John Askew suele publicar tanto en su MySpace como en Facebook algo así como un diario de viaje.
Acá les dejo el fragmento dedicado a Argentina.
Estaría bueno si pudieramos ir traduciendolo para aquellos que no hablan ingles
I was glancing over my CD collection the other week, looking for something cool to have in the background while we sat down to the family dinner I had just prepared, when suddenly something horrific caught my eye. Two titles – hiding in amongst my other music – like a pair of undercover agents on a stake out.
UB40 and Manic Street Preachers.
What….the….fuck??
No, surely not. I read the spine of each CD case twice more to make sure this wasn’t some form of vulgar hallucination. U-B-40. Manic-Street-Preachers. I checked the date on my watch – nope, it wasn’t 1st April. I know what you’re thinking – how the hell did you cope John? Well I’ve watched some Ray Mears survival shows on TV so I know that in situations like this it is imperative to remain calm and not panic. I closed my eyes, swallowed hard and took a deep breath. I then carefully removed the suspect materials, apologised profusely to the rest of my music collection and escorted the aforementioned albums to the waste paper basket. I had garlic on my hands so they were due for a thorough wash anyway but even with a double dousing in Sanex antibacterial scrub – they still felt contaminated.
Dinner was obviously ruined. How could I eat knowing someone had tampered with our music? It’s one thing to borrow or steal from a friend’s CD collection but it’s quite another to offload your own interpretation of “good music” into a man’s collection. I felt violated. Dirty. Fuck Sanex – I need a shower in Detol.
After a relatively chilled 24 hours at home following my return from the crazy Trance Energy tour in Australia I head back to Heathrow and catch my flight to Buenos Aries for the last two gigs in this busy month. I’m shattered and haven’t really caught up on the sleep I lost while down under so it’s a relief to find the flight is only 60% full and I am able to commandeer 2 extra seats besides my own and lie across them in a deep sleep for most of the journey.
Following a brief stop in Sao Paulo to refuel and allow those passengers heading for Brazil to disembark (have you heard in flight crews use the word “disembarkation” before? Surely that’s not a proper word is it? They’ve made it up and got away with it!!) we’re back in the air bound for Buenos Aries.
On arrival I meet Javier and we go and chill by the pool for a few hours before starting the long drive to Rosario for the first gig of the weekend. We share a few glasses of red and some amazing local delicacies - small pastries containing a variety of different fillings - cheese & spinach / meat / ham and cheese. I have forgotten what they are called but they are truly delicious. Against Javier’s advise I jump in the pool for a quick swim. As soon as I enter the icy water I wish I’d listened to him, but when I emerge I pretend otherwise.
Eventually we hit the road for Rosario. This is a drive I have done once before, but that was at night.
The suburbs of Buenos Aries give way to the spectacular Argentinean countryside – which opens up all around us. A memorising mix of luscious green colours in every direction with no changes in gradient make the skyline seem much further away - this is agricultural land at its most epic. The panoramic views are topped with a remarkable sky - like nothing I have ever seen before. It too seems to stretch on far beyond the horizon and is beginning to turn a vivid crimson red colour as the sun begins to set. It is without exception the most incredible sunset I have ever witnessed. The clarity and sharpness of the clouds together with the richness of the colours is just unbelievable. Javier tells me that when Princess Diana visited Argentina – she too was captivated by the sky and how endless it seemed. I concur with her.
As we drive we discuss green issues and listen to one of the NU NRG Orgasmatron radio sets. The green issues are of the highest order and so I’m in a deliciously heady haze - grinning like a Cheshire cat while simultaneously gripping the seat in terror as Javier guns the controls like Michael Schumacher. With the sun shining directly into our eyes I can barely see the road in front of us – lets alone the cars we pass at lightning speed.
We get to Rosario as day gives way to night. The beautiful city has a wonderful mixture of amazing architecture and it also seems to have a unique and vibrant energy. I don’t know how to put this into words, but I love the vibe of the place.
Finally – after 24 hours on the road I collapse onto the bed in my hotel room. I sleep for a few hours and then wake, shower and turn on the TV. I watch an episode of 24 in Spanish. The male overdub allocated to Kiefer Sutherland is deeper and more rugged than his natural voice. How annoyed must he get when he sees himself on TV in other countries - only to find he’s been given a voice that’s cooler than his own. That would piss me off too Kiefer.
