I Just Read About That…

SOUNDTRACK: PHISH-Live in Brooklyn (2006).

Just over ten years ago I started this blog.  And sometime in May of 2007 I wrote about this disc.  Well, actually, I didn’t really write about it. Initially the “soundtrack” was just the record I was listening to that day.  I didn’t really write about the music at all.  The only thing I noted about this disc was that a 17 minute guitar solo is not such a good idea when you are sleepy.

So, now that I’ve often spent more words on the music than the stories, here’s a full review of this live album (their fifth “official” live record).

This show was performed on June 17, 2004–the opening night of what was promoted as the band’s final tour, before their 2004 breakup.

This show starts with “A Song I Heard the Ocean Sing.”  It is a rocking opening although it sounds a bit flat.  “Dinner and a Movie” is fun, an angular version with a perfectly jazzy end section.  It segues into a great 13-minute version of “The Curtain With” and then a short, fast “Sample in a Jar.”

“The Moma Dance” has a lengthy intro before the song starts and then a long jam afterwards.  It’s fifteen minutes long and then segues into an outstanding “Free.”  There’s a particularly cool razzy funky bass solo.  “Nothing” is a sweet song from Undermind, a nice mellow come down after Free and a good workout for Page on piano.  It’s followed by “Maze.”  This one sounds a little funny, but there’s some great soloing from Trey and Page.  Trey’s solo starts trippy and then turns wild and really rocking.  “Frankenstein” is not quite as faithful to the original as some earlier versions, but they’ve played it many times by this point.

Set 2 opens with the crowd chanting “It’s 1, 2, 3, strikes you’re out at the old ball game” and then it’s a 17 minute version of “46 Days.”  It mostly a guitar solo that segues into a long version of “Possum,” although this “Possum” is rather slow, comparatively.  The solo grooves along until it gets down to a quiet moment.  Then there’s a short “Oh Kee Pah” that launches into a rollicking 18-minute “Suzy Greenberg” with a great jam in the middle.  It segues into a super rocking “Axilla” and then segues into a groovy “2001.”  The jam on that song lasts 9 minutes and it’s connected to an excellent “Birds of a Feather.”

They dedicate the insane “Kung” to the people at the US Open next door.  They are going to sing it very loud so that the players can hear it.  And after the runaway gold cart marathon, Trey says they’re going to slow things down with “Mike’s Song,” but its’ got a very fast jam in the middle.  It does slow down to a mellow “I Am Hydrogen,” which segues into a romping “Weekapaug Groove.”

The encore is “Divided Sky.”   There’s a 1:15 pause while Trey doesn’t play the next note before beginning the rest of the show.  The crowd gets really restless.  It’s pretty funny.

This entire concert was simulcast on over 100 movie theater screens around the country.  The band was supposed to break up for good after this tour.  But here it is 13 years later and they are playing better than ever.

[READ: March 27, 2017] “Down and Out in Paris and London”

This issue of Lucky Peach includes an excerpt from a book by George Orwell.  Down and Out in Paris and London was the first full-length work by Orwell, published in 1933.  It is a memoir in two parts on the theme of poverty in the two cities.

What does it have to do with food?  Well, it was originally called “A Scullion’s Diary.”  And this excerpt comes from around Chapter III where the narrator obtains a job as a plongeur (dishwasher) in the kitchen at “Hotel X.”

He explains that one of the few humane jobs in the kitchen was polishing silver and glasses–at least the waiters might treat you as something of an equal.  Otherwise he was washing crockery–often for thirteen hours a day.

He marvels that the squalor of their kitchen–“we are in disgusting filth”–was only double doors away from the splendid dining room.  He says “we slithered about in a compound of soapy water, lettuce leaves, torn paper, and trampled food.”

He then details the elaborate caste system at the Hotel.

The manager was highest–he could sack anybody.  Below him was the maitre d’hotel (he made about 200 francs a day).  He did not serve a table unless a lord or someone equally important showed up.  Then came the head cook who received about 5,000 francs a month.  He dined in the kitchen but at a separate table.  Then came the chef du personnel who made 1500 francs a month.  He did no manual work and could fire anyone below whim.  The chef du personnel was nice to Orwell until he insisted on the third day that Orwell shave his mustache–it was custom that no one but the cooks have a mustache.  Then came other chefs who made between 750 to 3000 francs a month.  Then the waiters making about 700 francs a day in tips–they changed their demeanor as soon as they walked through those doors.   Then the laundresses and sewing women then the apprentice waiters who received 75 a month, then the plongeurs also at 75 a month.

The cooks do not earn as much as waiters but their prestige is much greater.  And yet the waiters are very proud of themselves and their skill. They feel that they are part of the aristocracy they serve.  “The moral is, never be sorry for a waiter.  Sometimes when you sit in a restaurant, still stuffing yourself half an hour after closing  time, you feel that the tired waiter at your side must surely be despising you.  But he is not.  He is not thinking as he looks at you, ‘What an overfed lout’; he is thinking,’One day, when I have saved enough money, I shall be able to imitate that man.”

There were many thieves among the staff–blatant stealing from pockets as well as superiors simply not handing over all of the pay.

He also talks about an extra who was hired special to work a full day.  He worked until noon and then goofed off, refused to work and even insulted the hotel manager.  And he was sacked.  He explained later that he got paid for a full day once he worked until noon.  So that was his way of getting off early.

What keeps a hotel going is the pride that employees take in their work “beastly and silly though it is.”  Although for plongeurs, there are no prospects. It is exhausting yet has no skill or interest.  They are simply always on the run and have no way to escape.

But don’t forget the filth–year old filth in all the dark corners, the bread-bin infested with cockroaches.  Although they cleaned all of the tables and the brass, in the kitchen the dirt was horrifying.  And the chefs were no cleaner–they would spit or sweat in soup–touch food with their hands to inspect it–after licking his fingers all day.  Not to mention the importance of punctuality–food is dropped but simply wiped off because everyone is on a time budget.

And finally there was the swindling of the customers. They bought the poorest quality food and charged the highest prices. The cream was diluted with milk, the cheapest wines were purchased.  And yet despite all of this Hotel X was one of the dozen most expensive hotels in the city. It cost 200 francs a night, not including breakfast.  And if a customer had a title or was reported to be a millionaire all prices were instantly hiked up.

The easiest to swindle were Americans.  They had no French and knew nothing of good food: “They would stuff themselves with disgusting American ‘cereals’ and eat marmalade at tea.”  And the capper: One customer, from Pittsburg [sic], dined every night in his bedroom on Grape-Nuts, scrambled eggs and cocoa. Perhaps it hardly matters whether such people are swindled or not.”

This book was excerpted here because of Anthony Bourdain.  Bourdain opens his essay by saying “Fuck Kitchen Confidential.”  Not really, but fuck it anyway.  George Orwell was there long, long before me, ‘ripping the lid off’ fine dining and depicting in unsparing terms, the filth, the language, the subculture.  He goes on to say that Orville’s descriptions are recognizable to anyone who works in a kitchen.

But more importantly for him, he says that the book changed his life. In addition to being the direct inspiration for Kitchen Confidential, he says that he used to read it as a young dishwasher in Massachusetts.  As the newest member of the staff he was the target of abuse from madmen and drunks (who managed to make an amazing quantity of food).  He wanted to be recognized, and it was Orwell who showed him that he was part of this tradition.

This is a pretty scathing account of life in a restaurant.  It’s hard to imagine anyone would read it and say, yes that’s what I want to do!