21 March 2005

The trip to Austin to do the South By Southwest took a bit of organising. It also cost a lot of money so by the time it came to doing it, if I'm completely honest, I was less than happy about the idea. Especially as I found out the night before that the cheap-arsed internet travel company I used to get the flight and hotel had somehow mislaid the hotel reservation. I think it was expedia.com - I'd recommend not using them. Catching the plane involved getting up at half past two in the morning to get to the airport (Newark) in time. The flight was actually scheduled to leave at twenty to six but no one was taking any chances, least of all the car hire firm who sent two taxis - we could have gone to the airport in a cavalcade. So at four a.m. I was stood in a queue of dough-brained lunkheads with their assorted luggage and sports paraphanalia, being barked at by a neo-Bush Nazi with a greasy comb-over who wanted to know if anyone intended to fly to a foreign country other than Mexico. The dough-brains all picked up their skis, bob-sleighs and wheelie bin luggage and went off to join the Mexico queue. I stayed put because I wasn't sure if Texas was foreign. I have never seen so many nasty looking cheap shoes in one queue - loafers, trainers, brogues, all-terrain camping boots... The flight went to Houston and there I had to change planes for a short flight to Austin. The George Bush Airport in Houston was full of exceedingly fat people - it looked like the last stop on a pilgrimage for salad dodgers. There was a defibrillator on every corner and I had to keep jumping out of the way of the motorised courtesy buggies that were whisking the obese around the airport. Austin was a lot more civilised than that, and the weather was a wonder to behold - it was to me anyway after months of snow, ice and general winter misery. I almost wanted to move there. I suppose we should have a picture about now:

I should have put in a picture of the weather but I couldn't resist this snap of the airport. Downtown Austin was full of arseholes as you can imagine any event of this size would be. Most of the people looked like hapless musicians from the millions of hopeless indie bands that were playing at the festival - with that many bands there surely couldn't have been room in Austin for an audience as well. And not to mention all the 'industry' types - losers from provincial English cities strutting about with their name tags hung around their necks detailing exactly who they were, what their position was, and in so doing telling you exactly why you should have nothing to do with them. My friend Clay Harper once likened going to these sort of things to deliberately stepping in dog shit. So you can imagine I didn't have very high hopes. Especially when I looked at the audience in the Elysium while the first band was on. I thought that the best I could expect was that most of the people would talk all the way through my set and I'd just play for a couple of ardent fans down at the front, the sound would be shit and that'd be the end of it. I was very wrong. New Model Army were playing after me and I think everyone assumed that the huge queue outside the door was for them. They were very nice to me. Everyone was very nice to me - they had to be really because I was the only act that didn't want a soundcheck - I wasn't bothered, I've found that at these sort of things it doesn't make much difference.

Everybody was nice except the Rezillos or the Revillos or whatever the fuck they call themselves these days. They were right up themselves, appalled that they couldn't have a soundcheck, and unable to forget a gig I did with them in Dunfermline in1978 when I was very drunk indeed. A lot's happened in my life since then but they've obviously been in a deep freeze. When they played later on this was increasingly apparent - the only thing that's changed is that they've lost their hair and looks. There's no development there - pretty pointless I'd say. But the money must be OK - almost as well paid as being a hod carrier. I'm a bitch, aren't I? They wouldn't lend me an amp - they probably thought I'd puke up all over it, but Schonen Knife came to the rescue. I had a laugh with the New Model Army people before I went on - I said I was going to do a set that they couldn't possibly follow and we all laughed. Then I went on stage and delivered. I felt the reaction spreading and I soon had the whole room from front to back. It was a great night for me, I loved the audience, they loved me and I loved playing for them. I didn't expect anything like that. It was quite emotional.

The photo comes from a review in The American Statesman. I expect if you click on it you can read the review.

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7 April 2005

I'm back again after some corporate fuck-up that took the site off the air or the cable or whatever it is that these things exist on. It's a weird business - hundreds of hard drives in an office space in London's bustling Canary Wharf. Or it could be a basement - that is if they have basements in Canary Wharf. Or perhaps I've been farmed out and this is coming from a home-made hard drive sitting on stilts in a paddyfield somewhere on the other side of the world. It could be a tax dodge but I'll never know. And neither will you but I expect you're as pleased as I am that you don't have to deal with that UK2 site anymore. I should be writing some stuff about the Knitting Factory gigs but it's a sunny day here in New York City and I haven't had any breakfast yet. And anyway, I'm just happy that the site's back so I'll leave it at that and get back to it later.