Eamonn Dowd's Racketeering Escapades

2011-12-26T12:54:00.000-08:00

Wed July 6 Göteborg…The genius of Joe Phelps brightens up the first hour of the day. “Shes A-1” “Wasting My Time” two great songs. ….and “Love Is A 5 Letter Word”. (its spelt M.O.N.E.Y.) Tell it like it is Joe.
Leonard was singing about Montreal, when I see on the interweb one of Orite Shimoni’s photos of her old pad in Montreal. I remember it well. Scanned her writings on touring, not having a home, the nomadic life and so on and so forth. Put on the Little Birdie CD. The sun was streaming through the trees.

Fri July 8 Dublin….. Met a dazed Liam O Maonlai on Duke Street. He was standing in the middle of the street staring into space. “You ok ? “ I asked. He went on to explain that he was trying to figure out if he should go to the US in the morning or stay in Ireland. A solo tour was set up but his work visa hadn’t come through. We went to the International for a drink and a chat.

Went to the Steps Of Rome for pizza and red wine, sitting outside on the street as the sun faded. Thin Lizzy’s “Dancing In The Moonlight” blasted out of the Gendist Fire and Safety van parked a few yards away. On the next street Phil Lynott’s majestic stuatue presides over the weekend revellers. Met Cormac Figgis AKA Ted of the Teds fame for a chat.

Sat July 9 Cong / Enniscrone…the car radio was on. Not my decision. The midday DJ was telling a story about some visitor to his home who commented on how lousy his CD collection was. He told his friend that he wasn’t all that interested in music !! And here he is on national radio admitting this, and still playing records for the young people of Ireland, helping to make and break acts, indoctrinating the gullible lazy youth of the emerald isle. No wonder the radio is crap.

Found Nymphsfield on the outskirts of Cong. These stone circles were first noted by Edward Lhwyd on his tour of Ireland in 1699. Lhwyd measured and made sketches of the four circles, and noted smaller inner circles or settings within two of them. William Stukley, the great English antiquarian later reproduced Lhwyd's unpublished drawings. The biggest circle was odd in that the stones were all warm to the touch, like electric heaters. And this was on a windy rainy day. The most complete circle is in somebodys back garden. How cool is that. It was around here that the famed first battle of Moytura took place, when the mythical and mystical race, the pre-celtic Tuatha De Dannan defeated the vile Fir Bolg.

The yellowing compass was pointing north. The rain came down in a sideways fashion. Dinner in Ballina led to a trip out to Enniscrone the wild and windswept seaside town. Down in the sand-dunes, the rain came in from the sea. The Atlantic waves rolled and rumbled, unstoppable. An old guy sat outside his mobile home thinking of what might have been and the tales of yesteryear, the forgotten lore of days long ago. The years belie the face and the hands belie the deed. Theres darkness on the edge of the page at this time of the evening.

Tues Aug 16 Berlin…. People in a hurry, S Bahn, U Bahn, taxis, planes, bikes. All on the go. Stopped for food in a small Thai restaurant near Frankfurter Alee. A beer to wash it down, followed by coffee. The food was passable, the beer very good, the coffee atrocious. Stank of saccharin, stevia, aspartame, sucralose, neotamee and acesulfame.

The gig at East Of Eden was a sad affair. The last Tuesday show ever as the place is closing down. End of an era. I felt rusty. The guitar was like an alien in my hands. Tobias from Trailhead played a set too and all the usual suspects were up for a late drink and a ramble through Friedrichshain.

Wed Aug 17 Berlin… Spent the day in Allen Devines studio working on a song. Well, Allen did all the work. I just hung around. Later a taxi deposited me in the Tiergarten at the door of the Haus Der Kulturen where Lord Mouse and The Kalypso Kats put on a great show. A big hall, could probably hold 2000. I reckon there were 400 in. Later, re located to Artliners for beverages and discussion on a myriad of subjects.

Thurs Aug 18 Berlin…Went to a Russian Bar with Mark for a beer and a chat. Sun beaming down like a 150 watt lamp at close range. Later I had dinner in a Thai restaurant and from there went out to Kreutzberg to Soul Cat for the gig. A hot sticky evening, but one with a cool vibe. Later I hung out with Paul trying in vain to avoid the heavy down pours.

Fri Aug 19 Heidelberg….Last thing I wanted to do was deal with a 7 hour train journey with changes at Hanover and Frankfurt. Wasn’t in the mood for reading. A few phone calls. A drink. A sandwich. Another few hundred miles to go. Found a private carraige for the last leg of the journey, but was promptly joined by a lady and her two kids. They were just back from Southampton where they now live. But she learnt her perfect English in Ireland. Lived in Oz too for a long time. Her kids speak fluent English, German and French. I told her my story too, a very abbreviated version.

Got in a bit late for the gig. No panic. Sold CDs and had a good time chatting to Scottish Iain who had supplied the PA. The manager of the place took me out to a few dodgy bars and then I went back to the hotel for 40 winks. Another day, another gig done and dusted.

Sat Aug 20 Ludwigshafen….Had a much needed long sleep in. A ramble through a hot Heidelberg took up early afternoon. Down by the River Neckar and then up through the baroque style Old Town. I’d been here before several years ago, but didn’t get to see much of this Handsel and Gretel town snuggled in a deep deep valley in the Odenwald. People were sitting outside cafes and bars, some inside to avoid the sun. Afternoon drinks I the lonesome world of daydreams. I decided to join them. Ordered a bottle of Rathaus Pils. Sat in the window looking out onto the busy street.

Earlier in the week I’d been reading Burroughs and in the hazy heat notions of ‘reading between the lines’ using his cut-up technique on some automatic writing / streams of consciousness prose as a means to divine the future. Scribbled down a few notes and made a promise to look deeper into this at a later stage. The past however, is a different kettle of cacti. What if you had no past, no memory?. No ghosts, no demons. A clean slate, a clear path to walk through the gate.

Swatted an annoying wasp to death with my pocket diary. Straight away there was another one on the scene, but he kept his distance, either understanding that he may suffer the same fate as his murdered relative or maybe he couldn’t be bothered.

A lady went by in a wheelchair. Both arms amputated from the elbows, and legs amputated from the knees. A practical medicinal cigarette holder attached to the upper arm allowed her to chain smoke while she was pushed along. A tall skinny man with a walking stick followed closely behind. He had huge rubber stumps where his feet should be. As big as a young elephants feet. Another guy with a wobbly leg arm in arm with his blind girlfriend. A balding spastic type guy in his 30’s, pushed along in his chair by his elderly parents who were probably thinking ‘what will happen to our Wolfgang when we are cold in the grave?’ Makes you realize how lucky you are to write a cliché that hits home. When a well dressed hunched old guy came around busking the tables with his hand-clapping gig, it was time to move on. You could train a monkey to do that and it would still be shit. Sir, buy an instrument, a modicum of talent goes a long way. I should know.

Got down to Ludwigshafen, which seemed urban and moderrn by comparison. A nice place to play on a hot steamy night and Andreas is a genial host. Luckily I had two huge fans either side of the stage to cool me down a bit. All the windows had to kept closed during the gig to avoid complaints from neighbours. Later as I was getting ready to crash out the rains started and it lashed down all night.

Sun Aug 21 Friedelsheim…Thankfully the rains ended and after a cup of tea and a few biscuits with Andreas, I was on a train for Friedelsheim, a small town near Mannheim. When I stood up and grabbed my guitar and bags to get off the train, all the passengers stared. I felt I’d made a mistake. Could this be the right place? No town in sight, just a dusty platform and mile after mile of sun bleached vineyards stretching to the foothills of the distant Taunus mountains. It was 34 degrees celsius. I expected tumble weed to roll by. Luckily I had a mobile phone so I called Jenny. She told me I was in the right place and she drove down to collect me. The town was about 2 miles up the road. I quickly et Mark and crew and a fine pint of Guinness was put in front of me. It didn’t last long.

The festival vibe was in full swing. Then I met Hans, a journalist from a national newspaper who took me off to a bar on the edge of a big field where we drank sweet white wine. The sun eventually sank behind the hill and I played my set. Enjoyed it too.

Was invited to some guys nearby house but something told me to politely refuse. I recall once in Switzerland when bass player Brian accepted an invitation into some guys pad. After sharing a glass or two of whiskey Brian was subjected to a martial arts display with several high kicks just missing his head. His derranged host then produced a knife and insisted that Brian should buy it from him and when he refused to buy the weapon the guy got very very pissed off. Somehow or other our bass player got out of there in one piece, albeit a bit shook up. When I refused this German gentlemans invitation he too got really annoyed and Mark and crew had to get involved and ejected him from the area.

A few hours later I was on a train to the airport and it was all just another piece of fiction, that might have been true.

Denmark, Sweden , Germany

2011-07-01T12:08:00.000-07:00

Friday 25 March, Copenhagen....The castle in Helsingborg looked a lot more interesting than the last time I passed through here. Maybe they changed the route. Made a mental note to visit here some day with a camera, but mental notes are precarious and get lost in the hard drive in my skull. Pen and paper came to the rescue. Apparently Helsingborg is one of the oldest cities in Sweden and has been the site of permanent settlement (officially) since 21 May 1085. Thats a long time.

Same half-sunken boat bopping dead in the waters as the last time I passed this way. I was on a speeding bus on the Øresund Bridge which happens to be world's longest cable stay bridge and spans Øresund sound between Sweden and Denmark. My destiny was Cafe Svejk, Copenhagen where I was due to play a solo gig. A small Bar in the Frederiksberg area with a good atmosphere and the sound was good too. Kim was a genial host and we stayed up all night after the gig. I think I nodded off for a while on the sofa and awoke to the sound of Phil Shoenfeld on the stereo. Time to get into the taxi and catch the bus home. But the bus never showed up, leaving about 80 people stranded in the blinding glare of the 7am sunrise. I opted for the train and got back into Sweden in one piece.

Saturday 9 April Göteborg....With three rehearsals under our belt we were ready (just about) to play the Klubb Honky Tonk at Cafe Hangmattan over in Masthugget. A cool club, the place was full and the folks there knew what they had come for.

Started off with ‘Sweet Angel’ on acoustic, followed by a few other songs playing electric and then The Renegade Three joined me. Slick Andy on drums and Mika Hakki on double bass. There’s only 2 of them, that’s why I named them Three. Really good gig, enjoyed it and so did the folks there.

My travelling companions were peckish so we stopped in a late night takeaway joint for chips and veggie burgers and so forth. I couldn’t get over the guitars, snare drums, cymbals etc left on the foot-path outside. A metal band were peckish too in those early hours, and completely unworried about their expensive gear which was left unattended. Of course you can go three or four weeks in Sweden without seeing anybody who wears a track suit. Åsa asked one of the metal guys how his gig was. “Terrible” he replied. “Shit, really bad, worst gig ever”. His friend joined in to go into greater details about how bad it was. Cool guys , and it’s always good to have a sense of humour about music, be it metal, country, rockabilly, soul, zydeco, cajun, folk, calypso or hard rock. Not sure if it makes much difference if techno is your cup of tea.

Thursday 14 April, Berlin.....Arrived into Tegel Airport and got over to Friedrichshain without much hassle. Soundcheck was followed by some food and a drink and folks came down that I knew. Eb arrived with his Italian friend and later Carmen arrived and it was like old times. Enjoyed playing too. The sound is always good in Artliners. Afterwards with Sean from Montreal, we rambled off into the night accompanied by the guys who run the Lost Books Blog spot to locate a late night squat bar where Matt De Harp from Two Dollar Bash was hosting a musical extravaganza of epic proportions. Bottled beer came at one euro a go. Before long I was on stage performing ‘Tell Old Bill’ and was soon joined by a percussionist and a trumpet player. All good mad fun and the hours passed by like a dream.

Friday 15 April,Greiz...........On the train to Leipzig trying to read a Thomas Hardy book but there was way too much dialogue all written in phonetics to get the idea of a Dorset accent across but it became tedious after a few pages. Train officials asked all the people in the carriage to please move as the window was cracked. Apparently it might fall in. Lets avoid an insurance claim. Next door was the dining carriage so thats where I went and had a beer to slake my thirst. The sun cut through bright and warm as the metal transport machine made its way down through Pegau and Zeitz. Green fields, roadhouses, farms, small towns. We went through Bad Zöstritz and eventually I was on a phone call on the platform of the station in Greiz.

Up at Peanuts I was greeted by Norbert. Daniel already had the PA up and running and soundcheck was as easy as pie. CD’s changed hands and tentative plans were made to do something in Daniels recording studio at some point in the hopefully not too distant future. Checked into the hotel next door. A spacious room, a big bed and big bathroom ....warm and lonesome as only hotel rooms can be.

Photographer Karsten was down for the gig as well as some of the guys from Daniels band and we had had a merry time. I spoke to Mathias who is a historian and a man who by his own admission spends all his money on CD’s and books. He spoke of the cold war days and how difficult it was to get records and that one of his all-time-favourite bands was Tir Na nOg. Had I ever heard of them ? When I told him I knew Leo and Sonny he was blown away. I told him I’d pass on his email address to Leo and they could correspond. I had toured with Leo back in the 80’s, those long distant days when you might expect to see Nicholas Cage in a good movie, music didn’t come on a file but was scratched into the surface of a big black disc and the gated snare drum was all the rage. A previous life.

Saturday 16 April, Berlin.........Back in Berlin it was hot and humid. Summer had arrived and looked like it might stay. In Kreuzberg I needed a falafel. Fan on the ceiling whizzing around, a mild-mannered mustachioed proprietor. The display cabinet included olive oil from Andalucia for 4.50 a bottle. There was food to eat-in or take out, a well stocked fridge, ice-cream and middle eastern newspapers. Some born-again Christians walked by on the street handing out leaflets. I’d join but I’m allergic to nuts.

Passed through Görlitzer Park, a post-apocalyptic gathering of junkies and frisbee enthusiasts, family BBQ’s, dog walkers, voyeurs, short-cut takers, pill-poppers, punk rockers, buskers and blue rinse ladies. Down by the canal we went and found La Girafe Art Gallery and I spoke to the artist Vibeke from Copenhagen and it turned out I knew her neighbour in Christiania. Onwards through Treptow Park, up towards the Turkish area, apartment blocks speckled with hundreds of satellite dishes with their blank faces pointing towards an unseen space machine.

Later we passed by Wild at Heart, can’t recall who was playing but it was 12 euro to get in. We kept walking. A guy was playing an impromptu gig in a bar sans PA. He was a bit whacked out of it but still gave 100% and deserved every penny he extracted from the bemused clientele. An Indian guy dropped in to sell big fat samosa’s, so I ate one and Eb ate one and we ended up in a bar with a menagerie of antiques and mad gear hanging from the ceiling. I counted seven great grandfather clocks, several clowns, rocking horses, witches, seafaring ships and Punch and Judy puppets, but alas, bad music on the stereo.

Sunday 17 April Berlin....Wandering through Mauer Park and found a really cool and compact record player that plays 78’s. Unfortunately it wasn’t for sale, and needed repairs anyway. But speaking the English language brought me to the attention of an American guy who was there checking things out himself. We spoke about record players, 78’s, vinyl etc. He said “ what are you doing here, you on holidays or living here?”. I said I was playing a few gigs. He asked my name and I dutifully told him he replied “ oh, Ive heard of you. Im going to see you on Tuesday night.”

It turned out this Bostonian was Allen Devine and we both have tracks on the Cannery Row Records sampler album. (I had never gotten a copy so it was to take me a few days to get one and have a listen, and Allens stuff is indeed great)
The ramble continued and bands played and jugglers juggled and food was cooked out in the open areas and the market was crowded. A 200 year old Austrian acoustic guitar took my fancy but I had enough gear on the move and couldn’t handle another piece of luggage. I picked up a few soul LP’s on the Stateside lablel and had a drink and later some Thai food.

Tuesday 19 April Berlin...The afternoon was spent in the Museum Of Prehistory where the 3000 year old magicians golden hat is kept. The conical hat weighing one pound and 29 inches tall, is ornamented with 21 zones of horizontal bands and rows of symbols along all of its length. 1,739 symbols were carved by the craftsmen under instructions from the magician/shaman. Basically it’s a lunar/solar calendar capable of predicting a 29 year cycle. Great to see it at last. Also on display was lots of Egyptian stuff including Nefertitti’s famous bust.
Later we were down at East Of Eden on Schreinerstrasse 23 for the nights gig. Anto, Sean, Alan….all the crew. Had a drink over at the Anastasia Bar before I did my thing. Got a 10 inch LP from Lord Mouse of the Kalapsyco Kats fame afterwards.

Wednesday 20 April Berlin…Played over at Beakers. A nice bunch of people on a hot and sticky night where the good vibe spilled out onto the street.

Thursday 21 April Weimar….After I arrived in I met the goth lady who was runing the place. She asked me if I liked ‘secure’. I said, well, I like to feel secure. No, she said….ze band…ze cure, do you like them ?. Ah yes, I got it. The Cure….Robert Smiths crowd, Boys Don’t Cry etc etc. Yes, they’re ok. She put them on the stereo and we went back to small talk. I went off on a ramble to see the majestic old town houses and state buildings. This sure isn’t Kansas. Cello’s being tuned and piano recitals being rehearsed and a cacophony of classical sounds leaking through the ancient windows. Elsewhere punks drink their Berliner beer (1 euro a bottle) outside the graffiti covered nameless bar.

Back at the HQ, Hempi, Jana and Dirk arrived all the way from Wurzen. Met Irish man Mark and his wife from Frankfurt and we all had a good time. Photos were taken, CD’s changed hands and there was a great crowd in. Another cool gig.

Friday 22 April Berlin……After three hours kip it was time to get to the railway station and get out of dodge. On the train I met Michael from last nights gig and talk is of mp3’s , vinyl , the end of the record industry etc. When I got into Berlin Eb took me up to Vicktoria Park and later to Golgotha Beer Garden. I suppose its appropriate as its Good Friday. Golgotha being ‘the place of skulls’ where the Biblical cruci-fiction took place. But in Berlin Golgotha is a cool beer drinking-hang out with good food available too.
Later we were down in Soul Cat to listen to good old Rn B and late 50's early 60's rock n roll records were being played loud. A good end to the night, and the tour.

FEBRUARY 2011 - UK / IRELAND / SWEDEN

2011-04-05T16:36:00.000-07:00

Thursday Feb 10 London….The rain was coming down in an unrelenting spray. A slice of pizza lined my empty stomach and as I ate it sheltering from the rain over in Camden Town, I called Fi Shanks on the tellerfone and asked what the plan was, if there was a plan ? ‘Let’s meet in the Elephants Head’ he said, or words to that affect. I walked there, a short stroll and ordered a beer and sat looking out at the downpour. The streets were busy as London can only be. The last time I was in this town was about 4 or 5 years ago and it was raining heavily that day too. We had come over for 24 hours to shoot a video, and we spent a lot of that day filming in various locations around Camden and Portobello Market and all went well. But then Joey Cashman (Shane MacGowans manager during the Popes era, and The Pogues tour manager) borrowed the camera (including film) and somehow never returned it. So, needless to say the video was never finished…. and never will. )

Fi soon arrived and we had a drink and chat with good times on tap and misery and confusion knew no place at our table. A bus ride later and we were in Aces & Eights, a bar in Kentish Town. Nice place, good vibe. They built a stage, brought in the PA, I checked out the jukebox and had a Guinness. Soundcheck was followed by food (pizza) and a lie down was in order. Fi made up a bed for me in the rehearsal room downstairs and I went to make a phonecall. When I got back to my bed, it was gone and a guy was trying out a guitar in one of the rehearsal room amps. I quickly learned a band were due in for rehearsal, so I lied down on the floor in a sleeping bag in a room across the way and nodded off. Woke up about an hour later, and the band sounded good. Back to sleep. Woke up and they sounded terrible. Could’ve been a different band.

Played the gig, using Fi’s electric Hofner on a few songs, and the sound was good, and Fi joined me for a song or too. Paddy arrived down and I got to meet Daniel Jeanrenaud. Last time I saw him was in Dublin about 7 or 8 years ago. Jean said he was being managed by Terry O Neill at the time. I told him that Terry had tried to manage a band I was in once, but he gave up cos he thought we were unmanageable. ‘That sounds like a good band to me’ said Jean, the Camden Cat (although he’s French).

Friday February 11, London….Woke up on a sofa…. Fi was on the other sofa. We were in the living room of the house owned by Whiskey Mick, but he was away somewhere. Hes got a two-sofa living room. Stereo seating arrangements. His wife arrived in. We had tea and decided to leave. Fi has been sofa surfing for 3 months now and is on the verge of getting a new flat. He told me that breakfast is a drink that should be taken standing and who was I to argue. We talked of other gigs that should be played, phone calls were made. He reminded me of a song I never wrote (but should) called Stick With Me. Sometimes all you need is the title. He phoned a taxi, no time for the Underground and Terrorvision busses. Didn’t want to miss the flight, so I took a taxi to the airport. Nodded off to sleep, woke up not sure where I was. Asked the guy to pull over because I BADLY needed to pee. We were on the motorway but he pulled over anyway. To hell with the law. I ran onto the grass verge, took a leak, turned to my right and there was my Indian taxi driver taking a leak himself. We were both in the same boat. When you gotta go you gotta go.

MondayFebruary 14 Göteborg….Johnny Hodges on the stereo for breakfast. He was Charlie Parkers idol apparently, or maybe the record company hired a liar of a scribe to concoct a tale for the liner notes. Either way, he was good on that alto sax. The Sun was bright and shades are needed to cut out the glare. Marianne Faithful claims that in the 60’s she would select potential boyfriends on whether they had read Huysmans ‘Against Nature’ or not. I’m reading it now, but as usual I’m a few decades too late.

Thursday February 17 Dublin… Arrived in yesterday evening, and had some food, and a chat and a lie down. I was left in an empty house from early morning, but with access to the internet, I could get a few chores done and read a bit of ‘Shantaram’. The wife asked me, or should I say…told me to read it. Its definitely wiped away any romantic notions of wanting to visit India from my brain. I’m sticking with Europe for the time being thank you very much. Its big enough and varied enough.

Rehearsal was good fun and we got a lot done….and that rhymed unintentionally! Tried a version of the old Byrds song, ‘So You Want To be A Rock n Roll Star’ and it sounded good. That’s going in the set. Had a drink after in the Foggy Dew pub just off Dame St under the dark sinister shadow of the Central Bank.

Friday February 18 Carlow….A trip to the internet café was the first port of call having washed down a slice of bread with cheese and chutney. A damp day in Dub world , the smell of hops from Guinness’s along the quay. Long time since I got that smell. Brought me back to the last century…the early 1980’s and those smog filled days of aimless penniless street wandering. Going to the Hare Krishna’s ‘open days’ to score a free meal, the dole office on Werbrough Street, rubbing shoulders with criminals in the queue, the churlish counter staff, damp flats, butter vouchers. The clock pub on Thomas Street, McGonagles, musty second hand book shops…all long gone, The Alchemists Head, Saturday afternoon goths on Grafton Street, the old Foggy, Tobins of South Anne Street and Temple Bar was like a Dickensian ghost town.

Tried to get paid money due to me by somebody I used to know who works in a record shop, only to be told times were bad and business was bad and they have very little money. Well, I have very little money myself…but of course I didn’t get paid. Instead there was drama and nonsense and profuse apologies and YES we WILL get you the money etc etc. The usual crap. I’ll believe it when I see it. Not many record shops left in Dublin now. I’d like to get paid before they too close. Went for something to eat. Coming down Georges Street I met a guy. Homeless… on the street, trying to busk but doing a very bad job at it. He asked me if I remembered him and he mentioned a few people we used to know. Gave him some money and on I went feeling shit.

Had a drink or two with Niall Lawlor in The Stags Head while I waited for the car and off we went in the pissing rain to Carlow. Nodded off to sleep for a few miles of the monotonous motorway as Chris and Les chatted away in the front of our metal transportation box. We were playing The Castle Tavern and it was cold and damp and the UV lights didn’t help the slaughterhouse vibe. But just before Broken String Company started their set, the lights dimmed and in poured a whole gang of like minded souls. The vibe was instantly great. We were all in good form. Gala and crew played a great set and after a short break we started to make a racket. Good fun, loud, melodic and we got it very right. A great night and a great reaction from the folks in Carlow. Thank you guys for a memorable night.

Saturday February 18 Dublin…Off to Arad Studios to do some work. Chris was adding real drums to some songs I had started recording (with a drum machine as guide) in Sweden. Things started to sound good fairly quickly. Bear, who is boss of the Art Gallery and landlord of various artists studios seems to have a never ending supply of bottled beer. I meet some of his artist friends as we sit out in the damp dusk gloom as he tells me stories of his days as a member of a punk band in Mongolia. He’s the first person I ever met whose been to Mongolia and I reckon I’ll never meet another person who has been in a Mongolian punk band. It’s all down hill from here.

Chris nailed 4 songs, there were 2 others, but we ran out of time. No rest for the wicked. Off to sound check in Sweeny Mongrel. After we made the required amount of noise I bumped into my old friend Mick Cronin from Ireland best band The Aftermath. A quick jaunt across the way to Sheebeen Chic for refreshments and a good chat and then back to see Lois and Clarke who are playing ‘45’ and they’ve recorded it too. The lyrics have been changed a bit, but I like their version. The Hot Sprockets were great, as were the band who keep changing their name. Sabine and crew had arrived and Ann, Alanna and Barbara. Jessica was there and the place was packed. Wasn’t expecting such a big crowd. Enjoyed the gig, had to drop my solo acoustic slot, the rowdy drunken Saturday mob wanted it loud and rockin’…so that’s what they got. Sheila Sullivan guested on violin on 2 songs but quit after that. She said we were too loud. I beg to disagree, I’ve played way louder gigs.

Sunday February 19 Tramore…Ugly politicians faces on posters all the ways along the road. General election fever, the Black Death…a plague foisted upon the man on the street. An insult to the intelligence. Down past the Beacon Hotel we found a chipper and got fish and chips and we ate our dinners looking out over the wild waves of the Irish Sea. Manann Mac Lir was having a party tonight. The gig was fine, with a good turn out for a Sunday night. People showed up because they heard us on the radio. A few songs into the set my fingers went a bit odd, I was losing the feeling of the little finger and the ring finger on my left hand. I thought I’d had a stroke. Chris wanted to stop the gig. I soldiered on with great difficulty. Got through the show. Selling CD’s and records afterwards I apologised for my sloppy playing, but folks were saying ‘Didn’t notice a thing wrong’. Many complemented ‘the drummer’. This could be the second last gig with Chris. Hopefully not. Australia beckons.

Saturday February 25 Göteborg …Thought I woke up with a dark demon at the window. Somebody called out ‘Loki’ but this was the wrong name. An elemental presence , malevolent, dumb and then gone. Then I really woke up . We played Henricksberg with Christian and the 2120’s. A good crowd, not packed, but a 40 minute set is an odd affair for us. We are used to playing an hour and a half, sometimes two hours. So we hardly had time to even get warmed up. But the folks enjoyed it and we got the job done. Earlier in the week I had wasted several hours of my precious time in the hospital. A trip to a reflexologist proved more useful. Diagnosed with carpal tunnel syndrome a period of rest followed by exercise and acupuncture, deep tissue massage etc, and I can hopefully get my hand / arm back in action. So the gig in Henricksberg was a test of sorts. I just about got through it. Not an easy night.

2010-12-24T02:20:00.000-08:00

Thursday October 14, Göteborg… I’m being followed around by the god Thoth. He’s making me take notes, scribble down phrases from William S. Burroughs Naked Lunch, stay up to 5am trying to write lyrics to long forgotten riffs recently discovered on Sony FX cassette tapes. Write your blog, Thoth tells me. Scribe of Ma'at in the Company of the Gods….i will do that.

By chance I discover some homemade documentary film on youtube about the murder of Bridget Cleary (1895) often referred to as the last witch burning in Europe. But it wasn’t really that. For a start it wasn’t the remnants of the vile Inquisition or a Witch Finder General type scumbag that killed her, but her husband and a bunch of her relatives and neighbours. Her Father was even there. I had read a lot about this years ago, first unearthing the story as a 9-year-old kid in Patrick F. Byrnes ‘Witchcraft in Ireland’. About 6 or 7 years ago Angela Bourke’s account was published – ‘The Burning Of Bridget Cleary’ . I started to read it again. On google maps I found the house where she was murdered. I couldn’t believe (A) it still stood and (B) it was lived in. Now that I’ve been there in the virtual world I’d like to visit on the physical plane of this vague reality. I might go there on the astral by accident. Been lotza places by accident, real and imaginary. Took down copious notes, a song or two may be brewing. And Thoth, Ibis headed god of scribbling (and more) says ‘keep writing.’ It’s one way out of hell.

Thursday October 21, Dublin…It was like old times. Stories to be told, plans being made as we drifted from one watering hole to the next up an down Baggot Street. But it had been an early start for me, up cockcrow to catch a flight over via Copenhagen, so come 4 o’ clock I went down to Temple Lane Rehearsal Studios. We had a room booked, but we weren’t due to start until 6, so I managed to get two hours sleep on the big leather sofa. Foxy was there to greet me as I awoke from my slumber. It just so happens that he was down the corridor with his crew The Mosquitoes. Would he meet me for a drink after rehearsals? No, he couldn’t do that. Chris arrived in and we got down to work. He had brought in a Yamaha amp for me and I tried it out and liked it and it’s mine for the weekend.

Afterwards we visited Sweeney Mongrel to see a band (whose name I can’t recall) from Westport. Then onto the Ha’penny Bridge Inn, The Working Man’s Club and Les’s flat and time for a lie down.

Friday October 22, Dublin’s Fair City…. Jessica was having breakfast as I stumbled into the kitchen. I was looking for the toilet, wrong way entirely. She pointed me in the right direction and I went back to bed. Hours later in Sweeney Mongrel I was checking out things for the gig when in walks the undisputed King Of Rockabilly, Seanie Foy with Edel and another friend. He was on Erdinger (non-alcoholic) I needed to self-medicate a bit. Good times….good times. It had started to rain and a few buskers came in and asked if they could play in the bar. Mark (the fixer of our gig) said this was a great idea and he sorted the folks out with a few free beers. Not every pub would be so kind. The played a mix of bluegrass , hillbilly , country and sounded great. After a while the rain eased up and off they went on their merry way. I went for something to eat, rambled the streets and it was time for sound check, a painless affair and the sound guy knew what he was doing. Afterwards we drove out the country, stopping in for provisions at some roadside shopping centre, a few glamour puss babes buying vodka, the young people of Ireland preparing for another debauched Friday night out. Then we spent a while on Chris’s barge. Joy was there to greet us with some pasta with green pesto sauce. The barge is a lot bigger than I had imagined. Homely, welcoming and tranquil.

Back into town and there’s a good vibe on the street. The gig was really enjoyable and familiar faces were there, and a lot of unfamiliar ones too. We all really enjoyed playing and that’s what it’s all about. A bonus if other people like it too, and I reckon they did. Long may the rock roll.

Sunday October 24 Dublin… Having spent the day (and night) in Clane, County Kildare, I was back in the capital for an afternoon gig in the IMOCA (Irish Museum Of Contemporary Art) Freezing cold during sound check and gig as well. Niall Toner Jnr and Johnny Rohan were great. Reminded me a bit of the Jayhawks. Unfortunately I missed Sean Millers set. I played a few acoustic numbers, then Chris and Les got up and we did our thang. Jessica told me her handbag was nicked the other night. Petty thieves beware…never steal a witch’s bag ! Not a good idea. But on this Sunday we had a nice gathering of old friends, and some new ones too and despite the arctic conditions we had fun.

Sunday October 31, Göteborg… Recorded some songs with Damon from the Don Darlings. A good version of Delia, and a song of his own – can’t remember the title. Got some handclaps on one of my own songs and wrote another song by accident as often happens. I was trying to play something else and along this tune came like an uninvited, but welcomed guest. Put down some tambourine on a song using an old one with a skin. Before long Freja unloaded a bowl of yoghurt into the tambourine. Smells fruity now.

Downtown wandering the foggy grey streets with Paddy Lynch. He’s on a visit from London. After drinks at a Spanish place we were all hungry as vultures after a skunk weed spliff. Just up around the corner we found the Thai restaurant with the tuk tuk in the centre of the room. I asked the friendly waitress for 3 beers, saying I would go for some wine when the food arrived. Her smile faded as she informed me that they were under new management. A muslim guy has taken over and won’t allow alcohol on the premises. So out the door we go. Near Nordstan we visit Mother India, go through the ritual of getting a table, coats off, reading the menu and then they tell me the only have folkbeer and NO WINE. They’ve lost their licence. Got on the tram. Five stops later we’re in another Indian restaurant and its third time lucky.

Friday December 3, Copenhagen….. The train was late getting into Malmo, so it was a bit of a panicky scramble to get onto the correct platform and catch the next train down and into Denmark. A very very disgruntled Austrian tourist had missed her train due to adverse weather conditions, and thus would not make it in time for her flight home. Felt sorry for her, but the more she went on and on about it the more my sympathy faded. She ranted and ranted to the friendly lady who sat beside me. I read my Anais Nin book and went off someplace else.

The Danes weren’t prepared for so much snow. 6 or 7 inches of the white powder covered the thoroughfares of Copenhagen. Navigated my way with help from a kind stranger. The gig was a small club called Bartof Café. Good sound, good people. A single domestic turntable behind the bar with records being played over the sound system, a small record shop tucked away in the corner.

Central Station, down past the Tivoli is a cold drab place at 9am. Breeze blowing through, no place to warm up and relax. Everybody in transit or looking lost. Eventually we’re travelling across that 20 mile-long bridge that gets us back into Sweden. Stop in Hamstad with the great yellow-bricked Best Western Hotel casting a weary eye over the cold-war-era bleakness of the train station. A lady across from me reminds me of Lena Olin. Onwards up through Falkenberg and Kungsbacka. People hacking away emails into their laptops. We’re moving into a lost era. The art of letter writing is a thing of the past. Time is slow. We’re running late. All the toilets are out-of-order. I still feel ok. I can take a leak whenever we reach our destination. The eternal optimist strikes again.

Friday December 17 Göteborg…. A lady got on, young (compared to me anyway) and out of her bag she pulled her knitting kit. I was trying to mind my own business, but I was afraid she’d take one of my eyes out with those long needles. Frantically she knitted for a whole 4 minutes, then stuffed it all back in her bag and she got off the tram at the next stop. I suppose she thought I was a weirdo reading my book of Anton Chekov short stories. Whatever gets you through the day, or in this case…whatever gets you through the tedium of using public transport.

Back at HQ I put the finishing touches to some songs from a previous life (the late 80’s). Hours spent knob twiddling, getting the EQ right, a bit of compression here and there. Then back to the 21st century to have a run through of few songs for tonight’s gig. Had intended to have a lie down as I’d been awake since 5am, but it never happened. Just didn’t get around to it. Outside it was bitter cold. Minus 12 Celsius. The gig is at Klubb Sonja in Hakket. After sound check I had dinner with Steafan and a beer. Needed to get out of dodge for a while. A ramble around Jantorget was in order. On Andre Långgatan I heard music coming from a place with frosted windows. Went inside, a white room with an accordion orchestra belting out the tunes. About 5 or 6 piano accordion players with a thumping double bass player. Sounded like Nordic folk music but I could be wrong. The place was packed with what looked like an invited, but very appreciative audience. On my merry way and had a beer in L’Assassino, and then back to Hakket. Anders, Martti and Kaarina were just arriving. Caught the tail end of the set by Det Blev Handgemang. Soon it was time for my set. I enjoyed it, sound was good and Marti said he needed to smoke a Cuban cigar. No need for a coat, Martti is from northern Finland and this type of weather means nothing to him. A Stena Line ferry sailed by, a big floating monster of a vessel, the first surreal moment in an evening of many.

2010-10-05T12:04:00.001-07:00

Thursday July 15, Göteborg…
Toyed around with a Sony T-630 Reel to Reel ¼ inch tape recorder I got my hands on a few weeks ago. It’s three-speed, with built-in amp and original 1960’s speakers. I need to source tape. I happened to have one virgin reel lying around since the 1980’s, pre digital age, but I need more, so more shall be bought. Next on the shopping list is a record player that plays 78’s.

Going to the drug store / apoteket / pharmacy in Sweden is an experience. For a country that is collectively so vehemently anti-drug, it looks like a great percentage of the urban population are doing an Elvis on it. Self-medication is the new jogging. All the pharmacies have cues miles long, with white-coated experts rambling around the aisles to offer advice and guide you to your pillbox of choice. All I wanted was Treo, a hangover cure.

Joe Fournier, the great Canadian country rocker was doing an in-store over at Dirty Records so I went there with Damon from the Don Darlings, stopping off for a few beers along the way. Met up with Thomas from Little Green too. The barman in Jazza - the Jazz club where they rarely seem to actually play Jazz, was kept amused by Damon’s banter in his genuine Texan drawl. Hours drifted by and I somehow managed to end up on Hissingen having taken the wrong tram. Hissingen, an Island off the west coast, yet still part of the metropolis, is the Swedish equivalent of stab city Limerick. If your in Göteborg and you want to get killed just go to Hissingen. I got out of there as fast as I could and didn’t look back. I played a gig there once…. before anybody told me it was dodgy. But I was older then.

Saturday July 17, Åmål…Breakfast comprised of The Gourds ‘Ghosts Of Hallelujah’ album at top volume. Then some Kitty Wells, and as my egg was boiled good and hard I put on the incomparable Malcolm Holcolm.Central Station was unnecessarily confusing as usual. I had bought a train ticket but it turned out a bus would take us to Trollhattan, and then we were to change to a train. But of course the announcements in Central Station are only in the Kings Swedish. Never in French, or English or Danish. No time for tourists or foreign residents here. I was lucky to figure it out and get on the bus in the nick of time. Read some of Gustav Flauberts ‘Salambo’ on the journey up. By the time we got to Mellerud, the rain had stopped and the sun was out. Pulled out of the one-horse-town and picked up speed, whizzing through the forest. But an hour later as we rolled into Åmål it was raining again.

I was in town to play at the Americana Festival. An open-air event, the poster looked good, the sky looked dark. I met up with Norwegian Björn and he was telling me all about his new Ibanez guitar that he loves so much, when it dawned on me that I owned the same one. I grabbed my case, opened it up and there it was, a twin to Björn’s recent purchase. Only difference was that his had a built in pick-up. I had the one without a pick-up but I had got my Irish guitar doctor to put in an expensive Fishman bridge pick-up and a golden Fender volume knob. After a while Björn invited me up to his workshop, where he stores his PA, guitars and amplifiers. He’s got a custom built amp there too. Built it himself and all the knobs go up to 11. Sounds great, the reverb shakes the room and the overdrive gives me a cold sweat. After a few hours of hanging around at Café XO, I hang around a bit longer. Little Green had arrived, and eventually I played my set. 60 minutes on the dot. Enjoyed it too, and some regular faces were there despite the miserable weather. Still, everybody seemed determined to have a good time. I ended up on stage with Joe Fournier too for a bit of a sing-along on one of his tunes, completely unrehearsed and it was fun. He’s got a great band too.

Friday 20 August, Dublin….Christopher Hitchins book on Mother Theresa kept me entertained in a weird sort of way as I awaited sleep. After a few hours lie down I was on my way to the Emerald Isle. Friday was spent trying to avoid the rain, and rehearsing at Temple Lane Studios. I tried out two old Marshall amps. Both were knackered, had seen better days, brown bread, fucked, broke down, useless, totalled, dead as a doornail. Not a sound. Tried out an old Roland JC120. It worked. I used to own one of these and used it consistently from the late 1980’s until the early 1990’s. Then I started using a Marshall Valve State, which broke down more times than I care to remember. The Roland served out its time as a piece of furniture. On a few occasions it served as a table and I ate my dinner off it, but I recall it mostly tipped on its side as a sort of bookshelf. When I decided to sell it, it took ages to scrape all the spilt candle wax off the surface. The guys in Green Day apparently went through a phase where they used these amps, so there suddenly was a market again and I sold it on to a young guy in Dublin. These days I use a Fender Performer for gigs, and a Fender Champion for recording, but if it’s a borrowed amp or rented back-line, anything goes.

During rehearsal we tried out Lou Reed’s ‘Waiting For The Man.’ It sounded ok having never played it before. Good build-up. So that goes on the set-list, last song of the night. Spied Carmen from Lima, Peru on Exchequer Street and waved over. Then I spotted John too so we went for a few drinks. Last time we met was in Berlin two or three years ago. A few hours later I was on a bus passing by the Family Pharmacy in Clane County Kildare. A good name for a band – The Family Pharmacy. Spent the night in Clane and had a glass or three of red wine which lulled me into a false sense of security and the Land Of Nod beckoned.

Saturday 21 August, Dublin... Had intended to get some sleep between sound-check and the gig, but of course this never happened. The sound-check took a lot longer than I had bargained for and they complained about us being too loud and the neighbour might complain and call the cops etc etc etc. We enjoyed playing and mistakes were kept to a minimum and it was good to see some old faces there. Some folks I hadn’t seen in years. Paul had come up from Cork, Sabine from Tilburg, The Netherlands (via County Mayo) Kevin from Rockfield, Ann, Alana…a wonderful gathering indeed. My old friend Dominick was bar man in the other room, and kindly allowed us stay back for a late drink, despite the fact I had a LOT of people with me. But it all worked out in the end.

