“In a cold but stuffy bed-sitting room littered with cigarette ends and half-empty cups of tea, a man in a moth-eaten dressing gown sits at a rickety table, trying to find room for his typewriter among the piles of dusty paper that surround it. [...] If things are normal with him he will be suffering from malnutrition, but if he has recently had a lucky streak he’ll be suffering from a hangover.”

- George Orwell, Confessions of a Book Reviewer

That must be the image most people have when they think of the proverbial writers. And why not? People who sit on their asses hours and hours a day and imagine things they will never ever experience in their life and write these down will need an outlet, so no wonder many writers took to the bottle as their very own way of escapism.

Here’s a list of my favourite literary dead drunks – not that I’m advertising this lifestyle, but cannot hide a little bit of awe considering the way these guys drank themself to oblivion and death with determination.

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Normally, timelapse-videos bore me to death. This one here however is quite entertaining and makes Dublin look almost good. And judging by how many Dublinese blogs and Facebook-profiles linked it today I guess I’m not the only one who likes it. Fullscreen, please.

Dublin Time Lapse 2011 from Richard Twomey on Vimeo.

Image: Kai Mueller/Mission Ireland

I’m on the road again, all across Ireland. This time I’m helping out my friend and partner in crime Kai, who is traveling around the country under the moniker Mission Ireland, a social media / tourism campaign to promote Ireland in Germany for which Kai is the figurehead. So far, we’ve camped in Trim and visited the castle, and visited the geographical and mythological centre of Ireland, the Hill of Uisneach, where we attended a Beltaine-fire lighting ceremony as part of the Festival of the Fires. More stuff coming up soon, you can follow Kai here (in German). Slan!

A very mellow Dubliner video, portraying Lykke Ly performing in Tower Records last Saturday to celebrate International Record Store Day. It also features the former housemate of my former housemates. Danke, State Magazine.

Lykke Li :: Sadness Is a Blessing :: Tower Records, Dublin from Steve Mogerley on Vimeo.

I learned to read when I was five. Since then, I have been reading between 3-6 books per month. I have crossed rapiers with the Comte de Rochefort, barely survived the mines of Moria, and emptied bottle after bottle with Henri Chinaski. I travelled to the moon and back, sailed up the Congo on a steamer together with Marlow and defeated all of Ramona’s evil exes. All this with the help of dog-eared paperbacks read on the bus from Barcelona to Arles, spotless first editions dedicated to me by my grandparents in flawless handwriting, and blotched and tattered books from the library read under my blanker at night when I could not sleep. But.

I’ve started to write for a living two years ago. I am not a published author in the classical sense. All my writings (except a few newspaper articles here and there) appear online. But.

I do not possess an Ipad or a Kindle, but have downloaded an e-reader app for my Iphone, which has three books stored on: The War of the Worlds, A Tale of two Cities and Napoleon of Notting Hill. I consider it as a back-up, in case life finds me stranded somewhere without a book or a paperback and I’ll have to read something. But.

These last days (as the London Book Fair was happening), I’ve read loads of articles on the state of the publishing industry and printed books and the internet. In the best light I would consider myself as an emerging writer, in the worst case as someone with too much time on his hands who puts up words on the internet. But sometimes I find myself in some kind of limbo. I would give anything to see a book that I wrote appear in print, complete with a cover with my name. But ordering it via lulu.com seems treason to me, even though I have 80,000 words sitting in a folder on my hard drive. I want to follow up the traditional ways of getting a book into print, finding an agent, have my manuscript shopped around while nervously sipping beer at home. All the while asking myself “why?”, as I’m writing a blogpost that is up on the web in realtime, open for immediate feedback and consumption and not needing the added layers of agent and publisher.

So what will become of books (and new writers)? I have been a musician for over ten years, so I assume the same fate as Vinyl will befall books. Some people will still prefer the smell of second hand bookshops, will buy first and second and third editions with different covers, and will read to their grandchildren from dirty dusty fable collections. Other people who read Dan Brown and Rosamunde Pilcher will download the books to their portable devices or watch the movie-version on TV, just as they will watch the X-Factor and buy the CD. No wonder we have large bookstore-chains closing and independent bookstores opening up and growing stronger.

