"Meet Me At Cafe Victor. 5pm."
November 3/04
We just played in Oslo. We are now on the bus driving overnight to Copenhagen. I don’t normally compose my blog entries in such a public location, but there only a few people in the front lounge right now. Dave Kershaw and I just had a debate about the meaning of the word “fecund”. His claim that the juice carton was “fecund with juice” turned out to be acceptable, contrary to my insistance that he was suggesting the juice was ripe to the point of rotting. It is rare that I lose a vocabulary dispute. Doing so fills me with hot shame down the back of my neck.
Technical comment:
After playing in arenas for all of last summer, it certainly is nice to be in theatres on this Euro tour, where we can hear ourselves.
I am being interrupted. There is suddenly too much traffic in the bus to concentrate. To be continued.
Continued later:
We had day rooms today at a charming old hotel. Arriving at 7 this morning I blearily stepped into the foyer looking for the lift, hung a left instead of a right and found myself face to face with Nastassja Kinski. Or what looked like Nastassja Kinski in the film "The Hotel New Hampshire". In that film (and in more than one John Irving book I believe) there is a character who for one reason or another likes to wear a bear suit. In "The Hotel New Hampshire" Nastassja Kinski plays that character. That giant stuffed bear standing upright with paws outstretched and jaw gaping and the hotel itself instantly made me think of her and that film.
I was so ready to fall straight into bed and get more sleep after our all night drive. It's too easy not to see anything when you're on tour unless you're prepared to sacrifice some sleep. Most days I'm not prepared to make that sacrifice. Maybe it was the sun rising over a church steeple as my first view of the day, or perhaps it was the run-in with the stuffed bear, but on this day I decided to stay awake and see something of Oslo. I began with the complimentary breakfast buffet that is sometimes part and parcel in European hotels. I took some smoked salmon, egg, beet and cucumber. I had some coffee. The breakfast room was wood lined and lit with chandeliers. It was like a parlour. I went to my room and read about the shopping in the area. I made some notes. I drew a map. I went to the lobby, changed twenty British Pounds into Norwegian Krone just to have some lunch money and set out. I was among the first customers at the nearby mall. It was a pretty mall full of cute little shops. The lighting was nice. I wish our malls were lit like that. I bought two hand painted Christmas glass balls with Norwegian scenes. A number of hours later I wound up sitting in the hotel lounge with Dave Kershaw, Ash, Sarah and Brent. By this point the whole 'staying awake all day' thing was taking its toll. With my Norwegian Krone to burn and a show to play that night, I downed two cappuccinos and bought a round of them for the table. I showed Sarah my Christmas balls. I told her they were painted from the inside. Ash said, "how?" She said, "by very tiny Norwegians."
I went to my room for a shower before check-out and soundcheck. There was a queue when checking out. It was a bit of a long wait. I subconsciously noticed a guy in a plaid shirt ahead of me. I realised I was staring at the back of the "Norwegian Idol" - I mean "World Idol" Kurt Nilsen’s head. More amazing than the spotting of the "Norwegian Idol" in Norway was the fact that I knew it was him from the back, within 20 seconds of noticing him after only ever having seen him on television once almost one year ago while watching the 2-night "World Idol" competition against my will at my sister-in-law's house during the Christmas holidays.
When I say “against my will” I mean it in the “trying not to look at a car accident” sense. As someone who has been plugging faithfully away as a singer and songwriter since I was 17, I am against the idea of talent contests. Even if I wasn’t over the age limit to enter myself in Canadian Idol I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t. Nonetheless I still find it next to impossible to look away when it’s right in front of me, and last Christmas when some of David’s family wanted to watch "World Idol", I didn’t leave the room. I watched in pain and agony and fascination, involuntarily providing a running commentary whether anyone else appreciated it or not. My father-in-law might have. He's a music appreciator.
