Tour 2018 - York (Day 2)

SoTD: Onion Rings by Sainsbury’s - Similar in flavor to Funyuns but described as onion flavored maize and wheat semolina snacks. I’m ambivalent. After a drink they’re better than a fevered wank,* but when you eat them you get a feeling as if your body is rejecting them. Not forcibly, but a gentle wave of sweet nausea passes through you similarly, if on a much smaller scale, to that first prick of morphine you recieve after a mortar attack on your trench has removed your shin. Or not. Salty, very slightly spicy, with a definite tear the roof off of your mouth texture.

Britishism: Absolute Cack - piece of shit. Kath apologized for the directions to the load-in at the BBC. “Oh you got the old directions didn’t you? Sorry, those are absolute cack. The new ones are superlative.”

Holiday weekend traffic sucked so we didn’t get into York until 3:00 with load-in being at 4:00. We bopped down to the Shambles, the open air market and twisty narrow road-ed shopping area in the old town center area. Think Diagon Alley, and with three shops devoted to Harry Potter within 100 feet of each other you’re clearly meant to, and you’ll have an idea.

We were playing at the Crescent, as we did last time here. The show was put on by, what one person with the necessary knowledge described as one of the only honest promoters in the business, the fabulous Joe Coates. He’s just a kind, endlessly amusing man. Both shows he promoted had full houses so obviously good at his job as well. We loaded in at 4:00 but due to a sound ordinance could make no noise until 6:00. By the time soundcheck was over we had maybe an hour and a half before showtime. Alas, exploration of the magical city of York would largely have to be relinquished. Shaun and I had an amazing meal at a place in the Shambles called El Piano. Everything is vegetarian and gluten free so we were set. We ate sitting on a bench facing the Minster Cathedral. We passed the birthplace of Guy Fawkes and tipped our hats to the failed hairy plotter. If you’re not familiar with Guy Fawkes look him and the gunpowder revolution up. The failure of the plot to blow up the King is now yearly celebrated with the burning of effigies and dispensing of fireworks. His goal was to restore Catholicism to England via blood and fire, which is rather hard to get behind. Let’s see, I’ll take “More Murder for God” Alex. We have in the states our own failed, possibly batshit revolutionary, by the name of John Brown. His suicidal attack on Harper’s Ferry is barely talked about much less celebrated with fireworks. His goal was to light the flame that would free the slaves. And some say in that at least he succeeded. Violence is abhorrent but I’d rather celebrate a bonkers man who thought he could systematically take down slavery rather than that mass-murdering fuckhead Christopher Columbus. Oh, and did you know that using the word guy to refer to a man comes directly from Guy Fawkes' name. Initially it meant a poorly or oddly dressed man, but by the time it travelled across the ocean it just meant male. Now you know…..

Joe’s family, containing a grandmother, two babies, and three adults were travelling up from North Cumberbatch, or wherever, and got stuck in six hours of traffic. There was vomiting, crying, Ted Talks, and desperation. Joe was stressed and worried, Chuck was frustrated trying to play on a series of borrowed guitars, and I, while walking back to the venue had looked down into some medieval storm drain and heard the abyss yell, ”Tag!!” Great. I had hoped it would take longer to find me seeing as I had put an ocean between us, but now it was once again my turn to look back into it. So we were in tender shape considering it was only our second show. The audience was attentive but quiet enough to make us wonder if we were going over. When the show was done though they erupted into gleeful shouting and showered us with enough praise so as to make us feel like we had found a long lost family.

I love love love this city.
Tomorrow is Durham

*I’m in England. It’s fun. Leave me alone.

Tour 2016 - York (Day 4)

Salty Snack of the Day: Tangy Cheese Doritos – Boring choice I know but I had to compare. Totally different tortilla taste, (cornier) and the flavoring was like they combined nacho cheese and taco seasoning. Meh.

Britishisms Heard Uttered: I feel minging. (with a hard g) Joe, our promoter for this show explaining he hadn’t had a shower that day and need to go home because he felt minging.

