You gotta have Seoul

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.

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!

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

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'. 

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.

Skywards

Here I am, waiting to board flight 124 to Seoul, Korea. Determined not to travel with Aussie cash, I have attempted to spend every last cent of Australian before leaving Brisbane International.

Well strategised, with 2 cherry ripes, some travel porn (Cleo Magazine) and a sweet mocha. The last thing I thought within my range was a bottle of water. It was $3.70..... I have exactly $3.65.

Aw maaaan, it could've been so perfect. Just five cents more and everything would be right in the world. But alas, $3.65 will travel all of Europe with me now. 

Boarding now. Stopover in Seoul tonight. I reckon it might be Suntory time...

Born to Cigar Girl

After almost 10 months of unemployment and a lot of time of think about what I should do with my life, I have finally decided on my ultimate profession:

Cigar Girl (between 1930-1955... preferably in New York).

Perks of the job:
1. Fashion. I have never seen a cigar girl outfit from that era that I don't like
2. Porcelain skin and ruby red lips and perfect hair, all of the time
3. Looking perfectly bored and ultimately indifferent whilst getting paid to swan around the hippest nightspots
4. Getting hit on by suave, handsome, successful, unmarried business men
5. Flirting outrageously with said business men and getting outrageously generous tips in return
6. Free cigarettes. Surely you get free ciggies... Right?

Anyhow, here are some awesome pics of awesome cigar girls. Sighhhh.

I also stumbled upon this curious image whilst trawling the internets for Cigar Girls....

Hmmmm....

In other news, I leave for Europe in a week to tour with Texas Tea again.

Italy, France and UK ahoy!

It is going to be summer, and it is going to be great. I will, however, be leaving the country with only a couple of hundred dollars in my bank account. Should be interesting.

Updates to come.

Ask, and you shall recieve...

A few people have mentioned recently that they are surprised I have made it this far without getting a job....and to be completely honest, so I am. Most of them have asked how I do it and this got me to wondering. How, actually, do I?

Well, I guess it's a few things. Living simply, spending more time at home, eating less in general, drinking tea instead of booze.

...but, if I am completely honest, this doesn't actually apply in my case. I'm a social juggernaut, I spend virtually no time at home, I eat constantly and I get-my-drink-on like a wayward sailor at port.

So...how am I doing it then???

Well, I think I may have stumbled upon the answer:

I am a scab.

YEPPPP.... a dirty, demanding, downright pathetic, scab.

Scabbing, in my accomplished opinion, is just two steps away from begging. The significant step in between is, of course, busking. And believe me, this option has definitely crossed my mind a couple of times. So luckily, at this point I have managed to avoid the inevitable rock hop into begging and rely on the generosity of friends, family and sometimes near strangers to give me a helping hand. You know who you are...and I'm certain you are probably getting sick of feeding me / buying me drinks / swinging me some lose change for the train / rolling me ANOTHER cigarette*.

Well, to all y'all who have given me such things, I thank you. I thank you from way down in the depths of my desperately empty pockets. You have been good to me, and oh, ummm... can you lend me 5 bucks?

...this is a joke.

....(but if you really want to give me money you can)

Uh oh... is that begging?



*iamstillanonsmoker

My Royal Wedding

So with the Royal Wedding officially in progress and in the good spirit of PROCRASTINATION, I thought it an appropriate moment to take some time out from my NEIS study with a little interlude about my favourite thing in the world, The King.

ELVIS PRESLEY.

What a guy...

When I was a child, every Sunday at approximately 1pm, my brother, sister and I would deposit ourselves around the Idiot Box to watch an Elvis film. Sometimes, if we were lucky, we were in for a double feature. Oh the joy!

It really was the only way to truly stop us kids from arguing.

Elvis: The World's Greatest Babysister.

Let it be known, that I was in LOVE (and still am for that matter).

I really thought that I would marry the guy someday. Elvis and I, together forever in harmonious marital bliss. Probably propped on a Ferris Wheel, or double saddle on a palamino, him confessing his dedication to me, all in the wonderfully entertaining format of song. This deep infatuation continued, until one fateful day, probably when I was about 10, when my mother informed me that he was, in fact, DEAD.

I. Was. Devastated.

What about my our wedding day? Who would serenade me now?

...not Elvis, it seemed.

What is it about The King that has capured the hearts of men and women alike from every race and creed known?

Was it his smouldering good looks?
His melt-your-heart vocal delivery?
His killer karate chops?
His sparkling white jumpsuit?
His comedic genius?
His inspried pelvis?

