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Goodies: SOL 2 WHEN IN ROME... Being the private diary of one Tony Wakeford, Esq., Gentleman and Troubadour, during his journeys amongst the tribes of the southern lands. Trieste live pics 12 OCTOBER. / March On Rome! For the first time in years I managed to get a good night's sleep before a flight. This, the most unnatural of all the forms of travel has always left me cold and clammy, and, now that I no longer drink to excess, I cannot get pleasantly plastered before and during lift off and touch down. I awake and listen to Radio 4 as is my way. I hear that England have qualified for the World Cup. This has led to gangs of Italian hooligans or Police as they are sometimes known to show their displeasure in time honored fashion. So that was football off the small talk list to break the ice in Rome. My old guide book informed me that Trieste, the venue for my second concert was an area were the "Neo Fascist MSI" were popular. So I guess I won't mention the war either! Part of my more relaxed then usual attitude was that I knew a little of what to expect. It was only in January that Sol had played in Rome and Turin, and the same Rome promoter and friend, Flavio, was organizing these concerts. Despite only looking 17 years old, he had done a good job. I was planning to rehearse for two days with a couple of musicians Flavio knew. A singer Carlotta who I had met briefly at the last concert when she had driven some of Sol through the outer rings of the Dantean inferno which the car drivers of Rome manage to create with their novel approach to road safety! The other musician Gregorio, a flute and pipe player of no mean talent, I had not met. As he had just got married, I was somewhat surprised he had volunteered for a lot of work and little money. Well as Flavio was hiring them I took it for granted no one would be retiring on it. If of course I had been hiring them it would have been different. They would not have got paid at all! Rejecting as I do the cheap lure of materialism for the tranquil introspection a spiritual out look gives. The taxi arrived outside my London abode and was driven by a man of few silences. This put me into smile and nod mode. I got to Gatwick Airport in good time and the plane took off as advertised! A novelty for those who like me have to trawl the globe to earn a crust. For some reason unknown to me, I am normally booked a seat within screaming distance of at least one hyperactive infant. Perhaps unknowingly I have blasphemed against what ever Saint, Pagan deity or Guardian Angel that is charged with looking after the well being of these infant elementals. Whatever the reason, one is almost always seated in my proximity with a mission to destroy. But not today. Such was my good mood at this that I indulged my liver with a red wine from the trolley and pondered why the Air Italy cabin crew seemed heterosexual while BA seems to recruit almost entirely from some where in Old Compton Street. Not that I care, this being the 90's blah blah. I had my set for both concerts already sorted out. I almost always start with "Amongst the Ruins" as it's one I can do with my eyes shut (I know, I have tried it) which means I can do it on auto pilot if my nerves are playing up. Flavio is waiting at the airport and, within an hour of my arriving the scorching sun, they have been having is replaced by an English drizzle. It's the least I could do. I am told I am rehearsing tonight with a drummer, Salvatore and one Nico, a guitarist, as well as Carlotta. This makes me a little nervous as I am shy young thing. It's also a lot more work. I start to feel like I am in a Robert De Nero film. I practice my "Vinney's a good kid, but he ain't family" routine. Then I remember we are in Italy and not New Jersey! Such is the distorting power of this new medium of Film we are hearing so much about. Personally, I don't think it will catch on. We arrive and set up in the smallest rehearsal studio I have ever played in. Everybody seems very nice, and on first appearances there are no huge egos (other then mine) that need sorting out. The drummer is good especially as it's an unarguable biological law that all drummers are insane. He follows my orders with grace and vigor. The guitarist does some interesting stuff which might work as long as it's not too dominant. Otherwise we could end up sounding like Bauhaus and that would never do! We finish at 23:30, and I am a trifle tired. I return to Flavio's where his delightful girlfriend Evelina tells me she is sad I did not play "Laws & Crowns." I tell her I will dedicate it to her at the concert, and with a Terry Thomas smile I retire to my boudoir. 13 OCTOBER I wake at 7 to the sound of huge killer bees buzzing outside my bedroom window only to discover thankfully that it is simply Johnny Roman buzzing to work on his vesper. I had woken in the night due to a particularly horrible nightmare which now of course could not be recalled. I have been increasingly plagued by some deeply disturbing dreams in the last year or so. I blame lack of alcohol! Flavio is off getting a car fixed so we can get to Carlotta's place which is 45 minutes outside the city for more rehearsals, sob! This gives me time to think about the set. As the concerts are advertised as solo events, I think I should work out which songs definitely work best paired down, and which could do with some extra backing from the Italian pop combo I have been gifted with. Although everybody means well, all the extra rehearsing adds up to (playing-wise) doing a tour, but for only two dates. Still it could be worse. I could have to work for a living! The house cat appears, going by the name of