The Spare Room

Am really craving new books and just ordered this one from The Book Centre in Waterford:

Manhatta

Manhatta

3

At the childhood home, you can eat EVERYTHING.
There are trillions of cartons of yoghurts and acres of chicken fillets.
In between eating all around me, I am thinking about 3 things.

1) Playing the Roisin Dubh on Thursday
- I'm going to get to meet a man called Toby Goodshanks.
- David Murphy from Queen Kong is coming along to play guitar.
- Fink, who did the artwork for the album, is coming to draw / dig / dance. I have talked to her about pressing Here Is Home on these CDs with blank white paper pressed onto the actual CD, and then she to sit on stage and draw on each CD, for the duration of our onstage time. Then to sell the unique CDs afterwards.
- Standing on terra firma in Galway, you can see the rain coming from far away, and you know you only have a finite amount of minutes of sunshine left. I hope it rains like this, the people scuttle indoors and watch us play.

2) American words.
When I go to far off Meriky in September, I would like to speak American.
In America I will
take a rain check

talk turkey

pain the town red

More phrases on a postcard with a schmuck on the front please.

3) Will I ever beat my Dad at Scrabble?

Britain Quay

Documentation:

Ag cur báistí, etc.

On Saturday evening, I said "Welcome to Disco-nnect" and right on cue, it started raining.
Not just raining but hard buckets onto wincing faces.
Still it was one of the most fun nights; I like to think the rain inspired cameraderie and that's why the gig went well, but I know in my heart that everyone was just so grateful to be finally inside out of the rain.

Later that night, it rained on us like I have NEVER experienced before.

On Monday we went to clean the apartment and do our get out, and, as Meg and I walked from Drumcondra to the Docklands, the sun shone so hard it was like I imagine Latin America to be. Then it started pouring, really lashing. Walking along in summer dresses, huddling under an umbrella, crying like babies, getting the ferry across. I thought we were miserable but we seemed to have been quite cheerful.

Disco-nnect (Re-cap)

Monday: Shambolic messy fun, swopped a ticket for a lovely cardigan with buttons like these:

Tuesday brought Gerardo Naumann workshop on Text And The City. Walked around Dublin all morning, not too far from the sea.

Then to photocopy more headlines for the walls of the gig.
Favourite recession headlines:
















and, despite a weary body, a feeling in the belly of success.

Wednesday brought angry dock people and a horrible knot in the stomach like a cannonball. Floor scrubbing and exhaustion pure like butter.
Doctors recommend that, when stressed worried or depressed, exercise alters the serotonin chemicals in the brain. Neurotransmission is improved.
Disco-nnect has, I think, this affect on me. We were sold out and the crowd were such good people and they danced with such vim and vigour I could not but be happy. The sun came out, I remembered everything, the people smiled and these are contagious:


On Thursday a group of American students came along and owned the gaff. Normally, a mixture of bullying, cajoling, gentle encouragement, showing and enthusing is needed for people to participate, but this crowd were *crunked* and by the end of the gig, the windows were steamed. On this day, for the first time, David Murphy of Queen Kong played guitar on Here is Home and Epidemic and it sounded great.
In the daytime, we got the artwork down for Dot-Dash and put up Here is Home on myspace.

Yesterday was Friday.
In the morning, Fink and I went to the Irish Musuem Assocation to talk about the audiedetour. Afterwards, we ran down the street in the sunshine, with Fink talking about her new project - and digging and fish gutting. Then fish (a whole trout each for us three!) on a Friday.

I got a little shock when I saw the report and that numbers were low, when every other night has been full. I quite like the difference in audience when you play to 1 or 100 or 300 people and would love to play around with that more. However Disco-nnect is a performance everyone carries, like pallbearers at a funeral carry a coffin and it needs a certain number to take off (you can't carry a coffin by yourself!) Also it has to be capped at a certain number (over the 30 mark and it loses a sense of intimacy or communion). Thankfully, just at 7pm two merry groups came marching down the quays and we were just two short of full and we were off.

After the tour/gig we hot-footed it to Navan for a later night gig. After playing with the album tracks all week, it was interesting to go back to using the vinyl. Navan is such a funny place, the people there are so friendly and the gig organiser, Sean, insisted that a barman walk us to our bus. Oh gentleman! On the very very late bus back to Dublin I fell asleep and dreamt of being in a St. Patrick's day float in Navan, holding my passport aloft over my head with both arms, but it was as big as one of those novely cheques that models pose with. Actually, it was bigger!

Today is Saturday and tonight is the last night.
It is really great having a run like this, all the emotion of first night, last night etc.
Hubba hubba big bazookas!

Hubba Hubba

The past week has been a busy one.
Every day I have been singing to myself "I'm a blog" to the tune of the R. Kelly song "I'm a flirt" but I haven't quite made it to sweet internet land yet.
So instead, here are some ever-so-flattering words a lady who came from Sligo wrote about Disco-nnect:

The Diving Bell and the Umbrellas