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On nearly throwing up in a television studio


Tuesday and it's off to TV3 to take part in the round table discussion which kicks off Albert Om's live afternoon show 'El Club'. This week I'm paired with Joan Reig, drummer of veteran rock band 'Els Pets', which suits me fine because Joan and I get on well, partly, I suspect, because neither of us has really got used to being over forty. On this particular day, however, we have another thing in common, namely we are both sick as parrots, feverish and nauseous (probably some kind of Spring allergy, according to Joan); so, while waiting to go on the set, we quaff bucketloads of Font Vella in an attempt to keep our restless bile at bay.
At the round table we talk about a handful of recent events, including the world premiere of 'Firewall', starring Harrison Ford (who comes across as a right plonker, if I may say so, answering the reasonable query as to why he chose Barcelona for the premiere with: 'gee...I guess...uh...hell, I don't know'). Once out of there, our make-up swabbed off, Joan and I walk down the ramp leading to the exit, still sick as parrots, and I mention to him that for a moment I thought I was going to throw up in front of the cameras and Joan laughs and says that would have been like a punk performance, something the Sex Pistols might have done. I tell Joan he's right, but in my case I would've been at least twenty years too late.
Then he gives me an odd, expressive look, which says, clear as crystal, that we are both well aware that for quite a while (ever since we turned forty, in fact) neither of us has been able to get away from the unsettling sensation that whatever we produce now and in the future (a song, a book, a technicolour yawn on live TV), it is always, inevitably, going to be at least twenty years too late.

- Textos i contingut: Matthew Tree - Disseny i programació: Nac -