On the eve of the national smoking ban Brakes headed up to Luton airport on the train to stay one night at the Ibis hotel. The following morning we were up damn early and checking in for our 06:50AM flight to Istanbul, the capital of Turkey. Some 3 hours of air-born dozing later we were speeding across the western edge of the Bosphurus Sea and heading into the european side of the city. I hadn't realised how dramatic the landscape here was, nor how green and lush it was. I was expecting a flat and arid place, so i was surprised by the green and rolling hills, dotted with dusty houses and high rise flats. Large Turkish flags stood tall everywhere you looked, flapping proudly in the light breeze beside great shimmering Mosques.
As we came closer into the hustle and bustle the cultural standpoint revealed itself. This was truly where east meets west, you could see it in peoples faces. It felt good to be on the edge of the west, mingling with the unfamiliar. A refreshing antidote to the giant film set that is America, our last foreign destination.
We pulled up at the Dedeman Hotel. The Magic Numbers were just leaving so we had a beer with them. Our representative Nazli said we could go to the festival if we wanted. Tom and Alex took up the offer whilst the rest of us opted for a trip into town and a meal. Just before we left the hotel an arrogant english man decided to talk down rather disrespectfully to one of the bar waiters. It was embarrassing to watch. He was complaining about the price of beer which to be fair was quite expensive but then we were in a 5 star hotel. Eamon, Joe, Andy and myself took a cab that winded bumpily up and down the back streets of the city until it dropped us at the busy Taksim square. Andy and Eamon bought rather chewy corn on the cob and then we nudged through the crowds, avoiding trams, looking for somewhere to have a meal.
We found a place on a steep side street. It was the first place we saw but we were all so hungry and tired that we didn't care. A large table of American travelers sat behind us, they were loud and whiny. The meal wasn't spectacular, best part was the beer, the bread and the simple dips. Joe managed to order fish covered in melted cheese while i had a bowl of lamb submerged in oily fried nettles. Once we'd eaten we trotted down the hill only to find a whole bunch of other restaurants that smelt and looked much nicer.
We were walking into the unknown, down into a residential area where kids played football in the shady streets and groups of young men stood suspiciously, staring wildly at us with their large eyes. Assuming that we were on a valley's decline to the water, we carried on down until all of a sudden we were slap bang in the middle of a bustling street market. It wasn't the busiest market id ever seen but we were soon swept up in its flow, moving along with the throng of shoppers. There were no other tourists to be seen and I was easily the tallest man around by a good couple of feet.
Shoes were hanging from poles and lines of clothes dangled over head, or in my case around my head. The tradesmen were proudly announcing their produce to the masses with loud tuneful cries. Some of them were just young boys but clearly had the experience and more vim than any of their elder counterparts. Great slabs of white whey cheese were being sliced and bagged as huge vats of olives sat in the sun emanating a powerful, salty stench. Eamon bought some. They were the best olives ever. I felt immensely lucky that we'd just stumbled upon this by chance. So far Istanbul was amazing.
Eventually we found the sea although it wasn't where we expected it. we came out of the bustling market up to a main road where an awe inspiring view hit us just as the sun was disappearing below the watery horizon. Venturing further down the hill towards the waters edge we past some government buildings and a park but the water shore was Navy property.
Unless we wanted to pay to sit in one of the cafes there we couldn't get next to the sea. We walked up a busy and steep road until we realised we were going to have to dash across 6 lanes of speedy traffic to get to the other side. Once across we headed up a road to an area where someone had recommended we go. I had only just commented how even though my father had said Istanbul had made him feel like he was being ripped off all the time, we had encountered no such trouble. I should have kept my mouth shut. As we came to a roundabout I noticed a shoe-shiner walking towards us. I thought he was going to offer his services but he carried on walking past until, just as he was passing my side, a brush fell out of his box onto the floor. I tapped him on the shoulder to alert him of his mislaid tool and before I knew it, I was having my shoes shined, fully aware that he'd dropped that brush on purpose to take advantage of my good nature. 'Shit!' I thought to myself. His colleagues quickly pounced on the rest of us and within minutes we were all about £10 down with no option of getting some change as promised. Feeling slightly deflated and stupid we headed back to our hotel.
