Mogwai: Amsterdam, Melkweg, May 29th 2003

Ah, seeing my favourite Scotsmen again tonight. Well, some of my favourite Scotsmen in any event. There's more of them since I discovered Arab Strap, and I still like some of the Jackie Leven albums a lot. I saw Mogwai a couple of years ago in Luxembourg, around the time "Rock Action" was released. That was a great show, although the sound volume in Den Atelier was really way too high up. Ears still ringing a full day after the concert. So I'm really looking forward to the show here tonight in Amsterdam, but not without a certain degree of trepidation: will they play as painfully loud as last time?

There is an opening act, the name of which I fail to catch. The first song starts very promising, exactly the kind of act that you'd hope to see opening for a band like Mogwai. Very atmospheric, yet loud at the same time. But then the singer opens his mouth and destroys the whole effect. It goes downhill from here. The chap just keeps singing, and the at one time interesting music sounds more and more like stale Black Sabbath pieces covered by Radio Four. I thought speed-metal became extinct some time around the pleistocene. Forgettable, this.

But then Mogwai appear, and all is well again. The sound is loud, but not painfully so. Perhaps that was a glitch, back then in Luxembourg. The band play a number of pieces from the forthcoming new album "Happy Songs for Happy People". Sounds good, in the typical Mogwai style: slow melodic lines building steadily up to a crescendo of sonic mayhem; eery soundscapes erupting violently, then lapsing back into quietude. I love that stuff. I recognize some pieces from "Rock Action". Some others go unannounced, and I can't tell whether they're new or from some older album perhaps. The keyboard guy does some kind of singing now and then. Not that I can make out any words, I assume it's just meant as special effects. These passages in particular remind me strongly of the latest Sigur Ros album, "()". I think it would be mighty cool if Mogwai and Sigur Ros ever teamed up for a joint session. After the encores the band leaves with the encouraging words "come see us again before we're dead." Excellent show. A moron waving his cigarette around burns my elbow.

Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds: Amsterdam, Heineken Music Hall, June 2nd 2003

Yet another show that I've been looking forward to tremendously. I last saw Nick almost exactly two years ago, June 11th 2001 in Tilburg. Has it really been that long? Sometimes I suspect that I measure time by the years and months elapsing between shows. A lot has happened in the meantime: Nick has become even more of a family man; the latest album "Nocturama" does have its moments, but I'm not terribly impressed with it; Blixa has left the band, so I think that tonight we'll get Nick Cave and the Not Quite So Bad Seeds.

My old friend Nadine is coming over from Brussels to see the show. I know her from university days in a previous life. I'm waiting for her at Amsterdam Central Station. Her train is delayed. I had planned to get to the venue early in order to secure a front row spot, but I have her ticket, so I need to wait. She comes running into the station's main hall by the time the opening act is supposed to get on stage. But while waiting I've decided that I don't really care that much about it. It's good to see Nadine again. She's still a cute petite redhead, has a decent taste in music, and is a vegetarian to boot. In short: good company. We take the underground to the Heineken Music Hall, chatting away Babel-style in a mix of Flemish, German, and English.

When we get there, the hall is packed of course. The opening act is into the last two songs. They consist mainly of a weird looking ageing chap whom I'll later learn to be Chris Bailey. I scan the front row from the side of the stage and spot some familiar faces near the most likely location of Nick's microphone stand. A bit of waving gets their attention. Thanks to the inviting gestures from the front row, the crowd grudgingly lets Nadine and myself through, and we end up right behind the die-hard Cave fanclub. I just have the time to renew some acquaintances before the lights are dimmed.

Amidst thunderous applause the band take their positions. I reserve my judgment for later. There is some shouting for Blixa, and Nick explains that Blixa's gone off to other pursuits. The process is repeated a couple of times in between songs, until people tire of the game. There is a new band member in Blixa's old spot, but I forget the name. The show kicks off with the opening track from the new album, "It's a Wonderful Life". It becomes immediately apparent to me that the absence of Blixa does indeed change the overall sound of the Bad Seeds quite dramatically. No more, the guitar playing that sounds like a dying horse. This is of course felt even more so in subsequent songs that I've heard live so often, like "Do You Love Me? (part 1)", and "Red Right Hand". We get a strangely slow version of the latter. Not an improvement on the original in my opinion.

In the course of the show I can't help but notice that Nick's stage act, which once seemed so natural and inspired, has really become a habit, yes, an act. The crab-like movement across the front of the stage, the pointing finger, all orchestrated. It's more fun to watch Warren, who's still playing his violin as manically as always. The loud songs are being interspersed with quiet ones. The latter are lost on me. The friendly ballads don't stir me, while the loud and wild songs make me realise that this band can still be one of the best live acts on the planet. I'm not known for paying much attention to what the music press has to say about the bands that I like, but on occasion one of those journalists manages to characterise a favourite artist of mine so spot-on that I actually remember the message. Like this chap who described the lyrics of Conor Oberst as 'informal eloquence'. Absolutely so. And then someone mentioned about Nick that (paraphrasing) "in the quiet pieces Cave merely smoulders, while in the loud ones he blazes." And that's exactly how I feel this music here tonight.

