Home to Scotland

I've neglected the blog for a wee whle, because I was tying up lots of loose ends at work before I headed off to Scotland for Christmas.

There were various drinking sessions and meals to see people before heading away for Christmas - Obi Wan's Birthday, Photo session dinner with Marilyn - but nothing to merit setting aside the time to write some blogs. After Prague, I was pretty much on autopilot until Scotland; ignoring the minging Amsterdam winter and working away.

Now, my tired bones are on a plane to Glasgow. I'm really not in the mood for KLM air travel, and everything seems to be stacked against me. The trams, the automatic checkin, long security queues, kids spewing into sickbags before the plane has left the runway, the plane sitting on the runway for an hour before take off, greetin' weans, long wait for luggage.... you get the picture.

Eventually, I'm greeting my parents in the departure lounge, and I'm back home once more. They bear gifts of Daily records, Irn Bru and decent crisps.

We head into Glasgow for coffee with my brother and catch up on various stories and gossip. It's a new coffeeshop(well new to me) on woodlands road. It's replaced a cafe that was called cafe insomnia, it used to be a common haunt on the way home from clubs on Sauchiehall street, now it is a beanscene coffeeshop, but it's far removed from the small beanscene which I used to frequent on Cresswell lane. It was a small coffeeshop with good music, kind of a grunge version of Starbucks - this one has just become another starbucks. It instantly reminds me one of the differences between home and away. For some reason coffeeshop owners in the UK insist on playing Coldplay as easy listening. The problem is I find it whiney and depressing. Coldplay has it's place, I just keep on hearing the whiney intro to one of the songs - you have to know the one "oh no.... not me...." and thats what I think every time I hear it.



Anyway - that was a bit of a rant, but my take on Glaswegian coffeeshops makes a difference to my take on bars and beers.

After making a few phone calls, I'm heading into town to meet Mowgli and the Similarova sisters. They are eating on a bar on George Square:

Woodlands road to George Square is quite a walk in Glasgow standards, and there are several ways to get there by public transport, but I want to make the 15 minute walk, and see how the cities changed since I was last here.

As always as I walk along Suchiehallstreet, a few of the pubs and clubs have changed hands and changed names, or in the case of the Shack and Trash, they have been completely removed after a fire. The shopping streets are much the same, but it's good to see the Christmas shoppers again - the glasgow patter and the glasgow fashion(or lack of fashion).

Before long, I make it down to George Square. It is full of christmas lights. I remember we always used to take a detour from Christmas shopping as kids to see the Christmas lights:



The troops are in the counting house. It's a Witherspoons pub on George Square:



It's a commercialised bar just like all the other Witherspoons, but they have cheap food and plenty room. The place is really really busy with people having a drink after last minute Christmas shopping. It gives us the chance to catch up on various stories and adventures. Mowgli has only been back from Prague for about 4 days, and he is still getting used to the 400% increase in the price of beer, which coupled with an 800% reduction in flavour makes for a sobering return home.

The day has dissappeared in a haail of mindless conversation. "The boys are back in town" is playing repeatedly in our heads as we head out to the The Space Cadet's flat in Partick via a quick wander down memory lane, or to give it its correct term - Byres Road. I lived her for about 2 years, and it's also the main student street in Glasgow. I could probably walk down it blinfolded(I say this given my experience of walking down it blind drunk):









It's really nice to be back. The place is full of memories, and even just seeing the picturesque university makes me proud to be an allumni(Jesus I sound American):





It is however, a memory that I visit every now and again. I have no wish to return to my student days. I always feel very old and get frustrated with studetns pretty quickly. Maybe its just jelousy, but the wacky, zany comedy and lifestyle grates on you after a while.

Once in Partick, we settle down to relax for a little while, playing various music and cracking open a bottle of red and generally chilling out.

I've spoken to Иine inch Иiña. She's moving house today, and Mowgli and I are going to head along to help her lift stuff. She stays out on Argyll street in the West end. It's basically the other side of Kelvingrove park from the University. There are various memories in this end of town too. There used to be(Maybe still is) a halls of residence callled caircross house. The first of my school mates that went to uni stayed here, so I used to sleep on the floor here in the mid nineties when I went to various concerts and parties. It was my first experience of the student lifestyle when we still got so wired up and excited when we were going to concerts. Maybe it's just that the bands were better in those days.