I had no idea it was part of the plan to make all of the "Idols" from around the globe compete for the achievement of being crowned World Idol. I don't think they did either. The only thing worse than making an overnight star out of whoever can become a pastiche of what we’re told we’re supposed to like the fastest, is to then force the winner into contest-purgatory and the world to play along with no regard given to the fact that the very notion of picking a “World Idol” out of a convenient shortlist is utterly ridiculous. Despite this I was first in line the next night for the exciting conclusion. I admit I got swept up in the fever. I found myself rooting for the Norwegian Idol who was clearly the best singer and the least pretentious of the bunch. When he won I was shocked that "the world" almost unanimously voted for him. How could I stay cynical knowing a singing plumber just transcended so many cultural differences and stole our hearts? For a moment, the world was one. Or not. Anyway, he did a damn nice job of U2's "Beautiful Day", even if Bono is still fully capable of handling it himself.
I followed Kurt Nilson past Nastassja Kinski into the lounge to see what would happen if I said hello to him. After fifteen seconds of listening to the blasted World Idol order a sandwich with no idea I was behind him I saw myself from the ceiling a la astral projection and decided it was time to leave the charming hotel.
__________________
November 5, 2004.
We just played in Copenhagen, Sweden and are on our way to Cologne, Germany. Apart from Dave playing Queen’s “Bicycle” in honour of the popularity of the bicycle here in Copenhagen, the front lounge is without distraction. But for how long? I’d better type fast.
You will recall my last entry about staying one night at David's cousin Elaine's house in Glasgow and hearing the band Keane etc...? Related story:
At our hotel in Glasgow we met some men from the Canadian navy sent to examine the HMCS Chicoutimi submarine which caught fire last month off the west coast of Scotland. We got them some tickets to Sarah's Glasgow concert . They came and brought us all HMCS Chicoutimi baseball caps. Mere moments later the tour buses drove off to London. My husband was still here with me at the time and we had booked flights to London for the next day so that he could introduce me to his family in Glasgow after the concert. That was the night we slept at Elaine's house. Her husband Neil was on a business trip in Copenhagen. The three of us stayed up quite late that night around the fire, eating snacks, drinking wine, listening to Keane and talking. The next day came very quickly and in our haste to make our morning flight, I left my newly acquired HMCS Chicoutimi baseball cap at Elaine's house.
Elaine emailed me that I had left it there. Her husband Neil goes to Copenhagen regularly for business and would be there when our tour arrived. She gave me her husband's email address. He would bring the hat with him. Weeks passed. Concerts were played. London, Manchester, Birmingham, Nottingham, Cambridge, Bristol, Cardiff, Hamburg, Stockholm, Oslo and then, at last, Copenhagen.
I woke up for the 6am ferry crossing yesterday so that I could go up on deck and see the Kronborg Castle (or Hamlet's Castle, as it is also known). Our ferry approached. The dark leaked away, the castle grew sharper. Once in my Copenhagen hotel room I checked for a message. "5pm. Cafe Victor. You will know me by your cap on the table before me." Awesome. I slept most of the day. I awoke, bathed and dressed and went out into the night to the Cafe Victor to look for a man with a cap on a table.
I found him right away. He hadn't come alone. Not part of the plan I thought. Ah well. I identified myself with a hatlike gesture and he acknowleged. Now what?
He and his colleague Rasmus and I had a round together, then another. Great fun. Like we'd already met. I had to tear myself away. I wandered off to find some dinner. With my baseball cap.
It was my husband’s birthday that day. I had sent him flowers via an internet order. Birds Of Paradise. A masculine flower. He hadn't received them as of 5pm (Toronto time) when we spoke. I was already sad that day not being there with him on his birthday and that made me sadder. I found out tonight that he had received them one hour later, at 6pm. That made me feel better.
We saw a car accident today on our way to soundcheck. A bus smacked into a small truck right in front of us. It looked so weird while it was happening. We all felt like we could see it about to happen, then it looked like it might not happen, then it totally happened. No one was hurt.
