After Anand had cleared his stomach of the offending peach whiskey liquor, (and all of his dinner unfortunately) we realized it was nearly 11 o'clock on a monday and that the odds of us finding a hopping bar on the west side were dwindling, so we started to make our way back to the general direction of the hotel.
Seeing as we had a 7 hour drive back to London the next day and then a soccer game to watch, I was fine with heading back to the Hotel, but the guys were insistant that we squeeze as much life out of Glasgow as we could...so back to the college bars on Sauchaugh St. we went.
Possibly because it was still (kinda) my birthday, the young crowd at the bar we ended up at made me feel desperately old and out of place. An absolutely hammered guy bummed a pound off Rance to buy a beer with and then spent the rest of the evening either thanking us profusely or apologizing for being so drunk. Couple made out desperately on couches while drinking liquors in combinations that only inexperience would allow (Cider with a shot of Jaggermeister in it, followed by White Russians?????). We watched one couple and placed bets on which one of them would throw up first...and whether or not it would actually be WHILE they were making out...sadly, we left before it happened, calling it a night and preparing for our long trip back to London.
All of Amusement Parks on Fire's songs sound exactly the same, like a band covering Swervedriver...the only difference is that this one is an instrumental.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Asobi Masho - Asobi Seksu - Asobi Seksu - 2004
The trip was definitely beginning to take it's toll. None of use were kids anymore and 5 days of drinking, traveling, and eating fried foods was wearing us down...so we came home for a late afternoon nap.
After a brief rest, we were back up again and looking for an evening plan. We decided to check out the north west part of town and see how that went. We stopped into a bar called Leibowski's, which amusingly enough had a complete "White Russian Menu". I'm not entirely sure how one makes a variation on the White Russian, but they had a full menu. The bar itself was fairly cool, and I would have liked to have seen it on a night that wasn't Monday. It seemed like the kind of bar that wouldn't be out of place in the less stroller-centric parts of Park Slope. I got some kind of Scotch that had a name that was something about monkeys. I love monkeys. Anand got suckered into doing a shot of Southern Comfort, as the earlier bet finally came around to haunt him...as this decision would also do.
Anyway, we went to a more traditional pub to watch most of the Tottenham v Hull game, to cheer less for Hull than against Tottenham. Sadly Tottenham won with last minute goal. The bar was filled with what we'd pretty much come to consider the standard issue Glasgow bar crowd (again, we were there on a Sunday and Monday, so we were probably not entirely fair on the city) - drunk old men and drunk teenagers. The bar tender however was lovely. I'm fairly sure I announced my intention to marry her.
By the time the game was over it was nearly 10 and our dreams of steak dinner had long since been given up on. We'd all reached our breaking point and were desperately seeking vegetables. We found an Indian restaurant and headed...they were closing in 20 minutes but that wouldn't be a problem as we were not the linger at the table type. We wolfed down our (quite tasty) vegetables quickly and were back out into the night air relatively quickly.
But we were all too full and to drink anymore and Anand was starting to feel queasy from the shot of SoCo on his stomach. You see Anand and I have very different ideas about vomiting. Me, I fight it off tooth and nail...I hate doing and will keep down absurd amounts of booze and spend hours waiting for the spins to stop so I can go to sleep. If I toss, my night is over. I won't drink again, sometimes for days....once for months. Anand on the other hand, will simply say "I'm going over here for a minute", throw up, and be ready to keep going.
It baffles me considerably that he considers throwing a cigarette butt out on the street is littering, but vomiting all over the sidewalk, totally fine.
Asobi Seksu is something of a bipolar band...they're NYC and Tokyo, they're My Bloody Valentine and Shonnen Knife, they're trendy with a hot Japanesse girl for a front woman, they're arty with a disdain for those that would come to see their hot lead singer, and yet they call their band the Japanesse phrase for great sex...I enjoy them when they are My Bloody Valentine, and less so when they are not. This song is one in which they are not.
After a brief rest, we were back up again and looking for an evening plan. We decided to check out the north west part of town and see how that went. We stopped into a bar called Leibowski's, which amusingly enough had a complete "White Russian Menu". I'm not entirely sure how one makes a variation on the White Russian, but they had a full menu. The bar itself was fairly cool, and I would have liked to have seen it on a night that wasn't Monday. It seemed like the kind of bar that wouldn't be out of place in the less stroller-centric parts of Park Slope. I got some kind of Scotch that had a name that was something about monkeys. I love monkeys. Anand got suckered into doing a shot of Southern Comfort, as the earlier bet finally came around to haunt him...as this decision would also do.
Anyway, we went to a more traditional pub to watch most of the Tottenham v Hull game, to cheer less for Hull than against Tottenham. Sadly Tottenham won with last minute goal. The bar was filled with what we'd pretty much come to consider the standard issue Glasgow bar crowd (again, we were there on a Sunday and Monday, so we were probably not entirely fair on the city) - drunk old men and drunk teenagers. The bar tender however was lovely. I'm fairly sure I announced my intention to marry her.
By the time the game was over it was nearly 10 and our dreams of steak dinner had long since been given up on. We'd all reached our breaking point and were desperately seeking vegetables. We found an Indian restaurant and headed...they were closing in 20 minutes but that wouldn't be a problem as we were not the linger at the table type. We wolfed down our (quite tasty) vegetables quickly and were back out into the night air relatively quickly.
But we were all too full and to drink anymore and Anand was starting to feel queasy from the shot of SoCo on his stomach. You see Anand and I have very different ideas about vomiting. Me, I fight it off tooth and nail...I hate doing and will keep down absurd amounts of booze and spend hours waiting for the spins to stop so I can go to sleep. If I toss, my night is over. I won't drink again, sometimes for days....once for months. Anand on the other hand, will simply say "I'm going over here for a minute", throw up, and be ready to keep going.
It baffles me considerably that he considers throwing a cigarette butt out on the street is littering, but vomiting all over the sidewalk, totally fine.
Asobi Seksu is something of a bipolar band...they're NYC and Tokyo, they're My Bloody Valentine and Shonnen Knife, they're trendy with a hot Japanesse girl for a front woman, they're arty with a disdain for those that would come to see their hot lead singer, and yet they call their band the Japanesse phrase for great sex...I enjoy them when they are My Bloody Valentine, and less so when they are not. This song is one in which they are not.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Ask for Janice - The Beastie Boys - Paul's Boutique - 1989
I don't really have to write a post for "Ask for Janice", do I?
Ask About Me - Girl Talk - Night Ripper - 2006
Following our Twin Peaks, Scotland lunch experience we went to a pub around the corner to try to drink away the weirdness...this was only to be replaced by more weirdness.
It was 430 in the afternoon and the bar was full of old men (As I said, most of Scotland was either drinking with old men or teenagers). There was a large main room and a smaller back room. The back room was full of old men singing Kareoke. The volume on the PA was so loud that the sound filled the whole larger room of the bar and the cracking and popping of an overdriven speaker could be heard.
We quietly stood in a corner, sipping our beers and watching the soccer news. If nothing else it was a nice treat to be able to watch soccer news on TV with the rest of the evening news...the same way we'd see sports highlights here...which of course is fairly obvious, but when you are used to having to use methods somewhat more obscure to find your soccer news, it's a refreshing change of pace.
Anyway, after we finished up our drinks, we decided we wanted to go see the Stadium were Celtic (A Scottish soccer team) play, even though there were no games currently going on. We asked a man sitting at a bus stop where it was. The man was clearly hammered and had easily the worst teeth I saw on my entire trip. He pointed us in a direction (away from our hotel) and told us it would be about a twenty minute walk, so we decided to brave it.
After walking for about 10 minutes, with absolutely no indication that we were walking towards the stadium, we stopped and asked another guy who told us the first guy had been drastically underestimating and that it would be easily another 45 minutes walking. We decided to scrap this plan and head back to the hotel, the sun was setting rapidly and soon we'd be ready for the evening portion.
This is Girl Talk doing their collage of nostalgia thing. It's fun and occasionally clever, but I still think wildly overpraised.
It was 430 in the afternoon and the bar was full of old men (As I said, most of Scotland was either drinking with old men or teenagers). There was a large main room and a smaller back room. The back room was full of old men singing Kareoke. The volume on the PA was so loud that the sound filled the whole larger room of the bar and the cracking and popping of an overdriven speaker could be heard.
We quietly stood in a corner, sipping our beers and watching the soccer news. If nothing else it was a nice treat to be able to watch soccer news on TV with the rest of the evening news...the same way we'd see sports highlights here...which of course is fairly obvious, but when you are used to having to use methods somewhat more obscure to find your soccer news, it's a refreshing change of pace.
Anyway, after we finished up our drinks, we decided we wanted to go see the Stadium were Celtic (A Scottish soccer team) play, even though there were no games currently going on. We asked a man sitting at a bus stop where it was. The man was clearly hammered and had easily the worst teeth I saw on my entire trip. He pointed us in a direction (away from our hotel) and told us it would be about a twenty minute walk, so we decided to brave it.
After walking for about 10 minutes, with absolutely no indication that we were walking towards the stadium, we stopped and asked another guy who told us the first guy had been drastically underestimating and that it would be easily another 45 minutes walking. We decided to scrap this plan and head back to the hotel, the sun was setting rapidly and soon we'd be ready for the evening portion.
This is Girl Talk doing their collage of nostalgia thing. It's fun and occasionally clever, but I still think wildly overpraised.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Ask - The Smiths - Louder Than Bombs - 1986
So uh, where was I? Oh right...so we went down to the Trongate area to check out our lunch options...by this point it was around 330 in the afternoon, and our plan currently involved us having a steak dinner that evening as a result of a bet I won. It was then that we hit the wall of bad Scottish food.
Our options were twofold, have either another meal of fried and breaded food, or go to a "healthier" looking option and get a wrap. Now we may have all wanted the wrap, but none of us were going to make the call in front of the others...wraps are unmanly. So we all stood there looking at both restaurants and wondering what to do. Finally, they threw it back on me with the "It's your birthday, dude" excuse and I caved to cult of American masculinity and decided that we all needed more fish and chips.
While the food itself sucked, the experience was more than worthwhile. The place was a little dinner, staffed by an older man and woman (possibly a couple). When we arrived, we were the only customers, but that did not last. A crowd of about 7-8 or older Scots came rolling in. The senior most of them, everyone kept referring to as "Elvis". Aside of his wardrobe, he did not bear much PHYSICAL resemblance to Elvis, but he did seem to be dressing (and doing his hair) for the part. Through out dinner he continued to occasionally croon out the random Elvis tune, in between attempts to talk to us.
He tried to get Anand to let him travel back to America with him in his briefcase...on top of this being an odd request, Anand had no idea what he was saying in his thick Glaswegian accent. He just smiled politely and went back to eating his grilled cheese sandwich...which they had conveniently forgotten to put cheese on.
And speaking of crooners with a pompadour, we have The Smiths. When I was younger and more naive, it was easy to conceive of Morrissey as a misunderstood youth, too sensitive to the world...certainly not GAY, just someone with feelings, just someone who didn't fit the mold of the above mentioned cult of masculinity. But now that I'm older and it's pretty clear that Morrissey just is gay...and that elicits a complicated response.
First of all, there is the now obligatory Seinfeldian retort of "Not that there's anything wrong with that". And there isn't. I respect a human being's right to individuality, and firmly and vehemently believe that the sexual conduct of two consenting adults is no one's business but those adults. But we are talking about music here...and music, pop music in particular, is about being able to relate...and that's the tricky thing. I now look at a song like "Ask" and can clearly see the subtext...should that bother me? Perhaps not...but do I relate to it less? Almost certainly. It's a tricky question...
