Blue Curaçao

in-flight service: AA11879 (04/28/10), etc, see: Zaremblog

More blue -pool at The Avila Beach Hotel

Willemstad, April 30, 2010
It never rains in Curaçao. It was raining -quite hard. It was early morning Queen's Day, a national holiday in The Kingdom of The Netherlands (of which Curaçao is a part) and 'official' birthday of Queen Beatrix. 'Official' because her birthday is actually in January. However, she decreed that it should be celebrated every April 30th as this was the birthday of her mother, the beloved Queen Juliana.
No matter how Curaçaoans feel about The Netherlands, Queen Beatrix and the royal family seem to held in almost universal esteem on the island. Everyone was preparing to pour into downtown Willemstad to celebrate, donning articles of orange clothing in honor of The Royal House of Nassau-Orange. I would have gladly done the same, but wound up lamely explaining many times that I just didn't pack any orange-colored clothes for the trip. Of course, the next day I remembered my golf jacket -orange, intensely orange. I'm not Dutch, but I do like to participate.

Queens's Day: wearing the orange.

I had gotten really geared up for the festivities the night before. I was having a 'Polar' (the locally popular Venezuelan beer) and chatting with the staff at the bar of Baoase Resort (www.baoase.com), a Balinese-inspired boutique hotel with a private beach and villas clustered around a jungle-y swimming pool. Everyone was excited: there would be continuous DJs and live music at several locations in Willemstad. "Don't even try to get into town on Queen's Day!" I was warned. Most anticipated by the Baoase staff was to be an appearance by 'Golden Earring'. I couldn't have cared less for Golden Earring during their heyday (which was ...?), but the general enthusiasm was infectious. I couldn't remember any of their hits. On Queen's Day someone in a shop reminded me by singing a few bars of 'Radar Love'. Anyway, according to my official 'Wat is er te doen op Koninginnedag?' (What is there to doin' on Queen's Day?) program, what was really in store for Curaçao was 'Rockveteranen The Owners & Barry Hay van de Golden Earring' -a bit of self-explanatory Dutch that you can figure out as easily as I did. Now, as the rain persisted, someone from the hotel said they expected the intense showers to continue all morning. I started to think the weather might put a damper on the celebrations, but then the sun came out to stay. It doesn't rain much in Curaçao.

Baoase: entrance to pool from villa 4

Anyway, I've been sweating over a typically long-winded treatise on my observations on Curaçao and it's parallels with New York. You know, Peter Stuyvesent, guilders, the early 17th century explosion of Dutch energy as Holland's fleet sailed forth from Amsterdam with brooms lashed to the masts to 'sweep' the English from the seas and all that, but now I figure I'll just stick to some nice pictures and (long -ha ha!) captions:

Willemstad waterfront; 'Punda'

I had been fascinated with the idea of Curaçao ever since I saw a color photo of Willemstad's colorful Dutch-style buildings in my Golden Book Of The World, vol. North America, that I had badgered my mother into buying at the A&P check-out counter when I was six. My Dad explained that Curaçao was a Dutch island in the Caribbean that he had visited during his sailing days (no, not a yacht -the merchant marine). The largest of the Dutch 'ABC' Caribbean islands, Curaçao is about 37 miles long, or about the same distance from the island to the South American mainland. On a clear day they say you can see the mountain tops of Venezuela. You can more easily see and hear the Latin American influence, and that of more distant Africa, all round you in Curaçao's architecture, food, language and music. The island is best known for an orange-flavored liqueur, but I'll get to that later.

As I was saying, operations in New York (then New Amsterdam) and Curaçao were both set up by the Dutch at about the same time for different commercial purposes. Curaçao's moneymakers were salt (for herring) and slavery. New York's was fur. Manhattan has zero buildings to remind us of the city's Dutch roots. Curaçao has the entire city of Willemstad. Although often cited as a Dutch town transported to the Caribbean, Willemstad's languid tropical clime, marked South American influence and townhouses painted in striking, cotton-candy pastels, is quite unlike anything in the Netherlands. A UNESCO world heritage site, the historic city has proven such a signature tourist attraction that in very recent times smaller faux versions of it have materialized in other Dutch islands such as Aruba and St. Martin, where nothing of the sort had ever existed before.

