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12/06/2005: ". . . . the final missing diary clump . . . ."

NOVEMBER 4 MADRID TO VALENCIA

I awake early for the plane. I need more sleep.
sms message on my euro cell phone.
“howe, It’s polly. Are you there?”
I peck her back; “I am here… somewhere. “

pestering feelings of mortality and the meaningness of it all out here on the road. There is a madness I keep hoping someone has the antidote for. Or at least a word or two about such endeavors. The very things that drive a man. extremes of his nature. To hunt down the unorthodox paradox. Or at least have breakfast with someone who knows a thing or two about a thing or two and can reveal some such filibuster over bread and cheese.

do we need to hear the urgings of a man that toys with the crumble and then invites it in to have a seat and stay for dinner ?

Ok I am stopping myself now…. I am not even on the right day here in this diary infuriation. Sorry I am speaking from Switzerland, but according to this paragraph I am yet in spain. Ok then.

Joan and I will head out to catch our flight to Valencia.
There we will be met by a man with a van to drive us to the festival in castellon. Archer prewett will be playing it tonight too. just saw him at my Chicago show. And sam prekop too. and Julie doiron. All old friends. My set time is 1:00. folks should be slurred just right by then I suppose. Hoping I find some anti-lag sleep prior to it all.

So that night is a fine night. I am surprised how good lou Barlow is doing a solo set. He is using 2 mics like me. he is also traveling with his wife and new baby. When I take the stage after him I tell his daughter not to worry (she is 9 months old) that I will not do a better set then her dad.

And I think I kept that promise.

I got satiated again with the set before me, like that time in Osaka with nika. So when I got up to play, I did not have that extra need to deliver. I think everyone still thought it was good. Except maybe the ending. At the last moment before going on stage, I realized that my computer had the ability to play a Spanish learning film. So I just attempted to activate it after my last song. Now the rest of the set was neat and succinct and well paced. The last 10 minutes or so got a little messy I thought. The real piano they provided always saves the day though. Anyhow, I attempted to segue into the Spanish lesson. No good. It hesitated somehow. And when it did come on, it came on louder then ac/dc. Massive blaring screaming women speaking polite Spanish very loudly, folks jumped and slumped.

I shot myself in the foot with over application.

I have to eliminate the inner urge for that.

maybe I should hire an editor to sit on stage with me.
A coach. Someone to stop me on occasion.
someone to calculate the odds of demise after such sonic gamble.

The end.

…then Julie doiron came on and saved the day. Another stunning set with a band called herman dune, whom opened up for us a few years ago in Seville but got hopelessly drunk on our liquor prior. Sad then. But great now. Apparently the main drinker fellow is no longer on board.

The night ends very late. 4:30 in the morning. Back to the hotel where me and lou and Julie and joan and mamen and herman dune band [david, nemen, andre and Jerome] all hang out in the abandoned bar area drinking some of our own stash. Mostly just happy to not let the night go.

5:30 when we finally do.

The end again.

- - - - -- -- - -- - - -
NOVEMEBER OTHERLY ….TRAVEL DAY .…NO PLAY DAY



Up at 12 to get going again. Have to make the plane by 4.
Leave the hotel by 1. And I get to the airport early and alone again. So. Plane I ride.

I have the bends too. weird permanent bends I think. Bent.
I believe I have been out of my mind for the last few days.
I hope it’s possible that I am not responsible for my own actions..
Now won’t get chance to say hello to françoise breut, who will be at the festival tonight after I am gone.

So I go. Get dropped off. I watch as the counter woman smiles at me like I know what I am doing. I happened to have bought this plane ticket on the internet when I was having coffee in Tucson at the outdoor café there at the hotel congress. now I am baring witness to its agenda and where it will fling me. I never even heard of this airline. I get a lunch alone. Its great actually. Very very old timey here at the valencia aeroporto. And I get free internet there at the table for some reason.

I board. I fly over france where there is a Tucson tour there called “we got cactus”, as well as riots for some reason. I am not sure why yet. Poor against rich probably.

I land in zurich and it finally feels like November. So I make like I know what I am doing some more and get my eruo-rail train ticket stamped before I get on a train. Very important that little detail. Then you can jump on any train going anywhere at anytime. The ticket is always issued to you with a first class seat too, which helps when touring cause it might fill up otherwise, and first class never does. And there will always be room for all your crap your hauling. But never anyone there you want to meet or talk too.