I've been to so many student parties that this end of glasgow has various flashbacks from house parties I've been to. I can't rememebr who's flat it used to be, or who I was there with for what occasion, but every now and again you look at a door or an intercom buzzer and rememeber stnading there in the cold wondering which flat the party is in with a plastic bag full of warm Tennants lager in your hand.

Ah..... The memories.

Anyway..... We find Иiña's flat and head up the stairs with a box each to be greeted with the now customary bear hug. It's lucky she is wee, cos it would do my back in picking anyone else up in a bear hug for that long. The flat is a very nice West end flat. They all look the same, but this one is nice and cleans and tastefully decorated. The similar lay out of so many fllats plays havoc with your memory when you have been drunk in so many of them.

We settle in and crack open a bottle of Red. Various visitors come and go and eventuallly we are left catching up on life with Иiña and Ms. Diddley(Of Amsterdam red painting fame), tucking into a Curry and showing off photos from our various adventures.

It's a good relaxing night and by 2am Mowlgi and I are asleep on our assigned couches....

I've been back in the country about 12 hours and already spent about 8 hours drinking an socialising. It could be a long two weeks.

The boys(And girls) are back in town: Day 2

You know one of those mornings where you wake up and you can smell the fresh air blowing through the trees as the sun chinks in the window and you are ready to start another day?.........

.........This wasn't one of those mornings, this was one of those, peel your tongue off the roof of your mouth and hobble to the toilet despite the fact that you have slept in a dodgy position for only about 4 hours and you wish that you wouldn't miss anything if you just barricaded the door and curled up for the whole day.

Unfortunately you're not allowed mornings like those with Niña around. Despite the fact that we ran out of expresso yesterday and Diddley has a look in her eyes that i remember from my sister(Who also doesn't like mornings), Niña appears to be dancing.

I suggest that we quickly get showers and head off to the supermarket for something for breakfast - but I am reminded that we are 24 hour party people and don't need to showers to go to the supermarket.

We head off - dancing and skipping as we go. Niña is like me - an iPod devotee. She has almost always got at least one ear phone in:



So we are hungover, but ignoring it and skipping through the streets of a very quiet area of Amsterdam on a Saturday morning with Niña singing Brabara Streisand at the top of her voice.(yes nine inch nails sit side by side with Barbara Streisand on this iShuffle)






The locals are giving us some bizarre looks. I have to explain to Niña that the strange thing about Amsterdam is that while complete nutterness such as naked roller blading is acceptable, mild nutterness such as singing Brabara Streisand at the top of you voice isn't acceptable.

We make it to the supermarket and go through ingredients for about four possible breakfast(Pancakes, fry up, smoothies etc), until we settle on something called "Country Breakfast". It is an invention of Niña and involves potatoes.

"Taters?? What is.... Taters??"



From looking at the ingredients it appears to be some kind of morning stodge.......

Did she see it on a cookery program? Did she have it in a fine restaurant? Did she assimilate it from a book of assorted breakfast stodges? No she used to eat it in a supermarket cafe, and they discontinued it. So to spite them, Niña is cooking it for us.

I could do a whole blog on a trip to a Dutch supermarket, but I'll try not to. Bizarrely, although, this is the cheap supermarket, they have more exotic ingredients than the expensive supermarket - i.e. Mature Cheddar Cheese. I'll know not to pay about 15 euros for a huge block from a specialist next time I'm having a dinner party.

We hop skip and jump back up the road, stopping along the way for a Turkish bread.



I can't tell you what a great invention Turkish bread is. They have Turkish bakers on every corner over here. the bread tastes so good and is designed in such a way that its perfect for tearing, which ties in so well with all the Scottish soups stodges etc. It's also a great bread for the park.

Anyway - we're back home, me and Diddley clearing up last nights carnage while Niña cooks breakfast. We watch a few DVD's and eat great breakfast - dipping bread, mushrooms fried in Lemon, garlic potatoes, bacon - no wonder we can party and drink so much - look what we have for breakfast!!!!

