The Last Weekend

And what a good weekend it was!

Sara from Leicester visited.  Here are some things we did:

• wandered around the city
• watched morbid music videos
• listened to Gary Busey business advice
• heard some of the best local music of my whole trip
• discussed, at length, things we suck at
• got the chance to say goodbye to friends
  
• cheese and crackers
• played beer pong... poorly
• saw Madagascar 2
• read INSANE personal ads in a local paper

It was fun.  Now I'm in a weird place, where this past weekend felt like the conclusion, but I don't leave for another few days.  Limbo, maybe?

Bon Iver in Dublin

On Wednesday, I took an afternoon bus to Dublin to see Bon Iver in Dublin.  The bus ride itself was shit.  A 60-year-old man and an 8-year-old child verbally abused each other for the entire 5 hour ride.  Shit.

The extended bus ride meant that I had to take a cab.  I don't like taking cabs.  Especially when, had the bus shown arrived on time, it wouldn't have been necessary.  The cab driver was a really good guy, though, as far as I could tell.  Had worked in London as a bar owner for years before moving back to Ireland with his wife and kids.  Seemed to understand exactly where I was at in the night and my life, and was entirely supportive of every endeavor.

All back story aside, it was a fantastic gig.  Not a perfect gig, but certainly fantastic.  If you've ever listened to Bon Iver's album For Emma, Forever Ago, I think it is difficult to deny the overwhelming sense of helplessness in unrequited, betrayed, downright fucked-over love.  It's a brilliant winter album, that aches, "I've got me and my blanket, and this sucks, and I wish you were here.  But you don't want to be."  It's an album that hurts.

Live, though, Justin Vernon and his band transform the thing.  This was captured nowhere more perfectly than in the song "Skinny Love."  It could serve as a thesis for the album, but live, certain subtle elements (I'm thinking specifically of the soft background percussion) became emphasized to a degree that evoked Kanye West tribal, "Love Lockdown" beats; primal, angry gunshot heartbreak.

The new songs were also very interesting.  Recent reviews have suggest that where For Emma, Forever Ago is a winter heartbreak album, the new EP Blood Bank is a sort of tribute to summer love.  I don't disagree with this assessment, but, at the same time, anyone who has listened to the album will agree that Justin Vernon is no Beach Boy.  While one song in particular seemed, quite simply, flat ("Beach Baby"), the others were fantastic.  The set opener, "The Woods," was equal parts Gillian Welch murder ballad and Fleet Foxes indie choir, utilizing the same four rustic lines, and slowly transforming them through vocal arrangement.  "Babys" evoked, strangely enough, 1970's Elton John.  That is, if, instead of being a coked-out Englishman, Elton John had been a California heroin addict.  I mean that in the best way possible.  Finally, the tune "Blood Bank."  As far as I can tell, this is the most commercial thing Bon Iver has done.  This is not necessarily a bad thing.  It still retains some of the idiosyncratic song structure of other Bon Iver tunes, with a fascinatingly morbid setting (um, a blood bank).  At the same time, overdriven electric guitar and relatively predictable chordal structure dominate the arrangement.  This results in what, to me, came across as the most badass Goo Goo Dolls song ever.  And I mean that in the best way possible.

At the end of the night, a few tunes were just plain boring, while the majority of the show subtly reinvented an album and artist that I've come to love over the past year.

Germany

Austin and I walked around Wuppertal on Tuesday night, drinking beers, eating pizza, and having a good time.  Things took and interesting turn when, on our last beer of the night, an old German man started buying us shots of some nasty anise liquor.  Long story short, we stumbled.

Wednesday, we ate potatoes and went to Dusseldorf.  We attempted to watch the sun set over the Rhine (clouds interfered).  We chilled in a brewery and lamented the absence of our modmates.  We found an Irish pub, where Austin acquired the nickname Liam from a drunk who was enjoying Oasis on the jukebox.  We admired home appliances and decor in storefronts, and wished we had chic home to decorate, and the money to decorate it with.

On Thursday, Charles showed up, as did Turkey Day.  We ate an obscene amount of food at Tobi's apartment (bitchin' apartment).  It's very difficult for me to articulate how completely and totally wonderful it was to see Bryce and Charles and Austin and Kate and Jon and Luna and everyone else all at once.  Check out Kate's blog for pictures.  It was amazing.