Will I keep writing (and reading) on, until some far far away day I’ll hold my first book in my hands, published by a publishing house that is not me? Hellyeah. Will I ever make a living from this? Hellno. But then I prefer to write copy over days and stories at night, because it makes me happy. And as long as I know where I can buy books to scrabble around in them to mark passages worth quoting and re-reading, and chat with the people behind the counter about David Foster Wallace before I bring the books home, I’m happy. I’ve never been a guy for the X-Factor anyway.

Today is the 100th anniversary of the death of one of my favourite Irish writers, Brian O’Nolan a.k.a. Flann O’Brien a.k.a. Myles na gCopaleen. He wrote two books so full of metafiction and multiple layers of narrative and freaky ideas that it is a pleasure to read them without even understanding half of the plot (if there is one). He also wrote an ode to the proverbial pint of plain, which I will quote later on.

Image by Life magazine, apparently.

The main purpose of this post however is to make you aware that the good people over at the Palace Bar in Dublin (which used to be Brian’s favourite haunt) are celebrating this day as “Mylesday” all day with readings, literary quizzes and many pints of plain. The fun starts around 2.30 PM, so why not combine literature with beer?

And here’s Brian, singing about the workman’s friend:

The Workmans Friend
When things go wrong and will not come right,
Though you do the best you can,
When life looks black as the hour of night -
A pint of plain is your only man.

In time of trouble and lousey strife,
You have still got a darlint plan
You still can turn to a brighter life -
A pint of plain is your only man.

PS: No April Fools’ joke included in the above.

The room is dark and roasting hot and smelling of sweat and spilled beer. 60 people are crammed into a space meant for 20, carrying Killtribe’s guitar player Malik on their hands while he’s playing. A moment before that Gacy’s Threads made singer Thomas drain a whole pint of Guinness, but he keeps on shouting into the faces of the crowd with only a little unsteadiness. It looks like a very good last show as I’m watching it from the safety of the merch stand.

A couple of hours before that we had crawled from blankets and sleepings bags and blinked into the light of a rainy Sunday afternoon, regretting the Jägermeister we have had in Fibber Maggees the night before. The tribe assembled in my living room, and as the Gacy’s had an equally alcoholic night (I personally saw pictures of singer Vance passed out and decorated with Gaffa tape, an Irish flag and having a empty beer box balanced on his head), we had a late start to the destination of the last show of the tour, a gig in Baker’s Place in Limerick, which at the same time was to be the last ever show played there. Multiple Kiltribe-members had told me about their hopes to trash the place…

Upon arrival we were warmly greeted by co-organiser Martin (who also plays in supporting band 3 Hour Ceasefire), who showed us round the 1-bar-and-2-clubs-complex that is Baker’s Place. The one club where we were to play is the one underground/alternative venue in Limerick offering slots to newcomer bands, so it’s very sad that the place was closing down. After a delicious dinner of (again) burgers and chips we set up our little merch marketplace, enjoyed the performances by Shardborne and 3 Hour Ceasefire who warmed the 150+ crowd up to the highest level, and startet plotting our traditional end-of-tour-shenanigans. We finally settled for wrapping up Gacy’s Threads in toilet paper, making Vance wear a pink Killtribe-shirt and shower them with confetti, which all worked out perfectly to the amusement of the crowd and us during the final energetic performance of the 4 boys from Belfast.

Then it was time for the last appearance of Killtribe on an Irish stage. I was a bit disappointed, as except a handful of hardcore moshers in front of the stage the rest of the crowd only nodded their heads in approval during the first three or four songs, but suddenly it seemed they Limerick people realised that it really was their last chance ever to party in Baker’s, and hell broke loose. Killtrieb finally got a wall of death with more then five participants, women in short skirts and high heels dancing along (and singing the lyrics!) to “Shine”, crowdsurfers and three encores as booker Johnny, driver Dean and I breakdanced behind the merch stand while selling CDs and shirts. Mission Ireland accomplished.