Freddy He gives me the once over and decides that I should be filed under un-eatable and with that he sidled off to the kitchen to gorge himself. That's what I love about cats—their loyalty. Later he tries to rape Flavio's new sweet deaf kitten without much luck but a lot of disturbing noise! While at my abode in France, I was adopted by the neighbor's cat, who went under the name of Sapphire, God know why as she is black not blue! I called her Mingetta as in "Ming the Merciless." Such was her attitude to most two and four legged life forms in "La hood." I do miss her endlessly demanding food, scratching me and the furniture, (reminds me of an old girlfriend!) and using my Maison as a safe house from which to harass the cat across the street. One of her parents was wild and it showed even though she was not much more then a kitten. But who am I to turn away a victim of a dysfunctional broken relationship. If she was a yank she could have appeared on daytime television. While Flavio was out doing something manly to the car, I managed to fix myself a espresso which meant I had palpitations for the next two hours. The car it seems is very poorly, so we are without wheels. This means Carlotta will have to come here to rehearse and the flute player who arrives by train has no transport to get him to us. I begin to see the attractiveness of authoritarianism for some Italians as everything seems to happen on a tightrope with chaos just one slip away. That said I am feeling quite relaxed despite the espresso fix earlier. I hear we will have most of Thursday free but that we will be getting a night train up to Trieste for the concert on Friday. We will leave Rome at 22:30 and arrive at 7:30. Salvatore the drummer wont be coming with us, having a prior engagement with an up and coming pop combo in Prague. I have a Saturday free to wonder lonely as a cloud in Venice and then a 10:00 flight back to the septic Isle. That's the theory so far anyway. Flavio cooks me a fine Pasta Carobonari, and I have a couple of small glasses of an excellent Italian beer that's as good as most of the Bosch beer I have tasted. Carlotta phones and she will pick up Gregorio at the station and bring him to the apartment to rehearse. He arrives and we get on well. An excellent musician, he picks up my set effortlessly. Mind you I don't suppose it takes a proper musician too long to work out my two chords. Still, they are my two chords, and I know how to use them. The highlight of the rehearsal is when he plays Lombardy Pipes on "Somewhere In Europe"! In tile evening we drive to Carlotta's house in the country through thunderstorm and rain Worthy of a Hammer film. We light a fire and eat polenta then have a rehearsal that goes well. My voice is getting even rougher then normal due to the rehearsals, I hope it wont die on me. It's around 2 before we get to bed and even the plumbing courtesy of "Eraserhead" wont put me off from a nose dive into nod land! 14 OCTOBER I awake at 10:00 with some ideas for a concert Gregorio mentioned yesterday. In September 98 there is planned a festival in the north of Italy with Actus from Hungary and also some Iranian musicians. The offer is to play with Gregorio and his friend who invented the midi-violin. This sounds interesting and means I can work on some self indulgent stuff and play bass and blame it all on them if it's a disaster—snicker. I have a good rehearsal and lunch with Gregorio. I agree to collaborate with him on a project he has of bringing together the "Dance Macabre" texts from Europe. He will also accompany me when I play at the École Europa weeks and he will do a lecture based on a book he is having published, "Music and Shamanism in Eurasia." Blimey, a real page turner, no doubt! We have another rehearsal with Nico who arrives with Flavio and Evelina. They cook supper, so we do not start playing till 23:30 and don't end till after 3 in the morning and not even a warm milky drink in the way of thanks. Still, the rehearsal goes well and Nico comes up with some good sounds to make it all a little more interesting. I learn that the club is small, as is the stage. The trouble with Rome is that there are no clubs for 200–300 people. It's either small places for 100 or so or around 1,000! 15 OCTOBER Today is the big day. It starts unassumingly enough. I wake at 9:00 to the sound of a herd of Italians using the bathroom. I have been informed that I am flying back to London from the airport close to Venice which is useful as the other one is 30 km travel and I have to be there for 8 am which is quite early enough, thank you very much. In a fit of madness, I took pity on Flavio and have agreed to drop I my fee for the second concert! One of the problems of having a promoter for a friend!! So I am now doing 2 concerts for the price I would normally charge for one! How he's managed this feat I do know. It might be something to do with him looking 17 and dying of the flu—god knows! In future I plan to only work with promoters old enough to shave. I and Gregorio relax and spend the day chewing the fat on such subjects as Paganism, Satanism and Catholicism and the esoteric in general. Flavio phones to say that he will pick us up at 5:00 to take us to the venue. He says he has booked me into good hotel in Venice near the airport which is going on my credit card although he promises to reimburse me most of it!! It seems daring to want a hotel room with a bed and a roof has incurred extra expense. Oh dear! I give him my card number to secure the room only to be phoned back a few minutes later as the hotel want my blood group, shoe size and star sign before they can reserve my room. I decide to take a siesta. I awake at 18:30 and no