Mojo: indie rock reporter

LIVE!

NUDE!

GIRLS!

I'm surrounded by an adult bookstore, a "Thai Massage" parlour that I'm almost certain specializes in more than just back rubs, scantily-clad women standing in doorways to places with names like "Twilight" and "Night Cap", and more neon signs than I've ever seen in my entire life.  I've been in Soho for about 11 seconds and I'm about to receive my first proposition.

"Yo mon, whatchu need?  I got it,"

"No, thanks I'm fine,"

"C'mon I gots it all, make you a gud deel,"

"Sorry, I'm working."

This isn't a lie just to get out of a drug deal with a toothless man.  I'm actually here to write a review for a band.  Soho isn't only a playground for illicit activity, it is also a haven for the arts.  For 200 years Soho was the center of the sex industry in London but in the 1980's a massive transformation began and although adult entertainment still thrives here, it is also home to many live music venues and theatres.  It's interesting how the two worlds coexist.  Just down the street from "Agent Provacateur" is The Apollo, where a stage version of the film Rain Man is about to premiere starring Josh Hartnett in the role of Charlie Babbit.

A woman is standing in front of the big Rain Man posters on the theatre walls.  She seems overcome with excitement and starts to ask every passerby if they can help her identify the handsome famous guy on the poster.  Clearly, she has failed to see the big, bold, blue letters spelling out J-O-S-H H-A-R-T-N-E-T-T at the top of the advertisement.  Apparently, everyone else has too, because no one is able to help her unmask the Hollywood heartthrob.  I tap her on the shoulder and suggest, "I believe that's Josh Hartnett,".  She is ecstatic!  She grabs my arms and starts jumping up and down screaming, "I knew it!  Ohhhhhh Josh Hartnett!", as if I were him and she was a 14 year old subscriber to Tiger Beat magazine.

****

I enter Madame Jojo's, the music hall where Coppers for Karma is performing tonight.  With me is an old friend named Nicholas Sandwich.  Nick and I were friends in high school but haven't seen each other in about 5 years.  He's been living in London for about a year now working as an architect.  Tomorrow, he is switching careers and becoming a bicycle messenger, but that's another story...

Madame Jojo's is a beauty.  It resembles an old burlesque house but has modern charm and character.  I take a seat with my 7-dollar bottle of Stella Artois and pull out my notepad.  Two young ladies approach the table for four Nick and I are seated at and ask if the other two seats are taken.  Nick offers them the chairs and they immediately take note of my note taking.  

"What are you writing?" asks the girl who, I later find out, is named Olga.

"I'm writing a review of the show tonight," I answer.

"Do you work for a magazine or something?"

"Actually, the band asked me to do it."  This is true, but I've made it sound like I'm a star reporter here at the request of the group.

"Really?  Can you introduce me to the band?!" Olga requests, excitedly.

"Yeah, absolutely," I say, although I've only met the bass player Andy, and just briefly before he took the stage.  She doesn't need to know that.

As promised by lead singer Richard when he first took the microphone, Coppers for Karma rocked our socks off.  They played some really cool Sublime-esque ska/funk music that kept the crowd bouncing all night.  I was really impressed by not only their musicianship, but also their showmanship; these guys know how to entertain.  Check them out at www.coppersforkarma.com

After the show, Richard and Andy, along with their drummer Wojciech, came out to visit with the crowd.  Since I am a man of my word, I introduced Olga to the boys and talked to some of the other fans about the band.  I had a really nice conversation with a girl from France who complimented me on my French speaking skills (although I think she may have just been being polite).  Just as I was checking the time to make sure I wouldn't miss the last train home, Andy threw his arm around my neck and said, "Mate, you're coming to the after party back at our flat, yeah?"  

****

It's 7am.  I haven't slept yet.  There are bodies everywhere.

It was a true rock n' roll party.  Beers, shots, drugs, nudity, livestock... Ok, so maybe I didn't actually see any farm animals, but I also didn't go into all the rooms.  

