04/07/12 — 23.00 — Saturday — Hotel

Today was the day I decided to have it all. Maybe it was walking up High Street circa noon to hit Music and Video Exchange and buying a ham and cheese crepe for breakfast to go with my cup of coffee. Maybe it was the simple fact that for all the drinking I did yesterday, I wasn’t hungover in the slightest. Maybe it was just the entire galaxy of good music playing out the middle day of this fest. Whatever it was, I was on board today. All the way. Let’s go.

And go I did — or, I guess I went. Whatever. The schedule was packed today. Really. From the time I rolled into The Black Heart to the time I left The Black Heart — digging a certain symmetry in starting and ending each day at Desertfest‘s smallest venue, definitely — it was basically nonstop. Whereas yesterday I got to basically park myself at The Purple Turtle, at the expense of seeing Ancestors, but still, there was none of that happening this afternoon and evening. As the day wore on, in fact, it only got busier.

My major question was how the hell I was going to see everything I wanted to see. Orange Goblin, Black Pyramid, and Grifter all went on in 25-minute succession of each other, in that order. All three bands — and after a full day of rock. It wasn’t going to be easy.

As far as starts to the day go, however, I couldn’t have asked for something more mellow than an acoustic set from Deville. Frontman Andreas Bengtsson took the stage on his own, just him and a guitar. He was plugged in — Desertfest: “Where Even the Acoustic Guitars Run through Orange Stacks” — and he ran through a charming set of reworked Deville tracks, including “Lava,”  which I recalled from their recently posted video for the song. Roadsaw frontman Craig Riggs and I would have an interesting conversation later about how much videos matter again now, but watching Bengtsson perform, there was clearly more to his songwriting than a funny video could convey. I don’t know the name of the last song he played, but it was a classic Kyuss riff, and hearing it through an acoustic was like finding a copy of Paranoid in a museum. Read: just right.

There was a 40-minute break between Bengtsson and the next band at The Black Heart, which was Steak, so I made use of the time and went across the street to The Underworld to check out some of Shrine ’69‘s set. They were young, but heavy, and no one told me, but apparently giant embroidered v-necks are the new t-shirt and jeans. Fair enough. I was more into the UK natives than I thought I’d be just going by their name, and I picked up their CD to give it a listen later on, figuring no time like the present, and contrary to what I told the French lady who sold me my breakfast, it’s not every weekend I’m in London. Shrine ’69‘s crowd knew them better than I did, and I was glad to default to the judgment of the masses on this one. Helped, I suppose, that I agreed with them. Another quality UK band to add to the seemingly endless list.

Also local, Steak drew a large crowd back at The Black Heart. I had bought their EP yesterday without knowing who they were, and only later found out that the band includes Dan and Reece from DesertScene, who organized the fest. They were solid heavy rock, self-aware stoner, and they proved yet again one of the things I’ve always most enjoyed about this kind of music — the people who are into it, do it. Seeing these dudes made me wish I didn’t live in the asshole of the world, considering the raw passion for what they do and the time and effort they were willing to put into putting Desertfest together across three venues in busy Camden Town, 50-plus bands over three nights. They’ve made it really easy for someone outside of this geographic scene (like I am, despite having people in it I consider friends), to be jealous of it, and they rocked besides. Can’t ask for more than that.

I’d seen the Roadsaw dudes around, shot the shit for a while with drummer Jeremy Hemond, bassist (and Obelisk columnist) Tim Catz, the aforementioned Mr. Riggs and guitarist Ian Ross, and I was looking forward to their set at The Underworld. Not because I’ve never seen them before, but because I knew this was a special show. It was special for me just being here, so I figured being that dudes from basically the same region I’m from (at least relative to London), who flew out just for this show and then were set to fly back home, they’d be really into it, and Roadsaw did not disappoint. Awesome to look by the side of the stage and see the Orange Goblin guys showing respect, and awesome to see Roadsaw throw down. They played a couple tracks off their Desertfest EP, which they were also giving away on CD free of charge — I took two — and “Thinking of Me” and “Long in the Tooth” off the self-titled (review here) were highlights. I’ll have to see if they’re playing at all in Boston come June or July, because as I stood and watched them tear through these songs, it occurred to me that I’ve never seen them on their home turf, and that’s something I should probably get on remedying. They did New England proud.

