Two days later – another guy with a ‘nickname’… Lee ‘Scratch’ Perry at the Jazz Cafe.  And again, too tired to enjoy it properly – with my thoughts running distractedly over things like how many people in the crowd looked/acted like their mothers did drugs while pregnant.  At one point, a chap I’d picked earlier as almost certainly a dealer – pushed me aside at the bar – then looked at me, and said “Sorry – I’m a c*$%.”  Without thinking, I immediately responded simply “I know.”  He laughed, and there was no “shankin’”.  Anyway – I describe that mostly to relate how distracted I was at the gig – even though it was good.  I find myself doing that at all gigs now – I’m absorbed for the first couple of songs, then the mind starts wandering.  The wine?  A 21st century attention span?  Old age?  Dementia?  I don’t know.  Although the only video I can find of ‘the Upsetter’ is of terrible quality – it really was quite a good gig.

I had the weekend off – and tried to use it to get back into some kind of routine, do some housekeeping, and catch up on sleep – with one eye on the upcoming ridiculous schedule of gigs and work.  I half-succeeded with pretty much all of that.  Except the sleep – which I nearly accomplished, and then dashed all the good work by staying up until 4am Monday morning – doing nothing but reading and a terrible cycle of “another wee dram before bed”.

On the Tuesday, it was my wee sister’s birthday.  I stayed up on the Monday night in order to give her a call – then realised the time difference is currently actually 13 hours, or 11 hours, or something – so I could have called much earlier than I did.  And when I did – I only got voicemail anyways.  Tuesday night, her birthday in local time – I celebrated the way I know she would have wanted (or maybe not).  By seeing some classic hip-hop.  GZA – in the rather small Islington Academy.  He was rather good – much better than the gig with the rest of the Clan.  Red wine and Wu-Tang – classic.  There’s a series of videos from the event here – 1, 2, 3, & 4 – but they seem to be taken from the mezzanine, and focused on the DJ rather than the rapper.  (For some shimmy shimmy ya action – start of clip 3.  In clip 4, I’m in that crowd somewhere, near the top of the screen – and no, I’m not one of the people bouncing the W symbol.)

I then had a night off (which actually turned into tapas and drinks with workmates) – and then last night was the first night in a schedule I’m really starting to regret.  11 nights in a row of gigs (although last night was not strictly a gig).  And looking at my calendar – that is followed by a 3 day training course, and then another gig.  And during that 11-day marathon – I will be be spending a week on-site at a new client, where my full wits (and patience) will be required.

But to get it out of the way – last night’s not-strictly-a-gig.  The Long Count.  Ummm… not sure how to describe it.  So I’ll plagarise:

Acclaimed rock band The National’s twin brothers Bryce and Aaron Dessner conceived The Long Count in collaboration with video artist Matthew Ritchie as a multimedia concert, which explores the ‘time before time’; the indivisible moment before creation is expressed.
Inspired by the ‘hero twins’ of the Mayan creation myth contained in the Popol Vuh – of which the Long Count calendar is an important part – the show presents a mythical song cycle of subtly interweaving guitars, solemn a capella, layered sound structures and scintillating rock.
The Dessners team up with a 12-strong ensemble featuring members of the Heritage Orchestra, surrounded by an impressive installation designed by Ritchie, and singers/performers Shara Worden (My Brightest Diamond) and Kelley Deal (The Breeders), plus special guest Tunde Adebimpe (TV On The Radio).

Yeah – so it was that.  I didn’t really know what to expect – but I think that the NY times summed it up the best:

The multimedia orchestral-rock song cycle “The Long Count” is theoretically about the prehistory of time, ballgames and twins. Practically, it’s about a semipopular indie-rock band with some contemporary classical-music experience not embarrassing itself in a multimedia commission with an extremely convoluted theme and text. The practical part is what you want to focus on.

Unfortunately, I was so tired that after the initial bemusement wore off, and the wine and very comfy/roomy seats took effect – I actually dozed off a few times.  This despite the fact the entire show was only a little over an hour long.  But it was pretty good.  That NY Times review really does get it right – they “didn’t embarass themselves” – which isn’t gushing praise, but in such a concept – it’s pretty good.  A lot of the crowd left very confused – I think they’d just read “The National” in the description and thought they were going to see some side-project gig.  And then got confronted with all this artsy theatre buuuulllshit (here’s the ‘trailer‘).  Me – quite pleased I went, slightly upset I was unable to appreciate the whole thing – and struggled to follow what (if any?) narrative there was – but I probably should have read up on the subject material beforehand.

First gig of the year – Ani DiFranco at the Union Chapel.  Cool gig, talented lady – did an improvised song with a crowd member playing guitar for her – after somebody requested a song, and she claimed to not be able to play it anymore.  A crowd member reckoned he could, so he did – and it turns out she remembered how to play it fairly well also.  But yeah – cool.  Legitimately improv’ed?  Not sure – the crowd member turned out to be a fairly successful musician himself – Declan Bennett.  She seems fairly genuine, and it didn’t happen the following night – so I’m giving the whole episode the benefit of the doubt.

And then – France.  Caught a train over to France on the 14th, and spent the week there – helping Dom celebrate his 40th.  This was done by learning to ski, then doing actual skiing, interspersed with large amounts of food and drink, and very little sleep.  But now I can ski.  By the end of the week, I was going down red pistes comfortably, and trying stupid things like jumps and off-piste which I really had no right to be trying.  Amazing weather – clear blue skies for the entire week, until the final day which was pretty much constant snowstorm, with zero visibility, and lifts closing all over the place (doing red slopes).  Here’s a video of my new skillz (warning, the music might not be to everybody’s taste, and has naughty words):

And then we came back to London, drinking the bar dry on one of the trains, and discovering the tube between Kings Cross/St Pancras and my place was closed. I eventually crawled into my place at about midnight, drunk and exhausted – and immediately came down with a terrible cold or influenza or something. Bah, London.

Firstly – the one gig I made it to in the last week or so.  Das Racist – some alternative hip-hop.  If you’re open-minded about music, you should definitely check these guys out.  They’ve become popular because of their slightly gimmicky ‘joke-rap’ songs, and accompanying videos – but they are also actually really freakin’ talented, with a fair bit of ambition thrown in.  In fact, their best known song is probably their worse.  So yeah – it was pretty sweet to see them in a tiny venue – XOYO – just around the corner from my place.  Every gig I’ve seen there has had their ‘visuals’ limited to some smoke machine, and usually not too much of that – as the place is just too small.  But these guys had a full on light-show, with the backwall covered in images/videos, and all that.  And yeah – good show, with the crowd being an odd mixture of geeks there for the “joke” rap, homeboys there for the “proper” rap, and me – there for the good music.  Yeah – something like that.

