Gurgling radiators from a bygone era hissing and spitting, rumbling trains on the nearby raised Chicago transit system, and a note on the Airbnb rules about how peaceful it is here and to keep the noise down, haha. I had to open the window into the freezing day to get the stifling heat from the ancient leaking radiator out of the bedroom. The sink is backing up in the bathroom, only one bath towel between us and the water filter on the fridge is sending out an alert to be changed. Strangely, I don’t mind, it’s all good, I’m just happy to be here and I hope my namesake Marty who booked it doesn’t think I’m moaning or unhappy, I’m not, it’s just funny, it’s my job to notice the Airbnb’s shortcomings, haha. Thank you Marty 2 for making this trip to Chicago happen, the accom is out of your control, we are completely satisfied, especially after venturing out today into this wonderful city.

We went around the corner and talked to Carmen who runs a shop called A Secret Closet and Olivia nearly bought a dress but we ended up just having a nice conversation. From there in Lincoln Ave we walked to North Clark Street breathing in the icy air of a winter’s day in Chicago. I took the opportunity to call and speak with sessioneers Craig, Jed, and Brian plus ace mate Patti in Joshua Tree. I tried sessioneer Jeff in Ohio and Robert from Heyday Records in Cali to no avail, and I thought, wow, four out of six answering the phone in America, that’s really something. I have this mad idea that actually speaking to someone is best. As I spoke we walked past a graveyard that had freezing rabbits huddled by the gravestones, what is it with rabbits and graveyards?

We arrived in North Clark Drive at my destination Dearborn Denim where the two extremely helpful guys Gage and Theo Mac helped me pick out some jeans (and a belt) and this interesting company cuts and hems them on the spot to the length you want. Highly recommended for anyone looking for new jeans but doesn’t want to go corporate, made in Chicago. From there we checked out a few shops but were too late for Alamo’s shoe store, so we moved on and stumbled across Rattleback Records. It must be one of the most organised record stores I’ve ever been in. The records are mixed, old and new in the racks but they are in order in the letter as well as having many bands with their own sections, including the ex-band. They had two copies of GAF on vinyl and one on cassette, they had Noctorum – Sparks Lane and Nightjar so I did some serious autographing. Andy who was working there gave me his record, A.M. Slingers, and I picked up Wanda Jackson’s Love Me Forever (1963). I spoke to Paul the owner on the phone, great people, great shop.

We left for food and found a strange conceptual healthy over-lit restaurant and looked back on the day. Now sitting here, the radiator isn’t gurgling, the train has almost stopped as the night grows, the sink isn’t being used, we have bottled water and they delivered us another towel, we were happy before, now we’re over the moon, which by the way looks full.

Music today has been Sean Ono Lennon and Charlotte Kemp Muhl’s The Ghost Of A Saber Tooth Tiger, Acoustic Sessions (2010). I saw it in the shop today but wanted to listen first and I really like it. I asked Andy to save it for me.

Music Of The Daze

“New York, New York, it’s a wonderful town,” sang Frankie but he also sang “My Kind Of Town”, so we thought we’d go to Chicago. A later flight around 5 PM, always best to fly later for us, those scary early mornings don’t work and when you’re flying west you’re gaining time anyway. We were Ubered into a small traffic jam on the bridge on the way to Newark but we made it in time to get into what I presumed was the new terminal where it seemed easy to get lost. Zakiir helped us out with our bags and told me his latest favourite music were rappers Broadwave, I couldn’t find them anywhere, the underground is deep in all genres. But back to Frank, My Kind Of Town, written by Jimmy Van Heusen and Sammy Cahn in 1964, isn’t the only Chicago song, there’s also, wait for it, Chicago, written by Fred Fischer in 1922, we’ll have to go and see what the fuss is about.

The new terminal at Newark is actually opening tomorrow but this terminal seemed rather futuristic too with computer stations everywhere. I suppose we mustn’t have been to this terminal before despite many flights from and to here, so I initially mistook it for the new one because the last terminal we were at here was like the fifties with few facilities. We got talking to a girl with a Smashing Pumpkins T-shirt and another bloke who overheard me asking the SP girl where would I buy jeans in Chicago, she said online for her but he piped in with Dearborn Denim, so that’s where I’ll be going when I get up tomorrow. I’ve been to Chicago many times but never stayed here for longer than a day. I don’t really know the shops or the areas, I know Reckless Records but I’ve been told a few times about “the bean”. I was more hoping for the Diego Rivera mural but here’s the scoop.

“Although he was commissioned to paint a mural in Chicago in 1933 for the General Motors Building at the Century of Progress Exposition, a controversy over another mural resulted in negative publicity for the artist, and his commission was dismissed”. The beautiful mural at Rockefeller Center was chiselled off the wall in 1934 because “it conflicted with the Rockefeller’s political vision”. Art and artists scare the establishment.

