glasgow....without a picture of my actual passport.

this is repost of glasgow without my REAL passport....I totally forgot to consider the identity theft issue. Today's show is going to be off the proverbial hook. I know it; i have what the experts call a "feeling." Scholarly types might even call it a premonition. We left Belfast this morning bright and early, waking up at about 7:30 to make a 9am ferry to ye' old Scotland, and our next stop in the city of Glasgow. In the summer of my 8th grade year, my family dragged me along on a two week vacation to this wonderful, magical, gratuitously green country, even in spite of incessant whining about having to miss a two week stint at basketball camp. I pretended to be having a shit time for about the first three days, cold shouldering attempts at familial communication and being an all-around bratt-ola. My sister was ill, too, so of course we all got sick together. A family affair. Even in spite of these facts, Scotland amazed me not only in its beauty but also in the fact that much of my LITHGOWness comes from here. We even visited a castle entitled "LinLithgow." As i said, this is a magical place; even more magical than it appears in that Mel Gibson movie "Braveheart" (you might recall the line, "THEEEY MEEY TAAAKE HOURR LOOIVES, BUT THEEEY WIIILL NEEHVER TAAKE...........you fill in the rest). I think they filmed that in New Jersey, anyways. Hollywood comparisons aside, i'm am ecstatic to be here. The ferry across the Irish Sea was probably the most picturesque and beautiful boat ride i've ever been on, the sun bursting through the dark and ominous clouds illuminating spots of the turbulent waters with a golden glow. I sat out on the outside deck for a good thirty minutes contemplating life and the meaning of things, as well as taking my second roll of film and trying not to be blown away by the vigorous winds buffeting my rosy cheeks and complicating my already unruly hairdo. As we arrived at the port and drove our car out of the holding bay, we were stopped at the checkpoint behind a van filled with literally dozens of little puppies, shouting and panting and talking amongst themselves. The man responsible for the puppy van looked a bit like Santa Claus himself: chubby, rosy cheeked, bald, and with an amazing smile. As the neon-clad checkpoint police inquired as to the nature of his visit to the land of Scotch I snuck out of our towering black carriage and snapped a couple of photos. They should turn out nicely. When it was our turn to have our vehicle and persons examined, we found the police to be surprisingly gregarious and even comical. They didn't even insist to strip search me after checking out my totally fucking whacky passport photo, which i have attached to this post. We and the PO POs shared a laugh over the topic of fender guitars vs. gibson guitars, as well as whether or not Shara could sing as high as Kate Bush (which she can....Kate Bush has NOTHING on Mrs. Shara Worden). As we drove along the coast towards Glasgow, we passed marvelous old stone buildings crumbling with the inevitable effects of age; we passed miles of stone walls, bevies of sheep, and many haggered old men walking slowly through tiny towns which seemed to be stuck in some other time, some other century, and hoping to stay that way. It was a beautiful drive. The DJ responsibilities for this little jaunt fell on Binzer's shoulders (formerly referred to in day 2 as Binder...), and he carried them well, throwing on a healthy dose of Led Zeppelin's "Physical Graffiti", and a band called "Millionaire," which is my new favorite band. I fell asleep on my huge polar bear coat listening to the all-too-chill-mode sounds of AIR, and when i awoke we were just arriving at the venue. I opened my eyes to see MY BRIGHTEST DIAMOND in massive red letters on the marquis in front of the ABC club, a very hip venue in the middle of Glasgow proper. Flanked by a subway and a restaurant called the Blue Lagoon (think Brooke Shields, naked and incestuous), ABC is the biggest venue we've had yet, and has a very smart little lighting concept of red and blue LEDs. The stage is fucking perfect, too. Not too big, not too small, and not too high at all. We loaded in our gear with the help of the faithful Craig, who also gave us our first taste of the Scottish accent. Think Sean Connery....."WALKOM TO THe RAWK..." Our sound checks as of these first 3 gigs have been running on average of about 2.5 hours, a somewhat tiresome number, but today felt great. I guess the prime reason for this was that we finally got to work a cover of Led Zeppelin's "No Quarter" off of the album "Houses of the Holy" - one of my favorites from the ZEP catalogue. Let me just say that this show is going to seriously kick some toosh. Call it a premonition, call it what you will, but it will be our sendoff to Mr. Binzer, who will be leaving first thing tomorrow morning. Luckily tomorrow and Saturday will be our first days off, and will land us comfortably in the confines of Manchester. My mother tells me this is the home of the railroads; she's an economic historian, so i have no choice but to believer her. I guess that brings us all just about up to date on the MBD thang. Also, i'm going to post another version of my night in Dublin - one which is, in my opinion, entirely more coherent and sober. You can be the judge of that.

DUBLIN......the day after AND sober version.

