Life's A Gas


Quite literally, at my dentist's office. Went in to get a sharp random pain checked-out. Turns out I had a fracture way down in the tooth. Have to get a cap (I'm going for Gold, btw).

I am very clean living now so when I got the laughing gas I sucked that stuff up and tried to breath deeply, like you're supposed to. I was high as a kite in seconds. Then I got the Novocaine, which is such a specific feeling it made me laugh out loud. How do you explain to your dentist that the reason you're laughing is because the injection he just gave you reminds you of a night out in London in 1996? Or that your tongue is so numb it feels like someone else's and you're kind of french-kissing yourself (it was the gas...it made giggly sense at the time)? You don't, not if you want to get any more of the good stuff out of him. I have to compliment his needle skills. I recently went for a blood test at another clinic and the girl taking the samples had all the finesse of a thumbless elephant prodding my arm with a staple-gun, but with my dentist I barely noticed.

But oh, the drill, the smell of burning tooth....the pressure on the nerve as he found the fracture (which felt exactly like the original pain that had sent me in there in the first place). He gave me more novocaine. I was still guzzling the nitrous oxide and smiling, too.
"You like that gas, don't you Richard?" he said.
I giggled. Hell yeah. What's not to like?

When he really got into it, and he and the nurse had their hands in my mouth and were hollowing-out my molar, my entire head felt numb. It was pretty good actually. I was so drugged I was able to let my mind wander in exactly the same manner as it does when I'm drowsy in my bunk on a bus, or when I'm not quite asleep on a plane: I ended up thinking about sex. Quelle surprise.

Then I started to wonder, if going to the dentist and having someone carving up my teeth has me thinking about sex, am I creating a monster? Will I develop a fetish? Could I find myself saying in the small hours, "I'm sorry love, this just isn't working. How about you shine that flashlight into my eyes and dig around on lower-right-seven with a fork?" just to be able to get it on in the future?

I'll be sure to let you know...

Absolutely Nothing At All:

That's a line from one of my friend's band songs from about 1986. It has no bearing to anything other than it makes me happy to think of them. They were good, but they were from Coventry so they kept pulling the rug out from under their own feet; that and the singer, who copied Bowie shamelessly but made it a taboo subject to mention, went a bit barmy, which is a shame. There but for the grace of God... I saw some friends from the UK last weekend at gig. What a difference an hour or so of belly-laughing with your mates makes to your week.

I've been at home. There is so little to blog about when I'm at home it's pitiful. The things I like to do at home (don't get ahead of yourselves here...) aren't so interesting for me to write about, never mind for anyone else to read about. But I have this blog and it keeps pouting at me from the internets while I'm surfing travel websites.

I did read this interesting article on the disappearance of comedy from the modern novel. Flawed but interesting, if you like reading about novels.

I also saw an inspiring interview with Geoffry Canada, whom I think is one of the most important and inspiring New Yorkers I've ever encountered. He runs an organization called Harlem Children's Zone, which is an initiative to develop educational opportunituies in Harlem; addressing the families and the children's needs from an early age to give them an alternative to the less aspirational routes that the kids would be exposed to in Harlem. They do amazing work and it's a relief to hear a positive black voice that isn't running some tired faux-gansta' bullshit or working a solely political agenda (Which I'm always sceptical of, whether from a white, black or 'other' standpoint). There's not a lot of airtime given to straight-edged, pragmatic, hard-working black leaders in the media talking about strengthening their communities one child at a time - I guess it's not such a compelling subject (as far as I can see; I'll admit, it's not something I'm policing closely, I'd be hapy to be wrong) - and I imagine the squeaky wheels get all the oil, right? But it's inspiring to know that while there are duplicitous bastards like Reverend Ike syphoning cash out of the community and Snoops pontificating on misogyny in every media outlet after the Imus incident while making as much money as they can from pimping the people they claim to represent; there are also people doing the right thing, quietly, without fanfare, and trying to have a positive effect on the next generation, and one that isn't based on getting their disposable income from them at some indeterminate point. Check out the Harlem Children's Zone and give them some tax-deductible money if you're so inclined.

Aside from this, I've been writing non-stop (but not on the blog). I'm on page 295 out of 353 of a rewrite today. Got a deadline to meet before I go away but I'm not kidding myself. I'm taking an old laptop to Asia (one I don't care if I lose) so that I can work out there too. Like I can't write for three weeks; who am I kidding?

Recommended Reads:
We Need To Talk About Kevin by Lional Shriver. Astute, affecting and horribly timely.
The Heart of the Matter - Graham Greene - Simply a master writer.

Thanks to St. Hubbins...

....For favours received.

I got the upgrades to and from Hong Kong when booking today. Thank you, St. Hubbins, patron saint of airline upgrades.

Off on my travels again in a few weeks: Hong Kong, Guangzhou / Guilin, Hanoi, Halong and Ho Chi Minh City and not one pop concert in any of them.