One memory of a solo show in Chicago was the day the heavens opened and the snow came down covering the city, the cars were buried, we could hardly get to the gig from the nearby hotel. It wasn’t just us, seventy people who bought tickets didn’t show up, they just couldn’t get there. Another time at the same venue I was tuning my guitar and the recently replaced machine head on the octave G broke in my hand. I’d replaced it because the old one was bent and I’d managed to find a replacement of inferior quality. This is a problem on a 12-string because that octave string stands out and rings, it’s important for the overall sound of the guitar, especially with the arpeggios. This is the reason I can never figure out why Rickenbackers are strung thick string first, when you hit the octave string first the sound is quite different, better, whatever anyone says. The solution to my problem at Schuba’s was a simple one, take the string off or replace the machine head with the old bent machine head that I’d had in my pocket for weeks, haha.

Music today was from the year of my birth and has been Frank Sinatra’s Come Fly With Me (1958), so we did.

Music Of The Daze

Slow start today after yesterday, last day in NYC and Portugal vs Switzerland on the goggle box (seventies speak) winning 6-1. Outside the rain came down and being inside, cozy and warm seemed like we were in the right place for the afternoon despite the nagging issue of having to get to the shops before they closed, well, there’s always Chicago, I suppose they have shops there too. We were ready to leave at about 5.30 and headed out into a wet dark street. The PATH train was pretty empty (there’s that phrase again) and we were soon in the city on 14th Street, one umbrella short and too late for the shops. We were meeting sessioneer Doug for dinner and he was close by, we decided the best place to meet was Strand books, close to both of us and always an inspiration.

Olivia waited for Doug in the entrance as I wandered into the labyrinthine cave and I headed for the Strindbergs, the Camus’ and Cocteaus to see if there were any new old editions since the last time I was here, alas there weren’t. This was mostly supposed to be a meeting place, not a three-hour visit that would include the upper floor where the rarer editions of books are kept and a look at some of the newer vinyl downstairs. Doug arrived and he and Olivia came and found me in a corner and wrenched me out. On the way out we noticed some of the accoutrements of a book shop that would be nice for the grandchildren, stickers, pencil cases, colourful erasers and sharpeners and as my Amoeba bag has a big hole in it I bought a new record bag with Strand Music emblazoned on the side, shockingly this bag was $25, they must cost two bucks to make. My justification for buying it, anything to keep this shop open.

We left the shop, walking in the rain towards the Thai restaurant on 9th, generous Doug wearing a waterproof, insisted I used his umbrella, and despite the weather enjoyed the walk under scaffolding, past the bright lights of the restaurants, and over the crosswalks till we found our way. It was a nice place except at some point a couple came and sat at the table next to us, I think only I noticed but the guy was loud, not only loud but his voice was weird, he sounded like he had wire wool in his throat. There was no bass, he could have cut through a curtain from across the room only with the sound of his voice. I was so relieved when they left.

It was getting late and Doug lives upstate and had to catch a train home (for two hours), we headed to the PATH train and just managed to catch it before it left, it was packed. At the other end, it was still raining but we braved the walk home to Jeanne’s and arrived in time for Warnock to be announced the winner in Georgia. I went to bed.

Music today has been John and Yoko’s Double Fantasy (1980) after being at the Dakota yesterday and reading that Chapman, sick in the head, shot Lennon in the back four times, in front of his wife, I despair that 42 years later the mentally unstable and the radicals can still get guns. The terrible thing is that there were no signs that Chapman could do such a thing, allegedly basing his justification on the fictional character Holden Caulfield from J.D. Salinger’s Catcher In The Rye and his own delusions.

Music Of The Daze

Olivia’s birthday, it’s going to be a big day of New York treats. We left Jersey City around 11.45 and were in Manhattan before 12.30, it’s so close, it’s easy on the PATH train and these days it’s like Brooklyn, people who work in Manhattan are living here because it’s cheaper, not to say it’s cheap, it’s still a satellite of New York (Satellite Of Love). We were going to see something today that would have my parents cartwheeling around midtown – The Radio City Music Hall Christmas Spectacular featuring the fabulous and legendary Rockettes formed in St. Louis in 1925. They have been performing here since 1932. Olivia has wanted to see this show for a long time (she met a Rockette when she was 17). The show did not disappoint, it really was spectacular, unbelievable coordinated dancing, an orchestra, singers, spectacular lights, 3-D glasses, costume changes, amazing scenery changes, and those hydraulics that brought the orchestra up and down from the pit. It’s something that I would never do and I highly recommend it, where else would you see camels on stage?