After a long final fotoshoot, a long goodbye and a long prank we played on Malik the whole German/Irish tour tross set of to the hotel, we were kept discussing the tour and toasting ourselves for not loosing too much money and only half of out sanity, while Thomas was sitting in the middle of the room, naked to the waist and grinning like an evil Rock’n'Roll-Buddha.

I’ll try to come up with a better reflection on the tour later, but for the moment I’ll conclude with a limerick (!) that Killtribe came up with. Slán.

»There was a young band called the Tribe,
Who went over to Ireland to ride
the back of the drummer
oh what a bummer
Not all of them could fit inside.«

We are a bit worn down by now. Thomas has a sore throat, Max back pains, Malik keeps complaining how tired he is and we all lack sleep. Tons of sleep. On the other hand, we have set into a tour routine. After waking up around 3 PM, we were good to go and on the road to Dublin within an hour. No sightseeing today, we have a show to play in the capital of Ireland.

We arrive in Dublin earlier then planned, which means we have time for showers and dinner at my place before I’m checking in 3/5 of Killtribe into a south Dublin hostel and head back to the venue to make the bunch complete. I am too late to see Acrid Nebula opening, but witness the death metal thrash machine named Killface bulldoze Dublin’s oldest metal pub with their sound. The turnout tonight is ok for post-St. Paddy’s day purses and hangovers, but not as energetic as in the other venues, so Gacy’s Threads play to a room full of nodding heads and raised pint glasses sans moshing. Aaron stays on stage tonight and does not perform any climbing antics, but their sound is as tight and engaging as ever and does not show any of the overall tiredness of the whole tour tross.

I start handing out promo CD’s to the crowd before the Killtribe show, and meet a couple of Germans who came to Fibbers after attending the Accept-show that was happening earlier. The tribe is on stage before twelve tonight, and if they had misgivings about giving 100% on stage due to their age and weariness, this does not show. They have at least half of the place in front of the stage within minutes, and together with the brilliant sound produced by local engineer legend Jean-Claude manage to finally induce some movement in the crowd, directing the world’s smallest wall of death (again) and finding time to throw plastic cans at Gacy’s Threads. The best show of the tour so far.

I forgot to ask the Germans in the audience which visiting band they preferred, but judging from the fun they had in the front row they did not disapprove of Killtribe.

We end the night and begin Sunday morning in the downstairs club of Fibber Maggees, drowning cheap lager and dancing to hair metal. I finally manage to get slightly drunk as there’s no driving to do. It’s about the small things in life.

Dicey Reilly’s in Strabane has that ever present malty smell of the proverbial Irish pub, generations of drinkers having spilled gallons of beers over the decades that were only marginally mopped up and soaked through every possible surface. It has a gallery in the upstairs lounge where we a playing and no stage, so Killtribe will be performing in some kind of neon-lit bear pit later on. The lounge also has posters of Led Zeppelin, The Smiths, the Hacienda club in Manchester and Radiohead hanging on the walls and a giant Jaegermeister-flag in lieu of proper silence cloth. It feels like a place where the walls have seen a lot of things, I hope they approve of the Germans.

After yesterdays antics of half the tribe, only Malik and Max joined me on a short trip up the Northern Irish coast, past Carrickfergus and along the bays, but we had to abandon our trip after an hour or so as we needed to gather all bands to head to Strabane earlier then expected as the local promoter wanted us to be in town as soon as possible. So we set up in convoy, the tourbus followed by my trusted and rented Fiat Bravo and reached Strabane in the West after a 2-hour drive. The town was, according to Wikipedia “once the most bombed town in Europe per size and the most bombed town in Northern Ireland”, but tonight it looks rather sleepish with most stores barred and only a few places open. I’d learn later on why.