Before long we are freshened up and ready for the off. We skip out the door walking in unison to take the tram 13 to the end of the Prinsengracht to walk through the Melee of the Gay parade as it's just warming up. we get off the tram in the rain - I'm wearing shorts, as it was sunny three blocks away(Maybe I overdosed on Country Breakfast).

There is very loud music - Doris Day singing "Que Sera Sera":



Although we're an hour early, there really isn't anywhere else that is likely to play Doris Day through a PA other than the Gay Pride festival of Amsterdam.

The Gay Pride festival happens every year in Amsterdam. It centres around a boat parade where various themed boats(The theme usually being scantily clad buff men), cruise around the prinsengracht which is one of the canals which for a ring around the centre of Amsterdam. Everyone gets involved, and it's quite a lot of fun. I can't really imagine Glasgow being as liberal as this, but that's why we travel I suppose. Theres various street parties. It'ss very much like Konninginnedag except instead of wearing orange, they wear pink.

Basically it's a weekend when an influx of gays from other countries make the city just a little camper for the weekend:




SO we wander along the Prinsengracht with the girls ogling lots of naked men in the rain. I think it is terrible the way men are objectified as pieces of meat during the gay parade, but anyway - we continue along the Prinsengracht to a friends house which is a great vantage point for watching the parade:



The parade is pretty weak compared to previous years. It get's weaker for me every year, because I get more used to it, but this year was the first year I was at the parade when it'd been raining. The girls, however, sat at the window glued to every boat coming past. They clearly have a real interest in the different types of canal boats in use in Dutch canals:



After a few drinks and some boogying to gay summer hits(In the rain), we hit the streets again to lap up some of the atmosphere. We walked down to where the boats were congregating on the Amstel River. We decided that since it was about 5.30 we'd get the tram back to the flat where the girls could get showered and dolled up for a night of dancing and partying.



I start to get worried. Amsterdam has a different culture than Glasgow. In Glasgow women usually get dolled in min skirts and lots of make up for a night out that isn't that special. In Amsterdam, you can wear ripped jeans and converse trainers to some of the most prestigious events on the social calendar.

It takes about three hours for the girls to curl their hair and put on makeup and do various women's things. We have went very Scottish and are drinking vodka and red bull. We take advantage of my Polish Souvenirs:



While we are drinking away dancing to music and the girls are getting ready, as they take longer and longer, I worry that we they are going to be ridiculously out of place in the relaxed Amsterdam. Eventually they emerge from the bedroom. My fears were ridiculous - they look stunning, the have spent hours dressing down to some sort of Bo-Ho fashion. As we leave the flat, I am escorted to the tram stop by two beautiful women, making me feel very proud of being Scottish for some reason.

We return to the party which is now in full swing Salsa mode. Niña is straight onto the dancefloor with the Colombians while Diddley and I have a few drinks before settling into the atmosphere, within a few songs my shoes are off and I am salsa-ing and sweating with the best of them. This goes on for about 5 hours. Drink flows, songs flow, dancing carries on. The commonality to it all is that people keep on asking me "Are all Scottish women like this??" I of course reply in the affirmative. If all Scottish women are like this, then my memory is blurred, because I don't remember Scotland being this much fun. The salsa kings are now winding up for the night(i.e. Acoustic Shakira songs)




It's about 3am. The girls have decided that they want to go clubbing. They are looking for some R and B. I suspect the answer might be in my vinyl collection, but I keep quiet cos I'm not much of a clubbing person:



The most famous club in Amsterdam is Escape. That's all I know. When people ask for a club the answer is Escape. With this in mind, many people have recommended that the girls go to Escape:



From the word go, the neon lights bring back so many memories of my student days when the only place that anyone was going was these student clubs. I could never fit in to this world where you're only point of communication was your looks and you dress sense. Remove your ears, your voice, and make the lighting dark; it really puts me on edge. Maybe it's because I like music so much and this is one genre that I don't have a passion for, but I detest clubs.