Our options were twofold, have either another meal of fried and breaded food, or go to a "healthier" looking option and get a wrap. Now we may have all wanted the wrap, but none of us were going to make the call in front of the others...wraps are unmanly. So we all stood there looking at both restaurants and wondering what to do. Finally, they threw it back on me with the "It's your birthday, dude" excuse and I caved to cult of American masculinity and decided that we all needed more fish and chips.
While the food itself sucked, the experience was more than worthwhile. The place was a little dinner, staffed by an older man and woman (possibly a couple). When we arrived, we were the only customers, but that did not last. A crowd of about 7-8 or older Scots came rolling in. The senior most of them, everyone kept referring to as "Elvis". Aside of his wardrobe, he did not bear much PHYSICAL resemblance to Elvis, but he did seem to be dressing (and doing his hair) for the part. Through out dinner he continued to occasionally croon out the random Elvis tune, in between attempts to talk to us.
He tried to get Anand to let him travel back to America with him in his briefcase...on top of this being an odd request, Anand had no idea what he was saying in his thick Glaswegian accent. He just smiled politely and went back to eating his grilled cheese sandwich...which they had conveniently forgotten to put cheese on.
And speaking of crooners with a pompadour, we have The Smiths. When I was younger and more naive, it was easy to conceive of Morrissey as a misunderstood youth, too sensitive to the world...certainly not GAY, just someone with feelings, just someone who didn't fit the mold of the above mentioned cult of masculinity. But now that I'm older and it's pretty clear that Morrissey just is gay...and that elicits a complicated response.
First of all, there is the now obligatory Seinfeldian retort of "Not that there's anything wrong with that". And there isn't. I respect a human being's right to individuality, and firmly and vehemently believe that the sexual conduct of two consenting adults is no one's business but those adults. But we are talking about music here...and music, pop music in particular, is about being able to relate...and that's the tricky thing. I now look at a song like "Ask" and can clearly see the subtext...should that bother me? Perhaps not...but do I relate to it less? Almost certainly. It's a tricky question...
Friday, March 20, 2009
Asia Minor - Guided By Voices - Half Smiles of the Decomposed - 2005
So we continue our glut of GBV songs with a slower, though not slow, little pop number. Like many of the songs on Half Smiles...it is more a case of "hey that's not so bad!" rather than a "This is F-ing awesome!" But after the catastrophe of blandness that was Earthquake Glue, it was better to see GBV go out with half way decent album than an almost totally forgettable one.
After we finished the tour of the Necropolis we made our way back down the hill and into town. We were walking down (and South) towards the Trongate area to see what was going on down there. Along the way we happened to find the oldest bar in Glasgow.
Unlike a city like Dublin, which prides itself on having several still functioning Medieval bars, Glasgow's bars were all more modern. The oldest they could come up with was The Olde Carriage House which dated from the mid-19th century and had many pictures of the original patrons to prove it. While it lacked the "bar from a Dungeons and Dragons Game" charm of say The Brazen Head in Dublin, it was quite interesting to see the pictures of the bar and to get a sense of what life may have been like in 19th century Glasgow.
As for the bar in modern day Glasgow, at 3 in the afternoon on a Monday...well, it was slow, as expected, and more than a bit surly. Four or five old men milled around the bar, and one middle aged dude with a pony tail and a distinctly Alan Moore vibe. We grabbed a pint each and sat quietly in the corner. The TV was playing a creaky World War II film from the fifties called The Frog Men...Richard Widmark was the only remotely familiar actor in the whole thing...but we got a considerable amount of pleasure quietly heckling the film with the Alan Moore dude. We finished up our pints and headed out looking for lunch.
After we finished the tour of the Necropolis we made our way back down the hill and into town. We were walking down (and South) towards the Trongate area to see what was going on down there. Along the way we happened to find the oldest bar in Glasgow.
Unlike a city like Dublin, which prides itself on having several still functioning Medieval bars, Glasgow's bars were all more modern. The oldest they could come up with was The Olde Carriage House which dated from the mid-19th century and had many pictures of the original patrons to prove it. While it lacked the "bar from a Dungeons and Dragons Game" charm of say The Brazen Head in Dublin, it was quite interesting to see the pictures of the bar and to get a sense of what life may have been like in 19th century Glasgow.
As for the bar in modern day Glasgow, at 3 in the afternoon on a Monday...well, it was slow, as expected, and more than a bit surly. Four or five old men milled around the bar, and one middle aged dude with a pony tail and a distinctly Alan Moore vibe. We grabbed a pint each and sat quietly in the corner. The TV was playing a creaky World War II film from the fifties called The Frog Men...Richard Widmark was the only remotely familiar actor in the whole thing...but we got a considerable amount of pleasure quietly heckling the film with the Alan Moore dude. We finished up our pints and headed out looking for lunch.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Ashes to Ashes - David Bowie - Scary Monsters (and Super Creeps) - 1980
For the record, my own St. Patrick's Day celebration went quite swimmingly and I woke up relatively hang over free...though I was hungry as a mofo.
So anyway, to get back to the trip (I can't believe this shit has taken me nearly a month to write, but hey...I got other things going on too...and I'm almost finished...and honestly, the end is the best part, so stick with me...if you're still here). We woke up the next day fairly late, as this was one of the few days that we didn't have to travel. By the time we were all cleaned up and ready to roll it was nearly 1PM.
Incidentally, it was also my birthday...despite my protestations that the trip itself was my birthday party and that as my birthday was on a Monday, no special treatment was required, the guys had already started throwing shots at me the night before. They insisted on "celebrating" my birthday from midnight Scotland time through to midnight of the following day NYC time...so I essentially had 29 hours of birthday shots. Ugh.
We took the day to do some touristy site seeing. We started off by heading up Buchannan St. which appears to be their mini-version of NYC's Broadway, or Grafton St. in Dublin...basically just a long street with lots of clothing stores and restaurants. We were there for coffee.
After getting appropriately caffeinated we headed over to Glasgow Cathedral and The Necropolis. As I stated earlier, I'm a history nerd and love old shit. The Cathedral was especially interesting for being a Roman Catholic church that had survived the pretty thorough reformation of Scotland. As such the basement level had at one point actually been converted into two protestant church until the late 19th century, leading to a large cathedral with two small churches in the basement.
The Necropolis was the real site though, a giant old cemetery built spiraling upwards on a tall hill. The highest grave at the top of the hill was reserved for the monument to the man who had brought the reformation to Scotland. From that high point you could see most of the city before you. It was one of the most touching sites I saw on the whole trip, and probably my favorite thing I saw that was not in Berlin.
Scary Monsters and Super Creeps more less marks the rather radical change between late 1970's ultra-arty, Berlin and Eno-loving Bowie and the white suited pop dork we all know and love from the "Dancing in the Streets" video. I will always have the utmost respect for Bowie, and I like the way he's managed to retain some dignity with age that his "Dancing in the Streets" co-star has not...but the 80's pretty much end my interest in his music.
So anyway, to get back to the trip (I can't believe this shit has taken me nearly a month to write, but hey...I got other things going on too...and I'm almost finished...and honestly, the end is the best part, so stick with me...if you're still here). We woke up the next day fairly late, as this was one of the few days that we didn't have to travel. By the time we were all cleaned up and ready to roll it was nearly 1PM.
Incidentally, it was also my birthday...despite my protestations that the trip itself was my birthday party and that as my birthday was on a Monday, no special treatment was required, the guys had already started throwing shots at me the night before. They insisted on "celebrating" my birthday from midnight Scotland time through to midnight of the following day NYC time...so I essentially had 29 hours of birthday shots. Ugh.
We took the day to do some touristy site seeing. We started off by heading up Buchannan St. which appears to be their mini-version of NYC's Broadway, or Grafton St. in Dublin...basically just a long street with lots of clothing stores and restaurants. We were there for coffee.
After getting appropriately caffeinated we headed over to Glasgow Cathedral and The Necropolis. As I stated earlier, I'm a history nerd and love old shit. The Cathedral was especially interesting for being a Roman Catholic church that had survived the pretty thorough reformation of Scotland. As such the basement level had at one point actually been converted into two protestant church until the late 19th century, leading to a large cathedral with two small churches in the basement.
The Necropolis was the real site though, a giant old cemetery built spiraling upwards on a tall hill. The highest grave at the top of the hill was reserved for the monument to the man who had brought the reformation to Scotland. From that high point you could see most of the city before you. It was one of the most touching sites I saw on the whole trip, and probably my favorite thing I saw that was not in Berlin.
Scary Monsters and Super Creeps more less marks the rather radical change between late 1970's ultra-arty, Berlin and Eno-loving Bowie and the white suited pop dork we all know and love from the "Dancing in the Streets" video. I will always have the utmost respect for Bowie, and I like the way he's managed to retain some dignity with age that his "Dancing in the Streets" co-star has not...but the 80's pretty much end my interest in his music.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Ashes of an American Flag - Wilco - Yankee Hotel Foxtrot - 2002
I'm going to take a quick break from talking about my trip, so that I can talk about St. Patrick's Day...there is probably no day on the planet that I am more conflicted about than the day we celebrate my heritage.
On Saturday I was in Central Bar watching Arsenal give a tremendous 4-0 whipping to Blackburn...the match wrapped up about 1 and I went to go grab some food, only to find that the streets of the East Village were flooded with NYU students in green t-shirts and ridiculous plastic hats. They jammed every bar with their obnoxious behavior and loud boisterous ignorance. I realize I'm shaking my fist like an old man (which I am) at the kids these days...it just seems as if...
Ok first of all, St. Patrick's Day was on Tuesday not Saturday. If you are going to celebrate, celebrate on the actual day. You're college student's for fuck's sake...I'm an adult with a job and I still went out and drank on a Tuesday night. What excuse do you have? Second of all, again, you're college students...why do you need an excuse to get hammered? Just go out and get drunk, you don't have to do it in asinine green costumes that make you look like an asshole and makes my people look like drunken fuck-wits. It's exactly like my argument against Halloween, if you want to dress like an idiot or a whore...just dress like and idiot or a whore, why do you need a holiday for it?
But on the flipside, I must acknowledge that it is a nice thing to have a day celebrating Irish heritage...even aside of my own since of cultural aggrandizement, the Irish have played a significant part in the building of this nation. We've worked in it's police departments and firehouses, we've acted in films and plays, we've sang in bars and concert halls alike, we've built skyscrapers and railroads, and we've even had one of our own become one of the greatest president's this nation has seen. It's just a shame that our holiday is also mingled with so many idiots and amateurs who just want an excuse for public urination.
It is both oddly appropriate and wildly ridiculous that I'm attaching this rant to Ashes of an American Flag. Wilco's celebration/lament for modern American culture has also become one of the touch stones of liberal reaction to the Bush years...and to this day it's haunting atmospherics, oblique lyrics, and world weary tone still ring true. We may have a new found hope, but we are still digging out from the ashes of the past, and no hurdles are encountered everyday...AIG for instance. It's a tough old world, but the only place to go is up...right?
On Saturday I was in Central Bar watching Arsenal give a tremendous 4-0 whipping to Blackburn...the match wrapped up about 1 and I went to go grab some food, only to find that the streets of the East Village were flooded with NYU students in green t-shirts and ridiculous plastic hats. They jammed every bar with their obnoxious behavior and loud boisterous ignorance. I realize I'm shaking my fist like an old man (which I am) at the kids these days...it just seems as if...
Ok first of all, St. Patrick's Day was on Tuesday not Saturday. If you are going to celebrate, celebrate on the actual day. You're college student's for fuck's sake...I'm an adult with a job and I still went out and drank on a Tuesday night. What excuse do you have? Second of all, again, you're college students...why do you need an excuse to get hammered? Just go out and get drunk, you don't have to do it in asinine green costumes that make you look like an asshole and makes my people look like drunken fuck-wits. It's exactly like my argument against Halloween, if you want to dress like an idiot or a whore...just dress like and idiot or a whore, why do you need a holiday for it?