Some further highlights of the show are "The Mercy Seat", "West Country Girl", and "From Her to Eternity". For "Bring It On" from the new album, Chris Bailey gets summoned upon the stage for a duet. Nah. Two nice surprises. "Christina the Astonishing" Never thought they'd perform that one live again. Now here's a quiet song that does really work. And the final song of the set, "Henry Lee", turns out to be a massively revamped version. Very good, a lot noisier than it used to be, and even the lyrics sound different to me. Or perhaps Nick forgot some lines and was merely ad-libbing? For the encores, we get the inevitable "Ship Song", and a "Deanna" that sounds rather out of tune to me. Could also be another attempt at innovation though. Finally, Jean-Phi, or whatever his name, appears on stage carrying a set of cardboard sheets with a lot of lyrics blocklettered upon them. Surely not "Curse of Millhaven" again? No, it's the long track from "Nocturama": "Babe, I'm on Fire". Quite exciting to hear this one live, but it gets marred somehow when near the end Warren misses a crucial beat that should pull the melody back together after a chaotic outburst, and the music peters out somewhat. At this point Nick drops the Mr. Nice Guy mask and furiously yells "you fucking idiot" at Warren. Hmmm. Temper, temper ... Warren kicks in again, they finish the song, and it's over.

Nadine and I agree that it was great fun, although the quality and intensity of the experience were not quite uniform. We get back to the underground station where we run into Marga for whom this was the first Nick Cave live show. Strange how I keep bumping into the same people at various shows. On our way to my flat Nadine and I meet a rabbit and shoo it away from the roadside into the safety of some bushes. We have a drink and I dig up some goodies from the CD rack for Nadine to sample. Of course I need to expose her to Bright Eyes, Migala, Cursive, Louis Tillett, Black Heart Procession. But it's late and we need to get up early for a drive to Brussels. I need to be there at ten for business, so I'll give her a lift back. We can hear some more music in the car.

current mood: recumbent

Therapy?: Amsterdam, Melkweg, May 20th 2003

And now it's time for a bit of good old Irish fun. Another band that I've been seeing live for over a decade now. Hell, am I getting old or what? Back in 1992 they played Brussels, kind of a backwater venue in a part of town that you wouldn't want to stroll around in on your own after sunset. Come to think of it, not even during daytime.

The funny thing is that I went to that particular show not primarily to see Therapy? but because I was completely mad about their opening act, a somewhat grunge-afflicted Wisconsin guitar band by the name of Paw. These guys, Paw that is, had released a fantastic album "Dragline" that had me completely hooked. As a matter of fact, I can still listen to "Dragline" and get excited about it without being hampered by the slight sense of embarrassment that comes over me when I scan the titles of some other early nineties grunge-era CDs in my rack. Oddly, Paw released a second album "Death to Traitors" and then proceeded to vanish off the face of the planet. I still wonder what happened to them.

So I got to see Paw opening for Therapy? and they were terrific. It was probably due in part to my Paw-fixation that evening that I did not fully appreciate the Therapy? show that followed. Oh, I had some Therapy? records and really liked them, but after the Paw part of the evening Therapy? felt like a bit of a let-down. At that point in time Therapy? seemed to take themselves very seriously, and cultivated this we're-a-bunch-of-really-bad-motherfuckers attitude on stage, which I didn't like. Not to mention all the stage-diving and crowd-surfing which made it hard for me to focus on the music. In subsequent years I kept buying and enjoying their albums, but skipped some opportunities of seeing them live.

A similar situation arose in 1998 or 1999, I can't remember, when I went to the big Belgian summer-festivals in Torhout and in Werchter, with the purpose of seeing Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds. On both occasions, the act just before Nick were ... Therapy? Meaning that in order to secure a Bad Seeds front row spot, I had to move in during the Therapy? shows, and endure being kicked around from the sides as well as from above, what with crowd-surfing morons wearing combat-boots passing overhead every ten seconds. That was the real low in my latent interest to see Therapy? play live.

But then somehow things changed. Andy and Martin started doing a series of acoustic sets of which I saw a couple, and I was so impressed with those. Well, acoustic isn't really the correct terminology, there being a lot of power and noise in those as well. But anyway, those shows showed me a different side of Therapy?, and provided me with a new angle of approach to their live appearances. I've been to a number of 'regular' Therapy? concerts since then, and they've all been serious fun. Strange how things go. I'm convinced though that it isn't just me, it's also due to subtle changes in the band. Compared to ten years ago, Therapy? now play with as much energy and gusto as back then, but the we're-so-bad attitude is mostly gone, and when it does crop up, it comes with a sideways grin. They visibly have more fun on stage, being loud and wild just for the fun of it, it's all become an order of magnitude less serious.

So that's why I'm here tonight at the Milky Way. The place is packed, most probably sold out. An opening act comes onto the stage. Their singer mumbles the name of the band, but I can't hear it. Pity, because I'd be keen on avoiding them in the future. It's one of those 13 in a dozen uninspired guitar rock acts. Think Placebo and Raemonn but without the occasional catchy riff. Oh my, they're doing the full rock-star thing on stage: the jumping up and down in synch with the beat, the swirling around of long hair, the clapping of hands to urge the masses to do the same. In between songs, the singer explains that they're from Belgium and insists on making an ass of himself by attempting to speak Flemish with a Dutch accent. This is so embarrassing. After the second song, a girl in the front row slips him a piece of paper. Assuming he's getting a request from a pretty girl, he proceeds to read it out aloud into his mike. It says "Thanks for coming, bye-bye now." I laugh my head off. They end their set with a song titled "We're not gonna make it". I violently agree.