Pehna Building

Tall flemish-style buildings, like the Pehna Building (1708) line the busy streets and waterfront cafes snuggle under the ramparts of the sturdy forts that protected the entrance to the harbor. Another Willemstad landmark is the Queen Emma 'floating bridge' (circa 1888, re-constructed 1939) that spans Sint Annabaai channel separating the city's two sections of Punda and Otrobanda ('point' and 'other bank' or 'shore' in Papiamento, the island's Spanish-based creole). As ugly and intrusive as it is practical, the soaring Queen Juliana Bridge was opened Queen's Day, 1976, to relieve the massive tie-ups caused whenever the Queen Emma Bridge swings open for sea-going traffic (which is often). The only other positive thing about the new bridge: the view of Willemstad while crossing it is magnificent.


Queen Emma Bridge: 'closed'


and 'open'...


I wasn't disappointed, the blue curaçao thing started happening right off the bat. Upon my arrival at Baoase, I was welcomed with a cocktail mixed with the stuff, although the addition of fresh orange and kiwi juices had turn the drink to a lovely, opaque green. I tried to have something mixed with blue curaçao each of the four days I was on the island -it's most popular use being in a 'blue lagoon' made with either gin or vodka.

The island's famous name-sake liqueur is made from the peels of locally-grown bitter orange. Faintly amber in its 'natural' state, Curaçao is then dyed red, orange or any other color you might want. It's the classic 'blue' that makes showy cocktails look like window-cleaner all around the world.

Cocktails at Baoase: Piper-Heidsieck, Blue Curaçao and a dash of grenadine -a sort of Baollini (Baoase +Bellini)

Most people familiar with the band know that The Fleshtones have a long and venerable relationship with this liqueur, going back to the legendary house -parties where the band got its start in Whitestone, Queens. Fueled by trash-cans full of lethal, Windex-hued 'Blue Whale' -the 'blue' was provided by blue curaçao. I remember it being my turn to answer the door one of the many times the police were called to the house by irate neighbors one night -a cop entered, and stepping over a girl passed out on the floor, wryly commented in New York cop fashion 'if that were my daughter, I'd put a bullet in her head...". Occasionally we still mix up a trash barrel full on request (special occasions!). Keith Streng first introduced the drink to the band, and although pretty much a teetotaler these days, remains the mix-meister. Invite him to your next soirée to insure the evening's ignition and rapid lift-off. Recipes for the cocktail even appear on at least one of our album jackets -I believe the sought-after 'Fleshtones Living Legend Series' on IRS records, as well as in the book 'Sweat' by Joe Bonomo (www.continuumbooks.com). Check out the Fleshtone's clip "Right Side Of A Good Thing' on Youtube for a gander at a pond -full of blue whale (and some glimpses of the young Bangles).



Willemstad's marvelous 'Floating Market', where schooners laden with tropical produce from nearby Venezuela tie up along the quay . The vendors sleep on board their boats.

Floating market: sapodilla


Queen's Day menu; Plasa Bieu


Plasa Bieu! -hot!!

Across the 'Waaigatplein' from the floating market is 'Marshe Bieuw' or 'Plasa Bieu!' (old market) an immense blue shed with yellow lattice walls, now an eatery catering to the market crowd. Inside, a counter runs the length of the shed, behind which kitchens with names like 'Zus di Plaza' and 'Gracia di Dios' dole out substantial servings of 'Kuminda Krioyo' from huge kettles simmering over hot coals. There was goat stew, grilled 'kabritu' (kid), sopa di coco (seafood in coconut soup), curries and satay. Our guide from the tourist office said that her little son had made her promise to bring home some arepa di pampuna (pumpkin pancakes) -greasy-good and better without the raisins -about NAf 5 (I didn't want to get into this, but the price is in Netherland Antilles 'florins' more popularly known as 'guilders' -the equivalent of about 67¢US each).

A Fung, Plasa Bieu: who says chow mein is boring?


Near the 'Plasa Bieu' or 'Marshe Bieuw' (old market) was 'Marshe Nobo' -a circular, concrete market crowded with cosmetic counters, 'botanicas' and Dominican herbalists with bottles of home-made tonics like 'mamajuana'. At the entrance, an organ grinder (kaha di orgel) struck up a old-fashioned air, with a lively latin beat loudly scraped out by a guy on a metal 'guiro'. I shot a nice 'video' with my pocket camera, then accidently erased it trying to shoot a second version 'just to be safe'. I later discovered I had neither. I also wound up not seeing Golden Earring. Probably for the better.
Soon after crossing the Queen Emma Bridge into Otrobanda, I heard that the police had closed the entire downtown to any more traffic.




