April 2002 Archives
't Was Queen's Day. In my part of the city I didn't notice a thing. Which was nice.
{ Sinead O'Connor - Utrecht, Vredenburg, March 17, 1988 }
I remember it
Dublin in a rainstorm
sitting in the long grass in summer
keeping warm
I remember it
every restless night
we were so young then
we thought that everything
we could possibly do was right
every move stolen from our very eyes
- Troy
I remember sitting in A's room in our flat, three of us listening to 'The Lion and the Cobra'. Sinead's name I knew from her involvement in In Tua Nua, and her work on the 'Captive' soundtrack with The Edge.
G.'s favourite track was 'Just call me Joe', but the fuzzy guitars in that were just a little too Jesus and Mary Chain for me. Sinead's unlikely hit single 'Troy' (written when she was just 15) had captured my imagination. The angry lament had risen to the top of the Dutch chart, and her appearance on 'Countdown' was surely one of that awful programme's few highlights.
We saw Sinead in the MCV in Utrecht in 1988. It was a large venue for a starting artist, but her chart success made sure it was packed. The Urban Dance Squad - whom we hadn't heard of before - supported. We were late and missed most of their performance.
Photography was not allowed, so I had to sneak a few shots. I managed to take a handful, but none of them came out too well.
She played for just 45 minutes, too short for a headliner, but it was all the material she had. The Lion and the Cobra remains my favourite album of hers.
People have strong opinions on Sinead, and a lot of them unfavourable. Her convictions often go against the grain, and she's impossible to pin down. Her mouth gets her into trouble, but then there are more Irish singers with the same problem.
I'm all-forgiving when it comes to Sinead. No matter what she does, what she says, whether she wants to be a lesbian one day and marry a journalist the other, all that matters to me is the work.
Trust the art, not the artist, I've been told and when Sinead opens her mouth to sing, truly it is art.
From the 1988 MCV concert:
Various
- Feel So Different London, 1990
- Three Babies London, 1990
- My Special Child Concert for the Kurds, 1991
- You made me the thief of your heart Late Late Show, 1994
We sift and touch with reverence, a tiny sparkle of excitement over objects and inscriptions. Books and CDs, letters, notebooks, photos, furniture, clothing, kitchen sink, honey, videos, bills and memories. Decisions to make, promises to keep, a legacy to uphold.
We count and put a price on things. Divide and conquer, for what it's worth. Life is priceless.
In our midst a gaping hole, the sickness of the thought that this is all there is and ever will be. A person gone, forever banished to the realm of 'remember when?'. That's all that's left behind.
Rutger Hauer has a journal: There was a time - before email&internet, when it carried a small faxmachine, just to be able to connect home. It's only a few years back when all of that connecting still needed to be organised by hand. I tore hotelrooms apart rewiring the phone etc.
Floris! Before Rutger Hauer and Paul Verhoeven conquered Hollywood, they worked together on this children's series in 1969. I was surprised and delighted to find this on DVD, which includes some documentaries and 'behind the scenes' footage. Strangely, as a kid, I was a big 'Sindala' fan (Floris's sidekick) - I guess the Fakir from the East appealed to my Asian side. I owned a copy of this book and was fascinated by the tomato ketchup on Floris's hand.
Flawless... unlikely friendship between macho cripple De Niro and draq queen Philip Seymour Hoffman. That kind of story's been done a dozen times, and been done better. As Good as it Gets, for example.
I received Craig Armstrong's new album 'As if to nothing' as a promo. It is a moody, melancholy piece of work of instrumentals interspersed with some songs sung by Evan Dando, Bono and David McAlmont. It's a bit too downbeat for me at the moment (this head craves pop and disco), but the McAlmont track ("Snow") is very beautiful. Wanna hear it?
Heather is only marginally younger than I am. Happy Birthday, Ms Champ.
Spent Sunday evening with old friend G. in Utrecht. Listened to tons of music of which I now only remember 'Too many DJs' and 'De Phazz' (full screen). Dinner in De Lekkernij. Asparagus... what IS the big deal anyway? A beggar came in, was sent away by the waitress. I smiled at him as he left and he blew me a kiss.
Seen: AI - Artificial Intelligence. What a godawful piece of work.
Currently watching kult-TV's Ultraviolet... they look like us, they act like us. They're vampires, and they're british. More talk, less action. More suspense. Cops and bloodsucking robbers. It's good.
One of the scariest threads on Metafilter ever. Choice quote: "The French are genetically challenged".
Last week I mostly flung my mail in a corner, too busy or uninterested to read it. Going through it today I found a couple of birthday cards - thank you all very much. Also... Dave sent me the Futurism CD. Woohoo.