The next morning I sleepily went down for a very odd breakfast. Feeling a little sick I headed back up to my room and snoozed away the rest of the time before heading to the site. I lay there feeling like i should get out and go and see more of the city but I didn't want to get scammed again. We'd got off lightly by comparison I bet. At least we weren't trying to buy a rug or anything like that. When the time came I went down to the lobby where Tom and Alex were sat with our rep Nazli. We all had stories to share. Apparently back stage at the festival a ruckus had occurred when Plan B and Kelis's drummer had a disagreement. We'd first encountered Plan B when he supported us at the Brixton Windmill. In between songs he screamed "Listen to me you cunts!" to the 50 odd people in attendance. Im not sure if he sold any merchandise that night. Needless to say, the boy's got issues. Anyway, I think possibly what happened was that Kelis's guys had never come across a white south Londoner such as him and probably gave him some shit for talking the talk and for using certain words that they wouldn't expect someone like him to use. He kicked off, smashing chairs, offering to fight anyone in the vicinity. He even started on The Rakes. It certainly soured the idyllic atmosphere of the festival and its tranquil back stage area, which i was soon to be melting at.
We were picked up from the hotel and driven for about 45 minutes east out of the city. Soon we were in the countryside, avoiding cattle on the road and heading towards the black sea coast. The festival was being held at a beach resort, on a ledge looking down over the sea.
The back stage area was made up of a large dining table with several chairs around it, a bar and then 5 adjoining marquees partitioned with tarpaulin for each band. It was unfathomably hot and i was pleased that our marquee had a large air conditioner as big as an American fridge in it. Lunch was served and it was all delicious. We were provided with plenty of beers and other drinks and everyone was very helpful and nice.
The Horrors turned up and after a while someone had the idea to rip down the partition between our two dressing rooms and turn it into one large dressing room for us both to share. They had an Ipod and we had a fridge so it was a fair trade. We all made friends and chatted happily like all brits abroad do.
The time came around for us to play and it was still baking. It was OK in the shade with a bit of breeze, ideal in the dressing room with the air con, but on stage in the full glare of the sun it was most uncomfortable. Somehow I got through it, we all did. Eamon had a bit of a frog in his throat for the first tune and Tom began to resemble a beet-root towards the end but overall it was good. It was only dampened by the fact that the first several rows of people at the barrier were decked out in black waiting patiently for the anti-christ himself, Marilyn Manson who was head lining. After the show Eamon and I did a string of interviews, some of which contained some well informed and interesting questions. Unfortunately I missed The Horrors who were playing during this time but I can imagine that their brand of freak-show halloween noise punk went down pretty well with the majority audience.
Because Manson's stage show was so elaborate, his crew were taking every possible moment they could to prep stuff and set things up. In between bands it wasn't just the next band playing who had carte blanche to be on stage, but all Manson's crew around them too. Subsequently The Long Blondes ended up playing on a carpeted stage and as soon as they'd finished, those of us who'd been watching from the side were swiftly removed. By now the back stage area had been split into Manson's area and an area roughly the same size for everyone else. It was cordoned off with black sheets adorning the playboy bunny and guarded by a few big fat dudes. Eamon, being the tireless trouble maker that he is, drunkenly decided to invite himself through the black sheet only to be quickly asked to leave. He protested that he wasn't man handled enough and then tried to bribe his way in the other side with an out of circulation 250,000 lira note. Surprisingly that didn't work either.
There was an aggressive sense of hierarchy brewing back there, an 'us and them' complex that i didn't like. Other than the free booze (which was quickly running out) there wasn't much else to stick around for. I watched a few songs of Manson. He looked jaded, parading around the stage like a caricature of himself. Fair enough his voice is one of a kind when he gets it right but too many of his lines were just dribbling out in a loss of breath. He looked like a suffocating fish, gasping for air on the deck having just been hooked out of the sea. For all the military operation bollocks and other bullshit everyone had to endure because of him, it was quite under-whelming. We took our leave not long after he finished and drove back to the hotel where we had a wee party in The Horrors sound guy's room. After a while i had the sense to go to bed.
We left early the next morning and headed to the airport. Istanbul airport is small and easy. I wanted to buy some cheap booze but as i was getting a connecting flight back to Glasgow from Luton I wouldn't have been allowed to take the glass bottles. Eamon and I got drunk on the plane on red wine. 3 hours and 40 minutes isn't short enough for you not to care and it isn't long enough for you to get comfortable. So boozing ourselves into a drunken slumber and talking shite was the only way. I said goodbye to all at Luton and checked into my next flight, by now hung-over and exhausted. It suddenly dawned on me that I was going home for the first time in 36 days. I let out a little whimper. I was sure something was going to stop me from getting there and it almost did when someone drove a burning car into the front of Glasgow airport. Luckily for me Scottish resilience kicks arse and the airport was open despite smelling like a barbecue and having a charred facade. Every second I got nearer to home was excruciating. Every person dilly-dallying with their luggage on the bus was winding me up. I finally got back and it was pure bliss.
