BRAM TCHAIKOVSKY IN FUNLAND: THE CIRCUS BEGINS HERE
“Here, you’re an Antperson,” said Bram Tchaikovsky, smearing a strip of scotch tape across the nose of his manager, Richard Ogden. Ogden, looking resigned and ever-so-slightly amused, delicately attempted to remove the offending object without mauling his anatomy.
BRAM TCHAIKOVSKY IN FUNLAND: THE CIRCUS BEGINS HERE
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Toby Goldstein
The Motors were the worst in the world, —Bram Tchikovsky
“Here, you’re an Antperson,” said Bram Tchaikovsky, smearing a strip of scotch tape across the nose of his manager, Richard Ogden. Ogden, looking resigned and ever-so-slightly amused, delicately attempted to remove the offending object without mauling his anatomy. Next, Ogden’s American girlfriend, Amy, went over to Bram and, peering upwards, started to examine at close range, the bike badges festooned on his leather jacket. Back off, commanded Bram, ducking to escape her friendly poking. “I don’t like being fiddled with by women.” “That’s why he’s wearing his keys on the left side,” cracked Ogden, still smarting from his artist’s little joke. More dirty looks were exchanged. Such was five minutes in the life of Peter Brammell’s latest promotional tour, a schlep around New York to plug his newest Bram Tchaikovsky album, Funland.