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Old Tour Diary

RANDOM SCRIBBLINGS FROM VARIOUS GEOGRAPHICAL LOCATIONS AND VARIOUS STATES OF MIND

Tues 8 July New York........After the usual stupid questions from the immigration officials at Dublin airport I got on the plane bound for New York. Slept soon after boarding and that’s the best way to deal with a transatlantic flight. I awoke in time for the horrible dinner, ate a bit of it, the bread, cheese and the desert. Wisely avoided the main course. I spent some time reading DBC Pierre’s Ludmilla’s Broken English. He won the Booker Prize and the Whitbread First Novel award a few years back for Vernon God Little. I read a few chapters and nodded off again, arriving into JFK a little later than expected, shortly after 1 o clock.

After meeting up with Jack we go out for a bit of a ramble. Up at Kim’s on St Marks I notice the vinyl section has moved downstairs and it’s been expanded too. Vinyl is making a big comeback, a wonderful two-finger salute to the record industry. Went down to the crazy old antique store on Houston where I got a cool pair of boots once upon a time, but today there was nothing worth buying, apart from a mummy sarcophocus, but I reckon Aer Lingus wouldn’t let me on the plane with that on the flight home. We picked up some Indian food at Punjabi. Later we watched the DVD documentary If I Should Fall From Grace with God, the life story of Shane MacGowan which was interesting and funny too, and sad.

Slept for a few hours and a lady rings the doorbell. She’s collecting money for a neighbourhood family whose son was shot last night. A few bullets to the head ended his life. Gone gone gone at 17 years. Jack reckoned he knew him to see. Apparently it was a gang related hit. As we strolled to the local pawnshop in a hunt for cheap guitars, we noticed the area right around the corner cordoned off by cops. Two rival TV crews were there filming their slots for the News. We didn’t find anything of interest in the pawnshop and Jack was feeling peckish so we swung down Delancey and into Chinatown. We visited some place renown for its good value, and had dumplings and pancakes. Re-fuelled we continued on our merry way in the hot summer sunshine. On Prince’s Street we came across a guy playing golf using empty half pint milk cartons instead of a ball. The object of the exercise was to get as many milk cartons as possible into a bin about 20 yards away. Nobody took any notice of him. Only in New York!

Bought four books for the princely sum of $2. Two by Thomas Hardy, one by Sir Walter Scott and one by Solzhenitsyn. I played guitar for a while, getting my head around a few new songs I’ve got on the go. Down at the Rockwood Music Hall I played a gig. Kevin Lynch arrived in big golden aviator shades and a new Mohawk haircut. It’s always good to see Kevin. I also chatted to Niall and Nashville Mike who used to work for EMI, then Virgin. I’ve forgotten who they’re with now, but they seem to want to do business and we talk shop for a while. Andy Fitzpatrick whose been living here for years showed up for the gig. He played with the harvest Ministers back in the day, and later with the Da Da’s. He told me Will Merriman had been over recently recording. I pass Will every now and again on the street in Rathmines and we wave at each other. Andy tells me that Will plays music, reads the Bible and gets on with life in his own way, and fair play to him. We later relocate to some bar called the International and later to Softie’s.

Another day, another cup of tea to wipe the cobwebs from my brain. Over at Academy Records I check out a lot of records, listening on headphones before I purchase. After a trip to Kim’s I’ve got in my possession, LP’s by Merle Haggard and Junior Parker. I’ve got 45’s by John Lee Hooker, Bill Justis, Jimmy Reed, Johnny Cash, Richard Maltby, and a great new single from Demon’s Claw’s. I also picked up a few interesting experimental / avant gard slabs of vinyl. A split 7inch on the Black Horizons label featuring My Cat Is An Alien and Valerio Cosi. In the same vein, but sounding a bit more sinister, a bit like David Toop on bad acid are Devillock and Yellow Swans. Very good stuff indeed.

Mexican food arrived as if by magic and we watched a movie, There Will Be Blood which was entertaining, a hell of a lot better than the Dylan film I’m Not There which seemed like a pointless exercise in feeding the myth. I’m so tired of rock stars complaining about their success and the trappings of fame. The whole premise of the movie seemed to revolve around complaining about being a spokesman for a generation. If you don’t want to be remembered as a ‘spokesman’ then why did you sing all those political songs, why hang out with Joan Baez, with the civil right movement singing at Martin Luther King rallies ?.  To be famous? Fine, just don’t complain, stick with playing gigs for the pope.

The following morning was Jacks graduation and we were all very proud up at the Great Hall At Cooper Union. In the early days of the hall, audiences heard Abraham Lincoln and Sioux Chief Red Cloud speak. It later years Mark Twain, P.T. Barnum, Allen Ginsberg and Bill Clinton spoke from the Great Hall stage. Photos were taken, film was filmed and lunch was had. An email informed me that Darragh McCarthy was in town, and I should phone him, so I did. We chatted for a while and I invited him out to my gig. ‘I’m very tired’ was his reply. It was 4 o’ clock in the afternoon. 

I needed a lie down and Jack later woke me up saying we gotta go. Let’s try out a song, I said. We ran through Don’t Believe What They’re Saying a few times, Jack playing acoustic slide and then took the subway to Brooklyn.

I played my set and some people had come in from Jersey for the night and it was all good fun. The Jalopy Theatre is run by Jeff and Lynnette, good folks who moved down from Chicago a while back, but have plans to eventually move to Zanzibar. For the time being, Jalopy functions as a cool venue, with a music store up front, where they repair and sell old guitars, fiddles mandolins, harmoniums…you name it. Jack joined me for the last song and it was great to perform in public together for the first time. A great vibe indeed. Lynnette arrived with a big chocolate cake and we let the good times roll, dogs running riot, beer bottles getting spilt, stories being told. Later, much later, as we took a taxi back across the Brooklyn Bridge I felt a tinge of sadness. The New York skyline looked magnificent, lit up like a Christmas tree, but I knew I wouldn’t be back anytime soon. 


Sun 22 June Dublin……Spent most of the night cruising through the mad labyrinth that is the internet looking for alternative ways to package CD’s. Im not too fond of those jewel cases that always end up scratched and sometimes broken. I threw out a spread of the Tarot and the hours came and went. Kelvin L. Smith played on the stereo as dawn broke and the sun rose slowly in the east with the help of Lucifer. I went for a lie down at around 9 in the morning, but set the alarm for 10.30, as I had a train to catch.  I was just after buying my ticket at Heuston Station when I got a phone call to tell me that Mark Griffin had dropped off a copy of The Hexagraph for me. This was a one-off Zine that I put together back in ’93 when I was in a band called Captain Hex and  we thought it would be fun to publish something instead of doing a record. I had been in touch with Genesis P Orridge’s crowd, The Temple Of Psychick Youth and got permission to publish extracts from their booklet Television Magick. The Hexagraph also had a piece on the record label, Micky Rourke’s Fridge, a comic strip and amogst other things we published poetry by Pat Boran, Larry Cosgrave and Bil E. Kinnarney. I wonder whatever happened to him ? I hadn’t seen a copy in a good ten years, and as I boarded the Westport train I tried to remember what the issue looked like.

Tuesday was spent cycling around twisty rural roads, visiting the eerie Kilcolman Graveyard, and exploring laneways that led nowhere. I even managed to crash the bike, and ended up with a bruise on my knee and one on my arm after I took a fall. Hours were spent reading John McGahern’s Memoir. Very readable, if a bit depressing. Strangely the Ireland of the ‘40’s that he describes so well lasted into the early 70’s. There’s a lot I can identify with.

Back in Dublin I spent the afternoon mixing tracks in the Trinity College recording studio and later after cider at the pavilion bar we visited another pub  and eventually had dinner at the Millstone restaurant on Dame Street, where the red wine flowed freely. Went home and fell asleep. On awakening a new day had dawned and the mixes sounded good. I flicked through my long lost copy of The Hexagraph and the memories came flooding back. I was late arriving and missed the first half hour of Holly Golightly’s gig. She was great, a bit tired, but still wonderful. They’ve got a hectic touring schedule. It being the solstice we got the artwork finished and the missus got It Doesn’t Matter At All  over to the folks at downloadmusic and it’s available as a single for 99 cents. As all this stuff was being sorted I felt the creepy cabin fever feeling one sometimes gets.  The city was in the grip of a slow creeping dampness. My least favourite form of rain ruined the day. The drizzle lasted for hours. I met Les in an Asian place on the north side and caught the oldtimey session in the Cobblestone and then on to a makeshift art gallery for an opening and the obligatory free red wine. Indian food followed and I fell asleep. In a few hours I’ll be on my merry way to New York City……..


Thurs 12 June, Dublin…..I was rooting around on the shelf looking for a pen when I found my 1,000,000 dollar bill.  I was handed this phoney note in Etobicoke on the outskirts of Toronto last summer and had completely forgotten about it. I recall that I was strolling back from the liquor store with two bottles of cheap red wine. I was touring at the time but we had a night off. It was probably a Monday night, can’t be sure but I remember it was one of those hot and humid evenings. It had been raining all day and not a breeze stirred. I could hear the seagulls down at the lake. A well-dressed lady walked by and handed me the note, never said a word and slipped into a hardware store.  On the  front of the note is a picture of a non descript middle aged man, a sort of ‘town elder’ type, the Canadian maple leaf over his shoulder and the 1,000, 000 sign to his left, underneath it says…ce billet non cours legal / this is not legal tender.  The flip side has a picture of the Toronto skyline with seven fighter planes flying overhead in formation. Off to seek vengeance on the infidel no doubt.  All around the note in small text is the “million dollar question.” It reads….Will you go to heaven? Here’s a quick test. Have you ever told a lie, stolen anything, or used God’s name in vain ? Jesus said “Whoever looks at a woman to lust for her has already committed adultery with her in his heart. If you have done those things, God sees you as a lying , thieving, blasphemous, adulterer at heart. The Bible warns that you are guilty and will end up in Hell..”

Well, it looks like I’m royally fucked. I’m not into theft, apart from melodies, but  I certainly have lusted after several women in my time and thoroughly enjoyed my lustful activities.This god of the Bible seems so cross, not much fun at all. Give me the great god Pan any day. It’s also interesting that the Christians use a phoney one million dollar bill to get their message of misery across. Which reminds me, didn’t the mythical Jesus say “Blessed are the poor. “ I’ve yet to see a bishop live in a bedsit.

I put the dollar bill back on the shelf and off I went on my merry way to the recording studio deep in the bowels of Trinity College, which was founded by Queen Elizabeth I in 1592. Oscar Wilde, Bram Stoker and Jonathan Swift all studied here. Back in the dreaded 80’s I played here at the Trinity Ball a few times, and if somebody told me I’d attempt to mix an album in the studio one day, I wouldn’t have believed them.
We got some mixes down, and it being a hot sunny day, had a drink at the Pavillion Bar over near the cricket pitch. Later I had a drink in the Lincoln Inn around the corner, followed by dinner in some Italian place on Parliament Street. On arriving home, I found that The Gun Clubs’ Las Vegas Story had arrived in the post. And I was pleasantly surprised to see it’s on bright green vinyl.

The following morning I was up bright and early to pick up a CD of mixes in town and then dropped into Spindizzy  Records in the Georges Street Arcade to pick up the current issue of The Devil on 45 Zine, which comes complete with two free CD’s of prison blues, folk songs and spirituals from the John Lomax collection, dated 1939.

Phone calls were made, emails answered, and as usual there’s more stuff going out than coming in. A cheque arrived as a result of the  Rambling Jack video getting some TV  action the past 18 months. Has it been that long ? Yes, it has. TG4 played it a few times and apparently Channel 6 have played it 127 times, so I owe Elton and Co a pint.  Flicking through a freebie paper I discovered that Holly Golightly will be playing here in a few weeks, so I can’t miss that. Johnny Cronin sent me a text message to say he had bumped into Bruce Springsteen in the Temple Bar pub in town. They had a chat and Johnny gave Bruce a copy of The Aftermath’s new album. It’s been on my stereo a lot the past few days. I spent 2 days listening to the B side of Bowie’s Low . Occasionally the A side got a spin too.