But on the flipside, I must acknowledge that it is a nice thing to have a day celebrating Irish heritage...even aside of my own since of cultural aggrandizement, the Irish have played a significant part in the building of this nation. We've worked in it's police departments and firehouses, we've acted in films and plays, we've sang in bars and concert halls alike, we've built skyscrapers and railroads, and we've even had one of our own become one of the greatest president's this nation has seen. It's just a shame that our holiday is also mingled with so many idiots and amateurs who just want an excuse for public urination.
It is both oddly appropriate and wildly ridiculous that I'm attaching this rant to Ashes of an American Flag. Wilco's celebration/lament for modern American culture has also become one of the touch stones of liberal reaction to the Bush years...and to this day it's haunting atmospherics, oblique lyrics, and world weary tone still ring true. We may have a new found hope, but we are still digging out from the ashes of the past, and no hurdles are encountered everyday...AIG for instance. It's a tough old world, but the only place to go is up...right?
Thursday, March 12, 2009
The Ash Gray Proclamation - Robert Pollard - Not In My Airforce - 1996
Glasgow on a chilly February Sunday late night is not the most hoping place place in the world. We made our way up the street, trying to follow the bad directions the well intentioned woman at the desk had given us. The first place we found that was open was an old man bar on an empty block called The Avalon.
The old Scots still in attendance were nice enough and the beer was certainly tasty after spending all day in the car. We decided to sample the house scotch, which was on sale for 2 Pounds, but for some reason the scotch tasted like tequila. At first we thought that perhaps the glasses hadn't been well washed, but ultimately we determined that this scotch just finished like tequila...and I fucking hate tequila.
We struck up a conversation with a couple of older scots about bars in the neighborhood and where we could find a place that would serve drinks late. They pointed us in the direction of Sauchehaugh street (which is where our geographically challenged receptionist had been trying to send us in the first place) and gave us some tips about the city. In typical Scottish fashion, the tips were fairly doom laden.
Old Scot - "Can't see why you'd want to spend a vacation here, this is town's a shit hole. But you can go to some of the bars on Sauchhaugh St. They're open late, and they're safe?"
Us - "Are there not safe bars?"
Old Scot - Nods solemnly
So, we made our way down Sauchhaugh St. which is basically just a row of college bars like you'd find in any American city. The primary difference being that the drinking age is 18 rather than 21, so the population of the bar is even younger...or at least less in need of a good fake ID.
We found a booth in the back, and tried not to feel helplessly old as we watched Scottish kids get drunk and make out. We stayed out till nearly 3 before throwing in the towel, happy that we still managed to squeeze some life into our a day that had been mostly spent in transit.
Pollard shows his softer side on this one. A nice acoustic song, of the sort he'd try more and more as the years wore on. Not the best thing on Not In My Airforce, but certainly not the worst.
The old Scots still in attendance were nice enough and the beer was certainly tasty after spending all day in the car. We decided to sample the house scotch, which was on sale for 2 Pounds, but for some reason the scotch tasted like tequila. At first we thought that perhaps the glasses hadn't been well washed, but ultimately we determined that this scotch just finished like tequila...and I fucking hate tequila.
We struck up a conversation with a couple of older scots about bars in the neighborhood and where we could find a place that would serve drinks late. They pointed us in the direction of Sauchehaugh street (which is where our geographically challenged receptionist had been trying to send us in the first place) and gave us some tips about the city. In typical Scottish fashion, the tips were fairly doom laden.
Old Scot - "Can't see why you'd want to spend a vacation here, this is town's a shit hole. But you can go to some of the bars on Sauchhaugh St. They're open late, and they're safe?"
Us - "Are there not safe bars?"
Old Scot - Nods solemnly
So, we made our way down Sauchhaugh St. which is basically just a row of college bars like you'd find in any American city. The primary difference being that the drinking age is 18 rather than 21, so the population of the bar is even younger...or at least less in need of a good fake ID.
We found a booth in the back, and tried not to feel helplessly old as we watched Scottish kids get drunk and make out. We stayed out till nearly 3 before throwing in the towel, happy that we still managed to squeeze some life into our a day that had been mostly spent in transit.
Pollard shows his softer side on this one. A nice acoustic song, of the sort he'd try more and more as the years wore on. Not the best thing on Not In My Airforce, but certainly not the worst.
As We Go Up, We Go Down - Guided By Voices - Alien Lanes - 1995
The drive through England was not exactly what we planned. The sun set 2 hour into the drive, meaning the site of the English Country would have to wait until the return journey. Rance got car sick about 1/2 an hour in, and all three of us were hung over and tired.
Anand and Rance both napped when they weren't driving...as the non-driver, I stayed awake through both shifts. I've never been very good at sleeping in cars, and I felt like somebody needed to keep the driver company. Driving on right is odd for several reasons...the American driver tends to want to hug the left side. As such the car was constanly drifting left, sometimes into the lane or traffic that was over there. If you are in the passenger seat, you have the odd sensation that you should be driving. I can't tell you the number of times that Rance or Anand started to drift into the car to the left of them, only for me to reach for a wheel that wasn't there, or press down on non-existant pedals. It just feels wrong to be on the left hand front of a car and not be driving.
We drove through Birmingham, which is not that different than driving through St. Louis. Due to the lateness of the hour we debated spending the night in Manchester and finishing the drive to Glasgow in the morning, but we had no Intel on Manchester, no idea where we should stay or where we should go looking for a good time on a Sunday night. Ultimately, we decided to just tough out the drive and at least have one day in which we did not have to travel.
Incidentally, we made this decision in a Burger King rest stop thing about halfway between Manchester and Liverpool...I also had Burger King on my last trip to Europe, during a moment of desperation upon realizing that all the restaurants in Dublin were closed and I was starving. This means I've had Burger King TWICE in the UK within two years...which is less than the number of times I've had Burger King in the United States in the same time period. Very odd. Also, they don't put ice in their fountain cokes over there...which is just plain wrong!
The drive north of Manchester was increasingly dark, as the sun had well and truly set. No street lights or lights from cities were there to be seen either, and the low hanging clouds obscured any moon or starlight. It might have been the closest to total darkness I've ever seen in the out of doors. As our Saab barreled down the highway into the blackness, it was almost like driving through outer space. For some reason we played "Wanted Dead or Alive" on the iPod and it became the running joke for the remainder of the trip.
We finally arrived in Glasgow a little before 11 and checked into the sweet room at the Marriot that my buddy Shani had hooked us up with. The people at the desk were wonderfully friendly and let us know where we could expect to find a drink at that hour on a sunday and with that we were back off into the night.
As I'm fairly sure I've pointed out before, Robert Pollard, at his mid 90's best was all about crystalizing the great moment in a song. Why bother to have a 5 minute song that leads up to (or has in the middle of it) a great moment, when you can write a 1:37 song that uses that great moment and then gets out before you have a chance to get bored? In this case "I speak in monotone, leave my fucking life alone" will do just fine for a great moment.
Anand and Rance both napped when they weren't driving...as the non-driver, I stayed awake through both shifts. I've never been very good at sleeping in cars, and I felt like somebody needed to keep the driver company. Driving on right is odd for several reasons...the American driver tends to want to hug the left side. As such the car was constanly drifting left, sometimes into the lane or traffic that was over there. If you are in the passenger seat, you have the odd sensation that you should be driving. I can't tell you the number of times that Rance or Anand started to drift into the car to the left of them, only for me to reach for a wheel that wasn't there, or press down on non-existant pedals. It just feels wrong to be on the left hand front of a car and not be driving.
We drove through Birmingham, which is not that different than driving through St. Louis. Due to the lateness of the hour we debated spending the night in Manchester and finishing the drive to Glasgow in the morning, but we had no Intel on Manchester, no idea where we should stay or where we should go looking for a good time on a Sunday night. Ultimately, we decided to just tough out the drive and at least have one day in which we did not have to travel.
Incidentally, we made this decision in a Burger King rest stop thing about halfway between Manchester and Liverpool...I also had Burger King on my last trip to Europe, during a moment of desperation upon realizing that all the restaurants in Dublin were closed and I was starving. This means I've had Burger King TWICE in the UK within two years...which is less than the number of times I've had Burger King in the United States in the same time period. Very odd. Also, they don't put ice in their fountain cokes over there...which is just plain wrong!
The drive north of Manchester was increasingly dark, as the sun had well and truly set. No street lights or lights from cities were there to be seen either, and the low hanging clouds obscured any moon or starlight. It might have been the closest to total darkness I've ever seen in the out of doors. As our Saab barreled down the highway into the blackness, it was almost like driving through outer space. For some reason we played "Wanted Dead or Alive" on the iPod and it became the running joke for the remainder of the trip.
We finally arrived in Glasgow a little before 11 and checked into the sweet room at the Marriot that my buddy Shani had hooked us up with. The people at the desk were wonderfully friendly and let us know where we could expect to find a drink at that hour on a sunday and with that we were back off into the night.
As I'm fairly sure I've pointed out before, Robert Pollard, at his mid 90's best was all about crystalizing the great moment in a song. Why bother to have a 5 minute song that leads up to (or has in the middle of it) a great moment, when you can write a 1:37 song that uses that great moment and then gets out before you have a chance to get bored? In this case "I speak in monotone, leave my fucking life alone" will do just fine for a great moment.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
As Ugly As I Seem - The White Stripes - Get Behind Me Satan - 2005
It had been our plan to wake up around 9ish and get on the road by 1030. We knew that it would take us about an hour and half to get out to Heathrow to pick up the rental car and then 7 hours to get to Glasgow, so we wanted to try to get there with enough time to have some of the evening left.
I was woken up by the sound of the cleaning people coming in at 1120 and realized that our plan was going to be a little off. We finally got ourselves up and packed and checked out by about 1230. We hustled our way to the subway station drinking the useless warm brown water that Londoners claim to be coffee and eating greasy and heavy sausage and cheese rolls from a kiosk.
It was nearly 3 by the time we got to Heathrow and we were already way behind schedule when we discovered that we had hit another hitch in our plan. Apparently, renting a car from the airport in London is not quite the same as here in the states. In the states (and in Mexico for that matter) they have a centralized area for all of the car rental shops. You land, you take the train to your car rental and you go. At Heathrow, all the car rental places were attatched to the airport hotels...this meant waiting for and taking yet another bus.
By the time we got to the hotel/rental car place and had filled out all of the paper work it was nearly 4 and we were all accepting that Sunday was pretty much going to be a wash...
The rare slow and gentle song from Jack White, though with his usual self depricating lyrical bent. Not bad.
I was woken up by the sound of the cleaning people coming in at 1120 and realized that our plan was going to be a little off. We finally got ourselves up and packed and checked out by about 1230. We hustled our way to the subway station drinking the useless warm brown water that Londoners claim to be coffee and eating greasy and heavy sausage and cheese rolls from a kiosk.
It was nearly 3 by the time we got to Heathrow and we were already way behind schedule when we discovered that we had hit another hitch in our plan. Apparently, renting a car from the airport in London is not quite the same as here in the states. In the states (and in Mexico for that matter) they have a centralized area for all of the car rental shops. You land, you take the train to your car rental and you go. At Heathrow, all the car rental places were attatched to the airport hotels...this meant waiting for and taking yet another bus.
By the time we got to the hotel/rental car place and had filled out all of the paper work it was nearly 4 and we were all accepting that Sunday was pretty much going to be a wash...
The rare slow and gentle song from Jack White, though with his usual self depricating lyrical bent. Not bad.
As The Terror Dances Your Way - The Capitol Years - Dance Away The Terror - 2006
From there, things started to get ugly. After leaving the underground bar we went to a pub that was caticorner from where we parted ways with Matt. More drinks were had and that's when we told Rance about our adventures with SoCo in Berlin, and Rance had a bad, bad idea.
