Hez Kids,
It's about 1 o'clock in sunnz Frankfurt, and while I've got this spare fifteen minutes I thought I'd drop a quick note to zou all on this the halfwaz daz of the Sophie Solomon European Tour! It's all going bloodz great as expected, and I reallz can't believe that I'm alreadz halfwaz through it. I'll wait until I get back to London to expand on all the goings on. Germanz's a funnz place, lots of meat and cheese and meat and cheese, and this kezboard has some funnz letter placements on it, one in particular, can zou guess which one?
Lots of love to z'all.....
20 May 2006
05 May 2006
"Gonna be a bright....sun shiny day"
I opened the front door and took two steps out and it hit me, through my clothes and all over my skin. It wasn't just light in the sky this time but warmth in the air...our first real summers day! Absolutely awestruck, I ditched my big grey coat on the bed and strolled out onto the street.
And as I turned out the little green wooden gate at the end of our yard, it just occured to me that it's been a whole year....
Step
That's right, it was May long weekend, wasn't it....
Steps
That awkward afternoon in London Fields with all the crew, and the drive back in the vet van, knowing full well what was about to happen...
More steps
And the four long months that followed...
Steps
Wow, how about that....I almost forgot!
Steps
I almost forgot? I've always enshrined those kind of personal history dates...how could I have almost forgotten that one?
And where's the rest of it? Where are the attachments? Where's the anger, at self, at her, the frustration, the endless examination of events spiralling out of control, as they did? Where's that tired, aged feeling?
Gone.
WHAT?
Gone. For today, at least, perhaps back another day, but never as intense, and at this moment, they are nowhere to be found.
And I realised, dear friends, as I was pacing up the street in that glorious white light and warmth of the English morning, that at age 26, off to another twelve-hour pound-earning day doing mostly music related stuff, local gigs in the book and a European tour in a couple of weeks....emailing this cute Japanese girl I met at a gig last weekend....striding up that street in my black pin-stripe shirt....I realised that, despite the tone of recent entries, that for single Mike, things aren't so bad after all.
And to top it all off, it's a beautiful day....
And as I turned out the little green wooden gate at the end of our yard, it just occured to me that it's been a whole year....
Step
That's right, it was May long weekend, wasn't it....
Steps
That awkward afternoon in London Fields with all the crew, and the drive back in the vet van, knowing full well what was about to happen...
More steps
And the four long months that followed...
Steps
Wow, how about that....I almost forgot!
Steps
I almost forgot? I've always enshrined those kind of personal history dates...how could I have almost forgotten that one?
And where's the rest of it? Where are the attachments? Where's the anger, at self, at her, the frustration, the endless examination of events spiralling out of control, as they did? Where's that tired, aged feeling?
Gone.
WHAT?
Gone. For today, at least, perhaps back another day, but never as intense, and at this moment, they are nowhere to be found.
And I realised, dear friends, as I was pacing up the street in that glorious white light and warmth of the English morning, that at age 26, off to another twelve-hour pound-earning day doing mostly music related stuff, local gigs in the book and a European tour in a couple of weeks....emailing this cute Japanese girl I met at a gig last weekend....striding up that street in my black pin-stripe shirt....I realised that, despite the tone of recent entries, that for single Mike, things aren't so bad after all.
And to top it all off, it's a beautiful day....
04 May 2006
The People That You Meet - Marc Anthony
During the many hours of hanging...before sets, in between sets, after sets, at other people's gigs...among the usual types there (musos, non-musos, bar staff, managers et al), another breed sometimes emerges, the hangers on.
These guys love the scene and they're keen to hang, but what sets these guys apart is that they kind of want to be musos as well, they want to play a part that's a little more involved than just being mates.
Marc Antony was one notable example. The Latin scene's short statured stalwart, on the regulars he'd rock up every night - trademark waistcoat, shaded glasses, goatee and slicked back hair, always darting about talking to the next guy, always whingeing to me about how W the bandleader (who'd be constantly taking the piss out of him) never got him in for free on the door or bought him drinks (much more about W later). He professed to being a promoter, showed me his card, talked about plans, always plans....
