sported a casual uniform and ID badge, and was quickly off with my passport before I could say �flat eric�. He reappeared minutes later with my boarding pass, and proceeded to roadie me thru the initial security (all bags go thru an x ray on the way in to Philippine airports), the check in, and to the frontier of gate security. I knew a tip was coming, and I tell you what, he earned it, this whole biz took less than 5 minutes, and I could see where he was pushing stuff thru much more quickly than I would have navigated on my own. I tipped him a few 100 piso notes and he was happy, and I was happy. Nothing much to see on the flight, I was on the inside aisle of yet another totally packed A330. Landed in Manila and claimed my stuff, and exited, and was beset upon by the taxi guys. I agreed to much too high a flat rate for my destination, and off we went. Manila is enormous, as my aerial surveys have shown. Public transport has been unable to really grapple with its immensity: there�s a rather limited metro train consisting of three lines. Most people travel by jeepney, which are marvelous beasts, they are share taxis, that stop either on demand or at marked stops in some cases, and travel on regular routes, the highlights of which are painted on the sides of the vehicle. The vehicle itself has a front end like a jeep, and back end like...hmmm. It�s a covered bed with benches along the sides. The vehicles are customized with paint jobs but also striking use of chrome--some are entirely silver, some are painted in fiery colors, most utilize chrome and paint in various combos. Some of the front ends are decorated with customized metal bits, some are plain old jeep fronts, many you could see the cooling fan on the radiator was a vintage desk fan, things like that. They are ubiquitous, you never have to wait for one, because there are hundreds going up any major street. Usually the back would be packed with ten or so passengers. I have to admit, I never took one. Cabs by Yanqui standards are really cheap.

We wound our way once the traffic broke shortly out of the airport to Eastwood City, itself a clump of high rise towers and a big mall in the middle of Quezon City, itself a subnucleus of Manila. Manila is too big to have one center; there�s the old city on the bay, that dates back to the earliest days of Spanish colonialism (and beyond); govt agencies are here. There�s several main CBD�s all with huge towers and for sure each one will have at least one mega mall. In that sense Manila is comprised of layers--the urban poor, the affluent, and the mega affluent would be the main divisions--and like most places, they never encounter each other in social life. The affluent, which doesn�t take much money to be (in that sense each layer has its own economy, tailored to its abilities)--they had comfortable apartments, usually a driver or other servants, and seemed to exist my going from mall to mall for all their entertainment and shopping needs. Most of my friends in Manila would be this category. The urban poor live in tin roof shacks, conglomerations of which could occur anywhere. To keep the populations separated, to prevent the undeniable squalor from bumming the high of the middle class (remember where most revolutions come from and why), the city has actually built walls around some of the favelas, and created facades of more attractive looking buildings to keep the view of the third world conditions from bumming everyone�s high. But still, it�s hard to miss. My 18th-floor apartment looked across the river at one shanty town, and as we took the metro we looked down on millions of shacks, all jammed against one another, with no visible streets amongst them, just mysterious passages winding anthill like thru the hive.

My show was at Route 196, a tiny, tiny little bar with a tiny stage. The main room could fit about 25 people seated at tables or sitting at the bar, and there was a lower level room separated by glass from the main room, it was 2 steps below the main room in level, and had cozier seating, you could get another 25 people here. So, it wasn�t hard to fill up the place, well--it almost was. Despite the fact we had some of the best and most well-known musicians in town on the bill, plus a rare international act, there was a huge free show across town with like 20 bands. But, that kept the riff raff out and those who really wanted to come to see this show, as opposed to *a* show, were there. Kate Torralba was up first, Kate is becoming quite famous as a fashion designer, we visited her boutique in Manila�s most posh shopping center. And her music is getting attention, too. She has years of training on the piano, so she can play anything, any style, and she has a kind of crooner voice which she puts over the top. I ran sound for her, more or less and she was visibly nervous at my presence, hahah! After she played the brother and sister guitar/piano duo of Outerhope played, they are really good...brilliant vocal harmonies thru every song...then Camera Walls played but I took a break as the place was pretty small for a full band to play, concrete walls made a mighty bright sound. But, I did go back in to watch Gaijin, which features Raimund Marasigan of the band Eraserheads, who have been called �The Beatles of the Philippines�. As the name implies, there�s a yanqui in the band, the singer, Jesse Grinter. They play a kind of angular rock that reminded me a bit of Television. As things run very late in Philippines, I went on after midnite...and played til something like 3am. My voice was warmed up from the show the night before, and I was singing really well so I was into it, and the people wouldn�t let me stop. Highlights: a couple of people dirty dancing to �Known Diamond�. A kid named Francis who was handing out his poetry zine singing Neil Young and the Replacements covers I pulled out WAY louder than me (and I�m loud)--oh, by the way, this brings up the fact that as I may have mentioned, the Philippines are stuck safely in the 80s music wise, from most PsOV. I mentioned hearing the Outfield and Quiet Riot in my stay in Panagsama, and the radio was all about the Bryan Adams power ballads and Peter Cetera doin� it all for the glory of love...and tho you don�t think of them as an �80s� band, they did the bulk of their work then...so I was blown away to hear The Replacements �Can�t Hardly Wait� in the taxi on the way to the gig...woah.

The show was an unqualified success, the locals and expats in the audience all loved it, and I was definitely in the groove. Darryl and Laura, a fan from UK who is living in Manila working for a bank and one of his banking colleagues respectively, had a private car and driver (not an unusual thing here--the fact is: the Philippines is the 12th most populous country on earth, and will soon cross the 100,000,000 mark. There is a huge spread in the amount of money made by the lowest and the top rung--the weight of poverty pulls prices and wages in their direction, allowing the purchasing power of the top rung to skyrocket), and dropped me off at the flat.

On Sunday, I slept in--it was like 4am when I got home. Had my morning coffee while it was still morning and had a fish belly sour soup at the mall. There is, thankfully, a place serving Pinoy food amongst all the Starbucks and �Mediterranean Bistro�s. Eventually my friends rose from the dead--Joff, who put on the show, was still at the club when I said my 3.30am nite nites.

He and I met up and took the metro (we had to cab to the nearest metro stop, as I mentioned before the metro can�t begin to encompass the girth depth and breadth of Manila�s 600 sq. km/230 sq. mi.) to the center. We disembarked and walked down into what is massive street market...after the Logan�s Run vibe of the Eastwood mall, all spacious and planned and manicured, here was the city of 11,000,000 as you would imagine its supposed to be: chaos. Throngs of people jamming alleys, jeepneys and cars pushing their way thru. Crippled beggars, car stereo shops with whumping subs (there was one blasting music out of a speaker six inches from the ears of a sleeping dog. I thought they could hear, like...way more than people?). Pirate DVDs, piss, flat dried out squid...smells colors and above all masses of people. Overwhelming, but exhilarating. We walked the alleys and emerged a big square where there was a massive church service going on. The church was a concrete box, more or less, bug huge. And overflowing--a big screen was set up in the square so more worshippers could get in on it. Of course, there was commerce too--all the little tapered candles people burn in church, there were millions for sale, and other paraphernalia. We crossed the square, and hopped a cab (with some effort, as this edge of the square was a major landing zone for jeepneys) to Intramuros.

Intramuros traces the walls of the Spanish fortifications that replaced the Islamic Sultanate�s HQ there. Cebu was actually the first Spanish settlement in the Philippines, but they had gotten word that Luzon had good stuff, and soon arrived to steal Manila from the locals. And that they did, and held onto it for 300 years.

Technically it is the center of Manila, but it�s not the beating heart of the city. In fact, it�s downright desolate compared the market where we were, near the Recto MRT station. That was definitely some kind of organ of the city, perhaps a bit of each one...Intramuros is sleepy and tranquil, completely different vibe. Big vintage-1960s government agency buildings, lots of churches, and quite a few buildings in the process of crumbling. Oddly, the whole fortified walled place is ringed by a golf course, which insulates it further from the city�s bustle. You can access the walls and walk around quite a bit of them, the golf course on the exterior, on the interior a few food stalls there and there, but mostly...nothings. Couples hang out on the wall, the wall dips thru the shady spots from big trees on either side. Church was in full swing so the cathedrals were packed, but other than that...empty. Beautiful. When you�re at ground level, you can look into little dungeons built into the wall (the Japanese made use of these during their visit...) many filled with tantalizing bits of antique oddities...not in a museum way, but in a dad�s garage kind of way, but we�re talking about museum quality pieces of old coffee mills, scales...most fascinating.

From there we hitched a taxi ride to Makati, the financial hub of Manila, and went to...yep, a mall. The mall enclosed a massive courtyard packed with people sitting at patio tables....and no less then 5 coffee shops catering to them, including the Death Starbucks and Seattle�s Best. Totally weird. We met up with Kate Torralba and her producer Malek Lopez, and dined on something they call corned beef in broth, but it didn�t bear any resemblance to the corned beef that I grew up in such fear of. It was very good. We also had Kare-Kare, which is oxtail, tripe and beef in peanut sauce--wow. That�s good stuff. And some extremely crispy fried pork. This is heavy stuff, it takes some serious fortitude to be a member of the clean your plate club. So good. After that we cabbed to ANOTHER mall for a coffee and tiny round cheesecake to share. I had mentioned my interest in Civet cat-shit coffee, which in the Philippines is called Motit Coffee, Motit being the name for the Asian Palm Civet in Philippines. It is often translated as �fox� but the Civet, which is not a cat, but a kind of mammal that is grouped in the family �Viverridae� which means �fucking weird mammals that no one knows what to do with�--including Genets, which are sort of cat-like, and binturong, which are just fucking crazy. Anyway, the Civet has a nose for very ripe coffee, which is a berry in case you�ve forgotten, since we call them beans. It eats the ripest, choicest berries, and shits out the beans. And people grind this up and drink it...it�s kind of pre roasted. Now, people have been drinking this stuff in Indonesia and Vietnam and Philippines for a long time. But, I�m confused because I never thought of the Philippines as a coffee-growing nation, unlike the other two. Anyway, it�s available in the Philippines, and we went to a coffee shop just to look for it. And it was closed. And Kate, being a pretty good talker, pushed her way in and commanded a sale of the shop�s last bag, and handed it to me as a gift. Dang!

I flew onward to Ho Chi Minh City/Saigon, where I�ve been now for a couple of days. I arrived in on Monday afternoon, spent some time getting my visa together. Basically, if you go the official way, you are supposed to send your passport in to a Vietnamese embassy, wait while they process your visa, they mail back your passport. That�s all fine and dandy for those people that travel like, once per lifetime. Some of us, however, actually work for a living and that work involves frequent, global travel. Who has time to give up their passport? Plus, I just *got* this one, I�m not letting go of it. Uh-unh, no way. But, a little looking around online and you can find Vietnamese travel agencies who can prepare a visa on arrival if you are flying in to Hanoi or HCMC, for a processing fee of about $15. The visa itself you pay for when you arrive, and it�s $25. With that in mind, you think...why would you bother doing it the official way? Basically the via on arrival is meant for large groups, but the agencies just bundle you as if you are in a group with the other recipients that day. It makes no difference once you arrive that you are not part of a group. I arrived, filled out a form, got the visa and Ho�s your uncle.

My host, Rod, soon arrived after I exited the arrivals area. HCMC is perpetually 90F, significantly more sweltering than anywhere I�d been on this trip, actually. But, I�m a lizard, and I think that feels good. Rod is a restaurant entrepreneur of Australian extraction, here�s been in the country for years and is married to a local lady. In fact, it�s easy to start feeling like HCMC is a very small village, populated mostly by Anglo speaking dudes with Vietnamese wives...but anyway, Vietnam is a very dynamic and welcoming place, albeit with a very unique system of governance and society, and it�s growing like a weed in a manner that is pretty much unstoppable and recession-proof. It�s the 13th most populous country on earth, 60% of those people are under 30.

What else is it? Beautiful. Layered. I will have a hard time describing HCMC. It�s so many things at once...hyper modern, hyper jerry-rigged, spacious and leafy, dusty and crowded...full of characters and folks just doin� they thang. Every inch of the place is picturesque, patinated just so. Old ladies balance counterweighted baskets of stuff, in the famous pointy hats. Skyscrapers are going up in rapid fasion. But still, most of the city is just 4-5 stories high, and where I�m staying, right in the center, has lots of gorgeous colonial buildings, tree-lined avenues, and such. I�ve never seen such a precarious electrical grid--the telephone poles support literally hundreds of individual wires, snarling at intersections in a fantastic rat nest of phone calls, email, and juice to keep the lights on. Speaking of email, Facebook is banned in Vietnam. It�s considered to helpful to possible pro-democracy dissidents. It�s hard to believe that this sizzling hotbed of abject capitalism, which is luring folks like Rod to come here and open restaurants and resorts and such, in which as a visitor you don�t really see obvious manifestations of government power, is technically a communist state with unelected leaders. But other than banning Facebook and making you wait a little bit for your visa, it�s hard to really see what Communism is doing here...other than getting the hell out of the way before it gets run over by all the new cars on the road.

Speaking of which, I was proud to quickly pick up the art of crossing massive multilane roads with no crossing signals...how you slowly but steadily pick your way across giving the drivers time to adjust, and they do.

The first night I was taken out by American expat Curtis King, to a penthouse bar in some hotel, admittedly the free wine we had at Pacharan, Rod�s flagship resto, and the bottle of montrachet we had with dinner had really killed me, I was sort of levitating at this point, plus jet lag, but I managed to join the house cover band for rousing versions of �One I Love� and �Losing My Religion�, it was hilarious. Cover bands are big thing here. Asia�s music vibe in general is that a good song is one that is going to be good in karaoke, it�s changed the face of music here forever. So, Celine Dion, or perhaps the Eagles, rules the....ahem, roost. Cover bands� popularity here sort of supports that theory, it�s like live karaoke where you don�t have to actually *do* anything. Like watching sports on TV and feeling like an athlete...

Yesterday I walked around in search of lunch. In my centrally-located neighborhood it�s all about the Mediterranean bistros again...even a Texas BBQ place. Uh, I didn�t come here for the burgers. The resto�s are on the streets, where they can be seen. Where Vietnamese people eat are in alleys, which are off the traffic a bit. I ducked into one and found a tiny hole in the wall. My god. For less than $2 I had a pile of rice with greens and the 4 spring rolls I�d picked out (no one spoke English and there were no non-Vietnamese inside, ahhh). Two of the 4 were black, made of ground beef and spices. Then there was a slice of fish, white fish with very thick ribs, this was a steak slice, you know, with the round of the spine at the top as a circle. It the slice was in a sauce of sweet chili and black pepper. Boy howdy was that good. A little soup with leaves came with it, and at the bottom of the soup were three tiny, tiny shrimp. This lunch was made with love, served with care, and ridiculously dirt cheap. In Paris you couldn�t even buy the 3 bug-sized shrimp for that price.

Last night we stopped by the Acoustic club, where a madly brilliant house band plays covers with different vocalists. I did a couple of songs--�Ooh Child� and �Moon River�, and these guys were able to follow me no problem, even with the complex chord changes of the Mancini tune. WOW. But I was feeling like a rank amateur when Dinh Tuan-Khanh, vocalist of the band Microwave, came up and did a few songs, I recognized �Enter Sandman� but not the others but it didn�t matter. This guy, seriously, could win American Idol. He is an effortless, fucking full on singer, 22 years old, bespectacled and unassuming, doesn�t really speak much English apparently but when he sings...he�s just a belter, man. Like Dio, or Ian Gillian, or...woah!!! He�s awesome. The stuff on their myspace doesn�t really cut it, I�m afraid. He�s like the best live singer I�ve seen singing hard rock, and everyone was saying, oh, he�s not even the best in this *bar*...that guy comes on Saturday. As for Rod, he's really the ultimate host, and he loves his adopted city, and has been a great person to have showing you what's what and where it is.

Today Rod guided me to bank xeo, no, not a futuristic Asian place to put your life savings, but a kind of pancake, made from corn, with shrimp and pork adhered to it. You slice a chunk, and wrap it in lettuce, along with raw fresh herbs and bit of fish sauce, chili�d to taste. Excellent.

I can�t really help you on the visual description of this magnificent city. It could take several coffee table books to even start to relate the endless magnificent details of this town....I�ll try a few photos, perhaps...later.

Love
KS
Ho Chi Minh City, VIETNAM

2010-01-20T20:39:00.000-08:00

I forgot to blog this last week, but when I was Charles de Gaulle airport looking for where to check in for my flight to Bahrain, I noticed something extremely odd on the board: EasyJet flt 8031. This flight had a scheduled destination of: Paris Orly. Like, evidently, it was ferrying passengers from one end of Paris to another? I was intrigued. I have sniffed around on the net and failed to find anything about what 8031 would normally be doing...

SINGAPORE, 1/10

When I was writing last, I was under the impression we were almost in Singapore. Two enormous terminals on either side of the bridge between Malaysia and Singapore at the Woodlands Crossing (the bridge paralleled by enormous pipes that bring in much of Singapore�s fresh water--there are frequent dramas played out here when the countries find themselves having a spat) handle the outgoing and incoming traffic. Getting out of Malaysia took about 5 minutes. Getting into Singapore...longer. Seems like no one mentioned we had about 150 CDs from the label--albums by The Disciplines, Jay, and other artists on the label--in the back of the van. All vehicles are subject to a visual inspection that includes looking in the trunk. So, we weren�t exactly smugglers but this was a significant amount of commercial product that wasn�t exactly free to cross the border with us. So, they took the stuff away, and Amar stayed behind to negotiate--he has an uncle working on the inside, so, he figured he could yank a few strings from the inside. To this day, I have no idea if the efforts were successful!
?After waiting around for while to see if the situation would resolve, we finally went on ahead. We pulled into a parking area, and strolled over to the impossible-to-miss Durian-textured fly eyes known as the Esplanade, a performing arts complex on Singapore�s waterfront, where The Posies and I performed in 2006 as part of the Bay Beats Festival. We were met by Patrick, who had organized today�s show, and who also plays in the band Typewriter; I did some recording with them in 2006 on sessions for an album they are still working on now...Patrick led us into the Bond-villian�s-lair, squeaky clean loading deck and backstage area to let us dump our bags etc. Actually, it wasn�t long before soundcheck was proposed, since we had spent even longer than anticipated at the border. So, I went out to the same small concrete amphitheatre that I played in 2006, and saw a lovely backline set up. I took away the music stands, haha, that�s wild optimism on the part of the crew for ya...I had a cool matte black 335 provided by Gibson, and all the stuff on the backline was in good shape and the right bits, so soundcheck was easy--pretty much telling the sound guy to use less and less of the PA, til we had it about right, then the digital board reset itself and we had the pleasure of doing the soundcheck one more time. Luckily, with me, that�s a very short process.

This completed, we went to eat. There�s a few new things visible at the waterfront now, since my last visit--first, a massive construction project--three massive towers, connected by a multistory platform at their summits, all part of a huge new casino and hotel complex. And, at Esplanade, a small Hawker Center--food stalls around a common court. In no time I was bravely attacking a chili crab despite the fact that I was wearing white jeans, PLUS gado gado PLUS a big coconut to sip. I think there were other things too...I�d missed lunch. So, this was as much as meal as it was vengeance.

Then it the sun started to fall, and it was showtime. Talk about an easy gig--I played two 30-minute sets, Jay preceding me each time with a 3-song warm up. The show was free and open to the public; a great piece in Today Online brought out a curious range of curious spectators--fans who saw me last time; friends like Chang Kang from Typewriter; very surprised expat Yanks who had seen The Posies in SFO back in the day; babies; a white-haired grandma in a wheelchair (who stayed happily for both sets). There was a nice family vibe, and my walk-offstage, stand in the crowd and belt it out went over so well I felt like a kind of carnival sideshow performer, and that was fun. The two sets were different, the second one took more advantage of the piano, and people generally stayed for both, I�d guess 150 or so all told, maybe more at the peak.
?After the set and chatting with folks, I was beat so Patrick and Chang Kang took me to the hotel in a groovy little rig that looked like it should be delivering mail, but was in fact the official touring car of Patrick�s production co. On the way out the door I suddenly realized I would immediately be saying goodbye to Amar, Jay & Ili, in short order. I hate goodbyes (see my last post) and this was no exception, but the fact it had to be done pretty quicklike made it at least get over with and I could use the shock to keep off the displeasure of bidding farewell to my excellent travel companions, who had been so generous and helpful.

I was incredibly beat, I had energy to iron some clean clothes and hit the hay, and that�s it.

JAKARTA, 1/11

a day chock full of singles--1/11/10. Wait til next year tho. I had breakfast at the hotel, which turned out to be a very funny take on the continental breakfast--esp. odd after the heaping spreads offered by both of my Malaysian accommodations---the offerings: a bag of white bread, a toaster. Coffee in an urn. Uh...OK. Well, I had a piece of toast, chatted with a couple from Victoria BC who were vacationing, and then Patrick picked me up and took me to Singapore�s fantastic, shiny, and, today, practically empty, airport. There�s nothing better than an empty airport. Also, many airports I have visited on this trip have the brilliant idea to have security screening done at the gate--so, you are not bottlenecked at the entry point to all the airport services beyond.

Patrick and I had time for a cafe (Starbucks has a tight grip on the Asian airport market) and I went to my flight, on Philippine airways. Their Indonesian flights have planes with extremely generous spacing of seats, I had more leg room than on some biz class flights. I landed in Jakarta, skirting along the north side of Java to see the flat lands, the seemingly flooded rice fields, and the hundreds of ships anchored around and moving in or out of Jakarta�s industrial, fishing, and pleasure craft harbors. We touched down, I picked up my visa, and was met by the hotel driver even before customs, which somehow gave me a free pass from any and all inspection. My hotel was the Sheraton, out near the airport, so as not to have too much of a commute the next morning, after hearing how long the travel can be in Jakarta�s snarling traffic.

It wasn�t long before the hotel and surroundings were engulfed in what would be a familiar sight in Indonesia: mind blowing, squeezed-washcloth-of-God type of torrential rain. Like clouds declaring war on the planet...it�s impressive, really. It lasted about an hour, and its departure was timed perfectly with the arrival of Zeke and Yudhi, organizers of my show. Zeke is a musician, having had quite a bit of success with doing music for film lately. For many years he went to art school and generally lived it up in Seattle--tho we never met. He had been contacted just a few days before by Ili in Malaysia, and without hesitation put together a show in his home. His home, is his family home, his parents were in the govt/military and have some sweet digs, including the ground floor�s official reception hall, looking more or less like a ballroom, but with a stage for the giving of medals and what not. Zeke has taken this over and turned this into the base for his musical operations, having a great rehearsal place, and his own venue, if he wants to--but evidently I am the first foreign artist to perform there. Zeke is full of humor, energy, and personifies, I think the vibe that I got from Jakarta, at least based on the people I was hanging out with there, is a jumping, exciting, creative epicenter--the Hollywood for this nation of over 200 million (Yogyakarta would be more like the New York--in terms of being an artier, edgier, theatre-driven cultural capital). In fact, soon after we arrived we ran into Joko Anwar, perhaps the highest-profile director in Indonesia, whose recent films have been winning critical praise and festival prizes around the globe. I sat with Joko and chatted, and watched a bit of his reel, when we stumbled upon him at a coffee shop near Zeke�s place. Also, I ran into some cool kids from Bandung, who had driven over two hours to check out this show. The twitter and related blogospheric activity surrounding this show had been impressive, despite the fact that we were Monday nite and this show was booked on Friday, people knew about the show, and we had a more than decent size audience waiting back at Zeke�s place when I showed up--plus thanks to Zeke�s connections, those people included journalists (Rolling Stone has an Indonesian edition), promoters, musicians of every stripe. A local band played some emo-acoustic songs, and then I set up. Candles were lit in an arc around me, and I had a beautiful old Gibson hollowbody, and a real piano, too. The audience was mostly seated on the floor, and I gave everyone a seventh inning stretch at one point. I don�t know how long this show was, but it had to have been pretty long...and people were more than cool with that. At one point the vintage Fender Twin was showing signs of a dying capacitor, making some pops and crackles, so we switched it out...I wandered around the room, and at one point there was this girl, sort of trying to hide behind a wall panel, as a lumbered around, she was one of the few standing audience members. In between songs her friends said that she�s a singer, she should sing, so I dragged her out and ran her thru �Somethin� Stupid� right on the spot, and, as it turns out, she was extremely good. Mian Tiara will release her first album of jazz influenced gentle pop in Indonesian and English soon.