Then, at last, Therapy? Loud as always, and fan-fuckin'-tastic (ipse dixerunt). The set is a good mix between new material and older songs from the greatest hits grab-bag. I hadn't realised that there is a new album out ("High Anxiety") so I'm unfamiliar with the new stuff. Andy announces the new record in his inimitable manner: "You all go buy our new album, 'coz if you don't I'll search you out on the internet, I'll find where your homes are, and I'll fuck your asses with my enormous dick ... How's that for a bit of marketing, eh?" See what I meant with 'sideways grin'? We get some of the classics of course: "Trigger Inside", "Going Nowhere", "Screamager", the James Joyce song (I can never recall the exact name of that one), and the unavoidable "Diane". I really like the show, but the audience seems a bit lame tonight. Perhaps they're all drugged, which wouldn't surprise me, this being an Amsterdam crowd. Not a lot of synergy with the band.

This has been good fun. As it happens, I need to drive to Brussels tomorrow, job-wise. Therapy? are playing the Botanique there. Hmmmm. Of course it's sold out. So I leave a message for Andy reminding him of something he promised last time we had the occasion to have a chat. I get word back: a spot on the guest-list for tomorrow evening. Yihaaa!

Therapy?: Brussels, Botanique, May 21st 2003

Spent the day at my company's Brussels office, preparing a software demo for a prospective customer. Really big fish in the Benelux banking business. Then off to the Botanique, my favourite Brussels venue. I've seen a number of great shows here. My first Peter Hammill concert ever. One of those acoustic Therapy? sets I mentioned earlier. Bright Eyes last winter. They have three halls, Therapy? are playing in the larger one tonight. Tina shows up with her little brother. My friends Koen B and Claudine drop in for a chat and a drink. We all skip the opening act and exchange recent concert stories in the cafeteria.

Then on to the show. Largely the same set-list as last night in Amsterdam, a similar mixture between new and old. But altogether a better concert. The audience is more responsive, and that inevitably rubs off on the band. The band encourage the stage-diving as usual. Tina claims that if she's ever going to try it, it'll be tonight. Alas, she chickened out claiming she couldn't get onto the stage. Hmmm. During one of the encores, it may have been "Diane", Andy lets himself float on the crowd in front. That looks mighty cool, but I guess he knows he isn't going to be jostled around too much by the hordes of reverent fans. Glad I made it in here tonight, cheers to Andy! And driving back to Amsterdam at night is a nice experience too, once in a while. At least then I get the impression that I'm actually getting somewhere. No trifling matter on the Dutch motorways.

current mood: thirsty

Yo La Tengo: Amsterdam, Paradiso, May 9th 2003

It is now over a decade ago, but I can still vividly remember how I was knocked off my socks by Yo La Tengo's 1992 album "May I Sing With Me". In subsequent years the general tone of their albums has been acquiring a more gentle, quieter, intropective flavour. Yet, even the more recent releases like "And Then Nothing Turned Itself Inside-out" and the new one "Summer Sun", they are still unmistakably Yo La Tengo. Impossible to confuse them with any other band in the alternative and indie scene. YLT evolve musically while retaining a distinct identity. Perhaps that's why I am still fond of them?

Strange though it may seem, this is only the second time I get to see them play live. In another lifetime, just after "And Then..." was released, there was a show in wintery Luxembourg. Now Amsterdam. I suppose that I too have been evolving while remaining me. *lol*

How to describe a YLT performance? Roughly speaking there are three types of songs. Firstly, you get the very quiet almost folky tunes. And I mean quiet to the point of being drowned in the crackling of plastic cups underfoot, and the constant chatter at the back of the venue. No matter what show I go to see here in Amsterdam, there is always a sizeable segment of the audience that seems bent on talking throughout the entire performance. One wonders. While I'm at it: another law of nature is that no matter where I position myself in the venue, there will always be an improbably tall Dutchman standing in front of me, blocking the view. A phenomenon that I'm still mulling over in my mind occasionally, trying to come up with a reasonable explanation. I am not a short guy myself, by any physionomical averages or standards, yet it happens to me time and again. It is scary. But I digress. The quiet tunes. They don't really cut it for me. I'm sure they'll fit someone's concept of beauty, but not mine. If beauty is the correct word at all. Maybe the term should be fun, rather than beauty.

Secondly, there are the somewhat experimental songs. Poppy tunes with a twist. Or several twists. Odd time signatures; some apparently out-of-tune singing; keyboard playing that verges on the dilettantic. These can be interesting, but mostly from a somewhat detached intellectual point of view.

Thirdly, the songs that I consider vintage YLT. The YLT trademark so to speak. Typically, these start of like a melodic pop song, a catchy guitar riff, overlaid with Ira singing fragile, eery vocals. Then, somehow, the music starts derailing into sonic chaos, which is mainly caused by Ira applying unknown methods of torture to his guitar while drums and bass go on as before. When the mayhem reaches its peak, they somehow manage to pull everything together again, and the original melody reappears as a steady and exciting pulse. Once again, Ira breaks away, and just when you think it can't possibly get any louder, wilder, more brutal, and more over the top, that's precisely what happens. Finally, the melody re-crystallizes before drawing gently to a close. They play several of these ten-minute pieces throughout the show, and I'm a happy man.

