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dirty old town


This was supposed to be a week-long jaunt. Seriously.
Money is always an issue for the wearied traveller. I arrived back in Dublin for what I assured myself to be just a week-long stall before shipping off to my new digs on the home of the Pastie. But things have, of late, taken somewhat of a curved path toward my desired destination...

Dublin is fresh again all at once. It's been almost a year since I spent anything more than a day or two here.. the familiarity of skeletal trees twisted by the chills of january in the city, renewing the search to find that one little place in this city who knows how to use a coffee machine...

Now staying with family is always a winner for a short time, but when it comes to being a choice of stay in the middle of bloody no-where where locals are treated to a bus and train service that's as close to non-existant as worth mentioning at all. Kilcock. Where the feck is Kilcock?

So thus smiles alternative two. Shacking up with my good friend Nigel, piano man, high-roller, loveable rogue... and Emil, bulgarian Dj, photographic artist, aka Buraz Lime. They offer me the floor, again, rent-free; both are sympathetic to my plight.

Nigel, as per usual has more than one project on the go. The last time he put me up I was crashing under his mixing desk in his studio. I heard the varied progressions of the rock outfit he'd been working on up till that point - the same songs, a twist in the lyrics here and there but it needed a lot of work. Nigel's a freak though, locks on like a pitbull - no half arsed efforts so respect where it's due. The finished product is a polished 6 track EP - over nine waves - they've taken it to London in search of the big contract, and shit if they don't deserve it. But damn, when the time to knock off after a heavy day/week recording comes the need for swill and fillies. This is when hell and high rolling come with thunder...

My brain is still recovering.

Emil? Buraz (brother)... A couple of weekends ago he ask for my assistance on his first night of a regular sunday set at club Wax, on South Willam street in the city. Just carry equipment, setup, get the projector working for his photo slideshow. Technical genius I could never lay claim to but getting the projector operational, rigging amps and figuring out the club lights so the jump in time with the hectic house & breaks the boys were spinning... Hell, I was just a button pusher, but a button pusher throwing the same shapes as the guys behind the decks. Or so it would seem... and that gets a fine showing of teeth & cocked eyebrows from certain punters writhing & squirming like things possessed.

again with required recovery...

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