Sunday morning, boiled egg and toast, cup of tea. With Les I went back to the scene of the crime and packed up the gear. Larry Egan was playing the trad session in the front bar of the Cobblestone. A great accordion player, Larry toured with The Racketeers in 1997. A mad bad five-week tour through Sweden, Finland and The Netherlands. No plane flights in those days. We all travelled in a nine-seater van from Dunlaoghaire Harbour to Hollyhead, down through Wales and England to the white cliffs of Dover, over to Le Harve, or was it Calais? then up through Belgium and into the Netherlands. We spent the night (in the van) in Amsterdam, then drove up through Germany and I cant recall where we crossed into Sweden, probably from Kiel to Göteborg, then hit the motorway for Eskilstuna and promptly ran out of petrol ! The driver hitched a lift to the next town, bought a can of petrol, hitched back to the van and we got to Eskilstuna in time for the first gig. Those were not the days my friend.
It was good to see Larry and he asked me to do a song, so we played ‘Racketeers Lament’ together. He wanted to hear ‘Walk A Mile In My Shoes’ but I couldn’t remember the words so we did ‘Don’t Look Back’ the old John Lee Hooker song that we used to play back in those days. A few hours later I was in the airport in Copenhagen. Having forgotten to change the time on my watch, I nearly missed my onward flight. Heard my name called out over the Tannoy and made my way to the gate.

Thursday 26 August, Göteborg…..Last Monday, along with Jessica Carlsson paintings were hung at Cafe Chao over in Masthugget. Posters were up, publicity taken care of, so tonight’s the night. A good gathering of mostly like-minded people. I played my songs, the PA behaved erratically but these things happen occasionally. Damon from the Don Darlings got up to sing a song there was a good vibe and CD’s were sold and Jessica sold a painting. The exhibition runs for six weeks so fingers crossed. The place is run for Jorge from Buenos Aires so it’s not your usual Swedish joint. Relocated to Henriksbeg down the hill for a late night hang-out.

Friday 17 September, Göteborg…. 33 Andra Långgatan is the address for Dirty Records, probably the best record shop in the city. Mostly second-hand, but some new stuff too, a lot of vinyl, a coffee counter and organic beer available too, albeit 2.8% beer. Following two quick (5.2%) beverages in Jazza next door where I met Anders who had seen me play Cafe Kom a good few years back, I ran into Dirty Records and played my gig. A nice crowd of interested people were there. I played for about an hour and later with a motley crew of outsiders we reconvened to L’Assassino for a few hours. Tired of sitting on my stool, if offered it to a lady who had none. She seemed to think I was trying to get-off with her. Can’t you offer somebody a seat with no hidden agenda ? What’s the world coming to ?

Anders tells me about his annual party at his workshop over in Gamlastan and that he might have it next week if Im interested in playing . I tell him that I am indeed interested, so phone numbers are swapped …and email addresses too. I got home without any major problems. Didn’t get on the wrong tram, didn’t end up on Hissingen.

Saturday 25 September, Göteborg….. Spent some time checking out William Egglestons photographs at Konstmuseum. Upstairs they have a room with etchings by Albrecht Durer (1471-1528) and another room has a recently restored Rubens. Dick Bengtssons ‘Landscape with Church’ is an odd painting with a swastika in the bottom left-hand corner. The left-hand path ? No, theres’s no connection. The room with the abstract expressionists makes one feel like going home and getting a canvas ready for assault.

Rambled over to Vasagatan. Not much happening. The streets were of no interest. They need to be alchemized with some drama. I got back to base and attempted a re-mix of ‘She Said’. (I had discovered the original recording on a Boss recording machine so I was interested in a bit of knob twiddling.) Also re-recorded vocals and some guitar parts on a song called ‘The Needle And The Nail’ that I had worked on a few weeks ago. Sadly, it turns out to be merely B side material.

Put on The Invaders single ‘Heaven And Hell’. A King Tubby’s production, theres none of that praise the Lord / Jah Rastafari malarkey. “Heaven and hell are conditions in life, you can’t live in heaven when you are dead. The preacher knows the truth, the rich man knows it too. We have been brainwashed for a long time, we have been taken for a long ride.”…and that’s just the chorous. The label gives scant information on who the Invaders were, but the publishing date is 1977.

Daylight dimmed to a ghostly twilight. I was in Gamlastan. Anders had lit a bonfire and people were standing around drinking beer

and eating Mexican food. Played for

an hour and the 70’s Fender PA held out and the whole evening had rustic appeal. Its not everyday one gets to play in a carpentry workshop with an antique stove for heat and good company in abundance. Sold a lot of CD’s. A Finnish blacksmith bought five, as well as the 7inch single, ‘Time Is All We Have.’ I commend his good taste.

2010-06-17T12:04:00.001-07:00

Wed Jan 20 Göteborg, Sweden……theres that creeping madness that seeps into your veins as you watch the flakes do their slow motion routine. The snow plough is king around here. Sitting in Lilla Resturangen down at Olskrolen, its falling outside in a city that rarely succumbs to the travel chaos other places have to endure. Its one of the longest winters in years with non-stop freezing conditions, today even the trams aren’t running properly. Elvis is on the stereo and the guy from the local record shop is sitting alone at the bar with a beer. Two guys are discussing Roxy Music and a couple at the next table are speaking in hushed tones. No need to. I haven’t a clue whats been said. Another language, a different tribe.

I had to walk back home, minus 17 degrees but thankfully there was no breeze. A still day with the snow flakes falling vertically in dead straight fashion. Back indoors I wrote some emails and listened to the Two Dollar Pistols ‘Hands Up’ album, good old fashioned honky tonk. Got a good mix of ‘Time Is All We Have’ and lay on the sofa reading Edgar Allen Poe and I was off someplace else.

Up cock crow and located the phone and spoke to Peter King in New Zealand about cutting a record. He claims he’s cut one and a half million records in his time and he’s just after drinking fifteen shots of bourbon with a local band who are visiting him in his rural hideaway from where he cuts these records on three lathes he built himself. He used to be a drummer, so that explains a lot. Our conversation left me feeling inspired by his dedication to his craft, which isn’t really a job, it’s a vocation. It was 9am in Sweden (but 10pm in New Zealand) and I got back into recording a few new songs I’ve been working on.

After a while I needed a break. Put on a record, Okerville River who sound a bit like an American countrified version of Planxty on amphetamines.
Mark Lanegan gets played too, “I Hit The City” with Shelly Brien on back up vocals. A cool lady but a lady of mystery. Where did he find her ? and where did she go. No web presence , a bit like Tony Tuff.

Spent the night out in Tollered, following Jessica Carlsson’s exhibition in Lerum. Tollered is like a picture postcard under four feet of snow. Got back to Göteborg the following day and put on the Detroit Spinners ‘I’ll Be There’. Sweet soul music to ease me out of hangover trauma.

I had a gig in Henriksberg opening up for the Don Darlings. (I sing on one track on their new album). The venue is three floors up, over near Masthugget. The place is packed and there’s a real good vibe. The bar looks out over the harbour where we can see chunks of ice the size of snooker tables floating off to Denmark.

Mon Feb 22….The melting snow melts deeper and the rust is gaining ground.
The local postman is a strange cat. Its minus 12 outside and he doesn’t wear a coat, or a jacket or a hoody….he wears a T shirt. Obviously immune to pneumonia (and the mythological swine flu hoax) he came to my door with a cardboard package bearing round pieces of vinyl. I tore it open and discovered 7inch records by King Coleman “Alley Rat”, Arthur Big Boy Crudup “Mean Ole Frisco”, Fleet Foxes “Mykonos” Earl Williams, Buster Smith And His Heatwaves, Betty James “Im A Little Bit Mixed Up” and Dave Bartholomew’s “Mambo Gumbo” which reminds me of the theme music from the 60’s TV show I Dream Of Jeannie. And that’s ok. I used to fancy Jeannie in a bottle when I was six. Another package arrived with the two first White Stripes LP’s and Dex Romwebbers single which happens to be on Jack Whites label. Apparently White has produced an LP for the over-rated Wanda Jackson. I checked out her website. She’s calling herself the Queen of Rock. What will Courtney Love think ? I could think of other people more deserving of the title. Chrissy Hynde, Patti Smith. PJ Harvey.

Out on a ramble, I was approaching Stockholmsgatan tram station. I saw lady staring up at the full moon. She was singing to herself, or to the moon. Was this a witch at work? As I got closer I was disappointed to learn she was singing “The First Cut Is The Deepest.” Sheryl Crow did a version a few years back, but Rod Stewart’s version is the one I know the best. Rod had a big hit with it in the 70’s, but I think the original might have been by PP Arnold. The lady, who probably wasn’t a witch, got on the tram and I got on and discovered I had book of short stories by Virginia Wolf in my pocket. Took it out, read a few pages. The girl sitting across from me has one of those cold storage smiles.

Mon May 3 Tollered, Sweden. ….. Decided to have a look at the Irish papers on the internet. A bad idea. Nothing but bad news. I see that there are to be 40million Euro cuts in Health Care. The directive from the government to dentists is to cut back on fillings for folks on medical cards. The plan is 181,000 fewer fillings, instead they should just pull the teeth out like back in the 1950’s. Maybe the cuts can pay for another few fancy hotel rooms for Mary Harney, or a years supply of vodka.

I needed something to slake my thirst. Dropped into ICA, which is a supermarket chain, not a branch of the Irish Countrywomen’s Association. Bought a bottle of black stuff called Cocka, a sort of cola I presumed. I was making my way up the steep hill in Lunden overlooking the tall turquoise spire of St. Pauli Kyrka. Feeling the uncomfortable thirst, I took the bottle-opener out of my pocket, snapped the cap off the bottle and took a long swig. A tall blond lady approached smiling and said something to me in Swedish referring to the bottle of black liquid in my hand. “Im not sure what this is!” I replied. She took the bottle in her hand, looked at the label and switching to the Kings English said “I don’t know either, but you won’t get high on that.” “I can take care of that later” I said . She laughed and wandered off down the hill.

By the time we got to Floda it was getting chilly and the rain had started. The only bar was a Chinese restaurant called China. We waited for Jessica and had a drink. We then drove out to Tollered where food and drinks awaited and plans made for a joint exhibition of our paintings.
I went out for a ramble in the morning, walking through the town down by the old mill and in through an inviting doorway looking for the restaurant. Met a couple who had rented the place out from the local bikers. Drum kit and a few amps set up on the stage, chairs here and there. There had been a private party on the previous night and they were in the process of cleaning up, although the place looked clean enough to me. The guy handed me a bottle of beer…on the house. We had a little chat. The usual sort of chat one has with friendly strangers…., where I was from, what I doing here, why was I here? I wasn’t sure I could answer that one. Could I phone a friend, or ask the audience? Tricky question that. Ah yes, child care is affordable…..and Ireland is bankrupt. Yes, now I remember. There are other reasons too, but I simply thanked them for the beer and off I went.

A few hours later we were in Alingsås. Checked out a café (can’t remember what its called) and the plan is that we will hang a few paintings here in November and I’ll play a short set and that will be that ! Further down the street we were going to eat in a Greek place, but they weren’t open, although all the staff were hanging around smoking cigarettes and drinking espressos. Around the corner I found a Chinese place and we ate there. Took the train out of town and headed west into the sunset.

Sun May 9 Cefalu, Sicily…. Arrived into Trapani Airport in the afternoon, located on the north western coast of Sicily. Got the tickets, a couple of bottles of water and boarded the bus. Timetables don’t mean much in Sicily. It took over an hour before the bus moved, and when it did we had to pull over and let a guy on who had managed to miss it. He was running frantically across the car park trying to catch-up before we exited the airport grounds. He got on, all sweaty and panting, and off we rolled, Jack taking in the sights before burying his head in a Henry Miller book, Freja and Åsa arguing about seating arrangements. Hazy grey/blue sky, dusty roads and rusty bridges. Cacti growing alongside the viaduct. We passed by Partinicio and rolled on through the countryside. The heat was intense and the past sure is tense. We were over an hour late arriving into Palermo. Located the old train station and got the necessary information concerning our tickets and departure time mingling with gypsies, crooks, wide-eyed tourists and diseased pigeons. Down a side street we found a deserted restaurant. I had tagliatelle with mushrooms in a creamy sauce, not sure what my travelling companions had, something with meat. Washed it all down with a litre of wine and made a beeline for the train. It was like a scene from the 1950’s. Steep steps led to the narrow door, then down the long corridor rocking back and forth, we found our own cabin. This wasn’t first class, we were travelling on the cheap yet in antiquated style. I remembered I had a Nikon camera so I took some photos as we sped along for a few hours, before arriving into Cefalu just before sunset. Of Greek foundation, the city evidently derived its name from its situation on a lofty and precipitous rock, forming a bold headland (Κεφαλὴ) projecting into the sea. The place looks and feels great.

This partly being a sort of occult pilgrimage I was conscious of the fact that Aleister Crowley would have walked down this very platform, the station having changed little since the 1920’s. AC was a regular user of the train as he took his trips over to Palermo to pick up prostitutes of both sexes, to break up the monotony of life at his Abbey Of Thelema where he schooled his disciples. He made his first train journey from Palermo to Cefalu April 1st 1920 with his merry troop of libertine companions to begin an experiment in hedonism, sex, drugs and magick. It came to an abrupt three years later when he was deported by Mussolini.

The town it a lot smaller than I had imagined. Located the hotel out on Lungomare Giuseppe Giardina along by the shore. Checked in, cracked open a bottle of wine. Went out, found a restaurant and ate again, and washed it down big time, the powerful waves rolling in from the Tyrrhenian Sea. I raised my glass to Perdurabo, Ankh-f-n-khonsu,The Beast 666.
In the morning Jack and I, armed with a map and bottles of water to combat dehydration, set off up the hill to try and find the ruins of the Abbey Of Thelema, and there we found it near the football stadium. It was a strange feeling approaching it. I had read so much about the place, seen the old photos and thinking of the lives that were lived here I was still conscious that the locals don’t take kindly to strangers and certainly don’t want foreigners visiting the old house. The front door, the original one too, was boarded up, as were all the windows except for one. We climbed in, and it lead straight into the Chamber of Nightmares, which was the main Temple. Some of Crowleys paintings are still to be seen on the wall. I set about taking photographs. Filmed the place as well, inside and out, the sound will be used on some recording I’ll do in the future. Some furniture is scattered about in the kitchen, cooking utensils, bottles, chairs, cupboards…old rusted beds are still in the bedrooms, and the place is in good nick even though the roof has fallen-in over the main hallway.

Tuesday May 10, Trapani, Sicily…..Trapani was founded by the Turkish tribe, the Elymianss to serve as the port of the nearby city of Erice (ancient Eryx), which overlooks it from Monte San Giuliano. The town took a hammering from the Allies during World War II, but some of the streets obviously survived. Its still got charm.
Less charming are the ATM’s which don’t want to give me any cash. Credit cards aren’t my style, and walking around in the sun all day isn’t my style either. Eventually, with the aid of some locals we found the hotel with its perspex lift and roof-top views of concrete jungle sprawl. This could be anyplace mediterannean. Took some photos, read a bit of Edgar Allen Poe, scribbled notes in my note book for some song whizzing around in my head.

2010-01-17T03:44:00.000-08:00

Fri Oct 23 Wurzen ….Felt a bit rough when I woke up in Leipzig and found myself still wearing my suit in bed. I thought those days were over. Evidently not. Oh well….just another rock n roll morning. Smartly remembered to retrieve my passport from the reception safe and went to the Asian Diner. Friendly smiles greeted me. Rice and tofu got me feeling ok again. Across the way at the train station I ended up aimlessly rambling through the subterranean shopping area. A friendly looking bear sat smiling at me and I felt compelled to give the lady 10 Euro and thus rescued Teddy from shelf-life. I told him that in two days he’d be meeting Freja and his new home would be in Scandinavia.

Liquid refreshment was required, and the train station bar was the place to be as the radio pumped out an unusually good selection of songs, Them’s version of ‘Its All Over Now Baby Blue,’ old country tunes, Lizzy, Elvis.

Got on the train and arrived into Wurzen in Saxony, built on the rambling River Mulde. I met Igor and Melanie. The venue is the NDK and I’m made feel very welcome and there’s a real good vibe. Dinner, sound check, hang around, played the gig. A small crowd in, but I enjoyed it and the folks in the audience must have too, because quite a few bought CD’s. I met some good people, including the cool Rosa Martinez from Espania who took some great photos and Hempi, a local double-bass player and his pregnant wife. I’m sure we’ll meet again.

Sat Oct 24 Berlin…Igor had kindly boiled an egg for me. Also on offer, good quality bread and real black tea. What more could you want ?…A good start to any day, and a great view out the window of the apartment too over-looking the town, all ochre rooftops and towers. Grey sky trying to turn blue. Got into Leipzig hassle-free with an hour to kill. Onwards to Berlin and I keep surprising myself with my navigation skills….all the way from Berlin Haupbahnhof to Gartnerstrasse without one taxi !

Thai food was on my mind and I managed to find a place I’d eaten in before, but it was disappointing. A new chef perhaps. My stomach needed settling and finding a bar that sold cognac took three attempts. The gig was down at Artliners and was good fun with Anto and friends arriving. I got to meet Nora too, who I had a correspondence with for a while. Hung around and got into a taxi and went to the airport and got on the plane for Göteborg via the obligatory stop over in Copenhagen.

Sat Oct 31 Åmål….Samhain, festival of the dead, candles lit on the cold graves. The train ride brings thoughts of those who are no longer with us, the ones who made a difference. Bitter cold wind blowing in from Lake Vänern right across the town of Åmål. After dinner I met up with photographer Tony Berg, who is also an artist, music fan, guitar collector and all-round good guy. Chatted to Fredrik and crew, and some familiar faces and old buddies from the summer come down to say hello. A good night it was.
In the morning I found myself in a big rambling guest house where the guy on the reception desk wouldn’t accept money for my cup of tea and helped me with my bags as I got ready to leave, the hands on the great black clock read 8.25am. There are still good people in the world just in case you’d forgotten.

Sitting on the train, there I was minding my own business. I’d been awake for four hours so I thought it was acceptable to have my first drink of the day. Nothing fancy, a beer would do. The bar was on my carriage. ‘Can I have a bottle of Falcon please?’
’No’ came the reply. ‘We can’t serve alcohol until after 11.’ It was 10.50, but there’s no point in arguing or trying to cajole this guys into any sort of law bending compromise, they never see things the same way as you or I. So I sat down and read a few more pages of Guy De Maupasaunt. I’d read all his short stories before. Anne Marie Hourihan turned me on to Guy a few years back.

At exactly 11am I approached the bar once again. The barman smiled, and with an apology handed me the can of beer. ’It’s ok’ I said, ‘Your not responsible for these crazy laws.’
He was just a guy trying to hold onto his job, do things by the book, that’s the way that some people have to do it. It’s in the DNA, or maybe the truth of it lies in the bank account. Either way, my motto always is ‘live and let live.’ The time slipped away as the train slid down the track. Robert Forster songs running wild through my head, The Go Betweens, Crime And The City Solution, Bad Seeds, Fatal Shore….Oz has given us a few good bands.

Tues Dec 2 Göteborg…..Postman Pat brought me ‘Alphabet 1968’ the great LP by Black To Comm, they of the youtube video featuring the giant rabbits. While on the subject of all things black, Black Mountain’s album ‘Dog Days’ has been on a lot. Shanta has been on the phone several times, and I’ve also got about seven emails concerning tonights gig at Gamla Port. It’s a 40 minute affair, a short set in front of drunk students, and in theory it sounds very dodgy, but I timed it well, going on early before they got too messy, everything went really well, got the money and got out of dodge.

Sun Dec 6 Dublin…. Got over to Dublin on Thursday night and stayed with Les. Up early in the morning and we went to his new studio over on Lad Lane, tucked away behind an art gallery, a few installations in the yard, busy beaver artists getting ready for an opening. Al Cowan came down to play drums and we tackled two new songs. Later Les rode off into the sunset and Al, Mercedes and I went to Mario’s restaurant in Ranelagh for a late dinner washed down with red wine. Saturday afternoon we were back in the studio for overdubs with some Yankee roasting a pig on a spit outside the studio door to the horror of Les’s vegetarian lady. Later on I ended up at Horslips in the O2, their first proper gig in thirty years (with the exception of Belfast two days ago), and they were great ! Late drinks and dinner with Joe Wall in an Indian restaurant in Temple Bar. Sat on a sofa for a few hours, nodded off, got up , went to the airport and went back to Göteborg via Brussels, or was it Copenhagen ?

Thurs Dec 10 Nörrkoping…A five hour bus ride got me to my far-flung destination in the province of Östergötland in eastern Sweden situated by the mouth of the river Motala Ström, at Bråviken, an inlet of the Baltic Sea. It was dark and cold. Several hundred candles lit up one of the parks near the bus station, streets more or less deserted, old factories, wooden houses, and old part of the city of medieval aspect. I would need to see the place in daylight to get a grip on its ice cold charm.
The gig was at a venue called Munken, nice place, nice folks. The sound guy did a good job and I hung out with the DJ afterwards, then took the 5 hour bus trek back west again reaching my bed at 7am. Job done.

Wed Dec 16 Nurnberg…..Every time I play Pegnitzbühne I have a good time and tonight is not an exception. Not many people showed up, but Marcus had taken the time to learn of 4 of my songs, so during sound check we nailed a few more an he joined me on piano and organ for a good few number and it added a lot of colour to proceedings. Tentative plans are made for a tour together, possibly next year. One of the cats shared my bed while the temperature dropped way below zero.

Thurs Dec 17 Stuttgart…. Got the train in from Muggenhof to Hauptbahnhof and had a beer as I awaited my connection. The guy beside me had his apple pie smothered under a mountain of cream and he seemed real satisfied. Transient people wandered around, a girl in the corner was crying her way through an argument with an older man who might have been her father. Bar staff looked worn-out, I caught my reflection in a glass, I just looked tired. The train took us through fields of snow, trees frosted and frozen and it was a long few hours. I was reading a biography of Robert Graves and sipping on a plastic bottle of mineral water. The gig was at a place I’d never played before called Kap Tormentoso. Bar / restaurant upstairs, venue in the subterranean space. I had a drink or two with tapas and rambled through the Xmas market. Nicol phoned saying he was on the way. I went back to base and we hooked up. Always good to see Nicol and Iris too. The gig was good fun, a wild bunch of interesting characters who bought CD’s and paid compliments and a good time was had by all.

Fri Dec 18 Villingen ……Apparently Nicol spent a lot of the night puking, and at one point was about to piss onto the radiator thinking it was the toilet but Iris showed him the error of his ways. I awoke feeling not bad at all. Took some vitamins, a cup of tea and found myself over at the second hand record shop on Charlottenplatz. At the street market I drank some Glogi, the German equivalent of Glögg, a sort of hot or mulled wine, but the Swedes do it best. Later, we drove up to Villingen, collecting Iris along the way. Café Limba is now under new management, and the vibe seems a bit different that previously but its still a good gig and Nicol blows some great trumpet and we all enjoy ourselves and Hartmut is DJ for the night. I got paid and celebratory drinks were had with Franz and nobody got hurt, nobody insulted anybody else and the snow continued to fall from the heavens and it was bitter cold as we walked through the lonesome streets of Villingen.

Sat Dec 19 Freiburg….Next port of call was Egon 54 in Freiburg via some crazy old hotel with very steep steps and no life. The temperature had dropped to – 14 and there was nobody on the streets, cars crawling by at a snails pace. Some more old faces, friends to greet, tales to tell.

Sun Dec 20 Frankfurt…. Arrived early, around 9am having not had the chance to see a bed. Slept a bit on the train and missed my stop but got things sorted. Frankfurt Airport is big and slow. Everything takes forever. The weather was really bad, things weren’t looking good and my flight was cancelled. Eventually at 5,30 I boarded a plane and promptly fell asleep, only to wake up 2 hours later and we hadn’t moved an inch. After a few announcements they confirmed this flight too was now cancelled. Got off the plane feeling bad. An 11pm flight was also cancelled so I made my way to a Hotel curtsy of Lufthansa. It looked posh on the outside, but was dull and cold inside. Checked in at 2am, got up at 6 to get back to the airport

Mon Dec 21 Göteborg…… I was on stand-by for an 8,30 flight but it I didn’t get on. I needed a drink and in the company of 2 perplexed Swedish guys I downed a few beers and wondered what to do. One of the guys even bought a CD off me…..after he had played a few tracks on his lap-top. To cut a very long story short, I managed to get on a plane at 12,30 and get to my humble abode by 6pm. (Lufthansa lost my luggage too )
Xmas seemed to have arrived in my absence and feeling more than a bit shook up, I dealt with the many people who were there in my living room, in the kitchen, and all the time in the back of my mind was the thought that I would get about 3 hours sleep before I had to get a flight to Dublin, but such is life. It could be a lot different, but this is the way it is, and most of the time it suits me fine. I’m not exactly 9 to 5 material.

Tues Dec 22 Dublin….Three hours sleep, made it to Landvetter in one piece, and off we went. By lunchtime I was having a glass of red wine in Copenhagen, by early afternoon, a pint in D4 Towers Hotel, Ballsbridge Dublin. A Robert Graves biography kept my brain active for a while.

Wed Dec 23 Rockfield…. Arrived at my destination, passing through a snowy Claremorris, a town that derived its name from Maurice de Prendergast, a Norman who came to Ireland in 1169. The town itself only dates from the 1600’s. History lesson over.
And so I had made it to my eighth town/city in eight days in three countries. It was what you might call a busy few days. It would be another two weeks before I was reunited with my luggage. Such is life. I like the Buddhist type philosophy of non-attachment / non-disinterest, which works equally well in the recording studio as it does with lost items……..and people.

2009-11-26T11:38:00.000-08:00

Mon Oct 19 Hamburg….A bad start to the day. The plane was half an hour late leaving Ländvetter so by the time we got to Copenhagen I had the feeling they were going to lose my luggage. But it was ok, long gone are the days when everyday started bad. These days they mostly start off good, so I can deal with the odd exception without optimism being eroded. Anyway, I ran through the airless airport carrying Ibanez acoustic guitar and a black shoulder bag with harmonicas and harmonica holder, tickets, a Guy de Maupausant book and a box of CD’s, the only merchandise sell able. Got to the gate, sweat dripping down my back. There was a young chubby and uncharacteristically jolly Lithuanian businessman waiting for the shuttle bus. We were the last two to board. The bus arrived, got on the plane and off we went to Hamburg. My prediction was correct and I didn’t even have the tarot with me. Having arrived so late into Copenhagen the luggage handlers didn’t have time to get the bag onto the next flight, so after a few minutes watching the carousel go round and around, I gave up and went to the lost luggage desk. The helpful lady was able to tell me straight away that my bag was still in Copenhagen, but she could get it to me by 9. I told her I was due onstage at 9, but it was no big deal. I had most of the stuff I needed in hand luggage and I could borrow the rest. She said she’d see what she could do and I believed her and it was a done deal.

And then I surprised myself by navigating the hitherto unexplored bowels of the S-Bahn and I didn’t even fuck up once. Arrived into the station I had been aiming for and instinct told me I was within walking distance of the venue. I found it within 15 minutes, nestled into a leafy side-street near the University. The place, a bar with two rooms, busy front room where the bar is located, quiet backroom where the gig is. Staff and patrons seemed to be nice folks. Introduced myself, met Davide a friendly German of Italian parentage, went for a walk. Got lost, and then got found and back at the Pony Bar I had a sandwich and sound checked. True to her word, the airport lady phoned and my lost luggage arrived and it arrived an hour earlier than promised, so fair play to you Air Berlin. The gig was as one would expect a Monday night gig to be. Afterwards Davide took me to my lodgings, dropped off the gear and we went down the road to a cool club called Astra Lube. Small, dark and packed. Junius from Boston ( or is it Philadelphia) were three quarters of their way through their set. They sounded great, a lot better than their records. Met them afterwards for a beer and a chat. Astra Tube is a famous club and has been here for decades, but not for much longer. Tucked away under a one hundred year old bridge its due for demolition as the bridge needs to be re-built. The dodgy techno club across the road and the Rasta joint down around the corner will have to re-locate too. Picked up a bottle of water in the nearby filling station and went for a lie down.

Tues Oct 20 Berlin…..Woke up in room with the stale smell of cigarettes, but it was too cold to open the window. Shower followed by vitamins and a bottle of water. Posters on the wall, tell tale signs of those who have slept here. Flo Fernandez, One For The Team from Chicago, garage outfit The Movements. Who’s been sleeping in my bed ? I was under instructions to go to a specific café for breakfast, paid for by the Pony Bar which doubles as a drop-off point for the keys to my crash pad. Went for a walk around the neighbourhood. Hamburg is a cool town , even at 1 o’ clock in the afternoon. Found the place for breakfast, staff are very friendly and helpful and this is all a pleasant surprise, but then I remember that I ALWAYS have a good time in Germany.

Made it to the train station, but figured out that it would probably be cheaper to take a bus to Berlin and this is the case. At the bus station I got the ticket and met a guy from Dublin I hadn’t seen in years. We both had time on our hands, Kevin had coffee, I had a beer and tales were told. He went one way, and I the other. Slept most of the journey down to Berlin, arriving after dark. A leggy blond lady of Scandinavian aspect helped me locate which train I should take and in a rush to get on, I forgot to get a ticket. I had been warned several times by several people to never try to travel without a ticket. I'm not sure what the consequences are, but getting caught isn’t a good thing. It’s a bad thing with a capital B. Onwards the train sped through station after station, and then on comes the controller. Gradually he was making his way towards me and I was the only spastic on the train without a ticket. I did my rooting through my pockets routine, trying to play the role of the stupid tourist while the guy was looking at me with one of those ‘ Ive got you now English man’ looks on his pinched law and order face. Just then a fight breaks out ! Two guys started punching the living daylights out of each other and then the train pulled into the station and the fight spilled out onto the platform. The ticket inspector reluctantly got off the train to try to break it up. But I could see he didn’t want to get involved and was out of his depth. Berlin is such a peaceful, safe city that this sort of thing is unheard of. The doors slid closed, the train took off again. My ticket problem vanished and I got off at the next stop.

East Of Eden is located up on Schreinerstrasse, a bookshop with a bar. Had dinner with Alan in the Thai place across the road. Sean and Orite drop in to say hello. The last time I saw them was in Quebec about two years ago. The gig was fun, with Anto showing up as well as Kevin and host of others.

Wed Oct 21 Leipzig…..On a morning ramble through Friedrichshain I found a middle eastern place, one of the few eating shops that were open. I needed food so rice wrapped in vine leaves, cous cous and various vegetables washed down with a fruit drink got me ready to face the day. And what a day it was, three hours spent trying to locate a cheap train in Lutherstadt Wittenberg station. When I found the ticket office I realized it wasn’t cheap at all. It had been too good to be true anyway. I took the S-Bahn to the bus station, but theres no bus to Leipzig, so I grabbed a taxi to Haoptbahnhof and got a train ticket and I badly needed a beer after all that riding around in circles . Made a phone call. A portly middle-aged man, arm in arm with his hefty rotund wife strolled by with the calm assurance of the wealthy and the arrogant. He was wearing a stars ‘n’ stripes jacket, evidently proud of his country.

The train was crowded, rush-hour stressville, folks take whatever seats are available, no time to pick and choose. A big blond woman sits across from me. Gives me a quick suspicious glance. Maybe I'm reading the signal wrong, maybe not. After a while she takes off her jacket. Tuns out shes a cop on her way home from work. She read her magazine, I read my book. Worlds apart.

Taxi driver in Leipzig got lost but after a while we located what we thought was the club. I opened the door and walked into what looked like a bicycle repair shop. I called out to see if anyone was there and a guy comes running out of a back room, dripping wet, towel thrown around him. ‘Your looking for Noch Besser Leben ? Its next door’ he says. I apologized for disturbing his evening shower. The phone rang and it was Thanos to see if I wanted to meet for a drink. Wrong country my Greek friend. I explained I was with the Germans. (He was in Sweden).

Noch Besser Leben is a cool club. A big enough place in a quiet run-down part of town, all high ceilings and dark wooden panelling. Dinner was a pizza, my room was off the venue, down a corridor, bathroom next door. The gig was enjoyable a small gathering of people who listened. Good response, very good response. Afterwards talking to Tom the barman I learnt he was the guitarist in a goth band whose name I cant recall as I type, but I had heard of them. He told me that he wasn’t the original guitarist, he’s only been in the band since 1986. I thought Tom was about 30 years old, turns out he’s 46. I told him he’s the Ronnie Wood of the goth world, still the new boy in the band after 23 years.

Dean is from New Zealand and was still wearing his cycling gear. He had cycled over 20 miles before he dropped in to the gig. He likes doing that sort of thing apparently. A nice guy is Dean, and he insisted on taking me to the ‘Secret Cinema Bar’. I’m all on for it. We walked down long lonesome streets lined with derelict factories, abandoned warehouses. Not a soul in sight. A spooky lane that runs parallel to the river lined with lime trees led us to what looked like a run-down farmhouse. It was difficult to see what was going on, there were no street lights. We were in somebody’s back yard. Passed by a sculptors workshop and found The Secret Cinema, a big barn with five or six cinema seats anchored to the concrete floor, a DIY silver screen and a few chairs scattered around.. Theres a pool table and a self service bar at the end of the room. The movie is over, but the vibe is good. Im introduced to the owner by Dean. Everybody seems to know everybody else, about 15 people present. Good vibe, laid back. Had a few drinks and somehow or other got playing pool. A few games of doubles. I won the first but the girl from Dresden won the second. Her friend Marcel told me I didn’t look Irish. I think he was being sarcastic. A friend of Deans, a tall man, long grey hair down to his waist pulled into a neat pony tail, beard down to his belly, gave me a lift in his car back to Noch Besser Leben. The cops pulled us over as we drove through the desolate streets. My friend, who hadn’t a word of English, had apparently been drinking only water all night, and his licence and tax was all in order so the cops let us go. Got into bed and had a long long sleep.

Thurs Oct 22 Leipzig….. Crossed over the majestic Weisse Elster River and made my way to the Sleepy Lion, checked in and left straight away. Downtown is full of people. Wandered the streets. I was a bit frightened by the Bundesverwaltungsgericht, which is the Federal Administrative Court of all Germany. The building is so big and imposing it looks like it must have been built by giant aliens from another reality. Or by madmen. It was cold and a light drizzle soon turned to rainfall. A dead pigeon lay on the footpath close to where two boys were trying to get a home-made boat, fashioned from a plastic bottle to float in the filthy waters of the river. Tourists looked lost and the trams whizzed by going to god knows where. Over in Mitte, the shopping district, I found an Asian cafe and had reis gebratener und tofu. Walking through the square and around by the Mädler-Passage, I felt I needed a cognac to settle my stomach. Sat in a low-lit bar, drained the glass, beer chaser.

Daylight was fading fast. I saw happy couple coming out of what looked like a Spanish bar. I asked them what the place was like and they smiled, recommended the bar and I thanked them and went inside. The place was hot and full of people, waitress’s running around, barmen busy and looking important and evidently they even liked their jobs. “Hey Eamonn” I heard someone call out. Down the room, sitting at the bar was Dean, my friend from last night. He was knocking back red wine with his friend Olga, a school teacher from Russia. The conversation eventually turned to the art world. Dean told me about a painting he had exhibited in New Zealand which dealt with his ex. He had taken what could be described as intimate photos of his lady on a daily basis, and these were arranged in neat rows on a large canvas measuring approximately seven by four feet square. At the opening of the exhibition this canvas of pussy shots was finally finished, when he stuck a syringe into his arm, drew back the plunger and with the barrel full of blood, he sprayed a huge ‘X’ across the canvas, thus completing the piece. Dramatic and inspired. The film footage in on youtube although I watched it on Dean’s mobile phone. The mans a genius.

Later it seemed like a good idea to lie down, read my book and get some sleep. Walking through reception I heard somebody call out my name. It was Marcel, my pool playing friend from the Secret Cinema. Turns out he’s the night porter. Time for a game of pool, and with bottles of beer at 1 euro a pop, it looked like it would be a late night.

2009-10-25T03:10:00.000-07:00

Thurs July 30, Åmål….The rain came down heavy and hard. Boarded the bus leaving Göteborg. Less than two hours later and three chapters into Andrew Millers’ ‘Casanova’ we arrived into Trollhättan. After the initial pang of commuter confusion, I got on board the train and arrived into Åmål just as the rain was easing up. I had checked it out on google maps and according to the Big Brother of the skies, if I swung a left out of the main entrance of the station and followed the river I should find the town centre. Ignoring the bus service and the taxis, this is what I did. Fifteen minutes later I landed on the doorstep of Café x/o and was greeted by Camilla, and later met Fredrik who showed me around. There’s a big ballroom type place upstairs which they hope to turn into a venue next year. I’d like to play here, but not tonight. The building itself dates from the 1700’s.

I met up with local photographer / graphic designer and occasional musician Tony Berg, a gentle giant of a guy, long blond beard, built like a wrestler. Had a beer, Tony had a coke and we chatted about music, photography, life in Sweden….you know how it goes.

The gig was an out-door affair, but the wind was blowing rough and it was difficult to keep the guitar in tune as it was such a damp evening. Fair play to the audience of 70 or so brave folks who turned up and seemed to approve of my attempts at entertainment. Camilla drove me to a cabin on the shores of Lake Vänern which was my base for the next few days.

Fri.July 31 ..A restless night of tossing and turning, but I had my book to keep me company and its very well written and Millers got a great turn of phrase, one of those writers who effortlessly takes you into another world, a very believable world too. Eventually I got to sleep properly around 8am. The phone rang shortly after midday. It was Fredrik informing me that Tony was at the bar having breakfast and would pick me up if I wasn’t doing anything. I needed a quick shower, so he said he’d see me at 2. And so at exactly 2pm Tony’s car pulled up outside. I hopped into the car, The Clash on the stereo blasting out….I knew there and then that we had a lot in common. Tony drove me around the sights of the small town and we stopped off at his apartment for a while. He showed me his collection of 28 guitars…. and he’s got a lot of CD’s too. His photos and artwork adorn the walls. A talent man indeed.

We had a drink over at the 50’s diner sitting on the balcony, avoiding the wasps, weekend shoppers down below, the River Åmålsån running through the town and into the lake, the third largest in Europe. Back at Café x/o we had dinner and red wine and I felt a bit tired and went for a lie down. Every now and then a hot girl would walk by and wave at Tony, or come over to the table to give him a peck on the cheek. All these leggy ladies apparently had been photographed by him. Not a bad job really !

Due to the dodgy weather the gig was inside the small bar. The acoustics were great and Fredrik and I spent a good while getting the sound right. Often, I can sound check in 10 minutes. Tonight took a little longer, but it was worth it. I met some good people after the gig, sold CD’s and had a few late drinks. A good night by any standards.

Sat Aug 1, Åmål…Another open air gig, down in the town centre got the day off to a good start. Åsa and Freja arrived up by bus and it’s a very rare occasion when this sort of thing happens. We met up with Tony as planned as he wanted to take a few photos. We find a location over near the old chuch and he gots out his expensive camera and started shooting. Some elderly ladies from the nearby craft fair approched Tony wondering if I’m up for signing a few autographs. They must have thought I was Johnny Logan ! (he’s big in Sweden)

Later we found a bar and contemplated dinner, but the beer prices were riduculous and the food menu was more than a bit crazy, so we didn’t eat. Instead we visited Cafe Trädgarden out at the camping site and had a few beers followed by wonderful fish and chips. Marley’s ‘Keep on Moving’ was on the stereo, speed boats bounced across the waves on the lake. After dinner I had a nap and then strolled the half mile back into town. A big beat-up, souped-up black Mercedes drove by. The stereo pumping out honky tonk sounds. A welcome respite from conveyor belt hip hop. I walked past the caravans and camper vans, holiday homes. A heated arguement was underway in the garden behind one of the stately mansions. “Nej, Nej, Nej”..some guy was shouting. Other voices are in obvious disagreement but I’ve no idea what they’re on about. The gig was great, the place packed, I played well and felt I was amongst friends.

Fri Aug 18 Barcelona. I had arrived in previous night, with my host Oriol Stardust meeting me at the airport. A thunder storm greeted my arrival and this suited me fine. Thor was simply saying that everything back in Sweden was fine, and we’ll see you soon. We took the long long train ride out to Cardedeu where Oriols parents have a house in what used to be the countryside, but is now the sprawling flat suburbs. Slept a bit, awoke, went for the walk. Oriol arrived in from work (he’s a journalist) and the afternoon was spent having a look around at the old derelict mansions, one-time playhouses for the well-heeled. Back in Barcelona, we has dinner just up around the corner from the Hospital de la Santa Creu i Sant Pau, spaghetti pesto and a few glass’s of red wine. Antoni Gaudi’s famous church La Sagrada Família was up around another corner but we didn’t have time to go see it, but I had seen before way back in the last century, mid 80’s if memory serves me correctly.

One time Racketeers bass player, Paul Demsey showed up. He had a gig the following night in some Irish bar in town, but was on a night off and it was good to see him and get the news on what he’s been up to the last few years splitting his time between Spain and Thailand. The gig at Macondo was fun with Oriol joining me for a quick run through Brand New Cadillac towards the end.