Sungrazer was on next, so I stayed put at The Underworld. This was my second time seeing the Dutch natives, who were a highlight of Roadburn last year and who I really consider to be the future of fuzz. Sander Haagmans‘ Rickenbacker rules all. If Sander Haagmans‘ Rickenbacker was running for US president as a republican, I would go against my beliefs and vote for it, because it’s just that awesome. But you know what? Sander Haagmans‘ Rickenbacker wouldn’t run as a republican, because it’s warm and inviting and progressive and doesn’t give a shit if gay people want to get married. It’s fucking great, is what I’m trying to say. His and guitarist Rutger Smeets‘ tones were dead on. They opened with “If” from their 2010 self-titled (review here) and went directly from there into “Octo” from last year’s fabulous Mirador (review here), but what I was really hoping for came later, with the new song “Dopo.” When I saw them last, they played a couple Mirador tracks, and with the acknowledgement that one live listen is no real basis for judgment, I’ll say it seems like they’re going even further into their meandering heavy psych, leaving behind some of the Colour Haze-type influence and doing more of their own thing. Maybe that’s me reading into it, but that was the impression I got, anyway, and it made me excited to hear what they do on their next record. They finished with the Fu Manchu-worthy fuzz of “Common Believer,” which of all the songs I heard today from all the bands I saw, is the one still stuck in my head.

There was a little time before Alunah were set to go on at The Black Heart, but I made my way over there early to get a spot up front. Grabbed a beer and bought a copy of Alunah‘s Call of Avernus before they took the stage, which they did following some technical difficulties with bassist Gaz Imber‘s amp. The troubles were short-lived, though, which I suppose is one of the benefits of having your fest sponsored by Orange — an awesome-sounding replacement for whatever’s broken is never far off. They were cool, unpretentious riffy doom. Vocalist/guitarist Soph Day had the crowd eating out of her hand, and the whole band seemed right at home both with the audience and in the venue. I’m still reminded of Acid King by Day‘s echoing vocals, but that’s hardly a complaint in my mind. Their next record, which will be their first for PsycheDOOMelic — apparently titled White Hoarhound — is one to look forward to. Like Grifter who would play later, Alunah seem to be coming of age as a band and it was exciting to watch. Valient Thorr was on at The Underworld, and I heard later they were great, but seeing Alunah play under their psychedelic lighting effects, I felt like I was right where I needed to be.

This is where things got really tricky. I’d worked out the rest of the evening so that the order of bands was going to be as follows:

Truckfighters at The Underworld (18.30-19.15)
Dopefight at The Purple Turtle (19.15-19.45)
Church of Misery at The Underworld (19.45-20.30)
Orange Goblin at The Underworld (21.00-22.15)
Black Pyramid at The Purple Turtle (21.25-22.25)
and Grifter at The Black Heart (21.50-22.50)

I wouldn’t get to see Serpent Venom or Slabdragger, but this way I felt like I was maximizing the amount of bands I’d see, catching the headliners where last night I didn’t, and still getting back to the hotel in decent time to write about this massive fucking day. Obviously I didn’t see everyone’s set front-to-back, and there was one point where I left The Underworld after Church of Misery thinking Black Pyramid was going on immediately only to find I wasn’t that far into the schedule yet, but basically this plan worked, which I guess is why I felt so victorious as I started this review.

