another tıme, another place
Moments after reuniting in Istanbul
A digital converstaion between thompsoninflıght and Jerry Jackson. Held while sitting next to each other within The Bıg Apple Hostel on a cold soppy Istanbul Sunday. Subject: Our rollickıng rendevouz in Turkey…
|
|
8 minutes |
|
|
10 minutes |
|
|
9 minutes |
|
|
7 minutes |
Our tribute to the felines of Istanbul
one big holiday
Not as big as it was going to be, turns out. Poor planning and blowing a big dirty hole in the starboard of my budget while in the US means I’ve gotta head home a little earlier. Major 
but hell, it ain’t the end of the world. Let those fellas in Scotland take care of that. I’ll be back for Germany, but not going to get there this time round. I still have a couple of weeks in Turkey ahead of me with a child who is now going by the title of Sarspy, would’ve been really cut if I missed out on that. In London now and laying low in a Australian half way house in Manor House recovering from a major spiced rum session in the van out front and a pint or three in Camden last night. Have bobbed around town and it’s been predictably wet and gray(got me all missing Melbourne) and I dig the feel of the joint but sure woulda liked to see more. Again, next time. Tomorrow I go to Leeds which I’m really looking forward to, seeing an old, old mate and getting a tour of the town and possibly York. Also seeing Jason Molina which I’ve been looking forward to for some time.
Back in Boston I experienced perhaps the best concert I’ve ever seen. My Morning Jacket, ladies and gentlemen. Favourite band on the planet? Let’s start dealing in definites and give it a resounding YES. Beneath a big old corporately sponsored tent on a night that was lashed by the tail of a nearby hurricane, these boys from Tennesse utterly blew me away with the mother of all rock n roll shows. Force 5+ variety. The opening pairing of Mahgeeta and Anytime was as spectacular opening salvo, and from there it was consistently astounding. Golden was perfectly beautiful, Gideon revelatory, Touch Me I’m Going to Scream Pt 2 an exhilarating psychedelic epic…pretty much every song was a glorious aural and visual assault, save for a dud or two from the new album. Jim James’ voice is an instrument like no other. He is armed with magical, totally unique pipes, even more affecting live. He’s also a lot more energetic than I anticipated, bounding around the stage with his flying V guitar and dancing about in his big black cape. Dondante from Z was perhaps the best piece, drawn out to a 15 minute plus devastating odyssey. It closed up with One Big Holiday and I thought, how apt. Absolute hysteria resonated under the big white ceiling and we gleefully went out into the torrential rain, like the weather was trying to reassert itself, to prove itself over the howling tour de force My Morning Jacket had just produced. It gave it good shake, but I ain’t never seen no storm like what went down under that tent that night.
Besides this memorable event, I found Boston rather boring. The next night I caught Ryan Adams which was also good but after MMJ it was like a rather bland dessert. Not unlike Boston itself. Pretty and alluring, sure, but left me unsatisfied. I was happy to leave it and all those grating American accents behind and head across the Atlantic. The USA was an amazing experience, New York and the concerts the obvious high points. The food was the lowest. 90% of what I ate was disgusting, 5% inedible and the rest just OK. And of course the beer is shite. Hopefully I’ll get to check out some of the centre and the south next time round. There will be a next time.
strung out in the chelsea night
New York City. It’s a helluva town.
Central Park
DO: Hurry Up, breathe through your mouth, get a decent street guide, tip
DON’T: Slow down, breathe through your nose, expect to be able to save money
RECOMMENDED: Manhattan City Inn, Chelsea for cramped but well located accomodation; The Zipper Club for a wild beer range(including Coopers Pale Ale!!) and top notch bartending; The Ear Inn for an ancient NYC pub and surly Irish/New Yorker bartender; Hells Kitchen Flea Market for nicknacks and vintage clothing; The Living Room and Rockwood Music Hall for great free music 7 nights a week; the Cake Shop on Ludlow St for cake and records upstairs and booze and bands in the cavernous downstairs; Exploring Central Parkand it’s wonderful zoo; Skylight Diner for good food, bad coffee and an authentic New York experience; Jim Hanley’s Universe for comics; Union Square for farmers markets and watching the age old battle between pigeon and squirrel; watching the US Open while drinking cheap smuggled in vodka @ Madison Square Park; The annual Brazil Festival on 6th Ave; Lit on 2nd Ave for late night sloppiness and decent music; pretty much all of the East Village for pretty much everything; Bleecker St Records and Gemneration Records for music; SoHo for shopping utopia; watching tough street basketball at the corner of W 4th and 6th Avenue; just getting your New York on in general.