Day one is in the books, and I do declare that Dublin treated me extremely well. I was able to fully confirm the rumor that Guinness tastes ten times more fabulous and delicious when consumed near its source at the St. James Guinness brewery in Dublin, and I got to ra ra ra rawk at the world famous “Wheelan’s,” a venue setup in a style similar to the House of Blues but much more intimate. Shara opened up doing about five songs solo to make up for the fact that Binzer, our stunning and phenomenally gifted drum substitute, had learned the material literally in one day. It’s always a great thing to watch Shara perform her music alone. It comes out of her body in a way that gives me such goosebumps that it’s frightening. She is an artist whose music comes out of her in a way that makes her almost unreal, and she feels it in such a way that it forces you into some other realm where time suspends and your heart seems to stop beating. She’s only about 5’1’’, but has a voice like a giant and a stage presence which falls somewhere in between Bjork’s quirky innocence and Nina Simone’s boisterous and commanding physical self-assurance. During this solo intro, you could hear a flea fart as the crowd watched in complete silence, hanging on her every word, some of them even mouthing the lyrics to each of the songs. One girl in the front row actually looked like she was on drugs during Shara’s rendition of Prince’s “how come you don’t call me anymore.” Binzer and I came onstage after this beautiful, quiet, delicate performance, and proceeded to rock the house with reckless abandon alongside our fearless captain. After our set ended, the Dublin hospitality proved itself to be superlative beyond any shadow of a doubt. The crowd had been genuinely respectful and appreciative of the performance, even in spite of being completely shit-canned drunk – a fact which surprised me. After we finished our load out, the rest of the Diamond retired back to the hotel as I stayed at Wheelan’s. Three pints of Guinness and a shot of Jameson later (when in Rome….), I found myself in the backstage area with about ten friends of the opening act, Jennifer something. I can’t remember her last name, but she was excellent. In tow were a few ex-patriot Americans about my age give or take, living in Dublin for a change of pace and a sense of adventure. We sat around talking for a bit, smoking hash and discussing how everyone in the world hates George W., until all of a sudden a peculiar thing happened. Aidan, who had played the djembe in Jennifer’s group, busted out a guitar and began playing David Bowie’s “In the Port of Amsterdam.” He sang loudly and Irishly, strumming the guitar with a fire and a passion, closing his eyes as he played. Before I knew it, this turned into a full-on sing-along a la 1967 San Fransisco, with every single person in the room singing along with every word, even harmonizing the melody. Eric Cartman popped into my head for a second as I thought to myself, “fuuckin hippays!” I didn’t know the words, so I just sort of sat there with a grin on my face. Seriously, picture a room where every single person is jolly drunk on a Tuesday evening in Dublin and singing along to David Bowie. I felt like I was in a scene from Brigadoon or some other exultant musical. I was seriously sitting there waiting for everyone to get up and bust right into a coordinated dance routine, complete with a BIG FINISH! Needless to say, that didn’t happen. There’s no such thing as spontaneous synchronized dance routines. After this joyous little moment, I took my leave to our hotel and bade farewell to my newfound inebriate pals (and yes of course we exchanged myspace friend requests). We’re on our way to Belfast today, and if it’s anything like Dublin, Ireland might just become my new favorite spot on the map.

belfast, belfaster, belfastest

yeah, nothing really happened today. i spent about a half an hour in the car writing a blog about my evening in Dublin only to later find out that i had already written about it. woops. i guess it's harder to remember things when you drink alcohol. anyways, just a couple of observations on Ireland, as I will be leaving here tomorrow: for starters, they use the number 0 to denote the first floor of a building. this has provided me a generous amount of confusion and befuddlement. also, they talk way weirder in belfast than they do in dublin. thirdly, there is no thirdly....................................... also, one correction: our sub drummer's name is BINZER not BINDER, and he used to play for a band called the frames. they are awesome. check them out. more to report later. nate

dublin, version 2.0

yes, they do know how to party in Dublin. If anyone tries to tell you differently, punch them him in the fucking shnoz. Yes, tonight was the first show of the tour, and yes it was with a drummer shara and i had never played with before, but it was straight up P R O - no bones about it. Plus, his name is Binder.......but not like the 3 ring kind. It's pronounced closer to bender, like the robot on futurama, but with an i......SO irish. Anyways, the show was awesome. Everyone was in top form - even the audience! you could hear a pin drop throughout the entire performance. To make up for the fact that Binder only had 1 day to learn the material, Shara did about a 5 song solo set before we jumped onstage. She had a certain swagger going though, so by the time Binder and i came onstage the audience was already puddy in our hands. The main highlight of my night tonight came after our performance, in the VIP room (N.B. vip room sounds WAY cooler than it actually is...). The opening act of the night, headed by an irish singer/songwriter named Jennifer, was great, but gained outstanding marks after proving to be worth while drinking associates. As i slowly consumed the bottle of complimentary red wine provided by the venue, i witnessed a couple of funny things. First of all, one of the late comers to the party - steve? - entered with a story of the ages. Apparently, he had gone out for "A SINGLE PINT" with friends on a Friday, and woke up at Schipol international airport in Amsterdam on the following Sunday with no real recollection of what happened or how he had ended up there. To top it off, he found 400 "quid" (pounds?) in his pocket and got to hang in the DAM for two days because of it. The topper of the story, however, is that he decided to fall asleep in a photo booth at the train station in Amsterdam............... apparently some frisky germans donated a couple of euros so that he would have photographic evidence of his drunken stupor - a nice move if you're asking me. And apparently he was strip searched upon his return to Ireland the following Monday. He didn't seem to mind too much. Before i had the chance to make a clean getaway, the evening erupted into a full-on sing along.......David Bowie, the Beatles, that song with the chorus that goes "on the roooad agaaain.....on the road agaaaain......" Furthermore, I forgot to include that this crazy cadre of weirdo Dubliners had a bunch of good hash and an instinct towards the dramatic. It was a good time. Tomorrow, our tour will take us to Belfast, in Northern Ireland. Apparently this is the birthplace of the irish car bomb. One of my favorite all time alcoholic beverages. nate

