There must be something happening, it's just too big a town

Published on Sun 4 Jul 2010

I've hardly stopped since last time I wrote. Most of this week has been used up with Travis Waltons practicing, painting my living room ceiling (which is turning into a job akin to painting the Forth Bridge), losing at squash, winning pub quizzes in ridiculous ways (seriously, I guessed the stations that the first London Underground journey went between and the nationality of the inventor of velcro. And Chris worked out which year Radio 1 started by knowing the first ever song they played and which year it topped the charts. We won £15 and some magic beans.)

I did a short set tonight over the road at The Cornerhouse. As usual I felt awkward, but there were a few moments where I thought "wow this sounds pretty great". I need my mojo back. Anyway, I played: Muscle Memory, Watertight (slight guitar tuning problems), This Place is Dead Anyway (well out of tune. I should've stopped. I think I probably won't play that one much more anyway - it's really good about 10% of the time), So Finally a Love Song, The Ghost of Paddy's Night Past, Soaked to the Skin. The band on after me, Minnie Birch, were really charming.

Last Friday I went to see Bon Jovi at the O2 Arena. I don't care what anyone says - I like Bon Jovi. Keep The Faith is genuinely not awful. Screw you all. We went down to London in the early afternoon - I spent most of the journey downloading the Zippo lighter iPhone app in case they played Bed of Roses, but because I'd updated the OS that morning, and (much as I love the iPhone) Apple are incapable of making anything that works properly, it didn't work. We went and had a few beers by London Bridge in that pub next to that replica of Walter Raleigh's boat then moved on to the O2 just in time to catch the last couple of Kid Rock's songs. Perfect timing - it's good to confirm that people you have no interest in seeing hold no interest for you... I love the way that the station by the O2 has big signs with directions to the arena, despite the fact that a huge white dome is clearly visible as soon as you get up the escalators.

I'd tried to convince Andy to come to the show, but he'd said that he'd only come if I could guarantee that they'd play "Blood on Blood". I said I could not. I was pleased when they played it first. I kept texting him to say, but I don't think he believed me.

As well as all the obvious hits (apart from "Bed of Roses", though I would've been annoyed at my lack of lighter app, or anything from "These Days") we also got treated to "Santa Fe" and "Blood Money" from his solo album. Pretty special. I had an absolutely brilliant time hearing all those songs again, but what struck me most about the whole thing was how, even when all the lights were down, you could still see Jon Bon Jovi's teeth shining like some kind of cheesy beacon. I would go and see them again in a second. If someone can guarantee they'll play Dry County.

So, the final chapter of New York.

On the Wednesday I slept in a bit, then got an incredible breakfast roll from the deli next to my hotel. I did have a certain amount of trouble eating it while walking around and carrying a cup of coffee.

I decided to go to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, so wandered off up 5th Avenue checking out the diamond district (pretty seedy I thought, considering how expensive everything in the shops must be. There were people pushing leaflets into your hands, very much like in Las Vegas, except they were advertising diamonds rather than girls) along the way. At the corner of Central Park there was a stage set up with a crowd assembled, so I thought I may as well join it. It turned out Christina Aguilera was recording some kind of TV appearance, though she only managed half a song before it started raining and they all ran away again under big umbrellas.

I decided that I'd seen enough, considering the weather, and went and looked at Tiffany's for a minute then sheltered in Trump Tower, which also contains a fair percentage of the world's marble.

I pondered getting a set of Donald J. Trump signature golf clubs for the bargain price of $2500, but the rain stopped just before I called the toll-free number so I went off to the museum.

I've always enjoyed art galleries most when I've been with someone who knows something about art, so I got an audio guide on the grounds that it was the next best thing. Or maybe even the actual best thing. I somehow ended up in the Egyptian part first (how many art galleries have an Egyptian section?). I was still at a fairly high mummifcation saturation level from the museum in Chicago the week before, but it was a more extensive collection and they had some cool stuff including a temple that had been moved there brick by brick from the desert, an interesting aside on early eye-surgery, all kinds of innard jars, and some really effing big sarcophagi.

The building itself is really impressive. Not many museums have facades of other impressive buildings taking up small sections of wall.

After a quick wander round the pottery, silverwork, furniture and musical instrument sections (!) I got down to the main business of the visit - paintings. They had a Picasso exhibition, seemingly because someone had noticed that they'd accidentally assembled a hefty number of them, and I spent a good couple of hours there. I didn't really know anything about him before I went in, and, to be honest, I preferred the earlier works that actually looked like things, but I could see what he was getting at. I did appreciate the audio guide saying of one of the paintings "here Picasso is seeing how much he can distort the human form while keeping it recognisable, and if you squint you can just about tell this is meant to be a woman". I am always slightly fascinated by people who've been brave enough to properly dedicate their life to art. I think probably because I wasn't, and feel like I've wasted whatever creative talent I had. Not that I'm deluded enough to think I'm not better off how things are.

