Renaissance Hotel, LAX.
Pat has returned to Los Angeles to visit with his family. Ade, Trey & Boppin' Bobby are here, with several Crew members, very-close-to-the-airport-indeed for check-ins tomorrow morning.
The venue in Anaheim looked like a very large supper club, something like having dinner in a sports hall, with table-less seating placed in front of the stage. The show began well for me, but dissipated about 25 minutes in. I'm not sure why. Why would the life of a performance mysteriously disappear in the blush of its youth? Saturday night in Los Angeles didn't die; San Francisco did, very much like tonight. What to say of this? On the outside, perhaps it was fine.
Adrian had several equipment difficulties. In Dinosaur, during his string intro, the fourth string slipped off its bridge saddle so wouldn't trigger his synth. Hence, a series of re-voiced chords. We all have several of these each evening. For me, the sound in the venue made it impossible to hear the tuning between the guitars. The tuner meter seemed fine, but that doesn't mean a lot to me.
There was one cameraman right in front of me, and another appeared at the end of the show when I was thanking the crew for making this tour possible. When I called him on this, he flashed me a peace sign.
Now, almost-final packing --
10.55
Red Carpet Club, LAX.
Check-in & security clearance is now an inevitability of the Happy Gigster's working life, along with Wonder Wheelie, cellphone, computer & being hustled by those who have the right to hustle you. LAX is now a front-line target. But there is no sense here comparable to checking-in at Heathrow on the morning in 1987 that US bombers took off, from the airbase just north of Peter Gabriel, and flew to Libya. That was the first time I have seen English policeman armed, and conspicuously armed, with machine guns as a normal part of their daily business.
Rising at 08.30, a coffee at the top of Hotel Professionally Acceptable overlooking take-off & landings, an uneventful shuttle to United International & now at a computer desk in the Club. The businessman behind me is on his computer & cellphone, whistling tunelessly & constantly clearing his throat.
On this morning, the sun is shining & the sky is blue.
"Cynicism is death to the artist."