Dublin, DAY 1

Let me begin by making a correction. Yesterday i said that i believed Newark International Airport to be the shittiest airport in the U.S. But, after a three hour delay before getting on my flight to Dublin, Newark has been downgraded to Fifth Ring of Hell status. Seriously. FUCKING PURGATORY. The only redeeming factor about the delay was that i got to watch the end of a very exciting Nets vs. Sixers game, which ended in OT with Vince Carter missing a 3 for the win. (c h o k e) All in all, my travels across the Atlantic were without incident once i was actually on the plane. The flight attendant was extremely sassy, and the steak (of the salisbury variety) was tolerable. And of course by tolerable i mean that it didn't kill me on the spot. The movie on the 6 hour flight was The Queen, and i also had the privilege of watching SPINAL TAP in its entirety thanks to my room mate Michael's uncanny knack for downloading shtuff from the internet. Big up zutto. Nothing gets a person more excited for maximum rockout than watching SPINAL TAP. ELEVEN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Let me inject here that when my Mom first saw ST she didn't quite put together the fact that SPINAL TAP was not a real band. Way to go mom. After a small little snooze on the plane, i awakened to a beautiful orange sunrise out my window and a beautiful array of cumulis clouds gracing the horizon. I shook off my gin & tonic airplane hangover and got a nice glimpse at the Irish countryside beneath me. All of the little plots of land looked like little oblong puzzle pieces hastily put together and topped off with a layer of frost, interrupted only by patches of trees and shrubbery (SHRUBBERY!!). My travel partner for the trip was James Worden, Shara's hubby and the logistical mastermind behind the Diamond. As we disembarked and got our luggage, i realized how much i like accents in general - especially the irish accent. I've found my self saying "HUH" and "WHAT" and "SORRY HUH WHAT'S THAT YOU SAY?" a lot. Not only do the Irish speak like drunken toddlers, but they also drive on the other side of the road. I had heard about this UK phenomenon, but had never seen it in practice. Suffice it to say it's quite confusing visually; an optical illuuuusion. As James and i drove to the hotel in the cab, we heard a very familiar sound........MY BRIGHTEST DIAMOND!!! ON THE RADIO!!! Shara had taped a live radio spot just as we were landing, and we were lucky enough to hear the song "golden star" blasting on the cabby's radio just as we approached our hotel. If you've ever seen that movie That Thing You Do with Tom Hanks and that other guy from those other movies, you can imagine my excitement at hearing the Diamond on the radio. I was giddy like a school girl, as per the usual. One final new development for today: Shara found a sub to play drums in Brian's place for these first three shows...........but there won't be ANY rehearsal time outside of our soundchecks. so, that's nerve wrecking and exciting at the same time. I'm sure the dude is fully competent. I guess that's what you call being a stone cold P R O. Anyways, i have guinness to drink and i'm sick of hearing the fucking Red Hot Chili Peppers in this internet kiosk. OUT

Goodbye NY, Hello Dublin?

In about an hour, i will be leaving fair Brooklyn for the friendly confines of the Newark International Airport. Some refer to this place as hell, some call it the shittiest airport in the world. I'm partial to the latter moniker. It's not that i dislike the airport itself, it's just the fact that getting there from Brooklyn requires a trip across a bridge, through the hustle bustle and traffic of chinatown, into the holland tunnel, and then finally onto whatever sleezy gel-slicked hairdo of a highway gets me to the check-in counter. It's colder than penguin balls outside, so of course i'll be bringing my huge polar bear coat and my scarf and all of that jazz. I hear this is supposed to be the colest February in 30 years! I'm not sure what the weather will be like in Dublin, our first stop on the tour, but i'm hoping that i'll be able to pull the old "WHEN IN ROME...." and get too drunk to correctly register temperature. My flight out of Newark leaves at 8:10pm, and lands at about 7:30am, giving me an entire day to explore the home and birthplace of both Guinness and Lucky Charms. My bags are packed, and I am ready. On a bit of a sad note, Brian Wolfe, our faitful drummer, will be tagging along in a couple days because of a death in his family. This means that I will be on the bench for the first two shows of the tour, watching my fearless leader and captain of the My Brightest Diamond crew perform the set solo. Anyways, i figured i would make this the official prelude blog to the My Brightest Diamond euorpean excursion. I will do my best to keep a daily thing going for all of those interested in the tour and in My Brightest Diamond. Tomorrow, i will tell stories of Dublin Ireland and hopefully find a pot of gold somewhere....or at least a bottle of bushmills.