I travelled to Amsterdam on my own, and I don't mind admitting the prospect of arriving in a foreign country for four days on my own was only just slightly scary and bewildering (I practically got homesick in the taxi to Calcot bus station). I didn't know anyone there, I had no idea what Amsterdam was like other than rumours and hearsay. This was my first time outside the UK in 8 years!, and other than the daily herd migration to work I was unaccustomed to travelling alone. What if the hostel was full of boozed up junkie psychos with strange sexual fetishes and knives? Who know's what the sleeping habits of your average Amsterdam hostel travelling person are? What if some psycho spiked my drink with strange hallucinogens and everything turned into a soul destroying naval gazing nightmare? Wasn't "Hostel" the name of some film sick teenage men like to show off to people about? What if I, the drunk and confused Brit tourist got mugged and lost my passport and all my money and was forced to spend the rest of my life a nomadic hermit. My head was a mess of paranoid delusions brought on by enforced daily early morning commutes surrounded by miserable and frightened Metro* readers.

I needed to get away.

I arrived in Amsterdam after a 15 hour trip with only a backpack and a few carefully selected essentials for protection (eg a hip flask full of liquor, sandwiches, and a copy of "The Tao of Physics" by Fritjof Capra which I still have never read). I'd already made a few friends on the coach journey there, a motley crew of random lonesome friendly travelers united in a common cause. All was looking fruitful.

I'm actually glad I traveled to Amsterdam on my own. I've written elsewhere how I work a day job and commit myself to various creative projects from home, some commercial and some free. I don't sleep (much). Amsterdam was a much needed opportunity for rest and reflection, free from the demands, expectations, and sometime awkrawdness of ordinary social interation. I could do as I liked when I liked. Mostly I wondered around the city streets and canals (sometimes in circles and sometimes up and down the same street sveral times) taking in the vibrancy of the sights and sounds, immersing myself in the culture and the people and the multiplicity of languages.

I remember one afternoon, having explored most of the south east of the city, wandering into shops and tiny art galleries feeling an almost taoist sense of bliss and calm, free from the pressures of work and social exchange, not a single care in the world. Weary I found a pub which was happy to sit me down outside and bring me beer according to my wishes, so I sat and watched the city that never stops singing its beautiful cacophony of activity. Two men walked up to the outdoor dining area of the pub, straight off the street, one man with a guitar and one man with an oboe (!). They played and sang some of the most amazing music danceable riffs I'd ever heard for at least half an hour while I sat on my own with a beer. They sounded like a jazz version of Extremoduro (google it), spanish acoustic guitar picking ultra fast melodies over the long sweet peaceful drone of the oboe. It was then that it occurred to me that I had been sitting with an empty quiet mind, no cares and no worries in the world. No email, mobile turned off, all alone in a city where no one could possibly recognise or judge me. For two full pints of beer I felt truly anonymous and separate from my normal world of mobile beeps, glowing screens, email alerts and to-do lists and calenders. Pure bliss.

Later, sat outside the hostel basement / bar chilling with a few of the brief friends I made in Amsterdam, a full brass band crept up across the road and played a small brass band set to a group of people eating outside a restaurant. Those people sat quietly and gave the band their full attention. So did we.

You're tuned in to Pixadelica. We like music and gigs, and so do you. Have some free music from one of my personal favorite electronic net-labels, the entirely wonderful and leftfield Dead Channel.

*For those of you lucky enough never to have encountered the fucking thing, the Metro is a free newspaper peddling right-wing filth and fictional imaginary fears to an already downtrodden and beat generation of wage slaves. The thing is designed meticulously from cover to cover to keep the consumerist hordes and frightened and therefore hungry and therefore obedient. I've never read an actual news story with real news in the Metro, and being involved in publishing a zine of sorts with friends I make a habit of being aware of the competition so to speak.That and it's good to know your enemy.
Funnily enough, the Metro in Amsterdam is a very fast underground train system that makes a funny bong noise and is very reliable and full of polite people. I didn't get asked for a ticket once, which was just as well.

Let me tell you the most amazing about Amsterdam. It's not the haphazard architectural collage that leans precariously into the street like som real life back drop to a Warner Bros cartoon. It's not the grafitti expertly sprayed onto said buildings turning sections of street into a vibrant technicolour guerrilaart gallery free for anyone to see. It's not the fact that Trams are brilliant (from the inside at least) and always run on time, or the fact that the fizzy beer tastes amazing  or that some of the laws regarding daytime entertainment and recreation are a bit relaxed. It's not even the sensory onslaught of noise that makes the city seem like akin to an imagined cinematic urban dystopia (see the last post), the techno click beep noises of varous tempos, the screech of tram wheels on rails, the single friendly warning dong of Tram bells or the shrill ringing of bicycle bells.