Moon 'Beach Club' There's no beach to speak of -really a chic 'Miami' style pool/lounge in one of the old mansions that line the shore in Willemstad -the type of place where they spin cool sounds like 'Sade' -although I don't recall actually hearing Sade there. I had a 'blue lagoon' and wished I had brought my bathing suit, although the fabulous pool was really more of a focal point for stylish Curaçaoan's cocktails and conversation. I wonder what it's like during the day? (www.mooncuracao.com/)

Blue lagoon; Moon


The moon also rises: dinner, fit for a queen at Avila Beach Hotel (www.avilahotel.com). In fact the Queen of The Netherlands and the royal family stay here when visiting Curaçao, although for security reasons hotel director Tone Møller would not reveal which rooms. But I've got a good idea. We had keeshi yena, (from the Spanish 'queso 'relleno') formerly made by stuffing the discarded rinds of gouda or edam cheeses with piccadillo (spicy chopped meat).


Brian Spaeth (The Clock Stopped At A Strange And Savage Hour -www.seriousinkpress.com) was right, caves make me think of papier-mâché and the cheap horror movies that fascinated us as children -like 'World Of The Vampires' (starring Ramon Gay, Mexico,1960). Hato Caves make a nice diversion, soothing to sun-blasted eyes and with lots of toy-like little bats fluttering around. The pre-columbian (?) rock drawings however, are off limits.


Shastre Veeris, son of herbalist Dina Veeris, Dina Veeris Herb Garden


home-made soaps; Dina Veeris Herb Garden, one of the best tours of its kind (www.dinahveeris.com)


Aloe Vera Plantation (www.aloecuracao.com) I don't put much stock in natural cures and homeopathic medicine, but will personally attest to the efficacy of this spiny member of the lily family (I learned that here) -I had some persistent blisters on my knuckles caused by some noxious plant in our yard back home. I rubbed some fresh aloe vera on at the plantation, and forgot about it. The next morning, the blisters had healed.


Street: Otrobanda


Inside Kura Hulanda: 'street scene'

The Hotel Kura Hulanda preserves several of the oldest blocks of the 'Otrobanda' neighborhood. It may seem odd to book a hotel in the Caribbean with no beach, but you can always stay at their 'Lodge Kura Hulanda & Beach Club', then make the in-town location your base to explore the city for a few nights. (www.kurahulanda.com).

Kura Hulanda Slave Museum: slave-ship hold, without the stench or misery.
Kura Hulanda's eight blocks also incorporates an extensive Slavery Museum (US$9), quite relevant as slavery was once Curaçao's main business. A bit of a house(s) of genuine horrors -our excellent guide's gripping explanations of the exhibits often departed considerably from their captions.



Iguana: Before, and after...
Occupying a rambling country house, Jaanchie's has been a roadside attraction for locals and tourists alike since 1936. As Tone of the Avila Beach Hotel pointed out, businesses on the island couldn't get by just on the tourist trade. This is a good thing, with restaurants and hotels more authentic (and lower priced) than on islands like Aruba. Local creole cooking is the attraction here, along with great, tall glasses of refreshing lemonade; buy a glass of cheap 'white' rum to spike them with and they're even better.

Jaanchie Jr.
One of Jaanchie's specialties is iguana, which winds up stewed and in soup. Unfortunately (for the harmless lizard), iguana is considered an aphrodisiac by the men of the island. Yes, yes, it tastes like chicken, but with a heck of a lot more (smaller) bones -well, maybe better than chicken -bit more like rabbit, only with shorter legs and a much longer 'saddle'.


Despite what people (who haven't been to Curaçao) say, the island does have wonderful beaches, but they are concentrated at the island's western end, not in the city. Here the formidable cliffs are notched with beautiful sandy coves. Look for Captain Goodlife's wildly decorated headquarters on the extreme left hand side of Playa Santa Cruz. His orange frites (I'm guessing -annetto?) are famous across the island and the same goes for his shrimp, calamari, oysters and other seafood. As our group discovered, they sure can fry stuff on this island.
The intensely mystical Captain operates what might be the best boat tour on the island. For USD20 a person, he'll take you out to the renown 'Blue Room' -a long, (very) low 'swim-in' sea-cave who's interior reflects and amplifies the water's brilliant, deep cobalt color; snorkeling over the wreak of a ship sunk by his father; and a drop-off on a black sand beach. Because we'd be in and out of the water, the captain advised leaving cameras behind, which I gladly did. I wish had brought my camera. Now I really was seeing the intense 'Curaçao blue' waters that might have been the inspiration for the intense hue of blue curaçao. Peering over the side of the boat the Captain pointed saying "look, there it is! Can you see the small pyramid?" Through the rippling, deep blue water I could make out flashes of a small dark, cairn against the pale sand far below - the undersea resting place of the Captain's little daughter Antonella who had succumbed to leukemia two years ago.


