peter missed his plane today because his train said “no”.

denmark has been locked into some european union restrictions. they had to grant the bid for their much needed new trains to italy. this led to putting their own country’s train manufacturer out of business. tons of jobs were lost. the italian trains showed up several years late. now, out of about 40 trains, only 8 seem to work, and they have problems daily. peter was on one of these. these are trains that deny passage.

so i had to spend a chunk of the day figuring out how to get him to spain in time for the set tomorrow. limited options. eventually i could not ignore the kids anymore with my head stuck in the web. we were headed out for the beach but a massive thunder storm clobbered the city and stuck us around the hotel for awhile. it has poured heavy rain at some part of the day everyday since i shipped my rain coat home.

but the beach eventually worked out well.

we took the long way there through the 2500 year old roman ruins. some of them sent ‘creeps’ up the back of the neck.

the day mopes along.

in the evening amparo shows up with her family to have dinner. she only lives down the road a bit. she has been recording and doing shows with calexico for several years now and even showed up in tucson. ttuned out she was a big giant sand fan. she was so happy to finally meet me there, which happened by accident when my daughter’s boyfriend ran into her back then. the calexico boys would never introduce us. joe is very territorial, which is part of his irony. and john attempts to remain free of extra complex, but just never seems to be that free. anyhow, it was an experience to meet her. she is a force. exuberant and sweet. a tumult needing to display. a southern girl. andalucian. a sparkler.

we do dinner at a basque style restaurant. its all very good. then a cap at la penya. eventually the wobble home ensues. very good grape tonight.

mas riber del duero, temprinillo. muy bien. muy tranquillo.

back at the hotel the kids get planted for sleep. i remember i gotta get peter a ticket still. i tried to buy it before bed and the price had mysteriously gone down. at the moment of buying it, it went back up.

i kept falling asleep trying to figure it out. finally give it up and will let the morrow figure it out. the wife can’t understand what my problem is. the laptop glow is evil.

we woke up early to get out of london.  i blipped on the internet for 38 seconds to download email and then headed down for a swift breakfast. at checkout this all cost me 20 pounds. it made no sense.

no time to argue. we headed out and tried to get a cab. no time to get stuck in traffic either. walking to the tube was way quicker. out at the next stop and just caught the train to gatwick with less then 2 minutes to spare. by the time we hit the airport we realized the next train would have missed our plane for us.

easyjet. the guitar flies again. while they are making thøger check the size of his carry on bag, i stand there with my big hat on and body length guitar bag strapped on behind. they often don’t see it. i just stand there and slowly back away with my tickets at check in, guitar unseen.

2 hours later we land in barcelona. at the same time the family has arrived at the same time in the same terminal from denmark. a relative miracle. the driver fetches us, but can’t all fit, so me and my daughter hoof it by train. at first on the wrong one. then eventually corrected, arrive in tarragona some hours later.

the evening will be leisurely, but it takes some readjusting to adapt back in to father figure. the kids’ on-stop energy yank takes some reacquainting.

we head over to the teatro for an interview, surprised to find cristine rosenvenge playing there this night. so head back stage for a quick hello. she’s dressed like a 60s era beatnick, all in black. for some reason most of our female friends all have a problem with cristine. but there is something about her that connects us. i don’t know what exactly, but something about single parenting and how she attacks her trade. we are not similar, but there is some point of overlap. could be her impossible lineage of danish parents raising her up in spain. those 2 elements connect by joint compound, but that’s just a part of it. it also has to do with a phantom nature of existence. when i see her it seems like we are dead already or hovering through some territory that is foreign to us dead people, but have managed to morph into some form that allows us to pass through at any rate. we stop for a moment and acknowledge each other passing the other way in that ghost life. either way, an overactive imagination is useful in this line of work.

i would like to stay to finally hear her set of tunes, but have to head out to feed the kids. the clock is not set by our own agenda now.

we take dinner outside and the children apply there own trade. the boy ‘juggles’ his football (soccer ball) and the girl draws on the ground with her papers. dinner is simple and fine. there is an informal approach to it here in a country where dining out is a culture and restaurants stay open till midnight as a standard.

the evening draws to a close. the grape is ribera del duero. the life is good.

the day ends.

woke up early to catch the train. secured my hotel rate for future jaunts back this way. handed over a special bottle of white wine to the dream team behind the counter. paid. smiled. left.

made the train exactly on time. packed. comfortable. zipping.

headed to paris to connect now to London. gypsies are flying there now to. thøger is coming in from denmark . wondering how this all happens to happen.

changing trains in paris means changing stations. a 12 minute walk in a sterling sun sparkled city, freshly quaffed from last night’s rain, and strikingly chilled. the air is fresh. the lungs adore.

a coffee and then better head to the train.

it always comes up in slow motion for any uk passport control, as they do here in paris before allowed to board. and as they meander over my paper work, i just have to sit an wait it out. then they hand me my walking papers moments before the train is leaving. sprint to  security. but i already know when i am looping my belt back on, that that is the few extra seconds that will miss me my train.

and it does. by about 8 seconds.

happily the uniformed woman who closed the train off then easily slotted me for the next train an hour later. no charge. good to go. relax now and figure the future must know what its doing.