Though I guess it would be hard not to be stoked on any night watching Truckfighters. Yes, it was my third Truckfighters show in a month’s time (see here and here), but as soon as Dango started up the “Desert Cruiser” riff, The Underworld went off. Heads were banged, fists were pumped, fuzz was thick, and where they had been relatively subdued in Manhattan, the Swedish trio pulled no punches for Desertfest. It was intense, heavy desert rock. They followed “Desert Cruiser” with “Monte Gargano,” and at that point, there was no turning back. Oskar “Ozo” Cedermalm showed no wear for the set he did last night fronting Greenleaf at The Purple Turtle, and as ever, their energy was infectious and they brought the crowd along with them via killer grooves and some of the finest stoner riffing to be found the world over. Desertfest was perfect for them and they were perfect for Desertfest.

It killed me to leave, but Dopefight awaited. The British trio were one of the native bands I was most excited to see (seems like I say that for every native band, but it’s true), especially after their debut, Buds, found such favor late in 2010. Knowing their modus of “slow riffs first, then punk out with vocals,” I assumed it would take them a little while to get going, and it did. They played an instrumental intro before unleashing a few cuts off Buds and a new song from their upcoming split with Gurt. Good times were had. Much like Alunah and Steak earlier in the day, the crowd knew Dopefight and had pretty clearly seen them before. I hadn’t, and they killed. “Specimen” and “Nob. Nod. Noi.” made sure I didn’t go anywhere for the duration of their time on stage, though I’ll admit to getting a Newcastle and moving to the back of The Purple Turtle, as the day was beginning to wear on me. Nonetheless, Dopefight were every bit worth sticking through. I hope this isn’t the last time I see them.

Rumors were around that Japan’s Church of Misery had a new singer and guitarist, the latter coming on as a replacement for Tom Sutton, but lo, when I got back to The Underworld for the start of their set, there was Sutton himself. They did have a new vocalist since the last time I caught them, but as ever, Church of Misery delivered, Tatsu Mikami wearing his bass characteristically low-slung as he stood on the stage monitors. I don’t know who the new singer was — or, come to think of it, if it wasn’t in fact Hideki Fukasawa. He had the noisemakers going and the songs they played off 2009’s Houses of the Unholy (review here) sounded right on, but the stage presence was different, less manic and frantic. Less fake-shotgunning the crowd. It didn’t matter to the crowd, who were dead into it from the outset. It seemed like they didn’t play long, but I guess it just went quick. Either way, they’re touring Europe this month, playing Roadburn next week, and then heading to the States for a cross-country run that includes a stop at Maryland Deathfest at the end of May. Whoever’s in the band, they seemed ready.

Hometown heroes, Orange Goblin made for an especially cool headliner for the first Desertfest Saturday night because in no small way they’re responsible for influencing the current British scene. From Grifter, with whom they’re touring, to the likes of Desert Storm who play tomorrow, Orange Goblin — on the road supporting this year’s excellent A Eulogy for the Damned (review here) — are the statesmen of this scene, and though they’re as raucous as ever, they play the role well. The setlist was amazing. “The Fog” and “Stand for Something” off the new one, plus “Scorpionica” for an opener, “Some You Win, Some You Lose” and a rendition of the anthemic “The Filthy and the Few” that they brought out Craig Riggs from Roadsaw to join Ben Ward on vocals. I know it hasn’t been that long since they were last on my home shores, but I really hope Orange Goblin get to do a US tour for this album. The songs are so tight and crisp, but still rougher live than they are on the record. I’d love another shot at checking them out. You’ll note the headline for this post comes from “The Ballad of Solomon Eagle.” No coincidence there. Orange Goblin were a high point of the weekend.

In fact, I probably stayed at The Underworld longer than I should have, because by the time I got back down the road to The Purple Turtle — a 10-minute walk, basically — Black Pyramid was already well into “Mercy’s Bane” and the room was full. I’d heard a lot of people say they specifically wanted to see them, and I guess since the whole of Desertfest was running a little early, I just mistimed it. I stayed for a little while and grooved out for a couple minutes, and was glad for their success here as I was last year seeing a different incarnation of the band kill it at Roadburn, but soon enough I was back out the door and on my way north (was it north? Felt like north, but it was uphill, and I’m no judge, so take that for what it’s worth) to round out the night at The Black Heart, not before buying a copy of Serpent Venom‘s Carnal Altar album from their merch table in its awesome weirdo packaging. My camera bag was starting to weigh down my shoulder from the heft of the day’s acquisitions, but if the worst that comes of it is my arm falling off, I can’t really say I lost out.