As we came closer into the hustle and bustle the cultural standpoint revealed itself. This was truly where east meets west, you could see it in peoples faces. It felt good to be on the edge of the west, mingling with the unfamiliar. A refreshing antidote to the giant film set that is America, our last foreign destination.
We pulled up at the Dedeman Hotel. The Magic Numbers were just leaving so we had a beer with them. Our representative Nazli said we could go to the festival if we wanted. Tom and Alex took up the offer whilst the rest of us opted for a trip into town and a meal. Just before we left the hotel an arrogant english man decided to talk down rather disrespectfully to one of the bar waiters. It was embarrassing to watch. He was complaining about the price of beer which to be fair was quite expensive but then we were in a 5 star hotel. Eamon, Joe, Andy and myself took a cab that winded bumpily up and down the back streets of the city until it dropped us at the busy Taksim square. Andy and Eamon bought rather chewy corn on the cob and then we nudged through the crowds, avoiding trams, looking for somewhere to have a meal.
We found a place on a steep side street. It was the first place we saw but we were all so hungry and tired that we didn't care. A large table of American travelers sat behind us, they were loud and whiny. The meal wasn't spectacular, best part was the beer, the bread and the simple dips. Joe managed to order fish covered in melted cheese while i had a bowl of lamb submerged in oily fried nettles. Once we'd eaten we trotted down the hill only to find a whole bunch of other restaurants that smelt and looked much nicer.
We were walking into the unknown, down into a residential area where kids played football in the shady streets and groups of young men stood suspiciously, staring wildly at us with their large eyes. Assuming that we were on a valley's decline to the water, we carried on down until all of a sudden we were slap bang in the middle of a bustling street market. It wasn't the busiest market id ever seen but we were soon swept up in its flow, moving along with the throng of shoppers. There were no other tourists to be seen and I was easily the tallest man around by a good couple of feet.
Shoes were hanging from poles and lines of clothes dangled over head, or in my case around my head. The tradesmen were proudly announcing their produce to the masses with loud tuneful cries. Some of them were just young boys but clearly had the experience and more vim than any of their elder counterparts. Great slabs of white whey cheese were being sliced and bagged as huge vats of olives sat in the sun emanating a powerful, salty stench. Eamon bought some. They were the best olives ever. I felt immensely lucky that we'd just stumbled upon this by chance. So far Istanbul was amazing.
Eventually we found the sea although it wasn't where we expected it. we came out of the bustling market up to a main road where an awe inspiring view hit us just as the sun was disappearing below the watery horizon. Venturing further down the hill towards the waters edge we past some government buildings and a park but the water shore was Navy property.
Unless we wanted to pay to sit in one of the cafes there we couldn't get next to the sea. We walked up a busy and steep road until we realised we were going to have to dash across 6 lanes of speedy traffic to get to the other side. Once across we headed up a road to an area where someone had recommended we go. I had only just commented how even though my father had said Istanbul had made him feel like he was being ripped off all the time, we had encountered no such trouble. I should have kept my mouth shut. As we came to a roundabout I noticed a shoe-shiner walking towards us. I thought he was going to offer his services but he carried on walking past until, just as he was passing my side, a brush fell out of his box onto the floor. I tapped him on the shoulder to alert him of his mislaid tool and before I knew it, I was having my shoes shined, fully aware that he'd dropped that brush on purpose to take advantage of my good nature. 'Shit!' I thought to myself. His colleagues quickly pounced on the rest of us and within minutes we were all about £10 down with no option of getting some change as promised. Feeling slightly deflated and stupid we headed back to our hotel.
The next morning I sleepily went down for a very odd breakfast. Feeling a little sick I headed back up to my room and snoozed away the rest of the time before heading to the site. I lay there feeling like i should get out and go and see more of the city but I didn't want to get scammed again. We'd got off lightly by comparison I bet. At least we weren't trying to buy a rug or anything like that. When the time came I went down to the lobby where Tom and Alex were sat with our rep Nazli. We all had stories to share. Apparently back stage at the festival a ruckus had occurred when Plan B and Kelis's drummer had a disagreement. We'd first encountered Plan B when he supported us at the Brixton Windmill. In between songs he screamed "Listen to me you cunts!" to the 50 odd people in attendance. Im not sure if he sold any merchandise that night. Needless to say, the boy's got issues. Anyway, I think possibly what happened was that Kelis's guys had never come across a white south Londoner such as him and probably gave him some shit for talking the talk and for using certain words that they wouldn't expect someone like him to use. He kicked off, smashing chairs, offering to fight anyone in the vicinity. He even started on The Rakes. It certainly soured the idyllic atmosphere of the festival and its tranquil back stage area, which i was soon to be melting at.