That's May done, then. Have to figure out June now....

It's quiet; almost too quiet...


I love Couch:


A week off tour. I feel normal, or as normal as I ever get to feel (I'm still talking to myself and spitting like a pissy camel behind slow-walking people on Broadway but, hey....). I've written a lot and am feeling faintly encouraged on that count and, quelle surprise, I'm close to booking a vacation in Hong Kong and Vietnam because that's just what I like doing on my off-time. But I've a few things to take care of here first, the least of which is figuring out how I'm paying the bills over the summer.

Small moments of happiness this week included seeing Elvis Costello crossing Broadway with his family (gots to love New York for random understated celeb' sightings) and finally getting my legs to run 5 miles continuously (on Tuesday they argued at doing 2. A month of 5 mile runs and I won't be considering amputating a limb as a way of getting rid of the excess tour weight). I've seen tons of movies, read continuously, and have been eating heathily. It's the simple things I'm loving right now. It's amazing how few of them being on tour allows.

The only bummer in the past week (apart from the nausea at mile 2 last Tuesday...)* is that The Jam / Paul Weller allowed Start! to be used in a car commercial. A part of my youth shrivelled when I saw it, but I guess it's how things are now. I'm sure Bruce Foxton and Rick Buckler can use the money and I wouldn't begrudge them that, although Weller's got to be minted already....

So, as hoped for, being at home is mellow and relaxing. I miss the travel (and the laughs) but not the relentless responsibility of touring. At the rate I'm going I'll be in South East Asia again by the middle of next month. Who knows, I might even move there...? But for now I'm happy tour managing my own vacation. It's like a busman's holiday; tour managing is such a particular skill-set, it's a strange feeling to be able to use it outside of work. And it's a pleasant surprise too, to find booking and researching a vacation so much fun and such a breeze to do (Thank you the internets...and a shout-out to St. Hubbins too - I'll be calling on you soon....). Once I decide the route it will be booked inside 30 minutes. All I have to decide now is how long I stay in Ho Chi Minh City and where I'm going to eat in Kowloon....Bummer, eh?

*Kurt Vonnegut dying is obviously in a class of global bummerdom, and not to be trivialised with my petty complaints.

The End Has No End.


Not true.

The tour finished yesterday when Albert played on Late Night With Conan O' Brien. Ironically for a show that airs at 12:30AM we loaded in at 7AM. JOy of the deepest kind. Brian and I (who'd both had about 1 hour's sleep the night before after getting back from DC) both loaded in and then fell asleep on the sofas in the dressing room for a couple of hours. Like two crispy, grizzled bears.



After the show all the gear went back to various rehearsal studios / houses and we all met up to watch Conan air at 12:30AM. It was a fitting way to finish the tour.

Then I slept like a drugged pig. Mmmmmmm.

Today I'm finalising the tour accounts, which is easy enough even if it's boring. But trying to deal with this:




Isn't so easy when this





is on TV.

I've really got into Walker, Texas Ranger. Or rather, compared to processing piles of receipts, I've really got into Walker, Texas Ranger. It's the very best of crappy TV. TV you can watch without watching. And there are seemingly hundreds of episodes on TV all the time.


Back home and my apartment is clean, which is a small blessing. And I can eat properly again, rather than feeding on crap like this:



This is a Philly cheese steak. I ate two on Tuesday. Wrongness in a sandwich. They taste as good as they look bad.

Thursday, when we were in DC, would have been my 10th Wedding Anniversary, had we not divorced. Today the tour finishes. It's a strangely timed week. The phone isn't ringing with minutae anymore, and the email questions and arrangements have stopped, and personally I have nothing at all planned for the rest of my life and no one to plan it with. I feel kind of light. It's a strange feeling. Not a bad one, but strange. It's quite exciting to feel that the future is so open. And not a little scary.

It will pass. Everything does. That's what's great about being alive.

Waiting At The Lights, Know What I Mean?

I rented a van to get everyone to and from the United Palace show with Bloc Party. This is the traffic outside the Lincoln Tunnel at 11:10PM on Friday. It was taking over 10 minutes to go forward one block at one point. Like a good, snotty Manhattanite, I blamed all the Bridge and Tunnel traffic but I was told later that a bus had crashed over in Jersey so I guess one can't entirely blame all the B&T people.




And then this was Saturday afternoon near the same location.





I didn't really care, I'm so glad to be back here. I love New York. It's home and it's one of the most amazing cities in the world. And the women are so beautiful, like few other places on the planet. I spent most of the weekend sighing wistfully and feeling like I'd been punched in the chest.

Thing is, once I've got rid of Chazz Michael Michael's body (which I acquired on tour) and been here a couple of weeks I'll be itchy to travel again. I've already been looking at the Cathay Pacific website - 23 Asian cities in 21 days.....hmmm.....

And how can you not love a city where you can buy a life-size figurine of an adolescent wizard balancing on a broomstick that looks strangely like a flat-ended tail?



