It never feels quite right to all of a sudden stop playing when the tour is over. There’s always this residual energy that needs an outlet, a space to fill. For me this sensation has been heightened as of late because I’ve ended up staying in Europe while the band flies home to NYC on the last two tours. The idea was that I work on a solo KiD [SiC] project in Berlin where I was offered a room by my friend Joe Holden in the lovely Prenzlauerberg section of city. Just couldn’t refuse the offer. So far so good. Took a while to find the right place to set up shop but once that happened things seemed to flow.
The weather was pretty horrible for the first several weeks but cleared up and my bike has been an indispensable companion ever since. It’s very civilized here when it comes to sharing the road. There is ample space for cars, U and SBahns, pedestrians and bikes alike. The bike lanes exist all throughout the city and are well respected. The space. That’s what I notice the most here in Berlin. The mountain air flowing off the Russian steeps and into eastern Germany contributes a cleansing and stimulating ambrosia especially now in spring.This city which has a land mass roughly five times the size of Paris but with six million less people. Living space. Not bad.
Our last show was in Paris, April 25. We’ll post some footage soon of that. Our friend Jean Marc surprised us by showing up with eight cameras. The edits look good. After that the boys took off for NYC. I got on the Thalys train from Gare Du Nord (mind your pockets in this place holy shit!) and and hour and a half later was in Brussels. Had a solo show lined up at La Filature and was looking forward to seeing my friend Lucas Racasse who is currently working on the “Sleepwalker” video. I’d be staying with him and going through the project. Should be done by July.
The solo show in Brussels was a bit of a revelation. Hadn’t played alone in some time but the energy of the room was wonderful and I played for over two hours. People had come from as far as Lille France and Liege to see the gig. The only downside was that a particularly obsessive “fan” lifted my moleskin notebook and cell phone. I’m almost sure I know who it was. Luckily, later in Rotterdam, I heard word that my book was returned with a note attached saying that they were very drunk and could I possibly forgive them. Well, what to say?… restores my faith in humanity?… maybe not quite fully but I was thankful enough to have five months of crammed scribbling on their way back.
The day after the Brussels gig however, I was just wondering around the city lamenting. I felt deeply burdened by the loss. Couldn’t figure out how to shake it off. Decided to have a couple of drinks at Cafe Central, our home bar away from home bar kinda place. Looking for Bernard the proprietor who always makes me feel OK. As usual Marcelo, my buddy working the bar, was selecting some interesting sounds for the room (some Pygmy music from Africa) but Bernie was gone. A lively group of young gig promoters were discussing the upcoming gigs in the city. One was looking up curiously at an old Nervous Cabaret poster on the wall. She didn’t know who it was so she didn’t ask. Too bad. None of this helped my mood. Can’t believe I let that Moleskin out of my sight.
Stepped into the sun and headed back to Lucas’s studio to meet with his assistant Pam and to go over the Storyboard for “Sleepwalkers” and check out some new edits. He’s had to take a lot of cash graphic gigs recently which have also been few and scarce. Subsequently work on the video has been slow. We have no money to pay and the label…well; Do we have one? Anybody’s guess at this point. Thankfully playing the night before inspired Pam to such a degree that she insisted on calling a meeting to go over new ideas she had. She was pretty pumped up. Thinking of this on my way to the studio put a little skip in my step…turned up the ipod and sprang into gear.
Almost immediately I spotted a long grey haired black suited gentleman swaying about at an intersection. I know this guy. Tried to talk to him several times at The Archiduke (Jazz bar) in Brussels on previous stays here. Usually either he was surrounded by friends or just fucked up beyond words, literally. I had him now though. Patted him on the shoulder and asked him if he was Arno. “Yeah man, that’s me…” He squinted through the sun behind me and then grinned once he got a good look at my mug.
I told him how wonderful his music was and that we had been introduced previously. “I play music in a band called Nervous Cabaret”. He said it sounded familiar and would I like to join him. “I’ll show you something they don’t have in New York…this is my town I know the secrets, come with me”. He grabbed my sleeve and we were off.
After shuffling a bit through the summer tourist, his fist still clutching my sleeve, he stopped abruptly outside a very regal looking building with a giant, arched, wrought iron facade. With his grip loosening on my arm and whilst scratching his jowls he spat out “Shit! Maybe not…fucking waiters… I owe them all. Bad bets ya know…Ah fuck it, I need a drink” then hauled me into the place. I told him I had already been drinking…”Me too” he replied smirking and shoved us into an over-sized, shell shaped, red leather banquet haloed by a giant chandelier so weighted by gold and crystal that it would have been the end of us if it dislodged from the mural-ed ceiling.
”La Metropole”: La Belle Epoque, Art Nouveau, Deco, these great eras past all splayed out before us, evoking a great thirst. Just gorgeous and decadent. “Chimay Blue for me that you very much….and a whiskey, why not, you only die once.” Is that me talking or was I morphing into an “Arno 2″. His treat seeing as I was a guest. Fine by me, funds were low.
I happened to be sitting next to the great Arno, an Icon (the Icon) of Belgian rock and roll. This was not a Johnny Halliday (the French Elvis) or some Rod Stewart self parody. This was Tom Waits, Lou Reed and Neil Young rolled into one except in Europe he was heralded as a treasure. We talked about his five children and how they’ll all leave him in the end, his wives, gambling debts and the waiters that pursue them, his age, my age and the unbreakable bond that exists between certain musicians. He speaks Flemish, French, German and English, all with great wit and playfulness. I liked this guy. So good to meet someone that I’ve admired and not be disappointed.
I forced the Ipod on him for some Nervous Cabaret listening. He cupped his ears, elbows propped up on his knees. “Ha, Shit……Shit man!” shaking his head every once in a while and then looking up at me giggling. He kept exclaiming things like “What the fuck…Ha!’ The waiter finally came over. It seems as though we had managed to crack the quiet aura and demeanor of the establishment and in order for it to stay intact and well preserved we would have to leave. We left howling our asses off in laughter. That was good!
It started to rain but he had a plan. I was to follow him about, watch him urinate on the side of the Opera house, observe him fumble dexterously about with his cellphone and then hook up, after many pit stops, with his dealer. All very fascinating but then I realised this was his life tonight and that I was ten minutes late for mine. I bid him farewell but he tried to convince me that there was a great party at the restaurant where he was to meet some very important people. Hmm. The promise of “Very important People” and “great parties” have seldom panned out for me. I got the feeling he needed a “bump” just to deal with his publicist and wanted some company. He didn’t want to go but then again he’s the one with the family to support. Forcing down sushi with ample helpings of narcism was just part of what kept the coffers not feeling so barren.
I missed home all of a sudden. The “Pang” which just stings you sometimes. I wondered if he’ll remember any on this. I sprinted to the studio and was greeted by the smiling faces of Pam and Lucas who knew by my disheveled state that I had something to tell them.
Stay tuned for “The Rotterdam Chronicles”: Sailors, Sparta Football, coffee shops and The Queen