Jakarta itself is enormous. Flying over it is one thing, driving across it is another. The city is decentralized, the steel and glass buildings might pop up anywhere--there�s a few dvelopments on the waterfront(s); and then things poking up here and there. A lot of gigantic shopping centers--huge, multistory malls that give people some airconditioned window shopping entertainment. There�s shantytowns, or at least awfully rickety housing that stretches on for miles, a sea of corrugated tin roofs, out of which the shopping centers loom in gleaming, orderly contrast to the mosaic of habitation around them. Zeke�s neighborhood was more like a Beverly Hills, big homes with greenery and a modicum of quiet--but the pulse and throb of this city is ever present, and its invigorating.

After the show, Zeke, Joko and other prinicpals of the evening went to a little eatery next to a mindblowing pirate DVD store--everything that you can imagine, stuff that�s still in the theatres, was available for about $1 per. Who, me? Buy pirated DVDs? Oh, no, sir...not me....ahem. Then Zeke and Yudhi drove me back to my hotel, by this late hour traffic had dispersed and we had the freeway largely to ourselves. When they pulled up into the Sheraton�s driveway (by the way, I am sure the location of this hotel is a former army training ground....there were some rotting items set up aorund that looked like boot camp training obstacles) our goodbyes were almost drowned out by frogs, living in a pool in front of the driveway. They were putting out enormous, high pitched drones, with complex harmonics shifting inside the sound, a la Tuvan throat singers--but two octaves higher.

The next day was my first day off since arriving in Asia, and the next day would be my first complete day off--no work, no travel--since Christmas, three and half weeks ago. I was prepared to enjoy these and make the most of the opportunity for resting. In the morning I headed to Jakarta CGK, there�s an unusual system there in that you enter the terminal, and find there�s no check in desks, apparently--then you realize they are behind a kind of security. It takes proof of a ticket to get in, but in theory, but I just told the guy checking where I was flying and with who and that was sufficient. I put my bags thru a big scanner, and went thru a metal detector that beeped, producing no action other than �thank you sir� from the security staff. I found the Garuda desk and was told I had to prepare my bag by tightening a plastic band around it, this service was provided nearby. Then I was on. More conventional security was done at the gate. On the way, I thought about browsing thru a Lonely Planet Guide in the airport bookstore, but each book and magazine that I encountered for sale in Indonesia was individually shrinkwrapped. No browsing. Before I left the hotel for the airport that morning I had breakfast in the hotel coffee shop, and discovered a new fruit: the salak, or snakeskin fruit. The outside is exactly what the name implies--brown scales that look completely reptilian. The salak is shaped usually like a fig, with a round end and a pointy end, but they can be more round. It is about the size of a large fig, maybe a bit bigger sometimes. The skin is...like a lizard skin in texture too. Uncanny. The skin comes off easily, it�s not adhered to the fruit really. Inside, you�ll find 3-4 lobes, like garlic cloves, each one containing a very hard, large stone. The texture of the fruit is somewhat like a crunchy apple, maybe a little more rubbery (like raw garlic). The taste is sweet and fragrant, similar to Japanese pear.

Java was cloudy, but as we approached Yogyakarta, I could see the details on the ground, and our descent seemed to glide us inches above the surrounding mountains. I could clearly see Prambanan, the thousand year old Hindu temple, and its surrounding structures. We touched down at the Adisujipto Airport, and I marched into the terminal, the day humid and delightfully (remember two and half weeks in Tromso?) hot. I changed some more money, got my bag, and was met by the hotel driver. We entered into Yogyakarta, which because of its lack of skyscrapers, and generally low key and decentralized layout, would easily fool any Western traveler into thinking it was a small town--but in fact it�s city of some 4 million people. Busy sidewalks, with small shops and restaurants, some just a couple of sheets of Visqueen away from becoming more of an existential notion of a business as opposed to an edified establishment; there were some main streets, buzzing with motorbikes, cars, buses and pedicabs. Indonesia a right-hand drive country, but the delineation of who shall go what direction and where they will do it was in a state of constant negotiation, bordering on just saying �fuck it�. The old town centers on the kraton, the palace of the sultan, who serves as governor of the region. back in the day, Java itself was made up of small principalities, and some of these principalities as well as ones on other islands, occasionally swelled and engulfed neighboring ones; they split as brother princes broke off from each other�s rule, and so on. Now the sultans of different areas roughly equivalent to their former sovereignties are unelected regional governors. The current sultan in Yogya (which is pronounced and can be written Jogja) is an entrepreneur who owns a cigarette and cigar factory (Kraton brand ciggies) and other industries in the area. So you have the Kraton, which is a complex of intricately walled compounds and outbuildings all enclosed in an outer wall, itself enclosed in yet another outer wall that engulfs a subset of the city itself--technically everything inside the walls belongs to the sultan, but land is leased, lent, rights of exploitation passed on, etc and this city in miniature is home to some 25,000 people. There�s a kind of fairgrounds with carnival attractions, and much commerce from the �batik mafia�. The BMs are local shorthand for people who sell what appear to be handcrafted traditional textiles, but at gringo-gouging prices. In fact, everywhere I went inside the kraton, residents and people working--pedicab drivers, food stall cooks, and of course the free tourist guide that accompanies visitors to the small area of the inner kraton that is open to public visitors, told me the same, apparently memorized speech--about how the Yogya textile center had the only legit craftspeople, the lowest prices, and the seal of approval from the gov�t., and to beware of said batik cosa nostra. The thing is, I hate to say it, but crafty stuff like batik is not really my area of interest. I had to politely decline a huge amount of attempted stimulation of potential interest, which is understandable--Indonesians are proud of their traditions, which are magnificent and rich, and of course everyone loves to make a buck.

Jogja is Indonesia�s center of learning--over 150 Universities are located here--and it�s the epicenter of Javan culture, the site of its most impressive ancient monuments. But at the moment, on Tuesday afternoon when I checked in to my hotel, it was a place to rest. I had booked the biggest room in a very nice hotel, The Jogja Dusun Village Inn. A collection of buildings centered around a large pool, and interspersed with gardens and canals, with koi and other fish making the rounds, the Village Inn is tranquil, friendly, spacious and charming place. My suite, 101, was the closest to the lobby, no stairs to navigate, and 8 steps from the pool. The main room had a huge canopied bed, and the bathroom was exposed to the open air, but I was walled off and separate from any other rooms, so I had fresh air but total privacy. So, imagining a kind of L, the long part of the L had the sink and countertop and toilet, and the short bar of the L had a massive bathtub, that could easily fit 3 people--the secret being that it wasn�t that deep, just deep enough to keep you covered as you reclined against the sides, all surfaces in irregularly-sized small tiles. At the junction of the L, that space was uncovered and open to the sky, with some plants growing in a patch of round white stones. If there was rain or too much breeze, you lowered some wooden blinds to block yourself off. The main bathroom area was one step higher than the tiny patio and bath area, so if it did rain, the splatter of drops on the marble floor would be inhibited in their progress. Off of the side of the bedroom, there was another open space, a sliver of patio with a lounge chair, and a tiny koi pond, which circulated its water up and over a tiny trickling waterfall. While its true that the weather during my stay was volatile--we had some shockingly intense rainstorms--and often windy on either side of a change in state, the hotel was an oasis--the wind went overhead, stirring the palm trees and providing air circulation, but not disturbing anything at ground level. Best of both worlds. Ahh. So, this first arrival day, I did SFA. I read, I watched Al Jazeera in English (which is excellent--my recent travels to places with cable have shown me how shockingly bad CNN has become--I want to know what�s happening on earth, and CNN spends an hour talking about fucking GOLF). I emailed, and then came the rain. Ok, so you have evaporation, water goes up, forms clouds, changing pressures and temperatures cause condensation, water falls. This I understand. Clouds are big, so, when mass condensation occurs, rain can be heavy. But rain this heavy? I mean, I would think the whole cloud, dropping rain at this furious rate, would be exhausted in like, 4 seconds. And just when you think that, just to prove you are an insignificant ninny, it starts to rain harder. And harder still! This was violence, an attack. Amazing. It prevented me, and my tired bones were ever so grateful, from going anywhere. I ran to the restaurant, and dined in the covered but open terrace, as all hell broke loose in an aquatic manner.

Not only was my room spacious, calm, and private--but it seemed like, this being the low and rainy season, like I had the place to myself, at least the first couple of days--one older couple dined in the restaurant that night, and breakfast seemed to be for me and me alone. The rain gave up eventually, the waterfall continued to burble, I turned on the gentle and silent AC, and in like 40 seconds I was out. Done.

And up at 3.30. I had booked a private tour of the local temples, UNESCO-recognized masterpieces of first-millennium religious art. Tho Indonesia is now 90% Muslim, which came by way of Middle Eastern traders and proselytizers, traders and proselytizers from India and other nearby kingdoms had introduced Buddhism and Hinduism before that. To broadcast their mastery of these belief systems, they erected ever bigger and better temples. Borobudur is a circular pyramid of complex carvings depicting thousands of scenes in the life of the Buddha, and above that, the symbolic hierarchy of states of existence leading up to Nirvana, perfection, one-ness. So the singular stupa, which is a hollow dome in this case containing a meditating Buddha, at the summit, symbolizes both the oneness of the ultimate, free of desire and even form, state of being...however, intriguingly, the meditating Buddha found inside the giant, singular stupa at the top was incomplete, unfinished...this is interpreted as symbolic of the elusiveness of perfection, but that also a flawed species such as the human race has the right to pursue the ultimate state of transcendence.

Yanti, my tour guide, and our driver, whose name I didn�t catch but was himself a guitar player, picked me up at 4am, and before we left the outskirts of Yogya we stopped so I could grab a snack--they parked by a Circle K, but in front of that was a couple selling all kinds of homey food, and I bought a few things--a bright purple muffin, a triangle of paste-y vegetable something-or-other with a crispy exterior, and a tiny plastic box of nasi goreng. All delicious. There was also a slice of bright green cake that made me curious, too...but I didn�t want to bloat! We drove on, and slowly Java emerged from nighttime. Not that the activity in the city ever stops--the ramshackle eateries, the general buzz of commerce--it seems to be always on. This dropped off as we passed into the country side.

Our arrival at Borobudur was timed to coincide with sunrise, and the sky was starting to flame in the east as we mounted the steps. There is a hotel right next to the site, and they seem to be the portal by which all shall enter, if they are an �official� tour group. I think backpackers and people going in under their own steam have to enter at gate much further away and hike in a bit. I�m all about the saving of time, and the deluxe (�in the manner which he is accustomed to...�) approach. End result: my guide and I climbed up the steps, turned around at the highest level, and watched the sun come over the horizon, as the surrounding area, much of which is jungle/forest, emanated mist, giving everything a cobwebbed, mysterious and, well...mystically beautiful look. Pointy volcanic peaks off in most directions, except south there is a geometrically improbable, gnarled folded ridge of forest covered geography, to steep to be inhabitable for the most part (it widens out towards the base of course, and there are homes and a very pricey resort tucked in). At one point, a Ted Geisel-worthy sworl of tree-encrusted limestone is crowned with a lamp, the only light on the top of the ridge. This is for the Javans an Olympus, the home base of their pre-imported major faith deities. Note: pagan beliefs and modern Islam are not particularly compatible in the eyes of some of the more...enthusiastic believers: read this article about a group of youngsters having a very difficult time seeing the forest for the tree. Meanwhile back at the temple. Yanti and I were the only people there for quite awhile, it was enough just to stand at the summit and scan the horizon, look down at nearby farms, a monastery, the forest. Not the same kind of busybody stuff going on here as there would be closer in to the towns. Soon, tourists started to emerge from the mist. But the temple is enormous--to walk around its three levels is at least a couple of miles worth of walking. Yanti took me around the level that commences the life story of the Buddha, showing scenes from the kingdom of Siddharta at the time of his birth, followed by events leading up to his birth, and then onward. Each panel (there are over 1500 of them) is meticulously detailed, and of course you have them on either side of you, so it�s an immense amount of info, an entire encyclopedia on the �Hill Temple� which borobudur translates to. These buildings are tall and pointy, and very much alive. As the heat of the day started to rise, the insects awoke, followed quickly by the birds. There�s something very striking and impressive about these giant columns of carved stone, ancient and silent, even more so when they seem a magnetic focus of the nature around them, with swallows, huge solitary wasps, and hundreds of dragonflies seeming to hover in a protective, interactive aura. Indonesia is also notable for the diversity, size and number of its butterflies--I counted at least 30 or 40 individual species that day alone--from tiny moths that looked like fragments of green leaves, to a gigantic butterfly with with white hind wings and black orange and white front wings, I would say this creature had a wingspan of perhaps 8 or 10 inches. Java has pythons and a poisonous, green vine-like snake, but I never saw any. Geckos and skinks galore, tho.

We moved from Borobudur (after a pause for cafe at base camp hotel), to Mendut temple, and other nearby sites. Mendut is near a huge banyan tree, itself a collection of related trunks forming a body about 9 feet (3m) in radius, the branches and leaves overhead prob have a 50 or 60 foot radius. From above, vines that are really new tree trunks descend, hundreds of them--if they make contact with the earth, they will put roots down--the locals hack them back to keep the tree from taking over the whole village; don�t worry, it�s still plenty big.

Next to Mendut is an active Buddhist monastery, which you are welcome to enter. It�s here that Yanti picked up a rambutan from the ground--a reddish thing covered in hairlike stems (thicker than hair, more like cherry stems, supple and not pointy). Inside is a lychee-like white pulpy thing with pit, three of them. It looks like lychee but is more straightforward sweet, without the floral notes of the lychee. Later we stopped at a roadside fruit stand to buy more salak, and to try the mangosteen, which looks like a squat purple tomato, but has very think skin that peels readily, and once again, you find some lobes inside that are translucent white like lychee, and sweet like rambutan. Fruit is so abundant in Indonesia I noticed that this plantation let tons of it, esp. jackfruit (jackfruit is a big thing, football sized and shaped, covered in pyramidical bumps), just fall to the ground. Most plantations will let you pay a fee to go in and have all you can eat--but not take away, you are back to kilo price should you want to walk away with any.

Part two of our day was an exploration of the Prambanan temple complex, a Hindu temple roughly the same age as Borobudur. It was a good time for worshippers, they were feelin� it back in the 800s. As many of its toppled stones were harvested by local villagers over the centuries, less of it is reconstructed than borobudur (which was preserved by way of being covered in volcanic ash by nearby Mt. Merapi) but the main temples are. Three huge telescoping pyramidic columns--the Shiva temple is 150+ feet (47m) high--pay homage to Shiva, Vishnu and Brama. Directly across from each one is the steed, carved in solid stone, of the facing god/goddess. Garuda the mythic bird, Nandi the bull...the Nandi is a fabulous work of art, incredibly realistic but also comprised of graceful curves. Shiva is not accessible, the site had just completed years of restoration when an earthquake struck in 2006; back to the re-drawing board they went, and the Shiva temple is not considered safe yet. Luckily the earthquake happened in the middle of the night, otherwise you would have had a lot of squished tourists. However, the Sheraton Hotel, with its *underground* guest rooms, which was damaged enough to be closed for two years...yikes. And so it was that the world experienced its own shocking tremor with devastating results this day--this week was the time of the Haiti earthquake--I was able to find out about it on cable news right away, and was able to donate as I had net access in my room.

Prambanan has several different, mostly crumbled, temple sites, but they are fascinating and mysterious even in their deconstructed state. We spent awhile there, and then lunch was had, sort of tied in to an unavoidable look a silversmithing place, and then I was back at the hotel by early afternoon, 9 hours of temple examining with Yanti�s well informed commentary, a day well spent.

That evening I cooled off in the pool, went to a street place about 15 minutes walk from my hotel to have gado gado and more, while a group of old, crusty Australians, I think one owned the place, gabbered in indecipherable Aussie patois. On the way back, I saw the tailor shop (more or less a metal shack, so think of that image rather than �shop�) was still open, three guys in there not really working on anything. The crotch of my jeans had come apart at the seam. I walked in and said hello, and said I needed some repair work. Long pause. Then, deadpan: �Too bad.� Long pause, then general laughter at my expense, then they fixed the pants for free (I wrapped a sarong around me).

I intended to do...something, not sure what--but whatever it was, I didn�t do it. I fell asleep in like two minutes when I was back at the room, at like 9pm.

YOGYAKARTA, 1/14

This was the day I went to the post office, first setting off on foot, but then when I saw that the locals were on the pedicabs, and they weren�t just for tourists, I thought...why am I walking in 85F heat? Pedicab to the rescue. Like 75 cents to get uptown. I did my business (postcard to Aden) and then while I was in the hood, I checked out the kraton, or what little of it I could. Here I found from my tour guide that female circumcision was no longer practiced, but boys were circumcised at 12. Aiyee--but evidently under general anesthesia. But still. Ow. After my tour, I went to a little food stall to have the famous �gudeng�--jackfruit, beef skin, and...�other stuff� that is really, really tasty.

Now, I have been dutifully avoiding motorbikes since a Bellingham psychic told my mom to keep me off two-wheeled motor vehicles (so a sidecar would be OK, and an eBike dubious) but when Rizky, the esteemed local musician who put my show together, came to pick me up--guess what: only one option. I donned the extra helmet and we set off and about 5 minutes into our ten-minute ride came down another mega-rain. We pulled up to a cafe, where the electricity was out but candles were already in place, and it was immediately pitch dark, and flooded, in the neighborhood. We weren�t going anywhere for awhile. But this was totally OK, food was served, and Rizky and I had a great time discussing the meaning of art, the meaning of our individual missions, and more. Teater Garasi is an art collective that puts on music, theater, and more in Yogya. Some of their productions have toured abroad, and one of the in house artists, Jompet, has made a serious name in art contemporain. He makes mechanical body enhancements that control or interact with sound generators...so, kind of dynamic kinetic sculpture that usually has a human inserted in it, that may or may not be in control of the results.

Garasi has their own space, but might put on events in larger spaces too. Here we found the high art epicenter for Indonesia, Garasi is a shining emblem of the kind of high concept pursuits that Yogya has to offer in balance to the more potentially market-ready pursuits in Jakarta. If you think I prefer one to the other, you�re wrong. Both feed and influence the other, and both are necessary forms of the same huge enterprise--communication, which is the only art form I actually practice. Rizky has been pursuing music from an indie rock angle but also using his band to play the challenging music that accompanies theatrical works, evidently his band is continually in an intense workshop mode in pursuit of these projects. We had this great, ambling conversation by candelight, a mix of philosophy, exchanged wisdom, and humor--not out of place in a Woody Allen film....My Dinner With Rizky, perhaps. Fantastic.

Then it was time to head to the show, it had slowed down a bit, the rain, and the lights came on in the restaurant (it looked much better candlelit, tho). We pulled up to Garasi�s HQ, next to a rice paddy a-burble with frogs. Garasi is a couple of offices, a kind of meeting room/kitchenette, a bar, and covered space with a small (but not elevated) stage. Chairs are arranged in a semi circle, and the front row is just a riser with some pads, so the chair folks can see over the front row�s heads. Technically, everyone is looking down at the stage. Despite the storm scaring some people off, the seats filled up and I played to, with and amongst the audience, who were great, attentive and appreciative. My damp sneaker soles were squeaking on the sustain pedal, so I took them off, oh...except, now I was grounding the PA, so I got a shock from the mic. So, easy--no mic. Shoeless, mic-less...that�s minimalism for you. I delivered a two-hour show and people really loved it. The rain was accompaniment for the first half, then the creek-creek of frogs--the performance space is covered by roof but not really totally enclosed from the outside, so it was a tranquil and cool/breezy place.

The following day I took my last swim in the pool, checked out of my hotel (my stay cost me millions, literally. I felt like a sheikh. But, this is because Indonesia�s currency trades at over 9,000 to the dollar. I wasn�t sure if my sms�s were getting thru to Rizky, we were supposed to meet up but by 1pm I was so hungry I couldn�t wait, and went to a food stall for something that was concocted by me pointing to things that looked good; then I ran into Rizky looking for me, and we went for a coffee--at yet another cool, contemporary art place--this was a combo gallery, clothing shop and cafe with food (and internet too). Then he dropped me at the hotel, and I got my transfer to the airport, and flew to Jakarta. In fact, when I checked in for my flight, they offered to put me on an earlier one, since I could make it and it wasn�t full, so I took their offer, and by 6pm I was sitting in the far end of the terminal, having ice tea and free wifi. At about 9pm I went and checked in for my flight, and made my way to the gate; unf. the food didn�t look good at the cafe where I was online, and by ten everything was closed out by the gates. Grr. I had a miserable little piece of crap sandwich from the only thing open--Starbucks.

Then, at last, I was on my way, and asleep. At 5am we landed in Manila, and a Philippines Airways employee guided me deftly around all the immigration and customs and back to security and made sure I was thru ok, which was truly awesome. Then I waited around until my flight to Taipei was ready.

TAIPEI, 1/16

So, just some days before arriving I�d been exchanging messages with Jason, my contact in Taipei. Jason had sent me a friend request on Facebook some months ago, and, as I do, I had a look on his page to see what he was all about. It was in Chinese characters, mostly, so I sent him a message asking where he was from. And this began a conversation that led, ultimately, to this show. But in the meantime, as the show was drawing near, and we were getting into the last details, Jason asked me for my flight info. So, I sent him the details. But, then, a few days later, he asked me, once again for my flight info--so I sent it again, and didn�t hear back from him...hmmm. I got off the plane, cleared immigration and customs, and exited the arrivals area. No sign of anyone (oh, also, just to be extra extra sure I had texted Jason from Manila, yes, in the middle of the night). I walked around, trying to look like I was obviously me. No dice. I saw a potential rocker (Jason doesn�t feature himself, choosing abstract icons instead, on his Facebook profile, so I didn�t know his face) coming my way, I positioned myself to be seen and the guy strolled right on past. Ah. OK, I sat myself down at a coffeeshop in the arrivals hall, texted my location to Jason with no idea if he was getting my texts or not, and by the time my macchiato was on my table, Jason and his friend Duncan were approaching my table. They allowed me the pleasure of finishing my coffee and then we headed into the city. Duncan�s family during his childhood/adolescence followed his dad�s engineering gigs to Singapore and L.A. for some combined 15 years, and Duncan stayed on to complete school in L.A. and worked himself in the engineering field, so he speaks in colloquial American vernacular, actually reminding me in speech style quite a bit of my half brothers, he�s the same age as the eldest of my dad and stepmom�s three children. We drove into the city. Taipei shares some architectural motifs with cities in Japan--maybe a bit newer looking and less rambling. Tho it�s a big city, it�s by many degrees calmer than a city of its size should be. Again, no real center seems to be discernible. You could say the high rise mall by the central train station is the epicenter, and geographically you�d be correct--but people here don�t think that way. There is a rather inauspicious intersection of two main streets--not exploited in any kind of Shibuya/Times Square hoopla--that people call the focal point of the city. Duncan�s flat, where I was to be staying for the duration of my visit, is pretty close by. Duncan�s neighborhood has posh and trendy shops, but it�s not over the top glitz, even tho it�s prob. the choicest slice of urban real estate.

I showered up and we went to lunch nearby. Food is excellent in Taiwan, as far as I�m concerned, and remarkably cheap for the capital city of a country that has clawed its way into the first world as one of the Asian Tigers. After lunch we walked around the neighborhood (the West Side) and I found that Taipei has a serious wine mania. There were several shops devoted to wine, but then we went into Taipei�s 24-hour �bookstore�, Eslite Mall, which is much, much more than a bookstore. It�s a gorgeously intellectual, but populist (I can�t explain that one, but trust me on this) department store, several floors� worth. Now I understand the economic success of Taiwan. If pleasure is so readily available--gorgeous places to shop that aren�t cardiac-crisis expensive (Paris), but also aren�t plumber-butt bottom drawer like Wal Mart (my country tis of thhhhhhhpt), abundant delectable food in endless variety...well who wouldn�t work their tails off to buy in? In the US, your hard work will be rewarded in the following fashions: 50% of your paycheck will go to medical care that only being next door to Haiti can make us feel good about our accomplishments therein; then if you really make it you can fork over $100 to fork over �nouvelle cuisine� that any French grandma wouldn�t force feed to a goose. Shopping is done in fat stores where fat dudes tell you that they have no idea which aisle the fat TVs are on. Fat chance. Spend ten minutes in Taipei where consumerism is much more of a sport/entertainment/lifestyle than the Americans who get so much crap for being consumers is, and you�ll realize: consumerism isn�t the thing being criticized--it�s just that we put laughable effort into laughable results.

Anyway, I bought a postcard in the basement stationery department--again, reminding me of similar shops in Tokyo, but far less cluttered, more spacious and elegant. Then we hit the record/DVD dept--mind blowing selection, including a wall of vinyls, some of which appeared to be vintage. Wow. Then we hit the wine section--dozens of square meters of accoutrements, and then rows of Premier Crus. I mean, what I just described took up two floors--what the hell was the book department like? Phew. I couldn�t even *go* there.

