Back home. The jetlag kicked in some time stopover in Atlanta, and hasn’t ceased since. Managed to sleep for almost 15 hours last night.
Final day in Seattle was sad, hazy, hot, fun and reassuring. Decide I need to go out there and live for another three months, to help write the projected Nirvana book… I’d prefer to write 20 chapters centred around the 20 people most crucial to both my own development and Nirvana’s in the late 80s/early 90s, leaving it in the first person, but fairly sure my editor at Omnibus won’t go for that, so I’ll have to be smart. Not sure I even have a list of 20 right now: Tobi, Calvin, Nikki, Krist, Slim, Bruce, Steve, Craig, Anton, Steve, Stephen, Eric, Pat, Dave, Courtney, Jon, Charles, Bruce, Jon… Oh yeah. I mean, 200 obviously.
All these thoughts occur to me walking back up Pike - or is it Pine? - from Nordstrom’s, over the Interstate 5 bridge, back to Bimbo’s on Capitol Hill to meet my old flatmate Craig. The stretch seems familiar now, expecially with clouds looming over the mountains and Space Needle, especially with a flight looming and tiredness and alcohol deprivation competing equally for my attention. We call in at The Stranger and Dan Savage shakes my hand, while Nipper offers me his ass. We call in at The Stranger and once again I’m reminded of the value of companionship in a warm office, among friends like Brad and Jennifer and Charles and Sean. Man. I don’t wanna go mushy on yr ass. The Sub Pop offices, at least, have long held the merit of containing few I know from - what? - 15 years ago!
I receive an email from Diana in Olympia taking issue with the fact I slept badly at her (extremely hospitable) house, and so I would like to point out that it was the over-enthusiastic gardener’s fault, not hers or her spare room’s. She played me The Blow and Tracey And The Plastics, and I’m grateful. What? I didn’t make the bed? Well, that’s a rarity, sorry. I’m normally fairly conscientious.
Hmm.
Stores in both Seattle and Olympia (Danger Room, Sonic Boom, etc) are very keen to stock both old copies of Careless Talk and Plan B and of course that’s gratifying. I fail to call any of my new friends on the final evening, sadly: a right-on lecture from Krist Novoselic and some ex-DC hardcore punk who public speaks like he should be a Southern preacher (no, this is not a good thing: I’m talking heightened patronisation) at the University about the importance of tactical voting (etc) puts paid to the early part, and I forget to take out my phone book, instead misplace my glasses and my gift for my wife several times. Still, decent shots of Maker’s Mark with Krist and folk in a U-district restaurant follow… a few hours earlier I’d finally succumbed and did an interview about Nirvana on film, for a BBC2 documentary, and my rejoinder to what I felt Nirvana’s legacy was, was particularly appreciated.
“I’d like to think it was more people falling in love with bands like Young Marble Giants, Raincoats, Beat Happening, Marine Girls…” I mused. “But sadly, I think the lasting legacy is that the success of Nirvana enabled bands like Pearl Jam and Smashing Pumpkins (and Good Charlotte, and Libertines) and Silverchair to get massive, and for Courtney Love to get rich…”
Whatever. I was actually upbeat for most of it.
So, back in Brighton.
My wife has written a fine review of Detroit Cobras for the Plan B website that just makes me even more jealous that I didn’t see the show last week. Chris points out that we singularly failed to mention same website ANYWHERE in the new issue. Me and Andrew are agreed that the design on the second issue is far superior to the first. Er. That’s it. I need bed. Again.
Long meeting today