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Oslo. Rockefeller Music Hall. Dec 3rd.

December 4, 2017

Landed in Oslo, we walk to our airport hotel.

Here I am suspecting the locals wear summer outfits under foil and goose feather tombs of coat.
Outside it’s minus 7.
Indoors the cold on my glasses is now condensation and I am steaming in my ‘everyday’ thermal base layer.
They have very effective central heating.
It’s going to take some clothes planning.
Well. Not really. Seeing as I leave tomorrow.
Pointless to make a graph now.
I do love a graph.
They are so elucidating.
If things are bad, just make the Y wider than X and everything looks better.
Perspective is tremendously important.
I think Venn diagrams are my favourite.
I bet Venn was a foreigner.

In my room just after Ipm, I have time to pranny.
Another sound check that needs to be later due to noise restrictions, so we didn’t need to leave ’til 4:30pm.

I got the best bar snack.
Warm goats cheese with apple sauce, red cabbage and seeded crisp bread.
It was memorable.
Patently.

I cat napped.

I packed my gig case.

40 minute drive and we are arrived at Rockefeller Music Hall.

This is our first stand up gig in ages and we are delighted.
It is a perfect brute of a room.
A good square floor with a bar tucked neatly in its left corner and then 2 layers of balcony. Some seats there, but standing too.

All looks both industrial and inviting.

G. Hand signing British pride. X2

The back stage is a confusion of spaces, but they are useful and well equipped. Warm and comfortable.
The social areas being subject to all the noises coming from the auditorium being sat right behind the stage backdrop as they are.
I have to listen to my book on stun to compensate for the music being played.

I am dressed in time, though I had to skip dinner to be so.
I had a cup of soup from an all day tureen and made myself a sandwich from the left over buffet that was the crews lunch, wrapping it up in clingfilm I retrieved from one of the platters.
I stored it in my fridge for later and packed away all my things, so that I could do a legger from stage.

This is going to be more important than ever.
I have 13 shows of late nights and early flights and I am fighting a cold.
I do not sound like I am coming off of four days of no-sing.
Tonight I can hear the virus in my throat. I can feel it. I am mindful of it.
We warm up but there is no pretending.
I am going to have to push harder than is optimum to hit my notes.

Just as April 10th plays out, my monitor pack falls to the concrete and we have a mad moment, G, Dougie, Sean and I, trying to reinstate it seconds before my imminent stage call.
Fixed just in time, the set begins.

We have had to return to the structure of the US shows.
We don’t have our full compliment of lights. We can’t do the reveal so it is a standard entrance, but we still have Eric and
it’s going to look grand.

We have sold out. The room is packed.
We had to go on 10 minutes late so that the snaking crowd around the block could get in first.

We came on to a very fine welcome that happily was maintained the length of the concert.

The audience is as diverse as is my preference, and they are perfect.
Appreciative of ground less covered, and happy for that which is well known to them.

I sense that few here are completionists, but they are honest gig goers, and that is working for me.

I try and master my scattergun talking.
It seems I am well understood.
That is a bonus even in England.
‘Slow down!’ Mostly gets rewarded by the usual quick fire salvo of syllables, but with a longer pause between them.
It’s not a useful remedy.

Either way, here they do not seem to be struggling with me and that’s a weight off. I can relax into them.

The show is great. My singing is fine. No words forgotten. No glaring error although I’m sure Hollow got treated to a smidge of erroneous pitching.
I struggled to hear in a few places.
Club gigs are like that but the rewards of up close and freer are tremendous.
Some shouted to me that they loved me, which is lovely.
I replied that DAG is my top favourite TV show.

That was random.

Like someone coming to England and saying they love our Double Decker busses, or our Beefeaters.

Like we give a fuck.

All I know is that in my house we have decided Norwegians are a super race, and I do love DAG and I thought that would be a short cut, sure fire way of proving my admiration for their nation.

I am however a seasoned wanker.

No one sees the pictures in my head.

They are far more articulate.

I went from stage straight to car.
There were a couple of ebayers out there and I hate shunning people, but I had to fuck off.

A wet dress/no coat signing autograph collections outside in a Norwegian winter is half-witted at the best of times.

I know I am being wise and comfort myself being mindful that an actual gig going fan would currently be in the venue still.

Don’t dwell on it, Mo.

In the car I pour myself and Vinny plastic cups of red wine.

In my room, I eat my sandwich and would have made myself sleep, had it not happened of its own accord.

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