Sat Aug 19 Cardedeu…Spending the afternoon travelling into Barcelona seemed like a good idea, we had a few drinks and Tapas in some place just off Las Ramblas. In case you don’t know, La (or Las) Rambla is a street in central a 1.2 kilometer-long tree-lined pedestrian mall between Barri Gòtic and El Raval, it connects Plaça Catalunya in the center with the Christopher Columbus monumentat Port Vell. It’s full of tourists, but the locals like it too. Had a swift beer in a bar, cerulean blue walls covered in magnificent paintings of Sumerian dragons. We stood at the bar, I soaked in the atmosphere, lazy trip hop on the stereo, sounded like Morsheeba. Oriol was restless. He’s not a beer drinker, whiskey mostly and it was too early in the day for that. The lady across from me was smoking Lucky Strikes, the barman was grumpy and bored and pulled pints from a great golden tap in the shape of cobra head. I could have stayed all night, but we had to visit a record shop. A very expensive collectors haven. Still, I managed to find a John Lee Hooker single for 1 Euro.

By the time we got to Cardedue by train, I was ready for a nap, but that wasn’t possible. Thre gig time changed from 9 until midnight, but in reality it was 1am by the time I got in stage and it was all a bit hazy. Apparently it was great. Maybe they lied !

Sun Aug 20 Barcelona…Oriol was kind enough to accompany me all the way to the airport, a journey that took well over an hour., a place where smoking is forbidden “ By Royal Decree” according to a sign on the wall. By the time I got to Brussels I had finished reading Joseph O Connors Star Of The Sea . With twelves hours to wait for the connecting flight, it was a long night.

Wed Oct 14 Göteborg…I had started hanging out in bars in Central Station, buses coming and going, railroad tracks leading right across the country and down into Denmark if your feeling like you want to go that far, or in the opposite direction, north into Norway. The transient vibe of the place appealed to some sort of feeling of restlessness or a misguided desire to have wander.
Nordstan is a huge shopping centre nearby Central Station and I’ve had the frosty pleasure of a drink in one of their bars too. And so it came to be that I was there and the stereo was pumping out the latin sounding pop trash, the singers sounding like coked-up chipmunks. Synthetic bass, synthetic drums, rubbish melodies. A cardboard cut-out Swedish guy was tapping his fingers in an unsteady tattoo on the table. Down at the end of the room is the gambling corner. People were winning, and people were losing on the roulette table. The lady at the blackjack table was elegantly dressed in white shirt with black tie, black skirt and matching waist coat. The dealing of the cards and laying out of the chips, just another tea time gig for her. The Thai girls who work in ther nearby restaurant were knocking back the tequila with beer chasers and talking loud. They can’t get Singha beer here, but there are no complaints. Falcon Export will do the trick.

Went to the nearby Mother India restaurant for dinner. I was starving and we got a seat upstairs, the basement room being packed., and this suited fine; my anti-social tendencies being catered for by the friendly Indian waiter. Cobra beer arrived in gigantic bottles, bigger than I’d bargained for. Things were looking good.

Played a gig over in Kontiki, a bar right beside the enterance to the Botanical Gardens. A small crowd on a freezing cold Wednesday night, but such is life. Met some folks who had seen me in Åmål, and Andy and Damon were down too. Deutschland beckons like a ghost.

If You Stick To Your Guns, I Will Drink To Your Health

2009-07-20T12:14:00.000-07:00

Tues June 2 Göteborg…..I dreamt I was on 1st Avenue NYC, rambling uptown. I had to meet somebody about a gig in a small underground club up around 6th Street. Business done, I found myself over further east on the grid. It was dusk grey, a breeze blowing in from the river, newspapers rolled by like tumbleweed. I slipped out of dreamland as somebody slammed a door shut. I read a few pages of Henry Miller’s ‘Tropic Of Cancer.’ May the gods of literature, madness and rock ‘n’ roll look down favourably upon his baldhead. Slipped back into the land of nod with a return ticket to dreamland. It wasn’t Amsterdam I found myself in, but it was a Dutch town. I was with Mark Gilligan who was decked out in a very sharp pen-striped suit. Mark looked tired, but otherwise was in good spirits. We were two old hustlers talking shop.

Checking my emails I noticed that at the exact same time I was dreaming of Mark Gilligan, he was sending me a message on myspace. It was time for a cup of tea and a slice of toast with marmalade.

Hadn’t seen any films for a long time, and then I watched a whole batch of them.
’Let the Right One In’ was great, a Swedish vampire movie, set in modern day Svenska, a unique take on the genre. I had been curious about Klaus Kinski’s ‘Paganini.’ and so I got to see his slightly mad, but still watchable swan song .

Who needs Spinal Tap when you’ve got the real deal in ‘Anvil- The Story of Anvil’. It’s probably the best film I’ve seen all year, but then again I didn’t see that many. But its recommended, and I’m not a metal fan. ‘Chemical Wedding’ deals with good old uncle A. Crowley and it’s O.K. but I got the impression the producers would rather have made a biopic had the funds been available. Still, if you’re interested in the Master Therion, it’s worth a look.

Mon 8 June, Rockfield…..I had a plane to catch. The Emerald Isle beckoned. Five hours in London Stansted was a bore, but then again all airports are a bore. I’d never flown into Knock Airport before which is located about ten miles from the Marian shrine. It could have been anywhere west of the Shannon. Windswept, half-built, grey, drab and depressing. Not a Holy Water font to be seen. Glow-in-the-dark-Madonna’s were in hiding.

Those rolling hills of Mayo, the silage done and the smell of cut grass. Bekan church on the horizon, curious cows. Familiar sights. I was reading Maxine Sanders autobiography ‘Firechild’ which had arrived in the post, a present from my friend Cosmic Martin Kelly . It’s an interesting take on the modern witchcraft revival, and of course she was a key figure, being married to Alex Sanders the 1960’s, the self-styled King Of The Witches. She’s not a great writer though, and maybe that’s why she didn’t delve into more meaty subject matter....for example she could have written about her philosophy on how or why magick works in the first place....alternative realities....recent scientific theories about chaos, and how science is becoming weirder all the time and closer to magick than it ever was etc..etc..buts its difficult to write about such matters. Maybe it’s best she leaves that to Peter J Carroll or Ramsey Dukes .

Sun July 5, Göteborg….Turned on the TV, a very rare occurrence, as I like to keep my brain in working mode. Don’t want the senile rot to set in. There was Elvis Costello relishing his role as chat-show host. I assume the programme is bought in from the US. His guest is Elton John and they’re talking about records and song writing. Allen Touissant is on piano in the house band. I turned off the set just at the point where Elvis and Elton start waxing lyrical about Rufus Wainwright. I’m not that enamoured with him. Martha Wainwright is much cooler.
I remember the first time I saw Elvis Costello and The Attractions, early 1980’s, before he became crap. It was in Leisureland Galway, a big rectangular shed out by the seaside. Its got a capacity of at least 2000, Elvis pulled a crowd of about 500. Still, he was great. First song was Sour Cow Milk Blues, followed swiftly by I Don’t Want To Go To Chelsea. The Attractions were tight and blew me away. Joe Wall suggested we try and get back-stage to see if there were any free beers available. Security was fairly laid-back. We knew the local crew anyway. I nodded politely at Elvis as he signed autographs for his fans and Joe and I tucked into the band’s rider. Steve Nieve was refusing to speak to anybody because at one point during the gig he came out from behind his organ for a bit of stage-front boogie woogie, and a punter at the front grabbed his leg and his shades fell off and tumbled off the stage never to be seen again. But the missing shdes were also his prescription glasses, and without them he was blind as a bat. So, as you can imagine he was pissed off !
Next time I saw Elvis was about seven years ago when he opened up for Bob Dylan, and he more or less played the same set I had seem him play in Galway. Tracks from the first three albums, nothing else, and it was still great.

I had a bunch of new songs on the way, but the fancy Tascam machine quickly became a pain in the ass. It’s way too complicated for me, and beside, the effects in the Boss BR11 80 are much better. I was spending way too long reading the instruction manual and trying to get information from the net, so to hell with that! I figured out a way to use the M Box as well. So, I’m going to sell the Tascam and I slept well once I had made the decision.

The sun cut through like a knife. It was 7am. Lux Ferre, the blinding light-bringer was greeted with a mixture of light damar and dried lemon peelings in the censer. A Luciferian start to the day. Later, the neighbour complained about the incense. Typical.

I got a call from Andreas, so after a pear cider in Franke’s we cut across town to meet up on Göta Älvbron Bridge. The Banankajen Metal Festival was on and we could see the bands in the distance but the wind was creating havoc with the acoustics, so we couldn’t really hear anything that resembled music. I don’t particularly like metal anyway. Bass player Daniel was there. We had met before but I was fairly out of it and don’t remember a lot of what happened at that time. Andreas had organized a rehearsal with him on drums and Daniel on bass, but we didn’t even discuss it. No need to. The rehearsal could take care of itself. All we needed to do was show up. Instead we had a beer, some vodka, and although Slipknot were due on, Åsa and I split to go to Järntorget. Passing by the harbour we came across the Dance Band Festival. From one of the marquee’s we could hear some cabaret collective doing Chubby Checker’s ‘Lets Twist Again’. It reminded me of Foxy back in Dublin. His band The Mosquitoes played a festival somewhere and Chubby Checker was on the bill. I asked Foxy what Mr Checker was like, and he said, “He was crap, and he wasn’t chubby at all!”. Another time Foxy went to see Bo Diddly. I’m a big fan, but missed the gig. Probably was gigging myself, can’t remember the circumstances. How was Bo ? , I asked. “He was crap, kept looking at his watch all the time.”

Found a bar called the Red Room, or something like that. With beers at 25KR each, it was worth hanging out. Later we went to Publik, then home so sip wine on the balcony with Mariana. I was in the kitchen when Åsa came running in excitedly shouting “UFO’s are out there.” And indeed there were five craft flying in formation, very, very slowly from north to south over the city. Not a sound, quiet as a mouse they were. We both see the planes arrive and depart from the airport all the time, but these were no ordinary passenger planes and military aircraft always seem to fly so fast, so I’ve no idea what they were. The three of us watched them until they disappeared from view.

Rehearsal with Andreas and Daniel was hot sweaty and loud. We ran through about 10 songs, a lot of the newer material worked well. After about five hours we called it a day. I felt alive and well and a part of the rock ‘n’ roll parallel world. New speakers arrived for my home recording set-up so I mixed a few tracks I had been working on. The postman brought me ‘Portable Darkness’ a selection of Crowley writings and a Sigur Ros CD. I played Big Youth records over and over. Sweden fills me with inexplicable loathing. I’m in the same boat as Andy. The place is OK, it’s just the people are all wrong.

Thurs July 9, Köln….. It was an early start as usual. 7am as we rolled out of Göteborg and drove to Helsingborg where we took the ferry across to Denmark. A quick journey, it took not much longer than twenty minutes and we still managed to get a quick beer in: Carlsberg from a black can. The ship sailed into Helingør with its imposing fortress of red brick with its grand turquoise dome. The entrance to the harbour is flanked by two miniature lighthouses, one day-glow red, the other day-glow green. Onwards we drove through the Danish countryside with its instantly alien architecture, all concrete and yellow bricks as opposed to the wooden structures in Sweden, all creams, ochre’s and wine red. The road signs pointed towards Vallensbaek and Gedser. We passed the turn-off for Odense, past the grey concrete towers. The sign told me this was an industrial estate called Essex Park. It looked neither like Essex, nor a park. It was just another corner of hell tucked into an unsuspecting countryside. A prison for those lacking in spirit. I went back to reading a biography of Dylan Thomas.

People were flying kites and sailing their sailing boats and it all looked to civilized and beguiling. I noted that the Henry Kruse truck in front of us made deliveries to Kiel, Lubeck and Sylt. I had tried to gets gigs in Kiel and Lubuck to no avail. Made a mental note to try Sylt when I got a chance. But maybe it’s the same story there.
That Henry Kruse truck slowed us down for a few miles, there was no way of over-taking it. Then we hit the motorway and the dial told us we were doing 125 k.p.h. Coincidentally it was 125 kilometres to Hamburg. But we were bound for Rødby.
From there we took another ferry. It took about an hour. I was already getting bored with Dylan Thomas and his spoilt boy antics. Repaired to the bar that was full of anxious staring amateur travellers. I needed a few beers, so I had a few beers and we arrived into Puttgarten in Germany and drove to Marl where we tried to book rooms but it was full up. The pension at Kuhler was full up too and so there was no choice open to us but to drive to Köln. Found a Formula 1 hotel slap-bang in the middle of an industrial estate and checked in. We had been on the road for fourteen hours and covered 2,200 kilometers. Got room 319 with a view looking out over the car-park. How classy is that? The slightly more up-market Ibis Hotel was across the way so we had a drink there. The staff were friendly but the dinner menu wasn’t very impressive. A blind man had obviously decorated the foyer. Paintings hung all around the room at weird angles, some right in front of others. A shelf loaded with ornaments completely obscured a large landscape. Plastic bamboos stood to attention in a bucket. Outside the rain came lashing down and when it stopped Åsa insisted on going to a nearby Burger King. I ate some potato wedges (my only food of the day) and Åsa had a cheese burger and Freja fell asleep.

Fri. 9 July, Orleans….The CD player wouldn’t work properly so I alternated between Henry Miller’s ‘Tropic of Cancer’ and the Dylan Thomas biography. The road took us down into Belgium and we by-passed Liege and down the steep hill into Luxemburg. Drove by Waterloo where Napoleon lost to the Seventh Coalition in 1815 and inspired Abba to write a pop classic in 1974. Onwards and into France and Viva Le Republic and all that crap. A country where you can’t buy a bottle of wine at a filling station unless you order a hot meal as well.

Bad navigation took us through Paris and the sluggish tide of traffic cost us three hours of our lives. Mariana and Leif weren’t saying much. The folks in the other car which made up our two-car-convoy looked like they had seen better days. By the time we got to Toulouse it was late evening. We split up and located a cool hotel down a long leafy driveway off the main road. It was expensive, but what the heck. Dinner in the restaurant out front was going to be expensive too, but I hadn’t eaten a proper meal for two days and after a twelve-hour drive I was willing to shell out. Just as Åsa is about to swipe her credit card Mariana comes running in a mad panic, across the plush Hotel foyer shouting ‘Don’t check in, no no no!!!.’ Apparently she had found a cheaper place up the road, and yes…it was in the middle of an industrial estate.

I was in bad need of a shave and a shower. The former took five minutes, the latter was postponed. We made a beeline for the nearest building that looked like a restaurant. I had two beers and a bottle of red wine as a starter. The food menu looked suspicious but I did what I could. The food was shit. Nothing to do but pass it on to the wife, she’d eat anything. Ordered another bottle of red wine. Plans were made for the following day but they were made of air.

Sat. 10 July, Puylauren……We drove the remaining 557 kilometres towards Toulouse. The hay is bailed and the sun is cracking the stones. Fields are full of sunflowers. Stopped off in some small place for provisions. Between Castres and Toulouse lies Puylauren, a small sleepy town where everybody seems to know everybody else. Folks greeting each other on the street, waves, salutes, we’re all in this together sort of vibe. The house we’re staying in is less than a mile outside the town surrounded by farms. Built in the 1750’s, from the outside it looks like a slightly run down big-house from a by-gone era. Inside it’s modern and sterile and suffering from an unimaginative dose of the IKEA virus. It’s spick and span, all mod cons. There’s a big swimming pool out the front, but I don’t swim so it’s no use to me. Dinner is prepared and the wine is flowing freely but it’s only a matter of time before cabin fever takes its toll.

Tues. 14 July, Puylauren….Being witness to a bunch of Swedes having an argument is something to behold. The group mind in its lowest form: a vile display of arrogance. But I’m sure there’s something to be learned from it all.

The locals don’t put much effort into celebrating Bastille Day, so I do it for them. Earlier I amused myself and avoided arguments by working on a few new songs. One is called ‘Back Seat Driver’ another is ‘Gone In The Blink Of An Eye’. I’ve got a few others on the go as well, but lyrics are slow to come, but one title should be ‘Pack of Dogs.’ So, rather than celebrating a day of genocide, I’m celebrating the arrival of a few new songs. The bars leave a lot to be desired, but the staff are friendly and I’m beginning to recognize the locals. A thunderstorm blew in across the rolling hills bringing lightning and heavy rain showers. A respite from the heat of recent days.

Fri. 17 July Carcossonne…..Åsa wanted to go home or go to Spain or to Jupiter, but we went to Carcassone instead, passing through Montolieu on the way. A medieval walled city perched high on top of a hill; it’s an impressive sight. Although it’s all aimed at tourists, it’s still a cool place to visit. Not too far from here the execrable King Philip bullied the first Avingnon pope, Clement V into authorising the trials of the Templars. Six hundred were executed for heresy in the ensuing blood-bath. Broken by the torture administered by these xtians, the Grand Master, Jacques de Molay and 122 others confessed to a litany of heretical acts. But de Molay recanted his confession and at his public execution he cursed both that loathsome pope and the King. Within a year both of them had died. However, the seeds of madness were sown, and over the coming years over 600 more were burned at the stake in Carcossonne alone. So, sitting in a bar at 11am I raised a glass to all those heretics, and gave a two-finger salute to the church.

All towers and turrets, the place would make the ideal setting for a bit of gothic photography. Bearing that in mind, we had some food and wine and tried not to think how I was living way beyond my means as I scribbled down notes for songs into a black notebook. Feeling isolated, with neither Internet nor telephones working we made plans to escape to Spain. We also made tentative plans to return to Carcossonne sometime, and stay overnight if possible, but not with the same posse, and we won’t be travelling by car next time either, that is guaranteed.

Sun 18 July Girona, Spain…..We made our escape and got to Spain. Ended up in Girona, Catalonia by midday. It was hot and sticky and great! We quickly found lodgings at an affordable price at the Hotel Condal. It was clean, air-conditioned and the sun didn’t get in. A few drinks were had and the conversation good. Crossed over the River Ter and wandered through the old part of the city, all crumbling castles and not-so crumbling medieval alley-ways, townhouses, restaurants, bars.
Found a place where we had tapas and a few bottles of cheap red wine and made plans for the future.

A Tale of Two Cities

2009-05-18T00:53:00.000-07:00

Thurs 7 May Göteborg ….A few months back I had a drink or two in a bar / restaurant on Linnegatan. The place was filthy, dust everywhere… and the staff didn’t understand the concept of clearing the tables. When we asked a waiter for a drink, he mumbled something about somebody else coming to take care of us, but this never happened, so I went up to the bar and got the drinks myself. So, it was with great trepidation I returned to this kip to join friends for dinner.

The bar lady told me that the ‘beer special’ was Tuborg. A good quality beer at 25 Kr a bottle, I ordered 4. Dinner arrived, a selection of tapas and everything tasted good. Later, when Marie ordered another round, we were confronted with draught Heineken, at 49Kr a glass. While nobody else wanted to make a fuss, there was no way I could stomach this dutch piss, so I went up to the bar lady and said I’d prefer Tuburg. She told me I had to sit down and wait for the waiter who would deal with my problem ! I told her I wasn’t going to deal with any useless middle man waiter and that the problem could easily be sorted out straight away. She would take my Heineken and replace it with Tuborg. Doesn’t get much simpler than that ! Looking perplexed, she took my beer, didn’t pour it down the sink, but left it on the bar ready to be sold on to the next unsuspecting idiot, and handed me a bottle of Tuborg saying, ‘this is a little warm’ and briskly walked away into the kitchen before I could ask for ice. I could have thrown the bottle of warm beer at the bitch, but that might have upset my companions and invoked the wrath of the cops.

We obviously didn’t leave a tip, and made our way to Publik for a late drink. Last time I was in Publik was in the afternoon and they were playing Mikey Dread on the stereo. Tonight it was crap acid jazz. Reminded me of Dublin 15 years ago.

A few records arrived in the post. The Flaming Arrows ‘Where Can I Lay My Weary Head’ The Skatelites ‘Ringo’ Enforcer ‘Ride on Marcus’ and a couple of Big Youth singles, ‘Strictly Rockers’ on bright red vinyl and another great cut, ‘Screaming Target’ Apparently Thurston Moore dreamt up the name Sonic Youth in honour of his musical heroes, MC 5’s Fred Sonic Smith and the jamaican toaster who has made so many great records. My favourite Big Youth track remains ‘Marcus Garvey Dread.’ They don’t make them heavier than that. Put the record on and the whole building vibrates.

I went to the Brewhouse, a big courtyard full of artistic enterprise. A lot of film makers have offices there, as well as a recording studio where The Don Darlings are recording their album . I was born with the gift of a golden voice ( I had no choice) so when they asked me to do some backing vocals I put on a Leonard Cohen record and had a glass of wine. An email arrived with an attachment; a rough mix of a song called ‘ Restless Vanity.’ Sounded good to me, threw on a Gun Club record and had a long hard stare out the westward facing window.

When I got down to the studio I was met by Mads and Miquel (and two other guys whose names I cant recall, one being the engineer). Straight into it, 40 minutes later and its in the bag. We had played a gig with The Don Darlings in Storan in the center of Göteborg before Xmas, so it was a cool thing to contribute backing vocals to their new record.

Over on Kungstorget, I sheltered from the rain at 7an / öl hallen, one of the oldest bars in the town. I was on my own, so I took a seat at a table facing the window and looked out at the blue dome of the Food Hall across the way. If you took one part cerulean blue and two parts titanium white and mixed them together, that’s the colour you’d get. Against the stark grey sky it was a new kind of beauty. The rain was lashing down in a west coast fashion. Pretty girls with multi-coloured umbrella’s rushed by. The radio played a selection of classic hits….the Spencer Davis Group ‘Keep On Running’ Aretha Franklin ‘Rescue Me.’ I had this feeling that I should be someplace else, living some other kind of life. It was a vague, shadowy feeling. I couldn’t put my finger on it. The whole day had been illusory. Even the people at the next table seemed fictitious.

Fri 15 May French Riviera…. Took the rented car and drove from Nice out towards Monaco, stopping off at the village of Èze, which is apparently famous worldwide for the view out across the mediterannean. I read this on Wikipedia, so I’m instantly suspicious. Had a drink at the hilltop restaurant, but didn’t eat although the waitress with the best shoes I’ve seen in a long time tried unsucessfully to convince us to dine. Walt Disney used to hang out here, as did Friedrich Nietzsche, but not at the same time or else Cinderella might have ended very differently.
Down the hill, in between the Lambargini’s, Bentley’s and the Rolls Royce’s we found our Opel Corsa, got inside and took the winding road back to Nice. Checked out a few shops in the old part of the city, getting lost down the ancient narrow streets. White chelsea boots were affordable, but how long could I keep them clean ? Probably ten minutes. Found a great jewellery shop, a mad Aladdins cave of silver and gold. Rings, ear rings, pendants, necklaces, amythyst, ruby, carnelian, pearl, topaz, emerald, diamonds. Rings with massive tigers-eye stones, lapis lazuli on demand. But money was tight and I had to walk away empty handed. Maybe in a few days time when I review the situation. Drinks were had at the friendly bar over on Rue de Vincent.

Over at Corniche Belview candles were lit on the balcony, dinner prepared and gallons of red wine flowed freely. The planes were flying low, movie stars and annoying celebrity types were arriving for the Cannes Film Festival a few miles up the road. It was a hazy evening, the chatter of the birds mingled with the low chatter of the humans on neighbouring balconies. I had a few CD’s with me. Picked one at random and stuck it in the machine and Roy Orbison burst through the speakers.

DAYS DRIFT BY

2009-04-24T05:49:00.000-07:00

Sat 18 April Göteborg…..The Swedes refer to every drug under the sun (except booze, which they like a lot) as a 'narcotic.' There's no talking to them about it. If some kid gets busted with a tiny lump of grade Z hash he's instantly referred to as a criminal and in deep shit. If you look up a dictionary of etymology 'narcotic' comes from the root 'to make numb' thus referring primarily to derivatives of the poppy and cocoa leaf i.e. coke, smack etc. I've never met anyone who claimed to feel numb after a few spliffs, in fact quite the opposite. Living in Sweden however can make you feel numb betimes, or at least a bit perplexed.

I needed to go someplace. Anyplace. We drove south into County Halland and stopped off at a big old mansion, although the locals call it a castle. We had woken up at 6am, as one occasionally does, so we arrived at this place by 9, not a soul around. Found a great statue of Janus in one of the gardens, ancient stairways leading from the roof top enclosure up into the forest, sculpted palm trees and the sea stretching off towards Denmark. Almost made it to Kungsbacka but went to a town called Åsa instead. As Swedish sea-side towns go, it wasn’t up to much apart from having a great name, so we got out of there. 100 kilometres north of Göteborg we found Skärhamn, picture postcard perfect and the beer on the boat wasn’t bad. A bunch of emails got me sorted for a few gigs in Åmål later in the summer.

The postman arrived with a few interesting pieces of plastic. The Moaners album ‘Blackwing Yalobusha’ is a raw record, lots of slide over an open tuning... a two woman band. They comprise of a drummer lady whose name I can’t recall, and singer/guitarist Melissa Swingle who used to be in two-step polka country outfit Trailer Bride. The Go Betweens ‘Oceans Apart ‘ has been on a lot too as well as the Johnny Burnett Trio compilation ‘Hush Honey’. It’s got all the greats, and a few dodgy crooner type songs too. Calexico’s last album ‘Carried to Dust’ (on vinyl) arrived in one piece from Norman Records in the UK. At least they’ve got everything in stock, unlike some internet companies who advertise loads of stuff on their websites and don’t actually have the records on the shelf at all. Wankers !! One of my favourite records is Volume 3 of the Ethiopiques series. Great far-out 1970’s soul from Ethiopia, featuring the likes of Hirut Beqele and Teferi Felleqe. Mahmoud Ahmed has three tracks on the CD, but the best cuts are by Alemayehu Eshete. A lot of the stuff was recorded using just two microphones, and its all in mono, but who cares, it rocks. Great horn sections too, provided by the police brass band! Thats the way I'll do the next Racketeers record, 2 microphones, one take and a bunch of cops hanging around the studio.

Mixed six or seven songs that had been left unfinished, some were left lying around for weeks, some for months. I had to re-record some parts, especially bass and vocals on a few but got everything sounding ok. A new Tascam 2488 Mk 11 arrived from Germany. Spent a day or two trying to figure out how to use it, and it’s too early to say how I’ll get on with it. It’s got that 24bit digital recording vibe about it. As I type it’s sitting in the small room that’s both office and home recording studio. Seven guitars, bits of other musical instruments, paintings, cables, a computer, a silver phone so heavy you could kill a man with it, a sofa/bed, microphones and microphone stands, two plants, three guitar amps and not enough room to swing a cat.

An email from CD Baby told me that a guy in The Netherlands had just bought 3 of our albums that morning. A man of great taste indeed. Down at Redbergsplatsen I was in a little queue in the shop to buy a tram ticket. This girl behind me starts yapping to me. I can’t speak Swedish I tell her. Oh, ok she says…are you in the queue? I am I say, but that lady over there seems to have formed her own one-woman queue or else she’s jumped this queue. The girl was unsure what to say or do. I tell her this queue jumping malarkey is VERY non-Swedish. It’s against the law !!! Yes it is, she agrees. I got my ticket, paid the Turkish guy 100 kroner. Much as I like the place, it’s time to get out of Sweden for a few days methinks.

Wed April 22 Goteborg…..Left the apartment at 4.15 am, tram, bus , plane, in that order. And there I was in Dublin. Bus, off-licence and taxi in that order and I arrived at Cormacs pad. Hung around, chatted, played records. Sleep eluded me. A ramble around town was in order. A few phone calls, slept for a while, relocated to the Leeson Lounge to see Claire Williams band doing their thing. (Can’t remember the bands real name) Good to see some old friends. A few more hours of sleep, and on Thursday we rehearsed in Temple Lane Rehearsals. Al Cowan is playing drums on these gigs, first time in three years. (Chris was supposed to be in Spain, but ended up in hospital instead, appendix out and no drumming for him ! ) After close to five hours hammering it out, things were sounding tight, but lose too in a good way. Had a post rehearsal drink in the Sheebeen on Georges Street, the rain lashing down outside. Dinner with Foxy and Ann Marie in Ranelagh was great in every way and we had draught Guinness and lots of red wine and spaghetti and interesting conversations and good times.

Fri April 23 Kells…A grey miserable day. Cormac Figgis decided to use me as a guinea pig. He had got a new lens for his camera so he took a whole load of pictures of yours truly posing with Epiphone Casino. Liam Grant arrived in his car and we drove across town to pick up Les and off we went to Kells. There’s a bar there called Arches. Avoid it like the plague. I got the money from the fool, and we went to a little pub across the way and had a great chat…mostly about magick. Then we drove back to Dublin, stayed up late chatting, got into bed around 6.30.

Sat 24 April Dublin….We thought we’d go to the zoo (not my idea) and dropped into the pub at Hanlons Corner over Cabra way for a beer on the way. Who was there only Mr Liam Coade, musician, raconteur extraordinaire and retailer, of sorts. Rosie who buys for HMV Limerick was there too, and presented me with two lists. One was a list of all the people who were barred for life from the International Bar, and another a list of all the people that should be barred for life from the International. Her husband was on one of the lists, not sure which. We never made it to the zoo, but after a few more drinks we had Indian food and I wrote out the set list and we hit the streets.

Down at the Cobblestone it was great to see so many old faces. I was real tired the first few songs but soon perked up and I enjoyed it, as did I presume Al and Les. They weren't complaining, so I reckon they enjoyed it. CD’s were sold and I scribbled my name a few times and Sandra was left in charge of organizing late drinks and that went assways and then she was in charge of getting everyone from A to B but that went assways. Spent an uncommonly long time in a taxi going around in circles, but eventually we were in After Party World, a sort of parallel universe where records get played an instruments get played and songs are sung and stories told. A good few hours later I was in Copenhagen airport eating a dry stale sandwich and realized it was the first food (with the exception of a banana) that I had eaten in 29 hours. Sometimes your having such a good time you forget to eat!

MANSIONS OF GOLD TOUR

2009-02-09T05:45:00.000-08:00

Thurs 5 Feb. Amsterdam….I arose at 7am, looked out the window. A thick fog fell over Göteborg. I had a shower a few hours before I hit the deck, but felt I needed another. No time. A quick cup of tea and slice of toast, bag packed from last night, it was time to roll. Minus 6 degrees outside. Took a tram to Central Station, then the half hour bus ride through the snow to Ländvetter Airport and I’m on my way.

Arrived into Brussels and had to walk for about 30 minutes through corridors, up escalators, down escalators, eventually finding the luggage area. Wrong information made me get off the train at the wrong place and I had to double back to the previous station, which was Brussels South. The train pulled out of the station past the red light area, ladies in bikini’s standing in windows looking for business. It was a long slow train ride to Antwerp. On a day like this all you need is a friendly smile or gesture to make things better, and today it came in from a helpful ticket inspector.

We stopped in Weerde, which isn’t weird at all, and a place called Duffle. Further down the line a few people got off in Mortsel. The name rang a bell in my sleepy brain. It took me a few minutes to realize I had played a gig in Mortsel a few years back. On arrival into Antwerp I realized I had a 40-minute stop over. It was time for a quick beer and a phone call. An eccentric old lady wanted to befriend me and beckoned me to join her at her table. I politely declined the offer, indicating I had to catch a train in five minutes, which was the truth.

I eventually got to Amsterdam at around 7pm, twelve hours after I had set out from home. A long day, and not a note played. The Stones’ ‘Gimme Shelter’ ringing through my head. The aroma of dope, white widow weed, black Moroccan hash. Hookers, musicians, head-cases. Amsterdam, hussle and bustle, always an air of something about to happen here. But the conservative government are on everybody’s case these days and the vibe is changing, slowly but surely. Sound check in Mulligans was quick and painless. Lots of folks were talking about the festival in Deventer where I’m due to play on Friday. The gig was ok, sold some CD’s, met people I had met on my last visit back in 2007. Had a few late drinks with Miriam and Barry, and took a taxi to my bed of slumber.

Fri 6 Feb. Deventer…….Had a real long sleep in, as I needed it. Shower, no time for a breakfast, but still Barry showed me around his new recording studio. Maybe some day I’ll record here, who knows. Grabbed a fresh fruit juice drink from a stall in the nearby market and made my way down through Vijzelstraat, up to Munt Plein..Rolled into Deventer, remembering the station on arrival. Last few times I was here, I arrived by train, but the last time I play Burgerweeshuis I recall we arrived by rented station wagon. The glamour of it all ! I was under instructions to meet promoter Mark in De Hemel and this bar I found in a small square, dwarfed by a huge Renaissannce church. A few cool bookshops were in the area, but I had neither time nor inclination for shopping.

The bar was small, packed and smoky. Got myself a beer and got to work putting a new set list together. Within half and hour I was joined by Robin Hurt and Mick from the West Seventies. We talked shop and Mark arrived with a lady from Bord Failte, one of the festivals main sponsors. Darren Byrne arrived, as did Francie Conway, a man I haven’t seen in many a year. Beers were lined up and they were put down. Advice reached my ear. Time to go. I sound checked, had dinner with the local crew at Burgerweisshuis, framed pictures of The Lemonheads, Dinosaur Junior, and Culture gazing down upon us, acts who had previously graced the stage here.

Met a guy at the bar who instantly bought me a beer, although I already had one, and he chatted away. Told me how he was really looking forward to the gig, but later confided that he was a metal fan. That’s fine, I assured him, I like 1970’s reggae, Captain Beefheart, Northern Soul, Southern Soul, old school R n B, and Dark Ambient. Later, he told me he had spent a lot of time living in an insane asylum and was on heavy-duty medication. I told him that many of the musicians I’ve worked with in the past should be on heavy-duty medication.

Eventually I played the gig and sold some CD’s and scribbled my name on the booklets and got paid and I noticed fog had engulfed the square. The hotel was right next-door; a big wooden balcony over looked the foyer. An ideal location for a Hammer Horror movie. Back in De Hemel there was a sort of party atmosphere but everybody seemed the worst for wear. I ended up in Mark Gilligan’s hotel room with a jazz cigarette and Mark’s laptop doing what ever it was doing. I think he was checking emails; it’s all a bit vague. He needed to crash out so I wandered down the corridor trying to locate my room. Couldn’t find it, couldn’t remember the door number. My key was missing. Could Mark help me out ? Of course he could, only I couldn’t find his room either. They all looked the same. I was lost in a labyrinth of corridors, all white, grey carpet, 4 am, not a soul around. I sat on the steps, keyless and clueless and tried to figure it out. A futile exercise. Who was I kidding ? At reception I made a lot of noise and work up the night porter, who checked the log, found my room, opened the door. I thanked him kindly, in a very stoned gentlemanly fashion and fell into bed.

Sat 7 Feb. Brussels….The alarm woke me up, no time for a shower, no time for breakfast. No need to get dressed, I hadn’t bothered to undress. At reception I sat down to contemplate getting a taxi. I spied Phil from Newcastle, who had been at the Amsterdam gig on Thursday. He was checking out . Didn’t know he was in the same hotel, although I knew he was in town as we had met briefly last night. It was pissing down rain so we shared a taxi to the station. We had fifteen minutes to wait. Into the bar, I had a beer, Phil had tea…and he paid. On the train he chatted up some girl a third of his age and got off in some town I’d never heard of.

Around 5pm I arrived into Brussels Central Station. Blue skies overhead, not a cloud to be seen. Wasn’t sure what to do, I had time on my hands. Take a taxi to the venue or go for a ramble. I had no map and no idea if the venue was close by or miles across the city. Found a picturesque square, none of the sleaze one expects from the area around train stations. A lot of tourists, generally not a good sign, but a Greek Bar seemed ok, so in I went. A bunch of English tourists were leaving, so I had a beer. Got chatting to the friendly bar lady, a native of Athens. She knew Café Dada well, and was a regular. Told me it was just across the square, a short walk, and she drew me a map on the back of a beer mat. I think I might have crossed Grote Markt, but I found the place somehow.

I met with Veronique who’s in charge. Dimitree, the guy who booked me is in rehab, but apparently he’s going to be fine. Not many people are there, and there’s no hurry with sound check. I’m sharing the bill with Shaman Festival. While they were setting up I nipped around the corner to De Dolle Moll. Had a few beers, watched youtube which they had hooked up to the stereo and the bar man was Djing using youtube as his collection. Good stuff too, surf, the Kinks, the Stones. A Hope Sandoval look-alike bounced down the stairs and the jukebox in my brain flips on Van singing “Jackie Wilson Said.” I had another beer.Back at Café Dada I played my set. The place was packed, and after a few songs the guitar was feeding back big time, but I used this to my advantage, coaxing more feedback to end songs, the instrument vibrating violently as I rammed it into the front of house stage left. The crowd seemed to like me. Inneke had driven down from Antwerp and gave me a copy of her great new album. We had a chat and the joint was rockin' and later Veronique took me by taxi to her flat. We shard a beer and a smoke and I was convinced there was more people present, but she insisted it was just us two. Those spirits are following me again !

Sun 8 Feb Amsterdam…On arrival into Amsterdam Central I grabbed a bowl of pasta from the subterranean whole food emporium. Washed it down with water. Badly in need of a drink, I took a taxi to Monumentje, located at Westerstraat 120. I’d never been here before, but had heard really good reports. Bar lady Annelie is pleasant, polite and cool all rolled into one. She kept the small little glasses of Dutch beer coming steadily until the grating edges of reality were nicely sculpted into a more acceptable form.

Proprietor Harry is a gentleman and soon its showtime. I really enjoyed the gig and everybody seemed to have a good time. Lots of presents were thrust into my hands afterwards. Dinner was fish with steamed vegetable in a nearby restaurant. With Harry, I went back to the bar for a while, met some good people, and eventually checked into my Hotel. Can’t remember what it was called, I fell into a light sleep, waking up every 10 minutes, crazy dreams, sweat running down my legs.

Mon 9 Feb Tilburg….Got my gear sorted out, made my exit. A final glance out the window brought on vertigo. I wasn’t in the mood for dragging my bag and guitar around Amsterdam in the rain, so I made straight for the station and got the train. The journey to Tilburg was uneventful, the Hotel right across the road from the station. Checked in, had a drink. Took a badly needed shower and nodded off. A ramble around town was a fruitless experience. Down along Langestraat and up through Schouwburgring, there’s not much going on. Folks out shopping. I phoned Åsa and Freja, went back to the hotel, grabbed some more sleep to make up for lost time.

Down at the Paradox club I met up with Sabine, who is responsible for me being here. Last time I played Paradox was with the band about a year ago, although I thought it was 2 years, but Sabine sets me straight on the dates. Her daughter has baked some biscuits for me and they taste great. As does the Indonesian buffet. Various other presents come my way and I enjoyed the gig. Good sound, good vibe and the night is still young. Will was there and Bartho too. Afterwards Sabine insisted I get the acoustic out and do a few songs while 5 or 6 of us hung out around the bar. So I sang some songs and good times were had and I felt at home, although I was a long way from home. Hopefully I’ll be back someday

Tues 9 Feb Gent…A glass of orange juice, three cups of tea, a boiled egg and a slice of bread made for an ideal breakfast. I was ready for the road, back down to Belgium and tonight’s gig at Kinky Star in Gent. I had to change in Roosendaal. The rain had turned to sleet and it was bitter cold. I nearly missed my connecting train, as there was some last minute misinformation. Arrived into Gent with the rain easing off a bit. Got down to the club in Vlasmarkt where I met Luc and crew.I found an intriguing jewellery store, a lot of Asian, Tibetan as well as Celtic merchandise. But they were closed. Thought I could shelter from the rain a bit, maybe buy something with my hard earned cash. Instead I had to settle for a nearby bar. The TV Jukebox played a lot of dodgy Eurodisco, the worst of the late 70’s and early 80’s, some imported from the states. Occasionally something interesting would come up, like Gwen McCrea or Chake Khan. Then Sinatra came on doing ‘My Way. A guy at the end of the bar decided to buy a drink for everybody in the room. I wasn’t going anywhere. The barman explained the situation. A common occurrence apparently. Framed posters of Belgian star Andre Hazes are all over the walls. The barman is a big fan and proves it by putting on a DVD of Hazes. A bell rings, another round of drinks from the happy man at the end of the bar.

Later I find myself over near St Bavo’s Cathedral and the spooky gothic streets that surround the music school. Sexy vampires lurk in the doorways. One looks just like Ingrid Pitt circa 1973, another like Yutte Stensgaard. I could have sworn I saw Mary and Madeleine Collinson run across the courtyard in white nightgowns.I has time for a lie down before dinner, then sound check, then a while sipping bottled beers in the dressing room chatting to crew. The gig was an enjoyable affair, photos were taken, cd’s sold and back at Luc’s place we stayed up late drinking vodka and chatting about films and music. King Automatic gets a spin on the turntable. This French rocker recently had a successful show in Kinky Star. Everybody’s been talking about him. Luc tells me I should have my own radio show and suggests I look into getting set up for a podcast. Maybe I will.In the morning we had breakfast under the shadow of Luc’s mountainous record collection. He kindly drove me to the station and then he was off to the studio to work on his new album. I had the rather tedious chore of making my way to Brussels via Antwerp and catching the flight to Göteborg where snow and bitter cold greeted me at Landvetter.