After the show, Ira and James appear in the front row. Georgia's too tired and remains backstage. I succumb to the temptation to do the fan thing, and get my copy of the new album autographed. The boys are in for a chat, and we talk about music, what other cool stuff is around these days. A girl standing nearby turns out to be a fellow Godspeed fan. I mention the Luxembourg gig and Ira remembers it as the worst of that particular tour with none of them feeling too well to start with, and being numb from the freezing cold. Turns out "May I Dance With Me" is currently their own least favourite album... *grin*

Gotan Project: Utrecht, Tivoli, May 14th 2003

Always nice to be back at Tivoli. Great venue, good audience. And good memories of shows past, albeit coloured by melancholy. How do I end up here tonight? This is not my usual kind of music. I don't have any Gotan Project albums. I don't even know their music. But I've seen part of a televized live broadcast some time last year, where they were accompanied by Yann Tiersen on violin, and that really blew me away. No Tiersen billed here tonight, but I'm more than willing to give them a try.

And yes, it is tango music. Some of it is straight tango, or at least what I, one of the uninitiated, take to be classical tango pieces. Executed with great skill and passion. Good stuff. Reminds me of that Gidon Kremer album "Hommage to Piazzola" or what's it called. But Gotan Project is more than that. I interpret the name of the band as meaning: tango deconstructed and reconstructed. And they do that too, but in two different manners. One type of reconstruction mixes the tango pieces back together in a carnival-in-Rio style, with two DJs throwing in disco-beats and drum computers. Godawfull. Am I surprised to note that the audience seems to like these bits the best? But then, there is the other type of reconstruction, where the DJs actually do something magical, mixing in beats and rhythms reminiscent of various contemporary genres, and where the violin player takes the melody beyond the confines of the tango genre, and goes screeching inspiredly off into limbo. Wow, those pieces are what I'm here for!

All in all a mixed experience. Some unbearable garbage, some OK stuff, and some fabulous pieces of the jaw-dropping variety. Still, I'm glad I came, if only for the few scattered gems.

current mood: melancholy

Some pictures look decidedly more intriguing after a 90 or 180 degree rotation. This holds true especially for shots showing interfaces between air and water, inside and outside, mirror surfaces. Like the karp pond in the Glasgow Botanical Gardens:

Or this one, the Rennie Mackintosh Lighthouse tower, also Glasgow:

current mood: quixotic

I moved from one Amsterdam flat to another. The company that provides my telephone connection as well as my internet access got 5 weeks' notice about the move and still didn't manage to get their act together. Bunch of losers, really. I'd walk out on them if I wouldn't happen to know that their competitors actually provide even crappier service. *sigh* So much then for my plan to post timely travel and concert reviews here ... Oh well, I'll back-date the entries and nobody will ever find out :-)

So, some words about the Massive Attack concert at the Heineken Music Hall. It's one of those shows I got to see by accident. These fellows seem to be hugely popular, so the show was long since sold out by the time I heard about it. I was never too wild about their records. Heard "Mezzanine" and then their latest, "100th Window". But they're one of those bands that I'm only giving a try when they play around the corner, so to speak. As it happened, my colleague Ebele had a spare ticket. Guess the girlfriend got qualms at the last moment. So I took it over from him (the ticket, that is).

Speaking of "100th Window" ... Before the Hammill show in Glasgow last February, I was having a pint of some watery British beer-lookalike (though not quite taste-alike) with Stuart Gordon at the bar of the venue, while Peter was still hollering and yodelling away at his sound-check. The guys behind the bar were playing bits from newly released records. There was a song from Nick Cave's latest, and then a track which I mentally traced back to "100th Window". Something in the music struck me as odd while I was having a chat with old Hooley, so I go like "listen to that violin line there, it somehow sounds strangely familiar ..." And Stuart: "Well, uh, sure, that's me! Did some studio work for Massive Attack ..."

But I digress ... Back to the Heineken Music Hall ... A monstrously huge venue. I don't care too much about Heineken. Being of Belgian origin, my palate is somewhat jaded, at least where beers are concerned. So I team up there with Ebele, and another colleague, Martin. Inside, the size of the place is of the same order of magnitude as, say, Vorst Nationaal in Brussels, or the Philipshalle in Dusseldorf. But I admit to a certain curiosity, since I've heard claims that the acoustics are absolutely fabulous. The speaker system sure looks impressive ... As the hall fills up, we have a couple of drinks. Guess what they serve. Argh. We play a game of t-shirt spotting, but the only interesting one that I can make out is a Goth girl wearing a Tool sweater.

There is a support act. Some blonde girl sings, accompanied by a chap on guitar. Oh, they start with a ballad. The next song is also a ballad. Followed by ... another ballad. And so forth. This wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing, but they really sound like the Cranberries on valium and I note outbreaks of yawning all around. The only remedy is more bad beer. And I didn't even catch the name of the band so I won't be able to avoid them in the future.

But then Massive Attack bursts loose with a low-frequency drone of the kind that rearranges every single molecule in the body. And the sound system and acoustics are really as excellent as I had been told. Even without knowing the songs that well, I am enjoying myself tremendously. These guys give a really good live performance. And although I am not known for waxing lyrical about peripherical matters like light shows and special effects (the music is what's important, yes?) I must admit to being very impressed with that aspect of the show as well. At the back of the stage there's the largest composite flat-panel display I've ever seen. It looks like an old computer terminal, with characters racing over it in various colours and directions. The concept of asci-art is given a new meaning.