Am now slightly proud owner of extremely cheap DVD player: A Proline DVD2000. It cost 119 Euro. Nevertheless, the picture is clear, makes my TV seen ten times better, all the features seem to work, it's region free-able and I must now go out and rent and buy tons of DVDs.
Which John Cusack Are You? ( I'm Rob Gordon from High Fidelity. "Lovesick, stuck in the past a bit, but hey, you've got a kickass record collection." Duh.)
I've added three live tracks to the Sugarcubes story. The third track is from when we saw them a few months later, in Rotterdam. By then, the fresh, exciting little popband seemed tired with touring and success.
Bratisla Boys: fun Communist Russia inspired Flash site for French band.
This looks brilliant: Textes chinois annotés... if you know French, and want to learn Chinese?
An officer in a gentleman: Empire's porn titles
Suede look forward to Hot Press Irish Music Awards. [ windows media 128kb ] 'We've had a straight edge approach. We never do anything before a show.'
Buy tons get one free. Handed in my voucher and got T.C. Matic: Compil Complet, a Studio Brussel release. All the band's classic tracks on two discs, with live stuff and unreleased recordings. Check the lyrics here. Putain putain, c'est vâchement bien, nous sommes quand même tous des européens.
Digital Image Recovery. Must download. [ via Milo ]
For the first time in what seems three weeks, since the death of my friend, I find myself alone. First we gathered together, friends and family and sought each other out as much as we could. Then guests arrived, one after the other - and having their company was good, especially given the circumstances. This morning around 6 am, I said goodbye to Dave who's heading to Geneva. I went back to bed, and fatigue descended on me. I overslept and it took some convincing to drag myself off to work. I feel absolutely shattered and welcome the silence. (Will however shatter silence spinning the humongous stack of discs that HyG made for me.)
Check out HydraG's lovely Amsterdam photographs: Netherlands, Amsterdam - 17-21 April 2002. How much is that dog in the window?
Neil Tennant of the Pet Shop Boys: "In the 80s when you put a record out it would chart, then it would go up the next week, and up again the next, etc. Nowadays everything is arranged so that really when your record charts it is the beginning of the end."
The Smallville GAYLE Awards (Offical Smallville Gayest Look of the Episode Website)
I bought Nick Hornby's How to Be Good at the airport when I went to pick up HydraG and have been reading it since. It's good, an easy read - though slightly depressing and by the end of the book nothing's really resolved. Not sure what kind of a point it's making other than 'relationships are a trial, for fuck's sake think twice before you jump in.' But maybe smugmarrieds would have a different interpretation.
My birthday last week, for obvious reasons, was a bit timid, and I hadn't got round to treating myself to anything yet. That's why I'm now ordering Stella Street 3: Mick and Keef go on tour leaving David Bowie in charge of the corner shop, and Michael Caine disagrees with the new parking restrictions.
... and the 'prol goes to town' continues with Dave buying me a round of Satay Kambing (it's goat) at Wau, frozen margarita's at Cafe Cuba and a careful, single glass of G at Mulligan's, where the regulars indulged in a pub quiz. 'What's the only other word you can make out of the word 'hustle'? highlight this:
No more San630, but coma is coming.
Some friends of mine started depechemodeforum.com. Best of luck!
{Bjork, Amsterdam 08/07/88, click to enlarge}
It was some time after Righeira's summer hit, 'Vamos a la Playa'. The Sugarcubes had caught our attention with 'Birthday' and various flatmates and assorted friends had started collecting their releases, both in Icelandic and in English.
I was briefly named after their record company 'One Little Indian'. For a while, the 'cubes were OUR band.
Most of the boys drooled over Bjork - the little girl act really does work. It was the mad, funky, angular music that gave me a thrill, at least until I saw them live.
We were all there, in the Paradiso in Amsterdam. As close to the stage as we could get, and I was wielding my camera as usual. While the lads' eyes were glued to the waif, mine were on Einar, the Sugarcubes' other frontman.
Slim and compact, dressed in a black turtleneck and black jeans, a belt with a bat-buckle around his hips, Einar teased, taunted and quite frankly annoyed the fuck out of the entire audience.
I loved it. He ranted and raved, said 'Good evening, Spain' and shouted 'Vamos a la Playa' again and again. He blew a tiny trumpet or bugle and swung from the balcony.
I didn't get a single decent picture of him.
Irish netheads rejoice, broadband will arrive in the next two years.
