04.13.15 — 14:58 GMT — Mon. Afternoon — Dubin Airport

I took notes all weekend. Like a jerk. About the bands, general impressions, things I knew I’d forget if I left it to whenever the next time I was able to write. The smell of the cleaner on the floor of the 013 in the morning, the smell of the beer on the floor of the 013 at night. That kind of thing. Last night as I sat in the hotel room, well after 03.00 but before I packed up my stuff to leave today, I took all of them, tore them out of my current notebook, and threw them out. My only regret is I couldn’t give them a Viking funeral while listening to Wardruna, but somehow I don’t think the overnight shift at the Mercure would’ve taken too kindly to it.

Woke up at 08.47, which was precisely 47 minutes later than I wanted. I don’t even remember the alarm on my watch going off at eight. I must’ve pressed the button to stop it before I even hit consciousness. Showered, finished packing everything except for whatever I inevitably left behind, and was out the door by nine to walk my shinsplints to the train station. No time to get the crust out of my eyes and it feels like there’s more shampoo in my hair than out of it, but at least I smell better than I did after the show last night. I’m somewhat less greasy.

Being late was unnerving, since I wanted to catch a train that left Tilburg at 09.07 to get to Schiphol Airport, which I knew would be trying. Always is. You’d think after doing something seven times in seven years, I’d be better at it than I was when I started. I didn’t even have the right direction. Seriously. I thought the train, if you were facing the front of the station, would be going left. It went right. Fucking hell. I found a Roadburner in a San Francisco Giants hat and asked, “Hey man, this train go to Schiphol?” He was remarkably helpful, and accurate, which counts double.

That first train had pulled out as I was walking up, but I knew there was another like 10 minutes later, so it was fine. I changed in den Bosch, as one does, stayed in the corridor of the train car and watched the countryside roll by. Some lambs, the occasional windmill, that river that I see every year and don’t know the name of. Arrival at the airport was uneventful. No balloons to congratulate me for making it, a complimentary cup of coffee, nothing. I checked in for my flights, first to Dublin and then on to Boston, and used the automatic bag checking system that looked like Soylent Green for luggage. I really hope my dirty t-shirts enjoy living in Cairo, because I’m pretty sure I’ll never see them again.

The flight to Dublin was uneventful, as was the hour I spent in “US Pre-Clearance,” which I somehow very much doubt will save me any time going through customs once I actually land in the States. The security guard asked me if I had any pipes or “zig-zags,” since I was coming from Amsterdam. I had to ask her what a “zig-zag” was. Rolling papers, as it turns out. I had ibuprofen and antacids and a laptop. Bemused? Yes, she was bemused. Not quite a-mused. I wouldn’t mind seeing some of Dublin, as in, leaving the airport and exploring the kind of gray but still somehow sunny world outside. No time. Too bad. My flight leaves in about an hour, so I just have a bit of time left.

I want and need to say thanks to my wife, The Patient Mrs., whom I’ve missed these last few days and whose love and support, really for the last 18 years but especially for this past year, has been what has kept me going. Thanks as well to Walter Hoeijmakers, both for this having the will to enact this wonderful, creative, vibrant, constantly-evolving festival and for being so welcoming in having me as a part of it in the minimal, note-taking way I am. I consider myself lucky to call Walter a friend, and some of my best Roadburn memories have nothing to do with the bands and more to do with hanging out and chatting music with Walter, Jurgen, Becky and the rest of the Roadburn crew at the 013, all of whom deserve appreciation as well. Thanks to my mother and my sister.

Thanks to Lee Edwards. Tired each morning, we sat across from each other and waited for the coffee to kick in, talking music, life stuff, both of us using idioms the other doesn’t know — I now consider it a personal goal to use the phrase “mad as a box of frogs” in casual conversation sometime in the next year. Lee’s as genuine and warm a gentleman as I’ve had the pleasure of meeting through music — and I’ve met some good people along the way, see above — and it’s an honor working with him on the Weirdo Canyon Dispatch Roadburn ‘zine for the second year in a row.

To the Weirdo Canyon Dispatch staff as well: José Carlos Santos, Kim Kelly, Adrien Begrand, Pete Green, Alex Mysteerie, Paul Robertson, Andreas Kohl (thanks for the help folding!), Becky, Jurgen and Walter (again). Thanks to Cavum for the fantastic art and Paul Verhagen for the humbling photos. I’d love to have a staff meeting one of these days.

I met a lot of really cool people this weekend. Many I’d seen before, but some new ones as well. In bands and out. Heard on more than one occasion, “Oh, you seem really busy,” and stuff like that. It’s true. When I’m at Roadburn, I do a lot of running around. I feel like while I’m there, I should be trying to do as much as possible. I don’t take time to go sit in Weirdo Canyon and have a burger — I barely stop to eat, most days — and while it’s true that part of me feels like I owe that to Roadburn, to put everything I can into my experience of it because so much work went into making it happen, it’s also how I enjoy myself. It’s what makes it special for me. These last few days have been an absolute blast. I’m dead tired and I expect minimal sympathy when I get home — after all, I went on vacation to a music festival — but it’s so worth it for the chance to be there, to experience this event and this culture, to see and hear things that I never thought I would. Year after year, I’m so grateful for the chance to do this.

Thank you most of all for reading, which is something I say all the time — I should say it every day, if I don’t — but really, from the bottom of my heart, thank you. For liking posts, sharing links, retweeting, commenting, or, you know, actually getting into it and checking out the words and the photos — it’s all so, so appreciated. I’m amazed and humbled. Thank you.

I’m gonna go get on this plane and go home.

Thanks one more time for reading.

Sincerely,

JJ Koczan
H.P. Taskmaster

To see all of this year’s Roadburn coverage, click here.

Tags: Dublin, Ireland, Roadburn 2015 Trip

This entry was posted on Monday, April 13th, 2015 at 9:27 am and is filed under Features. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.