 Birds: Greylag (feral) This is like seeing a Canada Goose in a city park. Mr. Magoo could describe one to Helen Keller and she’d get it right. I think my enthusiasm is outstripping my abilities.*

I’m daunted even thinking about writing this day. It was a full one, although to assuage any anxiety I will cut to the end and say a thoroughly lovely one it was.

Short drive to York in the worst weather yet. I tried to walk a little of Manchester before we left but was driven back in. Apparently we drove through the Moors. I did notice that the walls changed from hedgerow to stone and the scenery was rolling and far more dramatic. It was breathtaking really.

Into York. Our venue was just outside the wall in a place called the Crescent WMC, which stands for Working Man’s Club. If you look it up online it’s called a Community Center now and immediately called to mind a VFW hall or maybe the old community centers you find in Cleveland or places where northern Europeans settled. We walked into the front room and my eyes went immediately to an old looking wooden machine higher than a pool table but much smaller, with green felt and nine bumper pool looking holes. The manager of the place happily began explaining the intricacies of Pub Billiards to me. There are three pins that you must not knock over. You attempt to knock other balls into the holes and depending which one you hit the ball returns in one of many slots at your waist telling you what you what you scored. You keep going until you don’t manage to touch another ball, but if you knock over a pin you lose all your points from that turn. I could go on, but rest assured it should be the pub sport of Kings. Apparently the machines are all hand made and thus unique. There are only five left in York and if you play one you can get a stamp in a book. When you’ve played the fifth machine you get a free pint no matter which pub you happen to finish up in.

At this point I have to decide how interested I think anyone is in my touristy activities, because I turned my ass immediately to my bandmates, who would undoubtedly squander time like a Kennedy heir, and went straight to the Roman wall and began walking. York has an intact wall that completely surrounds the center city. The history of this place is Barry White deep and completely fascinating. I did a lap around the Yorkshire Museum seeing Viking, Norman, and Roman artifacts of a condition unparalleled to any I’ve seen. I circled the Castle with its beastly rainspouts and delicate spires. I moved quickly through the meandering roads with an eye on the time. I had left the band exactly one and a half hours before load-in, and I’m aware my wanderings are tolerated inasmuch as they don’t slow up the works too grievously. I found myself at a different gate than the one I had entered and realized my sense of direction had completely given up and gone to have a drink long before of me. A historical metal map showed I was on the other side of the city and had 20 minutes to get back. I had to engage the sat. nav. (bonus lingo!) or I might still be there. After soundcheck and a delicious dinner of Italian, I walked the wall in the other direction. I headed back towards the Micklegate by keeping the river to my left until I came to the bridge that would lead me back. Thus with my ability to self-navigate restored I got back to the WMC with time to spare. York is ridiculously photogenic and to my eye seemed to strike a decent balance between kitschy tourism and good historical preservation. I would love to spend a few days there with my wife someday. It seemed rather monied so I ask about this to one of the members of the opening bands. He said that outside the walls regular folk can get along quite nicely.

The hall where we played was good-sized with a dance floor and decorative triangular banners strung back and forth from the ceiling. The stage was comfy and big enough to move around on. I took full advantage executing my first successful pirouette into a split since I started working on it, lo these many long years. (Thanks Percy- you were right!**) We had perhaps 100 people, maybe a bit less. Quite a big crowd for us in these new parts. The audience here thus far are a little quieter but seem to listen more intensely. Afterwards, the appreciation was once again generous and lovely to hear. We met so many genuine characters in and around the Crescent. Joe (“it’s all sorted”) Coates, our promoter, all pea coat lanky, talking as if his back teeth are always touching, Bob, the manager who once played the second best Pub Billiards player in the country, the delightful young lady who uttered tomorrow’s Britishism.

 We ended up the night staying at a friend of George’s who ordered us pizza and was a generous host. The list pictured is one of his children’s who decided to rank everything they ate that day from most to least crunchy.

Tomorrow is Cardiff.

*Potential epitaph

**My trainer, instructor, mentor, and friend who died last year when a small fish bone lodged in his colon, creating an abscess that became septic. He left behind two neon tetras – now since passed.