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johnny9fingersSo we all get on the 'plane at Gatwick and have a relatively simple journey to Nice, which was nice, as was the Côte d'Azur weather.
More anent, if anyone wants.
(As an aside, someone needs to redraw the italic faced ligatures on this typeface as 'æ' becomes 'æ' when italicised.)
Two people carriers picked us and kit up and we were driven to our hotel, checked in, met Martin (who had to go off and do business) put our kit in our rooms and went looking for the local bar, where we, the lads (Frankie, Simon, Mark and I) drank three or four beers on the table on the pavement in the warm Mediterranean sun before we were joined by Nicki, and we strode across the street from the bar to get lunch, along with a beer or two. The weather was fantastic, the light sublime, and the alcohol plentiful.
After lunch we retired to our rooms to sleep until six local time. Jane (female singer) turned up just after we'd all gone for a necessary siesta, all having been up at or around 4am.
We had to ready ourselves to get to the venue by seven, which was a large marquee on the beach opposite some dead posh Hotel on Cannes main parade. The soundmen were setting up. Hired backline of good quality: big PA rig of 20-30KW; large stage; good foldback and quality engineers who got a great sound. Set up and soundchecked by 9.20pm, a beer, and then across the road to the aforementioned posh hotel for a beer and food (provided for us as stipulated in our rider), which arrived twenty minutes before we had to go onstage: ergo none of us could eat that much because: a) it blunts your edge; and b) you tense slightly before a gig anyway, and food becomes something you force down.
But thus far it had been the red carpet the whole trip. We'd only shelled out for the afternoon's alcohol.
Onstage for first set at 10.50pm. Difficult crowd. Middle-aged successful chaps in suits milling around making deals and drinking lots; their wives; their lawyers; their accountants, and the same sorts of women of a certain age and carriage with their pet lawyers, accountants, etc CO and CEO's of companies and their boards, the odd mistress or a hundred, Eastern European Call girls of the very expensive variety and Grandes Horizontales of all kinds and types (and genders). Frankie and Jane pull out the stops and the band has a good sound so we work the room. Difficult but we manage it. Everyone knows all the songs anyway, even the new ones like Duffy's 'Mercy'. Dancing occurs. Folk begin to loosen up, in the process loosening their ties. Offstage at Midnight and Martin is complaining of cramping. Drummers can be susceptible to such and we exchange stretching exercises. Onstage again about 12.30. Second set of an hour+. Put some rockier material in set 2 which gets the eleven-year-old in each of the suits to play a bit of air guitar. Doesn't hurt, everyone's starting to have a good time. Martin finishes the set at 1.30 as his wrists are giving out. Then we start drinking....I don't have to pack a car and drive 150 miles home so....Red wine....after four glasses we pack the kit up, lock our stuff in the manager's office and head over to posh Hotel, which is when I start on the whisky, and the others are still quaffing vodka and beer, in Frankie's case, probably mixed. I do not vomit into the open window of the Bugatti Veyron I almost trip over, in fact, I do not vomit at all. I only get drunk about twice a year.....normally. And I'm flying. Desperately trying to top my last conceit, my last witticism, before slurring takes my coherence and turns it into maudlin. I note there are not enough dancing girls. We drink until 5am and then get a cab back the four kilometres to the hotel which costs 70 Euros. The reason it costs seventy Euros is the cab driver gets 'Frankied', which in this case is a barrage of extreme camaraderie laced with gentle teasing, and takes agin the man: which to my mind shows poor taste, but sinners have to pay for their sins, so we all chip in a ten spot and pootle off to bed trying not to sing too loudly so as to disturb any other guests.
I didn't trust the tap-water (well, it is abroad), and had not the foresight to lay in supplies of bottled water so I went to bed without the customary pint of water gently sipped. Ergo, the next morning was particularly horrendous.
Two people carriers picked us and kit up and we were driven to our hotel, checked in, met Martin (who had to go off and do business) put our kit in our rooms and went looking for the local bar, where we, the lads (Frankie, Simon, Mark and I) drank three or four beers on the table on the pavement in the warm Mediterranean sun before we were joined by Nicki, and we strode across the street from the bar to get lunch, along with a beer or two. The weather was fantastic, the light sublime, and the alcohol plentiful.
