Ahh… mmm… where have I been? Not in my own head or not in my head enough.
A film made by Jonny Kight and I over a couple of days. Spontaneity on a Shoreditch roof. Hotel in Brixton by Baxter Dury is the tune.
Places beginning with M.
Madrid… Beefeater Gin Lords take us.
There is one remarkable thing that occurs.
Pedro Almodovar comes to watch us. He loves the album and he comes especially to meet us in the dressing room before the show.
When I’m on stage I try not to search for his whereabouts. “Don’t! he will only make you nervous!” But the crowd and the paps find him 2 songs in. Standing on a balcony. Hiding behind dark glasses- his small gesture to anonymity.
Flashes and fingers fly into the air. Pedro Almodovar! Standing there.
Moscow… Beefeater Gin Lords fly us with The Kooks and Emile Sande.
We have left main land Europe. Not really but it sure feels like it.
Airport mayhem. Queueing catastrophes. I am still at the back of the passport line after an hour. Russian elbows are adept at pushing a novice back and Russian shoulders are accomplished in the art of the “it wasn’t me. it’s only business. go fuck yourself” shrug. A small movement that means so much and is used so often.
Car journeys can be 2 hours or 2 minutes traveling over the same distance. Your vehicle can have no bonnet, no tail lights, perhaps no chassey or number plate, can originate from a factory that closed down in 1975 in a country that has long since changed it’s borders and name. It may also be a state of the art, brand new, blacked out Mercedes four wheel drive. In Russia there is as much money as there is no money.
Many dead animal tails hanging from shoulder pads, beautiful women on the arm of… men, a human shit in a 5 star hotel reception.
Ritzy clubs, bad food and you do not get anything out of anyone without paying for it. Nyet.
We support the Mod-Father
Paul Weller. Very nice chap, though I only smiled and waved at him. We took to the Round House stage an hour before him and played to his confused but receptive crowd. I was statuesque in huge shoes. When I say statuesque I mean; like a statue, unable to move for fear of falling over. Perhaps this is a typical statue’s fear also.
I turned left (unlike Zoolander) and saw Paul watching from the wings. I was touched. Usually the main act holes up in his/her dressing room and refuses to interact with the outside world much less the evening hors d’oeuvres (support act).
What a pro.
