Well, Jimmy Page is all over the news these days. He’s been doing press to support the Led Zeppelin re-releases and just last week he was in Boston to receive a honorary doctoral degree from Berklee College of Music and delivered the commencement speech to nearly 900 music students, some of whom ditched the traditional hand shake and went all in and hugged Jimmy when receiving their degrees. It must have been a fantastic experience. I mean, not only you’re graduating from one of the most prestigious music schools in the world but on top of that, you get Jimmy-fucking-Page to hand you your degree. It’s just bonkers.
Shortly after, the Internet exploded with pictures of joyful fans who spotted him around Boston. Like this guy, who waited a few hours until Jimmy and Ross were done with their record shopping so he could ask for a picture and an autograph. He got both, including a selfie with the man himself. Bastard. I must admit, it made me happy to read his exciting account of the encounter but those pictures also made me a bit jealous. At least for a second. Then, reality kicked in and everything was fine again. Every time I look back at all the times I met Jimmy, I can’t help to think to myself: “Man, I’m one lucky motherfucker.”
Sure, I don’t have a single picture with him (never asked for one anyway) but the memories… the memories remain (and I will treasure them FOREVER!): the time we met outside Earls Court, the Wilko Johnson gig we attended to the same day I met him for the first time, the beer he bought me that night, the EELS show we saw at Somerset House, the burgers we shared before the gig, the guitar pick he gave me, the LZ II copy I got as a present, the signed “Celebration Day” he personally gave me, the record shopping days in London, walking around Camden after that Mick Ralphs concert, Whitesnake at the Roundhouse, talking about the Stones show on the phone; the cup of tea in his house in Reading, the time we rode the Tube together after a morning at Spitalfields Market, the laughs, the chats, the friendly pats on the back… me? Jealous? Bitch, please ;-)
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I just compulsively bought into this and ordered a poster bundle. Stupid Facebook. And stupid electronic commerce, which makes spending money such an easy undertaking.
Twenty-nine bucks for three posters seems relatively reasonable but when you look at how much the international shipping costs, the whole poster bundle thing stops looking as such a good deal. However, I do like the aesthetic of most NIN posters and I find the idea of buying a surprise package a little bit exciting so fuck it, it’s done. Fingers crossed I get something I actually like.
Speaking of NIN, they played Copenhagen last night and I deliberately missed the show. Partly because I will see them at Primavera Sound in a couple of weeks and partly because the venue they were playing here is shite; the sound is usually awful and if you’re not front row, chances are you are going to have an unpleasant sonic experience so in the end I decided to skip this show and use that money to buy a ticket to Copenhell, which this years features an interesting bill: Iron Maiden, Megadeth, Sepultura, Anthrax and Black Lebel Society. My friend André, who’s now working as Tour Manager for Arch Enemy, will also be in town as the band is also playing the festival and it’s gonna be nice to catch up with him after so long (last time I saw him was in 2010, I think) so I think it was the right move to make.
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Update on the Iceland/Norway holiday: Turns out my friend Anna and her friend will be going on a cruise to the Faroe Islands while I’ll be in Reykjavík so in the end, if Mark or Rodrigo don’t join, I might actually end up being all by myself on my birthday. Not that it worries me that much, really. That was the original plan and I will be happy to stick to it.