The following night – I had tickets to Thurston Moore at Union Chapel, which I was really rather looking forward to.  I also had my work’s end-of-year dinner/party (known to some as “the Christmas Party”).  I left work in time to avoid the giving of gifts/etc – headed home, and got changed into my “lounge suit”.  I then headed back into town, to the “lounge” where we had drinks and dinner, while everybody enthused over my suit.  I really have to stop dressing so well – I get tired of compliments so easily.  Anyway – I took my tickets to Thurston with me, hoping to slip away at some point.  But – I got caught up in it all – a good dinner, free drinks, etc… and ended up missing the gig.  Instead I got drunk enough to ignore my promise to myself to not bring up the prospect of a payrise with my boss while drunk.  I knew I was going to do it – and had desperately tried to do it during the two previous days while at work – but had failed.  So – as was always destined – I instead did it in the midst of a drunken conversation with one of the company owners – how unprofessional is that?  But, it seemed to go well, as his response was “of course, yeah”.  I now just need to follow up while we’re both sober.  Or maybe – organise more drinks, and have some paperwork handy next time.  Anyway – more drinks were had, I did some breakdancing, drank plenty of wine – and eventually left everybody when the decision was made to go to a casino.  I don’t do casinos.  (The list of illegal stuff I’m fine with is rather long – but gambling… that’s where I have to draw my moral line in the sand.  Go figure.)  I think I got a bicycle rickshaw home.

And woke up the next morning with my first “proper” hangover in quite some time.  And proceeded to half-drunk-half-hungover babble all over this website.  And then crawl off back to bed, and spend the rest of the day alternately stumbling about trying to eat, drink, and sleep.  (And came very very close to whim-purchasing flights back to NZ/Aus for the 25th/31st respectively.  I was actually seriously considering flying out, landing in NZ on the morning of the 25th, spending a couple of days, flying to Melbourne or Sydney on the 31st, having a party, and then flying back to London on the 2nd.  Stupid hangover urge.)

Books – I think I was reading Pigeon English, by Stephen Kelman, at the Das Racist gig, and it has somehow lasted most of the week.  Quite good – even though – or actually because of – it’s rather gimmicky premise.  More qualified, if not better, people than I have called this book “overhyped”.  Perhaps it is – but probably because of this, it was quite welcome in the middle of all the other Man Booker nominees I’ve been reading.  It’s just trying so hard to be “literature” – that it perhaps pushes a little too far, but instead of becoming overly pretentious – actually becomes just bad enough to enjoy while being good.  I realise that makes little to no sense – but I can’t be bothered trying to explain it any further.  Essentially – a story written from the viewpoint of a 11-year old boy, in the middle of immigrating right into the middle of London’s much-publicised knife-crime.  So yeah – the expected attempt at a poignant mixture of wide-eyed innocence – facing normal childhood experiences, along with gangs.  And then just randomly throw in a mystical connection to a pigeon – seemingly just to justify the title.  Odd.

Oh – and I was also supposed to see the Felice Brothers on Tuesday – which was possibly one of my most eagerly anticipated gigs of the month.  But then one of them went and got facial shingles, or so they claim – and that’s been postponed until March.  Which has resulted in rather a quiet month – most welcome.

Anyway – now with that out of the way… last week’s quartet of gigs.  Wednesday night – the Low Anthem.  This was at the Roundhouse, so I was able to make use of my membership, and watch it all civilised-like – sitting at my own little barstool & table – with a candle on the table, drinking red wine, and reading my book during the gaps between acts.  The first act was William Elliott Whitmore – who I think supported some other gig I attended recently?  Dunno – but pretty good.  Very good, in fact, for the first act in a 3-act line-up.  Next up – Simone Felice… and it turns out that yes, he is related to the Felice Brothers (who I’m looking forward to very much) – and used to be a member of the band.  But is now doing his solo thing – and doing it pretty well.  And finally – the headliners – the Low Anthem themselves.  A simple but very good gig, plenty of chit-chat, displays of musical talent by using various and odd instruments, etc.  And a great encore with a Leonard Cohen cover, including a whole heap of crowd interaction.  Oh – and for one of their songs, they ask the crowd to put their cellphones on speaker, and then hold them together with somebody else’s.  Sounds very gimmicky – but it really does produce an odd sound throughout the venue – which they use as the background for a particular song.  Works a lot better than I would have expected.  And – I just found this video – which shows the clearly named “Members Bar” – although I am hidden directly behind the pretty lady for most of the song (I’m pretty sure that’s me revealed for a couple of seconds at around the 2:52 mark).

Thursday night – off to hang out with the students at the University of London Union (ULU) – to see the Dum Dum Girls.  And typical students – disorganised and what-not – the doors didn’t open until over half an hour after the scheduled time.  A fairly short set for the warm-up act Veronica Falls – and then the main show.  The crowd a strange mixture of mostly very very young students, with a scatterring of old gig-goers – who all look just that much sadder when surrounded by so much youth.  And I can only guess at where I stand in that spectrum.  Anyway – the gig… pretty good.  Nice cheerful indie-pop, smiles, quirky sunshine and what-not.  Flowers presented to somebody for some reason – just married?  Baby on the way, or recently had?  I don’t know – wasn’t really listening.  And an acceptable cover of the Smiths.

