Tuesday 4 November 2003

Well, I left the house at 7.10 this morning, 15 hours ago, to set off for a few days playing as a guest with the Chris Norman Ensemble. I'm now in Chicago O'Hare airport, with only 9 or 10 hours' travel to go. Entering the US as an 'alien' is a tedious business, and finally getting through immigration, agriculture (agriculture!?) customs and security is always a great relief.  Every time I get out the other end, I always think 'ha ha, they let me in again' with a sense of triumph over bureaucracy. They're very businesslike and polite, but I fail to see how having a nail file in your bag is going to cause a terrorist incident.

As a precaution against my luggage going AWOL, I'm carrying my melodica as hand baggage.  It's probably the least convincing looking musical instrument ever, as both it and its flimsy case with broken clasps held together with Blu-tack, are made of lurid green plastic, prompting every uniformed official to ask 'what is that?' It certainly lets down the 'sophisticated international traveller' image that I try vainly to portray when wandering around airports in search of peace and quiet. 

I'd love to go to sleep right now, but I can't risk missing the flight to New Orleans, where the other guys will just have arrived when I get there. Then we're going to drive the 3 hours or so to Mobile, Alabama. I hope my eyes last out: the last time I came over here to play with Chris & co., my eyes were so tired that I got iritis and had to go to E.R. on the afternoon before the last gig. The lesson learned is: always have travel insurance - 3 hours sitting around in a hospital for two bottles of eye drops came to about £1100.

I've brought some session tapes to listen to, so I'm going to find a quieter spot away from the blaring CNN (which is unaccountably showing footage of the Beatles arriving in the US in 1964), get a sandwich, set my alarm so I don't forget the flight, and also eat the solitary apple with which I risked the entire integrity of US farming smuggling it through the agriculture check. Hope they don't find the oatcakes in my suitcase.

I’ve been reading my long-lost copy of Graham Chapman's 'A Liar's Autobiography' on the way here. Much of the book is coloured by accounts of his sexual exploits and chronic alcoholism, so the book makes much more sense if you read it when you've had a drink. Then it puts you right off having another one.

Later:

It's very interesting listening at long last to the first part of the sessions from 22 September. For the first couple of hours of recording, I really didn't want to be there: there are places where I stop playing (or even stop the whole take) for no obvious reason other than that I didn't particularly want to play any more, and it was one step closer to leaving the room and going for a walk. Listening back to it now, I can hear that I was playing really rather well. Perhaps I should only record when I don't want to. I think David G had a similar experience when we recorded Lachlann Dubh for SADN: come to think of it, we were both miserable as sin when we recorded Swingin' Jim Johnson etc., and those sound pretty convincingly cheery.

There's a wild thunderstorm outside now, I'm getting wet even though the windows are closed.  No planes are getting in, hope my flight takes off ...

Much later:

I finally made it as far as New Orleans, the plane was 2½ hours late, so I've just hit the 24 hours non-stop travel barrier, and there's at least 2 more to go. Jamie's driving (his bass went AWOL in transit too), and Spring Any Day Now is on the CD player - his choice ...