When Nick and I arrived at the party, there were people everywhere.  Drinks were being poured, joints were being rolled and Rich was just getting out the guitar.  They played a few of their own hits at the request of some female partygoers and also performed a lot of covers.  We had just seen these guys rock out in front of a sold out crowd, and now we were sitting in a circle in their living room as they performed acoustically with stunning harmonies.  It was like being at our own personal MTV Unplugged session.  On a few occasions Nick and I just looked at each other, amazed at where we had found ourselves tonight.  We sang and we talked, we talked and we sang.  I met people from Australia, America, Canada and all over the United Kingdom.  I doubled the amount of telephone numbers stored in my mobile phone in one night.  Since I've been in the UK I've been reconnecting with old friends from my year with Disney.  Tonight, I finally feel like I've made some new friends.

As morning drew near, there were only a handful of us still conscious.  Rich decided to improvise a song to commemorate the night.  An amazing, rock and roll night.

GB Radio

They say certain smells can take you back to another time in your life.  For example, you may walk by a bakery, smell fresh cinnamon rolls and immediately be reminded of your grandmother.  The same can obviously be said about music.  We often attach certain songs to a specific time, place, moment or person.  It seems that everywhere I go I hear the songs that remind me of Grand Bend.  This is just from today:

The Hollys- Bus Stop (Andy)

OneRepublic- Apologize (Greg)

Regina Spektor- Fidelity (Annie)

Sara Bareilles- Love Song (Heidi)

Jason Mraz- I'm Yours (Me?)

Daft Punk- One More Time (Greg, EVERYONE)

The soundtrack of my summer follows me everywhere.

I'm open for experiences!

I answered a couple of ads the other day.

The first ad was from a band that has recently been signed to a record label here in the UK and is about to embark on a UK university tour.  They are looking for someone to review their show this Wednesday for their press packet.  The gig is at the world famous Madame Jojo's in Soho.  I responded with some examples of my writing.  They said they liked my style, and Canadians in general, and offered me the job!

The second ad was from a band looking for a lead singer.  Now, I'm no Dean Martin but I can carry a tune okay.  This summer, I fulfilled a lifelong dream by performing on stage regularly at Jam Nite in Grand Bend, Ontario (thank you, Greg Gallello!).  Being up in front of a huge crowd that is singing and dancing along with you is an incredible rush.  The band seemed to feel very positively about my interest and we're going to take it from there.

I also made a request of my own.

I wrote to Brondesbury College for Boys.  Brondesbury College is an independent Muslim secondary school in London, England that was established by Yusuf Islam (formerly Cat Stevens).  I am an enormous fan of Yusuf Islam's music (both as Cat and Yusuf) and I'm also a huge admirer of his tireless efforts to bring peace and understanding to people of all faiths and to bridge gaps between people of the world.  I wrote to the school to request a tour and someone to speak to.  I've never visited a Muslim school and I think it would be a fantastic and enriching experience.  I hope they accept my request.

Do You Believe in Coincidences?

Today, I met a girl and I found out that she likes Chuck Klosterman and debating.  I have read two of Klosterman's books:

#1- Sex, Drugs and Cocoa Puffs, which I thoroughly enjoyed. 

#2- Killing Yourself to Live, the most self-indulgent vanity project I have ever read.  

So, it was clear what I had to do next:  I asked her if she would like to debate Chuck Klosterman.

It turned out, she had only read two of his books as well.  

#1- Sex, Drugs and Cocoa Puffs, which she thoroughly enjoyed.

#2- Chuck Klosterman IV, which she also loved.

Since we agreed on "Sex, Drugs..." and hadn't read the same second book, there wasn't much to debate.

Later on in the day I went for a walk down High Street.  Bought myself a smoothie (you know I love smoothies), and headed to a local bookstore (you know I love books!).  I fumbled around a clearance bin where everything was priced at 1 pound.  There was clearly nothing of literary value in the bin, which, I imagine, is why they cost a pound.  I moved on and browsed my favourite sections- travel, classics, languages.

