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Back at the start of the summer, I went back to Barcelona, for a second visit to the very wonderful Primavera Sound festival. I travelled with the rather pregnant Mrs S., and (Uncle) Danny came along for the latter half of the stay, and also joined us for the festival.

Barcelona is still a marvellous city, and Primavera is still my favourite rock festival. While we were out there, Barcelona FC won the champions league. I can’t pretend that I have any sympathy, interest, or even understanding of football, but I really enjoyed the electric city-wide atmosphere on the day; silent, tense and concentrating, as countless viewers watched the televised match, suddenly punctuated by sighs and unison cheers as chances were missed, and goals won; culminating in the riot of celebration erupting from every door and window onto the streets when the final victory was realised.

The festival was another success. The personal highlight, for me was the chance to finally see Lightning Bolt, unusually for them, an on-stage performance, that was one of the most exhilarating live shows I have ever seen. Shellac, playing again on the same ATP stage as last year, as good value as always, another chance to see Oneida, and sample some of the “heritage” acts, giving it some legend, like Sonic Youth, Throwing Muses, and Neil Young. A suprisingly energetic Michael Nyman band set in the indoor auditori was an unexpected highlight, as were a couple of new-to-me performances from Andrew Bird, and Gang Gang Dance. I was amused by Sunn O))), but sadly unable to persuade either of my companions to stay and watch more than ten minutes of their set.

More disappointing were Marnie Stern, who I’d been looking forward to seeing again, seemed to be suffering from terrible sound and equipment problems, Deerhunter transforming a great album into a weak coldplay-lite live experience, an uninspired and frankly routine Art Brut performance, and a generically dull Jarvis set.

It turns out that I edited and uploaded my photos to flickr shortly after returning to the UK, but what with all the busying and rushing around re-organising and home renovating, I seem to have forgotten to switch the set to public, at least until now.

Because I’ve been in the mood for photo housekeeping, here’s the remainder of the photographs from our trip to Manhattan last Christmas. They’re mostly concerned with a walk over the Brooklyn Bridge which occurred on the very morning of Christmas day.

We took the train down to Brooklyn and just leisurely walked across. The weather and views were rather stunning, and the city much quieter than usual. We did run into a bit of footpath congestion at the Manhattan terminus; the comic image of a frustrated, lycra-enveloped cyclist failing to exert his right-of-way, in opposition to the crowds, camply yelling “Hello! Bicycle lane!” will stay impressed on my memory.

Thanks to some free air miles obtained when I signed up for my last credit card, we managed to get an entirely free weekend’s accommodation (self-catering apartment, right in the city centre), and flights (BA, return from Gatwick) to anywhere in the closest European zone. The only catch was that they needed to be cashed-in before the end of February ‘09. We elected to re-visit Dublin, as Mrs S. spent several months living and working there, back when she was studying towards her degree. That was several years ago, neither of us have been back since.

It hasn’t changed much. Right before we left, we discovered the exciting news that we were in the family way. This rather curtailed the traditional Dublin entertainment of drinking stout (the Guinness does taste better, you know) and bar-crawling. Perhaps the most striking change was the effect of the recent economic turmoil upon the sterling exchange rate. Dublin was never the cheapest city, but now things were positively eye-watering; a pint of Guiness was pushing five pounds, a decidedly average meal for two (with no alcohol) in a vegetarian restaurant easily overshot the forty pound mark. Luckily with free travel and accommodation leaving enough elasticity in our spending budget, we managed a relaxed weekend break without risking bankruptcy.

The February weather was cold, windy and occasionally damp. Wind-swept and grey rather suits this city by the sea. On on the evening we flew in, the night of the 14th, we somehow managed to blunder straight in and secure a last-minute table for two in a little Italian bistro, minutes after we’d unpacked; saving us from having to hurriedly improvise a meal with limited shopping options.

Most of the rest of the time we just cruised around the city streets, feeding the ducks in the park, dipping into second-hand-book shops, cafe’s and what proved to be an astonishingly well-stocked Gibson guitar dealer, where I ogled an array of the fancy new auto-mechanical-tuning robot guitars. I was particularly taken by the effect of the grimy, yet bright, winter sky reflecting off the mosaic-tile pools in the Garden of Remembrance.