Anyway - we pay whatever the charge is and go up the neon lit stairs to get the standard E'd up rave view. Repetitive music and people with no pupils in their eyes dancing manicly:



Luckily the girls detest it as much as I do - I knew they were classy burds, so we finish our Jack Daniels and go. My theory is that people are more interested in showing that they can name a club in Amsterdam so they name the big popular one. I would give the same answer. It's the centre of the clubbing scene. What you forget is that this is Europe so tastes are different. i.e. people like their bad Ned-like techno.

I'm now shattered, but the girls are determined to seek out Amsterdam's elusive R and B. After the advice of a bouncer we head off to Sinners:



This is better. It's at least marginally interesting in it's decor, music and people. It's still not R and B apparently. It's after 4am, and I am reallly starting to wane. the music doesn't pick me up the same James Brown and Colombian did an hour ago. Even the girls' Duracells are dulling in this environment. After a few drinks we take our goodie bags at the door and we're skipping into the street again with balloons tied to our wrists.

We get in a Taxi to go home, and the Taxi driver provides the last entertainment of the evening. He has a voice that sounds very like John Belushi's in the Restaurant scene of the Blues Brothers.("How much for zee veemin???):



We get in the car and he starts on the girls. His accent has me in Knots:

Taxi: So you have good night? See nice boys.
Girls: Lots of pretty boys - it was the gay parade - but they're not interested
Taxi: You try to change their mind
Girls: Yeah sometimes, they are so good looking you are convinced you can....
Taxi So... you like zee geerls?
Girls: ....Theres just no changing them tho.....
Taxi: You eever been weeth zee geerls?
Girls: .....You flirt, you make passes....
Taxi: Like - a - you love zee geerls together? You like zee weeemin?
Girls:.....nothing. They're not interested in your body....
Taxi: I have philosphy. You like zee men cos you can't have heem. You should go veef zee veeemin. Veemin together good.
Girls:.....Such a shame. loss of a good looking guy.......

And so on.

Finally I crawl into my bed after watching the first half hour of Men in Black II with Niña.

The boys(And girls) are back in town: Day 1

With not a moment to spare - or more precisely about 5 hours drunken sleep I'm up for a trip to the Airport to pick up two guests. The Kiwi is also up and off to the Airport for a trip to London. We are in similar states as he returned to Bar Gollem the previous evening. Looking back it was quite comical watching us both crawl around hungover at 7am.

I felt awful on the train. Its probably because I mixed, Champagne, white wine, red wine and beer. It took a few different choice on the iPod before I could settle into a rhythm on the train. Eventually in preparation for the carnage which I was predicting for the weekend I settled on Appetite for Destruction:



From that delayed guitar in the opening track(Welcome to the Jungle), you just know how much fu n you're going to have. Guns N' Roses is unadulterated cheese, and it took me a while to be able to admit I like them, but you kind of have to think of them as the same level as Queen rather than the same level as Pearl Jam or something like that. Axl Rose's lyrics are so cheesy and bad that it makes the band. Carefree, in your face cock rock - can't be beaten. It really gives the espresso time to kick in and lets me look forward to the weekend.

This weekend is going to be a long one. Nine Inch Niña is coming to visit Amsterdam with a friend(Miss Diddley). I was at high school with Nine Inch Niña, and while being slightly taller than 9 inches tall, she earned her name by appearing in the blog at a nine inch nails concert. nin - Glasgow She is also a good friend of Luke Skye-trekker of Skye and T in the park blogging fame.

I'm really looking forward to their trip as Gay parade is on this weekend, and I know that they like to party. Your social life in Amsterdam is defined by who you are with, so I wanted to make sure I had some live wires here for the Gay Parade. I trust they will not disappoint.

Finally after what seems like an hour, of me standing waiting to be dived on by an old friend, I see them and run over(Hungover - running, I must be excited). Its great to have some mates over in Amsterdam again - it seems like ages since I've done the tour guide thing. It reminds you how exciting everything is. Niña and Diddley are clearly some of the finest catches known to man, these women greeted me with a bottle of Irn Bru:



Scotland is the only country in the world where Coca Cola is not the number one soft drink. In Scotland it's Irn Bru. Irn Bru is a very sugary orange drink, which has the medicinal properties of curing hangovers. So any women who arrive with a supply of their own hangover cure are definitely welcome in my house.

