At the end of our last tour, in May, we walked off the stage of the Detroit Bar, Orange County, and almost immediately scattered across the globe like the four winds: Danny, the East Wind, back to New York City; Cameron and Patrick, the North and West winds to Sydney; and me, the southerly buster, down to Mexico, Guatemala and then looping back to New York. We will all meet again, in Denver, on September 15th for what promises to be an unprecedented weather event.
In the meantime, for those who are interested, here is the first instalment in the series ‘What we did on our holidays’.
Songwriting.
I have finished four songs and half-finished a few others in New York. Most of this happened while staying in our friend’s apartment in Brooklyn. She has a ‘meditation room’ which I co-opted as a ‘music room’. It was good in the meditation room. I got a lot done.
When she got back from holidays she wanted to know whether I thought the vibes of the room had helped the songwriting, whether I had noticed the energy in the room.
I couldn’t honestly say that I had, but I did tell her that I thought that a new environment sometimes helps release something that may have been pent up for sometime. Energies? Possibly. It was certainly a relief to have my own space for a while after touring and travelling for three months.
The other thing that helps me finish songs is a looming solo show. I rarely play by myself as I get distractedly nervous and find them impossible to rehearse for (try rehearsing by yourself, it feels ridiculous). But they are bracing, like a dip in a winter’s ocean, and best of all they make me finish songs. Its discipline for the undisciplined.
Solo Shows.
I did a month-long residency at The Living Room, New York, in July. It’s a sweet little venue, with a good piano they let you play. Apart from nerves it was fun. And even nerves can be fun when transformed into relief.
At least half the audience on any given night seemed to be Australian. This was unexpected as Youth Group shows in New York tend to attract mostly locals. The Australian flavour was encouraged by Nick the doorman’s Aussie obsession. Although a New Yorker himself, dressed in fabulous outfit of shorts and cowboy boots and a cheeky grin, he would always greet me with a string of downunder band names, ie “Skulker, Superjesus, Powderfinger. Disgusting!” One night Nicolai from 78 Saab was in town which coincided with his outburst “Saab 78! Disgusting!”. His day job at Wholefoods provided a wealth of invective material – one night he told me that Naomi Watts had found herself at his checkout and so naturally he asked her whether she and Liev Schreiber had met while smoking crack at the Big Day Out. When she replied “I beg your paaaardon” in a plummy accent, Nick thought she might actually be English. I said probably a New Zealander. He said “Disgusting!” Everything was disgusting with Nick. Coincidentally, The Grates were also doing a residency just next door at Pianos. In keeping with the ‘Australians in New York’ theme of the night we tended to check out eachother’s shows, to Nick’s obvious disgust.
Not Paying Money
New York is great in summer. Everything is free and everything is outdoors. If you pay for a gig or a movie or a performance you’re a schmuck. In the city of hustlers and $24 deals it’s the ultimate legal scam. You sit in the grass, under the Northern stars and the half-twisted moon, drinking a can of PBR, listening to music and you do it like they do in a city that is frozen for half the year. You get to understand the big deal about summer here.
I’ve seen some fantastic free shows:
Built To Spill played at Coney Island and every time the Cyclone went past the screams of the passengers drowned out Doug Martsch’s guitar solos. Later, lying back on the beach in the fetid, weirdly misty air a man walks by and sells us icy cold Coronas from his mobile esky (“sorry, no lime”). I get his number in case we need anymore.
The Dirty Projectors played in Williamsburg, right on the East River, the New York skyline as their backdrop. What can tend to sound like a complex mash on record is crystalline parts and charisma live.
The next week at Williamsburg is the Black Lips and Trail of Dead. Towards the end of their set The Black Lips start to actively incite kids to storm the stage, flail their arms around and stage dive. This pisses off the burly Brooklyn security guys who have to clump onstage and awkwardly wrestle with indie kids between microphone stands, guitar leads and a band who continue to jump up and down, grinning piratically, their golden grilles glinting in the stormy light.
Meanwhile, up the back of the park, Danny has enroled in a half-court basketball tournament. His team puts up a good fight but they are almost single-handedly beaten by a semi-midget who smokes between games. He is some sort of freak. Like Phil Smythe reincarnated as a pocket-sized Dennis Leary. There is some underlying violence to this game. At one point a hot-head Ginger overacts to a hustle from behind and places a cannily directed elbow in the guy’s face. There’s a moment of pause, time stops, everyone wonders “what will happen now” but incredibly nothing does. It’s a miracle. The Fairytale of New York.
Not long after the game finishes, the storm hits. The Empire State Building is crowned in cloud. Someone comes on stage and announces that the Trail of Dead set will have to be cancelled because of the lightning, and indeed the area cleared. “State park rules” apparently. I am secretly glad because I would rather go to the pub. And you can’t really complain because it’s free.
They have free outdoor movies too. But these are popular. I went with The Grates to see Edward Scissorhands but it was too jammed to even get into the park. Instead we sat under the Manhattan Bridge with the other latecomers and had a beer and hummus picnic. My favourite part of the night was when everybody around us left when the movies finished, even though you couldn’t really hear/see from where they were sitting. New Yorkers. They just want to be at the centre of the world all the time.
To Be Continued…