tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8728300422697974012024-03-13T02:43:31.137+01:00Punk Rock and Coffee...This Shit Just Writes Itself...Besatthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18249422950419263931noreply@blogger.comBlogger319125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-872830042269797401.post-12169524476752922522022-12-18T23:05:00.005+01:002022-12-19T22:51:58.829+01:00MalmöI wake up to find myself in some sort of sleeping capsule. The room is all white and sterile and has that Space Odyssey 2001 vibe about it. I’m on the top bunk. I don’t really remember the details of climbing up here in the first place. Maybe there weren’t that many details to remember. I’m most likely paraphrasing the fact that I was a little drunk when I climbed into this capsule at three am. The nip in my head would certainly suggest so. Once my phone alarm succeeds in piercing its way through the fog of sleep, the first thought that hits me, apart from confirming to myself that I am indeed desperate for a piss, is that I smell like a fucking ashtray. <br /><br />I still go through the usual inner debate of whether I can sleep the piss away for about five minutes, but then I’m roused out of slumber by someone knocking at the door. Pigge is in the capsule below me, snoring like a horse. Gill is lying in the capsule opposite him, a hint of concern on his coupon. It’s Erik at the door, looking for an Iphone charger. Nobody here can help him though. He says he’s heading out for a walk for a while and we agree on a time to meet in the lobby of the hotel before searching for some breakfast.<br /><br />I shower away the smell of cigarette smoke from last night’s bar, but it doesn’t really help when your clothes are still fucked. I pull my jeans and jacket on with a feeling of disgust and we head downstairs. Erik and Martin are waiting there for us, but there’s no sign of Paddan. Erik smirks, tells us that when he came back from his walk Paddan was still fast asleep, and when he left again he was sat on the pan looking sheepish. He looks in good enough spirits when he joins the rest of us in the lobby a few minutes later though.<br /><br />It’s a nippy day and the sky looks as miserable as slapped arse. I have high hopes of finding some warm, cosy cafe with armchairs and sourdough cheese rolls and strong black coffee. I don’t have any particular place in mind, it’s more an image I have. We walk in the direction of the Meatpacking District, where last night's venue was, and where there are loads of trendy bars and restaurants. We find nothing that matches what I’m hoping for though. And the vegan options are strangely limited. I’ve been in Copenhagen loads of times, and past experiences have always been a success. But then I realise, there are seven of us and it ain’t that easy finding something everyone can concur on. We finally end up in some pub/restaurant place that looks sort of German in style. They have an omelette on the menu that looks half interesting, but it costs about 170 Swedish krona. It can’t be that fucking good. Most of them decide this place will do anyhow. I suspect the bar swayed it. Gill, Andy and I head to some bagel place across the street. It’s pretty bland, but it fills a hole.<br /><br />We’re in no real rush to leave for Malmö today since we don’t have to be there until five and it's only a short trip across the bridge. We head over to some record shop that Erik has in mind, thinking we could leave a couple of records there. It’s a pretty nice shop, a lot of vinyl, a bit salty on the pricing, although I guess like everything else at the minute, records are expensive. The old hard rocker guy running the shop takes a couple of LP’s from us and gives Erik a receipt. Can’t imagine when we’re gonna get the cash on them, may as well have given them away to someone on the street.<br /><br />Funnily enough, as we’re walking back towards the venue, some lady stops me and Gill, picking us off as we’d lagged behind the pack, and asks us if we’re in a band. She’s speaking English and we’re a little confused. She says she’s from Austria but could hear we were Scottish. She’d obviously heard Gill’s gabb. She says that her boyfriend was really into some Scottish band that was playing in town last night and wondered if it was us. She said that she could tell by looking at us that we were a band and that we looked really cool. We have a good laugh at that. We explain that we are indeed a band, but that it’s extremely doubtful that her boyfriend was one of the three paying customers at our gig last night. We have a good laugh at that, too. She seems really friendly and apologies for the confusion, saying that she will definitely check our band out and start following us online. We part ways and rejoin the rest of the group, who look as confused as we are.<br /><br />We wander slowly back to the venue, passing some area that seems to have a lot of retro clothes shops, a couple of places selling cowboy boots enticing Martin and Erik in for a look, since that’s their thing. By the time we get back to the venue it’s two pm. We’d arranged to meet the sound engineer but some lady who works in the office on the other side of the courtyard lets us in. “Just the fact that this little venue has an office says it all”, muses Paddan. We pack the cars and head to the bridge. <br /><br />We weren’t even sure if there was going to be a gig tonight until a couple of weeks ago. We’d originally planned to play a show in Gothenburg with our friends Blessings. But it had fallen through about a month ago and we’d been manically looking for a gig to replace it. Driving back and forth to play to ten people in Copenhagen would have been a bit of a piss take. Although I have driven longer to play to less people in a far bigger venue. I’m looking at you, Inverness. Ok, there were maybe about thirty people at this particular show in Inverness, but the place could have taken in around a thousand. Anyway… with the Gothenburg show caput, and with only a month to find something, we were struggling. It’s not that easy blagging a show for a band no one knows. And having seven in the band can apparently be a bit off putting. But then our dear friend Ronny Raw from Malmö put us in touch with some punk promoter he knew here, Rebecka. She was really cool and was going to put us on this crust punk show she had on the go, until the whole “seven” thing popped up. The place where she had that show on was way too small apparently. Shame, A\\VOID haven’t played with any crust bands so far. We have been playing with all kinds of different bands, though, something I’m enjoying, and it would have been fun for me and Andy to head back to our old scene with our new band. As it turned out, Rebecka hooked us up at a place called Grand, playing with some singer songwriter guy with a Welsh name. They’d pay us money for petrol to get back to Stockholm, and give us beer and food. Chuffed. <br /><br />I was assuming from the look of the pictures I could find of the place that the venue was the bar of the Grand Hotel.<br /><br />It wasn’t the Grand Hotel. Thankfully. Although I had been thinking that maybe we could have done a set of our mellower, quieter songs. Which could have been fun. Turns out the place was some posh restaurant that had a gig room to the side, simply separated by a moving wall, that turned into an electro disco afterwards. The whole vibe of the place was pretty cool though, kind of run down in a cosy kind of way. I had a feeling that it could be good. It was free entrance and apparently the restaurant side place always had a crowd in. So who knows, maybe some of them would head our way.<br /><br />After loading in the gear we had about an hour to kill before soundcheck so we took a walk over to Rundgång Record Shop and hung out there for a while. I picked up a copy of the Scenery LP by Ryo Fukui that the We Release Jazz label put out. They’ve done some really nice represses of Seventies Japanese jazz and I was chuffed to pick this one up. Rundgång are known, in our circles, for having a bunch of great punk and hardcore records in stock, so wasn’t expecting to find this little gem. Bonus! <br /><br />Soundcheck feels good and the overriding feeling among us is that we’re just happy to have a gig tonight. I’m determined to enjoy it, no matter how it turns out. Hopefully a few friends will turn up too. Dinner feels even better. We’re treated to a pretty decent bowl of tofu ramen as well as a pint of ale from the bar. It’s nice to be sat down, the seven of us together, enjoying a meal together. The music they’re playing in the place quickly goes from slightly amusing everyone to getting on our tits. It’s just some endless blues guitar noodling. It never seems to end. Erik and Martin are particularly aggrieved by it.<br /><br />After dinner we head over to the hostel that Gill had booked. We put Gill on travel agent duties, and we all agree he’d done well with last night’s place in Copenhagen. Gill warns us in advance that he has a feeling tonight’s offering is going to quite the same level. We head over to the place on the other side of Folkets Park and find that Gill’s suspicion was on the nose. The hostel looks pretty run down from the outside, not in the cosy way, and isn’t much better inside. It’s pretty cold out, though, so it’s just nice to get inside. And then we’re accosted by the woman running the place, who spends the next twenty or so minutes bombarding us with smarmy comments, switching continuously between English and Swedish. It’s all very confusing. She keeps making reference to Gill and how he has his own room in another place, that has a bed for him and a special friend of his choice. We don’t know what the fuck she’s talking about. It takes about fifteen minutes of faffing around to settle on that we’re seven people needing seven beds to sleep in, Gill repeatedly showing her the booking and pointing out, “Seven”. She keeps banging on about another place for Gill and his special friend. I can’t tell if she’s taking the pure piss or if it’s just that all the lights aren’t on. It finally works out that Gill, and his special friend (Pigge) will be staying at an apartment somewhere else, whilst the rest of us will split up into two rooms here. Relieved to have the finally sorted we pay up and assume we’ll be handed the keys, but the woman insists on taking us to the rooms and unlocking for us, presenting the place and giving it the once around.<br /><br />There isn’t much to present. The room I’m sharing with Andy is cold and dank, the wallpaper is the colour of stale piss. It said on the website that the rooms had cable, which I assumed meant cable TV. But it was just a loose cable hanging from the wall. So… the room had a cable. Which Gill points out is technically not false marketing. We check out Erik, Paddan and Martin’s room down the hall and it’s even worse. The only windows they have are two slats up by the ceiling. At least they have a TV. They look chuffed with that. Not that you’d want to spend any real amount of time here watching the thing. Strangely enough, the hostel seems to be full of guests who are just sitting around in the public rooms, not really doing much. Andy and I head back to our room to lie down and chill out for a while. Andy tries to sleep, but it’s not really happening. I lie and read my book for a bit, but that’s not really happening either. <br /><br />A couple of hours later we decide to head into town and find a bar to hang out at for a while since we’re not playing until the kitchen closes around ten, and it’s only eight. Erik has already headed off to hang out with his sister for a drink since she lives down here, but we bump into them and join them for a beer. Gill and Pigge walk by the place too, and in the space of a few minutes the six of us have crashed Erik’s quality time with his sister. Gill and Pigge have a good laugh about the hostel and tell us their apartment is pretty good. <br /><br />We get back to Grand around nine thirty and find the restaurant buzzing. We sit down for a beer before it’s time for the gig. Erik has a few friends coming, Edvin from Morbus Chron and a few of his gang, some other people. Ronnie Raw turns up just before we play too. It’s always great to see him. Ronnie and I became good friends after he drove Victims on tour in Europe years ago. He goes way back with Andy and the rest. Just him being here is enough to lift me for the gig, since it’s always a buzz playing to people you have a lot of respect for. Another old friend of ours from back home is here too, Kurt from Sewergrooves. He’s having a weekend in Copenhagen with his girlfriend and thought he’d pop over. As well as that lot, there are perhaps another twenty or so people in the room when we play. And I really enjoy it. It feels like it sounds really good, and there are even a couple of people I don’t recognise standing in front of the stage, dancing. Funnily enough, they’re both on their own, either side of the stage. Sort of look depressed, the two of them, gently swaying to our music. One of them is the young guy who looks like the actor William Spetz, the other is a girl who looks a bit like a younger version of Julie Cruise. <br /><br />We seem to get a good reaction and I’m pretty buzzed after the show. That kind of buzz where you feel like it’s job done, good gig, now let’s have a beer. We have some beer tickets in our pockets to cash in. We hang out with Ronnie for a while afterwards, who tells us he’s never been to this place before and by the look of the young trendy crowd coming in, I can see why. The music in the restaurant part of the place is in full flow, playing loads of dance hits. There are two young hipster girls in the stage room who have filled out the dancefloor already. Spetz is still there, on his own, dancing away. Kind of feels like the DJ girls have missed the fact that the Welsh bloke is tuning up his acoustic guitar.<br /><br />I head back out to the entrance of the restaurant where Pigge is stood with our merch. As Andy and I are saying bye to Ronnie, who has had enough, he had just come straight from work to be fair, a young group of girls approach Pigge. For a split second both Pigge and I are shocked, hardly believing these girls want to buy our record. My head even manages to start wondering into a “Fuck this band really has the potential to reach out across some boundaries” passage of thought. Turns out though that the girls thought Pigge was the wardrobe, and they’re actually trying to pass him their coats.<br /><br />I watch the Welsh bloke for a while. He’s actually from Gothenburg and his artist name is his Swedish name spelt backwards. He actually starts rabbiting on about that between songs in what is some pretty painful patter. I turn around to find Pigge’s eyes burning a whole in the back of my head, a look of horror on his face. I feel equal parts bad for the guy, since the room is pretty empty, barring his girlfriend and Spetz, who is still dancing, a few others at the back, and equal parts admiration. It takes a lot of guts to sit there on your own with your guitar playing shoegazey folk music, when it’s obvious the DJ girls are just waiting to get on with the party again. It takes a lot of guts just performing on your own, full stop. Turns out that he normally has a band with him, but they couldn’t make it or something, so he decided to try it out on his own. Just for that I watch him to the end. Even if it’s not my thing. We probably weren’t his thing either.<br /><br />Afterwards we hang around in the restaurant/bar, which is just as buzzing as the dancefloor/stage room is by this point. Can’t say I’m buzzing all that much myself, though. Tiredness from last night is catching up on me. Feels like it is with most of us. We plough on with a couple of beers all the same. Free beer never gets old. And besides, Pigge has been stuck at the merch table with some guy gabbing in his ear for the last hour or so. Can’t really tell if Pigge is welcoming of this or not. We leave him to it.<br /><br />Pigge finally joins us after shaking the guy off, and tells us what a pain in the ass he was. Martin is holding court and in the midst of some insane story from when he and Jenny were on holiday in New Orleans and were given a present that they assumed was sea salt but turned out to be methamphetamine. Somebody had left it in a package in their room with Martin’s name on it. They didn’t realise what it was until they took it all the way home to Sweden and seasoned their soup with it. Fucked up. They handed it in to the police in Sweden, shocked as fuck. Nothing else came of it though, the police just took it off their hands and told them well done for handing it in. How fucked up is that?<br /><br />With that banger we decide to call it a night. We’re all tired and ready to hit the hay, until Gill and Pigge decide to stick around and polish the beer tickets off. And then Erik, Paddan and Martin decide to do the same. So it’s just me and Andy then. We get back to the hostel, starving, and so head off for some famous Malmö falafel. You really can’t fail in this city. We take some cheap looking place that looks like a franchise, but it’s all we can find in the vicinity of the hostel, and it’s out of this world. Fresh mint. Just that little detail makes all the difference. And the falafel is fresh and crispy and just to die for. We notice a couple of drunk punks sat on the other side of the joint and assume they must have been to that other gig we might have played. Wonder how that would have been if we’d played it.<br /><br />When we get back to the hostel we find that Erik, Paddan and Martin are back. We ponder the idea of polishing off Martin’s whisky and chilling out in their room, watching their TV. Of course, the TV has no channels available. And that as a sign, we decide to call it a night. Leaving a thoroughly depressed Paddan behind us.<br />Besatthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18249422950419263931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-872830042269797401.post-53434513594323965572022-12-06T15:30:00.004+01:002022-12-06T23:46:17.170+01:00Well hello again, Copenhagen!It’s a long old way to Copenhagen from Stockholm. Especially when you understand there is a very real risk that you’ll be playing to pretty much nobody. That’s always a risk when you’re in an underground DIY band I guess. Even more so when you’re totally new and nobody has heard of you. But unless you’re Iron Maiden or something there is always a chance the gig will be a bum turnout.. I wonder what they would consider a bum turnout? Copenhagen, though, feels like it’s a bigger risk than most places. We played what turned out to be the last ever Victims show here. We didn’t know it at the time, of course, but it ended up being a depressingly poetic sortie. “This is the End. That was the end.” There were maybe thirty people there. I’ll be amazed if we get half that amount tonight.<br /><br />Despite the pessimistic forecast as we pulled away from the practice space at eight this morning, I was still chuffed to be heading off with the guys for a few days. These would be our first shows with A\\VOID outside of Stockholm, and I was determined to enjoy the couple of days away no matter how many people we played to. It’s obviously a pretty expensive hit rate, but even if we only manage to reach out to a couple of people then it would be worth it. We had most of the money for the trip covered from the few Stockholm shows we’d played anyway. This is what starting a band from scratch looks like when you’re totally on your own. The difference now; I guess, is that I’m 44 years old. It’s easier when you’re eighteen years old. Still love it, though.<br /><br />It was a bit of a bummer to have to travel down in two separate cars. Being in a seven piece band is something new to me, and on this first trip to fields afar it became apparent that travelling together in one van was not all that easy to sort out. It worked out cheaper to travel in two of our own cars than to hire a van big enough to house the lot of us and our gear. Funnily enough, the two companies fell into a pretty natural divide: Me, Pigge, Gill and Andy in one car. Paddan; Erik and Martin in the other. The tames vs. the party boys.<br /><br /><div>We made it down to Helsingborg in about six hours without incident. Paddan’s car were already there ahead of us, and had even found time to stop at a Metallica museum here in Helsingborg, being that this is where Cliff died. Paddan admits that it wasn’t all that though. Just a few pictures and stuff. We took a short ferry trip across the water to Denmark. It only takes about fifteen minutes and they open the duty free at precisely the halfway point, leaving the party boys with seven and half minutes to buy booze. I noticed there was a full on restaurant onboard, with a load of old people sitting there drinking, obviously just floating back and forth over the strait, enjoying the views of the industrial ports on either side of the water.<br /><br />An hour or so later we were in Copenhagen. The venue was in the middle of town in the Meat packing village, at some club called Råhuset. It was a nice little venue, very neat and tidy and looked to have a quality sound system and all, but it didn’t look like the kind of place anyone would hang out in unless they were specifically here to see the bands. Although maybe that was just the Copenhagen heebie-jeebies colouring my judgement…<br /><br />It’s always great to see Ryan anyway. He’s there sorting the Fotocrime merch out as we arrive and me and Andy are greeted with big hugs, followed not long thereafter with questions on Victims’ breakup. Ryan has been a friend to Victims for many years. It’s nice to be able to talk to him about it. One of the other guys in Fotocrime, at least helping out on this tour, is a French guy called Nico. He has a band called Bleakness that Victims was supposed to play some shows in France with, right before the pandemic hit. We mailed back and forth a bit around then and it’s nice to finally meet him in person. For me it’s also a little extra special since Nico played in this great screamo band called Amanda Woodward way back, a band that both Jen and I loved. I never do this shit normally, but I force myself to ask him for a pic with us so I can send it to Jen, just for the crack. Whilst the rest of our lot head off to some pub after soundcheck, Andy and I hang out with Ryan and Nico in the dressing room and reminisce over the old days. As middle aged punks like us are in the habit of doing. <br /><br />Erik, the self appointed ringleader of the booze brigade, comes marching back to the venue in high spirits just as the first band are playing, raving about some bar down the road they found with some character behind the bar who wants our record. I get the feeling Erik has more or less forced it on him, though. They’d arrived back at the venue on my command since, as expected, there were very few people in the venue as the local support band, Writhe, were about to start. I count a grand total of three. Plus the sound engineer guy and two dudes behind the bar. And the three Fotocrime guys…I guess the good thing about playing with A\\VOID is that you get a bonus crowd of at least seven! This small place would look okay with around thirty people in it, and we’re maybe halfway there. Even if only three of them are actually paying customers.<br /><br />Anyway, Erik is happy as Larry after finding the pub, saying we have to go back there after the gig. The others straggle in shortly after him and I can see straight away that Paddan and Martin have had a couple. But I can’t help feeling like fucking off the “no beer before gig rule” myself, since on these occasions I can’t help wondering what does it matter. So I grab a draught Pale Ale and enjoy Writhe, who are more than a pleasant surprise with their noisy indie rock. The beer goes straight to my head.