Our Last Wah-Ohhhhh - Goodbye to Scott Hutchison

While my musical interests and obsessions go far and wide, over the course of my life there are three particular musicians who have become essential in my life. Whose work has always been there for me. Who have provided the words that took me through my best times, my darkest days, and most everything in between.

The first to come along, way back in my teen years, was Henry Rollins. Then the college era brought the second in Robbie Williams (and if you’re someone who thinks Rob’s just a vapid pop music egomaniac, you’ve never listened to anything coming out of his mouth).

The third, who I came across several years ago via his band Frightened Rabbit, was Scott Hutchison, who we lost earlier this week.

When you’re so intimately connected to the art that someone produces, they become a part of your daily life, and you feel like you know them. Scott was always very open about his battles with depression, so when I read his tweets Tuesday night that indicated a rough mental state, I became worried. I thought, I really hope someone is with him, helping him out of this. And when I woke up to news Wednesday morning that he’d gone missing shortly after what he put on Twitter, I was sure he was gone, that the depression had won. Then I tried to remind myself that we didn’t really know anything yet, and tried to become hopeful. I spent all Wednesday and Thursday checking for news that he’d turned up just fine, but always with the terrible gut feeling that a happy ending wasn’t coming.

Meanwhile, a virus or sinus infection was taking over my body for those same two days, and I woke up Friday unable to battle it any longer. I fed the cat, called in sick to work, and went straight back to bed. It was only when I woke up again a few hours later that I checked the news and saw that Scott’s body had been found. Between my feeling unwell and the pain of the loss, I set about wallowing and started trying to find the words to explain how I’m feeling.

As usually happens, I remembered that Henry Rollins had perfectly explained what’s going on in my head now, back in an LA Weekly column after the deaths of Prince and David Bowie. Because he says it much better than I ever could, here’s an excerpt (deletions are only to remove specific references to those two artists):

Obviously, everyone will eventually be gone, but sometimes when they’re extraordinary and you know them only through their output... the sadness you feel can be profound. There are none of the mere mortal speed bumps to impede the impact of loss. You have heard the wisdom of hating the sin but not the sinner. It’s a way to go but hard to do. If we were able to love music without loving the musician, the passing of [the musician]… would be a lot easier to handle. It’s just not how we’re wired. The music is real, so then is the sorrow of its creator’s passing.

These artist-fan relationships are so perfect, in many ways they have nothing with which to compare in “real” life. That’s the thing, though, how you relate to the music you like, that is real. It’s as real as anything.

So as you can guess, I took Scott’s death pretty hard. It is a genuinely heartbreaking loss for me, and leaves something missing from my life. But I also think there’s some benefit to having a relationship with someone you’ve lost through their art. If a person you see and talk to every day dies, you’ve completely lost your way of connecting to them. But if your primary way of relating to someone is through what they created, that relationship can live on. It still hurts, I’m still mourning the loss of any future work he might have created, all the other times I might have seen him play live, and the fact that he’s just flat out a great person who’s not around anymore. But someday, when that passes, the music will still be there. His artwork will still be hanging on my wall. And with that, he can still continue to speak to me in the primary way he always did.

Of course, when I told Jody the much more shell-shocked and less wordy version of that right after getting the news yesterday, he agreed, but added, "It’s still someone you essentially followed over two continents.”

Good point.

Like Henry and Rob, Scott and Frightened Rabbit quickly became an excuse to travel. They’re not coming to Seattle this tour? No problem, I’ll go to them. I didn’t keep meticulous logs of all the FRabbits shows I attended, but I think the final tally was 9 live performances, all in different venues, across 5 cities in 4 countries. The last one was less than 2 months ago. I loved those live shows. I couldn’t get enough of them. And that will probably be what I miss the most: seeing Scott up there with his bandmates, belting out a sad song, cracking wise, seeming truly touched that the crowd knew all of the words he’d written and sang them right back to him.