Friday night – off to the Jazz Cafe, for the unpronouncable Me’shell Ndegeocello.  No support act – as gigs at the Jazz Cafe tend to just be the one act, and then it switches over to “club mode”.  So – I camped out against a wall, reading my book, until Me’shell took the stage.  And I’ve been asked to make more mention of these books I am supposedly reading – and in this case, it was rather apt – as I finished Half Blood Blues – by Esi Edugyan – while waiting.  Half Blood Blues was rather good – but very similar to other Man Booker Prize shortlisted novels this year, in that it took me quite some time to start enjoying it, and very similar “multiple revelations throught changing who you think is in the right/wrong”.  Which isn’t a bad thing – just noting t that three out of the four finalists I’ve read so far have had similar styles/themes.  Anyway – yeah, good.  But you gotta assume that when some experts judged it to be one of the top 6 books written by a Commonwealth citizen in the last year – it’s a safe bet it’ll be alright.  Aptness – it’s about some jazz musicians.  And I was in a jazz bar, about to listen to a musician.  So back to Me’shell Ndegeocello who gained kudos when she early on asked everybody to just leave their phones in their pocket, turned off, or whatever – and just touch each other and enjoy the music.  (So the videos I’ve linked to are from a previous gig, at the same venue).  It’s a shame she hadn’t asked certain people to simply just stop talking so loud also.  Good gig – amazing voice, beautiful music, and a (mostly) very appreciative audience – listening with a reverent hush.  Talented woman.  With a new album!

Saturday.  Spent the afternoon watching the last 3 ‘Arry Potter movies – barely leaving enough time to rush off to the Hammersmith Apollo… for Mark Knopfler (Dire Straits), and Bob Dylan.  Got there bang on time to catch Mark Knopfler come on stage – with my ticket in my pocket, where it should be.  Unfortunately, my pocket wouldn’t open.  My nice new Icebreaker coat – with zip-up pockets – had decided it wouldn’t let me unzip the pocket I had safely stored my ticket in.  I spent ten minutes trying to coax it open, trying to force it open, swearing at it, and probably generally just making things worse.  The inner lining had been caught up in the zipper – and to such an extent, it is now really really stuck.  I eventually managed to curl the ticket into a tube, and slip it out the 1 cm opening the zip allowed.  Rushed in, and got myself a dose of some classic ’80s guitar pop-rock – including a couple of classics.  And then his Bob-ness.  It is apparently a lottery nowadays – good Bob or bad Bob.  I refrained from buying merch until I thought “yeah, this gig is worth it”.  And yeah – it was.  Sure, his voice (never exactly a gem) struggled at points – and excusing him due to his age shouldn’t be allowed when one is paying £65 to listen to him sing.  But – the fact is – he is 80 years old.  And I was impressed at how much he did do on stage, moving around, playing guitar, little mini leg-kicks, etc.  And with the crowd favourites – to be honest the audience was more than happy to sing for him anyway.

Sunday – I had a day of rest.  With a bit of housework, the first session of exercise in a long time, and a couple of movies.  And I’ve got a fairly quiet week, this week.  Gigs tonight and tomorrow – and then nothing for the rest of the week.  Except I need to go and vote at some point.  Although it seems a foregone conclusion that NZ’s own little version of David Cameron will be staying around for another three years.

It all starts on Friday the 4th.  Work drinks, then off to the Garage, to watch some irreverent tongue-in-cheek high-brow indie-punk-rock.  Or something.  Art Brut – who were mingling in the crowd during the opening acts.  The show itself was actually quite good – plenty of crowd banter, usually actually fairly amusing.  For a rock band.  I can only find one video from it – and not their best song – but it at least conveys the energy, some banter, his willingness to get right into the crowd and improvise (a bit too much), and displays the guy’s self-admitted inability to sing.

Then – on the way home – I walked into a door.  Or something to that effect – long story short, I was too tired and drunk to walk away from trouble when I should have – and instead walked away with a bleeding and bruised left eye – and slight concussion, and the sudden realisation that I wasn’t even where I should be – and was completely lost (having gotten off the bus at the wrong station).  Luckily I had enough wits about me to call Ben to talk me through staying awake and out of trouble – until I found a taxi (which I jumped into before he could notice and become alarmed about the large amount of blood coming out of my face) – and got myself home.  So all’s well that end’s well – and I got home, took a photo of my face, washed it off a bit, and went to bed.

Woke up in the morning with a blood-stained sheet, and a spectacular black eye.  Moped about the house for the day – and then headed off to Bibby’s little boat for a Guy Fawkes evening.  It was a nice enough evening, floating on the Thames while drinking wine, watching explosions, etc.  Although I suddenly realised that I was becoming a little unsteady on my feet faster than normal (the whole bang to the head thing I guess) – and that this probably wasn’t a good idea when climbing across boats, etc.  So – went home relatively early like a good boy.

Sunday – the day of rest, which would be very welcome.  Except, of course, I’ve got a gig booked.  So – relaxed most of the day – and then headed into the Borderline for The Antlers.  And there are a few videos for this gig available – which is both bad/embarassing for the guy, but good that I can show you what I mean – when I say the chap got a little carried away.  But overall – some good songs – just the slow hip thrusts could have been toned down a bit.  Or a lot.  And he did seem to take himself and his music a little too seriously – possibly leading to the over-enthusiastic stage movements.

Two nights off!  Yay.  And then Wednesday – when somebody asked me what I was doing that evening, I had to tell them “I’m going to see Girls, at the Electric Ballroom.”  Which doesn’t sound the best.  But that’s exactly what I was doing.  Luckily I have found some videos to prove that it’s not what it sounds like.  (Although – searching for video clips of a band named “Girls” does prove a little difficult (and at work – dangerous)).  Anyway – a good gig, I found a decent spot, drank some red wine (with mini-bottles where the lid is actually a glass – so you twist a plastic wine glass off the top of the bottle to open it and provide you the vessel.  Brilliance), and listened to some twee indie-rock.  As you do.

Thursday was time for another dodgy sounding gig – for I was off to see The Naked And Famous.  My one “Kiwi Gig” this year, I believe – although this band is definitely good enough that I’d be listening to them anyway.  If you haven’t checked them out – do so.  They’re just so… young, and happy, and young.  I took Chook along, and we sat in the Member’s Bar – as I am a Member of the Roundhouse.  And, I hear a lot of you saying, just a Member.  But it was such a civilised way to watch a gig, sitting on our stools, literally within arm’s reach of the actual bar, and overlooking the stage.  Money well spent.  And the gig – good.  Really quite good, I fully enjoyed it – and look forward to seeing these guys just get more and more credit where it’s due.

Friday – a day of work, then headed up to Koko – to watch Turin Brakes playing their classic LP The Optimist – as it’s been 10 years since it was released.  Which distressed me – as I remember fairly well buying that album – and it can’t have been a decade since then.  But yeah – they reckon it has been – so I went along with it for the evening.  They had a fairly gimmicky concept whereby you could order the CD of the actual gig – and pick it up on the way out.  So they recorded the gig, then burned it to CD(s) immediately after – and 10 minutes after the gig, the CDs were available.  I’m all up for gimmicks – and my original CD of the album is back in Rotorua – so I figured it would make a decent souvenir if nothing more.  And yeah – decent gig.  I’d forgotten just how good that album was.  And of course, they did an encore of other songs – and I realised I’d forgotten how many other good songs they have.