-KR
We just played in Oslo. We are now on the bus driving overnight to Copenhagen. I don’t normally compose my blog entries in such a public location, but there only a few people in the front lounge right now. Dave Kershaw and I just had a debate about the meaning of the word “fecund”. His claim that the juice carton was “fecund with juice” turned out to be acceptable, contrary to my insistance that he was suggesting the juice was ripe to the point of rotting. It is rare that I lose a vocabulary dispute. Doing so fills me with hot shame down the back of my neck.
Technical comment:
After playing in arenas for all of last summer, it certainly is nice to be in theatres on this Euro tour, where we can hear ourselves.
I am being interrupted. There is suddenly too much traffic in the bus to concentrate. To be continued.
Continued later:
We had day rooms today at a charming old hotel. Arriving at 7 this morning I blearily stepped into the foyer looking for the lift, hung a left instead of a right and found myself face to face with Nastassja Kinski. Or what looked like Nastassja Kinski in the film "The Hotel New Hampshire". In that film (and in more than one John Irving book I believe) there is a character who for one reason or another likes to wear a bear suit. In "The Hotel New Hampshire" Nastassja Kinski plays that character. That giant stuffed bear standing upright with paws outstretched and jaw gaping and the hotel itself instantly made me think of her and that film.
I was so ready to fall straight into bed and get more sleep after our all night drive. It's too easy not to see anything when you're on tour unless you're prepared to sacrifice some sleep. Most days I'm not prepared to make that sacrifice. Maybe it was the sun rising over a church steeple as my first view of the day, or perhaps it was the run-in with the stuffed bear, but on this day I decided to stay awake and see something of Oslo. I began with the complimentary breakfast buffet that is sometimes part and parcel in European hotels. I took some smoked salmon, egg, beet and cucumber. I had some coffee. The breakfast room was wood lined and lit with chandeliers. It was like a parlour. I went to my room and read about the shopping in the area. I made some notes. I drew a map. I went to the lobby, changed twenty British Pounds into Norwegian Krone just to have some lunch money and set out. I was among the first customers at the nearby mall. It was a pretty mall full of cute little shops. The lighting was nice. I wish our malls were lit like that. I bought two hand painted Christmas glass balls with Norwegian scenes. A number of hours later I wound up sitting in the hotel lounge with Dave Kershaw, Ash, Sarah and Brent. By this point the whole 'staying awake all day' thing was taking its toll. With my Norwegian Krone to burn and a show to play that night, I downed two cappuccinos and bought a round of them for the table. I showed Sarah my Christmas balls. I told her they were painted from the inside. Ash said, "how?" She said, "by very tiny Norwegians."
I went to my room for a shower before check-out and soundcheck. There was a queue when checking out. It was a bit of a long wait. I subconsciously noticed a guy in a plaid shirt ahead of me. I realised I was staring at the back of the "Norwegian Idol" - I mean "World Idol" Kurt Nilsen’s head. More amazing than the spotting of the "Norwegian Idol" in Norway was the fact that I knew it was him from the back, within 20 seconds of noticing him after only ever having seen him on television once almost one year ago while watching the 2-night "World Idol" competition against my will at my sister-in-law's house during the Christmas holidays.
When I say “against my will” I mean it in the “trying not to look at a car accident” sense. As someone who has been plugging faithfully away as a singer and songwriter since I was 17, I am against the idea of talent contests. Even if I wasn’t over the age limit to enter myself in Canadian Idol I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t. Nonetheless I still find it next to impossible to look away when it’s right in front of me, and last Christmas when some of David’s family wanted to watch "World Idol", I didn’t leave the room. I watched in pain and agony and fascination, involuntarily providing a running commentary whether anyone else appreciated it or not. My father-in-law might have. He's a music appreciator.