Since Scott’s disappearance, many people have said how much his music, and his openness about his own mental health, helped them out. I have dealt with depression and anxiety to a greater or lesser extent at different points in my life, and in most cases, music is my saviour. Because of some tough life circumstances these last few years, both have snuck back in and tightened their grip on me once again. But I’m lucky, because even on my worst days, I don’t get deep into the kind of despair that many others have to fight. I do, however, know how hard it is to get out of bed in the morning when depression is telling me I can’t do it, or how impossible it feels to go out in public when social anxiety’s insistent that I shouldn’t. So I can’t even imagine how difficult it must be when that You just can’t do this depression voice applies to going on living.

So if you are someone who gets to that place, I beg you to remember that we need you. The world is a better place with you in it. And if you don’t think that’s true, please go talk to someone who will remind you that it is, that depression lies. Scott, in his personal connections and his work, was that person for so many people. He helped to pull so many out of their darkest places. It’s beyond heartbreaking that he succumbed to it himself.

So please, everyone, be there for each other. If you see someone struggling, reach out.

And the rest of the time, do your best to live by one of Scott’s simplest, but most profound lyrics: While I’m alive, I’ll make tiny changes to Earth.

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Krakow

Of course, I'm not actually in Krakow. I'm sitting in the Lufthansa lounge in Frankfurt Airport en route to Edinburgh as I write this. Turns out there are direct KRK - EDI flights, but only on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. I couldn't really make my schedule work for any day but Tuesday, so here I am, trying to use up a nearly 4 hour layover.

Hotel view of Wawel - so close, so far

But never mind all that. Krakow was cool, and pretty much exactly as I expected it to be. I chose it as my one stop in Poland, because it has more of the stuff I'm interested in -- castle, cathedrals, old history --  rather than the more recent war history that draws people to the rest of the country. I chose my hotel because on the map it was a short distance across the river from the Old Town and other attractions. Unfortunately, it was actually placed right on a highway with limited pedestrian underpasses, 10 minutes walk from the nearest bridge across the river, meaning 20-30 minutes from any of the places I really wanted to go.

When I arrived on Sunday afternoon, I had plenty of time to go out and do some sightseeing, but given that the weather was still terribly hot, I decided to wait and give it my all on much cooler Monday. I did need some provisions, though, so I found a supermarket just behind the hotel and took the very short walk to do some shopping. Google maps automatically pulls up a few reviews for the places I click on my phone, and the ones for this grocer all said things about how slow the service was, and how the miserable employees seemed to hate every second they spent having to do their jobs. I figured it couldn't possibly be that bad, and well... I was wrong. After spending a few minutes picking up snacks and sparkling water* (sodastream at home has ruined me), I went to the cash desk, which had a woman waiting there and no lineup. She proceeded to start cleaning the inside and outside of her checkout lane, very pointedly ignoring my existence. A few minutes later when all had been thoroughly polished, she finally started ringing up my purchase. Then she realised that I didn't speak any Polish, and she didn't speak any English, which just made her exponentially more annoyed by my presence in her store. In the end I paid and headed out the door with a feeling of accomplishment: within my first few hours in Krakow, I'd not only found the city's grumpiest cashier, I'd managed to make her even grumpier!

Per my trusty guidebook, the normally paid places I wanted to see within the Wawel Castle grounds (specifically the Cathedral Museum and the Armoury) are free on Mondays in the summer, but that's partly because it's the day they close early. If you don't get your tickets before noon, no soup for you. So I set my alarm to start the day early Monday morning, and despite oversleeping somewhat, I had made the walk from the hotel and ascended the hill (another damn hill!) to the Wawel ticket office by 11:15... only to find that they'd already given out all their free tickets for the day, and I was stuck just wandering the grounds. It was still a lovely place to wander, and I did get to go inside the Cathedral, but the uber religion nerd in me looking forward to the museum and my Viking genes that love weaponry were a bit disappointed.

After exploring the castle, I walked down the other side of the hill to Old Town, where I found myself surrounded by lovely architecture. And so many churches. SO many churches. I would go to take a photo of one, and check what it was called on the map, but there were so many close together that I couldn't tell one from another. I also saw loads of nuns walking around, probably more than I've ever seen in all my previous travels combined, and was reminded that Pope John Paul II was Polish at every turn. Man, they really love that guy in Krakow.