And then I thought I’d have the weekend off.  Probably watch the last 3 ‘Arry Potter movies in a row, from the comfort of a steaming hot bath.  Just the normal weekend routine.  And then I discover that Pete is in town for the day – literally – landing at Heathrow at 9am or so – and flying out at 9:30pm to head back to Brisbane.  So – he lands, comes to mine, and we go for a wander around Barbican while waiting for Justin to get in touch.  Barbican itself – fine idea, nice place to just wander about catching up.  But then we stray into the art gallery.  And that was just a mistake.  I don’t know how to describe the fixture which was in place – but we didn’t even go into the main exhibition – we just saw the free bit.  And it was all architecture, and very very “meta-”, possibly even “meta-meta-”, and very self congratulatory, and all just so very very infuriating.  And there were cardboard cut-outs of people making it look like there were extra people looking at things, but they were all blurry and difficult to look at, and they were actually part of the installation, and you couldn’t tell at a glance who was real and who wasn’t, and AARRRGH.  And then the products for sale – the gift-shop as it were.  Just, so much architecture-nerd, little industry in-jokes, and then occasionally just something completely normal which was peripherally related to architects – which just made everything worse.  We both left fuming – and I seriously advise that nobody admits to being an architect in my presence for the immediate future – because I am likely to vent a helluva lot of anger and confusion.  OMA.  If something with a name like ‘OMA’ comes to a town near you – avoid.  The rest of the day was spent grabbing lunch, beers, Justin, beers, football.

And then I discover that young Caitlin has also just arrived in London.  And is having drinks in Richmond on Sunday.  So – no relaxing weekend for me at all.  Sunday – I make my way to Richmond (and who the hell lives in Richmond – it’s practically in Wales) – and commence the drinking red wine, avoiding/declining shots of tequila, “jaegerbombs”, or any other nastiness; all while trying not to feel self-conscious at being twice the age of anybody else.  And that was a good day – caught up with Caitlin, and didn’t seem to flounder too obviously in conversations about Justin Bieber and whatever else the kids are talking about these days.  And was presumably seen as some sort of role model, as by the end of the evening nearly everybody else had switched from their beers to red wine.  And much red wine was had, and then I figured I’d better disappear before I become the drunken old man in the room.

And a new week starts, without having had any rest.  A day at work, and then back to Koko – to watch another ‘veteran’ – previously (and soon to be again) of Pavement – Stephen Malkmus & The Jicks.  And yeah – pretty cool gig.  Stephen was fairly funny, again – for a musician – and there was just the right level/type of crowd banter.  I suspect he might have had something other than alcohol before coming on stage.  Not too many videos available of that gig – as it was only last night – but I figure nobody actually clicks on all these links I spend hours finding anyway.  But here’s one – a ‘Sweet’ cover of Love Is Like Oxygen.  They also did an odd cover of Wild Things to close out the night.

I’ve got tonight off – then a week with only 1 night off.

But back to the present, or past… The last week’s worth started with Wilco at the Roundhouse.  I signed up to become a member, so that I might get access to the Member’s Bar for the evening (this was the third night in a row – and I was keen to just sit down and listen to the gig).  But – alas, no email confirmation or anything – so I paid the money for the membership, without getting any benefit (yet).  So – headed to the venue, and got there nice and early to listen to the support act – some nice inoffensive singer-songwriter fare by a chap named Jonathan Wilson.  I found a spot against the back wall, with enough light to read by – and settled in for the evening.  The venue is not bad – and the stage for Wilco was pretty cool.  Dozens of lampshades hanging from the ceiling, with lights in them that switched on/off in patterns along with the music.  Simple, yet effective.  Signs at the door saying that cameras/etc were banned – which I smiled to see, both because of my dislike of people holding up brightly lit LCD screens of cameras/phones in front of me during gigs – and because I realised that it would be impossible/unlikely to be enforced.  And sure enough – yeah, plenty of youtube links of the gigs.  (But looking them up, I discover that the following night – Nick Lowe joined them for a song during the encore.  Which I missed out on.  Damn.  But – I do have tickets to Nick Lowe next year – so, yeah.)  But yeah – my gig was good, although I was too tired to really enjoy it properly.  A nice mixture of old and new songs, good stage set-up, and Jeff Tweedy even apologised for his gig back in 1997 (although I suspect that this was heavily tinted with irony).

After that – I had the day off.   A nice leisurely Saturday – which I used to do enough housekeeping stuff to feel virtuous, and then spent 4 hours in the bath – eating dinner, watching TV/movies, reading book, drinking wine.  The bath is the new couch.

Sunday – a big one.  PJ Harvey at Royal Albert Hall.  First half of the show was stuff from the new album, Let England Shake.  Which is a very very good album – a concept album about war, but packed full of beautiful music.  And PJ wearing her crazy black outfit – with use of the lighting system to good effect – at times only lighting her head, providing the effect of a floating singing pretty wee head full-o-genius.  And then after an hour or so – she brought out a range of older stuff.  All good.  Crazy good.

In fact – so good, I went the next night also – this time sitting in the Grand Tier.  And again – yeah, good.  Very very good.

And then it was Tuesday – with another great venue – the Union Chapel.  This time, to see Timber Timbre – which I can only describe as folk music which sounds like it belongs in a David Lynch film.  Once again – being the 3rd gig in a hat-trick of gigs – I was too tired to really enjoy it.  But – I turned up early, took a book, and enjoyed the opening act – a band by the name of Evening Hymns, playing in a chapel, who are not religious.  And they were nice and pleasant to listen to, while reading.  And then Timber Timbre – as per above, just really creepy folk.  And obviously aware of that – as the latest album was titled Creep On Creepin On.  So – good gig, but just too tired to appreciate it properly.  Weird voice, and if you want to get an idea of what I mean by “creepy” – check out some of their videos.