Curaçao, blue and otherwise at Angelina's, a cooking school-restaurant in an old Otrobanda mansion where guests learn to prepare their own creole meal -including 'arepa di pampuna' with curaçao liqueur sauce (www.angelicas-kitchen.com)

Now, after all these years, I was finally heading for the Mansion Chobolobo Distillery (www.curacaoliqueur.com) creators and sole producers of genuine Curaçao liqueur. Housed in an old 'landhuis' (country house =plantation home) it's an attraction in itself. It was closed in observance of May Day (when most of the world marks Labor Day). My plane departed Curaçao 7AM the next morning.
-Peter Zaremba



Curaçao map insert -polished metal, floor near threshhold of villa 4, Baoase.

www.curacao.com

Back In Action: The Fleshtones return to the stage (or what passes for one) -
May 20; Minneapolis, MN -Lee's
May 21; Mankato MN, -The Sky Lounge w/ The Legendary Stardust Cowboy
May 22; Ossining NY ('A Thousand Years In SingSing'?) a birthday party (you'll know where if you are invited...)

The End Of The Tour

Sound-check, St. Germain-en-Laye, 03/13/10

Somehow, I've got to get this thing somewhere closer to 'real time'. You know like a real blog with stuff like 'today I walked around the corner to the old 'Palace Cafe' (or the newer 'Brooklyn Standard' coffee house) and there was a hipster from Iowa named 'Chad' there which was remarkable because I don't think there's ever been anyone named Chad in Greenpoint in its 350 year-long history'. Then I could have 'blogged' about a lot of stuff that's been happening: The Fleshtones at the 'all-hands-on-deck' March 27th closing of Artie Fredette's Positively 4th Street in Troy, NY, March 27- perhaps better than any performance we turned in on our just-completed tour. Artie isn't just the life-spring of the Troy music scene, he's one of those people who keeps rock & roll live and alive in this country. We look forward to playing his 'new' old bar/venue The Judge's Inn -and remind me to do a proper write-up on Troy -Uncle Sam's (and Bill Milhizer's) hometown; Although he's long since ceased serving free pierogi, its always nice to chat with Northside pioneer-gallerist/artist Joe Amrhein (who Marilla has shown work with since the 80's) at his opening for artist Dawn Clements at The Boiler Room (www.pierogi2000.com) -it's a spectacular, derelict early industrial space, frighteningly too much like a half -dozen places I've worked in over the years (minus the swell opening night crowds and drinks); the rising anticipation as Easter approaches in Greenpoint, the streets filled with families taking their baskets to the church of St. Stanislaus to be blessed, then serial egg hunts on Easter morning when Sergei was joined by the children of Scott Shiffler and K.K.Kozik, then later with cousins Anna and Sara Palmer.

preparations for Easter, Manhattan Ave, Greenpoint

'Blogging', however, isn't just about being temporarily unemployed, it's a commitment. I have every intention of getting around to the conclusion of The Fleshtones tour, March 2010, as promised. Heaven forbid I garner a reputation for not seeing things through. After all, I never did finish posting about our Spanish odyssey. Like I've said, just too much happens. Let me get back on track. A half a century has past since I was an eager young viewer awaiting each installment of the continuing 'Adventures Of Spunky And Tadpole', so forgive if I don't recall this totally right (people are such sticklers about this stuff these days and I don't want to be flooded with emails) -I remember there was boy and a talking bear-like character thwarting a villain named Crabby Appleton who was deemed 'rotten to the core', spaceships and a submarine-like craft that could drill to the center of the earth (check this on You-tube -ah, instant memories for those with none). The curtains rise in a cartoon theatre, the snippet of bouncy theme music fades away as the narrator intones something like "the last time we left our heros..."


...they were sound-checking in the posh suburbs of Paris. We were certainly finishing off the French portion of our tour in style at La Clef (www.laclef.asso.fr) in St. Germain-en-Laye. The difficulty of a late-night commute back to the city (remember 'Le Dernier Metro') kept a lot of old Parisien friends and fans away, but the hall was still packed. It may sound corny, but it's moving to be able to tell the audience that it's good to be 'home' in Paris and get a wild but sincere ovation. Special thanks to Fabrice for one last big dose of true French hospitality.
Early the next morning we were off, head-long into a grab-bag of Euro-dates -a final trio of shows for a taste of what I used to call a 'Coins Of All Nations' tour because I would wind up coming home with little more than an incoherent pocketful of mutually incompatible (and now quite obsolete) change.

