brest – november 29
france wraps its small streets around us in attempt to tangle the wheels of this big bus and settle us down.
this is the biggest bus we have ever had the lottery to be appointed here in tour world ( it has 2 showers in it.)
the innards are hand made by its swiss driver and brand new.
we arrive now in brest, in the brittany section of a november france. the weather is as you’d expect, grey and rainy with winter begging to be allowed in.
i have my new new zealand coat and it withstands any of it. found it in Wellington NZ a couple weeks ago, brand new and unworn from the 60s and made there, which is a comfort on all fronts since they invented the wind blown chilled rain scenario whipping up from the south pole. (befitting a man my age too.)
i have no real idea where we play today. its been this way for a while now. touring has evolved me in its own form of dementia; a self editing application of information. so i wait till we get somewhere and then realize where i am and apply arrival accordingly.
its not a bad way to go but has its ups and downs.
ANY WAY IS THE ONLY WAY AND ARRIVAL MEANS YOU’RE RIGHT ON TIME.
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by the time i sit here and peck again, brest has come and gone. it delivered a soft depression for most of the day and had me mostly hunkered away in the bunk. i loved the town, but the day had me somewhere else.
i am waking up everyday way too early. eat breakfast think about life and then tuck back away like i am pacing myself. mornings out here are dramatic in tone and color and allow me an isolation to delve into the things that have no time back home when the family needs are non stop and richly warm with cluster and tumult.
so i delve.
a crust of bread, strong black coffee, and sometimes a wine since it’s only still before midnight back home.
new faces everyday with the same expressions.
it never really gets tiring, just the travel does when its not this comfortable and no bunk to crawl back into.
my sister is dying, and it has a hold on me today.
i left her back in hospice at her place in oregon.
there has been a lot of death on that side of the family.
there has been a lot of death to get used to.
i finish my coffee and bread, avoid the wine and before heading back to the bunk, find a piano in the old venue we’ll play tonight. then lay into it and feel how it helps.
the venue is very romantic. an old hotel by the point where stormy seas collide forever. it has a patina of jazz from by gone eras and all the fixtures are ancient and still in order. its musty and has a strong sense of itself.
it’s a relief.
when i awake later, its getting dark again.
i stumble out of my coffin bunk and find the stage set up with the band finishing sound check. i partake in said merriment and delight in the folds of a new swampy chug of a song that just pours out.
the band is a dream.
then dinner happens in the old ballroom dining room. velvet french wine and thick lipped utterings. bodies warmed from the belly out, after which i leave to catch another nap just to turn it all off again.
someone wakes me from a rainer dream.
or was that earlier ?
15 minutes till set time. i stumble out like i have done this all my life. slip down to the stage and the room has packed out in an intimate setting of old jazz and basement warmth from overhead storms. the piano is unavoidable. i play like it’s the only thing i do.
the band is a dream.
the guitars finally get a dusting off and lonna comes up and sings brilliantly with us for a while.
it’s a fine night of delivery and sonic surge.
once the crowd is delighted, i disappear again.
up the dark creaky back stairs to the 2nd floor of the crumbling hotel above us soaked in ghosts and loves that crashed and stained the corridors. i tumble the old lock with a skeleton key and peel away the layers to take a shower. hot steam appeals to the skin and head.
back into the bus to handle some details on the internet before we leave its proximity. there are 3 of us talking into our computers to loved ones or concerned ones.
no answer at my sister’s home.
i leave a message.
the bus is about to leave now, but i sense a last beer is in order with the promoter. we head downstairs to the club again at his request. as we get there, a woman at the end of the bar turns to me as if i was just delivered to her by her own thoughts. she comes up swiftly and presses her hands on my chest. her face is wet with tears. she says the music did it. (we ended the set with sever thump and distortion.) she has never heard the band before, but it has lead to this, and she cries. she picked up on something, but she speaks no english. i try and have the beer with the promoter, but she can’t help but remain there slightly out of control. it is actually very sweet, but the energy is making my head spin. and she has a heat when she presses up against me, her french explanations making it more like a black and white movie i have fallen asleep in.
the promoter can offer no sub titles.
we are down to basics.
the beer gone, i head to leave, she grasps a hand and lets go. up and outside the venue a crowd has gathered for the air and for the smokers. the blurred seaside rain is icy and refreshing. the crowd still wants me to remain. a woman comes up desperate for vinyl, but its either too packed away or its all gone. i don’t know, but we can’t deliver. the bus needs to leave, it has a 1200 KM drive ahead of us to switzerland.
the woman embraces upon the usual double cheek kisses. the crowd is the exact opposite of a lynching. its exalting and kind of an intoxicating cluster with the christmas lights sparkling on the barren trees aligning the streets.
their vibe is soulful and hands on. i could just get my bags and stay, bail off the bus, forget about my life, and take in the goodness until it wrecks me like a sink rag.
it’s the first sweet human shove of “its gonna be ok” ness i have felt all day.
so i leave it.
we pull out into the night. settle in and enjoy the last murmurs of each other’s company before we can find the way to end the day. tea and single malt. a chip.
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