Friday, and another trip to Dusseldorf.  This time, for Christmas markets, and gluhwein.  It was a freezing and jolly beginning of the Christmas season.  Later that night, we went to a hookah bar where Luna works.  I had to leave early, to spend 12 of the worst hours of my life on trains, planes, and automobiles, making my way back to Derry.

I guess holidays and reunions and gluhwein wouldn't be as sweet if we had them all the time...

In Transit

I woke up super-early on Tuesday to catch a train from London to Paris (under the English Channel).  I was asleep for most of this.  In Paris, I caught a train through Brussels, Belgium to Cologne, Germany.  From there, I took a train to Wuppertal, Germany, to meet up with Austin, and prepare for Turkey Day.

For those of you keeping track, that's four countries in one day.  Not that I did much in any of them, but I WAS THERE.

London

Last Saturday, I took an early flight from Derry to London, to visit my cousin Jason.  Weird adventures ensued.

On Saturday afternoon, we walked around London a little.  The London Jazz Festival was taking place, so we tried to go to a show from that, with some friends of Jason's.  Unfortunately, by the time we got there, it was sold out.  To regroup from this tragic derailment, we did the only thing one can do in such a situation: we went to a pub.  Then a psychotic, packed-house, screaming waitress Italian restaurant.  Then a very hip club called the 12 Bar.  The 12 Bar tiny, and dingy, and, in general, exactly the kind of place I enjoy.  That night, it was the host to the seasonal Antifolk UK Festival.  Jason described it as though, "they let the freaks out for a night and put them up on stage."  We heard ukulele and screaching and bubbles and party poppers and drunken ramblings concerning deadly scorpions, digital accordions, and time-travel in DeLoreans- all in one song.

We tried to go to Westminster Abbey on Sunday, but it was closed.  However the National Portrait Gallery was open, and showing an Annie Leibovitz exhibition, which was absolutely badass.  Later, we saw the Robert Mitchell 3io as part of the London Jazz Fest.  They did a cover of "Teardrop" by Massive Attack, and I nearly crapped my pants in excitement.  That night I watched the second half of Superbad, all of St. Elmo's Fire, and a short documentary on Howard Hughes.  Before I went to bed, I stood on the balcony of the apartment and breathed in the air and view coming off the Thames.

Monday, I went out with the specific goal of overwhelming myself, and did not fail.  Among other things, I:

-toured the gorgeous Westminster Abbey and saw all the cool dead people there (there are a ton),

-checked out the 1700-1900 portion of the National Gallery (Van Gogh, Renoir, Seurat, Monet, Cezanne, etc.),

-still in the arty mood went to the Tate Modern (Lichtenstein, Picasso, Rothko, etc.),

-Shakespeare's Globe Theatre (a reconstruction of the Elizabethan playhouse), and

-experienced the London Underground at rush hour on a Monday.  INSANE.

Particularly during the art galleries, I wanted Susan and Kate around.

Then came Germany...

Wednesday

The sun comes around 8 in the morning here, and starts going down at 4 pm-ish.  It messes with my head.

The semester is winding down, and consequently, there isn't much exciting to say.  I work on coursework, to make sure I get it all done before I come back, and that's about all.  I'm going to London on Saturday for a few days, and straight from there to Wuppertal, for a very Bethel Thanksgiving.  It is difficult for me to articulate how much I look forward to seeing those folks.  I'm sure that trip will make for a good blog post, in about a week and a half.

I'm going to be in Convo on Friday.  Hello, Dale Schrag.  So get your asses in there.  I will answer every question you've ever had concerning the relationship between the book The Medium is the Massage, and it's corresponding LP, both by Marshall McLuhan.  Seriously, I know, like, everything.  EVERYTHING.

I've decided that my happiness is directly related to how much Count Basie I listen to.

Friday

Received a package from my mother today.  I always love getting mail, but I found this one particularly noteworthy.

It was a box full of Halloween candy, and a "Vote Obama" pin that I ordered months ago.

This is what we call "comedic timing," folks.