Here I am in Seoul Airport Hub Lounge (best 21 bucks I ever spent, btw). Food, booze, internets and comfy couches all provided. Why haven't I thought of this before?? Usually I spend most of my stopover paying exorbitant prices for terrible beer or squished into a smoking pen with others prone to the tobacco insult.
Got me some fancy Cognac and Korean sleeping tablets to boot. Should be a fine last leg home.
Spent the last week in London, chillin at my sister's sweet pad in Bermondsey and playing the last of the Texas Tea shows for this European tour. The UK shows went well, with the help of family, friends, aussie ex-pat TT fans and some random wayward Spaniards.
On Saturday we played a set at the infamous Windmill, set somewhere impossible to find in the back streets of Brixton, guarded by a rooftop Rottweiler and run by a typical spotty Englishman named, Tim.
Tim was an absolute gem... but also, an absolute pisshead. I had a 10 min conversation with this guy while he sported a hefty beer moustache. I kept wondering if he would notice, or whether it might fall into his mouth and get him even more drunk. I have no idea what he said in that 10 minutes. The froth was just too engaging.
Sunday was the last night of the tour and Ben and I wearily dragged our tired old bodies to Stoke Newington for the gig. Elvis supported us that night. Yep, it's true, 'Dave' Elvis; a local legend in Stokey, it seems. This guys was tops. Full white rhinestoned jumpsuit, gold specs, backing track and a thick Manchester accent to match. Amazing.
In the days since then I have been relaxing and trying to slowly recover my damaged liver. Got to see the incredible Kath Bloom last night, thanks to my London-bro, Art. A great end to a great trip.
Homeward bound, feeling quite strange and looking forward to my own bed again.
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Salut France!
Huge send off for TT in Rennes last night...
Played our last French show at the infamous Mondo Bizarro and it was tres tres magnifique. Big sound, big crowd, big fun. The whole gang were there, and after the show we drank the night away at our good friend Seb's house (which is affectionately known as 'The Pussy Palace').
Seb, always a gracious host, presented us with a home made liquor, just before dawn, which was banned many years ago because it was sending people blind....crikey.
And yes, blind we did got. I can only barely recall putting head to pillow after a couple of nips of the Bretagne Moonshine.
And here we are again, aboard the TVG, poor of health but rich with perforated and shaded memories. Soon we will arrive in Paris, and then straight on to old Londontown for our first show in Camden tonight.
France j'taime. Abientot!
Played our last French show at the infamous Mondo Bizarro and it was tres tres magnifique. Big sound, big crowd, big fun. The whole gang were there, and after the show we drank the night away at our good friend Seb's house (which is affectionately known as 'The Pussy Palace').
Seb, always a gracious host, presented us with a home made liquor, just before dawn, which was banned many years ago because it was sending people blind....crikey.
And yes, blind we did got. I can only barely recall putting head to pillow after a couple of nips of the Bretagne Moonshine.
And here we are again, aboard the TVG, poor of health but rich with perforated and shaded memories. Soon we will arrive in Paris, and then straight on to old Londontown for our first show in Camden tonight.
France j'taime. Abientot!
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Can'ts
Well, after a couple of last minute show additions, we are right in the guts of doing 17 shows in 14 days. My liver hurts, my lungs are blackening, and I'm almost certain I smell like a stinky French fromage.
Spent the last few days with 'Team Ludo' in Binic. These guys are slick; total mafiosos of the indie music scene in these parts and they certainly know how to turn on the charm. This is a classy operation, people. Ben and I could barely put our guitars in their cases before one of the family had them tucked up in the van with the PA and stage as well. At the very moment you even consider a drink, they have poured it and directly brought it too you, exactly what you wanted, even if you weren't sure what you wanted yet. Yep, slick.
Last night we played at a great little watering hole in Lannion called La Valeuses. La Valeuses, as we found out, means 'the swinging nuts' (and I don't mean the Nobby's kind...). It was a great show, we ate an amazing duck dish cooked by the surly but endearing venue owner, Jean-Marc, and drank vin rouge into the wee hours with the locals.
Today we got to spend some time at the ranch of Gil Riot. A elite guitarist of France and one of the suavest MFs I know.
We had a funny conversation with him and his friends over some mussels and frites at the local bar. I at first thought Gil was asking how to pronounce 'can't' correctly, but soon realised that he was actually trying to pronounce 'c*nt'. We told him that this was a real bad word, pretty much the worst, his lady friend asked 'is it worse than stupid boy?', we advised yes. The French at the table then proceeded to practice their 'c*nt' skills. Repeating it again and again. Projecting. Perfecting. For all of the bar to hear. Now, I know that this probably wasn't that offensive for the other french bar flys. But it made me feel rather uncomfortable nevertheless...
