Joel claims to be a sucker for basic marketing. Any place that advertises "best whatever in wherever" (eg. lobster, Maine) gets his hard earned dollar. This, despite the invariable let-down when such heady claims are not only missed, but not even approached. The kebab place in Cerdanyola should now be added to this list of lying liars who lie. Their sign proudly proclaimed to be the king of fast food. Already, this is a diminished proposition. Everybody knows that for sheer hegemony and bloodshed, McDonalds is the undisputed monarch. And it's a shitty kingdom anyway, populated by disgruntled serfs and stomach aches. To lay claim to such damned territory displays a tragic lack on regal ambition.
Nevertheless, this pretender to the throne is where Les Fat Jones chose to eat before our show in Cerdanyola last night. Don't ever make that mistake.
Cerdanyola is a suburb of Barcelona, and is surprisingly suburban. Most suburbs around the city are older villages which were absorbed by the capital's expansion and they tend to be grids of older row houses stacked together behind walls that come up to the sidewalk. This one, however, was a collection of tree-lined streets with gardens and so many teenagers. Not that many of them actually came to the gig, but they roamed the streets like the pubescent living dead, smoking, driving and going to the king of fast food.
The show itself was fun. The sound was great and we had a record low number of fuck-ups. (The starring one was when I forgot the piano-only opening riff to Other Cities. Thanks, brain!)
The club was nice, and clearly progressive minded, as it seems they hired a hearing-impaired bartender who told me I sang like David Bowie. That's going on my resume.
(Photo by Alba Mora)
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