Well, they were all good.....but I vote pelvis.

He really was so very special.

The 60's was my favourite era. Those movies have fascinated and inspired me to this day and I am still on the eternal artistic expedition to write a song that Elvis would sing in one of his films.

I have tried many times.

Yes.

Elvis.

What a guy...

Below is a link to my favourite scene ever from an Elvis film. Something weird happens to my brain when I watch this. I can't explain it. If you look closely, you can almost see Ann Margret's ovaries spewing out eggs in King Presley's general direction. Who could blame her, really?...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qiJ7uQfogKA

KateInc

Today I started the NEIS program (a government run project to help people start up their own businesses). It's basically a grant system which provides you with a fortnightly retainer for a year while you are trying to become self-employed. I managed to get onto this course, only by the skin of my teeth, after insisting that my business (the business of Being Kate, that is) was simply perfect for the project. They eventually agreed to let me be involved, probably after realising that I would most certainly continue to badger them until they gave in.

So, after a liver challenging weekend past in Melbourne and an over enthusiastic late night catch up with friends upon my return last night, I awoke with that familiar old feeling of too-much-booze-too-little-sleep. I sported a intense and enduring thousand mile stare for most of the morning session which, I hope, could have been mistaken for deep concentration.

I really hope I haven't missed anything largely important. Surely it's all formalities on days like this?

Hmmmm...

The ideas for businesses were balls-out, hearts-on-sleeve and wide-eyed. I share the class with a hypnotist, a yacht maker and a couple of fairies (the kind of child entertainment), amongst others. My business was different to most. When it was my turn to speak, I explained that my business was essentially 'Just Kate' and that my favourite business titles so far are KateInc or xKateOrDiex.

I think most of the other participants think I am slightly mad, and perhaps they are correct....perhaps.

Pies

Well, here I am again having procrastinated myself out of another month of blogging. It's not like nothing has happened, in fact, the month has been quite busy and there is certainly lots to tell...There have been many highlights so please bear with me folks, this is probably going to be a bit of a rant...

So, the most memorable experience this month has been a well anticipated Australian visit from Texas Tea's french touring partners, Orville Brody and the DDD. The tour was great, much broken english/french was spoken, there were BBQs, pool parties, wine soaked dinners, double kisses, double entrendres, and double trouble with TT and the DDD side-by-side again.

I can't explain to you the joy I feel when I watch this band. I think it is a combination of the pure entertainment value of the DDD and nostalgia of times gone by. Memmmmmoriiiiiiiiies aaaaaw. It was so amazing, and completely surreal, to see them on Australian soil. I had aligned their existence with France alone so it seemed impossible seeing them on a different backdrop. That first night it was like they were on green screen, an artificial inclusion in my world, but before too long, they were donning their hibiscus-covered board shorts, cracking a VB and firing up the barbie, and it suddenly seemed quite natural.

So, I am always laughing about funny things that the French say that don't quite make sense in English, and I believe I was ultimately due for the karmic tables to be turned in this next anecdote....

This is the first time I see the DDD in Oz, they are still on green screen, TT had flown to Melbourne just for one night to play a show with the boys and it was a celebration as you could imagine. Many drinks were had and after the show we were all hanging out, some of us speaking french, some of us speaking english. I could overhear Orville telling a funny story in French, that the Frenchies all thought hilarious. Now, Orville is a funny guy so this scenario is not unusual at all, but what made my ears prick up was that it seemed to be a story about me. I keep hearing 'french french french french 'oh kate!' french french french [insert raucous laughter from Frenchies here] french french french'. Then they would all look at me like I was cute and stupid.

So, the thing is, I had been writing letters to the French leading up to the show in Oz. It is a French tradition to sign off letters with 'Gros Bisous' meaning 'Big Kiss', and I was doing this. However, I was spelling it wrong. My version was 'Gras Bissouss' which roughly translates to 'gross greasy pash'. Oh boy, they couldn't get enough of this story, and I heard Orville telling it in French, and English, many times. I'm certain it was told many times when I wasn't there as well. sigh.

They left yesterday and goddamn I miss them hopelessly already, but luckily, Texas Tea have managed to book a tour of Italy and France in early July, so we will be seeing them again very soon. Magnifique! We are currently doing a grant application to get funding for the tour. Grant writing, good lord, what a tedious process. Hence why I am now writing this blog entry. Can you see the procrastination food chain forming here people?

I really need a supervisor or something.

