These are the true tales of the rail and the wing, seen from the vantage point of train stations, dressing rooms, airports and the not-so-glamorous back of a cab. Buckle up in the jump seat for this caffeine-fueled 15-day tour of Italy, Austria, Denmark, Germany, Netherlands, France, England and Ireland. Don’t forget your passport.
April 28: Paris To London
It’s an early riser. Departing for London via Paris by train requires going through customs at Gare du Nord. Passport, work permit, embarkation card are in hand as I approach the customs agent. “What’s your line of work?” the agent asks. I tell her I’m a musician. “Do you play jazz?” she pushes. “Nah, more folky,” I tell her. “That’s a pity,” she says. I figure “folky” is a friendly enough term that it will grease my entrance into the country. I’m pulled out of line while they run it all into the system. It’s a routine I’m used to.
Once through customs, I have a phone interview with a radio station in Cork, Ireland. We chat about the new album and the show, which is mere days away. With a few minutes to spare, my train pulls into the station and we’re on our way to London.
Tonight’s show is at The Borderline in Soho, nestled in London’s West End. Sometimes called Theatreland, as the area is home to major productions including the anticipated Harry Potter And The Cursed Child at The Palace Theater. The Borderline is known to feature Americana, roots and country acts. Though I also ask to be kept in the dark about how many people to expect, I’m told that show will be sold out tonight, which I’m happy to hear. This brick-laden corridor of Victorian buildings is what I always thought London would be like. Our first several trips to London found us holed up in a business hotel out by the Edgware Road tube station. Soho, on the other hand, has plenty of character and is conducive to wandering the neighborhood. My hotel room is a small cracker box, literally about four-by-seven, plus a small shower. It’s cheap, though, and I’ll see very little of it on my brief stay.
I stumble into Foyle’s Bookshop before the show, a multi-level book lover’s dream. With a transatlantic flight looming, I’ll want a good read, which I seem to have found in a book called Bowie In Berlin. It covers his life in the period that produced Low and Heroes, Iggy Pop’s The Idiot and Lust For Life: some of my favorite albums. The Borderline show is a memorable one. As predicted, the room is “absolutely rammed,” as my road manager, Spike, is known to say. At midnight, we hoof it out the stage-door into the rain, back to the hotel. A blues singing busker tags beside us, asking what kind of music I play. It’s wet, I’m tired, but we chat as we walk. He’s had a rough day of busking and confesses, “These people think they know the blues … ”