Friday I was back in the studio and some of the stuff sounds good and some sounds crap. That’s just the way it is. Back to the drawing board. Saturday was a hot day in Dublin. I phoned a few people to see if they could put me on the guest list to see The Legendary Shack Shakers who were playing Andrews Lane Theatre. It was all looking good, until I got a call from Seanie Foy saying, hey, phone this number. I did, and it was the promoter offering me the support slot. When do you want us there ? I enquired. In an hour was his swift reply. At such short notice it was definitely going to be a solo set for me. There was no way I could have got the band there in time.

My set was short and sweet, but bitter too, the way it should be. The sound was good, and I was pleased with everything. Shack Shakers frontman JD Wilkes certainly seemed fond of spitting all over the place, even into the audience. A bit like a ’77 punk gig in reverse. They were a good band though. I’ve got one of their albums, but it didn’t get played much. A bit too frantic for my liking. We ended up in some club underneath the Stephens green shopping center, which might have been called Rocket 88.
The following morning I recorded some organ onto a song of mine, and that was my week.


Thurs 15 May, Dublin…..My old friend, and promoter Pat Cannon had sent me an early morning text. I replied with a phone call after I scrambled out of the sack, my instincts telling me he wanted to meet for a beer, and how right I was. We met in Madison and apparently he’s buried the hatchet with Slattery’s and he’s promoting a gig there with the bass player from Dire Straits and wants me to open up. Safety in numbers, so I agree to do it. We re locate to another drinking establishment and then I ramble home in the sunshine.

The postman has brought me a few surprises. The first is a letter from Justine Scott in New Jersey. She’s sent me a few photos of yours truly performing at Kenny’s Castaways in New York City, an establishment famous for a Bruce Springsteen 7 night run of gigs in the early 70’s and the place where The New York Doll’s held down a residency in the same decade. My one-off gig there a few years ago didn’t however make much of an impact on the history of rock n roll. Justine also enclosed several photocopied pages from a book by Douglas Monroe called The Lost Books Of Merlyn. A fanciful title of course, because there are no lost books of Merlyn or Merlin depending on how you want to spell it. I can imagine the author arguing with the publisher and the marketing department over the title, and the author losing out. Such is life when somebody else is putting his or her money on the line.  Some of the information is interesting, such as the connection between the use of pumpkins at Samhain and a spell unearthed from The Book Of Pheryllt, a rare 16^th-century text. Much is written about the Celtic cult of the severed head. There’s even an Invocation of the Sidh from The Book Of Ballymoat, but you might need to think twice before you try that one out. Still, fair play the likes of Mr Monroe and people like him for taking the time out to translate old document and spend days in libraries pouring over medieval manuscripts. I tip my hat to RJ Stewart and Peter J Carroll and all the other psychonauts out there.

A royalty cheque was safely tucked away in another envelope I opened, and a package from Germany contained two DVD’s of two gigs of mine from last month, one in Spaichingen and one in Villingen. Both were filmed and edited by Tom, so thanks Tom. See you next time.

On my way down to the gig I bump into Johnny and Mick Cronin from The Aftermath, apparently trying to locate my flat. They accompany me to the sound check and subsequent gig and we all have a good ole time. Went home straight afterwards with a clear head and the guys drive to Mullingar. Slide into my bed and read some F.Scott Fitzgerald and quietly and without much fuss, I enter the Land of Nod.

Friday 16 May, Dublin…An early start, and following a healthy breakfast and three cups of tea I got myself into Trinity College in the city centre, where Les and I set about trying to mix a few tracks. Unfortunately the session had to be cut short following a phone call to say that Les’s young son was sick and needed to see the doctor. In fact, he had to be taken to hospital. I went home and had red wine with lunch while we grooved around the flat to The Aftermaths fine new album Friendlier Up Here. Later we went out for a ramble and I picked up a few canvases, as I plan to paint next week. Called into Russell’s down the road and relocated for a beer or two in Anseo on Camden Street. Got a phone call from Leo in Portugal to say that he has postponed the Button Factory charity gig until October. The new date clashes with a solo gig in Germany, and that’s a pity. I really wanted to do the Button Factory show, it’s a cool place, and I’ve never played it. Oh well, it’s out of my control. Dinner over at Mario’s in Ranelagh cheered me up big time.

Sat 17 May, London….Arrived in Gatwick around 1 in the afternoon and Les argues that we have no guitars, we have no schedule, so lets have a beer and relax, no pressure. I agreed and that’s what we did. We were in London to shoot a video for a new song 45, which will most likely be a single, in some shape or form or format.  I phoned my old friend Fi Shanks who made the video for Rambling Jack which resulted in us getting on TV for the first time in seven years. Fi gave me no nonsense instructions on how to get from A to B, so we took the black line tube up to Camden Town and walked the short distance along the crowded street to the Elephants Head pub. Fi arrived with his camera and new lady (who’s name alludes me) Les had a cheese sandwich. We all had beers.

The rain came down at a steady pace, the bars and streets were buzzing with action. Up the road at the Camden Market we flicked through records while Fi filmed. At one stall I explained to Les what a dorje was. I held on in my hand. The guy at the stall informed me that dorje was the Tibetan title, while Indians called it a Varja. This I already knew, but I enquired if my explanation was accurate, as I had talked about sorcery and thunderbolts etc. and he concurred. I decided there and then to purchase said item, and following a simple transaction involving £6 the metal item was in my pocket.

At another stall I tried out a cool old Burns guitar. It looked great but the fret board was way too wide for my fingers. Les was going to buy it , as he’s one of these musicians who can’t go into a foreign music shop without buying something, but changed his mind at the last moment.  We got chatting to the stall owner, an Armenian chap who asked us where we were from. When we said Ireland, he said Ah!! I lived there. He then pulled out a photo of Leixlip Castle, saying he used to live beside it. Then he insisted we guess his age. I reckoned he was 46; Les wasn’t as kind and guessed 52. The guy smiled….he was 62.

The rain wasn’t taking a break. We needed one, so Fi took us to some bar and I had to talk to a guy from a record label on the phone and then we took a bus someplace. Dropped into an off licence to pick up a few crates of beer and made it to the big rambling house that Fi shares with the singing star of Daisy Chainsaw and Queen Adreena. The drummer from the last line-up of The Clash also lives here, but all are away in France, on tour I presume. Pizza seemed to appear as if from nowhere. Fi has just joined The Popes and he played us new recordings from Shane McGowan’s old backing band. I once again took my phone out of pocket and got it touch with old friend Andy from Sweden who by chance lives just down the road. He called over to help us drink the beer. I grabbed a red Hofner guitar and we filmed more stuff for the video.

Later we checked out two gigs at the Cross Kings, can’t remember the names of the bands. It was a late night and after about 2 hours kip, we had to hit the road. At one point we were on a tube going the wrong way. Les kept saying, we’re gonna miss the plane. I said, it’ll be fine. And it was fine. We caught it by the skin of our teeth. Back in Dublin, I slept for a few hours during the afternoon and then on VEOH I watched a documentary on magicians down through the centuries, the mythical Hermes Trismagistus, Paracelsus, John Dee, Crowley etc. Veoh is the new website run by the same people that had stage 6, but that proved too expensive to keep going apparently.
I felt a few new songs coming on…….time for more tea, and perhaps a good nights sleep.

Wed April 23, Freiburg….It was my first departure from the brand new terminal 14 at Dublin airport. Apparently all flights to Germany or the UK depart from this place. Big and spacious, even the bar is inviting at 6am. On arrival in familiar Frankfurt I got my ticket and took the 3 hour train ride south to sunny Frieburg. Mick was there to meet me at the station and he needed a coffee, I had a fruit juice. We stopped off at a bar for a few beers and I met with Eddie Punch, a musician who proudly tells me he’s been signing on the dole longer than anybody else in the town. They hate me down at the dole office he proclaimed! I needed a lie down, and back at Micks apartment I stretched out on his sofa for a while, only to awaken to Nicol Steiner’s smiling countenance. This to me spoke volumes. Soon enough we were in Nicol’s Mercedes on the way to the gig, which was at a place called Beatbar Butzman, or something like that. It’s a small place, nice vibe, owned by a youthful brother and sister team. Rolf had emailed to say I could use his PA, which was still there from a gig he had promoted a few days ago. I had played in Rolfs bar, Rattenspiegel, back in September 2006, the last time I played Freiburg but unfortunately it’s closed down now.

Before the show I needed some food. I couldn’t read the menu as I can neither speak nor read German, so somebody said, have that, it’s fish. But when it arrived it looked like onion rings. Nicol mimed, making a grim face and doing strange crawling movements with his hands. Fish with many legs he said by way of explanation. Crab!! Aha, I said. Normally I avoid Cockroaches of the Sea, but I was starving so I ate a few, washed it down real quick with a beer to get the rubber tang out of my mouth and did the show. It was my first gig using my brand new guitar, an Ibanez jumbo acoustic. It arrived a last week and I got Eugene the guitar doctor to fit a slightly expensive Fishman pickup. Sounds good. I really enjoyed the gig and the small bar was packed. Some old friends showed up, Rolf from Staufen, Peter from Egon 54, Andrea, and Wolfgang who had a present of a Ryan Adams bootleg from a show he did in Royce Hall, UCLA in January of this year. Afterwards we all drank our beers, vodka and tequila. I made some new friends, Ziggy, Bernhard from Manis on Fire…it was a good night and a good start to my visit to the Black Forest.

Thurs April 24, Spaichingen…Woke up real late, around 2pm, but I had a lot of catching up to do. I located some bread and cheese and tucked in. I know that some people are easily shocked, and I’ve met people who read this Diary from time to time and think Im some sort of head case, but unless you’ve been on the road of rock n roll, sad and lonesome as it often is, there’s really no understanding the head space one gets into. And so, having thus explained that touring is a form of life, but not as we know it, I washed down my breakfast of bread and cheese with an ice-cold beer from the fridge. I then sat on the balcony over looking the small courtyard and bashed out a few chords on the guitar. Im really happy with the Ibanez. It sounds good, looks good and has a nice slim neck making it easy to play. I had got to the point with my Epiphone that I didn’t even want to pick it up. Maybe it needs to have the action adjusted, but it was good to me for the last twelve years and travelled with me through fifteen or sixteen European countries, Thailand, the US, Canada….and now it’s at home. I’ll take it out for recording purposes, as it still sounds good. It certainly won’t be gathering dust.

We hit the road in a Ray Charles fashion, pedal to the metal, stopping off at a roadside petrol station for chocolate and beer. I picked up a bottle of Desperado, a beer laced with tequila. It sat on the shelf smiling down at me. To it’s left was Jack Daniels and coke in a can. We drove to Spaichingen to play at Spaichingen Gymnasium, which is a gig in a school concert hall, organized by my friend Hartmut.. The sound was good and the lighting too. Students were taking care of business and afterwards I thanked them and told them the truth…that there was more money in being a sound engineer or a lighting technician than being in a band. Of course there are exceptions to the rule, but I think they got what I was saying.  Tom travelled down from Villingen armed with his expensive digital camera to film the gig. Not many people showed up but the small gathering that was there seemed to enjoy it. Afterwards the school principle invited me into his office to present me with a T Shirt and strangely, a big bag full of pasta. Taggliatelli, spaghetti, penne and a few other types. I like past a lot, so I graciously accepted. I also got cash. Stayed up late with Hartmut as he explained the importance of Krautrock to me and we polished off a bottle of good red wine, a perfect ending to the day.

Friday April 25, Villingen…..After a breakfast of bread, cheese and a boiled egg washed down with a good gallon of tea, I relaxed, made and received a few phone calls while Hartmut corrected exam papers. (He’s an English teacher). Over at Marco’s place I dumped my gear and along with Yutte, we went downtown to a little bar. An elderly lady from Kenya struck up conversation. We had a few drinks and I was introduced to a drummer friend of Marco’s. The sun was shining, but it wasn’t too hot. Later, I went and had an afternoon nap, and I needed it. Nicol had arrived back from Stuttgart and it was time for sound check at Café Limba, one of my favourite places to play in Germany . Dinner was great creamy vegetarian pasta, and the gig was good fun. Tom arrived and filmed it and people danced and got into the vibe.  I met lots of people, some I knew, and some I got to know over the course of the evening. Financially it was very rewarding and Nicol claims it was the best gig he’d ever seen me do (and he’s seen a few) and proprietor Mario was over the moon. I must have done something right!