AVOID: Public phone booths(urinals), Greenwich Village Diner, Jimmy’s BBQ on W 31st, Sway Club, going to Times Square more than once.
I figure this is that’s the best way to surmise my New York experience. It was a stinky and spectacular, exhausitng and exhilirating, opulent and offensive, hot and hotter, noisy, noisy, noisy, crowded, ctowded, crowded, and not for a millisecond boring. Not even on the subway. My favourite moments were had around the happening East Village, particularly on Ludlow Street were there’s a string of great little bars. My favourites were the multifunctuional Cake Shop and the Living Room where I saw some cool bands and the people were nice and casual, not infected with the dibillitating wave of pretensious hipsterdom that plagues much of the cities youth. I was fortunate enough to get put onto these places by an Australian bartender at the excelllent Zipper Club on W 37th St. Met him on the first night and ducked in now and again for a Coopers and a kindly word of advice. Very handy to have a knowlegeable local and absolutely vital to have a comprehensive city guide book. Met some real nice people from all over the globe at the hostel and sucked down many a bad can of Bud up on the excellent rooftop there.
Anyways I wasn’t going to elaborate too much, was I? Not enough hours in the day let alone time on this crappy hostel computer. So from the city that never sleeps to the city that closes up at 2am. I am now in Boston and it’s going OK. Boston Common is a beautiful park and the Charles River is nice to chill by, it’s still very hot. Wondered around yesterday and was struck by the lack of homelessness and racial diversity in comparison to LA, SF and NYC. In the city there were more Starbucks and Dunkin’ Donuts than black or hispanic folk. It’s an interesting time to be in America with the election bearing down on the nation. I haven’t met a republican yet but not everyone is convinced by Mr Obama either. It’s a good converstaion starter at a bar, everyone has got an opinion which is encouraging. No sign of apathy. Had a good yarn on the subject with a chap at a great “dive bar” (Americanism) called Bukowskis last night then kicked on around a few inferior sporty type bars. All so…American. I’m right in college territory-everthing is white picket fence and everyone is very preppy. My outsider feeling was quite strong on the first day when I walked out of my hostel and straight into a torrent of Red Sox fans streaming out of nearby Fenway Park. Whoops. Boston seems to be one of those big cities you live in if you don’t want to feel like you’re living in a big city. A total contrast to NYC. Looking forward to My Morning Jacket and Ryan Adams this weekend and have been invited to college BBQ on Sunday. Will it be a “kegger”? We will see. A little worrying is the forecast for rain and heavy wind tomorrow night as I understand the venue for the gig is semi-outdoors. Hopefully she’ll be right *crosses fingers, toes*
It’s off to London on Monday and seeing an old friend named Partial then to Leeds and another old mate named Bondy, will be good to see these blokes in new surrounds. So onwards I plow, trusting all is well with friends and family back home and with a little pang of sadness chest as I recount my time in New York…missing her already.
Up on the hostel roof, Chelsea
california stars
alrightalrightalright
One week almost down though it feels like much, much longer. I’m on my last day in San Francisco and getting my act together before flying out to New York at 8am tomorrow. The last 6 days have been a heady blur. From almost missing my initial flight out of Sydney to a hot seedy couple of days in LA to some incredible music over the last 3 days in magnificent Golden Gate Park to hunkering down on clam chowder and watching sea lions wrestle on the piers..it’s been a gas, man.
