Amsterdamage.

Wanna hear all about my holiday? I think you do. As anyone who's gone there will tell you, coming home from Amsterdam isn't a pleasant feeling. It's now Thursday, I got back on Monday and I'd still go back in an instant. Well, next year, eh? Okay, it's travelogue time. First, the airport. We had something like a five-hour wait to check in because we... wait a minute, I should first explain who "we" is.
This is Rob J, who you saw last a few updates ago. We were going to be going with his other half Kara, but it ended up with just the two of us. Anyway, a five hour wait at Birmingham airport means your fun is limited for a few hours (hence this sort of malarky), but we got there soon enough, fucking tired and grotty. See, fatigue isn't a luxury we could really afford, because that very night we had tickets for Grand Buffet and Sage Francis at the Melkweg, so we had to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed cuz we'd been looking forward to this one for months. No fucking worries, though- as soon as we got our smoke on and got to the club it was just uproar all the way. I've never been to such a superb, intimate venue- for hip-hop it was perfect, you could hear, see and feel everything. Grand Buffet were on first, and they were fucking awesome- like a two-man Beastie Boys, but with a sense of humour and a shitload more energy- these pictures give you some idea of the size of the venue- there's no zoom on them at all, and that was squeezed against the back wall. They're so damn blurry because the fuckers wouldn't ever, ever keep still- this was kinetic, high-energy rap, hilarious, well-observed lyrics and loads of audience participation and ass-shaking beats. The fact we'd been up for thirty-or-so hours meant shit at this point cuz we were buzzing like flies (cool note: Grand Buffet were hanging out after the show as well, Rob and I met them, got our shit signed and chatted for a while, which is a very cool way to handle yourself indeed- I want these guys to get huge, they fucking deserve it). Next up was Sage, who devastated the room (again, apologies for the shaky pics), with his Rasputin-style beard and gown, spitting fantastic tracks from A Healthy Distrust and making each member of the audience feel involved- no shit folks, this was a superb, underground and hardcore evening. Rob and I felt like hardcore soldiers, man, underground cross-planet travellers, soldiers in the truth army of beats, rhymes and life. Well, we were pretty fucked up by this point. A little word about where whe stayed. I've been to 'Dam each year since '01, and each time since '02 I've stayed here, the loveliest campsite in the whole world. No pressure, holidaymakers from all over the world, cheap, basic and clean cabins, really close to the tram terminal... perfection. What makes it for me, though, is the fact that it's right next to a half-pipe and a local graffiti spot- each year I've gone back the art has gotten better and better, and this year it was astounding- I mean, check this shit out. Intricate detail, wide, sprawling works, humour... Just superb, all of it. We had plans to see Nine Inch Nails later in the holiday, but we spent such a lot of time getting wrecked and boozing in as many places as possible that it never happened- I'll live. With_Teeth was pretty mediocre in retrospect, and the forty-minute train ride to the German border just didn't appeal.
The last few hours of the holiday were spent in the traditional all-out smoke-off, desperately nailing as much quality skunk as possible to get rid of it all before the plane- we succeeded, of course. So, here I am, back in blighty. I've got a few weeks of summer-school teaching lined up next month (thanks to a tip-off from the resouceful, helpful and generous Miss. Cope), but right now all I'm doing is taking stock and watching my tan fade. Same time next year, I think.
My thanks for reading this far, and here's a last holiday image for you:

Good times man, good fucking times.
Laters
Marko
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