Tour 2018 - Glasgow & the Lake District (Day 5)

SotD: Sweet Chili and Sour Cream by Deluxe
Finally a winner! Deluxe appears to be the store brand for the Lidl supermarket chain. We were in Cardiff and they were quite inexpensive. Seriously, it’s about the perfect crisp. Tastes like real sour cream and is just a bit spicy. Chuck says it tastes like Play-D’oh but his palette leans more towards wagon train cuisine.

Britishism: tosser - jerk, idiot.
It just doesn’t work with the American accent. But to hear Shaun fling it at an incompetent driver is a thing of beauty. “You bloody tosser!”

The wonderful thing about bandmates who rouse themselves with the alacrity of a grizzly bear in January getting up to let the cat out, is the opportunity to explore. My disappointment at seeing so little of Glasgow disappeared when I realized I could squeeze in about 2.5 hours. We were staying practically under the highway across the River Clyde from the city proper. It feels anticlimactic to call such an important body of water Clyde. I read the history, I know why it’s named Clyde, but there is nothing that says it can’t be given a more noble designation. Would it be OK if the Mississippi was called Kevin? Or the Nile named Gary? No it would not. I will not presume to offer suggestions to such a deep and wonderful culture, but if one were to press me, I might think the River Gillan has a nice ring to it.

I crossed a footbridge on my way to Georges Square and picked up a greasy and gritty Glaswegian glazed gourmet doughnut and coffee. Coffee was good though. The square itself is typical of the form with statues scattered about, including an 80 ft high anatomically correct column erected in honor of Walter Scott, and a stubbier statue dedicated to Robert Burns. Proving there was a time when statues were being built for poets and authors. Fancy that. The City Chambers is gorgeous and the World War I monument appropriately large and touching. That said, there wasn’t much shaking and the people watching slow going, so I scampered off to the Gallery of Modern Art. The gallery resides in a neoclassical building built in 1778. Museums and libraries are my happy places and this one was a cracker. (to use the regional colloquialism) An aspect I would like to see all other museums adopt was a huge library open to the public for free, with 48,000 books on art and other less important things. I loved everything about it. The juxtaposition between the old architecture and the modern art did both a favor, the exhibits were top notch, and my mood was transformed. I was pleased to see the iconic statue called the Duke, (i.e. the Duke of Wellington) with his traffic cone hat. It’s a delightful bit of Glasgow pride that for over 30 years whenever the government removed the cone hat, within days a new one would appear. After an ill-advised plan to raise the plinth* in order to discourage the be-hatting, a worldwide movement rose up and finally forced the government to concede that it’s pretty fucking funny.

On the way out I saw a brochure for something called the Lighthouse that looked cool and was on the way. The Lighthouse is Scotland’s Center for Design and Architecture. And while I have an idea what that means for the average person I’m not quite interested enough to figure it out. However! The thing that was super cool was that the tower itself was Charles Rennie Mackintosh’s first public commision to be built, and one can climb a shit-ton of spiral stairs to end up at the top with a fresh air view of the city. Lovely.

I quite liked Glasgow although I really just dealt it a glancing blow. I love the massive, timeless architecture. I felt a humor and energy there that made me instantly feel like this was a place I could work and spend time. And of course the people of the north are God’s people.**

I got back to the hotel just in time for us to leave for Kendal in the Lake District. We were driving part of the way to Cardiff so this was a day off of sorts. Shaun and I were excited because of the sheepfolds. Sheepfolds were the pens shepherds used to minister to the sheep, trims hooves, etc. They harken back to an older time (or is it a younger time?) and have either disappeared or fallen into disrepair. In the Cumbria County they commissioned Andy Goldsworthy to celebrate “this perfect republic of shepherds.” Andy Goldsworthy is an artist I’ve loved for years but because of the natural nature of his art it’s not something you find in museums. (there is a really cool piece in the Glasgow Gallery of Modern Art - proving that everything I say is a lie) Goldsworthy produces, to quote the internet, “site-specific sculptures in natural and urban setting using natural materials and the passage of time.” He’s brilliant. His creativity, skill and what would appear to be the patience of Sisyphus, creates art that sometimes lasts only minutes, or melts as the sun rises. Or these revived sheepfolds could last a hundred years. Here’s a link to the project if you’re interested. http://www.edenbenchmarks.org.uk/sheepfolds.htm

