Melanie Martinez at Melkweg, Monday 2 May 2016

After visiting the World Press Photo exhibition in Amsterdam the other week, I walked to the Melkweg to meet Fiona in the queue for the Melanie Martinez concert. Fiona is a big fan. Having learned our lesson from the Halsey gig in February, Fiona had got there even earlier than me, at about 13:30. There were still about 200 people ahead of us, but when I showed up at 15:30, there were even more behind us. The fans first in line must have been there since early in the morning, or maybe they camped overnight. (Although I didn’t see any sleeping bags.)

200 ahead
Many more behind

Apart from the roadies and security staff, I was by far the oldest person there.

We spent the rest of the afternoon sitting and standing around, watching videos or listening to podcasts and music on our phones, and getting colder all the time. Fiona went off to get a makeup pencil so she could apply a cry baby tear to her cheek, like many of the others in line. Melkweg staff toured the line periodically to make sure we weren’t blocking the road, to collect rubbish (mostly futile), and to lead groups inside for toilet breaks. The tickets said doors at 19:00. We kept a careful eye on all signs of activity near the entrace, so we were ready to move when the doors actually opened, and the line instantly collapsed into a tight swarm. We were early enough that we could have got floor spots about six or seven back from the stage. Fiona wasn’t sure about the view, though. The balconies were still mostly clear, and we got some excellent positions up there.

With a good view locked in, Fiona went off to grab a poster and a cry baby necklace from the merch stand. While we were waiting for the opening act, we amused ourselves by identifying the “Concert Dads” in the audience. They were pretty easy to spot. Midde-aged men, usually with their arms crossed, bemused at what they’ve let themselves in for, standing slightly apart from a teenage daughter, conspicuously trying not to look like a chaperone.

Concert Dads, we salute you

Dudes, I’m not judging. So long as you don’t throw your pint all over me, enjoy the music however you like.

A Concert Dad deliberately trying to embarrass his teenage daughter.

The Alvarez Kings came on at about 19:40. I had been listening to them during the day, and I was liking their track “Tell-Tale Heart”. They played through their EP Fear To Feel, and three other songs I didn’t recognize. The song they opened with, “Run From You”, starts with a two minute slow burn, and then erupts into a wall of guitars and noise. The crowd loved them; I thought they were excellent; Fiona was “meh.”

Alvarez Kings at Melkweg

When Melanie Martinez came on, the whole place melted down. The gig was originally scheduled for the Oude Zaal at Melkweg (capacity ~700), but had been moved to The Max (~1500) because it was so popular. At least 95% of the people there were young women in their teens. I had thought that Halsey’s fans were enthusiastic, but it felt like every single person in Melanie Martinez’s audience was singing along with every single word of every song, at the top of their voices. To the point where it was hard to hear her sing. At the start of “Sippy Cup”, she sang a different, slower intro than on the album. The crowd started singing it in the tempo of the recorded version and almost drowned her out. They backed off briefly, but started up again at full volume when she launched into the body of the song. I can’t blame the fans for having a great sing-a-long time with their favourite artist, but I would have preferred to hear more of Melanie Martinez herself than the chorus. (Hmm. It’s almost like there’s a reason the audience skewed young.) Melanie Martinez’s voice did seem strained and weak, so maybe that’s why I was having trouble hearing it. She commented on it the start of “Soap”, and at the end of the gig she said she would love to come back to Amsterdam again when her voice was better.

(Set list: she played the album Cry Baby in order. I was surprised, but Fiona wasn’t. She explained that the songs form a narrative, and need to be played in the right order.)

The Teardrop Describes Itself

I woke up this morning with the band name “The Teardrop Explodes” stuck in my mind. I knew they were from the early eighties, but frustratingly, I couldn’t remember their music. Wikipedia came to the rescue. Their biggest hit, of course, was “Reward”:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dNHc56y0POU

As I was reading the article, the name “Alan Winstanley” jumped out at me. I recognized the name, but couldn’t figure out why it was so familiar. Reading his wikipedia page didn’t help in that regard, but it did show that he had produced the album Please Describe Yourself by Dogs Die In Hot Cars, one of my favourite albums from 2004, which is what I’ve been listening to this morning.

World Press Photo

Pat and Susan are visiting for a couple of weeks. On Monday we went in to Amsterdam for lunch, and visited the World Press Photo exhibition in the Nieuwe Kerk. For as long as we’ve lived here, I’ve seen the billboards and posters advertising it go up around this time each year, but this is the first time that I’ve gone in. I was reminded of it last weekend when I fell down an internet rabbit hole and ended up browsing around PetaPixel. That’s where I learned about the controversy around the prize last year, which led to the organization adopting a code of ethics. I had not known that World Press Photo contest was started in the Netherlands, and has been around for 60 years.