While we were out I picked up a set of strings for Jason�s guitar, his were pretty crusty, and then after a rest period we headed to the neighborhood of the venue, near the main University. We navigated the SUV down incredibly tiny alleys lined with bikes and cars, and managed to park somehow...dropped the gear at the venue. The Witch House, a very cozy little student bar that specialized in board games. Yep, they have walls of them, some for playing and some for purchase. They serve a little food, and coffee and drinks. No stage, just set up mid floor and go. Dinner was had, at a typical street stall, you see these all over town--ingredients to choose from (I chose some offal, some tofu, and a vegetable just cuz) are submerged in boiling soy sauce, a new take on the deep fryer, results are delicious, predictably. I washed it down with a bubble tea--milk with a little tea in it, sitting on black spheres of jellied-something or other. My favorite business name in a long time (that accurately describes the pleasant visual effect of the black edible jewels sunk down in the white beverage) was one of these bubble tea stands called �Wow....Frog Eggs!�. It�s basically like a milkshake in a way, separated into curds and whey. No ice cream, but cream, sure.

So, back at the Witch House, the gamers packed it in, and Jason�s band Queen Suitcase set up. Carla sings and plays keys, Lester (ok: here I interject that all the Taiwan kids had Anglo names with a particularly British twist--when was the last time you met someone under the age of 80 named Lester? Their birth certificates will show Chinese names, but that gets set aside, even by the parents) and Jason play guitar and sing, there�s an awesome bass player and drums too. But it�s not loud, this was in a tiny cafe and it was appropriate volume. I thought their music sounded like Os Mutantes, with a little swinging London. Less fuzz guitar. more like early Cardigans kind of tones but slower tempos. Really cool. We didn�t have many seats to fill, so it was easy to have a nice full house, I would say 40 people and that was the maximum--a few rows of pews at one end, by the door, a thin stretch of picnic table along the wall which would technically be in front of the players, so if I was facing �forward� I would be looking at them across the skinny part of the venue, and the pews would be to my right. To my left would be some round tables and parallel with me, the bar.

I set up, did away with the PA because this audience was dead silent and the room had beautiful acoustics, and I had freedom to roam around and address the three angles in equal amounts. People were extremely receptive to the show (my intro in memorized Chinese helped), swaying when things got dreamy, leaning in when they got intense. There was a small exodus at one point when people had to catch the last trains, but actually a few more people came in at that point to, the net loss was survivable, and I played a very complete, enjoyable set, and people loved it.

Afterwards we piled in the SUV and headed to a late night eatery. The band and a couple of their friends. I was forbidden to pay, and only allowed to eat (I even drank beer, so caught up in the hospitality I was) delicious food which was seafood of every imaginable stripe plopped down on a lazy susan. I think we ate for two hours, by which time it was well into the single digits on the clock, and the place was still going strong.

On Sunday, Duncan had to work (he teaches English) for a few hours. I slept in, and started to write this blog entry--it�s been a massive undertaking. By the time D returned I was pretty hungry, and we headed by metro to the young people�s shopping district. I had a glimpse of the place when we stopped there yesterday to pick up my piano from another local musician. The district is dominated by a multistory karaoke palace. I had a recent epiphany recently about why in Asia the pop music is so cheesy, and why Peter Cetera, Air Supply, and other 80s dinosaurs seem to be the dominant musical trend of places like the Philippines. It�s because people�s musical life incorporates karaoke--and these songs are fun to sing. Cheesy-beyond-belief Chinese pop, Whitney Houston or her Indonesian counterpart--it�s all about how well it belts in the booths, a significant acknowledgment of the web 2.0 idea, if you think about it. Music doesn�t just come down from on high, from a place approved by the critics to be oohd and ahhd over (e.g. I asked my friends, who are musically astute if Fleet Foxes had made an impact here in Taiwan, and they said...uh.....absolutely....none). Anyway, Duncan and I warmed up for the upcoming eating Olympics with a little bit of gizzard on a stick washed down with Starbucks...strolled the shopping streets and then hopped the metro to the Nightmarket.

First it was a warren, a souk, a hive, a hive, a nest of food stalls and ultra cheap retail, some legit, some not. Then they moved all the food stalls into a permanent, covered location, a massive indoor market whose high, warehouse style roof sort of keeps the illusion that you�re wandering outside intact. Of course, as soon as they were moved out hundreds more moved in, so the main Nightmarket is still the same old thing, but there�s seats now by the food market. Or you can pick from the small vendors amongst the clothing/cigarette lighters/flip flops/makeup/whatever stalls in the retail area. The retail area is alleys, uncovered. Packed with little shops/stalls selling all kinds of things. In the alleys themselves more vendors set up impromptu �shops�--essentially items on a rolling clothing rack or an unfolded blanket. There is a tacit arrangement with the police about these illegal, impermanent, non rent-paying vendors--the cops walk agonizingly slow thru the market (not hard to do considering you are in a packed salmon stream of humanity in every alley), giving plenty of time for the impromptu vendors to get the word, pack up and move somewhere out the line of sight of the popo�s. We started our explorations in the food market. It�s hard to pick a place--signs and hosts/hostesses are clamoring for your attention, along with ingredients, finished products, smells and sights. We found a table in a place specializing in soups, and I had a soup of pig heart. Plus �stinky tofu� which isn�t very stinky but is quite nice, and from a nearby juice stand I had a juice of some fruit that looked like a melanoma-encrusted cuke, some kind of knobby witch nose nightmare that was stunningly good. My friends all said �ooh, sour, right?�. Uh, no...after that it was just wander, pick, and marvel. There was this item that was some kind of hard cake, that was then smashed, the resulting gravel sprinkled with a sweet or savory ingredient of your choosing, and the whole affair wrapped in a tortilla made from basically uncooked pie crust dough...fuckin a. I chose coconut and I chose well. After all that, and a drink made from sugar cane roasted on a hibachi, put in a kind of wood chopper to extract juice, and spiked with ginger...I could have called it there but in fact that whole food market was the amuse bouche for the *real* Nightmarket--ahhhhhhhh! So, we spent hours walking, trancelike cuz that�s how fast you can walk when you are crammed in an alley with ten million other people, occasionally grabbing a humbow or fried tofu. And then! we went to the Taipei brewery. It�s not well known but you can enter the grounds of this massive beer factory, late at night, and there�s a cavernous space for food and drinking. We had a pony keg (and once again, I drank beer just because it was fun) and the guys taught me Taiwanese drinking games. I was way too uncoordinated for the rock/paper/scissors based ones, but could get a handle on �Turtle, Turtle UP� in which you place your hand on the table palm downward but fingers pushing up so it�s like a little turtle, make the invocation, and lift ONE finger, hoping that you avoid lifting the same finger as the guy whose turn it is to make the chant. You switch back and forth, speed has a lot to do with the fun of these games...well, I lost. A lot! Eventually it was closing time, and we emptied the keg into to go cups, and went out on the street. Oh, by the way, I should mention now that Taipei was in the 50s F at night, which after the tropics, was unbearable. So standing around at 11pm with beers, oh...horrible. Until...Marco, one of our crew, disappeared and came back with a little box. Betel nut!

Betel nut, actually, technically does not exist. Betel is a vine, and the nut in this case is called areca and it comes from a type of palm tree. The nut is green on the outside, white on the inside with a brown core, pulpy, chewable but not really edible. The vine is like any vine. Plant-y. Centuries ago, it was discovered that the alkaloids in the leaf, when chewed with the ingredients of the nut, gets you a nice little high. It�s not only legal, it�s common in much of Southeast Asia, India, etc. In this case, the nut was sliced nicely in half but still connected at one end, so, butterflied, and a tiny slice of betel stem, making a disc a millimeter thick and about as big around as the battery in a watch, was glued to the interior of the nut by a gooey mix of spices, just a miniscule dab. You put the whole thing in your mouth and chew it, and soon your mouth is filled with juice, stained red by the spice daub (important: do not swallow). You spit it out, and continue to chew the pulp for some time. After 5 minutes, I felt warmth in my ears, and then warm all over, and slightly elevated. It works by causing your blood vessels to constrict, dispersing less heat to your exterior--with dramatic results. The effect lasts for about 5 minutes. There�s a little lift, caffeine like. But the sensation of warmth is remarkably effective, and saved my ass out on the streets of Taipei. I went for seconds! Then it was bedtime.

The next morning I was up early, my cab came at 8. Duncan helped me down to my ride and I was off to the airport. I had time to mail Aden�s postcard from the airport post office, then check in for my flight, then head down to the basement of the terminal (Terminal 1 is a little old fashioned feeling, a kind of hospital-like utility) where the food is. Three choices--BK, a cafeteria with Taiwan dishes, and a sit down place, Jimmy�s kitchen (remember: no Chinese names in Taiwan). For about 8 bucks I had a bento-type lacquered box with two meat choices (BBQ pork and roasted duck were mine), sauteed eggplant, rice, tofu, and some other vegetables I don�t know the names of. There was a bowl of brothy soup too. I ordered a coffee at the beginning as my only beverage, but they have this timing thing where they wait until you are exactly 85% finished to serve it (I observed this in the other tables, too--the coffee was brought, without prompt from the diners, at the exact same moment). Thus stuffed, I headed to the gate. How about this for a pleasant exit: after a friendly immigration counter stamped me out with no line, I WAS THE ONLY PERSON GOING THRU SECURITY. That�s a good feeling. No lines, holding your pants up cuz your belt is in the tray, etc. And once again, I was on Philippine airways, in the same left side bulkhead window that my travel agent (Lisa at STA Travel in Seattle, one of the best in the biz) had snagged me on the other PR flights. I must say that Philippine offers a substantial amount of space in economy on most of their planes. In the meantime--an Aussie couple was having a fight with the crew. I was delighted, hehehe. He: business class, the only customer on this flight. She: next row back. My row. Econo. He: trying to say that she could ride up front too, tho she didn�t pay for that. PR: NOT HAVING IT. Good! Fuck that dude--if you didn�t think your arm candy was worth paying the full fare for, that�s your problem; don�t act outraged you fucking NITWIT. Especially on a TWO HOUR ISLAND HOP, you GARGANTUAN PIECE OF BAD TRAVELER TRASH.

Landing in Manila, I was pleased that in their huff they forgot their IHT, so I grabbed that. I claimed my bag and headed to the other part of the V-shaped main terminal, for domestic flights. Air travel is crucial to this archipelago, and some flights are so popular that they use 747s. My flight was absolutely packed, but on an A330 (still a big one). I spent my long layover on the free net, and by the time we were up in the air I felt bad that I had asked the young guy to please vacate my seat (I was very gentle and polite, but still) just so I could look out the window at pitch black cuz it was dark. So, I could barely make out the lights and shape of Cebu CIty on our approach (furthermore, I was seated over the wing) but I could see it was pretty big. Nothing like Manila tho--man, that is an enormous burg. I had a good view when I flew out on the way to Taipei. I could count at least 7 huge clusters of massive steel-and-glass skyscrapers, and an incalculable amount of sprawl.

I got my bag, and searched around the bag claim area for a sign with my name on it--there were several resorts with HQs right there in the arrivals zone, but not the tiny guest house in Panagsama Beach I had chosen (and chosen well). I went out onto the busy street level and then found the clipboard with the paper with �String Fellow� on it and got in an absolutely stunning Hi Ace van, which I had all to myself. Soft seats and smooth sailing for the 2.5 hour drive past Moalboal to my destination. We went thru the heart of Cebu City which was all about insane crumbling markets, shack eateries and tailor shops--it all looked positively foreign in the blackness of night. Then we�d bust past a gleaming mall or resort, or a very American looking fast food diner, Bob�s Big Boy kind of vibe, but brand spanking new and 21st century retro generic, and then back to kind of anarchic urban swelter...then we started to over the hump of Cebu the island, and were winding...there�d be a blind curve, no lights, and then in the crook of the curve a little roadside eatery, no customers but available. Dips bottomed out in potholes, scrawny dogs didn�t get out of the way til the last second and eventually we came around the bend and saw the far shore below us, I was dozing (and ravenous) by then. We will had almost an hour to go. So, when I snapped too, man, was I in a movie set. Panagsama Beach: welcome to the place where Gilligan�s Island and Apocalypse Now meet. A stretch of dive (as in scuba, not a quality judgement) shops and guest houses, with a rocky stretch of shore on one side and a dirt road on the other; the non-waterfront side of the street having just as many dive shops and guest houses as the infinitely preferable ocean side. In the dark it seemed like the absolute shipwrecked ass end of the earth. Perfect...that�s what I came for. To get away for a few days and be free to do or not do. When I arrived at Hannah�s guest house, I was let in and led to my ocean front room, high tide meant waves were lapping at a sea wall about 3 feet from my door. And the woman who gave me the key walked me to the only restaurant that was still in full swing. I chose from a table of locally caught fish (some big ol� prawns, in this case) they grilled them up and served them with some ginger rice and a mango shake that was impossible to get half a sip down without inducing an iron-spiked ice cream headache. Good tho. I came to from my groggy day of travels on planes and bumpy Filipino back country roads, and walked back to my shack to the birdsong of various two-dollar whores calling out to me from every rope-lit iron bar. Tattooed whiteys worked on their local rum buzz. Goodnite.

I got up for breakfast the next morning and made a great musical discovery, Asin: the Philippine answer to the Poppy Family. So good. You could also describe it as if Nico�s Chelsea Girl album had been recorded with a really good Hawaiian band. It�s awesome. This was a welcome break in the fray of spending lunch, as I did, listening to the Outfield (seriously! Is that shit even on CD??) or dinner listening, as I did, to Miley Cyrus.

Tho I wasn�t into the fat guys with skinny girls two decades their junior vibe, other than that the scene here is way laid back, friendly, and safe. Lo season means there�s room to breathe and check out times are extremely lax.

However, I decided to spend Tuesday in bed. As by lunchtime I was a sick as the mangy dogs that roam freely in this hamlet. I emptied all ballast chambers in rapid fashion (it�s always astonishing just how much liquid the human body can evacuate, and for how long), and although this meant I would enter Vietnam defenseless, I had little choice but to consume my only series of Cipro. But I was determined to get over it, and it was with a hopeful eye on a morning snorkel that I took two Imodium towards the end of the evening.

At 6 some weird-ass critter woke me up. It was some kind of birdcall, that sounded like gasping, or coughing. It wasn�t human, but it wasn�t identifiable, that�s for sure. Amazingly, the wind-dislodged coconuts banging on my roof abated for the period of slumber. At 7.30 I was really awake, my stomach, which yesterday was a bloated source of stabbing, wrenching ick, was as placid as the morning sea. Nothing more seemed to be happening in terms of ejecta, so I bravely donned shorts and headed to the breakfast, and tentatively gummed some white toast. Then I headed to the dive shop and boarded a bouncing boat to Pescador Island. On board were the local boatman and dive guide, two German frogmen and a friendly Frenchman named Etienne, who was also promoting concerts as a sideline in Perpignan; and a young couple, a Finnish boy and a Swedish girl, snorkeling landlubbers like me. Considering the divers pay ten times as much to be on that boat as we snorkelers do, our presence was welcomed most hospitably. Pescador is a perfectly circular rock that rises up out of the sea a few minutes by super fast motor boat from our base camp. just under the surface, the rock widens out, so you have a bigger circle of coral, after which it all drops off and you can�t see anything. But the submerged coral zone is awesome for snorkeling. Our trajectory followed the divers, tho we couldn�t see them, but we flippered around the circumference of the island and met up with the boat about 80% of the full circle, about 40 minutes of snorkeling all told. The presence of the drop off is less intimidating as you have a few fishing boats and a couple of dive boats around. Swarms of fish of course inhabit the reef, and at the drop off there are huge schools of big sardines and other silver-colored food chain components. It was a pity to have to keep moving but there was no shortage of stuff to see. But just one huge outcropping of coral could easily serve as an hour of entertainment. The more you look, the more you see. As we came around to the side facing Cebu, the water was a little rougher and the fish bigger. Huge parrotfish, tangs and other interesting citizens were seen. And the water here was home to a large number of really weird jellyfish--they were slowly undulating pieces of ribbon. They didn�t seem too intimidating--if drifted too close to the bottom the fish picked at them mercilessly. We also spotted two sea turtles, one of whom did something I�d never had the timing to see doing: he/she came up for air, poking its cute little head above the surface for a gas exchange. I was hooked, so we zoomed back to base, and I was already ready for another go. I chatted with Etienne and his non-watersport oriented Cypriot gf, Hatice. They are quite nice, and we had France and music in common. She�s a classically trained violinist who has moved into a budding career as a singer of emotional, challenging vocal music like Gypsy laments and Russian romances. Snorkel # 2 of the day was at another drop off, off the coast of Cebu up a bit from Panagsama Beach. I was the only snorkeler, and I had a better idea of how to pace myself than I did on the earlier trip. I saw...well, so much diversity and color...electric blue critters gathered in a pop art tapestry; swarms of reef fish going for something edible that brought them up into my proximity; a box fish, ridiculous and clowny; surgeonfish, triggerfish, parrotfish, angelfish, butterfly fish...on and on. a huge sea cucumber, a yard long, and colored and textured and shaped exactly like the tail of a croc, down in a little sandy space. I haven�t mentioned the variety of textures and colors the coral and sponges and other adhered animals provide. Positively psychedelic, gentle and gorgeous. You�d see some eye catching, large boldly patterned fish, and then look closert at the same patch and then other, more intricately patterned ones would be evident, and closer still, and tiny monochrome ones would then be apparent.

By that evening word had gotten out I was a singing man, and down by the dive shop a short stretch of sandy beach provided an impromptu hootenanny grounds, some local kids brought a couple of acoustics and we sat on the beach and traded songs. I knew I had found my people when the following miracle happened: two 20-something Filipino kids with pot leaf emblems on their caps ask me for a BGs song and can bust out every line of �To Love Somebody� and one, Tim, actually says at the end: �Non Stop, Massachusetts same key!� I was home. A couple of hours, 4 billion blazing stars, two bottles of rum (not for me), fifteen singing young Filipino men, one advising Frenchman, and one polyglot torch song-belting Cypriotte later...after a selection of White Lion, Ken Stringfellow, the Eagles...I mean, this was their call, not to mention a reggae version of �Wonderful Tonight�...we had a great time. There were some great singers. I loved that by the end, the very small guy who had been mixing the rum & cokes was flat on his back and not really able to get up when I said goodnight. Also, the management team of the guest house, who had discouraged us from coming on the patio so as not to disturb the other guests, who I thought were totally disgruntled with the whole spectacle, watching with frowns from the porch...well, they were just waiting for something they could sing along to, hahhaha. So, from their perch, they busted into something we did, it was hilarious. They were still frowning, but they couldn�t help it--when �Dust in the Wind� or whatever came up, they couldn�t help themselves, they *had* to belt it.

Sadly, I woke up this morning ready for another round of le snorquelle but a storm had moved in. Water and sky were moody and grey. I saw the dive boats going, but I didn�t join them. Here�s hoping for a break in the afternoon.

Love
KS
Panagsama Beach, Moalboal, PHILIPPINES

2010-01-10T06:54:00.000-08:00

After new year�s, we had just a few days left in the studio, and my bandmates started to head home one by one. We had come out ahead on the time equation, actually, we weren�t pressed for time, so one evening I could actually go to bed at a reasonable hour. Other days, however, I would stay up editing the vocals that I had sung that day, on more than one occasion I finished my work at 5 or 6am. We had time to cut three B-sides, covers of Norwegian punk and nu wave classics, where I sung the lyrics phonetically, tho I had also read translations so I could get where the lyrics were coming from. I went thru all the songs and added little touches to flesh them out--trying to stay true to the live-in-the-studio vibe but also keep them from being one-dimensional. I added piano, and harmonies where appropriate. Bjorn added a guitar part or two. One a song called �Long Black Hair� I added backing vocals where I yelled along in certain spots with my main vocal, but yelled across the open strings of the piano with the sustain pedal down, making amazing, endless reverb. By heavily limiting the audio from the mics on the piano, we could bring down the level of my shouts so the subtleties of the piano reverb could be heard more clearly.

We had a big dinner at the home of Jon Marius, our engineer, one evening, with his ms., Anneli Drecker, one of the most talented singers in Norway, easily, who has lately been touring the world with Royskopp. Their kids, and other family, the studio owner, our whole crew, were treated to �Finn beef� or reindeer, flakes of it stewed in a kind of gravy. Yum. We actually went back and worked afterwards, stomachs all poking out.

And then it was done--the last day and nite was spent doing a few more vocals, doing the overdubs on some of the Norwegian punk stuff, doing a couple last minute keyboard parts, and editing all the vocals I did that day. I had a photo session with Paul, a photographer from Bergen who came up just to hang out and do a session with me.

Finally, on a Wednesday morning, I was picked up by Joel at 8 and taken to the airport. I felt like I had survived a kind of endurance test, being isolated and in the cold for so long. But I also felt we had made a great record. I should mention that we had time in the last days to mix 5 songs, so I had a clear indication of where things were going.

But I was thrilled to be going home to see my family, even if it was to be short-lived. I was hardly prepared for landing in Oslo at noon and finding it ablaze in sunshine. I hadn�t seen but a rumor of the sun for the last two weeks so it was a bit shocking. I checked in for my Paris flight and settled into a cafe to chill for the next few hours while I waited for my flight to Pairs, which of course ended up being delayed by about an hour. Murphy�s law makes a last minute cameo.

We landed at Charles de Gaulle and waited quite a bit of time before the bags came. I had time to buy a big chunk of phone credit for my mobile so as to be sure I had ammo for as many sms as I wanted while I was gone on my next trip. I looked at the departure screens at far flung destinations and thought, that�s gonna be me in like 15 hours. Bag came, cab was grabbed and I was home.

There was the ceremony of presents for Aden, hugs and kisses for all. Aden had written some books detailing the adventures of various school-attending rabbits (like Watership down but with breastfeeding for some reason). We had dinner together, played with Aden�s new toys, listened to the Disciplines mixes. I unpacked and packed. Suddenly everyone had crashed. I finished up my business and joined them.

At 6.30 I was up. The house was dark, warm and still. Outside it was snowing, just a little. Paris always looks so good in the snow. I started to get ready for my trip and slowly my family started to assemble. In the excitement, Aden had forgotten to eat her dinner last nite. I ran to our favorite breakfast place, Maison Karrenbauer, which bakes what I now believe are the best pains au chocolat in town. Unf. I caught them at opening time, and they weren�t that morning�s batch, but still, very good. Ran back in the snow to get them to the house, and we enjoyed our petit dej and cafe, and then it was time to go. It was so hard to leave them. Impossible for us to have a proper goodbye. Of course all were crushed, including me, that my visit was so short. School and work were canceled on account of mourning my departure.

I called from the taxi, from the airport, from the plane. I checked in. Cleared security. Headed to the gate, which didn�t have much for chairs. Had another cafe. Boarded. What the hell was I doing?

I settled in on my Gulf Air flight to Bahrain. We flew over Romania, Bulgaria, Turkey--I had a good view, despite sitting over the wing, of the mountains that comprise the frontier of Turkey, Syria and Iraq. Baghdad was on the other side of the plane from me, but I could see Basra and then the blackness of the Persian Gulf (night fell as crossed Iraq) dotted by the cigarette-cherry glow of oil wells burning off their excess.

Towards the end of our flight, both the guy sitting next to me and I took off our headsets, and had the chance to chat briefly. He was Bahraini but had until recently lived in Paris. He had traveled a lot, never mentioned what he did for a living, but he had things to say about all the places I was going, and offered me much encouragement on my tour. I walked into the terminal--we were a little bit late, but still OK for making it. Not many seats or much to do by the gate. Europeans, Indians, Arabs, Nepalese, Americans all waited for their flights. Bahrain was comfortable with being a crossroads at the center of the world. In fact, I really wanted to stay, the place has, at least in the airport a friendly and cosmopolitan vibe. I have a real fascination for the Arab/Middle Eastern world, and hope to visit it--I have been working on a few things to that end.

Anyway, got on the next flight, and as soon as my dinner was consumed I went to sleep and got in some decent hours. No breakfast for me, so I kept sleeping til we were on the ground in KLIA.

KUALA LUMPUR, 1/8
Kuala Lumpur Int�l, as I have noted before in this blog, is an awesome, big, gleamingly modern airport. Again, I wanted to just wander around, just as a mall it�s fantastic--and it happens to offer airplane rides. Fantastic. No problem with the formalities, Malaysia is very liberal in its immigration and happily awards almost all nationalities a 90-day tourist/business visa on the spot. How reasonable--why can�t they all be like that?