And then Wednesday.  Yay – no gigs.  But, alas, work drinks.  First – drinks at the client I was at, leaving drinks for some of the other contractors/consultants being booted out of there.  And then rushing off to a ten-pin bowling alley where my actual company was holding an evening.  Where I found everybody finishing off pizzas.  And then some bowling – after most people had spent the last hour or two eating pizza, I had spent the last two hours drinking wine.  I initially tried to avoid being made a member of a team, but when I failed – I fishtailed spectacularly, and sneakily ended up playing for two different teams.  Sharing around my overly flamboyant bowling style – like a good samaritan.  Still didn’t end up on the winning team.  And then found the pool table, where I challenged the current holder.  And somehow, very early on, we took a strong dislike to each other.  He was the kind of guy, with his retinue, who obviously spend every evening at the bowling alley, playing pool, thinking they are the Fonz.  And loving the whole tacky coca-cola americana side of it.  In short – loving everything I despise.  Whereas I was taking the piss, once again show-boating – slightly intoxicated (after having had another bottle of wine while bowling) – and making some ridiculous trick shots.  When I heard one of his mates ask another “Where the hell did this guy come from?” – I figured my job was done.  But I continued to play, but without full commitment – and the game was rather epic.  Eventually we had this guy with his dozen little greaseball friends cheering him on – and my company had found me and were cheering me on shamelessly.  All in all, rather bizarre.  But eventually I lost – when the ball refused to travel just that extra 1cm which would have allowed me to win.  Stupid ball.  But I left with my boss clapping me on the back and assuring me I’d won the moral victory anyways.  Which I’m not entirely sure of, but sure – I’ll take that.

Thursday I had a night off – so it was dinner, TV & movies in the bath again.  And then today, forgetting how I struggle with three gigs in a row – I’ve lined up a 9 day period with a total of 7 gigs.  Including one run of 4 gigs.  I figure that 4th gig, I’ll be sleeping through.  Sorry Bob.

It started with Band of Skulls – some straight-talking no-nonsense garage rock.  In a venue which is more commonly used as a gay nightclub.  So yeah – walking into an underground cavern, with posters advertising all sorts of half-naked men oiled up, and the X-Factor rejects for some reason – to watch some strut-rock was kind of odd.  And then standing in a mob trying to get to the bar – with people complaining about service, and trying to push in front of each other like some crazed junkies, was great.  An annoying woman next to me constantly talking to me, assuring me that she’d make sure I was served straight after her (despite joining the mob after me) – and then haranguing the barman (while I tried as hard as I could to distance myself from her).  Ahhh – my faith in humanity, if not completely lost a long time ago, died a little bit that night.  Anyway – the gig.  Firstly I thought the sound was crap – but then I walked out from under the mezzanine, into the main area – and everything sounded much much better.  The band wasn’t particularly charismatic or anything – they just did the job.  Stand there, play some songs, and make some clumsy efforts at showmanship.

And soon thereafter, the weekend.  Which consisted of getting up very early on Saturday morning – walking to Kings Cross/St Pancras, and catching a train over to France.  For if I can’t be in New Zealand for a NZ-vs-France Rugby World Cup Final – where better than in France?  Got into Lille at about midday – perfect for a leisurely stroll into town, find my hotel to check-in and drop off my very small daypack, and then a wander around town.  Had some mussels marmite – and soon discovered that “marmite” seems to refer to the pot, and that I wasn’t actually getting mussels cooked in malty tar.  Wandered about some more – researching likely spots to watch the rugby the following morning, sightseeing, and shopping.    I discovered a fashion label named “Eden Park” – complete with NZ flag, a rugby ball motif, and the number 10 emblazoned on most items.  I was tempted to buy the shoes (the first items I saw) – but they were bad shoes.  Eventually, when I discovered what seemed like the French Harrods – I discovered the whole Eden Park range – and bought some gloves.  Refrained from the jeans, with their trademark back pocket detailing taking the form of half an oval – remiscent of a rugby ball perhaps.  Crazy frenchies.  Did my normal “wander around for an hour unable to decide on a restaurant” – before finally selecting an expensive seafood joint, and ordered the “little of everything the chef wants to give you” option, and a bottle of red wine – just to show them I can be unconventional too.

The next morning – I awoke, and ignored all my research of the previous day – instead walking for a while, into previously unexplored area – searching for “the bar district”.  Which I quickly found, like a messenger pigeon returning home.  And then, walking past several big showy bars – I spotted a television screen through a small grimy window, of a small grimy bar.  Sold.  I entered a small dark and dingy room, with a handful of barstaff looking at me in surprise, and one or two obvious ‘locals’.  I took a pew at the bar, had a coffee, and waited for the game to start.  One barmaid loved the All Blacks shirt – and decided to support the All Blacks then and there.  Unfortunately, she seemed to only be there to set up for the day, and then left – leaving me alone in a slowly growing crowd of French.  By the time the game started, the pub had laid out a free breakfast (french bread, coarse pate, brie, ham, etc – not bad fare), and the pub was full of Les Bleus supporters, with quite the festive atmosphere.  I got a few curious glances, but nothing more.  And I think any New Zealander knows how nervous I was at that moment – I was downing pints of beer at a furious rate, unable to help myself.  The haka, the French counter to it (which I loved, and brought massive cheers from the locals) – and then the game itself.  Well – we all know how that went.  The head in hands when Cruden fell on the ground.  A couple of stifled cheers from some of the less well-mannered Frenchies came with that, but then the majority of them applauded in the right spirit when he left the field.  Overall, it was quite a good crowd – much like most crowds, generally a good bunch, with a couple of dicks who do things like cheering an injury, or booing when an opponent is lining up a kick.  Half-time, and I sensed that mood of the crowd had changed from “let’s go watch the All Blacks win, festival-type atmosphere” – to, “hell, we’ve got a chance to win this, and win the World Cup”.  And of course, my own feeling mirroring that, going from “yeah, let’s watch us win while in France, that’ll be a laugh” – to, “Oh no, not again, not again, no no no”.  And the last ten minutes – with everybody white-knuckled, just willing somebody to drop the ball, or hold onto the ball, or anything, just don’t lose this bloody thing.  The only way I can find to describe that whole hour – from the start of the 2nd half through to 20 minutes after the match – is through cliches.  Relief.  Monkey off the back.  They may be cliches, but they are just so apt.  Or to point you to a forum on The Silver Fern – which, along with the comments afterwards, I read yesterday – with something approaching a tear in the eye.  And then I watched a video which a comment pointed to – and yeah, that tear became fully fledged.  I don’t think anybody but a New Zealander will understand quite I mean – or why “just a game” could mean so much. More cliches are needed really – rugby’s embedded in the country’s psyche, it’s our national obsession, etc etc.  I’d always thought of them as empty meaningless cliches, too simplistic to really be true.  But, even though it’s depressing to admit, they’re true.  But that’s not as important as it used to be.  Because we did it – we knocked the bugger off.  We can watch the All Blacks again, with the attitude of it being a pleasurable distraction, not with a desperate need to win a trophy.  And soon, we can look forward to 2015, when we become the first team to defend the championship, the first team to win it 3 times, the true Champions.  Or not – we can lose, and we’ll shrug, without that devastating heartbreak of 2003 & 2007.  Maybe.  And I think the average New Zealander will be a nicer person now, without all that angst.  The only dark lining to this silver cup, is that the country is almost certain to be governed by the actual eye-gougers, the real dirty players, the actual Bleus Terribles with aspirations for nuclear power in New Zealand waters, for another three years.