These were the directions we had to follow to find just two of them.

near Kendal (SD 460 931 & SD 460 932)
DIRECTIONS: The site has two folds each containing a large boulder into which a mountain ash tree has been planted. At Underbarrow, between Kendal and Crossthwaite, take the road toward Crook for about 1 mile. The folds are south of Mountjoy Farm through a gate on the opposite side of the road. Walking up the slope, one fold is diagonally to the left, one to the right. The original tree growing in a rock is on the fell above.

This lead us deep into some of the prettiest farm country I’ve ever seen. Everything the cliche of British countryside evokes in you exists right here. The beautiful stone walls spider-webbed over rolling hills, dividing up emerald green fields dotted with fuzzy, white, bleating, shit machines and their deceptively innocent looking offspring.*** The roads were windy and narrow for a large band van and we had to drive a mile down the road before finding a narrow space to tuck it away. We walked under tunnels of trees, passed a cat sitting on an ancient stone wall, staring at us balefully while waiting in vain to hear the words that would prove our worth and admit us entrance to the magical realm currently under siege from the soulless clan know cryptically as “The Developers.” Once admitted we would be tasked to battle them in many small local committee meetings held at inconvenient times in airless city hall basements. Oh, and we saw a pheasant!

We walked through fields assailed by the angry baa-ing of spoiled lambies and stumbled upon the folds. They don’t look like a piece of art any more than the walls that surround them do. Which is to say they do. These two were reconstructed in such a way as to seamlessly integrate into the landscape. When you look closer you notice the details that turn them into something new. What a delightful few hours.

We got back, after barely squeezing through the increasingly narrow labyrinthian country lanes to pick up everyone else, get some dinner, and to decide that we would try to race the sunset to Windermere lake, lying about a half an hour away. Dinner did not agree with me so I held on as we wound through the darkening landscape with what I’d like to think was the grim stoicism of say, Percy Fawcett?

Windemere is obviously a major vacation spot. It was bright, full of lakeside shops and hotels. Very charming. Like Julia Roberts in “Pretty Woman,” or a classy Myrtle Beach. It’s the largest natural lake in Britain and is home to the World of Beatrix Potter. I guess she lived or wrote around here. Did you know that when she died they found the bones of literally thousands of bunny rabbits in her basement? Apparently she dissected them in order to try to get to their essence and portray them more accurately. Benjamin Bouncer and Peter Piper became sadistic overlords and are still whispered about during story time at fuzzy baby bunny sleepovers. It’s true.

We enjoyed the sun setting over the mountains and called it a day. Tomorrow is Cardiff.

*”Raise the plinth” makes me giggle.
** I’m not religious. I spent ten minutes trying to come up with a better description and couldn’t. I love how no one seems to get overly fussed about anything, look as if they’re gauging exactly what level of idiot you are, but then everyone when you actually meet them is as open, kind, helpful, and inclined towards laughter as you could ever imagine.
*** Don’t turn your back - they’ll cut a bitch.

Tour 2018 - Glasgow (Day 4)

SoTD: Hippeas - organic chickpea puffs, Far Out Fajita Flavor.
I’m sorry. In my attempt to bring you unique salty snacks I’ve gone too far afield. I mean there was no way these were going to be good. It’s fucking powdered chickpeas reconstituted into a cheese doodle shape and sprinkled with store bought fajita seasoning. Now if they had called it astronaut hummus then I’d have been excited. Pretend you’re on the Apollo missions and pop some dried hummus in your mouth, add saliva and it turns into a dip-like paste in your mouth. Wow!

Britishism: Fox Rain - Brought to you today by the band Say Sue Me. They’re labelmates on Damnably Records and hail from South Korea. Shaun toured with them immediately preceding us. One day a rain shower popped up and the band said, “Oh look, fox rain!” Shaun of course asked what that meant and they told him this wonderful legend: The rain cloud sees the fox and falls hopelessly in love. It pursues the fox endlessly hoping for just another glance. The fox wants merely to lie in the sun and is unaware of the cloud’s desire. So whenever the cloud catches up to the fox, bringing with it the rain, the fox jumps up and runs away until it is in the sun again. So the next time a brief rain shower pops up know that the cloud briefly found the fox again.

