THE SONG OF THE DISEMBRAINING

I’m in a kitchen in a small apartment in Toulouse. It’s a day off. We spent seven hours on the train today. The trains are beginning to make me insane. Micah nearly went ballistic when the two kids with Rod Stewart haircuts sitting next him wouldn’t stop playing terrible pop songs on their cellphones. Neither of us could speak enough French to express our extreme irritation to the little bastards so we sat in silence and endured the insipid music blaring tinnily out of the tiny speakers. Micah and I are deeply appalled. Haven’t these morons heard of headphones? This is exactly why we left the States. The stupidity is spreading. Soon it will take over the world. There won’t be room for people like us soon. We are dinosaurs. Our only option is to keep moving or die.
I decided that I couldn’t take anymore so I sat in the hall between the cars where I had found the only power outlet on the train. I put Roky Erickson on the headphones and started writing a letter to one of my friends. It’s a rant about sex and death that goes on for pages. I’m on fire. While typing a particularly nasty passage, I notice that there is a young girl, probably 5 years old, dangling from a railing, smiling and staring at me intently about three feet away. I like kids, but I‘m not having a kid-friendly moment. I need to get off this train. I can’t find any space to think here. I badly need a cigarette. The train stops and I leap off and take two drags of a cigarette. The door closes on my arm as I leap back onto the train, barely making it. I give up, return to my seat and stare blankly. I love touring but there are always moments like this. My coping skills go out the window and I become despondent. It will pass, but right now I’m in it and it’s eating me alive.
Lille was a blast. We played to a small but very engaged audience at a club called La Malterie. Lovely Lila Park and Tall Paul Grundy are there. I met them the last time I was here and we had a great time. We are well fed and there. (scene missing. I need to shut the fuck up.) Things are complex and I’m not sure what to do with it..
Rennes was the home of one of my heroes, Alfred Jarry, the pataphysician and author of the Ubu plays. He was a diminutive, arrogant bastard who only spoke in the royal we and was fond of lighting people’s cigarettes with pistols. He was engaged in full-on war against reality. Reality won and he died penniless at a very young age on All Souls Day in 1907. He left behind a body of work that spawned Dada, Surrealism, Cubism, Punk Rock and just about every movement that matters. In his honor, I decide to reject reality for my entire stay in Rennes.
We stay with Romaine, a musician, and his girlfriend Marie, a dancer. We immediately hit it off and have a great time. They seem charmed by my rapid-fire wordplay and tales of ridiculous adventures. The gig is at a small art gallery called Le Bon Acceuil. It’s a bit of a sausage party, but I meet a few other accordion players and I was among my kin. Our sets go very well. I play a cover of Townes Van Zandt’s “Lungs”. After the gig, Romaine and I stay up half the night talking and there are many laughs. Romaine turns me on to a band called Radical Satan from Bordeaux. Mindblowing stuff.
There is a Jarry exhibit in town, but I overslept and we missed it. We got on the train to Nantes. The Chateau de Gilles De Rais is nearby and I kill several children to honor his memory. The gig is in a pub.I don’t play particularly well, but Micah’s set is possibly the best of the tour. Afterwards, I meet an Australian jazz drummer and we exchange ex-junky horror stories. I eat a steak dinner and we go back to the promoter’s house. I keep bumping into things and knocking things over. I jokingly inform him that I plan to destroy his home and he gets visibly upset. Afterwards, I stay up until 7am typing a private screed and exchanging highly inappropriate emails with a female friend in the states. I unwittingly keep Micah up all night and feel terrible about it.
Now I am at the venue in Toulouse. I’m holed up in a small room typing and listening to Nick Cave’s “Let Love In”. We play at eight. I’m waiting for the phone to ring.