Anyway – that was a lot of words to describe a game of rugby, coming from somebody who has traditionally shunned such things.  So onwards, with only a small (well, not really so small) portion of myself wallowing in the glory of 4.5 kilograms of gilded silver.  I eventually left the pub, once I felt comfortable that I could walk without falling to my knees with relief.  Walked back to the main plaza of Lille – taking congratulations from a couple of random passersby.  And sat in the sun, my back to the central fountain, reading a book.  Of course – I had partaken in quite a few pints during the game – and when I rejoined that book a couple of days later, I discovered that I had little to no memory of the majority of it.  But  I read my book, Silver Fern proudly displayed on my chests, sneaking into McDonalds to use the toilets every 20 minutes, daring somebody to even try and burst my bubble.  Nobody did.  I eventually made my way to a restaurant for some more mussels, a couple of leisurely wines – and decided it was time to make my way to the train station.  I was kind of right, but very nearly wrong.  As in, I got to the station, but they told me I was too late.  Until a nice man spotted the All Blacks shirt – and told me to follow him.  He then essentially led me through back passages, forced the customs guy to stamp my passport without filling out the necessary documentation, and led me straight onto the train.  Sacre bleu – how gracious can somebody be in defeat?  So – many many thanks to France, for making my visit as good as it could be, for really turning up to the final, for being – well – French, and for eventually letting us win.  And don’t listen to the trash-talking cheap media – we all know they’re scum.

And then, sadly, I was back in Ingerlund – my head still spinning from the mornings events, and the beers/wine.  Got a little lost finding my way home – but got there in enough time to drop my stuff off, send some drunken text messages trying to get people to join me at a gig that night – but eventually made my way to north London all alone.  To watch Michael Franti & Spearhead.  This was at Koko, which is only surpassed by Royal Albert Hall as being the most awesome venue.  And of course, I can’t watch a gig without some red wine – so I slowly became even more intoxicated, making my memory of the gig rather hazy.  But from what I do remember – it was fairly good.  Michael Franti was barefoot, and walked into the crowd on multiple occasions, and maybe even invited the crowd onto the stage for the last song?  Or maybe my brain made that up in a desperate attempt to please.  I do remember him giving some good solid hippie speeches, and my drunken brain coming to the horrible realisation that there was no way good old fashioned hippies, and the current protests – would ever really change anything, and that what was actually needed was a worldwide catastrophe – natural, man-made, or even just social – so that society could be rebuilt from the ground-up.  And even then, I’m sure that human (animal) nature would eventually result in the same self-centred society we have now.  (Read the previous with emphasis on the self-pity and hypocrisy).  Oh – and after checking youtube videos – there were also giant yellow balls.

Monday morning – I went to work.  Apparently – because I haven’t been fired or reprimanded.  But to be honest – my head was still in quite the daze, and I have little memory of Monday at all.  But I had two days to recover, before the glut of gigs started again.  Wednesday – it was a group of scots named Sons And Daughters.  A gig which was originally scheduled for Heaven (the same venue as Band of Skulls) – but was moved to Dingwalls, where we saw Don McGlashan last year (or year before?).  I suspect this was due to poor ticket sales – as Dingwalls is much much smaller – and even then, it was a very sparse crowd.  But it was a good set, nice songs – played with just enough crowd banter, etc.  Terrible bar service – really really terrible.  And it reminded me that whenever I head to Camden, I think I would quite like to move there.  Until I spend half an hour there, surrounded by the terribly pretentious twats, and realise that no – nice to visit, wouldn’t live there.

The following night – the only band (to my knowledge) named after MacGyver’s employers – the Phoenix Foundation.  Again – a rather sparse crowd – which I thought strange.  Kiwis usually love to flock out in droves to see any homegrown talent – and these guys are also doing rather well in their own right as an international act.  But yeah – very limited crowd – which allowed Justin and myself to get much closer to the stage than our grumpy old man “bloody kids everywhere” mentality usually allows.  I was already rather drinky after work drinks – and then the barmaid seemed to dislike how much wine a standard “large” pour actually was – so insisted on essentially doubling it – serving me red wine in pint glasses, nearly full.  This was at the Garage – so if anybody is heading there, look for the short fairly pretty barmaid, and order a wine.  In fact – I believe I have a gig scheduled for there next week.  Sweet.  Back to the music – yeah, really good.  If you haven’t checked out the latest album – Buffalo – you should do.  It is really good, an excellent maturation of these guys who have been “gestating” (a word I picked up from somebody else’s review of them) back in New Zealand for some time.

And that has been my week.  With more of the same (minus the overnight jaunt to France) scheduled for this week.  And next week.  And the next.  And the next.  Oh, what a life.

(edit: I realise some of the above got a little over-emotional, and particularly over-political.  Maybe one day I’ll give a full accounting of my political views.  I hate people who say “right-wing are scum”, “hippies are stupid”, etc – without any reason to backup that view.  That is just social-attitudal racism.  So maybe, one day when I’m bored, I’ll attempt to justify my views.  I still feel guilty after telling certain members of my family “If this country votes in John Key, I will leave – and not come back until New Zealand wakes it’s fucking ideas up”… and then realising that every single one of them was going to vote National.  Yeah – um, sorry for that.)