I had no idea it was part of the plan to make all of the "Idols" from around the globe compete for the achievement of being crowned World Idol. I don't think they did either. The only thing worse than making an overnight star out of whoever can become a pastiche of what we’re told we’re supposed to like the fastest, is to then force the winner into contest-purgatory and the world to play along with no regard given to the fact that the very notion of picking a “World Idol” out of a convenient shortlist is utterly ridiculous. Despite this I was first in line the next night for the exciting conclusion. I admit I got swept up in the fever. I found myself rooting for the Norwegian Idol who was clearly the best singer and the least pretentious of the bunch. When he won I was shocked that "the world" almost unanimously voted for him. How could I stay cynical knowing a singing plumber just transcended so many cultural differences and stole our hearts? For a moment, the world was one. Or not. Anyway, he did a damn nice job of U2's "Beautiful Day", even if Bono is still fully capable of handling it himself.
I followed Kurt Nilson past Nastassja Kinski into the lounge to see what would happen if I said hello to him. After fifteen seconds of listening to the blasted World Idol order a sandwich with no idea I was behind him I saw myself from the ceiling a la astral projection and decided it was time to leave the charming hotel.
__________________
November 5, 2004.
We just played in Copenhagen, Sweden and are on our way to Cologne, Germany. Apart from Dave playing Queen’s “Bicycle” in honour of the popularity of the bicycle here in Copenhagen, the front lounge is without distraction. But for how long? I’d better type fast.
You will recall my last entry about staying one night at David's cousin Elaine's house in Glasgow and hearing the band Keane etc...? Related story:
At our hotel in Glasgow we met some men from the Canadian navy sent to examine the HMCS Chicoutimi submarine which caught fire last month off the west coast of Scotland. We got them some tickets to Sarah's Glasgow concert . They came and brought us all HMCS Chicoutimi baseball caps. Mere moments later the tour buses drove off to London. My husband was still here with me at the time and we had booked flights to London for the next day so that he could introduce me to his family in Glasgow after the concert. That was the night we slept at Elaine's house. Her husband Neil was on a business trip in Copenhagen. The three of us stayed up quite late that night around the fire, eating snacks, drinking wine, listening to Keane and talking. The next day came very quickly and in our haste to make our morning flight, I left my newly acquired HMCS Chicoutimi baseball cap at Elaine's house.
Elaine emailed me that I had left it there. Her husband Neil goes to Copenhagen regularly for business and would be there when our tour arrived. She gave me her husband's email address. He would bring the hat with him. Weeks passed. Concerts were played. London, Manchester, Birmingham, Nottingham, Cambridge, Bristol, Cardiff, Hamburg, Stockholm, Oslo and then, at last, Copenhagen.
I woke up for the 6am ferry crossing yesterday so that I could go up on deck and see the Kronborg Castle (or Hamlet's Castle, as it is also known). Our ferry approached. The dark leaked away, the castle grew sharper. Once in my Copenhagen hotel room I checked for a message. "5pm. Cafe Victor. You will know me by your cap on the table before me." Awesome. I slept most of the day. I awoke, bathed and dressed and went out into the night to the Cafe Victor to look for a man with a cap on a table.
I found him right away. He hadn't come alone. Not part of the plan I thought. Ah well. I identified myself with a hatlike gesture and he acknowleged. Now what?
He and his colleague Rasmus and I had a round together, then another. Great fun. Like we'd already met. I had to tear myself away. I wandered off to find some dinner. With my baseball cap.
It was my husband’s birthday that day. I had sent him flowers via an internet order. Birds Of Paradise. A masculine flower. He hadn't received them as of 5pm (Toronto time) when we spoke. I was already sad that day not being there with him on his birthday and that made me sadder. I found out tonight that he had received them one hour later, at 6pm. That made me feel better.
We saw a car accident today on our way to soundcheck. A bus smacked into a small truck right in front of us. It looked so weird while it was happening. We all felt like we could see it about to happen, then it looked like it might not happen, then it totally happened. No one was hurt.
-KR
posted by Kathryn Rose (aka KR) at 7:16 p.m.
1 comments