Soon I spotted Jay, as I came out of the customs, happy to see a familiar face. Jay is a local musician and my main contact for organizing this tour and the release of The Disciplines album here, since Amar from the label doesn�t speak super English. Amar was there, tho, and also Ili, who recently got her master�s degree in music biz stuff in the UK. Ili is super organized and a great translator, and between the three I knew I would be well taken care off. Our first order of business was to nail down this MRI that I needed to get done. Prescribed by my French doc, to check up on some things that have been bothering me, innards-wise. Not covered by my US insurance, an MRI in Paris is gonna run you about $1000. No thanks. It was cheaper in Norway, but with the holidays, it was impossible to organize. So, I had asked everyone here in Malaysia to do the footwork if they didn�t mind, and they found out where to go, a small hospital. I knew not to eat beforehand, so I skipped breakfast on the plane and of course all thru the airport I was bombarded by sights and smells of yummy food. And I oh so wanted cafe. This was serious eastward travel, the kind the worst type of jet lag was associated with. Naturally at the hospital there was a lot of waiting and going here to get this paper and that, a consultation with a local doctor was required, and then I was free to have the MRI. This means laying in a tube with weird noises--I was sure it was very monotonous techno, but maybe it was the machine?--for a very long thirty minutes, arms held back over my head to clear the space near my abdomen which was being scanned. �Don�t move, OK?� they said. Luckily the tube has a little AC blowing and gentle light inside. I was in a kind of smock, and were it not for the abnormal positioning of my arms, I thought, I could sleep here. mmm. Then it was done. I dressed, paid (medicine is free for Malaysians but as a foreigner I still paid about $300 for experience, but again, that�s 75% off the Paris price). Importantly, now I was free to EAT and we went to a place nearby. Ahh. At this place you look at a menu with pictures of the items available arranged in little plates of 5, but it�s good to know that when you order you only get one--and some of those things are things that will appear in your soup, and only one at a time at that. I had one fish in a chili sauce, and then the soup, with one giant okra, one slice of eggplant, one chunk of tofu, one small fish cake. For thirst quenching I had a barley drink--little grains of barley in water (or perhaps coconut water?). Now, I am one of those people that does it all wrong--when traveling I eat fruit, have ice in my drinks. I try and avoid roadside food (unless it happens to look especially delicious). I have had remarkably few bad experiences with food around the world, and these are evenly distributed between all the continents I have traveled (except so far nothing has befallen me in Australia/NZ). Malaysian diet--which rotates Malay, Indonesian and Chinese dishes most commonly--is always spicy and thus good for chemically roasting the bad guys that might hop along for the ride.

Oh, while we were waiting in one of many waiting rooms that morning, Ili managed to sort out a show for me in Jakarta, just like that.

After lunch, I changed more money to offset the Ringgit I had blown thru at the hospital. However, other than that trip and a visit to a net cafe, I have been forbidden by my hosts to pay for anything--meals and drinks have been covered. So, I pretty much have all that Ringgit in my pocket now. Then we had a coffee--a �white coffee�, lots of condensed milk and sugar. Cold. By now it was about 3pm, we checked me into the hotel and I begged off soundcheck. So I did the stupid thing and took a one-hour nap, and that was gonna cost me dearly in the next 24 hours. I had just given entry to the forces of jet lag, and they wasted no time in conquering the fortress of my alertness. I admired the 13th-floor view, showered up, shaved, felt pretty good. Hotel wifi wasn�t working so I went to a net cafe and reached out to my peeps, then came back to the hotel in time for dinner. We chose the restaurant in terms of wifi, but the food was awesome. Arriving at the venue, the Cloth and Clef (for its interest in fashion and music), I was greeted by friends and fans, and felt great. Oops, I forgot my capo, so I walked back to the hotel, doing interviews with local journos on the way up and the way back. Back at the venue, There was an acoustic duo playing, the female singer had a very good voice, actually; then Jay played, then a little set from Couple, friends of mine from last time. I checked out Jay�s Squire Jazzmaster and upon touching one of the strings, it broke instantly, so I changed the top three strings and then it was showtime. Now, the C&C is on the main drag of Bukit Bintang, which is the most happening area of nightlife in KL. The whole place is cocktail bars, cover bands, all kinds of noise; every place has a patio with music going full blast. And Malaysians are loud talkers in general. But the 40 or so hardcore listeners around me came in close, and I could communicate with them no problem. The other 30 odd people in the (tiny) place were also listening, but since the place is so cozy, they didn�t feel the need to stand. However, when I sang off the mic, since the club has such a multilevel, windy layout, it was hard for the people in the other areas to know what was going on. So their ambient chatter went up a bit. But still, I could do my thing. And, a few people there were singing along, which was pretty amazing.

After a while, I looked for some variety to my show, since there was no keyboard. So, I dragged everyone out onto the patio and used Jay�s acoustic to play a couple of songs--insane, since this was going out the loudest place imaginable--a cover band was blazing away across the street, Cuban music was playing full blast next door, cars were going by thumping techno. Still I shouted and did my thing for a couple of songs, and people loved it--it might not have been the greatest musical circumstances but it was kind of a happening--people stopped on the sidewalk and listened, too. Then I took everyone down into the sunken area next to the stage and did a couple of songs (a first ever rendition of a new Disciplines song �Take Off That Halo�) and then ended up by the bar, and finished the evening with two final songs on the noisy patio. People loved it, and it was fun, and definitely off the wall, but still musical (mostly).

And that was only part of the night--next we drove to a huge disco called the Zouk, and in one of their smaller rooms (but still a decent sized bar) called Barsonic, which was having their indie rock nite, I DJd for an hour--interspersing my choices with requests for Stone Roses and Oasis. I had a good run playing Arctic Monkeys, The Long Winters and something else back to back that actually had people dancing. They didn�t dig the hip hop I played that much, and one guy kept asking for Chris Rea �Road to Hell�. But, hey. Then I was really done...I had been suffering that lead-blooded jet lag for awhile, but now....it was serious. They took me back to the hotel, I had a call from Dom, and then I paffed.

Obs: I was amused that in an advert for a net provider, as is typical, �broadband� was in italics as a foreign word, but �wayalas� was as if it was completely Malay in origin.

MALEKA, 1/9

What people eat for breakfast here is pretty much what they eat for lunch and dinner--noodles, rice and chili or curry things to put on top. In other words, AWESOME. I hit the hotel breakfast spread and then got my act together upstairs, then came down and there was Jay, and soon was Amar and the tiny Suzuki mini (and this is not a marketing euphemism). And their friend Adam. We stuffed my suitcase into the back and drove to what was meant to be a famous chicken rice place. Chicken rice is a Chinese thing that is ubiquitous in Malaysia, at least as far as I�ve experienced it so far. You have rice, then a piece of chicken (you have the choice of steamed or roasted). The chicken has been machete�d into slices that run counter to the bone, so you have a cross section of chicken in each one. Then you have a little bowl of broth, which you pour little by little on your rice (and add habanero sauce to, uh, taste) But, there are also other dishes offered--I chose some kind of greens, and Jay some calamari, and all of this was superb. So, between a belly full of yummy food, a two-hour ride in on a hot sunny day, and extreme jet lag, I totally crashed into a druggy, muggy dreamscape, where I was never sure if I was awake in the van or dreaming about being awake in the van). I stumbled out at the apartment hotel in Maleka, contacts glued to my eyelids. Maleka, or Malacca to you tubobs, used to be the dominant seat of commerce and empire in the region. There was a badass Sultan being cool and ruling here, then came the Chinese; a century later the Portuguese; a century later they were supplanted by the Dutch, and some wars and what not later, the British. The Japanese paid a visit in the 1940s, the British came back--all the while Maleka was HQ. Then independence was granted in the 1950s (the proclamation signed in what had been the British fat cat clubhouse) and all of a sudden KL was the joint. Maleka is still important, a city of some 700,000 people--most of them trying to sell you a plastic hat or give you a ride on a pedicab that blasts techno at volumes that make a mockery of physics. But mostly it is a kind of museum, in a way. On the flat land along the river, streets lined with touristy shops full of--stuff?--are the thing. You head up to a prominent hill and see that the Euros had no moral problem taking the high ground for themselves--tho it should be noted that the sultan had built his huge, pointy wooden palace down the hill pointing towards the water (now further away thanks to a modern land reclamation project that has squeezed perhaps a couple hundred identical row houses onto the new surface). On top of the hill you find the British HQ, Roller still in the the little prissy-ass carport out back. Then the old church, built by the Portuguese when the only thing Columbus had sailed so far was his rubber ducky. The building is roofless and crumbling, but the heavier slabs used for covering graves are still there, and have been uprooted and leaned on the wall. You can see how the Portuguese couldn�t be bothered to write in Latin after the first few years, or just forgot how, and how the Dutch language evolved (de-volved?) in spelling over the course of their stay. Women and children died quicker than they could be manufactured, and men, well, they died too, eventually.

There was activity galore--lots of tourists (mostly local ones--this area is Malaysia�s Independence Square so a required school trip stop) and a huge field where noise was being made in great quantities, it seems they were setting up for a big event there. The summit of the hill affords a very good overview of what the city is up to; even if you can�t exactly interpret all the frenzy, it�s still great theatre.

By now it was about 6pm, so we went to a little food enclosure--open space with plastic tables, surrounded by food stalls. A central command center provides drinks. One of the many things I love about Malaysia is that food is always accessible, and always delicious. All hours, all days. Before I went to bed in KL I looked down on the street below and could see all the restaurants on my street going full tilt, it was about 2am at that point. This place was just getting going at 6, the open air places don�t serve lunch in the blazing sun, generally. Not knowing what was available, it looked like there was hardly anything to eat, but suddenly a table near us had all this great looking food coming, and I gave my official OK--I ordered, noodles and tofu and shrimps in curry sauce--I asked for it hot which is sort of like asking for rude service in a Parisian brasserie. It�s like, duh, gringo, what do *think* you�re getting? Being a hospitable people, they of course obliged. I picked the chili slices off the top of the bowl and just in proximity the things were, like, completely radioactive.

Then we spent some time at the hotel, catching up on email (which was cool, as it prevented me from being tempted to take a nap). And then, we headed to the show. This show was super punk and really...inspiring. Held in a rehearsal place, there was room for about 45 people, maybe a bit more if everyone was standing but most people chose to sit on the floor. There were little tiny white bread sandwiches available, kind of school or church vibe in how wholesome it was. It was just about the music. All young kids here. Jay was playing when I arrived, and then I played. Of course, closed in like that I needed no mic, except when I played the little Yamaha keyboard I sort of used the mic on occasion. So, people totally listened, although, being kids at both shows, the audience I know in Malaysia has a tendency to giggle at weird moments, but after the initial time, I know not to take it personally! Also, if someone gets a call, they just take it. It�s not a big deal there. Well, it was a great show, and being an hour in length, it was so easy...then the headlining band, Khottal, a local band set up. Definite Arcade Fire vibe--but really really good. Three drummers divide duties, standing and beating either a floor tom, a big bass drum or snare and cymbals. There�s a bass player, two guitarists, a keyboard player, an accordion player, a Melodica player, a glockenspiel player, and a singer. They have some super beautiful songs. I watched for awhile, then I needed to sleep. In this heat, with spicy food, and Malarone malaria meds, I have the weirdest dreams....I could use even more....

Love
KS
on the highway to Singapore.

2010-01-02T17:49:00.000-08:00

Man was I glad to get back to work. I am not a guy that really takes or even likes days off (away from home). I figure, if I'm not going to sleep in my own bed some night, I should be getting something done. Or...at least it should be above freezing where I am. Palm trees and such. So, anyway, everyone was in a good mood after their break, and Bjorn and I worked on vocals and writing some more songs as the guys came back one by one from various parts of Norway. We actually wrote at three new songs while we were here, a Stones-y romp by Bjorn called 'Boys Don't Try"; a maniacal punk blast, straight outta the Saints catalogue, called 'Strange One' and I adapted music and words that Bjorn wrote a year ago for a teenage Norwegian singer named Ariol, that he never used (!) and we made a very spare guitar and vocal only song called 'Anyone Else'. Everything's tracked now, mostly we're working now on vocals and little keyboard, guitar, etc. bits.

We worked on New Year's eve, til about 9 then we called a cab (in Tromso, you can call a cab at 9pm on New Year's freaking Eve and it comes in 5 minutes. Try that in Paris). We went to the home of Willy Rundmo, who's taken some great photos of us, at Bukta Festival and our club show in Tromso in 2008, and he's visited us here at the studio as well. You can see the shots on the Disciplines myspace. Willy is a wonderful guy, he has a great house in the middle of Tromso, and he and his gal and their friends welcomed us in without hesitation. He even had a few D's tracks laced into his Spotify. Now THAT's a host.

I had been to a mall earlier, to get passport photos taken for my Vietnamese visa, and found that there was a great fish shop there. I bought some gravlax (that was lunch and dinner), smoked salmon (lunch and dinner on the subsequent days) and some red caviar. I brought the caviar and some Drappier champagne to the party. Installing both in the fridge, Willy opened a bottle of Jacob's Creek (when in Rome, I thought) and I was happy to have some. I sipped that and got festive with his and my friends. I suppose not many people were sharing that bottle with me, but I felt OK. Then it came time to go outside--there was no countdown, just suddenly it was after twelve and we went outside to see the fireworks--both the municipal ones shooting off the top of the mountain, and people shooting roman candles out of Big Gulps. We missed the change of huge burning numbers on the side of the mountain facing town--somehow they change from one year's numbers to the next rather instantly--and they had to change two of them this year. Well. We went back inside, and by this time we were also joined by Pernille Sparboe and her friends. The champagne was opened, and I had already opened and shared the caviar with all. The point of this is to say that I had had prob. 4 glasses of wine at this point, which is not that much in 3 hours. For me. Usually. I had a buzz, for sure tho. Then I had a big glass of champagne, which was topped off. Still--remember the Posies acoustic tour 2000? This would have been a palate cleanser. So, we were invited to a friend of Pernille's--where this friend, Ingvild, and her parents, and other friends were. I made it into the entry hall and sat on the couch. The shock of freezing cold and warmth, the combo of eating very light meals for the last weeks, and not drinking at all when I work in the studio, and mixing white on top of red...it hit me all at once. BOOM! Up it came. Oh no! I was shocked, but it wasn't like I was going to be able to stop it.

Soon I found myself in a warm little tunnel, so cozy, and dark and snug...and the tunnel was moving...moving thru the night. I saw buildings, and street lights, and people walking around. But, they were far away, somewhere at the other end.

It was Pernille who either accepted or chose the task of taking care of my sorry ass. She took me to her flat, got my soiled clothes off, and washed them. She cleaned my SHOES. I woke up around 11, and oh...was I sad. How could that happen? I used to be one of the all time greats. I mean, if I had been downing tequila shots, sure. But bar wine and champagne? Noooooo.

Pernille fed me toast, gave me her phone so Dom could call me, and let me lay around until my clothes were dry enough to wear and called me a cab.

I went back to the studio. Now, I had the keys, so the guys used that as a convenient excuse to party until what would pass for dawn at most latitudes. The guys came back over the course of the evening. Alison, our friend and fan from the UK, who came here to observe a bit of the recording, had brought some wine. We had that, listened to music, and at about 9.30 that night I felt good enough to do some vocal editing, and followed that by doing some vocals for a White Flag song.

We were up til 4 amusing ourselves this way, then up today and back at work on the album--it's the fun stuff now just doubling vocals adding keyboards and such. Now it's almost 4am again...when there's no light, you can't say it's late, can you?

Love
KS
Tromso NORWAY

2009-12-27T01:08:00.000-08:00

A week of recording under our belts here in Tromso's Arctic quiet. The Disciplines album has done a lot to take shape. We've been playing 8 songs live on a regular basis, and a couple more songs were pretty much fleshed out tho not quite ready to play live. So, despite the fact we had two days off for Xmas, we recorded the music for ten songs, and I sang vocals on six of those.

The studio exists in a space, built as an add-on to a building that is owned by the city and devoted to cultural activities. There's a cafe (dormant in winter); a music school, a film production company/post studio, various artist studios, etc. Of course, except for one evening of laughter and the smell of gluhwein, we've not seen evidence of anyone else in the building, it's sensibly abandoned for the holidays--art can wait. Well, one night when I was cleaning up the kitchenette, I was totally startled by the security guard who comes and does a walk thru in the night, then moves on to other buildings on his watch. Oh, and I went in the cafe one morning, and there were people in there. And, not being able to tell if I was the ghost, or if they were, my presence at the counter enacted not one iota of acknowledgment. Eventually, everyone walked out. I followed, the cafe was locked up, and all dispersed--again, I was treated as if invisible, and its possible I was.

Now, despite the fact it's a kind of artistic center, the building itself is a classic in functional Norwegian dowdiness. For Norwegians it's all about what you have in your head, man...the green walls, creepy vinyl flooring, metal kitchen surfaces all serve a greater purpose, which is to survive in this Queen Maud Land which might otherwise chomp up and ruin a more precious, filigree'd edifice.

The studio, added on many years after the main building's construction (more on that in a minute) is relatively cheery--we have hardwood floors here, and in the control room, modern, pleasant lighting. The main room is very big, with extremely high ceilings, roofed in corrugated metal, like a warehouse. Huge ducts and fluorescent lighting in those ice cube tray fixtures above, but with proper rheostat adjustment you can make it feel acceptable. Curtains ring the main room to control audio reflections, there's a big old Kawai grand piano, and, thanks to me, a tacky yellow ironing board.

The band lives in the main building (they have a common foyer, from which we also access the tiny kitchenette next to the studio entrance) in a small apartment on the 2nd floor up. The apartment has three beds in two rooms, plus another kitchenette and a tiny bathroom. Typcial of Norwegian bathrooms, the shower is in the corner, and is only distinguished from the rest of the bathroom by a shower curtain that follows a rounded square track in the ceiling. Water hits the vinyl floor and spreads out--it's your duty to squeegee the water towards the drain after you finish your shower. Like I mentioned, there are three beds--and I was the last to arrive. So, when all four of us are here, I sleep in the studio, first on the couch, and lately on an inflatable mattress that our engineer, Jon Marius, brought over. I was using Ralla's and my coats to cover myself--more recently, I have borrowed a duvet. Things are looking up.

The main building was built as a hospital sometime in the 20th century. Tromso built a bigger hospital later, and this place became a sanitarium for TB victims, esp. children. Those children, it turns out, were not treated well. The treatment back then was to strap them permanently to a bed, and if they cried--stuff their mouths. No joke--there's been lawsuits as the grown kids come to grips with the medical atrocities committed upon them. Now, it's been a cultural center for a long time now--the place does not have the vibe of Rigshospitalet or the Overlook Hotel. Well, not enough to freak me out, anyway--and I am very easy to freak out. I sleep two floors away from the rest of the guys, and am usually the last one up, puttering around, setting the dishwasher in motion, going for a last pee. Then laying down in the control room, with the sliding doors partially open to the big room--all night the fluctuations in the heating system causing all kinds of skittery noise. Again, no ghosts have offered their advice or admonitions despite my presence, so I guess the place has pretty well been exorcised--or the amateur phantoms simply outdone by the multiple blasphemies of art.

Most days start of with negative double digit temps (in Celsius--roughly eqiuvalent to single digit positive temps in F). Tho we are on the positive side of the winter solstice, that doesn't give us much to work with yet. It's patently, palpably dark til about 9.30 each morning, and completely dark again by 2 in the afternoon at the latest. On clear days, which are most of them, thankfully, the orange glow of dawn proceeds directly into the the orange glow of dusk in an unbroken display of the promise of the sun's return--in tease fashion. Twilight is a couple of hours long, the perfect chemical blue that I associate with late summer nights is the dominant color. Now, we don't have much in the way of windows here, and the 'front' windows at the entry, actually on an obscure side of the building that faces a steep hill, don't afford any views of all the phenomena I just described. It's important to get some light, but many days it's much easier to just sau screw it and stay indoors. This pretty much means I am sleepy and groggy much of the time. The body just doesn't have a reason to start itself up.

So, in our Apollo-Soyuz-esque microverse, we plug away on our music, and write more when we run out of stuff that we know. Then, Christmas came and work stopped. Baard and Ralla had flights home on the 23rd, but Bjorn and I worked that day. So, no way to get home for me. On the 24th, we were taken in my Pernille Sparboe, whose EP I produced at the same studio as we're working in now, back in May. She took us for Christmas dinner at the home of her sister and family, and on the 25th, we hung out at her flat (which has a great view of the sunrise/set) and dined on lutefisk. It was a lifesaver, but I was still extremely homesick. My headspace was somewhat weirded out by the fact that on the 23rd and 25th I watched two horrifying films that use isolation to terrifying effect--"The Cube", which is an early work by Muppetmaster Jim Henson, that is as far from fuzzy cuteness as you can get; and "Funny Games", the Austrian version, Michael Haneke's first version of his exploration of violence and our relationship with it in the media and the arts. Bleak no doubt...haaaalp.

Tromso on the 25th December was absolutely locked down, nuclear winter style. Only the local gas station/convenience store was open, and it was so intensely forlorn in the city that we felt compelled to go there and just check it out a bit. Oddly, there was someone hard at work on the 25th in the shipyard, where big fishing boats undergo repairs--a power tool was clearly being put to some purpose in one of the vessels in drydock.

As much as we needed a little breather, and as lovely as Pernille and her family were for taking care of us (and I can't thank them enough), I was glad to be back at work yesterday--I needed a sense of purpose to be this far from home. Progress has resumed, and it feels good. I've been writing yesterday, my brain may be starved for photons but it keeps sparking on.

Love
KS
Tromso, NORWAY

2009-12-19T16:27:00.000-08:00

VIENNA, 12/14

I was out the door only as everyone else was starting to wake up around the house...but actually well rested enough to not really need to sleep much more. Yes, I fell asleep on the plane, a little. But it wasn't the usual amount of fatigue. In all the days I'd been at home in the previous couple of weeks, I was actually catching up. However, getting up at 6 this morning was initiating a process where the need for more catching up would catch up with me soon enough. I landed at 10.30, and was met by my friend Christian, (now *Doktor* Stiegler) who had put togheter tonite's show. He got me in a cab, and took me to the Hotel Furstenhof, my usual address in Vienna. I was pleased to find that my portrait, taken last year, now has a choice spot as you head up the main staircase. No time to nap, I dropped my stuff, turned up the heat in my room, headed next door to the Westend Cafe to have some grilled calf's liver on salad, and back to my room. It was about 21 F, so I didn't really have the nerve, or the body fat, to endure much. Christian collected me and we headed to FM4, where I taped a radio session and interview. Ben Martin, my bandmate for this show and my 2007 full band show, had volunteered to help me out as well, and we did some new songs of mine duo style, plus 'Birds' by Neil Young and 'Oslo' by the D's. Eva Umbauer gave us quite a lenghty interview, which segued into a lively debate on the guilt or innocence of Amanda Knox...then it was time for soundcheck.

The Kunsthalle Project Space is a glass box subdivided into smaller boxes inside--the largest being a very popular restaurant, the smallest being some kind of mini gallery. There are two medium sized galleries and one of them was devoted to my show this evening. Tho' they have musical performances there quite often, it's not actually designed for that--there's no stage, no acoustic treatment of the room, and the PA as it turns out is pretty dog-eared. My band for the evening was one Daniel Leschka on drums; one Stefan Fallmann on bass; Ben Martin on guitar and some vocals; and Georg Tran, aka Landscape Izuma, on guitar and some vocals. I played guitar, harmonica, and piano. I had sent ahead almost all the songs I'd written since Soft Commands, about 7 of them, and these guys had done a great job learning them, and filling out parts from the minimal demos and making the songs into...realized pieces of music. In addition to this ambitious program of new songs, we also did some of my older songs, "I Believe In You" by Neil Young, "Solar Sister" and a smashing version of "Waterfalls" by TLC. I was joined on my duet song, "Doesn't It Remind You", by able duetter Mariles Jagsch and on Waterfalls by Paper Bird. All performed marvelously. A rather grueling soundcheck/rehearsal to learn a 17-song set, with songs that I had certainly never performed before, so...a lot to dig into, but it came together. Tom the sound guy was not so happy with things, he has been struggling to get a better PA in the place, but I felt OK about it. Unf., in the show, the PA proved Tom right, and did a lot of crinkly crackly stuff. Mic connections were bad, and I was hopping off stage to gaffer tape things a couple of times...but, it added a goofy drama to the whole thing. My 8th solo show in Vienna since the release of Soft Commands, on a Monday night, and people actually came. I opened the show with a long monologue, then we kicked off with "110 or 220V". It was poorly lit, it was awkward, and it was totally what I'm all about. And lo and behold, it turned into a really good show, consistent with my previous Vienna showings without doubt. Climaxing with a very rousing version of "Waterfalls" and a long rap about a cosmic canary that may or may not contain the universe.