So I find a train that is direct to Lucerne where I am supposed to play tomorrow night. I get there alright, impressed with how nice the trains are here in Switzerland.
This car is like a long lounge and almost empty. The moods are still shifting hard. Its dark and cold out there.
I listen to ‘SNO ANGEL and it actually comforts me.

Spend some time on board with the lap top fixing up some art details and such for it’s release next spring. And then I get off in Luzerne an hour later. Fall into a taxi and zip to the hotel. The 3 kings. “drei konige”. And it’s a 3 star, but barely. I settle in. Enjoy being alone and entertain my thoughts of madness and flonk.

Then I head across the street for coffee, beer and internet cause its so there. The bartender woman recognizes me from playing here with giant sand whenever I was here before. She is likable and working hard. She says there’s no music in town tonight.

I catch wind of a casino that has poker. I grant myself the opportunity. It’s a Saturday night and I am on my own. But when I get there, there is no poker. I get myself a beer buzz to dare myself not to leave so quickly. I keep losing at the stupid games they muck you with. Hours crumple away. I don’t mind so much, but now I am down way more then I have ever been before, and I feel more bent on hitting a new low. I dive down deep. A plummet.

I also know if you have the stamina to “chase the dragon’s tail” (my own term) then eventually things turn around again, if you are not too damaged to figure it out. So I do. And it does. And then I know something. And I use it. and it works. And I finally win all my money back plus several hundred swiss francs more.

It literally became work. And that’s the only way to get it back if you are ever even going to get it back. It becomes like work.

Now it s almost 4 in the morning, when they close.
I happily exit the swank stank, chortling a bit with the security dudes. I go off walking in the exact opposite direction of where I want to go, thinking I have it under control. Soon I am ambling by a massive dark water with temptations to fall in so no one will ever figure it out. Dark water. Cold too. no fence or anything. Nobody around. Where exactly does the water begin and the earth end. its not certain. I get as close as I can. It felt great. You can feel the power of such a huge body of water when its dark and nobody’s around. Especially without the usual hamper.

Anyway. I get home finally after making some cell phone calls to my bretheren in denmark. Ok then.
Cab I ride. Taxi driver insists on helping pick up a drunk tourist. He is from spain. Me too today.
Home eventually.

And here I set and type. Listening to very old Dylan and then some little new song bits I have been working up on the piano.

Speakers on the road help. Fills the room and mind with possibilities instead of the usual drain of tv.


Ok. Good night. The end already. Its 5:30 in the morning again.

- --- - - - -- -

NOVEMBER 6 LUZERNE, SWITZERLAND


Mostly I sleep.
A lovely thing to have a day like this.
No one expects anything from me.
Can sleep the day away. so I do.

I get up for breakfast and then go back to bed.
That is severe luxury.
I awake about 4.
It is that dramatic gloom out the window.
The sky comes crashing in on the steep hills that are all clotted with castles and old stone homes. It’s the foothills to the alps. It’s the land that invented water.

I amble out to look for a good coffee at this time of day.
Its Sunday. Church bells have been ringing off the hook.
Now things have settled. Its almost dusk. There is a thick feeling of quiet like a blanket mixed with the whisk of tourist bustle to get anywhere other. Families clack and guffaw. Kids twiddle. Moms meander and dads dawdle.

I can not find a cup of coffee.
I have my lap top firmly tucked under my arm like it was a good book that needs reading soon. I am in my usual uniform these days: grey fake straw hat with a short brim. Sport coat of black wool. Glasses.

A woman comes out of a door next to a bar. There is a lot of murmur action inside this bar, but it does not have that inviting feeling for me. It feels foreign. Well, I feel foreign.
But it is the only place with any life around here. Folks seem happy enough inside. But it also seems in direct contrast to the Sundayness of this town.

So a woman comes out of a door beside the bar. She catches my ponder, not knowing what I am looking for, she seems to offer a suggestion with her half lidded bedroom eyes. She motions. I am not sure what she is saying. I think she is asking me if I want to come with her. Can she be a hooker here in switzerland on a Sunday ?

She has a purr about her. She seems sweet, actually, but also seems like she’s from somewhere else too. something does not feel right. She is now going inside the bar, and still asking me something with her smokey eyes and hip sway. I must look like a scientist from a different century. Maybe she is correct in deducing whatever it is she thinks I need. But I think she thinks I am in this proximity because of what she thinks I want.