<br /><br />Which becomes noticeable as we do a quick line check before we play. I’m not sure who first brought the subject up, but Paddan and I started joking about the Bad News song “Warriors of Genghis Khan.” I can’t help myself and start farting around playing the riff to it, which amuses Paddan and I a lot more than it does Andy, who is sat behind his drums looking stern and shaking his head at me. We get on with things shortly thereafter and the gig goes pretty well. Another company of three have arrived, some people who are friends with Erik (guestlist), and they take a seat just off to the side of the floor space where Erik and I do our thing. Martin is in a particularly jazzy mood tonight and fleshes out the gaps between most of the songs with some dystopian saxophone drones. Seems like Savage got feeling tonight and he ends up being the star of the show. Paddan was off for a walk with his bass a couple of times during the set, at one point playing a different song to the rest of us, and he knows I know, since I gave him a look a couple of times. He’s a phenomenal musician, but seems like a couple of shots of Jager got the better of him tonight. Pigge is in my ear right after the gig, laughing about it. “Paddan was off on his bike a couple of times there!” <br /><br />Andy is in my other ear shortly after, telling me off for farting around before the gig. He tells me that we should be completely quiet before we start the set and there is no place for fucking around, no matter how small the crowd is. I feel a little scorned, mainly because I know he’s right. The few people in the room seemed to like the gig all the same. And it was fun to play for Ryan and Nico, if nothing else. One of the three older guys who’d arrived, the ones nobody knew, actually bought an LP. They left after we played, and shouted over to us on the way, exclaiming that they thought we were great! Feels kind of like they just stumbled into the place and we got lucky. Some other big guy who had come on his own also bought a record, as well as the Writhe guitarist. This is our first show since we got the vinyl of the first album, and despite everything, I’m chuffed to have three of them sold in Copenhagen. Good hit rate considering the crowd numbers. <br /><br />Despite the very low crowd, it was basically just A\\VOID and Writhe by this point, Fotocrime played a nice show. They had these really cool stage lights that had Erik immediately buzzing about how we have to get something similar. I just stood there, enjoying a couple of beers and admiring their professionalism. No whining, no fucking around before their set playing joke riffs, they got on with the job and played. These guys have been around so long, they’ve done it all before, and just like us, played the whole spectrum of gigs, from less than ten to arena support slots and festivals in front of thousands. This was their first night of a three week European tour, I hope this is <i>the</i> bum show, out of the way early.<br /><br />After the gig I hung out at the bar with Gill, chatting to the two lads behind the bar about their superb tapped beer and the state of shows at the minute. The younger of the two tells me that there are just too many shows going on right now, that the tidal wave after the pandemic is now having an adverse effect, especially now that everything is getting so fucking expensive. This place seems to be one of the state sponsored set ups, where they get cultural grant money, for better or worse. Worse for us, I guess, since they guarantee money but not a crowd. The young guy is really nice anyway, he’s from Latvia and tells me how much easier life is here. I tell him that I’ve been to Riga and really enjoyed it. “Nice city, for sure, if you’re a tourist. Sucks to live there!” I wonder how many places you can say that about?<br /><br />After saying goodbye to the Fotocrime guys and wishing them better luck with the rest of the tour, we head over to Erik’s favourite new bar, which is a classic Copenhagen place; small and full of smoke. Apparently the law in Denmark is that if a bar is LESS than a certain amount of square metres you’re allowed to smoke in it. If the place is too big, no smoke. Which is obviously mental. Doesn’t stop me enjoying the place, nonetheless. Even if it stings the eyes a bit. The bartender guy who Erik latched on to earlier is obviously intent on being the focus of everyone in the bar, since he keeps making a lot of noise. Every now and again he’ll scratch the music to a dead stop and start shouting instructions at people, or giving loud updates on the state of play, which whilst at first I find slightly amusing, quickly starts getting on my tits. Erik, Paddan and Martin are lined up at the bar talking to some strangers and all three of them are looking like they’re heading to the other side, although Martin looks like he’s got it together more than the other pair. Gill joins them, obviously wanting in on the action. Andy and I retire to a quieter table near the doorway like a couple of old men and chat over a beer, our backs enjoying the rest. We’re joined a while later by the Writhe guitarist, who seems like a really nice sort, and we get talking about venues and gigs in Copenhagen and why is it always so fucking hard to get a crowd here? Oliver, his name, tells us that it is a pretty incestious DIY scene here, and unless you’re super hyped it’s hard to get a crowd if you’re not from around here. Which doesn’t really explain why nobody came to see them. They were really good and all.<br /><br />What I figured for a couple of quiet beers after the show turns into more than that. Erik is shouting almost as much as the bartender guy, Paddan is looking hazy as fuck, Martin seems to keep control now matter how many beers he sinks, and he’s finished off that hip flask of whisky he bought on the boat, although by the look of Paddan he’s helped him out quite a bit. The shocker though, is Gill, who is stood at the bar smoking a fag. This has me in stitches as it’s so unexpected. Old Triathlon Man himself! He must have tucked a good few away. By this time Andy and I have caught up a little ourselves, I’m on to my third or fourth Tuborg, and we’re back at the bar among the rest of the crowd. Paddan then taps my shoulder and laughingly points at Pigge who is sat at the table behind us in the company of Oliver and a couple of others. “Why is Pigge so old all of a sudden?” laughs Paddan. Pigge does indeed look like he’s suddenly aged about fifteen years. Hair all over the place, skin as white as a ghost and eyes popping out. He looks like he’s in the middle of some drunken lecture. This keeps me and Paddan amused for the next fifteen minutes or so. Shit, Pigge <i>is</i> old. He turned 50 this year. 50! Andy isn’t actually that far behind him, Paddan neither. In fact, at 40, Gill is the youngster among us. The Tuborg suddenly has a bitter aftertaste…<br /><br />It’s around three am by the time that bar closes and we’re back at the hotel. Inexplicably, most of us, myself included, stay up for another beer at the bar there.. I’m even questioning myself as I drink the thing, knowing it’s a mistake. A pretty tasty mistake, but a mistake nonetheless. <br /><br />I’m certainly not going to feel any younger in the morning. <br /><br /><br /></div>Besatthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18249422950419263931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-872830042269797401.post-18523398313368121212022-03-21T12:42:00.003+01:002022-03-21T12:42:12.841+01:00Goodnight Copenhagen and Farewell“It’s up. It’s down again…” I grew up with Fawlty Towers. Me and my family watched it all the time when we were kids. The scene with Basil and the painting is still one of the classics my sister and I reference when we’re gagging together. It’s starting to feel like that with this fucking pandemic. I know it’s not a laughing matter, but still. It’s off. It’s on again. Although maybe ever thinking it was off was pretty naive. But two months ago it felt like we were finally emerging from this shit. “Do you not think people were tired of the war in 1943?” I read some doctor saying in the paper the other day. And yeah, totally. I guess we’re spoiled. It was still a huge fucking downer when Omicron popped up though. All of a sudden I was back to manically checking the various news apps on my phone every thirty minutes. Even though I kept telling myself not to.<br /><br />This was the third gig we’d booked since all restrictions were initially dropped. The first was at Kafé 44 in Stockholm in October. When we said yes to that gig the restrictions were still in place, it was supposed to be a maximum of fifty people in attendance. It ended up packed since they’d dropped everything by that point. It was a blast. The second show was in Göteborg last week, but we had to cancel since Andy was as sick as a dog. He’d tested negative but was still way too weak to sit in a car back and forth to Göteborg and play a gig, covid or not. The third gig was this one tonight in Copenhagen. The offer for it had come in just days after most governments in Europe had dropped all restrictions. It was supposed to be us and Wolfbrigade, but the Wolves had to drop out. Something about someone’s kitchen being renovated… Fuck knows... Thankfully our mates in Massgrav could jump on board instead. Then a couple of weeks before the show Denmark started tightening things up since cases were back on the rise and all of a sudden everything felt very unstable again... As much as I fully respect the rules, and am humble before those who know a lot more about their shit than I do, it still felt pretty fucking absurd to have to put a face mask on halfway across the bridge to Denmark, considering we’d been sat on the same train with the same people for five hours without one. I could see the look of disdain in Jon’s eyes on the opposite side of the table, peering at me from above his cloth mask.<br /><br />We arrived at the central station in Copenhagen and it hit me that this was the first time I’d been outside of Sweden in just under two years. I was actually abroad. In another country. Even if Denmark is kinda like Scotland to England. Same, same, they just talk funny. And drink more. The guy who had booked the gig met us in the arrivals hall. We decided we’d take a coffee whilst we waited for the Massgrav guys to arrive, since they were on the train after ours. The booker, this young, stocky bloke who looked like he was more into Madball than Victims, wasn’t much of a talker. He sat and looked at his phone most of the time. I tried kicking things along with the usual, asking how he thought the show would be tonight etc. He told us it was Christmas-lunch holiday weekend in Denmark, and that tomorrow, Saturday was the big day. I asked him if that was a good thing or a bad thing, in relation to the gig. I thought that maybe if it was a big holiday weekend then the Danes might be out in high spirits tonight. “So, so,” was all he said. It didn’t fill me with confidence. We sat around at the cafe for a while, going back and forth to the counter, farting around putting face masks on and taking them off again when back at the table, making me realise that we really hadn’t felt anything of the pandemic’s effects back in Sweden, where face masks have basically been scorned. <br /><br />After a while Johan and I wandered off to the hotel to check ourselves in, thinking we’d save the guaranteed farting around at the end of the night. It was only a ten minute walk, some budget nondescript, grey hotel. We did indeed get the expected look of confusion on the receptionist's face as she looked through the system for our names. It truly is a ball ache going through this routine at 2 am, so happy we got it out of the way now. The Massgrav guys had arrived by the time we got back to the station. Cheeky grins on every one of their faces. Another guarantee cashed in.<br /><br />If the promoter’s “So, so” comment had knocked my confidence a little, it was now being well and truly drained by each passing station we passed on the commuter train. It felt like we were heading out of the city into the middle of nowhere. Our friend Will, who lives in the city, a true punk connoisseur, had also been in touch asking where the fuck the venue was. By the time we arrived at the place, some cultural centre/gig venue, we’d basically accepted our fate. It was all very new and shiny, and the PA looked banging, but there were tall tables dotted about the large dance floor which I was absolutely certain there would be no need to shift during the evening. The place was obviously supported by government cultural funding and it was obvious that if Wolfbrigade had still been on the bill then the outlook would have been a bit different. Still, the fridge was stocked with quality Danish beer from the superb TÖ brewery, and they had arranged some decent vegan food for us.<br /><br />We sat about in the small dressing room with nothing to do except eating crisps and stare at the beer, toying with the idea of having maybe one before the show. There was fuck all else to do. I sat and chatted to one of the guys from the local band that was supporting. They’d been on their own tour with another band that was playing tonight too. They seemed really nice, but all this did was make me think about the fact that we’d have to wait things out even longer. Nothing worse than knowing you’re gonna be playing a show to a small crowd and having the night dragged out.<br /><br />At least we had company. Both Will and our old mate Mackan from Disfear turned up. I spent most of the night in the back room hanging out talking about life and how its been these last couple of years. Will spent most of the night in the bar with a friend of his he’d brought along, and by the time Massgrav were about to start he’d already gotten a bit sauced. I recognised myself in that. Being a sleep deprived parent to a baby and going out for a couple of beers usually produces a consistent result. Will was talking in my ear about how it was a shame we were playing here, and even though it was in a suburb not too far from the city, it was still way off (in a scene sense) and felt like a waste. All that being said, though, Copenhagen has never been a stronghold for Victims. It says a lot that the last time the band played here was thirteen years ago, right before I joined the band.<br /><br />It was, as always, great fun watching Massgrav. Norse constantly taking the piss between songs, speaking in English and explaining that Danish is in fact not the same language as Swedish, hence the English. He also explained how Stockholm was the capital city of Scandinavia. He explained this a couple of times during their set. It was probably only the Victims gang that found this internal joke amusing. They were tight as a duck’s arse as always, and blasted the shit out of the stage, even if there were only a couple of enthusiastic punks fist pumping in front of them, whilst the rest of the crowd of thirty stood around, me included, a little further back. Felt like I had to contribute to filling the space out a little. I couldn’t help but think of Norse and the effort this shit takes. He was getting up for a train around 6 am since he had to be back in Stockholm for a work thing around midday tomorrow. They could have easily, understandably declined this show. Ola and Fenok had planned a weekend of it in Copenhagen though, maybe that had more to do with it. Still, nothing but respect for Norse. It's a lot of hassle for a pretty cack gig. <br /><br />And so it was. Nice big stage, sounded amazing, felt like a struggle. Most of the small crowd that was in attendance seemed relatively enthusiastic, with one or two down the front headbanging gleefully. But my amp kept cutting out the whole time, which didn’t help with the whole energy. We got through the show, but it didn’t feel like much more than just getting through it. We didn’t even finish with This is the End, which caused a stir among the Massgrav crew. It was probably one of only two or three times we haven’t played it during the nearly thirteen years I’ve been in the band. Ola asked if it was, in fact, even allowed. <br /><br />After the gig I went over to the merch for a bit, and sold a couple of things. There was one guy, some proper crust punk, from Portugal. He was so happy we’d played. He said that he was here on holiday and was supposed to have gone home already, but changed his flight when he saw that we were playing. He tells me he’s been raving to his friends about it back home and asked if it was ok to get a photo that he could send back to the gang in Portugal. It’s moments like this that really make you give you some perspective. Here is this guy, here on his own, coming to this out of the way gig with only a few other people, and he’s absolutely delighted. I tell him that I hope we’ll make it to Portugal next year, that an Iberian tour is something we’ve been talking about for a while. I hope that it will be more fun than this. “Nooo man! This was amazing! Victims is my favourite band, I can’t believe I got to see you whilst I was here!” It’s a funny old world…<br /><br />After the show the promoter is nowhere to be seen. It’s no hassle as far as being paid goes, since he’d already deposited the money a few days ago. Which, funnily enough, I always take to be a bad sign. But we were stuck out here with a few stragglers and a pretty sauced Will, with nobody to help us with a cab. The sound guy says he doesn’t know what the crack is and hasn’t seen him. He tried calling him but got no answer. There are no cabs around these parts either, apparently. After parting ways with Will and promising to come back to Copenhagen again and play in a more “punk venue” next time, we ended up lugging the gear with us back on the commuter train. Our spirits were soon picked up by Fenok laughing at Ola, who looked ridiculous with his face mask on since his long beard was shooting out all over the place and the mask looked like a little plaster stuck on to it. Fenok laughed for about twenty minutes, obviously feeling the effects of a few beers, but his laugh was really contagious. I pissed myself when Ola muttered that they should change the name of the band to “Maskkrav.” <br /><br />There was a group of young Swedish girls on the same train as us. Making a lot of noise and obviously very drunk. When they spotted us they approached and started asking us questions, filming us at the same time, like some interview situation. I didn’t really get what was going on but Fenok was approachable. They asked him what we were doing here and he told them we had played a gig. “Ahhh cool! What’s the name of the band?” They obviously had no idea about the musical world we belonged to. Fenok, straight as an arrow, “Massgrav and Victims” he informed them. The girl looked pretty confused. I thought it was absolutely hilarious. Fenok didn’t get it. By the time we got back to the central station one of the girls fell right out of the opening door, flat on her face to the platform. I felt like an old, worried parent, looking at the state of them. And then I remembered that I’ve been in that exact same state on many occasions. Still brought a solid reminder that my kid could be in this very state in about eight years time. Fucking terrifying. Thankfully the girl in question seemed ok, and slightly embarrassed, pulled herself up and dusted herself off.<br /><br />We ended up back at the hotel, dumped the gear in the rooms and then took a beer in the sterile bar/lobby area. Norse had obviously gone to bed since he was catching a train in about four hours. Poor bugger. I’d been looking forward to this point of the night since the first band had taken to the stage, but it turned out to be a bit of an anticlimax. I love hotel bars, something that has definitely transpired with age, but this wasn’t the cosy picture I had imagined. Felt more like a bus station than a bar. Fenok was chuffed enough, and Ola too. They had a full day and evening in Copenhagen planned for tomorrow. Jeppe was nowhere to be seen. He’d gone off in search of food and Jon assured us that he would be gone all night if needs be. <br /><br />After a large bottle of beer, we trudged off to our rooms. We had a pretty comfortable day tomorrow at least, our train home wasn’t until around midday. Jon and I, sharing a room as usual, lay in bed watching the film Drive for a while before giving up and hitting the lights. <br /><br />The next morning we went up to the breakfast restaurant in the hotel, but the place was as depressing as the bar. We hadn’t paid for breakfast, and there didn’t seem to be anyone checking room numbers, and for a while we were thinking of just taking some food and fucking off. But then some staff member cottoned on to us and sent us down to the reception to pay. We made the decision that the food wasn’t worth paying for and left for the station instead, back to the same cafe as yesterday. The train journey home was a more subdued affair than on the way down, with the odd discussion about what gigs we would look at next year and when to record the new record. Johan jumped off in Linköping and we agreed we’d meet up early in the new year to finish writing the new record. We had around seven songs and heading to the studio sometime during the spring didn’t seem all that ambitious.<br /><br />As it turned out, this would be the last show we played with the band. We didn’t practice in January, it was closer to March when that would become an actuality again, since we had a festival in Belgium booked. The one that had been postponed since 2020. The one I’d so looked forward to playing, to walking out on that stage knowing that that would mean the pandemic was over, or at least that the worst of it would be behind us. <br /><br />And that was that. Twenty five years of Victims and it’s over. Almost thirteen for me. I feel sad that it’s over in some ways, but I’m also incredibly grateful that I’ve got to play with the guys and travel all over the world. I’ve had an amazing time and my life has been so enriched by the experiences I’ve had with the guys. I don’t know if we’ll ever play again. It’s certainly not going to be actual for the foreseeable future. It’s nothing I’m thinking of now. I started writing this blog around the same time I joined Victims, just after having put Raging Speedhorn to bed. I’m not sure if I’ll carry on. We’ll see. I probably will. I have to find things to write about in that case. <br /><br />My life looks a lot different now to how it did when I started this blog back in 2009. I’m a parent for one thing. I quit my job and went back to university and got a degree. I got a new job in social work, which I love. But all that said, I’m not quite done with music yet. I still have the inspiration to write and play. Whether that will ever be on the level it was with Raging Speedhorn or Victims, we’ll have to wait and see. It feels doubtful right now, but as my dad always said to me, and I know find myself repeating to myself on a regular basis, “You never know what’s around the corner. One door closes, another opens.”<br />Besatthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18249422950419263931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-872830042269797401.post-2455246451214708252021-10-10T16:12:00.009+02:002021-10-10T23:54:57.661+02:00Stockholm, Practice Space ShowIt’s a couple of weeks shy of two years ago. We could never have imagined then what the future held in store. That it would be two years until we’d be together playing music to an audience again. Eighteen months ago we sat in this very practice room, an impromptu band meeting with Victims before we practiced the set, to decide on whether we should cancel the festival in Belgium we were booked on two weeks later. Things were beginning to get a little scary by that point. Up until that point we’d tried our best to ignore it, but then our booker Zoli mailed us with a simple question, “Guys, it’s time we confronted the elephant in the room. Covid.” It was an elephant in a room then. Even though it was by then absolutely rife in the north of Italy and a lot of people were beginning to die. We cancelled the Belgian festival out of fear of getting stranded in a foreign country. It still only felt like a slight risk, but it was enough of a risk for us to decide to call it off. The next day we announced publicly that we were cancelling the festival. There were a few groans written in reply, along the lines of “Oh not another cancelled band”. I remember Wattie from Exploited going out with a statement along the lines of how there were lots of “so called punk bands” cancelling gigs and tours for the sake of a cold and that he, as a true punk, would never cancel a gig. About two days later the festival was cancelled completely and the entire country of Belgium was in total lockdown. Country after country followed suit, except Sweden famously, and it would be another eighteen months until we’d play a gig. The year 2020 would be the first since 1994 in which I would not play a single show. <br /><br />I remember the sadness I felt on the day of what would have been that festival, thinking about what an absolute feeling of elation it would be when we’d finally take to that stage and play to people again. It wasn’t quite elation tonight, it wasn’t quite a festival stage abroad, but it still felt pretty fucking magic. Our practice room turned out to make for a pretty fucking great gig space. It’s been our sanctuary since everything turned upside down. If we hadn’t had this place to hide away and play music I don’t know how I would have coped. Society didn’t lock down here in the same way it did in many other places, but everyday life still changed dramatically. Being able to get together and play in the practice space was by no means a given. Victims couldn’t practice since Johan was working from home in Nyköping, and we couldn’t really claim to have a Victims bubble. Instead we created a bubble with A\\VOID. And being that there were seven of us, it wasn’t always a given that we could rehearse as a complete entity very often. In fact, before this show tonight, we’d only ever played together as a whole band three times. Three times in the space of eighteen months. In this practice space. Even the recording of the album was done in staggered phases. Still, it was A\\VOID that kept us going. As Andy said, “If we hadn’t started this band when we did I would have gone insane by now.” Family is the most important thing in my life, of course, but creating and playing music isn’t far behind. I knew exactly what Andy meant. I’m happy we started this band together. We certainly talked about it long enough.