Mar 22 2006
Newc
Newcastle, in its grimy and fairly notmuchtodo way, is a beautiful city. Standing on the bridge that crosses the river, you look down on a landscape out of an MC Escher drawing. You can’t tell where “ground” is; it’s layers and layers of mangled buildings, like shark’s teeth, and hills and that big river at the bottom, in which Carter’s car was pushed with a young woman locked into the trunk. Gritty. Loved walking through it, killing hours while all the umpteen bands soundchecked at the space.
The gallery space where we performed was… interesting. Beautiful inside, bright white walls, sinking into a pit where the stage was set. From the outside, though, it looked like the out-of-business bookies it had been before the owners converted it. No sign. No windows. Just the metal panels to keep the hoods out.
It was a fairly pathetic performance. I don’t think audience members outnumbered the performers, and if so, barely. Nevertheless, we all put in the energy, if only because there was a guy with a video camera and it was a nice space for a music video. It was fucking freezing though, and I had to stand by the door taking money all night. We got back at 5am or so.
The editor of Diplo, the Uk-based international politics mag that published one of my refugee articles, is looking for a new editor. I’ve thrown in an application