After a semi-traditional Polish lunch and 6-7 miles of walking, I decided I needed a break and went back to the hotel for the afternoon. Which was where I stayed for the rest of the day, going no further than a brief trip downstairs for dinner, and to bed early enough to deal with my 7am wake up call today.

I've had a great time exploring central Europe, and I do enjoy my solo travels, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't most excited to get to Edinburgh today. Lazing around with Jody for a few days sounds like the best vacation ever. Just a few more hours to wait...


*This reminds me. I've always been a big proponent of drinking good old tapwater, and that's exactly what I fizz up at home, unfiltered. So whenever I travel, if there's no obvious sign saying not to drink out of the tap, well, glug glug glug. Jody, on the other hand is certain that all foreign tapwater is going to kill him somehow -- which I've learned since is a common British belief; they all bring 9 cases worth of products on every holiday because everything non-British will definitely contain poison. I believe nothing of the sort, but because Jody has harassed me about it so much, now I do a quick search on the tapwater for anywhere I visit, and if there's no warnings in the top 3 results, back to the glugging. Which led me to find something interesting about Poland online: a recent study showed that the water is some of the purest in Europe, but none of the locals will drink it because they believe it's polluted. People in the country would rather have muddy well water that only flows 3 days a week, and city folk have at least 9 brands of bottled water to choose from in every corner shop. Apparently it's so bad that the government are now running a campaign called something like clean water, straight from the tap! to convince folks that they can trust their municipal water supply and get them off their environmentally unfriendly bottled water habit. Fascinating.

One Night in Wien

For most of my Uber ride from the hotel to the Bratislava central station today, the song on the radio was One Night in Bangkok. Which couldn't have been more perfect a theme to send me off for my overnight stay in Vienna.

When I was planning my trip, I wanted to go from Bratislava to Krakow, but you can't fly direct and the trains are all way too long and/or require a stop at some small town in between. I finally determined that a stop in Vienna was the smart way to go, even though I wasn't particularly convinced one way or the other about this city when I visited it last. On visit number two, my impressions are about the same. It's a city. The stuff worth seeing is so overrun with tourists as to be almost a theme park, but DAMN this place is beautiful. Just effing gorgeous everywhere you look.

So early this afternoon, after a brief (but hot, no AC, and the weather continues to emulate the pits of Hell) train ride, I arrived in Vienna and headed out to make something of my short time here. My hotel is right on one corner of the Stadtpark, so I started by taking a walk across it, soaking up a nice dose of nature, and occasional shade, en route to Albertina. On the way, I stopped in briefly at Annakirche, which is nothing much to look at from the outside, but if you step inside, you'll find a very pretty church in active use.

But Albertina was the star of the show. It's an old Habsburg palace turned into a museum of art and Habsburg domestic life, and I loved it. The staterooms featuring how the House of Austria may have lived there were fine, but even with all their ornate gold and crystal, they paled in comparison to the art.  While everyone else was gaping at the Andy Warhols down the hall, I was falling in love with the work of Anselm Kiefer (my favourite of which is at right). It's an awesome collection. If you're a modern art lover and you find yourself in Vienna, GO TO ALBERTINA. Well worth the ticket price.

On the way out, I picked up a pack of note cards featuring works of Henri Matisse from his book Jazz. Because a) how fantastic are those prints?, b) I love stationery even though I don't remember the last time I mailed anyone a damn letter, and c) it was 50% off. Also, he was probably my gateway drug into the world of truly interesting modern art. As a dancer growing up, everyone was always pushing the Degas ballerinas or some kind of soft Monet lily on me, but when I was 14 I got a poster of a Matisse from his cut-out phase and stuck it up on my bedroom wall next to the rock bands. And I had totally forgotten about it until relatively recently when I was in a museum and saw the original in front of me.

But I digress. After my art viewing, I walked outside and realised that the statue out front looked familiar. In fact, it's in one of my photos from the last time I was here, with Jody. As I continued my walk back, I passed a fountain we paused to view, a souvenir shop we failed to buy something in, and even the Strauss statue we both Instagrammed. It was a bit of deja vu, since we were also here in August, it was also meltingly hot, and we stayed just on the opposite corner of the Stadtpark. So as I enjoy the cool of my (city view! check it out!) hotel room tonight, I'm remembering how we spent our evenings last time: escaping the heat indoors, Jody drinking his Almdudler (Austria's favourite soft drink) and teaching me the basics he remembered from German class.