Okay – “regularly attend” is a bit of an exaggeration, but there has been a fair bit of juxtaposition over the last couple of weeks.  Although I’ve only been to the Royal Albert Hall once – that wasn’t enough so I did just today book two more evenings there, and have vague plans to attend some kind of classical music thing there in April or so.  And I have been to the Walkabout twice over the last month, I think – which was more than enough.

Since last time – I saw Snoop Doggy Dogg.  That was… , well, it was Snoop – live.  I went to the O2, had dinner at a french restaurant while waiting for the gig to start – and seriously thought that Snoop was in the restaurant as well.  But eventually I realised I was just being a racist – “all braided-hair tall lanky cool-as-can-be african americans look the same to me”.  But anyway, had myself some nice moules mariniere and wine, before entering the Arena.  Tried to buy myself some Snoop ‘merch’ – but ended up with a ladies t-shirt.  So ladies – if you wear a size “L” – and want a Snoop ‘skinny whitey’ – let me know.  I then discovered that the O2 serve full sized bottles of wine, even if they are plastic.  So got myself some red red wine to go with my gangsta rap, and proceeded to sip on that, while reading my ebook.  Then some drunk, and I suspect really rather drugged, couple came up and molested me.  Somehow at the end of that, I lost a rather large glass of wine – which gave me justification to buy another bottle.  And then Snoop D-O-double-G came on.  I had a pretty sweet seat – but of course as soon as the Doggfather came on stage, everybody stood up – so I had to as well.  Although I did retake my seat on a few occasions, usually to have a bit of a relax while he was playing one of his many tracks which were preceded with “this one is for the ladies”.  But yeah, overall – a pretty sweet gig, exactly what I expected/hoped for.  Snoop being Snoop, doing some classic hits, and a couple of covers.

And that brilliantly ridiculous night set the tone for the next week.  The next morning – I woke up at about 5am (so a total of 4 or 5 hours sleep since downing a couple of bottles of wine) – to head to the pub, to watch rugby.  I managed to watch both quarter-finals on that morning, although my memories of the actual games are a little blurry.  At one point, the barman did suggest I have a coffee or something instead of another beer.  And told me I wasn’t allowed to sleep there (I was just trying to get 10 minutes of rest between games).  But eventually – both games over, and I got in a taxi to head to work.  Yep – there was some kind of super-emergency brewing, with the CIO taking a personal interest, and the Vice-President of Operations in the office – and a guy who was brought in for the day because “he’s the guy who writes books on this stuff” – and me, after a night of Snoop, very little sleep, and a morning of rugby & beer.  But eventually I was more useful than the specialist brought in, which unfortunately meant he left at about 3pm, while I was stuck in the office until 8pm.  And eventually left, very very tired.  And as yet, unpaid for the day.

But I struggled to get a little sleep that night – before getting up the following morning at 5am, to again go watch some rugby.  This time though – heading to watch it with Dom in his living room, all civilised like.  But where does one get a taxi from at 5am?  Well – if you’re me – then you live around the corner from one of the most famous nightclubs – Fabric – so I figured that at 5am on Sunday morning, there is bound to be taxis there.  And yes – but also many drunk/? people – so I walked past, feeling unable to join any queue/group of such people.  And then down the road – a voice called out to me “taxi!?”  “Yes”, I thought – “taxi” is what I need, but “taxi” is not what you are.  For in a small private car, a dodgy guy was calling out to me.  But I figured, yeah – sure.  I got in, and quickly but subtly made it known that I was not actually a half-awake uncoordinated drunk/? idiot on his way home.  Although I was actually a half-awake uncoordinated blurry mess for reasons solely relating to waking up 5 minutes ago – I managed to insinuate that I was not an easy mark.  But it all turned out alright – the guy drove me to Dom’s, even put on the rugby game when it started, and we had a chit-chat regarding that – and he seemed alright.  So yeah – I fully recommend getting into an unlicensed-taxi/strangers-car in the wee hours of the morning.  And leading on, after that potentially disastrous situation dissipated, the two rugby games were also successfully negotiated – although again, the details are all a bit blurry.  I’m really rather happy that the semis & final are at much more civilised times.

Sunday morning out of the way, I headed home – had a nice nap, and then headed off to Hackney for some live music – Iron & Wine doing an acoustic gig.  Luckily – some very nice quiet acoustic folk.  In fact – for about half the gig, I stood at the back, next to the bar – for easy access to the wine, and enough light to read by.  And the other half – took my seat, and watched the nice man with the beard (which seems to accentuate rather than distract from his forehead” play his guitar and sing his nice songs.  All terribly civilised – in fact, too civilised for the nice man, who continuously complained about everybody being too quiet and polite.

And then it was Monday – which would normally be a welcome rest.  And it nearly was, except my current client had started to go nuts, trying to get me to do as much as possible before they kicked me out the door.  And then that night – I was to see Iron & Wine again – this time the “full-band” performance.  Which he had promised to be a heap louder and more raucous.  Which I was curious about – because I don’t think having additional supporting musicians, and electric instruments, are going to transform quiet folk songs into stadium rock.  And sure enough… the full-band performance was still good, but kinda bizarre – with a lightshow, and Sam himself seeming to think he was playing some kind of loud rock show – while playing all these slow quiet (but nice) songs.  All in all – I probably could have skipped it, after seeing the acoustic one.

And then, Tuesday.  Another day of struggling through work, and then my first ever time at Royal Albert Hall – to see Spiritualized.  Which I wasn’t sure about – not having listened to the music for years.  But I think I grabbed the tickets just to get to see Royal Albert Hall.  And yeah – not disappointed.  Not the best seats for watching the show – right up the top – but good for just getting an overall view of the hall itself.  And the gig – started off slow – good enough that I wasn’t disappointed – and initially even quite impressed, but then not much else.  Jason ‘Spaceman’ sitting on a stool, playing the songs – with  a backing band and a full chorus or two supporting him – and some quite good lighting effects and what-not.  All quite good – but it become slightly ho-hum through the middle, with quite a few slow songs (I think he played the entirety of his new album?).  And then the encore – wow.  Pretty sweet.  Just song after song of good music, a great show, and just an incredible atmosphere.