After lunch we retired to our rooms to sleep until six local time. Jane (female singer) turned up just after we'd all gone for a necessary siesta, all having been up at or around 4am.
We had to ready ourselves to get to the venue by seven, which was a large marquee on the beach opposite some dead posh Hotel on Cannes main parade. The soundmen were setting up. Hired backline of good quality: big PA rig of 20-30KW; large stage; good foldback and quality engineers who got a great sound. Set up and soundchecked by 9.20pm, a beer, and then across the road to the aforementioned posh hotel for a beer and food (provided for us as stipulated in our rider), which arrived twenty minutes before we had to go onstage: ergo none of us could eat that much because: a) it blunts your edge; and b) you tense slightly before a gig anyway, and food becomes something you force down.
But thus far it had been the red carpet the whole trip. We'd only shelled out for the afternoon's alcohol.
Onstage for first set at 10.50pm. Difficult crowd. Middle-aged successful chaps in suits milling around making deals and drinking lots; their wives; their lawyers; their accountants, and the same sorts of women of a certain age and carriage with their pet lawyers, accountants, etc CO and CEO's of companies and their boards, the odd mistress or a hundred, Eastern European Call girls of the very expensive variety and Grandes Horizontales of all kinds and types (and genders). Frankie and Jane pull out the stops and the band has a good sound so we work the room. Difficult but we manage it. Everyone knows all the songs anyway, even the new ones like Duffy's 'Mercy'. Dancing occurs. Folk begin to loosen up, in the process loosening their ties. Offstage at Midnight and Martin is complaining of cramping. Drummers can be susceptible to such and we exchange stretching exercises. Onstage again about 12.30. Second set of an hour+. Put some rockier material in set 2 which gets the eleven-year-old in each of the suits to play a bit of air guitar. Doesn't hurt, everyone's starting to have a good time. Martin finishes the set at 1.30 as his wrists are giving out. Then we start drinking....I don't have to pack a car and drive 150 miles home so....Red wine....after four glasses we pack the kit up, lock our stuff in the manager's office and head over to posh Hotel, which is when I start on the whisky, and the others are still quaffing vodka and beer, in Frankie's case, probably mixed. I do not vomit into the open window of the Bugatti Veyron I almost trip over, in fact, I do not vomit at all. I only get drunk about twice a year.....normally. And I'm flying. Desperately trying to top my last conceit, my last witticism, before slurring takes my coherence and turns it into maudlin. I note there are not enough dancing girls. We drink until 5am and then get a cab back the four kilometres to the hotel which costs 70 Euros. The reason it costs seventy Euros is the cab driver gets 'Frankied', which in this case is a barrage of extreme camaraderie laced with gentle teasing, and takes agin the man: which to my mind shows poor taste, but sinners have to pay for their sins, so we all chip in a ten spot and pootle off to bed trying not to sing too loudly so as to disturb any other guests.
I didn't trust the tap-water (well, it is abroad), and had not the foresight to lay in supplies of bottled water so I went to bed without the customary pint of water gently sipped. Ergo, the next morning was particularly horrendous.
More anent, if anyone wants.
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no subject
Date: 2008-03-16 09:23 pm (UTC)PS
Date: 2008-03-16 09:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-03-16 09:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-03-17 01:14 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-03-16 10:16 pm (UTC)I'll get on that right away. What's thatlike to be playing the geetar to which others are visibly pantomiming? More humorous? Or disturbing?
Yikes. No water before crashing. Morning mouth like a Waziristan shell crater?
no subject
Date: 2008-03-16 10:39 pm (UTC)Thinking about it, we should have played 'Layla', or even 'Smoke....' nah, let's not go there.
no subject
Date: 2008-03-16 10:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-03-16 10:49 pm (UTC)Poor excuse, but you know....
no subject
Date: 2008-03-16 10:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-03-17 12:34 am (UTC)Give me a woman who speaks the language of Shakespeare, however, and I have my chance. Give me a woman who has read some Shakespeare and I will, in most cases fancy my chances, be I ever so plain of feature. Or is that Braggadocio?
no subject
Date: 2008-03-17 12:39 am (UTC)