I claim to know Hamburg well. When there's a concert, I walk my old student routes and have a milk coffee at "Backwahn" on Grindelallee. Not much has changed there, the chairs are the same as in 1984. You need such constants in life, some more, some less, me more. The "baking madness" (a translation, it sounds like Bhagwan in German, the 80s, y'know?) and Lucinda, for example. The fact that I forgot my cell phone charger meant that I went on a digital detox for over four hours, an unusual fast. Because the target was Lucinda Williams for the fourth or fifth time in 21 years, no woman I have seen more often, on stage, not in real life. Although that's what Lucinda stands for: For real life with its white balls and its black balls, which are often drawn unpredictably.
Then I read "Der Spiegel" (German "Newsweek" or "Time") with my café au lait, which I don't read very often because I don't like the language in it, but that's a matter of taste, I'll come back to such questions later. Then a big glass of water, which I will come back to later as well. Then a walk through the university district and another regret that "2001" closed its doors years ago, they sold books and records in the 80s for good prices. Then around 5:30pm into the city center, a fatal mistake from the 80s, construction sites, traffic jams, extremely exhausting. Especially because of the big milk café and the big glass of water. After a 15-minute stop just before the Gertrudenkirchhof, the Volvo had to move to the sidewalk for a moment, the Asian restaurant looked like it could save me. The tall Asian woman gave me a curt "For customers only," although I asked nicely, no "Good evening", no "I'm sorry," nothing. Not Hanseatic enough, not British enough for a slightly English town in Germany, very weak.
"If I pee on your counter now, I'll get a letter from your lawyer tomorrow. If you don't let me go where I want to go, you'll get a letter from *my* lawyer tomorrow," was my equally un-Hanseatic response.
Unnecessary. The lacquered fingers gave way and showed me a door, which I closed after 60 seconds, the Volvo waited dutifully like our dog for my return, the tin caravan hadn't moved an inch. That's possible.
A parking lot 100 meters away from Michelle, as big as a barn door. Perfect. Then to her, as I like to say. She's been there for everyone since 1977, for me only since 1980, we started late, but intensively and several times a week. "Michelle" has been *my* record store for over 40 years. I didn't have much time left, but then I had to buy something, Willy DeVille live for €3. The owner has grown older with me, he understands such things. You don't leave a record store without a receipt in your jacket. The real man's shoes are the records and CDs.
Side B - Brother John the Evangelist
I wanted to meet three good men who have made it their life's work to preserve musical experiences for posterity. We all get older, the first bumps are often not visible, two men in my age group had to cancel, Vanillo and the Buccaneer, too bad. The third had been recommended to me, we only knew each other from writing, but hadn't arranged to meet, his name is "The Evangelist", why, we don't know. His friends are said to have baptized him "Brother John".
A seated show, so the market hall is seated. There is an age when you appreciate that, I don't yet, but soon I will. I was about 20th in line, still 20 minutes to go. People talk a bit about music, about other concerts, people sometimes listen to me without me having to ask, like in school, I listen too. One woman, whose husband seemed to have taken her, it seemed to me, very attractive, very tall, with flowing blonde hair, remarked, "I find Lucinda Williams rather boring!" Hopefully not her companion, for only a Seeker would be so provocative. For whatever.
"Sure, no problem, some people find Picasso, Bob Dylan and Franz Kafka boring too, it's just a matter of taste!" I smiled back.
Sometimes I feel good when I can get rid of something like that en passant, I'm not looking for friends everywhere. I had already lost two women today, first the Asian, now a good-looking blonde from Hamburg from the Elle Macpherson league, i.e. in terms of legs. I thought I met her once at Rhiannon Giddens, but it was not her, the attentive reader remembers that and so do I.
It was quite cold, around 6 degrees Celsius, I was wearing two scarves, one of which the best wife I've ever had calls a "rag", a leather jacket that can withstand northern storms, a sweater, a jeans shirt, a t-shirt underneath, pants, shoes from Tuscany, unfortunately not matching the belt. Then suddenly a man stood beside me, who seemed to have come from a Hallig or from the high mountains. He was wearing only a wide blue shirt, which he let hang loosely over his trousers. It was 6 degrees Celsius in the north, I told you. He smiled at 25 degrees in the shade. "He must have been through a lot", I thought.