Laterz c*ntz
Spent the last few days with 'Team Ludo' in Binic. These guys are slick; total mafiosos of the indie music scene in these parts and they certainly know how to turn on the charm. This is a classy operation, people. Ben and I could barely put our guitars in their cases before one of the family had them tucked up in the van with the PA and stage as well. At the very moment you even consider a drink, they have poured it and directly brought it too you, exactly what you wanted, even if you weren't sure what you wanted yet. Yep, slick.
Last night we played at a great little watering hole in Lannion called La Valeuses. La Valeuses, as we found out, means 'the swinging nuts' (and I don't mean the Nobby's kind...). It was a great show, we ate an amazing duck dish cooked by the surly but endearing venue owner, Jean-Marc, and drank vin rouge into the wee hours with the locals.
Today we got to spend some time at the ranch of Gil Riot. A elite guitarist of France and one of the suavest MFs I know.
We had a funny conversation with him and his friends over some mussels and frites at the local bar. I at first thought Gil was asking how to pronounce 'can't' correctly, but soon realised that he was actually trying to pronounce 'c*nt'. We told him that this was a real bad word, pretty much the worst, his lady friend asked 'is it worse than stupid boy?', we advised yes. The French at the table then proceeded to practice their 'c*nt' skills. Repeating it again and again. Projecting. Perfecting. For all of the bar to hear. Now, I know that this probably wasn't that offensive for the other french bar flys. But it made me feel rather uncomfortable nevertheless...
Laterz c*ntz
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Ate Acobson
Well the Italian leg of the tour is stitched up and we are now in Gay France aboard a TVG train to Rennes, Bretagne. Had a lovely day in Paris yesterday. Drank short coffee and eyed Parisians bathing in the summer sun at the Pompidou for hours, sought out Paris' best vintage stores and went to my favourite perfumery at the Opera. Finished it all up with a late dinner and drinks with the gang in Montmartre. Magnifique.
Had a run of bad luck in Italy. All shows cancelled. One due to a landslide in Como on the day of our show. Even Mother Nature was against us...
We managed to pick up a show late in the story at Milan's oldest venue, 'Scimme'. We played for an audience of Pete, Michelle, a 23yo Californian first-time-traveller who had been robbed twice since entering the country (two days earlier) and a drunk junkie from Britain. Yeppppp, not the greatest show ever, but they seemed to enjoy it no less.The junkie even joined us on stage for an avant garde tambourine solo which, in hindsight, we probably could've done without.
Luckily, the cancellations meant we could spend some time making the most of bello Italia...
Cuisine was high on the agenda.
Pete and Michelle introduced us to a great little Italian trattoria (run by a father and son troupe) just around the corner from their house.
The pasta was magical.
The Sicilian family figurehead took a shining to us and Ben and I now have a new Sicilian Dad we call Papa Pappadella.
...I miss my Daddy and his delicious pasta.
Ohhh Papaaaaaa.
Papa Pappadellaaaaaa!
He even welcomed us to join his son's 19th birthday celebrations, where we drank fancy champagne, ate sweet custard sponge cake and tried in vain to sing happy birthday in Italian.
Papaaaaaa!!
I also found out that there is no K or J in the Italian alphabet. So, in Italy, my new homeland, I will forever more be know as 'Ate Acobson'.
Had a run of bad luck in Italy. All shows cancelled. One due to a landslide in Como on the day of our show. Even Mother Nature was against us...
We managed to pick up a show late in the story at Milan's oldest venue, 'Scimme'. We played for an audience of Pete, Michelle, a 23yo Californian first-time-traveller who had been robbed twice since entering the country (two days earlier) and a drunk junkie from Britain. Yeppppp, not the greatest show ever, but they seemed to enjoy it no less.The junkie even joined us on stage for an avant garde tambourine solo which, in hindsight, we probably could've done without.
Luckily, the cancellations meant we could spend some time making the most of bello Italia...
Cuisine was high on the agenda.
Pete and Michelle introduced us to a great little Italian trattoria (run by a father and son troupe) just around the corner from their house.
The pasta was magical.
The Sicilian family figurehead took a shining to us and Ben and I now have a new Sicilian Dad we call Papa Pappadella.
...I miss my Daddy and his delicious pasta.
Ohhh Papaaaaaa.
Papa Pappadellaaaaaa!
He even welcomed us to join his son's 19th birthday celebrations, where we drank fancy champagne, ate sweet custard sponge cake and tried in vain to sing happy birthday in Italian.
Papaaaaaa!!
I also found out that there is no K or J in the Italian alphabet. So, in Italy, my new homeland, I will forever more be know as 'Ate Acobson'.
Friday, July 8, 2011
Buongiorno Milano!