Wo ist Dame Zwei? Österreich! 
(For one night only!)

Bratislava

As my only full day in Bratislava ends, I have a slight sunburn and am overly tired from the heat, but I think I did okay seeing the town.

My first order of business today was to hit the drugstore around the corner and pick up some sunblock, which I forgot to pack, and which has been desperately needed to keep me from completely bursting into flames the last 3 days. Unfortunately, even SPF 50 wasn't enough to last all day in the August heat. The temperature while I was out was 33 C (around 92 F), which is good weather for nothing but being in a climate-controlled building.

Anyway. After applying my newly acquired sunscreen liberally, I took a walk down to the Slovak National Gallery, which houses an interesting collection of random art. Sadly, only 2 floors were open today -- one of the closed ones was an exhibit on Slovak fashion that I really wanted to see -- so I enjoyed the small amount that I saw, but was a bit underwhelmed and didn't spend long wandering through.

After my art viewing, I crossed the road and walked along the Danube for a while, my second visit to its shores this week. I must say, in both cases it has been pretty green, and I have to declare Johann Strauss a liar. One of the bridges across it is the Most SNP, which was built in the 1970s and looks like a concrete Socialist mini-Space Needle. But on a bridge. I read that the prices to go to the viewing deck were ridiculous, though, so I decided against visiting the tower and kept walking.

From there I wandered in the Old Town a bit and stopped at St Martin's Cathedral, which is under renovation, but still had some very picturesque angles. And then I started up the climb to Castle Hill. I don't know what makes me suddenly feel like being a tourist when it's a million degrees out and there are a thousand stairs to climb, but it just keeps happening. So I made my way up to Bratislava Castle, and view did not disappoint. The Castle was okay, but the views over the city are the real reason to endure the climb.

I spent quite some time wandering around, seeing everything on Castle Hill, and then slowly meandered back down to spend a lot more time just shopping and generally checking things out in Old Town. It's clear that it's a very touristy area, but it's also bustling and has a lot of interesting little shops. In general, the buildings in Bratislava remind me of Prague, in that it's a mix of shabby and beautiful, no matter where you go. But also in that it's just a cool city, not too expensive, and has a lot of good stuff to see.

At this point in the day, I was planning to head to a restaurant that had been suggested that I try, but after walking for hours, I was overheated and sweaty, and my feet hurt from wearing my (normally very comfortable for walking) sandals with thin leather soles on the jagged rock paths of Castle Hill. But more importantly, I wasn't hungry. So I decided to head back to the hotel just to clean up and and cool off in the air conditioning, before going out to eat later.

Well, here I am at nearly midnight and I haven't made it any further than the drinks terrace 2 floors below my room. But in my defense, it's so comfy in here. And so air conditioned. I'm okay with missing out on a big Slovak feast for dinner, because I think my day was generally a success.

So my evening may have been lazy, but I didn't miss anything I really wanted to see, I tried yet another delicious local rosé, and ya know what? I haven't sweated or climbed any stairs for hours. So I feel good about it.

Budapest

My visit to Budapest was too short, and went too fast. So fast that I'm just now getting a chance to sit and pull my thoughts together about the city, and I'm no longer there. As I write this, I'm in a nice boutique hotel in Bratislava -- my second stop along the Danube River this trip -- sipping a Slovak wine and listening to old Take That hits. By the way, I had no idea that Hungarian and Slovak wines were a thing I should seek out, but I've tried 3 different local rosés so far, and they've all been lovely. Who knew?

Anyway. Budapest. I'd been meaning to get there for a few years, but had never managed to fit it into the travel schedule. Then when it became clear I wouldn't be able to use my ticket for the Robbie Williams show in Edinburgh this June, the Budapest stop on his tour became a perfect excuse to plan a trip. Of course, I never spend more than a couple of days in any single place when I travel (god / Elvis forbid I actually relax and sit still for 5 minutes), so Budapest was just the first of a few stops on a two week journey.