Before long we are on the train to Amsterdam Centraal. I talk to much, but Niña talks more. This is when I start to notice the looks which we are getting from fellow travellers. I forgot how much different Scottish travel is, where we all talk quiet animatedly about this, that and everything, whereas in Amsterdam(Maybe it's a big city thing), people tend to keep themselves to themselves and stay quite quiet. I'm getting the impression that Amsterdam could learn quite a lot culturally about this visit. Probably more than its visitors.

We continue talking right onto the tram and I am very pleased when Amsterdam's naked roller blader passes our tram. The girls are in hoots. He's basically a guy who roler blades round Amsterdam every day wearing nothing except a thong. In the winter I'm told he covers himself in lard becasue it gets cold. The rest of the tram laugh at the girls, as they see this guy pretty often.

In my flat, the Irn Bru continues to flow, making me feel human again. Diddley goes for a snooze, while I catch up with Niña. We swap a few new musical finds and generally talk nonsense. Again this is something I've missed - someone who talks as much crap as I do, but still looks as if she is listening.

Since they are tourists(Only Diddley has been in Amsterdam before), we head off. I have organised some bikes for them, in order that we can get around Amsterdam quickly and cheaply. We head off to pick up the bikes. Luckily they are in a back street so I now get the hilarity of being reminded how different your memory of riding a BMX from riding a Dutch bike in your mid 20's:



The lack of brakes(You pedal backwards), and the height discrepancies between Nine Inch Niña and the Dutch means that it's clear that we are travelling by tram or taxi for the whole weekend. Niña feigns disappointment, but Diddley is less of an actress. We decide instead to top up our calories by indulging in some Dutch traditional food.





So after some pannekoeken(Pancakes) and patatjes(Chips) we are set up for a wander towards the Red Light District in order to be as touristy as possible as quickly as possible.(We have drinking and partying to do.)



The Red Light District of Amsterdam sits in the wallen district of Amsterdam. Its a really pretty area with picturesque canals winding away under little bridges. Walking North on Oudezijdsvoorburgwal you cross Damstraat and the quiet sleepy canal houses turn into a sea of seedy neon:



All the tourists love wandering around this. The girls are no exception. It's great fun just seeing the looks on their faces, Niña especially. We do the tour, wandering around the little back alleys, get a beer in a little tourist biker bar, and then it's off to find a way home in order to freshen up for the evening ahead.



My flat is fast looking less male. The girls wiped and cleaned when they arrived(I had tidied), but already there are womens magazines lying everywhere, can's of red bull, make up, hair products, mirrors, Oreo wrappers. I think it' similar to a cat, women like to mark their territory once they come in.

I have phoned round everyone I know, and the best offer we have is a Brazilian club night with one of Brazilian friends.(my brazlian friend of guitar playing fame). At first we aim to be out of the flat by 8, then 9 then 10, we have a few more drinks, listen to some more music, and other drink or two etc. and finally leave around 10.45pm.

We are reasonably merry and looking forward to a night of Brazlian music and dancing as we stand at the tram. Diddley is in a good mood so asks our fellow Tram-waiter where he's from. He explains that he iss pakistani but lived in Birmingham for a while so understand english. Whether he understands drunken scottish is another question. I hope he doesn't because Diddley managed to explain that we were going to a Brazilian party, and then explained to him what a "Brazilian" was if you went to a beauty parlour.




"Y'Know - totally naked. Waxed! Shaved! All Off!!!"

The poor little man looked perplexed.

We arrive at my brazlian friend's flat before heading out on the town. Diddley manages to abuse the cats for over eating, but I don't think they understood anything other than Brazilian with a smattering of Dutch, so they haven't turned bulimic.



We are soon off to the club night with my brazlian friend and his cousin. It costs 10 euros to get in. It's a long time since I've paid to get in somewhere(I'm a bit more of the bar culture type). The place looks quite fancy in the dark(Remind me to go and look in the daylight next time I'm in that neck of the woods), and I'm quite pleased that the girls aren't going to be disappointed. My lack of knowledge of club land in Amsterdam and their knowledge of club land in Glasgow meant that I wasn't sure what to expect. Once we get in, you can't help but dance to the beats. They are kind of Brazlian African dance beats. Niña like the good closet rocker she is goes straight to the bar and orders some JD and cokes. We then take to the dance floor. I am full of energy and everyone else seems to be the same.



