DON'T TRY THIS AT HOME;

"A London diary of sorts" [Day four]

Click the pix to go to the Hollywood Hills.........

The next morning was Tuesday and Ringo and I met up again with Hannah (from
Roland) who asked me if the problem i'd had with my machine (back home) had
been corrected (she'd given me the e-mail address to the person who spot on
knew how to help.) I told her that the information I got from her absolutely
did the trick and thanks. Before that info I was lost and throwing temper
tantrums in the studio! So, Thank you Hannah!

At the station, Amber asked me some questions about stuff and she's very smart,
that one. Knows her music. I performed 'In my Heart' from my first solo
record (more on this record later) and a cover version of NRBQ's 'Ridin in my
car', which I found odd after playing it considering how much time I'd spent in
the tube stations! Amber thanks me for coming and I hung out for a bit to see
the next artist; an experimental 'house music' spoken word singer who performs
quite bit in Germany. She was sweet, with really nice, smooth dark skin and an
earing in her nose and a sweet voice.

After we left the station we headed up to Notting Hill for some Thai food and
drinks. We walked over (off Portebello Road) to Bill Forsythe's record shop,
"STAND OUT!" (the same record shop supposedly HIGH FIDELITY was inspired by)
but it was closed. Walked around a bit, went to Rough Trade to buy the Evan
Dando but they only had it on Vinyl. As we were walking again by the shop we
spotted Bill coming out of his shop. The shop was only open Friday, Saturday
and Sunday and today was Tuesday so he was probably doing something non-work
related, I figured. We ran up to him and convinced him to let us shop, for
shop's sake.

After getting overwhelmed with the huge volume of amazing records that Bill has
(not to mention a poster for my 12 BAR show!) I broke down and bought the Dando
and the Jellyfish box set. Mike bought the new Ian Burgess (which features
Probyn Gregory all over it. Probyn is playing trumpet and trombone with LOVE
at the S.D.street scene), which is also produced by a pal of mine, Linus of
Hollywood. Hannah had to get back to work and bid us farewell and promised to
look into some questions I had about some gear. So, from there we hopped the
tube toward Heathrow, back to Richard's flat.

Richard "Rocky" Meehan is an old pal and, for anyone who bought LOVE
merchandise at the POWERHAUS show in 1996, he sold it to you. But now
Richard's job had him in Birmingham doing God knows what. I would have
suggested he get the 'Brummy Brat' to show him the town but I wouldn't wish
that even on Scottish Keith. So we made our way to the flat at about 8pm.
Tossed on the Evan Dando and we immediately said to ourselves,'this should be
called the Evan Dando and Jon Brion record' cause Jon is all over it like
Kelley's blood on Tony's hands.

After that we popped on the Ian Burgess which was excellent if I may say so.
Around that time, the Curry we'd ordered arrived just as FATHER TED was coming
on so we were in heaven with our curry and TV show. Apparently Father Ted was
infatuated with a sex novelist down the road so Father Ted was trying to 'speed
up' his Mass speech, much to the chagrin of the Nuns! He finally gets a drink
with the woman and they're alone, only to find out she's decided to become a
nun! Oh the horrors of being a Priest... After that, we watched a bit off MEN
& MOTORS (why can't we get this brilliant, educational program in the States
??????) until the REAL COMEDY CAME ON....

OASIS: Behind the music. No need for me to elaborate on this except to say
that it was 'Fek this' and 'Fek that' pretty much all through the program. In
one part, the Singer, Liam, gets barred for life from Quantus Airlines (the
nicest Airlines in the world, TRUST me) for throwing bread on a passenger,
hitting another in the head with balled up paper and for spitting beer on
another passenger, not to mention calling the stewardess a 'fekkin' c*nt' for
asking him to fasten his seat belt.ALL THIS HAPPENED BEFORE THE PLANE EVEN
TAXI'D ONTO THE RUNWAY!

We stayed up till about 1am watching stupid MTV videos and then Nike Harrison
hit the hay. I couldn't sleep and stayed up till 8am reading. Finally fell
asleep but overslept, waking up at 1pm when I had a 3pm flight! I hurriedly
showered and caught a taxi to the wrong terminal, which meant I had to haul ass
to the correct terminal. This is why, dear Richard, when you get home, please
know that I MEANT to wash the curry off the plates but I was late for my
flight. And I promise to replace all the beer and wine we drank, OK?

So I made my flight, which was half full by the way, and I had a whole aisle to
myself, which was wonderful. I tried to sleep but it was tough. I pulled out
my 'personal stereo' and listen to Jonathan Richman's excellent CD, "Having a
party with Jonathan Richman." Twelve painful hours later my plane landed at
LAX. I eyed the Hollywood Hills, 15 miles away, from my window. After I went
through customs and got my luggage I was answering questions from the
Agriculture inspector. He asked about my guitar, you know what kind it is.
The dumb thing is, he knows WHO I AM and what group I PLAY WITH. he asks me
the same thing each time so he can make his funny joke at the end,'Oh, I
wouldn't know your music, I stopped listening to music when Buddy Holly died.'

There was no Que for taxi's so I waited while I rung up Rusty. He texted me
that he couldn't give me a life so I'd certainly taxi it home. There was a
Scottish couple that came up behind me. They were late for something and it
was their first time in Los Angeles. They were from Fife. I told them I had
been to Fife. How many times? Twice. They were impressed. I gave them my
taxi. I thought, 'welcome to LA. we're not all bad.' And figured that could
be a slogan! "We're not all bad!" It was 8pm (4am in London) as the taxi
driver pulled onto Sepulveda Blvd on a gloriously warm wed. summer night in Los
Angeles and eventually onto the 405 Fwy heading north. The driver was of
Indian decent and for some reason brought up food, my specialty. 'You like
Indian food?' he asked, as we passed the Marina Fwy offramp. "Yes, you know any
good places?" He looked at me through the rear view mirror. "Not around here.
You have to go to Glendale."

We exited the 405 onto the 10 east to Robertson Blvd., heading north. He told
me the name of the place in Glendale and I wrote it down in my note pad. But I
knew it was futile, utterly useless. There was only one place, one country,
one quasi-continent where I could enjoy a curry. And that was in England.
Sure, I could go to Glendale but it just wouldn't be the same. I decided to
simply wait until I was in England again, on general principle. The taxi made
a right off La Cienega onto Melrose and I was minutes from being home. The
Hollywood Hills seemed close enough to touch now, as the driver made the left
on my street. It was good to be home but I was still missing my home away from
home, England.

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Mike Randle
mike@lovewitharthurlee.com

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