Christmas is upon us so all the posh stores have exotic window displays and light shows, we saw Saks Fifth Avenue and Bergdorf Goodman but there’s also Macy’s and Bloomingdale’s. We made sure we saw the tree and the ice skaters at Rockefeller Center but whilst walking in midtown we came across Rough Trade Records which last time I looked was in Brooklyn. I know George from the Brooklyn shop and so it was a nice surprise to see him there in the new location. Andy who works there helped me order my missing Mars Volta vinyl (Frances the Mute and De-Loused in the Comatorium). Even the reissues have been hard to find, the original vinyl records are for the rich.

Olivia wanted to walk through Central Park, it was getting dark but we walked uptown to fulfil her birthday wish. An ice cream van near the gate tempted me to buy one of those soft-serve double cones, it cost a shocking $10. We went into the park, me slurping away at the ice cream. We headed in not quite knowing where we were going to come out. We were offered a ride in one of the rickshaws for $90. I overheard one woman asking for a price earlier, even more shocking than the ice cream, $9 a minute.

We came out at 66th Street after a quiet stroll along the moody lamplit pathways. A few other people walking through after work, two girls on a bench, a couple and a woman walking her dog. Central Park’s early evening seems safe despite the dark. We realised we were close to the Dakota building (72nd Street) and Strawberry Fields, so we walked up there and remembered John Lennon, we talked to the doorman where he was murdered, it was really terrible to be there, worse because it was three days away from the 42nd anniversary of his death. We walked to the subway, pensive, and took the F-train downtown. We were meeting friends for Olivia’s birthday dinner.

On the train three Jewish ladies in fur coats, all in a row, reading prayer books, one of them kissing the book as she placed it back in her bag before they all got off not saying a word to each other. We were meeting at a sushi restaurant on 23rd Street, Don Piper (namesake) was first to arrive, producer, musician artist, who often plays with us when we are in the US, Hannah who plays bass with us, Vivien Goldman, friend, writer, teacher, punk and reggae expert, Jamaican and NYC resident who was my landlady when I lived at Ladbroke Grove in London. Melani and Ed, friends who I’ve known for hundreds of years, Melani worked at Arista, Ed and I play together, record together, hang together, buy records together. Nurtaç and Ahad, I made a record with sessioneer Ahad, Afridi/Willson-Piper, watch out for an announcement coming soon about the release. Nurtaç is the CEO of Godiva chocolates, Olivia’s present choice sealed. Last but not least Jeanne, old friend, we are staying with her in Jersey City, spent the whole day with us and our adventures. Great friends, great day.

The three of us went to the groovy Trailer Park for a drink after the restaurant with Hannah. Perfect day, home, sleep. Happy Birthday, Olivia.

Music today has been Lou Reed’s Transformer (1972). Produced by David Bowie and Mick Ronson, featuring Walk On The Wild Side, Perfect Day, Vicious, Satellite Of Love, and Andy’s Chest featuring Herbie Flowers on bass and John Halsey (ex Patto and The Rutles) on drums. We are in New York.

Music Of The Daze

Waking up in Jersey City and remembering that England were playing Senegal today I realised I actually had time to watch it after my sesh with sessioneer John in Brooklyn and before sessioneer meet later. So England won 3-0 and will play France in the quarter-final who beat Poland 3-1. If you think the USA against The Netherlands was tough, if you think Argentina/Australia was tough, well, England versus the world champions, that’s tough.

So football over, sesh done, time to get into Manhattan for the sesh meet at 6 PM. Sesh meet turned into a great dinner with John and Rajan, Brian wasn’t well, Matt’s son wasn’t well and the ferry that was bringing Chris had mechanical problems and was cancelled. So five became two after seven became five because of other commitments for Doug and Ahad. I realised that even when everyone wants something to happen these days, it isn’t that easy, life and circumstances get in the way and it made me think that every success in any situation is a victory in a world where even the easiest things can be complicated.

In Manhattan it was cold, it felt like New York should feel in December. The train over from Jersey was pretty full (why do we use that expression?) but the streets were typical Sunday night streets, like every city on a Sunday night, fewer people than normal but it’s still New York. We were a little late to where we were meeting Rajan and John and Rajan who told us he would be late arrived first after us. Rajan bought us dinner as a birthday present for Olivia and after we’d had a fascinating discussion between the four of us about music, the universe and more music, we left for an atmospheric stroll in the cold of Manhattan under the lit spire of the Empire State building.

Although we’d already eaten we went past a vegan restaurant and dropped in for a trendy snack before heading back to the PATH train to come back to Jersey City. The train was full again, usually we head to 33rd St where the train starts so we can get a seat but tonight it was full and we stood for the journey down Manhattan under the Hudson and into Grove St. We left the train talking to an Indian guy about cricket. “Americans don’t know what cricket is,” he said.

Music today has been The Sundays’ Static & Silence (1997) because it was their least popular album and because sessioneer Craig was wearing a Sundays T-shirt last week – and because it’s Sunday.

Music Of The Daze