Our fellow clubbers are a little perplexed when Niña decides that she can't samba in cowboy boots and takes them off. I stick them in the back of my belt so that they don't get nicked. This seems to perplex people further, including one woman who suggested that since Niña didn't want them, that she could take them. It took some persuasion to convince her that it was only a momentary dislike of cowboy boots and that she would indeed continue to wear them in the future.

After a few more JD and cokes and a lot more dancing, we are starting to think that we should get home and conserve some energy for the Gay pride festival tomorrow. We have ordered our last JD for the road when the music stops and some live drummers come out, they play the same music we've been listening to, but live - we have to go back into the dancing again.



Eventually, after an hour ago deciding it was about time for the off, we are in a Taxi heading home. It's been a great first day, and all thats left of it is to sit awake with Niña until about 4.30 am talking about our lifes, and our worries and our dreams. The last time we had this conversation, we were probably about 21. I'm pleased to say that neither of us have lost any of the spark we had then when we were sure we could remain true to ourselves and not let the world get us down.

We'll see - so much for the early night.

nine inch nails - Barrowlands Glasgow

Wow!!!! Just home from nine inch nails at the barrowlands in Glasgow. It’s been a while since I was in the barrowlands, never mind such a good concert.

Having barely been in Amsterdam 12 hours, it was time to head off to Scotland for T in the Park. As I left last week, I noticed in the paper that nin were playing at the barrowlands on the day I was coming over for the Scottish music festival. By now 7.7.05 will probably have been made in to 9/11 by the UK media. I was traveling that day, and all I felt was numbness to it – maybe denial as a protection measure(I found out in an airport – I don’t/can’t start worrying about Armageddon) or maybe I just can’t handle the media. Anyway – who wants to self analyse before a nine inch nails concert.

Nine inch nails were always a little heavy for me – but when contemporary music is shit, you tend to revisit older music you had dismissed. I always liked the idea of nin, but was put off a little by how hardcore the fans were. I have pretty hate machine, but had to be in the mood for it. Now heavy is not as heavy as it used to be, and I augmented my music collection with the new album “with teeth”. It blew me away – I keep on meaning to get round to writing a review of it on here. All in all, its avery well put together album of good intelligent music, the likes of which I’ve not heard in a good while. If you’re not sure, listen to the first track – “All the love in the world”



So I decided that since I was arriving in Scotland for T in the park today, that I would try to go and see them at the barrowlands – they are playing in the Netherlands, but it is in Nijmegen – which is far away(By NL standards). Traveling from Vienna to Amsterdam – Amsterdam to Glasgow, and then picking up a mate and going and buying tickets from touts, felt very rock and roll. The price I paid from touts was stupid, but that’s the price you pay for being too busy to keep your ear to the ground.

The touts are pros. They all have English accents, but I don’t doubt for a second their ability to hold their own in the east end of Glagsow. He tells me that the ticket is standing that he has no seated tickets. Anyone who knows the Barras(Glasgow speak for the Barrowlands), knows that there are no seats – I find this pretty funny. Also – while I’m doing the deal, he starts to inquire about nin. He realises I’m not daft, so tells me that he’s been doing this for years, and he’s never seen an audience like this he asks with what is almost fear in his voice “how heavy are this band??” I try to explain that they are dark, but I think visual gamuts mapped onto aural textures is too much for him to handle.

I’ve picked up an old friend from school. If I’m not the traditional nin listener, then she really isn’t, but she is a fun loving full of energy bouncy person, who I think knows that you should listen when I say some music is going to be good.(Okay – I was a little worried that it wouldn’t be up to scratch).

Walking up to a queue of nin nails fans outside the barrowlands ballroom was wonderful – it’s a site I’ve seen so many times. The Barrowlands ballroom, is a 1930’s(???) ballroom in a very rough area in the east end of Glasgow. It was the battleground for the Glasgow razor wars, it was where Scotland’s serial killer bible john found his victims, but more importantly it is one of the best music venues in the UK. I’ve seen in excess of 30 bands here. By the time I was living in Glasgow, I was going to any concert that I could until I overdosed on too many mediocre bands – but tonight is something different. It feels like a sold out concert.