After Tuesday, comes Wednesday.  Wednesday was a nice relaxing day of work, fencing, gig.  Work included (from memory it was this day) – a vendor coming in to do an installation, the day after having been accidentally forwarded an email (by my project manager) in which I referred to this guy having “wound me up”.  So yeah – that was a nice delicate situation.  Then fencing – where I had to protect myself from being stabbed by an epee.  And then quickly rushed home, and off to the local little gig venue to watch We Were Promised Jetpacks.  Who despite their terrible name, aren’t actually too bad.  They are one of the current glut of good indie-rock bands pouring out of Scotland.  The lead singer looks like a chubby petulant child – with a mouth that looks like you could drive a bus right into it when he yells.  By this time, I just stood at the back, watching all the pretty young things in their “twee” clothes with disdain.  But yeah – good gig.  I suspect the lead singer really is a petulant child – and I suspect he is going to get chubbier – with people raining critical acclaim upon him before he’s ready, and generally just turning him into a dick.  But decent gig anyway.

And that was the last gig for a while – which was actually quite the relief.  Until I remembered work drinks on the following night – which were substantial.  And then rugby on both Saturday & Sunday mornings.  But that all went off without too many hitches.

And now it’s this week – and a whole new exhausting chain of events has started – but that can wait until later.

But to warm up for all this – there was Black Joe Lewis & the Honeybears.  I can’t remember how I discovered these guys – but it is amazing music.  I ended up taking a workmate to the gig – and normally I feel a whole heap of trepidation taking somebody along to a gig, when they haven’t heard of the band.  But with this – I had no fear, for I’m pretty sure it would be impossible for anybody not to find this music infectious, happy, and just as cool as all shit.  And I was right – she loved it.  It was a relatively small gig, at the Jazz Cafe – which I hadn’t been to before.  And now I really want to get a restaurant table for a gig there, that would be sweet.  Anyway – the gig.  These guys still aren’t as well-known as they will/should be – so can’t find any actual video footage, but I reckon you can tell just from the music what it would have been like.  Do it – listen to them.  If they aren’t being thrashed on Triple J already, they soon will be – and are a certainty to be in the top 100.  The first album - Tell ‘em What Your Name Is, a must-have.  The second – Scandalous - is quickly growing on me too – especially the title track.

So yeah – overall, an excellent gig, with excellent music – and has got me all excited for the remainder of the year.  And in between all those gigs, I’ve got to win the fencing tournament, get my motorbike licence, and start a new job if my boss can find something for me to do (current client is kicking out all contractors – finally figured out they were going broke by paying dozens and dozens of project managers, etc – so have fishtailed, and just cancelled all projects, contracts, all travel, etc.  Next year, they will try to start everything up again – and maybe realise that it’s cost them more to restart everything, then if they’d just continued – but just getting rid of the tonnes of dead-wood).

I’m currently trying to write the documentation to support the work I did the other week.  And I hate writing documentation.  Even writing the kind of document which I would want to receive (ie: a list of specific stuff.  This was set to that.  This: 1.  This: 23.  This: 100.  Reading it: Perfect – all I need to know on a single page.  But writing it: what order do I put it in?  What’s the most logical tree structure?  Aaaarrgh!)  Sorry – mind is frazzled from trying to write my most hated of documentation – long wordy descriptions of what should be short one-liners – and with screenshots.  Oh – now you’ve got me started on screenshots.  I view screenshots as the vice of the lazy documenter, and the crutch of the incompetent reader.  Unfortunately – I’ve been specifically requested to include screenshots.  Hence my presumably imcomprehensible rambling about this shit that you certainly don’t care about.

Anyway – all this started with my trip to Madrid last time.  And then two weeks ago – another trip.  This time – a ridiculously early train to Paris.  Straight to the office, work until late.  Then to the hotel.  And my room has a balcony (ish) with a view of the Arc de Triomphe.  (And really, no offence, but where did the French borrow the nerve to build a monument to Triumph?)  But anyway – a rather long day – and that pretty much just set the scene.  Essentially a week of spending 16 hours a day with work colleagues – who aren’t even my own work colleagues, and for whom english is not their first language.  Which would normally be all fine – but with me having very little sleep already – it was just that slightly too tiring to cope with for an entire week.  Anyway – enough whinging.  First day ended with some bieres and what-not.  And the next few days – long days in a small office in suburban Paris – miles away from anywhere – then back into central Paris to drop off bags, and then head to random places for dinner.  Who has a few days in Paris – so decides to travel all the way across town to a burger restaurant?  But I managed to escape eating a burger – and had steak tartare instead.  All good.  And crepes.  And I saw the Eiffel Tower, and Notre Dame, and things like that.  I would nearly cross Paris off The List – except I was too tired to enjoy any of it – and I didn’t see the Louvre.

Oh – and I managed to watch some of the opening rugby matches – streaming over internet.  A lot of my screenshots (grumble grumble whinge whinge) – are great – each showing two monitors, one full of nerd-action, the other with a snapshot of the morning’s rugby.  And the other light-hearted aspect which will hopefully counter-balance the above crazy ramblings – was the exchange of language between myself and my spanish workmates.  I taught them the word “cleavage” – (by special request – with meaning conveyed with a lot of hand gestures and imitation) – while they attempted to teach me – well, some terrible terrible phrases.  Which I was too tired to remember – sadly.  I remember what they meant – and I just don’t know what to think about a culture which would say things like that.

But finally – it was Monday – with a lovely 6am flight to Madrid.  Where I headed to my hotel, thinking I would just be able to leave my suitcase there, and head to the office – and check-in later.  But no – they let me check in at 9am or so – which allowed me to have a shower and head to the office.  Which shouldn’t have brought me so much joy – but I’m pretty sure I would have fallen asleep at the desk otherwise.  But yes – two more days in Madrid – this time out in the suburbs – and then finally back to London.  On a 5am flight – landing at London City airport – just in time for a taxi straight to my ‘usual’ client – and get in at 10am, in order to help a vendor who’s come in especially for the first big piece of work on my current project.  And yeah – I wasn’t particularly “on the ball” that day.

But that’s what you get when you’re some kind of jet-setting business traveller like myself, I guess.

Oh – and did I mention that immediately after work on my day of return – I then headed off to my first fencing lesson?  Luckily we didn’t get given any solid time with epees, foils, sabres, or the such on that night.  But I made up for it the next week – when I knew that we would be handed our first swords – by having a few wines beforehand.  This behaviour was correctly summed up with the comment “You’re a retard”.  It wasn’t my fault – there were work drinks to welcome/farewell somebody visiting from India.  Who doesn’t drink.

Hmm?  Yes – I’m attending fencing lessons.  En guarde!