DRUG OF THE NATION 2009

2009-01-27T05:40:00.000-08:00

Sunday 18 Jan Dublin / Rockfield......For years I lived without a television…right through the 80’s in fact, so going into the vast ever changing archive that’s makes up youtube, I get to find all sorts of gems I missed out on years ago. Of course the 80’s was a terrible decade, bad fashion, dodgy music too, but it wasn’t all bad. For some reason I was on the Carbon / Silicon website. I’ve always liked Mick Jones. If I recall properly, I was just checking to see if there are any gigs soon. They’re aren’t. And so a link took me to youtube and on and on, through the Clash and to Big Audio Dynamite. Nostalgia isn’t what it used to be, but some of the BAD stuff sounded good and some of it was great. A live version of Medicine Show from the Channel 4 programme The Tube was really something else, and even later stuff like Innocent Child sounded all right. A great melody, not so sure about the arrangement though. And things have come full circle. These days I don’t bother with TV at all. There’s one of those fancy flat screen yokes in the flat hidden behind a pile of CD’s, but I don’t go near it. Occasionally one of the Swedish channels will show a good film, but it’s a rare event. Last week (after I cleared the CD’s away) I saw a bit of a documentary about the final days and tragic murder of Robert Johnson, but it was nearly over by the time I noticed what the drug of the nation machine had to offer. Youtube is a sort of TV I suppose, a channel for your imagination. If you think of something, it’s probably there. Howlin’ Wolf, Joe Ely, Gregory Isaacs, Johnny Thunders, they’re in there, but you’ll never see then on TV. But how long will it last before everybody gets all bothered about copyright laws?

Got on the plane and read Anne Bronte. Following a few hours in Dublin where I met up with Les, Al Cowan and Jack, I took a bus west, slept most of the way, but woke up with the driver enquiring from a lady passenger how he could get to Castlerea. A foreign national, he didn’t know the route. The lady really got into the whole vibe as she sat right behind him giving him loads of unnecessary instructions. Here …take a left here NOW !…up ahead there’s a bridge so you’ll have to slow down….keep left on the roundabout….indicate NOW… Poor guy, his head was wrecked. When we got to our stop the driver helped us with our cases. “She’s driving me crazy” he confided. She was the only one left on the bus and he had another 50 miles left before they got to Westport, the end of the line.The wind blew hard and the rain came down. Although the phone lines were down and the storm was getting wild, we still went out walking in the fields, hopping over stone walls, avoiding the electric fences, exploring the wild terrain. Jack hadn’t been in Ireland for 7 years, so we had to make up for lost time. We hung out with 80 year- old ladies who were drinking whiskey at 2 o clock in the afternoon (we had bottled Guinness) , great stories were told and this place is another planet compared to New York. Jack had a belated birthday present for me, a book entitled ‘Very Special People’ by Frederick Drimmer. Its got tales of the often tragic lives of ‘freaks’ such as Tom Thumb, the bearded lady Mme Clofullia, the giant Jack Earle, and Julia Pastrana. Some of it makes for disturbing bedtime reading.

A few days later we arrived back in Dublin. It was late on Saturday night and most bars were packed, but we grabbed a beer in O Neill on Suffolk Street, where I hardly ever frequent, but there weren’t many people about so it was ok. Later on, we took taxis in different directions and I made my way to Cormacs pad. He’s done a great job with the sleeve for ‘Mansions Of Gold’ and it’s his first time hearing it too. He likes it. He gave me a copy of the recent Paranoid Visions ‘Treasure On The Wasteland EP’ and we listened to a lot of soul, talked about records, movies, The Flight of the Concords on youtube. DC Nien doing ‘Reptile’. Billy Childish records were played. Grace Jones new album blasted out of the enormous brown 1970’s Warfdale speakers, with Sly and Robbie back in the driving seat. We opened another bottle of wine. Around 4am I started to nod off in the armchair, so I decided it was time for a little lie down. At 6 Ted woke me up. Just as well, I had forgotten to set the alarm clock. Grabbed the bags, weighed down mostly with merchandise, and made it to the airport in time for the early morning flight to Gothenburg.

Tues 27 Jan. Göteborg………Everybody’s writing blogs these days. A lot of them are rubbish. Nothing interesting…or inspiring. But there are exceptions. I’ve been checking out Tony James’ blog on the Carbon / Silicon website. Tony used to be in Generation X and Sigue Sigue Sputnik, and played with Johnny Thunders a bit. He’s an interesting guy and I think I’d enjoy having a drink or four with him. Courtney Loves’ myspace rants are cool too, but I don’t think I’d go on the piss with her. I’ve been hacking out my old tour diary journals for years now, long long before they coined the term ‘blog’. Not sure why I bother anymore. I think it’s just practice….like playing a musical instrument, if you don’t do it all the time , you lose it quickly. So I’m just practising. And I don’t mean my typing skills. I mean my use, or misuse of the Kings’ English. A lot of this stuff / crap tends to get written long hand in notebooks, scraps of paper anyway, and then I have it typed up by two Hungarian ex-porn stars who work in the racketeers office. It’s a great life !

It’s minus 5 outside and I’m in my bare feet. The roof doesn’t leak like the last place I lived in, and when you turn on the tap in the bathroom, hot water comes out ! What more could you ask for ?There’s a whole world of wonderful dark ambient experimental music out there. People like Warmth, Valerio Cosi from Italy and Robe from Indiana USA. Once you enter their world your in a place where the music sounds like what they might play on the radio in heaven, or hell depending on your taste. It’s a strange parallel world where the cassette is king. Although some of these folks release stuff on vinyl, and of course CD, a hell of a lot of the stuff is out on limited edition cassette tapes, usually with hand made sleeves and the shell is often spray-painted. It’s a suitable medium for this type of music, which usually comprises of pieces that last up to 15 minutes or a lot longer. One such label is Winepress from Lancaster, Pennsylvania who have some really interesting merchandise, and Scotch Tapes, a label that specializes in limited editions of no more than 20 copies. The company slogan is “dead formats are the new cutting edge.” They plan a few releases on re-cycled 8 Track cartridge!Now, there’s an idea !!!

DEAD TREES LIKE SKELETON FISH 2008

2008-12-06T05:38:00.000-08:00

Fri 14 Nov. Gävle……Im not used of travelling first class, but with economy seats sold out I had no option but to buy the first class ticket for the train from Göteborg to Gävle, via Örebro. Knut Hamsun’s “In Wonderland” kept me company as we rolled out from the west, heading northeast through the farmlands, vast forested areas, lakes and rivers. It was dark by 4pm. At Örebro, I only had 5 minutes to make my connection and the information on the screens was confusing. If I missed the next train I was stranded, no way forward, no way back, but I caught it in the nick of time and we made our winding way north through Arvesta, Kyrvbo and one horse towns like Sandriken. Apparently Gävle is more northerly than St Petersburg, so I was prepared for the wintry chill.

CC Puben is a big enough place, a long room, good PA, big stage. Small audience however, but I made some new friends and sold a few CD’s too. Local band The Daisy Cutters were to give me a place to stay, but they never showed up. Instead, Andreas and Catrine were kind enough to offer me a bed. Photos were taken and story’s told. We took a taxi out to their suburban apartment, chatting to their neighbours along the way. Vodka and fresh strawberries with a secret ingredient was a most welcome nightcap.I forgot to set my alarm clock; just as well Catrine came in to wake me up. A taxi appeared from nowhere and before I knew it I was on the train, destination Stockholm.

I had a three-hour stopover in the Swedish capital. Time for food and a beer. The low hum of conversation is a welcome antithesis to American etiquette. A lady in white walks by with in patent leather high-heeled boots, a bearded man in a white cowboy hat follows closely behind with two well-groomed cocker spaniels. The aroma of hot dogs and burgers. Get fat fast, food. People are making small talk, a waste of time in any language. Back on board the train, I try to read, but soon nod off. I wake up and we’re pulling out of an unknown town, all tower blocks and dusk grey doom. Dead trees that look like skeleton fish. People get on and get off, a slowly evolving cross-country game of musical chairs. Ten hours after I had set out, I arrived into Goteborg. I was in bad need of a decent meal.

Wed 26 Nov. Rockfield….We had arrived into Dublin, all Christmas trees and phoney good cheer. Stayed with friends in posh Foxrock as the economy crumbled all around us. A 6am start couldn’t be avoided, and by 8am we had braved the morning rush hour and made it to Heuston station and boarded the Westport train. It was good to be back in Mayo again, like a place from another time. Misty afternoons spent wandering in the fields, past the faery fort up towards Ruane’s.My ancestor, Daithi O Dubhda, was the last pagan king in Ireland. Fair play to him, he held out to the bitter end before pressure from the Xtian hoard in Rome pressurized him into taking up the alien middle-eastern creed. That was back in the 7th century. The castle still survives in County Sligo, and in fact it’s for sale. I can’t afford the one million euro price tag, but with the property crash, who knows what could happen?

Fri 29 Nov. Dublin….Three hours by train and we arrived into Dublin. Had breakfast in some place on South William Street. Can’t remember the name. Went down to the Temple Bar Music Centre to set up for rehearsals. Åsa and Freja went off to meet friends. Both of the guitar amps I tried were useless. Chris arrived, and thankfully he had a Marshall Valve State for me. We ran through the songs, took a cigarette break, ran through the set a second time. Called to guitar doctor Kevin up on Exchequer Street who had promised me he’d have the Antoria electric ready for me. He didn’t. Just as well I brought my Epiphone Casino over from Sweden. Wandered the streets for a while, before dropping into the Stags Head for a drink. Didn’t know a soul there. Made a phone call or two, nobody answered.

Met with Chris and we drove over to Smithfield, home of the Cobblestone. Les arrived, as did Orla the promoter, sound lady and hustler supreme. Sound check was completed and we sipped on a few beers. Dayo played support and it was really nice to have so many old faces down at the gig. The place was full and I reckon if I moved to Mozambique, we’d be able to fill the Button Factory. With Ed, Barbara and Joe we went over to Sheila’s house for late drinks. I think I nodded off for about an hour before the doorbell rang and there was my taxi. We drove straight to the airport, where I had a wonderful breakfast of two beers and promptly boarded the flight to Gothenburg.

Fri Dec 5.Göteborg….Les arrived yesterday evening, Chris arrived several hours later and that’s a long story. I’ll keep it short. Apparently if you’re not an EU citizen you can’t do ‘priority boarding’ and as Chris is Australian, he was left stranded in Dublin airport. We got him another flight, at great expense via Copenhagen. But today is another day and I don’t want to dwell on the idiocy of some airlines.We went out for a ramble, picked up some beers and wine. Back at HQ I played some new songs for the guys. They like some of them.. They don’t like some others. That’s fine. We stopped off at a drum shop (there are such things) for a bolt for a kick pedal, and then went to Storan for sound check. Met up with the guys from The Don Darlings who are on the bill. Cool guys. Also promoter Jenny, but things are delayed so Les needs to find a shop that can sell him some cable for his laptop. We have a beer or two and then dinner. Word arrives that we can sound check, and it’s a painless exercise. Take the tram back to HQ where there’s a party going on. I think I’d have preferred peace and quiet, but I managed to sleep for an hour anyway.The gig itself was ok. The sound wasn’t as on the button as the sound check. Such is life. I enjoyed the Don Darlings set, and I enjoyed playing too, a good audience, but it just could have been a lot better. A lot of folks I hadn’t seen in a long long time were down and late drinks were had in the dressing room. Nobody fell over, nobody threw up or fell down the stairs or tried to steal somebody’s girlfriend, or set a newspaper on fire. Nobody ordered pizza and refused to pay when the delivery guy came, nobody broke the door off the fridge or complained about the lighting. It was one of those nights when there was no unnecessary drama.

Sat Dec 6 Göteborg…. Another difficult day for Chris. One of those where he must be cursing the Racketeers. He had stayed in a Hotel in the city centre, but somehow still managed to miss the airport bus, and had to take an expensive taxi. Ran into some trouble with security in London, but eventually made it to Dublin in one piece. Meanwhile, Les and I got down to the job of recording some new songs I’ve written. We stuck at it for 5 hours or so, took a break and had dinner. The sun went down, a turquoise sheen across the horizon over by the docklands.Records were taken out and played. Hank Mizell, Fabienne Del Sol, Alan Stivell, Little Milton singing ‘We’re Gonna Make It’..Ann Peebles. Holly Golightly, the great Clifton Chenier, the King of Zydeco. Rory Gallagher wrote a song about Clifton, you’ll find it on his 1990 album ‘Fresh Evidence.’ Hank Williams got played, Little Birdie, Calexico, Spade Cooley and Hank Snow. I consulted the Tarot at one point. The hands on the clock scraped a slow circle through time.

LEAVE YOUR MIND BEHIND 2008

2008-10-05T05:29:00.000-07:00

Sun 21 Sept Goteborg....Today’s the day that we sent out '45' into the belly of the beast that is the internet, available for all and sundry to download for 99 cents. I received a few emails and myspace messages from folks saying they liked it. Seems I've still got a few friends out there. The weather has been really warm most days and we got more mileage out of the summer than expected.

A few days ago, John in Berlin sent me another strange link to a piece of film of some band doing a song entitled ‘Jesus Is My Friend’ a sort of metro sexual take on the born again genre. A bit like Soft Cell meets Daniel O Donnell. To clear the cobwebs from my mind, I got stuck into Peter Gray’s great tome ‘The Red Goddess’ a poetic exploration of Babalon (as opposed to Babylon) which arrived in the post along with 2 copies of Man Myth & Magic. Time is an abyss. Took a ramble over to the other side of town to see a cool country band called Little Green at the Musikenhuis on Johansgatan. A good gig it was too and I ended up dropping into a bar I stumbled across over near Järntorget. A few American tourists were hanging around, the DJ wasn’t as annoying as they usually are, and I was left to my own devices. Coloured liquid in a small glass never looked so good. Later I took the # 1 tram over and got off near Redbergsplatsen, got home, poured a glass of wine and put on a Joe Ely record, sat on the balcony.

Henrik and his lady had a crawfish party. I don’t eat those cockroaches of the sea, but I went along for the vibe. Ate the salad and drank the vino. Neatly printed pages were laid out on the table. The lyrics of those old Swedish folk songs that they sing at dinner make no sense to me. But every time they sing one in unison, you get to knock down a shot of schnapps. Some sort of yellow liquid that’s sweet but its got a strange kind of kick. It certainly creeps up on you. Not a cloud in the sky, darkness descended and the night was bitter cold in the specially erected marquee. I had been asked to bring along a guitar and do a few songs. I’d have preferred not, but I thought it would be rude to refuse. My fingers were like ice. It was difficult to play, but everybody was pissed and didn’t notice how sloppy I played. After I left a fight broke out.

Monday 22 Sept Berlin…Just as I got my baggage off the carousel the phone rang and it was Mark Mulholland with instructions on where to meet downtown. Just as well, Berlin is huge and still confuses me. Mega City Transport Paranoia caught me momentarily. Besides, I had flown into Tegel and I think I usually use the other airport, Schonefeld. The bus ride is about an hour long. Get to Mitte and meet Mark, grab some veggie food and a beer. Visit the Cannery Row office, say hi to Frank.Mark has to make a trip to the post office, so I hang around in some small bar. What else would you do? Meet up with Kevin (who is doing publicity for the label) and Abbey. Stories are told of the road, touring in Romania, Czech, life in the UK, Scotland, France, Germany….wherever , and it’s a real good time.

Joe from Two Dollar Bash is celebrating his birthday and there’s a party in his pad. We visit and the vibe is good. Later Mark wants to hear the mixes of the new stuff I’ve brought with me, but he nods off to sleep mid way through the second song. I found a sofa and had a lie down.

Tues 22 Sept Zeitz…A quick cup of tea and it was time to roll. Mark went to the airport, bound for Paris, I caught a train to Zeitz, reading William S. Burroughs ‘Place of Dead Roads’ as the train rattled and rolled through the east German countryside. It was a grey, bleak day. A sad and lonesome day. Zeitz Haupbahnhof ( train station) is a spooky place on a rainy Tuesday. Some of the platforms are overgrown with knee high weeds, water tumbling down from the cracked drainpipes. An eerie silence hung over the place once the train had pulled out and the few souls who disembarked had scattered quickly. Why would anybody want to live in such a place? Chance seems to have tossed them here like driftwood. I saw a little bar, the only sign of life. A beer set me back €1.30. The disgruntled moustachioed barman gave me the low down on how to find the Green Island Pub, the place I’m due to play in a few hours. I made a quick phone call ahead to the bar to check if they’re open. They are. Have a second beer. I’m beginning to feel ok. I need to charge up my phone, so I plug it in beside the poker machine. The barman is mumbling to himself as he cleans the coffee machine. An off-duty security man arrives on the scene. Not a word is spoken as he collects his regular coffee, sits at the table where my phone is being charged, lights a cigarette and stares at the monkeys on the TV. A nature programme. Monkeys are the stars of this episode.

Down at the bar, doors are already open and a few people have arrived and laid down their hard earned cash. I meet Andreas the owner and after a very quick sound check I’m introduced to Heike who gives me a firm handshake and looks me square in the eye. She kindly drives me to the Pension Christof located at Geussnitzer Strasse 22. I quickly check in. ‘Your room is horrible’ she says. Its ok, I tell her, its just for sleeping, I’m not bothered with the crap décor. The proprietor is showing me to the breakfast room. I’m concentrating really hard in order to remember all this stuff…down two flights of stairs, turn left, there it is. Then, back up one flight of stairs to find the exit. Leave the key in the room. ‘Great!’ I say ‘We should be off.’. I swing around, open what I assume is the exit door and walk straight into his sons bedroom. Heike looks on disapprovingly. What a terrible sense of direction I have.Back at the bar, I have dinner, a beer and do the gig. A cool listening crowd. (well, they paid in to hear me, so it would have been bad if they talked all the way through) I sell quite a few CD’s and chat to some local folks. Heike re fills my glass. Time is sliding by, I have cash in my pocket and I’m a long way from home and I’m tired with small talk and I need to lie down.

Wed 23 Sept Nurnberg….It’s a cold and wet morning. Breakfast is the standard German fare, bread, cheese, a boiled egg and a slice of some sort of salami type meat product, which I avoid. There isn’t any tea, so I sip at the strong coffee. I rarely drink coffee, vile stuff after a night of beer. I grab a glass of water. Unsure which direction to the town centre, I wander aimlessly, but find the main shopping street by chance. Enough with the walking, I think to myself, so I hail a taxi and catch a train out of the ghost town.I got into Nurnberg with some time to kill before the gig. I had a slow beer in the train station and then took a taxi over to Pegnitzbuhne, where I had played a year ago. It was nice to meet up with Marcus and Bea again, who took such good care of me last time and were wonderful hosts. I played the gig and a small but appreciative crowd were there and CD’s were sold and signed and it was a good time. I remembered Yodan from last time, a gentle giant of a man, not a word of English, so we communicate by means of rock n roll telepathy… and he filmed the gig too. Met up with Robbie Krieger and Wolfgang. A singsong after the gig, over at the bar, was good fun. Later Bea arrived with a big pot of spaghetti, and we all tucked in. I had forgotten to eat since breakfast, so the food was much appreciated.

Thurs 25 Sept. Nurnberg…..This was to be a day off. A gig hadn’t materialized. Read my book, Burroughs powerful raging torrent of words. A mad visionary experience. Unsettling, funny and wild. I got a verse to a song that had been floating around in my head for weeks. Scribbled it down. Went out for a walk. Back to bed. I had a lot of sleeping to catch up on. Later, Dead Again were playing in the club and I played a set, before Marcus joined me on piano and the rest of the guys for a version of ‘Don’t Let me Fall’. We also did ‘All Along the Watchtower’…a very long version. It was good fun. Stayed up til 5am talking to Wolfgang about the Second World War.

Fri 26 Sept Greiz…..Tried to get a ticket from the station at Muggenhof, but I couldn’t understand the machine, although a kind Asian lady tried to help me. Then another kind lady (German) told me I could travel with her on her ticket. I asked how much I should pay her, but she said a ticket holder could bring as many as five guests for free on the S - Bahn anytime between 9am and 9pm. So off we go. Seven or eight stops later I was at the Central Station and I thanked the friendly kind stranger. I found a fridge magnet for my mother (she’s collecting them these days) and some nice silver earrings for my lady. At the same stall I found a ring for myself with a good black onyx stone, and I got a 10% discount. Not a bad start to the day.

Having indulged in this episode of retail therapy I walked through the throng of people, transitory souls, in search of the ticket office.The ticket I bought was a confusing document, which included an unexpected bus connection, and I neglected to get the itinerary details clarified before I boarded the train from platform 12. The result being, I missed the connecting bus at Reichenbach. A phone call to Norbert fixed this problem. I hung around and waited, as one does on tour, and eventually the car arrived and we drove the remaining 10 kilometres to Greiz. I met with Gentleman Daniel who was slowly but surely, in a zen-like methodical fashion, putting the PA together. Then I did the sound check and had a beer. Daniel told me about his band. I had plans to go to the Pension for a shower, but that plan soon went out the window. A great meal of spaghetti with green pesto arrived on the table. I realized there was time left to go for a ramble.One can only assume this was a once glorious city from the many majestic buildings, two castles and the long wide avenues of apartments, each building sturdy as a fortress. But many of the stately homes and municipal buildings are now vacant, weeds growing on the balconies, dust on the windowpanes. I wouldn’t be surprised if tumbleweed rolled by. Street lights buzz and crackle. There’s a sadness in the town at this time of year. The old abandoned hotel is full of the ghosts of long dead Nazis. As usual in Peanuts, I sold a few CD’s and met some good people. Afterwards I ate a cheese sandwich, drove to the Pension and had a much needed shower, slept a few hours, maybe four. Fate decreed a restless night of tossing and turning. No rest for the wicked I suppose.

Sat 27 Sept Berlin…..An unwelcome fast sprint down the platform at the train station was the final wake up call. I had got through the breakfast like a chore. Bread and jam, no tea available. Last night’s dreams of old junky friends haunting my every nerve. Once on the two-carriage train, I grabbed Norbert’s hand and we had a firm, real man’s handshake. Two men from polar opposite life styles, but with an understanding of each other. See you later alligator. I had to ask a lady on the train how to get a legit ticket from the machine, the train driver eyeing me in the mirror all the time. They don’t get many foreigners ‘round these parts.

I got off at Gera, and went in search of a small bottle of cognac, the best cure for my bad stomach. Couldn’t find the required medication. Went back upstairs to the platform to await the connection to Leipzig. A young lady approached me and asked if I want a free ticket to Leipzig. I told her that I had got one all the way to Berlin, but I thanked her for the offer. She explained that her job just bought her 5 tickets, but she was quick off the mark and in the few minutes that it took the train to roll into the station she had made a few calls on her mobile phone (or handy, as the Germans call them) and a few of her friends arrived to avail of the free trip. Who can tell what they intended to get up to in Leipzig, but a Saturday night in Leipzig’s gotta be more exciting than a Saturday night in Gera. There’s no competition.

I tried to ignore the razor pain in my gut. I had 20 minutes in Leipzig train station before my connection to Berlin. I careered down the platform, a man on a mission. Found the bar. A few quiet types there. Ordered the cognac. Cost me 1.80. Down the hatch. Went back down the platform feeling healed, like Paracelcus of yore at home on the highway. Was I deluded? I didn’t care.By the time I got to Berlin I was feelin’ mighty fine. I hailed a taxi and we set off for Friedrichshain. Suddenly the taxi-driving lady pulled over. ‘ I can’t go any further, there’s a police barricade,’ she complained. Just then 400 roller skaters hissed by. Several streets had been blocked off for the race. Another 57 whizzed by, all decked out in their tight fluorescent shorts, knee pads and helmets. I hopped out of the taxi and made my way to Gartnerstrasse via train and U Bahn. Met up with my host Tom, had a beer, sound checked, grabbed something to eat, did the gig. A nice crowd came down, John and his buddy, Joe from Two Dollar Bash and assorted friends. Anna, Hank, Dugald. Some folks I had met last Monday night. A few head cases were hanging around too, as you’d expect in Artliner. Later I went to Corona’s DJ gig down the road. The Kinks, old rockabilly, Holly Golightly all got a spin, and not a CD player in sight. Chatted to Dugald from Oz about records and producing and his lovely lady and with Hank about all sorts of things.

Sun 28 Sept Berlin….Had a long sleep and rambled through the market a few streets down the way. The place has some good record stalls, mostly vinyl, but nothing cheap. You can buy food, key rings, microwave ovens, bad cheap footwear, cutlery, fridge magnets and postcards. Other stalls sell old jackets that nobody with style would contemplate wearing. Old yellowing angling magazines, rickety furniture, cool art deco furniture, dull musty furniture, clockwork mice, snow domes, cold war era gas masks, dog collars, cassette tapes, automobile spare parts. Vases of every size, colour and shape. An old metallic device for mashing vegetables. Cans of spray paint, household appliances, phials of mercury, remote control racing cars ready to roll. Paintings, books and jewellery. I picked up a few singles, something by The Staples and ‘Talkin’ ‘bout My Baby’ by The Impressions which has got one of the best snare rolls I’ve heard in a long time. A wonderful warm sounding record. Bought some good quality incense from the bald chap who stands at his stall smoking joints all day. We had a little chat. His buddy shook my hand when he learned I was Irish.I later found a street lined with restaurants and made a beeline for the Thai joint. Sat outside, it was still warm enough to do that, and slowly made my way through a big Prussian blue plate of vegetarian noodles with tofu. Washed it down with cold H20, and made a phone call to HQ in the Nordic world. I was feeling content, all alone in this city, a place with such a tragic history. A place where I always feel ok. No street hassle, do your own thing, and nobody bugs you. A place where people understand the concept of minding their own fucking business.

Back at Artliner I had a few beers and a cognac and along comes Andy. He’s the guy I met last year who runs the open mike session. He asked me up to jam with him and we did a few old rock n roll songs, and a few country things. Good fun. Then Patrick from Belfast, who sounds a lot like, and looks a little like his hero Townes Van Zandt, got up an did a set as did Kevin and the night rolled by. Matt Le Harp, just in from Prague joined us for a while at out little table. By 4 am it was time to make my way to the airport, so I grabbed my two bags and guitar, shook hands with Tom who was getting ready to close the bar, and hit the road.

At the airport I found a comfortable seat in a café and caught a few hours sleep. Wasn’t feeling too bad when I arrived into Goteborg at around 1.30pm. Freja’s hearty laugh and big bright smiled cheered me up as I had a quick beer in Central Station. There’s a Swedish dish where you get cooked cold potatoes, leek, bits of meat or tofu, egg and plenty of soya, throw it all in a pan, and fry fry fry ! I call it Peter Pany, but I can neither spell it properly nor pronounce it properly (pyttipanna editors.note). Never the less, this is what I cooked on arrival at my humble abode over near Redbergsplatsen. The autumn leaves had been tumbling down and in the week I was away, the view from the balcony had been altered considerably. The trees, all ochre and burnt sienna, looked lost and lonesome. The sky was an ominous slate grey. I needed a cup of tea.

Tues 30 Sept Gothenburg….. The invitation arrived. I’m to perform a few songs on K103 FM, a local college radio station. There will also be an interview and a chance to plug our gig at Storan, the big white Victorian theatre here on the Avenue in town. I threw on the Two Dollar Bash CD and boiled the kettle. Records by Bobby Bland, Charlie Feathers and Inneke 23 and The Lipstick Painters were played at top volume. ‘Waiter Of Your Sleep.’ A great song. The Coasters singing ‘Down In Mexico.’ It was time for more tea. There was no need to pack my bag, I hadn’t bothered to unpack.

Wed 1 Oct Stuttgart …After 36 hours in Sweden it was time to go back to Germany. A different plane than last week apparently, and my guitar wouldn’t fit in the overhead bin, so it had to go in the hold. The flight was delayed for over an hour, so I kept on reading Burroughs. Arrived into Berlin late, grabbed my guitar off the carousel and thankfully its in one piece. On the way from Terminal A to terminal C I got caught in a downpour, and I was then given the wrong information on the gate for the onward flight, but I figured it out and got to Stuttgart ok. Navigating the S Bahn isn’t easy, but following a phone call to Nicol, I figure it out and get the #2 train to Bad Cannstad, passing through twelve stations along the way. Nicol was there to meet me and his new pad is up around the corner on Seelbergstrasse. Here he lives with his new lady Iris, on the seventh floor of an otherwise vacant building.So, we dragged the gear up seven flights, lift not working, and he showed me around his huge apartment.

Iris has a baby grand piano in one room, Nicol has his office, there’s a spare bedroom for yours truly with a huge balcony. I could see the Ferris wheel from the window and just about hear the sounds from the fair ground. There was a festival on and all the streets were lined with May Poles, or an Autumnal version of these pagan phallic symbols.The building used to be an office block. They’ve got no neighbours, so we could make as much noise as we wanted, but we ended up having a quite civilized evening. We cracked open a few beers and had a chat. Iris started to prepare some food, and the first bottle of red wine was poured into three glasses.

Fri 3 Villingen……Yesterday I rambled the streets of Stuttgart, it being my first time in this city. . Bought some gel crap to put in my hair, bargain vitamin pills, and took the train to Hauptbahnhof and wandered the totally modern city centre. By chance I met the lady photographer from Villingen last year. She’s in town selling postcards, and so I met up with Bernhardt in a bookstore as he attempts to sell merchandise to the manager. Bernhardt, by coincidence happens to be promoting Saturday nights gig in Bonndorf. We go for a drink to a bar where he thinks business can be done at some stage. It’s all part of the never-ending hustle for gigs. Later, on Charlottetemplatz I found a good record shop and bought records by Ronnie Hawkins, Chuck Berry, Alan Stivell, Buddy Herman, Larry Clinton….good Big Band stuff, a blues compilation with Bessie Smith, Leadbelly, Blind Lemon Jefferson, Ida Cox. I bought twelve LP’s in all, retail therapy baby. Mr Noodleman, who has a stall outside the main entrance to Bad Cannstad station provides me with a € 3 box of vegetarian noodles.Iris had a gig, and afterwards she joined Nicol and I as we wandered from bar to bar in the rain. At Kap Tormenso we see a not very interesting punk band playing. We chatted to the owner Tobias, who seems interested in doing business. As we have a few drinks Nicol tells the story of a gig we played a few years back in Staufen and the ‘situation’ concerning the bar tab. Since when did a musician in Germany have a beer tab ? Of course it turned out the guy who ran the bar in was American. Did we pay? No we didn’t. When he asked me to pay what did I say? “Fuck off.” I don’t recall any of this, it was a long time ago. I believe Mick Morrissey, who was with us on the night was a bit shocked.

Taxi back to the apartment and crashed out. This afternoon we hit the road, driving on up to Villingen. After sound check Mario handed me € 70 and said, go have a meal. So we went down the street to the restaurant on the corner, which happens to be owned by his brother. I had pesto spaghetti, can’t recall what Iris and Nicol had, but there weren’t any complaints. Superb food.Back to Limba for the gig. The club owner, Super Mario is celebrating his birthday, so there’s a party atmosphere. I played the gig but the crowd was drunk and real noisy. But Mario is happy, although he’s got his hand in a bandage as a result of an ‘argument.’ Marco and Jutte are down, as is Hartmut and Tom, who filmed my last gig here. At some point in the evening I was chatting to some people in the corridor, when one of the bar men opened up the cellar door (a metal hatch in the floor) and climbed down, not leaving any barricade or warning sign. That looks dangerous, I thought to myself. A lot of people were out of it. Ten seconds later Mario came running in cos the cops were outside and he tumbled straight into the hole in the floor. I couldn’t believe it, right before my eyes. It all happened so quickly. I shouted out to him, but he didn’t hear and next thing he was down in the cellar. Luckily he was ok. A bit shook up, no bones broken, and certainly lucky to be alive.

Sat 4 Oct Bonndorf ….Hartmut and Marco had cappuccinos, I had a beer. We were in a little bar in Villingen. I needed to lie down, so that’s what I did, checked emails and later re located to Café Limba where I spoke to Christoff about gigs and I met Super Mario who was limping around the place, with a sore leg and bruised ribs after his tumble into the cellar. Bernhard collected me and we drove to Bonndorf. The gig was in the Ice Café. I had played here before about two years ago. Souncheck, dinner, a few drinks, and then the long wait . Hanging around, that’s the main thing that happens on the road. Hanging around for the plane, hanging around for the car, hanging around for plug board, hanging around for the audience to arrive. Most of the gigs start an hour later than advertised. I noticed I’m in the local paper; there was a photo, and a blurb claiming this is the recommended gig of the weekend.I enjoyed the show. Played well, got a nice vibe going with the audience and sold CD’s and we all hung out afterwards. Had a good time. Made some new friends I hope.

The drive after the gig is a bit vague. There were long winding roads through rough terrain, farm houses, bridges across mountain streams, the odd luminous road sign guiding us on the road to wherever. We eventually arrived at Bernhard’s girlfriends house. A starry night, I could easily find the Plough, but no sign of the moon. It was hiding its face from the extraterrestrials. On entering this quiet as a mouse farmhouse I discovered that Sabina had kindly made up a bed for me in the living room. It made sense to crash out straight away. It had been a long day. Several hours later I awoke in stygian darkness. I was bursting for a pee big time. Felt my bladder was going to explode. All that free German beer and Mexican gold tequila. I fumbled around in the dark looking in vain for a light switch. Instead I found a doorknob. Twisted it, gently opened the door. I could hear the steady breath of people sleeping. Still couldn’t see a thing. Aware that Bernhard hadn’t told me where the toilet was, I was doomed. I found a window, opened it out and felt the fresh cold air. Emptied my bladder, closed the window and back to my bed.Several hours later I awoke to the sound of young voices. Bernhard and Sabina’s kids were up for breakfast, so I got up and we had tea and toast and I confessed about my window-pissing incident, which they found amusing, thankfully.

Sun 5 Oct. Freiburg ….Following breakfast I rambled down the country road, up towards the river. The sweet musty smell of the brown cows, sleeping in the midday sun, just like the John Cale song. A little brook over yonder, the low buzz of grasshoppers, Hansel and Gretel lost in the woods. The road sign read Sommerau, 5K from Bonndorf. Although this is the middle of nowhere, there’s a 5 star hotel perched on a hillside. I walked through the reception and into the restaurant / bar area. Felt out of place. While Sunday hikers roam the hills, posh folk pack the bar and most of the tables are reserved. But that indeed was a blessing in disguise. I took my 30cl glass of cold pils outside, found a table in the autumn sunshine, got a phone call. Nobody around. The distant rumble of a jet. Fat German middle-aged cardboard cut-out man lights a cigar. The incense of death. Kali unwittingly invoked. Azrael on the speed dial. The sun was cutting through the ozone like a blowtorch.

Back at the farmhouse we had lunch, I showered and watched Bernhard’s daughters’ award winning short film.It won first prize at the Hamburg Film Festival. We drove to a little town, can’t remember what it’s called, passing the Rauthous brewery along the way. We had time for a beer before I boarded the train for the slow ride to Freiburg. Manfred met me at the station. He’s been promoting the gig, and it’s my first time playing at White Rabbit, a cool club with a seriously big PA. Sound check is painless, despite the fact that the sound engineer is obviously very very stoned.After an enjoyable gig, I chatted to Mick, Ziggy, some American guy and a few others. It was a late night and a taxi ferried us to Mick’s place where I slept peacefully. The following morning, he kindly gave me his copy of ‘ A Riot Of Our Own’ by Clash tour manager Johnny Green, with illustrations by Ray Lowry who did all the cartoons for the Sandinista LP insert. By the time I got to Stuttgart I was on chapter 5. I had a stay over, and got up at 4.30 am to catch the S Bahn to the airport. More time spent hanging around. Found myself in Berlin, and a few hours later I was in Gothenburg city airport.

RANDOM SCRIBBLINGS FROM VARIOUS GEOGRAPHICAL LOCATIONS AND VARIOUS STATES OF MIND 2008

2008-05-17T05:24:00.000-07:00

Tues 8 July New York........After the usual stupid questions from the immigration officials at Dublin airport I got on the plane bound for New York. Slept soon after boarding and that’s the best way to deal with a transatlantic flight. I awoke in time for the horrible dinner, ate a bit of it, the bread, cheese and the desert. Wisely avoided the main course. I spent some time reading DBC Pierre’s Ludmilla’s Broken English. He won the Booker Prize and the Whitbread First Novel award a few years back for Vernon God Little. I read a few chapters and nodded off again, arriving into JFK a little later than expected, shortly after 1 o clock.After meeting up with Jack we go out for a bit of a ramble.

Up at Kim’s on St Marks I notice the vinyl section has moved downstairs and it’s been expanded too. Vinyl is making a big comeback, a wonderful two-finger salute to the record industry. Went down to the crazy old antique store on Houston where I got a cool pair of boots once upon a time, but today there was nothing worth buying, apart from a mummy sarcophocus, but I reckon Aer Lingus wouldn’t let me on the plane with that on the flight home. We picked up some Indian food at Punjabi. Later we watched the DVD documentary If I Should Fall From Grace with God, the life story of Shane MacGowan which was interesting and funny too, and sad.Slept for a few hours and a lady rings the doorbell. She’s collecting money for a neighbourhood family whose son was shot last night. A few bullets to the head ended his life. Gone gone gone at 17 years. Jack reckoned he knew him to see. Apparently it was a gang related hit.

As we strolled to the local pawnshop in a hunt for cheap guitars, we noticed the area right around the corner cordoned off by cops. Two rival TV crews were there filming their slots for the News. We didn’t find anything of interest in the pawnshop and Jack was feeling peckish so we swung down Delancey and into Chinatown. We visited some place renown for its good value, and had dumplings and pancakes. Re-fuelled we continued on our merry way in the hot summer sunshine. On Prince’s Street we came across a guy playing golf using empty half pint milk cartons instead of a ball. The object of the exercise was to get as many milk cartons as possible into a bin about 20 yards away. Nobody took any notice of him. Only in New York!

Bought four books for the princely sum of $2. Two by Thomas Hardy, one by Sir Walter Scott and one by Solzhenitsyn. I played guitar for a while, getting my head around a few new songs I’ve got on the go. Down at the Rockwood Music Hall I played a gig. Kevin Lynch arrived in big golden aviator shades and a new Mohawk haircut. It’s always good to see Kevin. I also chatted to Niall and Nashville Mike who used to work for EMI, then Virgin. I’ve forgotten who they’re with now, but they seem to want to do business and we talk shop for a while. Andy Fitzpatrick whose been living here for years showed up for the gig. He played with the harvest Ministers back in the day, and later with the Da Da’s. He told me Will Merriman had been over recently recording. I pass Will every now and again on the street in Rathmines and we wave at each other. Andy tells me that Will plays music, reads the Bible and gets on with life in his own way, and fair play to him. We later relocate to some bar called the International and later to Softie’s.

Another day, another cup of tea to wipe the cobwebs from my brain. Over at Academy Records I check out a lot of records, listening on headphones before I purchase. After a trip to Kim’s I’ve got in my possession, LP’s by Merle Haggard and Junior Parker. I’ve got 45’s by John Lee Hooker, Bill Justis, Jimmy Reed, Johnny Cash, Richard Maltby, and a great new single from Demon’s Claw’s. I also picked up a few interesting experimental / avant gard slabs of vinyl. A split 7 inch on the Black Horizons label featuring My Cat Is An Alien and Valerio Cosi. In the same vein, but sounding a bit more sinister, a bit like David Toop on bad acid are Devillock and Yellow Swans. Very good stuff indeed.Mexican food arrived as if by magic and we watched a movie, There Will Be Blood which was entertaining, a hell of a lot better than the Dylan film I’m Not There which seemed like a pointless exercise in feeding the myth. I’m so tired of rock stars complaining about their success and the trappings of fame. The whole premise of the movie seemed to revolve around complaining about being a spokesman for a generation. If you don’t want to be remembered as a ‘spokesman’ then why did you sing all those political songs, why hang out with Joan Baez, with the civil right movement singing at Martin Luther King rallies ?. To be famous? Fine, just don’t complain, stick with playing gigs for the pope.

The following morning was Jacks graduation and we were all very proud up at the Great Hall At Cooper Union. In the early days of the hall, audiences heard Abraham Lincoln and Sioux Chief Red Cloud speak. It later years Mark Twain, P.T. Barnum, Allen Ginsberg and Bill Clinton spoke from the Great Hall stage. Photos were taken, film was filmed and lunch was had. An email informed me that Darragh McCarthy was in town, and I should phone him, so I did. We chatted for a while and I invited him out to my gig. ‘I’m very tired’ was his reply. It was 4 o’ clock in the afternoon. I needed a lie down and Jack later woke me up saying we gotta go. Let’s try out a song, I said. We ran through Don’t Believe What They’re Saying a few times, Jack playing acoustic slide and then took the subway to Brooklyn. I played my set and some people had come in from Jersey for the night and it was all good fun.