I grab a cab to the gig – which is by the river in a kind of open sided permenant Marquee structure. It’s really busy and Javier’s warming up the crowd perfectly. I play for 3 hours and the atmosphere is electric and the sound system is kicking. The last time I played here it was my birthday and after I played my last record I was shocked to hear the whole club sing happy birthday to me as they lifted a birthday cake into the dj booth. It was a very special night indeed and tonight is just as rocking. As usual time runs out and it’s time to close the event – I end with my remix of Paul Van Dyk’s “The Other Side”. After taking pictures with clubbers and signing some albums I share a few drinks with Javier’s manager Robert and a few random party people. Then it’s back to the hotel to crash.
In the morning I wake and drink all the water in the minibar. I haven’t eaten since the pastries we had yesterday morning after I arrived so I’m absolutely famished. Luckily we are invited to Javier’s brother’s house here in Rosario for a BBQ before we head back to Buenos Aries for tonight’s gig at Privilege. It’s hot today. It’s the beginning of the Argentinean winter and yet I’m sweating like hell.
We jump in the car and head back in the same direction as last night’s venue, following the wide Parana River on our right hand side for several miles before turning in land on to cobbled streets where kids are playing in the sunshine. It’s a nice leafy suburb called La Floresta (I might have that name wrong as my memory is terrible).
Javier’s brother and wife greet us warmly and we are invited into their lovely home for lunch. On the menu – meat, red wine and the FA Cup semi final between Arsenal and Chelsea. Could there be a better menu? The meat and wine are both delicious but the football is horseshit. So horseshit in fact that we abandon the TV before the second half begins. I hate seeing Arsenal loose – almost as much as I hate seeing Chelsea win. Almost.
After a wonderful lunch we bid our farewells and hit the road. We make two stops – one for petrol and ice cream and another to buy fresh oranges from a road side seller who has set up a wooden kiosk selling all kinds of nik naks and food stuffs at the side of the highway.
In Buenos Aries I check into the hotel and wait for an old friend of mine from the UK, who lives here in the city, to come and pick me up. I go and hang out with him, his wife and son at their house. We go for dinner and then hook up with a bunch of their friends and all head to the club. On arrival the bouncer refuses to let us in. My mate explains that I am djing but still he refuses. I can’t understand what they are saying as they are talking in Spanish but his body language says everything. Eventually the organisers come running out and give the bouncer a few curt words before ushering us in and getting us drinks. Javier is on the decks - rocking the big crowd. The venue is busy. It’s amazing and I can’t wait to play. A big warehouse with one whole side made of glass overlooking a river. Somewhere between getting out of the car and arriving behind the decks I have lost my watch. It’s annoying as it was a birthday present from my girlfriend. I read somewhere that you can tell a lot about a man by the watch he wears. Since loosing that watch I have been sporting a $2 kids Spiderman masterpiece in engineering. This classic timepiece was purchased for me when I was 7 years old – and it’s still going strong but I’m not sure what wearing it says about me as a man?
Anyway…
What can I say about the gig. It turns out to be one of the hottest gigs of the last 18 months. This is going to sound like a cliché and maybe it is, but there is a real connection with the crowd. The hairs are standing up on the back of my neck now as I write this just remembering the night. I’m due to do a 3 hour set but I end up playing for just over 5. By the last hour, the sun is up and so, as the club, having one wall made of glass, is flooded with light. I have eye contact with everyone on the floor. This is intimate. This is sweaty. This is amazing. I don’t want it to end. And now all I can think about is – when can I come back and play to these people again? Can I do it next week? Can I do it every week? Can I do it every day?
After my set I go outside and hang out with some of the clubbers – give away some cds and sign a bunch of stuff. Argentinean clubbers are amazing. So vibrant. So energetic and enthusiastic.
Back at the hotel I’m so hyped up about the gig I can’t sleep. My ears are ringing like a muther fucker. I smoke a cigarette on the balcony, which overlooks the docks.
The perfect end to the perfect weekend.
On the flight home I’m sat across the aisle from an elderly man who struggles to work out how to use his in-flight entertainment system. He’s a lovely old boy who is ever so polite and nice to the stewardesses. I have massive respect for the elderly and I take pity on this guy and offer to help him with his TV remote. Being the proud Englishman that he is – he declines the offer with a smile vibrant smile. As he turns to me I notice he is blind in one eye. The left eyeball is a milky white. I take my headphones off and start up a conversation with him. His wife recently died and so he has been travelling all over the world – in an attempt to cram as much adventure and experience into his last days and also, I suspect, to keep himself busy so he doesn’t fall into depression. He tells me some great stories. In India they have recently launched a new telephone number for people who need to call the emergency services (like 999 in the UK and 911 in the US). That number is 1066. I later smile to myself as I wonder if people calling that number in India are transferred to a call centre in Hastings, England.
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Until next time..…