Yes I have arrived it Italy. And, as expected, I have fallen instantly in love with it. Had a funny night with my people on the inside here, Pete Ross and his lovely partner, Michelle, last night. We went and had a quick aperitivo and then got loose over many many wines into the night. There was broken glassware, cherry ripes, 3am pies, and a long drunken rendition of Solitary Man by Mr Ross and I at the kitchen table. Good times.
The transit across the pond was quite bearable actually. Korean Air were awesome. Had an overnight stopover in Seoul where they kindly put me up in the Hyatt. The airport Hyatt, of course, but it was the Hyatt no less. I swear the bed could have fit 6 people in it.
So I had a long bath, dinner in the restaurant and then found myself in the VY hotel bar, solving the problems of the world until the wee hours with a German cosmetic dentist named Bernd.
Upon boarding flight 927 the next day, I was pleased to see three nuns sitting directly in the row behind me. God was watching over this flight I thought. We will not die today.
For take off I opened up my holiday read, Henry Miller's Tropic of Cancer. It's quite an awkward feeling actually; being surrounded by nuns while Miller liberally and unashamedly drops the c-bomb again and again. Yes, awkward indeed.
Arrival at Malpensa: all baggage received, customs a breeze. There was not one official to be seen at the customs desk. Not one! Should've brought that illegal drug haul after all...
Speaking of money makers, today I tried my hand at busking in Milan. After a quick pep talk from Michelle and Pete I made my way down to Via Dante to do the job.
I walked up and down, trying to find the perfetto busking position and that's when I met the best dressed older man in all of Milan. He stopped me, interested in my guitar case and my story. He was draped in beige linen and wore white brogues. Class. He spoke to me in Italian and I managed to decipher (somehow) that he liked Tom Waits, had a penpal in Perth and had just been to a piano recital. When we parted ways he laid his best wet lipped kiss on me. I didn't mind. He was handsome for an old fella.
I set up and sang for a hour or so and made about 26 euro. All in 10c pieces of course... I learned quickly that if I capo'd each song 2 frets up from where I normally play it, it put me into prime busking territory... a wailing cat, a far away siren, a frequency not easy to ignore.
The most memorable busking moment was when a young fellow sat on the chair directly in front of me... and then hurled. He hurled real good. Yep, this was an EPIC spew people. It went on for three full songs. Did I mention he was directly in front of me? Yep, an epic spew right there.
...I'm pretty sure it wasn't because if my singing.
...I'm pretty sure he was just summer drunk.
....pretty sure.
I am now spending some of my 10c pieces on sweet espresso and marscapone gelato. Yep, I like you Italy, I like you just fine.
The transit across the pond was quite bearable actually. Korean Air were awesome. Had an overnight stopover in Seoul where they kindly put me up in the Hyatt. The airport Hyatt, of course, but it was the Hyatt no less. I swear the bed could have fit 6 people in it.
So I had a long bath, dinner in the restaurant and then found myself in the VY hotel bar, solving the problems of the world until the wee hours with a German cosmetic dentist named Bernd.
Upon boarding flight 927 the next day, I was pleased to see three nuns sitting directly in the row behind me. God was watching over this flight I thought. We will not die today.
For take off I opened up my holiday read, Henry Miller's Tropic of Cancer. It's quite an awkward feeling actually; being surrounded by nuns while Miller liberally and unashamedly drops the c-bomb again and again. Yes, awkward indeed.
Arrival at Malpensa: all baggage received, customs a breeze. There was not one official to be seen at the customs desk. Not one! Should've brought that illegal drug haul after all...
Speaking of money makers, today I tried my hand at busking in Milan. After a quick pep talk from Michelle and Pete I made my way down to Via Dante to do the job.
I walked up and down, trying to find the perfetto busking position and that's when I met the best dressed older man in all of Milan. He stopped me, interested in my guitar case and my story. He was draped in beige linen and wore white brogues. Class. He spoke to me in Italian and I managed to decipher (somehow) that he liked Tom Waits, had a penpal in Perth and had just been to a piano recital. When we parted ways he laid his best wet lipped kiss on me. I didn't mind. He was handsome for an old fella.
I set up and sang for a hour or so and made about 26 euro. All in 10c pieces of course... I learned quickly that if I capo'd each song 2 frets up from where I normally play it, it put me into prime busking territory... a wailing cat, a far away siren, a frequency not easy to ignore.
The most memorable busking moment was when a young fellow sat on the chair directly in front of me... and then hurled. He hurled real good. Yep, this was an EPIC spew people. It went on for three full songs. Did I mention he was directly in front of me? Yep, an epic spew right there.
...I'm pretty sure it wasn't because if my singing.
...I'm pretty sure he was just summer drunk.
....pretty sure.
I am now spending some of my 10c pieces on sweet espresso and marscapone gelato. Yep, I like you Italy, I like you just fine.
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