The Jalopy Theatre is run by Jeff and Lynnette, good folks who moved down from Chicago a while back, but have plans to eventually move to Zanzibar. For the time being, Jalopy functions as a cool venue, with a music store up front, where they repair and sell old guitars, fiddles mandolins, harmoniums…you name it. Jack joined me for the last song and it was great to perform in public together for the first time. A great vibe indeed. Lynnette arrived with a big chocolate cake and we let the good times roll, dogs running riot, beer bottles getting spilt, stories being told. Later, much later, as we took a taxi back across the Brooklyn Bridge I felt a tinge of sadness. The New York skyline looked magnificent, lit up like a Christmas tree, but I knew I wouldn’t be back anytime soon.

Sun 22 June Dublin……Spent most of the night cruising through the mad labyrinth that is the internet looking for alternative ways to package CD’s. Im not too fond of those jewel cases that always end up scratched and sometimes broken. I threw out a spread of the Tarot and the hours came and went. Kelvin L. Smith played on the stereo as dawn broke and the sun rose slowly in the east with the help of Lucifer. I went for a lie down at around 9 in the morning, but set the alarm for 10.30, as I had a train to catch. I was just after buying my ticket at Heuston Station when I got a phone call to tell me that Mark Griffin had dropped off a copy of The Hexagraph for me. This was a one-off Zine that I put together back in ’93 when I was in a band called Captain Hex and we thought it would be fun to publish something instead of doing a record. I had been in touch with Genesis P Orridge’s crowd, The Temple Of Psychick Youth and got permission to publish extracts from their booklet Television Magick. The Hexagraph also had a piece on the record label, Micky Rourke’s Fridge, a comic strip and amogst other things we published poetry by Pat Boran, Larry Cosgrave and Bil E. Kinnarney. I wonder whatever happened to him ? I hadn’t seen a copy in a good ten years, and as I boarded the Westport train I tried to remember what the issue looked like.

Tuesday was spent cycling around twisty rural roads, visiting the eerie Kilcolman Graveyard, and exploring laneways that led nowhere. I even managed to crash the bike, and ended up with a bruise on my knee and one on my arm after I took a fall. Hours were spent reading John McGahern’s Memoir. Very readable, if a bit depressing. Strangely the Ireland of the ‘40’s that he describes so well lasted into the early 70’s. There’s a lot I can identify with.

Back in Dublin I spent the afternoon mixing tracks in the Trinity College recording studio and later after cider at the pavilion bar we visited another pub and eventually had dinner at the Millstone restaurant on Dame Street, where the red wine flowed freely. Went home and fell asleep. On awakening a new day had dawned and the mixes sounded good. I flicked through my long lost copy of The Hexagraph and the memories came flooding back. I was late arriving and missed the first half hour of Holly Golightly’s gig. She was great, a bit tired, but still wonderful. They’ve got a hectic touring schedule. It being the solstice we got the artwork finished and the missus got It Doesn’t Matter At All over to the folks at downloadmusic and it’s available as a single for 99 cents. As all this stuff was being sorted I felt the creepy cabin fever feeling one sometimes gets. The city was in the grip of a slow creeping dampness. My least favourite form of rain ruined the day. The drizzle lasted for hours. I met Les in an Asian place on the north side and caught the oldtimey session in the Cobblestone and then on to a makeshift art gallery for an opening and the obligatory free red wine. Indian food followed and I fell asleep. In a few hours I’ll be on my merry way to New York City……..

Thurs 12 June, Dublin…..I was rooting around on the shelf looking for a pen when I found my 1,000,000 dollar bill. I was handed this phoney note in Etobicoke on the outskirts of Toronto last summer and had completely forgotten about it. I recall that I was strolling back from the liquor store with two bottles of cheap red wine. I was touring at the time but we had a night off. It was probably a Monday night, can’t be sure but I remember it was one of those hot and humid evenings. It had been raining all day and not a breeze stirred. I could hear the seagulls down at the lake. A well-dressed lady walked by and handed me the note, never said a word and slipped into a hardware store. On the front of the note is a picture of a non descript middle aged man, a sort of ‘town elder’ type, the Canadian maple leaf over his shoulder and the 1,000, 000 sign to his left, underneath it says…ce billet non cours legal / this is not legal tender. The flip side has a picture of the Toronto skyline with seven fighter planes flying overhead in formation. Off to seek vengeance on the infidel no doubt. All around the note in small text is the “million dollar question.” It reads….Will you go to heaven? Here’s a quick test. Have you ever told a lie, stolen anything, or used God’s name in vain ? Jesus said “Whoever looks at a woman to lust for her has already committed adultery with her in his heart. If you have done those things, God sees you as a lying , thieving, blasphemous, adulterer at heart. The Bible warns that you are guilty and will end up in Hell..”Well, it looks like I’m royally fucked. I’m not into theft, apart from melodies, but I certainly have lusted after several women in my time and thoroughly enjoyed my lustful activities.This god of the Bible seems so cross, not much fun at all. Give me the great god Pan any day. It’s also interesting that the Christians use a phoney one million dollar bill to get their message of misery across. Which reminds me, didn’t the mythical Jesus say “Blessed are the poor. “ I’ve yet to see a bishop live in a bedsit.

I put the dollar bill back on the shelf and off I went on my merry way to the recording studio deep in the bowels of Trinity College, which was founded by Queen Elizabeth I in 1592. Oscar Wilde, Bram Stoker and Jonathan Swift all studied here. Back in the dreaded 80’s I played here at the Trinity Ball a few times, and if somebody told me I’d attempt to mix an album in the studio one day, I wouldn’t have believed them.We got some mixes down, and it being a hot sunny day, had a drink at the Pavillion Bar over near the cricket pitch. Later I had a drink in the Lincoln Inn around the corner, followed by dinner in some Italian place on Parliament Street. On arriving home, I found that The Gun Clubs’ Las Vegas Story had arrived in the post. And I was pleasantly surprised to see it’s on bright green vinyl.The following morning I was up bright and early to pick up a CD of mixes in town and then dropped into Spindizzy Records in the Georges Street Arcade to pick up the current issue of The Devil on 45 Zine, which comes complete with two free CD’s of prison blues, folk songs and spirituals from the John Lomax collection, dated 1939.Phone calls were made, emails answered, and as usual there’s more stuff going out than coming in.

A cheque arrived as a result of the Rambling Jack video getting some TV action the past 18 months. Has it been that long ? Yes, it has. TG4 played it a few times and apparently Channel 6 have played it 127 times, so I owe Elton and Co a pint. Flicking through a freebie paper I discovered that Holly Golightly will be playing here in a few weeks, so I can’t miss that. Johnny Cronin sent me a text message to say he had bumped into Bruce Springsteen in the Temple Bar pub in town. They had a chat and Johnny gave Bruce a copy of The Aftermath’s new album. It’s been on my stereo a lot the past few days. I spent 2 days listening to the B side of Bowie’s Low . Occasionally the A side got a spin too.

Friday I was back in the studio and some of the stuff sounds good and some sounds crap. That’s just the way it is. Back to the drawing board. Saturday was a hot day in Dublin. I phoned a few people to see if they could put me on the guest list to see The Legendary Shack Shakers who were playing Andrews Lane Theatre. It was all looking good, until I got a call from Seanie Foy saying, hey, phone this number. I did, and it was the promoter offering me the support slot. When do you want us there ? I enquired. In an hour was his swift reply. At such short notice it was definitely going to be a solo set for me. There was no way I could have got the band there in time.My set was short and sweet, but bitter too, the way it should be. The sound was good, and I was pleased with everything. Shack Shakers frontman JD Wilkes certainly seemed fond of spitting all over the place, even into the audience. A bit like a ’77 punk gig in reverse. They were a good band though. I’ve got one of their albums, but it didn’t get played much. A bit too frantic for my liking. We ended up in some club underneath the Stephens green shopping center, which might have been called Rocket 88.The following morning I recorded some organ onto a song of mine, and that was my week.

Thurs 15 May, Dublin…..My old friend, and promoter Pat Cannon had sent me an early morning text. I replied with a phone call after I scrambled out of the sack, my instincts telling me he wanted to meet for a beer, and how right I was. We met in Madison and apparently he’s buried the hatchet with Slattery’s and he’s promoting a gig there with the bass player from Dire Straits and wants me to open up. Safety in numbers, so I agree to do it. We re locate to another drinking establishment and then I ramble home in the sunshine.

The postman has brought me a few surprises. The first is a letter from Justine Scott in New Jersey. She’s sent me a few photos of yours truly performing at Kenny’s Castaways in New York City, an establishment famous for a Bruce Springsteen 7 night run of gigs in the early 70’s and the place where The New York Doll’s held down a residency in the same decade. My one-off gig there a few years ago didn’t however make much of an impact on the history of rock n roll. Justine also enclosed several photocopied pages from a book by Douglas Monroe called The Lost Books Of Merlyn. A fanciful title of course, because there are no lost books of Merlyn or Merlin depending on how you want to spell it. I can imagine the author arguing with the publisher and the marketing department over the title, and the author losing out. Such is life when somebody else is putting his or her money on the line. Some of the information is interesting, such as the connection between the use of pumpkins at Samhain and a spell unearthed from The Book Of Pheryllt, a rare 16th-century text. Much is written about the Celtic cult of the severed head. There’s even an Invocation of the Sidh from The Book Of Ballymoat, but you might need to think twice before you try that one out. Still, fair play the likes of Mr Monroe and people like him for taking the time out to translate old document and spend days in libraries pouring over medieval manuscripts. I tip my hat to RJ Stewart and Peter J Carroll and all the other psychonauts out there.

A royalty cheque was safely tucked away in another envelope I opened, and a package from Germany contained two DVD’s of two gigs of mine from last month, one in Spaichingen and one in Villingen. Both were filmed and edited by Tom, so thanks Tom. See you next time.On my way down to the gig I bump into Johnny and Mick Cronin from The Aftermath, apparently trying to locate my flat. They accompany me to the sound check and subsequent gig and we all have a good ole time. Went home straight afterwards with a clear head and the guys drive to Mullingar. Slide into my bed and read some F.Scott Fitzgerald and quietly and without much fuss, I enter the Land of Nod.

Friday 16 May, Dublin…An early start, and following a healthy breakfast and three cups of tea I got myself into Trinity College in the city centre, where Les and I set about trying to mix a few tracks. Unfortunately the session had to be cut short following a phone call to say that Les’s young son was sick and needed to see the doctor. In fact, he had to be taken to hospital. I went home and had red wine with lunch while we grooved around the flat to The Aftermaths fine new album Friendlier Up Here. Later we went out for a ramble and I picked up a few canvases, as I plan to paint next week. Called into Russell’s down the road and relocated for a beer or two in Anseo on Camden Street. Got a phone call from Leo in Portugal to say that he has postponed the Button Factory charity gig until October. The new date clashes with a solo gig in Germany, and that’s a pity. I really wanted to do the Button Factory show, it’s a cool place, and I’ve never played it. Oh well, it’s out of my control. Dinner over at Mario’s in Ranelagh cheered me up big time.

Sat 17 May, London….Arrived in Gatwick around 1 in the afternoon and Les argues that we have no guitars, we have no schedule, so lets have a beer and relax, no pressure. I agreed and that’s what we did. We were in London to shoot a video for a new song 45, which will most likely be a single, in some shape or form or format. I phoned my old friend Fi Shanks who made the video for Rambling Jack which resulted in us getting on TV for the first time in seven years. Fi gave me no nonsense instructions on how to get from A to B, so we took the black line tube up to Camden Town and walked the short distance along the crowded street to the Elephants Head pub. Fi arrived with his camera and new lady (who’s name alludes me) Les had a cheese sandwich. We all had beers.The rain came down at a steady pace, the bars and streets were buzzing with action.

Up the road at the Camden Market we flicked through records while Fi filmed. At one stall I explained to Les what a dorje was. I held on in my hand. The guy at the stall informed me that dorje was the Tibetan title, while Indians called it a Varja. This I already knew, but I enquired if my explanation was accurate, as I had talked about sorcery and thunderbolts etc. and he concurred. I decided there and then to purchase said item, and following a simple transaction involving £6 the metal item was in my pocket.At another stall I tried out a cool old Burns guitar. It looked great but the fret board was way too wide for my fingers. Les was going to buy it , as he’s one of these musicians who can’t go into a foreign music shop without buying something, but changed his mind at the last moment. We got chatting to the stall owner, an Armenian chap who asked us where we were from. When we said Ireland, he said Ah!! I lived there. He then pulled out a photo of Leixlip Castle, saying he used to live beside it. Then he insisted we guess his age. I reckoned he was 46; Les wasn’t as kind and guessed 52. The guy smiled….he was 62.The rain wasn’t taking a break. We needed one, so Fi took us to some bar and I had to talk to a guy from a record label on the phone and then we took a bus someplace. Dropped into an off licence to pick up a few crates of beer and made it to the big rambling house that Fi shares with the singing star of Daisy Chainsaw and Queen Adreena. The drummer from the last line-up of The Clash also lives here, but all are away in France, on tour I presume. Pizza seemed to appear as if from nowhere. Fi has just joined The Popes and he played us new recordings from Shane McGowan’s old backing band.

I once again took my phone out of pocket and got it touch with old friend Andy from Sweden who by chance lives just down the road. He called over to help us drink the beer. I grabbed a red Hofner guitar and we filmed more stuff for the video.Later we checked out two gigs at the Cross Kings, can’t remember the names of the bands. It was a late night and after about 2 hours kip, we had to hit the road. At one point we were on a tube going the wrong way. Les kept saying, we’re gonna miss the plane. I said, it’ll be fine. And it was fine. We caught it by the skin of our teeth. Back in Dublin, I slept for a few hours during the afternoon and then on VEOH I watched a documentary on magicians down through the centuries, the mythical Hermes Trismagistus, Paracelsus, John Dee, Crowley etc. Veoh is the new website run by the same people that had stage 6, but that proved too expensive to keep going apparently.I felt a few new songs coming on…….time for more tea, and perhaps a good nights sleep.

A FEW MORE DAYS 2008

2008-04-25T05:21:00.000-07:00

Wed April 23, Freiburg….It was my first departure from the brand new terminal 14 at Dublin airport. Apparently all flights to Germany or the UK depart from this place. Big and spacious, even the bar is inviting at 6am. On arrival in familiar Frankfurt I got my ticket and took the 3 hour train ride south to sunny Frieburg. Mick was there to meet me at the station and he needed a coffee, I had a fruit juice. We stopped off at a bar for a few beers and I met with Eddie Punch, a musician who proudly tells me he’s been signing on the dole longer than anybody else in the town. They hate me down at the dole office he proclaimed! I needed a lie down, and back at Micks apartment I stretched out on his sofa for a while, only to awaken to Nicol Steiner’s smiling countenance. This to me spoke volumes. Soon enough we were in Nicol’s Mercedes on the way to the gig, which was at a place called Beatbar Butzman, or something like that. It’s a small place, nice vibe, owned by a youthful brother and sister team. Rolf had emailed to say I could use his PA, which was still there from a gig he had promoted a few days ago. I had played in Rolfs bar, Rattenspiegel, back in September 2006, the last time I played Freiburg but unfortunately it’s closed down now.

Before the show I needed some food. I couldn’t read the menu as I can neither speak nor read German, so somebody said, have that, it’s fish. But when it arrived it looked like onion rings. Nicol mimed, making a grim face and doing strange crawling movements with his hands. Fish with many legs he said by way of explanation. Crab!! Aha, I said. Normally I avoid Cockroaches of the Sea, but I was starving so I ate a few, washed it down real quick with a beer to get the rubber tang out of my mouth and did the show. It was my first gig using my brand new guitar, an Ibanez jumbo acoustic. It arrived a last week and I got Eugene the guitar doctor to fit a slightly expensive Fishman pickup. Sounds good. I really enjoyed the gig and the small bar was packed. Some old friends showed up, Rolf from Staufen, Peter from Egon 54, Andrea, and Wolfgang who had a present of a Ryan Adams bootleg from a show he did in Royce Hall, UCLA in January of this year. Afterwards we all drank our beers, vodka and tequila. I made some new friends, Ziggy, Bernhard from Manis on Fire…it was a good night and a good start to my visit to the Black Forest.

Thurs April 24, Spaichingen…Woke up real late, around 2pm, but I had a lot of catching up to do. I located some bread and cheese and tucked in. I know that some people are easily shocked, and I’ve met people who read this Diary from time to time and think Im some sort of head case, but unless you’ve been on the road of rock n roll, sad and lonesome as it often is, there’s really no understanding the head space one gets into. And so, having thus explained that touring is a form of life, but not as we know it, I washed down my breakfast of bread and cheese with an ice-cold beer from the fridge. I then sat on the balcony over looking the small courtyard and bashed out a few chords on the guitar. Im really happy with the Ibanez. It sounds good, looks good and has a nice slim neck making it easy to play. I had got to the point with my Epiphone that I didn’t even want to pick it up. Maybe it needs to have the action adjusted, but it was good to me for the last twelve years and travelled with me through fifteen or sixteen European countries, Thailand, the US, Canada….and now it’s at home. I’ll take it out for recording purposes, as it still sounds good. It certainly won’t be gathering dust.

We hit the road in a Ray Charles fashion, pedal to the metal, stopping off at a roadside petrol station for chocolate and beer. I picked up a bottle of Desperado, a beer laced with tequila. It sat on the shelf smiling down at me. To it’s left was Jack Daniels and coke in a can. We drove to Spaichingen to play at Spaichingen Gymnasium, which is a gig in a school concert hall, organized by my friend Hartmut.. The sound was good and the lighting too. Students were taking care of business and afterwards I thanked them and told them the truth…that there was more money in being a sound engineer or a lighting technician than being in a band. Of course there are exceptions to the rule, but I think they got what I was saying. Tom travelled down from Villingen armed with his expensive digital camera to film the gig. Not many people showed up but the small gathering that was there seemed to enjoy it. Afterwards the school principle invited me into his office to present me with a T Shirt and strangely, a big bag full of pasta. Taggliatelli, spaghetti, penne and a few other types. I like past a lot, so I graciously accepted. I also got cash. Stayed up late with Hartmut as he explained the importance of Krautrock to me and we polished off a bottle of good red wine, a perfect ending to the day.

Friday April 25, Villingen…..After a breakfast of bread, cheese and a boiled egg washed down with a good gallon of tea, I relaxed, made and received a few phone calls while Hartmut corrected exam papers. (He’s an English teacher). Over at Marco’s place I dumped my gear and along with Yutte, we went downtown to a little bar. An elderly lady from Kenya struck up conversation. We had a few drinks and I was introduced to a drummer friend of Marco’s. The sun was shining, but it wasn’t too hot. Later, I went and had an afternoon nap, and I needed it.

Nicol had arrived back from Stuttgart and it was time for sound check at Café Limba, one of my favourite places to play in Germany . Dinner was great creamy vegetarian pasta, and the gig was good fun. Tom arrived and filmed it and people danced and got into the vibe. I met lots of people, some I knew, and some I got to know over the course of the evening. Financially it was very rewarding and Nicol claims it was the best gig he’d ever seen me do (and he’s seen a few) and proprietor Mario was over the moon. I must have done something right!The following afternoon we were back at Limba for refreshments. I picked up records by Kevin K, The Walkabouts, Johnny Cash, Lee Hazelwood and The Sonic Angels in Bernhard Zipfels record shop next door. The Croatian girl who worked the bar last night, asked (through an interpreter) if she could make some Racketeers T Shirts. No problem was my quick response. Being a photographer, she wanted to do some shots, so we relocated to Marcos pad and over the course of forty minutes or so; she used about five reels of film. On the balcony we did the photo shoot, and after a while Nicol took out his trumpet and blew some cool stuff over a few improvised riffs I teased out of my Ibanez. People in the adjoining apartments came out onto their own balconies to check out the scene.

Before long we were back on the road to Freiburg. Marco drove down in his camper van and we dropped into Ziggy’s pad before going down to some festival and a few other bars and stories were told and a good time was had by all. I nodded off on Nicols sofa around 4am and awoke an hour later. My taxi had arrived, and within twenty minutes I found myself standing on the platform at the train station ready to board. A few hours later in was in Frankfurt Hbf. I read some of Flann O Brien’s ‘At Swim Two Birds’ while I waited to board my homeward bound plane. Job done.

TIME IS AN ABYSS 2008

2008-03-20T05:16:00.000-07:00

Wed 30 January, New York...... He brought his banjo in, wrapped in a shroud. Dressed in a dark suit, his hair was side-parted and slicked down with hair oil. Tall and pale and slightly stooped, he wore a black moustache. He looked like across between a 1920's door-to-door Bible salesman and that odd character from German pop-synth band; Sparks. His banjo playing was rudimentary, and his songs sounded like Tom Waits on real bad acid. But I liked the man with no name.I was at the Jalopy Theatre in Brooklyn, New York on a bitter cold January night. Every Wednesday, they present the Roots n Ruckus event, a night of folk, old-time and blues.

Earlier I had seen another guy play. He reminded me of a young Townes Van Zandt, dark, tall and skinny and with a genuine Southern nasal whine. He sang some great old songs, but I didn't catch his name either. All these guys had a habit of mumbling their introductions. Free food was being served down at the back. Ladies drifted by with plates of pasta. I didn't eat. Didn't need to. I had a beer and soaked in the atmosphere.A bitter wind was blowing as we made our way down Columbia Street, ancient skeletal trees bending in the breeze, trashcans waiting to be emptied. Two well-dressed guys in a big black Sedan drove by slowly, rolled down the window and asked for directions to the Brooklyn Bridge. We were useless with directions. At Carroll Street we took the F Train to Manhattan. That night I dreamed a dream. I was in some foreign city. Nothing unusual about that, however I felt both lost and at home at the same time. The north wind was blowing hard, driving through the sky big, black, heavy clouds. A high sea was raging and dashing its huge, slow, foamy waves along the coast with the rumbling sound of thunder. The waves followed each other close, rolling in as high as mountains, scattering the foam as they broke. I quickly crossed a wide majestic bridge and made my way to an area of bustling activity. Labyrinthine streets brought me to a small bar, where I met somebody I knew. It felt like Xmas, or some festive season. The ladies were of east European aspect. Everybody seemed to be expecting something to happen. I had a gig the following night and a storm was coming.

Fri 8 February, Arnhem…..There’s a great line from a Mercury Rev song that goes "bands, those funny little plans, that never go quite right." And it’s so true.Before xmas, I had the rather misguided notion that we should, and could record a new album in a matter of a few weeks and have it out really fast. Although we've got about twenty songs down it looks likely that a new album will have to wait until the tail end of the year. Instead, a batch of singles will be released throughout the next year, the first on the vernal equinox, and the next one on the summer solstice. It makes sense that the next one should be made available on the autumnal equinox, with the last one seeing the light of day on, you guessed it, the winter solstice. Each single will be available as a download, as is the fashion these days. Marking time on the wheel of the year is a concept I'm keen on.

Having my head full of Sonic Youth songs was not the ideal way to approach a few solo acoustic gigs, so I put on Okkervil River’s great LP “Don’t Fall In Love With Everyone You See” and even took time to rehearse. I flew into Brussels and from there made my way by train up into The Netherlands, arriving in Anthem a bit late. I had been off the booze for over two weeks and was feeling all the better for it. However, reality bites hard and I knew there was no way I could get through three gigs in two days without a drink or two. The bar lady said "would you like a drink ?" so I had a beer and before long somebody got me a Geneva Gin as well. There's an axiom of the occult path that proclaims 'man know thyself' and it serves well. The gig was at the wonderful Oranje Koffiehuis. I hadn’t been there before, but everyone, the staff, the locals, the audience were good people. So much so, that I didn’t even make it to my hotel. Eric invited me back to his pad for a late drink and he put on records by Grinderman, Keith Caputo and Motorpsycho, who are Norwegian, if memory serves correctly.

Sat 9 February, Antwerp…Breakfast was a boiled egg, bread and cheese. I’m not big on coffee, but this morning I had some, and after Eric had given me a few CD’s, including the recent album by Nick Cave’s new band Grinderman and the soundtrack to the movie The Proposition, plus a few other CD’s we went off on our merry way. Eric took me down to the train station and not being in possession of a credit card, he kindly used his piece of plastic to buy my ticket. I reimbursed him with hard cash; we shook hands and parted company. It was a bright sunny day, but still bitter cold.

The train rolled on towards Nijmegen, a city considered to be the oldest in the Netherlands. The first mention of Nijmegen in history is in the 1st century of the Common Era when the Romans built a military camp on the place where Nijmegen was to appear; the location had great strategic value because of the surrounding hills, which gave (and continues to give) a good view over the Waal and Rhine valley.As we crossed the River Waal, an enormous barge slowly drifted by, on the way to god knows where, it’s unseen cargo remained a mystery to me.The phone rang and it was Arnt from Belgium wondering about my estimated time of arrival. As we spoke, confusion set in and I nearly got off at the wrong station. Onwards to Roosendaal where I had a twenty minutes wait before the next train. The sun was going down and it was going down real slow, casting long shadows all along the platform. Elderly moustachioed gentlemen strolled by chatting in Flemish. I felt like a man from another time. Two Buddhist monks in traditional saffron robes waited on the 17.35 train. I wished there was a bar open, and there probably was, but it could have meant carrying my bags down three flights of stairs.A few hours later I arrived into Antwerp Central. Asked directions outside but nobody could help me out. A Norwegian lady approached me with map in hand and helped me try and locate my destination. She even insisted I keep her map as she was off home to Norway. However, I had the address wrong, so I just thought to myself, to hell with this, I’m taking a taxi.

Before long I was at Den Hopsack. Had some salad and soundchecked. I was on the phone to Andrew in Dublin when along came Frank. Always good to see Frank. Ten minutes later I was on a street corner on the phone to Åsa when along came Inneka eating an ice cream cone. We strolled back down to Den Hopsack and Inneka did a set with a little help from Frank and Wim, who used to be in that great band De Bossen. I played my set and all went well, although I ‘ve played better gigs in my time. I felt rusty.

With Arnt we hopped into a car and sped right across town to the 219 Bar where I was to play another gig. The gear for the DJ was unsuitable and the PA just wouldn’t do what it was supposed to do. We attempted a soundcheck but that’s as far as it went. Gig cancelled at the last minute. Meanwhile the crew we had with us re located to some other place where Wim was having a birthday party of sorts. Luc from Kinky star in Gent arrived and drinks were drank and stories told. At some time around 5am I got a lift to Central station, where I had to wait for close to two hours to catch a train to Brussels. It was a bleak and freezing cold morning. A depressing way to spend a few hours. Somehow or other I managed to miss the train, and in a bit of a panic, I managed to get the next one and I got to the airport a little weary and bewildered, but still in one piece. I treated myself to a glass of red wine before getting on the flight to Dublin and falling asleep straight away.

Sun 17 February, Tilburg…On Friday we had rehearsals, as I desperately tried to remember how to play 7 or 8 new songs. We’ve been recording them, but that’s a different story to letting rip as a three-piece. But it all began to come together and we ate pizza and Chris crashed out in my place. A few hours later we scrambled out of our respective beds, grabbed a quick coffee and Maurius, my friendly Romanian taxi driver pulled into the driveway. We met with Les at the airport and off we went. On arrival at Brussels airport I bought the tickets to Brussels North and ended up waiting on the very same platform I waited on eight days ago, when I was bound for Arnheim. Today we’re heading north into the Netherlands again; only this time our destination is Tilburg, located in the southern province of Noord-Brabant.

Not much is known about the earliest history of Tilburg. Documents from the year 709 C.E. show the name Tilburg for the first time. After that the sources remain silent for some centuries. In the later Middle Ages Tilburg was more of a local 'region' than a village or city, although a couple of small hamlets provided its population centers. One of them was known as 'Eastern Tilburg' (Oost-Tilburg), which was later reflected in the name of Oisterwijk ('Eastern Quarter'). This village centered around a small (probably wooden) castle or 'Motteburcht' on an equally small hill, which became derelict and was torn down after a few centuries at most. Apparently King William II (1792-1849) always bore a warm heart towards Tilburg. "Here I can breathe freely and I feel happy", he once said about the town. I sort of feel the same way about it myself.

I know we played Tilburg before, back in 2000 and possibly in ’98 too, but I’m a bit vague on that.On arrival, I’m heartened to find our hotel, the imaginatively titled Hotel Centraal, is right across the street from the Station Centraal. We checked in and had a drink or three at the bar. I had agreed to do a guitar work-shop at 4.30pm so I needed a lie down to get my head together, so at 3pm I hit the hay while Les and Chris went off out on a ramble around town. Promoter Will arrived to collect me and we walked the short distance to the Paradox Club. The guitar clinic was an odd affair. I’m no whizz kid with a guitar, so instead I talked about song writing and showed the small gathering of people a few of my licks, mostly modifications of old rockabilly riffs, and I pointed out the similarities between the licks used by Marc Bolan and Eddie Cochran and Charlie Feathers. I talked about the importance of getting the most out of three notes, a thing Johnny Thunders had down to a T. A couple of guys got up to jam, and Chris sat behind the kit and jammed along too. Later, we had dinner, sound checked and waited….and waited.

The gig was well received, a good crowd, who got into it, and it really was great to play so much new material. We managed to get through about 8 new songs without a (noticeable) hitch.Afterwards, CD’s were sold and Les went to the toilet for a puke. A girl at the bar asked me if we ever played Galway. I said the last time we played Galway was about three years ago. “I’m moving to a place near there” she said. “Where ?” said I. “Claremorris, have you ever heard of it,” Sabine replied. I told her that I had grown up about four miles from there and I knew the place well. A long night followed, chatting to people about music and life in general. The following morning, Les had recovered from his vicious stomach bug to regale us with tales of his once successful , but alas short lived, solo career in Japan. We had time to kill in Schipol Airport, Amsterdam and spent it well, smoking cigarettes, and drinking beer. What else would you do in an airport at 11 am?

Fri 22 February, Dublin.....A bunch of people arrived down to The Cobblestone that I hadn't seen in years, Gary from Cork, Fergus, Leo who lives in Portugal these days running some sort of classy health farm. It was great to see my old friend Sheila Sullivan again. She passed on a message from journalist Jim Carroll who apparently reads this diary. Jim used to write nice things about a band I was in five lives ago, and then stopped writing nice things about me. I suppose I did lose the plot for a while. But then, who doesn't. So, hi there Jim, hope your keeping well. Sheila was a Racketeer for a couple of years, but wisely took early retirement. However, being in the Racketeers is a bit like the The Eagles song 'Hotel California' ..."you can check out, but you can never leave..." Two years ago Sheila guested with us at our gig at the Rhythm & Roots Festival in Kilkenny, and of course she played violin on "She Said" from Silver & Dust.I played my set and I seemed to keep it pretty much together with Les joining me on two of the new songs, "The Women 'Round Here" and "Sweet Angel." I strapped on my old electric Epiphone Casino for the last song ("Racketeers Lament") and got a wall of sweet distortion and feedback and that went down well. After a short intermission Patrick Freyne and his Bad Intentions played their set and they were great as I had imagined they would be. Then I DJ'd for the rest of the evening and didn't get a chance to chat to as many people as I had hoped....next time I'll bring a tape.....remember those things, tapes ?

Thurs 20 March, Dublin........... I noticed all the real good Van Morrison clips on youtube have been taken down, including the piece of film of him performing that most beautiful song about such a dodgy place, 'The Streets of Arklow.' The performance dates from just a few months back from a show in the US. Magical it was, but with all the big record companies getting themselves all worked up over copyright laws, it's been taken down. It reminds me of the early 80's when record sleeves bore the legend 'home taping is killing music.' How silly it was.
I found some new footage of Dylan doing a gig in Buenos Aires and he's back playing guitar again, after years of slamming away at his keyboard.

The deep baritone of Walter Jackson boomed out of the speakers, shaking the wall and bringing the sweet sound of soul to the north end of the building. It was time to put on Fabienne Delsol again. Her wonderful 7inch of bright yellow vinyl arrived in the post from those great people at Damaged Good Records in England. 'Im gonna Catch Me a Rat' is a great slice of country garage pop with French Fabienne sounding sexy and cool. The flip side is three minutes of melancholic psychedelia with melody. I wish there were more records like this in the world. Word came through that Mac of Mac's Records died. He was one of the first people I got to know when I moved to the big bad city. Many years later we recorded together when he recited poetry over a track that ended up as a Captain Hex B side, but it wasn't his fault it didn't sell. I once asked him for a job. This was back in about 1993. Times were hard and I was really broke. Poor Mac looked real perplexed and started to tell me that there was more to running a record shop than just hanging around playing records all day. I knew that, I wasn't stupid, but it brought it home to me, there and then, that I was unemployable. He was a good guy, Mac. In recent years I would drop into his shop Final Vinyl on Camden Street to root around for records and CD's. He always had a story for me.

I missed the Church service, instead I caught up with folks in the pub across the road where we paid our respects and knocked them back. Met with Enda McDonald, who I hadn't seen in about twenty years, Acko, Bootleg Paul, Frank from The Baby Snakes, currently hustling for the Master Musicians of Joujouka. Tom Cook was there who had managed a few bands over the years and in more recent times had a wildlife radio show. Not a lot of difference there, studying wild life and managing a band.I had to go and do one of my occasional DJ gigs over at the Belvedere. On arrival I discovered a room full of very drunk and very messy Welch rugby fans. I suppose it could have been worse. I played records by Charlie Feathers, The Stones, Faces, Patti Smith, T Rex, Tommy Blake, Howlin' Wolf, Holly Golightly, Roy Orbinson, Thin Lizzy, AC/DC, The Gun Club, The Stranglers, Blondie and many more. Had a few drinks, made a phone call and my taxi arrived and we cut across town. Back at home I fell into bed with my book on Henri Toulouse Lautrec and read about his life hanging out with the hustlers and the whores, the dancers and dipsomaniacs. I always loved his posters, lithographs and paintings and he sure was prolific. I drifted off into the Land of Nod dreaming of Henri taking boat rides to Bordeaux, or a barge up into the Netherlands on holiday, always travelling by sea, if possible. Mixing his mad cocktails for his friends and drinking gallons of wine after a trip to the circus on a sunny Friday afternoon. Spending hours down at the Moulin Rouge drawing his good friend Jane Avril.

I awoke to the sound of hailstones lashing down like miniature golf balls, setting off car alarms across the square and throughout the neighbourhood. People ran by on the street shielding their faces from the onslaught. I put on a Charlie Parker record, made myself some tea and had toast with orange marmalade. A good way to greet the day. I've currently got 119 TV channels and they're all rubbish. Occasionally I'll find something worth watching. At 5am last night I discovered a documentary on Tibet as it was before the Chinese came. Old film footage from the 30's, 40's and 50's , lovingly restored, showed a country unlike anyplace else on the planet at that time. Great costumes, but a little obsessed with religion. Later, Les and I got some new mixes down and 'The women 'round Here' is ready for virtual release. Angela Carter is fuelling my imagination again and there are a few new songs floating around up near the ceiling. I have to coax them down onto paper or tape or both.

2007

2007-12-05T05:10:00.000-08:00

Wed 5 December, Dublin....Obsessions come and go, and I've slid back into reading about the Bronte’s again, mainly because I found a great biography of the famous sisters alcoholic junky brother Branwell. Written by Daphne Du Maurier, it brings to life a much-misunderstood writer / painter who never had anything published during his short life and only managed to sell one or two paintings. His over active imagination got him into trouble from time to time, but it's difficult not to like this wonderful 'failure.' Stayed up til dawn reading the book, and only managed to get one and a half hours sleep before I hit off across to the north side of the city to meet up with Les Keye . On arrival, I discovered Les had no sleep at all, he's been up all night, but was ready all the same to get down to work. In his home studio we drank countless cups of tea and listened back to a 'live' recording we made last week. When I say live, I don't mean a recording of a gig, but a recording of me Les and Chris all playing together in a room, no over dubs, just lashing it out, and it doesn't sound bad either. Another 7 or 8 songs I had been working on were loaded up from one hard drive to another and we now have to figure out what’s good and what’s not so good. After five hours we were brain dead, so I packed up and off I went, heading south.

In the past few weeks I had been listening to a lot of Holly Golightly. Her LP "Surely There Is No Other" was rarely off the turntable, so I was very pleased when the postman arrived with a package from Damaged Goods Records with two more LP's and a four track EP on clear vinyl. The package also contained an LP by Billy Childish. Anybody who can write a song and name a band after his mother's 1950's cycling club gets a vote of confidence from me. The album from Mr Childish sounds like it was recorded in the forty minutes it took them to play it and it's wonderful. Holly, of course has been on the stereo day and night. In a vain attempt to break from vinyl addiction, I spent a few days in the Wild West of Ireland, where 'The Lilting Banshee' 'Out On The Ocean' and other fiddle tunes were recorded. On a drive back from Ballyhaunis, near Bekan, we stopped off to check out the ancient roadside passage grave, before continuing on down the long winding road.

A few days later I found myself staring in amazement at the fattest birds I'd ever seen, and I’m not talking about ladies. I’m talking pigeons. Big fat pigeons were everywhere. They struggled to get airborne, these lay-abouts. Over near the Rialto Bridge in Venice, but especially up around the tourist trap that is St Marks Square you will find these obese birds, fat from the never ending stream of tourists who, for some reason or other, feel the need to keep feeding these feathered vermin.Found a few great antique stores. One had a carved Tibetan thighbone in the window. It reminded me of the time many years ago when in L.A. I asked to see the thighbone in the display case of a particular antique store I had visited. The assistant obliged and then went off to deal with another customer. I looked at the hand-carved bone, which had been fashioned into a flute, with a row of holes drilled along the shaft, so what else would you do, but put it to your lips and try and get a note! And I got one, not a very melodic or clear sounding note, but a note all the same. The shop assistant came running over in a panic "Oh you must not release the spirits!! " she exclaimed. The fact that I wasn't a trained monk seemed to have something to do with It. I might have learned a few things about Kundalini, I may have known how to meditate a bit and put a stop to that endless chatter; the internal dialogue, but my ancestors had drunk from the wrong gene pool. As far as she was concerned, I was far from being the ideal candidate for blowing through this odd magickal/religious tool.

Mad, timeless Venice. I rambled up the street, stopping off for a drink before dinner, in the little bar around the corner from where an unseen hand has scratched a pentagram onto the door of the local drapery store. Later, I found a bookbinders down one of the labyrinthine streets, asking for €450 for customized leather bound books. An ancient looking copy of the legendary grimoire, The Necromonican sat in the window with a little sign saying 'enquire inside about price.' But of course this book wasn't / couldn't be ancient at all, as The Necromonican was imagined by HP Lovecraft in the 1930's. Still, the copy here looked splendid. However, that didn't mean I was going to stride in there waving a chequebook ...or a credit card. Come to think of it, I don't own a credit card, and I've never had the luxury of a chequebook taking up valuable space in my pocket either. Cash is King in my brain baby !!!

It was freezing cold in Rome, but before long we found an odd little place that sold slices of pizza, full chickens, big hunks of beef, cokes, sandwiches and beer, drug of the nation.....beer. A bottle of Becks cost €2.20, so we had a few of those before finding a restaurant for dinner. The Hotel Cristina was a bit depressing after the palatial Palazzo Guardi in Venice, so we kept away from it as much as possible, spending lots of time at the Forum. The Arc of Septimus Severus prepared us for what was to come. Stopped by at the Temple of Saturn on the way to the garden where the Vestal Priestesses would spend the afternoon, just across from House of the Vesta. I imagined these foxy ladies taking it easy here for an hour or two after spending hours tending the flame in honour of their goddess Vesta of the hearth, and of course in honour of Rome. Further up the hill we found the house, which Augustus shared with his feisty second wife Livia. It's claimed she poisoned eight or nine people to keep her family in power. But who knows the truth. Further up the road, the Colosseum looked spooky when you consider what went on there. It was time for more spaghetti.........

Back in Dublin, the Fender Champion 600 Amp, matched with a €9.90 Beringer Tube Overdrive pedal was put through the mill. It sounded best with my old Epiphone Casino. Some of the songs were brand new. One, I wrote as the guys were strolling in. Days of merry solitude were spent getting the over dubs down, a little drop of red wine to keep me company, the black and white wild fat cat slowly roaming the gravel driveway, stopping every now and then to stare in the window at me. Days drifted on. A week felt like a month, just the way I like it.

AUTUMN TOUR 2007

2007-09-22T05:06:00.000-07:00

Thurs 13 September, Amsterdam....Amphibious city, with its canals spreading out from the harbour like a virus. Despite the sleaze and countless dodgy characters rambling around, it's a city that has always seemed safe. If you meet the grim reaper here, it's most likely your own fault. After getting into Central Station I walked down the broad majestic Damrak, past the Hotel Monofa where I stayed last spring. I hung a right and found a small bar, ordered a beer and sat in the window.

Later, in Mulligans on Amstel , I set up , soundchecked and grabbed something to eat. Chatted to John, a native of Dublin living here in exile and contentment. Some American tourists came in, took one of the posters off the wall and asked me to autograph it, which I did. After the gig I got a call from my friend Cormac who is over from Dublin to see The Police play a show as part of their reunion tour. We decide to hook up in a bar called the Soundgarden. Having a drink with Phil at the bar, he tells me he knows where the place is, and will come along and show me the way. Another call comes in to say that the Soundgarden has just closed (it's 1am) but Korskvf next door is still serving, so off we go into the night. It's a part of Amsterdam I haven't seen before, but we have no problem finding the place. The DJ downstairs is playing terrible Goth music very loud, no sign of Cormac AKA Ted. Upstairs I spot him, with his cousin Nikki, who also made the pilgrimage to see Sting and Co. Drinks are ordered, stories are told and a thick cloud of smoke hangs over our barside table.