On my current fixed budget I decided it wasn't the best time to indulge, but as I began to leave the store I passed the clearance bin once again and found myself slowing down.  I moved a couple of books around and uncovered one that really caught my eye.  There was a big picture of a beer on the cover- it was a book about home brewing.  But what was underneath was even more interesting; Chuck Klosterman IV.

I dug a one-pound coin out of my pocket.

Brighton and Back

Riding the train back from Brighton, I can hardly keep my eyes open.

I arrived in Brighton the day before at precisely 6:30pm.  Will greeted me at the turnstile.  At 6:35 we were in Grand Central, a pub, sipping back a couple of pints of fresh, cold joy.  At approximately 4am we stumbled our way to a diner, finishing off a 9.5 hour pub crawl with hashbrowns and toast.

I struggled to extend the futon at Will's brother's flat.  I was waging a battle against poor craftsmanship and inebriation.  Both worthy adversaries, however, in the end I was victorious and able to stretch out across the foam-filled mattress.  Will passed out in a big, round chair.

The next day began as a challenge.  I wanted to make the most of my time in Brighton, but as a consequence of the previous night's behaviour, I didn't even want to sit up straight.  Eventually, I managed to mobilize and made my way to the street.  My eyes burned at first contact with the sun's rays.  I felt like I had perhaps become part vampire overnight.

Will and I walked the streets of Brighton for about 4 hours.  We explored the incredible indie shops, the second-hand bookstores, the anarchist cafe, and the coolest smoothie making place I've found since being in the UK.  I fell in love with the unique qualities of Brighton and it's citizens.

The train ride home was punishment.  There were no seats available, so I found myself jammed into the standing area with the other unlucky passengers.  To my left was a young middle-eastern man listening to Lupe Fiasco through his headphones so loudly, I can't believe he didn't rupture an ear drum.  To my right, was something even more shocking:

A young woman was deeply involved in a conversation on her mobile phone.  A 40-something year-old man stood next to her and kept responding to what she was saying over the phone:  

"I think everything will be just fine, he just needs to use some common sense," she would say.

"I've always said that," the man would utter, to no one in particular.  "Common sense is a good thing to use."

"I'll be back in about an hour.  I'll give you a call and we'll go from there," she said.

"Good idea!" the man responded, the tone of his voice reeking of sarcasm.

The lady would make another point.

"Hmph," he would laugh.  "Shocking."

I was beside myself!  I couldn't tell if the guy was mentally ill, or just the biggest asshole in all of England.  For at least 20 minutes he made remarks under his breath directed towards the woman on the phone.  She ignored them all.  Then, in the strangest twist of all, we reached a stop and in the kindest, politest voice, with no trace of sarcasm, the man asked her, "Could you please press the open-door button, love."

I have a feeling this isn't the strangest encounter that I'll have aboard the trains of London.

The Day I Failed at Everything... almost.

I waited around all day for my train tickets to be delivered.  Finally, at about 3pm I called First Great Western to see what the deal was.

"Hi there.  I'm taking the train to Brighton tomorrow, and my tickets haven't arrived yet."

The woman on the phone was a complete disaster.  Through her broken English she asked if I could pick them up at the station before I catch the train.  That was perfectly acceptable.  Then she told me that a delivery driver had my tickets and I would have to wait around for a few more hours and then call back if they didn't arrive by 6.  This was far less acceptable because I had other things to do and had already waited around the house all day yesterday for these tickets.  Just before ending the call, she changed her mind again and said that the tickets were already delivered today and no one answered the door.

That's impossible.  Jamie and I have both been home all day.  I have been sitting on the couch that is literally right next to the front door since about 9am.  I checked the mail box again and confirmed that there was no, "While you were out," or "Missed delivery" notice card.  But then, crumbled down in the far corner of the box was a little white card with the time 9:01am scribbled on it.