The following afternoon we were back at Limba for refreshments. I picked up records by Kevin K, The Walkabouts, Johnny Cash, Lee Hazelwood and The Sonic Angels in Bernhard Zipfels record shop next door.  The Croatian girl who worked the bar last night, asked (through an interpreter) if she could make some Racketeers T Shirts. No problem was my quick response. Being a photographer, she wanted to do some shots, so we relocated to Marcos pad and over the course of forty minutes or so; she used about five reels of film. On the balcony we did the photo shoot, and after a while Nicol took out his trumpet and blew some cool stuff over a few improvised riffs I teased out of my Ibanez. People in the adjoining apartments came out onto their own balconies to check out the scene. Before long we were back on the road to Freiburg. Marco drove down in his camper van and we dropped into Ziggy’s pad before going down to some festival and a few other bars and stories were told and a good time was had by all. I nodded off on Nicols sofa around 4am and awoke an hour later. My taxi had arrived, and within twenty minutes I found myself standing on the platform at the train station ready to board. A few hours later in was in Frankfurt Hbf. I read some of Flann O Brien’s ‘At Swim Two Birds’ while I waited to board my homeward bound plane. Job done.

Thurs 20 March, Dublin........... I noticed all the real good Van Morrison clips on youtube have been taken down, including the piece of film of him performing that most beautiful song about such a dodgy place, 'The Streets of Arklow.' The performance dates from just  a few months back from a show in the US. Magical it was, but with all the big record companies getting themselves all worked up over copyright laws, it's been taken down. It reminds me of the early 80's when record sleeves bore the legend 'home taping is killing music.' How silly it was. I found some new footage of Dylan doing a gig in Buenos Aires and he's back playing guitar again, after years of slamming away at his keyboard.

The deep baritone of Walter Jackson boomed out of the speakers, shaking the wall and bringing the sweet sound of soul to the north end of the building. It was time to put on Fabienne Delsol again. Her wonderful 7inch of bright yellow vinyl arrived in the post from those great people at Damaged Good Records in England. 'Im gonna Catch Me a Rat' is a great slice of country garage pop with French Fabienne sounding sexy and cool. The flip side is three minutes of melancholic psychedelia with melody. I wish there were more records like this in the world.

Word came through that Mac of Mac's Records died. He was one of the first people I got to know when I moved to the big bad city. Many years later we recorded together when he recited poetry over a track that ended up as a Captain Hex B side, but it wasn't his fault it didn't sell. I once asked him for a job. This was back in about 1993. Times were hard and I was really broke. Poor Mac looked real perplexed and started to tell me that there was more to running a  record shop than just hanging around playing records all day. I knew that, I wasn't stupid, but it brought it home to me, there and then, that I was unemployable. 
He was a good guy, Mac. In recent years I would drop into his shop Final Vinyl on Camden Street to root around for records and CD's. He always had a story for me. I missed the Church service, instead I caught up with folks in the pub across the road where we paid our respects and knocked them back. Met with Enda McDonald, who I hadn't seen in about twenty years, Acko, Bootleg Paul, Frank from The Baby Snakes, currently hustling for the Master Musicians of Joujouka. Tom Cook was there who had managed a few bands over the years and in more recent times had a wildlife radio show. Not a lot of difference there, studying wild life and managing a band.

I had to go and do one of my occasional DJ gigs over at the Belvedere. On arrival I discovered a room full of very drunk and very messy Welch rugby fans. I suppose it could have been worse. I played records by Charlie Feathers, The Stones, Faces, Patti Smith, T  Rex, Tommy Blake, Howlin' Wolf, Holly Golightly, Roy Orbinson, Thin Lizzy, AC/DC, The Gun Club, The Stranglers, Blondie and many more. Had a few drinks, made a phone call and my taxi arrived and we cut across town. Back at home I fell into bed with my book on  Henri Toulouse Lautrec and read about his life hanging out with the hustlers and the whores, the dancers and dipsomaniacs. I always loved his posters, lithographs and paintings and he sure was prolific. I drifted off into the Land of Nod dreaming of Henri taking boat rides to Bordeaux, or a barge up into the Netherlands on holiday, always travelling by sea, if possible. Mixing his mad cocktails for his friends and drinking gallons of wine after a trip to the circus on a sunny Friday afternoon. Spending hours down at the Moulin Rouge drawing his good friend Jane Avril.

I awoke to the sound of hailstones lashing down like miniature golf balls, setting off car alarms across the square and throughout the neighbourhood. People ran by on the street shielding their faces from the onslaught. I put on a Charlie Parker record, made myself some tea and had toast with orange marmalade. A good way to greet the day. I've currently got 119 TV channels and they're all rubbish. Occasionally I'll find something worth watching. At 5am last night I discovered a documentary on Tibet as it was before the Chinese came. Old film footage from the 30's, 40's and 50's , lovingly restored, showed a country unlike anyplace else on the planet at that time. Great costumes, but a little obsessed with religion. Later, Les and I got some new mixes down and 'The women 'round Here' is ready for virtual release. Angela Carter is fuelling my imagination again and there are a few new songs floating around up near the ceiling. I have to coax them down onto paper or tape or both.  

Fri 22 February, Dublin.....A bunch of people arrived down to The Cobblestone that I hadn't seen in years, Gary from Cork, Fergus, Leo who lives in Portugal these days running some sort of classy health  farm. It was great to see my old friend Sheila Sullivan again. She passed on a message from journalist Jim Carroll who apparently reads this diary. Jim used to write nice things about a band I was in five lives ago, and then stopped writing nice things about me. I suppose I did lose the plot for a while. But then, who doesn't. So, hi there Jim, hope your keeping well. Sheila was a Racketeer for a couple of years, but wisely took early retirement. However, being in the Racketeers is a bit like the The Eagles song 'Hotel California' ..."you can check out, but you can never leave..."  Two years ago Sheila guested with us at our gig at the Rhythm & Roots Festival in Kilkenny, and of course she played violin on "She Said" from Silver & Dust.

I played my set and I seemed to keep it pretty much together with Les joining me on two of the new songs, "The Women 'Round Here" and "Sweet Angel." I strapped on my old electric Epiphone Casino for the last song ("Racketeers Lament") and got a wall of sweet distortion and feedback and that went down well. After a short intermission Patrick Freyne and his Bad Intentions played their set and they were great as I had imagined they would be. Then I DJ'd for the rest of the evening and didn't get a chance to chat to as many people as I had hoped....next time I'll bring a tape.....remember those things, tapes ?


Sun 17 February, Tilburg…On Friday we had rehearsals, as I desperately tried to remember how to play 7 or 8 new songs. We’ve been recording them, but that’s a different story to letting rip as a three-piece. But it all began to come together and we ate pizza and Chris crashed out in my place. A few hours later we scrambled out of our respective beds, grabbed a quick coffee and Maurius, my friendly Romanian taxi driver pulled into the driveway. We met with Les at the airport and off we went. On arrival at Brussels airport I bought the tickets to Brussels North and ended up waiting on the very same platform I waited on eight days ago, when I was bound for Arnheim. Today we’re heading north into the Netherlands again; only this time our destination is Tilburg, located in the southern province of Noord-Brabant. Not much is known about the earliest history of Tilburg. Documents from the year 709 C.E. show the name Tilburg for the first time. After that the sources remain silent for some centuries. In the later Middle Ages Tilburg was more of a local 'region' than a village or city, although a couple of small hamlets provided its population centers. One of them was known as 'Eastern Tilburg' (Oost-Tilburg), which was later reflected in the name of Oisterwijk ('Eastern Quarter'). This village centered around a small (probably wooden) castle or 'Motteburcht' on an equally small hill, which became derelict and was torn down after a few centuries at most. Apparently King William II (1792-1849) always bore a warm heart towards Tilburg. "Here I can breathe freely and I feel happy", he once said about the town. I sort of feel the same way about it myself. I know we played Tilburg before, back in 2000 and possibly in ’98 too, but I’m a bit vague on that.

On arrival, I’m heartened to find our hotel, the imaginatively titled Hotel Centraal, is right across the street from the Station Centraal. We checked in and  had a drink or three at the bar. I had agreed to do a guitar work-shop at 4.30pm so I needed a lie down to get my head together, so at 3pm I hit the hay while Les and Chris went off out on a ramble around town. Promoter Will arrived to collect me and we walked the short distance to the Paradox Club. The guitar clinic was an odd affair. I’m no whizz kid with a guitar, so instead I talked about song writing and showed the small gathering of people a few of my licks, mostly modifications of old rockabilly riffs, and I pointed out the similarities between the licks used by Marc Bolan and Eddie Cochran and Charlie Feathers. I talked about the importance of getting the most out of three notes, a thing Johnny Thunders had down to a T. A couple of guys got up to jam, and Chris sat behind the kit and jammed along too. Later, we had dinner, sound checked and waited….and waited. The gig was well received, a good crowd, who got into it, and it really was great to play so much new material. We managed to get through about 8 new songs without a (noticeable) hitch.

Afterwards, CD’s were sold and Les went to the toilet for a puke. A girl at the bar asked me if we ever played Galway. I said the last time we played Galway was about three years ago. “I’m moving to a place near there” she said. “Where ?” said I. “Claremorris, have you ever heard of it,” Sabine replied.  I told her that I had grown up about four miles from there and I knew the place well. A long night followed, chatting to people about music and life in general. The following morning, Les had recovered from his vicious stomach bug to regale us with tales of his once successful , but alas short lived, solo career in Japan. We had time to kill in Schipol Airport, Amsterdam and spent it well, smoking cigarettes, and drinking beer. What else would you do in an airport at 11 am?


Sat 9 February, Antwerp…Breakfast was a boiled egg, bread and cheese. I’m not big on coffee, but this morning I had some, and after Eric had given me a few CD’s, including the recent album by Nick Cave’s new band Grinderman and the soundtrack to the movie The Proposition, plus a few other CD’s we went off on our merry way. Eric took me down to the train station and not being in possession of a credit card, he kindly used his piece of plastic to buy my ticket. I reimbursed him with hard cash; we shook hands and parted company. It was a bright sunny day, but still bitter cold.

The train rolled on towards Nijmegen, a city considered to be the oldest in the Netherlands. The first mention of Nijmegen in history is in the 1st century of the Common Era when the Romans built a military camp on the place where Nijmegen was to appear; the location had great strategic value because of the surrounding hills, which gave (and continues to give) a good view over the Waal and Rhine valley.
As we crossed the River Waal, an enormous barge slowly drifted by, on the way to god knows where, it’s unseen cargo remained a mystery to me.

The phone rang and it was Arnt from Belgium wondering about my estimated time of arrival. As we spoke, confusion set in and I nearly got off at the wrong station. Onwards to Roosendaal where I had a twenty minutes wait before the next train. The sun was going down and it was going down real slow, casting long shadows all along the platform. Elderly moustachioed gentlemen strolled by chatting in Flemish. I felt like a man from another time. Two Buddhist monks in traditional saffron robes waited on the 17.35 train. I wished there was a bar open, and there probably was, but it could have meant carrying my bags down three flights of stairs.

A few hours later I arrived into Antwerp Central. Asked directions outside but nobody could help me out. A Norwegian lady approached me with map in hand and helped me try and locate my destination. She even insisted I keep her map as she was off home to Norway. However, I had the address wrong, so I just thought to myself, to hell with this, I’m taking a taxi. Before long I was at Den Hopsack. Had some salad and soundchecked. I was on the phone to Andrew in Dublin when along came Frank. Always good to see Frank. Ten minutes later I was on a street corner on the phone to Åsa when along came Inneka eating an ice cream cone. We strolled back down to Den Hopsack and Inneka did a set with a little help from Frank and Wim, who used to be in that great band De Bossen. I played my set and all went well, although I ‘ve played better gigs in my time. I felt rusty.

With Arnt we hopped into a car and sped right across town to the 219 Bar where I was to play another gig. The gear for the DJ was unsuitable and the PA just wouldn’t do what it was supposed to do. We attempted a soundcheck but that’s as far as it went. Gig cancelled at the last minute. Meanwhile the crew we had with us re located to some other place where Wim was having a birthday party of sorts. Luc from Kinky star in Gent arrived and drinks were drank and stories told. At some time around 5am I got a lift to Central station, where I had to wait for close to two hours to catch a train to Brussels. It was a  bleak and freezing cold morning. A depressing way to spend a few hours. Somehow or other I managed to miss the train, and in a bit of a panic, I managed to get the next one and I got to the airport a little weary and bewildered, but still in one piece. I treated myself to a glass of red wine before getting on the flight to Dublin and falling asleep straight away.