Fri 14 September, Mortsel....Had a late late sleep in, and I needed it. Took a ramble through the local market, buying a freshly squeezed orange juice to slate my thirst. On realizing I recognized more streets than I had expected, I decided to walk down to Amstel in an experiment to see if I could find my way without getting completely lost. Collected my gear, and had a cup of tea with Barry and we chatted about his recent trip to China as a live sound engineer, how he would never ever live in Ireland again and the general state of affairs for folks like himself and myself.Took a taxi to the train station and got on board the packed train for Antwerp. We had only got as far as Schipol Airport when the ticket inspector made an announcement through the tanoy system in both Dutch and English, saying he had put up with rude travellers all day long, he wasn't taking any more crap from anybody and in fact the train would NOT continue its journey. We all had to disembark. Needless to say, most people around me looked pissed off, some smiled. People started to get off. In disbelief, I stayed put as did a few others. 'Is this for real?' I asked a guy who seemed unsure what to do . 'This happens occasionally, I've been told about it, but I never take the train , and this is why.' After about 10 minutes the same folks that got off the train, started to get back on and following a wait of another 10 minutes the doors closed and off we went, heading south towards the Belgian border.

As the ticket inspector got over his temper tantrum the train slid down the track, passing through the Hague with the giant windmill near the station, past the Gothic church with it's enormous golden clock counting down the minutes to armageddon and the return of Our Lord and Saviour to redeem us from the clutches of the Prince of Darkness. It was a dark dull evening as I gazed through the dusty dirty windows. I read another chapter from Bukowski's 'Factotum.'Got a text message to say I should meet Inneke23 at 'the elephants' beside the train station in Antwerp. Walked through three packed carriages to find a toilet and had my first piss in five hours. Got off the train and out into the rain. Asked a Chinese guy outside the main entrance to the station where the elephants were, he said, around the back of the station, so off I went in search of these elephants and there I found a sculpture of three life size elephants, made of scrap pieces of wood, nailed together and impressive they were too.

After a short wait Inneke23 arrived in a small van, Wim from her band was in the back seat. Off we drove at high speed, picked up a PA along the way and drove to Mortsel. The gig was in a place called Malanga, and I was introduced to the owner, a nice guy who insists I have a beer as the PA is being set up. There's no food available so I go for a walkabout. Time is tight so there isn't enough time to go into a restaurant and have a proper sit down meal, and I don't want another Falafel, so I settle for a Balisto, a chocolate biscuit bar that costs 40cents.I met Inneke23 last June when Chris, Les and I played in Berlin. She was hanging out with Mark Mullholland, but we didn't really say much to each other as she was real drunk. That tends to happen to people at racketeers gigs. While I was in Canada, she wrote to me and began to help getting extra gigs for me in Antwerp, Ghent and Mortsel. I was curious as well to get involved with somebody who calls themselves '23'. To my amazement, I discovered that she had never read Robert Anton Wilson. (google Robert A. Wilson and the 23 enigma to get information on this. It's too long and complicated to get into here )

Was introduced to a lady called Alice who spoke of George Murray from the Record Collector shop in Dublin, and then Inneke23 & The Lipstick Painters did their set. Afterwards their friend Karo from local band Sodatune played a few cool songs. I did my thing and there was a mixed reaction. The barstaff's choice of dodgy techno between the nights acts didn't help the atmosphere, but we got the job done.Back at Innekes pad, I was left with a set of keys and she drove off to her mothers place for the night leaving me to my own devices.

Sat. 15 September, Herentals. Sorrounded by pictures, postcards, drawings and engravings of elephants I got to thinking to myself that it's fair to come to the assumption that my host has a slight obsession with these big beasts. A huge painting of Ganeshe with beautiful Asian eyes hung close to the poster of Hank Williams all sad and lonesome. In contrast, a one-handed statue of Jesus stared at me from a table in the living room, the spitting image of ex-racketeers bass played Paul Dempsey, circa 1999.Out on a ramble I found a quiet bar down a side street, just me, the bar lady and two old-timers. All was going good until suddenly , all together, about 70 people of all ages, kids, granny's, mom's and dad's all dressed to the nine's arrived as if out of nowhere. An automated machine cranked out 'Delilah' at high volume and a couple danced while all cheered them on. It was a very surreal moment. The machine was like something from a 19th century fairground, with an accordion that played by itself, and the hi-hat on the drum kit magically moved as if the drummer was the first cousin of the invisible man from another dimension. In the space of five seconds the place had gone from the quietest bar in Belgium to the most packed bar in Belgium. I was surrounded !I soon learned that it was a wedding party, but no sooner had they arrived, they were off again to the next bar, where I can only imagine they danced, had a quick drink, scared the living daylights out of some tourist and once again departed.

Arrived into Herentals and had a quick soundcheck through the wonderful PA. Top quality gear. Inneke did a solo set, I did my thing and went down well. Sold a lot of cd's and had a few drinks. The unfortunate thing about meeting Irish people in Europe is that they often get to thinking Aslan are on a par with Bowie and Christy Moore is a god. And you gotta make sure you don't say anything bad about Mother Ireland. God forbid. Thus, there followed a rapid descent into a Bukowskiesque nightmare. All phoney cocaine courage and bullshit, I was glad to get out of dodge and onwards to Holland.

Sun.16 September Hardewijk..On arrival at tonight's venue, Cafe Luxemburg, I checked in to the Great Western Hotel, relaxed as best I could, made a phone call and later did the gig. The folks here are a friendly bunch and people present me with shots of Geneva gin, which is supposedly good for toothache. Washed the gin down with a few beers and hung around for a while after my set, before the short walk up the street to my Hotel, where I only manged to sleep for about two hours.

Mon. 17 September, Antwerp...Walked around in the rain for a while to see what the town was like. Found the old town walls, still intact. Made it to Ammersfoort, where I had to change trains, then get another ticket and off I went back to Belgium again. Back In Antwerp late that evening, I found a bar called The Burning Plague, the sort of place where you don't go unless you've got a good size roll of 20's in your pocket. Got talking to some of the locals, asked a guy to keep an eye on my guitar while I took a leak. Had another beer and the phone rang. It was the elephant lady and she was on her way. Ordered another beer (€1.60) from the barman who looked just like Robert DeNiro.The guy who had looked after my guitar while I took a leak, leaned over and in a quiet voice said, 'Doesn't he look like DeNiro.' I couldn't believe it, I told him I'd just been thinking the same thing. We drained our glasses and stared into the distance as Iggy Pop screamed like a tortured soul through the stereo.

Up around the corner stood De Heksenketel, a nice old bar, with a hostel upstairs. The PA was in good working order and the mixing desk did what it was supposed to do. Not only locals, but tourists and people of a transient nature came in to the gig, and really got into it. Cd's were sold and off I went to a late bar, many of the folks from the gig came along too, and I made some new friends. I remember a bottle of rose being opened at 5.30am and after that I went off to the land of nod.

Tues 18 September, Ghent......Needed a coat so we took a tour of a few second hand clothes shop, until I eventually found a great big one which made me feel like a Russian gangster. Paid my €30 and off we went, unsure what to do next. Crossing one of the old squares, I spotted a bar so we went in and I grabbed a table . Overhead floated a few zeppelins. I had a beer, 23 had her daily coke & a smoke. The conversation turned to all things psychic and magickal, as they sometimes do. When you hang around with somebody who calls themselves 23, weird shit is sure to happen. Everywhere we went we saw the # 23, and we saw witches. Dropped into a corner shop and there was a sticker of a witch on the cash til. Walked past a new bar that had broomsticks outside and a statue of a witch in the doorway. The whole afternoon was like this.

Went down to Ghent to play in Kinky Star. As I got off the train a guy way up the platform started to shout at me. Here we go, I thought to myself. I certainly do attract the headcases. Dressed head to toe in black, late forties, not a lot unlike a Willie DeVille type cat, only a lot more sinister, it was obvious he was very wasted. I thought he was looking for a fight. He held out his hand and there was a bunch of grapes. He wanted to offer me a grape ! I accepted and on we walked. His name was Black and he had just put a band together called Romantica. 'Not Metallica, ROMANTICA !!' he proclaimed and laughed, and so did I. He insisted on carrying my guitar which made me a bit nervous as I thought he might fall down the stairs. Off he went, Mr Black went one way, I went the other.

After a beer or two and soundcheck the phone calls started. The wife wanted to make sure I was still alive and a friend from Dublin wanted to see if I wanted somebody dead. Played the good to a good listening and appreciative audience. Sold CD's and hung out. Promoter Luc took us out for dinner in a place across the road. The guy from the late bar in Antwerp the other night showed up and joined us. The conversation was in Flemish, so I drifted off into my own realm for a while.

Wed 19 September, Nuremberg.....Contemplated taking a flight to Nuremberg, but it proved too costly to book at the last minute, so the 7 hour train journey had to do. Arrived in to Nuremberg on platform 23 (where else) and went to catch a cab. There's a witch painted on the door of the car parked next to us.Get down to the venue, a cool place called Pegnitzbühne. After a few glasses of wine and a slice of pizza, I do the gig. Photos are taken the gig is filmed and I see more Cd's than expected. Most of the small gathering of people stay behind for a late drink and we all hang out together. Inneke brings her guitar over to the bar and gives us a version of Merl Haggard's "Tonight The Bottle Let me down" and i do Johnny's "I Still Miss Someone" and a few others. Chat to Marcus and Bea and Wolfgang, all good people who make me feel at home and very welcome indeed.

Thurs 20 September, Nurenberg.....Marcus and Bea have a great breakfast ready, and I get to re acquaint myself with the 3 cats. Then we hopped into the car, it being a bright sunny day, and went to visit the Imperial Castle , which is one of the most important imperial residences of the Middle Ages. Good old Emperor Friedrich1 Bararossa built the place 1015 years ago. We saw some great suits of armour, climbed the tower , checked out the well which is 47 meters deep. It was dug in order to survive several sieges, and in the courtyard stood the famous Kunigunde lime tree, the original of which was planted by the Empress Kunigunda back in the 10th century. She was canonized in 1200, for what, Im not sure, but she's a saint now, a sort of medieval B list celebrity. Down in the old town square we checked out the markets, and had a beer. Tourists lined up to turn a gold ring on the railings around the town square clock, which would, according to legend, bring them luck, but Marcus let me in on a secret. The gold ring wasn't the one at all !! Over on the other side was the real magick ring. Black as night it was and I spun it around three times, as I need some good luck.

Later Marcus's Grateful Dead Tribute band were rehearsing in Pegnitzbühne and we were invited down by Bea. A few bottles of white wine were opened and Bea told me great stories and we had a fun time. A phone call came from home, and I went outside to chat, missing the obligitary band arguement in the process. Just as well too.

Friday 21 September Greiz....After a boiled egg and bread, I bid adieu to Marcus and Bea and walked out through the back garden, down along by the river, crossed the bridge and walked in the Indian summer sunshine to the train staion. 10 minutes later i was in Nurenburg Haupenhoff, and set off for Greiz, getting there as dusk descended at 8.15 pm. They had sent a young man called Daniel to meet us, and it turns out he's also the sound guy.After the enjoyable gig, I talked to Evi who runs the Schlossfolk Festival that we played at earlier this year. We talked of the neverending hussle of rock n roll and she then drove us out to our countryside pension, where I went to bed and dreamed of a wonderful life as a recluse.

Saturday 22 September Leipzig...Awoke at 8.30 tossing and turning. Took a shower, read a bit of Factotum, and breakfast was delivered. . Its another hot sunny day and the birds are singing in the trees. The wife phoned and I told her I wanted to go home. A helicopter is necessary. I felt like the angel of death was hanging over me, then I also felt the great goddess Isis was sitting in the corner watching over me too.

Inneke23 had decided to indulge in her passion for hitch hiking, so she set out on the road with her thumb. I opted for the train. Two and a half hours later I was Leipzig and I surprised myself by navigating the complex tram system and I found the venue, the Kulturwirtschaft Waldfrieden. Said hi to Anders and had dinner and a drink. Went out for a ramble . Most of the shops were closed. Punks were everywhere. Typical east German graffitti covered the buildings that line the avenue. Went back to the bar, found a darkened corner and nodded off for an hour.Later, in the candle lit atmosphere, Inneke sang her songs about fairy men and elephants and I sang my songs and then I stopped singing my songs when I got tired. A lady told me she likes my sloppy guitar playing.

Sunday 23 September Berlin...On the train some ladies asked me for directions to the metropolitan museum , but I had to confess, although I had been to Berlin a few times, I had no idea where it was. In fact I find Berlin very confusing, its so big !Just after arriving into Berlin Haupenhauf, my friend John R Dalton phoned so I got instructions on how to get to Artliner, where im due to play.. So , I got on the U-Bahn to Friedrichshan and hung a right. Walked down the street in the hot sunshine feeling a little lost. Saw a cool looking Greek lady sitting outside a little corner shop, smoking a cigar and drinking beer from a white plastic cup. Cool shades hid her eyes. I asked directions to Gartnerstrasse, but she'd never heard of it. She hollered into the guy in the shop, so he got out a map and we both tried to locate the street of mystery. Customers came and went, we still searched the map. Then a friend of his arrived and got on his mobile phone to ask a friend. Eventually I got the information from these more than helpful people, and I bade my new friends goodbye and off up the street I went and hung a right.

Past the great Sunday afternoon flea market I eventually found Artliner. Had a beer, spoke to Andy, the sound guy and went out to the market. Bought a Baphomet piece of jewelery and a few other things. Watched the American ladies busking singing their country songs and went back to Artliner to soundcheck.John and his Peruvian ladyfriend arrived and I did my thing. The sound was real good, but Im not so sure if Im was all that up to scratch. Late drinks were had and as always, Berlin seemed like an old friend.

TOO LATE TO STOP (June - July 2007 - Ireland / Germany / Canada / USA)

2007-07-11T04:59:00.000-07:00

Sat 9 June Tramore....Another hot hot day. Following a three hour drive we rolled into the sea-side town of Tramore in the sunny south east of Ireland. With an aching back and shoulders, I felt as if I had been run over by a bus, but following self medication I perked up and we soundchecked and hung out. That's what bands do a lot....hang out. Then we played the gig and it was good fun and Chris and Les enjoyed themselves, and so did I and by coincidence, so did the audience. The rather baleful waning moon hung low in the sky as we made our way back to Dublin. Blood red, it seemed to cast an ominous spell. The thick fog added to the atmosphere. Still, we arrived back home in one piece and I fell into bed at 5am and slept well.

Wed 13 June Dublin....A few hours are spent making final arrangements for our trek to Germany and then on to the States and Canada. Then at 6pm it's rehearsal. We worked mostly on a new song which will be called 'Money' for the time being. We also messed about with 'Nine Bridges From Town.' Les split, Chris and I had a few beers and with Åsa, we went down to our local for one, then back home for our little disco. This went on a little late, so we only managed to get about two hours in bed, and nearly missed the flight.

Thurs 14 June Berlin....The taxi in from Schoenefeld airport took ages. The driver eventually found the Sunflower on Helsingforser Strasse in Friedrichshain which will serve as our Berlin base. Had a beer to unwind and went on the internet to check out car rental. Eventually get that sorted, so out into the hot hot sun we go. Ate some pasta and on we went. It ended up being a longer than anticipated walk to White Trash where we play a gig next Monday.

Chris wanted to check out the Tattoo parlour which is part of the whole White Trash emporium. As he looked at designs and chatted to the artists I nodded off for a while in the waiting area. We had a few beers at the bar next door and later cruised down Oranienburgerstrasse. After sampling Berliner beer and tequila in a few hostelries we were feeling mighty fine and the crack was good. The final port of call was a wonderful Indian restaurant where we had a meal, and I drank a bottle of wine, while Chris stuck to the beer. A little bleary and a little the worse for ware, we took a taxi back to the Sunflower.

Fri 15 June Greiz.....It took two hours for us to find the car rental place, so we were later hitting the road than planned. Using the satellite navigation system, we left Berlin behind and hit the Autobahn, cruising at 120mph while big black mercs shot passed us at incredible speeds. At one point we ran out of road and this played havoc with the navigation system. My phone died yesterday, so I had to keep borrowing Chris's mobile to call ahead to the organizers of tonight's festival and to talk to Les who was on board a train crossing the country at high speed. Unfortunately Les missed his connection in Gera and would be forty minutes late for soundcheck. No panic.On arriving in Greiz we met up with Evi who runs the Greizer Schlossfolk Festival. Greiz is in the province of Thuringia, a cool town with a population of 23,000. During the World War II it didn't suffer much damage, although 3 of the 5 bridges in town were destroyed. The gig is in the courtyard of the Unteres Schloßin, one of the two castles in the town. I had a quick sandwich and checked out the Marshall Valvestate Amp they've hired for me and its great, as is the kit for Mr Teusner. Mr Leslie Keye arrives and we soundcheck.

As I stand on a balcony, dark clouds roll in from the other side of the White Elster River bringing thunder and lightning. Within ten minutes we're caught in the middle of a mad storm. Everything is put on hold. An hour or so later the show gets on the road and we do our set. The PA and sound is great and we have a good time. As soon as The Transylvanians hit the stage, the rain starts up again, still the audience hangs in there and the atmosphere is good.Taxi out to Moscowitch in the rain to our countryside guest house. the Transylvanians aren't up for a party so we three racketeers do our own thing, with Les playing a selection of tracks from his lap top, including Althea and Donna and LKJ.

Sat 16 June Wurzen......After a breakfast of bread with apricot jam and a cup of tea, I went back to bed to read another chapter from Gabriel Garcia Marquez's 'One Hundred Days Of Solitude.' Soon, we were back in Greiz to load up, say our 'goodbyes' grab a fruit juice from one of the festival stalls and hit the road, biding adieu to Thuringia. After long consultation with the instruction booklet, Les figured out how to get the satellite navigation system to speak to us in English as opposed to yesterdays German. So we got a very posh lady giving us instructions in the Queens English. Very 1950's BBC in fact.

After a few wrong turns we rolled into Wurzen around 4pm, an hour ahead of schedule. Wurzen is in the Muldentalkreis district, in the State of Saxony and is now, and has long been a hotbed of Nazi activity. We crossed the bridge over the Mulde River and found the Netzwerk für Demokratische Kultur, tonight's venue. Soundcheck is long long long. Afterwards we eat, chat to Sebastian (our man in Wurzen) and I go for a solitary ramble. Up in the town square I found the strange looking statue of Joachim Ringelnatz, the famous poet (and painter) and the towns claim to fame. Thankfully I didn't find any of the local Nazi's. Another of the town's claim to fame is that Goethe travelled in 1768 from Leipzig to Dresden and back through Wurzen. The long wait for the ferry inspired a passage in his first edition of Faust.Back at the venue I nodded off for a while, which is the divine right of itinerant musicians worldwide, then arose from my slumber, grabbed a beer and hit the stage.

The gig was great and although I was nervous for the first few songs (something that rarely happens) I really enjoyed it. We hung out afterwards, sold CD's, signed CD's and had a few drinks. A bottle of champagne was opened to celebrate the boss lady's birthday and the conversation included Mannix Flynn, Dublin in the 1980's and of course music. When both Chris and Les began to tell me about how good Justin Timberface really is, I began to think that the evening had become a bit too surreal. Les DJ'ed until the early hours of the morning. I had nightmares about Justin Timberface dressed up as a gay Nazi.

Sun 17 June Leipzig.....A long time was spent driving around in circles in Leipzig with a very confused band listening to a very confused robot. Eventually we found the Kulturwirtschaft Waldfrieden, had dinner, hung around and a suitable backline and PA was located in a nearby subterranean rehearsal room. Dan arrived in from Essen and Sebastian arrived in from Wurzen with his girlfriend and we played to a small but appreciative crowd. The show opened up with a solo acoustic 30 minute set from Les. We played well and had a good time. The post gig sing song also came curtsey of Mr Keye. Sleep was non eventful, simply a period of darkness between two beers.

Mon 18 June Berlin....Dan drove me in to Berlin, while Chris piloted the rented wagon, I slept most of the way. At the Sunflower Les insisted I have a beer, then taxi to Mark Mulholland's place to pick up two amps and a kick drum, off then to soundcheck at White Trash Fast Food. Dinner was great and the staff cool. The gig was ok, nothing to write home about, the post gig drinking session was more fun than actually playing. Always a pleasure to see Mark. Last time we met was in New York in April, before that it was Dublin in February. We had one hour in bed before alarm bells drilled a hole through my heavy head and in a state of confusion I arrived into the airport and somehow or other managed to board the plane and stay awake long enough to help Les drain a half bottle of champagne and a couple of red wine. (Chris was asleep.) It's a tough old rock n roll world, but somebody's got to do it. See you out there........

Mon 25 June Dublin.....Played the Belvedere last Thursday to a mad crowd. Headcases everyone. A crazy Japanese lady danced up real close, I wasn't sure if she was going to kiss me or throw a punch. Her man tried to persuade her to sit down, but she went crazy. He was pointing at his watch saying, maybe we should go home now. She was completely out of it, but her reflexes were fast enough to grab the watch off the guys wrist and throw it across the room. It took the poor guy about twenty minutes to find it.A row broke out at the bar, no security to be seen. I was glad to get out of there. On Saturday I played over at the Cobblestone. It was Stuarts birthday bash, and I also did a DJ set, other friends of the birthday boy got up to do a few songs, as did the man himself. Ended up at a party near Leeson Park, where South American sailor boys wooed a few gullible Irish ladies.

Wed 27 June New York....I thought Sunday would be a good day to relax before going to New York and on to Canada, but no such luck. We'd been invited to a barbecue so along we went. Met some Cuban musicians on tour, hung around, got home at 3am, up at 5am and off to the airport. On arrival in New York via London Heathrow I had to clear customs, and it was a bit of a hassle. Travelling without a work permit, I suppose I looked a bit too much like a musician. Guitar, cable's, microphones in my bag alongside harmonicas. Then the customs official opened my shoulder bag he pulled out a copy of 'Silver & Dust'. "This guy looks familiar," he said. I told him I just made up a few to give away to friends and I stuck to my story that IM NOT a musician and eventually he waved me through. After all, I'm not really part of the Axis Of Evil !On arrival into the Lower East Side of Manhattan, I zipped down to Jacks place and we headed out straight away to an Indian restaurant on 1st Avenue for dinner. Had a great time, later watched a movie and on Tuesday records were bought, pool was played and life is good. Word came through on a gig in Leipzig. News from Canada too. Sleepless hours are spent reading Victor David Hansons 'Carnage and Culture.' Especially the parts about Cortes and the Aztecs.

Sat 30 June Toronto....Took the overnight 12 hour bus from NYC to Toronto on Thursday night. No problem with customs, but 12 hours is a long time to be on a bus. My old friend Robert O Neill picked me up at the station. His brother Brian is with him. He's over here on business. Last time we met was a few months ago in Rathmines, Dublin of all places, when I played a gig with the band. Off out to Robert place and he's in the process of building a garden shed. Im no good at that sort of thing, so I sit down and have a few beers and offer encouragement. The sun is riding high in the sky, its real warm. A trip to the liquor store is in order and after a while I get some much need sleep.The gig is down at Dora Keoghs, next door to Allen's where I played last October. Good to met gentleman John Maxwell again and of course Dora herself. The gig went fine and Andrea brought down a bunch of people and Kate came in too. Afterwards we sat up late chatting and drinking and listening to Dylan bootlegs.

Tues 3 July Strattford....Hit the road to Hamilton after a huge breakfast at the Lucky Dice Diner on Saturday morning. Played at aplace called Rebels Rock. Good sound, good PA but hardly anybody there. They asked my permission to put "Silver & Dust" on the jukebox, and I of course said YES.On Sunday it was Canada Day, a sort of Independence celebration. I got a gig at the strange time of 4pm at the ultra cool Cadillac Lounge back in Toronto. Having a beer at the bar after soundcheck I chat to some guy who informs me that the big concert on tv is in honour of Princess Diana. There's those two royal twats dancing their stupid dance to a line up of the usual suspects, Status Quo, Elton John and Duran Fucking Duran....so crap they named them twice ! The younger of the royal sons didn't bother dressing up as a nazi this time, as he seems to be fond of doing.After a while I finally get to meet Aimee who is booking agent for the tour. I play my gig and its cool and the sound id good. Afterwards I meet Ward, a local guy who spends half of his time in Nigeria, half in Toronto. He's taken over 150 photos of the gig and promises to email them to me.

Out in Etobicoke I gotta do a house concert, only its in the garden. Play and 7pm and its all a good vibe, good food, good booze good people. I get to DJ a bit too, after sharing a few rum and cokes with Hank the Gladstone Cowboy.On Monday everybody is a little bit weary, but me and Robert spend the afternoon visiting local artists, Hungarian Bill and Canadian Lucy. They've got paintings and drawings everywhere, and I mean everywhere around their apartment. They're an inspiration. Can after can of Guinnes is opened and drained dry. I get to hear some record by the Babyshambles and have to admit it sounded good. Still think the guy is a twat and the just can't cut it live, but the record is good, so credit where credit is due.

Earlier today we checked out the CRC Museum in town, saw some cool guitars and had a beer or two in Kensington Market. Then drove out through the County of Willington, down through Mohawk country and on into Strattford, hometown of Richard Manuel, keyboard player with The Band. The gentleman who, aged 42, hanged himself in his motel room after a Band show at the Cheek To Cheek Lounge in Winter Park Florida in 1986.Strattford is also famous for its annual Shakespearean Festival. Its farming country out here. We needed a mic stand and a guy called Mike got one for us. A cool guy who knows his music and listened to every note I played. Drove back to Toronto afterwards, nodded off for a while, thankfully Robert stayed awake. He was driving.

Wed 4 July Toronto.....A well deserved day off. Robert needs a break from driving and having to listen to me every night. On awakening, I notice it's a dark overcast day, the rain is lashing down, still it's hot and humid. Childhood memories of the west of Ireland come flooding back.Once the rain stoped, I took a walk down by the shores of Lake Ontario, walking up past the power station and the ominous Mental Asylum. Dropped in to the liquor store for a couple bottles of red wine. Back at the house, Robert and I watched a great DVD of Van Morrison playing at the Montreaux Jazz Festival in 1980, with two drummers, John Platania on guitar, Pee Wee Elis on sax. A great performance. 'Wild Night' was a highlight and stuff like 'Summertime In England' was just inspiring. Checked out some things on youtube and an Old Grey Whistle Test DVD got put on. Some of it was ok, Rory Gallagher for example. Roxy Music were funny and pretentious. Then Little Feat came on. What can you say about Little Feat, only it brought it home to me how much we NEEDED punk in the late 70's. Thankfully it arrived on time so that kids like me could get a guitar and do our thing and not be weighed down by virtuoso crap. And you could turn on the radio without having to listen to Little Feat !

Thurs 5 July Sarnia....A mysterious lady who goes by the name of Crystal has been sending out bulletins through her myspace concerning all my gigs. She seems to know if one is cancelled, or there's a change of venue, long before I do.I get it organized so that a poster is on the way to Montreal via email from Ireland, and we hit the road. Arrived into Sarnia (population 73,000) past the Hiawatha Racetrack Slots. We turned off for Modeland Road and rolled on past the Temple Baptist Church on the left. They wouldn't like me if they met me I bet. The sign says it's 7K to the toll bridge into the US, but we don't want to go there. Down along Indian Road, hang a right and we found the bar. We both needed a beer or two after the long drive and then we checked into the Motel next door.Dinner is good. Jack phones from New York. The gig is fine. Meet some good people, and spend some time out on the veranda afterwards.

Fri 6 July London....Checked into the Maple Leaf Motel, an then had dinner in the nearby Thai Restaurant. Had a beer or two and got some sleep. The show in The Wick was a strange affair, as predicted. The bar itself is a cool joint, and everybody is friendly. Met up with the Duke himself. Tonight Im opening up for Duke Sedan and The Hightones, a fairly traditionalist 50's rockabilly outfit. They're nice guys, but their audience seem a little perplexed by the Irish man singing songs about 16th century Prague, walking along by the canal in Amsterdam etc, and my version of the Stones 'Play With Fire' goes right over their heads. Not to worry. I get to meet the mysterious Crystal and her boyfriend Randy. The barman keeps me well supplied and Robert is knocking them back big time. I enjoyed the Dukes set, and guest Leah is a cool lady, like a cross between Wanda Jackson and Holly Golightly, but she's got her own vibe going on.Later we take a taxi back to our Motel with Crystal holding a large paper cup full to the brim with orange juice - mixer for the vodka. We have a little party in our room and it's all good fun.

Sat 7 July Windsor....Another day, another Motel. Last time I played Windsor I had a great time. Tonight it's nothing to write home about. In the morning we hit the road early (11am) and drive out past North Chatham where an avenue of gigantic pylons run alongside the motorway, before diverting through the fields of wheat, looking like something from a 1950's Sci-Fi movie. We drove on, Robert with the boot down, past the half rotten corpses of the roadside racoons. Made it back to Toronto in one piece.

Mon 9 July Toronto....I found myself on the streetcar at 8.30am, taking the hour long ride into the city centre. Off at Bay Street and walk up Dundas Street and get to the bus station. You get a better deal on the price if you buy it more than 24 hours in advance. Spent all day rambling around this vast city. Picked up 'Villette' by the incomparable Charlotte Bronte for $2.50. Went through a big Bronte phase last year. Later I relaxed with some Sangria, as the sweat dribbled down my forehead. Another hot and sticky night in south Ontario.

Tues 10 July Montreal......Arrived into town at 6.30 after an endurance test of a seven hour bus ride. Sean Moore met me at the station. We had never met before, but we've had an on going email correspondence for a few months now. The connection is Cannery Row / Two Dollar Bash. It's my first time being in Montreal and I can tell straight away that Sean's a good guy and that Im in safe hands. The gig is great. A real good atmosphere and the sound is good and I play well.

Wed 11 July Montreal....The gig in Quebec City didn't materialize, so Im content to hang out here. Bad news from Europe, but I won't elaborate. A few beers are had on Shannon's veranda after breakfast with Orite, who sings and plays with the wonderful Little Birdie, a great country influenced band. Well worth checking out. Sean arrived back from walking the dogs and it turned out to be a day of beers and smoking and making new friends and having a good time. Later, much later, we rambled off into the French part of town for a look around, found a bar and settled in. A surreal evening by any standard.

Thurs 12 July Toronto....Left Quebec at 1.30 in the afternoon and arrived into Toronto as the heavens opened up at around 8.30pm. Straight down to the gig, which was in a horrible bar full of awful people. Got the cash and split. Civilized drinks out in Etobicoke. The following day Robert brought his newly acquired Silvertone amp into town for repair. Later on, after dinner, we ended up at the Gladstone Hotel up on Queen Street West to see Hank, The Gladstone Cowboy perform. Hank dedicated 'Your Cheatin' Heart' to yours truly. Later, we stumbled across an opening at a shoe shop. Complete with bar, sexy footwear, and interesting people, we were in the right place at the right time. I spoke to the artist about the possibility of him customizing a pair of cowboy boots for me. He lives in Paris and the price he quoted me is affordable. Fell into bed at 3, up at 6 and onboard the bus to NYC at 8.30. Twelve hours later I found myself in Port Authority. Took the subway downtown.Over the next couple of days I bought some records, watched a few movies, played a gig at the Sidewalk Cafe, ate good food and was conscious that back in Ireland everybody was getting real pissed off that it was cold and the rain wouldn't stop.

RANDOM SCRIBBLINGS FROM DUBLIN May - June 2007

2007-06-12T14:15:00.000-07:00

Thurs 17 May There's something about these overcast mornings when you can smell the leaves on the trees, flowers, weeds. Summer is approaching, not sure what season we're in. Reminds me of the west of Ireland, a previous life. The sort of morning where an Andy Irvine record makes sense. Or Bonny Prince Billy. On I rambled to the post office to send a few packages to the Netherlands and good old Deutschland, always on the look-out for a club or bar that may wish to hire me 'for one night only.'

I've been running the Acoustic Lounge over in Smithfield now since February, and while we got off to a good start, these past few weeks have been quiet. A few friends are regulars, and the more popular special guests bring down a crowd. Some friends haven't made it over to any of the nights at all. Then on the other hand , I've had people drop in that I haven't seen in 13 years (in one case) or 16 years in another case. Last Friday night we ended up in Toast in Rathmines afterwards with Jimmy from Twenty Percent Dead, and Triona. The place was half empty and it brought it home to me that bars and clubs aren't having it as easy as they used to.Saturday, bright and early I cooked breakfast after a cocktail of vitamin pills, and quickly got down to recording. I managed to get a few good ideas down, so I didn't feel the day was wasted. Later, I found myself in Cornellscourt, a place that had hitherto existed for me only in the realm of advertising. A massive shopping centre on a Saturday evening is not my idea of fun. We located the off-licence, bought beer and tonic water and off we went. We had been invited to Tove's pad in Foxrock to watch the Eurovision song contest. I kid you not. Tove is a good friend, she contributed backing vocals to a few songs on 'Silver & Dust' and she's from Stockholm, and the Swedes love the Eurovision. Thankfully, we arrived too late to catch the Irish entry, and before long we had settled into a eurotrash world fuelled on rum and coke. With Mark I discussed the art world (he knows some art hustler I hung out with last month in Philadelphia) we listened to a lot of Nina Perrsson and generally it was a good time and I got home by around 4.30.

On Sunday, I continued recording and as night fell, I had a few drinks and played some records and went to see Claydolls in the Sugar Club. A good gig, although there was a small attendance.The recording process continues. This morning at 8am I got a melody swimming around my head. Turned out a simple enough riff would suffice, moved it up a key from what was in my head, easier to sing that way. After a few hours I had 3 acoustic guitar tracks down (with a click/metronome) and a good vocal. It may or may not require drums and bass. Time will tell. I also managed to get 'Nine Bridges From Town' down, after about 7 takes. It a song i started to write in a cheap hotel in Amsterdam in March. I got the last verse here at the living room table, and I've aired in in Smithfield now on the last two Fridays. Another new song recorded last weekend and finished today is called 'Never Enough Time' which is a good title.... and it's true. There never is enough time to do all that needs to be done. Even when you get up at 7am as I did this morning.

I've been listening to the great great Nancy Sinatra a lot. The album she did in '94 is ok, but the song 'Don't Let Him Waste Your Time' is a killer. Great lyrics (written by Jarvis Cocker) and a wonderful vocal delivery. Sexy and sweet. Miss Sinatra is about sixty years old now, still beautiful and still cool. Check out her performance of this great song on youtube. May we all be sexy and cool at sixty.

Thurs 24 May The Acoustic Lounge over in Smithfield was good fun on Friday. Alice Jago did a few songs, and performed admirably despite technical difficulties. The battery in her acoustic guitar died, and as she's left handed, I couldn't lend her mine. We miked it up and she soldiered on, a little unhappy, but it was the best we could do. She's gonna come back this Friday to play again, and Jimmy Cinder is going to play too.Afterwards we ended up with Tom in our pad, drinking red wine and playing choice cuts from The Clash's triple album from 1980, "Sandinista"...we put on "the Equaliser," "Broadway," and Tom's favourite "The Call Up." Other records that graced the turntable included Springsteen's "Nebraska" The Stones, Nikki Sudden, Nancy Sinatra and "Claudette" and the wonderful "Afraid To Sleep" by Roy Orbison from 1965. It wasn't a late night really, so that getting up at 9am to catch a bus to the west wasn't a big deal.

A 24 hour period was spent chatting, drinking wine and eating a lot. Filmed my old man playing mouth organ and later the fiddles were taken down. Too soon, I found myself on a bus heading east, watching the cattle graze lazily in the rolling fields. Sunshine streaming through the window as we drove through the flat midlands, down through Rathowen before sunset. I gave up on Rick Moody's 'The Black Veil.' The first few chapters were fine, but despite glowing praise from Thomas Pynchon, I found that Moody seemed to get bored with his own story after a while. I never came across a writer who made drinking to excess seem so mundane.

Thankfully the postman brought me an interesting grimoire type tome from the pen of Michael J. Ford, so that's now keeping me occupied.The recording goes on and on. Paul Thomas (best known for his work with Horslips, Thin Lizzy, Nikki Sudden, U2) called around with my old Lacie harddrive on Monday and we resurrected a song we recorded a few times back in 2003 when we were in the midst of trying to make what became "Exit Hellsville." I had heard a mix of this song "1849" in Sweden last February and thought to myself that if it had a new vocal and perhaps some extra guitar it could come in useful. The version we finished in 2003 never got released. So, Paul tweeked it a bit and uploaded to my recorder and off he went. I put down a vocal, rhythm guitar part and a guitar solo.

Tuesday morning, I re-did the vocal, much better too. Wrote two new country type songs, which shall remain nameless for the time being. Recorded a new vocal on a song that was called "Slide On" but it's now called "Return Of the Snakes." Recorded other bit 'n' pieces, made phone calls, emails etc. Designed a poster for Canada, and finished four paintings, two are on paper, two are on canvas, no titles yet. I suppose they'll get piled up in the corner for a while.

Later, Tom arrived over having dragged a double bass up from Wexford Street. We rehearsed, running through about twenty songs. The chord changes in my songs seem to baffle the man, as he listens to a lot of rockabilly, bluegrass and cajun, basic three chord stuff. Tom used to be a drummer with Aces Wild, and he also plays a bit of banjo and accordion. We settle on covers of "Folsome Prison Blues" and the T Rex classic "Telegram Sam." I reckon we've nailled them well enough to perform in public. After a few glasses of red wine and having listened to a few Johnny Burnett Trio and Charlie Feathers records, Tom went off home. I was having a bit of cabin fever, so with miss Kärrman as a travelling companion I took a taxi over to Harolds Cross to a crap bar called the Cross Bar. The place was empty. Ten years ago you'd find more people in a Dublin bar at three o clock in the afternoon that you would find in a bar now at 11 o' clock at night. How things have changed. When the looming property crash happens, there will be even less people able to afford a pint.

After drinks with Jimmy Cinders and Maria we walked home, it being a warm night. Stay up til 4am playing records and painting and sipping wine, all on my own. Booked a ticket to New York with Virgin. I'll be flying via London, and Virgin is a far superior airline to Aer Lingus, and €60 cheaper too. The food is better, staff are generally more helpful, better planes. I'll have a few days (hopefully a gig too) in NYC before heading north to Canada to continue the Too Late To Stop Tour which, at the moment comprises of 23 gigs. 3 in Ireland, 4 in Germany, 1 in the US and 15 in Canada. The band will be travelling to Germany with me. Last time we were there was last September and we had a ball. I like the Germans and I like the Canadians too. Let me tell you who I DON'T like. I don't like any of these useless politicians that are trying to get elected in the Irish General election. Maybe, just maybe I could trust Pat Rabbit, but none of the other fuckers are worth a vote. I'm tired now...got a gig later.....don't want to type anymore......

Wed 30 May A dark overcast day, rain pouring down, the low hum of nearby road works for company. Only noticed it now, as I was listening back to recordings from the last few days. Very loud. Some of the stuff sounds good, some, I'm not so sure about.Since my last scribblings I went down to vote, and here we are a week later and still no sign of a government, useless lot thery are. On my way back from the polling place, I heard my name being called out. It was Fergal Davis from Suite Studios who mastered 'Silver & Dust' (and 'Exit Hellsville) He was standing ouside a newly opened Art Gallery on Dunville Avenue. At least I think it's newly opened. Last time I looked it was a shoe repair place or a pharmacy or a newsagents or a hairdressers, perhaps a cafe, maybe a travel agents. Now, it's none of these.With glass of wine in hand, Fergal beckoned, I made my way over. After some friendly banter, I went inside and had a look at the paintings on exhibit. Axel had just sold one for €1,650. Not bad. His stuff is good, and you can see the influence of Turner on his style. Axel has been my neighbour for a few years, but I hear he's just moved to Portugal. A grand and a half will go a long way in Portugal.

As usual in these circumstances, I was called upon to regale the folks with tales of the road and madness. Fergal had played a few gigs with The Racketeers, standing in on bass a few times, and told me he was sorry to miss out on the opportunity to travel outside Ireland with us. Well, there's always time for that in the future, but going by the ammount of money he's making running his mastering studio, I don't think he wants to spend a week or two with me in Germany. We drank more red wine and John from Sun studios invited me down for a look around sometime, and I will. I then realized it was getting late, so I went back home where I found Tom and his double bass ready to rock. Out on the street (my regular driver wasn't available) I grabbed a taxi and then phoned Tom to say I had a van taxi on the way to pick him up (these double bass's are huge) but he said he had changed his mind and wanted to go home !! Very strange behaviour. We rehearsed, at his behest, he turned up at my humble abode all dressed up and then decides to go home. So, onwards we went in the taxi, no special guest tonight. Played my solo gig, chatted to Darren afterwards, and unfortunetly we had to drop into some dodgy singer songwriter place on O Connell Street to pick up some gear.

