A dream

He was really famous back in the eighties. Lead singer to this band that was selling millions of albums. I decided to go and see him. Hoping he would play some of the band's big hits. I went up the white marble stairs, filled with fluorescent lamp lights. I entered a darker room with white walls and two windows. Outside, the yellow lamps of the street could be seen. Next to the stairs, was the lift for one person only. There were six white MDF tables, put in no particular order in the room. There was a tiny bar, similar to the one that existed, next to the entrance of the Orange Bar in Ios. A bearded young barman was behind, looking so bored being there. I grabbed a drink and sit in the corner table. The stage was next to the bar and it was equally tiny. He grabbed his guitar and started playing his tunes. His hair were long and white and sparse. We were six people listening to him, all sitting in different tables. Alone.

I fell asleep. I could feel the cold surface of the table in my cheek. But I was too tired to bother. I woke up when he said "Thank you". He put his guitar down. Nobody clapped. I walked towards him. He looked so sad. He was filling up stadiums once and there he was playing for six people. And one of them was sleeping. I asked him politely for a photo. He nodded yes. I looked around. A chubby blonde girl and a tiny black hair girl were walking behind me, going to the stairs. I don't know how they get there. They were not in the audience for sure. "Love, can you take us a photo, please?" I said. They went down the stairs without even looking at me. He put his black backpack on. In panic, I looked behind me for the next "photographer". "Bro, can you take us a photo?" I said. He equally ignored me, like I was a ghost. He opened the door of the lift. The girls appeared again from the stairs. I wanted to ask them again. The door of the lift was now closed and the light from the cabin was disapearing in the square window, like a filling progress bar in a computer screen. I was alone in the venue. Had a last look at the windows and walked down the stairs.

Trip

I was dragging myself to small paths, leading to dead ends that could be seen straight away. I thought I was walking in the right direction and forced to do a U-turn that cost me time and energy, like the one in Berlin, followed by my two good Iberian friends. Occasionally I was dragged and carried by some others. They were like a supermarket trolley and I was inside it. I got off the trolley. I stood. I slowly walked a street for hours till I met a bigger street with lots of cars. I met many people there and convinced them to come with me. We turned left and walked on the pavement of this street. I was observing the cars that were stuck in traffic, all going to the entrance of the highway, that could be seen. We reached that highway and I felt uneasy. There was only a narrow pavement there and the cars were like speeding bullets. You could feel the forced air from the side of the cars, hitting you like a bomb blast. Some people stopped and walked back. Some kept going with me in a single line, like ants carrying food to their holes. I was looking back to make sure that everyone's still following. I lost a few in the way. We found the first exit to the big city. Most people said they'll go there and waved goodbye. The rest kept going. Another exit, less people. And another exit. And another one. Only me and another brave person left walking. And in this exit, we were hugged and kissed and then got in a taxi, looking at me from the rear window. I was looking back till I couldn't see any face and then I couldn't read the white number plate and then I could only see a yellow dot that disappeared. I kept walking. I found many more exits. The destinations looked promising. I kept going. Listening to the sound of the roaring cars. Felt like home in London. Twenty four hours of the same sound outside my window. On my right, I saw these green fields, beautiful slops filled with poppies, lines of chestnut trees, crows and ducks and geese and creeks and small wooden houses and cows and horses. I jumped above the concrete wall when I met another human. We talked and talked. Felt good there. We walked up a hill and from the top, we saw the ocean. This beautiful neverending blue. We walked next to the white cliff till we reached the sea level. The serenity of the waves at last. I'm here now. I lost a lot. I learned a lot. I'm discovering a lot. We read on how to built a boat. I'm wondering which will be the next destination when I only see the line of the horizon.

On Ghosteen

Well, my conspiracy theory about the non existence of Ghosteen, like all the conspiracy theories, collapsed. Ghosteen is here. I heard it in a listening party at the Rough Trade. I bought it. I'll pick it up in November.

I managed to listen to it for the second time today. In the period between the two listenings, I read so many things about it on the internet. My initial thoughts were the same as the majority. Where is the guitar? Where are the drums? What Warren did to Nick? Is this a soundtrack of an non-existent movie? (maybe it is the soundtrack of a movie to come and that's another conspiracy theory) Why did Nick bother to give credits to The Bad Seeds and not circulate this album as a personal one? What is this album about after all?

I'm trying to answer to myself all these questions. For start, I heard the guitar and the drums. They are part of the background musical carpet that allows Nick to express his grief, his loss, his pain and his will to continue with life. And that background musical carpet is what Warren did FOR Nick (and not TO Nick). And yes, sounds like a soundtrack because a soundtrack purpose is to express and to complete musically the story on the screen (find more about the importance of music in the movies of Stanley Kubrick and Alfred Hitchcock). There's no movie here, so it's the soundtrack of the tragedy and aftermath of this tragedy on Nick's life. What could be more real than this?

Having briefly met some of The Bad Seeds, I'm certain that they are not just puppets or instruments to Nick's album. They are fantastic, good-hearted personalities and amazing musicians. Just check what they all did before being in The Bad Seeds and what they are doing in their breaks from The Bad Seeds. I'm also certain that they all contributed to this album.And in the time of loss who would you like to be next to you, if not your friends, those that know you so much, those that will cheer you up, will give you the courage and advices to go on?

This is not a typical album of The Bad Seeds obviously. Lyrics, poetically, express what's in Nick soul all this time. It takes a lot of talent to be able to express what's in your soul through art. It also takes a lot of courage to make public what's in your soul. The results are liberating though.

I don't have the talent to express myself through art. I'm only able to write down what's in my soul. And I sometimes make these writings public, in a small corner I have, somewhere on the internet. That's a reason I love artists of all forms and especially Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds. For their talent and their bravery.

I've been through the greatest loss of my life recently. Many times I thought that my loss can't be compared with someone who is losing his child or his leg or his good health. And that life must go on. That's what Nick does in this album. For the moment, I don't want to listen to it. I'm still in my healing process and I don't find it helpful cause some of the lyrics slap me hard, even if I know it's not about me.