Methoozla: Like streetlights, it comes out only at night and in deference to teddy's puritanical sensibilities (he's gay, but celibate) I turn him face down on the mattress until the exciting part is over.
Ooh la la la... I didn't mention going to see Arno (Hintjes) on the 18th in Amsterdam's Milky Way. Oh, gimme a man with a big bleeding hart on a stage with a song and a story to tell. A coarser Waits, a manlier Almond, Jacques Brel's step child, Gainsbourg's brother, Friday's Flemish cousin, father figure, motherfucker, je suis un popstar, premarital, post coital, post punk, post Weimar, post schlager... H'odverdomme!
Cathal Coughlan plays The Shelter in Dublin on May 26th...
The taste of this Bubur Ketan Hitam dish, as enjoyed at Wau last week brought me right back to my childhood. It's like porridge and I believe I'd enjoy it for breakfast.
My five days with HydraG: Wau, Mulligans, Wagamama, Bojo, Van Gogh-Gaugain, Wildschut, Melkweg, Dante, Maison De Bonneterie, Van Puffelen, Soenda Kelapa...
I got all excited when I saw Amsterdam-Dublin €89 on the Air Lingus site. But it's one way.
Hand outs on Nieuwmark Metro Station today, announcing the renovation of our line and stations. GVB Amsterdam is making things prettier. More glass, more light to make things safer. This is good.
Dave's late and I'm wondering if the City of Amsterdam has gobbled him whole already.
The K is back.
I am as far removed from my usual routine as possible, it seems. I haven't blogged. I haven't read blogs. Haven't been home. Haven't been at work. Today, HydraG leaves, Brainsluice arrives. I have around 8 hours to myself. My task for today: Buy milk. What would we do without a nice cuppa?
PS... but I do miss blogging.
Life is surreal. One minute you're burying your friend, the next you're at an indoor beach volleyball centre for a company annual get together, focusing on a ball and your team and winning a kiddie beach set and a bottle of wine for 'best female player'. My brain has stopped functioning and words don't come easy. "Take care of yourself," he said, "because if you don't look after yourself, how can you look after others?"
I've just turned 39.
Note to self: see Mulholland Drive. Read Salonarticle.
Maria McKee updates her site. No compromise. No surrender. That's me girl.
For the next ten days, I will have two consecutive guests coming in from London. The lovely HydraG, and the - also lovely - famous Mr Ickle. My sofa will get a good work out. And I will have my mind taken off things. It can only be good. For my guests: Robert and Kelly Go Dutch: an account of two Americans settling in the Netherlands. Very good over all, but their views on the way we eat herring can only be called narrowminded: Some Dutch people take a perverse pleasure in eating these in the traditional manner: with one's head tilted back and mouth gaping open, whereupon the fish is lowered in head-first and swallowed whole. We're not usually ones to criticize a culture's practices, but this tradition is repulsive and vulgar.
Dutch Government quits over Srebrenica. Frankly, m'dear...
It was October 6, 1986. I think. I’m not sure of the exact date. I don’t remember things like that. I never had to. I had Pimm Jal for that.
I saw him in the Melkweg venue, recognized his face from interviews. He was starting a U2 magazine and I wanted to contribute.
In January ’87 I we met again at the U2 fan club day in the Paradiso. Sandra was there as well. Something clicked, we became inseparable. For days they would stay with me in my flat in Utrecht, until my flat mates despaired. Or we’d look him up in Osdorp, played table football and enjoyed his mother Lies’s food. We were children still. Children with great plans.
Pimm Jal and I disagreed often and were almost opposite personalities. But we agreed on one thing. We shared an almost irrational passion to document that which cannot be put in words. The magic of music, the heartbeat of the live concert, those moments of ecstasy. They had to be captured. I embraced lyricism, Pimm Jal the facts and figures, and thus together we described the indescribable.
Collectormania. An obsessive fan’s dream of a magazine. A world wide institution. Pimm Jal, driven, charismatic, took me and many others along on a journey. He could talk about his plans for hours. He wanted an office, a news room, rows of typing machines, just like on TV. Just like in ‘Lou Grant’. Pimm Jal’s thinking was unDutch. It had to be big and all-embracing. PJ Publishing. Today Amsterdam, tomorrow the rest of the world.
But most of the time we were just talking bollocks in the pub.
We traveled through Ireland, the three of us, for three weeks. Hitch hiking from village to village. PJ and two girls, we attracted a lot of attention. We played silly games on the bus, shrieking with laughter, drunk on joy and many pints of Guinness. Unforgettable days, an unforgettable journey.