You see, Rance and I were both heading back to the states on Wed...but Anand was continuing on his trip until Saturday. He'd be heading to Belgium for a few days. Rance suggested that if he would personally pay for every single shot of SoCo that Anand did while abroad. Anand considered it, but ultimately decided that the benefit of drinking for the rest of the trip on Rance was outweighed by the thought of having to drink all of that SoCo.
It just got worse from there...it was 1230 by this time and most bars were closing. For a nation of boozers, the bars in London close absurdly early. I guess they just start at 5 and are passed out by midnight, but still...it's Saturday. We knew that there were a few after hours clubs that we could go to that would stay open till 2, so we went around trying to find these...but none of us really had a clue what we were doing. At one point we walked into a place called the White Horse Tavern. I realized that it was a strip club, but I don't think the other two did. We got about 2 feet into the door before the bouncer turned us back around as they were looking to close for the night. My quick glance towards the stage revealed sad, pale british flesh...I was not sad to see the back of this place.
We then tried to find our way back to the underground bar, but had no clue where it was anymore. We finally ended up in a TERRIBLE bar packed to the rafters with college aged kids drunkenly making out. We stayed there till last call, drunkenly talking about god knows what.
On the way back to the hotel, we all realized none of us had eaten since the terrible pies in The White Swan...we popped into a local convenience store and bought the sort of snacks that only drunk tourists would be at 2 in the morning in London...Oreos, Pringles (2 different kinds), Slim Jims...Rance made the odd decision of buying Gouda and crackers.
The rest of the evening was spent in the hotel eating junk food and taking ridiculous pictures. Rance was still adjusting to jet lag so he crashed first.
This is another one of those albums I downloaded and listened to once or twice and liked well enough before it disappeared into the ethos of my iPod. It's a decent song on a decent album, but I just have so much mid-tempo pleasant enough Indie-Rock. I want something with some energy, some fire dammit!
You see, Rance and I were both heading back to the states on Wed...but Anand was continuing on his trip until Saturday. He'd be heading to Belgium for a few days. Rance suggested that if he would personally pay for every single shot of SoCo that Anand did while abroad. Anand considered it, but ultimately decided that the benefit of drinking for the rest of the trip on Rance was outweighed by the thought of having to drink all of that SoCo.
It just got worse from there...it was 1230 by this time and most bars were closing. For a nation of boozers, the bars in London close absurdly early. I guess they just start at 5 and are passed out by midnight, but still...it's Saturday. We knew that there were a few after hours clubs that we could go to that would stay open till 2, so we went around trying to find these...but none of us really had a clue what we were doing. At one point we walked into a place called the White Horse Tavern. I realized that it was a strip club, but I don't think the other two did. We got about 2 feet into the door before the bouncer turned us back around as they were looking to close for the night. My quick glance towards the stage revealed sad, pale british flesh...I was not sad to see the back of this place.
We then tried to find our way back to the underground bar, but had no clue where it was anymore. We finally ended up in a TERRIBLE bar packed to the rafters with college aged kids drunkenly making out. We stayed there till last call, drunkenly talking about god knows what.
On the way back to the hotel, we all realized none of us had eaten since the terrible pies in The White Swan...we popped into a local convenience store and bought the sort of snacks that only drunk tourists would be at 2 in the morning in London...Oreos, Pringles (2 different kinds), Slim Jims...Rance made the odd decision of buying Gouda and crackers.
The rest of the evening was spent in the hotel eating junk food and taking ridiculous pictures. Rance was still adjusting to jet lag so he crashed first.
This is another one of those albums I downloaded and listened to once or twice and liked well enough before it disappeared into the ethos of my iPod. It's a decent song on a decent album, but I just have so much mid-tempo pleasant enough Indie-Rock. I want something with some energy, some fire dammit!
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
As Quick As It Comes/Carrera - Calla - Televise - 2002
We stayed at The White Swan for a couple of hours, eating the shitty British pub food and drinking beers. Our perspective was changed somewhat by the fact that Arsenal drew the match 0-0. On one hand, we didn't miss much by not going to the match or seeing it on TV...on the other hand, our team did not win.
We then headed back to the hotel to meet up with my friend Matt C. Matt, though originally from Yorkshire had spent a year in NYC on a work study program with a financial firm. When his program ended he looked high and low for ways to stay in the USA, but without luck. I felt bad for Matty, but on the flipside, it was nice to have a friend to show us around some of the cooler parts of London.
We started out at fancy cocktail place in Shoreditch called Lover's Lounge. Anand and I made the mistake of ordering martini's forgetting that the Europeans actually consider vermouth to be an ingrediant in a martini and not just a faint flavor. They were pretty nasty. Rance got a mint julep, which as a Kentuckian he approved of, though he was tempted to give the bar tender mixing tips.
From there we went to a standard issue British pub and had a few pints, before Matt took us to a rather cool (For London) underground bar where I had whiskey and discussed the failings of British women. To venture into sexist territory for a bit, with the rare exception (Kate Winslet) White British women are not attractive. It's really depressing going from the cornacopia of women that is NYC to the total dead end of London. The one thing they have going for them is their total willingness to make up for their short comings by totally slutting out in the wardrobe department. Doesn't matter the weather, low cut blouses and high skirts are always in abundance. But at the end of the day, it's still a bad toothed, bad skinned, bland and flat British girl in all the slut-wear.
When we finished up our drinks, Matt pointed us in a few directions for more bars and headed off to party of his own, leaving us with a few more hours to kill in London.
Calla...Calla is one of those bands that I want to like more than I do. There is just something so lethargic about this band that I can't quite get past. Every once in a while they'll play a song that has some real energy to it though...this is not one of those songs.
We then headed back to the hotel to meet up with my friend Matt C. Matt, though originally from Yorkshire had spent a year in NYC on a work study program with a financial firm. When his program ended he looked high and low for ways to stay in the USA, but without luck. I felt bad for Matty, but on the flipside, it was nice to have a friend to show us around some of the cooler parts of London.
We started out at fancy cocktail place in Shoreditch called Lover's Lounge. Anand and I made the mistake of ordering martini's forgetting that the Europeans actually consider vermouth to be an ingrediant in a martini and not just a faint flavor. They were pretty nasty. Rance got a mint julep, which as a Kentuckian he approved of, though he was tempted to give the bar tender mixing tips.
From there we went to a standard issue British pub and had a few pints, before Matt took us to a rather cool (For London) underground bar where I had whiskey and discussed the failings of British women. To venture into sexist territory for a bit, with the rare exception (Kate Winslet) White British women are not attractive. It's really depressing going from the cornacopia of women that is NYC to the total dead end of London. The one thing they have going for them is their total willingness to make up for their short comings by totally slutting out in the wardrobe department. Doesn't matter the weather, low cut blouses and high skirts are always in abundance. But at the end of the day, it's still a bad toothed, bad skinned, bland and flat British girl in all the slut-wear.
When we finished up our drinks, Matt pointed us in a few directions for more bars and headed off to party of his own, leaving us with a few more hours to kill in London.
Calla...Calla is one of those bands that I want to like more than I do. There is just something so lethargic about this band that I can't quite get past. Every once in a while they'll play a song that has some real energy to it though...this is not one of those songs.
As Night Is Falling - The Clientele - Suburban Light - 2000
After catching up with Rance and getting settled in our room, we knew we needed to head over to Islington fast, kick off was a little less than an hour away. We determined there was no way we could get to the stadium in time to scalp tickets, so we were just going to try to watch the game at a bar in the area. We figured it would be not unlike going to the bar next to Yankee's stadium: jam packed full of rowdy and drunk fans.
We grabbed a cab and headed over to the Arsenal bar right outside of the Islington station. The bar has the unfortunate name of The Famous Cock, and is also possess the most disgusting bathroom I encountered in my entire trip, BUT...it's an Arsenal bar. When we arrived the place was mysteriously quiet and subdued.
We were informed by the Polish barmaid that the game was not on TV, but we could try a few of the other bars in the neighborhood and see if they were showing it.
Incidentally, the Polish in London seem to be a lot like the Mexicans in NYC. They work all the jobs nobody else wants. The men drive buses and cabs and do consturction and maintenance jobs, the women tend bar in tight tops.
After poking around in a few bars we soon learned that the game was simply not going to be seen on TV. We ended up in a bar called The White Swan where we grabbed a late lunch and grumbled. It was baffling that a soccer match we could have easily watched 4000 miles away was unviewable when we were less than a mile from where it was actually being played. I had been to London once before and hated it...and my opinion was not improving on this trip.
I have been listening to the Clientele quite a bit recently. They started off as a good band to listen to with a hangover, or when putting the moves on an indie-rock loving lady...but more and more I find their music speaking to my moods. This song from their hit and sorta-miss singles collection is one of the better tunes on the disc. It's mournful and heartfelt tone combine with the crisp, sad music to get the Scottish gloomy vibe that these guys are the masters of.
We grabbed a cab and headed over to the Arsenal bar right outside of the Islington station. The bar has the unfortunate name of The Famous Cock, and is also possess the most disgusting bathroom I encountered in my entire trip, BUT...it's an Arsenal bar. When we arrived the place was mysteriously quiet and subdued.
We were informed by the Polish barmaid that the game was not on TV, but we could try a few of the other bars in the neighborhood and see if they were showing it.
Incidentally, the Polish in London seem to be a lot like the Mexicans in NYC. They work all the jobs nobody else wants. The men drive buses and cabs and do consturction and maintenance jobs, the women tend bar in tight tops.
After poking around in a few bars we soon learned that the game was simply not going to be seen on TV. We ended up in a bar called The White Swan where we grabbed a late lunch and grumbled. It was baffling that a soccer match we could have easily watched 4000 miles away was unviewable when we were less than a mile from where it was actually being played. I had been to London once before and hated it...and my opinion was not improving on this trip.
I have been listening to the Clientele quite a bit recently. They started off as a good band to listen to with a hangover, or when putting the moves on an indie-rock loving lady...but more and more I find their music speaking to my moods. This song from their hit and sorta-miss singles collection is one of the better tunes on the disc. It's mournful and heartfelt tone combine with the crisp, sad music to get the Scottish gloomy vibe that these guys are the masters of.
As I Rise - The Decemberist - Her Majesty The Decemberists - 2003
6:45 AM came very early that Saturday in Berlin. I groggily answered the wake up call and then threw myself in the shower. Didn't want to drink coffee as I hoped to catch at least a little bit of sleep on the plane. I knew that if I didn't get at least a little bit more, I was going to be useless for the evening in London.
We got ourselves to the airport without too much incident, though both of us felt awful. Our flight was via EasyJet.
If you aren't familiar with EasyJet, it is a low cost ZERO frills airline that flies to locations within Europe for ridiculously low prices (I think I paid 40 Euros for this flight). The downside, as I mentioned, is the zero frills part. You pay for your baggage, you don't get an assigned seat or beverage service. It didn't matter to me, I just wanted to sleep.
We were, of course, to the airport way too early and had to sit and wait for the flight to board. I was afraid to let myself sleep as I was certain I'd sleep right through boarding. When I finally got to a seat on the plane, I put my hood up and was out like a light...not waking up till I was on the ground in England.
"London" Luton airport is only in London by the most generous of definitions. It's about 45 minutes north east of the city and requires a bus ride to get into town. As such I decided to take care of some business at the airport (TMI, I know, but it becomes relevant). So, I'm in the bathroom and I can tell that there are a bunch of British Teenagers in the bathroom with me. All of the sudden, and hand darts underneath my stall and tries to snatch the strap of my shoulder bag. The bag moved quick, but fortunately I was quicker and grabbed the strap and yanked back. I had the mild thrill of hearing my would be bag snatcher smack his body against the stall. And that was the last I heard of that.
