Carlo and the Dream of Horses

My last tour was punctuated by a few days in Northern Italy. Not being a big fan of that part of the world, the one saving grace was a surprise visit from my friend Carlo, who is definitely in my top five list of the most friendly people in the history of time. Wolfgang Puck, Richard Simmons, Carlo. It's always great to see a familiar face on the road, especially if that familiar face is not attached to someone that you have really pissed of the last time you saw them. So Carlo was the light of my relatively dark day in Milan. He was Blonde Redhead's tour manager for some time, and while they are a great bunch of people, managed to drive the usually patient and stoic Carlo straight up a wall. One of their requirements was to have only organic foods in their dressing room. No exceptions. This is not such a bad thing, unless of course, you are in some part of the world where you don't stumble over a Wholefoods whenever you walk down the street. That said, Carlo was explaining to me, at the time, that he was going to purchase a roll of 'organic' stickers and put them all over whatever crap was in the dressing room just to get the band off his back. I love Carlo.



Here are some pictures from around Modena. It looked very much as you would expect an old Italian city to look.





























Oh yes....













...yes it was.

My last Belle and Sebastian show. I have to say that I never really felt welcomed by the group that I was with. Not that it's a big deal, but I feel that the tours I had done previously were with good friends, or even a family, or if nothing else at least a group of people who were pleasant to on another. Done and done.

The last night involved a bit of the vino, as you do, and a rather strange event. Often when a bunch of guys spend too much time together, there is some sort of ongoing that eventually ends on a display of chest beating machismo that seems only natural. It's a way to bond, and a way to test your fellow man and name an alpha male and all of that wonderful nonsense. In my experience this sort of thing tends to surround a sport of one fashion or another. My last night with these guys turned into the most testosterone-fueled game of frisbee that I have ever been witness to. I'm still a bit confused by it all. I will forever hold the image of a bunch of shirtless, blue-skinned scotsmen barking at each other and tossing a little plastic disc from place to place. It's not quite the highland games where you'd carry a tree seven miles and then stick your face in a campfire all while wearing a tartan skirt. No, this was quite different.

So after the last five shows, all in a row, with no day off, and no hotel with a nice bed and warm shower and room service and such, I had (against better judgment) agreed to fly from Milan to Seattle to do lights for Death Cab for Cutie at the Sasquatch festival in Seattle. I was dumped at the airport at 6:30am for an 8:00am flight to Heathrow, a change of terminals, a bit of a layover and then a flight to JFK, a change of terminals, a bit of a layover and then a flight to Seattle. Words cannot begin to describe the state that I found myself in after that trip.














This is me, fairly early on, when I still thought that it would be a good idea to document my descent into madness via air travel.


Really. Horrid. Let me tell you about how I was smelling by the time I got to NY. Not so good.















Sadness....desolation...














But I made it. And I saw that it was good. It was raining and dismal, and very much like Seattle...















I settled in, had a hot dog and then went to The Six Arms for some tater tots and beer. I dragged my friends Bobby and Jerry there, who are out with Queens of the Stone Age, and were doing the same festival. I convinced them, in spite of one of them being a staunch vegan, that I should be allowed to have greasy bar food because of my aforementioned deprivation. They agreed. Here's the chandelier from the place. I think it's pretty cool.















So, I was flown out to begin work with a new band. One that I didn't know a whole lot about, and my first show was at an outdoor festival with somewhere in the neighborhood of 20,000 people. I was just too tired to be apprehensive. The show was at the Gorge, about three hours outside of Seattle. It's an amazing place to be.



























It's almost a shame to have a stage blaring loud music in between you and the view.
Correction. It is absolutely a shame.














The show went really well. I was impressed by the band, and the crowd was pretty rabid for them by the time they went on. I'm looking forward to working with these guys. They all hugged me after the show and told me how great everything was. It's such a contrast from working with a group of people who are less optimistic, quite standoff-ish and pretty cold. That sounds pretty mean, but shit, 'tis the truth.

Here's a ropey video from the show:








Good things. It's like a mantra these days.