Our little group grew. Pimm Jal had an unquenchable thirst for people and he always managed to find the finest, sweetest of all. Pimm Jal brought us together. He shared all his friends and his amazing family. We were all U2 fans, but it wasn’t about the band anymore. It was about us. Dinner at Bojo’s, tea at Pimm Jal’s, fireworks on Nassaukade. The rest was background music.
Ten years ago, I really don’t remember the date, after an evening of drinks in Reijnders and dancing in Mazzo’s, Pimm Jal, Sandra and I stood on Bloemgracht at seven in the morning, watching the sun rise. Tired, but happy. “Amsterdam,” Pimm Jal said, “Amsterdam is the most beautiful city in the world.”
{ as spoken today at PJ's memorial service }
Today we buried our friend, here in Amsterdam. Though it was raining, it was the warmest happening imaginable. I'd like to go like that. Hundreds and hundreds of people lining up. Speeches that thrilled, moved and filled you with laughter and joy. And tears. My friend lived an amazing life and got a glittering farewell worthy of a star. Sweetness follows.
'Have you taken a look?' he asks. 'I'm scared,' I say. 'Nonsense,' he says, looking uncannily like his son. He puts his arm around me and drags me in. 'Nothing to be afraid of.' I look, I cry. Then I calm down. Death is peaceful.
Mahler's great and all, but nothing warms the heart like Frank Sinatra. Comfort shopping: Romance, a double disc including all the favourites (but let's skip the Celine Dion duet), and Sinatra at the Sands, a live record I used to listen to on vinyl a lot in the very early 80s when I was still in high school. Quincy Jones arranged & conducted.
"I can't believe what's come on the radio just now while we're talking about this... listen. [ ... ] Mahler's 5th. It's the greatest thing for a good bawl. You should get it. Seriously, go out and get it now, the one by Leonard Bernstein. Put it on, wait for the 3rd part and have a good bawl." So, I did. Waiting for the 3rd part now. "Cry, laugh, celebrate. And never take your friends for granted."
Many, many thanks to all who wrote in. It's deeply appreciated. Thanks, also, to Martin Wroe and the team at U2.com for their kind words.
The obituary at U2log.com has become a book of condolences. It is heartening to read how people appreciated PJ through his work, and to see so many familiar names among the posts.
{ S., C., PJ - June 12 1988)
Who's to say where the wind will take you
Who's to say what it is will break you
I don't know
Which way the wind will blow
Who's to know when the time has come around
Don't want to see you cry
I know that this is not goodbye
One of my oldest friends died on Monday. Outside it's a beautiful day. We gather together. Everything seems absurd.
iMode phones are released in Holland on April 18, a day before my birthday. It's terribly tempting, but there ARE other things I, um, 'need'.
This is for HydraG... Amsterdam tram map. [ via Sakaama ]
Two things. I've got a thing for John Sessions. (As seen last night in a crime series on BBC). Also must investigate Alex Harvey. (As seen on TOTP).
When in doubt, get a haircut.
All the LOTR Secret Diaries by Cassandra Claire in one spot. Boromir, Day Four: Frodo dropped Ring today. Picked it up, but Aragorn made me give it back. Arrogant bastard. Wonder how he'd feel with Horn of Gondor shoved right up his... Stupid Ring.
LOTR Two Towers preview. HmmmmAragorn. I almost wish it was Christmas again.
Just blogging this Jonathan Rhys Meyers website for future reference.
re: spam... NO, I don't want a penis extension. Just a penis will do, thanks.
When you feel crap, all you need is disco music. It's muhdah on the dawnce floh...
35 dollar iMic Adapter... USB audio adapter for iBook and other macs. If it didn't have 30 dollar shipping costs on it, I'd get it. [ thx to Sakaama, I ordered through a Dutch company here in Amsterdam. I see Sakaama's been wooed by the man at Gigantic, too. ]
PPWPA Stiff Competition... hard one. [ via ST ]
S/W parallels - The Heart of Darkness(very long/Spoilerish) ... Spike is Marlow, Willow is Kurtz?
Big disappointment today. Those who know, will know. Excuse me while I go drown myself.
harrumph! still crazy! Still minimal! Still beautiful!
If you're a Metafilter user/reader, donate 5 bucks for Matt's new server.
Tag-board's been moved down the page.
My day at the beach in pictures.
Huge Buffy spoilers at Angel X's: Extra Spoilage.
The foulest mood will be lifted by spending a day on the beach, in the sun, wrapped up warmly, in the company of friends. Good food and wine do wonders too.