• Porter airlines: the only way to fly.
• A song about the Spadina bus
• As I suspected, Toronto isn’t even cold in the wintertime. Barely dipped below zero, the entire time I was there.
• Apricot Weißbier, nicer than it ought to be.
• Prevailing man-hipster fashion trend: Button cardigan, bushy beard, and oversized pseudo-religious pendantry
• Guitar hero is more fun than I’d have thought.
• The prehistoric Trypilian culture from the Ukraine, was one of the earliest neolithic civilizations
• If you own a Birks watch, as I do, you can get it serviced and the battery changed for free at any Birks branch.
• Do not place your nose into any unusual looking fixtures attached to bathroom walls.
• Iroquois false face societies, and why you cannot see their masks in museums.
• My karaoke version of ‘In The Air Tonight‘ was a surprise success, but perhaps even more suprisingly, my version of ‘My Heart Will Go On‘, placed me in the final three.

While I was in Manhattan, I happened to wander past the window of Minamoto Kitchoan, a fancy boutique translation of a traditional japanese confectioners. I’m endlessly fascinated by japanese culture, especially the old-world; I have a pet theory that Japan and the UK are peculiar reflections of each other, there’s a lot of cultural resonance, but it’s all distorted into wonderfully strange shapes. Nevertheless, I was initially a little too intimidated to enter, as the store was devoid of customers, and the interior looked rather cold and formal. Luckily for me, Mrs S. egged me on enough to overcome my trepidation, and in I went.

I’m not really experienced enough to count myself as even an amateur aficionado of japanese food, but I’ve eaten a fair bit, and their sweets are a rum affair; they’re intended to please more than just a sweet tooth, designed as much to appeal to the eye, and offer textures to the palate. They tend not to be very sweet, and a large proportion of their construction would seem to be kidney beans. This does mean that they’re better for you than many western sweets, I’d have thought. Far less fat and sugar.

I wandered about the shop a little, it didn’t seem like the staff spoke any useful English (this could have been my British accent, of course), but I managed to communicate a request through the universal language of pointing and nodding. Every addition to my shopping list was met by the kimono clad shop-girl with a charming sequence bowing and nodding – and then the whole order was packaged up beautifully in a box to take away.

Here’s what I bought.

• Kohakukakanme (pickled plum in agar jelly, covered with flakes of real gold)
• Kabochamanjyu (bean cakes, both shaped and flavoured like pumpkin)
• Fukuwatashisenbei (a topographically curious biscuit)
• Hanatsubomi(bean jelly in preserved lemon)

I then ate them in installments, back at the hotel. They were all pretty good eating, probably the pickled plum made the most sense to my palate – not really too far away from a fruit cocktail. The Fukuwatashisenbei biscuit tasted almost exactly like a custard cream, but was rather awkward eating because of it’s shape. The bean pastes are a little bit of an acquired taste, but faintly addictive.

The store is part of a chain, apparently there is a London branch, somewhere in Piccadilly.

Merry Christmas one and all! We decided to get away from it all this year, and are therefore in New York city. It is tremendously Christmassy.

Heading to Toronto tomorrow to visit with the Lyles, back to New York for New Year’s Eve (where we’ve a choice between two pre-booked parties to make – option a: Times Square, formal-ish dinner and comedy, option b: Tribeca, trendy club with cool bands playing). Back in the U.K. the day after.

Here are some of the photos I’ve taken, so far.

As hinted in my last post, we’ve recently spent a week away. Visiting with Judi and Jonathan in Normandy in their ongoing barn conversion, failing to construct a goat-shed, appreciating unusual motor vehicles, hanging in a yurt, eating great food, drinking French beer, enjoying good company, and marvelling in some simply astonishing weather.

1. Locate crickets by listening carefully to the sounds of chirping
2. Use a nearby internet terminal to research what they most like to eat. (Iceberg Lettuce !?)
3. Construct a cunning trap around fresh bait
4. Wait for crickets, carefully and very quietly

Trap designs that were tried, and rejected.