I grabbed a cup of coffee and was fortunately feeling a bit more stable than I had been in Germany. We got on the bus and finally headed into the city to meet up with Rance, but our trip would still not be that easy. As I mentioned it was about 45 mintues outside the city, and the trip ended up taking closer to an hour and a half because the door of the bus would not stay closed. Every 5 minutes or so, the driver would pull over to the shoulder to try to fix the problem only for the door to open up again a few minutes into driving. Eventually he just gave up and drove like that.
After missing our stop and taking the underground back, we finally arrived at the hotel ready for the next portion of our adventure to begin. Rance was sitting in the lobby working on his laptop, and our room was ready in a few minutes.
When people think of The Decemberists, they probably think of this album. The ridiculous period pieces, the homoerotic subtexts, the wry commentary in obsolete dialouge, the stories told from the point of view of antiquated genre characters were all solidified on this album rather than their somewhat more restrained debut, or their more ambitious later albums. Having said that, this is probably the least Decemberist-esque song on the album. A simple porch-swing anthem carries the day all the way through with nary a Harlequin nor Brick-bat to be seen.
We got ourselves to the airport without too much incident, though both of us felt awful. Our flight was via EasyJet.
If you aren't familiar with EasyJet, it is a low cost ZERO frills airline that flies to locations within Europe for ridiculously low prices (I think I paid 40 Euros for this flight). The downside, as I mentioned, is the zero frills part. You pay for your baggage, you don't get an assigned seat or beverage service. It didn't matter to me, I just wanted to sleep.
We were, of course, to the airport way too early and had to sit and wait for the flight to board. I was afraid to let myself sleep as I was certain I'd sleep right through boarding. When I finally got to a seat on the plane, I put my hood up and was out like a light...not waking up till I was on the ground in England.
"London" Luton airport is only in London by the most generous of definitions. It's about 45 minutes north east of the city and requires a bus ride to get into town. As such I decided to take care of some business at the airport (TMI, I know, but it becomes relevant). So, I'm in the bathroom and I can tell that there are a bunch of British Teenagers in the bathroom with me. All of the sudden, and hand darts underneath my stall and tries to snatch the strap of my shoulder bag. The bag moved quick, but fortunately I was quicker and grabbed the strap and yanked back. I had the mild thrill of hearing my would be bag snatcher smack his body against the stall. And that was the last I heard of that.
I grabbed a cup of coffee and was fortunately feeling a bit more stable than I had been in Germany. We got on the bus and finally headed into the city to meet up with Rance, but our trip would still not be that easy. As I mentioned it was about 45 mintues outside the city, and the trip ended up taking closer to an hour and a half because the door of the bus would not stay closed. Every 5 minutes or so, the driver would pull over to the shoulder to try to fix the problem only for the door to open up again a few minutes into driving. Eventually he just gave up and drove like that.
After missing our stop and taking the underground back, we finally arrived at the hotel ready for the next portion of our adventure to begin. Rance was sitting in the lobby working on his laptop, and our room was ready in a few minutes.
When people think of The Decemberists, they probably think of this album. The ridiculous period pieces, the homoerotic subtexts, the wry commentary in obsolete dialouge, the stories told from the point of view of antiquated genre characters were all solidified on this album rather than their somewhat more restrained debut, or their more ambitious later albums. Having said that, this is probably the least Decemberist-esque song on the album. A simple porch-swing anthem carries the day all the way through with nary a Harlequin nor Brick-bat to be seen.
Monday, March 9, 2009
Artists Only - Talking Heads - More Songs About Buildings and Food - 1978
I could niether tell you the name of the bar we were in, nor the exact location but it was pretty much what we were looking for. Despite our belief that we really owed it to ourselves to go to a Minimal House/Techno show while in the land of that sort of music, we both also realized that it wasn't really our scene and we'd have no idea where to even look.
The bar we did end up was all neighborhoody, with dark wood fixtures, low light and cheap beer. We settled in with a couple of tall ones and took in our surroundings.
Over the course of our trip, even starting as early as the airport, Anand had been talking about how he used to drink Southern Comfort all the time back in college and couldn't believe that he used to drink that shit. I agreed, though I had my own brief affair with SoCo all those years ago too. SoCo was running a Mardi Gras themed campaign over in Europe and we kept passing signs for it. As we sat down at our table, Anand looked over and pointed at a sign with prophetic certainty. It was an old metal sign for Soco...not even the promotion, but one that was clearly a fixture in the bar. This would lead to a series of Soco shots that would find their way in front of me everytime I came back from using the bathroom. Probably 4 in total. I was not pleased.
As the night turned into the early morning a young-ish German man came up to us and struck up a conversation with us. He said that he had taken his parents out to this, his neighborhood bar (keep in mind, it's 3 in the morning) and that he had been listening to our conversation for the past few hours and thought that we were really very interesting people. He told us his name was Patrick, which...as an Irish American with a German name, I was sort of amused by. Now the thing is, I wasn't sure if he was refering to conversations like our discussion of China's role in the global economic meltdown, the need for a greater embrace of government by the American people, or our mutual agreement that anal sex was over-rated. So I wasn't sure if he thought we were intellectual Americans, dirty Americans, or both...but whatever it was, he liked it.
To make matters more odd, he decided to introduce us to his non-English speaking and very drunk parents (again, 3 AM). Now, we had had several beers and at least 4 shots of whiskey, but by this point our livers were on vacation mode and we were able to make something of a decent impression of our country. At one point, Patrick's father tossled my hair. I'm 34 (Okay, at that point I was about 3 days shy of being 34, but still...) I thought I'd long since outgrown the moment when an old man tossled my hair...but then there it was.
Finally Patrick and his parents shuffled out the door, as the bar was closing shop. We settled up our stunningly small bill and headed for the hotel. A 645 wake up call and a flight to London was only a few hours away...
Some late 70's weirdness from David Byrne and company. Not their best work, but it's The Talking Heads, what else can you say?
The bar we did end up was all neighborhoody, with dark wood fixtures, low light and cheap beer. We settled in with a couple of tall ones and took in our surroundings.
Over the course of our trip, even starting as early as the airport, Anand had been talking about how he used to drink Southern Comfort all the time back in college and couldn't believe that he used to drink that shit. I agreed, though I had my own brief affair with SoCo all those years ago too. SoCo was running a Mardi Gras themed campaign over in Europe and we kept passing signs for it. As we sat down at our table, Anand looked over and pointed at a sign with prophetic certainty. It was an old metal sign for Soco...not even the promotion, but one that was clearly a fixture in the bar. This would lead to a series of Soco shots that would find their way in front of me everytime I came back from using the bathroom. Probably 4 in total. I was not pleased.
As the night turned into the early morning a young-ish German man came up to us and struck up a conversation with us. He said that he had taken his parents out to this, his neighborhood bar (keep in mind, it's 3 in the morning) and that he had been listening to our conversation for the past few hours and thought that we were really very interesting people. He told us his name was Patrick, which...as an Irish American with a German name, I was sort of amused by. Now the thing is, I wasn't sure if he was refering to conversations like our discussion of China's role in the global economic meltdown, the need for a greater embrace of government by the American people, or our mutual agreement that anal sex was over-rated. So I wasn't sure if he thought we were intellectual Americans, dirty Americans, or both...but whatever it was, he liked it.
To make matters more odd, he decided to introduce us to his non-English speaking and very drunk parents (again, 3 AM). Now, we had had several beers and at least 4 shots of whiskey, but by this point our livers were on vacation mode and we were able to make something of a decent impression of our country. At one point, Patrick's father tossled my hair. I'm 34 (Okay, at that point I was about 3 days shy of being 34, but still...) I thought I'd long since outgrown the moment when an old man tossled my hair...but then there it was.
Finally Patrick and his parents shuffled out the door, as the bar was closing shop. We settled up our stunningly small bill and headed for the hotel. A 645 wake up call and a flight to London was only a few hours away...
Some late 70's weirdness from David Byrne and company. Not their best work, but it's The Talking Heads, what else can you say?
Artificial Light - Robert Pollard - Waved Out - 1998
We found exactly what we were looking for on Schonhauser Allee. Curry Wurst places in Berlin are about like Pizza places in NYC. They are usually just small, brightly lit diners, they usually have a somewhat shady looking dude behind the counter, and they all claim to be the best in the city.
For the uninitiated, Curry Wurst is not actually curry flavored sausage, but a German bratwurst with curry sauce poured all over the top of it and generally served with fries. We ordered ours (Complete with over sized beer) and made our way to the back.
One of the more interesting things we observed both in the city in general, and in this establishment as a whole, was the popularity and legality of Texas Hold-Em poker. The restaurant advertised that it was a poker establishment, but all this really meant was that you were allowed to play in there and that they would provide you with the chips. So behind us was a a table of 5-6 German dudes, eating curry wurst, drinking giant beers, smoking and playing poker. It was sort of awesome.
It was definitely one of those moments where I wished the US didn't have such a giant stick up it's ass...and it seems as we head deeper into our economic mess, more and more states are relaxing their gambling guidelines. Though I do occasionally enjoy some poker, I'm not even much of a gambler. Never had the money to do it with any seriousness. But I'm generally against any puritanical law, and that one fits the bill.
Anyway, we finished up our meal and headed around town. We didn't have much luck locating the bars that had been suggested to us, and it was rapidly approaching midnight on our last night in Berlin. We decided to just find the first serviceable bar and grab a beverage. We found a quiet place off the beaten path and headed in...
Pollard's second solo album was much more consistent than his first, but of course the trade off came in terms of peaks. Not In My Airforce has too many tracks and many of them bad, but a few of them are amazing. Waved Out has few bad tracks (though Showbiz Opera Walrus might be the worst song he's ever done...and he's done a lot of bad songs)...but it is solid. But on the flipside, only Subspace Biographies (and to a lesser degree Whiskey Ships and the title track) manage to generate much excitement. This track doesn't display any of the embarrassing Pollard ticks, but again, it doesn't do much to thrill either.
For the uninitiated, Curry Wurst is not actually curry flavored sausage, but a German bratwurst with curry sauce poured all over the top of it and generally served with fries. We ordered ours (Complete with over sized beer) and made our way to the back.
One of the more interesting things we observed both in the city in general, and in this establishment as a whole, was the popularity and legality of Texas Hold-Em poker. The restaurant advertised that it was a poker establishment, but all this really meant was that you were allowed to play in there and that they would provide you with the chips. So behind us was a a table of 5-6 German dudes, eating curry wurst, drinking giant beers, smoking and playing poker. It was sort of awesome.
It was definitely one of those moments where I wished the US didn't have such a giant stick up it's ass...and it seems as we head deeper into our economic mess, more and more states are relaxing their gambling guidelines. Though I do occasionally enjoy some poker, I'm not even much of a gambler. Never had the money to do it with any seriousness. But I'm generally against any puritanical law, and that one fits the bill.
Anyway, we finished up our meal and headed around town. We didn't have much luck locating the bars that had been suggested to us, and it was rapidly approaching midnight on our last night in Berlin. We decided to just find the first serviceable bar and grab a beverage. We found a quiet place off the beaten path and headed in...
Pollard's second solo album was much more consistent than his first, but of course the trade off came in terms of peaks. Not In My Airforce has too many tracks and many of them bad, but a few of them are amazing. Waved Out has few bad tracks (though Showbiz Opera Walrus might be the worst song he's ever done...and he's done a lot of bad songs)...but it is solid. But on the flipside, only Subspace Biographies (and to a lesser degree Whiskey Ships and the title track) manage to generate much excitement. This track doesn't display any of the embarrassing Pollard ticks, but again, it doesn't do much to thrill either.