<br /><br />Being that Covid restrictions hadn't been lifted entirely yet, this gig would prove to be a couple of weeks too early for that, we were limited to the amount of people we could invite. So it was more like a private party with around forty people plus bands. And being that it was both ours and our practice room buddies Neutra’s first show, it felt kinda like a celebration. A celebration of releasing our new bands into something concrete, a celebration of life slowly getting back to normal again.<br /><br />Funny how some things feel normal straight away. Andy had already shifted most of the extra gear and equipment that we weren’t using tonight towards the back or out of the room, whilst Erik, Bea, Vik and Patrik buy beer and booze from Systemet. Of course, leaving Erik in charge of the booze situation you know he’s not just gonna stick to the decided amount of crates of beer. I’m not surprised in the slightest to see a few boxes of wine, bottles of bubbly and a couple of bottles of Jagermeister in the back of Patrik’s car. “Its supposed to be a party for fuck sakes!” he remonstrates as I stand there smirking at him.<br /><br />We soundcheck each other’s bands, everyone helping out to get levels sorted. We have the set up now in gig mode as opposed to the practice circle set up and I had no idea how it was going to sound this way, but with all the other stuff removed from the room there’s not as much ricochet in the room, so it sounds nowhere near as chaotic as I’d feared it might. In fact, I’m pleasantly surprised to find that it sounds great! After Neutra soundcheck Bea tells me that she’s literally shaking with nerves, just playing in front of us. This will be her first ever gig. I’m so happy for her, almost jealous of that buzz I know she’s going to be on after they’ve played later. I remember my first time when I was sixteen years old like it was yesterday. I was nervous for about a month before my first gig, could barely sleep the few nights leading up to it, and then have never felt so high as I did after it. Adrenaline is an amazing rush. Music is an amazing rush. I’m so glad I found it when I was a kid in Corby. How the fuck would my life had turned out if I hadn’t?<br /><br />After soundcheck we head over to our regular bar in Midsommarkransen, Tre Vänner. Well,Tre Vänner is normally where we have a drink before practice. And if we have one after we head to the Swan. Erik is no stranger to both, and he’s already buzzing about the after party later. We all sit down to dinner at Tre Vänner, everyone except Martin who is working until around five. It’s the first time I’ve actually ever eaten there. I’d stayed behind to finish stringing my guitar, and when I arrive at the pub I’m greeted by a table full of pints. Proper pint pots with the handle and all. I could devour one in seconds, but have to contain myself since I really can’t drink before shows anymore. I have a sip of Patrik’s, just to experience the taste of the golden elixir, and then order a perfectly good non alcoholic Pale Ale. The food is pretty decent too. The usual barmaid is there and she always enjoys the crack with us but she’s not used to us all dining in the place. She treats us all to free coffee afterwards. <br /><br />It’s only around two by the time we’re done with the grub and we’re now left in the familiar scenario of having a few hours to kill before “doors”. I remember this now, it’s all coming back, it’s just like being on tour again. Except we’re in our home town and going for a walk around would just feel daft, just plodding about Midsommarkransen. We joke about wishing we had a van with us that we could sit outside the venue in, and then someone makes a crack that we could sit in Pigge’s car and drive it over to the garage to buy shitty snacks. We end up just heading back to the room and laze around for a couple of hours. Vik watching Djurgården on his phone, me watching Liverpool on mine with Gill kind of hovering around over my shoulder, both me and Viks making grunts and groans at the game whilst Erik lays on his back on the floor in the corner having a power nap. All the while a playlist from Andy’s old iPod he’d just dug up the other day rolls along in the background.<br /><br />When the footy is over and it’s almost time to get things going I decide to put my amp on, some obscure old ritual about warming the amp up before the gig. I don’t really know if this is an actual thing but it’s something I’ve always done. I decide I’ll let it warm up during the Neutra set. NOTHING. What the fuck? Now it really does feel like we’re on tour again. The proper fucking genuine experience: Amp sounds great during soundcheck. Amp no longer turns on right before gig. Now this is something I haven’t missed. That 0 to 100 on the old stress scale because all of a sudden your amp is fucking dead. Unbelievably it turns out the actual power switch has broken, hence the no power. Unreal. What are the odds? Thankfully Bea is on hand to save the day and lends me her amp, which is another Fender, similar to mine. As happy as I am for that, it still bugs the shit out of me that my amp broke.<br /><br />Before long people are streaming in through the door and Erik, with help of our friend's kid Rufus, are pouring complimentary glasses of bubbly as they arrive. Nice touch, Erik. The smiles on every one of the faces that enter the room are a joy to behold. I was at my friend’s Ragnar and Danne’s book release party a couple of weeks ago and it was the same then. It’s as if we’ve all been let out of some invisible prison and we’re all taking tentative steps out into freedom again. If this is what it’s like here, I can only imagine what it must have been like in places like Italy and the UK where there were full-on lockdowns. Actually, I imagine the steps there were not so much tentative as a thundering stampede.<br /><br />As Neutra starts their set and I look around our completely transformed practice space I can’t help wondering why we never did this before. It’s not just that we’ve been starved of live music and culture this last eighteen months, we’ve been starved of music spaces like this in Stockholm for a long time. Our friend Henke is in my ear saying how much we should make this a regular thing, that it’s so fucking nice not to have to stand at a bar for twenty minutes making puppy dog eyes at the bartender, desperate to be noticed, desperate to be served. Lucas is moaning that we should have done this ages ago, and that he said this very same thing many times during the time his band Vidro shared the space with us. Maybe it takes a pandemic for us to get our shit together, I don’t know, Neutra have their shit together anyway. They play a great set and the sound is spot on. It’s so fun watching Bea play, I don’t know if it’s the case or not, but she doesn’t look nervous in the slightest, she’s just there looking cool as shit. It’s great seeing Viktor play drums again, too. After spending six or so years playing with him in DB, where he just played stupidly fast all the time, it’s incredible to see what a brilliant, unique drummer he is. You can certainly hear his jazz heritage coming through more in Neutra’s stuff, than it did with DB. I’m psyched to play by the time they’re done. It should be fun to see how people like it since what we do is completely different. <br /><br />Whilst Erik and Patrik take five before getting into gear for their second set of the night, I try and get a sound that works for me out of Bea’s amp. Patrik soon comes to my aid anyway. Once I’ve got it as close as possible to my Twin Reverb sound, we level check Martin’s sax through the PA and then get going. We start with a new song, which amuses me just thinking about it, since we haven’t released the first record properly yet, and this our first gig. Thing is though, we already have the second album written and ready to record in January, and if this last eighteen months had been anywhere near normal we would have played our first show about twelve months ago. The two songs we’ve released in public so far have been heavier, so I like that we open with a “new one”, <i>Autonomia</i>, which is a lot mellower. It’s not until about four minutes into the second song, <i>A Black and White Sky</i>, that things get heavier. By that point any sort of nerves have dispersed, not that I had many, but it’s always a little bit special playing a first show with a brand new band that nobody has heard yet. Our friend Ika grabs my leg at some point during the second song as she’s crouched down taking photos and shouts, “This is so fucking good!” <br /><br />The rest of the set floats by in a happy cloud. I can see most people are really enjoying it and it really feels like after eighteen months of regular practice, we deliver exactly as I hoped we would, which given that we’ve only ever practiced with the full constellation three times, comes with a bit of relief. It could easily have fallen flat on its arse. The set ends on an apocalyptic high with Erik on the floor, fiddling with his pedals, as the rest of us blast away at the end of <i>When the Wind Blows</i>, until Erik joins back in with his guitar for the last two bars. Totally thought out by Erik, even if he makes it look spontaneous. He’s always been the showman. Although to be fair, he’s exactly the same even when it’s just us in the practice space. He’s always been the same. He genuinely loves playing music and his energy never wanes. <br /><br />After the gig our friend Hjalmar, who is a bear of a man, grabs me and licks my face. I guess the pandemic really is over… Judging by the blue tone of his lips he’s been on the red wine, but he’s ecstatic about the gig. He just keeps repeating “Roadburn” over and over, saying we have to play there. I tell them that if he can fix that for us then I’d be delighted. I love the big guy, he’s the same as Erik, fanatical about music. In Hjalmar’s case, slow, heavy music especially. Henke liked it too, although he admits he’d been skeptical beforehand, “I was thinking with three guitars and blah blah, it was going to be some boring Mogwai shit. But I really liked it. You guys should play more of the fast stuff like that one you have with the Stooges piano bit on it, though!” That made me think of two things. First, I love Mogwai, although this didn’t feel like the right time to tell Henke this. And second, I was pretty proud of Pigge being able to hammer that chord on the synth for around the four minutes the song lasts, considering he just had half a fucking rib removed a couple of months beforehand. Fucking legend.<br /><br />I head over to where Jen is standing with Alma and Mattsson, and they’re all smiles. Alma said she had no idea we were doing this film music stuff, and that she absolutely loved it. Mattsson, obviously a little bit sauced as well, tells me his review of the band is “Hawkwind on heroin.” I tell him I’ll gladly take that, whilst wondering to myself if Hawkwind actually did take heroin? Or was it LSD? Or meth?... Anyway, glad they all liked it.<br /><br />We hang around and chit chat, mingle for a while, before we decide to call it time. We’d put on the flyer that proceedings were to be between 5pm and 8pm. Again, something that can happily stay permanently as a new normal as far as I’m concerned. Erik is itching to get the after party going at the Swan pub around the corner, and with the lights on, and is walking around the room shouting the news, but it’s to little effect. “It feels like nobody is listening to me Gaz.” A few minutes later, he starts shouting again, “After party at the Swan! Please, fuck off!” He happens to be right in the ear of Big Matte, one of Vik’s old football firm mates, which makes me laugh. Matte laughs at him and carries on. We do eventually clear the room, and after a quick clear up, we get going ourselves. <br /><br />Andy, Vik and I lag behind and by the time we get to the pub, the place is heaving. It’s karaoke night. Gill and Pigge have taken a seat outside underneath the heater, it looks absolutely perfect, and I’m making eyes at Gill’s pint of stout. I’m a little surprised when the bouncer engages us and asks us how we’re feeling. For one, I’ve never seen bouncers here before, and for two, by the look of things through the window, it’s absolutely raging inside, and for three, I’ve only drunk two people’s beers. He tells us it’s full inside, but we reason with him that we’re in the same company as Gill and Pigge and we only want to sit outside. Reluctantly the sour-faced bouncer lets us in. A couple of minutes later a sweaty, goggle-eyed Erik practically falls out of the door to greet us, telling us he’s up on the karaoke soon. He’s obviously hit the sauce full on since he got here thirty minutes ago. It appears also that Sour Face is only concerned with what’s going on out here, and that once you’re inside the pub it’s no holds barred. <br /><br />After the first pint we head inside, Sour Face seemingly no longer arsed with us. There are about twenty or so of us from the gig inside, and the atmosphere is pretty wet. Henke is at the bar asking Andy how things in Nyköping are, Andy tells him he hasn’t lived there for seventeen years. Erik is steamboats and hopping about with anticipation at his slot on the karaoke. He tells me about five or six times he’s gonna be doing Whole Lotta Rosie. Right then Bea and Erik’s girlfriend are up, doing Whitney Houston. After that some trainspotter looking guy does a very serious <i>China Girl</i> by Bowie, which sets me and Gill on what a great fucking album <i>Let’s Dance</i> is. Then it’s Erik. And exactly as expected, he’s up on the chairs and tables, screaming along to the words, only catching about every third or fourth line. It’s all about the show. “Total poseur” comments Patrik. We all agree. We all agree we love him to bits though. He certainly gets the place rocking. The bartender looked horrified at first but when the entire pub, even all the old farts in the corner, are up on their feet clapping, he’s soon smiling. Shortly after he’s finished the tune he’s talking to the bartender about us playing a gig there.<br /><br />Erik is soon on the shots and insisting on buying us a round. I tell him I’m good, as he well knows it, I don’t do shots any more, haven’t done for years, although Erik will always try me, so he takes mine himself. He’d bought four of them, and Gill and Andy were with him when he made the order, so I assumed he was buying with them in mind, but the shots seem to go elsewhere. Gill decides to buy himself one, and then immediately afterwards declares it as a complete waste of money. He was about to head home anyway, and just sort of shakes his head and makes to leave. I’m close to joining him since we live in the same part of town, but decide to stay for one more pint. <br /><br />Our friend Kalle Blix, the doctor, is pretty blasted. Haven’t seen him for a while. He tells me how much he loved the gig. He also tells me how boats he is. He will end the night checking into a hotel in the center of town at four am. since he will realise that he’s forgotten the keys to his parents house, and his wife and kids are on Åland, where he now lives. This will be after first being taken care of by some guards at the station who tell him he’s too drunk and should accompany him in their car. “I’m an adult man, and a doctor!” he will decry. Fucking nightmare.<br /><br />It is just the one more and then it’s time to head home. It’s only eleven and I’ve only had three pints plus the two peoples beers. I can still tell that I’m going to be feeling it tomorrow though. Not drunk in the slightest, but can almost feel the hangover already kicking in as I put myself to bed around half past one. Still, it was nice to finally play a gig again. I can’t wait for more. Besatthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18249422950419263931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-872830042269797401.post-78372462359235389082021-06-26T14:05:00.008+02:002021-06-26T14:19:59.877+02:00A\\VOID We began writing new material for Victims at the start of 2020. We were planning to record four songs and maybe release a split 7” with our friends Svalbard, who we'd just toured Europe with a few months earlier. When everything got cancelled Victims also came to a halt. With Johan now furlonged and no longer commuting to Stockholm from Nyköping we stopped rehearsing, stopped writing, stopped everything. <br /><br />Things felt pretty fucking dire for a while. They still do now and again. But those first few weeks felt pretty apocalyptic. I had planned three weeks off whilst in between jobs and had dreamed of taking time for myself, pottering about in the city in the daytime, visiting museums, doing some toursting in my own town. Instead I pretty much lay on my bed for three weeks reading since it was the only place in our flat I could block out the sound of Jen’s endless Zoom meetings as she herself adapted to the new reality of home working. If I wasn’t laid up in bed reading about the Russian Revolution, which was strangely comforting in the sense that reading about crises from times past made me realise that we humans have gone through tough and tragic events many times over, that this situation we’re in now isn’t unique and frankly as bad as the poor sods in 1917 had it, then I was watching the news for the latest updates on the spread of the virus. When I went to the local shop and saw the empty shelves it really did feel like we were heading into a war. <br /><br />A few weeks later Andy and I spoke about starting that “slow band.” We’d spoken about it many times before. We’d even gotten as far as practicing with a couple of different constellations. We practiced as a three piece with Luc from DB/Vidro a couple of times before it fizzled out. Jen played with us a couple of times too, but nothing really came of it. But with the onset of a pandemic and Victims being temporarily on hiatus, it felt like if ever it was to be then now was the time.<br /><br />I don’t know if it was all the spare time, or if it was the impending doom all around, but I started writing pieces of music immediately. Every time I picked up a guitar at home something new came out. It felt easy and natural. And since we’d decided that we wanted to make some kind of instrumental, cinematic music, it felt liberating not being constrained by standard song structures with verse/chorus and where are the vocals gonna go? I had just re-entered a phase of listening to Mogwai and Godspeed You! Black Emperor again, as well as the Swedish jazz band Tonbruket, and all this was swirling around my head as I sat and plonked on Jen’s beautiful ‘75 sunburst Les Paul at home. <br /><br />With ideas flowing I found myself getting pretty excited about things. Now Andy and I had to find some people to play with us. I knew I wanted it to be a large constellation, make it a kind of collective, with lots of different instruments. Having played previously in Battle of Santiago, a band with three guitarists, I fancied trying that setup out again. I’d loved the idea of three guitars ever since seeing Sonic Youth perform that way when Kim Gordon went over to guitar on the <i>Washing Machine</i> album. And with that idea firmly in mind we decided Erik from Battle of Santiago/Mary’s Kids would be a natural choice. He’s a great guitarist, very unique, and one of my oldest friends. We had a great time playing together in BOS and Rowdy Ramblers before that, and it always felt like we would play together again sometime. He said yes without a moment’s hesitation.<br /><br />I asked Gill to join as third guitarist as we were squatting in the swimming pool at Sandsborgs Simhall, keeping an eye on our daughters as they played about in the shallow end. Gill had moved here from Edinburgh with his family three years earlier, having gotten a job with Spotify and fancying a move abroad. Data analyst or something. His daughter was in the same class as Polly and Jen had got speaking to him one day at pick up. A few months later we’d begun hanging out a bit after discovering we had a mutual love for a lot of the same music. Gill had played bass in a band called Broken Records who had released a couple of albums on 4AD, he said they sounded a bit like Arcade Fire, as well as guitar in a folk band called The Douglas Firs. It had been seven years since he’d last played with anyone and he had mentioned before how he missed it. He was also in without having to think too long about it.<br /><br />For the first couple of months it was just the four of us. No bass. It began as naturally as it would continue. We set up the amps, tuned in, and Erik started playing some riff. It was a simple, driving sort of thing. We didn’t discuss it, we just played along, jamming it. It didn’t sound anything like the stuff I’d been writing at home, it sounded more like Neu! I really liked it, though. And what was most pleasing was how easily the other three of us fell into it. The three of us on guitar noticeably had different styles of playing but we seemed to be complimenting each other as opposed to fighting each other. I was playing the backbone of the thing, mechanical and structured, Gill is full of melody and intricate picking, whilst Erik is just out there doing his own chaotic thing. From the very first moment Andy and I could tell it was working. It was a nice feeling. Something to feel positive about amidst all the negativity outside the practice space.<br /><br />I began introducing my material and that in turn began setting the broader tone and theme of the band. Dark, apocalyptic sounding music, each christened with a pretentious title based on sociology and politics. I liked the idea of having a political band with no lyrics, just song titles that reference something I find interesting. Often something I’ve read about in a book somewhere. Although I was writing most of the stuff, I was only providing the basic ideas, the other three would come up with parts to put on top that I could never have begun to conceive of. It became clear from the beginning that we would not restrain this band with rules, that we would be open to everything. By the time we had three of four pieces of music in the making we began looking for more members.