March 14, 2010: Ghent
Our GPS, which obviously doesn't understand Flemish, had trouble guiding us to Flandria (doubles from 50€; Barrestraat 3; www.flandria-centrum.be) an off-beat hotel in a connecting group of old row houses. Narrow halls and small rooms as you would expect in such an old city as Ghent, but a great in-town budget choice recommended by 'Les Routards'. The dense display of Flemish architecture of the city itself brought Barbara Tuchman's 'A Distant Mirror' to mind -a masterful if flawed book, but one that I find myself going back to time and time again.

Ghent: The old ...and the new

With only about an hour to spare before sound-check, Antoine, Justin, Stef and I formed a search party to find a promising 'frites' stand we spied on the drive into town. We were after all, in Belgium. Guided by instinct and years of experience, we took off into the narrow streets, stumbling across Sint-Baafs Cathedral (dating mostly from the 14th century and site of the christening of Emperor Charles V) -a quick stop to admire its satisfyingly macabre statuary, but missed van Eyck's masterpiece 'The Ghent Altarpiece'. More twisting streets and bingo, there was Frituur Bij Sint-Jacobs tucked into a small square as it says 'bij' St. Jacob's Church. "You know people come from all around the world to eat frites here" volunteered a young guy who sensed our obvious foreignness. " You must try the 'stoofvlees' with your frites, it's the speciality".
We labored to get our tongues around the Flemish name of the dish so we could order in style, but the best I could manage sounded more like 'snow flakes'. Being moderate in all things, I ordered a small portion (4.60€), the counterman ladled a glob of rundsstoofvlees (beef stew flesh) over my fries and we're off, eating on the run. Like a snake rattling its dire warning, each bite from the first hissed total indigestibility. I considered the consequences, until I finished the whole thing as we back tracked to a promising bar that we had passed on our convoluted route to the frites stand. Den Turk (Botermarkt 3, http://cafedenturk.be/) turned out to be Ghent's oldest pub, pouring suds since 1228. The crowd of rosy-faced patrons looked like they had been there since then, or at least since the night before. There's always time for a quick beer so we joined them. After all, beer is the wine (well beer really) of the Flemish. We ordered a round of light and refreshing draught Jupiler, (1.25€, 250ml) one of Belgium's excellent mass market brews. Then a dash back to the hotel to gather up the rest of the band(s) for sound-check.In Den Turk

At the show we were visited backstage by long-time Belgian agent/friend Peter Verstraelen who explained 'stoofvlees' was just the Flemish version of the Walloon 'carbonnade' -beef braised in beer, which made perfect sense in linguistically-split Belgium. He also said the show was 'fantastic' (I modestly agree) adding 'too bad there wasn't more people'. True, the turnout could have been better -perhaps because the venue was changed at the last moment (I'm still not sure if we played at Minnemeers or Democrazy) with many concert-goers (including us) showing up at the original hall only to find it closed. Having a ready stock of excuses has pre-disposed me to the business side of what we do.

