Tonight’s Milano. My last gig in Italy. Looking forward to seeing Fabio and the gang.
My friend Andrea bought me some 60’s horn rimmed glasses in Pescara. I look like an Italian film director.
Your feet get cold on tour. I’m wearing two pair of socks.
The gig was a total gas. My Italian mission is now complete. Next stop Zurich.
For the final night of our Spanish tour, Howe and the boys invited me up for a sloppy but heartfelt version of Cash’s Ring of Fire into Dylan’s Every Grain of Sand. And if I’m not mistaken there was a slight return of Let It Be somewhere there in the middle.
It was glorious.
Next stop Italy.
I’m in Bilbao. Just woke up from a death nap. Not sure how many of those overseas flights I’ve got left in me(!). But then again, I’ve been saying that for years. Tried to nap on a bench during a 6 hour layover in Frankfurt. The bitter cold blowing up my pant legs. Fucking bliss. Arrived in Bilbao with my Martin D-28 in one piece.
Checked out of my hotel coma, dumped my stuff in the belly of Giant Sand bus where I’ll be bunking for the next week. Took a long walk. Checked out the Guggenheim (pictured). Cy Twombly brought me halfway out of my fog.
Spain: Lorca, Hemmingway, running with the wolves and the bulls and the beast within, coked out GOR misadventures. Spain: it’s coming back to me now.
I played my first solo show, Giant Sand followed. Howe is lugging a real piano around. A major chord of logistics. The Danish Sandmen are gladiators.
Bilbau, Basque country, good crowd. Beautiful old theatre in the heart of it.
Now it’s backstage: baby cokes in the bottle, Belgian chocolate…. Paradise!!
Last night, I lingered around the merch booth where a young senorita showed me some matador moves. Ballet-like poses. They tell me the bullfights are subsidized by the government. Recession or not, the show must go on. We need more grrrllll Matadors. I like to imagine someone like a circa ‘78 Pat Benatar out there terrorizing the bulls…..
getting sleepy…..... turn out the light…... I’m putting the lap-top to sleep.
Next stop Portugal.
Chuck: Dan, check out this Neil video, kind of makes me think of you. Is it retarded or genius? And like, what’s with the apple?
Dan: That’s his ipod.
Chuck: Oh yeah, duh, that’s hilarious.
Dan: He does think it’s funny… maybe he made a pipe out of it later?
Chuck: Genius.
http://neilyoung.com/forkintheroad/forkintheroadvideo.html
Here's the video from Neil's upcoming record "Fork in the Road"
Feeling a little off today. I leave you with this poem….
Enjoy,
CP
Sick
by Shel Silverstein
“I cannot go to school today,”
Said little Peggy Ann McKay.
“I have the measles and the mumps,
A gash, a rash and purple bumps.
My mouth is wet, my throat is dry,
I’m going blind in my right eye.
My tonsils are as big as rocks,
I’ve counted sixteen chicken pox
And there’s one more—that’s seventeen,
And don’t you think my face looks green?
My leg is cut—my eyes are blue—It might be instamatic flu.
I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke,
I’m sure that my left leg is broke—
My hip hurts when I move my chin,
My belly button’s caving in,
My back is wrenched, my ankle’s sprained,
My ‘pendix pains each time it rains.
My nose is cold, my toes are numb.
I have a sliver in my thumb.
My neck is stiff, my voice is weak,
I hardly whisper when I speak.
My tongue is filling up my mouth,
I think my hair is falling out.
My elbow’s bent, my spine ain’t straight,
My temperature is one-o-eight.
My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear,
There is a hole inside my ear.
I have a hangnail, and my heart is—what?
What’s that? What’s that you say?
You say today is. . .Saturday?
G’bye, I’m going out to play!”
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