The Honey Brothers

Andrew here.  We spent a week this past weekend in Copenhagen.  At least that’s what it felt like: one big, glorious week.  Perhaps it is due to us sleeping in installments, when we could, thanks to jet lag, sound check, obligations, bar-hopping.    It helped that we refused to get off of “New York Time” for the brief weekend we were there - so when once again we found ourselves ordering another round of drinks at 6 in the morning (for the second time in as many days) it was easy to convince ourselves that it really was only 11 at night in NYC.   Besides, as city was even more electric in these pre-dawn hours, so we were extremely grateful to have jet lag on our side, and took full advantage.   I didn’t expect that level of raging from a relatively small (compared to nyc) - Scandinavian city.  Hoyt’s friend Asger traveled with a jovial entourage and led us into our first night with cans of Carlsberg beer on hand (legal to drink on the street) as we hopped to small, smoky bars (legal to smoke indoors) - reminiscent of the East Village in the pre-Guiliani years.  

Further fueling our disorientation was the eternal timelessness of the old city - “The City of Spires.“  Our hotel overlooked this skyline and ancient university library, whose 17th century design, in the absence of electricity, allowed for enormous, stately windows and for us to watch students studying and (as our manager deduced) for them to observe us walking around naked after getting out of the shower…  yikes!   

And then there was the dreamlike quality of the light - a glowing white neon comforter of clouds that saturated all hours of the day evenly, so that in between naps and coffee we couldn’t tell what time it was.   And then there was the legions of commuters riding mid-century English road bicycles.  Old Raleighs, in puzzlingly mint condition, with painted chrome, high handlebars, fenders, wicker baskets and little blinking lights.    Copenhagen, it turns out, is the most bike-friendly city I’ve ever seen.  People ride these exquisite, vintage bicycles and leave them willy nilly along the streets squares, if locked at all, locked to themselves by an inconspicuous clasp on the rear tire.  The appearance begs a spirit of trust and comfort.  At least I thought so.   This detail of the city - the charming multitudes of bikers - was something I was so endeared by (more than the koalas of Australia) that I couldn’t cease my over-effusive spouting until compelled by my brothers’ spiteful mockery.  But here, in Blogland, no one is safe.

We were given a tour of the city-unto-itself, the Christiana artists commune neighborhood, where people lived in what Carl Honey observed to be giant dog houses.  Whimsical, clapboard cottages, the kind Snoopy might live in if he was a sculptor with dreadlocks and bought his hash from the open stalls in the local market.   Our lovely tourguides were two Danish friends of Asgers, who rapidly became friends of ours.  One with the undeniably awesome name of Elvira, and a delightful, sharp-edged spirit to match, and another who graciously led us around, though limping, as she was still recovering after being bitten by a fucking SHARK, acquired while exploring the Galapagos. (Can you dig that, 2,000 miles from the nearest hospital?). We occasionally took turns giving her piggy-back rides as we hopped around the neat Christianshavn neighborhood. These is good people!  

We felt that way about so many of the Danes we met.   That’s why it was hard to call it a night, especially since we could count the hours we had left in Europe…   But I digress - we were there for music, after all!   Forgive me for not getting to this point sooner, but you already knew that, didn’t you.  The beauty in these shows is about the people and the places.   We played a gigantic party, sponsored by our friends who are designers for “Chicks with Guns” (yes, that’s the real name of their line).   We played right before the famous Danish rapper Jokerum - old school hip hop in Danish.   You can’t get THAT in NYC.  I’ll definitely say it was neat to have played 3 continents in one month, and especially to feel us grow as friends and as a band - and this was a fantastic final concert.   It was our manager’s generous assessment was that we were sounding better than ever, in part thanks to his prophetic theory that we would play better if we held off on partying until AFTER the gig. 

I’m on the plane home, amazed to now be looking at everything from the other side of an incredible couple of months. We’re following the sunset, which is making it last forever.

Andrew Vladeck AKA Dory Honey

Posted: 02/09/09