VIENNA, 12/15

They have the good sense to serve breakfast at the Furstenhof til noon. I was up at ten tho, and by afternoon I was shopping (nothing exciting, just stocking up on toiletries before all my upcoming travel was underway) and listening thru the songs I needed more work on for the A Life A Song A Cigarette show that night. This was their big gig, since the release of Black Air, the album I produced for them last year. It was a radio broadcast and sold out live concert in the Radio Kultur Haus, the theater at the Austrian National Broadcast network (ORF). The band--already a 5 piece--was to be augmented with three more string players, two horn players, and a keyboard player. I was joining in to play some guitar and sing vocal parts that I did on the album, plus sit down at the nine-foot Bosendorfer for a couple of numbers. Again, an ambitious program that required a lengthy soundcheck. And, like the night before, it was worth it. I sang two duets with Stefan, the singer/guitarist--both acoustic numbers, with parts that were originally sung by female singers, so quite challenging in terms of range. And I sang on some rock numbers too. BTW I highly recommend the album!

In the encore we did a cover of Nick Cave's "The Ship Song" and after being very careful to play the ALASAC songs perfectly (it's really awful to *know* the gig is being recorded) we could loosen up a bit on this cover, and...woah. I really let go and sang like crazy. Woah. I don't even *know* the song very well...but it was in me that night!

All in all I was very proud of ALASAC and what they put together, it was a total command performance, and they assembled a great cast and brought the songs to life marvelously...I was really glad to be a part of it.

The RKH has a cafe next door, so we were able to have a drink after the show, and there were folks there like Toph from Trouble Over Tokyo, and other local musical highlights of Vienna's indie scene. Nice people to see. Then I had to get out of there, and sleep a bit.

I was up at 3.30, you see, as my flight was at 6. Oh my. I did sleep well on that flight. Let's put it this way, my flight was so early I was home before Dom & Aden were out of bed. That night I went to see Kurt Vile play an excellent set at Le Scopitone, (where I'll be performing in March 2010), much more detailed and sophisticated sounding than the wail and drang at the Brooklyn Masonic Temple last month (I liked both shows). Kurt gave me his "Constant Hitmaker" CD which is excellent.

I spent the rest of the week just doing family things, but also finding a ton of things to organize in the worlds of the Disciplines, the Posies, Big Star, and my solo work--I am not exaggerating, things were piling up in an incredibly ominously good way. 2010 is booked, more or less.

On Friday nite I went to see Lippie play a rather autodestructed set at a tiny place near my home called La Loge. In trying to find it, I first entered an art happening, and a Christmas-cheer enhanced Flairs which was fun, then I found La Loge next door, as Lippie commenced to break her equipment, burst a balloon, seem to be about to fall of the tiny podium (what was meant to be a stage)...it was demented, beautiful, a mess, and genius. Everyone loved it, too. I think she was horrified, or at least she acted that way afterwards, but...it didn't matter.

Now I'm in Norway, having flown up here today. As I left my home this morning, saying goodbye to my family and knowing I won't see them until NEXT YEAR I thought...what the hell am I doing? Holiday travel means delayed planes and as such today was no disappointment, but I got here, and Joel, who is assisting Jon Marius on the engineering of these sessions for THE DiSCiPLiNES second album, was a cheerful sight to see at the airport, and feel good about being here...it's kinda isolated, even in terms of being relative to Tromso. When I arrived, the other Disciplines were already here, set up and getting sounds ready. We ran thru a song, and it sounds really, really good. I was depressed, I'll be honest, to leave my home after such a good stretch of relatively unbroken togetherness (going to Vienna for 48 hours hardly counts when compared to doing back to back tours and recording projects for weeks at a time). But the guys, and Jon Marius, and Joel, and some smoked salmon made me feel better about spending the holidays in Ice Station Zebra. I will make this effort worth it...

Love
KS
Tromso NORWAY

2009-12-13T06:34:00.000-08:00

I made it home to Paris Sunday, we dropped Dani's rental car at Orly airport, and his the guy putting on his show that night picked us up and dropped me at home. I had every intention to attend his show, but not long before I was set to go out, I had some stomach troubles, and let's say they prevented me from straying too far. I was in for the night. I had thought I had gotten over it, and was walking to the metro, when disaster threatened again...so that, as they say, was that.

The rest of the week was spent at home. Working on new music, taking care of all the things I don't have time to do working and touring non stop (doctor, dentist, equipment repairs etc). Meals at home and at neighborhood spots--with the family, or once, on my own when Dom was working and Aden was with her nanny. I drank more and ate more and exercised more and slept more and read more and just enjoyed what was essentially my holiday break.

I also sequenced the albums for the Sad Knights and Oh, Libia! in anticipation of their mastering dates this month, and approved the master for the Twice album.

I spent time shopping Sunday in the market near our place, running into Xavier B. (Tahiti 80 etc) always nice, we are neighbors of a sort, equidistant from this market but in opposite directions.

There were evenings where after putting down my book or newspaper, I let Aden fall asleep on me, while I paid minimal attention to some American B movie dubbed in French. Good to catch up a bit.

My favorite discovery from this time is a film called 'La Antena' I read a review of it in the Stranger, and it sounded intriguing. I asked about it while in Argentina, where the film was made (directed by a guy named Esteban Sapir). There is a great store for DVDs and movie memorabilia in Buenos Aires called Cine Si, which I dropped in and asked the proprietor, Julieta, if she had the film in stock, she didn't but said to email her in a month or so. And so I did, and she had it, and it was sent to an American address I use--the shipping and DVD in total was about $15. With this little pause, I had time to watch it, and what a surprise it turned out to be. Part Fritz Lang, part Alphaville, part City of Lost Children, part Eraserhead...a fable in black & white that takes place in a wonderfully realized, imaginary city. it's essentially a silent movie, since the main part of the plot concerns the fact that an evil media baron, who controls the only TV network, has managed to steal the voices of all the citizens. So, when the people 'speak' there are words, text, emerging from them or floating around them, all in very imaginitive ways. My DVD menu showed that English subtitles were available, but in fact, they didn't work for some reason. But that didn't matter. What Spanish I know was absolutely sufficient to follow the story--it's told much more with the action than with the words. All of this is accompanied by a brilliant score by Leo Sujatovich. In fact, the opening sequence is a wonderful ballet of hands 'playing' a typewriter in time to elaborate piano music. Really an incredible marriage of images, design, and music throughout the film. So many nice details, too--the cityscape is in fact a model, about 75 small buildings--and shots are filmed among them and greenscreened--for example: they would move a tiny camera down and around the streets, and then from the camera's perspective, sumperimpose the hood and hood ornament of a car, and voila--you are sure the car is driving thru the city--not even noticing that you are looking out the window of the car at a miniature world. It's hard to describe--but it's a seamless integration of sets, locations, and models. And actors of course! Highly recommended. You can get it on DVD in the UK, like here at amazon.co.uk or you can order it from cine si. the film was released a couple of years ago, and I know Mr. Sapir is working on a new script, I truly look forward to what comes next from this amazing team.

Love
KS
Paris

2009-12-06T09:13:00.000-08:00

This week has been a productive one, in a very different rhythm than usual. No working for other folks, just working on new music. Going for so long without a writing break (I mean, I seriously haven�t had a writing retreat in a couple of years) means that access to that place where songs come from is highly available...I just turn off my thoughts and get out of the way, and my subconscious has been working on whatever equations it has been working on these months, and starts spewing forth results. A bit lecture-y, too--like �dude, you�ve been ignoring me, and I have some things to let you know�. So, by stepping out of the way, so far some 4 really good songs have come out of it.

My last work, a tambourine part for the Bob Wilcox record I�d been working on over the weekend, was done and I could go on to writing. However, the end of solitude, solitude that I desire so very much, is the death of a thousand cuts--no need to say, that the end of a heavy period of work, 3 solid months of record making and touring, means that there�s a LOT of unfinished business--doctors to be seen, guitars to be repaired. I started Pilates classes again to take a forward offensive against the holiday lethargy (as if I�ll have any). And of course my family should get some of me too--I�ve been head down in work for months, and I�ll be leaving in a week and half for essentially 2 solid months of work, travel and touring in time zones distant enough from CET as to be almost absurd. Better get some airtime on the Hubble, that�s how far away I�ll be.

Also, Twice, the band I�ve been working with much of this fall, had a listening party for their album, and this was in conjunction with a show in the bar Truskel, near to the studio where we made the album. The place was packed, and I was honored to be asked to join them onstage, singing and playing tambourine (things I definitely didn�t do on the song in question, but it was fine). I had a few nice ovations just for the concept of being the producer of the album (even tho almost no one�s heard it yet--it�s still being mastered). It was playing at the studio, where people went after the show for champagne, snacks, and a LOT of smoking.

CLERMONT-FERRAND

On Saturday, after spending the morning and early afternoon at Aden�s school for their holiday festivities, I headed to Gare de Lyon (luckily the torrential downpour that had trapped Dom & I earlier had stopped) and boarded the slow train for Clermont-Ferrand. I was glad to have some down time, to sleep, read, all that. Listen to a bootleg of the REM show I saw in Seattle in 1986...

Upon arrival, I met up with Gaylord, who put the show together. He also released the Dani Llamas record that I played on, and Dani was playing this show too, driving from Bordeaux that day. Gaylord took me to the venue, La Puy de la Lune (a �puy� is a well, and I think there was a Puy de la Lune there, many things around the bar are also called �Lune�, so it must have been quite a landmark). Dani was there, by now, and soon arrived St. Augustine, who I had played with at my last show in C-F, the 2006 blockbuster at the Coop de Mai. Francois, as he is really known, had a cellist with him today, and they played together seamlessly. The Puy de la Lune music room is a tiny basement, lit with soft blue lights, that fits about 50 people, and that�s how many we had. Even though it was December, it was soon hot down there--there were some bright lights pointed at the performance area, a tiny raised stage in the arches of the cave, which during my set, I asked to borrow someone in the front row�s sweater, and unscrewed the bulbs. The club was so small that we didn�t use a PA. The digital piano, which was built into a wooden frame to make it resemble an acoustic piano, had its own speakers; the small amp Gaylord rented amply supported my guitar and St. Augustine�s acoustic. The cellist, who had a great medieval French name--Edewige--and Dani�s acoustic guitar, needed no amplification. Voices were unassissted in any way, just singing into the air, and you could hear everything just fine. My kind of place. Everyone played about 45 minutes, I managed to squeeze and hour long set in there just under the curfew. I also joined Dani for the last songs of his set, playing parts in theory based on what I did on the record, but in reality adapting the local circumstances to the music--I played piano and sang.

In my set I played guitar and stood inches away from the front row, and then took to the piano. Playing mostly my new material plus a few oldies, including �Please Return It� on the piano. I even debuted one brand new song from my writing week...it went over very well. Because I was pressed for time, my show had a nice manic edge to it, not unlike my show at the Apolo in Barcelona a couple of months ago, that also had to fit into an hour-long format. I�m not used to that short of a show, you know I like to play like Springsteen, but actually, it really works. It�s so easy to only have to sustain the energy of a show for 60 minutes, it makes me put quite a bit more intensity into every vocal...

After the show we crashed at Gaylord�s place, and he fed us and took great care of us, and now I�m in the Berlingo with Dani and his g.f. Sylvia, driving a few hundred clicks to Paris...and over a week free from shows, which will be devoted to writing time yet again.

Love
KS
A71 to Paris

2009-11-29T03:56:00.000-08:00

CRANKS, GIVING

This week I wrapped up the mixing of the Oh, Libia! album and thus my major studio projects for 2009 were complete--starting a few weeks ago, knowing my workload for the last quarter, I stopped taking new projects or at least have been directing people to next year�s calendar. So I had a little extra time even this week to do other things than work at my computer day in day out. On Tuesday I trucked out to Saint-Ouen--two metro lines, all the way to the end of line 4, and then wait 20 minutes, and catch a bus another 5 minutes past the city line to Mains D�oeuvres, the rehearsal complex and more where I have spent much time before--rehearsing various projects, and recording my part of the Cheap Star album. It was at Ms. Lunch�s invitation, and she dedicated a rather steamy number to yours truly.

Also, I had time to go out a bit, and believe it or not, I took Dom out for her birthday dinner--just 7 months late, but it�s the thought that counts. I took her to Tour D�argent, which may no longer occupy the top slot in Parisian cuisine (it held it for 450 years, however), but is still extremely good, and in an unbelievable location--second story of a building that overlooks the Seine, facing the Ile Sant-Louis. You look down at passing boats and over perfectly lit bridges, and across to the most expensive real estate in France, and it seems perfectly OK to order a baby duck that costs $200. I had to leave early the next morning for a show, and separately Dom & I had the same experience over the next 24 hours plus--we felt drugged. Bizarre dreams, and a kind of post-acid trip feeling...that�s powerful stuff. Good to know that almost every world leader since 1900 has dined here...and woke up the next day feeling like they were coming down from an acid trip �hmmm mannnnn I could just DROP THE BOMB ahahahahah�. Was also trying to figure out what Paul & Linda McCartney ate when they were here? Did they put mock duck in the duck press?

SEVILLE, 11/26

As I mentioned, I was up at the crack of dawn (before, even) the morning after this fabulous dinner. It was all I could do to put a yoghurt in there somewhere before I hit the road. My shuttle service called to say they were pushing it back 15 minutes. Great, that�s the time I wanted anyway, but their web ordering wouldn�t allow 8am on the form-- �You have miss your flight! Please to allow at least 45 minutes before the takeoff for get to airport!� Yes, but my flight is at 11...I don�t really get their math. Well, it worked out. I had time to hang around in the lower level of Terminal 1 at CDG, where Vueling has their check in desk. It�s a mini city there--post office, pharmacy, stores of all kind. Arriving in Seville, I met up with David, the promoter, and the sound guy, Miguel, and they took me to my hotel. Seville is pretty torn up at the moment, they are putting in bike lanes all over the city and building an absolutely bizarre structure for the main public market--it currently looks like staircase-encrusted mushrooms a hundred feet high, stairs going to nowhere (perhaps a disowned project of a former Alaska �govern� er?)

But the old center of Seville is still charming, intimate, and intricate. But, this was an emergency, not a day for tourism. Checked in to the hotel, and bam. Out.

That evening, Dani Llamas, my friend on whose album �Speaking Thru the Others� I played on this year, met me and walked me to the venue for soundcheck. I opened up my guitar case. Neck was twisted a little from all the travels--thus, it was pretty much unplayable. And--somehow, the promoter had forgotten to provide any backline. No amp, no keyboard. Well, alright then. Time for dinner! I dined with Dani and Miguel F., who put my show in Malaga last summer together. Then we headed back to the venue (well, Dani went ahead and sorted out the backline--including loaning me his guitar).

Now, this was a late in the season, I�m-almost-done-with-my-year, Thursday night show to about 60-70 people. The keyboard we found had no sustain pedal (but it acted like the pedal was down all the time, so it actually worked pretty well). Not my gutiar, and one with a slightly jumpy jack. So, I thought, �well, I�ll play an hour and a half and that should do it. THREE HOURS LATER I was done--at least two hours was done in the middle of the floor unamplified. The crowd wouldn�t let me stop. It was one of those effortless shows, it *seemed* like I played only half as long. A few special moments--a nice jam on �Like A Virgin�, an impromptu pulling of Dani into the show to make him play �My Hands Are Tied� from his album, with me singing along. I worked �Enter Sandman� into the intro of Solar Sister...good nite a tous!

The next day I could sleep in--the double excellent whammy of no breakfast included and late check out. No reason to get up before noon, and I didn�t. Dani, Miguel & I had lunch at �La Bodeguita Las Ninas� an absolutely tiny place near the hotel, and two glasses of wine and a pedro ximenez, and a manzanilla at the bar on the corner, and I was well armed for the journey home. Psychedelic dreams on the flight home, which got in a half an hour late, so I was able to just stumble in at 9 (guitars and other oversize bags are always the last to be delivered in Terminal 1).

This weekend I recorded and mixed a collaboration with Jad Fair, for a compilation to be released next year--he sent me a stereo mix of a poem with sound effects (his own voice and breathing etc) and I added my own rap in the gaps, and sound effects using a can of coins and a stack of hundred dollar bills. His is a love poem, but the line �you�re my parachute� got me thinking about D.B. Cooper, so, I riffed on that.

I also am working on my last studio project of 2009, some overdubs on two songs by Montreal-based (his myspace still sez Vancouver but he has moved east) musician Bob Wilcox, I�ve already worked on some songs for him this year. That means if I can finish that this year, I�ll be done with my work for the year (save for my show in Clermont-Ferrand next Saturday, my two shows in Vienna next month, and The Disciplines recording) and can devote some time to writing, some time to Aden, some time to exercising, some time to going to nice restaurants (we haven�t done my birthday dinner yet). And some time to do nothing...

Love
KS
Paris

2009-11-23T10:26:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-15T08:33:00.000-08:00

After some epic nights of mixing, I brought the Sad Knights record in for a landing, and went straight back into mixing the Oh, Libia! album, which I had been working on in September. I am really pleased with both sets of mixes, fine work! The Oh, Libia album has a little more work left on it, hopefully I squeeze it in tomorrow when I get home.

Being a bit bummed that I missed so many good concerts the week before I took the opportunity to sneak out from mixing for an evening to check my friend Eric McFadden playing at Cafe De La Danse, just a few minutes� walk from my place. I was familiar with his music, but had never seen him play. To be honest, usually when friends are playing in Paris--well, I�m busy, or I�m enjoying a rare evening without work with my family. But, on this night, I finished the Sad Knights stuff in the afternoon, was able to keep my date with Aden to watch �Beverly Hills Chihuahua� (I actually liked the French voices better than Ms. Barrymore�s, etc) and hopped out to make the last few songs of the show, which was a perfect amount for me. Eric is a wicked guitar player and plays a wild, Django/Tom Waits kind of stomping swing, with gruff vocals and great lyrics. Paula O� Rourke, his bass playing partner in crime for many years, is a great musician too, and a vibrant personality onstage and off. For this unique Paris show, Eric had a French drummer and Max, a blind accordion genius. I was amazed at Max�s ability to know when to take a solo, or trade licks--since this set was not very rehearsed and most of those �take a solo� bits are done with visual clues--but Max was on it, as if we could see Eric�s gestures. Incredible. Oh, and there was a blues harp player, who came out and jammed superbly between fits of vomiting backstage--he was a victim of food poisoning, and he still gave it the goods onstage.

After the show I was hanging with Eric and his crew, and opening act Killing Mood, whose guitarist was quite a Posies fan. All of my neighborhood was buzzing that night, a Tuesday--Wednesday was Armistice Day, so a bank holiday for most, and thus all the bars were packed. At Le Motel we could barely approach the bar, let alone speak to the judge. I finally got Eric installed at a place that had single malt scotch (French people don�t really drink it, so it�s not so easy to find). I had two glasses of champagne over the course of the evening and I was beat.

The next evening I met Eric and Paula and some of their Parisian friends for dinner, with Aden having a great time playing with Eric�s dreads and giving him a few extra tattoos. (Aden, knowing Eric didn�t speak French was drawing abstract blobs and speaking in a friendly, cooing voice--�Oh, see, I�ve made a nice dogshit tattoo on your arm. Oh, you like that? Yes? Oh, fine, how about another one then?�.)

But I was working that day--so after dinner I went back to editing til 5.30 in the morning!

HASSELT, 11/13

Friday the 13th. Lucky day for us. I was up early, took Aden to school, had a morning appointment, bought Dom a hard drive to back up her ancient Compaq laptop, worked on the latest mix for Oh, Libia!, and headed to Gare du Nord. I picked up all the tickets I needed for my upcoming travels, boarded my train, fell asleep. Woke up and got off in Brussels, and ran into Audrey and Jerome from the band Liquid Architecture, for whom I played guitar for a few shows in 2007. Jerome has been the director of several contemporary art museums around the world, and was coming to give a lecture (Jerome: �I am here in Brussels for a lecture�. Ken: �Oh, are you in trouble?�).

I got on the train to Hasselt, which takes its time picking its way thru beautiful rolling countryside, little farms with chickens, goats, etc. running free range. I thought--I wonder if all Belgian farms are this perfect, this organic, this natural--or is this like where they painted the grass green along the railroad when Mao would tour the Chinese countryside, so he never saw the famine and wastelands his policies were creating...but, let�s not be paranoid, now...enjoy the lilting gauze of autumnal dusk...

I arrived in Hasselt, the end of the line, and emerged from the station, and cabbed to the venue--a little farther out than I imagined, in an industrial �park� on the edge of town. But what a venue--the Muziek-o-Droom is now three venues, a bar (with a small stage, so 4 venues), a music school...it�s one of the great culture houses of Benelux (and there are many). The staff is super pro and friendly. And they did good promo--I was surprised to learn we had 130 tickets already sold. The guys soon arrived from Norway via Brussels airport and train to Hasselt, and we set up on the ace backline that was already set up to our stage plot, and were able to jam a bit. Then we were served a delicious meal, and could chill until showtime. An from V2 came and delivered some CDs to sell on the tour, and we were able to just enjoy the pleasant atmosphere in the spacious backstage. The support band arriving in the dressing room a little sweatier than they were earlier meant they were done and we could get down to business. And soon it was just time to launch. We plugged in, taped down, and did the D�s thing. Now, the place was full, people were into it, we sold tons of merch (the best measure of a crowd�s appreciation, believe it or not) but during the show, the typically shy Belgians were actually a-typically even MORE shy, I couldn�t get them to jump for love nor money, except a few brave folks who were super into it in front. Even after the shows, people who I had seen standing like scarecrows in the back, not smiling, not even swaying, would gently come up to the merch table, buy a CD, shake my hand and mumble �it was very good� without making eye contact. That�s shy. A couple of 16 year old girls actually left because they were AFRAID! I had half jumped off the stage and shot out a leg straight in front of me to touch a pole on that was behind them, and stood screaming into the mic, spread eagle, my other leg still back onstage some 4 feet away. They were shaking like...chihuahuas. Funny we should be mentioning chihuahuas cuz after the show, an long time Posies fan, Antje, and her b.f. invited us back to her place for some wine and such (she had offered use of her jacuzzi bought no one went for it) and Antje makes a living breeding chihuahuas...she had about 30 of them, adults for breeding and puppies of varying size (well, varying sizes of small)...adorable. I was so glad Aden didn�t see this...and that she can�t read...cuz she begged us for a chihuahua after seeing the movie...

ROTTERDAM, 11/14

Not much to do on a Saturday morning in Hasselt, except the support band guys worked at a music store, so the guys went there. The wifi didn�t work with Mac--Holiday Inn is PC-only, folks, beware--so I had to actually *read* something. And have lunch--I ordered a salad with camenbaert, but actually it was the other way around--two enormous wedges of camenbaert, with a sprig of salad. The cheese was heated up, and gooey, and I thought there�s no way I can eat that all, and then I did.

We walked in the sunshine to the station, and I picked up the guys� train tickets for Monday, since I wouldn�t be going to the station with them to make their 6.17am train to Brussels airport. We got on the train to Antwerp, initially we were in first class, and I moved the guys out a misguided sense of fair play to the next car. The first class car had great 70s decor, orange with kind of jungle animal drawings. Tacky in a homey, Belgium kinda way.

Antwerp�s station is enormous--you can see that they dug into the earth and added many new levels of track below the original platforms--and most of the platforms are open, so even at the bottom (where our train to Rotterdam was coming) you can look all the way up to the fishribs of steel and glass of the atrium of the art-nouveau masterpiece that Antwerp�s main station hall is. We had cafe in the Royal Cafe, all white marble and gold leaf. And then descended down to track 21, and got on the train, which was pretty full. It was one those compartments-with-a-narrow-passageway-down-the side, which is not a very efficient use of space. But, we made it, and Rotterdam was blustery and fabulous--if you�ve been following this far, you�ll know it�s one of my favorite cities in the world, full of preposterous and fun architecture and public art. The war�s tragedy made it a blank canvas (to see what was lost, go to the garden district, the old city�s beauty is still preserved there) and the city�s triumph is that they didn�t rebuild that grim way that London did...the wealth of Rotterdam and the progressive spirit of Holland combined here with some dramatic experiments in building. Unf., not so much to see today, since it was dark...we checked into our 4 person room at the hotel Emma, across the street from Rotown (I played Rotown on the Soft Commands tour, and stayed at the Emma, and they charged the prepaid room to my credit card, it took me like two months to get that back, but no hard feelings, guys). They recommended us a restaurant, which we walked to, but it was packed and had an hour wait for a table, so we went down the block and found a great little place and dined on canette, springbok carpaccio, and other delights. Then we headed to the venue, Watt. Watt in the 90s was the classic venue Nighttown, where the Posies had some legendary shows. It�s been refurbished and updated and is now a stylish modern joint--with a big room (where Belgian artist Milow had a sold out show) and the small club where we were playing. No support band, since our show was supposed to start right after Milow finished (people from his show could come to ours for free). I would say this show was even better than Hasselt, we were warmed up, played some new songs, I was more relaxed since we had a show under our belts. I was able to lead the crowd all over the venue, at one point pulling them all out of the club into the cafe to yell at them a cappella. I did some crawling, some bending...I sang better. Rotterdam is good for you, tho.