Hits Me, Baby (One More Time): I find it amusing that the one thing people seem to want to discuss is U2's upcoming stupid Greatest Hits part II. Who the hell cares about a greatest hits album anyway? If you're a fan, you already have all the material. Greatest Hits are for people who own 15 CDs including Eric Clapton and Mariah Carey's MTV unplugged sessions and Pink Floyd's The Wall.
sex and sunshine. mainly a music blog. (From referrers)
{ click to enlarge }
The Mission were probably the most ridiculous band of the 80s. More pompous than U2, the missing link between The Cure and The Sisters of Mercy with semi religious gothic imagery, acres of dry ice and the occasional catchy tune. When we first saw them on TV, their preposterous promo for 'Wasteland' - all wind swept hills and flying flags - had us in stitches. But for a brief time, we were heavily into them, like we were into wearing black and purple clothing. A bit like you might have been into Bros as a teenager. Except we weren't technically teenagers anymore.
I saw them live on three occasions. Which I am going to tell you about - but not now. Come back for updates. For now: some music.
- Wake (live, Tilburg 1987, real audio)
- Wasteland (live, Amsterdam 1987, real audio)
- Love me to Death (radio session, 87, real audio)
One day we'll look back at this
And laugh and laugh and we'll die laughing
One day we'll look back at this and laugh
(Wake)
ThreeRing Web Mapping Project: "I am 98% sure that you are from Amsterdam, Noord-Holland, The Netherlands (Lat: 52 / Long: 4)." Spot on.
Frank Tovey dies. I saw Fad Gadget open for Depeche Mode last year. Too many are going too soon.
Another lunchbreak purchase: Magnus Mills: Three to See the King. I read it on the train in fits and starts in about two hours, but have to read it again properly... perhaps taking four hours. Here's a review. What struck me the most on first read was its portraying of a man/woman relationship - the compromises and annoyances, the constant bargaining.
Bon voyage, et à bientot.
Via Zeldman this link to markgoldstein.co.uk. What I like about this is the fact that it's Flash, but you wouldn't notice at all, on first glance. Excellent photos too.
If you have a bit of time, check out * 35 * VOITURE * 35 *. Warning: does strange things to your browser, but eventually returns it to you, small but unharmed. Flash required. (Web art doesn't usually affect me emotionally, but this seemed to trigger some kind of reaction - the music and background noise particularly)
Call for entries.: 6TH INTERNATIONAL BROWSERDAY. In the Paradiso, Amsterdam.
Sneaky Buffy location shoot pictures. Slightly spoilerish for the end of Season 6. Slightly blurry too.
Late-night pool seemed off line for a while. Which is why I missed its second birthday. Swim on.
French 'Argot' page that I want to read, tu piges?
Lunch break acquisition: Arno - "Charles Ernest". Quand les grands son grands, ils sont chiants, ils sont cool, et cons en même temps'. Amen. God, you haven't lived if you haven't heard him holler: 'Mon dieu qu'elle est belle, mon dieue qu'elle est belle, t'es ma femme, GOD VERDOMME.'
I keep coming back to this song. This time, the original: Frank Sinatra: Cycles. It made me think about ways of singing just now, and how some singers are about phrasing, like Sinatra, and some about delivery. And there's some that are about fuck all, and unfortunately - that's what probably sells the best.
ANTI.com has info on two new Tom Waits albums. Samples too!
Tom Ewing writes top stuff about bootlegs: King Of The Boots.
Born Squishy: a fat girl in a thin land: I'm English. But I live in Holland. Because I fell in love with Robbie the Cheesehead in 1996.
Foodies, bookmark this thread for top links to food mags and sites.
Didn't Fry write that play while he was still at Cambridge?
Odd. Referrer hunting, I found Mark, who had linked to my REM entry. Then I found Forkinsocket.com a blog by david lu. Perusing David Lu's portfolio, the first image I (randomly) clicked on was this drawing.
Note to self: find Kazaa Lite.(It's at www.kazaalite.tk/ )
In the upcoming Hollywood production 'How we won the war', Will Smith will be playing the roll of Hamid Karzai, interim leader of Afghanistan.
Elvis Costello... I mentioned him in the R.E.M. piece. I'm not a big fan, but like him in small doses. Here's the performance at Pinkpop 89 I wrote about, 'I want you', 'Oliver's Army' and a medley of sorts. Excuse the quality, it was recorded with my very first tape recorder.
I haven't listened to the radio in ages, partly because of a problem with my reception which I seem to have fixed now. So I'm finally tuning in to crystal clear Kink FM, 'alternative, quality pop music' cable radio. Also available as webcast. This Monday morning it's 'alternative 80's and 90's' (Siouxsie, Portishead, Blur...)