Though by the time Grifter were getting ready to roll, I was tired and I could feel myself being tired. For a soundcheck, the three-piece jammed out a bouncy, low-key riff — it reminded me of something Asteroid might have extended for another six or seven minutes the night before in the same room — and inadvertently hooked the crowd, so that when they stopped, the room erupted in cheers. It was awesome, though kind of a bummer they didn’t just pick up from there and keep going. There were still a couple minutes before their set actually began, but when it did, it was worth the wait. Like last year’s Ripple Music self-titled full-length (review here), the live show showed them as a no bullshit heavy classic rock band. They played a couple older songs off their first EPs, which were well received, and were a cool way to finish up the night. I think a lot of people had gone off to the pub or decided to call it quits on the evening, but those who stayed for Grifter were definitely rewarded for the effort. I did, anyhow. Their set was like the destination I’d been running to all day, and I suppose it was. I’ll be honest: I didn’t make it through the whole thing, with time wearing on and knowing this was going to be the giant slab of probably typo-laden copy it has turned into. As as been the case many times so far this weekend, though, I was glad I saw what I did.

Tomorrow’s Easter — Happy Easter, if that’s your thing — and I think the whole town has the day off, but Desertfest rolls on. It’s the last day, and way more relaxed than was today (no doubt in my mind that was a purposeful move on the part of the DesertScene crew), but I’m still looking forward to seeing the likes of Wiht‘s last show ever, Leaf Hound and Samsara Blues Experiment, so as soon as I can, I’m going to crash out. It’ll probably be another hour or two of putting together the photos for this post [NOTE: No such luck. Post went up at 04.58), but whatever. I got takeout Indian food for dinner and am feeling strong as a result. Days like today, if they happen once, you’re lucky. I’m exhausted, and sore, and I don’t know if I’d call myself “lucky” — something about doing so just makes me think a piano will immediately fall out of the sky and land on my head — but “fortunate” definitely applies.

Thanks for reading. More pics after the jump.

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04/07/12 — 11.09 GMT — Saturday — Hotel

That’s not all the meds/upkeep products I brought with me, but it’s most of them. Two kinds of Mucinex, anticipating a cold that hasn’t yet but probably still will materialize, Zyrtec and prescription Singulair for allergies, Advil for hangovers, headaches and whatever else, and no shortage of antacids — Tums, some generic Wallgreens chewables and a packet of Prilosec (purchased before I realized Larry the Cable Guy is doing commercials for them).

Hey, it’s a rock and roll lifestyle. This is what happens when you get old in it.

I’ll admit to being overly cautious, excessive, etc., but last year I was sick the whole time I was in Europe and unable to do a damn thing about it. If it meant bringing the entire pharmacy with me in 2012 — and apparently it did — so be it. I wasn’t going through that again. Already the Advil has proved useful.

The alarm went off a couple minutes ago, but it was moot, as I’ve been up for about an hour already, catching up on some work from back home, futzing about this and that. I stink. Literally. I’ve got “stoner rock funk” wafting off my person and wow, it’s time for a shower and some clean clothes. The fest starts up at 14.10 (yeah, that’s right, we’re on the 24-hour clock) with Deville doing an acoustic set that I’d like to see, and then it’s onward to Roadsaw, Sungrazer, Alunah, Dopefight, Black Pyramid, and so on. I’m not sure how or if I’m going to see everything I want to see tonight — Church of Misery, Orange Goblin and Truckfighters make for a pretty enticing headlining trio at the Underworld — but it’ll be fun to try.

But first: scrubdown. As pleasant and calming a start to the day as this Against Nature record has been, it’s time to get moving.