I arrived at my hotel on the edge of the Józsefváros part of town -- supposedly a rough area at night, but I never saw or felt any indication of that -- at around 8pm on Tuesday, after about 20 hours of travel. It could have been shorter, I'm sure, but I took British Airways through Heathrow because I'm addicted to my gold member perks. But even with perks, I can't sleep on airplanes, so I was too exhausted to do anything but eat, watch some TV, and pass out for the night, with my alarm set nice and early to make the best of Wednesday. Ah, the best laid plans. 

My jet lag and I got out of bed, very well rested, just before noon on Wednesday, leaving only a few hours to sight-see before it was time for Rob and Erasure. Because of that, I got out the old guidebook and found a few places to visit within walking distance. First, I walked across the Liberty Bridge over the Danube, and up to the Cave Church, aka a lot of other things, including the Gellért Hill Cave or Gellérthegyi Barlang. Essentially, it's a chapel carved into the side of the mountain, and the main entrance looks like a cave. Very cool. Then after taking a photo of the statue of St Stephen outside (he's a big deal in Bupapest, apparently), I started ascending the winding paths and stairs up Gellért Hill.

After making a few stops for photos of the views, I determined I was only halfway to the Citadel and Liberation Monument that I could see up top... and that I wasn't going any further. Between the hot day and my bad knees, I'd touristed enough. My trusty, rusty Fitbit indicated that I'd already been up the equivalent of 20 flights of stairs when I gave up, so I officially take issue with the place being called a hill and stand by my decision to quit while I could still use my joints well enough to get back down.

I descended the same way I went up, then took a walk on flat ground, along the front side of the Cave Church and the monastery which accompanied it, down to the other end of the hill (mountain). There I found a gigantic statue of St Gellért himself, above a waterfall, giant crucifix in hand, looming over me as I crossed the Elisabeth Bridge. Back on the other side of the Danube, lunch, a bit of shopping, and a stop at the hotel awaited me before the night's entertainment. 

I won't get into fangirl mode over Robbie here, but I will say that the Groupama Arena is a great stadium, and the show was fantastic. Erasure sounded perfect, and I never knew that they don't bring a band on tour... it's just Vince Clark back there with his electronics and occasionally a guitar. Wow. 

Rob was his usual brilliant showman, but the crowd took a lot of the fun out of it. I'm too old to stand for hours, pressing my way through the standing section to get close enough to see, which means I pay for one of the front seated rows at these stadium gigs. But even so, when Let Me Entertain You blasts from the speakers, we all stand up, and stay there until the last note of Angels. We sing along. We dance. We cheer. And when Rob commands that we put our hands in the air, you can damn well bet that we do as we're told. This has been true in London (both times), Munich, and Barcelona. But not in Budapest. A small portion of the standing crowd played along, but everyone else just kind of listened politely and clapped once in a while. In other cities, Mr Williams will start the crowd singing Angels, and then just sit and listen... and we will sing the whole rest of the song. The Budapest crowd barely finished the lyric in progress when he went quiet. I don't get it. I assume it's a cultural thing. And I wasn't going to stand up and dance around and have a bunch of people shout at me in Hungarian that I was blocking their view. So even though the atmosphere was shite, as Jody might say, I enjoyed myself as always and was buzzing long after I got back to the hotel. 

Which meant that I pretty much just dragged myself out of bed and straight onto the train this morning, no more adventures. But now that I'm in the next city of my journey, well... to be continued...

Belfast

Three years or so ago, I had a conversation with Jody about our shared desire to visit Dublin. I had always planned that if I were to go to the Republic, that I'd also want to visit Northern Ireland, because the island can't be fully understood without seeing both. It went something like this:

"You are NOT going to Belfast. You'll get blown up."
"Maybe years ago. There's none of that anymore."
"Aye there is! I'll show you the news story from last week..."

So when Jody magically forgot about his unfound worry and asked if I'd like to join him here for a UFC event, I jumped at the chance.

We arrived yesterday at Belfast International Airport, which is well out of town, but got lucky in randomly being picked up by a good-natured taxi driver willing to give us a wee tour and a history lesson on the ride to our hotel.