The flight was OK. Exhausting and uncomfortable sure, but pretty much as expected. I spent a night in Venice Beach on arrival. Cool place but a night was adequate I felt. Sauntered up and down the strip mostly, taking in the sights and smells, avoiding persisent scammers and beggars. Spent some time watching street basketball which was strikingly similar to White Men Can’t Jump…the trash talk, the arguments over fouls, the colourful characters. Met some guys in a bar playing pool who invited me over for beers that night. Dive of an apartment with about 5 guys squashed into two bedrooms and a tiny lounge room. Graffiti all over the walls and contraband everywhere. The whole block was one big party-Latino families mixing with surfers with frat boys with whatever you class the guys I was with as. They informed me across the road was The Dudes apartment, from The Big Lebowski, and their aprtment was in the background of a scene in the film. We hit a bar and shot pool and talked nonsense and I felt very at home, except no one understood a word I was saying(“You English?” the most common question). Had a stroll around the canals of Venice the next day, slept in a park and got rather burnt, ate a horrible enormous burrito and it was time to go to San Francisco. LA was cool but I can see where Michael Douglas was coming from in Falling Down.
G-Dawg met me at the airport and we jumped on a train to down town SF. We emerged onto Market street and I liked it at first sight. Not love, but a lotta like. Market St and the surrounds were bustling with shoppers, tourists, street performers and the homeless. The homeless situation I’ve witnessed here so far is utterly shocking, to put it conservatively. Made it to my hostel which is smack bang in the reddest of red light districts I have encountered. Lewd and bawdy and dangerous, the Broadway district of North Beach seeps into the Italian district, China Town and eventually the ultra touristy wharf area. I’ve enjoyed walking around and exploring, more so during the day then at night. There a couple of great bars around, the best I found being the Saloon just around the corner. Had a brace of big nights there-the joint is San Francisco’s oldest bar at 200 years young and puts on serious live blue shows 7 nights a week. Set up at the bar, order a locally brewed Anchor Steam beer and just take in the authentic unmistakeable history of it all and cracking music. The most memorable moment there was watching an octogerian couple all dolled and liquored up dancing with earnest unrestrained joy to Time Is On My Side. Made me feel kinda stupid about complaining about gettin’ old. Checked out the Haight district too which is probably my fave area, sorta similar to Fitzroy/Collingwood back home. Lotsa history, lotsa cool shops, bars and cafes as well as the ginormous Amoeba Record store where a dude could spend a years salary in a blink. Everyone here wants a piece of you, wheter it’s hey buddy gotta dime or elaborate scams. Saw a square American twenty-something fleeced of $100 on a bus by three guys playing the cup game. Dude was devasted. They didn’t use any force, just tricked him into handing it over then vanished. Geez I wouldn’t hand over $100 to anyone, let alone griftters on a bus. Guess they know how to spot the green ones…
The 3 day Outside Lands Music Festival within Golden Gate Park was fantastic but, of course, left me spent. The park is a beautiful sprawling lush area and the festival spread across a sizeable region of it. The highlights were many, though it’s hard to beat Radiohead. On the first night they played a mindblowing set enhanced by a dazzling mulitmedia/lighting show that left no doubt as to their stance as the best damn live band in the world. There were a couple of major technical stuff ups but the band powered on through a near two hour set of their greatest songs. The rest of the weekend was enjoyable-M.Ward, Drive-By Truckers, Bon Iver, Primus and Broken Social Scene all playing kickarse sets. The fog rolled in late on the Fri and Sat to cool things down but on the Sunday, the sun hung around(suitably) right up till darkness. The final band was a little group called Wilco who played a lovely show before the majority of the 50 0000 odd punters into the dusk. Songs like California Stars and Remember the Mountain Bed were tender, unforgettable moments amongst the fog (or was it pot smoke?) filtered sunshine and picturesque greenery that I’ll never forget. Wotta band, wotta day……..
Feel like I’ve got a good impression of this town. Would I live here? Hard to say. I would like to visit again and squeeze a little more outta my stay. It’s certainly an aesthetically pleasing place with a helluva lotta soul. Looking forward to New York though. On my third day my camera died and I’ve had some issues uploading snaps from my new camera but hopefully I’ll get some shots up soon. Rest assured I have been amongst it like a pig in mud and the slide shows upon my return will be long, tedious and possibly a little incriminating. Only to G-Dawg, of course.
__________
Apologies for crappy grammar/spelling…time is not on my side right now
train a comin’
What would be a good, clichéd book to read while traveling? If you said Kerouac’s On the Road, you were close but no cee-gar. No, I have opted for the following:
If it’s OK by Zimmy it’s OK by me. Dang the first page is enough to get you thinking bout the tracks, a hastily construed knapsack and stirring yer whiskey with a nail…
This train don’t carry no gamblers,
Liars, thieves, nor big shot ramblers,
This train is bound for glory,
this train!