04/06/12 — 22:47 GMT — Friday — Hotel

Beyond the blister lurking underneath the callous of my foot, it’s hard to remember where today even began, though I’ll say that having failed yet again to attain a cellophone for the Eurozone — I mention it only because my lack of competency at this point I find comical — I made my way around the High Street intersection, trying to follow the weirdos this way and that in search of the Black Heart. It was, as a young man named Isaac guided me, behind the Underworld, back down an alley called Greenland Place. I guess it was a street. Hard to know, really.

I was early, having failed gloriously to acquire a phone, and after getting my wristband (it’s gold, you can see some red ones above), I sat at the bar and had a few Camden Town Lagers. Amazing how similar their font looks to the Brooklyn Brewery. Even the taps looked alike. Anyway, the lager was decent, and I was waiting — viciously awkward soul that I am sitting at a bar by myself — for Stone Axe to go on and do their set of Free covers. I ran into Pete Holland from Trippy Wicked/Stubb and then Tony Reed from Stone Axe, and following a few more drinks and some pleasant conversation, Desertfest was underway. That’s probably as good a place to start as any.

Stone Axe made a set of Free songs so much their own that, half the time, I wouldn’t have even questioned whether or not they were covers. Helps a bit that Free is probably the single act from which the Washington four-piece — whose Live at Roadburn 2011 CD I somehow ended up buying twice — most draw stylistically, but either way, they killed it. Highlights included “Fire and Water” from the 1970 album of the same name and they closed with “All Right Now,” which was somewhat expected, it being Free‘s most enduring “hit,” but nonetheless one of the many tracks Stone Axe sounded natural embodying, vocalist Dru Brinkerhoff making the lyrics sound like something he just came up with. A killer way to start the fest and it made me look forward to their set of originals at The Purple Turtle still to come.

From there, I was fortunate enough to have some kind soul willing to lead my semi-drunk ass down the block to the Purple Turtle in time to catch Stubb. I’m not going to lie, for me, this was the meat of the fest. It’s why I came to London; to see bands I wouldn’t be able to catch otherwise. Stubb, which boasts in its lineup two-thirds of Trippy Wicked and the Cosmic Children of the Knight, did not disappoint. From “Mountain” — on which guitarist Jack Dickinson and bassist Pete Holland shared vocals excellently during the chorus — to the closer “Soul Mover,” they were an absolute thrill to watch, and as the room at The Purple Turtle was totally packed, it seemed I wasn’t the only one who thought so. It felt like I was transplanting myself on another locale’s scene, and you know, I was glad to do it. These dudes, aside from being a kickass band, I consider friends, and the chance to see them live, as well as to see Trippy Wicked immediately following, was something really special. In short, it’s why I’m here.

Holland moved over to guitar for the Trippy Wicked set, and drummer Christopher West stayed put as bassist Dicky King came on stage to make up the difference for Dickinson departing. He didn’t go far, though, as Trippy Wicked got going, backing up Stubb‘s power trio ethic with one of their own. They have a new album out, and I bought it back at the Black Heart, just to have the chance to support the band directly, and after hearing them play, I’m looking forward even more to checking it out. Holland‘s vocals have come a long way since they started out, and King and West make a formidable rhythm section behind the guitar melody. Like Stubb, they were a native band I felt lucky to be able to catch. As I’ve grown increasingly envious of the UK scene over the last few months, it was awesome to see Trippy Wicked in front of their own crowd. I think I’ll probably skip out on Berlin next week and try to catch these dudes with Stone Axe (and Stubb, naturally) in Eindhoven on Tuesday. We’ll see how it goes, but either way, killer set from a killer bunch of guys. Seriously. Made me glad I came.