We quickly unloaded our gear and started soundcheck, after which we tested the local food offerings of chips, pizza and Indian food, finally settling for a non-tasting pizza in a neon-lit parlor on the main street in town. Around 10 we were back at the venue and opening act Darkness in Paradise soon kicked off the evening with their synth-supported Deathcore and a guitar painted blood-red. Punters started to trickle in, it seemed St. Patrick’s day-hangovers did not bar the local kids from showing up and the place (and the gallery) filled up soon. Mandala Skies were up next, playing a more mellow and post-rock-orientated sound reminding me of Tool. Then it was time for Gacy’s Threads to heat up the place, which by then had become quite cold, due to an outside temperature of 2 degrees Celsius and a constant draft in the room from the downstairs bar. Strabane is the hometown of guitar player Blane, so the crowd ate out of their hands and spilled more beers than usual on the wooden floor, courtesy of extensive moshing. Vocalist Aaron reminds me of a Leprechaun from hell, always on the move, constantly fronting up the crowd and even running up the stairs to the gallery to “have a better look”. Sweaty.

Killtribe where again on after midnight, celebrating tour guitar player Patrick’s birthday on stage and again giving 120 %. Thomas managed to fill the space in front of the “stage” from absolutely empty to packed and heaving within minutes. And again, the Strabane crowd was convinced and celebrated along, fighting the cold with extensive pogo, banging and the worlds smallest wall of death, 5 against 5. I even stopped feeling cold behind the merch stand.

After loading the bus we again headed for Belfast, which we reached at around 4.30 AM, which again meant two nightcaps for yours truly and off to lala-land soon. Malik and Thomas continued talking and drinking beer with the Gacy’s until 9 AM, but then they don’t have to drive, those rockers.

PS: speaking of sleepish Strabane: the quietness was induced by a bunch of Travellers who smashed a local pub on St. Paddy’s Day night, ruining the place and stabbing people in the process – so even more kudos to the Strabane crowd for turning up and celebrating with the Germans.

The Hotel Europa in Belfast has the dubious honour of being the world’s most bombed hotel, courtesy of some unruly republicans during the Troubles in Northern Ireland. As I’m climbing up a flight of rusty metal stairs to get to its rooftop, I’m wondering for a second what damage all the bombings have done to its internal structure. Then Killtribe brush past, physically pushing the thought out of my head – they have a photo shooting to do, after all.

We arrived in the capital of Northern Ireland after a (at least for me) short night celebrating into St. Patrick’s Day in a Dublin pub. The first thing on our schedule was to watch the parade in front of City Hall, which concluded with a bagpipe band impressing the German visitors. The next stop was dedicated to the intake of food in form of chili, coffee and cookies, after which we finally met up with local metal scene legend and photographer Carrie Davenport, who showed us around the city while taking pictures of Killtribe on and in front of famous Belfast landmarks, such as the aforementioned Europa Hotel, the Peace Wall between Shankhill and Falls and in front of the famous Harland & Wolff cranes Samson & Goliath down at the docks.

After that, it was almost showtime for the Killtribe for the first time ever in Ireland. After some warm-up beers in the venue, Auntie Annies on the Dublin Road and some Chinese food it seemed the gentlemen from Germany were ready, stoked by the sight of the St. Patrick’s day shenanigans going on around them. First band on the bill were Death of Salesman, warming the crowd with their extremely aggressive death core, followed by the impressive By Any Means, whose super tight Hardcore really got the crowd of about 100 people going at the time and really made my worry about Kiltribe’s position at the end of the running order. Next up were our hosts and Metalcore talents Gacy’s Threads, whose show was as expected: energetic, engaging and blowing my brains off. Not only did they take no prisoners with their sound, they were so kind to shorten their set to give more time to the Killtribe who were on stage shortly after 12. And Belfast ate out of their hands. We had some alcohol-induced losses in crowd headcount, but the 40 people who stayed made noise for 200. We had crowdsurfing, moshing, and two encores while the bar staff was already cleaning up the place. Some unnamed band members even were invited to a female-only party after the show, but due to the overall tiredness of the driver a.k.a yours truly we followed the Gacy’s Threads guys to our overnight accommodation, we 5 out of 7 Killtribe-tour-tross members crashed immediately on the beds/floors/mattresses, while the remaining two hellraisers joined Gacy’s Threads and a bottle of Buckfast on a house party. Reports are just coming in that they were last seen dancing to Britney Spears.