<br /><br />For a long time we had the idea of having Erik’s friend Aurelie playing synthesizer and piano. I knew Aurelie from when she played records at the bar I used to run. I hadn’t met her in years, though. I liked the idea of the band having several nationalities. For a long time it seemed Aurelie would join us, but unfortunately for us she was constantly busy. For a while she was performing some sort of art installation in Lithuania, which was telling of how her schedule looked. She seemed to be into the idea of playing with us but simply never had the time. And then we heard she was stuck in Lithuania due to restrictions being what they were. In the meantime we’d asked Patrik to play bass with us. He played third guitar in Santiago and is an all round superb musician. He’s played in loads of bands, varying instruments between bass, guitar and drums. He’s one of those that only needs to hear a song once and then he’s on it. He knows music. He knows where all the notes go without having to be told, or look at what he’s doing. Unlike myself. <br /><br />After nine months or so, with the odd pause for a few weeks here and there when the virus caused the government to take tougher restrictions, we were nearing a complete album’s worth of material. Aurelie told us that she wasn’t going to be able to be part of things, she simply didn’t have the time. We turned to Pigge, another synth wizard, who was delighted to hop onboard. He’d played Fender Rhodes and sang in The Worthy, in which Patrik played drums, which was a kind of soulful 60’s sounding pop-rock band. Pigge and Patrik later played together in a jazz prog band called Sly. We had two or three practices with Pigge before he recorded his parts on the record. He's another one of those who understands the theory of music and what key shit is in etc. Stuff that is totally lost on me. Patrik and Pigge would laugh about how everything I wrote was in E or A. I still don't get it. There is simply a certain section of the guitar neck I like the sound of.<br /><br />Martin Savage had already joined on saxophone, and likewise he’d only practiced two or three times with us before recording. His approach to things was simply, “I’ll just toot over everything and you can cut out/keep whatever you want”. We kept about 95% of it. <br /><br />During the course of the year or so we’ve been playing, all but Gill have had a dose of Covid-19, which is quite strange considering his wife works in a school and the schools have stayed open here. Our first attempt at the studio was cancelled due to Stefan Löfven calling a press conference a couple of days before, announcing that Sweden was enforcing its toughest restrictions yet. It didn’t really feel like the time to be going into the studio. The government said we should limit our gatherings to four people. There were seven in the band. A week later I got infected with Covid at work.<br /><br />It was gut wrenching then, postponing the studio. It was the only thing we’d had to look forward to all winter. And now the darkness was coming and the second wave was hitting. It was a miserable period. The music we’d been making certainly felt fitting for the times we were living in. The situation gave time for reflection, nonetheless. I realised, as disappointed as I was about not recording then, starting the band and having such a creative streak this last nine months had kept my spirits up considerably. It made me realise how important music still is to me. As well as A\\VOID, as Andy had now christened us, I was also playing guitar on some recordings a hardcore band my friend in Barcelona had started up. Completely remote. Very Covid. But that’s another story. Anyway, what this time has taught me, is that all I need in life is my family and music. And football. Even if it is crap without fans. And books. And I’m good. A job I enjoy helps, too. I don’t need much, is what I’m saying. Although I can’t survive without music in my life.<br /><br />It was a lot of fun, recording the first album/record/twelve inch/whatever it will be. We already have a second one of those written, which felt kind of strange, going into the studio to record a first album with a whole other bunch of material waiting in the wings. And we haven’t even played a show yet. Don’t even really know when we’ll be able to. Linus, who recorded and mixed the songs, thought it was hilarious that we played this dark apocalyptic music whilst being the biggest bunch of goofs he’d ever met. Every second that wasn’t filled with music was filled with arseing around and laughter. It feels like we have a good thing going.<br /><br />What happens next I don’t know. Hopefully some shows. Hopefully a physical release of our songs. It’s a bit trickier when the music we’re playing is outside of our normal hardcore/punk bubble. But if we don’t find anyone to release it then we'll do it the hardcore/punk way and release it ourselves. <br /><br />Here’s the first song on the album, with images borrowed from Jan Svankmejer's film <i>The Fall of the House of Usher</i>. <br /><br />The title is taken from Raymond Briggs' animated book of the same name. It depicts, in haunting fashion, the fate of an old aged English couple, living ignorantly through the immediate aftermath of a nuclear bomb. I had the images of their innocent faces, slowly greying as they sat around drinking tea, whilst I played around with the main riff of the song. It’s quite reflective of a lot of the thoughts that have been floating around in my head this last year or so. <br /><br />When the Wind Blows:<span id="docs-internal-guid-a6eadbc0-7fff-375b-3407-6d38eeed838f"><br /><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Mxy6nb-DS0g" width="320" youtube-src-id="Mxy6nb-DS0g"></iframe></div><br />Besatthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18249422950419263931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-872830042269797401.post-55812262577755844212021-05-15T10:40:00.004+02:002021-05-16T08:49:53.674+02:00I Just Can't Turn It OffNext week I turn 43 years old. I started my first band when I was 13. 30 fucking years ago. I haven’t not been in a band during that time. There have been times when I’ve felt like stopping, but that has never gone beyond the stage of muttering to myself that maybe it’s time to give it in. The fact is, being in a band is a huge part of my identity. For a long time, it was my only identity. Now there are other aspects of my life that are vying for the position of “Who am I?”. Parent. Social worker. Book nerd… But when I was sat eating dinner with my friend Gill and his family, Gill plays guitar in our new band A\\VOID, and Jen, discussing the bands we’ve played in, it hit me just how fucking long I’ve been doing this, and for how long music has been the dominating element in my life. My life has almost entirely revolved around music. Quite a thing.<br /><br />Things have evolved and adapted over the years, of course they have. That’s only natural. I don’t spend five or six hours of a day listening to music anymore. I don’t have the time. I’m maybe down to one or two hours a day, when out walking the dog or biking to work. Although podcasts have taken over a lot of that time, too. I still get a buzz when I begin on a project, though, normally in the guise of taking on a band’s entire discography and listening through in chronological order. Sonic Youth, Jesus Lizard, Tonbruket, Black Flag, Fugazi, Mogwai, David Bowie, Brainbombs, Shellac and Iron Maiden (up to Fear of the Dark), have been some of the latest projects. But listening to music doesn’t take anywhere near as large a chunk of my waking hours as it used to, as it did up until about seven years ago. Incidentally about the time we had Polly and I began studying again.<br /><br />But one thing has not changed since I was 13. And I realised as I was talking about it at dinner this weekend that this thing is the reason that I’m still playing music after all these years. Playing live has always been a big part of the rush, as has touring and journeying all over the world, playing to new people, making new friends, absorbing new sights and cultures. Touring, though, especially the way we do, has become more a physical and mental strain with age. I still absolutely love it, don’t get me wrong, I love the adventure of it, but the length of time on the road I can handle in one stretch has reduced dramatically these last ten years or so. It’s not just that it’s physically tiring, it’s also hard being away from my daughter for more than ten days or so, especially at the age she is right now. When she’s older things might change again, who knows. <br /><br />All this being said, something else quite staggering hit me as we were on this subject. 2020, the Vile year of our Lord, was the first year since 1994 where I didn’t play a single live show. That made me think about a lot of things, and I’ll probably write another post about that.<br /><br />The thing is, whilst the attraction of touring for months on end no longer exists, I’m still, after all these years, playing in bands. Three right now as a matter of fact. Four, if you count D?B!, which you probably shouldn’t. But there is Victims, A\\VOID and Nubenegra. So, if not touring, what is there? Well, I assumed a few years back that what kept me playing in bands was the issue of Identity. Since I was 13 it’s been “who I am”. If I didn’t play in bands there would be a huge hole in my life, a massive part of me would be lost. And holding on to that for that reason is purely based on fear of changing. But that’s not why I’m still playing in bands. I have other aspects to my identity now, aspects mentioned above, that I’ve fully embraced. The reason I’m still playing in bands is because the need to create music, to make things out of thin air, to produce things and put them out into the world, no matter the scale of it, is something I can’t simply turn off.<br /><br />Maybe one day it will no longer be there. But until then, I will continue to play and write music with other people. That could be next year, it could be when I’m 70, who knows?<br /><br /><div>But as it is, right now, it’s still an obsession that has a hold over me.<br /><br /></div><div>When one of my bands has a new record on the go, whether it’s Victims where Johan has been writing most of the music recently, or A\\VOID where I’ve been the main writer, the new songs we’re playing around with orbit around my head for months on end. I play them over in my head from start to finish. I do it when out and about in town, out with the dog, lying in bed at night in the short space of time between putting my book down and falling asleep.<br /><br />As in the case with A\\VOID right now, I’ve been in a long period of inspiration, thinking about new songs, writing something every time I pick up a guitar at home, it just seems to be flowing out of me. It’s truly like a spring that’s been tapped and I can’t help but drink from it. And at almost 43 years old, 30 years after being given my first guitar as a Christmas present, this still has me as excited now as it did then. Without wanting to sound cheesy as shit, it makes me feel alive, creating music. As long as making music makes me feel this way, I’ll most likely keep on keeping on with it. <br /><br />In the midst of everything that has been completely and utterly shit during this pandemic, starting up A\\VOID and being asked to play guitar in Nubenegra has kept me sane during what otherwise has been a down period for Victims. Of course, my family, my job and all that, they give me meaning in my life, but making music, I realised maybe more than ever during this last year, is simply something I can’t live without. It’s not even a question of will, it’s simply something I can’t turn off.<br /><br />As I write this, I dare to hope that the light at the end of this tunnel we’ve all been in, truly is the end of the tunnel, and not an oncoming train. I hope that in a few months time we might just be able to start opening up society again, as it should be, and start playing shows again. And then maybe I’ll have something to start writing about on here again.<br /><br /> </div>Besatthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18249422950419263931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-872830042269797401.post-62997905444780469242020-05-25T09:02:00.001+02:002020-05-25T09:02:15.137+02:00Zoltan JakabThere is a certain beauty in guesting on a blog that is called Punk Rock and Coffee. Especially that both punk rock and coffee-nerding run on <strike>street</strike> scene credit points, and I’m at 50% best case. Now why on earth would Gaz invite any random coffee nerd to blurt about coffee, so you my dear reader must have guessed I just gave myself 100% punk rock scene credit points (how brave of me to do so), while I’m still thinking coffee is one of the worst things ever and tastes like ass. Now hello there, how do you know what ass tastes like, Zoltan? <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br /><br />It must probably suck, just as bad as coffee, just as much as the overly romanticized quarantine isolation, that at least made me grab my pen (liar, keyboard!) to be one of my beloved Gaz’s guests of honors here.<br /><br />Years ago, a bunch of like-minded individuals and myself did a talk-show kind of thing at a couple Hungarian music festivals, where we were put on a podium to talk tour stories. And that’s when it hit me how dull and boring we must be with our shitty little inside jokes on a sunny afternoon, while those who were unfortunate enough to lurk around and sit in probably wanted to hear more about the ho’s and drugs than random hopeless, washed up wannabees talk boring, subpar tour stories of which asshole got how drunk after what insignificant show / tour.<br /><br />Funny I’m dissing tour stories after dissing coffee, because this blog is very much about tour stories. And I love touring and punk rock (but not coffee, I do sure as hell sound like a broken fucking record), but maybe just maybe now isn’t the time for me to tell a funny story. As previously mentioned above, a bunch of these are shitty little inside jokes anyway, totally irrelevant to those around us. Like THAT couple, that we ALL have in our circle of friends, who are so compulsive that they go a little too far on the PDA and the pet names all over and something inside of you just wants you to repeatedly punch them in their happy little faces.<br /><br />I don’t think it’s happy face and/or tour story time. I certainly don’t think it’s too much complaining time right now, either. I think now is the time to reflect. To be better and more. And to do the punk rock thing (our so-called duty) and build a better world. At least a better microcosmos. <br /><br />The excellent lads in Death By Stereo once sang ’Are you ready for the revolution? Cause when it comes, what are you gonna do? Are you just going to sing about it?’ Quite ironic, isn’t it? The world we have screamed about in our short and fast emotional outbursts that we commonly refer to as punk rock songs, the impending doom, the apocalypse, the nearing end of consumerist society is right around the corner – okay, maybe impending doom and apocalypse not so much, but I sure did get your attention there, didn’t I? And we sort of wallow in self-pity, want to undo this whole pandemic, and scream like entitled little babies for our commodities. And how much we want them back. How much we want the cafe-fucking-latte, our vegan burger eat outs, our Ikea record shelves. Maybe this isn’t the right time, just like it isn’t happy face and/or tour story time.<br /><br />Many of us – artists, tour crew, promoters, etc. – are freelancers, making a living off of the industry and it’s a shocking revelation when taking an in-depth look behind the so-called curtains to really see how many in the industry have no backup plan, no savings, living day to day. And for some of us, <b><i>isolation and quarantine are hell.</i></b> Not only because we miss our commodities, but because maybe, just maybe we haven’t learned how to live. We haven’t learned how to reach deep within and face our demons. We haven’t learned to live well enough to deal with a proper, boring life in between tours. <b><i>Post Tour Blues</i></b> is something even the scientific world is now taking more seriously, you saw the articles, the studies dealing with the mental well-being of the touring industry, whether it’s DIY bands playing short and fast emotional outbursts that we commonly refer to as punk rock songs or significantly larger bands with a larger apparatus behind them playing music that we commonly refer to as ‘this fucking blows’. <b><i>Post Tour Blues</i></b> just got real, and really long at that.<br /><br />I myself have a rich history of mental illness. Panic disorder, anxiety, depression – you name it. I might be lucky; I am fighting my battles one by one and manage(d) to come out stronger – for the time being anyway. Some never want to be better, as it’s just as much of a comfort zone, as many things we do in life without taking proper risks, plus it’s always so much fun to lay the blame on someone else for our very own shortcomings. Some never learned how to be better but wish to. And a whole lot of us never really learned how to listen properly. <br /><br />You all saw that meme probably that says how we used to start business e-mails with ‘Hi’ and how we quickly went into starting with ‘hope you and your loved ones are safe’ nowadays. I do practice that, to be honest. We are all parts of something larger than ourselves and it’s time to give back. I also work as a booking agent and I am trying to pay extra attention to speak to all partners in a manner I’d expect any normal human being speak to me, I exercise more patience and more kindness. I text my bands, I call my bands. Right now, I know just as much as Metallica’s agent: no fucking shows are happening, and God knows (thank God I’m an atheist) until how long. So, the main thing I can do is be present to the best of my ability. <br /><br />Our line of work, or I’d rather say, our passion, is deeply defined by the term perpetuum mobile. We are in never-ending cycles, we’re constantly on the move. We meet friends, fans, co-workers, artists, promoters, crew every single day. We leave some sort of impact; they leave theirs and we move on to the next city and we’re no longer physically present. I’m not saying this because I’m cold-hearted. Moving on from places / friends I hold dear is actually like leaving a piece of my soul behind. I keep feeling I have unfinished business with places and people. A very recent, untimely passing of a friend has made me realize how much I am missing out on. How he’s been a force of stunning creativity and how he saw some creativity in me, that I myself have long forgotten. It made me feel ashamed. It made me think that any time we meet a friend, we might not meet ever again. And it broke my heart. <br /><br />If you still follow my hopefully not so disjointed train of thought, this brings us back to a lot of us not knowing how to live. Not knowing what to do outside our comfort zones. Not knowing how to deal with a new reality where the information highway is faster than ever and you get new, profound information not every day, but almost every hour that might have a tremendous impact on what you do – unless said, profound new info is either Plandemic, the Bakersfield doctors, or any other idiot with a doctor title in her/his name your fake ass enlightened high school friend / distant cousin / former mosher friend just shared as facts – and it changes your outlook on the future and it might give some hope, might take some away. We don’t always know how to live. We don’t always know how to love. We don’t always know how to battle our demons. And we’re definitely too proud to reach out for help, so we normally won’t. <br /><br />Do the punk rock thing yourself. Connect. Reach out. Share. Build. A new microcosmos where you don’t write off your colleagues, partners, bands, friends as lunatics. Where you don’t shrug it off if they haven’t checked in with you for weeks. Reach the fuck out and speak your heart out, when someone needs to hear from you. Reach the fuck out and shut the fuck up when someone needs you to listen.<br /><br />Someone who had an impact on you on one of those days you’ve spent in a city between two shit smelling gas stations, someone who you had an impact on with your witty stage banter and short and fast emotional outbursts we commonly refer to as punk rock songs might just want to hear one thing: you’re not in this alone.<br /><br />Music I have listened to while crafting my half assed wisdoms (still wiser than fucking Plandemic):<br /><br />Secrets Of The Moon – Black House<br /><br />Death By Stereo – If Looks Could Kill I’d Watch You Die<br /><br />Imperial Triumphant – Vile Luxury<br /><br />Strike Anywhere – Change Is A Sound<br /><br /><div>
<b>Zoltan (Zoli) Jakab</b> – based in Budapest, used to sing in Newborn, Bridge to Solace and currently fronting Ghostchant, a ghost band that hasn’t played shows or had any social situation where all members were all present in the same space and time since 2018. All three bands have subpar tour stories, but all three bands have something in common – the fight to be better, to do better, to battle my demons and to offer hope the same way my favorite bands have offered hope to me. I am a booking agent at Doomstar Bookings, and I tour manage metal bands. Links you can find via google. I am imperfect and I have many demons I face, one ugly mug at a time. I am not alone. Neither are you. </div>
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zjakab80 at gmail dot com is where we can connect.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>
Besatthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18249422950419263931noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-872830042269797401.post-20119909152653834132020-05-18T20:28:00.001+02:002020-05-18T20:28:27.836+02:00PRC and FriendsI started this blog back in 2009. The main idea behind it was to share stories in written form, to recount all those great tales that have been told whilst sat around somewhere, sometime, waiting to get somewhere or for something to happen. Stories that could only happen on tour. Stories sometimes you’d have a hard time believing had you not been there yourself. There were many stories like that from the ten years we toured with Raging Speedhorn. There were many others I heard along the way that had me crying with laughter.<br /><br />As time went by the blog developed into a platform for my tour diaries, written in real time, from wherever I was with Victims or Diagnosis? Bastard! These stories, sometimes funny in their own way, oftentimes a window into the real life of touring in a DIY band. Writing tour diaries became a great way to kill a few hours every day as we drove from city to city. And I’ve always found writing to be therapeutic. Whilst I’m writing everything else stands still. When I'm writing, "Nothing else matters", as The Het so eloquently put it.<br /><br />The world right now is kind of upside down. In the space of a few months everything has changed. Borders are closed, the news is in principle dedicated to a virus that is causing havoc across the globe, friends from all over the world are living through the dystopian reality of quarantine. There are no new gigs. No new tours. No new stories.<br /><br />It feels like the perfect time to realize something I’ve thought about doing for a long time now. Opening up the blog to the many friends and acquaintances I’ve made over the years and inviting them to share their own stories and thoughts, as guest writers. For a long time I thought about conducting interviews and publishing those in zine form through Punk Rock and Coffee, recording conversations and documenting them. But this blog is very much about writing. It feels much more fitting to let my friends recall their stories, their thoughts, themselves, in their own words. I’ve asked to everyone to write freely about whatever they want, as long as it’s someway connected to being involved in underground music. But be it serious, lighthearted, goofy, philosophical, it doesn't matter. It’s completely open.<br /><br />More than anything, it’s about inviting people to share their joy of writing, and I’m honored by the fact that those people I’ve asked have accepted the invitation gladly. I’ll be continuing to write, of course, but interspersed with my own waffling will be this series of guest writers. <div>
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I hope you enjoy reading as much as we enjoy writing.</div>
Besatthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18249422950419263931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-872830042269797401.post-56652366563461794302020-03-18T14:15:00.000+01:002020-05-18T20:35:05.103+02:00This Too Shall PassAn inner monologue with myself. <br />
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“Your flight to Paris Charles de Gaulle has been cancelled”. We were supposed to be playing in Paris tomorrow night. And then Lille on Friday. And then Aalst on Saturday. But a week ago the world turned upside down. <br />
