Spring?!!

This year Primavera Sound was a misnomer, as a cold front gave the concrete expanse of the Forum, where the three day festival was being held, a decidedly wintry feel.
It ran from Thursday to Saturday and was an exciting weekend of great music with highs and lows.

Worst Pre Party
I got off to an inauspicious start on Thursday when my washing machine died at the same time that a pipe in the building sprung a leak that shot water like a geyser into the utility room by the entrance hall. After ascertaining that the washer had indeed given up the ghost and calling a technician to come and perform last rites, concerned by the lack of water running from my taps, I left my apartment to investigate. I came upon neighbours, an elderly couple, staring distraughtly at the jet of water slowly flooding the ground floor of the building. Nobody else was around and their frantic gestures were doing nothing to quell the rising tide by the elevator. There was a number posted for the building superintendent which went unanswered when I called. I then tried the emergency number for the water company. I was greeted by a resolutely unhelpful woman who seemed determined to eat up my cell phone's minutes without actually taking any action. She informed me that the water, once inside the building, was no longer the water company's problem while the woman of the couple yelled disconcertingly in my ear. Finally, the alleged water company operator (for the help she was, she might as well have been an Avis agent on her break) asked to speak to her. Worried that I might be missing some crucial information getting lost in translation, I gladly obliged. The old woman snatched the phone. After a minute or so, she also came to understand the absolute lack of usefulness of the operator, told her to go fuck herself and handed me back the phone, which I hung up without bothering to continue the conversation. I called the super back, who this time answered. The sound of gushing water was clearly audible over the phone and the super sent a plumber over immediately, who quickly fixed the leak and returned water to the building.

Clearest Illustration of Results of Laziness
Over 100 000 people came from around the city and the world. I'd had my ticket since Christmas and could easily have gone to get my bracelet pass earlier in the week. I didn't, and as a result had to stand in a line that snaked around the entrance of the park to get in. Shockingly, most people respected the line (I attribute this to the high number of foreigners who may be more used to doing what they're told) and I was inside in under half an hour.

Best Daytime Performance
Rock and roll is better in the dark. It's infinitely more powerful when the atmosphere is concentrated in the light generated solely for the performance. In a festival, the earlier bands lose out to the sun and often struggle not to diffuse into the air. Despite her preternaturally powerful voice, Neko Case couldn't overcome the time slot she had been given and was underwhelming. Django Django were affable Scottish lads who reminded me of Franz Ferdinand 2.0. Tame Impala lived up to their Aussie psych vibe and serenaded the sunset like a bunch of stoners would.

Biggest Conflict
There always comes the moment when several bands that you want to see play at the same time, and choices must be made. For me, the biggest one was Bob Mould vs. the Postal Service. I love the album Copper Blue more than Give Up and Silver Age is mostly great, but I was the only one in my group who felt that way. With a heavy heart, I passed on Bob Mould and went to watch the Postal Service. Cool surprise: Jenny Lewis was in the band. Weird surprise: she was dressed like a college freshman trying to get into a stylish bar and had a cruise-ship holiday romance vibe going on with Ben Gibbard who added dancing to his singing and songwriting as proven qualifications to be named Whitest Guy on Earth. Nevertheless, they have some festival-ready hits that were fun to bounce along to, and a good time was had by all. (Except one friend who was too disturbed by the aforementioned vibe and left to see Deerhunter.)

Best Climbing into the Audience
The giant Heineken stage hosted big bands playing for huge crowds, and the singers felt compelled to bridge the gap between them and the audience, climbing the security barrier and wading into the front row. Nick Cave did it in leather pants. Damon Albarn stayed to sing a couple of anthems from Blur's hit-o-riffic set. But the clear winner was Thomas Mars of Phoenix, who came down for the hit, stayed to serenade tearful girls with an acoustic version of "Sick for the Big Sun" before surfing halfway across the crowd to sing to the rear half of the audience.

Best Throwback Band
Every year, Primavera trots out some reunited or still raging star to draw the old folks (i.e. me) to the place with the Animal Collective and the Grizzle Bear and the dubstep. This year was heavy on the past with Dinosaur Jr, Jesus and Mary Chain, Dead Can Dance, Meat Puppets, My Bloody Valentine, Blur and more. For me, it was a tie between the Breeders playing Last Splash and Wu Tang who, despite the absence of Raekwon and Method Man, rocked the Forum for over an hour without a lag in energy.

Best Time to Go Home
Eventually, the guitars are replaced with MacBooks and it turns into a rave. The Knife brought costumed dancers and Crystal Castles rocked when they weren't conducting noise experiments, but at some point, the lady and I realised that we were the only ones not on MDMA and bed was calling.

Total Time Spent: 23.5 hours

The Kindness of Strangers

Dumpster diving is a popular sport in Barcelona. Even before the crisis hit and sent a multitude of unlucky souls scurrying for the discarded remains of the more fortunate, it was common to find folks digging through the trash for hidden treasure. The day the city collected large objects was particularly awesome. I became an expert, finding several chairs, a bed frame, a couple of mirrors and other random furniture that has decorated my apartment over the years living in Barcelona.
It's been a long time since I've picked anything up, but today on the way home from work, I saw this shelf.

I moved recently and there has been a shelf-shaped void in my apartment where some things could be stored, so despite the rain, I stopped and called the lady-friend to get her opinion. She agreed that it would be a welcome addition to the household, so I stood guard, fighting off other scavengers while she came to help carry it.
When we picked it up, it was heavy. As fuck. For realz. We staggered down the street towards our house, only a block away. As we did, a fifty something year old woman who was coming out of her door offered to help us. Although we politely declined, she gamely grabbed a corner and walked with us the remaining 30 meters to the front door of our building.
We heaved the beast (the shelves, not the lady) through the lobby where we immediately ascertained that it would not fit in our tiny elevator, which can hold at most three slim people who are very comfortable with each other.
Our apartment is on the third floor of the building, but that's a Barcelona third floor, which comes after the bottom floor, the between floor and the main floor before you get to the numbers. I'm not kidding. In France ours would be the fifth floor, in America, the sixth. (When you see how they count, the financial crisis in this country starts coming into focus.)

This is the view down to the lobby from the stairs of my apartment. That glow all the way down there is the entrance.

We were ready to return the shelves to the street and call it a day, but our new moving buddy wasn't having it. She immediately began calling people and, despite our protests, summoned her housekeeper and son to help us get it upstairs.
Half an hour later, after some heaving, lifting, pushing, negotiating tight corners and much sweating, we triumphantly set the beast down in our dining room, where it fit perfectly.

Trashing the Catalan, especially for being stand-offish and cold, is a time honoured hobby of all those who move here, a right earned through cold stares on the street, dismissive comments in shops and abysmal service in restaurants. Tonight, however, I am deeply indebted to the selflessness of the family of a local woman who literally would not take no for an answer. Merci.