Tuesday Nights.
Monday, July 9th, 2012During the course of the roller coaster that was the last couple weeks, lots of things came to mind. Nothing that I didnt necessarily already know but certainly one or two things that I was getting lazy about not appreciating or at the very least, on the slow track to taking for granted.
Ive met alot of people over the years. Not really saying anything new there, we all have. Some interesting, some useful, some entertaining, some unlovable, some inspiring, some worthless, if there is a judgement about the human condition, at this point in my life, I can probably attach it to someone Ive met, somewhere along the way.
Some of the people Ive met are just purely amazing and among those, there’s this small group of people that are always just there. I dont feel like I work hard to keep them, I dont feel like they work hard to keep me. These are usually the lowest maintenance people, years can go by without a peep and you can pick up right where you left off. These are just the people that you are lucky enough to love, lucky enough to be loved by. These are the people that you want to tell everyone about, but only usually just tell the other amazing people because nobody else would really understand.
These are the folks that memorable Tuesday nights are made of, the first people that come to mind when the loneliness creeps in, memories of whom always bring the biggest smile and of course the faces of which are always to be found in your most fondly remembered moments. Life changers, lucky to knows, sources of the reliable warmth, call them what you will, but take a moment to appreciate the subtle good times because for whatever reason, after driving 1600 miles in a couple days looking for answers, its these Tuesday Night moments with so many different people that seem to come to mind first.
“Daayfe Rafelll” were the first two words that came out of my phone as I sat drinking some coffee looking out my window across the canal at the kids throwing bread and/or rocks at the swans that swim around Prinseneiland. Not redundant as I still cant get into the fashion of answering, “Hallo met Dave”.
There’s only one person who can say my name like that and usually when Tos calls, its always with a good reason.
This was no exception to that rule.
Do you have some plans tonight? Some friends from Norway are playing at de Bimhuis, maybe swing by for dinner and we’ll take a ride over?
Bimhuis? Fuck yes. Dinner, double Fuck yes. See you this evening.
The worst part about being a jaded production guy, is well, being a jaded production guy. Which makes the best thing about Bimhuis absolutely the BEST fucking thing: I totally get excited to see *anything* at that place. Fuck. First off, acoustically, the room is insane, whomever did the acoustic engineering in that room tuned the fuck out of it, Ive never been anywhere that sounds quite like that room. Second, design wise, the building it is in is one of my favorite places in the world, let alone Amsterdam, to hang out. The stage sits against a glass wall and often, when bands elect to perform with the curtain pushed back, youve got a floor to ceiling view of Amsterdam lit up outside the window, with the tram and the trains passing by right below. Its something else. The bar in the Bimhuis space also has Grolsch on tap, which if you are a fan of Dutch Pils, surprisingly, is not so incredibly common to find in Amsterdam (perhaps because its so common, Vakmanschap is Meesterschap) so that’s a nice treat on top. All this together adds up to an afternoon spent totally excited about the evening’s sudden plans.
I walked in to find Eef taking a break from a deadline working on a new Obsessed record cover design and Tos knee deep in it in the kitchen.
One thing I will never tire of watching is Tos cooking. Ive never met someone who can bring such a cavalier approach to the mastery of craftsmanship (heh) quite the way Tos can. Sure, lots of people have a mad passion and pride for cooking but the routine in Tos and Eef’s kitchen is effortless, without cause and full of passive joy.
In the decade of dinners to come out of this kitchen, one has not been better than another and none have been anything short of incredible. Its a feat, for sure.
There was a new hifi set up for dinner that night, the details are blurry, but trying to split my attention on decoding the conversation from my limited (like, l i m i t e d ) dutch vocabulary and putting my ear to the stereo to give a listen worthy of evaluation was a challenge. Keeping the Norwegian theme for the evening, this was the first time I heard Elephant9 “walk the nile”. That was definitely the way to start the evening for certain. The new amp Tos was burning in also lived up to expectation, to say the least…
Philips freaks unite.
For those not familiar with Bimhuis, it is Amsterdam’s home to Experimental music and Jazz. The variety of performances I have seen here is pretty staggering, especially for a venue that has members. Puma’s performance this night was unsuspecting and overwhelming all at once. The Norwegian three piece took noise and independent movement to a next level, all on top of a bed of loops that would suggest four other people on stage playing with them.
The greatest part however, was the presentation. They played with the curtains open and with the lighting trusses down on the stage, where you’d set them just to hang the lights. They played mostly in the dark, allowing the city lights to shine through, with periods of varying intensity of strobe as they built the fury.
It had been many years since I sat through 15 minutes straight of strobes against the thunder of a band, probably since Spiritualized in the 90’s. This was an event welcomed back with open arms. Simple, effective lighting that you cant close your eyes to take shelter from. Rock.
After all these years, there is a folder of thousands of frames of film that have accumulated from a life lived better in Amsterdam. Its starting to become just slightly overwhelming to realize just how many of those photos are in exactly this setting, a collection of good friends, sitting around a table, exchanging the idea of the day, in a legitimate exchange of thoughts and emotions, free of ego, full of patience, almost always attached to the sharing of some laughs.
As an American, Im continually amazed by these exchanges and snap these moments, almost as a reflex to what always touches me as a truly unique footnote to Dutch life. Sure, people sit around tables all over the world, but there is something about what happens at the tables in this city that Im still trying to fully comprehend.
Truly when a Tafel is not just a Table.
It’s one of the more beautiful things Ive been lucky enough to experience and there is certainly no parallel in my country to anything that approaches this, in any way.
Typically, nobody is in a rush, nobody is on a mission to get wasted, people do not often vie to be the center of attention, the contribution of thoughts and ideas are respected as a contribution to the social event in front of everyone and when people disagree, it is with a curiosity to discover the root of disagreement, not to silence the voice of the disagree-er. Temperance. Tolerance. Openness.
Im a different person from living there in the brief spurts that I have but Im still in my infancy unlearning so much of the ugliness that comes with having a blue passport.
Not having a Dutch Summer this year came as a surprise, but so did everything this summer really. Missing everyone over there, our scheduled absurdity, 11PM sunsets, words with 74 letters and way too many vowels, all of it.
Im really glad however, to have been able to reconnect with the few friends I have left in America, stumble through some monumental change with some of them and just drive down some dirt roads with a smile with some others.
Two worlds, getting better at balancing, getting better at appreciating the rich texture of this experience Ive worked pretty hard to create. Careful what ya wish for…
So what to take from this Tuesday night? I dont know. But I am here writing about it. Unsure of why I took all these photos. Unsure of exactly what story they are telling to me. Unsure of the story I want to tell looking a them.
Completely positive however, that the story is critical to tell, whatever it is.
My circle of old, old friends just keeps getting smaller, which is something they never told me would happen when I was a kid. They also didnt tell that kid the depth to which it is possible to love those people in that circle that remain. What would we be without love? They didnt put that question to me as a kid either. All grown up, I now know the answer to that is: nothing. And while I dont know what exactly it is that I am, I sure as shit am something and it really is because of how much the good people in my life inspire me to be a better person, seek out the richer adventure and not settle for less.
And sometimes, that all happens, very subtly, on a Tuesday night, at the last minute, through the freezing winter mist whipping off chunks of ice floating in the Ij smacking you in the face just to remind you that you are still alive.
Trick is keeping yourself open enough to cherish the moment. Were it not for these photos, I might have let this one go, or not noticed it at all. Makes ya ponder how much good stuff flows in and out every day that can provide some pause to realize how lucky we are to have the amazing people that we have in our circus.