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This time last week we took the very tough decision to cancel our trip. We spoke about it with Zoli, our booker, he’d brought it to our attention as the “Elephant in the room”. Until then, we’d been planning ahead as usual. Practicing the set, arranging merch and the van situation with the Bleakness guys in France. Just kind of hoping this virus thing would stay away. Stay in some part of the world, that, as awful as it is, didn’t affect us over here. That was only a week ago. Since then Italy, France and Spain have implemented a nationwide lock-down. Other European nations will surely take the same drastic measures in due time. Maybe tomorrow, maybe the day after. I don’t know. Time has taken on a completely different perspective. Everything's happening so very fast.<br />
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Two weeks ago we were on a skiing holiday in Norway. The virus was already all over the news, but it was mainly contained to Hubei in China. And there were a few cases in Italy, which was slightly worrying. But at the hotel, on the cotton white slopes that gleamed in the sun, it was easy to push it back to the nether regions of your consciousness. Then came the news of a boat in Japan being quarantined with thousands of tourists on it, and then over a thousand in a hotel in Tenerife. I imagined waking up in the comfort of my Radisson Blu hotel bed and finding a note on the floor, pushed under the door, “STAY IN YOUR ROOM”. <br />
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The scary meter was ever-so-slowly starting to creep up a notch or two. But it still hadn’t come to Sweden, or Scandinavia for that matter. Containing this thing would still be possible. But imagine being fucking quarantined in another country, unable to get home. That started playing on my mind. There were no drastic measures being taken by France yet, or the UK. Two places we had booked in over the next couple of weeks. It’s just a fucking cold, a flu. How many people die of the flu every year? The things they’re talking about are going to destroy the global economy. Has the world gone mad? When Jen hinted at us cancelling our trip to the UK I reacted angrily. It was my dad’s 70th birthday! There were only a few cases in the UK, a few cases in a country of over 60 million. Don’t be ridiculous. If there is one person on this earth I knew wouldn’t be worrying about this shit, it was my dad. Not that he would be silly about it, he would act accordingly, but he’s never one to panic. He’s never let me see it, anyway. Which is the number one job of a parent, right? <br />
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We made it to the party. It was fine. It was a really nice do. A lot of my dad’s old friends were there, people I hadn’t seen for a long while, but people I was very close to. Or had been when we were kids. There wasn’t that much talk of Corona, although it was by then dominating every news channel. We were watching in the morning, and the evening, but I was trying not to let it bother us. I didn’t want Polly to have to deal with this, I didn’t want to have the news on all the time when she was around. She’s seven years old. She has the right not to to have to worry about this shit. The party was really nice, though. As were the few days at my sister’s, and the couple of days at Kev’s in London before that. I was happy we went. Although we had been sat across from some woman on the train who was coughing into her hand the whole time. And the flight home was packed. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t playing on my mind.<br />
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That was only a few days ago. Sweden has closed the borders now. As have the rest of the EU. And the USA. And Canada. The aviation industry is at a standstill. That tough choice we made last week about cancelling the gigs this weekend seems abstract now. It was all cancelled anyway. <br />
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This is the most dramatic thing our generation has been through. You could say this is our World War. Except there are no bombs dropping on our heads, we’re not hiding in metro stations with the terrifying sirens wailing overhead. We’re being told to stay and work from home, if possible. Of course, it’s a bizarre situation, life at a standstill, of sorts. But it also shows you what a privileged generation or two we’ve been. We in the western world that is. There are parts of the world where this is the reality of life, all the time. You know that war in Syria that’s been going on for ten years, the one that none of us can longer bear to engage in, look at on the news, because we’ve reached a saturation point with it? The lives of those people have been put on hold for over ten years. No job? Lock-down? Queing for food at the grocery store? This has been their reality for over ten years. Plus bombs. At best, we might have to put up with this for the next few months. And we might even get sick, we might lose loved ones, which would be awful, the thought of my dad being isolated at home kills me, but it will get better. When the Syrian war does finally come to an end, the chances are they’ll still have Assad dictating their lives. Or some other equally heinous asshole. As will many other people around the world. There are conflicts everywhere, but they only ever enter our lives in fleeting moments on the broadcast news, or in the newspaper whilst we drink our morning coffee. Our lives will return to normal a lot sooner than those in Syria, or Palestine, or those living through one of the fifteen wars currently waging in Africa. In fact, they have no “normal” to return to. Living in constant worry over making it through the day is their normal. Our normal doesn’t even exist in the same dimension as theirs.<br />
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That doesn’t mean to say that this virus is not causing me anxiety. Of course it is. And the hell that healthcare workers are going through right now in the countries worst affected I can’t even imagine. But my personal anxiety is over how much this will change the world we live in. The economy, not the virus, as for everyone else I know, is the biggest personal worry. But again, we have to remember, this will get better. We’ll recover. This too shall pass. My friends like Kev, who work in the service industry, or Tove, who work in the film and entertainment industry, are in real trouble if this lock-down goes on for too long. But governments all over the world will have to work out a way of helping millions of people like them. In a strange kind of way, the one thing that reassures me, as far as the economy goes, is that we’re all in the same boat. All over the fucking world. The world will have to get back to normal. No government on the planet fails to understand that a lock-down is unsustainable in the long run. The only winner here, is of course, the planet herself. It does make you wonder if Mother Nature has simply had enough. Or if Malthus and his theory of positive checks had a point. <br />
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What causes me anxiety more than anything, though, is the feeling that “It’s happening”. As I said, our generation and the one before us, in our part of the world, the privileged part of the world, has never gone through a societal crisis of this magnitude. Almost every other generation before us has done. Plague, famine and war have been the norm for as long as humans have existed on earth, yet it only takes a generation or two to confine them to history books and con yourself into thinking that it will never happen to us. It’s easy to cast it off as something that happened before. Fuck, even my dad’s older siblings were children of the Second World War. We really are, or were, the first generation to have thought we were saved from something so dramatic that it affects the entire planet. I have anxiety that Polly is only seven years old and it’s already happening to her. It feels so unfair. But then I remember that it’s our job to hide that anxiety from her and protect her from this. I think about what my dad always says, something that still comforts me. “In a -insert amount of time-, we’ll look back at this and think about how long ago it seems”. In less grave matters he would say that we’d look back and laugh. But I think about Polly, and about ourselves, and think about how we’ll be watching a documentary about the Coronavirus in ten years time, and it will once again be in the abstract realm of our consciousness. It will all have seemed like a weird dream. Unless, of course, we extinguished ourselves fighting over shit roll.<br />
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This too shall pass. Life will go back to normal. This is not the first pandemic the world has seen, and it won’t be the most deadly. Far from it. This is the third of its kind my mother in law has lived through. We’ll adjust and we’ll survive. I’ve already spoken to friends in Spain and Italy, and they are all on board with the lock-down. It’s a bummer, but they're doing okay. Their biggest concern is for the old and infirm. As should it be. It seems to me though that they almost feel like, once the decision is made for you and enforced, it’s easier to deal with. Then you’re in the stage of it being “just the way it is”. When it’s beyond your control I think it’s easier to deal with. You just have to get in with things. If the lock-down comes to Stockholm then we’ll deal with it by watching Netflix and reading books, playing Mario Kart and thinking of every way possible to keep Polly entertained. We will have to put a daily limit on YouTube, though. There is only a certain amount of Tic Tac Toy I can tolerate before throwing myself off the balcony. And I’ll have to start some sort of exercise program. I’ve been social distancing for only a few days and already I’m consuming far too much sugar. The thing is, in two weeks I start my new job. And then I won’t be isolated anywhere. Social workers will still be going to work. I imagine how strange it will feel, biking through a deserted Södermalm on my way to work, and then walking through the doors and into the world of heroin addiction. What a strange reality that will be.<br />
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That is still two weeks away, though, and much will happen before then. It will probably get a lot worse before it gets better. They seem to think Sweden will be hitting some kind of peak around about the time I’m due to start my new job. What a happy way to start. But after the peak, it will get better. Restaurants, pubs, cinemas, airports will open again. Maybe the holidays I’ve booked for the summer will still be put to use. And we’ll start playing shows again. We already agreed to play the festival in Aalst on whatever date it is rebooked for. I look forward to walking out on that stage, whenever that will be, and feeling the joy that we finally made it there. <br />
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Until then, I’m gonna write a bunch of tunes, read a load of books, and try and be the best parent I can be to Polly. I’m hoping that when she’s older she’ll barely remember this. I’m also hoping that we, the adults in the room, learn lessons from this and maybe give Polly and everyone else her age a future worth living. It’s a nice thought, at least. </div>
Besatthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18249422950419263931noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-872830042269797401.post-43239827452412206152020-02-16T14:36:00.002+01:002020-02-19T09:33:27.798+01:00Sthlm -> GBGWithin seconds of exiting the Universitet tube station my feet were sodden. Properly fucking squelching through the grey brown slush as the sleet came down like icy needles. I had not prepared for this. It was the first day of winter and it had taken me by surprise. I had a lot of work on at uni, being in the middle of writing a bachelor's thesis, and I’d planned to go straight to the gig when I was done for the day. Trainers were a truly piss poor choice of footwear. My socks would agree. Thing is, I can’t play in winter boots, can I? Clamping around on stage like BigFoot. The situation would need to be remedied.<br />
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My thesis partner Freddie was in the same boat. The two of us walked over to campus cursing ourselves and the weather. Mainly the weather. We needed to use the computer hall today since we were in the middle of analysing the statistical part of our work and neither of us could be fucked with paying for the necessary software when the campus computers provided them for free. Problem was the main hall was closed today, it had been taken over by the Nobel Student’s Ball committee for their upcoming soirée, so we had to find somewhere else to work. We also needed a radiator to hang our socks on. The whole Nobel shabang got me thinking about how I would soon be finished at university and how over the last three years I’ve never once embraced any kind of “student life.” I’ve simply come and gone to the place like you would any job. When I was younger and most of my mates left Corby for uni, I used to tell myself that I hated students and could never have stuck being around them all day long. Even then, I knew deep down that that was just bitterness talking. The reality is that I felt left behind. Although I doubt I would ever have fully adapted to the student culture. I’ve spent long periods over the last three years feeling like an outsider at university. Not just because of my age and life situation, but also because I come from a working class background in England. Bourdeau was definitely onto something with his theories on social and cultural capital… Anyway, standing there in wet socks, looking at the sign on the door of the computer hall “CLOSED IN PREPARATION FOR THE NOBEL STUDENT’S BALL” I scoffed inwardly, “Fucking toff bastards!”<br />
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Freddie and I ended up finding another computer room over in the main campus building, a room I’d never paid any notice to over the three years I’d been here. It was kind of hidden away on one of the upper floors. I don’t think any of the other students knew about the place either, since there were only three people occupying seats, dotted about the room, and they were all old men. Fucking weird, the lot of them. One was breathing heavily at his monitor, grumbling to himself as he tried to make purchases through various Black Friday offers online but was seemingly failing at every turn. One of the others was looking at something dubious with his milk bottle glasses pressed up against the screen, and the third one looked like he was here just to keep warm. Apart from Black Friday’s grunts, it was totally silent, and Freddie and I sat next to each other communicating by Messenger. “What the fuck is this? A Lynch film?” There was in any case a radiator here, and although it wasn’t turned on, we still hung our sodden socks on it. Black Friday was making it impossible to concentrate on the multiple regression analysis we were supposed to be tackling, though, and after a while we sorrowfully drew our wet socks back on and left. <br />
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When I left university three hours later they were still wet. I had to jump off the tube halfway to the gig to buy a new pair. I was by now going fucking mad with the wet feet, so changed socks right there on the platform at Skanstull station, drawing, I imagine, similarly strange looks from passers by as we’d thrown in the direction of the three old stooges earlier on.<br />
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We’ve had a relatively busy time of it since we released the album in June. We’ve been out once a month since then, at least. Twenty-odd shows over the space of half a year ranks as “busy” these days. Overall the shows have been good, anyway. These two in Sweden are the last for the year, and the first since the short European tour we did a month ago. It feels kind of weird, as always, playing Stockholm. I have no idea how the show will be tonight, there is a lot of other stuff going on in town. Mayhem are playing Fryshuset, Boris are playing right next door at Slaktkyrkan, and Baroness are supporting Volbeat just across the road at the huge Tele2 Arena. John had texted us a couple of days ago and asked if we’d wanted to play with Baroness last night, at the same venue we’re playing tonight, Hus 7. But two shows in a row at the same venue felt like a bit much. Would have been more fun if Baroness could’ve jumped on our show tonight. Would have been fun playing with Baroness in a small venue again, though. One of the funniest Victims stories for me is the fact that Baroness supported Victims at some roller rink on their first tour of the US back in 2004 or something. Victims played as a three piece with Little Andy playing guitar and no bass, since Jon was in hospital after breaking his leg the night before. Baroness and Victims have embarked on rather different journeys since then…<br />
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Johan and Jon were going to head over to the arena to watch them play tonight, since they were on early. Johan had some business there with one of the sound engineers and through that had blagged him and Jon AAA passes, meaning they could watch the show from the comfort of the sound desk. Unfortunately for Jon, we’d left our van in front of the entrance to the club and Johan had the only key. Ronny asked me if we could move it, and the upshot was that Jon had to come running back with the key, since Johan was in the middle of some work thing. Jon was proper gutted when he was denied entry back into the crew door of the arena when he returned. Felt sorry for him. He really wanted to see his beloved Baroness play an arena. He was sat in the backstage room with a face like a bag of wasps, not really wanting to talk. He only interrupted the silence to inquire if there was any dinner left. When he returned with a plate of cold punk stew his mood hadn’t lightened any. Sensing it wasn't the time to make any kind of crack, I got up and left before the smirk on my face gave me away.<br />
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It’s a strange place, Hus 7. It’s literally Slaughterhouse Number 7, right in the middle of the old meatpacking district. The off-white tiled walls and grey concrete floors give the place a very cold feeling, as does the minus degrees seeping in from outside through the heavy plastic strips hanging over the holes in the walls either side of the stage. It's a bit off-putting when punters are walking in and out mid-gig to go to the bog, or whatever. That and the fact I have a hard time shifting images in my head of cows being put to their death and the blood flowing away through the drain in the floor. <br />
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I’ve never met the Blessings guys before, and I’d never heard the band either. Andy had been raving about them, though. Their guitarist, Johan, recognised me. He was a good friend of my old buddy, Marco, who played drums in Logh, Cult of Luna and a bunch of other bands. He was one of the first really good friends I made after arriving here. He moved to Malmö a long time ago, though, and I haven’t seen him in ages. Johan wanted to take a pic of me to send to Marco. It was nice to meet him, real nice guy. It wasn’t the first time I’d had my picture taken to send to an old friend in Malmö tonight, strangely enough. Emma, the production manager of the venue, is best friends with an old work friend of mine, Amira, someone else I haven’t met in ages. Bit of a strange theme going on tonight.<br />
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Blessings are absolutely great. Really impressed by them. And whereas the place was pretty much empty five minutes before they started, not that strange given that this place isn’t exactly somewhere you hang out at at this freezing time of year, it felt like the majority of the hundred or so who had bought tickets for tonight had arrived. Loved every second of Blessings set, really liked the drive they had going on in all of their songs. It was nice to have a mixed line-up at the show tonight, with Horndal in the middle, blasting out their Entombed styled, social-issued concept metal. Pontus and Henrik’s parents were in the crowd too, and they got a big shout out, much to the crowd’s pleasing. Took me back to our show in Vienna a month before when my dad had received the same welcome. Made me smile.<br />
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Hometown shows are always weird, though. I’ve said this many times, I know. It’s strange though, playing mainly to friends and acquaintances. Tonight it was extra weird, given that four of my work colleagues were here, of which one was my boss. It must have been a right eye-opener for them. I had a hard time shifting them out of my thoughts for most of the gig, which seemed to manifest in a tense forearm, making it hard for me to relax during the show. Nerves, in other words. They would never have seen this side of me before, I’m always Mr. Calm and Humble at work. It loosened up a little as the show rolled on, although it never completely left. Luc and Vik were stood right in front of me the whole gig, which helped. Although I could tell Luc was wishing that this show was somewhere smaller and more punk, Vik was seemingly not arsed. For all the piss taking he gives me over Victims, calling us The Foos all the time, or lyx crust, every time we play he’s always there, in front of me, pulling at my legs and shouting along to the songs. Tonight was no different. Love him. At the end of the gig I notice John Baroness and a couple of the Wolfbrigade guys are stood side stage. Afterwards Micke Bull tells me that Wolfbrigade had been invited by the Volbeat guys to their show and given AAA passes to any show on their World tour. I didn't understand any of it. Haven't got a clue what Volbeat is. All I've heard from Andy is that they're huge and that they are papp.<br />
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I’d been looking forward all day to a nice, social beer after the show, but by the time we were done the place began emptying out. Again, not surprising. There are cosier places to hang out. I was a bit gutted though. The only people that were left were three of my work mates. They were pissed up and chuffed with the gig and had decided to get tattooed at the all night place here at the venue. That sure escalated quickly. First tat for Alex, which I couldn’t help wondering whether he’d regret it in the morning. Klara, my boss, had a few already, although she was apparently so drunk she was getting on the tattooist’s tits. Fucking wild. They really went all in on the punk experience.<br />
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So apart from that lot, who were busy doing that thing, most other people left. Even Jen, who had been on an after work with some colleagues since five pm, had fucked off home in a Joe Baxi, pretty boats herself. I ended up just drinking the one and driving Johan’s work van back to our place. Johan had driven home to Nyköping with Pia. We’d pick him up on the way to Gothenburg tomorrow.<br />
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It was just after one am when I got home. I cracked open a tin I had in the fridge, put on my cosy slippers, and watched an episode of QI. <br />
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Jon was taking the train to GBG, since there was only room for three in Johan’s work van, and since only Johan and I have a license, and Andy is too long to squeeze into Horndal’s car, it was Jon who elected himself to make his own way to the gig. I understood that he didn’t want to squeeze into a car for five hours with a bunch of guys he didn’t really know. That would have been more of a job for me I guess, but my license to drive was required in our van.<br />