I had expected to be impressed; I had not been expecting to be moved to tears. I followed the main path through the exhibition, looking at striking and beautiful photographs of nature, sports, and people. But the many images of refugees, leading up to the final, winning photo were harrowing. I had seen the image itself elsewhere before, but the context of the exhibition, and seeing it blown up to life size made it much more powerful.

The exhibition is on display around the world. It’s worth a visit. I’m going to make a point of seeing it again next year.

Recipe Blogs

I was reading recipe blogs this afternoon looking for suggestions on how to make a honey and orange vinaigrette. The typical ingredient lists were sufficiently consistent (orange juice, cider vinegar, honey, olive oil, a little mustard as an emulsifier) that I felt able to improvise, but in doing so I was reminded of Mallory Ortberg’s classic article, All The Comments on Every Recipe Blog:

“I didn’t have any eggs, so I replaced them with a banana-chia-flaxseed pulse. It turned out terrible; this recipe is terrible.”

“I followed this to the letter, except I substituted walnuts and tofu for the skirt steak, ditched the cheese entirely, and replaced the starch with a turnip salad. Turned out great. My seven-year-old boys have never seen a dessert and I’ve convinced them that walnut-and-turnip salad is “cake.” Thanks for the recipe!”

“I didn’t have buttermilk, so I just poured baking soda into a container of raspberry yogurt. It tasted terrible.”

“I love this recipe! I added garlic powder, Italian seasoning, a few flakes of nutritional yeast, half a bottle of kombucha, za’atar, dried onion, and biscuit mix to mine. Great idea!”

She’s not wrong.

Devil Mountain

This weekend Abi and I abandoned the kids again and headed off for a short break. We stayed at the Van der Valk Hotel Cuijk and had a wonderfully relaxing time. I’m always impressed by how Van der Valk have industrialized their particular brand of hospitality. They do it so well.

Yesterday we wandered the outskirts of Cuijk in the afternoon, and then again in the dark after dinner. (We shared a smoked duck carpaccio and cranberry salad as a starter, and that’s a dish I’ll definitely be stealing for my own repertoire.) Today we drove through Molenhoek and the Mookerheide to the Duivelsberg (Devil Mountain) just outside the village of Beek on the German border. (It’s only 75.9m above sea level, but that’s quite a hill around these parts.)

We followed the 3km Duivelsberg trail before lunch, which took us past the hill’s summit. In medieval times it was the site of a medieval motte-and-bailey castle. In the Second World War the hill was fought over during Operation Market Garden. Now, it’s a pleasant forest stroll.

The Duivelsberg trail is a loop. We started out from the car park of the Duivelsberg restaurant. On the inbound leg, on some of the red markers for our trail, we started to see these plaques:

To me, it looked like a dude with flippers for hands. Abi wondered if it might be an oddly winged devil, or the Angel of Mosquitoes. Because this wasn’t our first rodeo visit to the Dutch countryside, we automatically thought that the signs were going to lead us to an inscrutable piece of public art. We also speculated that they might be symbolic of the Duivelsberg restaurant. A tall guy with serving trays for hands?

Indeed, the trail led us right back there. The last plaque had an arrow that seemed to point straight into the restaurant’s back garden, but the symbol was nowhere to be found on the building or its menus. Curious. We sat down for lunch and speculated. We tried a reverse image search, but it didn’t produce anything. The other thing that kept our interest piqued was the fact that the plaques were directional. They only appeared on one side of the trail markers. They were trying to lead you one way, rather than in a loop like the other walking trails.

After lunch, we decided to follow the signs a bit further, to see if they led anywhere. We followed them for maybe a couple of kilometers: along the Grensroute trail at first, then over the Oude Kleefsebaan at the car park on the road, and into yet more muddy forests. It was a lovely walk, along some beautiful tree-lined and root-paved avenues, but we weren’t getting the feeling there was an actual destination awaiting us. Eventually, it started to hail, and then to rain. We sheltered at the top of a hill, and then turned around. We figured that we’d decipher the mystery once we were warm and dry again, with access to more internet.

bark

When we got back to the restaurant, the obvious thing to do was to stop and asked one of the staff if he knew what the plaques were for. He did. They’re markers for the Walk of Wisdom, a 136km walking trail that loops around Nijmegen and surroundings. It opened in June of 2015, so it’s brand new. The people behind it are trying to establish a new kind of secular pilgrimage tradition, with its own rituals and symbols. Pilgrims doing the whole route can buy a Walk of Wisdom badge (Sinister Paddle Man/Angel of Mosquitoes) to pin to their lapel or bag. They can also get a special leather thong, and buy commemorative bird rings in every village or town along the way to attach to it. Pilgrims are encouraged to take part in a “modern fast” by keeping their phones and devices turned off for as much as possible. The organisers hope that once the tradition gets bedded in, they can expand it to other locations around the world.

I’m a fan of big walks, but I’m not sure how I feel about this. Traditions generally rub me the wrong way, and this attempt to kick-start a bunch of new ones feels artificial. I hope people taking part enjoy the experience, but this afternoon I would have preferred a statue.