He drove us through one of the areas most impacted by The Troubles, describing the bombings, the marches, and the police presence that had been there, in both long gone by and recent years. For much of the city, the division is represented by Shankill Road (the Protestant / Unionist portion) and Falls Road (the Catholic / Republican side). These two major streets run parallel and many of the cross streets have large gates in the middle that the police close at night in a symbolic attempt to keep the combatants apart. The incidents our driver described from recent years sounded less like the war waged in earlier times, and more like organised crime: things like coordinated control of businesses and transportation, beatings and intimidation. But while the tactics have shifted, the emotions and reasons behind it have not.

Our drive also took us by a few of the famous murals, beautifully turning events both proud and sad in the bloody sectarian battles to lasting art. Some of the murals near schools are being repainted by the children these days, in an attempt to help the battle lines blur and the hatred to turn to understanding. But of course kids are a product of the adults around them, so within this hope, there's also a resignation to the fact that you can only shrink the problem; it will never really go away.

The lesson ended with our arrival in the city centre, of which our taxi driving friend said, "It's like any city centre; no trouble, people just get on with it." And I've found that to be the case. Belfast is another enjoyable British city, with lovely people, and unwelcoming weather. Because it's been around freezing the whole time we've been here, Jody and I have tended to hole up where it's warm and not go out too much. I skipped the 20 minute walk to the Ulster Museum today, opting to stay nearby and instead visit the Titanic Memorial Garden, the (just opened for the year) Continental Christmas Market at City Hall, and the Victoria Square Shopping Centre... with just a quick break for a pint of Guinness at Fibber Magee's.

Now I'm back in the hotel room, keeping cosy and watching sports all night while Jody's off writing about a bunch of fighting that makes no sense to me. And we're both heading back out of town tomorrow, sadly.

Sure, there are reminders of Belfast's dangerous past here and there -- we can see the Europa Hotel, famously the most bombed hotel in Europe, from our window -- but generally there's a great spirit in this town. I'm glad I made it here, and I hope to get a chance to come back.

Zurich

Zurich makes me happy. Funny how Italy's leisurely culture made me feel angst and irritation, but the stereotypical land of punctuality and seriousness has me totally relaxed and contented.

The train ride here took 4 hours, almost exactly, and had some lovely Alpine mountain and lake scenery out the windows. Unfortunately, every time I got ready to take a photo, we'd pass a building or a bunch of trees, or go into a tunnel, and I'd miss it. A couple of times I just snapped away with my phone at random, and the results look like grim hills with a grey sky. Or a glowing sky because the clouds were so reflective. The one at right auto-adjusted the exposure so dark that it looks like it should be the cover of the next single by Modest Mussorgsky. So I guess I'll have to rely on my memory for the views. At least that way when I think I spotted a couple of glaciers in the distance, and saw some ibex grazing in a valley, there's no evidence to prove me right or wrong... so by default I'm right about what I saw.

Since I arrived in Zurich, I haven't done a whole lot. The downtown area is all easily walkable, so mostly I've just done that. I checked my guidebook when I got settled last night, but it informed me that all the museums are closed on Mondays, and I was too late to get into them before closing time Sunday. So there wasn't much left but to enjoy the city.

And enjoy it I have. It's so refreshing to be in a bustling city, to have busy people, going about their daily lives, doing their jobs, and being happy because this is a good place to live, not a good place to laze around on vacation. It's exactly the kind of place I like. People are in a hurry. The food is good, and made to be taken on the go. And nobody wants to talk to me or sell me anything. They couldn't care less what I'm up to. I love it here.

Today I took a good long walk all around downtown, took some photos along the water -- I don't know exactly which water... all of the water, there's a lot of lake/river/whatever-front in this town -- and then just sat and relaxed. I spent the rest of the afternoon reading a book, feeling the nice cool breeze, listening to the trams go by. And it was fantastic.

I have very little planned for tonight, and then tomorrow it's flights back to Seattle and real life.

I don't have the stamina for solo travel that I used to; I still love it, but I tire of it much more quickly now than I used to. I guess Jody's just made me more homey in general. So I'm glad that just as I was getting worn out with this trip, Zurich managed to recharge me.