Thematically, the messages it flashes at us range from the technological (html-code and javascripts race up and down the screen, virus-warnings screw up the display) to all that is bad and despicable in the world. Yes, these guys have a Message for their audience: look at the stock-market tickers; see how powerful multinationals manipulate politics; read the statistics on military budgets and warfare; guess which nation spends the most money per capita on policing the world. Yes, all that and more. I realise that the hypnotic quality of the screen and what it shows combines nicely with the equally hypnotic quality of the music. I don't mind the Message too much. It all fits together so beautifully. And besides, they do have a point there. Musically, there are a few quieter songs in between. Oh no, it's the blonde of the support act who's doing the singing on these. These few songs don't work at all for me. I still don't know who exactly she is, but you can't put a voice like hers on music like this. Ask Beth Gibbons next time, please ...

All in all a very satisfying experience, more so because I didn't expect anything from it in the first place. When the lights come on, I hesitate to mention something that has been nagging at me, but Martin saves me from the embarrassment by taking the words out of my mouth: "Say, that one javascript, I think there was an error in it ..." After tonight, I'm really looking forward to seeing Nick perform here in June, with the almost Bad Seeds. The superb sound quality more than makes up for the size of the place.

It seems that I've decided to use this blog somewhat more actively. I've been thinking for a while that it'd be a cool tool to keep track of things like places I travel to, people I meet, concerts I go to, books I read, and stuff that just happens (a.k.a. Life). See if I can remember what shows I've been going to this year ... To comment upon each of these would be unpractical, but maybe I'll mention some highlights. The year started in style with a string of Peter Hammill shows, accompanied by Stuart Gordon on violin.

• 18-01-2003 Utrecht, Tivoli
• 19-01-2003 Amsterdam, Melkweg
• 20-01-2003 Groningen, Oosterpoort
• 15-02-2003 Glasgow, Cottier Theatre

The Dutch leg of the tour was supposed to be all strings, and no strings attached. Acoustic guitar only, that is, no keyboard set. Utrecht and Amsterdam did indeed proceed after this fashion. Special mention should be made of songs like "Slender Threads" and "Yoga". In Groningen there happened to be a grand piano available at the venue, so exception was duly made and a keyboard set inserted between the string sections. No surprises there however. At least none that I now remember. But the venue was small, seated, and had excellent acoustics. Really enjoyed that one.

I hadn't planned to do more than the three Dutch shows, but Glasgow being on a weekend and flights being dirt cheap made me change my mind. So I spent a weekend on the town, visited the Lighthouse museum's architecture and design exhibit. Toured the Botanical Gardens with their magnificent glasshouse (see picture). And in some bookstore found no less than three Glen Baxter collections I'd never seen before. At last I could read Baxter's long out of print early masterpieces like "The Impending Gleam", and "Jodhpurs in the Quantocks". Ahhh ... And then the show, a little old church, now being transformed into a theatre. Meeting up with friends, familiar faces, hadn't seen some of them in quite a while. Like the American couple I had met on the 1998 German Hammill tour. The Freditor and Ian were there too. Having a drink with Stuart before the show. Turns out he played violin on the new Massive Attack album, the one that has some exploding glass dummy on the cover. It's a small world. Great show too, but not the best in this series. Roger and out for the time being.

Two Madrugada shows. I'd seen them late last year in Amsterdam at the Crossing Borders Festival. That was just after "Grit" was released. The present tour seemed to be a continuation of the Grit-tour. Or, more of the same:

• 19-03-2003 Amsterdam, Paradiso
• 22-03-2003 Luxembourg, Den Atelier

I don't know what it is with these guys. They used to be absolutely fabulous on stage. Now I merely think of them as 'great'. Perhaps it has something to do with their change of musical direction? I can't shake off the impression that they desperately want to sound like the Stones these days. I still enjoy myself at the shows, but something intangible is lacking, something that was there before "Grit", before Jon left the band, and that particular something is now gone. Oh well, paths and interests, they all diverge after a while. Such is the natural evolution of complex systems in phase space. Some paths diverge faster than others. We'll see what happens with their next release. The sound was extremely bad at the Amsterdam show. I wandered around the venue during the set, hoping to find a spot where the music would be pure and clean. But to no avail. It simply sounded like a loud soup in which Sivert's vocals were drowned and only occasionally drifted to the surface. Soundwise, Luxembourg was a lot better. I grabbed a setlist, but I can't be bothered I'm afraid ...

And then there were a couple of singular shows:

• 08-02-2003 Woven Hand, Eindhoven, Effenaar
• 15-02-2003 The Residents, Amsterdam, Melkweg

Woven Hand were excellent, although I was slightly more impressed with them on last year's tour when I saw them in Amsterdam. Not sure why that is the case; perhaps the setlist was more coherent then, or there was more intensity to the performance. As to The Residents gig, it was a mistake going there. Happens. A year or two ago, my friend Marcus had played me some of their early nineties releases, and I remembered quite liking those. Liking in the same sense as I sometimes like a bit of Gong, Primus, or Spock's Beard. Turns out they strictly played their latest album, which I found utterly uninteresting. Besides, I hadn't expected some sort of grotesque Muppet Show on stage either.