We were picked up from the hotel and driven for about 45 minutes east out of the city. Soon we were in the countryside, avoiding cattle on the road and heading towards the black sea coast. The festival was being held at a beach resort, on a ledge looking down over the sea.
The back stage area was made up of a large dining table with several chairs around it, a bar and then 5 adjoining marquees partitioned with tarpaulin for each band. It was unfathomably hot and i was pleased that our marquee had a large air conditioner as big as an American fridge in it. Lunch was served and it was all delicious. We were provided with plenty of beers and other drinks and everyone was very helpful and nice.
The Horrors turned up and after a while someone had the idea to rip down the partition between our two dressing rooms and turn it into one large dressing room for us both to share. They had an Ipod and we had a fridge so it was a fair trade. We all made friends and chatted happily like all brits abroad do.
The time came around for us to play and it was still baking. It was OK in the shade with a bit of breeze, ideal in the dressing room with the air con, but on stage in the full glare of the sun it was most uncomfortable. Somehow I got through it, we all did. Eamon had a bit of a frog in his throat for the first tune and Tom began to resemble a beet-root towards the end but overall it was good. It was only dampened by the fact that the first several rows of people at the barrier were decked out in black waiting patiently for the anti-christ himself, Marilyn Manson who was head lining. After the show Eamon and I did a string of interviews, some of which contained some well informed and interesting questions. Unfortunately I missed The Horrors who were playing during this time but I can imagine that their brand of freak-show halloween noise punk went down pretty well with the majority audience.
Because Manson's stage show was so elaborate, his crew were taking every possible moment they could to prep stuff and set things up. In between bands it wasn't just the next band playing who had carte blanche to be on stage, but all Manson's crew around them too. Subsequently The Long Blondes ended up playing on a carpeted stage and as soon as they'd finished, those of us who'd been watching from the side were swiftly removed. By now the back stage area had been split into Manson's area and an area roughly the same size for everyone else. It was cordoned off with black sheets adorning the playboy bunny and guarded by a few big fat dudes. Eamon, being the tireless trouble maker that he is, drunkenly decided to invite himself through the black sheet only to be quickly asked to leave. He protested that he wasn't man handled enough and then tried to bribe his way in the other side with an out of circulation 250,000 lira note. Surprisingly that didn't work either.
There was an aggressive sense of hierarchy brewing back there, an 'us and them' complex that i didn't like. Other than the free booze (which was quickly running out) there wasn't much else to stick around for. I watched a few songs of Manson. He looked jaded, parading around the stage like a caricature of himself. Fair enough his voice is one of a kind when he gets it right but too many of his lines were just dribbling out in a loss of breath. He looked like a suffocating fish, gasping for air on the deck having just been hooked out of the sea. For all the military operation bollocks and other bullshit everyone had to endure because of him, it was quite under-whelming. We took our leave not long after he finished and drove back to the hotel where we had a wee party in The Horrors sound guy's room. After a while i had the sense to go to bed.
We left early the next morning and headed to the airport. Istanbul airport is small and easy. I wanted to buy some cheap booze but as i was getting a connecting flight back to Glasgow from Luton I wouldn't have been allowed to take the glass bottles. Eamon and I got drunk on the plane on red wine. 3 hours and 40 minutes isn't short enough for you not to care and it isn't long enough for you to get comfortable. So boozing ourselves into a drunken slumber and talking shite was the only way. I said goodbye to all at Luton and checked into my next flight, by now hung-over and exhausted. It suddenly dawned on me that I was going home for the first time in 36 days. I let out a little whimper. I was sure something was going to stop me from getting there and it almost did when someone drove a burning car into the front of Glasgow airport. Luckily for me Scottish resilience kicks arse and the airport was open despite smelling like a barbecue and having a charred facade. Every second I got nearer to home was excruciating. Every person dilly-dallying with their luggage on the bus was winding me up. I finally got back and it was pure bliss.
