| Maximo Park Diary Entries |
| These are diary entries by Maximo Park members from the Official Maximo Park Website. |
Passing Time |
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| 24 Jul, 2006 |
I woke up from a fragile state of sleep in the Scottish capital yesterday, cursing the fact that I was too lazy to get up in the night to adjust the wildly inappropriate air-conditioning. The best thing I saw all day was an interview in the Sunday newspaper with the Dundee writer, AL Kennedy, who has just decided to perform stand-up comedy. There were a number of ambiguously-phrased quotes about her motives that mentioned a friend of hers that she doesn’t speak to now, which reminded me of the way certain people have been shut out of my life...
Anyway, the passage that caught my eye found Kennedy saying, “I’m just passing the time”, to which the interviewer responded with, “Between your novels?”. Kennedy said something like, “No, between exhaling and inhaling.”
This kind of sums up my attitude to life.
Last night, I cycled home from my fourth concert in a week at Sage Gateshead and I’m currently feeling pretty lucky to have seen such a diverse bunch of American artists.
It started with the spellbinding performance of Regina Spektor, which far outstripped the experience of listening to one of her albums. When someone manages to capture her charm, her resonant voice, and her elaborate piano-playing on a piece of plastic, then let me know.
Secondly, Randy Newman and his concise little songs graced the main hall underneath three giant star-shaped frames that composed the backdrop. His relationship with his homeland is always questionable, and part of the fun lies in working out who or what the target of each song is, behind the self-deprecation.
He sang a more personal song that went, “I loved you the first time I saw you/And I always will love you... Marie”, and just as he said the name, it sent a shiver through me, and I felt extremely sad.
Tonight’s entertainment began with Giant Sand in the small hall at the Sage, where the main amp gave off a low hum throughout, despite a father-to-be from Hull constantly tinkering away at it. Howe Gelb was, as ever, a gripping host; the songs flowing from his hands and drifting from his throat. Everything seems controlled by a lightness of touch, especially his delicate, intricate lyrics and phrasing. He seems pretty wise, and there aren't many people I can say that about these days.
At the end, me and Lukas snuck into Hall One to see the 'big hat' country music of Dwight Yoakam, and it was like being transported to the Grand Ol' Opry in Nahville circa 1985. Truly bizarre, and quite gripping. Coincidently, he was singing a song about passing time as we took our seats amongst the elderly clappers.
Bizarrely, the sound was the most coruscating since I experienced the noise of Acid Mothers Temple at The Cluny a couple of years ago. There was so much treble, it felt like the inside of my ears were being dropped into a shredder; the visual equivalent being the paisley jacket worn by Dwight's extravagant lead guitarist.
Weird.
Time to go and record the second album,
Paul And The Park |
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