Quite a busy period coming up, concert-wise ... I have tickets for Mogwai, Therapy, Massive Attack, Yo La Tengo, Gotan Project, Nick Cave, and Tindersticks. See if I manage to post a short review note about those after they take place ...

current mood: pensive

... of unpacking a crate of books. After having been involved in the Vance Integral Edition for more than three years, after spending innumerable hours of digitizing, proofreading, textual integrity work, and above all after developing the Totality data warehouse and writing some of the most fancy and complex code I've ever cooked up, after all that, we, the hundred or so active VIE volunteers, are finally seeing our efforts bear fruit. Coming back home after this year's SUGI conference in Seattle, there was a crate waiting for me. It contained the first 22 volumes of the complete works of Jack Vance, which will span 44 volumes eventually.

And guess what, there was no feeling of anti-climax as is sometimes the case when one has been feverishly working towards a goal and finally sees it achieved. Nothing of it, just plain joy mixed with a healthy measure of pride at the fact of having helped to pull this off. I can still vividly remember the first time I came across the project website and thought "My, this is either a hoax, or all those people are barking mad". It took a few months, and some revisiting of the site to realise that it was all dead serious, and before I knew it I found myself barking up the same tree and in it over my ears.

Working on the VIE is one of those things that I simply _had_ to do. Think of it: it is a once-in-a-lifetime occasion to participate in a project to publish the integral works of one's favourite author in a definitive and truly authorized edition. I've been reading Jack Vance's books and stories since I was a kid. And unlike other books which I read at young age and which nowadays make me cringe at the mere thought, I still enjoy reading Vance. More so than ever. There has been a price to pay though, and a hefty one at that. I'm not talking about money here. I'm talking about people, and how a lot of things might have worked out differently if I had invested as much time and effort in friendships and relations as in this set of books. But I decided that I had to do this. I decided to take the VIE path. It felt as if there was no option. It still does.

The path's been a long and winding one, the kind that likes to curve back upon itself occasionally, yes, intersects with itself in unpredictable ways. But the books are now a reality. And they're gorgeous. Some have called them ugly and old-fashioned, but any bibliophile would drool over a set like this. Work on the final 22 volumes is in an advanced stage and progressing smoothly. I look forward to that second crate within a year from now.

current mood: indescribable

Friday October 12th, up early and on the train from Trier to Frankfurt. Multiple trains, that is. Living in some forgotten corner of the empire means that you can't get anywhere easily by public transport. And I don't feel like driving into Frankfurt. Rule of thumb: add one hour to your estimated arrival time for each additional train you need to catch. Connections are rarely made, that is. Rather surprisingly, this time all goes as planned. Although switching platforms in Koblenz is a matter of hooking luggage on a shoulder and dashing in Brownian motion through idling crowds while mumbling tschulligung at every collision.

On the Koblenz-Frankfurt trajectory, I have a tiny table available and unpack my doorstop, err... PC, intending to mess around with some databases. The fellow who plumps himself down in the seat opposite mine obviously has the same idea and whips out his own laptop simultaneously. A fine example of geek social dynamics ensues. The table is too narrow to accommodate two laptops with both screens set back at a comfortable reading angle. When I turn aside briefly to dig through my luggage for the train-ticket, my opponent stealthily pushes back his screen a bit, thereby forcing mine to sit too straight for easy reading. In turn, while he's distracted buying a cup of coffee, I re-adjust the angles to my advantage. He slumps down in his seat and glowers at his screen. I find this quite hilarious, it's almost like that famous scene from Terry Gilliams's Brazil where two office workers in adjoining rooms share a single desk that fits through a slot in the separating wall, so they end up pulling at the table on both ends in order to gain desk-space ...

In Frankfurt, the S-Bahn takes me to the Book Fair where Paul Rhoads picks me out of the crowds at the entrance and guides us to one of the at least 10 massive exhibition halls, each one the size of a few football-fields, where there is an invitation-only area for literary agents. It's good to see Paul again, even though we talk VIE matters over regularly on the phone. Paul has cunningly provided us with an invitation into the restricted Agents' area where we hope to intercept Jack's Agent and engage him in a conversation about the VIE project. Unfortunately we only get to see the chap's assistant who politely refuses to accept a copy of the Gift Edition, for reasons of too much stuff to lug around. We skulk off and have a coffee with Paul's friend Karen, a charming lady who provided our invitation here.

Then we're off to the Hall of the Italian Publishers, where Sfera, the Milan based printers of the VIE books, have a booth. No Sfera people are to be seen. The Fair's closed to the public today, so many of the smaller booths remain unmanned as people swarm out to create and maintain business contacts. However, it is at the Sfera booth that I first get to clutch in my eager paws the first fruits of the VIE tree of Life, the Gift Edition 'Coup de Grace and Other Stories', both in the remarkably solid looking Readers' edition and the glitzy Deluxe edition. I'm impressed. The Deluxe edition is every bit as deluxe as its name indicates, and even the Readers' edition should have enough appeal to convince all but the most snobbish bibliophiles.