Fri 8 February, Arnhem…..There’s a great line from a Mercury Rev song that goes "bands, those funny little plans, that never go quite right." And it’s so true.

Before xmas, I had the rather misguided notion that we should, and could record a new album in a matter of a few weeks and have it out really fast. Although we've got about twenty songs down it looks likely that a new album will have to wait until the tail end of the year. Instead, a batch of singles will be released throughout the next year, the first on the vernal equinox, and the next one on the summer solstice. It makes sense that the next one should be made available on the autumnal equinox, with the last one seeing the light of day on, you guessed it, the winter solstice. Each single will be available as a download, as is the fashion these days. Marking time on the wheel of the year is a concept I'm keen on.

Having my head full of Sonic Youth songs was not the ideal way to approach a few solo acoustic gigs, so I put on Okkervil River’s great LP “Don’t Fall In Love With Everyone You See” and even took time to rehearse. I flew into Brussels and from there made my way by train up into The Netherlands, arriving in Anthem a bit late. I had been off the booze for over two weeks and was feeling all the better for it. However, reality bites hard and I knew there was no way I could get through three gigs in two days without a drink or two. The bar lady said "would you like a drink ?" so I had a beer and before long somebody got me a Geneva Gin as well. There's an axiom of the occult path that proclaims 'man know thyself'  and it serves well.

The gig was at the wonderful Oranje Koffiehuis. I hadn’t been there before, but everyone, the staff, the locals, the audience were good people. So much so, that I didn’t even make it to my hotel. Eric invited me back to his pad for a late drink and he put on records by Grinderman, Keith Caputo and Motorpsycho, who are Norwegian, if memory serves correctly. 

Wed 30 January, New York...... He brought his banjo in, wrapped in a shroud. Dressed in a dark suit, his hair was side-parted and slicked down with hair oil. Tall and pale and slightly stooped, he wore a black moustache. He looked like across between a 1920's door-to-door Bible salesman and that odd character from German pop-synth band; Sparks. His banjo playing was rudimentary, and his songs sounded like Tom Waits on real bad acid. But I liked the man with no name.
I was at the Jalopy Theatre in Brooklyn, New York on a bitter cold January night. Every Wednesday, they present the Roots n Ruckus event, a night of folk, old-time and blues. Earlier I had seen another guy play. He reminded me of a young Townes Van Zandt, dark, tall and skinny and with a genuine Southern nasal whine. He sang some great old songs, but I didn't catch his name either. All these guys had a habit of mumbling their introductions. Free food was being served down at the back. Ladies drifted by with plates of pasta. I didn't eat. Didn't need to. I had a beer and soaked in the atmosphere.

A bitter wind was blowing as we made our way down Columbia Street, ancient skeletal trees bending in the breeze, trashcans waiting to be emptied. Two well-dressed guys in a big black Sedan drove by slowly, rolled down the window and asked for directions to the Brooklyn Bridge. We were useless with directions. At Carroll Street we took the F Train to Manhattan. That night I dreamed a dream. I was in some foreign city. Nothing unusual about that, however I felt both lost and at home at the same time. The north wind was blowing hard, driving through the sky big, black, heavy clouds. A high sea was raging and dashing its huge, slow, foamy waves along the coast with the rumbling sound of thunder. The waves followed each other close, rolling in as high as mountains, scattering the foam as they broke. I quickly crossed a wide majestic bridge and made my way to an area of bustling activity. Labyrinthine streets brought me to a small bar, where I met somebody I knew. It felt like Xmas, or some festive season. The ladies were of east European aspect. Everybody seemed to be expecting something to happen. I had a gig the following night and a storm was coming.

Wed 5 December, Dublin....Obsessions come and go, and I've slid back into reading about the Bronte’s again, mainly because I found a great biography of the famous sisters alcoholic junky brother Branwell. Written by Daphne Du Maurier, it brings to life a much-misunderstood writer / painter who never had anything published during his short life and only managed to sell one or two paintings. His over active imagination got him into trouble from time to time, but it's difficult not to like this wonderful 'failure.' Stayed up til dawn reading the book, and only managed to get one and a half hours sleep before I hit off across to the north side of the city to meet up with Les Keye . On arrival, I discovered Les had no sleep at all, he's been up all night, but was ready all the same to get down to work. In his home studio we drank countless cups of tea and listened back to a 'live' recording we made last week. When I say live, I don't mean a recording of a gig, but a recording of me Les and Chris all playing together in a room, no over dubs, just lashing it out, and it doesn't sound bad either. Another 7 or 8 songs I had been working on were loaded up from one hard drive to another and we now have to figure out what’s good and what’s not so good. After five hours we were brain dead, so I packed up and off I went, heading south.

In the past few weeks I had been listening to a lot of Holly Golightly. Her LP "Surely There Is No Other" was rarely off the turntable, so I was very pleased when the postman arrived with a package from Damaged Goods Records with two more LP's and a four track EP on clear vinyl. The package also contained an LP by Billy Childish. Anybody who can write a song and name a band after his mother's 1950's cycling club gets a vote of confidence from me. The album from Mr Childish sounds like it was recorded in the forty minutes it took them to play it and it's wonderful. Holly, of course has been on the stereo day and night. In a vain attempt to break from vinyl addiction, I spent a few days in the Wild West of Ireland, where 'The Lilting Banshee' 'Out On The Ocean' and other fiddle tunes were recorded. On a drive back from Ballyhaunis, near Bekan, we stopped off to check out the ancient roadside passage grave, before continuing on down the long winding road.

A few days later I found myself staring in amazement at the fattest birds I'd ever seen, and I’m not talking about ladies. I’m talking pigeons. Big fat pigeons were everywhere. They struggled to get airborne, these lay-abouts. Over near the Rialto Bridge in Venice, but especially up around the tourist trap that is St Marks Square you will find these obese birds, fat from the never ending stream of tourists who, for some reason or other, feel the need to keep feeding these feathered vermin.
Found a few great antique stores. One had a carved Tibetan thighbone in the window. It reminded me of the time many years ago when in L.A. I asked to see the thighbone in the display case of a particular antique store I had visited. The assistant obliged and then went off to deal with another customer. I looked at the hand-carved bone, which had been fashioned into a flute, with a row of holes drilled along the shaft, so what else would you do, but put it to your lips and try and get a note! And I got one, not a very melodic or clear sounding note, but a note all the same. The shop assistant came running over in a panic "Oh you must not release the spirits!! " she exclaimed. The fact that I wasn't a trained monk seemed to have something to do with It.  I might have learned a few things about Kundalini, I may have known how to meditate a bit and put a stop to that endless chatter; the internal dialogue, but my ancestors had drunk from the wrong gene pool. As far as she was concerned, I was far from being the ideal candidate for blowing through this odd magickal/religious tool. 

Mad, timeless Venice. I rambled up the street, stopping off for a drink before dinner, in the little bar around the corner from where an unseen hand has scratched a pentagram onto the door of the local drapery store. Later, I found a bookbinders down one of the labyrinthine streets, asking for €450 for customized leather bound books. An ancient looking copy of the legendary grimoire, The Necromonican sat in the window with a little sign saying 'enquire inside about price.' But of course this book wasn't / couldn't be ancient at all, as The Necromonican was imagined by HP Lovecraft in the 1930's. Still, the copy here looked splendid. However, that didn't mean I was going to stride in there waving a chequebook ...or a credit card. Come to think of it, I don't own a credit card, and I've never had the luxury of a chequebook taking up valuable space in my pocket either. Cash is King in my brain baby !!!

It was freezing cold in Rome, but before long we found an odd little place that sold slices of pizza, full chickens, big hunks of beef, cokes, sandwiches and beer, drug of the nation.....beer. A bottle of Becks cost €2.20, so we had a few of those before finding a restaurant for dinner. The Hotel Cristina was a bit depressing after the palatial Palazzo Guardi in Venice, so we kept away from it as much as possible, spending lots of time at the Forum. The Arc of Septimus Severus prepared us for what was to come. Stopped by at the Temple of Saturn on the way to the garden where the Vestal Priestesses would spend the afternoon, just across from House of the Vesta. I imagined these foxy ladies taking it easy here for an hour or two after spending hours tending the flame in honour of their goddess Vesta of the hearth, and of course in honour of Rome. Further up the hill we found the house, which Augustus shared with his feisty second wife Livia. It's claimed she poisoned eight or nine people to keep her family in power. But who knows the truth.   Further up the road, the Colosseum looked spooky when you consider what went on there. It was time for more spaghetti.........

Back in Dublin, the Fender Champion 600 Amp, matched with a €9.90 Beringer Tube Overdrive pedal was put through the mill. It sounded best with my old Epiphone Casino.  Some of the songs were brand new. One, I wrote as the guys were strolling in. Days of merry solitude were spent getting the over dubs down, a little drop of red wine to keep me company, the black and white wild fat cat slowly roaming the gravel driveway, stopping every now and then to stare in the window at me. Days drifted on. A week felt like a month, just the way I like it.

in a ro

AUTUMN TOUR 2007f the songs were brand new. One, I wrote as guys were strolling in. Days of merry solitude were spent getting the 
Thurs 13 September,  Amsterdam....Amphibious city, with its canals spreading out from the harbour like a virus. Despite the sleaze and countless dodgy characters rambling around, it's a city that has always seemed safe. If you meet the grim reaper here, it's most likely your own fault. After getting into Central Station I walked down the broad majestic Damrak, past the Hotel Monofa where I stayed last spring. I hung a right and found a small bar, ordered a beer and sat in the window.
Later, in Mulligans on Amstel , I set up , soundchecked and grabbed something to eat. Chatted to John, a native of Dublin living here in exile and contentment. Some American tourists came in, took one of the posters off the wall and asked me to autograph it, which I did. After the gig I got a call from my friend Cormac who is over from Dublin to see The Police play a show as part of their reunion tour. We decide to hook up in a bar called the Soundgarden. Having a drink with Phil at the bar, he tells me he knows where the place is, and will come along and show me the way. Another call comes in to say that the Soundgarden has just closed (it's 1am) but Korskvf next door is still serving, so off we go into the night. It's a part of Amsterdam I haven't seen before, but we have no problem finding the place. The DJ downstairs is playing terrible Goth music very loud, no sign of Cormac AKA Ted. Upstairs I spot him, with his cousin Nikki, who also made the pilgrimage to see Sting and Co. Drinks are ordered, stories are told and a thick cloud of smoke hangs over our barside table.

Fri 14 September, Mortsel....Had a late late sleep in, and I needed it. Took a ramble through the local market, buying a freshly squeezed orange juice to slate my thirst. On realizing I recognized more streets than I had expected, I decided to walk down to Amstel in an experiment to see if I could find my way without getting completely lost. Collected my gear, and had a cup of tea with Barry and we chatted about his recent trip to China as a live sound engineer, how he would never ever live in Ireland again and the general state of affairs for folks like himself and myself.

Took a taxi to the train station and got on board the packed train for Antwerp. We had only got as far as Schipol Airport when the ticket inspector made an announcement through the tanoy system in both Dutch and English, saying he had put up with rude travellers all day long, he wasn't taking any more crap from anybody and in fact the train would NOT continue its journey. We all had to disembark. Needless to say, most people around me looked pissed off, some smiled. People started to get off. In disbelief, I stayed put as did a few others. 'Is this for real?' I asked a guy who seemed unsure what to do . 'This happens occasionally, I've been told about it, but I never take the train , and this is why.' After about 10 minutes the same folks that got off the train, started to get back on and following a wait of another 10 minutes the doors closed and off we went, heading south towards the Belgian border.

As the ticket inspector got over his temper tantrum the train slid down the track, passing through the Hague with the giant windmill near the station, past the Gothic church with it's enormous golden clock counting down the minutes to armageddon and the return of Our Lord and Saviour to redeem us from the clutches of the Prince of Darkness. It was a dark dull evening as I gazed through the dusty dirty windows. I read another chapter from Bukowski's 'Factotum.'