So with a final toss of her loaded eyes, and a murmur of come on, I answer her with what is foremost on my mind, “coffee ?”

Now she looks confused. Maybe she was just stoned all along. But I walked in that doorway thinking maybe there is coffee in there. Man. It was a scene from a movie I never saw. Not sure what year it was in there either. But something from the swinging 70s I think.

Me standing in the doorway with my ibook.
Glasses. Hat. Coat.

I turned away to walk the streets again.

. . . .

I make it to the club for sound check. The sound check was the longest one I have been a part of. They are serious about their sound here in most of Europe, but this was a bit long for me. No other band playing tonight, so it gives the atmosphere a surreal delight. Very nice piano. Not like the Steinway that was in spain. It is a boston piano that has seen some real action. I can attack it without qualm.

I wonder how many people could possibly show up tonight. My guess is 24. andreas and Cybil is there to greet me and take me to dinner too. and angelica and rainer from germany is also there and it’s a good funny surprise to see them and ziggy too.

Then we go off for dinner. I have not eaten all day.
Dinner sets up the set tonight. Dinner, or lack of, is always the producer of the night’s set. And tonight was a simple satisfying one. Good rich Italian red wine from down the road. pasta made up surprisingly well. Even some brussel sprouts, which of course they don’t call that here. It all is very good and warm and enriching. I remember now also how delightful andreas and cybil were last time. She is somehow rivetingly beautiful in a way you do not see unless you just talk to her for a little while, and then it becomes overwhelming. I remember this now from last time we played here when anders the sound sound man was all over her irregardless of her boyfriend’s proximity. She had that kind of effect. Interesting to see that in a woman who doesn’t know it herself. Kind of great actually. And andreas made up an excellent mix cd for the show tonight, which he gives me afterwrards. It even has some rainer on it. they are one of those few perfect couplings. I tell them to have some kids soon to seal the deal.

The show begins with an Italian wine beer buzz.
It allows a certain abandon, which in turn allows me to find a room when many songs are living, there in the ether all around us. I begin with a symphonic “steadfast”. Soon I will even attempt a new song I have not written yet. It was coming earlier at the hotel room, but now it wants to stick its neck out and breathe. So I let it. seems friendly enough to me. No one there knows its just been born.

The piano is my best friend tonight. Later I will place my electric guitar in there and the over tones are creamy and zen full. I am controlling the guitar feedback and Octavia fuzz while the piano strings toys with certain frequencies that the guitar is happy to deliver.

I love that it works.

I am done eventually, but they want more. They should not really have much more cuz it will diminish the miles of songs before the encore. But I give in after an embarrassing long applause. Thanks folks. I continue.
I make an end.

A very good night. Healing too somehow. Got rid of some devils I think. So then I let the night get long again. Sorry.
Back to the hotel by about 3. it was just me and promoter eugen scheuch (same last name as the guy I learned guitar from back in Pennsylvania) …and the couple left slurping the solitary beer of the evening, rapidly enjoying the tunes on the pa from his great mix cd. I get back to the hotel home. the phone blips: polly. . . there alone in a bar in la and nick cave stuck on the stereo. She sounds like a country song. A waltz I think. A beautiful melody with severe sway.

some messages get pecked until it goes dead. I am beat. I finally allow the drench of sleep to wash over me and float me to the morn.

- -- - - - - - - - - ----- - -- - - - - -- - ----- - - - - - -- ------ -- -
NOVEMBER 7 TRAIN TO MECHILIN, BELGIUM

I am up again too early for my own good.
But its ok. I do not feel the devils of Madrid anymore.
That is when they hopped aboard me, waiting for my lag to creak open the door for them.

I am out the door in 30 minutes, packed and headed for the station. While I am outside getting in the taxi I notice a girl crossing the street whom I think for a second is the bartender from the club I played. But no. just a girl with headphones on and not looking my way. I get in. hey, there is the waitress from the coffee shop across the street, sitting outside beginning her day with a smoke. We wave hey. She sends me the thumbs up for the show. Good.

It will be a full day of train travel. More then 8 hours.
The show will suffer some from it. then I will only get 3 and a half hours sleep again. And the same kind of travel tomorrow to hamburg. Only worse.

The hamburg crumble beckons.

But I still hear from folks who loved the same show some people there hated. That little bit of info is somehow intriguing enough to perk a smirk.


The end.