After that, Terry dropped me home, and with glass of red wine in my hand I watched The Sopranos which the missus had taped for me while I was off playing my songs to the disinterested and the drunk. Pressed the play button and Im in Jersey. The Sopranos is the only thing I watch on TV these days. Occasionally I might look at the news if I need reminding what a crap world the powers that be would like us to believe in. Or a documentary on Discovery. I gave up on The Simpsons long ago. I found Weeds on the internet the other night , but haven't gotten around to watch any of it yet. That's the US drama about a 30 something middle class lady who sells weed for a living.

The following day (friday) I was over at the Acoustic Lounge. Alice Jago didn't show up, so Jimmy Cinders played a longer than usual set, and he was great. He had Maria on backing vocals, Beverley on sax and Hughie Friel, ex- The Atrix on percussion. I knew John Borrowman well. I loved The Atrix, a great band, sadly forgotten by most and of course John is off with Elvis now. I played my set, and if I say so myself, I wasn't bad at all. Trevor, who I hadn't seen in ages was down and kindly bought me a drink. Afterwards we ended up in Toast (surprise, surprise), as did Mr Cinders. Met a few people I knew, drank some beer and vodka and made it home in one piece.Saturday wasn't up to much. Got a few sets of lyrics down onto paper, and then decided I didn't like them. The next few days sort of melt into a blur of reclusive activity.Recording, writing, making phone calls and writing emails to people who don't bother to reply. I keep writing songs by accident. I was putting down a guitar part for example yesterday on a song, when I came up with a new riff that was too good to go to waste. So now its a complete song in itself. I got a demo of it, vocals, bass, 3 guitar overdubs (drum machine) and its not bad. Yesterday, guitars mandolins, microphones and erratic scribblings on paper kept me occupied from 11 in the morning until 1am, the only break being an hour at 5 for dinner.

By 1am I was fucked, so I listened to the Gun Club and drank some wine and when that ran out I went for the beer. I wound down like a tired spinning top and entered the land of nod with little difficulty.

Tues 12 June A few months ago in Sweden I heard a mix of '1849' which was first recorded during sessions for what became Exit Hellsville. I thought to myself, if it had a new vocal track, some extra guitars and perhaps a new bass line, it might be worth working on. So last Wednesday we finally got it finished when Les put down the bass part. Two new guitar tracks, rhythm and solo, as well as a new vocal had been added by yours truly last week. After that, we got down to rehearsing, running through some of our repertoire for roughly three hours. Chris regaled us with tales of his recent travels to Chicago to record with Steve Albini, Stockholm to do some sort of work-shop and Australia to spend time with family.

Then Johnny Cronin from the Aftermath phoned to see if I was going to make it to the Sugar Club for the tail end of the Hot Press Yearbook launch. The free bar had ended by the time we got there, but it was good to be out and about for a social evening. Johnny and his crew including brother Mick had relocated to Keoghs, so that meant a brisk walk across St. Stephens Green. There I was introduced to Bresy from the Blizzards who was in the process of telling Johnny that his first gig ever in Dublin was supporting my gang of reprobates back in the mists of time. Apparently I was very nice to the guys and let them use our backline.On Thursday, following a stress free meeting with the tax people I picked up a copy of NME so I could get my hands on the free 7inch red vinyl one-sided single by the White Stripes. Its good, not exactly mind-blowing, but its ok. Later on I found myself over at The Belvedere. Once the gig was over and money changed hands, Jimmy and I took a taxi over to Toast in Rathmines for a late drink where we met Pat Cannon, who will drive me to Tramore on Saturday.Friday was taken up with following up phone calls and emails and I watched an episode of the Sopranos, which I had taped while out gigging. Then a few beers at tea time.

The missus rented the Da Vinci Code movie, which was bad beyond belief. I gave up after 10 minutes and lay down on the bed and got stuck into reading Lawrence Sutins 'Do What Thou Wilt,' one of the better Aleister Crowley biographies. I had read it before, but my brain works differently now, so I wanted to see if I could get a different angle on the Great Beast 666. Great fun indeed and he never fails to inspire.Saturday was yet another hot hot day. Following a three hour drive we rolled into the sea-side town of Tramore in the sunny south east of Ireland. With an aching back and shoulders, I felt as if I had been run over by a bus, but following self medication I perked up and we soundchecked and hung out. That's what bands do a lot....hang out. Then we played the gig and it was good fun and Chris and Les enjoyed themselves, and so did I and by coincidence, so did the audience. The rather baleful waning moon hung low in the sky as we made our way back to Dublin. Blood red, it seemed to cast an ominous spell. The thick fog added to the atmosphere. Still, we arrived back home in one piece and I fell into bed at 5am and slept well.

TARNISHED SILVER - Ireland / Denmark / Sweden / Netherlands / Belgium / USA - (January - April 2007)

2007-01-19T14:04:00.000-08:00

Fri 19 Jan Dublin....Somebody once said to me that 99% of the people on the planet were a waste of time. At the time I thought this was a bit of an exaggeration, but I’m not so sure anymore. Out on the road one’s psychic antennae seem to be more in tune with what’s going on, and it’s easier to sort the wheat from the chaff. When one is at home, wherever that may be, the fools and assholes get a chance to get their grip on you. I was listening to the radio in Terry’s van as we drove through the rainy streets of Dublin on the way home from a gig last night. He had it tuned to 98FM, a favourite of Dublin taxi drivers too. The phone-in topic was all about ‘pet napping.’ This apparently is big business. He even had guys phoning in saying that they were involved in stealing pedigree dogs and the like, then contacting the dogs owners for ransom money, or else selling the unfortunate animals on to somebody else. Very strange. A world of which I was completely unaware. I don’t have a dog, but it seems like a rotten business. But then again, most people are a waste of time, for various reasons. Of the thousand or so you might see while out to buy groceries for example, how many would you want to talk to ?

In an attempt to rid my mind of the pet nappers, on my arrival home I treated myself to a glass of red wine. I read from Mary Shelly’s ‘The Last Man’ and soon found myself in the land of nod. I was up at 7.30am, had breakfast, and swiftly got down to recording. These last few weeks I’ve written a few new songs, and I’m in the process of recording rough demos of a few of them. What else would you do on a cold January day. Later I’ll hopefully hook up with somebody for a drink. But before I go out into the windy winter night-time, I’ll spin a few records to (a) get my own songs out of my brain, and (b) because, above and beyond all else, I’m still a fan. So, I reckon ‘Wreck A Pum Pum’ by Prince Buster and ‘Heartaches was all we Got’ by Sven Zetterberg will get a spin. As will the new 7 inch from Nikki Sudden, featuring Southern Bitch, a great great record. Tracks by Charlie Feathers, Gregory Isaacs , Johnny Thunders and The Two Dollar Pistols should put me in good form. See you out there. We can be the 1%.

Mon 22 Jan Out for a few drinks the other night, I met Mick Pyro from top Irish pop ensemble The Republic Of Loose. I was chatting away to some folks when I spotted Mick out of the corner of my eye. We had never met, but I recognized him from TV. His drinking buddy seemed to have left him on his own. He was looking at his own reflection rather gloomily in the mirror. An invisible grey cloud hung over his dishevelled head. I've often been in similar states myself, so as I walked by on the way to the toilet, I gave him a slap on the back and said "How's it going Mr Republic". He turned to me and without saying a word, started to sing in a loud voice "Apology Not Accepted..." ("Apology" is one of the more popular songs from the first Racketeers album, 'By Hook Or By Crook from '97) I was really taken aback. He went on to tell me that a friend of his used to go to a lot of our gigs years ago, had that first CD and would quote lyrics to him when he had a few pints. Me and Mick got on well and had a good chat. He was lamenting the fact that he was broke, and also that people give him a hard time cos his band is a 'bloody disco group'. I tried to cheer him up by pointing out that these very same people were probably just jealous. After a while he rambled off into the night, while I ended up back at HQ with Åsa and Rockfield man Kevin Lavin, drinking into the early hours, playing records and having a good time.

Thurs 25 Jan I’ve been trying out some new ideas, recording new songs I’ve written etc..etc.. On Tuesday, I was simply playing electric guitar, trying out a few overdubs on stuff I had recorded last week, when suddenly I had two new songs. One is called ‘I Got The Job Done’ the other remains untitled as I’ve got no lyrics yet. These songs seemed to come out of nowhere. I didn’t have time to get them down onto the digital recorder I use. Instead I went back to glorious analogue, and taped them onto cassette on my old battered ghetto-blaster.A bitter cold day, I took the Luas (a local name for a tram) across town and on arriving at St. Stephens Green, I avoided the busy shopping streets, and crossed over to the North Side of the city. Over in Smithfield I had a meeting organized with John from top band Sack. It had to do with a gig I’m trying to set up in that part of the city, and we came to a sort of a deal.

On the way back home I observed a guy sitting on the pavement doing his begging gig, paper cup in his hand collecting loose change from passers by. It’s something you see ten times a day in Dublin, only this guy was chatting away on his mobile phone !! Maybe one of his beggar friends was doing a bit of shopping and needed some advice, who knows. Which reminds me, last week I was crossing Capel St. Bridge on the way to a Trip Hazard gig, when a guy begging came out with the usual mantra ‘Some change please’. I shrugged my shoulders indicating I didn’t have any change, which I didn’t. ‘Fuck Yousss’ was his charming reply.Later on Tuesday evening we had a band rehearsal, and I unveiled a new song called ‘Lady Lies Low’. I recorded this on my own last week, but me Chris and Les played it through a couple of times, and it seems to work. The song is loosely based on an Angela Carter short story called The Lady Of The House Of Love. We had to run over old stuff to tighten things up, which can be a bit of a chore. Its more fun trying out new ideas.Apparently ‘Silver & Dust’ is selling well in Germany. I just got word today that the distributor wants a few more boxes. That was a pleasant surprise indeed. If you haven’t already got a copy , you know what to do.

Thurs 1 Feb On a grey morning like this, Anita Lane’s ‘The World’s a Girl’ is the ideal soundtrack for dealing with phone calls and the odd email. And nowadays, there’s myspace to tend to. Cyber gardening. And you gotta look after them, or at least check in, even if you’ve got somebody else taking care of business. A few days back I went to see Two Dollar Bash who were over from Berlin for a short Irish tour, and they were great. However, too much beer and tequila took its toll, so when Mark broke a string on my acoustic (he had borrowed for the gig) it was up to me to act as roadie while he swapped to mandola. Unfortunately the booze had kicked in and I failed miserably to get the new string onto the guitar within the usual two minutes that it takes me. Somebody else did it for me, while I struggled to remain vertical at the bar. Fuel for another dodgy rumour I suppose. In complete contrast, Mundy proudly told me that he was off the booze. Gavin Glass was down for the gig as well and seemed fairly together, while Declan Rooney was knocking them back while doing Pat Kenny impressions.

The following day I met up with Mark again and Matt for drinks in Russell’s Pub in Ranelagh, one of the few left in Dublin where you can drink without feeling ripped off. Ted dropped in for a while on his way to a date. A good time was had by all, and me and Mark got a chance to talk shop as well, as we are label mates….(sounds posh, doesn’t it) In fact I don’t feel like I’m in the music business at all. I’m so far underground I’m off the radar. But having a label has its advantages, and I’m happy enough to play music, get paid for it and still not feel like I’m involved in some ‘business’. I like the phrase ‘outsider music’ but that tends to apply to people like The Legendry Stardust Cowboy and Hasil Adkins, and that’s a whole different kettle of fish to what we do.Tonight I’m playing over on the north side of town, and I’ll be with the band in Carlow on Saturday. See you there perhaps.

Fri 2 Feb Im listening to Lisa Ekdahl and thinking how I'd like to be somewhere in Sweden having a beer package cure. The Swedes can't be beat. They've got the best women on the planet, great countryside terrain, blankets of snow in the winter and sunshine in the summer. Good record shops too. But let me explain the beer package concept . Simply buy a beer and get a bottle of the same brand for free. A lot of the bars in glorious Goteburg also do free food around tea time. Thats 6pm. Or you can get Potatos Mos from one of the Turkish vendors real cheap. Either way your set up for the evening.

Last night's event at the Belvedere was as usual, not many people, but sort of fun in an odd way. It certainly helped that Fi Shanks was over from London for the night. He played a cool five song set, doing a great version of 'Roll the Dice' which I blew harmonica on. My own set was fine, Terry arrived and once money had changed hands we hopped into the van and off we went. Not being in the mood for going home, I had a few drinks with Mr Shanks in the Russian bar, having picked up two female drinking buddy's from the Trocadero. Of course they had crap music on the stereo, but living in Dublin you learn to turn a deaf ear . Back at my pad Fi decided to cook a meal, and I encouaged him, while records were played, the tarot consulted and a lot of red wine was consumed. Earlier today the phone rang, and it was Sebastian calling from Wurzen in east Germany, where we will hopefully perform in June, either the day before or after our appearance at the Greizer Schlossfolk Festival. We struck up some sort of a deal and in celebration I sank two glasses of red wine and plugged in my heavy Guild electric guitar and let rip.

Tues 6 Feb Wide awake at 5.30am, I consulted Mary Shelly's 'The Last Man' for brain stimulation as opposed to lying there tossing and turning. A great book, first published in 1826, but set in the late 21st century when the world was about to end….because of the plague ! The aristocracy use hot air balloons for long distance travel and the Greeks are at war with the Turks on horse back , using muskets and swords. Mary still was a great writer, The novel certainly transports the reader to another world, albeit a very odd world, using her flamboyantly romantic poetic style of prose.I had boxes of CD’s to get ready for postage. Making sure each box had it’s customs sticker, I set out for the post office , and got the three boxes of Silver & Dust off to Pool Music who are distributing the record in Germany.

A few more chores to attend to back at my pad, emails to answer, IMRO forms to fill out, people to put on my hit list. On a cold grey February day like today, Nico’s “Chelsea Girl” made perfect sense. Then I worked on a few tunes, even played fiddle for a while. Maybe that’s why the neighbours give me the evil eye.Looking back, Friday was another late night, having bumped into Mundy by chance in Birchall’s in Ranelagh. Pints were knocked back, pints were spilled and nobody noticed and nobody cared, including myself.

Saturday evening we were on our merry way to Carlow. The venue was cold. The sound however was good, and they had printed their own posters, which were huge, still, only a small crowd turned out, but not too bad for the first weekend in February. At some point during the night I let the audience know that the last time I had played Carlow was 1989. I could hear one guy turn to his friend and say “I was five years old then.” That was in the days before mobile phones, before the internet, before the so called axis of evil, when being Irish in England wasn’t such a good idea, when there was only white people in Ireland, when it was a novelty to know somebody who had a real job. A terrible decade by all accounts, and most of the music made in the 80’s was crap too. And I contributed to the pile.We enjoyed the gig at the Music Factory, and hopefully I won’t have to wait another eighteen years before I play Carlow again.

Thurs 8 Feb Copenhagen ………I thought to myself; “Hear not the rushing sound of the coming tempest, fear not the steely grip of impending doom, feel not the earth quake and open, dread not the coming of Doctor Death.” Confidence and optimism were my dual companions on the early bus as I drew nearer to Dublin Airport, my first time to board a plane in ten weeks. I was content to spend these past few weeks at home, having spent so long on the road before xmas, often not knowing what was up around the bend, living from hand to mouth, sleeping on sofas, in cheap hotels, on inflatable mattresses, in Schipol Airport one night when I was left high and dry. A precarious existence, but fun. I slept little on the flight over to the Danish capital, and on arrival in the bitter cold I decided to chance my luck with public transport and attempt to navigate my way into town. A man on the bus overheard me asking the confused driver for directions to Christiania, and kindly offered to accompany me there, as he badly needed to score. As we drove through the grey streets of Copenhagen, my kind companion told me in his best broken English the story of his mother’s fame as the first female rock n roll drummer in Denmark.

Christiania is an autonomous community that started 33 years ago following the civil occupation of an unused area, then owned by the Ministry of Defence. Traffic free, the smell of weed in the air, several bars, shops, clubs, and over one thousand inhabitants on 85 acres of land. After meeting Eva, I have a cup of tea and bread and cheese, which exorcises the ghost of Mary Shelly from the right side of my brain. After a walk down by the river, I take a taxi to Bloomsday Bar on Niels Hemmingsens Gade. After sound check I have a drink or three with the owner Jonathan, who seems to have more jewellery than myself. In fact he recommends an Icelandic lady who has custom designed several rings for him, but they don’t come cheap. The gig got off to a good start, but after 45 minutes the cops arrived and shut us down because we were too loud. A pity really, as I liked the place and we had a good vibe. I still got paid, and I would like to return, but next time without interference from the law. Copenhagen used to have a reputation as a ‘live and let live’ place, but things are changing.

Tues 13 Feb Gothenburg.....Minus 3 degrees but no sign of snow, although the heavens tried to spit some out earlier. I was working on a new song, singing about walking around Aspen Lake, people I knew who flew the flag for rock n roll, self obsession and the road. As I scribbled down the words on the back of an envelope I tried not to fall into clichés. It looked like snow as I wrote " here comes the snow” which probably will be the title of the song. Down town I bought a bunch of records. Roy Orbison, Green On Red’s “Gravity Talks”, Ike and Tina Turner, The Stones “Goats Head Soup”. Also got Dylan’s “Under The Red Sky” which I heard for the first time while driving from London Ontario to Toronto feeling a little weary a few months back. I had been on the road for nine weeks and all the good times were beginning to take their toll, but ‘Handy Dandy’ cheered me up big time.I also got my cold hands on Cher’s Greatest Hits. I kid you not. It’s an Lp from 1974, so it real early stuff. I got it especially for “Half-Breed” and “Gypsy’s Tramps And Thieves. “ I had the latter on 7inch but its badly worn, very crackly, so I got it on a clean slab of vinyl. We went to strangely named etc, a wine bar in Vasastan, ended up having a wonderful spaghetti pesto meal and then we were joined by Arvid and Carolin, before hopping on the train out to Lerum.

Tues 20 Feb Dublin and Rockfield…….The sunshine has gone, and a heavy blue /grey sky hangs gloomily over the town, possibly over all Ireland. Umbrellas are put to good use by the passers by. Cyclists, head down, speed by. Rush hour is approaching, but I’m in no rush. As soon as I’ve hacked out a paragraph or two I’ll put on a record, perhaps Fats Domino and treat myself to a glass of red wine. Already I’ve attended to many emails and myspace messages. Answered most of the phone calls, and played guitar for a while, although I didn’t feel all that inspired and put it back down again.There is nothing worth reporting about the gig on Thursday at the Belvedere. Afterwards I caught The Trains three song encore in Madison, Rathmines. A great band by any standards.

On Friday it was the first night of the Acoustic Lounge, a night that I will host most Fridays at Thomas Read’s new bar over in Smithfield. Special guest was Gavin Glass, who blew me away with a great set. He can play guitar so well, and his songs are on the button. I played an hour long set, although I had intended to play a shorter one. I was also DJ, and that was fun playing cuts from Carl Perkins, Johnny Thunders, Mark Lanergan, The Kinks, Wreckless Eric and many more. Paul Conlon, who played tin whistle with Shane MacGowan and The Popes is down to see me with his own entourage. John Lalor (ex-Swine) Clarence Clarke, Jimmy and lady, Damo and Tom, Jimmy Cinders and Maria, Al Cowan. It’s name check time!! Some of us ended up in a mad Russian bar on South William Street, where we were happily ensconced for an unacccountable number of hours. It was a great shock when I realized I would miss the 10.30am bus bound for the wild west. However, we did manage to catch the 1pm. A big dinner awaited and a gallon of red wine washed down the fine meal. Stories were told and I walked a mile under the starry sky, the moon being absent. It would not wax until Monday.

Mon 26 Feb Red wine. Where would we be without it ? On Wednesday night we spent a few hours at the bar in the Trocadero on Andrew’s Street. Fi Shanks and Mari from Barcelona where knocking back pints of Guinness, me and Miss Karrman stuck with the vino, and we even took the unfinished last bottle home in the taxi.

I had a glass or two with lunch on Friday before I hit the road for Mullingar and that night’s gig at the Yukon. I had expected Dave from No Ego Promotions to drop in, but he didn’t. The PA sounded a lot better than last time, but it wasn’t an easy gig. It took the good folks a while to warm to me, but once they did I was in good company. Of course, once the gig was over, everybody wanted to talk, a couple of CD’s were sold, and Vince took me off to some dodgy nightclub. Later still, I was about to try to navigate my way up three flights of stairs to somebody apartment for a late party, but my phone rang and it was Johnny from The Aftermath. They had just pulled up across the road in their van, having survived a drive from Limerick where they had just played a gig. I threw my gear in the back of the van, and with Michael at the wheel we drove of to a location unknown where we entered the land of nod.

By 10.30am I was on the bus back to Dublin, reading (re-reading) selected passages from JG Frazers ‘The Golden Bough.’ On arriving home I decided I need more sleep, so I caught forty winks, before preparing some food and making my way to the Acoustic Lounge gig in Smithfield. As host, I introduced Jimmy Cinders and Maria to the audience, and later Seanie Foy, who actually managed to show up for the gig. Not only I was surprised. I threw on some CD’s in between sets. I’d have been happier playing vinyl, but transporting a bag of records, turntables AND guitars etc is just too much work. My own set went down very well and with Miss Karrman, Foy and Clarence Clarke as travelling companions, we made our merry way back across the river to Belgrave Square East for a late drink, a smoke, and a chat. Records were played and the vague arrangement of going down to Toast for a while went out the window.Saturday morning, I found Foy asleep on the sofa. A liquid breakfast and a short walk to Ranelagh village for a beer was the order of the day. Things were beginning to get a bit foggy. Had dinner in Marios across the street and next thing I knew is I awoke staring into stygian darkness. Flicked on the light. It was 11pm and I was stretched out in my bed at home, unsure as to how I got there. I then spent many hours pottering about the place, until sleep once again claimed me at around 7am. And that was my weekend. How was yours ?

Mon 5 March ……A few days ago I was on a tram into town and for some reason I got The Clash’s ‘Garageland ‘ whizzing through my head. “ I don’t want to know about what the rich are doing, I don’t want to know about where the rich are going…”Well, how things have changed. Take that junky twat Pete Doherty. He used to be in The Libertines, whose LP was produced by Mick Jones from the Clash, and his claim to fame is that he’s shagging one of the richest models on the planet. Poor old Joe Strummer’s ghost should give the lad a good kick up the hole. Speaking of gobshites, I can’t figure out if I hate Britney or love her. Last week I see the fat little skinhead attacked a car with an umbrella (!!) this week she wrote 666 on her baldhead and run amok in the loony bin before a sad attempt at hanging herself. Fair play Miss Spears.

Down at the passport office I got ticket 43 and had to wait a whole two minutes to collect the new one. Easy. Off to Hodges Figgis bookshop around the corner to get some reading material. I picked up a fairly decent book by Robert M. Place ‘Tarot, History, Symbolism and Divination’. I’ve read several books over the years on the tarot, but it’s always good to get a new perspective, and Mr Place seems to know what he’s on about, which is a lot more than can be said about a lot of these so called ‘New Age’ writers. Money also changed hand for a collection of short stories by Stephen Crane and a biography of Mary Shelly’s mother, Mary Wollstonecraft. Crane's an interesting character, who wrote prolifically as a novelist, short story writer, magazine journalist, foreign correspondent and poet. His brief career ended in 1900 when he died from tuberculosis aged just 28. He was an influence on Joseph Conrad, Hemingway, and even Kerouac. With my bag of books under my arm, I went off back home for a few hours. Time was spent messing around with a new song and then later it was time for the cross-town trek for a gig. I wasn’t in the mood for it, but it went ok.

The following night we were over in Thomas Read’s bar in Smithfield for the Acoustic Lounge. Anthony White and Niall Lawlor were special guests, and there was a good crowd in. It looks like the evening is building up it’s own following. At the end of my set, Niall and Ger Kiely got up and joined me for a version of ‘Folsom Prison Blues.’ Gavin Glass and entourage were throwing a party so with Clarence Clark and Damian, I took a taxi across town, stopping off at an Indian restaurant near Portobello Bridge to buy a few beers. I looked at Ed, he looked at me and we both had to admit that we were slowly being seduced by the aroma drifting out from the kitchen. Within minutes we were sitting at a table reading the menu. I had Saag Paneer, can’t remember what Ed or Damian ate. Later, we eventually made it to the party on Harrington Street and I think I got home at around 7am.Saturday afternoon saw our guests Leif and Marianna off shopping while I had a meeting with a promoter. Later we drank a few glasses of red wine and visited Ron Blacks famous pub on Dawson Street, the smallest pub in Ireland. However, it was packed full of tourists and we walked a few yards further down the street to its sister pub of the same name, only this one is the biggest pub in Europe, or so they claim. With pints of Carlsberg at €5.50 a go, I won’t be back.Somebody had booked a table for seven at Fitzers and I ate spaghetti with feta cheese and basil and then off we went to see Moneybrother play a gig in The Village. They’re big in Sweden, and managed to sell out the Wexford Street venue. A great gig by any standards.. I met Anders Wendin from the band in a Camden Street bar afterwards and he seems like a nice guy. We chatted for a while and then I sat down and promptly fell asleep.

Wed 7 March Amsterdam…..I was hanging around in Schiphol Airport waiting for a phone call, and when it eventually came it wasn’t good news. I had arrived into The Netherlands a day early, with the intention of recording with Mark Gilligan in Voorst, but Mark told me it wasn’t going to happen as his father in law had just died. I called somebody I knew who had a pad in Amsterdam but they happened to be in Portugal, so I was left high and dry, nothing to do and nowhere to stay. I had a drink. Why not? I boarded the train into the city centre, optimism my constant companion, and I was lucky enough to find a cheap hotel (€25) just up the street from Central Station.

Luck was on my side, and as the rain began to lash down I made a quick phone call and went for a lie down as I had been up since 4am. After my nap I went out, grabbed something to eat had a drink and basically rambled around for a while, meeting a lady from Dublin in the process. Can’t remember her name, but we had met at a gig in Za Globa, a Polish bar in Dublin last summer. We chatted for a while and I wandered on my merry way, having another beer in a cool little place near China Town. After a veggie spring roll I had to shelter from the rain outside the Krasnapolsky Hotel on Dam Square. The rain eased up, and as the number 24 tram zipped by I made my way towards the Hotel Manofa on Damrak 46-48. For a while I worked on a new song called ‘Nine Bridges From Town.

’Thurs 8 March Groningen….Breakfast consisted of stale bread and a boiled egg that was like a rubber ball, a ceramic box on the table in front of me bore a white plastic carnation and plastic blackberries! Within an hour I found myself on platform 12b at Central Station watching the ferry’s cross the harbour as I awaited the train to Groningen. On the journey I read a few chapters from the biography of Mary Woolstonecraft.

We passed through Deventer and Zwolle, where I had played a few gigs back in ’97 and ’98, a previous life in many ways. A bright sunny day, Peter met me at the station. We took a long walk through the park and down to the lake and the big old windmill. We sat on a bench to rest our weary legs. . A contented canoeist drifted by and the blackbirds sang us a song from their treetop-resting place. We stopped off for a beer or two on the way back to the house, where I slipped into the role of DJ while my host cooked us a meal. . Down at the bar there were a few familiar faces and I played the show and we split not long afterwards.Back at the house two bottles of red wine were polished off, before his wife Eva arrived. . We chatted into the early hours of the morning. Eva is an artist and one of her paintings is on the cover of the book of poems by Danish poet Miriam Van hee. ‘Instead Of Silence’ is a fine collection, and has been translated into English by Judith Wilkinson. Eva kindly gave me a copy of the book.

Fri 9 March Hengelo…..A long sleep, which was unusual in itself. Peter gave a present to me to bring back to the wife, seeds for a four-leaf clover. He’s got one himself on the living room windowsill. Grow your own luck! Before long I was back on another train bound for another town. Got talking to a lady from Peru who asked me if it always rained in Ireland. . I told her it did, but with global warming I’m optimistic that we might get a good summer this year. As I write, I’m in my room in the Hotel Stravinsky in Hengelo with an hour to go before showtime.Sat 10 March Herentals……Met some nice folks last night, and this morning I got a chance to hang out in the room after breakfast. The cleaning ladies are polite and tell me they can clean some other rooms if I need to relax which is unusually kind.

By 1.30pm I’ve begun my five-hour journey to Herentals in Belgium., with a half hour stop over in Antwerp’s wonderfully gothic train station. Belgium looks and feels different from the Netherlands as the train slides through the farmlands. Herentals is in the northern Flemish speaking part of the country as opposed to the French speaking south. Herentals is a bigger town than I had expected, with an ominous looking church in the market square. I later learn that it no longer functions as a church, but is now a sort of Town Hall. It’s top heavy. Looks like some mythic giant trundled into town and sliced off part of the gable, which adds to its strangeness. As I walk by I imagine public witch burnings in the early 18th century taking place in the square, a crowd gathered, the city elders conducting the ghastly procedure. I blank it from my mind.Arriving at the bar, a lady asks me am I really Irish. and I say I am. “But are you for real?” Oh, yes, I’m for real all right. We chat for a while, she’s had a few beers and I’m curious about her attire, navy blue trousers and a sky blue shirt. Is she a cop, a security guard ? “I’m a prison warden” she tells me. A tough job I reckon. Her drunken friend enquires if I’m a Satanist as he points to the silver pentagram ring on my little finger. No, I’m not what you would call a Satanist. The lady, who is called Annalies, points to a pentagram on a chain around her neck. Turns out she’s shamanic wiccan, a solo practitioner. We discuss magick for a while and I’m in good company. When Annalies goes home to change clothes and get something to eat have dinner, sound check and go for a walk around town. At 10.30 its showtime. I’m thankful to have such a good PA system and the monitors are great too. An enjoyable gig, and a good responsive audience make me feel good. CD’s are sold and email addresses collected. On Sunday morning I awake at 7.30 and can’t get back to sleep. As I write, it’s 10.20am and any minute now we’ll be pulling into Antwerp. From there I travel on to the airport in Amsterdam to catch a flight back to Dublin. I got the job done.

Tues 20 March Dublin...The snow is falling, and the ground is dry, so maybe it'll stick around for a while. Over the weekend I played two gigs, and on Paddy's Day, I didn't go outside the door. Like New Years Eve, it's amateur night out. I'm listening to Gabriel Kelley who hails from Athens Georgia. He contacted me via myspace, and his country flavoured songs are worth checking out. I think I'll drop him a line saying if I'm ever passing through Athens, maybe he could help organize a gig for me. I'm off to the US next week, two gigs in Philly and one in NYC. I'll get to see Jack and some friends, buy records, hang around, eat at the great Indian place on Houston and do all the usual. I'm on the same bill as Two Dollar Bash in New York, so that should be a good night. (We're on the same German label)

Records on the turntable these days include T Rex LP 'The Slider,' The Broken Family Band 7inch single 'Alone in the Makeout Room' as well as the 7inch single from Bonnie Prince Billy 'Lay & Love.' A B side by The Television Personalities 'All Love Is Good Love' makes me think a happy thought. A desire to listen to the radio is thankfully something I never experience, although Karen Millers Americana internet radio show is worth catching. http://www.themillertellshertale.co.uk/

Sun 25 March....The plink plonk sound of an effervescent ginseng pill being dropped into a glass of water was the first ritual of the day. A cod liver oil pill and a single tablet of L-larginine completed the days intake of legal drugs. After dinner in Mario's last night, we strolled home to watch Amadeus. The actor who played Mozart was a bit annoying. Maybe Wolfgang was a bit of a twat in real life, either way, the film had little to do with the what the history books say. I gave up on it half way through, it being around 2am, and anyway the wife had already crashed out in a heap on the sofa. The last few days were filled with activity. I worked on new songs and had various business type dealings to take care of.

On Thursday we shared the bill with The Aftermath in Madison, Rathmines, here on the south side of Dublin city, about a 20 minute walk from the city centre. I've been friends with Johnny Cronin now for a while, and as his brother Mick said, it was about time we got around to doing a gig together. Not many people showed up, but still we enjoyed playing and we were good too. Claire and her friend, who I had met in Amsterdam a couple of weeks back were down, Ed AKA Clarence Clark, Brian O Neill, a man I hadn't seen in a few years and a host of others. The Aftermath played a great set, and afterwards they came down to my pad where records were played, and we had a few beers, although Martin drank red wine, and Mick was on coffee, as he had to drive the van back to Mullingar. After the guys hit the road, the vague notion of doing an Irish tour together seemed like a good idea, so I wrote a note to myself to give Johnny a shout over the next couple of days an formulate some sort of plan of action. I also want to go to Greece, as Mr Cronin and crew have gigged there, and I've never been. I also hope to spend some time in the south of France recording before autumn arrives. But that's another story.

Friday night I was over in Smithfield for the Acoustic Lounge. Special guests were the Dirty 9's and Clarence Clark, and both acts were great. I met a few ladies I hadn't seen in many a year and a few taxi's ferried us off across the stinking Liffey to a late bar on the south side. There I bumped into Justin Healy who played drums with The Forget Me Nots back in the early 90's and later with The Golden Horde. He also played drums with my own crew on a tour of Sweden, Finland and Estonia back in 2001 or 2002, I can't remember correctly. We had a great time on that tour, but afterwards Justin got the idea into his thick head that I had ripped him off and he didn't speak to me for two years. Drummers are like that. But that's all water under the bridge now.I was told earlier today that over 1,000 people have read my recent blogs on myspace, so I reckon I should keep on writing. If I could sell records that easy life would be even better than it is. But I'm not complaining. I'll get around to making another record when I'm good and ready. It seems like ages since 'Silver & Dust' came out, but it's actually only seven months. Time has slowed down, which is what I set out to achieve. At the moment I can ram about three years into one. Later, I have to try to track down a promoter in Germany who has done a disappearing act. There's been a lot of that recently. I might go out for a walk. I'll have dinner etc.. New York beckons. I'm going there in two days time, but right now, I'm going to put on The Detroit Cobras 'I Want To Holler, But The Towns Too Small.' Turn it up !!

Wed March 27....New York.....In Dublin Airport we ran into Bobby McDonnell and his wife Hilda, on their way to Florida via a days stop over in New York. Bob had played with the Racketeers for a few years. We toured around Ireland, undertook a few trips to Finland, Switzerland and Estonia. My memory is vague on specific dates, but I know we were in Estonia together because there's photographic evidence on the Photos page at theracketeers.com.

We also toured The Netherlands together because I vividly remember one morning in Utrecht, having played at a blues festival the night before we were all feeling the worst for wear. We were loading up the van to drive on to the next gig in Zwolle, when I went into the storage area of the club to get something. Bob was eating a bag of chips and not helping out with the load, so I left him in charge with the van. I said, 'keep an eye on things for us.' In the few minutes that I was away a lady in a jeep drove up and tried to get past our van into the nearby car park, but didn't allow herself enough room , and reversed..When I came out I saw to my horror that she had reversed over one of my guitars ! I couldn't believe it. The case was smashed, but miraculously the Yamaha acoustic was more or less in one piece. Four machine heads had been broken off but the neck was still in one piece , as was the body. I had another acoustic with me, a Gibson/Epiphone, the Yahama being used only if I broke a string on the Gibson. I didn't panic, and although the lady gave me her business card, she never did pay for the repairs. In hindsight I should have called the cops there and then, but I can't stand dealing with cops. So yes, Bobby was definitely on that tour. A good bass player, but he'd never make a good tour manager.

In the airport we had a few drinks before we boarded the plane. On board, he sent down a bottle of champagne to us, which was a nice gesture. On arriving into NYC we had a drink or two over near Greenwich before parting company. Then we hopped into a cab and hooked up with Jack on Stanton Street. We ate in a Thai restaurant just off 1st Avenue, and had drinks across Houston on Allen Street.

Thurs 29 March. Yesterday was a hot hot day. After a bit of a ramble up on Broadway, we met up with Jack and I had some emails to attend to. A promoter in the Czech Republic has re- surfaced, so we had to try to sort out a few things. The German (full band) tour for June is shaping up with some new offers. So I'm feeling good. I needed to get to a post office to post a bunch of CD's to CD Baby in Oregon who take care of our online sales, and some posters to Philly. Later, a German promoter was looking for promo material, so I got that sorted too. Having coffee at an out door cafe at 1st Street and 1st Avenue I ate a big blueberry muffin and all was good, until we were approached by a huge fat rat. Jack threw a stone at him, and I freaked out, cos those fuckers give me the creeps. The rat didn't seem all that bothered my the missiles hurled in his direction, and we had to leave.

I saw some great guitars in a shop on Ludlow, vintage Gretches, Ibanez, Hagstrom, Gibsons, all out of my budget. I got info on Fender Champ amps which are being manufactured again.Happy Hour was spent with Asa in the 3 Crowns on 1st Avenue as Jack had to go off and do his own thing for a while. I marvelled at the competitive prices of the local CD manufacturing companies, before we all met up and had dinner. I was handed a bottle of champagne as a gift as we walked down the street. I later drifted off into the land of nod after reading a short story from Bukowski's 'The Most Beautiful Woman In Town.

'Fri march 29. Yesterday I visited Academy Records up on 10the Street . Spent over an hour looking through heaps of old vinyl. Thankfully they had turntables there, with headphones, so I listened to a lot of stuff before settling on an LP by Betty Lavette 'Do Your Duty' A Congo's LP and a double album of various OKEH artists from the 60's. We visited the White Horse Tavern where Dylan Thomas infamously drank thirteen shots of whiskey in rapid succession, before returning to his hotel and dying. We stuck to beer. The barman even gave us one on the house after we chatted about Ireland and Sweden.In a few hours I gotta make my way to Philadelphia for tonight's gig. I'll report more later when I get a chance..................

Saturday March 31 Philadelphia.....Yesterday we took the bus from Chinatown in New York up to Philly, a city held together with gaffa tape. Caught a bit of a gig by John Train, before we drove out to Erdenheim, way out past Germanstown. I played at Fingers, a new place, and if there's any justice in this weary old world it won't be open for much longer. The food was truly atrocious. I had Pasta Paradice, but it was more like Pasta Purgatory. Tasted like the chef with the phoney Italian accent poured a tin of cheap vegetable soup over some cooled penne and heated it up in the microwave. After the gig we had a few late drinks in Johnny Brenda's.

Tuesday April 3 New York......On Saturday afternoon we had a great big Philly breakfast and a look around town. We met up with Dave Dowling for afternoon drinks, and later Wendy drove us out to the suburbs for the second gig in the fifth rate bar. I had contemplated not showing up, but I'm a man of my word. I shouldn't have been booked into the place. Not my fault. Kevin and Laura drove up from Jersey to see me, and we split straight afterwards, arriving into Red Bank, New Jersey around 2am. A party atmosphere took over and I met Keith who is a radio DJ. Can't recall the station he's on, but hopefully he'll give 'Silver & Dust ' a spin. I think it was around 7am when I finally put my head down for a bit of shut eye. Sunday morning we took a bus in to NY and watched a movie, Scorcese's 'The Departed.'A bottle of champagne was opened and sampled, before we took ourselves over to the Sidewalk Cafe for the nights gig, and a great gig it was too. The sound was spot on, and it was good to be back dealing with professionals again, as opposed to those fools in Philly. Before my set, my friends (and label mates) Two Dollar Bash played. It happened to be their last show on a five week tour that saw them play something like 40 dates, so they're a bit tired. They split after my set, but we still had time for a brief chat. I sold a few CD's before rambling around to Sofies for a late drink. Rachel from Dublin, Voychech from Jersey (via Poland) Justine and friend, Jeananne, Paddy & Åsa....all ended up in Sofies.

On Monday Jack re-recorded his slide guitar part on a song we recorded a while back. I did a quick mix and hope to work on it over the next few days. Ate in Little Italy, picked up a few records...Rory Gallagher 'Irish Tour '74,' and Loretta Lynne 'One's On The Way' both on vinyl in Rockitt Scientist. I was cajoled into doing a tourist type activity. This involved walking half way across the Brooklyn Bridge, and taking photographs. I wasn't that impressed.

SILVER & DUST TOUR 2006

2006-11-12T13:45:00.000-08:00

Mon 4 Sept, S-Hertogenbosch................Dublin airport at 8am is not the ideal place to be. But once I ordered my first beer of the day, I was ready for whatever adventures lay ahead. Travelling alone, my most valued possession was a good book. I had Charlotte Bronte's Jane Eyre with me. I had started it a while back, but Asa took it off me to read, and I went back to Aleister Crowley for some light reading. This morning however I'm stuck into The Fourth Crusade And The Sack Of Constantinopel by Jonathan Philips.

By the time I arrived in Schipol in The Netherlands, I hadn't managed to get a wink of sleep, so I hurriedly boarded a train that hurtled me and my guitar and 2 bags to the strangely named S-Hertogenbosch, a pretty city by any standards. A friendly old lady approached me near the river side. She spoke little English, yet she insisted to accompany me through the labyrinthine streets until we located the All In Hotel. Check in, and go for a ramble, and seeing many fine footwear stores along the way, I bought a good pair of western boots in a sale. Japanese food for lunch was my second bargain of the day. Found a terrace for coffee, and feeling like a tourist, I rambled the winding streets back to the hotel. Played guitar for a while, before returning to the 13th century where the Flemish and Norman crusaders are trying to raise funds from the Venetians. I found myself in a world where places like Siena, Genoa, Bologna and Perugia are cites marked by a forest of tall stone towers. Political upheaval and religious madness is commonplace.I went down to The Rode Pimpernel, had a drink and dinner was served. Soundcheck, followed by walk around the town while the support act soundchecked. I enjoyed the gig, the sound was good and the audience appreciated what I did and at a few points the good folks in attendance helped me out whistling improvised melodies to some of the quieter songs, such as 'I Never Knew.'