sign of Flavio and a lift—Ho Hum! They arrive, delayed because they had to make a detour due to a lorry falling from a bridge onto a police car! Unfortunately the detour was blocked by an over turned car, and they had to wait for it to be moved! I am not making this up. The Rome AA must have to take steroids to get them through the day! We make it to the club despite the best efforts of adolescent moped drivers. The club is very small but is clean and graffiti free which I appreciate and is to its credit. The stage and PA would have been fine if I was as originally planned playing solo and even OK for a duo, but for 5 musicians including a drummer, it's just not up to the job. Especially as there is just one monitor for the front of the stage. This reminds me of clubs I had to play in the distant past and I start to seethe on the way that I have some how managed to find myself going backwards. I plot a terrible end to the one they call Flavio. I play very badly, making too many silly mistakes with the words, and at the end of the set my voice just seizes up. Very UN professional. So no encore, not that I had played well enough to warrant one. I feel particularly guilty as some very nice people from Naples had made the effort to attend. 16 OCTOBER The next morning arrived complete with headache and depression. The headache is cured by one of Gregorio's painkillers and the depression somewhat by lots of tea and some sympathy and apology from Flavio, who I decide not to kill....yet! We spend the day giggling like schoolgirls at some of the various satanic/nazi bands in the pop magazines Flavio gets sent. Do their Mothers know, I wonder. Many of the bands hail (pun intended) from America. Why almost every facet of Yankee culture has no off switch in the bad taste department staggers me. We go to Roma station which is full like every major station in the world with charming people always ready with a smile, a helping hand and a rock of crack cocaine. In true Roma style Nico makes it to the train 30 seconds before we are to leave. I discover Nico's last name is Nitti. So the poor lad is plagued by my inane "untouchables" voice over for the rest of the trip. "Nitti died as he had lived, In the gutter with a gun in his hand. Thanks to Elliot Ness the good citizens of Chicago could sleep easy in their beds..." He is saved by his lack of English from my worst excesses. We all seem to manage to get a reasonable nights sleep and they assure me my notorious snoring similar to the more raucous moments of TG and Whitehouse was not a problem, Either they are deaf or they are just being kind. 17 OCTOBER We get in to Trieste at 7:30 and leave our luggage at the hotel as our rooms wont be available till 12:00. We explore Trieste which is full of cats (goody) and some Roman ruins (quaint) and we visit the venue which is near perfect. A lovely theater, it's the type of venue I enjoy playing in. The theater owner and staff who are organizing the concert seem genuinely pleasant. How different from the wonderful world of Rock n Roll. The sound man is very nice and does a good job. For a change he is not an old hippie with brain damage which seems to be "de rigor" for sound "guys." The concert goes very well. A pleasant change after Roma. I experiment with some instrumentals which go down very well. I even tart the concert not with boring old "Amongst The Ruins" but with a pipe and Guitar reel that I and Greg baby had worked out. A respite from my dulcet tones was understandably appreciated. We get to bed around 3:00 in the morning and have to be up by 7:30 for the 8:00 train. I say farewell to Carlotta and Nicola and we are all pleased that we have parted on a successful concert. I and Gregorio go on to Venice were he gets a train to Verona, and I get a bus to a clean and comfortable but utterly soulless hotel within spitting distance of the airport as I have to be there at 8:30 to catch my flight. I am torn between seeing Venice in a paranoid rush or hibernating with a book. I decide I would prefer to see Venice in winter and with company. The book wins, and I vegetate in my room, apart from a trip to the bar next door for beer and pasta. Which is served by a delightfully naughty waitresses, who takes pity on me and my total lack of Italian and gives me the correct order and does not over charge me. The day drifts by on a post concert wave that is fine when it's after a good one like the Trieste concert but can be no fun when it turns out like Roma. 18 OCTOBER I awake and stumble into a new day. The airport is very small and civilized. I stock up on Italian goodies, a half-house brick of Parmesan, a good bottle of red and some posh olive oil that comes in a nice bottle so must be good!! A very beautiful Russian "model" is saying good-bye to a much older and far less beautiful Italian man. She goes through passport and security like a knife through butter with assorted staff bending like trees in a gale in her wake. Such was their drooling that I could have strolled though with a small nuclear device and a dustbin liner of Colombia's finest. The flight is good. It's on time and also again no hyperactive infants. This is a record. I also benefit from some lovely air stewardesses who manage to be genuinely charming without seeming to be made entirely out of plastic. I return to London. For who needs the glories of Venice and the crumbling magnificence of the eternal city when you can revel in the exotic ambiance of Gatwick airport on a Sunday morning and then, if not sated with this, complete the grand tour with the delights of Victoria Station. To quote Dr. Johnson via the English Tourist Board, "When you're tired of London, you're tired of life." Ominous!