Friday, March 6, 2009
Arthur - The Kinks - Arthur (or Decline and Fall of the British Empire) - 1969
So where was I...oh yeah, the West Side of Berlin. After we left the bar we headed on for the Charlottenburg palace. As a history buff, I'm always happy to see old stuff, so this was quite enjoyable. We arrived a few minutes after 7 so the gates had already been shut, but even still the view was quite exquisite, again highlighted by the snow. The size of the palace was also impressive, a few of the wings were used as individual museums, and I was almost sorry that I wasn't able to check them out.
By this point the day was turning into evening and we needed to head back to the hotel to change out of our "walking across the city in the snow" clothes and into our "going out on a friday night clothes". We found the nearest Subway stop (Richard Wagner-platz actually) and hopped back to our room for some pregaming. It was the first time we'd really sat down all day.
After a brief stop at the hotel to change clothes and have a couple vodka sodas, we headed out to the northeast side of town to find some more of the bars my friends had recommended, but first we needed some curry wurst in a bad way...
The Kinks are always a bit of an odd figure among the pantheon of classic rock. They obviously aren't the Beatles. They lack the menace of The Stones, or the alienated weirdness of The Who. The hits that have remained in the pop culture consciousness (Lola, You Really Got Me, All Day And All of the Night, Come Dancing) don't really sound like what the band sounded like in it's artistic heyday, but much like the aphorism regarding The Velvet Underground ("Only 20 people heard them, but those 20 people all started bands") The Kinks, during this period, created music that others would popularize. And you can see those trademarks here, from the bouncy, almost country-ish guitar lick, to the hand-clapping, group sing-a-long of the chorus. Good stuff.
By this point the day was turning into evening and we needed to head back to the hotel to change out of our "walking across the city in the snow" clothes and into our "going out on a friday night clothes". We found the nearest Subway stop (Richard Wagner-platz actually) and hopped back to our room for some pregaming. It was the first time we'd really sat down all day.
After a brief stop at the hotel to change clothes and have a couple vodka sodas, we headed out to the northeast side of town to find some more of the bars my friends had recommended, but first we needed some curry wurst in a bad way...
The Kinks are always a bit of an odd figure among the pantheon of classic rock. They obviously aren't the Beatles. They lack the menace of The Stones, or the alienated weirdness of The Who. The hits that have remained in the pop culture consciousness (Lola, You Really Got Me, All Day And All of the Night, Come Dancing) don't really sound like what the band sounded like in it's artistic heyday, but much like the aphorism regarding The Velvet Underground ("Only 20 people heard them, but those 20 people all started bands") The Kinks, during this period, created music that others would popularize. And you can see those trademarks here, from the bouncy, almost country-ish guitar lick, to the hand-clapping, group sing-a-long of the chorus. Good stuff.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Art Star - The Yeah, Yeah, Yeahs - Mini Album - 2003
So I have now had two seperate people tell me that my color scheme made their heads hurt, so in lieu of driving away loyal readership, I've updated the look of the olde blog here. Tried to give it a somewhat "iPod-y" look. Hope this one suits people better.
Once Anand and I emerged from the park we realized that we had gone several hours in Berlin without a beer and this needed to be corrected. We resolved to step into the first bar we saw. We walked the way towards Charlottenburg palace, taking in the sites of the west side. The differences were pretty obvious.
Firstly the archetecture was more varied, more western looking, as oppossed to the boxy buildings of the previously soviet east side. Beyond that it was clear that this side was more affluent and family oriented, but also a bit less friendly (though still nowhere near as grouchy as my beloved NYC). As promised, we went into the first bar we found.
Old man bars are the same the world over. They have the same basic layout, the narrow bar with an open back room. They always have dart boards and whatever form of cheap electronic gambling is legal in that area (in Berlin it was an actual slot machine). There are always a couple of women, one a good natured wife with a ridiculously outdated hair style, the other a raging alcoholic who can barely lift her head off the table. The bar tender will always be gruff but polite, irritated by intruders into his closed world, but not enough to turn away business. The German variant had the bar tender giving us an exceptionally slow pour, actually taking some pride in the beer he served. The alcoholic woman clung to the wall, face pressed against like Spiderman to make her way to the bathroom. Another older gentlemen (at least 60's) incongruously bobbed his head to "Sexyback" (The music is always American).
We finished our beer and our shot uneventfully, enjoying some time off of our feet after the 6-7 mile walk. This clearly was not the bar to make conversation at.
Karen O has three basic singing modes, her Cobain-like scream, her "Maps" hipster croon, and her Pat Benetar snear...she exercises all three on this song while succesfully lampooning the Williamsburg art scene that she so clearly comes from. Biting the hand that feeds you is the best way to make in an inroad with that crowd. They love to be reminded that they are viscious shallow assholes, cause at least those people are cool. Right?
Once Anand and I emerged from the park we realized that we had gone several hours in Berlin without a beer and this needed to be corrected. We resolved to step into the first bar we saw. We walked the way towards Charlottenburg palace, taking in the sites of the west side. The differences were pretty obvious.
Firstly the archetecture was more varied, more western looking, as oppossed to the boxy buildings of the previously soviet east side. Beyond that it was clear that this side was more affluent and family oriented, but also a bit less friendly (though still nowhere near as grouchy as my beloved NYC). As promised, we went into the first bar we found.
Old man bars are the same the world over. They have the same basic layout, the narrow bar with an open back room. They always have dart boards and whatever form of cheap electronic gambling is legal in that area (in Berlin it was an actual slot machine). There are always a couple of women, one a good natured wife with a ridiculously outdated hair style, the other a raging alcoholic who can barely lift her head off the table. The bar tender will always be gruff but polite, irritated by intruders into his closed world, but not enough to turn away business. The German variant had the bar tender giving us an exceptionally slow pour, actually taking some pride in the beer he served. The alcoholic woman clung to the wall, face pressed against like Spiderman to make her way to the bathroom. Another older gentlemen (at least 60's) incongruously bobbed his head to "Sexyback" (The music is always American).
We finished our beer and our shot uneventfully, enjoying some time off of our feet after the 6-7 mile walk. This clearly was not the bar to make conversation at.
Karen O has three basic singing modes, her Cobain-like scream, her "Maps" hipster croon, and her Pat Benetar snear...she exercises all three on this song while succesfully lampooning the Williamsburg art scene that she so clearly comes from. Biting the hand that feeds you is the best way to make in an inroad with that crowd. They love to be reminded that they are viscious shallow assholes, cause at least those people are cool. Right?
Art School - The Jam - In the City - 1977
With our bellies full of schnitzel, we walked from Alexanderplatz back to Museum Island, enjoying (and photographing) of the city as we walked. By the time we reached the museums it was nearly 4PM and we realized that we only had so many hours of daylight left in Berlin and that we were rather enjoying walking around the city more than we'd enjoy spending the time inside of a building viewing old art. As such we made the decision to just do some walking.
Anand wanted to get a chance to photograph the Brandenburg gate during the daytime. Additionally it had occurred to me that we'd spent all of our time on the east side of Berlin without seeing the West at all. So off we went.
In the middle of Berlin there is a rather large park shaped like a sideways oval, The Brandenburg Gate/Reichstadt/Museum Island forms it's eastern border while the West Berlin neighborhood of Charlottenberg is the western border. As there is a palace from the time of Fredrich the Great in Charlottenberg this seemed like a good way to both check out some of West Berlin and to get in a good walk.
The park itself was really beautiful, and it was interesting to see Berliners in there day to day life. It probably took us 2 hours to walk the width of the park, during which time we saw the locals doing what they would do on a cold and snowy late afternoon Friday. Some were walking dogs, others jogging, a few young couples strode by holding gloved hands. As with everything in the city, there were tons of statues, monuments, sculptures, and bridges to beautify the already beautiful natural landscape. During the times in which we were in the woods to the point where we could not see the city, it was easy to imagine these woods in Roman times. Centurions marching through to put down the Germanic tribes, the first step towards a German national identity. The history dork in me smiled.
Finally, we emerged on the other side, with the last bit of sun setting in front of us and a new neighborhood to explore.
As I've stated before, The Jam is one of those bands that I find easier to admire than to enjoy. This song has abundant energy and attitude, and maybe even a little more melody than usual...but considering this is from their first album, it's hard not to view this as a simple Ramones copy cat song.
Anand wanted to get a chance to photograph the Brandenburg gate during the daytime. Additionally it had occurred to me that we'd spent all of our time on the east side of Berlin without seeing the West at all. So off we went.
In the middle of Berlin there is a rather large park shaped like a sideways oval, The Brandenburg Gate/Reichstadt/Museum Island forms it's eastern border while the West Berlin neighborhood of Charlottenberg is the western border. As there is a palace from the time of Fredrich the Great in Charlottenberg this seemed like a good way to both check out some of West Berlin and to get in a good walk.
The park itself was really beautiful, and it was interesting to see Berliners in there day to day life. It probably took us 2 hours to walk the width of the park, during which time we saw the locals doing what they would do on a cold and snowy late afternoon Friday. Some were walking dogs, others jogging, a few young couples strode by holding gloved hands. As with everything in the city, there were tons of statues, monuments, sculptures, and bridges to beautify the already beautiful natural landscape. During the times in which we were in the woods to the point where we could not see the city, it was easy to imagine these woods in Roman times. Centurions marching through to put down the Germanic tribes, the first step towards a German national identity. The history dork in me smiled.
Finally, we emerged on the other side, with the last bit of sun setting in front of us and a new neighborhood to explore.
As I've stated before, The Jam is one of those bands that I find easier to admire than to enjoy. This song has abundant energy and attitude, and maybe even a little more melody than usual...but considering this is from their first album, it's hard not to view this as a simple Ramones copy cat song.
The Art of Building Walls - Villains - Don't Let The Blood Get You Down - 2007
Between the jetlag and the late night, we allowed ourselves to sleep in a bit on Friday morning. By the time we rolled out of the hotel it was already 1230. We wanted to check out a German restaurant and grab some food, so we asked our hotel clerk for a recommendation in the area and she pointed us in the right direction.
The restaurant itself was basically just a tavern and most of the lunch crowd appeared to just be locals who worked in the neighborhood. There was one guy at another table who was eating alone, and was also from New York...but we weren't particularly interested in talking to him and he got the point. The serving wenches were uniformly lovely and took great amusement at our mangled attempts to pronounce the names of their beers.
I had a very fine schnitzel with a side of fried potatoes and something they call bacon beans. Bacon beans are green beans cut into 1/2 inch long chunks and then cooked with an almost equal amount of bits of bacon. So essentially you are eating bacon with some green beans in it. It was damn fine, but considering I still had the UK in front of me, I could tell that I was going to start craving fresh green veggies at some point.
We also had two large steins of beer with our lunch, including Kostritzer Schwarzbier which is a black lager. It looks like a stout, but in flavor it is much lighter than you'd expect. I'd had it here a couple times in the states and it was really no different in Berlin, but it's still a damn fine drink.
After that we were ready to start our museum hop...
This is actually my friend Rance (who actually met us for the UK portion of this trip) and his musical side project. Rance is quite handy with incorporating laptop soundscapes and rhythms into his dreamy guitar pop and this instrumental is a good example of that.
The restaurant itself was basically just a tavern and most of the lunch crowd appeared to just be locals who worked in the neighborhood. There was one guy at another table who was eating alone, and was also from New York...but we weren't particularly interested in talking to him and he got the point. The serving wenches were uniformly lovely and took great amusement at our mangled attempts to pronounce the names of their beers.
I had a very fine schnitzel with a side of fried potatoes and something they call bacon beans. Bacon beans are green beans cut into 1/2 inch long chunks and then cooked with an almost equal amount of bits of bacon. So essentially you are eating bacon with some green beans in it. It was damn fine, but considering I still had the UK in front of me, I could tell that I was going to start craving fresh green veggies at some point.