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Given the shitty, shitty weather yesterday, and the predicted icy roads on route today, we left a little earlier than usual, but it was still a pleasant enough start to the day. Left around ten thirty. The drive turned out to be no bother at all, though, in actual fact it was really pleasant. It was one of those blue sky winter days, crispy air and glorious sunshine. The five hours flew by. The Horndal guys were already at the venue and packed in when we arrived, and within an hour we were soundchecked and ready. There wasn’t a whole lot left for us to do. The room we were playing in at Musikens Hus was pretty fucking big, and the stage was really high and wide. It sounded great, for sure, but when I heard that there was a much smaller venue in the basement, I couldn’t help but wish we were playing there instead. There was no way we were filling this room tonight. The old rocker doing sound, a chirpy chap, insisted there would be no way we could play the small room with the gear we were playing through. “It wouldn’t be fun for anyone, the noise would be too much.” We’d have to agree to disagree on that one.<br />
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We noshed into some grub from the small restaurant they had here, and then after speaking with the promoter, Jonk, for a while, we should play later on after the Mayhem show at Pustervik was over apparently, since a lot of that crowd would come here afterwards apparently, we went to meet our friend Samsa and go for a nice hipster beer somewhere. What was with fucking Mayhem following us this weekend?<br />
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Samsa already had some beer in his parka jacket, he’d come from some home party of this guy who runs a brewery, and said we were welcome to head back there if we wanted. Free beer and all. I had the feeling that was what he’d wanted to do, but he was more than happy to take us somewhere for a quiet beer. It was just what was required. Gothenburg has certainly got this beer game sorted. So many good places to eat and drink here, lots of great veggie places too. Samsa is certainly chuffed with his lot in life. <br />
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We sit around talking about the old days, what else do us old timers ever do really?, and laughing about a certain classic Swedish hardcore band and their new album. We get to talking about Samsa’s days with Satanic Surfers, since we’d just played with his old band in the Czech Republic this summer. Happy Andy came up in the convo, of course. Samsa was saying how Andy was always late and how this one time they were flying off somewhere and for Andy’s sake, set a cautiously early time for the train out to the airport. When he didn’t arrive, they finally had no choice but to get on a train and head off without him. As they were sitting there waiting for the train to leave, they saw him running towards them. Just as the train doors were closing he thrust the neck-end of his bass case between the doors and pried them open. Totally chuffed with himself he was laughing, “Told you I’d make it on time!” <br />
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After the one, drawn out, but delicious 4,2% ale, we took a walk back to the venue. Even after the one I had the beginning of that warm, fuzzy ears thing going on that I normally get if I approach anywhere near Tipsy Town. It was cold out now. The warm ears didn’t do anything to help. <br />
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When we get back to the venue Jon is sat in the grandiose little foyer of the venue where we have the merch table. He’s sat hanging out with Charlie Cimex, with the usual overawed, star struck coupon he normally has on when hanging out with a legend. He shows us some white Victims t-shirt that some giffer had made himself. It had a pencil drawing of a horse, with a red pentagram and also written in red, Malin Baryard, which is the name of a famous horse rider. He told Jon that he always thought our song Scars was about her and that he’d mistakenly thought the line, “Scars in my eyes”, was “Malin Baryard”. Hence the horse on the t-shirt.<br />
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Dennis Doom was milling around with Charlie too, both of them looking pretty pissed up, although Dennis was certainly the worse for wear. I received the usual sloppy kiss on the hand and an “Alright mate” from him before he stoated off. That’s about the usual content of our conversations when we meet. We’d already missed the local punk band when we were out drinking, but I managed to catch the second half of Horndal’s set. It’s a weird set up. The sound is massive, they play great, but the room is about a third full, and up on that big stage, with two metalheads gripping on to it’s cusp as they bang their heads, it just feels odd. I’m not exactly bursting with enthusiasm before our set, and getting on for midnight, I don’t envision that many of the Mayhem crowd arriving. That said, Johan from Blessings turns up and he’d just come from there. Shame they weren’t playing tonight. Jonk had insisted on the other band.<br />
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Despite the empty pockets or air dotted about the crowd, it always helps a little when it sounds huge on stage. It at least makes the “playing” part of the gig more enjoyable. I feel like I’m going a little through the motions in my head by the end though, as much as I put every ounce of energy I can muster into playing. I would never allow anything else.<br />
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Afterwards we hang out by the merch for a while before finishing the evening off having a quick beer with Charlie up in the dressing room above the stage. He’s sat there telling dad jokes and taking the piss out of Jonk, who after about thirty minutes of harassing him, finally convinces him to join him at a bar for one last beer. The rest of us wait for a cab to the hotel.<br />
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And the wait goes on.<br />
<br />
It’s fucking freezing by now, the streets surrounding the venue are completely dead, and I want to go to bed. We’d called for some Uber-type deal called BOLT, which was ordered through Jonk’s account on his phone. Jonk has now fucked off with Charlie and we’re waiting with our nuggs shivering. For every car that passes that isn’t ours I get more pissed off. Horndal left ages ago, and we’d planned to have a quick beer in the hotel bar, but that time has now surely passed, I imagine.<br />
<br />
When the car finally arrives, the old boy driving is so chirpy, that it’s hard to stay pissed off. The rage returns as soon as we walk into the deserted reception area of the hotel and are faced with a confused looking lad, “Victims? No, I don’t have any booking with that name? Jonk? Musikens Hus? Concert? No. Sorry. No.” How many fucking times have I heard this spiel at this time of the morning at after-gig hotels?! After a lot of fucking about, he arrives at the conclusion that he gave out eight room keys to a group of four who arrived earlier. So the upshot is this: For the two bands, we had one family room with four beds and two twin rooms. Eight beds each. Turns out Horndal were given all the keys and they’ve now spread themselves out over the three rooms. About twenty minutes later a tired, sheepish looking Eken arrives with our keys. <br />
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Finally in bed, about four hours after finishing the show. Originally we were supposed to have a hotel five minutes walk from the venue, but there was a balls up with that of course, so now we’re way out on Hisingen. No fucking matter. It’s nice to finally be in bed. I’m sharing with Jon, and when I’m getting ready to nod off I notice him rolling up a huge joint. I can’t imagine for a minute that he thinks he’s going to smoke that fucking thing in here, but then he has stripped down to his tight orange longjohns that pose as his pyjamas. When he’s done rolling, he tells me he’s off downstairs. I laugh to myself, imagining him walking through reception in bright orange longjohn’s and then standing outside in a bush puffing away on his spliff. That image tucks me off to sleep quite nicely. Snug as a bug in a rug.Besatthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18249422950419263931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-872830042269797401.post-25138966956593747152019-11-03T18:14:00.000+01:002019-11-04T15:34:57.764+01:00EindhovenAnd then we were four. Strange feeling having one show left but it already feels like the tour is over and your mind is set on home. I felt like I just wanted to get this festival in Eindhoven over and done with and then get home. We have a fucking monster journey home, though. We’re driving to a hotel by Bremen after the show, which will take about three and a half hours, and then leave early tomorrow for another fourteen hours or so. Hard to get your head into a gig when you’ve already clocked out. It would have felt different somehow if Svalbard were playing this show, too. Maybe.<br />
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We all slept well, at least. The room at the punk house was warm and cosy and the bed comfortable enough to make me want to stay in it all morning. I was determined to make something of today, though, since the last two days we’d basically spent in the van and we’d be doing the same tomorrow. Since the drive to Eindhoven was short we decided we’d stop off in Köln on the way and do something human again. First we took breakfast with the house crew and the local band from last night. It was of an equally high standard as the dinner the guys made last night. Nice start to the day. After thanking Timo for everything again, we loaded the van and made our way out of little Wermelskirchen. Timo said they were having a big anniversary festival here next year for the house’s 20th. anniversary or something, which sounded good, although Timo’s estimation of being able to fit two and a half thousand in the place and it’s surrounding grounds seemed a little optimistic, to say the least.<br />
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Köln is on the opposite scale to Vienna, in that, I’ve also been there loads but only ever played one show. It used to be a regular day-off-spot on the Speedhorn tours in the era of the nightliner. We always used to park up by the river and then walk around the cathedral for a bit before hitting some bar. I remember one time waking up here and finding Roddy our guitar tech sat on the bottom lounge of the bus, looking distraught. He’d hooked up with some girl but then cacked his pants when he got to her place and had to make a sharp exit. And then when he got back to the bus he was caught throwing his dirty skidders in the bushes by some old couple walking their dog by the river. I think about that every time I think of Köln.<br />
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The couple of hours we spent in the city were much needed. The cathedral is an incredible building. I’ve seen its magnificence from the outside many times, but today was the first time I’d been inside, if my memory holds. Johan abstained and waited for us outside among the masses of tourists. Something about the inside of church buildings freaks him out a bit. It was of course, mind blowingly grandiose inside. I know what Johan means, though. There is something quite fucking heavy about being inside a gigantic church. Upon leaving we checked out a photo display depicting the devastation the bombs of the Second World War had left on the city. It seems like the cathedral was the only place left standing. It’s hard to imagine living through that, seeing Europe in the throes of war, but it really wasn’t that long ago. It’s easy to live in the now when both the past and the future are terrifying.<br />
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After taking a coffee down by the river at some cafe that had roofed outdoor seating, we walked back along the river to the van and made the short drive to Eindhoven. The information said we should check in to the festival at two pm, but we weren’t playing until seven-thirty and I couldn’t imagine what we’d be needed so early for. And then when we arrived at four we were immediately relieved that we had decided to do something else during the day. There were shit loads of people mulling about the massive, three staged-venue, most of them white men with skinheads, which made Andy a little nervous. I pointed out that we were also skinheads, although not completely by choice and not with sideburns, muscles and boots to match. We did meet up with our old friend Peter, though, who we’d sorted with some guestlist spots, although unfortunately we didn’t get much of a chance to talk and he no doubt had a bunch of classic HC bands he wanted to check out. We didn’t even have a dressing room available until five, confirming the point that we’d have been well pissed off if we’d have arrived three hours ago, so Johan, Andy and I went for a walk whilst Jon volunteered to fix the merch table in the huge hall with the main stage. I was glad we were on the smallest stage, at least.<br />
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There wasn’t much happening around the area, it looked like one of those places that is halfway between industrial estate being fazed out and culture moving in. The centre was about twenty minutes walk away, although we didn’t know that at the time, we just got lucky and stumbled across the correct direction. We only made it to the outskirts of the centre, though, since the first street we walked into that had any signs of life provided me with my target. A chip shop selling chips and peanut sauce. And fuck me, they were absolutely magnificent! Well worth the walk. <br />
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After that we made our way back along the same boring road we came along. I’ve been to Eindhoven a few times this last few years, and there isn’t that much to see. All I needed was the chips, and the walk there and back. When we get back to the venue Johan and I sit in the shared dressing room and watch the end of the Liverpool game.<br />
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Even the smallest stage that we’re playing is still in a big room that would normally constitute a massive gig. It is, of course, empty bar a couple of punks, one wearing a Tragedy t-shirt, whilst we line check. I wonder how this is going to go down, but Jon tells me he met some guy at the merch that had flown in from Greece to see us. Andy says he hopes he hasn’t just come to see us here. Doubtful. That would be silly indeed.<br />
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To my surprise the show goes pretty well. I guess the thing with Victims is that we end up somewhere between the crust, punk and hardcore crowds, which means that when we play these heavily niched shows we sometimes act as a welcome break. We probably still play to one of the smallest crowds of the festival, but there must be five or six hundred in by the midway part of the set and there are some mohawks flying around the empty semi circle in front of the stage. The sound on stage is a bit chaotic which makes it a little bit hard to totally commit to, but the crowd reaction is way better than I thought it would be. Johan took the merch afterwards and he says there was a long queue waiting for him when he got there. Sometimes you never know. I head over to see how he’s doing and en up watching most of the old New York HC band, Outburst, set. It’s pretty naff if I’m honest. The guitar sound is as dull as dishwater and after every song the old boy vocals bangs on about how punk rock they are. I don’t know, seems a bit lame. Of course, there are about fifteen hundred people watching them going mental, so what the fuck do I know?<br />
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It’s now officially over. We want to get going as soon as possible and the merch seems to be done. We’re driving three and a half hours tonight and then doing the rest tomorrow. There is nothing to do but suck it up. We grab a quick bit of dinner from catering before we go, as well as packing a bin bag full of Red Bulls, water and other snacks. <br />
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I drive the first two and a half hours, leaving is nervously close to emptying the tank of diesel before finally finding a twenty four hour place. I could not imagine the horror of being stranded in the middle of nowhere at this point. I saw the tank was getting low but then all of a sudden all the petty stations just seemed to disappear. It’s a relief to get into the hotel bed around two am. I just wish I’d be able to sleep in a bit longer than five and a half hours before continuing on the long road home tomorrow... </div>
Besatthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18249422950419263931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-872830042269797401.post-20260389301969499802019-11-02T15:33:00.002+01:002019-11-02T15:33:58.997+01:00WermelskirchenLast night’s gig t-shirt proved itself to be only marginally better for drying myself off after a shower than a paper hand towel. I felt pretty well rested at least. Nice to have a lie in until nine-thirty, even if we knew we were risking being late tonight. The drives have been longer towards the back end of the tour, and we have the monster journey home on the horizon so need to store energy. After a pretty shabby breakfast in a thoroughly depressing grey canteen we hailed a cab back to the venue. We ended up with some little old boy who was full of chirp. Jon did a bit of talking with him. When he heard we were from Sweden he said something about Ingemar Stenmark, who was obviously a hero of his since he drove his cab in the same manner that Ingemar threw himself down the slopes. <br /><br />The drive to Wermelskirchen was fucking tedious to say the least. Jon took a ride with the Svalbard guys today, so it was just the three of us. Johan and I taking turns at the wheel over the course of the eight hours it took. It was solemnly miserable weather, pissed down the whole way with pockets of fog as we went through the hills. I’m sure it would have been some nice sightseeing if you’d been able to see further than ten feet ahead at any point. The only thing of note we saw, apart from the odd stau, was a car completely engulfed in fire on the other side of the autobahn. Thankfully it didn’t seem like anyone was hurt. It’s times like these where you wonder to yourself what you’re doing here. Jen sent me a photo of Polly curled up on the sofa with popcorn, watching a film. I would have happily teleported myself there if I had the chance. Hits like these always have a bigger impact at the end of the tour, though. It was also a bit of a bummer that this was going to be the last show with Svalbard, and that they had to leave for Calais straight after their set. It would feel empty without them tonight. Only one more show to go, though. I’m ready for home now.<br /><br />A couple of things immediately cheered me up upon arrival. First off Liam told me he’d stood in dogshit at their last break and the rest of the guys were livid with him stinking out the van, meaning they had to drive the last hour with the window open. The second thing was that Timo, the young punk booking the show, was very happy to greet us to the punk house where we were playing, and assuring us there was no stress. To top things off, the dinner they made for us was absolutely superb. By far the best of the tour. This was the perfect place to come after a long, dark old day in the van.<br /><br />We let the local support band soundcheck whilst we loaded in and set up and then noshed into dinner. We played here back in 2011 on the A Dissident album shows and they still had the poster up in the gig room. Can barely remember it, though. Been some time since then. After dinner we hung out in the big bar room where we had the merch. It was a pretty cool setup with a pinball machine as well as foosball table. I played a game with the Svalbard guys, Serena and I taking the game home in a next-goal-the-winner thriller. Jon was glued to the pinball machine most of the night and taking it very fucking seriously. At one point we’re stood around watching him play and Rob points at something over Jon’s shoulder, which Jon irrittadely swipes away without breaking focus on the marbles.<br /><br />An old acquaintance, Rob from Plastic Bomb, was here selling records on his distro. He’s a bit of a special case, has a constant smile on his coupon, even when he’s moaning. And he’s constantly on the flog. He was trying to sell me the original copy of Virgin Killer by Scorpions, the one with the fucked up cover with the young girl on it... Even for it’s time that was a pretty naughty piece of artwork. No wonder it got banned.<br /><br />I felt a little emotional watching Svalbard tonight. I stand in the middle of the room and watch the entire set. They’re absolutely on fire, and the sound is magnificent. They smash every fucking note. The crowd are well in to them as well. I can tell that they all really enjoyed their gig tonight. I’m happy to hear from Liam afterwards that they’re going to stick around until after our set to say goodbye, which is really cool of him since it’s he that is doing the night drive. It would have been completely understandable had they left straight away. We’ve been in that position a few times.<br /><br />Our show is a bit of a different experience. The room hasn’t quite filled back up by the time I go to start the long guitar intro to The Horse and Sparrow Theory. I shout across to Jon, asking if we’re ready and then I literally break a string with the first fucking note. There’s nothing to do but stop and change guitar and start again, which causes a ripple of laughs among the slowly expanding crowd. I guess it’s better to break on the first note than at the end of the forty second intro. We’re a bit sloppy during the show tonight, I think it must be tiredness playing it’s hand. Jon is struggling the whole gig with annoying feedback coming out of his monitor, with the sound engineer seemingly scoobied as to what’s causing it. The gig is saved by Serena making a guest appearance on This is the End, which gives everything a lift. Even if I do break another string during the end of the song. It feels like a good ending anyway, I could have left it there. The crowd hadn’t seemed that enthusiastic for most of the gig, barring a few punks dancing down front and one pissed up old boy jumping up stage and staying there for an age, so I’m surprised by the chanting for an encore. I borrow Jon’s guitar, Judas, for the last block of songs. Before we can get back on with things the old boy is back up and seemingly refusing to leave. He puts his arm around Johan, who encourages him to sing. He shouts “Victims in Blood!!!” into the mic, much to everyone’s amusement except Jon, who seems to be fuming over something.<br /><br />When we finally come off, Jon is shouting about how Serena saved the gig and otherwise it was the worst gig he’d ever played and that he’s going to punch a German if one talks to him. We all laugh at him, but he’s on the warpath. This only encourages us. Jon’s humour abates only for the short while we spend hugging the Svalbard guys goodbye, gutted to see them leave. When they leave, Jon goes immediately back into wrath mode. I piss myself laughing when I clock Rob trying to talk to him and Jon dramatically gesticulating with his arms that he does not wish to be stopped to talk. Rob just looks at me with that usual big smile on his face, which just gets me laughing all the more. <br /><br />We get packed down and leave the gear on stage for the morning since we’re sleeping upstairs tonight. Johan and I grab a much needed couple of cold brews and we stand around the merch table selling bits and bobs whilst talking to some very friendly punks. When we’re done we join Jon for a game of pinball but he’s still in a stinking mood. Poison Idea is blasting out of a speaker directly above the machine and he’s not amused in the slightest by Andy and Johan’s singing along to it. They only amplify the situation by blowing in his ears as he’s banging the table around. And then some punk asks us if it’s too late to buy a shirt I ask Jon if he can help the guy out since it appears to be my turn on the flipper, to which Jon closes his eyes and lets out an exaggerated sigh.When some older guy (someone about our age) comes up and asks for a photo with us all, we all happily oblige bar Jon, who silently backs away, staring us out as he does so. We manage to encourage Jon to come take a photo and stop being an arse, and I hear Jon asking Johan if the guy wanting the photo is the bastard who was blowing in his ear. He seems disappointed to hear that it was in fact Johan.