After some ooh- and aah-ing, the glazed look gradually recedes from my eyes and I remember that Russ Wilcox, one of the VIE PR wizards, had mailed me about seeing us at the Fair this very afternoon. I had assumed Russ and Paul had arranged a meeting. Nonesuch! Paul suggests we leaf through the exhibitor's catalogue and try to locate Russ's company so we might attempt to pinpoint his whereabouts in this maze of a book fair. This plan fails on two counts. One, said catalogue is fatter than the 'Lord of the Rings', addenda included. Two, neither of us knows the precise name of Russ's company, other than that some revolutionary e-ink procedure is involved. Nevertheless, we apply ourselves with great zeal to leafing.

Luckily the situation resolves itself as after a quick lunch consisting of a vastly overpriced sandwich at a ramshackle table which must have been specifically engineered to facilitate massive spilling of coffee by merely looking at it, we return to the Sfera booth and find Russ there engaged in conversation with the Sfera people. Russ's time is limited as he needs to catch a plane, so we go for a beer together and talk about the VIE Press Kit, press releases in general, and e-ink.

After waving Russ out, Paul and I set off to find the booth of Meulenhoff, the Dutch publisher of all Vance's works - with the exception of the mystery novels. We manage to talk to two Meulenhoff people who show a keen interest in the VIE project, and even offer to do a three-page Vance / VIE feature article in their quarterly SF fan publication Warp. We are also allowed to leave a small stack of project brochures at their counter. The books of Vance have always been very prominent in the Meulenhoff catalog, with regular reprints and a large fan-base both in the Netherlands and in Flanders. I strongly believe that the success of the Dutch translations of Jack's books is at least partially contributable to the quality of the translators employed by Meulenhoff. Upon asking whether Meulenhoff or their translators might still have useful - from a VIE Textual Integrity work perspective - typescript material laying around and gathering dust, the answer is a bit evasive. It might be checked upon later.

With the Fair closing at six, we head off by S-Bahn to Neu-Isenburg where Paul has taken up quarters in the Holiday Inn. I fire up the laptop upon which I had loaded Totality, the VIE data warehouse, and proceed to show Paul the principal components of the system, how it generally works, what information is currently stored for each text, and how all this is exploited in various reports like the Incredible String Retriever.

After which we go for supper in downtown Neu-Isenburg, in a rather Vancean looking pub / eatery which Paul had discovered the night before while out eating with the Sfera team. A somewhat dimly lit establishment. Or perhaps the lighting is adequate, but those poor photons just don't stand a chance against the dark brown wooden panelling? Many dozens of collectors' model cars lining the walls, and scores of model air-planes dangling from the ceiling. Speciality of the house: bourgeois Frankfurt cuisine. Which to my memory boils down to pungent cheese, vinegar, onions, and a thick extremely green sauce, aptly named 'green sauce'. All this washed down with giant pints of German wheat-beer. The place even comes with an inn-keeper - I assume he is either that, or the cook - who might have leapt straight from the pages of a Vance story: a bald grinning gnome-like character who entertains us with intermittent statements and some after-dinner conversation from which we learn that he has to eat this very food every single day, as if cursed by some magician gifted with a singular culinary sense of humour. A friendly chap really, but sort of hard to make sense of ... Paul and I finish the evening at the hotel bar with a pint of dark beer. Somehow Aristotle and metaphysics start popping up in the conversation. It must be getting late ...

Saturday October 13th. The Book Fair is open to the public today, so the place may get pretty packed. We check out from the hotel, leaving luggage in locked storage. While waiting for the S-Bahn, I notice a squarish brick building opposite Neu-Isenburg station. It announces 'If' in metal lettering. Being a master of cheap associations, I start thinking of "Chateau d'If". What else ...

We spend most of this day trudging from one hall to the next, trying to locate more European Vance publishers. With mixed success. Inspired by the many bratwurst distributors, I start imagining whether we might generate VIE interest by opening an ahagaree booth? We bug the German Vance publisher, Heyne, but it's difficult due to the crowds. And none of their SF-series people present at the Fair. The Italian publisher isn't represented at all. I manage to extract their address from a bored and sighing Italian info-desk. We find the British publisher, Granada, with some difficulty: as it turns out Granada was recently eaten by a bigger fish, Harper-Collins. No SF-representatives present, but promises to pass our brochure and biz-cards on to the gods in London. The French publisher? Can't remember. We give Tor a try. Lukewarm at best.

More interesting, the Print-On-Demand (POD) business. Paul talks to several POD suppliers, but the problem is: they merely POD. The distribution of the printed books is not their problem. Eventually we discover a small POD booth that also offers distribution services. Along these lines: customer coughs up some dough to print at least twenty copies. These go in storage. Customer strikes a deal with the Amazon sites to list the book. When an Amazon customer buys the book online, the order gets transferred to the storage company who proceed to mail it off. Once a month or so, a statement is produced. N copies sold at such amount of money, minus Amazon's share, minus storage cost, minus shipping and handling, this is your balance. It seems easy enough, but it is more something for the Vances to consider, as the VIE has as yet to fulfill its raison-d'être, namely producing the Vance Integral Edition.

We wave goodbye to the Sfera people and pick up luggage from the Neu-Isenburg hotel. Paul has accepted my offer to stay overnight in Trier, so off we drive. Paul drives, I navigate us out of Frankfurt as the darkness sets in. Interesting. I've been driving the motorways around Frankfurt on several occasions, but always ended up somewhere I really didn't want to be. This time it all goes smoothly, not one wrong turn. We make it to Trier easily through the Hunsrück area. At some point I start noticing that cars approaching from behind all tend to get very nervous. Flashing headlights, hooting, irritated overtaking manoeuvres. I suggest that, perhaps, our rear fog-light is on, which would be blindingly intense to cars behind us as there really is no fog. Paul reassures me that his car is certainly not equipped with any such device as a fog-light.