We also had two large steins of beer with our lunch, including Kostritzer Schwarzbier which is a black lager. It looks like a stout, but in flavor it is much lighter than you'd expect. I'd had it here a couple times in the states and it was really no different in Berlin, but it's still a damn fine drink.
After that we were ready to start our museum hop...
This is actually my friend Rance (who actually met us for the UK portion of this trip) and his musical side project. Rance is quite handy with incorporating laptop soundscapes and rhythms into his dreamy guitar pop and this instrumental is a good example of that.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Art Decade - David Bowie - Low - 1977
Ahhh, very appropriate, a bit of Bowie's Berlin period to go along with my tale of debauchery in Berlin. Arty, instrumental, and super cool...it is the Bowie/Eno combo at it's best/worst.
After we managed to ditch the Icelanders and took a moment to compose ourselves we tried to find another bar on my itinerary. Two separate people had recommended this bar to me. You simply entered, paid 1 euro to "rent" a glass and then drank as much as wine as you wanted. At the end of the night, you paid what you thought was fair for what you drank (again, the Berliners seem to be very big on the honor system) but by the time we got there it was well after midnight and quite closed. We ended up drunkenly attempting to photograph a beautiful, snow covered church at night with mixed results.
We finally ended up in some bar called The King Kong lounge where we stayed till about 330. The King Kong Lounge was the kind of bar that would have looked in no way out of place on Ave B. It was a faux dive done in red light, with old time American movie posters on the wall, and Cronenburg's Crash (as opposed to the Oscar winning crap from a few years ago) being projected on a back wall. We sat on one of the couch, nursed some beers and took in the talent before finally calling it a night.
Wow...and this was all day one...sheesh.
After we managed to ditch the Icelanders and took a moment to compose ourselves we tried to find another bar on my itinerary. Two separate people had recommended this bar to me. You simply entered, paid 1 euro to "rent" a glass and then drank as much as wine as you wanted. At the end of the night, you paid what you thought was fair for what you drank (again, the Berliners seem to be very big on the honor system) but by the time we got there it was well after midnight and quite closed. We ended up drunkenly attempting to photograph a beautiful, snow covered church at night with mixed results.
We finally ended up in some bar called The King Kong lounge where we stayed till about 330. The King Kong Lounge was the kind of bar that would have looked in no way out of place on Ave B. It was a faux dive done in red light, with old time American movie posters on the wall, and Cronenburg's Crash (as opposed to the Oscar winning crap from a few years ago) being projected on a back wall. We sat on one of the couch, nursed some beers and took in the talent before finally calling it a night.
Wow...and this was all day one...sheesh.
Art Bitch - CSS - Cansei de Ser Sexy - 2006
My friend Kamni had recommended a bar on the North East side of town called The Absinthe Depot, so once we got done getting our tourist on, we decided this was something we needed to go check out. We walked quite a bit taking in the sites of the city at night (still mostly empty due to the weather) until we came upon our destination.
The "bar" itself was really more of a specialty liquor store with 3-4 tables in the front for service. The only options were coffee, water and absinthe (sold in both the 3 euro 50 regular and 4 euro 50 "special"). The man who ran the place had a certain gruff charm (again, Berliners are ridiculously friendly) and as we were the only customers we carried on a good amount of conversation about the city, his business, NYC and what have you.
During the time we were there (probably about an hour and a half) we only saw a few customers come in, and they were all to buy things to take with them...beers or bottles of the green stuff. But at around 1130 a group of 4 absolutely hammered Icelandic folk came stumbling in the door. And I gathered from their entrance that they had been to this place earlier in the evening and that the owner was not terribly happy to see them back.
There were 3 men and one woman, all seemed to be in their mid-40's. They apparently ran a local theater and had the bombastic personalities to suit that business. They joined us at our table without a proper invite, and proceeded to roll a hash joint (something that still managed to leave Anand amazed).
After several very drunken and loud conversations occured regarding our opinions of Berlin, what we knew about Iceland, and American politics it came up that I lived in Brooklyn. One of the Icelanders asked where and I said "Prospect Heights, I've lived there for nearly 4 years". He then jumped up and said "I used to live in Ft. Green (one neighborhood over, for the none Brooklyn people). At that point the owner of the bar said "oh? I lived in Ft. Green for many years". Apparently he'd lived there in the 80's and told a few stories about what the place had been like back then. It is indeed a small planet.
The Icelanders then asked what we planned on doing, at which point I dutifully pulled out my print out of places to check out. The woman in the group (Who was definitely trying to get her Cougar on) made fun of me quite a bit for having a "Drinking itenerary" but I personally think that she just lacked vision. As the place closed at midnight, the Icelanders tried to drag us along with them on wherever there adventure would take them next, but Anand and I were having none of it...we ducked out and on to our next adventure.
CSS is one of those bands that I feel slightly guilty for liking. They are "fun" and little else, though I must admit the lyrics to this are fairly wittily scathing. I guess the obnoxiousness of the art scene in Brazil isn't terribly different than the art scene in NYC...I would make a joke about it having more waxed vags, but that's probably not even true anymore.
The "bar" itself was really more of a specialty liquor store with 3-4 tables in the front for service. The only options were coffee, water and absinthe (sold in both the 3 euro 50 regular and 4 euro 50 "special"). The man who ran the place had a certain gruff charm (again, Berliners are ridiculously friendly) and as we were the only customers we carried on a good amount of conversation about the city, his business, NYC and what have you.
During the time we were there (probably about an hour and a half) we only saw a few customers come in, and they were all to buy things to take with them...beers or bottles of the green stuff. But at around 1130 a group of 4 absolutely hammered Icelandic folk came stumbling in the door. And I gathered from their entrance that they had been to this place earlier in the evening and that the owner was not terribly happy to see them back.
There were 3 men and one woman, all seemed to be in their mid-40's. They apparently ran a local theater and had the bombastic personalities to suit that business. They joined us at our table without a proper invite, and proceeded to roll a hash joint (something that still managed to leave Anand amazed).
After several very drunken and loud conversations occured regarding our opinions of Berlin, what we knew about Iceland, and American politics it came up that I lived in Brooklyn. One of the Icelanders asked where and I said "Prospect Heights, I've lived there for nearly 4 years". He then jumped up and said "I used to live in Ft. Green (one neighborhood over, for the none Brooklyn people). At that point the owner of the bar said "oh? I lived in Ft. Green for many years". Apparently he'd lived there in the 80's and told a few stories about what the place had been like back then. It is indeed a small planet.
The Icelanders then asked what we planned on doing, at which point I dutifully pulled out my print out of places to check out. The woman in the group (Who was definitely trying to get her Cougar on) made fun of me quite a bit for having a "Drinking itenerary" but I personally think that she just lacked vision. As the place closed at midnight, the Icelanders tried to drag us along with them on wherever there adventure would take them next, but Anand and I were having none of it...we ducked out and on to our next adventure.
CSS is one of those bands that I feel slightly guilty for liking. They are "fun" and little else, though I must admit the lyrics to this are fairly wittily scathing. I guess the obnoxiousness of the art scene in Brazil isn't terribly different than the art scene in NYC...I would make a joke about it having more waxed vags, but that's probably not even true anymore.
Arrow - The High Strung - Get The Guests - 2007
Now that we were appropriately lubricated, we left Kruezberg before it got too late and before our stoned Berliner tour guides talked our ears off. Our next stop was the more touristy center of town where we would check out the Reichstadt and the Brandenburg Gate.
Among the many fascinating things about the city is their public transportation. First of all, it is entirely on the honor system...you buy a ticket from a machine, and then get onto a train without ever going through a gate or a check in. You then ride the train. No one ever takes your ticket. Ever. Secondly, not content with the choice between elevated train, subway and ground level trains, the Berliners do all three. And finally, like everything else, it is shockingly clean.
The advantage to going on this trip in February (other than the cheapness) was that we were relatively free of other tourists. The layer of snow also helped, basically ensuring that we could walk around Berlin city center without much interuption or distraction. We did have our one moment of scummy American tourist behavior when we used the space between an empty tourist info booth and a construction wall as a make shift bathroom...but mostly we just took very reverent pictures of the Brandenburg gate, a lovely monument made even more so by the snow.
After walking around the Reichstadt and "Museum Island" for a bit we found a glass wall that had all of the articles of German Constitution written on it, and perhaps most impressively...if you looked straight through the glass wall, you could see a techno party happening in one of the office buildings on the other side. It was sort of like Berlin in one encapsulated image.
Everytime this song, by this Williamsburg-by-way-of-Detroit band has come up on this playlist I've sworn that it was a Jayhawks song. And I suppose they should take that as a compliment.
Among the many fascinating things about the city is their public transportation. First of all, it is entirely on the honor system...you buy a ticket from a machine, and then get onto a train without ever going through a gate or a check in. You then ride the train. No one ever takes your ticket. Ever. Secondly, not content with the choice between elevated train, subway and ground level trains, the Berliners do all three. And finally, like everything else, it is shockingly clean.
The advantage to going on this trip in February (other than the cheapness) was that we were relatively free of other tourists. The layer of snow also helped, basically ensuring that we could walk around Berlin city center without much interuption or distraction. We did have our one moment of scummy American tourist behavior when we used the space between an empty tourist info booth and a construction wall as a make shift bathroom...but mostly we just took very reverent pictures of the Brandenburg gate, a lovely monument made even more so by the snow.
After walking around the Reichstadt and "Museum Island" for a bit we found a glass wall that had all of the articles of German Constitution written on it, and perhaps most impressively...if you looked straight through the glass wall, you could see a techno party happening in one of the office buildings on the other side. It was sort of like Berlin in one encapsulated image.
Everytime this song, by this Williamsburg-by-way-of-Detroit band has come up on this playlist I've sworn that it was a Jayhawks song. And I suppose they should take that as a compliment.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Arrest Yourself - Hot Chip - The Warning - 2006
After dinner we stumbled around Kruezberg for a bit until we found a bar we liked. We checked out and quickly rejected a couple of old man bars, as well as a few that seemed like meat markets for college kids, until we happened upon a place called Luzia.
Luzia at first glance seemed to be a coffee shop. The interior was all done in dark woods, and little tables with metal chairs. The clientele were mostly late 20's to 30's, either in couples or alone with a book. But the music was all speakeasy jazz and there were certainly drinks to be had.
The bartender was exceptionally friendly in recommending some fine German beers for us to try out. Actually, every Berliner we met was exceptionally friendly. It's as if the subtext of every conversation you have is "See, Ve are not Nazis! We are fun and friendly people who live in a beautiful multicultural city". If I had a Euro for every Berliner that emphatically described the city as "Multi-cultural" I'd have come back richer than I left.
Anyway, we were sitting there having our second or possibly third beverage when Anand started staring at whatever was going on over my shoulder in a mixture of amazement and curiosity...it seems that the gentlemen behind us were engaged in an activity that while we knew was legal in Amsterdam, we did not realize was something you could do publicly in Berlin. Turns out that Berlin's laws are a bit more liberal than one would expect, in this regard. We struck up a conversation with the two smokey individuals and asked for advice on what we should check out with only two days to see the city.
As stated above, Berliners seem to be very into the idea of proving to the world that their city is a wonderful place, and that they've moved past the uglier parts of the 20th century...so these two stoned germans (well only one spoke English) proceeded to advise us to basically check out every single museum and historical landmark in the city, when really what I wanted to find out was where the cool bars and shows were. Never the less, you couldn't fault the boys for their civic pride.
