Today was going to be a grand day. It’s rare for me to wake up in the sudden and direct manner I woke up this morning. Usually it takes me a while to get clearheaded and focused; today I was out of my bed within minutes of leaving my silent, dreamless slumbers. The night before had been great: A friend of mine, Marijn -a witty, tight-bodied art student- got in touch with me asking if she could come over to hang out; she brought Viola, another cool girl that I've known for years. Both of them never came 'round my house when I lived in Amsterdam. In Utrecht it was all done and dusted within two weeks of my arrival Together with my roommate Prettyboy we hung around my room drinking beer and trading stories while digging Trentemøller’s latest collection of remixes. In the other room, Otto tuned in to watch a live TV-show that featured two guys eating tiny beats of eachother to discover the taste of a Humanbeing. They say most unknown meat tastes of chicken; I made a joke about pussy. It was the first good night of entertaining people at my house. I was still in a good mood from these proceedings, despite the nauseating smell of cigaret butts and empty beer cans lying around the room. After a shower and finishing a stack of dirty dishes-to-be-washed Prettyboy and me drove on the train to meet our beloved Bandleader, whom Prettyboy was meeting to discuss plans for a recording session early next year. I was tagging along for the ride. We drank coffee in the old fashioned student café near Amsterdam’s central station. I would go off in a short while and meet them later in Haarlem, where we were supposed to do a charity gig. It’s the season for playing music without getting paid. I guess it’s a karmathing. I took off for the station as I had errands to run in Haarlem before we played. Got an attitude from the lady at the public toilets on the platform. I was feeling a lot of kindness today and let it slide; there was a lot of suspicion in me that she had plenty to be complaining about. Snapping at me was probably the least of her outlets. In Haarlem I throdded around carrying my heavy bassman’s gear, and more too. It slowed me down and I arrived at my meeting with the boys from Suburban Records half-an-hour late. My apologies were accepted and I met some people; we sat around the conference table in a jolly pre-holiday mood and talked shop. Some of them I met previously at journo gatherings or other public events; we traded some experiences from the field. They were down with what business I had the offer, which caused me to like them even more. It’s funny how the music industry works; sometimes it’s hard to stay positive when somuch shit is being haggled over, then the next moment you’re meeting these great sincere people and you’re utterly happy digging the scene as I do. After that I sat in the Grand Square of Haarlem in a brasserie between the ancient Church and the equally ancient Townhouse. I worked a little, made a few phonecalls and ate a old cheese sandwich that was expensive but worth the expenditure. It was five-ish, and my friends and bandmates walked up from the station to meet me. After an early dinner (I ate nothing, as I had just finished my late lunch) we played together for the first time in five weeks in the hapsnap manner of an improvised acoustic session in a weird glass truck. It was over before we knew it. Unsure of our performance and a little frazzled -at least on my end- we went our seperate ways - Prettyboy back to our mansion, bandleader Gerhardt to his woman in the North. To the movies. I ended up in a little bistro in an alley from the square we played to have some dinner myself and read up on some Original Scrolls from mr. Kerouac. He’s with me on most of my travels of late, and I’m making good headway. I wonder when I’ll be ready to get to BOOK TWO: Patronaat in Haarlem is one of my favorite venues in The Netherlands. It has a down to earth appeal while maintaining a high level of technical and programmatic quality - not counting the shit that goes on in the dreaded ‘main hall’; the café and small hall are nice enough. Tonight a try out of Bombay Show Pig was my destination. In my ever relentless scramble to the finish line for a project on my Day Job, I was eager to check out if their new material was up to the standards I was aiming at. Oddly enough, there we quite a few familiar cats and kittens about. There was a young guy Jens, who did a lot of volunteer work on Popronde; The angry jew chef Weirdbeard from Harlem, NY, who puts on crazy obscure music whenever he gets the chance; a couple of Gerhardt inner-circlers from Alkmaar who came down to dig the music; the esteemed Dazzled Kid and mr. Collignon, among the topranking Dutch artists, who came out to support their friends. It was a enthusiastic bunch, Dazzled Kid rocking out introvertly while standing on a chair in an effort not to miss a second of the on-stage performance, mr. Collignon all smiles and jovial manner. Meanwhile, Bombay Show Pig tried out. The act comprises of two brunettes (M/F), real musician cats with a style all their own and a knack for wisecrack jokes and other witty remarks of sorts. I enjoy hanging out with them as much as I dig their music. It’s good stuff, fresh, crafty, contemporary; and they pull it off with great energy. I talk to their manager, who’s apparently a friendly dude with a good amount of interest for my New Deal and Great Business Opportunities. While I’d rather just hang out and bum cigarettes, I know I’ve come here for some hustlin’. I take to my job. Before I know it midnight is around the corner and soon it won’t be the 3 days before Christmas anymore. My goodbyes are quick and clean, no reason to get smoochie tonight. I hurry to the station, a train is on the platform, rushing off into the night with a day that’s eager to start in precious little time. No reason to get excited, just in time to get my affairs settled and rest while I can before the alarm clock signals the next turn of events.
