Tales from the road and tape reviews

Still road trippin with Jolie Holland and band across Europe. This time we’ve just arrived in Les Mans, France, after catching the ferry this morning from the white cliffs of Dover.

Last night’s gig in Brighton was the last of a run of UK shows, and tomorrow we continue onto Spain after a night’s slumber in this town. Good conversations and stories on the road today.

One involving a friend of one of the band members who once found himself in an elevator with Bob Dylan. They were both headed for the top floor of a skyscraper. The guy saw this as his opportunity to tell Bob how much of a fan of his he was.

He quipped, “I know everything about you, and you know nothing about me,” to which Dylan responded by hitting the button for the next floor and saying “let’s keep it that way,” before exiting the lift.

Another band member piped in with a similar story of meeting Woody Allen on a lift. He started to talk to Woody to break the stone cold silence, and Woody dealt with the situation by turning to face the corner of the elevator and repeatedly hitting his head against the wall until the guy stopped talking.

But they all aren’t horror stories. Another musician friend was in an elevator with his newborn baby when in walked his hero, Keith Richards. This time it was Keith who was the talkative one, and all he wanted to do was hold the guy’s baby and talk to it, which he did until he reached his floor.

Also an interesting factoid I learned today was that Thelonious Monk’s middle name is Sphere, after his grandfather, Sphere Batts. Strange, but true.

And stranger again, I found out there is a joke about me amongst musicians that exists in Portland, Oregon. It got told to Jolie while she was in a studio and had mentioned she will be on the road with me.

The joke is too long to recite here, but the punchline involves The Pope and I. So there you have it. I’m infamous in certain circles, and I had no clue until this moment.

No other news to report from out here on the road, so I will bid you farewell and hand you over to the incomparable Henry Hughes, bard of Tyrone.

He recently wrote to me with his unique review of my album, which he purchased on cassette (£12).

I now share his review with you, and sign off from out here, somewhere in the middle of nowhere…

‘A Strange Orange Tape’

1.

In alleyways and docklands I wander

aimlessly with purpose as reels whir

forward, back, reverse, and repeat.

I walk endlessly for miles;

day to night and back again,

listening to a tape replete

with rhythms racking my mind.

2.

In coffee shops and

book shops and music

halls and taverns my

ears hear not the shrill

screeches and squeals of

my fellow man but

Analogue

sounds of an

instrumental played

By one in

some sort of

ethereal plane,

A place that

seems both

familiar and strange;

I shall search

for this place

the rest of my days.

3.

My hair, longer now, falls free

in front of my sunglasses

to ensure my vision is

doubly impaired.

My jacket whips in the storm,

as does my open striped shirt,

but my cravat holds back the

chill in the air.

I’ve felt far too much by now

to make some futile attempt

to hold back the wild winds or

compose myself.

4.

The melodies slow down.

Notes I don’t recognise.

The reels come to a stop;

the batteries have died.

The rhythms flee my mind.

At long last I’m released.

My walk’s now at its end;

Must have something to eat.