1. A basket propped up by a bent twig, connected to twine for rapid deployment.
2. An impromptu fishing-rod, baited with carrot peelings, dangled temptingly over a basket.
3. A pit trap, concealed by woven grass and twigs.

An excellent festival. More completely organised than I expected. This came to prominence straight away, when a rather spacey lady handling our tickets failed to give us one of the essential ID cards that pair up with the wristband to allow entry and re-entry. A security guard stopped us from heading back in to point out the error. Anticipating anguish at the gate, and hoping that a single card and a friendly attitude might get us through, we were met by a super-friendly chap, speaking perfect English, who whisked us back to the check-in, where we waited for the woman to confirm that her stack of cards and tickets were out by one, and furnished us with the missing card. And then we were in. Things do not run that smoothly at Glastonbury when your credentials go awry!

The venue is good, purpose built, although admittedly it does have a slight air of NCP car park to it. There are three amphitheatres with banked steps of seating set facing out to sea. These make up the RockDelux, ATP and the VICE stages. The other two stages, namely the CD Drome, and the Estrella Damm stage are set up on the main paved area that links the first three, with the food market between them. There are two gigantic arrays of solar cells, apparently the largest in Europe, which at least made a handy shelter during the couple of light rain showers, even if they sadly aren’t used to directly power the festival itself. There is also an indoor concert hall, the Auditori, which I didn’t manage to set foot inside once, a combination of not being nearby when anything compelling was happening there, plus not quite being able to figure out where the entrance actually was!

The festival runs over several days, Thursday to Saturday, and keeps to a gruelling schedule, starting at four or five p.m., and running through till four or five a.m the next morning. It’s really all about the music, as there is little else to do onsite, other than browse a few T-shirt and record label stalls, eat functional outdoor food, or drink expensive sponsor beer from plastic cups.

It’s far less wear upon the legs and feet than the typical British festival, the proximity of the stages, along with the near-universal seating, and paved footpaths rather than clogging mud fields thankfully mean that it’s just the marathon running time contributing to your fatigue, not trudging miles around countryside inbetween sets. The climate was pleasantly appropriate, a few spots of light rain but it was mild enough to be comfortable in light clothing all the way through the evening, so you could just stick to the basic set of clothes you came in wearing, not wrestle with lugging around cumbersome outfit changes to cater to changes in the weather.

It may be just a result of the lack of crowding, but the toilet facilites were fine, little queuing, and freshly clean each day. I recommend taking a little dispenser of handwash gel, you can pick these up in the chemists nowadays.

Another benefit of the close site is the number of acts you can practically watch. As the stages are just separated by a minute or two’s easy stroll you can mix and match to take in as much, or as little of a set as you fancy. It’s quite possible to watch the start of one artist’s set for a couple of songs, and then wander around another three stages watching a couple of numbers at each, and still return to the start to catch the final few of the original. This all makes it incredibly easy to sample new or interesting acts on spec without having to miss out on much if any of your must-see sets. Over the three days we easily managed to see dozens of acts, with comparatively little effort.

It would take too long to run through them all in detail, so I’ll just group the highlights into some buckets.

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We arrived in Barcelona a few days ahead of Primavera, to give us a chance to see the sights and relax a little. It’s a compact city, although larger than I thought it would be, with a wide variety of flavours to the various districts. The weather has been variable, but never unpleasant.

It is a very clean city, they seem to constantly empty the bins on a daily cycle, and there are recycling stations everywhere. The architecture is wonderful. Not just the Gaudi, which is as astonishing as you’d expect, but there’s an adventurous sense to public space everywhere, interesting modern building nestling up against 14th century alleyways, and giant lumps of sculpture sprouting everywhere, in a manner you only rarely see in conservative old Britain.

We’ve mostly been rehearsing our body clocks for the ever so slightly mental 5pm-5am Primavera schedule, and so we’ve not done so much cultural sightseeing, or eating out. I figured it can wait until the now inevitable follow-up visit.