Got a text message to say I should meet Inneke23 at 'the elephants' beside the train station in Antwerp. Walked through three packed carriages to find a toilet and had my first piss in five hours. Got off the train and out into the rain. Asked a Chinese guy outside the main entrance to the station where the elephants were, he said, around the back of the station, so off I went in search of these elephants and there I found a sculpture of three life size elephants, made of scrap pieces of wood, nailed together and impressive they were too. After a short wait Inneke23 arrived in a small van, Wim from her band was in the back seat. Off we drove at high speed, picked up a PA along the way and drove to Mortsel. The gig was in a place called Malanga, and I was introduced to the owner, a nice guy who insists I have a beer as the PA is being set up. There's no food available so I go for a walkabout. Time is tight so there isn't enough time to go into a restaurant and have a proper sit down meal, and I don't want another Falafel, so I settle for a Balisto, a chocolate biscuit bar that costs 40cents.

I met Inneke23 last June when Chris, Les and I played in Berlin. She was hanging out with Mark Mullholland, but we didn't really say much to each other as she was real drunk. That tends to happen to people at racketeers gigs. While I was in Canada, she wrote to me and began to help getting extra gigs for me in Antwerp, Ghent and Mortsel. I was curious as well to get involved with somebody who calls themselves '23'. To my amazement, I discovered that she had never read Robert Anton Wilson. (google Robert A. Wilson and the 23 enigma to get information on this. It's too long and complicated to get into here )

Was introduced to a lady called Alice who spoke of George Murray from the Record Collector shop in Dublin, and then Inneke23 & The Lipstick Painters did their set. Afterwards their friend Karo from local band Sodatune played a few cool songs. I did my thing and there was a mixed reaction. The barstaff's choice of dodgy techno between the nights acts didn't help the atmosphere, but we got the job done.
Back at Innekes pad, I was left with a set of keys and she drove off to her mothers place for the night leaving me to my own devices.

Sat. 15 September, Herentals Sorrounded by pictures, postcards, drawings and engravings of elephants I got to thinking to myself that it's fair to come to the assumption that my host has a slight obsession with these big beasts. A huge painting of Ganeshe with beautiful Asian eyes hung close to the poster of Hank Williams all sad and lonesome. In contrast, a one-handed statue of Jesus stared at me from a table in the living room, the spitting image of ex-racketeers bass played Paul Dempsey, circa 1999.

Out on a ramble I found a quiet bar down a side street, just me, the bar lady and two old-timers. All was going good until suddenly , all together, about 70 people of all ages, kids, granny's, mom's and dad's all dressed to the nine's arrived as if out of nowhere. An automated machine cranked out 'Delilah' at high volume and a couple danced while all cheered them on. It was a very surreal moment. The machine was like something from a 19th century fairground, with an accordion that played by itself, and the hi-hat on the drum kit magically moved as if the drummer was the first cousin of the invisible man from another dimension. In the space of five seconds the place had gone from the quietest bar in Belgium to the most packed bar in Belgium. I was surrounded !
I soon learned that it was a wedding party, but no sooner had they arrived, they were off again to the next bar, where I can only imagine they danced, had a quick drink, scared the living daylights out of some tourist and once again departed.

Arrived into Herentals and had a quick soundcheck through the wonderful PA. Top quality gear. Inneke did a solo set, I did my thing and went down well. Sold a lot of cd's and had a few drinks. The unfortunate thing about meeting Irish people in Europe is that they often get to thinking Aslan are on a par with Bowie and Christy Moore is a god. And you gotta make sure you don't say anything bad about Mother Ireland. God forbid. Thus, there followed a rapid descent into a Bukowskiesque nightmare.  All phoney cocaine courage and bullshit, I was glad to get out of dodge and onwards to Holland.

Sun.16 September Hardewijk..On arrival at tonight's venue, Cafe Luxemburg, I checked in to the Great Western Hotel, relaxed as best I could, made a phone call and later did the gig. The folks here are a friendly bunch and people present me with shots of Geneva gin, which is supposedly good for toothache. Washed the gin down with a few beers and hung around for a while after my set, before the short walk up the street to my Hotel, where I only manged to sleep for about two hours.

Mon. 17 September, Antwerp...Walked around in the rain for a while to see what the town was like. Found the old town walls, still intact. Made it to Ammersfoort, where I had to change trains, then get another ticket and off I went back to Belgium again. Back In Antwerp late that evening, I found a bar called The Burning Plague, the sort of place where you don't go unless you've got a good size roll of 20's in your pocket. Got talking to some of the locals, asked a guy to keep an eye on my guitar while I took a leak. Had another beer and the phone rang. It was the elephant lady and she was on her way. Ordered another beer (€1.60) from the barman who looked just like Robert DeNiro.
The guy who had looked after my guitar while I took a leak, leaned over and in a quiet voice said, 'Doesn't he look like DeNiro.' I couldn't believe it, I told him I'd just been thinking the same thing. We drained our glasses and stared into the distance as Iggy Pop screamed like a tortured soul through the stereo.

Up around the corner stood De Heksenketel, a nice old bar, with a hostel upstairs. The PA was in  good working order and the mixing desk did what it was supposed to do. Not only locals, but tourists and people of a transient nature came in to the gig, and really got into it. Cd's were sold and off I went to a late bar, many of the folks from the gig came along too, and I made some new friends. I remember a bottle of rose being opened at 5.30am and after that I went off to the land of nod.


Tues 18 September, Ghent......Needed a coat so we took a tour of a few second hand clothes shop, until I eventually found a great big one which made me feel like a Russian gangster. Paid my €30 and off we went, unsure what to do next. Crossing one of the old squares, I spotted a bar so we went in and I grabbed a table . Overhead floated a few zeppelins. I had a beer, 23 had her daily coke & a smoke. The conversation turned to all things psychic and magickal, as they sometimes do. When you hang around with somebody who calls themselves 23, weird shit is sure to happen. Everywhere we went we saw the # 23, and we saw witches. Dropped into a corner shop and there was a sticker of a witch on the cash til. Walked past a new bar that had broomsticks outside and a statue of a witch in the doorway. The whole afternoon was like this.

Went down to Ghent to play in Kinky Star. As I got off the train a guy way up the platform started to shout at me. Here we go, I thought to myself. I certainly do attract the headcases. Dressed head to toe in black, late forties, not a lot unlike a Willie DeVille type cat, only a lot more sinister, it was obvious he was very wasted. I thought he was looking for a fight. He held out his hand and there was a bunch of grapes. He wanted to offer me a grape ! I accepted and on we walked.  His name was Black and he had just put a band together called Romantica. 'Not Metallica, ROMANTICA !!' he proclaimed and laughed, and so did I. He insisted on carrying my guitar  which made me a bit nervous as I thought he might fall down the stairs. Off he went, Mr Black went one way, I went the other.

After a beer or two and soundcheck the phone calls started. The wife wanted to make sure I was still alive and a friend from Dublin wanted to see if I wanted somebody dead. Played the good to a good listening and appreciative audience. Sold CD's and hung out. Promoter Luc took us out for dinner in a place across the road. The guy from the late bar in Antwerp the other night showed up and joined us. The conversation was in Flemish, so I drifted off into my own realm for a while.

Wed 19 September, Nuremberg.....Contemplated taking a flight to Nuremberg, but it proved too costly to book at the last minute, so the 7 hour train journey had to do. Arrived in to Nuremberg on platform 23 (where else) and went to catch a cab. There's a witch painted on the door of the car parked next to us.
Get down to the venue, a cool place called Pegnitzbühne. After a few glasses of wine and a slice of pizza, I do the gig. Photos are taken the gig is filmed and I see more Cd's  than expected. Most of the small gathering of people stay behind for a late drink and we all hang out together. Inneke brings her guitar over to the bar and gives us a version of Merl Haggard's "Tonight The Bottle Let me down" and i do Johnny's "I Still Miss Someone" and a few others. Chat to Marcus and Bea and Wolfgang, all good people who make me feel at home and very welcome indeed.

thurs 20 September, Nurenberg.....Marcus and Bea have a great breakfast ready, and I get to re acquaint myself with the 3 cats. Then we hopped into the car, it being a bright sunny day, and went to visit the Imperial Castle , which is one of the most important imperial residences of the Middle Ages. Good old Emperor Friedrich1 Bararossa built the place 1015 years ago. We saw some great suits of armour, climbed the tower , checked out the well which is 47 meters deep. It was dug in order to survive several sieges, and in the courtyard stood the famous Kunigunde lime tree, the original of which was planted by the Empress Kunigunda back in the 10th century. She was canonized in 1200, for what, Im not sure, but she's a saint now, a sort of medieval B list celebrity. 

Down in the old town square we checked out the markets, and had a beer. Tourists lined up to turn a gold ring on the railings around the town square clock, which would, according to legend, bring them luck, but Marcus let me in on a secret. The gold ring wasn't the one at all !! Over on the other side was the real magick ring. Black as night it was and I spun it around three times, as I need some good luck.

Later Marcus's Grateful Dead Tribute band were rehearsing in Pegnitzbühne and we were invited down by Bea. A few bottles of white  wine were opened and Bea told me great stories and we had a fun time. A phone call came from home, and I went outside to chat, missing the obligitary band arguement in the process. Just as well too.

Friday 21 September Greiz....After a boiled egg and bread, I bid adieu to Marcus and Bea and walked out through the back garden, down along by the river, crossed the bridge and walked in the Indian summer sunshine to the train staion. 10 minutes later i was in Nurenburg Haupenhoff, and set off for Greiz, getting there as dusk descended at 8.15 pm. They had sent a young man called Daniel to meet us, and it turns out he's also the sound guy.
After the enjoyable gig, I talked to Evi who runs the Schlossfolk Festival that we played at earlier this year. We talked of the neverending hussle of rock n roll and she then drove us out to our countryside pension, where I went to bed and dreamed of a wonderful life as a recluse.

Saturday 22 September Leipzig...Awoke at 8.30 tossing and turning. Took a shower, read a bit of Factotum,  and breakfast was delivered. . Its another hot sunny day and the birds are singing in the trees. The wife phoned and I told her I wanted to go home. A helicopter is necessary. I felt like the angel of death was hanging over me, then I also felt the great goddess Isis was sitting in the corner watching over me too.
Inneke23 had decided to indulge in her passion for hitch hiking, so she set out on the road with her thumb. I opted for the train.  Two and a half hours later I was Leipzig and I surprised myself by navigating the complex tram system and I found the venue, the  Kulturwirtschaft Waldfrieden. Said hi to Anders and had dinner and a drink. Went out for a ramble . Most of the shops were closed.  Punks were everywhere. Typical east German graffitti covered the buildings that line the avenue. Went back to the bar, found a darkened corner and nodded off for an hour.

Later, in the candle lit atmosphere, Inneke sang her songs about fairy men and elephants and I sang my songs and then I stopped singing my songs when I got tired. A lady told me she likes my sloppy guitar playing.

Sunday 23 September Berlin...On the train some ladies asked me for directions to the metropolitan museum , but I had to confess, although I had been to Berlin a few times, I had no idea where it was. In fact I find Berlin very confusing, its so big !

Just after arriving into Berlin Haupenhauf, my friend John R Dalton phoned  so I got instructions on how to get to Artliner, where im due to play.. So , I got on the U-Bahn to Friedrichshan and hung a right. Walked down the street in the hot sunshine feeling a little lost. Saw a cool looking Greek lady sitting outside a little corner shop, smoking a cigar and drinking beer from a white plastic cup. Cool shades hid her eyes. I asked directions to  Gartnerstrasse, but she'd never heard of it.  She hollered into the guy in the shop, so he got out a map and we both tried to locate the street of mystery. Customers came and went, we still searched the map. Then a friend of his arrived and got on his mobile phone to ask a friend. Eventually I got the information from these more than helpful people, and I bade my new friends goodbye and  off up the street I went and hung a right.

Past the great Sunday afternoon flea market I eventually found Artliner. Had a beer, spoke to Andy, the sound guy and went out to the market. Bought a Baphomet piece of jewelery and a few other things. Watched the American ladies busking singing their country songs and went back to Artliner to soundcheck.

John and his Peruvian ladyfriend arrived and I did my thing. The sound was real good, but Im not so sure if Im was all that up to scratch. Late drinks were had and as always, Berlin seemed like an old friend.