This was my favourite of the paintings. It's called "Au Lapin Agile" which is a Montmartre drinking establishment, so called because the sign was painted by a guy called Gill and had a rabbit on it. What a genius way for a place to get a name. That's a self portrait on the right.  

I also appreciated this quote of his "Grief is at the basis of life... If we demand sincerity from the artist, sincerity is not found outside the realm of grief". Just saying.

There were lots of other important paintings there too. Van Goghs, Vermeers, Rembrandts, Monets and, probably my favourite of the artists, a couple of Caravaggios. Even with my pathetically limited knowledge I can always recognise him - it's the way he used light. Or maybe dark.

God, I sound like a wanker. I don't know anything about this stuff.

I know even less about modern art, but I did quite like this American flag that had been painted white.

I left the gallery just as it was shutting, and just as it was beginning to absolutely piss it down. I ran a few blocks to the nearest subway and headed a couple of stops east to an Irish pub where I'd found out an open mic was happening later in the evening. It was an interesting bar - the unique selling point was that the only draught beer they had was Guinness. They actually had 7 taps in a row, spelling out GUIN_ESS. The missing N used to be Budweiser apparently, but then they thought they'd go for the 100% Guinness. I asked the barmaid what the thinking was and she said "well, it may be like selling the smallest sandwich, but at least it makes us special". Fair enough. The open mic itself was kind of depressing, but Steve, the guy running it, was a good laugh (and from Harrow, weirdly) and I'd had a fair few pints by the time it was my turn. Much like most open mics everyone left/went outside almost as soon as they'd played. I did Watertight, The Ghost of Paddy's Night Past (come on, all they sold was Guinness) and Edinburgh. The few remaining people were nice about it and I had a great time in the end due to the barmaid (who fulfilled the at least 50% of barstaff in New York Irish pubs have to be Irish law), Steve and Annie (who was playing as well and started talking to me having cunningly turned up after I'd done my turn) all being a lot of fun. We sat there being a bit mean about the guy who tried to harangue everyone into singing along and got really cross when nobody would. And the other guy who played Hallelujah. Oh God, I just had a flashback and realised that Bon Jovi did Hallelujah. I'd blocked it out. Ugh. Steve and Annie are both actually really good. Check them out.

After a taxi to the point where our paths home diverged I got a delicious chicken kebab from a street vendor, then had to explain to some local bankers what a kebab is. They all got them after I had - the guy should've given me commission.

The first thing I did on the next day was to get a coffee in Times Square. There was a stage set up with a crowd assembled, so I thought I may as well join it. Nobody actually knew who we were waiting for this time, being almost entirely tourists who joined the throng simply because there was one ("What did you do in New York?" "Stood waiting in a crowd for 2 hours") but it turned out to be Jennifer Lopez doing a press conference for some charity. She is a very pretty lady.

I then went for a walk for an hour or two, and visited the lobby of The Chrysler building, which, surprise surprise, contains a fair percentage of the world's marble. I'm not even convinced marble walls look good.

I met up with Annie for a very enjoyable lunch at what she realised halfway through was the deli two doors down from the best deli in New York. I'd promised Flay I'd go to Katz's which is where they filmed that scene in When Harry met Sally, but it was a bit far away. Whatever -  the one we went to was still very special. I had the biggest pastrami sandwich I've ever seen - it makes Schwartz's in Montreal look positively fun size. I'm not sure this photo really does it justice. You have to bear in mind that that is a normal sized fork rather than a tiny one...

You wonder what kind of meat-based arms race would have to occur for sandwiches to reach that size. And at which point the bread becomes completely superfluous. And what the people next to us were thinking getting chips. As it was we got the other halves of our respective sandwiches wrapped up for later. I finished mine at the airport. Even now my bag still smells slightly of pastrami. 

We said goodbye and, at her suggestion, I spent the afternoon in the Natural History Museum. It was even better than the Chicago one, though considerably less free to get into. It was, at least, considerably more free of David Schwimmer. The mineral room was beautiful - better than the one in London because of the way it was largely in darkness with spotlights on the rocks. Though I've not really captured that in my pictures. Sorry about the last one, it tickled me.

The dinosaur rooms were great too, they essentially had two of everything the Chicago one did. And a lot of protoceratops heads.

And a styracosaurus.

The dioramas are very impressive too.

I stayed until the museum shut, then sadly made my way to the airport. 

I had such a good time in America and New York in particular. I've been feeling a bit flat since I got back (Bon Jovi and The Hold Steady excepted). I'm not sure what to do about it.

People are much friendlier than here - even on that last day after the museum I had a nice chat with one guy while waiting for the train to the airport, and another guy gave me $5 to go towards a beer at the departure gate - "a man can't be expected to fly without having a beer". The city is stunning and, more importantly, it feels like a place that things can happen. Here hasn't felt like a place where anything is going to happen for quite a while. I should probably just consider myself lucky to have had the chance to go.

In other news  The Travis Waltons have an EP launch at The Portland Arms on Saturday if anyone is in Cambridge and at a loose end. The EP sounds pretty awesome, despite my (albeit small) involvement.