Eggs on the Rocks

It’s not even 9am in Hamburg, Germany, and the city is rocking. I can’t find eggs for shit, but bars are open and people are sipping morning beers. I really just want eggs. Heavy metal is blasting out of one window while a car passes me with two girls bouncing to a rap song. And let me mention that last night, in my tiny “hotel” room, I put my head on the skull & crossbone pillow and fell asleep to the lullabies of the punk-rock genre. I turned down the free jack daniels shot you get with your room key. I woke up and opened the blinds to see a guy puking outside my window. Yup, I’m in Hamburg, staying in a “Rock & Roll bar + hotel”, walking around, looking for eggs.
that is not my pillow. it came with the joint.

I walk by the outdoor stage where I’ll be playing tonight. It’s in a plaza surrounded by restaurants, shops and graffiti. It’s a huge stage. I’m psyched. I wish I had my band so I could rock out the way the city seems to be. And I’ll be playing at 8pm. Who KNOWS how hard the city will be rocking by then. I think I’m going to wear all black.

I have a bunch of nicer restaurant and event shows coming up next week, where a solo singer/pianist is just perfect for the venue. I am not worried about those shows (except for their length- some are 4 hours). But tonight, I will have a real audience, and one chance to connect to this city. I told myself that no matter what keyboard they give me, I will be focusing all my energies on my voice, on my words and on getting them out to people who don’t speak English. It will be my voice and the melodies I’ve written that will reach out. I’ve always considered myself a pianist before a singer, and I’ve been told it’s the singing that connect to people, not piano chops. Note to self: sing better.

When I checked in to my bar, I mean hotel, last night, I had been traveling for 30 hours straight and my braids were almost completely unraveled, my dress stretched out, and my shoulders red from my over-weight backpack. I was not feeling too cool as the hip tattooed and pierced bartender/receptionist handed me my hotel receipt and I asked to trade in my shot for a glass of wine (answer was no). I wanted to tell her that I am playing Spielbunplatz, to see if that would make me any cooler. I didn’t, and as I am walking around this morning, I am getting a bit nervous about my”cool” factor. Can my music hang in this too-cool-for-school city? Can I?