no good.
zurich is ok, i reschedule a proper show on my 55th birthday with them. but brent’s people are crying. they have spent a ton of money on their first ever film arts festival and now they are scared they will lose their local gov’t support if the show cannot happen as they intended. brent says they will lose their theater.
bastard.
no.
yes.
no no no.
the promoter’s eyes were bubbling. she bet on me and i am killing her future programs. damn.
what can i do now ? i am over 3 hours away from the airport i am ticketed to leave from. there’s no way to make that show in basel Switzerland tonight. i am in the upper most n/w corner of denmark.
no way. no way. no way for any insensitive travel plebe.
but for a bazillion miler fly boy gambler, the game is on.
.. i can feel the challenge tingle.
there is an airport 45 minutes away.
the internet says there are 2 flights within 5 minutes of each other leaving at 4:05 and 4:10 for copenhagen where i was supposed to connect to zurich. the time now is 2:45
i look around the farm where the band and all of their wives and children have gathered. it’s a beyond perfect scenario. the children are of such various ages that they all look after each other almost like
they have lined up for the responsibility by size. my daughter is the only girl, but at 8 she has remarkable skills at looking after the 2 years old and loving to play with him and the 5 year old. older the dudes are 12, 13 and 16. they choose football. it’s a brilliant snapshot of the danish way the children are brought up to naturally look after each other. happily. there is no x-box 360 either. when tv happens, its at night before bed and a dvd gets shoved into it. that’s it. no cable.
the women have all gone to find the little town, but some fresh fish just caught and maybe some thrift shop.
so.
the game is on.
ok ok ok ok ok .
i look around. the sun is shining. i am just sitting here not doing anything but enjoying not doing anything.
at the same time the studio in the barn is happening with maestro paulo’s bandonian and his beautiful wife’s singing.
but no no no no
but i am killing a theater company in basel.
ok ok ok ok
i ask anders for a lift and hope i can find a way to get there and back before beer thirty here the next day. i head out to the airport in aalborg way too late to do any good.
we arrive 12 minutes before the first plane … its sold out .. the other won’t let me on because the computer closes it 30 minutes prior.
i go back to the first plane people, its now 6 minutes before the 2nd plane leaves, and casually explain i was supposed to connect in copengane on their plane to zurich. got a gig tonight kind of thing. i am so laid back and non aggressive. non paniced. non freaked. the reverse psychology then kicks in big time. at 2 minutes before my plane leaves, the woman hands me a ticket (200 bucks)
and away i rip.
… i just have a guitar in a bag .. i run out to the run-way, up the back door stairs to the plane, and climb on board and plop a seat seconds before they yank away. what a great country !
in copenhagen it takes some slight chat … but they give me my seat back anyway to zurich. (this is the country that invented common sense. )
on the planes i have that same look on my face as the couple does on the bus at the end of the movie “the graduate”.
in zurich it’s a bizarre 87 degrees (30 ° c). that sucks in europe. but then, the sun sets as i leave a terminal dose. a car is waiting to whisk me to the theater in order to save the day. it’s a red one with a pretty driver. we zip.
we arrive 1 hour later. everyone is extremely happy to see me.
its kinda freaky to be this welcomed. the promoter looks so glowing.
she has that “thanks for accepting our invention before threatening to destroy everything i’ve been working so hard to build upon by yanking the rug out from underneath it all so we can never get the funding again, lose these theater privileges, destroy my dreams, before you showed up after all when it seemed absolutely impossible” kind of smile.
she is so relieved. so happy. has nice hair and a lovely face. offers so much beer and sausage. brent looks at me with a sweet bemused smile. i like that kid. he hasn’t been to europe much. or at all. jim white mutters by and its great to see him again. been a long time. so we mingle there for a mere 30 minutes before we have to plug in.
i dub us “the reservoir dogs band”; our names really are mr. green, mr. white and mr. yellow (is what gelb translates to here in swiss).
meanwhile back in paradise the wives, children and band have gathered around an open fire grilling fresh fish and crabs, made up dozens of sauces, have the assistance from a professional chef visiting and then live bandonian music for 6 hours into the night.
i get a cold samosa and bottled beer. no problem. we head to turn on switches and then brent’s films commence with donna k doing sensational live foley. its always a grand experience to do these films. they never fail to engage no matter how many times i’ve seen them.
jim tends to play around the beat like i do. with both of us playing around the beat, the beat becomes insulted and leaves altogether.
jim and i are left there happily beatless, scurrying around, becoming centrifuge, satisfied in dizzy land. brent becomes his rant and his guitar toys with staying in tune. its contagious too. my guitar now does not sound in tune or in beat. we have thusly become polyphonic.
in between the films, brent looks to me to slip in a song. when i begin “light my fire” he looks at me slightly taken aback; “really ?” he asks.
i give it shot. it almost worked this time. was very much in the pocket, until the song itself cannot take itself serious enough to finish. heh he.
the place is sold out and the promoter is beaming. apparently there are people from the council who funded the whole thing in attendance, so in the end she was able to hand them what she promised and thusly kicking off the first year of what she hopes now can become an annual event; basel’s very own film fest.
the crowd seems very pleased with it all. they think its very special. i suppose i don’t really understand the magnitude compared with just hanging in the backwoods of denmark with the family and band.
and that is that.
we head out of there to sit in the sweet spurtle of small rain outside that kills the swelter nicely and offers a rewarding chill. more beer. and they bring out the pricey single malts. more sausage. not for me thanks. and the night attempts to end itself. at some point it seemed like a good idea to head back inside the theater and watch any of the films we might request from the week. i suggest “the orgasm” from 1971. it does not fail to illuminate the evening. but i can’t handle more then a fractional part and beg to bow off and find the hotel.
the end.