After the show, the club kept going with some really obnoxious (this is a good thing) kind of scary electronische musikk. The big room had more like 80s disco going on. We hid in the dressing room til we got bored, then took the stuff back to the hotel, and then split up--the rhythm section always has post-show junk food munchies, and the front dudes can�t be bothered. I had a civilized glass of wine at one of Holland�s many �brown cafes�--candlelit, wooden bars that I enjoy so much. Then got some rest--we had this weird hotel room that was two rooms joined end to end--a key got you in to the whole deal, then you had a skeleton key to get in the back room. One bathroom served both, but the back room had a washbasin. When I came back, that made three of us accounted for. Ralla had gone out with Alison, our dedicated UK follower, and Ralla wanted to experience some of the local vegetation, a novelty for most visitors to Holland. Since the smoking ban applied to all smokables, you can�t sit in a coffee shop and enjoy your product (except for that which is in edible form of course). So, Ralla consumed his on the street, which is legal. And predictably, his appetite thusly stimulated, he went in search of kebab. Baard grew weary of Ralla�s increasingly erratic wanderings, and asked him to bring him back something to the hotel, and went to bed. Many hours later, Ralla stumbled in...having forgotten he ate a kebab, he ate Baard�s, in a (so he thought) clandestine struggle with the foil, in the bathroom, Ralla lost the match--the kebab one, and Ralla ended up flat on his ass with a bonked head in the shower stall. When I went to take a shower the next morning, shards of foil were everywhere, the sink was lined with napkins for a reason that was never properly explained, and a half eaten, victorious (and still living) kebab stood defiantly on the edge of the sink.

Our train to Antwerp today was the actual Thalys, that�s some deluxe comfort there, folks. Now we�re on one of the IC trains, bound for the end of the line, Marvin Gaye�s former home base of Oostende. As the conductor is coming down the aisle, I can tell you that not since I boarded the Thalys in Paris has anyone checked our tickets. Not Brussels-Hasselt, not Hasselt-Antwerp, not Antwerp-Rotterdam, not Rotterdam-Antwerp. Weird, eh?

Love
KS
IC 1836 Antwerp-Oostende

2009-11-07T15:33:00.000-08:00

I put some new photos in the photos section.

I got home, I got sick, cuz you can only hold it together for so long going from Hollywood to the Arctic, not sleeping, taking bone-crunching overnight, multi-leg flights, sweating and throwing yourself around on the filthy floors of various bars and then being exposed to the night air...well...thru willpower I managed not to get sick for all the D's tour and my solo shows in Macedonia and extreme northern Norway--so when I relaxed at last, I was done for.

But I still had work to do. In addition to tour management duties for the upcoming Big Star show in New York, the Disciplines shows in Benelux, and my upcoming solo shows in Spain, France and Austria...I had work to do on top of the work that I was doing.

I breathed a guilty sigh of relief that the Sad Knights' master files didn't arrive til Tuesday evening, and took 5 hours to move from a 32G USB flash drive to my external Firewire drive. So, Monday and Tuesday were more or less mine--to catch up on the above. Plus, I finally put together my rough ideas for some English lyrics for a song by Brainstorm--the Latvian band that supported REM for some of the 2005 winter tour I did with them. Great band, who have already done their album entirely in Latvian and then entirely in Russian, and they looked to some outside help to do some of their stuff in English. They remind me quite of Deus, actually. This is good!

Then on Wednesday I got to working on the Sad Knights mixes, and certainly hit a groove. They added and improved a few things we did in our very rushed, 11 songs in 4 days session back in July. So, I had plenty to work with. I added a few bits here and there, but mostly edited and mixed, and did a great job. I have I think 4 more songs to do.

But, being busy, and being sick, means that I had to pass up what was a great week of music in Paris--Bat For Lashes played the Olympia, Bebel Gilberto played L'Alhambra, and I was invited to the Arctic Monkeys/EODM show at the Zenith. Merde! But it would have killed me to add anything more to the schedule.

In fact, I am not adding any more work or shows to my schedule this year. I'll be gone a lot in Dec/January, and I need to be healthy for the D's recording. So, the 6 D's shows in Benelux, Big Star in NYC, and my 4 KS shows upcoming...that's it for the year. I'll mix this record, then finish the Oh, Libia! mixing, and then I have two one day projects, and then I'm done. So, most of late Nov and early Dec I'll be home, writing and recuperating. Trust me, it's really hard to turn down work, but...I have to at this point. Plus writing time is hard to find.

On that note...I will write...good nite...and sniffle my way to greatness.

Love
KS
Paris

2009-11-02T08:05:00.000-08:00

I arrived in Honningsvag after my surreal day of travel from Macedonia, via Zagreb, Vienna, Oslo and Alta--and two and half hours drive from there, ever Northward, to Europe�s northernmost point, Mageroya Island, and its town of Honningsvag (there are a couple of villages further up island, but H-vag is the town of the region). At the top of Mageroya is North Cape, the Northern tip of Europe, at 71 deg. N and then some. The seas here used to eat ships for breakfast (a 16th century English expedition with three ships in search of a passage over the top of Asia, famously froze 2/3 of the crews to death and ice crushed the boats--the survivors sought mercy and found none on the frozen Russian coast, but a handful found a village and were able to travel by sleigh to Moscow, and presumably, find a heart-warming beverage or two). But in fact, the Gulf Stream here means that the sea doesn�t freeze, fish are abundant, and temperatures don�t fall as low as they do in the interior of Finnmark, where you can find Siberian extremes of fifty below (F or C, at those extremes it�s roughly the same). Here is was -4C, or about 25 deg F, and it didn�t even feel that cold.

I arrived at the hotel, and my driver, Ole, who is pretty strong dude, picked up my suitcases like they were match boxes and brought them in. His sister Ele, one of many helpers around this show that I was there to play, sat with me while I wolfed down a stew of reindeer and whale meat, and then handed me off to Carolyn, who has organized the U-Kultur 2009 event, and with whom I�ve been in contact with for months as we discussed the idea of me playing. Carolyn is Scottish, married to a local fella and now perfectly at home in the Arctic. Knowing that to make this show happen required a bone-crunching day of travel on my birthday no less, she arranged a little parry in my honor--a local nightclub, or the local nightclub I should say, was commandeered in my honor. Carolyn took me over and there were folks prepared to make me feel welcome--local dignitaries, pals, and students from the local cooking school, who had prepared hors d�oeuvres for all. I was given a bottle of bubbly and plunked myself down at a table of locals--mostly teachers, which is what Carolyn does for a living too, teaching English. I also was introduced to the members of Dallas-based bands Downlo and The Cast--who have most of their members in common--and singer Howard Hancox to the Cast and you mostly have Downlo. Clint Barlow, drummer for both bands, is now the owner of Trees in Dallas, the club where the Posies have played on Dallas stops in the past--it closed down in the 2005, not long after we did our last show there, having run afoul of bad business decisions. It sat dark for a couple of years, then in stepped Clint to take it over. He also plays drums for Vanilla Ice, how cool is that? Hey, that was actually a good unintended pun. Ice, cool. Well, we have been in the Arctic, so we think this way...

In Cast configuration, they did an impromptu mini acoustic set--Todd (who plays bass or guitar depending on the band), Nabil (who plays guitar in the cast and runs sound for Downlo) and Bryce (who plays guitar in both but is the main singer in the Cast) busted out a few of their tunes and a cover of �Fat Bottomed Girls�--these guys have impeccable, three part harmonies thru a lot their music. You can detect some hard rock influences--the heavy sounds and dropped-C tunings bring to mind Alice in Chains and that kind of post-metal, but with the harmonies and a more musically diverse program they are an evolution into something unique. Cool people, too.

Well, of course there was a cake, and I made a little speech, and it was great fun. Then the Cast/Downlo guys bought me a few shots, and then it was time to get outta there...hehe. I think it was closing anyway. I am such a lightweight, that a few shots means I can�t totally tell you if that was the case. But I do know that we went back to my room and drank some wine, and then I was able to crash at last.

HONNINGSVAG, 10/31

Let me tell you, 10am came *way* too soon. I didn�t have a hangover, no headache etc., but it seems that I had some seriously accelerated jet lag...my eyeballs were glued shut. The mission this afternoon was to head to the North Cape, and touch the top of Europe�s head. It�s about a half an hour drive to the other side of the island (people used to live there in greater numbers, but the introduction of a motorized fishing fleet mean that people could live further away from the fishing grounds, on the inside passage of island. Oh--I didn�t mention it but the island doesn�t feel like an island, since the coast is so jagged anyway it�s hard to tell what is and isn�t an island there, and you access Mageroya via a 3-mile long tunnel and never see the water you are going under. So, we drove up over the island�s moonscape and ended up at the visitor�s center at the tip of the island. It�s a big building with a restaurant, a movie presentation with a panoramic film of island life and scenery, and of course viewing decks where you can observe the point from behind glass. However, you gotta get out there and have a look, and that�s what we did, walking the 75 yards or so out the fence at the edge of the cliff. Now, we can describe a wind as howling, but that wouldn�t do this wind justice--it was bestial, roaring, terrifying. I would guess it was blowing about 80mph. Almost impossible to walk against...fun to let it push you around tho. It wasn�t so cold as you�d think, but the strength of the wind, shooting up thru deep cuts it had gouged in the rock that concentrated and directed the gusts--well, actually, the day was comprised of one continuous blast, not gusts--it left me dizzy after a few minutes of exposure. Unf. clouds had descended to our level, blocking out nearly all the view. You could see over the cliff�s edge, tho, down into a sea of pure black, about 600 feet below. To my amazement, a small fishing boat emerged out of the whiteout and chugged pleasantly along the vertical coastline, as if it wasn�t in the midst of nature�s full fury.

After we took in the sights we headed back to Honningsv�g, I was still jetlagging so hard that I fell asleep in the 30 minute drive back, and could barely open my eyes as I navigated back to my room in the hotel. The wind was moaning and beating on the building here, too. I shut the curtains and was in pure black. So tired I was, that I immediately went into REM sleep and embarked upon an elaborate dream, where wakefulness and dreaming were confused--sometimes I thought I was awake in my room, but with the lights on, people coming in and out and talking to me. Sometimes I was exploring our hotel, but it was enormous and labyrinthine, not the modest building I was actually sleeping in. This went on for what seemed like hours, and then I woke up, and looked at my phone to check the time. I had been asleep for ten minutes.

I went back to my nocturnal work in the daytime, until 5, when it was indeed night. We all assembled for soundcheck, which wasn�t much for me--I requested a different guitar than the one provided (a tele instead of a strat), dialed in a sound on the Line 6 amp which was cool cuz I could save it as a preset. The piano provided had two keys that didn�t work; they had another one there but they couldn�t find a power supply for it. Ok, done!

Next, we were taken to the home of Tonnelise and Alf Roger, who I had met at my birthday party the night before, for an incredible meal--boknafisk, and rypa, both of which had been fished/hunted by Alf Roger, and cooked to perfection by him too. A few of the folks from the night before were there, plus T&AR�s kids and their friends, and Pernille Sparboe (I produced Pernille�s brand new EP �Buzz� in Tromso earlier this year, check out her myspace here). Boknafisk is cod that has been hung to dry and reconstituted by boiling it, but just right--you don�t want it to fall apart. Rypa is ptarmigan, and its flesh tastes a bit like liver, if you like that kind of thing, and I do. It�s just strong red meat, you�d never guess it was a bird if someone plopped a steak down on your plate. This was followed by local blueberries and cloudberries, and of course coffee, conversation, and wine, too. Great people and great company.

Afterwards, we walked over to the venue, which is a kind of community theatre, vintage 50s. You won�t find but one building here from before WWII--as the Germans pulled out of Finnmark to divert resources to the two fronts on the continent (tho� Hitler had been convinced that the Allies invasion that manifested in the D Day Normandy landing was going to occur in Norway) they evacuated all the inhabitants and burned every single building in every single town to the ground. In Honningsv�g, only the church remained. And it�s here that the town�s inhabitants lived while they rebuilt. Honningsv�g wasn�t even supposed to *be* rebuilt--the government, in good socialist the-needs-of-the-many-outweigh-the-needs-of-the-few efficiency, had decided to consolidate many of the towns and hamlets in Finnmark to further centralize services and administration. However, these were people�s recently destroyed homes we�re talking about, and they weren�t having it. They wanted to go back to the places they knew. And they did.

The building now has a kind of 50s gym vibe, but there�s a real stage. When I came back from dinner, local band Moilrock was ontage (tho it�s about the band�s ability to rock, too, �Moilrock� is a local slang for �dirty�, nasty wind--dirty in the fact that if it�s not frozen, a strong wind can pick up loose topsoil and make a dusty mess. They are kind of a hard rock band, and somehow Todd from Downlo/the Cast ended up playing bass with them, including on songs he�d never heard before.

Then Pernille played, alone, with her acoustic. She has a stunning, incredible voice. Her thing is no frills--she plays her songs, sings, and chats a bit. Very natural and easy, and everyone loves it.

Next up was my deal, originally I was headlining but we all agreed that it was better to have the rock bands go last, plus the Downlo/Cast guys had been there all week doing workshops and different events, so they had really bonded with the locals, they earned the top spot.

I had to earn my stripes too, and since most of the crowd was seated at tables, I felt just hanging back onstage wasn�t really gonna do it, tho I opened with �110 or 220V� from the stage, I quickly abandoned the idea of a concert setting and hopped down to the crowd, and got them to stand up and join me. I finished at the piano with people all around me, on the stage, and off. I even did a solo version of �Oslo� knowing that people would know that song, and they did. Fun--and over in about 40 minutes. Prob. the shortest show I�ve done in a LONG time, maybe ever! But people loved it, the merch table is always a good sign and I sold about �275 in solo EPs, Disciplines t shirts and badges. Pernille�s freshly minted EP sold well too.

I had been pretty tired before the show with the jet lag but like in Macedonia two nights before I was energized by the performance and was happy to stay and watch Downlo and The Cast, who ended up doing acoustic sets with electric bass regular rock drums. I thought it was so good they should always play that way, it brings out the vocals in a great way. People loved them, and they are really charming, cool peeps, great singers, fantastic players. At the end there was demand for an encore so they had Pernille and I join them for an impromptu version of that Kings of Leon song that has �ooooWOAHooo--ooWOAHooo-oooo� in the back of the chorus...you�ve heard it, trust me....after show was done, and the attendees went home, all the musicians gathered upstairs in the trophy room (it�s a kind of football team HQ as well as a theatre, dance hall etc) where there was an incredibly groovy vintage Hammond console organ from the 70s), to drink a little wine, eat peanuts and meatballs, and joke around. Then...bedtime. Ahh,

I slept for ten hours, easily. Got up for breakfast and went back to bed for an hour or two, then Downlo/Cast/Carolyn/Pernille all went to lunch together, and then the Americans, Carolyn and Ole the driver from Friday headed to Alta, a drive that took 3 hours. It was a clear day, and in these latitudes in November the day is short but the twilight is really long, and gorgeous. But, also, I slept pretty much the whole drive--so we�re talking 15 hours of sleep that day. I needed it, but the short polar days also trigger that a bit too. Carolyn, having spent the week with the Americans and having already been friends with them from before, was tearful as she bade us farewell.

It�s a two-hour flight back to Oslo, and I had time to watch �The Abominable Dr. Phibes�, which has some of the funkiest art direction ever. We landed and claimed our bags, and then tried to sort out where to catch the shuttle to our hotel. Which turned out to be damned near impossible. The airport info people told us one thing, every bus driver we asked told us another, and it was impossible to get anyone from the hotel on the phone.

Finally we gave up, after searching all over the airport, and grabbed a cab, which turned out to be cheaper for the 7 of us to be in a van than individual shuttle fares. We got to the hotel and tho I had dined on a sandwich on the plane, I joined the guys for dinner and I consumed a small bottle of South African dessert wine, and then said my goodbyes, and watched �Big Man Japan� before going to bed (oh, and gave the two DVDs to the guys to watch on the flight home). All that concentrated sugar in the wine, the decompression of all these adventures, and the heat seeping in from the heated bathroom floor meant I had a little trouble sleeping--oh and the fact that I had spent half the day sleeping already! But I finally got a little sleep in, then was up at 5.30 to start my travel home.

Love
KS
SAS flt 835 to Paris

2009-10-30T14:23:00.000-07:00

The mixing of the Twice album came to a peaceful conclusion, I got out of the studio on the last night of work in time to catch the metro home, and in the morning didn�t have to leave so early that my family were still asleep; I left just shortly before Aden would have been leaving for school. As usual Aden tried to keep cool about the goodbye, but fretted after I was gone that she hadn�t kissed me enough.

my flight to New York left a little late, and the equipment had been swapped which meant we were jammed into a relatively tiny aircraft, looking out the window at the aircraft parked at our gate I thought how it looked out of scale with the other internationally-destined vehicles.

But no matter. I managed to sleep soundly, and arrived in New York not too disheveled. I claimed my materiel and parked at a net cafe and waited for Baard and Ralla to arrive, which they did, with no problems. �Hey, you made it in. Great. Where�s your drums?� �oooh...I want to buy some.� Ah. Well, between now, about 4pm, and the load in at 1pm the next day, with a photo shoot in the morning, when would we have time to sort that out? Ralla was interested in going to a particular drum shop, which I managed, with no web access and not even knowing which town it was in, to locate the number for. It was far away. More calls. Soon Ralla was happily chatting with someone at Main Drag Music in WIlliamsburg.

We got to our Brooklyn digs, at my friend Cristina�s place, where Bjorn had already been staying for a couple of days. Cristina�s roommate was out of town, so we had the run of a rather large and comfortable flat, and also Cristina�s dog, Sassy, and her cat, who wouldn�t tell me her name. After I finished arguing with the cab driver about the relative paucity of the gratuity I chose to include on top of the fare, we settled in and I immediately sent the boys to Main Drag (Bjorn had already been there that day shopping) as well as hooked up Bjorn with Jeff from the band Aden to pick up his Badcat amp. I headed into the city to have dinner with some of my NYC homies but zipped back to Cristina�s to finish the evening with my Norwegian homies, having a little wine and enjoying unrestricted access to the interweb.

NEW YORK, 10/20

I felt fine in the morning, but Baard was not so confident about the Mexican meal he ate the night before. But, we had a photo shoot to do, with Ivan from Zaragoza, now living in Brooklyn. We all, including Cristina and Sassy, went into the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens, which were ablaze with Indian summer warmth (our cabbie in from JFK: �We call this time in Russia �middle age woman summer��). Green and shimmery, they inevitably gave a cheerfully psychedelic edge to the shoot. Maybe that�s because I have spent a bit of my early twenties tripping my neurons out my ears in various Seattle parks. A dog is a good prop. To make sure we didn�t look like tough guy wanna be doofuses, I grinned like a freaking idiot.
?Then it was time to go to the city, we called a van, and after a long wait to cross the bridge due to some urban project or other, we were dropped at the corner nearest the Mercury Lounge, and walked over with our stuff--including Ralla�s new snare and cymbals, the Badcat amp, and a suitcase full of tshirts. We started to get it together, and soon were joined by Stephen from Second Motion, who released our record in the USA. Stephen�s a great guy, we know each other from the time of Soft Commands coming out on Yep Roc when he was working there. We soundchecked, which other than youtube would be the first time Stephen would have seen us live. And, predictably, after a month off, we sucked. Horrible! But he didn�t care, and we didn�t either. I figured we�d figure it out over the intervening hours. Next stop: lunch. We headed over to Katz�s, an NYC landmark that somehow I�d never been in. Now, I am such a goy that I didn�t even know what I was looking at: �Is that roast beef or brisket?� �Uh, that�s pastrami, sir�. And that�s what I had...and it was ridiculously good. A sandwich was also like $15, but really, you�re paying to sit in a kind of jewish food museum, so factor that in.

Ralla is very shy. He had heard about this guy who cuts hair out of his flat, cash only, make appointments via Facebook or phone. Of course he was too scared to call. So I had spent the day trading phone calls with the guy and finally got Ralla booked in after soundcheck.

Then we had down time, so after checking mails in Stephen�s tiny hotel room, I walked over to B�way and was on a planned mission to Zara, hoping they had something along the line of those groovy patent plastic wingtips I�ve worn for all the Posies shows and most of the D�s shows for the last year, who were starting to be more notional than actual shoes. While asking for my size, and settling one size too big that actually seem to be a perfect fit now, I ran into Rosie Thomas and her b.f., and chatted with them for a long time. What a positive and kind person Rosie is...then, back to the show area, and my friends started to arrive, I picked at a salad at Little Frankie�s then sipped mediocre champagne and a superb macchiato at the Pink Pony, surrounded by an ever-increasing cadre of my New York pals. Then it was time to head to the venue, and I actually ran into Ron, from the band The Churchills, on the street, with his wife. The C�s are a band I produced some great songs for about ten years ago, in a studio in the Chrysler bldg. Ron & I chatted and compared notes on our respective kids and then finished the travel to the Mercury Lounge. I said hello to Marty Wilson-Piper from the Church and went downstairs to find my bandmates happily buzzed on Bud Lite (it must have taken a LOT) and we waited for Jupiter One to finish their funky space jams. When they were finished, we had already discussed the urgency of getting onstage quickly--midnite on a Tuesday is asking a lot, even of hardy New Yorkers. In fact, like most urbanites, frequent access to top-quality entertainment means that when the trains stop running, almost nothing is considered worth staying out any later for. Luckily the subway doesn�t stop, but still. It does *slow down*.

Well, we didn�t. I was really nervous about this show, actually. I mean, Tuesday nite, big deal. CMJ...the stakes aren�t quite as high as when I played there in 1990. But for me the stakes are *always* high. Just the presence of that many friends and colleagues put me on edge. Strangers are always better to play to--you have much more opportunity--and the right--to reinvent yourself. Your friends want to see you the way you are, the way you�ve always been. Even if they don�t know that they do, that�s how they�re always steering you. And for me, singing in the Disciplines is a kind of unique space of uninhibited lunging in a particular direction, the direction of freedom.

We hadn�t played in over a month. When the show began, and as usual, my mic stand fell into its component parts, my lungs were aching by the first third of the first song. And of course I saw steadfast groovy hipsters--good looking boys and gals, smartly dressed, with blank or skeptic looks on their faces. Now, I have some experience in this realm so I know that this look means nothing and in fact the two examples I am thinking of as I write this were the most gushing fans--they just kept their cool on during the show. One person who did not keep her cool was the girl who danced with me during �I Got Tired�, she was completely feral, in a good looking way--whatever frequency we were broadcasting was sizzling her motherboard. The effect was pretty pleasant, if a bit over the top. It�s great to have someone like that in the crowd--it really raises the bar of how into it everyone should be--if you�re not letting your guard down and having as much fun as they are, it�s pretty clear you�re missing out. But we had the crowd long before she emerged from the pack. We made a few mistakes, and I was somewhat breathless, but it was fun, and rowdy and sweet all at once. And the best part is that I was surrounded by friends all night, all of whom saw me in a new situation, and gave the thumbs up. So, perhaps my earlier statement about where your friends want to keep you needs some revision...

BOSTON, 10/21

Everybody was in fairly good shape the next day; I abstained from the breakfast outing in Brooklyn, and caught up on emails and bookkeeping (the noting and organizing of receipts and income is not just a daily ritual--it�s practically an hourly one. You have to stay on top of it or you�re totally lost, all it takes is a slight fuzziness around the edges of the merch count and you�re done). I got us into the cab and we headed, slowly, for the city. Dumped off at Penn Station, we loaded up all our luggage, boxes of merch, instruments, and looked for the Amtrak counter. I�d only done Amtrak once or twice in my life, so I wasn�t entirely sure of the regulations. At one point it looked like we had to check the bags like on an airplane, so I was waiting in line, watching our margin of error dwindle perilously close to single digits. So, I jumped, got our tickets from a machine, and we made a run for the platform. Only to find it was open seating, put your bags wherever, and mostly empty. We had plenty of room to stretch out for the next 4 hours.