Ideally, I would have had this Hot Chip fall into the London portion of the trip, as it certainly is basically the mold for this type of Synthy, Dancy Brit-Pop. It's a decent song, but Andy Samburg's "Jizz In My Pants" skit on SNL has basically made this type of song unlistenable to me though. All I can think of is lame ass londoners with their bad hair cuts and sweaters tied loosely around their necks dealing with premature ejaculation.
Luzia at first glance seemed to be a coffee shop. The interior was all done in dark woods, and little tables with metal chairs. The clientele were mostly late 20's to 30's, either in couples or alone with a book. But the music was all speakeasy jazz and there were certainly drinks to be had.
The bartender was exceptionally friendly in recommending some fine German beers for us to try out. Actually, every Berliner we met was exceptionally friendly. It's as if the subtext of every conversation you have is "See, Ve are not Nazis! We are fun and friendly people who live in a beautiful multicultural city". If I had a Euro for every Berliner that emphatically described the city as "Multi-cultural" I'd have come back richer than I left.
Anyway, we were sitting there having our second or possibly third beverage when Anand started staring at whatever was going on over my shoulder in a mixture of amazement and curiosity...it seems that the gentlemen behind us were engaged in an activity that while we knew was legal in Amsterdam, we did not realize was something you could do publicly in Berlin. Turns out that Berlin's laws are a bit more liberal than one would expect, in this regard. We struck up a conversation with the two smokey individuals and asked for advice on what we should check out with only two days to see the city.
As stated above, Berliners seem to be very into the idea of proving to the world that their city is a wonderful place, and that they've moved past the uglier parts of the 20th century...so these two stoned germans (well only one spoke English) proceeded to advise us to basically check out every single museum and historical landmark in the city, when really what I wanted to find out was where the cool bars and shows were. Never the less, you couldn't fault the boys for their civic pride.
Ideally, I would have had this Hot Chip fall into the London portion of the trip, as it certainly is basically the mold for this type of Synthy, Dancy Brit-Pop. It's a decent song, but Andy Samburg's "Jizz In My Pants" skit on SNL has basically made this type of song unlistenable to me though. All I can think of is lame ass londoners with their bad hair cuts and sweaters tied loosely around their necks dealing with premature ejaculation.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Arpeggi - Radiohead - Boston - 6 5 2006 - 2006
Prior to the trip I had done a fair bit of research about Berlin. I knew that I would only have a couple of days to explore it's charms and I didn't want to waste it bumbling around the lame parts of town and tourist attractions (as I had done in Paris 5 years ago...I didn't find the cool neighborhood until my last night). So, I had taken a survey of people who had been to Berlin before, people who's opinion I respected and who I thought could give me the inside scoop.
Most of my responders had pointed out Kruizberg as a cool part of town. Kruizberg was fairly easy to identify on our tourist map as it occupied most of the south east corner of the city proper. Anand and I both being avid walkers and we had come prepared for the snow and cold, so we decided to simply walk from Check Point Charlie down to the hood. We walked....and we walked...and we walked...and yet we seemed to be constantly walking under highways and around industrial complexes...there were no cool bars and restaurants...there weren't even any bars and restaurants and my fears that maybe Berlin was not as cool as I was lead to believe became even more solid.
Finally, we broke down and asked a man in a coffee shop (one of the first things we came upon) if there were any bars and restaurants we could hit up in the area. He pointed us to take a left and head down two blocks...and with that we found Kruizberg center. Apparently we had managed to walk about half way around the circumference of the neighborhood without ever actually entering it. But a brief walk around showed us more or less what we were looking for. It had elements of the East Village and Williamsburg here in NYC, but with it's own East German touches. There were a surprising number of ethnic (non-German) restaurants to be viewed, including, somewhat unexpectedly 3-4 Mexican places...but we can always get that at home. We ended up getting kabobs and giant beers at a Turkish place, finally getting some "lunch" at 4 in the afternoon.
It must be said that you can buy a beer anywhere in Germany. You can buy a beer at Dunkin Donuts. It honestly would not surprise me if beer was available at your local dentist office. You probably can get a beer at church...and a giant stein at that.
Once we finished our lamb and giant beers the sun had set, and we were ready to see what the neighborhood had to offer.
Another version of Arpeggi (Weird Fishes) from the pre-In Rainbows tour.
Most of my responders had pointed out Kruizberg as a cool part of town. Kruizberg was fairly easy to identify on our tourist map as it occupied most of the south east corner of the city proper. Anand and I both being avid walkers and we had come prepared for the snow and cold, so we decided to simply walk from Check Point Charlie down to the hood. We walked....and we walked...and we walked...and yet we seemed to be constantly walking under highways and around industrial complexes...there were no cool bars and restaurants...there weren't even any bars and restaurants and my fears that maybe Berlin was not as cool as I was lead to believe became even more solid.
Finally, we broke down and asked a man in a coffee shop (one of the first things we came upon) if there were any bars and restaurants we could hit up in the area. He pointed us to take a left and head down two blocks...and with that we found Kruizberg center. Apparently we had managed to walk about half way around the circumference of the neighborhood without ever actually entering it. But a brief walk around showed us more or less what we were looking for. It had elements of the East Village and Williamsburg here in NYC, but with it's own East German touches. There were a surprising number of ethnic (non-German) restaurants to be viewed, including, somewhat unexpectedly 3-4 Mexican places...but we can always get that at home. We ended up getting kabobs and giant beers at a Turkish place, finally getting some "lunch" at 4 in the afternoon.
It must be said that you can buy a beer anywhere in Germany. You can buy a beer at Dunkin Donuts. It honestly would not surprise me if beer was available at your local dentist office. You probably can get a beer at church...and a giant stein at that.
Once we finished our lamb and giant beers the sun had set, and we were ready to see what the neighborhood had to offer.
Another version of Arpeggi (Weird Fishes) from the pre-In Rainbows tour.
Arpeggi - Radiohead - Live in London 6 19 2006 - 2006
We landed in Berlin at 830 AM (that's 130 AM NYC Time) and I was groggy as fuck. To make matters more interesting, not only was snow falling on the city, but there were already 4-5 inches on the ground. We took a shuttle bus back to our Hotel in The Alexanderplatz. Fortunately they let us check in when we arrived, so that we could go take a brief nap and shower before heading off on our adventures.
The Alexanderplatz seems to be a big shopping district on the old East Berlin side of town, and while there were certainly some decent stores and restaurants over there, my initial reaction to the city was that perhaps the rumors that I'd heard of it being a great town with an active underground art and music scene were a bit overstated...but I would soon learn that, not unlike NYC, it's all about the neighborhood that you are in.
Our first stop was the remainder of the Berlin wall. There is a small museum there called Check Point Charlie, to commemorate the milatary station where well supervised traffic was allowed to move between the sides of The Iron Curtain, but most people had told me that it was a waste of time and judging by the brief glimpse I saw through the door, I agree. There is a small section of the actual wall about 1 block long that we did view...it's covered in graffiti and fliers, but it still gives a sense of what used to be.
Incidentally, my favorite flier on the wall was the poster for the Romone's Museum.
Next Stop, Kruizberg.
This is an early live version of the song that would eventually become Wierd Fishes/Arpeggi. Most of the elements are already in place and it's still a great song.
The Alexanderplatz seems to be a big shopping district on the old East Berlin side of town, and while there were certainly some decent stores and restaurants over there, my initial reaction to the city was that perhaps the rumors that I'd heard of it being a great town with an active underground art and music scene were a bit overstated...but I would soon learn that, not unlike NYC, it's all about the neighborhood that you are in.
Our first stop was the remainder of the Berlin wall. There is a small museum there called Check Point Charlie, to commemorate the milatary station where well supervised traffic was allowed to move between the sides of The Iron Curtain, but most people had told me that it was a waste of time and judging by the brief glimpse I saw through the door, I agree. There is a small section of the actual wall about 1 block long that we did view...it's covered in graffiti and fliers, but it still gives a sense of what used to be.
Incidentally, my favorite flier on the wall was the poster for the Romone's Museum.
Next Stop, Kruizberg.
This is an early live version of the song that would eventually become Wierd Fishes/Arpeggi. Most of the elements are already in place and it's still a great song.
Around and Around - Chuck Berry - The Ultimate Collection Disc 2 - 1959
Ok, so clearly my plan to update this from Europe did not take shape. Though in some fairness to myself, it was not due to my unwillingness or lack of time, but due to the criminal lack of free wi-fi available in European hotels...and I wasn't paying 20 Pounds just to update y'all.
Anyway, vacation was good and much needed and I'll do my best to give you a thorough recap (with a few details excluded to protect the guilty) over the next few days. So where to start...
Well, I was due to depart from my office at 2PM on Wednesday the 18th. At 1:55 my boss called me into his office just to make sure that "my head was in the game". I found this rather curious timing as I was 5 minutes away from a European vacation and my head was anywhere but "in the game". I suppose he thought my cage needed rattling. As I returned to my desk to grab my stuff and shut down, several of the guys I project manage tried to intercept me and tell me that there was a crucial issue that would impact our next release and that we needed to go to the boss right away...but I wasn't falling for that trick. I let them know that it was 2:07 and "as of 7 minutes ago, this is official someone else's problem".
I met up with my buddy Anand and we walked up to the village to get a good old American cheeseburger at The Corner Bistro and then headed up to Penn station to catch the train out to Newark Airport. For those that have never done it, one of the charms of taking a train out of Penn station is that you can buy giant 32 oz. draft beers to take on the train. They give these to you in soda cups complete with a lid and straw, and honestly if you've never tried to drink a 32 oz. beer through a straw in about 25 minutes...then you haven't lived my friend.
Curiously enough the police have a check point in between the train and the airport, and Anand was convinced that our recently slammed beers would cause some trouble, but despite the most thorough check we got on the entire trip, we made it to the desk and through real security with plenty of time to spare.
After a trip to the duty free store, we popped into the airport bar and threw down a few stiff whiskeys. Finally we boarded the plane with the appropriate buzz going. I passed out relatively quickly and wouldn't really wake up until we touched down in Berlin...
As for the song, this is Chuck Berry doing his thing (and no, I don't mean installing cameras in women's toilets)...it's no better or worse than usual. Not much else to say on that one.
Anyway, vacation was good and much needed and I'll do my best to give you a thorough recap (with a few details excluded to protect the guilty) over the next few days. So where to start...
Well, I was due to depart from my office at 2PM on Wednesday the 18th. At 1:55 my boss called me into his office just to make sure that "my head was in the game". I found this rather curious timing as I was 5 minutes away from a European vacation and my head was anywhere but "in the game". I suppose he thought my cage needed rattling. As I returned to my desk to grab my stuff and shut down, several of the guys I project manage tried to intercept me and tell me that there was a crucial issue that would impact our next release and that we needed to go to the boss right away...but I wasn't falling for that trick. I let them know that it was 2:07 and "as of 7 minutes ago, this is official someone else's problem".
I met up with my buddy Anand and we walked up to the village to get a good old American cheeseburger at The Corner Bistro and then headed up to Penn station to catch the train out to Newark Airport. For those that have never done it, one of the charms of taking a train out of Penn station is that you can buy giant 32 oz. draft beers to take on the train. They give these to you in soda cups complete with a lid and straw, and honestly if you've never tried to drink a 32 oz. beer through a straw in about 25 minutes...then you haven't lived my friend.
Curiously enough the police have a check point in between the train and the airport, and Anand was convinced that our recently slammed beers would cause some trouble, but despite the most thorough check we got on the entire trip, we made it to the desk and through real security with plenty of time to spare.
After a trip to the duty free store, we popped into the airport bar and threw down a few stiff whiskeys. Finally we boarded the plane with the appropriate buzz going. I passed out relatively quickly and wouldn't really wake up until we touched down in Berlin...
As for the song, this is Chuck Berry doing his thing (and no, I don't mean installing cameras in women's toilets)...it's no better or worse than usual. Not much else to say on that one.
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