Son of a bitch.

At least I was no longer under house arrest, so I headed into Staines to take care of my 'To Do' list.  I tried to get a bank account setup.  Not only do I not have the proper documents to open an account, but I have almost no way of obtaining them.

I proceeded to JobCentrePlus to apply for a National Insurance Number so that I can legally work in the UK.  I had been directed to JobCentrePlus by the visa issuing office.  They told me that JobCentrePlus was where to go to apply.  Only it's not.  I went all the way over there just so they could give me a phone number for another office that actually accepts the applications.

I walked several more kilometres to the Royal Mail general delivery office.  They closed at 2pm.

I decided to take a new route back to Lee's- always up for even the smallest adventure!  I got lost.  Normally, thats not a problem for me.  I quite like getting lost.  But I really had to piss and I'm not familiar with Britain's public urination laws.  I'd hate to be deported over pee.

I called Lee.

"Lee, I'm lost."

"Well, where are you?"

"I don't know Lee.  That's kind of the definition of 'lost'."

I hung up the phone.

Eventually, I found my way out of the woods (literally and metaphorically... I was lost in a forest for a while).  I reviewed all of the things I had been unsuccessful at today and had a big smile on my face.  It's kind of exciting when nothing goes right.

"But," I thought to myself.  "I'll be damned if I'm not going to succeed at something today!"

So, I bought some beer.

Oslo: City of Love- Chapter III

The next morning I was alone in the garden house when there was a light knock at the door.  Marie entered and sat next to me.  For a brief moment I panicked.  What if she didn't recall what happened last night?  What if she did recall everything and thought it was a mistake!  I took her hand and held my breath.  She grabbed it tighter and I exhaled with joy and relief.   Then I leaned in and kissed her gently.  

Lee, Marie and I spent the day at Vigeland Sculpture Park.  Home to 212 sculptures of bronze and granite by Gustav Vigeland (take that Trebek!).  All of them, naked.  In a case of life imitating art, Lee and I posed next to several of the statues to the delight of the other park visitors (we did, however, keep our clothes on).

  

It was a beautiful day.  It was perfect.  It was more than that; it was movie perfect.  You know how in movies when the two main characters finally realize they're in love, everything changes?  Clouds part, sun shines, birds sing etc.  Well, that shit happens in real life!  The skies had been grey since we arrived in Norway, but today, like some sort of heavenly acknowledgement of how we felt, the clouds separated and blue skies were above. The universe was happy for me.  Here I was, in a  park full of the greenest grasses, roses of every colour, hundreds of naked people (in statue form), and the most beautiful girl in the world.

Marie was looking at me differently today.  Actually, she was probably looking at me exactly the same as she always had, but I saw it differently.  She has the most amazing eyes, I've always thought so.  They are so unique.  If the colour of her eyes could be found in a box of Crayolas the label would say 'Marie'.  Blue-silver with little flecks of red and gold.  Today, I could feel her eyes.  Like lightning.  The perfect balance of beauty and power; and when she looks at me, I mean really looks at me, it's like being struck by lightning.  I feel so alive when she looks into my eyes.  Yes, I'm aware of how cheesy that sounds, but I'm serious!  If I ever suffer from cardiac arrest, rather than hooking me up to a defibrillator just lock me into a staring contest with Marie.

As the day progressed, I started to realize what was coming.  The inevitable.  The goodbye.  

That evening, Marie drove us to the bus stop.  It is incredibly difficult to say goodbye to someone you've waited 5 years for.  But fate brought us back together once.  I have to trust that fate will bring us back together again.  And if not, I can only look back on those three days with absolute happiness, because for a brief moment in time, the girl of my dreams became a reality.

And then I held her in my arms one last time.  After a long embrace I gave her a kiss on the cheek and we said goodbye.  Watching her drive off I could feel a piece of me leaving with her.

THE END