"How can you stand it, I'm cold enough as it is!"
I told him there was nothing to do, the blonde was lost anyway. There aren't many women at concerts, at least they mostly avoid the ones I go to. I try to understand them, but it remains an attempt. For example, I don't like to go to shoe stores, men and women are different, we shouldn't have any illusions about that.
"I have an inner warmth, I'm not cold."
He could have said "wimp" in a Nordic way, but his eyes said what he said. A few minutes passed, followed by the first information about handing in all jackets for security reasons. Then the man with the inner warmth was suddenly gone, I found him again further down, he was putting something in his sock that looked like a technical device that seemed familiar to me. A musical provider for posterity, a clear case!
"Are you Brother John the Evangelist?"
A smile appeared from the sidewalk, yes, the brother, it was him, Heaven sent him next to me. The evening was getting better and better. The phase of getting to know each other in reality and finding a good place was quickly over, we didn't need any more words, he knew that I knew how to behave, no talking, silent clapping, silent enjoyment with eyes and ears, that's how it works. And the evangelist, he is not only interested in music, having traveled from the south, he told of visits to Caspar David Friedrich and his favorite, Otto Dix. These are not musicians, by the way. I learned a lot from small details when my new brother spoke, he can do it well and with loving affection for artists. Men don't always appreciate conversation, as long as it's not about soccer or cars. Well, yes, you have to look long and hard to find someone who likes Otto Dix. It's easier with Netflix.
Side C - L.A. Edwards
The support act, a big surprise, sounded great and they looked good, right, that's what I would write if I was a woman of 25 to 30 years, no, even those in their seventies would have thought my thoughts, it never ends.
On the left was a young Jackson Browne on bass, on drums the one with the short hair and the mustache, the singer with the full beard and the guitar. He moved sparingly but effectively, the one with the pirate scarf and guitar helping him. "You can't beat two guitars, bass and drums", Lou Reed once said, I think. Plus someone at the keyboard, hair in his face, mysterious, a dream for every female groupie, even if he only had a triangle.
Very variable, "Wildflowers" by Tom Petty as a cover, very good, the evening was already going well, even if Lucinda had canceled. I'll see the guys again in July at the Nochtspeicher. Why did they call me "sir"? I'm younger than Anthony Hopkins and King Charles!
Side D - Lucinda Williams
Awesome!
"I would trade tickets for Lorde, Taylor and Miley for one with Lucinda," I said to one of her crew members after the show. Her short stories for each song tell of a long life at over 70, she sings like a 30 year old, the physical limitations are irrelevant to what she does.
We've known each other for 40 years, but she doesn't know that. Writing about music doesn't have to be like that and nobody wants to read about Doug Pettibone who looks more and more like a young Robbie Robertson. Describing Lucinda's greatness is like carrying owls to Athens. Not many people play in that league. Aretha? Tina? No.
Lucinda was just as good as in 2003 at the Fabrik, only the pirate was missing. At the end, the hall stood for the last four songs, Lucinda smiled, waved and didn't seem to want to leave, she played for more than two hours, not using her chair for a second. Anyone would have understood, but she despised the chair. The farewell was touching, I'm sure many people felt the same way, I needed a handkerchief again, but only my fingers helped to solve the problem in the half-light. Of course I would never confess.
The Bonus Single - The After Show Party
Brother John and I stood at the bar for a long time until the security guards came. "Wow, that look is deadly", I remarked to the defensive blonde and her companion. "So slowly ...", yes, we had understood, you still feel comfortable among the last 10 of 800, among the last three you don't want to be the last idiot to prolong the evening. There were still four jackets hanging in the checkroom, I had the big plastic piece on my keychain, but I couldn't find the little note with the number 709. I kind of remember numbers like that. The students, however, asked for the piece of paper, the plastic piece that "everyone can find," but with a smile, because we all knew that you could find a piece of paper with the number 709 on it too.
"Shall I tell you what's in the bags?"
No, that was okay, they wanted to go home too. Farewell to Brother John, one more photo in front of Lucinda's poster and off to the hotel for Brother John at 4 degrees, on for Maddin to Gevadder Volvo in 8 minutes. And then straight on to 23 degrees!
"And the window at the bottom right of the music store is darkened".
