A nice change this time: instead of writing my nonsense in a dark, airless hovel, I'm sitting before one of the most amazing views imaginable. I've just arrived in Switzerland for the Ascona Jazz Festival, and am one Swiss beer down on the hotel terrace overlooking Lake Maggiore. I hope I can figure out a way to post pictures, so you can get some idea. I did nothing to deserve this. But first, Milan...
I believe we left off last week with me in a crummy hotel room, wearing a plastic Centurion costume. I eventually discovered that this was not, in fact, the casual attire favoured by the locals, but formal wear reserved for weddings, bar Mitzvahs, etc. So on our last day, I changed back into the usual leather pants and string singlet, met our mate Pache, and boarded a train for Milan.
It's an enormous and bustling city, but without the reputation for architectural beauty of its sandal-wearing sibling, due largely to the fact that most of it was blown up in WWII. From the ruins have sprung up an industrious fashion capital, although a little behind when it comes to leather and string, if you ask me. I was there to play three gigs, and to pack an unfeasable amount of food into my gob.
First up was the Nord Est Caffe. The joint really doesn't have much to recommend it, but of all the Nord caffes I've visited, this truly was the Nordest. We were introduced to the "crowd" with the most elaborate announcement in showbiz. Pure voice-over magic, and like most of the gig, enthusiastically ignored by all in attendance. To be fair, we were competing with an excellent buffet. But speaking of introductions, the upside of the evening was meeting our rhythm section for the Milanese leg, bassist Alex Orchiari, and pianist Simone Daclon- fine musicians and top blokes. I also became aquainted with a beverage known as a Campari Spritz, which would keep me company 'most every night.
After upping stumps at Nord Est, we headed to a local pub for their weekly jam session- got to play a few tunes with the locals,and rub shoulders with a saxophonist who was a spitting image of "actor" Paulie Shore. I actually had a sneaking suspicion it was Paulie Shore, so I kept my distance.
Next up, a musician-owned, member-supported club called Sunomi. The word is Milanese dialect, and according to everyone I asked, it means "I don't know." Or else they just didn't know. A great little room, with an in-house recording studio, it was, for mine, the highlight of the Italian bit. Attentive enthusiastic audience, supportive and generous management, and even a backstage for pre-show pacing and muttering. Usually have to find a dark alley for that...
The last Italian show was on the outskirts of a town called Cremona, about 90 minutes drive out of Milan. The venue was a restaurant inside an ancient, dilapidated village church. All the action was taking place in the spacious backyard, and we were essentially supplying background music. That was fine with me, as the location was stunning, and the food and drinks top-notch and abundant. It would have been the perfect Arriverderci, had the owner not ended the evening by getting smashed, shorting us on the money, and abusing our Italian bandmates in a fervid and flamboyant manner. In fact, the swear words are the only Italian I know, and I think I caught all of it. A bit of a downer, but didn't really mar the trip too much...
Other Milanese highlights: bucatini with sardines, a glass of wine with a bloke who looked just like Uncle Leo from Seinfeld (good trip for lookalikes, so far), and a night on cheap, Chinese-made Negronis that has disappeared in the mists...
Next: something interesting about Switzerland! Righto.
