It’s been a few days, hasn’t it? After Lucca we spent two full days in Viareggio, in the sun — well, not me, I hunched in the shadows tapping away at the keys until hunger overcame the need for a faux-subterranean life. Under orders from my stomach, I ventured into the afternoon’s cosmic inferno, rewarded for my trouble with pasta.
On Friday we flew to Hamburg and spent the rest of the day in leisure; the weather was more to my taste — around 20℃ as opposed to a million degrees or whatever it was in Italy. Here in Hamburg, one might even wish to take a light jacket when venturing out for a stroll. Saturday — more German leisure. Sunday — here we are again, indoors, while the light drizzle waters the plants outside. Inside, there’s no worrying about plastic sheeting, damp carpets, or silver sun-shields; in fact, no bothersome sun at all! Back in black, Mister Pasty.
Load-in for The Winning Team couldn’t have been much easier. The truck backed onto a hallway near the stage and our gear rolled off, and onto the arena floor where it would wait until the carpets were laid and a forklift was free. With no scurrying in preparation for weather, I found myself with some spare time and sat drafting these very words, fed, watered, and well rested after so many days off.
So what’s new? I’ve nearly finished a book — A Tale of Two Cities by none other than Charles Dickens. With 17 pages left, I’m interested to see how he wraps things up; as much as I love Dickens, I have to admit his style is hard to get through sometimes. And as clever as he is with words (don’t even get me started on how he managed to write at such length without a computer) I can’t help but think that the English Victorian syntax was closer to his narrators’ voices than to our modern vernacular. Perhaps there is an extra frond to our love-palm with Dickens in that he gives us a view into his world; as time trundles and we watch the past slip away through the rear window, like Mr. Lorry peering for pursuers, Dickens gives us a bookmark, a way to see the language of the Victorians. Keep in mind of course that A Tale of Two Cities is NOT set in Victorian times, but with any luck, you’ll get my shabby, waffling drift.
Oh and speaking of books, I can’t for the life of me believe you’ve heard No Ideas the book is now on sale in all its do-it-yourself splendour, in both electronic and paper formats. (Just let me know when the self-promotion becomes unbearable; I’ll employ subliminal methods.)
Returning to the stuff of labour for which I am gainfully employed, today’s soundcheck was neither harried by generator issues nor tarried by noise curfews. Indoors, we can do as we like (human sacrifice is still proscribed, thank you very much European parliament) and soundcheck went ahead when it was expected; during said check, however, something quite unexpected occurred. I shan’t make any utterances of indications just yet dear reader, but a very familiar song was given an entirely new treatment. Perhaps it shall be unveiled tonight or tomorrow, or perhaps its new skin will quietly shed — who’s to say? In the meantime I shall remain schtum.
We look forward, this evening, to a crew-friendly 8pm start time. As to whether or not it will be delayed, if the ticket-holders of Hamburg can get into their seats in a timely fashion, we are not to say but hope. Stupendous revelations both expected and surprisory shall doubtless hurtle forth in the next, positively riveting episode of Sarcastic Roadie.