it just says, 'my dog drowned here'
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Tea and Feist
One of the great things about being home again, is that I can have a decent cup of tea. Somehow despite all efforts, hopes, and good intentions, it's just never the same in North America. The best cup of tea I've ever had was made for me by Brian O'Shaughnessy of Bark Studio. It's rare for Brian to condescend to make a cup of tea for a mere visiting musician, so to show my gratitude I asked him to share his techniques with the world, and they are as follows
1. rinse the dry cup with a little boiled water, then discard the water. This warms the cup, which is important although i don't know why.
2. add teabag (PG Tips, or equivalent British brand, NOT Lipton) and fill mug up with water, which has now slightly cooled
3. now add just a touch of milk. Apparently this prevents oils in the tea leaves separating and floating unappetisingly on the surface of the cup
4. leave for between 3.5 and 5 minutes
5. discard teabag, squeezing it into the cup
6. add milk and sugar (if you take sugar), and stir very well.
Of course many people would ask why he isn't using a teapot or loose leaves or anything posh like that, but he would probably reply simply by staring over the rim of his glasses at you, and believe me you would fall silent. And I do have to say it was the best cup of tea I ever had.
Other than the shock of quality tea, I have been getting over my jetlag. The week after the tour some friends and I were hanging out with Feist, as she taped Late Night With Conan O'Brien and then played at Town Hall in Manhattan. The two things that struck me were how very pleasant, friendly and down to earth everyone involved was, and how organised they were too. In contrast to the gin-soaked carnival of the Clientele backstage, all of Feist's guests were calm, orderly, sober and clean. There was an 'espresso girl' too, who's job it was to walk around asking if anyone needed any more espresso. There's a lesson there I guess, maybe someone can tell me what it is.
1. rinse the dry cup with a little boiled water, then discard the water. This warms the cup, which is important although i don't know why.
2. add teabag (PG Tips, or equivalent British brand, NOT Lipton) and fill mug up with water, which has now slightly cooled
3. now add just a touch of milk. Apparently this prevents oils in the tea leaves separating and floating unappetisingly on the surface of the cup
4. leave for between 3.5 and 5 minutes
5. discard teabag, squeezing it into the cup
6. add milk and sugar (if you take sugar), and stir very well.
Of course many people would ask why he isn't using a teapot or loose leaves or anything posh like that, but he would probably reply simply by staring over the rim of his glasses at you, and believe me you would fall silent. And I do have to say it was the best cup of tea I ever had.
Other than the shock of quality tea, I have been getting over my jetlag. The week after the tour some friends and I were hanging out with Feist, as she taped Late Night With Conan O'Brien and then played at Town Hall in Manhattan. The two things that struck me were how very pleasant, friendly and down to earth everyone involved was, and how organised they were too. In contrast to the gin-soaked carnival of the Clientele backstage, all of Feist's guests were calm, orderly, sober and clean. There was an 'espresso girl' too, who's job it was to walk around asking if anyone needed any more espresso. There's a lesson there I guess, maybe someone can tell me what it is.
Friday, June 15, 2007
Supernatural, perhaps; Baloney, perhaps not.
Just off a dark stretch of highway in Quebec, at certain, specific hours of the night, one may find a deserted Econolodge, hidden in the shadows of industrial buildings and surrounded by yawning wastegrounds, litter, dereliction. We rolled in around 2am, delirious and tired, having driven from Ottowa where everything was booked. Maybe it was this fatal exhaustion that led us to ignore all the warning signs.
Because if this Econolodge existed at all, and was not merely a group hallucination, it was most certainly haunted. Observe the evidence, and quake in fear:
1. reception staff with a manner that definitely suggested they had something to hide; indeed with an appearance that had a kind of indefinable intangibility about it.
2. a bloodstain that inexplicably appeared over two beds during the night.
3. an open door to an empty room, which we kept finding re-opened, despite closing it each time we passed.
4. whining noises of static and a cacophony of tv channels playing simultaneously from this cursed room, despite no one being there.
5. one of the band members had a dream of a black dog and awoke so frightened they were almost screaming
6. the few other guests we met were old old enough to seem decrepit, with odd accents and 1920s clothing
7. upon discussing this hotel with locals once we got to Montreal, we were told there hadn't been a hotel in that area for nearly 80 years!