The audience, because it’s nin, are a complete freakshow. This is a compliment – for some time, Glasgow has had a group of teenagers, who have embraced a watered down version of goth fashion and sat outside the modern art gallery in Glasgow. I always thought I’d be so pissed off if I was a real goth, that these neds(Scottish for delinquant – but far more descriptive), had stolen my alternative and made it mainstream – but tonight we see that there is a big difference between the real and the fake.

Apart from the almost compulsory base colour of dark black, everyone is their own fashion. There is a PVC basques, torn suspenders, high heels, platforms, dreadlocks, and just about everything you can imagine, but it has far less of the fake that it used to have when I was getting bored with concert going. This is far more real.

The friend who is with me is getting the value of her ticket pricing by people watching alone. The first band is some hip hop thing. I don’t even give it a chance. I prefer to soak up the atmosphere and catch up. We stand in amongst the incoming crowds moving from toilet to bar to cloakroom to stage. We feel rather underdressed, but it soon becomes clear that almost everything is acceptable.

There’s a lot of firsts. I think I may have been the first person to attend a nine inch nails concert with a girl wearing white. It’s so much fun taking in the atmosphere. I reminisce about pre/early Brit pop where there was camaraderie with your fellow concert goers. I blame oasis. Concerts became acceptable domains for “lad” culture, and everyone was far more protective of their space, but tonight feels so much different. Maybe cos it’s been a while, maybe cos almost everyone here is an individual so appreciates the other individuals. It feels good anyway.

It’s 9pm, so time for Trent and the boys to take to the stage. The stage set has three microhphones, a kind of computer/synth/keyboard booth, and a matte Black drum kit. This makes me laugh – glass black would have been too happy I think. As we stand quite near the front, lights down, crowd energetic, we have what I belive to be another first. As a result of discussing Evanescence and my inability to get really into bands with female singers, one of our number(lets face it – it wasn’t me), is singing Joni Mitchell as Trent Reznor takes to the stage. Live Goths will be rolling in their coffins.

We start with a blue light on a piano playing reznor in the middle of the stage before we are introduced to the real sound.

The band are LOUD. I’ve been to a lot of concerts. I’ve ruined my hearing and need things a little louder – but this is LOUD. The guitars are loud at almost every frequency across the spectrum – reminding us what a guitar should sound like. The guitarist is pretty goo – we also have lots to watch – he jumps arouns a lot and seems pretty angry with his guitar. The drummer is the epitomy of an 80’s skinny goth, even down to having half long hair and half shaved head. Twiggy Ramirez(I don’t know his post Manson name) is quiet(as a good bass player should be), but along with the drummer keeps things grounded. The drummer has a kit constructed of both analogue and digital elements – this works so well, cos it allows the changes of timbre and pace, and orchestration which reznor can do so well.



I can’t remember the set list. I’ll get it on line later. Hand that feeds was fairly early – and so so good. They also did closer, head like a hole, the collector, terrible lie. They played for about 2 hours – maybe more. I’m not sure. It’s all a bit of a blur.

I am now hobbling around home preparing for T in the park with a pulled muscle in my calf from jumping up and down to head like a hole. My ears are still ringing – but It was so so good. I’ve not had a concert like that in a very long time. The spontaneity, the crowd, the venue, old friends – all wonderful. What a good way to start a weekend of music.

Here's the setlist:

1/ Pinion (Intro)
2/ The Frail
3/ The Wretched
4/ You Know What You Are?
5/ The Line Begins To Blur
6/ March Of The Pigs
7/ Something I Can Never Have
8/ The Hand That Feeds
9/ With Teeth
10/ Terrible Lie
11/ Burn
12/ Closer
13/ Reptile
14/ Love Is Not Enough
15/ The Collector
16/ Suck
17/ Even Deeper
18/ Gave Up
19/ The Day The World Went Away
20/ Hurt
21/ Wish
22/ Starfuckers, Inc
23/ Head Like A Hole