Ditto that for Stone Axe, whom, though we hail from the same continent, I’ve only ever seen in Europe. Last year, their set at Roadburn made me not regret missing Ufomammut in the slightest — which should say something about the rock quotient; most of that set is available on that live CD I decided to make a double — and as afternoon transitioned into evening, I wanted to make sure I caught their originals to follow up on the killer start their set of Free covers made to the fest as a whole. Brinkerhoff and Reed showed no wear for pulling double-duty — maybe the fact that they’re touring with Trippy Wicked and Stubb had them keeping up with Holland and West on the two-set front — and the whole set was a party, the highlights of which were “Chasing Dragons” and “We Know it’s Still Rock and Roll,” which had one of the night’s best sing-alongs. I was right up front while they played, and I had no regrets for it. I missed Ancestors while Stone Axe was playing (and maybe a bit during the changeover to Greenleaf), but I’ll make the effort to see them next weekend at Roadburn. Stone Axe was a necessity.

Greenleaf, as the band who sealed the deal in my mind for coming here in the first place, all the more so. I didn’t anticipate much in their set older than 2007’s Agents of Ahriman, if only for the lineup involved, and that was pretty much how it went. They threw in a couple older songs, but by and large it was Agents material and songs from the new album, Nest of Vipers (review here), including the opener “Jack Staff,” “Case of Fidelity” and “Lilith,” which was missing its organ a bit, but still left me with no complaints overall. They started off with “Alishan Mountain” from Agents of Ahriman, in what I can only assume was a personal favor to me, and commenced from there to what I can say with no exaggeration I will consider a landmark experience for me as regards show-going. No bullshit. Greenleaf was a band I never thought I’d see. They were just too far away, and with guitarist Tommi Holappa in Dozer and vocalist Oskar Cedermalm in Truckfighters, I just didn’t think it would happen. No matter what else happens to me on this trip, I saw Greenleaf. Fuckin’ a. If I’m 100 percent honest, that’s enough. I could’ve caught a plane home after their set and still felt like I won out. Also cool to see Cedermalm‘s fellow Truckfighters, Niklas “Dango” Källgren and Oscar “Pezo” Johansson in the crowd. Gave the whole thing a family atmosphere, not that one was lacking after the sets that had already gone down at The Purple Turtle.

I wanted to stay and see Sigiriya, but I also didn’t want to miss Asteroid back at the Black Heart, so I decided to compromise. I stayed for the first couple Sigiriya songs before heading out to the other venue. Worth noting that along with Ancestors, Sons of Alpha Centauri, Karma to Burn and Rotor were on the main stage at the Underworld tonight, but I didn’t make it there at all. Tomorrow I will to catch Roadsaw, Sungrazer, etc., but not tonight. Anyway, Sigiriya‘s Return to Earth wasn’t exactly fresh on my mind — that is, it’s been a minute since I last put it on — but the songs came right back, whether it was “The Mountain Goat” or “Whiskey Song,” and the grooves were mighty. They were killing it, hands down, but I had to head out to catch Asteroid, so I departed a few songs into their set and made back for the Black Heart, my own black heart heavy in my hands at having split out on what I knew was some righteous rock.

There was, however, no debating it. I had to see Asteroid. Not seeing Asteroid simply would not do. It brought the day full-circle to be back at the Black Heart, and I topped off what was already a several-hours-long buzz with one last Camden Town Lager and waited for the Swedish trio to take the stage. Outside, the dudes from Black Pyramid were getting ready to head across the street to catch Karma to Burn, and I knew that would be awesome, but hell, I’d come too far to miss it now. Asteroid took the stage promptly and kicked into what seemed like an hour-long jam. It’s interesting now that I’ve seen both bands to realize how much they have in common tonally with Graveyard, but they’re on their own trip. “Time” knocked me out, and “Disappear” was more than a treat. They wound up doing about half of “Dr. Smoke” from the first album as a semi-encore, the crowd singing along to the riff with hands held high. I was in the back by then, my feet beginning to feel those new-sneaker blisters taking hold, but I stayed until they were finished, and — I can’t think of another way to put it — they were awesome, guitarist Robin Hirse and barefoot bassist Johannes Nilsson splitting vocal duties with ease and capturing the organic sounds of their albums (the second one is reviewed here) with what seemed like no trouble at all.