Spent Sunday morning on the phone with my mate Mick from London. He told me about a reissued version of Young Americans with a bonus DVD. After a (typical for us) couple of hours talking about Bowie in the 70's trans-atlantically I had to go to Virgin to buy a load of CDs & DVDs. Spent the rest of the day watching them. Even when he's being a ponce Bowie's still Dave and the Greatest Living Englishman as far as I'm concerned (And I'm happy to admit that he gets it wrong often but to my mind he's still trying and he made all those LPs from Man Who Sold The World through to Scary Monsters {and okay, Let's Dance} so like McCartney he should be allowed to make any records he likes forever. He's earned it). Like Lennon he's from the (maybe extinct?) strain of working class English who aspire to something better both intellectually and artistically. Maybe Jarv's the last one in that line that I can think of..? I'd love to be wrong here.

One week of shows left. It's a gentle re-entry into life doing shows while being at home. Maybe by Saturday (when we finish properly) I'll have adjusted to being back and I won't sit in my apartment wondering why my phone doesn't ring and buzz with incoming emails. Maybe...

Still, if I feel weird I can always walk around and look at girls for a bit. That usually helps.

Uptown Top Ranking


Once our very clean bus dropped us on 4th Ave & 13th Street we all piled off with our luggage (I had seven bags and an old printer to get home) and took cabs home.

Waking up in my apartment felt luxurious. So did going to Whole Foods to spend $90 on fruit and salads. I've f***ed my back up somehow so I'm limping around like Charles Laughton in the Hunchback of Notre Dame but I'm home so it doesn't matter really. But I'm a gimp, that's for sure.

The two shows this weekend were way uptown near the George Washington Bridge. At the end of the street the venue is on you could see the sunset over Jersey and the river.



...and the GWB itself. Normally I only ever see its faint, strung lights from 6 miles downriver or so.



The shows were at the United Palace Theatre on 175th St and Broadway. It's an amazing place, one of the 5 "Wonder Loews" that Loews Movie Theatres built, one in each borough of New York City. It opened in 1930 and it's garish in its opulence inside.



Here's the foyer. It would have been an amazing movie theatre in its heyday, and could make one now...



This was the first rock show at the venue. The building is used as a church by Reverend Ike who, as far as I can see, offers to pray for poor people if they send him money. (Quote: "Make sure that you enclose your Faith Offering for the Church Ministry, whe you write. Don't ask for "something for nothing." That could bring "bad luck." Let me Pray for YOU, and YOURS, for Good Health, Healing, Joy, Love, Success, Prosperity, Good Fortune, and More Money." In his 16 page full color magazine he asks for money for prayerts on each page and also promises prosperity in return. Reminds me of the old Popes and thier long held practice of simony.... And as anyone who's read the New Testament knows, Jesus was always about the money... I'd go as far as to say the Reverened Ike is a thieving charlatan. Reverend my cock. Didn't Jesus throw the money-lenders out of the temple about this time of year...?)

I think being raised a Catholic and then growing out of that faith has made me sensitive to this kind of tartuffery and bullshit. Click on the photo below to read the "letters" in the parish magazine. I can't do them justice.

Check out the standard advertising 'call to action' underneath the letter "signed" P.W. The whole magazine is full of these faux-handwritten-font asides reminding you to pay....



The whole magazine is full of this shit. Titles like "Even her DOG became a millionaire!" Why would a spiritual organisation have to hard sell the cash benefits of faith? Isn't the reward supposed to be in the afterlife? Isn't living a good life reward enough?

It pisses me off to see people exploited so callously. And while a cold judge could say anyone who buys into this bollocks gets what they deserve maybe isn't appreciating the desparation that people live with and the faith that people hang on to to get them through hard and otherwise hopeless lives. Being middle class makes me forget that not everyone has the choices I have. Shame there isn't a hell for Reverened Ike to rot in. I wouldn't have his thoughts.

We're definitely back in New York. Even God is a graft.

Coming Home.


If you look under your seat at the Spectrum Theatre in Montreal this is what you'll see. This is the route under the venue. It looks like a set out of Doctor Who? Note the TV buried into the earth. I felt like the venue and 2000 Canadians were going to crash onto my head when I walked through. Of course, it's always all about me...



Marc watches the bus get washed at 1:30AM. We should have been nearly home. We weren't. We didn't get back to Manhattan until 4:30AM, even crossing the north of the Island at 4AM to go around and enter the West Side via the Lincoln Tunnel. I remember watching midtown rise on the horizon and then I realised we were on the George Washington Bridge heading towards Jersey with Manhattan slipping away behind us. If I'd got out and taken a cab I'd have been home in 15 minutes, instead it took another hour. I was so wired when I got back that I spent another hour on the phone calling friends overseas until I'd simmered down some.

Of course, I can laugh about it now....



Ha. Ha Ha.