but slightly wishing i was in nancy.

uneventful sojourn under the channel. train is wide open. arrive at st. pancras. tube it down to angel. its pouring again. that rain coat i sent back has some seriously powerful reverse psychological vu du taint. wait it out and make for the hotel 2 blocks away.

there’s steve left to welcome me again, looking even more dapper in his usual 3 piece, but this time a rare buttoned down black shirt. fine.

we catch up briefly , then i head up to the room to hit the wall. this happens in London. time and money here twirl around at an alarming rate. before i realize i am very late for sound check. its one of those peculiar inabilities that hits me every now and then where as i cannot seem to leave the room, although i am in a constant state of leaving it.

this is far worse when fever is applied, which happily is not the case today.

eventually managing to trick myself out of there, then cab it to the union chapel. and it’s turned into a beautiful sunny cloud billowed day with cool breezes reminiscent of autumn. enter through the back stage doors and there’s my friend joan vich, super non-agent agent, from spain. and robyn hitchcock too with slight flu like settings. and so many people i know are tucked away in here now. thøger is back. then the gypsies, lin, juan panki and anil. and fernando and estella and miguel. fantastic seeing everyone again. its like christmas with humans as presents presently presented. it goes like this for a while. and then we attempt some semblance of sound check which is strained by the auspicious mass of reverb from the inner realm of a giant church as thus we’re in.

then on stage i am reminded of the only ever time i was here before, opening up for vic chesnutt. i just remember being in a severely cranky mood then based on the final split up with john and joe after a precarious sxsw fiasco. i remember trying to talk my way through the entire set intentionally. it was mad. so was i. i finally had to play at least one song, which was some half baked thing i was writing that afternoon. “saint conformity”. and now being in the church to perform, it occurred to me that this is probably where that title came from. but funny now to think that the song actually finally ended up on the gypsy record we are about to cover tonight.

so i meet the fire record company people in their entirety and it feels like a pretty good fit. it’s a daunting task they’ve taken on organizing and re-releasing all these records. so many. so much work. and they make them look as chronological and very pleasantly re vamped as possible. we all head out for a quick dinner of japanese starters, the entire gypsy mob and record company fleet of humans gathered around one of those cooking tables. a quick slurp and then hurrry off alone to catch the end of the opening band’s set.

there i meet up with dear liddy’s daughter whom we’ve seen grow up over the years, now nearly 30, hard to believe and so very sweet to say hi. liddy had been so above and beyond helpful to us all in giant sand throughout the ages bygone. a fine painter, we met by her explaining that she tends to listen to us while she paints. and then later she became a patron of the sonic arts of sorts by housing us whenever we were low on funds or just in need of her homey confines.

then backstage my brother, john parish, and his darlin’ wife. its always such a comfort to see john. a man well fisted with the grasp of chaos in such a pleasant tranquillo way.

so the show commences. the evening summer sun set comes in through the long stained glass and paints the full crowd there and adorns the stage with a changing light before darkness ensues.

its church light.

i begin the set alone with thøger to pay homage to my friend missing, vic chesnutt’s “expiration day”. it’s a very dear rendition tonight, remember him here so many years ago.

then bring out the gypsy posse. juan y lin start up the soft strains of “4 door maverick”, a song built upon the last piece of advice that my dearly departed friend rainer gave me on which car to buy next. not the 2 door variety. oh no.

“blood orange” is next with that sweetly nicked line that guy garvey used and owned up to. there is no greater compliment of verse when it gets used by another in song.

“the ballad of lole y manuel” follows, a song paying playful homage to the couple that changed flamenco for the counter culture in the 70s.

then i can’t quite remember what exactly. perhaps “leather”. a love gone wrong song, but reflecting what the wind used to do when i lived in joshua tree and it blew steadily, sucking out every drop of moisture from the skin we’re in.

and then the boleria intro that precedes “cowboy boots on cobble stone”. juan handles it nicely, but the mics were muted by mistake and the beat sounded like it got off, which i have never seen happen before with these guys. it was an odd comfort to witness that its possible they get it wrong sometimes and still never let it stop them.

wrong and still inspirational.

and then the gypsies did their own song, with lin’s maginifcent voice.

after that point i called up john parish to sit in on drums and we pelted out “uneven light of day”. it sounded so good we had john stay in play.

a wonderful version of “broken bird and the ghost river ” ensues. maybe the best it had ever been realized.

then we brought up robyn hitchcock to do up his “tarantula” ..  i love that guy. there are so few folks still alive to look up to, and this dude has the goods.

then i requested sarah blasko to brave the stage with another unrehearsed number .. “cracklin’ water” .. as a personal favor to me, as i so very much love her voice. and to hear it adorned with these gypsy guitars was more christmas for me. she obliged. looked so comely in her fine hillbilly dress and wooed the crowd lovingly.

after that i think i played the song i wrote the day of the last time i played there with vic: “saint conformity” and it kinda rocked . i think.

and then we might have called it a night .. i am not quite sure now if i have all the events in order. feel free to comment if not.

we returned in total … all guests included .. to encore with .. yes i know .. we shouldn’t .. i know i know .. but we did  … “light my fire”

and it was truly psychodelica wondermint

i think

i hope

— — -

VICTOR