<br /><br />We leave Jon to it and head upstairs to finish off our beer in peace and quiet. A couple of the punks from the house are up there and want to know if we will party with them, but we politely explain that we’re goosed after the day we’ve had, which they are completely sympathetic about. And when we mention our plans for a trip into Köln tomorrow on the way to the festival in Eindhoven they give us some tips on what to do there. Our main intention is to see the cathedral and just do something in general that doesn’t involve being in the van all day. Shortly afterwards the big singer from the local band appears in the doorway to the dining room we’re sat in wearing just his kecks and a t-shirt, “I did not see you guys play tonight. I will catch you next time,” and then stoats off back to what I assume is his bed.<br /><br />Jon joins us a little while later and is finally back to his old self, thank fuck. We sit around for a little while longer and then call it a day. Nice not to have the alarm set tomorrow. We have breakfast here and then a short drive lined up. Which is most welcome since we’re driving after the gig to a hotel in Bremen to break up the journey home a bit. I lie in bed reading The Idiot by Elif Batuman for a while before turning my phone lamp off. Jon is sat on the bed opposite me in the meditation position. It takes me a little while to nod off, knowing he’s sat there in the dark like a phantom. Besatthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18249422950419263931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-872830042269797401.post-33943518907689071302019-11-01T14:15:00.001+01:002019-11-01T14:15:17.080+01:00MunichThe first thing I had to accomplish when waking up was how to navigate my way down from the eight foot high bunk bed I was in. And I was only on the second bunk of a tower of three. The top bunk was simply fucking lethal. I sat there trying to work out how to twist my body around the thick wooden ladder without destroying my back for ages, and then I spotted Johan lying on his bottom bunk, looking up at me laughing. The thing with being last to bed is that the best beds get taken. <br /><br />The big friendly promoter had left us a bunch of breakfast materials in the little kitchen outside the sleeping room, and after a quick shower in the freezing cold bathroom, I enjoyed a cup of filter coffee that Jon had made. I was relieved to find that this place provided clean towels, too. At the hostel in Budapest yesterday there were none, and disappointingly, I’d realised that I’d misplaced the towel I’d bought with me somewhere along the road. I first tried drying myself off with the pillowcase but that just pushed the water around, and ended up using paper hand towels from the dispenser on the wall. Proper fucking rubbish.<br /><br />We decided that we’d spend a couple of hours looking around the shopping mall before leaving for Munich, since the end of the tour was in sight and we needed to get something for our kids before going home. Can’t go away from the kids on tour and come home empty handed, it’s just part of the deal. The shopping mall in the old gas tower was pretty spectacular from the outside, but on the inside it was dying. It’s glory days were obviously long behind it and bankruptcy was in the post. Strange place. And a little depressing. Kind of wished we’d just taken the metro back into the city centre instead. There was an outlet store opposite the venue that, although equally depressing on the interior, was a bit more of a success on the kids present front. And the middle aged woman serving at the counter was chuffed as shit for some reason. She giggled the whole time we dealt with her, which cheered me up a good deal.<br /><br />The drive to Munich was, not for the first time in my life, somewhat of a disappointment. The scenery along this highway can be quite amazing, with the Alps off on the horizons along stretches of it, but today it was so foggy and grey for the most part that you couldn’t see any of it. And then Liam texted from up ahead and said there was a big accident and a long detour. We managed to pull off the autobahn just in time, it would have been a nightmare getting stuck in it, but the parallel country lane we ended up on seemed to be infinite. I was very relieved to finally get back on the main road. Johan drove the last bit of the way into Munich and I sat there in the back of the van looking at the rush hour traffic we were crawling through, about an hour late for load in, and contemplating our losses. I really like the city of Munich, I was here a lot in the early days of touring and always had a great time, but today, we would be seeing nothing of it. It was always a tradition to go to the famous beer hall with the giant pretzels and beers and the oompah band, the one that was the infamous venue of Hitler’s beer hall putsch. I was a bit gutted that the tradition would be broken today. I hope I donät have to wait another eight years for the next opportunity. It kind of felt like we could have left earlier this morning and had a couple of hours here instead since we didn’t really do any more of Vienna this morning, anyway. Oh well. Win some, lose some.<br /><br />Liam texts saying they’ve just arrived and apparently the promoter is panicking a bit over our lateness, but when I meet the guy as we jump out of the van he is nothing but a broad, beaming smile. We’re a bit rushed, but it’s only us and Svalbard tonight, so the guys soundcheck and we sort our merch out. The slightly depressed feeling I had upon arrival, I think we’re all suffering a bit from weariness today, you can sense it in the tone in the van, dispersed as soon as I saw the room. It was small and we were playing on the floor. All of sudden I could feel the buzz again. From the sounds the promoter was making, it was going to sell out tonight, too. The tiredness was forgotten, rubbed out, just like that.<br /><br />We had dinner in the house next door, this place, Sunny Red, is part of the whole Feirewerk cultural park. There were already people queuing up to get in, which felt promising. When we were here eight years ago, we played in the larger Orange Hall with Municipal Waste, but tonight there is a brass orchestra playing there, which means they’re taking the band apartment and we’re in some hostel a few kilometers away. Shame, since the apartment here was really nice. Still, the in house catering is banging and the vegan lasagne they’d made for us was absolutely beautiful. <br /><br />It was another early show tonight, Svalbard on just after nine and everything done by ten-thirty. I went back over to our venue and found the room pretty packed already. The promoter told us there was only three tickets left on the door. From tired and slightly down to happy and buzzing in the space of an hour or so. On top of that, my really old friend Micha was just turning up. I met her through touring with Speedhorn back in the very early days, and we’ve been friends ever since. She’s one of the sweetest people you could meet, and always so happy and positive. When she comes walking through the door we laugh and embrace in a big bear hug. We haven’t seen each other since I was here last time, which sucks. But we stay in touch with each other and tell all about how it’s going with our families, etc. Micha met her husband Markus at a Speedhorn show in Essen in 2007, which is quite a thing. She was there to hang out with us and he was there to see Carnivore I guess. Still, just another nice little detail to add to our story. It was so great to see her. Her friend, although looking maybe a bit unsure of the cultural experience she was about to endure, was also really friendly, and we stood around talking about our kids and life in general. I only wish I had more time to catch up properly.<br /><br />The show was by far the best of the tour so far. Berlin was great since it was a big venue and pretty full, and all the shows have been good, not a stinker anywhere in sight, but you just can’t beat a floor show for atmosphere. It kind of just runs itself. And when you’re playing in the crowd it just gives you a massive buzz. Although my body is starting to scream for home and getting back into some sore of exercise routine, the thirty odd minutes we played tonight just flew by, and I spent the entire time dancing around the space I had, singing along with the crowd at all the usual parts. Jon still went ahead with the barefoot routine, credit it to him. I noticed that part of his routine is that he takes them off during my long guitar intro at the start of the set. He knows what he’s doing. Cracked up yesterday when Liam told me that Jon had said to him at one of the gigs that the sub bass vibrating through the stage had given him an outer body experience and he felt he was being abducted by aliens. He’s on another plane from the rest of us sometimes. Love him to bits.<br /><br />We don’t bother doing the mandatory break between set and encore, it would be silly to wade through the crowd, just to come back, so we blast through the quartet of old bangers and then call it a day, Jon encouraging everyone to take ahold of their lovers beside them and have a dance to This is The End. I’m floating after the gig for a while, and have a great time at the merch stall, selling and socialising. Johan is buzzing, too. He’d seemed a but quiet all day, but he’s now smiling like a toddler on Christmas morning as he fetches us a couple of beers. We aren’t moving the van anywhere tonight. It’s safer here than by the hostel, anyway, according to the happy promoter, who is telling me that the night was “Absolutely, kick ass amazing!” Chuffed.<br /><br />Being All Hallows Eve, it’s a national holiday tomorrow, and we’re warned that the traffic on the autobahn is going to be a bit of a mare. It’s a six hour drive if all goes smoothly, so that’s my already wafer thin plan of getting up early and heading into the city for a quick walk around firmly quashed. The venue closes as soon as we’ve loaded the van and there are no bars open around here. Some other friends of ours, Claudia and Harry, who know Jon from Sayadina days, and were also big Speedhorn fans and came to the anniversary show last year, tell us there are some Halloween parties going on in town if we want a drink, but the thought of the drive tomorrow has put a bit of a cold wet flannel on things. <br /><br />We’re told there is a bar at the hostel, but that turns out to be a disco in the basement and doesn’t entice in the slightest. Otherwise we’re just on a big long, faceless avenue, and the only thing in the immediate vicinity is a garage and a McDonalds. Johan and I head to the garage to get come crisps and I pick myself up a pretzel. We’re sharing an eight bunk room with Svalbard tonight, although Serena wisely takes her own room, since she knows the snore orchestra will keep her awake all night. We all sit around for a while and munch on snacks and enjoy an accompanying beer, although, the beer isn’t as enjoyable as the beautiful Pils I had directly after the show, the first one is always the best. The pretzel is the saltiest thing I’ve ever eaten, I can almost feel my liver shrivelling as it goes down. I give half of it to Serena who somehow manages to finish it off before agreeing it was indeed bizarrely salty.<br /><br />Liam literally lies down on his bunk and begins to snore. I actually wonder if he’s joking, but Alex assures me he’s not. Sounds like a horse up there. And with that we decide it’s time for bed, and one after one, the snores join the choir. Serena made the right choice, sorting out her own room.Besatthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18249422950419263931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-872830042269797401.post-24741254168070224392019-10-31T18:25:00.002+01:002019-10-31T18:25:46.534+01:00ViennaChoices, choices… Are we going to join Svalbard at the thermal bath or head to Vienna for a look around there? I certainly could have done with a soothing bath after sacrificing a decent night’s sleep for a couple of beers, but I really wanted to see Vienna. I’ve played there four or five times and never seen anything more than the inside of a venue or squat. We met up with Zoli for a farewell breakfast and Liam mentioned that they had room in their van for anyone who wanted to join. It was a little tempting… But no, Vienna it would be. <br /><br />Felt a little sad saying bye to Zoli, it’s been great hanging out with him again. But there will be other times ahead, I’m sure. Still, felt it a little bit, him waving to us as we jumped in a cab to take us back to the venue. The drive wasn’t too bad, and we got to see a little bit of Budapest on the way out. There is this really cool rock face on the other side of the bridge on the Buda side of town, with statues of what I assume are important old men and the like in the cliff face. Rather beautiful. Would be a nice spot to check out if one was here on a romantic weekend with your loved one I imagine, as opposed to having a bunch of grumpy, tired old men in tow.<br /><br />The drive to Vienna didn’t take too long and we arrived at the Arena venue with a couple of hours to spare before load in. It was a long time ago I was last at this place, we played here a couple of times with Speedhorn in the early 2000’s. I remember being particularly fucked on one of the occasions, over in the little punk cafe on the left side of the compound. I remember something about someone smoking hash out of a dirt pipe in the ground, and maybe something about eskimos. Quite the night. This place is really cool, though. There are four or five stages, one of which is a big open air in the middle of everything. Then there are a few different brick buildings housing different small rooms, bars and stages, as well as a building where they have the band apartment. We’re playing in the smallest room, which is very good news as far as I*m concerned. It looks kinda like the room at Kafe 44 back home, holding about one hundred at a stretch. Saying that, last time Speedhorn played this room and there were only eight paying punters. And that was fucking rubbish. I remember the promoter telling me at the time that as bad as our show was, the week before he’d had Reo Speedealer on and they’d only sold four tickets, and even then only two turned up. What a kick in the tits that is.<br /><br />We intended to make the most of the time we had and walked over to the metro station for the short trip into Stephansplatz by the big cathedral, right in the middle of the city, Sure beat the fuck out of haging around in the industrial estate the venue is in. The weather was perfect for sightseeing purposes. Cold, crisp and sunny, with the light just beginning to fade, giving it that perfect shimmering, moody blue/black sky as a backdrop to the sensory onslaught of magnificent buildings. It is without a doubt one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen. It honestly made me a little emotional. But part of that is to do with the thoughts of what a great time I would have here if I was here on holiday with the family. It kind of made me miss them a little, as much as I loved every second of the two hours Andy and I walked around, having left Johan and Jon at a pizza place. I wanted to try and find something for Jen since it’s her birthday next week, but it was all upper class designer shops or souvenir places. I did find a pair of joke Freud slippers, yes, they were actually called Freudian Slippers. I was so tempted. But at forty euros, even if they were genius, the price was a bit salty. All I ended up buying was a coffee and a delicious piece of apple strudel before we headed back to the venue for soundcheck. Bonus to find that Johan and Jon had already loaded in and set up.<br /><br />Soundcheck was pretty fun. This punk lady was engineering and she was super sweet and really enthusiastic, buzzing about the place with a huge smile that infected everyone. Really cool person. The stage was tiny, though, so it was hard to get anything more than myself up there, but I’m sure it would be okay, you know, as soon as the room was full of people.<br /><br />The promoter was this big bomber jacket wearing lad with a crew cut. Real military looking dude, but friendly as anything. He showed me the dressing room and proudly showed me the array of vegan food he’d shopped in, even stretching to vegan chocolate bars. Well chuffed. We had a buyout for dinner so walked over to this mall that was built out of huge old gas tower. There was a noodle restaurant there with very happy staff and good grub, so we sat in and I enjoyed a beer with dinner, just to top off a good afternoon of sightseeing. Dad was coming to the show again tonight, and he’d just texted saying he was sat in a bar across from the venue watching the football. Johan, Andy and I went by and met up with him. It was great to see him again. He bought a round in and although I was a little hesitative about having another beer close to gig time, it felt too nice to turn down. We all agreed and so sat with him and had a blether for a while. He didn’t seem to have enjoyed Vienna as much as Berlin, much to my surprise. But then it turns out he’d once again booked an absolutely shit hotel. Don’t know how many times he has to look at a few extra details beyond the price when books places, but he never learns.<br /><br />We all head back to the venue with dad in time to see the second half of Svalbard. The room us pretty well filled out, there must be at least ten times as many as that Speedhorn gig here all those years ago. Seems like Svalbard had a good show, Mark tells me he really enjoyed it. Liam still wasn’t one hundred percent satisfied, but he’s admitted that’s kind of his thing. I really enjoy playing our show tonight for some reason. It’s not there was a huge response or anything. There we plenty of people but not much movement, although you could see people were enjoying it. I think it must have been seeing dad in the crowd with a big smile on his face that got me pumped up. And maybe those two beers. Jon dedicated the last song to him, saying we had a special guest in the crowd, “Gaz’s dad, Grandfather Victims, all the way from Corby.” I was a little taken aback when the crowd cheered and applauded loudly and dad’s face lit up as we gave a pumped fist. He looked well chuffed. I gave him a big, sweaty hug afterwards and he laughed, “Fucking hell, you’re minging!” <br /><br />I took merch duties after the gig and gave dad a free shirt. He said he wanted one as it would be great for “Bullshit value” at the Rock among with his mates. He loves “Bullshit value”. He had to head off shortly after since he was up early for the flight home. I look forward to seeing him at Christmas when he comes to stay with us. It’s times like this when I realise I don’t see enough of him, which is too bad because we’re really close. But we’re both busy as fuck, doing our thing. The reason I’m “doing my thing” is largely down to the huge encouragement he always gave me as a kid. Some punk comes to buy some stuff and tells me how he thought it was awesome that my dad was at the show. I can only agree.<br /><br /><div>
We pack the van, knowing it will be safe within the compound, and then sit down to a beer in the cosy little punk bar beside the gig room. At one point some crusty punk sits next to Andy and starts babbling about “Bookers”, saying that if we hadn’t done a show with a booking agent, our friend Zoli that is, then there would have been a lot more people at the show. I guess what he’s trying to say is that if the entrance on the door had been eight euros instead of fifteen then it would have been better. He doesn’t mean any harm by it, though, he seems like a nice enough guy. Andy is not interested, though, “I don’t care. There are far bigger problems in the world than punk rules.” Conversation over.<br /><br />I laughed with Andy earlier, saying that when you sleep at the venue it’s usually when you sleep the least, since bed is comfortably close and you can go sleep at “any time”: So there’s always the chance of just one more beer since it’s all cosy and you’re enjoying a chin wag. That’s exactly how I played my hand, too. I only had two beers, but I ended up staying up until two thirty, even though I’d been ready for bed long before. It was nice sitting there with Alex, Mark and Liam though. The other Victims guys had all gone to bed, leaving me directions to the bedroom, since we were staying in a different house than the Svalbard guys and I hadn’t been to our place yet. Those two beers got me tipsy, though, and when I got to the door of the house and found it locked, it left me a bit scoobied. I rang Jon, but then found another door before he answered and hung up. I knew the fucker would be waiting for me to have a go, though. I went to step into the dark doorway and mistook the flat ground for a step and nearly went tits aloft, but saved it barely into a stumble. Not sure if the Svalbard guys saw it. Those beers must have been strong. <br /><br />When I found my way up the stairs I see Jon has left a Yahtzee score sheet on the floor that he’s drawn a big arrow on, pointing at the door. I’d woken him, though, as predicted. He gives it a moan, as predicted. </div>
Besatthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18249422950419263931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-872830042269797401.post-38454655093101103062019-10-30T13:37:00.002+01:002019-10-30T13:49:49.637+01:00BudapestWe met the Svalbard guys for breakfast, hard going on the vegans among us, but pretty good coffee, we were back on the road for the remainder of the journey to Budapest. It only took another few hours and was pretty nondescript for the most part. Sat with Zoli in the back listening to him reel off a list of assholes. I was taking the piss out of him and his pessimistic view on human beings in general and then we pulled up at a gas station to fill up the tank and are immediately accosted by some woman trying to flog us a mobile phone. “See? Assholes!” Zoli chortles, chuffed with himself.<br />
<br />
I have a hard time compartmentalising shit. Jen is so much better than me, it’s one of the things I admire most about my wife. But when I get a call from the building blokes at home telling me there’s a problem with the bathroom renovation it puts a damper on the rest of my dad in principal. There is also some stress around our bachelor thesis that I need to sort out and all of a sudden the joy of touring is gone for a while. I know everything will work out in the end, but I’m not the best at dealing with setbacks in the immediacy. My first reaction is always emotional where as Jen is more logical and analytical, even if she is pissed off. <br />
<br />
Anyway, we get into Budapest about an hour before load in and to add to my current mood it’s grey, cold and raining. We’ve been speaking since before the tour about going to an outdoor thermal bath here in Budapest but scheduling has gone against us somehow. I’m sure it would be fucking magical sitting in a hot bath right now, but I agree with Andy in that going after we’re done with soundcheck would just sink us completely and we’d be so relaxed that playing the show would be a real struggle. Then there are thoughts of maybe going in the morning with the Svalbard guys but we decide to try and make the most out of Vienna tomorrow, since it’s one of those beautiful cities that we’ve all been to numerous times and yet never seen anything of it. We load in and go for a quick walk around the park opposite the venue. We played here last summer and it was around thirty eight degrees, it’s quite the contrast today.<br />
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The venue is a massive complex, full of different rooms and bars, as well as three stages, of which thankfully we’re on the smallest. It’s like a huge military bunker inside, and the dressing room and catering is two long corridors away from where we’re playing. So everything kind of feels disconnected somehow. Svalbard in their room, Zoli is kind of off and about having to deal with work stuff. And then it’s his last day with us today since he has to stay home and sort work stuff out before he goes out with Tribulation and Ghost. Everything just kind of feels like a Sunday. When we’re done with soundcheck Andy and I head out for another walk around the block because the only other choice is sitting in the dressing room bored, sniffing the food cooking next door and getting hungrier and hungrier.<br />