Tues 5 Sept. Groningen....In the morning I met up with Andre for coffee. Well, he had coffee, I had Earl Grey tea. Andre had been at last nights gig and he suggested we hang out. We walked the short trek to his riverside abode. A musician himself, he was curious about some of my songs and the chord structures, information I freely shared. He sang a few of his own compositions and vague arrangements were made about future gigs in the area. After lunch we parted company and I hopped on a train north bound.

Dutch trains will often split in the middle, while a few carriages shoot off in one direction the rest of the train goes in another. And this is why I ended up in Leeuwarden, about 50K west of my destination. And so, I arrived an hour late. Peter picked me up and after a few glasses of white wine with Peter and his lovely wife Eva (pronounced Eefi) we settled in to a wonderful vegetarian meal . The gig was fine, a tiny place with a big vibe. I got the grand tour, upstairs to the lounge and up to the attic which was once a brothel. The walls and part of the ceiling are still mirrored. I felt at home !ly produced cheese on good wholegrain bread, and a bottle of water. I grabbed a

Wed 6 Sept. Voorst....Peter had made me a packed lunch, wonderful locally produced cheese on good wholegrain bread, and a bottle of water. I grabbed a quick beer before boarding the train and bidding adieu to Friesland. The Legendary Mark Gilligan met me at Apeldoorn and we had dinner and red wine at his place in Voorst, near Deventer. Upstairs we get to work on a new song Mark has written, which I think is called 'The Lodger Inside Of Me'. The song has a great melody, a country vibe, dealing with coming to terms with MS. We change some of the phrasing around, and I play acoustic guitar and we have a few takes. By midnight, we're on our fourth bottle of vino, so we came to the wise conclusion to take a break . Mark had earlier been complaining that Shane MacGowan hadn't contacted. Mark is new to the whole myspace world and had sent a message to the man of many words and few teeth. When he turned on his lap top while I flicked through his records, there it was, a myspace message from Mr MacGowan. So, everybody is at it !

Records were played, The Host, the theme from the Pink Panther, Horslips, Johnny Cash. Mark showed me a great photo....Ronnie Drew's rider. It consisted of a raw onion, a little salt shaker and a cup of tea. Apparently, there's nothing Ronnie loves more after a gig, than a raw onion with salt, a quick cup of tea, and back to the hotel as quickly as possible.Mark talked about his illness, death, religion , politics. I discover Mark is a BAD Catholic. He doesn't believe in life after death and never heard of transubstantiation, which is the means by which the bread and wine actually become the body and blood. There's no room for symbolism if your a catholic. The fifth bottle is opened. We had run out of red wine, so it was on to the rose. By 6.30 it was time for a lie down.

Thurs 7 Sept After a brief meeting with Marks horse, I caught a train to Amsterdam. The middle Eastern place I usually eat in had gone, so I grabbed some food at a stall near Mulligans, where tonights gig is. Met up with Danny Guinan, who I've heard so much about, but never met. The gig was fine, but feeling a bit weary, I decided to have an early night.

Fri 8 Sept . Amsterdam/Hengelo........A big long sleep, which involved some crazy dreams. I got some breakfast from the nearby market, and went for a ramble through the streets of this amphibious city, with its grey green canals spread out like a fan around the harbour. I had been unable to contact the folks in Hengelo. Does the place still exit ??? I had no idea. Eventually Mark got some news for me, and then the guy from the bar phoned, to sey its all happening. So, I eventually arrived in to Hengelo at around 8.30. Set-up and soundcheck. I noticed a 4 foot drop at the back of the stage, and with the place being so dimly lit, I made a mental note to be careful. Checked in to the Kajinsky Hotel, a nice clean place. The gig was fine, the good people of Hengelo seemed to enjoy it. All went well until I slipped off the back of the stage, having forgotten about the dangerous drop. Luckily, no bones were broken, but I did end up with a very bad bruise and a sore leg. Some guy afterwards told me how much he enjoyed the gig, and that he was going to try to find our music for free download on Limewire. He seemed to have no concept of theft.

Sat 9 Sept. Geel, Belgium............A long long hot day getting from A to B. A bus ride, taking the scenic route through north eastern Holland, down through the flat countryside, eventually making it to Geel at around 7pm. After a beer and dinner I was still not feeling up to the gig, but as usual, after I had gotten through the second song, all was good. The folks seemed a nice bunch and afterwards (one encore) I was invited to join a couple at a table. Sonja and Lieven turned out to be very nice folks indeed and we ended up drinking and chatting away for a good few hours. They come from Leuven, up the road, where Charlotte Bronte had studied while living in Belgium. I recently read here Biography, so I've got the Bronte's on the brain.

Later in the evening I briefly met local artist Bruno, who draws very detailed pictures on beer mats, pieces of cardboard, bar receipts, and either sticks them up on the wall of the bar, or carries them around in his pocket. The conversation turns to history and midieval times in central Europe. Then some sort of arguement breaks out....nothing to do with me, so I say goodnight and get 40 winks.

Sun 10 Sept. Amsterdam.....Not a lot to do. My luggage was too big to fit into the Left Kuggage lockers in Central Station, so I trundled up the street, turned right , and by chance I came across an internet cafe. Of course I had to check my space.com to see my new messages, and what Asa has been doing to it. Likewise the racketeers.com website. Emails, and off. I found a little bar down the street and I was just about to grab my first beer of the day, when I spied a chap beside me. "I konw you," I said. "I know you too, I've seen you around Rathmines." We chatted for a few hours, me and Johnny Savoy, mostly about art and the history of Dublin.

After much need brain stimulation, I grabbed a taxi to KHL. The room had A very high ceiling, yet great acoustics. I shared the bill with Skipperavond. I felt sorry for the bunch of Jeff Buckley soundalikes the poor audience had to endure. Without a Hotel for the night, I told the audience that I was up for adoption , only for a few hours , as I needed to get to Schipol airport early next morning. I chatted to people, had dinner and a few social drinks and time rolled on and not one local musician offered me a place to lay my weary head. The code of the road passed them by. The audience filtered home , and still, not one poxy Jeff Buckly clone said..'you can crash on my sofa'....what a crowd of cunts.

Promoter Marijn lived miles away, so I got paid, took a taxi to Central Station, train to Schipol Airport, arriving at 2am, found a seat and settled down to finishing my book on the Fourth Crusade. I fell asleep by 4. By 7am I was awake, suprised to be surrounded by the some massive collection of Ukrainian athletes in bright blue and yellow track suits. All in all, I had a 12 hour wait in the airport, so it was good to get home for a while.

Thurs 14 Sept. Sligo.............Ben Bulben looked splendid as we rolled in to Sligo. The sunshine was beaming down and I could understand why WB Yeats and AE (George Russell) used to spend time there. My driver for the day was Ruth. We had never met before, but she was a good driver, conversationalist and good fun. On arrival we got our stuff set up. Down at Shoot The Crows, I had a few drinks with Leon and his friend Gary. Dinner, red wine and beer in that order. I know you shouldn't mix the grape and the grain, but life is short. In fact, I've got a cool half written song called 'Life Is Long....If You Know How to Live It'. After sound check we hang around, Les and Chris smoke their last pre-gig cigarettes, and on we go. The sound is great, and although theres not many people in attendance, we enjoy ourselves so much, we played for 2 hours and 15 minutes !!!

Sat 16 Sept. Dublin...............It was good to see a lot of the folks that turned up for tonights gig at JJ Smyths. Patrick Freyne, who used to be in the wonderfully named El Diablo opened up for us. A good crowd was in, including a few from Mayo, but Sunday saw the Sam Maguire Cup go to Kerry and not Mayo. Cd's were sold, and afterwards a crew ended back at my humble abode, were drinks were drank and many old records taken out and given a spin. I think we ended up getting some shut eye around 7 am.

Tues 19 Sept. Staufen, Germany..........In Dublin Airport I met a guy whose name I can't remember, but I used to bump into him many moons ago, in various bars around town. Last time I saw him was on daytime TV when he was launching a line of salmon skin products, wallets, little bags etc. I enquired about his business and he told me it was no more. He had lost a lot of money on it, but he didn't seem too phased. He was more upset about being refused entry to the US for some minor misdemeanour 20 years ago, despite the fact they had let him visit the States last year. Thats bureaucracy for you. We had a drink together and I weas introduced to his new lady friend, as they awaited a flight to Malaga.

A few hours later I was in Frankfurt, where I ate a banana and drank a bottle of mineral water. A 2 hour train ride got me to Freiburg where Mick Morrissey met me at the station. The gig in Staufer was a quiet affair, as one would expect on a Tuesday. A nice venue called Martensheim, and American proprietor is a gentleman, which is more than can be said for JJ Smyth, the owner of the bar in Dublin. That lame excuse for a human being is one of the most ignorant asshole cunts I've ever met. And I've met a lot of assholes. But here in German, bar owners tend to respect musicians. As you can guess, we wont be playing that shithole on Aungier St Dublin again. There are better places, cooler joints. The world is wide and I'm feeling good. Word of radio play from Belgium and Canada brightens up our late night drive through the Black Forest area, bound for Freiburg.

Wed 20 Sept. Freiburg...........I walked aroundtown for a few hours, buying a new electric shaver, the old one having packed in business after over twenty years service. Grabbed something to eat, checked my emails. There has been a great reaction to the video for Rambling Jack which is up on My Tube, My Space, the bands website, and possibly a few other places too. Nicol and I worked on a song of his. He had a few chords and we both edited the sequence, I scribbled down some lyrics and it sounded good, Nicol on piano, yours truly singing....aaah ! the voice of an angel.....from hell ! With the bottle of red wine empty and all the cheese in our fat bellies, we headed off into the night, calling into the Drifters Club, Jos Fritz Cafe, where Gunthar plied us with lots of 'on the house' booze, before we finished up in Rattenspiegal where I got to hear the recent Dylan LP 'Modern Times' in its entirety.

Thurs 21 Sept. Freiburg.............Global warming is with us. Very very hot today. It was so good to meet my old friend Wolfgang again. As soon as the gig was over we had chance to have a chat. As usual, he was telling me about what new CD's he was listening to, who I should check out. (John Wasley Harding) The beer flowed, in Wolfgangs case, it was white wine that was flowing. Nicol had joined me for 'Million Miles Awy' and 'Dont Believe What They're Saying' blowing his big brass trumpet. A small crowd, but a nice atmosphere and a great way to spend a hot humid Thursady night.

Fri 22 Sept. Villingen........The song I wrote about driviing down from Villingin was reeling around my tired brain as we loaded into the car. " It's a long way to Sante Fe...it's a long way to Rockfield too..." The local football team were playing in Freiburg, so traffic is slow, but once we got off the Autobahn and onto secondary roads, Nicol was able to put pedal to the metal and we would our way through Christian heartland. Last time we made this journey , banks of snow 15 feet tall had been cut through by snow-ploughs. On this accasion, the windows are down, the sun-roof open, shades worn, but then again, I tend to wear shades in the winter a lot too.

We arrived in one piece. We were greeted by Marco and Jutte, had a drink on the veranda, Hartmud dropped by and it was time to drive over to Cafe Limba and soundcheck. Promotor Bernard Zipfel was there to greet us as was Super Mario...cool guy. There were lots of familiar faces hanging around. It was good to be back. The gig was great. We really enjoyed it . People came over to chat, to buy CD's. Nicol had the chance to catch up with his many old friends that live in this mountain top town, guarded by the medieval watchtowers. Cafe Limba - the coolest bar in the world !

Sat 23 Sept. Bonndorf......Another day another drink. After I had walked all around town, made a phone call, eaten friut and washed it down with two bottles of stawberry and pineapple flavoured milk, I went back to see if Nicol had surfaced. And he had ! We then amused ourselves with tea and bread with cheese and I then went to the computer and showed our genial hosts the video for Rambling Jack. The drive to Bonndorf was uneventful, but on arrival we met Bernard, set up, sound checked and went next door to the very traditional German Hotel Restaurant for dinner. I ate a local fish with potatoes. A great meal and I felt fighting fit for the gig in the Icecafe.

Bernard and I plot other eascapes together and I think I'm in the company of a good man. We made it into two of the local papers two, and they used a photo taken by Jack in New York with the DKNY sign behind my head. It's down on Houston in Lower Manhattan as you head towards the East Village. We were surprised to see the ammount of people of all ages show up for the gig. They had never had a show of any kind in the Icecafe, so the owner Salvatore has a big smile on his face. A great gig, acoutics were great, I performed well, no fuck - ups, Nicol was great, the audiene were great. Lots of CD's were sold and a good time was had by all. The best gig of the tour perhaps !?

Sun 24 Sept. Freiburg............Asian food in the afternoon brightened up my day. Word from home told me that 'Dont Let Me Fall' is # 4 in the CPU chart. Down at Rattenspiegal we meet Manfred who has been responcible for getting us into the local paper and he also plastered posters all around town. He also has a stalker....a crazy lady who has followed him around all day because she thinks he is Jesus. (Manfred has long, center parted hair and a VERY long beard) Mick played a short set, I do my thing, a good time is had by all. I played Hank Williams 'Lost Highway' tonight, simply cos I think its a great song. Bye bye Germany....see you in 2 weeks time.

Thur 28 Sept. Dublin.........Feels like Autumn is on the way. I managed to get o long long summer out of this year. Spent time in the South of France in May, great weather, just got back to Ireland as the Irish summer arrived. Off to East Germany....sunshine sunshine sunshine. Then, a 10 visit to New York and thereabouts. I spent mid June until September 1st in the Emerald Isle, getting the new album finished and playing the odd gig, so it was a long long summer, and I didn't go to the beach once ! Even last week in Germany everybody was mystified as to the nature of the heat. It's called Global Warming !!

I've been checking out You Tube on the Internasty. Film footage of the Stones, There's Wreckless Eric performing 'Whole Wide World' with Daey Payne from The Blockheads on sax. PJ Harvey making a LOT of noise at some fesatival somewhere, Rory Gallagher playing 'Bad Penny' on German TV. Or even The Racketeers doing 'Rambling Jack'. It's all there. Charles Bukowski reading his poetry and calling his wife a cunt to her face in a Swedish documentary. Johnny Thunders being interviewd on Nighthawks on RTE by Shay Healy. (A show I was on a few times myself....back in 1989 I think) The gig at the Belvedere was ok, as nights at the Belvedere usually are. Dave Conway from Trip Hazzard did a solo acoustic set, and we had a chat. A nice evening.

Fri 29 Sept. Waterford.......This You Tube phenomenon is something else. While I was supposed to be making phone calls and packing, time is racing by while I watch obscure footage of people like John Lee Hooker, Howlin' Wolf and many others on my computer screen. There's Horslips from the 70's. I'd seen THAT before, but I was out of the country when TG4 did the live show. Somebody told me it was crap, but I always like to judge for myself, and it wasn't crap. 'Ghosts' was better than on the LP, 'Furniture' had a new arrangement, and 'Mad Pat' was sung with great conviction by Charles O Connor. He sang it like Pat was about to slide through a wormhole in space from the 16th century and assault one of the TG4 camera men and then steal Aengus McAnally's drink, before generally running amok around all of Dublin. Bringing on all those guests for 'Shakin' All Over' wasn't such a good idea. Who was that twat playing low-whistle out of tune all the way through ?

Im at the bus station when Ashley Sheehan phones me mumbling something about not enough publicity having been done on the gig, which is rich coming from him, as he's the fucking promoter. He's also organized a gig just down the road where his local band always pulls a crowd. A quick call to the owner of the venue Im in, and the gig is back on. Philly Grimes turns out to be a great place but the gig isn't anything to write home about. If Ashley Sheehan ever plays in Dublin, and I'm in town at the time, expect the place to be fire bombed ! Still, I always like to enjoy life, so drinks and a chat in Philly's with the few folks that show up is fine, a short performance (of sorts) then taxi to my crash pad, John is still up and wine bottles are opened and tales are told til 6.30am or thereabouts. Another day, done and dusted.

Sat 30 Sept. Wexford.............A wet wet day in Waterford. Went out on a ramble in search of a breakfast, but I was reliably informed by my waitress that it's now 3pm, and breakfast ended at 12. So, a sandwich from Centra had to suffice . Down at Nell's along by the Quay, I had a drink or two. My old friend (and proprietor) Mick, was nowhere to be seen. The bar lady had Johnny Cash on the stereo. 'All is good' I thought to myself.. The heavens opened, and the Blessed Virgin was NOT descending, instead torrents of cold Irish rain lashed down on the Saturday shoppers. I luckily had an umbrella, and quickly made my way back up the hill , past the Hypercenter, whatever that is !! Down past the house painted in black gloss paint, (obviously the abode of a gang of bikers.... or Satanists....or both !

Down past Bolgers pub and on to Conor's house, a bit damp, but not too wet.It took an hour by bus to get to Wexford, a place populated by many friendly and mad people, but mad in the right way. I met the guy who used to play with Hummer just after I arrived at the Sky and the Ground, a great old bar. My old friend J. didn't show up, so Jamie, who I'd never met before, offered me a place to stay. I met up with his many friends, had a few drinks, and got down to the business of doing the gig, and very enjoyable it was too. Afterwards, we ended up at some petrol station eating sandwiches, and we somehow managed to cajole the guy in the shop to sell us a few bottles of red wine.

Out at Jamies house we partied until the small hours of the morning. I have a vague recollection of lying down on the sofa at around 7 or 8. My alarm clock rang its vicious little ring at 8.50am. Hopped up, in the kitchen a few folks were still smoking, drinking and looking more than a little wasted. I phoned a taxi, but I was informed that there was an hour to wait. As it turned out, Ruth, one of the all nighters, had a taxi on call, as she hasdto go straight to work. I didn't envy her. We shared the cab back into Wexford town, arriving at the bus station just as the 10am bus was getting ready to leave for Dublin. Thanks to all the folks I met in Wexford. I had a great time......see you next time.........................

Wed 11 Oct. Dublin.........Trying to overcome my addiction to Youtube.com. The latest obsession being the Moon Hoax. Did they really go ? not sure. Who can you believe, what can you believe these days. I'm reminded of Thin Lizzy's "Don't Believe A Word" from 1978. Phil was a prophet, ahead of his time. Now that virtual reality is old hat, where do we stand. I posted a few packages to DJ's here in Ireland, where the new album seems to be getting zero airplay. The Canadians however , are playing it, as are the Germans. We rehearsed and Chris crashed out in my pad, but being a bit wired, Mr Teusner needed a few beers to settle down for a bit of kip, so I think it was 1.30 when I got into bed. Chris stayed up later. The alarm rang at 4am and off to the airport we went............

Thurs 12 Oct. Berlin...........After checking in to The Circus we decided to grab something to eat. Outside on a sunny Berlin morning I heard "Hey Eamonn, how are you". Swinging around I saw it was Aiden from Dublin, a DJ by profession, a nice guy by nature. Had a little chat, went on a ramble, grabbed something to eat and a drink. By chance we bumped into Frank from our German label, Cannery Row Records. Later, I had a lie down, I was much in need of some shut-eye. Les's friend John helped us find our way to tonights venue, the famous Tacheles down on Oranienburgerstrasse. I'd never been there before. The wonderful Impure Thoughts were sound checking when we arrived. The sound is good... and loud.

We sound check and it was good to see Mark again. Frank had organized an interview with a radio station, so that was recorded in the dressing room before dinner. We really enjoyed our gig. It was one of the best of recent times. Old friends like Carmen and Eb, Anto on the door.....all a good vibe.Seeing Impure Thoughts live for the first time was great. The really have it all together. A party atmosphere took over the dressing room, bottles of whiskey were passed around, John and I discussed Austin Osman Spare, and other topics. With Mark Mulholland, the idea of touring the Czech. republic was talked about....the rest is a bit hazy. Back at The Circus, there was no sign of Chris. I awoke around 7am to find him in bed across from me, still in his coat. Apparently, feeling a bit under the weather,he had gone outside Tacheles to get some fresh air, but instead of recovering, he collapsed and was later found by the bar staff after everybody had left. Lucky to be alive.....

Mon Oct 16. New York...Arrived in Sunday night. Uneventful journey. Rarely allow myself to get into a conversation with unknown fellow passengers, but this time, after a few hours of Charlotte Bronte, I got involved in a conversation with the businessman who sat next to me. An ok guy. Knew his music AND his marketing. Off the plane, onto the train. Down on the Lower East Side it was great to see Jack again, and he showed me a few new tricks on guitar. He played Zeppelin's "In My Time Of Dying" note perfect, playing slide in the dropped D tuning. I’ll have to get him to give me guitar lessons!

A ramble around some of my favourite record shops proved fruitless, until I arrived at Rockitt Scientist on St. Marks. I picked up records by Linda Jones, Roy Orbinson, Steeleye Span, and the Four Tops. Also got a shrink wrapped, brand new pressing of The Velvet Underground And Nico. I used to have this, years ago on cassette (!!) so once I spied it on vinyl, I had to have it. How could you say no for $12. When you can pick up an LP of somebody like Linda Jones for $4 you know your doing well. If you were lucky enough to find such a slab of vinyl in Dublin it would be in the collector section for 25Euro.

Tues Oct 17. Philadelphia... Called in to see Simon in Puck Fair. We drink tea, strike a deal, and I have a gig set up for November 15 in NYC. Down in New York's mad hustling Chinatown, I boarded a bus for Philadelphia PA. The rain was coming down like it meant business. Even the biblical Noah, in all his former glory would have had difficulties navigating his way around these chaotic streets. Umbrellas of every colour poised to take your eye out. On board the half empty damp bus, we drive on out to the desolate industrial badlands of New Jersey. Past the Tunnel Diner, the neon sign boasting "Open 24 hours since 1942." That’s a long shift, a big electricity bill, a mountainous pile of receipts for hot dogs and thick black coffee.

We rolled onto the New Jersey Turnpike. It always reminds me of that Springsteen song from Nebraska. The title of the song escapes me now, but I can hear the rumble of it in my tired brain below the clink clank sound of this typer. The rain meant business. Traffic was slower than usual, not a good idea to jam on the brakes too suddenly. Onwards and onwards, past the sign saying, "Welcome to NJ - Governor Jon S. Corvine". So that's how Mr Corvine spends the taxpayers’ money, on self-congratulatory road signs.The gig was at Tritone, and I was settling into my second beer, when Wendy arrived. My old friend and host while I’m in town.

The sound guy was lazy. After my crap inedible dinner, we wandered to a bar up the road, a sort of pick-up joint. I got talking to the bar lady, Anne Marie from Glasnevin, Dublin. She told me she used to go out with a guy called Colin from a band called The Garden Hasn't Changed Much. I remembered the name but never saw them. This was back in the early 1980's. I told Anne Marie that a friend of mine has one of their posters up on the wall of his pad in Dublin. My friend Cormac Figgis. "O, I know Cormac...we used to hang out" she exclaimed. Small world etc..etc...

Back at Tritone, which is actually a nice venue, the second support act is finishing up. I sorted out the sound desk myself, before I went on, did the show. Shook hands with folks afterwards, a little chat here, a little chat there, and off we went. A late drink in Johnny Brenda’s. Chatted to the bar lady who owns the Bambi art gallery. We discussed mostly Outsider Art, and my drinks were on the house. Back at Wendy’s house I get to meet the 3 pussycats, which I instantly re-named Elle McPherson, Kate Moss.... and the black cat had to be Naoime Campbell.

Wed Oct 18. Philadelphia...Breakfast was enough for 3 fat people. We had gone to a local place, not far from the very dodgy neighbourhood where I slept last night. A mix of Jewish and Southern food, I have a tofu scramble with chips, and about a gallon of water. I ate as much as I could, and floated down the street. A drink in a quiet bar, can't remember its name, and then the macabre event of the day. We were stuck in traffic outside a big Catholic Church, when Wendy told me there was some saint inside in a glass coffin. Being an atheist Jew, she had never bothered check it out. "Lets do it" I said, or words to that affect. Parked the jammer, in we went. In the gift shop (the Catholics always like to make a few bob on the merchandise spin-off from Saints) we watched a very boring 11 minute video about Fr. N., born in what used to be Czechoslovakia, immigrated to the US of A as a child, became a good god fearing priest, helped the poor, etc...died, became a saint. After 4 minutes we gave up on the video and went to the chapel to see the man himself. His body had supposedly been "preserved". Disappointingly, his head resembled a Halloween mask. In fact. It WAS a rubber mask. He wore gloves. Absolutely no evidence that what lay in the glass coffin was nothing other than a regular decomposed corpse. In the museum we could find no information on any miracles he had performed, a prerequisite for a saint. In fact, it all seemed like a scam, and not very macabre at all. I needed a drink. ´

Around the corner in a little club called The Fire we had a drink and listened to Mavis Staples being interviewed on the radio.Later I visited a record store or two. Bought Nikki Sudden's new CD "The Truth Doesn't Matter" I had heard rough mixes of it last February, but if you’re a regular reader of these pages you'll know that story well. If not, check the archives. I also picked up a John Lee Hooker Cd as a present for Jack in NYC. He's going through a big John Lee phase and that’s good for the soul, the ear and the rock n roll heartbeat. It was great to meet Dave Dowling for a chat. Good times. Then a lie down back at the house, listening to "Green Shield Stamps."

Half of Philly looks like it could topple over and crumble at any moment. Desolate streets, people living in camper vans up on Front Street, where the train runs over the length of the thoroughfare, blocking out the sunshine. You got permanent dusk down on Front St.
Dogs on the prowl, folks drinking out of brown paper bags, burnt out cars, sirens blaring. The gig at Fergies was great, although the PA was a bit dodgy. Met some good people. Eric, my old friend from Dublin, many moons ago and his lady. Toothless George and his one-man rock n roll extravaganza. Ready to fill the shoes of Hasil Atkins. Dave, Anne Marie...all good fun, and I did the show to the best of my ability, and I got a return invitation, so I must have done something right.

Thurs Oct 18. New York...Did a 20 minute interview with CKCU, a college radio station in Canada, via phone from NYC. I was on Joe Reilly's show, we chatted about the new record, touring, song writing etc. He played Rambling Jack, as well as Don’t Let Me Fall and Nobody Home from the Silver And Dust album. Good publicity and good fun. The gig at the Sidewalk Cafe wasn't exactly the highlight of my rather topsy turvy career. The highlight of the day was watching episodes of Night Gallery, a spooky TV show from 1969. I vaguely remember the pilot episode; it freaked me out when I saw it as a kid.Sat

Oct 20. New York.... At Kim’s Records I got my hands on a great 7" by Jimmy Lee Fautheree entitled "I Got The Cake." Most of the day however was spent recording, an as yet untitled instrumental written by Jack (he plays all the instruments too) and a song I wrote yesterday, a slow ballad, which could be called "There Goes Maryanne", but I’m not sure about that.

Mon 23 Oct. Ottawa (Canada).........Last night I took the 11pm over night Greyhound bus from Port Authority, New York to Canada, stopping off to be interviewed by customs officials, 45 minutes before we reached Montreal. I passed the interview with flying colours. Still, not the most pleasant of experiences at 6.30 am on a bleak wet and windy morning. I had to endure a one hour and thirty minute stop over in Montreal, before continuing to Ottawa, Capital city of this far flung nation. Got chatting to some local folk in the bus station as I drank tea and tried to read a city map. The African lady, told me about her parents had been refugees from Rwanda for 30 years. She had been brought up in Burundi, but now was married with kids here in Ottawa. Smithy is a local tractor driver.... and a musician. After a while, Smithy and his friend drove me to the bar where I’m playing, The Rainbow Bistro. Later I checked into a Pension/Hostel. I've already forgotten what it's called, but I know where to find it, just up around the corner. It used to be a jail (no kidding) so I was a bit spooked when I threw my bag into my cell ! Time for a lie down before sound check.

Thurs Oct 26. Toronto...Monday nights gig at The Rainbow Bistro in Ottawa was fine. It was nice to meet Nick Danger. A good guy. He played a cool set, and his song "Cincinnati" really stood out. The sound was good, and I performed a set that was short on bum notes and big on good vibes. Cd's were sold, and I joined Nick, his lovely wife, and a bunch of his friends for a post gig bite to eat. (I didn't actually eat anything...I had a few drinks instead)

The following morning I arose too late to get breakfast, and having forgotten some apparent vague arrangement to see Nick before I hit the road, I ended up rambling out into the lonesome cold Ottawa morning in search of a cab. We drove to the bus station on St Catherine St., stopping off at the liquor store along the way. On arrival at the station I grabbed a cup of tea and a blueberry muffin, ready to settle in for a two-hour wait to get the bus to Toronto. I then noticed that there was a bus leaving at 11.30, so I hopped on board, two half bottles of red wine and my beloved Charlotte Bronte as travelling companions. The 5 hour journey was uneventful, I spent most of the time reading "Jane Eyre" and sipping my wine. In Toronto I found myself in what looked like the financial district, but soon learned it was the Hospital district. I followed my nose and found a bar. Read the Toronto Star cover to cover, not one but three giant flat screens TV’s right over my head, all with the sound turned down, thankfully.

After some time the kind bar lady allowed me to use the phone, so I spoke to my old friend Robert O Neill, told him my whereabouts, and down he came. We hadn't seen each other in ten years. Back in the day, we were buddies in Art College when we both lived in Galway, west of Ireland, five lives ago. It was good to see him. Drinks were knocked back, we drove off towards Empire Avenue, my base for a few days.The next two days were spent having a look around this huge sprawling city, five million people, that's a lot of people. Tall skyscrapers everywhere, tall enough to rival those in NYC. One day, we drive up to see the Niagara Falls. It was pissing down rain, and cold, and for a while we couldn't find them. I took a few photos. Generally I'm such a bad tourist. I saw a big waterfall, OK ?!!

Fri Oct 27. Toronto.... Tonight’s gig was at Allen’s, down on Danforth Avenue. On arrival I'm greeted by John Maxwell, a gentleman of the first degree. He introduces me to everybody, brings me next door to Dora Keogh's bar for a drink, I meet Dora herself. Back in Allen’s a good crowd has gathered. Andrea who runs AM to FM Promotions who have organized the tour, has brought down a bunch of people, Robert and his lovely wife Kate are in attendance. The sound is good and it being Friday night there’s a good vibe all around.

Sat Oct 28. Toronto.... A wet and windy day.... cold too. So many emails and myspace messages to attend to, and not enough time. The gig up in College St doesn't bring in as many students as expected, just a handful of very loud ones. A few people are ahead of the posse and are in Halloween costumes. They take Halloween VERY seriously here in Canada. It a big event, as big as Xmas. And why not. The last big blowout before winter kicks in its icy cold pointed boot. A festival of the dead. We invented it (the Irish) and now it’s our biggest export, bigger than Bono, bigger than Riverdance and bigger than Guinness. There’s no getting away from the angel of death.

Sun Oct 29. Pickering.... Windswept Pickering, out at 1400 Bayly St. we found the bar. It looked desolate from the comfort of our truck, but on entering we found it bustling with activity and an old country session going on. Its an early one, I'm on at 4pm.I enjoyed the gig, had a few drinks, change the set around from the last few gigs for my own amusement, sell cd's, sign cd's, get paid and get out of dodge..

Mon 30 Oct. Toronto...A day off, so a sleep in was the order of the day. A slow ramble around Kensington Market. Bought a new 'A' harmonica for $17, half the price of what they are in Ireland, and a T-Shirt in Chinatown for $2. While walking into the supermarket in Etobicoke, a lady casually passed by Robert and I, saying in a slightly sinister voice "Detox, for sure." We looked at each other.... was she for real ?? Very bizaare. Was it a case of this lady seeing the rather dishevelled state of the two Irish men, and thinking out loud to herself, or was she a messenger from the trickster god sent to mess with our minds. (In Canadian mythology the trickster figure, is a woman, sometimes known as the Fur Queen, and in Manitoba they have a Festival in her honour.) On we went and bought some groceries before dropping into the liquor store on the way back to 10th Street. If your gonna do detox, you gotta EASE into it.

Tues Oct 31. New Market.... Samhain. Festival of The Dead. The Angel Of Death himself looks on in amusement, perhaps conscious of the irony of it all. What is there in death to celebrate? I suppose it's a time to remember those who have gone, but surely if they were worth worth their salt we would think of them all the time anyway. Hallow'een, a marker on the big wheel turning. The Celtic end of summer and beginning of winter in their two season cycle. What the pre-celts got up to at this time of year is unsure. A strange tribe, the Tuatha De Danann, shadowy folk. I've heard you can still find their descendants in the west of Ireland.

Newmarket is a one-horse town. The gig is at The Hound on the edge of a shopping mall, but it’s a good night. I play for exactly 60 minutes and they're a young tough audience, but I win them over. Promoter Josh is there and the owner of the place plies me with tequila, goldschlanger, and beer. A lot of the folks in attendance are in costume and there's an air of madness in the place.

Thurs Nov 2 Guelph...The TV tells me a cargo ship is slowly sinking in the Baltic Sea. I've crossed it several times myself, taking the one and a half hour sailing from Helsinki to Tallinn, Estonia. I was seated in the Lucky Dice diner on Shoredrive Road in Etobicoke waiting on my cheese omelette served with potato chips, toast and a cup of tea.

The place is just as you'd imagine a Canadian diner to be. A moustachioed man at the bar sipping beer, big gold rings on his fingers. The guy further down the bar with red lumberjack shirt, and trademark baseball cap. He was wondering how long he could endure before slipping out into the cold for a cigarette. It had attempted to snow earlier but the sky held onto its load. A cold bitter wind blew in across Lake Ontario. Maybe the guy in the red lumberjack shirt was was thinking of the dreams he had as a young man, that lie unfulfilled in a bleak haunted recess in his mind. Maybe he was wondering why the young folk use the word 'awesome' all the time to describe any kind of vaguely decent event or happening. Perhaps he was worried about retrieving his brother’s angel-grinder from the pawnshop. . It could be a case where he's wondering why Susan Sarandon gives him a hard-on. Then again, maybe he wasn't thinking at all. He had reached that mystical meditative state where all thought has ceased to roll. The internal dialogue stopped dead in its tracks.

The drive out to Guelph was another drive on another highway, listening to CKOC broadcasting out of Hamilton ON. Played the gig and drove on.

Fri Nov 3 London...A long long drive, that should have taken three hours but actually took five due to a huge car crash on the motorway. Three cars are still there as we passed by, one so badly sandwiched, nobody could've survived it. Sometimes you gotta count yourself lucky to still be above ground. Luke, who runs the joint I'm playing in is a nice guy, a youthful entrepreneur, with a good taste in music, plays the drums in a band. I sold a good few cd's and meet the local folks.

Dylan had played two doors down and that's stiff competition, after his show more people arrived in. We chatted to Rhonda, on her way to the local reservation to spend some time with the tribal elders. She's part Mohawk, but later claims to be party Irish too. We're still flavour of the month, the Irish.

Sat 4 Nov Windsor.... Drive down through Chatham and Wallaceburg, and on through Rodney. Ripe cornfields stretch for miles. A herd of goats doing their thing. On and on through the flatlands of Ontario. Arriving into the dark industrial city of Windsor, we checked into the Airport Motel. I bough a shirt (black) and a few LP's in a thrift store. We both had a lie down but sleep was unforthcoming. The gig was a fine affair, many good decent people in to listen and to chat to afterwards.

Sun 5 Nov Toronto.... We were listening to Dylan singing "Handy Dandy" from "Under The Red Sky," an album I'd never heard before. That long drive from Windsor to Toronto, beer in my hand, talking of friends from fifteen, twenty years ago. The "where are they now" scenario. So many have disappeared, like melting snow. It was the day of my first ever 'house concert.' And it was fun. A thank you to Robert, Kate and family for putting up with me for the past two weeks. And a thank you to Cindy, the part Saluki dog who shared the sofa with me most nights. I've been told that Cindy is descended from a long line of Egyptian hunter dogs. After a few drinks and selling and signing cd covers, I took a taxi to the bus station and boarded the 9.30pm Greyhound bound for New York City.

Wed Nov 8 New York.... A few days rest does the trick. I needed to re-charge the batteries and that's what I've been doing. Jack and I watched a bunch of repeats of Da Ali G Show on the Comedy Central TV station, which put us in the mood for a visit to the cinema to see 'Borat'. It was hilarious, and scary at the same time. America IS a scary place. You gotta see Borat at the rodeo in the Deep South, or hanging out at an evangelical prayer meeting to see what I mean.

Rambling the streets of NYC I picked up records by Charlie Rich, Mary Wilson and Lorraine Ellison amongst others. Ate cheap but wonderful food at Punjabi on Houston Street, and at the more expensive Taj Mahal up on 6th Street, between 1st and 2nd Avenue. My mobile phone doesn't work on this side of the Atlantic, and I've been getting on fine without it. We watched "Breakfast At Tiffany's" the other night, starring Audrey Hepburn, George Peppard, Buddy Epsen and Mickey Rooney. A collection of poems from 1946-1966 by Bukowski is keeping reality very much right in front of my nose. Sweet dreams.

Thurs Nov 9 Boston...The four-hour bus ride to Boston actually took six. Traffic was crazy. I arrived at the venue (Toad) at 9.25pm. I was due on at 9.30! Still, I took time to get my head together, set up, have a drink etc. I performed to a warm reception from people who had no idea who I was. But all was good, and I chatted to folks afterwards who went out of their way to come over and say how much they enjoyed my 60 minute performance. With Andrea Gillis, I went to a club to see a punky country band, can't remember the name of the club, and then off to the Druid for a nightcap.

Fri Nov 10 New York...Down at South Station Bus Terminal to catch the midday bus to NYC.... a long day on the road. The five-hour trip gave me plenty of time to get my teeth into 'Living To Tell The Tale' by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. I had started to read his book in Berlin last June when I spent a few days there using Jimmy Cinders flat as my base before I headed south into old east Germany. Not being the sort of person who steals (or borrows) books, I left it behind in Jimmy's room. The memory of it stayed with me and as much as I tried, I couldn't locate a copy in Ireland. I looked for it in Canada a few weeks ago, but no luck. Back in New York, some food sorted out my pangs of hunger (I hadn't eaten anything for 18 hours.) A bottle of red wine kept me company while I got stuck into replying to emails and checking out a catalogue of wonderment on youtube.

Sun Nov 12 Boston......Yesterday I found a suitable pair of cowboy boots to aid in my on-going recent retail therapy problem. Found them on sale on Houston Street, the guy was looking for $50, I offered 40 and the deal was done. With Jack, lunch was at the little Thai place up the road on 1st Street. A ramble up to St Marks resulted in a few CD purchases, and a few slabs of vinyl too. This morning I was up bright and early ( 8.30) to catch the Lucky Star bus to Boston. By 9.30 I was standing on the corner of Chrystie and Hester waiting to load up. A young Chinese mother walked by slowly with her son. He was five or six and she explained in a very matter-of -fact, no-nonsense kind of way, that 'No' he didn't have to get married, in fact some people don't get married until they're very old, and some people never get married. The little guy was taking it all in.

The traffic was beginning to swell up the streets, folks played basket ball across in the courts. However, there was nothing lucky about the Lucky Star Coach Company. The bus broke down before we even pulled out, so we had to change into a much older model. The wagon looked like it had been around since the 1970's. It was battle weary for sure, too many sharp turns, too many hours ticking over in never ending traffic jams. The windows rattled and the heat didn't work. As we got out onto the highway heading north, the rain lashed down. Inside the bus there was no way I could get some sleep, I was way too cold.

Arriving into Boston, I grabbed some Asian food to warm myself up. Before the gig, I met with Pedja, from Siberia, a good friend of Mark Mulholland from our German label Cannery Row Records. We had a chat and after the gig I joined Pedja and his friend for dinner, where I saw the biggest array of meat on one table in my life. He had a few drinks, and good chat and Pedja was a gentleman and drove me down to the bus station, where I hopped on board a bus that DID have heat, and off we drove to New York.

Wed Nov 15 New York......On youtube I've been checking out Townes Van Zandt, Kid Congo Powers, Johnny Thunders, Judy Mowatt. I got a great version of Van doing 'Streetsof Arklow' from the Hollywood Bowl last April. Also, Joannie Sommers doing the Northern Soul classic, 'Don't Pity Me', Betty Lavette singing the sultry heart breaker 'Let Me Down Easy' Barbara Lynn 'Your Gonna Lose A Good Thing' and the fine Dee Dee Sharp singing 'I Really Love You'.

Tuesday night we went over to Crosby Street to check out the second hand book store, but somebody was having a book launch with catering ! This resulted in a few hours hanging out, mingling with book publishers, eating some vegetarian finger food and knocking back copious amount of vodka. Later, I was sufficiently organized to cook a fine dinner, pasta with a creamy garlic/tomato sauce, before retiring to Sofie's Bar for a few glasses of red wine.The gig at the Swift Lounge was a strange affair. A loud talking bunch of people seemed to sort of ruin it for the people who came down to listen, but in the end it all worked out fine, and I managed to charm to people who had no idea who I was, to get into the vibe. And so, after 10 weeks and 39 gigs, the tour has come to an end and I survived it in one piece. Home boys, home.