I made my way back to the hotel as quickly as I could when they were done, hoping perhaps to catch an open coffee/sandwich shop along the Parkway here in Camden Town, alas, to no avail. Some spicy ramen noodles, a bag of salt and pepper chips and, finally, another protein bar served as dinner to cap a long day of music and drink. Tomorrow I’ll wake up and likely do it all again, though hopefully having some time in the morning to go CD shopping before Desertfest kicks up its sands again. I’ve got my wristband. My earplugs. My Advil. I’m ready for whatever comes.

Bonus-type pics after the jump.

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04/06/12 — 12.55 GMT — Friday — Hotel

Decent night’s sleep, but I was greeted by some work upon waking this morning that needed to get done (still have more to do, actually), so not quite the leisurely start for which I’d been hoping. Doesn’t matter. I need to get out of here in a couple minutes and head down to High Street to see if I can get a pre-paid smartphone or something like that to allow me to use Google Maps or some such equivalent to figure out where the hell I’m going.

No time for breakfast, but apparently the hotel is right next to a coffee shop, so I’ll maybe grab something to eat as I walk. Desertfest starts in a little over two hours with Stone Axe covering Free at the Black Heart. These are relatively early nights, but I don’t think I’m going to have time to trek it back to the hotel between sets, so I’m thinking maybe notes is the way to go here. I don’t know. I’ll feel it out while I’m there today and have more later on either way.

04/06/12 — 2:01 GMT — Friday — Hotel

Got to the hotel a bit ago. Bumpy flight. Long and bumpy. I turned down every meal that was offered and the protein bar I’m eating now is the first thing I’ve eaten all day. It’s extra chewy.

It was the middle of the flight that was bumpy. The takeoff and the landing were alright — though Newark will always be Newark — you get kind of desensitized to it — but we were getting tossed around there pretty good for a minute. Of course, I was certain death was imminent, and was ready to go out with the ultimate in quiet human dignity: screaming, shitting my pants and masturbating at the same time.

It’s not even that I’m afraid of flying. Well, I’m terrified of it, but it’s a long list and there’s a lot of stuff on there before we get around to airplanes. More to the point, I just hate flying. The whole process. Paying too much money for service that everyone on all sides knows is totally shitty, being crammed in a too-tight space with strangers in some late-’70s deathtrap they’ve refurbished with new touch-screen tvs so United can call it new and publicize about their “brand new fleet” that they just spent half a billion dollars on. Motherfucker, if you have half a billion dollars, I’m already mad at you.

But I’ve got more than a week now before these things matter again, and the extra $90 I paid for leg room was totally worth it, so it could be worse. Nonetheless, I arrived at Heathrow a gargantuan smelly mess of a man. Had I been the customs agent, I probably would’ve made me turn it around and go back to Newark. “You want to come into England? Looking like that?” I wouldn’t even have been able to blame the dude. I was a wreck.

All the more so after 25 (count ’em) stops on the Tube to get to Kings Cross/St. Pancras from Terminal 4. I got here about two hours later than I said I’d be showing up, and only when I walked in did I learn that this is basically an apartment I’ve rented for the next four days. Seriously, I have a kitchen. I’d take a picture to prove it, but I’m too fucking tired.

But hey man, fatigue, delayed flights, long train rides, cabbies, irate property managers. You wanted to travel? You wanted to get out of your comfort zone for a little bit? Well, enjoy the discomfort. Shit, at least I speak the language here. I’m still debating whether or not to go to Berlin next week after Desertfest is over, in no small part because the only German words I can remember are “bitte” and “danke,” and the last, if I’m honest, is a little fuzzy. We’ll see.