The most amazing thing about Amsterdam is where ever you go, who ever you meet, everyone speaks english. Not just that, everyone speaks english with a smile and seems perfectly happy to welcome the dazed drunk brit into their fine establishment, pub or restaurant or coffee shop, to get more ineberiated. No challenge 21. No paranoia. No threats for happening to look in someone's direction. There were times when I no longer felt like I was in a foreign country, but a strange composite of all european cultures residing in some forgotten part of London that the litter, grime, and smog can't touch and everyone's happy. Each night I socialised with people from all over the world, french, italian, german, spanish, dutch, (even some strange dialect called 'american'), languages I didn't regocnise filling the air and still people smiled and spoke fluent english when addressing me. Two Germans across from me upon discovering they both came from Berlin asked each other "Why are we speaking English?" before continuing in German. English is a universal second language there, and from the people I've met from across the world throughout my young adult life it seems to be a second universal language in a lot of places around the world, which is strange when you consider how small and intolerant an island we as a country really are on the face of this very large and diverse planet. The hospitality of everyone I met was enough to put me to shame for my beat miserable english attitudes.

Arriving back to the dirt and grime of Reading, where the public transport never runs on time and people look miserable and refuse to acknowledge each other unless it's to be rude or aggressive, it occured to me what a nasty inhospitable nation we are. People visit our country, whether as tourists or to stay, we immedietly expect them to learn our fragmented archaic nonsensical language as well as give up their religion and culture and become "british" (whatever that might mean). Even then we'll accuse people of stealing our jobs and plotting invisible threats and demand they learn irrelevant and obscure facts about ancient british history to pass some kind of strange exam (which I have to admit, I would fail myself despite my place of birth) before they can be considered a citizen and even then not quite equal to the rest of us. Amsterdam is one of the most beatiful, wonderful, vibrant cities on earth. A real cultural hub where everyone seems happy and relaxed just to be human and participating in this wonderful experience we call life. Not three days back home and my first commute back to work flicking through a copy of The Metro with it's paranoia and subtle racism as some miserable fucker pushes me out of the way to find a seat and I feel ashamed.

Amsterdam was wonderful. Thanks to all the wonderful people I met for being open and warm and welcoming.

The bands are confirmed, the flyers are out (and there are more to come), there's a facebook event, and someone updated the MySpace. Pixadelica wil be returning to the Facebar (the friendliest venue in Reading we've ever spoken to) on the 8th August, which is a Saturday! Brilliant! A lot of people said Thursdays were hard to attend, and frankly it's a shame so many of you have missed out on good music because of work commitments (plus I can't get caught sleeping at my desk again). Let it not be said that we do not listen to our fellow music lovers, none of you shall be denied the awesome talents of...

Skyline Dossier - Psychedelic rock noise, a mutant hybrid of all the best parts of Frank Zappa and Queens of the Stone Age. Amazing!

Hreda - Instrumental post-rock from Oxford. Two guitars speak to each other from across a stage in unknown ancient languages invoking a forgotten Goddess.

Black Carrot - Crazed avant garde jazz with a rock edge, like the results of Mike Patton and Tom Waits sat in front of imaginary recording equipment on the wrong medication. Improvised storytelling set to some amazing music, not to be missed. Free downloads available here.

Hunting the Shy - One of Readings finest, playing their first gig ever with a live drummer!

Four fantastic bands; two local and two from yonder pasture. All of which will tantalise your ears every desire for a meagre three quid.

We'll be announcing a few exciting things through the Pixadelica website this week. I'm not long back from a short holiday in Amsterdam (I've not left the country for what, 8 years until now?) and still catching up with a normal persons routine. Amsterdam is a beautiful city, a true composite of art, culture, language, noise. Stepping out of the Central Station and into the street is a disorientating and somewhat frightening sensory experience, literally every kind of road vehicle conceivable zooms through the srtreets at break neck speed with little consideration for hapless drunk english tourists staggering hoplessly confused in the middle of the road. Has anyone seen the scene in Blade Runner when Deckard is chasing a female replicant through the street and he looses her in the crowd and the noise of the city?

 

That's what being in Amsterdam is like.

We're Pixadelica. This is Black Carrot (enjoy).