TOO LATE TO STOP  (June - July 2007 - Ireland / Germany / Canada / USA)

Sat 9 June Tramore....Another hot hot day. Following a three hour drive we rolled into the sea-side town of Tramore in the sunny south east of Ireland. With an aching back and shoulders, I felt as if I had been run over by a bus, but following self medication I perked up and we soundchecked and hung out. That's what bands do a lot....hang out. Then we played the gig and it was good fun and Chris and Les enjoyed themselves, and so did I and by coincidence, so did the audience. The rather baleful waning moon hung low in the sky as we made our way back to Dublin. Blood red, it seemed to cast an ominous spell. The thick fog added to the atmosphere. Still, we arrived back home in one piece and I fell into bed at 5am and slept well.

Wed 13 June Dublin....A few hours are spent making final arrangements for our trek to Germany and then on to the States and Canada. Then at 6pm it's rehearsal. We worked mostly on a new song which will be called 'Money' for the time being. We also messed about with 'Nine Bridges From Town.' Les split, Chris and I had a few beers and with Åsa, we went down to our local for one, then back home for our little disco. This went on a little late, so we only managed to get about  two hours in bed, and nearly missed the flight.

Thurs 14 June Berlin....The taxi in from Schoenefeld airport took ages. The driver eventually found the Sunflower on Helsingforser Strasse in Friedrichshain which will serve as our Berlin base. Had a beer to unwind and went on the internet to check out car rental. Eventually get that sorted, so out into the hot hot sun we go. Ate some pasta and on we went. It ended up being a longer than anticipated walk to White Trash where we play a gig next Monday. Chris wanted to check out the Tattoo parlour which is part of the whole White Trash emporium. As he looked at designs and chatted to the artists I nodded off for a while in the waiting area. We had a few beers at the bar next door and later cruised down Oranienburgerstrasse. After sampling Berliner beer and tequila in a few hostelries we were feeling mighty fine and the crack was good. The final port of call was a wonderful Indian restaurant where we had a meal, and I drank a bottle of wine, while Chris stuck to the beer. A little bleary and a little the worse for ware, we took a taxi back to the Sunflower.

Fri 15 June Greiz.....It took two hours for us to find the car rental place, so we were later hitting the road than planned. Using the satellite navigation system, we left Berlin behind and hit the Autobahn, cruising at 120mph while big black mercs shot passed us at incredible speeds. At one point we ran out of road and this played havoc with the navigation system. My phone died yesterday, so I had to keep borrowing Chris's mobile to call ahead to the organizers of tonight's festival and to talk to Les who was on board a train crossing the country at high speed. Unfortunately Les missed his connection in Gera and would be forty minutes late for soundcheck. No panic.

On arriving in Greiz we met up with Evi who runs the Greizer Schlossfolk Festival. Greiz is in the province of Thuringia, a cool town with a population of 23,000.  During the World War II it didn't suffer much damage, although 3 of the 5 bridges in town were destroyed. The gig is in the courtyard of the Unteres Schloßin, one of the two castles in the town. I had a  quick sandwich and checked out the Marshall Valvestate Amp they've hired for me and its great, as is the kit for Mr Teusner. Mr Leslie Keye arrives  and we soundcheck. As I stand on a balcony, dark clouds roll in from the other side of the White Elster River bringing thunder and lightning. Within ten minutes we're caught in the middle of a mad storm. Everything is put on hold. An hour or so later the show gets on the road and we do our set. The PA and sound is great and we have a good time. As soon as The Transylvanians hit the stage, the rain starts up again, still the audience hangs in there and the atmosphere is good.

Taxi out to Moscowitch in the rain to our countryside guest house. the Transylvanians aren't up for a party so we three racketeers do our own thing, with Les playing a selection of tracks from his lap top, including Althea and Donna and LKJ.

Sat 16 June Wurzen......After a breakfast of bread with apricot jam and a cup of tea, I went back to bed to read another chapter from Gabriel Garcia Marquez's 'One Hundred Days Of Solitude.' Soon, we were back in Greiz to load up, say our 'goodbyes' grab a fruit juice from one of the festival stalls and hit the road, biding adieu to Thuringia. After long consultation with the instruction booklet, Les figured out how to get the satellite navigation system to speak to us in English as opposed to yesterdays German. So we got a very posh lady giving us instructions in the Queens English. Very 1950's BBC in fact.

After a few wrong turns we rolled into Wurzen around 4pm, an hour ahead of schedule. Wurzen is in the Muldentalkreis district, in the State of Saxony and is now, and has long been a hotbed of Nazi activity. We crossed the bridge over the Mulde River and found the Netzwerk für Demokratische Kultur, tonight's venue. Soundcheck is long long long. Afterwards we eat, chat to Sebastian (our man in Wurzen) and I go for a solitary ramble. Up in the town square I found the strange looking statue of Joachim Ringelnatz, the famous poet (and painter) and the towns claim to fame. Thankfully I didn't find any of the local Nazi's. Another of the town's claim to fame is that Goethe travelled in 1768 from Leipzig to Dresden and back through Wurzen. The long wait for the ferry inspired a passage in his first edition of Faust.

Back at the venue I nodded off for a while, which is the divine right of itinerant musicians worldwide, then arose from my slumber, grabbed a beer and hit the stage. The gig was great and although I was nervous for the first few songs (something that rarely happens) I really enjoyed it. We hung out afterwards, sold CD's, signed CD's and had a few drinks. A bottle of champagne was opened to celebrate the boss lady's birthday and the conversation included Mannix Flynn, Dublin in the 1980's and of course music. When both Chris and Les began to tell me about how good Justin Timberface really is, I began to think that the evening had become a bit too surreal. Les DJ'ed until the early hours of the morning. I had nightmares about Justin Timberface dressed up as a gay Nazi.

Sun 17 June Leipzig.....A long time was spent driving around in circles in Leipzig with a very confused band listening to a very confused robot. Eventually we found the Kulturwirtschaft Waldfrieden, had dinner, hung around and a suitable backline and PA was located in a nearby subterranean rehearsal room. Dan arrived in from Essen and Sebastian arrived in from Wurzen with his girlfriend and we played to a small but appreciative crowd. The show opened up with a solo acoustic 30 minute set from Les. We played well and had a good time. The post gig sing song also came curtsey of Mr Keye. Sleep was non eventful, simply a period of darkness between two beers.

Mon 18 June Berlin....Dan drove me in to Berlin, while Chris piloted the rented wagon, I slept most of the way. At the Sunflower Les insisted I have a beer, then taxi to Mark Mulholland's place to pick up two amps and a kick drum, off then to soundcheck at White Trash Fast Food. Dinner was great and the staff cool. The gig was ok, nothing to write home about, the post gig drinking session was more fun than actually playing. Always a pleasure to see Mark. Last time we met was in New York in April, before that it was Dublin in February. We had one hour in bed before alarm bells drilled a hole through my heavy head and in a state of confusion I arrived into the airport and somehow or other managed to board the plane and stay awake long enough to help Les drain a half bottle of champagne and a couple of red wine. (Chris was asleep.) It's a tough old rock n roll world, but somebody's got to do it. See you out there........


Mon 25 June Dublin.....Played the Belvedere last Thursday to a mad crowd. Headcases everyone. A crazy Japanese lady danced up real close, I wasn't sure if she was going to kiss me or throw a punch. Her man tried to persuade her to sit down, but she went crazy. He was pointing at his watch saying, maybe we should go home now. She was completely out of it, but her reflexes were fast enough to grab the watch off the guys wrist and throw it across the room. It took the poor guy about twenty minutes to find it.

A row broke out at the bar, no security to be seen. I was glad to get out of there. On Saturday I played over at the Cobblestone. It was Stuarts birthday bash, and I also did a DJ set, other friends of the birthday boy got up to do a few songs, as did the man himself. Ended up at a party near Leeson Park, where South American sailor boys wooed a few gullible Irish ladies.

Wed 27 June New York....I thought Sunday would be a good day to relax before going to New York and on to Canada, but no such luck. We'd been invited to a barbecue so along we went. Met some Cuban musicians on tour, hung around, got home at 3am, up at 5am and off to the airport. On arrival in New York via London Heathrow I had to clear customs, and it was a bit of a hassle. Travelling without a work permit, I suppose I looked a bit too much like a musician. Guitar, cable's, microphones in my bag alongside harmonicas. Then the customs official opened my shoulder bag he pulled out a copy of 'Silver & Dust'. "This guy looks familiar," he said. I told him I just made up a few to give away to friends and I stuck to my story that IM NOT a musician and eventually he waved me through. After all, I'm not really part of the Axis Of Evil !

On arrival into the Lower East Side of Manhattan, I zipped down to Jacks place and we headed out straight away to an Indian restaurant on 1st Avenue for dinner. Had a great time, later watched a movie and on Tuesday records were bought, pool was played and life is good. Word came through on a gig in Leipzig. News from Canada too. Sleepless hours are spent reading Victor David Hansons 'Carnage and Culture.' Especially the parts about Cortes and the Aztecs.

Sat 30 June Toronto....Took the overnight 12 hour bus from NYC to Toronto on Thursday night. No problem with customs, but 12 hours is a long time to be on a bus. My old friend Robert O Neill picked me up at the station. His brother Brian is with him. He's over here on business. Last time we met was a few months ago in Rathmines, Dublin of all places, when I played a gig with the band. Off out to Robert place and he's in the process of building a garden shed. Im no good at that sort of thing, so I sit down and have a few beers and offer encouragement. The sun is riding high in the sky, its real warm. A trip to the liquor store is in order and after a while I get some much need sleep.

The gig is down at Dora Keoghs, next door to Allen's where I played last October. Good to met gentleman John Maxwell again and of course Dora herself. The gig went fine and Andrea brought down a bunch of people and Kate came in too. Afterwards we sat up late chatting and drinking and listening to Dylan bootlegs.

Tues 3 July Strattford....Hit the road to Hamilton after a huge breakfast at the Lucky Dice Diner on Saturday morning. Played at a
place called Rebels Rock. Good sound, good PA but hardly anybody there. They asked my permission to put "Silver & Dust" on the jukebox, and I of course said YES.

On Sunday it was Canada Day, a sort of Independence celebration. I got a gig at the strange time of 4pm at the ultra cool Cadillac Lounge back in Toronto. Having a beer at the bar after soundcheck I chat to some guy who informs me that the big concert on tv is in honour of Princess Diana. There's those two royal twats dancing their stupid dance to a line up of the usual suspects, Status Quo, Elton John and Duran Fucking Duran....so crap they named them twice ! 
The younger of the royal sons didn't bother dressing up as a nazi this time, as he seems to be fond of doing.

After a while I finally get to meet Aimee who is booking agent for the tour. I play my gig and its cool and the sound id good. Afterwards I meet Ward, a local guy who spends half of his time in Nigeria, half in Toronto. He's taken over 150 photos of the gig and promises to email them to me.

Out in Etobicoke I gotta do a house concert, only its in the garden. Play and 7pm and its all a good vibe, good food, good booze good people. I get to DJ a bit too, after sharing a few rum and cokes with Hank the Gladstone Cowboy.

On Monday everybody is a little bit weary, but me and Robert spend the afternoon visiting local artists, Hungarian Bill and Canadian Lucy. They've got paintings and drawings everywhere, and I mean everywhere around their apartment. They're an inspiration. Can after can of Guinnes is opened and drained dry. I get to hear some record by the Babyshambles and have to admit it sounded good. Still think the guy is a twat and the just can't cut it live, but the record is good, so credit where credit is due.

Earlier today we checked out the CRC Museum in town, saw some cool guitars and had a beer or two in Kensington Market. Then drove out through the County of Willington, down through Mohawk country and on into Strattford, hometown of Richard Manuel, keyboard player with The Band. The gentleman who, aged 42, hanged himself in his motel room after a Band show at the Cheek To Cheek Lounge in Winter Park Florida in 1986.

Strattford is also famous for its annual Shakespearean Festival. Its farming country out here. We needed a mic stand and a guy called Mike got one for us. A cool guy who knows his music and listened to every note I played. Drove back to Toronto afterwards, nodded off for a while, thankfully Robert stayed awake. He was driving.

Wed 4 July Toronto.....A well deserved day off. Robert needs a break from driving and having to listen to me every night. On awakening, I notice it's a dark overcast day, the rain is lashing down, still it's hot and humid. Childhood memories of the west of Ireland come flooding back.