Tomorrow, I can only assume I’m going to wake up ravenously hungry and, as I didn’t have any today at all, in desperate need of some caffeine. Nonetheless, I’ll try to get a report in before heading over to check in and check out the start of Desertfest, which, after all, is why I’m here. Until then, the Sungrazer record has ended and Øresund Space Collective is almost too peaceful for me to take it. I just for the first time heard the part where whoever it is asks “are we rolling?” during “Spirit Blues” — the album, streaming here, is a whole different experience on headphones — and though I feel like I could groove on this to infinity, I’ve hit the wall and it’s time for bed.

More to come.

04/05/12 – 11:08AM Eastern – Thursday – In air

I wish there was some way I could adjust my watch to automatically account for the shift in time zone. Set it to go faster to catch up with GMT from Eastern time. Alas, the Casio digital model W-71 – the same kind of watch, not actually the same watch – that I’ve been committed to going on 20 years at this point is not equipped with such amenities. Time is a construct anyway. The watch is a counting machine.

We took off at about 10:30AM for a 9AM flight. “Welcome to Newark.” I apparently had enough extraneous wires in my carry-on that they stopped me at security and a rude woman fished through it. I was in a hurry, though if I knew then how long I’d be waiting for United 18 to take off from gate C125, I might have had some breakfast or bought a bottle of water so as to not be at the mercy of the periodic visits of the flight attendants for sustenance. No matter, I’ve already turned down lunch and have a protein bar in the bag if I get desperate. That’s just one of the ways in which I’ve sought to prepare for this trip – more on that after I land, whenever that might be now.

I paid extra for a seat with room enough for me to unfold the laptop, and – in what I’m taking as a sign that whatever gods might be in charge of such things have blessed my passage – the middle seat in this row of three is unoccupied. I’m in my usual window spot keeping an eye on the wing so as to assure it remains fixed to the aircraft.

It’s been a year since I’ve been on a plane. In short, since last time. That was British Airways, if I remember right, but this plane is more modern. Some bumps in the air, but no shortage of distractions coming from the in-flight this-and-that. Tv, movies, music, newspapers, whatever. I have the flight map up on the screen in front of me and will assume yet another official duty (in addition to monitoring status of the left-side wind, that is) in tracking our progress to Heathrow. For entertainment, I have a copy of 1Q84, this week’s Aquarian to do the rock and roll crossword, and for the first time ever, an iPod.

That’s right. Mr. Physical Media is flying with an iPod. I brought the CD player and figure I’ll use it to listen to things I pick up along the way on the flight back, some 11 days from now, but for today, it’s The Patient Mrs.’ iPod, which I took to the office yesterday to fill up with digital promos and assorted odds and ends, figuring I’d have some time to maybe listen to a chunk of the review to-do list and at least be able to truck through upon my return, however behind the travel might have put me.

Some 50-plus albums I loaded on – unceremoniously removing The Patient Mrs.’ stuff in the process before asking if she actually had the files stored anywhere else (it was early, and fortunately, she does) – and in the terminal, it was Ararat, but as soon as the flight attendant came on the P.A. and said we could use “approved electronic devices” again, I put on Astra’s new one, The Black Chord, and have found their ultra-King Crimson-style, organ-heavy prog well suited to the climb into the sky so far. So much so, in fact, that I may never be able to listen to this record again without seeing in my mind the image of the coastline disappearing beneath as the oceanscape takes hold. Doesn’t seem like the worst problem to have.

Come to think of it, the first time I heard In the Court of the Crimson King was on an airplane as well.

Not sure what I’ll put on next – another review record, probably; I also ripped a bunch of CDs people have sent in for review to bring them – though sadly there are a couple landmarks I failed to load into the thing. I have the Truckfighters documentary, should I get bored of music and want, well, more of it, but I don’t have any of their records, and I also have neither Goatsnake nor Neurosis on my person, which is an error on my part and nothing but. If I can find a copy of A Sun that Never Sets at some point on this trip, I may have to buy it on principle alone.

Desertfest starts tomorrow and I’m staying in Camden, so maybe after I land and check-in at the hotel, I’ll go for a bit of exploring and have more to report later. Gotta get there first, I suppose.