Planning on getting a bit of train travel in, from New York to Boston and possibly Berlin to Paris. It ain’t the cheapest or fastest way around but I’ve always dug trains and the opportunity for reflection and introspection they provide. Plus, of course, the chance to view a whole lotta gorgeous country side. I saw a certain movie a couple of weeks ago that furthered my keenness for train travel. You may know of it…
That song has very much sound tracked my last few weeks and will continue to score my departure, I’d suggest. Clever boys, those Davies brothers. And that Anderson character. The themes of fraternity in The Darjeeling Ltd resounded heavily in my chest and had me missing my own siblings. There I said it. I’d like to think one day the four of us will ride a train across India or Argentina or pilot a submarine to the center of the earth, but for now I’m gonna have to settle on meeting brother Tom in Turkey real soon. He is taking me here:
Whoah! If I see any Jawas around I’ll be sure to sit down to a cup of mulberry tea with them and have them reveal what it was like working with Neil Young.
In five days I will be in San Francisco. This is exciting but still does not seem real. The bulging bag in the corner of my room makes it more tangible, as does my flawed melon gazing at me from my passport upon my desk. My next post will be from the US of A, perhaps it will feel real then. Right now I am off to meet an old friend at the Retreat for a few jars of black and a bit of reminiscing, a bit of nonsense talk and a bit of discussion of what’s further on down the tracks, just around the bend. A fitting final night in my Melbourne.
the general specific
“One’s destination is never a place, but a new way of seeing things.” – Henry Miller
Three weeks can seem like a long time when you think about it too much. “The more you think, the more you stink”. So said David Briggs, Neil Young’s record producer. Less is more and all that. My preparations for the trip are almost complete though the mind continues to race unabated. This thing’s rolling at me big and fast and strong now and I’m getting a little anxious about jumping on the back of the big sunuvabitch. I’ve got accommodation and transport organised for just about everywhere…bout the only thing still to do is book a hostel for a night in LA upon arrival. Looking at Venice Beach-oh man I might be able to check out where they shot White Men Can’t Jump. Gotta organise train trips from New York to Boston and from Berlin to Paris but will do that once there. The net and a bantam weight credit card (’twas once a heavy weight sob) makes all this preparation so easy. How in the dang hell did people organise such adventures back in the day? Stow away on the nearest ocean liner and just hope you’d wake up in California and not Antarctica? Such flying-seats-pants style of adventure still appeals to some (thompsoninflight.com) but I’d prefer to have the bare bones in place, thanks all the same. I continue to eye events that are on in certain cities, with New York offering the Dali exhibition at the Museum of Modern Art and a gig by good ol’ boys The Gourds in Brooklyn. I don’t want to plan too much, wanna keep it a bit loose, but being largely organised sure beats having to sleep in a park and waking up with a hole in yer back where yer kidneys used to be. Dunno when I decided to become an organised human…somewhere between the age of 0-27 I think. When I was 21 I couldn’t coordinate a trip to the shops without ending up on an eight day bender and reporting myself missing. And still forgetting to get the milk. One tires of that shit.
Back here in my fair old Melbourne town I struggle with keeping a low profile and high bank balance, such are the myriad of temptations on offer. A trip to the Art Deco exhibition @ NGV with Mother Dearest on Saturday was inspiring, utterly enhtralling and well worth it. It’s a little easier with the chilly weather to stay indoors at night and the free shows coming my way courtesy of my aforementioned reviewing gig keep the door cover costs down. Sunday saw me up at the East Brunswick Club to review Mark Kozelek and I’ll be reviewing the Breeders gig next week. Also off to Band of Horses this Sunday night, though shall not be reviewing that one-just enjoying it amidst the company of some local lasses and a cuppla dangerous dudes from the hometown. A lid will have to be kept on things with the trip in mind but these friends of mine seem to be taking a shine to this town and are eager to sample as many saloons as I can throw at ‘em. Who am I to deny them this pleasure?