Once the rain stoped, I took a walk down by the shores of Lake Ontario, walking up past the power station and the ominous Mental Asylum. Dropped in to the liquor store for a couple bottles of red wine. Back at the house, Robert and I watched a great DVD of Van Morrison playing at the Montreaux Jazz Festival in 1980, with two drummers, John Platania on guitar, Pee Wee Elis on sax. A great performance. 'Wild Night' was a highlight and stuff like 'Summertime In England' was just inspiring. Checked out some things on youtube and an Old Grey Whistle Test DVD got put on. Some of it was ok, Rory Gallagher for example. Roxy Music were funny and pretentious. Then Little Feat came on. What can you say about Little Feat, only it brought it home to me how much we NEEDED punk in the late 70's. Thankfully it arrived on time so that kids like me could get a guitar and do our thing and not be weighed down by virtuoso crap. And you could turn on the radio without having to listen to Little Feat !

Thurs 5 July Sarnia....A mysterious lady who goes by the name of Crystal has been sending out bulletins through her myspace concerning all my gigs. She seems to know if one is cancelled, or there's a change of venue, long before I do.

I get it organized so that a poster is on the way to Montreal via email from Ireland, and we hit the road. Arrived into Sarnia (population 73,000) past the Hiawatha Racetrack Slots. We turned off for Modeland Road and rolled on past the Temple Baptist Church on the left. They wouldn't like me if they met me I bet. The sign says it's 7K to the toll bridge into the US, but we don't want to go there. Down along Indian Road, hang a right  and we found the bar. We both needed a beer or two after the long drive and then we checked into the Motel next door.

Dinner is good. Jack phones from New York. The gig is fine. Meet some good people, and spend some time out on the veranda afterwards.

Fri 6 July London....Checked into the Maple Leaf Motel, an then had dinner in the nearby Thai Restaurant. Had a beer or two and got some sleep. The show in The Wick was a strange affair, as predicted. The bar itself is a cool joint, and everybody is friendly. Met up with the Duke himself. Tonight Im opening up for Duke Sedan and The Hightones, a fairly traditionalist 50's rockabilly outfit. They're nice guys, but their audience seem a little perplexed by the Irish man singing songs about 16th century Prague, walking along by the canal in Amsterdam etc, and my version of the Stones 'Play With Fire' goes right over their heads. Not to worry. I get to meet the mysterious Crystal and her boyfriend Randy. The barman keeps me well supplied and Robert is knocking them back big time. I enjoyed the Dukes set, and guest Leah is a cool lady, like a cross between Wanda Jackson and Holly Golightly, but she's got her own vibe going on.

Later we take a taxi back to our Motel with Crystal holding a large paper cup full to the brim with orange juice - mixer for the vodka. We have a little party in our room and it's all good fun.

Sat 7 July Windsor....Another day, another Motel. Last time I played Windsor I had a great time. Tonight it's nothing to write home about. In the morning we hit the road early (11am) and drive out past North Chatham where an avenue of gigantic pylons run alongside the motorway, before diverting through the fields of wheat, looking like something from a 1950's Sci-Fi movie. We drove on, Robert with the boot down, past the half rotten corpses of the roadside racoons. Made it back to Toronto in one piece.

Mon 9 July Toronto....I found myself on the streetcar at 8.30am, taking the hour long ride into the city centre. Off at Bay Street and walk up Dundas Street and get to the bus station. You get a better deal on the price if you buy it more than 24 hours in advance. Spent all day rambling around this vast city. Picked up 'Villette' by the incomparable Charlotte Bronte for $2.50. Went through a big Bronte phase last year. Later I relaxed with some Sangria, as the sweat dribbled down my forehead. Another hot and sticky night in south Ontario.

Tues 10 July Montreal......Arrived into town at 6.30 after an endurance test of a seven hour bus ride. Sean Moore met me at the station. We had never met before, but we've had an on going email correspondence for a few months now. The connection is Cannery Row / Two Dollar Bash. It's my first time being in Montreal and I can tell straight away that Sean's a good guy and that Im in safe hands. The gig is great. A real good atmosphere and the sound is good and I play well.

Wed 11 July Montreal....The gig in Quebec City didn't materialize, so Im content to hang out here. Bad news from Europe, but I won't elaborate. A few beers are had on Shannon's veranda after breakfast with Orite, who sings and plays with the wonderful Little Birdie, a great country influenced band. Well worth checking out. Sean arrived back from walking the dogs and it turned out to be a day of beers and smoking and making new friends and having a good time. Later, much later, we rambled off into the French part of town for a look around, found a bar and settled in. A surreal evening by any standard.

Thurs 11 July Toronto....Left Quebec at 1.30 in the afternoon and arrived into Toronto as the heavens opened up at around 8.30pm. Straight down to the gig, which was in a horrible bar full of awful people. Got the cash and split. Civilized drinks out in Etobicoke. The following day Robert brought his newly acquired Silvertone amp into town for repair. Later on, after dinner, we ended up at the Gladstone Hotel up on Queen Street West to see Hank, The Gladstone Cowboy perform.  Hank dedicated 'Your Cheatin' Heart' to yours truly. Later, we stumbled across an opening at a shoe shop. Complete with bar, sexy footwear, and interesting people, we were in the right place at the right time. I spoke to the artist about the possibility of him customizing a pair of cowboy boots for me. He lives in Paris and the price he quoted me is affordable. Fell into bed at 3, up at 6 and onboard the bus to NYC at 8.30. Twelve hours later I found myself in Port Authority. Took the subway downtown.

Over the next couple of days I bought some records, watched a few movies, played a gig at the Sidewalk Cafe, ate good food and was conscious that back in Ireland everybody was getting real pissed off that it was cold and the rain wouldn't stop.

RANDOM SCRIBBLINGS FROM DUBLIN  (May - June 2007)

Tues 12 June A few months ago in Sweden I heard a mix of '1849' which was first recorded during sessions for what became Exit Hellsville. I thought to myself, if it had a new vocal track, some extra guitars and perhaps a new bass line, it might be worth working on. So last Wednesday we finally got it finished when Les put down the bass part.  Two new guitar tracks, rhythm and solo, as well as a new vocal had been added by yours truly last week. After that, we got down to rehearsing, running through some of our repertoire for roughly three hours. Chris regaled us with tales of his recent travels to Chicago to record with Steve Albini, Stockholm to do some sort of work-shop and Australia to spend time with family. Then Johnny Cronin from the Aftermath phoned to see if I was going to make it to the Sugar Club for the tail end of the Hot Press Yearbook launch. The free bar had ended by the time we got there, but it was good to be out and about for a social evening. Johnny and his crew including brother Mick had relocated to Keoghs, so that meant a brisk walk across St. Stephens Green. There I was introduced to Bresy from the Blizzards who was in the process of telling Johnny that his first gig ever in Dublin was supporting my gang of reprobates back in the mists of time. Apparently I was very nice to the guys and let them use our backline.

On Thursday, following a stress free meeting with the tax people I picked up a copy of NME so I could get my hands on the free 7inch red vinyl one-sided single by the White Stripes. Its good, not exactly mind-blowing, but its ok. Later on I found myself over at The Belvedere. Once the gig was over and money changed hands, Jimmy and I took a taxi over to Toast in Rathmines for a late drink where we met Pat Cannon, who will drive me to Tramore on Saturday.

Friday was taken up with following up phone calls and emails and I watched an episode of the Sopranos, which I had taped while out gigging. Then a few beers at tea time. The missus rented the Da Vinci Code movie, which was bad beyond belief. I gave up after 10 minutes and lay down on the bed and got stuck into reading Lawrence Sutins 'Do What Thou Wilt,' one of the better Aleister Crowley biographies. I had read it before, but my brain works differently now, so I wanted to see if I could get a different angle on the Great Beast 666. Great fun indeed and he never fails to inspire.

Saturday was yet another hot hot day. Following a three hour drive we rolled into the sea-side town of Tramore in the sunny south east of Ireland. With an aching back and shoulders, I felt as if I had been run over by a bus, but following self medication I perked up and we soundchecked and hung out. That's what bands do a lot....hang out. Then we played the gig and it was good fun and Chris and Les enjoyed themselves, and so did I and by coincidence, so did the audience. The rather baleful waning moon hung low in the sky as we made our way back to Dublin. Blood red, it seemed to cast an ominous spell. The thick fog added to the atmosphere. Still, we arrived back home in one piece and I fell into bed at 5am and slept well.

Wed 30 May A dark overcast day, rain pouring down, the low hum of nearby road works for company. Only noticed it now, as I was listening back to recordings from the last few days. Very loud. Some of the stuff sounds good, some, I'm not so sure about.

Since my last scribblings I went down to vote, and here we are a week later and still no sign of a government, useless lot thery are. On my way back from the polling place, I heard my name being called out. It was Fergal Davis from Suite Studios who mastered 'Silver & Dust' (and 'Exit Hellsville) He was standing ouside a newly opened Art Gallery on Dunville Avenue. At least I think it's newly opened. Last time I looked it was a shoe repair place or a pharmacy or a newsagents or a hairdressers, perhaps a cafe, maybe a travel agents. Now, it's none of these.

With glass of wine in hand, Fergal beckoned, I made my way over. After some friendly banter, I went inside and had a look at the paintings on exhibit. Axel had just sold one for €1,650. Not bad. His stuff is good, and you can see the influence of Turner on his style. Axel has been my neighbour for a few years, but I hear he's just moved to Portugal.  A grand and a half will go a long way in Portugal. As usual in these circumstances, I was called upon to regale the folks with tales of the road and madness. Fergal had played a few gigs with The Racketeers, standing in on bass a few times, and told me he was sorry to miss out on the opportunity to travel outside Ireland with us. Well, there's always time for that in the future, but going by the ammount of money he's making running his mastering studio, I don't think he wants to spend a week or two with me in Germany.  We drank more red wine and John from Sun studios invited me down for a look around sometime, and I will. I then realized it was getting late, so I went back home where I found Tom and his double bass ready to rock. Out on the street  (my regular driver wasn't available)  I grabbed a taxi and then phoned Tom to say I had a van taxi on the way to pick him up (these double bass's are huge) but he said he had changed his mind and wanted to go home !! Very strange behaviour. We rehearsed, at his behest, he turned up at my humble abode all dressed up and then decides to go home. So, onwards we went in the taxi, no special guest tonight. Played my solo gig, chatted to Darren afterwards, and unfortunetly we had to drop into some dodgy singer songwriter place on O Connell Street to pick up some gear.

After that, Terry dropped me home, and with glass of red wine in my hand I watched The Sopranos which the missus had taped for me while I was off playing my songs to the disinterested and the drunk. Pressed the play button and Im in Jersey. The Sopranos is the only thing I watch on TV these days. Occasionally I might look at the news if I need reminding what a crap world the powers that be would like us to believe in. Or a documentary on Discovery. I gave up on The Simpsons long ago. I found Weeds on the internet the other night , but haven't gotten around to watch any of it yet. That's the US drama about a 30 something middle class lady who sells weed for a living.

The following day (friday) I was over at the Acoustic Lounge. Alice Jago didn't show up, so Jimmy Cinders played a longer than usual set, and he was great. He had Maria on backing vocals, Beverley on sax and Hughie Friel, ex- The Atrix on percussion. I knew John Borrowman well. I loved The Atrix, a great band, sadly forgotten by most and of course John is off with Elvis now. I played my set, and if I say so myself, I wasn't bad at all. Trevor, who I hadn't seen in ages was down and kindly bought me a drink. Afterwards we ended up in Toast (surprise, surprise), as did Mr Cinders. Met a few people I knew, drank some beer and vodka and made it home in one piece.

Saturday wasn't up to much. Got a few sets of lyrics down onto paper, and then decided I didn't like them. The next few days sort of melt into a blur of reclusive activity.Recording, writing, making phone calls and writing emails to people who don't bother to reply.  I keep writing songs by accident. I was putting down a guitar part for example yesterday on a song, when I came up with a new riff that was too good to go to waste. So now its a complete song in itself. I got a demo of it, vocals, bass, 3 guitar overdubs (drum machine) and its not bad. Yesterday, guitars mandolins, microphones and erratic scribblings on paper kept me occupied from 11 in the morning until 1am, the only break being an hour at 5 for dinner. By 1am I was fucked, so I listened to the Gun Club and drank some wine and when that ran out I went for the beer. I wound down like a tired spinning top and entered the land of nod with little difficulty. 