Nice enough guy, but I kind of feel a little sorry for him...it never happened on the Latin scene of course, but I know well enough there would be Jazz guys who wouldn't want to give him the time of day. Never being one too cool for school myself, I always seem to end up talking to these people when no-one else will.
Sometimes, because these guys are so keen, they'll do stuff for you at a gig (these people are always handy for absent-minded musicians such as myself, as long as you don't abuse the privilege). I rocked up to a duo gig in a hotel basement bar recently...it was the first time I'd lugged my gear in a while and the one thing I forgot this time (there's always something) was the power plug for the amp. A simple enough D-plug, like the one in the back of your kettle, I expected a major central London hotel to probably have a load just lying around. Come gig time, and it became quickly apparent that this was somehow not the case.
Scratching my head on stage, I look over at Marc Antony, who is sitting there at the bar with the reluctant-looking singer, telling her how he just got back from Budapest from meetings with the girl group he's allegedly promoting.
The singer on the gig and I didn't know what else to do, so I beckoned him over and asked him to run off and get us one. Sure enough, halfway through a jerry-rigged solo set, Marc Antony came bounding back from out in the driving rain with something he'd dug out of a pub about three blocks away.
But you know the really odd thing about this guy? And why the ancient Roman reference? Because Marc Antony isn't one person, but two. I knew a guy called 'Marco' at the Latin gigs back in Melbourne who fit the description, and strangely enough, in some bizarre quasi-doppelganger echo, 'Antony' is a guy who I've met and known on Jazz gigs here! Same person - short, glasses, quasi-promoter, always hanging around. Freaky...
These guys love the scene and they're keen to hang, but what sets these guys apart is that they kind of want to be musos as well, they want to play a part that's a little more involved than just being mates.
Marc Antony was one notable example. The Latin scene's short statured stalwart, on the regulars he'd rock up every night - trademark waistcoat, shaded glasses, goatee and slicked back hair, always darting about talking to the next guy, always whingeing to me about how W the bandleader (who'd be constantly taking the piss out of him) never got him in for free on the door or bought him drinks (much more about W later). He professed to being a promoter, showed me his card, talked about plans, always plans....
Nice enough guy, but I kind of feel a little sorry for him...it never happened on the Latin scene of course, but I know well enough there would be Jazz guys who wouldn't want to give him the time of day. Never being one too cool for school myself, I always seem to end up talking to these people when no-one else will.
Sometimes, because these guys are so keen, they'll do stuff for you at a gig (these people are always handy for absent-minded musicians such as myself, as long as you don't abuse the privilege). I rocked up to a duo gig in a hotel basement bar recently...it was the first time I'd lugged my gear in a while and the one thing I forgot this time (there's always something) was the power plug for the amp. A simple enough D-plug, like the one in the back of your kettle, I expected a major central London hotel to probably have a load just lying around. Come gig time, and it became quickly apparent that this was somehow not the case.
Scratching my head on stage, I look over at Marc Antony, who is sitting there at the bar with the reluctant-looking singer, telling her how he just got back from Budapest from meetings with the girl group he's allegedly promoting.
The singer on the gig and I didn't know what else to do, so I beckoned him over and asked him to run off and get us one. Sure enough, halfway through a jerry-rigged solo set, Marc Antony came bounding back from out in the driving rain with something he'd dug out of a pub about three blocks away.
But you know the really odd thing about this guy? And why the ancient Roman reference? Because Marc Antony isn't one person, but two. I knew a guy called 'Marco' at the Latin gigs back in Melbourne who fit the description, and strangely enough, in some bizarre quasi-doppelganger echo, 'Antony' is a guy who I've met and known on Jazz gigs here! Same person - short, glasses, quasi-promoter, always hanging around. Freaky...
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