At Back Bay station, we came out of the back entrance, so we were just on some road, with no available cabs, or so it seems. I copped a number from the side of a passing, occupied taxi and was told they don�t do phone orders. One did finally pass by and we got in and headed to the venue. T.T. the Bear�s has been on my radar forever--it�s next door to the Middle East, where I�ve played a half a dozen times. TT�s is more punk rock. OK, it�s a dive. No frills. A splintering stage, a grimy bar, a pool table and rather unfortunate men�s room. Randi, who runs the place, and probably has for some time, told us to go out and get a coffee, the sound guy wasn�t there and the other band�s weren�t there. We ended up at...the Middle East, and decided just to have dinner even tho it was a little early. Yummy Lebanese wine, grilled lamb, hummus. And afterwards, we came back and were even still a little early for soundcheck. As we came around the corner, we some dudes leaning up against the wall, chatting. As they ahve doors right next to each other, it was a little hard to tell if this was one of our support bands or one of the bands playing upstairs at the Middle East. So, I came up to introduce myself and realized I was talking to Al Kooper--and I was quick to run in and grab him Smoking Kills on vinyl. He didn�t seem to thrilled about it, but I was. Then the bands started showing up at TT�s, and the sound guy was there, and our pre-arranged AC30 came thru the door. Soundcheck was achieved. Our hosts in Boston, Richie and Judy Parsons, also arrived, and we went to Zuzu�s or whatever the annex of the Middle East is called, and got to know each other. I�d met Richie in Rome when Chariot played there a couple of years ago, he has been part of the Boston punk scene since the early early days (in his band Unnatural Axe, among others) and now manages Newberry Comics, aka Boston�s most important music retailers. Before you think nose piercing and mohawk, stop thinking. He�s just a great, unassuming, generous guy. He, his wife and teenage daughter live in a lovely little home in Quincy (pronounced by locals as Quinzee), a leafy suburb south of the city. Judy went home, she had a cold, but Richie stayed with us, and drove us back to his place after the show--more on that later.

Fatal Flaw was the middle band, whose gear we mostly used. The band is fronted by ex San Franciscan Joel Reader who still plays in SFO bands Pansy Division and The Avengers, so we *also* played together in Rome. Hmmm. The room was a little sparse, unf., it didn�t seem like either band had that many loyal friends...but then, neither did we. We did get some peeps out tho, but it was first support act Yoni Gordon and the Goods that saved the night--their two beardy, kind of University-quad-hackey sack-looking friends were the BOMB. They got out and DANCED. Non stop, the whole show. When it was time to jump, they were already jumping. And they were just cool people. After the show, one of the hairy guys, who looks kind of like David Cross if we were to let it all hang out (like he did for his portrayal of Allan Ginsberg in �I�m Not There), showed me a cassette that he made as a post-breakup tape he sent to his ex, comprised mostly of �Touched�. They got back together...still are. Glad to help!

After the show, Randi suggested that I pay for the disintegrated mic stand, that literally exploded into its constituent parts in the first 20 seconds of the first song, and I declined. She didn�t press the issue.

So, afterwards, we piled into Richie�s car and headed to his cute little house in the quiet lands outside the city. He had some beers, and the guys were staying up but I knew I had to keep it cool and went straight to bed.

TORONTO, 10/22

In the morning, Richie had the full spread--bagels and cream cheese, scrambled eggs & bacon, coffee cake--all essential breakfast items that I was proud to be there for their introduction to the 3 Norwegians. The excellent coffee cake was from something like �www.ilovemygrandma.com� it was spot on. I had the guys get all the serial numbers from all their gear, and I typed up a manifest for the customs folks, knowing that the act of going thru the trouble meant they would never ask for it (and they did not). Richie�s brother brought over his SUV so we had a little extra room, and Richie drove us to Logan. All thru this tour, my bandmates were blown away by the hospitality and generosity we were shown. And the fact that these were my friends housing us was only partially true--I had only, briefly, met Richie once, and we hadn�t stayed in touch--it was Suz, my friend from Italy, who put this all together. our hosts in Toronto were strangers too. So, we give cheers to Richie, and there�s more to come.

We flew to Toronto, and I of course was sleeping on the plane, waking up only when we were about to land. Looking down at the south Ontario landscape--it was so clear to see that humanity was an imposition on the landscape--and the perfectly polite, Canadian way of development--not a nightmarish blight like formerly industrial Detroit, for example--all perfectly spaced trees, the perfect proportion of well-spaced cars and trucks on the highway, all going about reasonable, purposeful business--the architect�s rendering-style blandness of it all, on a terrain-free flat landscape--well, coming out of deep sleep as I was, I suddenly had this vision--it was all *fake*. You could just see that mankind was a temporary coating, like a mold growth, unimportant and ultimately superficial--the solid bowling ball of the planet was unmistakably *there*. Canada just is too good orderly, reasonable, and tasteful to be believable.

Good thing we had a closer look.

Meanwhile, we still had to get *in* to Canada, as opposed to just *on* it. Ralla and I were let thru no problem, but Baard & Bjorn were given a pink stripe on their paperwork, so they went off the �special place�. And I had to help. Back in the old days, there were elaborate work permits given, for a fee, for bands playing in Canada. It looked like a stock certificate, or a very large piece of money--colorful (well, colorfully *brown*) engraved official looking docs. Now, most music venues have �exempt� status--as long as you aren�t taking away the livelihood of a Holiday Inn lounge band or picking up a few table waiting shifts between sets, you�re free to come and deliver your unique, culture-enriching arts performance in a space that is uniquely and exclusively devoted to such acts. No food can be served, no other activity than music (with available liquid refreshments) can go on. Our venue, the Velvet Underground, certainly didn�t offer much--it seems to satisfy the regulation, but the fact it had regular DJ nights, and listed this on their website (unlike the concerts, which it never listed at all, which I found rather unhelpful) made it seem like they were always open--a no-no in the exempt status POV. To be by the books, the place should be closed when there wasn�t a culturally stimulating event in progress. So, this translated in us having to sit there and think about it for awhile. Then we could go. Customs took a look at our instruments and boxes of CDs coming thru, and decided it just wasn�t worth the trouble.

Oh, one funny note: Ralla, dear boy, has not traveled much. So, when we got on in Boston, he gate checked the big nylon circular bag that holds his cymbals. As we walked thru the halls in Pearson, I said to Ralla simply: �cymbals.�. He turned red, and ran the 150 yards back to the plane to claim them, where they had been all along. ??So, we were still too early to go to the venue, so I suggested we wait at the airport and have a coffee. I changed some money and was pretty bummed about the results. Then we got in a cab (all the cabs at the airport are Town Cars or similar, so much better for us, tho we still had to ride with guitars on our laps). We worked our way towards the CN tower, and the driver had time to give me his number, offering to take us to the airport the next day, but bring a van.

We got to the venue, and brought our stuff. A lot less glamourous than it looks on its website, the place has several times more Underground than it does Velvet. The opening band was there and before we even finished the hellos they were offering a bag of green stuff that none of wanted, but we appreciated the gesture. This show was being promoted by Dan, who is a legend in two media--he had a career in the late 70s as one of the most tenacious investigative journalists in the nation (as his father had been before him), then fell off the map for a bit, and re-emerged as the consummate tastemaker and underground music champion. He�s not the most reliable emailer, but he believes in what he does and has great passion for the shows and the musicians. Craig is another promoter in town, and also had interest in the show--but was promoting the Raveonettes in one venue, Dave Bazan in another, and a Canuck country legend at the Horseshoe. So, he brought in Dan, and they put us in this venue, which is not really one of the main rock venues--those were occupied. But the fact is, both Craig and Dan wanted the band to come and get a toehold in Toronto that they put the show on anyway, knowing we�d get creamed by the competition, but knowing we�d make an impression. Kind of insane, but I respect that.

We did our soundcheck, and then went off in search of victuals. Craig had recommended Jules Bistro, a few blocks from the club, and boy was he on the Canadian money. What a spot. Friendly, affordable, and divine. I don�t know what airport my hangar steak had lived in, but don�t be a fool and give me an ID badge. I�d go in with a blowtorch, aller-retour the whole freaking inventory, and come out some kind of Adkins diet Iron Man champ.

We were joined at the end of the meal by a Facebook connection, Jeff, who was going to shoot some pics of us--oh, and casually pick up our dinner tab?? I mean *seriously*--this is the kind of hospitality we encountered on this trip. Well, Jeff got our undivided attention, and while the first band played their bizarre mix of covers and, I guess, original material, we were backstage getting our portraits taken. Our turn came and we did our thing, prob. to about 30 people, which isn�t actually that bad, considering all the circumstances I described. The place turns into a goth dance club after shows, so some of these patrons came in during our show--and loved it.

After the show, a number of people loved it so much, they wanted to express their gratitude not so much in words but in marijuana, but again, not on our agenda. We met our two hosts--Spooky and Dylan (rhymes with �stylin� �)--two strangers, the whole meeting arranged by Bob Wilcox, who I also haven�t really met in person, but I did some music for this year. Spooky had a flat around the corner, and I sent the boys there. Dylan had a flat a little ways away...and a deluxe iron and ironing board. Sold. I had my huge suitcase with me, so when I tried to go into a bar with Spooky and the boys, the doorman said no way. So, Dylan, and my dear friend Brendan, super star publicist, and I cabbed to Dylan�s, dropped my rig, and we went in search of a place to await last call. We would search hard, but we didn�t have to wait long. First try was a kind of yuppie singles bar, absolutely out of �Entourage� which I vetoed, straight up. Kelly, who was a very chirpy fan who was tagging along (on a bike, tho--we were in cabs and she would meet us along the way) suggested a gorgeous little wine bar. So we walked, and went in, and found we�d missed last call. So, we ended up in this little basement cowboy bar, well, fake cowboy, but real bar. A country band was playing, and hipsters were drinking big red & white beers, and they had horrible wine which I was as grateful and a shipwreck survivor to receive. Kelly as it turns out started to tell me about her upcoming trip to Toulouse, when she found out I live in Paris. She has a b.f. there, he has a little record label, and they have bands like...the Sad Knights. �Uh, I *play* i that band...what the hell??�. Weird, but normal. That�s the only way I can sum it up.

Then this place closed, after one round, and it was time to go to bed. Dylan suggested (and had tried to convince the whole band) that his friend�s place was much nicer. he suggested that we go there instead of his place, and I could rendezvous with my bag in the morning, the two places were only a block apart. This turned out to be a simplification, but anyway, when we got to his friend�s place, it was full of very drunk boys, who were really begging us all to loan them money for some coke. Pinot grigio was being spilled and occasionally sipped, disco music on, the whole shebang. I asked Dylan if perhaps I could now go to his place! So, his friend and I walked me to Dylan�s, where he discovered he had no keys, and we woke up his roommate (well, all of them, actually, in the process), but Armando was a saint and took time out of his copulation schedule to admit us. Which was repaid by Dylan and his friend showing me their latest song ideas on acoustic guitar and asking me to play, so I honored the Canadian-ity of my hosts and played a Neil Young song, wherein another roommate asked us if we could be so kind as to please fuck the fuck off. So, Dylan and cohort went back to drug-lacking queens and I went back to sleep, after a 12-hour break.

CHICAGO, 10/23

I woke up and found Armando the saint had left breakfast makings out for me, but unf. it was mostly eggs which I can�t eat, so I had the apple he left and did my thing. At one point I had been in the entry way, naked but for a towel, getting out my clothes I needed to iron. I just missed one of the other tenants of the building�s arrival, too. Dylan and I were supposed to meet up but his phone was off. Guess they found what they were after! I called Sid, the driver from yesterday, and told him to meet me with a van at the address where the other guys were staying. I was told Spooky had room for three which is why I was set up with Dylan. But actually Spooky had other guests, and only room for three *more* and even that was a stretch. So, evidently as the D�s were bunking down, the other guests returned from their nighttime errand of searching for some fine Incan herbal remedy, and proceeded to inhale, drink and argue like they were the freaking Pogues. In fact, when morning came, one of the party-ers, who had been politely accommodated in semi-coherent conversation by the Norwegians--in great detail he asked my bandmates about Norway, the music scene, the show, all that stuff--when the D�s were getting ready to go, he was face down on the floor, like the guy in the first �Saw� movie. He woke up and asked the guys...�uh, are you guys friends of Spooky�s?�. Like, he had no *idea* there even *was* a night before, let alone that it consisted of, like, words and actions n� stuff.

I showed up, and Sid didn�t show up, but his van did, with another driver, who gave us the same deal Sid promised, and we were soon at YYZ and did our customs clearance--guitars, boxes of CDs, and all--in no time.

Landing in Chicago, I think our flight was late but it didn�t matter, we got to the venue with plenty of time to sit around and go �um....�. Then Vince showed up, who you might remember as the host to the Posies in our Chicago visit earlier this year. Vince has been a host and party pal for some time now...I can�t even remember since when (and there may be a good reason for that). So it was cheery to see him and introduce him to my crew. Then also came Scott Lucas & the Married Men, or his band of married man as I like to think of them. Scott is somewhat of a legend round those parts as I understand it, and this was the debut of his Pogues-esque (hey, that�s the second Pogues ref. in this blog) combo, with accordion, fiddle and such. He seemed kinda cranky, in fact, much of his nattily dressed ensemble made a point of *not* saying as much as a hello. I guess that�s how you keep the legend intact. Well, his drummer was friendly, and his guitarist had scrounged up a Vox head and combo for us, even tho my emails with Scott had informed me that they had Fender Twins and only Fender Twins. In fact, a friend of a friend came some time *after* soundcheck with a Vox AC30 for us, but by then Bjorn had dialed in a sound with Vince�s guitarist�s vintage Bassman head and Mesa cab. Sorted, no matter how you slice it.

The venue was called the Subterranean, I�d never heard of it before but it�s on the map of cool places, for sure--they specialize in bands that end in �o�--Polvo, Gogol Bordello--it�s a classic old Wicker Park saloon with a pressed tin roof, lots of wood, a wraparound balcony so a whole �nother set of viewers can look down on the show. It had a lovely, antique, lived-in vibe. Oh, and it�s not subterranean--the stage is on the second floor. Which would still be underneath the train, tho. Maybe that�s what they mean?

After dinner we met up with Thomas Metcalf, a painter with whom I�m acquainted, and tho we had missed his art opening that afternoon, we went to his friend�s working loft and hung out. This loft is the writing �pad� of Elephant Productions, which has brought a few films to the big screen, and this is where they work on screenplays and such. So, it�s a groovy space with a kitchenette, much cleaner toilet than even the Subterranean could provide. Piles of DVDs and records and the latest issue of Q, some beers--we felt at home. One of the guys is a patron of Thomas� and thus Thomas is welcome to crash there whenever he�s in town. We talked art, and being that Bjorn is a talented drawer and decent painter, he and Thomas had a lot to discuss.

Then it was back to the venue--we watched Vince do his thing--The Artist Formerly Known as Vince & the Nuclear Power Pants (funny when we played the Comet in Seattle the next day there was a band playing that week called the Nuclear Power Pants as well, and our support band The Choke were New York friends of Vince). Vince had broken his elbow when a car cut off his bike and sent him tumbling like Mick Jagger�s dice, over the handlebars, about a month before the show. So, he wasn�t playing guitar, but watching the show I wondered why he should have to? He had a pretty rippin guitarist, and the effect of the two lead singers--Vince in a kind of T-Rex version of drag, and Lauren, in suit and tie and fishnets they bounced off each other vocally and otherwise...goofball songs about drugs and what not. Fun! THey had an actual muppet for a bass player. You don�t see that every day.

During the cranky Scott set, I admit that I went next door to Estelle�s to have a drink with Thomas, and my old friend Penelope and her friends and bandmates. Penelope I�ve known for some time and in that time she�s lived in L.A., Nashville, New York and now Chicago. She has a kind of covers band that does Americana stuff. Her friends were really cool. At one point Thomas, who is pretty into my music, was asking me detailed questions about the nature of what kind of shoelaces I was wearing during the sessions for the last Posies album, and managed to knock over my wine glass, and I did this incredible ninja move, going from seated and leaning forward to hear him above the din of the bar patrons, to standing straight up and off the ground, on the lower rungs of the bar stool, avoiding 100% the torrent of cheap red wine that fell harmlessly on the floor.

Then it was our turn, and we set up and tore into it, like we do. No less than a great show, I know I always say it, but our band is pretty good. I was able to utilize and visit and scream in the upper balcony, during �I Got Tired� ...running around the venue with no mic and doing my Robert Plant thing from every corner, and then running into the dressing room and down the spiral stairs that go to the stage, leaping off them on to the Bassman/Mesa cab combo--which teetered, and buckled but somehow by leaping off and spinning backwards I was able to catch and stabilize them--and picked up the mic to finish the song, the band kicking in to high gear right on cue...I mean, come on...that�s, like. some Cirque du Soleil-level shit.

After the gig we loaded all the stuff into Vince�s van, sent some of us ahead in a cab, and loaded all ours and Vince�s stuff into the house, and lay down for a couple hours� rest.

SEATTLE 1, 10/24

I was up at perhaps 5.45 that morning. Bjorn seemed to have hurt his foot, and was hardly able to walk. Eek. In any case, the arrangement we�d made with the taxi driver who took us from the venue to the airport the previous day was not honored--no cab showed up at the appointed time, and when I called the cabbie (who didn�t speak English so well) he seemed to not be able to hear me. �Message� he said, and hung up. Vince had woken up, and volunteered to drive us and our crap in the Vince van...like, this was at 6.45. Yes, I gave him some money! That�s just too much beyond the call of duty. We got to our flight on time, wheels up at 8.45. It was a long haul to Seattle, for which we were all grateful, so we could sleep.

We landed, and I suddenly realized I was in Seattle, of all places. Woah....we admired the huge Halloween castle facade that American Airlines had erected around the gate we came in thru, complete with a shield depicting a scary-ized version of the AA logo with the eagle looking all frightening.

Right as we claimed the last bag, my pal Brian arrived, and loaded ourselves into his Subaru. Then I remembered--driving in Seattle SUCKS. We basically inched thru gridlock all the way to the exit. We pulled up to his place, dumped our stuff, grabbed his g.f. Meghan and headed on foot to the Red Mill, so I could show off how a world class hamburger could be. It got the Norse thumbs up. As we walked back, and Ralla went into the gas station up the street to get something smokable, a woman, looking not too bad but just thin enough to set off the �meth head� detector in the back of my head approached us and asked if any of us had a pocket knife? Leatherman? Razor blade? Anything sharp?

Back at the house, I settled comfortably into wifi, wireless printing of set lists, and looking thru all the DVDs I�d ordered on Amazon and had shipped to Brian�s house, while Brian and Baard went to Bass Northwest to pick up a vintage Music Man Stingray bass that Baard bought online. Other showered. Seems Bjorn�s foot was OK now.

Eventually, we headed to the rendezvous point, the Jam Box, to meet up with the boys from Red Jacket Mine, who were blowing good will beyond the bro-o-sphere by loaning us *Their Entire Backline* and driving it in their van to West Seattle, for our instore performance at Easy Street Records. Good guys, the RJMs! We helped them load up and I rode with them to Easy St., which is on the main intersection of West Seattle--now ever groovier than I remember it being. It�s jammin� down there now, that strip of California Ave SW. We arrived and started to set up, and it wasn�t long before old friends--from David Belisle (REM�s tour photog) to Michelle Auer (representing for Jon, who was on tour) and her teenage goil Darian, and many more familiar and loved faces. 5pm rolled in and we did our thing; as it turns out, we were on fire. We had a great crowd, and they loved it. Highlight of the 6-song set had to be me climbing up a wall, onto the door frame, over which I was suspended when my parents walked thru it! Not bad. We rocked hard, but also took advantage of the occasion for the tour�s sole performance of �Oslo�. The appearance had the desired effect--we sold a ton of records that afternoon.

Then we headed back up to the Jam Box to help RJM put their stuff back in their space, an act which I managed to duck out of by doing an interview with KXLU radio in L.A.! Clever boy.

SEATTLE 2, 10/24

So, Lincoln from RJM dropped me and his AC30 off at the Comet, and went to drop the van. We were the only rubes naive enough to show up for the load in time, so after a short conference with the sound guy, we went our separate ways--Brian & I went to meet my parents at the Hunt Club for dinner. We had a long and leisurely one, I didn�t even open the menu for the first hour. Still, by the time we were done, we still had a lot of time to kill before the 12.30am stage time. So I parked myself at Tribunali and slowly assembled friends around me. Finally, it was time to investigate the venue, and to our delight we found ourselves right place, right time. The joint was slammed. Cute Lepers had just wrapped, so we set to preparing. Will, the sound guy, asked if we wanted to turn the pool table lights off, and I said no--so the black painted walls and floor were lit with pure white light, and we looked like total rock stars. We played to a packed house of old friends, fans new and old, and the mildly curious, and you know, the Comet is basically the embodiment of our band, it seems. Familial, inviting, and just a little crusty. Many people who know and love me, but had no clue what I�ve been up to with the Cheese Eating Surrender Monkeys, were there and the sound of jawbone connecting with floorboard was happening often enough to sound like someone was making an institutional amount of Jiffy Pop, sufficient to serve the whole �hood. We basically melted the place, flamethrower style. I had kudos from Ron Nine, and more. My son Kenny was there, and emerged after the show to help sell merch. Mission not only accomplished, but chiseled into the granite, monument style. We retreated back to Brian�s to drink expensive shiraz and get something in the vicinity of a decent night�s sleep. Oh, except I sent a very tipsy Bjorn off with Lincoln to help haul the AC30 back into their rehearsal place, we all envisioned that Lincoln would probably end up loading Bjorn into his car!

SAN FRANCISCO, 10/25

Brian dropped us at SeaTac and I managed to get myself bumped to first class, since I�m an Alaska Airlines MVP. Sorry, boys. Unpaid Tour Manager perk. Perhaps the only one! We arrived to SFO and cabbed up to the city. There was a sold out show in the Swedish American Hall above the Cafe du Nord, where our show was happening, and it was early, so when we were dropped by the cab on the street, someone was able to come out of the Hall and unlock Du Nord for us, and then we sat in the Cafe part of the Cafe. I read the Sunday NY Times, and then the guys set out for some exploration of San Fran, which would end up yielding Bjorn an Ipod Touch. Ralla was going to stay behind and play online poker, til I reminded him he was *In San Francisco For the First and Possibly Last Time!!* so he ran after the guys. For me it was neither the first nor likely the last so I chilled, maximum. The guys returned around load in time, and my buddy Chris Xefos arrived with the night�s AC30. The first band of the night, Farewell Typewriter (onstage I congratulated them for participating in Officer McGruff�s �Take A Bite Out of My Rhymes� program) had only a kick and snare, and the middle band, the Spyrals, hadn�t arrived yet, so we bailed on the soundcheck idea. The soundguy, Matt, had to be the most confident guy I have ever encountered--I�d call him cocky if we wasn�t so dang friendly and nice. I knew we�d be fine. Since we had eaten in the club already, we went to a nearby bar and I gathered many friends and family around--my cousin Dan, Chris X., our hosts Heather and Kosta, and so on. We wandered back to the gig and found a loud and reverb-drenched Spryals set, uh, winding down hahaha. I found Scott (Game Theory etc) and Christine Miller, who gave me presents for Aden, and me too (between my mom, Michelle Auer, and the Millers I had enough stuff for Aden, plus my birthday, that it necessitated the purchase of another suitcase in L.A.) and then it was showtime. Yes, we were great. Come on, it�s the D�s we�re talking here! I think the highlight is when our new friend Henry, who was visiting from Detroit, picked me up and put me on his shoulders and carried me around for much of �I Got Tired� and I nearly was decapitated by the ceiling fan...I also swivel-kicked someone�s beer but managed to buy another one between songs for him. I crawled on the floor, I climbed banisters and other things, and had a great time. I questioned why Bay Area citizens are always called �denizens� and then went on a long riff about who �Dennis� might be. This caught the ear of a Swedish audience member who thought I was making some kind of mental eye contact by deftly and subtly referencing the Refused. Er, no. But, yes. I said �that�s what happens when you are tuned into the cosmic membrane�.

After the show we went to Heather and Kosta�s place in San Bruno, conveniently located next to the airport. In my recon mission, I had sussed that one of us would be sleeping on the floor, so, I opted for a hotel that was like 3 blocks away. However, I did come by to sip Chateuneuf and watch a televised Robert Plant concert, the Golden God himself clad in a questionable bowling shirt that seemed to have come from Social D�s rock-in closet. As I made the on-the-fly wise cracks, one D�s member who sampled the local greenery was giggling like a 6-year-old girl.