__________________________
Excited about the Band of Horses gig, their first album Everything All the Time is a favourite of the past few years though recent album Cease To Begin left me indifferent. Still, songs like this could make it a very special gig indeed:
revelator
Minus five weeks today and I’ll be in LA. It’s hard to fathom for someone who’s never been overseas just what this experience will be like. America obviously resonates throughout our entire culture and I’m no different than most Australians in that it has long figured prominently in my day to day existence. To actually experience America, breath it in and soak it in…that’s something that’s hard to comprehend. New York holds particular intrigue to me. My impressions of this city are mostly shaped by popular media-TV (Letterman not Sex in The City), film (Ghostbusters not Sleepless in Seattle) and literature (Catcher in The Rye…not exactly modern). Then there’s everything that’s happened since 2001. I see it as a helluva tough place with tremendous resolve, a place where the greatest things and most terrible things can and do happen. A grimey, regal city with a heap of class and a heap of depravity. The most fascinating of juxtapositions. The musical lineage of the town has created a certain character in my mind too…Greenwich Village, the Velvets, Television, Talking Heads, The Strokes…hopefully I can take a good strong scoop of what’s happening, really happening, these days in my brief encroachment of the city walls. I get the feeling it’s gonna leave a mark on me. In many ways it already has.
Before I signed up for this voyage, I took up the offer to scribe a few reviews of local gigs. Here’s my review of Miss Dawn Landes at the Nortchote Social Club last Thursday night. Gawd I fell pretty hard for her, tried to stay professional and on the right side of love struck goon. Move over, Chan, yer time is up. On Saturday I was back @ the NSC, mainly for Wagons who once again put on a sensational heehawin’ sharpshootin’ shitstorm. Slayed ‘em, in short. At one point Henry said: “It’s great to be back in Melbourne, back at the Social Club. We’ve been on tour for a while. We don’t like anywhere else…”
Wellsir, neither do I really. But I’m open to being persauded.
——–
Here’s a clip of Ms Landes, gosh so dang pretty (the song)(she’s ok too) :
sojourner
When the ideas came they came in a rush. Inspiring ideas and strong desires. The switch was flicked and I can’t say why or how exactly, all I know is that I am flying to the United States of America on August the 19th 2008 (AD) for the commencement of what should be a grand ol’ adventure. The planning has been rather hurried but measured. Initial scribbled outlines became firm, fine curves and over the past couple of weeks I have gradually coloured in the shapes of the journey to the point that all is almost in readiness. Never the most adept colourer-innererer, I must say I am quite chuffed with the results. Barely even strayed outside the lines. A graphical interpretation of my masterplan below:
More details shall be added but that gives you an impression. Cramming a lot in over a short period, I see this forthcoming cultural extravaganza as a taster to what may become a dangerous new addiction. I hope my sojourns provide me with a strong impression of the culture and subculture of each destination…not just the tourist attractions but also what’s bubbling beneath the surface and what’s been swept under the mat. Or what chooses to dwell under the mat. The portion of the trip I am most looking forward to is the ten day sabbatical in Turkey with the younger sibling. Oh, he has been abroad for some time, this bearded little antelope I know as Ritzy Roo, and I cannot wait to smoke apple tobacco, bake upon rocks and discuss the finer aspects of European bird life (for it seems he has become quite the expert!) with him in a strange and foreign land.
I have locked in several musical outings already, a festival in SanFran providing me with much of my initial inspiration. The Outside Lands Music Festival is seemingly curated exactly to my likings-Wilco, Radiohead, M.Ward, Black Mountain, Beck, Drive-by Truckers…about the only band missing from the line up is My Morning Jacket. Fortunately I’ve secured tix to see ‘em in Boston. Over in the UK I will be seeing Jason Molina (he of Magnolia Electric Co., Songs:Ohia) perform solo in Leeds. Over the last few months I have become increasingly immersed in Molina’s seemingly bottomless well of ink black Americana, in particular the albums “The Lioness” and “Didn’t It Rain” have revealed themselves as totally absorbing works that I cannot cease listening to. They are heavy with tones not unlike the environs of this Melbourne winter: all many fingered black trees, smoke stained mist and boiling charcoal skies. No doubt this is morose music straight outta the doldrums, but it is also compelling, driving and warmly melancholic. The song “Didn’t It Rain” is almost my new “Baby Blue”, on an inspirational level. Especially the lines:
“…go on and catch it while you can
go on and catch it if you can
let it course through you
and let it burn through you…”
Listen: “Didn’t It Rain”, Songs:Ohia