We make it to Trier by 10pm. Christina is in Cologne tonight, wanted to go to a Jack Bruce concert. So I take Paul out for supper at Astarix, one of the university students' hang-outs. We have an excellent Auflauf with a dark wheat-beer and a shot of Asbach-Uralt, the latter for strictly digestive purposes of course. Back at the flat, I delve into my stock of fine Belgian beers, thoughtfully provided by my sister in Brussels. Enjoying some Brown Leffe and Grimbergen Trappist beer, I continue my Totality demo. Paul and I laugh our heads of with some as yet unexplored output from the Stochastic Vancifier. Paul sees the VDAE spreadsheets for the first time - he has no Excel application on his home pc - and waxes truly enthusiastic. At some point in the early morning, Christina comes home. The concert has apparently been quite good. We decide to call it a day ...

On Sunday, I brew some really strong Lavazza, and we set forth for a late breakfast at the Bagel Sisters'. Who've decided to be closed on Sundays, it appears. Bugger. A brunch at the Krokodil then ... Followed by a tour of historical Trier, dragging Paul from the Porta Nigra to the old city centre square, the many-styled Dom with its lovely cloister, the Roman Basilica, the ghastly pink electoral palace, the imperial baths, back along the Mosel river. Paul decides to drive only till Landstuhl today, as it is getting quite late already. As he drives off the parking spot, I check the rear lights on his car, and yes, there is a single conspicuously bright red light. After trying some switches and buttons on the dash-board, the newly discovered fog-light gets switched off an Paul is on the way. Time to write up a report about all this ...

Some images.

'Coup de Grace and Other Stories': Readers' Edition front cover, back cover, and spine view. Deluxe Edition front cover.

The Deluxe Edition, spine view, back cover, and end-page Italian marbling! Paul holding the VIE brochure, a Gift Volume Readers', and a Gift Volume Deluxe.

Paul at the Sfera booth. Yours truly at the Sfera booth. Russ, Paul, myself, including beers. Paul getting crowded.

I spent the weekend in Nürnberg with the intent of attending the two Peter Hammill shows at the Bardentreffen Festival. Really nice historical city center, and Hammill played in the scenic setting of the ruined church / chapel of the St. Katharina Kloster.

An excellent first show on Friday 27th, and most of the songs really worked for me. Which is not quite an obvious thing to say about a Hammill show. One would almost suspect that some prior practising had been involved *grin* A rather taciturn Hammill - even by Hammillian standards - played an all in all very enjoyable set, including some all-time faves of mine: 'Patient', 'Traintime', and a wonderful 'Afterwards' as the encore. Some impressions: (click on the thumbnails for larger images)

The surroundings, and some faces: members of the regular international travelling troupe. No names, you know who you are ... Part of the fun of going to Hammill shows lies of course in the meeting of friends, old and new ...

After-the-show dinner conversation spanned a wide range of fascinating topics, of which the attempts at describing the properties of disoriented calamari deserves further consideration. That's what you get when you allow mathematicians to play with their food. The matter surfaced after an accident with a calamari-ring, which left it cut, twisted, and stuck together again on a fork, transforming it into what was probably the first calamari Moebius-loop in the history of the universe. Minds marvelled for a while, trying to imagine from what kind of animal one might cut slices that are actually Moebius-loops. The answer proved to be rather straightforward: it could be done if nature would imbue calamari with the topological properties of the Klein-bottle. The problem however is metabolism: such a creature might stuff itself on food continuously, but its meal would still be on the outside of it. Hard to get fat that way ...

Anyway, even if the first show made the trip worthwhile already, the second Hammill perfomance on Sunday 29th easily beat anything I've seen the man do before (that's 40+ shows since 1992). Full vocal power from start to finish, including even more faves of mine: 'My Room', 'Too Many of My Yesterdays', 'The Comet, the Course, the Tail', 'Central Hotel', 'The Lie', 'Still Life', and a rare acapella version of 'Again' for the encore. I'm speechless.

current mood: ecstatic

What better way to start a journal than by solving one of the great riddles of the latter half of the twentieth century? Ever since the Roswell incident, the finest minds of humankind have marvelled upon the secrets that lay hidden at Area 51. Now, for the first time ever, the mysteries of Area 51 are exposed, in plain flash-light, for all the world to see ...

Contrary to popular belief, Area 51 is not located in the Nevada desert. I discovered this to be a decoy, as the real Area 51 is undeniably situated in my basement. In fact, I was mildly surprised to see that it came with the flat.

Proceeding beyond the heavily armoured metal door, a bewildering array of many-coloured implements jars the eye. Ceiling-high stacked objects, whose purpose and usage defy the human imagination. Quite an unnerving experience, really. Note however the familiar-looking row of binders on the back shelf, containing endless yellowing pages of encrypted gibberish, which I am at present attempting to make some sense of.

As to evidence of gruesome alien autopsies having taken place beneath these murky vaults, consider this eerie holographic image of a Starman, visible on a plastic binder! One mystery remains: why is the alien holding a guitar?