Our hotel was just off the highway and I feared for my perambulations. I walked on a grassy patch next to the road and came on a small road with a few horsey farms. The first field I came to contained a single horse who upon seeing me ambled straight over, let me pet it, and began to graze right there. I said “I will name you Steve and I will hug you and pet you and squeeze you.” I walked for several miles along fields and through small wooded areas. Nothing much happened. I saw a lapwing and gloried in the sunny British countryside.

It made no difference at all

We were late leaving the hotel (not my fault I swear) and Shaun said we wouldn’t be able to stop at the Angel of the North. But at the last minute he said, “Fuck It- I’ve never not stopped with a band here,” pulled off the exit and said “ 5 minutes tops.” The Angel of the North is a huge metal sculpture created by Antony Gormley. It’s 66 ft tall and has a wingspan of 177 ft across. It’s right next to the A1 motorway so according to the BBC it’s seen by one person every second. People were having picnics on it’s lee side and children were running up and tumbling gleefully down the hill leading up to its base. I tapped one of the ribs of steel that give it its distinctive look, expecting a gonging sound, but it was solid steel. So substantial and wonderful, draped in a rusty brown color so distinctive a flower has been named after it. I saw a small memento mori with a sign that said, “you are loved.” I scoffed and said loudly to the happy people around me, “Love is an artificial construct designed to subjugate the weak-minded.” Then I kicked the sign over and stomped on it.*

I’ve never been to Glasgow before and the prospect of a new grand city is especially exciting. Lisa was feeling poorly with a bad cold or allergies and the energy of the band was at a bit of a low ebb. We went straight to the Centre for Contemporary Arts, which is where we were playing. The CCA is a beautiful facility with a cafe’ serving tons of vegetarian food, an exhibit space, and a performance space, all done up in modern clean interiors and full of beautifully cool people who occasionally stop in mid-stride, put the earpiece of their glasses into their mouths and mutter, “How is a crow like a MacBook Pro?” and then shake their heads and move on.

We set up and soundchecked. The space was incredible. Sounds barely echoed at all. Thus the sound on stage was the best I’ve ever had. I could hear everything but it didn’t seem loud at all. It was a big room and I was trying not to worry as to whether anyone would show. One of my favorite bands of all time is Superchunk. They don’t tour a bunch anymore and haven’t been to Glasgow in 17 years. The best time to remedy that would of course be the same night we made our debut. Several people had come to see us in Durham the night before because the were going to see them. I didn’t blame them. I would too. There’s only so many fans of MAWGR (Middle-Aged White Guitar Rock) left and soon we will find ourselves in the position of classical orchestras, playing to an audience of bald and blue-haired old dears suffering attrition during the intermission due to death, leaky bladders and full colostomy bags. We heard through the grapevine that they were having a time of it. Apparently the airline had misplaced their instruments coming over from Ireland, and then the hotel had sold their rooms. Proof there’s no such thing as a free ride even if you’ve put out one of the best albums of your career. Their new record “What a Time To Be Alive” is that most rare of things; a record with smart lyrics that rocks from beginning to end, with songs you can sing after it’s done. Anyway, Godspeed and all that.

By the time I finished the best veggie reuben I’ve ever had (by a long shot) I had to accept I wasn’t going to see much of Glasgow. Interestingly, we were opening for ourselves again this night and I was to join Chuck and Lisa onstage and play a few of my songs. I was unprepared and my voice was croaking like an underwater cow’s fart, but I didn’t care because the world is descending into fire and a few songs with pedestrian verses** won’t make much of a ripple either way. I played Conversation Lags and Chuck and Lisa sang. It was fun.

We had a nice audience. Somewhere in size between my fears and best hopes. They were of course the most discerning and clever people this side of Hadrian’s Wall. We’re playing a little better every night, and when Lisa’s voice gave out on “Beautiful,” our last song of the night, and Chuck jumped in to sing with her it was ragged and moving in the best way.

Tomorrow will be a driving day.

*none of that’s true
**Scott Hutchison being on my mind all day.