Thurs 24 May The Acoustic Lounge over in Smithfield was good fun on Friday. Alice Jago did a few songs, and performed admirably despite technical difficulties. The battery in her acoustic guitar died, and as she's left handed, I couldn't lend her mine. We miked it up and she soldiered on, a little unhappy, but it was the best we could do. She's gonna come back this Friday to play again, and Jimmy Cinder is going to play too.

Afterwards we ended up with Tom in our pad, drinking red wine and playing choice cuts from The Clash's triple album from 1980, "Sandinista"...we put on "the Equaliser," "Broadway," and Tom's favourite "The Call Up." Other records that graced the turntable included Springsteen's "Nebraska" The Stones, Nikki Sudden, Nancy Sinatra and "Claudette" and the wonderful "Afraid To Sleep" by Roy Orbison from 1965. It wasn't a late night really, so that getting up at 9am to catch a bus to the west wasn't a big deal. A 24 hour period was spent chatting, drinking wine and eating a lot. Filmed my old man playing mouth organ and later the fiddles were taken down. Too soon, I found myself on a bus heading east, watching the cattle graze lazily in the rolling fields. Sunshine streaming through the window as we drove through the flat midlands, down through Rathowen before sunset. I gave up on Rick Moody's 'The Black Veil.' The first few chapters were fine, but despite glowing praise from Thomas Pynchon, I found that Moody seemed to get bored with his own story after a while. I never came across a writer who made drinking to excess seem so mundane. Thankfully the postman brought me an interesting grimoire type tome from the pen of Michael J. Ford, so that's now keeping me occupied.

The recording goes on and on. Paul Thomas (best known for his work with Horslips, Thin Lizzy, Nikki Sudden, U2) called around with my old Lacie harddrive on Monday and we resurrected a song we recorded a few times back in 2003 when we were in the midst of trying to make what became "Exit Hellsville." I had heard a mix of this song "1849" in Sweden last February and thought to myself that if it had a new vocal and perhaps some extra guitar it could come in useful. The version we finished in 2003 never got released. So, Paul tweeked it a bit and uploaded to my recorder and off he went. I put down a vocal, rhythm guitar part and a guitar solo. Tuesday morning, I re-did the vocal, much better too. Wrote two new country type songs, which shall remain nameless for the time being. Recorded a new vocal on a song that was called "Slide On" but it's now called "Return Of the Snakes." Recorded other bit 'n' pieces, made phone calls, emails etc. Designed a poster for Canada, and finished four paintings, two are on paper, two are on canvas, no titles yet. I suppose they'll get piled up in the corner for a while.

Later, Tom arrived over having dragged a double bass up from Wexford Street. We rehearsed, running through about twenty songs. The chord changes in my songs seem to baffle the man, as he listens to a lot of rockabilly, bluegrass and cajun, basic three chord stuff. Tom used to be a drummer with Aces Wild, and he also plays a bit of banjo and accordion. We settle on covers of "Folsome Prison Blues" and the T Rex classic "Telegram Sam." I reckon we've nailled them well enough to perform in public. After a few glasses of red wine and having listened to a few Johnny Burnett Trio and Charlie Feathers records, Tom went off home. I was having a bit of cabin fever, so with miss Karrman as a travelling companion I took a taxi over to Harolds Cross to a crap bar called the Cross Bar. The place was empty. Ten years ago you'd find more people in a Dublin bar at three o clock in the afternoon that you would find in a bar now at 11 o' clock at night. How things have changed. When the looming property crash happens, there will be even less people able to afford a pint. After drinks with Jimmy Cinders and Maria we walked home, it being a warm night. Stay up til 4am playing records and painting and sipping wine, all on my own. Booked a ticket to New York with Virgin. I'll be flying via London, and Virgin is a far superior airline to Aer Lingus, and €60 cheaper too. The food is better, staff are generally more helpful, better planes. I'll have a few days (hopefully a gig too) in NYC before heading north to Canada to continue the Too Late To Stop Tour which, at the moment comprises of 23 gigs. 3 in Ireland, 4 in Germany, 1 in the US and 15 in Canada. The band will be travelling to Germany with me. Last time we were there was last September and we had a ball. I like the Germans and I like the Canadians too. Let me tell you who I DON'T like. I don't like any of these useless politicians  that are trying to get elected in the Irish General election. Maybe, just maybe I could trust Pat Rabbit, but none of the other fuckers are worth a vote. I'm tired now...got a gig later.....don't want to type anymore......

Thurs 17 May There's something about these overcast mornings when you can smell the leaves on the trees, flowers, weeds. Summer is approaching, not sure what season we're in. Reminds me of the west of Ireland, a previous life. The sort of morning where an Andy Irvine record makes sense.  Or Bonny Prince Billy. On I rambled to the post office to send a few packages to the Netherlands and good old Deutschland, always on the look-out for a club or bar that may wish to hire me 'for one night only.'

I've been running the Acoustic Lounge over in Smithfield now since February, and while we got off to a good start, these past few weeks have been quiet. A few friends are regulars, and the more popular special guests bring down a crowd. Some friends haven't made it over to any of the nights at all. Then on the other hand , I've had people drop in that I haven't seen in 13 years (in one case) or 16 years in another case. Last Friday night we ended up in Toast in Rathmines afterwards with Jimmy from Twenty Percent Dead, and Triona. The place was half empty and it brought it home to me that bars and clubs aren't having it as easy as they used to.

Saturday, bright and early I cooked breakfast after a cocktail of vitamin pills, and quickly got down to recording. I managed to get a few good ideas down, so I didn't feel the day was wasted. Later, I found myself in Cornellscourt, a place that had hitherto existed for me only in the realm of advertising. A massive shopping centre on a Saturday evening is not my idea of fun. We located the off-licence, bought beer and tonic water and off we went. We had been invited to Tove's pad in Foxrock to watch the Eurovision song contest. I kid you not. Tove is a good friend, she contributed backing vocals to a few songs on 'Silver & Dust' and she's from Stockholm, and the Swedes love the Eurovision. Thankfully, we arrived too late to catch the Irish entry, and before long we had settled into a eurotrash world fuelled on rum and coke. With Mark I discussed the art world (he knows some art hustler I hung out with last month in Philadelphia) we listened to a lot of Nina Perrsson and generally it was a good time and I got home by around 4.30. On Sunday, I continued recording and as night fell, I had a few drinks and played some records and went to see Claydolls in the Sugar Club. A good gig, although there was a small attendance.

The recording process continues. This morning at 8am  I got a melody swimming around my head. Turned out a simple enough riff would suffice, moved it up a key from what was in my head, easier to sing that way. After a few hours I had 3 acoustic guitar tracks down (with a click/metronome) and a good vocal. It may or may not require drums and bass. Time will tell. I also managed to get 'Nine Bridges From Town' down, after about 7 takes. It a song i started to write in a cheap hotel in Amsterdam in March. I got the last verse here at the living room table, and I've aired in in Smithfield now on the last two Fridays. Another new song recorded last weekend and finished today is called 'Never Enough Time' which is a good title.... and it's true. There never is enough time to do all that needs to be done. Even when you get up at 7am as I did this morning.

I've been listening to the great great Nancy Sinatra a lot. The album she did in '94 is ok, but the song 'Don't Let Him Waste Your Time' is a killer. Great lyrics (written by Jarvis Cocker) and a wonderful vocal delivery. Sexy and sweet. Miss Sinatra is about sixty years old now, still beautiful and still cool. Check out her performance of this great song on youtube. May we all be sexy and cool at sixty.

TARNISHED SILVER - Ireland / Denmark / Sweden / Netherlands / Belgium / USA
(January - April 2007)

Fri 19 Jan  Dublin....Somebody once said to me that 99% of the people on the planet were a waste of time. At the time I thought this was a bit of an exaggeration, but I’m not so sure anymore. Out on the road one’s psychic antennae seem to be more in tune with what’s going on, and it’s easier to sort the wheat from the chaff. When one is at home, wherever that may be, the fools and assholes get a chance to get their grip on you. I was listening to the radio in Terry’s van as we drove through the rainy streets of Dublin on the way home from a gig last night. He had it tuned to 98FM, a favourite of Dublin taxi drivers too. The phone-in topic was all about ‘pet napping.’ This apparently is big business. He even had guys phoning in saying that they were involved in stealing pedigree dogs and the like, then contacting the dogs owners for ransom money, or else selling the unfortunate animals on to somebody else. Very strange. A world of which I was completely unaware. I don’t have a dog, but it seems like a rotten business. But then again, most people are a waste of time, for various reasons. Of the thousand or so you might see while out to buy  groceries for example, how many would you want to talk to ?

In an attempt to rid my mind of the pet nappers, on my arrival home I treated myself to a glass of red wine. I read from Mary Shelly’s ‘The Last Man’ and soon found myself in the land of nod. I was up at 7.30am, had breakfast, and swiftly got down to recording. These last few weeks I’ve written a few new songs, and I’m in the process of recording rough demos of a few of them. What else would you do on a cold January day.

Later I’ll hopefully hook up with somebody for a drink. But before I go out into the windy winter night-time, I’ll spin a few records to (a) get my own songs out of my brain, and (b) because, above and beyond all else, I’m still a fan. So, I reckon ‘Wreck A Pum Pum’ by Prince Buster and ‘Heartaches was all we Got’ by Sven Zetterberg will get a spin. As will the new 7inch from Nikki Sudden, featuring Southern Bitch, a great great record. Tracks by Charlie Feathers, Gregory Isaacs , Johnny Thunders and The Two Dollar Pistols should put me in good form. See you out there. We can be the 1%.

Mon 22 Jan  Out for a few drinks the other night, I met Mick Pyro from top Irish pop ensemble The Republic Of Loose. I was chatting away to some folks when I spotted Mick out of the corner of my eye. We had never met, but I recognized him from TV. His drinking buddy seemed to have left him on his own. He was looking at his own reflection rather gloomily in the mirror. An invisible grey cloud hung over his dishevelled head. I've often been in similar states myself, so as I walked by on the way to the toilet, I gave him a slap on the back and said "How's it going Mr Republic". He turned to me and without saying a word, started to sing in a loud voice "Apology Not Accepted..."  ("Apology" is one of the more popular songs from the first Racketeers album, 'By Hook Or By Crook from '97) I was really taken aback.  He went on to tell me that a friend of his used to go to a lot of our gigs years ago, had that first CD and would quote lyrics to him when he had a few pints. Me and Mick got on well and had a good chat. He was lamenting the fact that he was broke, and also that people give him a hard time cos his band is a 'bloody disco group'. I tried to cheer him up by pointing out  that these very same people were probably just jealous. After a while he rambled off into the night, while I ended up back at HQ with Åsa and Rockfield man Kevin Lavin, drinking into the early hours, playing records and having a good time. 

Thurs 25 Jan  I’ve been trying out some new ideas, recording new songs I’ve written etc..etc.. On Tuesday, I was simply playing electric guitar, trying out a few overdubs on stuff I had recorded last week, when suddenly I had two new songs. One is called ‘I Got The Job Done’ the other remains untitled as I’ve got no lyrics yet. These songs seemed to come out of nowhere. I didn’t have time to get them down onto the digital recorder I use. Instead I went back to glorious analogue, and taped them onto cassette on my old battered ghetto-blaster.

A bitter cold day, I took the Luas (a local name for a tram) across town and on arriving at St. Stephens Green, I avoided the busy shopping streets, and crossed over to the North Side of the city. Over in Smithfield I had a meeting organized with John from top band Sack. It had to do with a gig I’m trying to set up in that part of the city, and we came to a sort of a deal. On the way back home I observed a guy sitting on the pavement doing his begging gig, paper cup in his hand collecting loose change from passers by. It’s something you see ten times a day in Dublin, only this guy  was chatting away on his mobile phone !! Maybe one of his beggar friends was doing a bit of shopping and needed some advice, who knows. Which reminds me, last week I was crossing Capel St. Bridge on the way to a Trip Hazard gig, when a guy begging came out with  the usual mantra ‘Some change please’. I shrugged my shoulders indicating I didn’t have any change, which I didn’t. ‘Fuck Yousss’ was his charming reply.

Later on Tuesday evening we had a band rehearsal, and I unveiled a new song c