The next day I cabbed over the airport and checked myself in, United Premier style. However, my bag was too heavy and I had to pay an excess weight charge (hence the $35 suitcase purchase the next day). So, I left the check in machine and was directed to another place. Meanwhile, the smiley guy who told me I had to pay $125 to get my boarding pass TOOK MY BAGGAGE CART AWAY, and handed me the heavy box of LPs that was on it. I was like, fuck off--you have a mileage MVP paying triple digits on top of his fare, basically 3 dollars a minute for the flight, and you take my $4 cart away, and think it�s funny? I would like to say: �fuck you, smiling, pink tie asshole�. He was unimpressed when I complained and said: �I can get you another cart. I have lots of them�. Not quite the point is it...United will get a nice call with my complaints. I have lots of them.

I met up with the guys and we boarded, landed LAX. I gave them all the claim checks and headed to the rental car shuttle pick up area. The thing is, I watched as one, two, three and even four in some cases rental car company shuttles came and went. Nothing from Dollar. I called my travel agent, I called Dollar. Finally, as I was about to cancel my reservation and simply do what other people do in L.A. and carjack someone, the Dollar bus showed up, and took me to a place where I could at last efficiently stand there and wait like a schmuck for 45 minutes. I complained and was given 10% off my next rental...like there would *be* a next time! I�ll go with a company that has more than one fucking shuttle per day, TYVM. But, at least I got to pick my own rig. I chose a dark blue Chrysler minivan and finally headed back to grab my bandmates, and all our crap. I drove them to the home of Tom & Rachel, in the Hollywood Heights. Right behind the Magic Castle, in a a kind of lantern fairyland of winding streets and precariously stacked cozy little cottages. This to me is the real American dream. Like living in Whoville. I�ve known Rachel for years, since she lived in Chicago and cracked me up after a Big Star gig. She�s now hooked up with a delightful chap from Grande Bretagne, Thomas P., and they�ve set up camp in the Dream Factory. They agreed to take on the boys, and again, for reasons of space, I opted for the London Hotel, which happens to be directly behind the Viper Room, where we�d be playing this week. I thought it would be a good base camp. So, I dropped the lads and headed over to my digs. I had brought my GPS from home and it really came in handy, except where it assumed I could turn left from Highland to Franklin, and you that sure not can do.

Once settled there, with all our gear stashed away in storage, I prepared for a visit from Tanya, who has been my masseuse of choice for 8 years now. She was in San Fran, I used to crash at her place, too; now she lives in L.A. and I was glad to have her there on a day off. Amazing. She�s in a band too, with a great name--Hearts of Palm. Perfect for L.A.

Despite the fact that I could have easily gone to bed right then and there, after TJ had gone, I had things to do--namely, meet my band, our hosts, mutual friends, Jody Stephens, and some recently laid off Rhino records staff at Yama Shiro, an enormous Japanese restaurant, in a kind of hunting lodge atop a hill by Rachel and Tom�s place. The place gives way to superb views of the lights of the city, in many directions. Andrew from Rhino presented me with a copy of Big Star�s box set and the repackaged Chris Bell album.

While hardly traditional--sipping Albarino while eating something called a Darth Vader roll--dinner was yummy (incredibly, Bjorn picked up the $600+ bill) and we followed up by heading over to T & R�s for some RNR. Quite a few friends gathered, a nice random assortment of fun peeps. There was a big singalong at the piano--including a rather surprising request by another English gentleman named Jeremy for �You Drew� which I of course honored. The Millionaire from Combustible Edison was among the partygoers. Stuff like that. Being that I had to drive back to the London, I left the actual Londoners and other partygoers, and gave up my seat at the piano...

WEST HOLLYWOOD, 10/27

The London has the perfect bathroom. I got home after the party and had a bath that seriously could have easily accommodated Michael Phelps� warmup routines, Shamu, and a few kayakers, with ample room for me to lay undisturbed. In the morning I actually did my exercises while the shower rained down on me. I paced around the room, noting its favorable size in comparison to where I live Paris. Then I ironed my gear and headed out to pick up the boys, and then head to the rendezvous point somewhere down in generic on-the-way-to-LAX-ville. We were assembling for a photo session with none other than Bootsy Holler, my artistic foil for many years. Bootsy has shoot the covers for all three of my solo albums (not the UK edition of Touched, but the US one), and the Posies� portraits for the last two albums. We had the band Twin Princess together. We lived together, more than once. Bootsy is now married to filmmaker Seth Gordon, living in L.A., and sporting a fine little bowling ball under her Tshirt, that will be a person early next year. We met in a stretch of grass under some electrical pylons, and she shot �polaroids� on partially decayed Fuji instant film. Polaroid the brand doesn�t exist, and Fuji now makes the film with that technology. So, this was like the natto of Polaroid film, it was past its due date so the colors go all weird. Then she used a little half-size 60s Japanese travelers� snapshot camera to do some other stuff. Then we all drove to the roof of a parking garage in Culver City and she shot a few digital things.

After the session, we got in the van and drove to the nearest taqueria we could find--Pancho�s Tacos, approx. 100 yards away. Sharing a parking lot with a mini mart, we pulled up alongside a sign advertising Camel�s new snus for the American market. So, after I showed them the glory of great, cheap, Angeleno Mexican food (I had street tacos of cabeza, lengua and something called buche which looked a lot like chopped up pig ear) they went and bought some of this so called snus--�mellow� flavor turned out to be chocolate. They were mighty disappointed.

So, I dropped Baard & Ralla off at the HHTR house, and then dropped Bjorn off on the Strip--he wanted to walk the hallowed trails where once his boyhood heroes--mssrs Neil, Lee, Mars and Sixx--once trailblazed back in the 80th century B.N. (before Nirvana). I went to the hotel for a short chill--it�s not often I get a (clean) bathroom throne, total isolation, and time all at once. I also filled up Bjorn�s new ipod, charged Baard�s cell phone, and prepared the guest list for the show. Then it was time to go, and I drove straight over to La Cienaga and Santa Monica

The wind had picked up a bit as I drove back to the house to pick up B & R, and traffic had picked, uh, down. So, I was a bit late for the rendezvous at the hotel but it didn�t matter (and I�ll tell you why). Bjorn arrived, and we recalled all the gear from storage and walked around the corner to the Viper Room, only to discover the windy weather had knocked the power out. So, we left--I went back to the hotel, and the boys went for a coffee. The power came back on, but not in time for soundcheck, so we concentrated on dinner and such. We parked ourselves at the London hotel bar---the band, Stephen from the label, Pat Fear from White Flag, Tom & Rachel, and a few L.A. friends of mine, Stephen�s, etc, Kumamoto oysters were slurped, $20 glasses of Chateuneuf blanc were guzzled, and once all the cash was thrown down, I rounded out the bill to the tune of some $150. I had already emailed the set list to the front desk for printing, and we headed to the V-Room. The middle band were finished already, and they were really excited about the show, so they said--tho they were all disappeared by the time we finished, even tho we were using their AC30.

Now, a day off is always deadly. You think of it as recovery time, but it�s basically time to atrophy. Your beat to shit, ragged voice, barely hanging in there state is actually how you are *supposed* to be. So, a day of rest, a massage, some fine meals and company meant that I was in good shape. Uh oh. So, perhaps my voice was a little tired, and in the end for some reason I didn�t crawl on the floor; I think that was the only show where it didn�t happen. But hey, let�s not quibble. It was a great show, and I still walked on tables, broke many a glass, and, evidently, thoroughly disgusted our support band. GOOD. I still �gots� it. We were awesome. We always are.

After the show, we all went back to the London, and i put the gear in the van, helped Stephen FedEx the remaining merch back to himself, mailed the two checks promoters had given me to my acct (although my acct had been at the show, and I had to sign a tax doc afterwards, I still hadn�t been paid yet), bid my bandmates, save for Bjorn, goodbye. Bjorn and I drove in the van to T&R�s, dropping our ultra fan Alison--who, it should be said, attended every one of these shows--at her hotel on the way. I said goodbye to T, R & B, and drove back, alone in the windy Hollywood wee hours. It was glorious. Part of Santa Monica Blvd was completely dark, power co. crews were in the process of restarting it but for the moment, the darkness, the swirling leaves, and the frightening ambient music on KXLU were a great environment for enhancing the feeling that we had just wrapped an amazing, fun, epic tour--in just a week.

I slept for a couple of hours, and was up before 5, showering, packing and re-packing. I checked out, paid cash for the room. I love that. Drove in the darkness to the airport environs, gassed up the van, dropped it at Dollar. Found out there was a big old gash in the right rear fender--I hadn�t seen it til now. Oh well. That�s why I took out the max. insurance. I paid cash and shuttled to LAX. Checked into my flight to JFK and conked out.

In JFK I had to go to another terminal and recheckin, and go thru an agonizingly slow security lane, and got on my Austrian Airways flight to Vienna. Annie Liebowitz, apparently able to secure business class travel even while 24mil in debt, imperiously, studiously pretended not to be aware she was the most famous person (aside from me, of course) on the plane as she punched important-er than-you-type-shit into her Blackberry.

I was seated next to a young fella named Nicola, an Italian-speaking Swiss dancer/singer who does theatre, mostly in Vienna. When we were awake, we actually conversed, and I can tell you, that *never* happens. It was nice, actually. I did have to hold his hand while he nearly crapped himself when we went thru some seriously turbulent turbulence.

SKOPJE, 10/29

We landed in Vienna, and I said bye to Nicola, and then made my way to the little flight to Skopje. I was so jet lagged, like I have rarely been, my eyes were fluttering and I just felt sure I was going to have to check into a hospital. I did finally finish �Inherent Vice� which made me sad--I always hate to get to the end of a great read.

So, I was sound alseep when we landed in Skopje just after midday. I was able to sort of prop up an eyelid during the descent, and saw some forested rolling hills, then...zzz.

We boinked down on the tarmac, and I don�t know if it�s on purpose or not, but we were obliged to taxi along in such a way as to be able to review the Macedonian Air Force--i.e. about a dozen Russian helicopters in various states of readiness or otherwise.

We entered the terminal building, cleared passport control and customs, and I emerged into the sunlight and found Petze, or Pedro or Pyotr. He and I have been in email contact for about a year, working on this show. He�s a great person, and since I couldn�t get a read on his personality via email, I found him to be much more gregarious and funny and informative than I had previously imagined. He did not hold back on his opinions and conclusions about the Macedonian state of affairs. Which is the kind of host you want, of course. I needed a crash course in what the F what up in M.

First up--a bit of misinfo. As we headed to the car, cheers erupted somewhere by the terminal. What�s that? I wondered aloud. A guy told Petze that it was a celebration of the acquittal of an accused war criminal from the 2001 ethnic conflict. Which, of course, it wasn�t. It was just some students traveling together doing a group cheer. The road to town from the airport leads you to some rather unofficial little roadlets that then dump you out on this huge intersection--which had no working signal. So twelve lanes of semis, taxis and you name it all played chicken, all at once. At one point a guy actually got out of his car to clock some other driver�s intransigent ass.

This big road evolves into a kind of highway into the center of town. Until now, I hadn�t known about the 1963 earthquake that completely razed the city, killing thousands of inhabitants. No doubt, what arose in place of the original structures was...weird. Weird and wonderful tho. Check the main post office, an enormous concrete space station, as if to say: �we guarantee your post, anywhere....and we mean....anywhere.� Other structures, bulbous, imposing, arbitrary jump out of their foundations at random intervals. As I said to Pedro: the zoning for Skopje is �Everything, everywhere, anyway you want to cram it in�. You�d see futurist Yugo-architecture next to some seriously Borat�s village shit.

We pulled up to the Ambassador Hotel (Macedonian pronunciation: Amba SAH dor. Like Ambidextrous, but really make that SAh something between Saw and So). A tall place, with a Statue of Liberty replica at its summit, and a couple of other heroic figures perched on the front (no one could tell me who they were supposed to represent) and other birdbath statuary items--lions and such--around. In the stairwell there was Yelstin-size figure who we all agreed was Marshall Tito--except it wasn�t, according to the staff--it was a representation of the hotel�s owner. I might have to call bullshit on that one. My room was cozy, in a kind of crowded way--not that it was small, but there were a lot of empty cupboards, an empty, deplugged fridge (upon which a sign read: �minibar to be reset upon request if you wish it be backfilled please see the list of items to reception� or something like that), and a full desktop computer that wasn�t connected to the internet but did have a bunch of games on it. The shower was just what I needed--unlimited hot water. I got my act together, and rearranged my hastily packed bag. and chilled a bit til Pedro returned to collect me.

Macedonia has quite a few unusual forces affecting its identity, its sense of �self� as a nation. The largest groups within the population are those that are referred to as �Macedonian�--i.e., Orthodox Christians speaking the Macedonian language--and �Albanian�--i.e. Muslims speaking the Albanian language. Tensions between these groups and Serbians to the north led to widespread fighting in the earlier part of the decade, and the creation of Kosovo. Tensions exist still--the Macedonians and the Albanians tend to lead fairly separate lives. In fact, Skopje itself is divided by the Vardar river--and this marks roughly the ethnic division of the city. The old town, i.e. the �Albanian� part, is where we went first, for a long lunch. Lots of little shops and restaurants, and fairly narrow streets, and buildings usually no more than a couple of stories high. Out restaurant was in the Kapan An , which is a typical Turkish construction of where the building is mostly empty space--the interior courtyard takes up most of the space inside the walls. In this case it�s lined with dark word bannisters; the walls themselves are brick. We sat at a table outside, in a booth with well worn cushions on the benches. Rakija was the first course--a finer, slightly aromatic liquor made in a similar fashion as is grappa. Cucumber & tomato salad with yoghurt followed; and then the main courses were a selection of typical things--skinny sausage reminiscent of the merguez we enjoy in France; something called �village meat� which is meat chunks and mushrooms in a brown gravy; and some white beans in spicy matrix of red sauce. Oh, and roasted potato chunks with white (almost like feta but milder) cheese. Needless to say, it was plenty, even when Pedro�s friend came to join us. We were probably eating there for 2 hours. I went easy on the Rakija and supplemented my bloodstream with caffeine about every 15 minutes. The colder air that came when the sun went down was good for making me alert, but I was jetlagging like a son of a b. and there were moments later in the evening where I was falling asleep in mid sentence despite liberal application of macchiatos. In the meantime we left the quiet of the old town, where shops were open but empty, and a few cafes had a few patrons, and occasionally there was someone on the street, and walked over the bridge. On the old town riverbank there were numerous construction projects going on, the most activity by far in that area; but then you walked over the ancient stone bridge (which was reconstructed in modern times--minus a guard niche that fell in the river and was never recovered! Even tho the river is at most a foot deep, and reduces to a trickle in summer. Odd.) and you were �downtown� and the place was buzzing with light and activity. However, downtown was all concrete and square, modern architecture that would have been approved of in the Socialist days. It�s more or less a big mall, the center of town, and this is really popular--a break from the weather, it�s lit up and busy and safe. We stopped in a cafe for Baklava, too many of them, but they were so good...and a curious drink made of fermented wheat--slightly sour, slightly fizzy, slightly sweet.
?I couldn�t understand how the old city hadn�t become hipster central, that there were no disaffected youth out there rallying against consumerism, and choosing the slow pace and cheaper prices on the old city side--we�re talking a 5 minute walk across a historic bridge. And yet, the two cities lived completely parallel, seemingly unconnected lives. As we walked to the car, parked up by a grand mosque sporting a deep crack up and down one wall, a souvenir from the quake, we stopped at a tailor�s shop in the old city. It was like stepping back at least three decades. I had busted off a button on my coat in the airport the previous morning, and repaired it and tightened up another one, and had a look at the rest--for 50 denar, less than a euro--and insisted it was too much.

I mentioned other factors in Macedonia�s development and of course it will be mentioned if you speak to anyone about anything the Greek role in influencing the size and shape of Macedonia�s sovereignity. The argument officially runs that Greece assumed that Macedonia has some designs on reunification with historical, or ancient Macedonia--which would include territory now in Greece, Bulgaria, Albania etc. So, to dampen these tendencies, Greece has insisted, and has been able to get the UN, the US, etc to go along with it--that Macedonia only be called officially by the cumbersome title of �Former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia� so it�s clear we�re talking only about the little ball of land that currently makes up the nation. Macedonians will say that in fact there are no projects, clandestine or overt, to expand the national borders, and that it�s really about a WWII-era land grab that forced many Macedonian families out of Greece, losing their farms and other property, and that this current Greek argument is to squeeze out any attempts by the descendants of the ousted Macedonians to lay claim to compensation--if they did, it would be decried as nationalistic claims to Greek territory--tho it�s really not about getting the land back, at this point. Even the Macedonian flag, a red field with a radiating golden sun, is a compromise replacing the original design that included too many radii, objected to by Greece as implying national unity with former Macedonian lands currently under other flags. Macedonia is trying to get in to the EU and NATO--in fact, Macedonian troops have already gone into �coalition of the willing� type engagements in the middle east. And so Macedonia has adopted a strategy of acquiescing to Greece�s demands, hoping to avoid conflict and be rewarded with the good guy status and membership in the Club. So far, no dice. Macedonians considered their standard of living quite high in the Yugoslavia days, and thus still view Bulgaria as a kind of vast turnip farm, and when they joined the EU and thus Macedonians suddenly needed a visa to go there...well, they saw that as an absurdist form of insult. Macedonians need visas to go just about anywhere.

While I digested all of this info, the dessert, and the soon-to-be-lethal bean concoction, we went to the club and had a look around. I had vetoe�d the soundcheck in favor of a line check right before the show. I met Constantine Odessa (his real name), my support act, who, with a little band he put together, was playing his first solo show. I had a look at the gear I�d be using, and chatted with the soundguy a bit as to what I�m all about. The venue, Club Castro, is wedged underneath the rail/bus station. Trains rumble overhead every ten minutes or so, but it�s not so noticeable when the bar is open and people are yakking away. It�s not a basement--the trains are elevated in this part of town. You catch buses behind the station in a lot, but go up to access the trains. The club is L-shaped, brick, and just the right size. Girls Against Boys and Shellac have played there in the past. I was told that people prefer Turbo folk nights or cover bands, but all agreed it was important to keep original music coming in, even tho it was universally seen as being important to keep fighting the good fight.

After the non-soundcheck, we went to this great little pub that was technically a biker bar, but generally seemed to be a student hangout. I was really jet lagging, falling asleep at every turn, but slurped more coffee and stayed on my feet, chatting with members of High Control the Incubus-loving cover band that was playing after me. Then it was time to head back. The club was TOTALLY dead. I could see the fear on Pedro�s face--this wasn�t the first time his efforts had met with total indifference. I went into a corner and did an interview for the local TV, and Constantine started up his thing, which was rootsy, gentle rock in English. Quite good, actually. He did his bit and by the time he was done, the club had filled up healthily, about 100 people I would guess. And they were really glad to see me even if most had no idea what I was all about. There were some Posies fans there, however, and even the occasional person who was singing my stuff...my voice was still really tired from the D�s shows, lack of sleep, too much travel, my range and fluidity was a little compromised, but I was still able to do the off-the-mic thing, and people loved it. I would guess my show was about an hour and a half, good for the introductory kind of thing. The difficulty of my acoustic show scared off a few chatty types after an hour or so, but the core of about 50 people really into it got closer and closer, and were absolutely into it. I did �Solar Sister� by request. After the show, people just...gushed. They�d never seen a show like it. Pedro�s missus came and introduced herself--I thought that was a great gesture that they did this show on the eve of their son�s first birthday--I knew that he & I shared a birthday 40 years apart. After my set, the cover band set up, and they were pretty loud, so I only watched a little bit, then headed to the hotel, Mrs. Pedro took me in a cab, as a phenom that Pedro had told me about came to pass-they were hassled by inspectors who had the power to assess fines and shut the club down on the spot for the most minor of violations, and they have a way of always finding them. So, he was tied up. Before we left, I asked my escort if we could pick up a bit of burek for my burek-fast. I love burek, the greasy, flaky pastry lined with meat or white sour cheese. Of course, now there are pizza bureks filled with tomato sauce and such, but I consider these total sacrilege. Back at the hotel at about 2, I chatted with the front desk guy a bit then went to bed, but not without taking a call from Dominique--who had stayed up to be the first to wish me a happy birthday! Sometime during my show, I quietly turned 41.

I was so tired, and the hotel so quiet, I couldn�t sleep. My poor timezone shaken brain kept waking up with short nightmares and other signs that I�m really tired. But I got about an hour of quality sleep and at 4 I was up, eating my burek bits and getting ready to go. Pedro, stressed from the inspection that for all I know could have just finished, showed up with the guy who requested �Solar Sister� and took me to the airport, after I checked in we had a coffee (they had beers) and I had the chance to think him again (of course I sang his praises in the show). He disappeared at one point and gave me a birthday present, a little statuette of Skopje�s most famous modern native, Mother Theresa. Very sweet! And then I had to go to catch my 6.20 flight to Zagreb, followed by a flight to Vienna, followed by a flight to Oslo, and then, after a pause, a flight to Alta.

As I write I�m in the car of Ole, having been picked up at Alta and now we�re in some incredibly long tunnel heading to Honningsvag, where I�ll perform tomorrow. I had a call from Aden for my birthday, and of course lots of messages on email and Facebook and my phone. It feels good. It�s nice to have a less momentous birthday.

The moon was at quarters, and the air so clear as to be its own focusing tool--even in the nighttime I could make out subtle details in the landscape as we passed. the sea when we pulled alongside was pure basalt black, the moonrays smashed and scattered on its impenetrably opaque shale.

At one point in the drive, it looked like the hills were giving off faint tracers--I thought I was having a flashback to that lethal pot cookie I ate on 4.20 a couple of years ago in Alaska, but Ole confirmed it was a faint occurence, slightly early in the season, of Aurora Borealis. Then it grew stronger, a greenish arc across the sky, boiling and receding as the winds descended from the cosmos.

And that�s how I feel at this moment--truly radiant, but early in the season. More brilliant things to come.

Love
KS
Honningsvag, NORWAY.

2009-10-18T03:35:00.000-07:00

THE DiSCiPLiNES NORTH AMERiCAN TOUR THiS WEEK (OCT 20-27)

I'm very excited about it....

Just in case you had any doubt, here's a run down.

10.20 midnite MERCURY LOUNGE, NYC (CMJ MUSiC MARATHON) $10 tickets
10.21 11pm TT THE BEAR'S, BOSTON $11 tickets
10.22 10.30pm VELVET UNDERGROUND, TORONTO CA$10 tix @ door.
10.23 11.30pm SUBTERRANEAN, CHiCAGO $10 tickets
10.24 5pm EASY STREET RECORDS, WEST SEATTLE-- FREE!!! ALL AGES!!!
10.24 midnite COMET TAVERN, SEATTLE $8 tix @ door
10.25 10pm CAFE DU NORD, SAN FRANCiSCO $10adv/$12door tickets
10.27 10.30pm ViPER ROOM, W. HOLLYWOOD $10 tickets

Check out this groovy flyer for the ViPER ROOM show

Love
KS
Paris

2009-10-17T17:01:00.000-07:00

I've been back in the studio for the last round of mixing for the Twice album. It's been going really well. Editing at home during the day, then going over to the studio at night to put it all together and tweak the mix that Henry, the engineer of the sessions, has been working on in the meantime. It's pretty all encompassing, plus early in the morning I squeeze in all the work that needs to be done on the upcoming DiSCiPLiNES shows in North America, Benelux etc, the Big Star show in NY next month...all the stuff. So, lots of work, lots of ideas, lots of effort. Results: good so far...very good.

I did see Wayne and Tracy, who have the band Knievel, in Australia--they were my band for my 2000 tour down thattaway--which would be one of the only tours I did for "This Sounds Like Goodbye"--I didn't even tour in Europe, or, actually in the USA. I did one show in Spain, a couple in Seattle. And then a tour of Australia with Knievel, where I learned how to iron. Anyway, W & T and their lovely little boy were in town and we managed to have coffee and do that parent thing where you can't really finish a sentence cuz one of the kids has run off somewhere all of a sudden.

It's been excellent to work from home for part of the day. Lots of time with Aden and Dom, at least they're near. Aden makes occasional comments about what I'm working on.

So, I'm already packed for THE DiSCiPLiNES tour this week...see you:

Tuesday the 20th in New York @ Mercury Lounge
Wed. 21st in Boston @ TT's
Thu. 22nd in Toronto @ Velvet Underground
Fri. 23rd in Chicago @ Subterranean
Sat. 24th in Seattle at 5pm at Easy Street Rec's in W Seattle (FREE ALL AGES) and at midnite at the Comet Tavern
Sun. 25th in San Francisco @ Cafe Du Nord
Tue. 27th in L.A. @ the Viper Room...

it's going to be lots of fun...I know.

Love
KS
Paris