03/15/10 Hamburg

The Early Beatles, Beatlemania Hamburg Exhibition

long drive across Northern Germany with threatening weather turning to snow...
We checked into Hotel Stadt Altona (doppelzimmers from 65€; www.hotel-stadt-altona.de) an oddly-appealing, 60's-modern place that makes a good base of operations for exploring this wonderful city if you don't mind the odd missing strip of carpet or wall fixture, which I don't. There's traditional (singer) entertainment in the bar and a stuffed monkey, perplexed by its demotion from some long-gone elaborate tropical tableaux, clings to a remnant of branch stuck into a flower pot in the lobby. Hamburg has a lot to offer: an anthropological museum with a great African and New Guinean collection from Germany's brief days as a colonial power, as well as cruises (summer, please) to Heligoland, a North Sea island almost (literally) bombed beneath the waves by the British (www.helgoline.de). But the real attraction is Hamburg itself -the quintessential seaport, its miles of docks bristling with derricks and loading cranes pulsating with activity around the clock. A constant parade of vessels, from harbor patrol boats to the most massive container ships, glided within yards of our large dressing room windows. You can almost picture pre-war matinee idol Hans Albers haunting its misty, wet streets (outside of Germany he's best remembered for 'Munchhausen', 1943 -obliviously not one of his 'Hamburg' films). A non-stop entrepôt for influences from around the world, Hamburg is just the environment to incubate a phenomena like The Beatles. They might have been from Liverpool, but The Beatles who took the world by storm were truly born In Hamburg, where The Fab Five became The Fab Four, absorbing the rough sounds, styles and most importantly -the mop-top haircuts of German youth in rebellion against their war-generation parents. Their formative years here has given rise to a modest industry with tours and exhibitions (www.beatlemania-hamburg.com) -give me a report if you go. We were once taken on our own Magical Mystery tour through Hamburg's funky Reppersbahn district, starting in the shadow of the massive St. Pauli Girl Brewery and visiting the Fab Four's old haunts, including what was the Star-Club (which had evolved into a disco, naturally enough) and standing on the Star-Club's original stage, which had been salvaged and brought to a new location after a fire. Appropriately for Hamburg, the stage was nothing more than a stack of shipping pallets (for an idea of the kind of energy Hamburg generated in rock & roll's early years check out Joe Bonomo's book 'Jerry Lee Lewis Lost & Found', inspired by the live album 'The Killer' recorded at the Star-Club on April 15, 1964; by the way, Joe is also author of 'Sweat' , the epic tome on yours truly The Fleshtones; www.continuumbooks.com). The spirit still permeates the salty old city -fueled by local 'Astra' beer and 'korn', the crowd and both bands at the appropriately funky Hafenklang (www.hafenklang.org) had a blast, despite it being a Monday night. I even got in a bit of audience surfing.
The Bellrays, Hamburg


















Eindhoven 03/16/10
The public goes wild for Blood Red Shoes at Eifenaar

We arrived in Eindhoven for the unthinkable -a sorely needed night off. I think I've been missing the boat on Dutch cooking on all my visits to The Netherlands, so I won't venture any opinions. We had a passable dinner at 'Wok Paradijs' -a huge all-you-can-eat-if you-dare Mongolian barbeque/wok/buffet type of joint. I also won't bother with an address or webpage, there are places like this all over The Netherlands. Then we went to next night's venue, Effenaar (www.effenaar.nl) to see the English duo Blood Red Shoes. Antoine noted that it was little more than a year ago when The Shoes opened (third on the bill) when he was road-managing for Andre Williams. Now they utterly packed the place, singing resentful lyrics about personal problems to simple 'Velvets-like' riffs. They were what I call 'new English' -no snotty chip on the shoulder routine, in fact, almost 'American' in their personability and appearance. Nice actually. Very little energy needed to emanate from the stage -that was provided by the audience, who went totally berserk for them. I was glad we would be playing the much smaller 'Effenaar Cafe' room the next night.

Effenaar: the long climb to the top, or at least the dressing room. I later discovered there was an elevator...

Being in The Netherlands, there was a lot of interest in the particularly Dutch phenomena of the 'coffee shop' -a euphemism for a place who's main line of business is legally selling marijuana products with 'brand names' like Super Silver Haze, not expresso. Interested parties were directed to The Grasshopper (www.coffeeshopgrasshopper.nl). My interest was strictly touristic -allergies cause marijuana to make my very skin crawl as if it was being rubbed with cats. I didn't notice the coffee but marijuana tea went for 1.50€ a glass.

The Grasshopper

03/17/10
When our turn came at Effenaar everything was wonderfully professional, which counts for a lot after two weeks of constant travel and playing. Once more performing with The Bellrays was a complete pleasure for all. The next day, past windmills, over drainage ditches and canals through the flat, very suburban Dutch countryside, Ken drove us up to Amsterdam's mega-airport at Schiphol for our flight back home.
The Bellrays had left early, heading off for appearances at SXSW. Although we were among the first bands to play Austin's increasingly unwieldy music event, we haven't bothered with South By Southwest in decades. There's just not much point in trying to squeeze in a 'showcase' amid the jostling multitude of groups and performers that descend on Austin each March (It's more fun to attend, you've got every band in the world falling over each other vying for your attention). We'll hit Texas this summer with our friends The Ugly Beats, when it's the way we like it -nice and hot, although I'll miss dipping down into Mexico. We've always been big border-town boosters, but sadly now is not the time for any such dipping.

Now The Fleshtones are out of action until mid-May. Keith and Bill, along with our old comrade-in-arms Paul Johnson (ex-Waxing Poetics for all you from Tidewater) and dictator of The Dictators Andy Shernoff, however, will be out playing as The Master Plan. Check the Fleshtones websites for dates and venues.


Easter morning, 2010