In other news, Ben and I did some demos for the new Texas Tea album over the weekend. We managed to get 11 tracks down. That's some mighty fine demoing handywork right there if you ask me. Was great to get back into the studio and they all turned out pretty good actually. Ben's are the best (...not just saying that).

Another thing that happened this month was the Women in Music conference, held in Brisbane on International Women's Day. Now, I probably wouldn't have a attended something like this if I wasn't invited to speak but, wow, it was great! It was a purely female event bar 2 male teachers escorting their students for the day. Oh boy, I felt sorry for those 2 dudes, it was such a right-on, girl-power experience. The vagina brigade was a force to be reckoned with and I'm sure the two outsiders must've been absolutely terrified by the experience.

I believe the two males made it through the day unharmed... but I can't be certain.

So, I was speaking on the song writing panel in the afternoon...

Let me just say that I get REALLY nervous with these kind of things and had intense anxiety for days leading up to the event, so you can imagine my relief when I found myself actually making some kind of sense in front of the 300 strong audience. So, everything was going quite well until the facilitator asked about my song writing partnership with Ben and how we went about writing songs together. I went ahead and explained (quite gracefully I might add) that we have tried many different techniques, gave some examples etc. I then talked about the new album, that we decided to be completely collaborative for the process and work on all the songs together in their initial stages in order to form better arrangements, better lyrics and stronger ideas for the album as a whole. Then I said 'we like to put each others fingers .....[*UH OH WHAT AM I TRYING TO SAY*].....in each other's....... [very uncomfortable pause].........uh.........pies.'

Oh man, the audience were trying to be adult about it, but there were more than a few snickers and even some cackles. I died a little bit, and forevermore, I will be known as 'fingers in pies' girl. Seriously, I should not be allowed to speak publicly.

Ironic really that I am further publicising my stupidity on the World Wide Web.

Over and out amigos.

Warpaint

Last week I went to Melbourne with The Seja Band to do a couple of supports with Los Angeleans, Warpaint. The shows were over two nights, sold out on each, at the Northcote Social Club and it is fair to say that I probably played my worst and best shows ever with the band. Luckily it was in that order....

The most significant moment I can remember from the dud set was during 'We Begin' where I play the keyboard hook throughout the song. We started playing the song, I manage to get the keyboard run done (quite tidily) once, then, out of nowhere, brain fails and I suddenly can't remember ANY note that I am supposed to be playing. I keep trying and trying, hitting everything wrong and nothing right. To make matters worse, I just keep doing it, throughout the entire song, distracting, torturous and completely obvious FORGODSSAKESJUSTSTOPPLAYINGWOULDYOU???

No... I keep going and going, determined to right my wrongs, and fail miserably. On top of this, I am so completely frustrated with myself that I yell "FUCK!!" mid song. In this moment I realise that microphone is right there, in front of my mouth, and I still can't be sure that the front of house speakers didn't pick up my crude awakening.

The next night I (thankfully) redeem myself; no fails, no yelling profanities into mics, and I manage to find myself still employed in The Seja Band for another day. Believe me, I thought it was touch and go there for a moment.

I got to catch a bit of Warpaint this evening too, and wow, it was one of the sexiest things I have ever seen. 4 girls, all haircuts and collarbones, awash in red light, reverb and chorus, looking achingly sultry and a just little bit sad. Yepppp. I would turn for any one of them.

The ol' disappearing January trick, eh?

Well, it seems I have taken my unemployment a liiiiiitle too seriously. I have let pretty much let it all go. I have not only stopped working, but have stopped blogging, stopped checking emails, stopped getting up early, stopped caring what I look like at 4pm in the supermarket in my pyjamas with crazy bed hair, and stopped giving a toss if anyone judges me for it.

That said, it has been a pretty eventful past month. There have been natural disasters, park drinks, inland tsunamis, mid week parties, returned luggage, noise complaints, flood refugees, job offers, juvenile delinquency, renovations, walking after midnight, long distance dragster rides, romance, bromance, and mad rants.

I have realised that having no job makes you really good at things like:
Baking
Craft
Indifference
Strolling
Procrastination
General time wasting
Conspiracy theory
Drinking-far-too-much-coffee-javajavajavajavajavajavajava
Trolling the Internet

If these new skillz weren't enough, I have also very nearly mastered mid week binge drinking, and how to make friends and influence them into giving me their cigarettes.

*IamstillanonsmokerIamstillanonsmokerIamstillanonsmoker*

All in all a great month. My sincerest apologies for not posting during this time. I will endeavour to be better. Starting......now!