This smallish coastal city in France had a castle next door to the apartment where we crashed that night.

I can’t remember how I felt the next day, but truth be told I was in low spirits. We were meeting up with Ex-Models which was awesome, but I was feeling terrible about myself and feeling disconnected from the center of it all.

On the positive tip: Our driver Michal was a Czech from Prague who had demonstrated an unparalleled proficiency. Unlike our drivers of tours past, this guy could actually drive, park and find venues! Without our help. I can tell you honestly that I never once thought about getting to a venue EVER – we just ended up there. His only flaw was his love of The Decemberists which was significant but not fatal. We all have our crosses to bear.

The venue was an old Nazi concrete warehouse, there were 8 or 9 genuine French people milling about outside when we arrived. It was sunny, and the enterance was on a side street – the building sat like an awesome vulgarity on the corner – a kind of dirty step child of the TWA building at JFK – of course its wings were broken and smashed and the insides were cramped and charmless – but I suppose its extremity contained its brutal character and it wasn’t boring. It was disorienting and meandered like an indifferent maze. The bathroom and the kitchen were up a ladder of iron bars set into the concrete, the stage was at the end of narrow shoebox and the Ex-Models were setting up for sound check. This consisted of setting up amps, and plugging in their iPod which had the drums tracks. It was cool to see them in the throws of a tour daze – when energy isn’t accessible until a few drinks of coffee or booze are consumed. So we loaded in, went backstage and I started drinking right away. I smoked some stuff and started to feel normal, even thankful as the models and their extended family (literally with Eli, Zach’s brother) started filing in and we got to talking. Much of the talk was centered around making fun of Germans – specifically their frank assessments of shows – usually negative. Something like, “That was not . . . as good as your lahst show.” Laughing at the incessant negativity of touring (or I suppose that kind of deflating aspect) was a way to keep it at bay. We were hunkered down in a foreign land. . .but they treated us excellently and soon I was eating a great and varied meal and remembering that wine didn’t affect my playing much so I was putting it back recklessly.

Sure enough it didn’t do much . . . the French band that opened the show was great – I can’t remember their name – I think they said that they were inspired by Jesus Lizard – or someone told me that. Their drummer was great and I think they were barely past 20.

The Ex-Models were killer, very harsh and diamond-like with their precision. But the shit was gem stones – not zirconia – and I was on a backing track which was fun to listen to. . . I’m on their new record “Chrome Panthers” – coming out this fall on Troubleman. They had vinyl copies of the european version which looked like a bootleg. Awesome.

I think our set was pretty good – but I think we didn’t go over with the French country people. . . I think we’re a little square for them? I’m not sure. It was cool. . . I wasn’t mad – there was much to be thankful for . . . we returned to a party or at least a get together – there were some acoustic guitars, maybe even some hand drums! I let them alone and dreamed about climbing the walls and swimming moat across the street.