8. ok that last one was a lie
Needless to say, after our evening of curious hauntings we felt bound to stay for another night, and Mel even dared to do her laundry. Yet I am still left with the lingering feeling that this hotel never really existed, and passers by - if indeed there were likely to have been any passers by in that remote and desolate hinterland - would have seen five figures giving the impression of sleeping, doing laundry, talking to hotel staff, all out under the night sky, the wind whistling around them, surrounded only by the littered flints and rusting wires of what seemed to be the ruins of a once-elegant hotel, marked with the scars of a horrible accident.
Because if this Econolodge existed at all, and was not merely a group hallucination, it was most certainly haunted. Observe the evidence, and quake in fear:
1. reception staff with a manner that definitely suggested they had something to hide; indeed with an appearance that had a kind of indefinable intangibility about it.
2. a bloodstain that inexplicably appeared over two beds during the night.
3. an open door to an empty room, which we kept finding re-opened, despite closing it each time we passed.
4. whining noises of static and a cacophony of tv channels playing simultaneously from this cursed room, despite no one being there.
5. one of the band members had a dream of a black dog and awoke so frightened they were almost screaming
6. the few other guests we met were old old enough to seem decrepit, with odd accents and 1920s clothing
7. upon discussing this hotel with locals once we got to Montreal, we were told there hadn't been a hotel in that area for nearly 80 years!
8. ok that last one was a lie
Needless to say, after our evening of curious hauntings we felt bound to stay for another night, and Mel even dared to do her laundry. Yet I am still left with the lingering feeling that this hotel never really existed, and passers by - if indeed there were likely to have been any passers by in that remote and desolate hinterland - would have seen five figures giving the impression of sleeping, doing laundry, talking to hotel staff, all out under the night sky, the wind whistling around them, surrounded only by the littered flints and rusting wires of what seemed to be the ruins of a once-elegant hotel, marked with the scars of a horrible accident.
Monday, June 04, 2007
James's tour Ideas
As James doesn't have a blog, i need to publicise these myself. My ideas are even better but i don't want to share them until they're patented. More to come as they are newly minted on the road.
1. let's not drive 14 hours across the country, let's just settle in Missoula and become farmers
2. let's make some alterations to the van and create a hovercraft, thereby sailing up the river and avoiding the traffic. special bonus is that we will shadow the route of lewis and clarke
3. rather than playing a show tonight, let's see if we can find a wolf sanctuary and look at some wolves, it would be more fun for us
4. let's drink gin in the van, if a police officer stops us and finds us with illegal open containers of alcohol (which is of course an imprisonable offence in the usa), we can just put on really posh english accents and he'll let us go. don't worry, we'll handle it.
i want to do all of these btw
1. let's not drive 14 hours across the country, let's just settle in Missoula and become farmers
2. let's make some alterations to the van and create a hovercraft, thereby sailing up the river and avoiding the traffic. special bonus is that we will shadow the route of lewis and clarke
3. rather than playing a show tonight, let's see if we can find a wolf sanctuary and look at some wolves, it would be more fun for us
4. let's drink gin in the van, if a police officer stops us and finds us with illegal open containers of alcohol (which is of course an imprisonable offence in the usa), we can just put on really posh english accents and he'll let us go. don't worry, we'll handle it.
i want to do all of these btw
Saturday, June 02, 2007
Madison Wisconsin
Today is my birthday and I am happy to be in Madison, Wisconsin, which locals tell me is the home of the squeaky cheese, whatever that means. I am 33, but I swear I look 19, I think I'm getting younger and more stupid as life goes on
This morning we played a set on Minneapolis Public Radio which was great fun, they had a Steinway grand piano that Mel loved, and even I could tell as I had a little tinkle on the ivories that it was a beautiful instrument.
Beach House are playing their last song as I write and seem to be going down well with the crowd. I am a little sad that we have only seven more shows in the US, it's passed like a dream, but I did use my van time to get my teeth into "Mason and Dixon" by Thomas Pynchon, which only really kicks off around page 350 in my opinion. Well cheers, I will end this exhibitionism and have a gin and tonic, after all i actually have an excuse to get drunk this evening.
This morning we played a set on Minneapolis Public Radio which was great fun, they had a Steinway grand piano that Mel loved, and even I could tell as I had a little tinkle on the ivories that it was a beautiful instrument.
Beach House are playing their last song as I write and seem to be going down well with the crowd. I am a little sad that we have only seven more shows in the US, it's passed like a dream, but I did use my van time to get my teeth into "Mason and Dixon" by Thomas Pynchon, which only really kicks off around page 350 in my opinion. Well cheers, I will end this exhibitionism and have a gin and tonic, after all i actually have an excuse to get drunk this evening.
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