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When we get back dinner is ready. The catering staff here are really cool people, really seem to love their job. They made a skull shaped cake for us with Victims and Svalbard written on it. Really sweet. Dinner is great too. A good meal certainly can lift the spirits. As well as game of Yahtzee with a couple of Svalbard friends, of course… <br />
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It’s a strange show tonight. There are plenty of people in for a Tuesday night show, must be eighty or ninety or so, and although far from being packed, the room is still filled out enough to create and atmosphere in. The sound is really big as well, it’s a proper professional set up. We have a bit of a meeting with Zoli about plans for next year but I catch the second half of Svalbard’s set. It sounds really huge and I really enjoy watching them from behind the merch table. <br />
<br />
Since the bar is in another room at the end of the corridor from the main entrance, the room is as good as empty when we set up, and it takes a while for the crowd to filter back in as we get started. It doesn't start well. I fall off the stage first song and barely save myself from going arse over tit. Big fucking scrape down the calf as I miss my footing. Almost fall right into Alex is stood up front watching us. Feel like a right knob. Everyone is back by the time we’re into the second or third song. With the crowd filled back out, I start to get into the gig and feel pretty good on stage. It’s maybe the first time on this tour that it’s felt really easy playing. But then it kind of takes a dip again when a gang begins moshing and the rest of the crowd step back and to the sides, leaving that hole in the middle of the room I’ve seen so many times. On top of that there is some pony-tailed lad that seems to be having some sort of alcohol induced psychosis, over in front of Jon. He’s standing shouting at himself and anyone else around him. At first I think he’s really into the gig but I soon understand it’s something else. I say something across the stage during one break and he immediately jumps on it pretty aggressively “What did you say?!” “Love you,” I say in a slightly too sarcastic tone. I ignore him for the rest of the gig but see him being ushered out by a friend at the end of the set. The moshers all line up at the end for high fives and handshakes, and there is some cool old lady punk smiling widely, “I’m getting too old for this!” she jokes. “Me too!” I reply and give her a hug. Weird gig somehow, can’t really put my finger on it. I guess it was just a bit flat, but that could have been to do with the crowd’s caution around the moshers. “They had a good time at least,” jokes Johan.<br />
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Afterwards I join Mark and Serena in their dressing room for a chilled out drink, discussing the gig and agreeing that it was a little strange. We’re going to pack then van tonight and leave it here, since the venue is in a securely gated compound and the hostel we have is in the middle of town. Zoli and his girlfriend wants us to join them for a shot of some Hungarian plum moonshine. We meet by the bar and Zoli proudly lines them up. I get the feeling he’s a bit sad about leaving us. I really can’t do shots but on giving it a sniff it doesn’t seem to bad. It tastes wretched, of course. Zoli is chuffed though.<br />
<br />
We load out the vans and try to work out the crack with the hostel. It’s called the Hive Party Hostel. Liam then shares with us the weirdest fucking “Sleeping Story” I’ve ever heard. All bands have “Sleeping Stories”, and I’ve some belters myself, but this was something else. Apparently they played Amsterdam and the promoter put them up with some guy she knew. But from the get go it felt off. He was making grunting sounds at Serena before they even left, which they had to tell him off for, and then when they got to his place he went into full psychotic mode, off his tits on coke, carrying an axe around. He was demanding the guys all took a sniff with him, and their polite attempt at a refusal just seemed to push him further into the rage. The mad bastard sat around sniffing coke off the fucking axe and shouting insanities, making a bee-line for Serena and obviously making her very nervous. They decide to just get down for some sleep and get the fuck out first thing in the morning. A couple of hours later they’re awoken by the terror of the bloke kicking the door open, axe in one hand, torch shining a light in their eyes with the other hand, and shouts something about the toilet being broken and not flushing it if they need to use it. To top things off they found him in the morning sat watching porn at full volume on his laptop. What a fucking scene!<br />
<br />
The joint tonight isn’t anywhere near that level, but it’s not great. Can’t claim false advertising though, there certainly is a party going on. The rooms encircle a courtyard with a disco below and the shit music is blasting. As we make our way into the rooms Johan and I wonder if they are soundproofed. <br />
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Nope.<br />
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Apparently the disco is on until two, another hour away. Alex mentions some rock bar nearby that we could go to for a beer. Sounds better than lying here listening to this piss. Serena and Liam come along whilst Jon and Mark hang out for a smoke and a meditation session. We can’t find the rock bar and just as it’s starting to feel useless since it’s already one-thirty I’m suddenly being frisked by a big bouncer bloke. I’m not even sure if we’re supposed to be going in to the place he’s bouncing, but apparently we are. It’s actually a cool place, though, like some indoor market full of different bars. We get a round of draught beers in and find an alcove like room and sit down for a chat. One beer turns into two and three am. It was nice sitting with the guys though, and worth the sacrifice of sleep. Maybe. Liam tells me that he thought it was funny that I described Mark as a really mild mannered guy, telling me there’s a darker, road-ragey side to him. Hard to imagine. We’ve all got our dark sides, though. Liam asks us who has the temperaments in Victims. After some consideration I say that Jon and I are certainly the emotional ones. Johan offers that he and Andy are the grumpy ones. I guess that’s true, but thankfully those sides of us show themselves rarely.<br />
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By the time I get into bed it’s three-fifteen and we’re supposed to meeting Zoli for breakfast at nine. I text him telling him to make it ten instead. Hopefully we’ll still make it in good time to Vienna tomorrow. Besatthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18249422950419263931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-872830042269797401.post-17798246162267503022019-10-29T14:02:00.002+01:002019-10-29T14:02:59.073+01:00PragueI slept pretty well apart from waking up at one point covered in sweat, literally dripping through it. Can’t be getting night sweats at this age already? DO men even get night sweats? No, it was the sun blasting through the huge, curtainless ground level window behind my head. I managed to drift back off, once the sweat that had turned to ice, after kicking the covers off, thawed a little. <br /><br />The alarm was set for coffee and sightseeing this morning. Mark had just brewed a pot so we sat there enjoying a mug of java whilst I waited for the shower to become available. When I was clean and ready to go, Jon came walking out looking like the back end of a bus. “Morning Jon.” “Morning”. “Are you coming into town?” “No.” Didn’t even break stride, just walked into the toilet, did a piss and went back to bed. Zoli had work to do so it was just Johan, Andy and I that went off exploring. It’s not that often that we play cities I’ve never been to previously, but strangely enough Dresden was one of them. It was one of the things I was most looking forward to at the start of the tour. <br /><br />We took the thirty minute walk into town. It was a grey morning but the air was just the right side of brisk. We stopped for a quick cup of coffee and a sarnie at some nondescript place just before the river across from the old town and then made our way over one of the bridges. The view from the river was quite something. It looks like the set from a gothic film, all black stone churches and grande architecture. We stood there looking at the almost overbearing buildings for a while. The ominous history of this city made me feel heavy hearted. Even though the old buildings are black due to being constructed of sandstone, it paints a picture of fire and ashes, an almost tangible image of the hell on earth the British firebombs created here. And, of course, once you walk through the inital facade you end up in an area of sterile, soulless modern buildings, which makes things even more eerie because it hammers home the fact that they really did destroy the whole fucking city. What a horrible fucking thing.<br /><br />My main mission was the Bombing Memorial and walked in search of it as the other guys checked out a Lego shop in the shopping gallery. There was a church on the other side of the huge open square but I couldn’t find the memorial. After much head scratching looking at Google Maps, I happened upon it almost haphazardly. It was simply just a modest little plaque in the cobblestones. Fitting, somehow.<br /><br />We all met back up, the three of us having had the morning gut shuffle as a result of the earlier coffee. Andy said he’d had to run from the Lego store as it hit him like a ton of bricks, and had a bit of a sweaty panic on since the shopping gallery was huge. When we were all back together Andy said he’d actually went inside the church I’d walked around whilst looking for the memorial, and that they’d had a photo exhibition of before, during and after the bombing, whilst some string quartet played music. I can not believe I missed that due to having my head stuck in Google Maps. I wanted to go back but we were pressed for time. Fucking bummer.<br /><br />We took the tram back to the venue where Jon and Zoli were waiting for us and after loading out Johan drove the two hours to Prague. We arrived with about an hour to spare and Zoli took us to another one of his long string of vegan restaurant tips, some place called Moment in a part of town I’d never been to. In contrast to Dresden, it feels like we’ve been to Prague every summer for the last six or seven years, due to playing one of the many Czech festivals every year. As much as I love Prague, it wasn’t on our list of sightseeing priorities this tour. The drive to Budapest tomorrow is about seven hours, and with the curfew on the show tonight being ten pm, we’re playing with the idea of booking a hotel somewhere along the way, maybe drive a couple of hours tonight if we can get out of here by eleven. It feels strange to blow of Prague really, but the 007 club is up on this huge hill on the edge of town, and then the band apartment is on the outskirts on the other side of the city, but there is no safe parking there, and the recommended safe parking spot is actually in the centre, meaning a lot of faffing around after the gig. Feels easier just to drive a couple of hours and break up the journey since we won’t get much chance to do Prague tonight anyway. <br /><br />The food at Moment is great anyway. Vegan fried cheese and hand cut fries. Fucking banging. Jon is not impressed though. Zoli had made him an offer, that if he tried it and honestly didn’t like it, then he would buy Jon three cans of Monster energy drinks, Lewis Hamilton edition. One of Jon’s current obsessions. Three cans of Hamilton, it was. Jon managed about half of it before lifting the remains of it on to my plate, which I happily gobbled up. It was a bit gluey in consistency, to be fair, but it tasted great, and the vegan tartar sauce was wonderful, as well as the chips. Reminded me of my mum’s, who always made the world’s best chips. The service was not quite up to the same standard as the food, though. Which annoyed Zoli. “Assholes!” It doesn’t take much to wind up in Zoli’s Asshole Book to be honest, but this time he had a point. The young woman at the till taking payment had a face like a bag of wasps. She was not impressed with Zoli’s babbling, or the fact that as he was paying he then asked for a slice of chocolate and apple cake, and then when she banged in the new amount Zoli had his back to her and dancing at us. I winked at Zoli and told him to watch my British charm in action, totally hamming up the confidence, knowing that if I pulled it off Zoli would be furious. No dice. She was indeed a miserable bastard.<br /><br />We drove over to the 007. Last time I played here was actually with Zoli in 2007 on the Speedhorn, Bridge to Solace tour where we first met. He likes to point out that the night we played here was the night Liverpool got beat by Milan in the European Cup Final and he found me outside the venue, sat on a fence, sobbing. I debate that I was sobbing, but he insists. I’d had a few drinks I guess… I’m not totally confident in my denial of his story. Funny to be back here with him, anyway. We get all nostalgic about it. <br /><br /><div>
The drive up to the venue is pretty cool. It snakes up the huge hill, giving amazing vistas of the entire city, and then when you get to the top you meet a huge, open roofed stadium that was intended as an arena for all sorts of things but, aside from communist rallies in the days of the Iron Curtain, seems pretty much to have been unused since. On the way up the hill there are all these big houses which look like they cost a fortune and then all of a sudden you’re in a project of student housing which is block after block of concrete grey high rises. The venue itself, is legendary, though. One of the best DIY spots around, and small enough that fifty people would make a good evening of it. Zoli tells me they’ve already done eighty and are expecting well over a hundred. It’s going to a good night.<br /><br />It all starts with a bit of work, though. Nothing quite as boring as actually having to do some work on tour. The input jack on my amp fell inside the amp last night, leaving Johan and I, mostly Johan, although I feel my lamp work was an integral part of the operation, exploring all options of how to get thing back out. The amp casing is more secure than fucking Fort Knox so we end up fishing it out through the tiny hole that has been left in the front of the amp. It’s beyond tedious. Like Mission Impossible. One of the punks that work here even gets involved, the three of us having lengthy discussions about tactical alternatives. After an hour of this shit we finally get it back in action. By the time we’re done and I’ve restrung my SG, the doors are opening. By the time Svalbard go on an hour later the place is pretty much packed. I attempt to watch them but can’t get anywhere near the stage, and the ceiling us so low in the place that the view is just completely blocked. They sound great anyway. And the crowd seem to be well into them. Almost to the point where I think this one could be entirely theirs tonight. <br /><br />I’m sat in the side stage room waiting for the Svalbard guys to pack up. Just as Serena walks in I go to congratulate her on a great show and my attention is caught by Jon’s pale spotty arse in the corner, changing his kecks for the show. He’s been sleeping all night and seems to be in a bit of a daze. <br /><br />Gratefully, there is still enthusiasm enough left for us guys too. It hits me that this is a really good package, the two of us. Really compliment each other well. The sound on stage is a bit chaotic on the cramped stage with the roof right above your head. I can barely hear anything Andy and it’s one of those shows that you have to make your way through on energy alone. I’m a bit plink/plonky in the beginning, and the songs are all going a little too fast, but I settle in about halfway through and get to enjoying it as much as the crowd seem to be. I spend most of the gig on a block right on the edge of the stage, no intention of being Slash or anything, it’s just there’s a fan blowing down from the ceiling right in that spot and it’s lovely and cooling. But then as we play Scars at the end of the set I noticed two of the punks gathering together and before I know it two of them have picked me up and launched me into the crowd. I’m being passed around on a sea of hands, almost pressed up to the ceiling for what seems like an age. In the beginning I try to continue playing the song but there’s no chance. I assume that they’re going to pass me back to the stage but every time I start dropping down they lift me back up. It’s fucking crazy. I catch Andy’s glance and see his concern, but I’m give him a smile and let him know it’s okay. In truth, I’m shitting myself. That concrete floor looks hard from up here. In the end I manage to take my guitar off and hand it off and they finally deliver me back to the stage. Way too old for that shit! It’s a fun ending to the gig though.<br /><br />It’s a quick load out tonight. Zoli is banging on about driving into the city to grab a Beyond Burger but I want to get going since I’m doing the drive. I’m incredibly thirsty for one of the cold cans of Gambrinus in the fridge and want to get the hotel as soon as possible and crack one open. Worst choice of city on this tour to skip an aftershow beer in lew of a drive. Svalbard have decided to join us too, since they had a whole day of Prague anyway, and Liam is really intent on us all going together to this outdoor spa in Budapest we’ve been talking about. The drive takes a little longer than two hours, and it’s repeatedly slowed down by roadworks. The hotel is decent though. Just on the outskirts of Brno. Another city I’d really like to see someday. Maybe next time.<br /><br />Everyone is pretty knackered when we pull in around one am, but I'm in need of a beer and a wind down, so whilst most people go to bed, Zoli and Jon come up to mine and Johan’s room, having been chased out of theirs by Andy. We sit on the bed and play a couple of rounds of Yahtzee. Every time Jon throws a double three he comments on how it is a curse that follows him around. He says that he first began noticing it months ago, that even his regular Yahtzee friends at home noticed it. He tells us that at one point it got too much and he had to stop playing for a few months. Not to encourage Jon in this nonsense, but he throws an eerie amount of Double Threes, shaking his head and mumbling to himself every single time. </div>
Besatthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18249422950419263931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-872830042269797401.post-37935415159620425292019-10-28T20:18:00.002+01:002019-10-28T20:39:52.217+01:00DresdenI woke up in the Germany Vegas hotel room, foggy and confused, by Jon shuffling about the room getting dressed to go out. I looked at the clock on my phone. It said it was eight am.,but I felt like I’d had more rest than six hours. And then I realised the time had moved to winter time and we’d gained an hour back. Jon looked at me on the way out, “Proves my point about circular time exactly,” he says, continuing on from the weird conversation he was having with me/himself last night. He was off to the market with Helene for a few hours. I wished him well and went about enjoying a couple of hours relaxing on my own in the hotel room. <br />
<br />
He got busted on the tram without a ticket and ended up with a sixty euro fine. <br />
<br />
After breakfast in the enormous lobby area we dumped the bags in the van and went for some coffee and scones at some cool little cafe just round the corner from the hotel. Heike and Colin lived right nearby, as well as our friend Jobst from the bands Nothing and Munster, so we met up with everyone and hung out for an hour or so. It was nice seeing Jobst since he couldn’t make the show last night. We understand of course, he’s old like us and has two kids, and sometimes it’s hard to work things out. It has been nice being able to hang and socialise with friends these first few days, have to take advantage when you get the chance, there’s always a long drive lurking around the corner, it feels like.<br />
<br />
I drove all the way to Dresden today, happy that it came in at the two hours as advertised. We got to the venue about a half hour before load in time, but the place was about a thirty minute walk from the old town and we have time in the morning to check the city out, so end up just hanging around in the backstage room drinking mug after mug of coffee and nibbling at the various vegan snacks on the table in the backstage room. Once again, the room feels a little bit on the large size tonight. I’m a bit confused though, since I’m sure Jen told me she played this place with Misdemeanor a couple of times back in the day and that it was a cool little place and they had really good shows here. But then a while later a friend of Zoli’s turns up, a guy who actually booked Victims years ago, and he tells me that the venue did used to be a lot smaller but they got a cultural grant from the government and built it out a bit. Typical. Sunday shows can be hard, I know myself that draggin my ass out to a Sunday show at home is a rarity. Would have been nice with a smaller room, all the same. As if to compound the Sunday feeling, Alex the promoter, a big German guy with a big smile, greets us, and tells us that he booked our show at Zoro in Leipzig five or six years ago. It stokes good memories, we played with our friends Moloch and Thou and the place was packed. Alex then laughs a little, slightest tinge of nerves in his voice, “I guess it won’t be like that tonight.” <br />
<br />
After soundcheck Johan and I sit in the backstage room and watch the Liverpool Spurs game on his tablet, my neck straining nervously as the Mighty Reds come from behind to win 2-1. With that taken care of we nosh on with some dinner, and then get down to the all important business of Yahtzee. Serena and Zoli join in, neither having really played before, so Jon happily guides them through the match, advising them what moves to play, huffing and puffing as he critiques my every move, which then spurs me to ham it up completely. My first throw I get two sixes and a five. Jon insists you should always go for Yahtzee, but I defy him and throw the last hand for a full house. Jon shakes his head incredulously, as a five and a six bounce up and give him a huge whoop! He’s proper annoyed, “It was still an amatuer move!” The rest of the game goes shit for me, but I still get a kick out of winding Jon up. Zoli, after on game, is totally hooked. He stumbles upon a bit of beginner’s luck and after that he wants to play again. Jon has found a Yahtzee disciple.<br />
<br />
The local band start playing, and from the first few notes Jon concludes, “They sound like a band that is going to play for a very, very long time.” They don’t really, though. A modest half an hour or so. Germany used to be famous for having local opening bands that would play an hour set and then encores. There are over a hundred people in the place by the time they’ve finished and all of a sudden it doesn’t feel too bad. Alex is a little relieved since we’d only done around thirty pre-sales. A hundred or so on a Sunday night is about as much as we can hope for, and it looks pretty good when Svalbard are playing, and they get a good response too. Heike and Colin made the trip over for this show too since Heike’s parents live close by and they could babysit for them. I sit with them in the bar room and talk about Dresden, the guys giving me good sightseeing tips for tomorrow. <br />
<br />
I’m feeling good and ready to play by the time Svalbard are done. Always gives you a little push when you think it’s gonna be a bit of a stinker and then there ends up being quite a few more people that it originally seemed it would be. As we’re waiting in the dressing room the Svalbard guys to pack down, Jon asks us if we’ve seen this Marvel film that has some sort of Hitler character in it, or something. I don’t really catch it, but Johan and Andy jump on it straight away. “What, like, Superhitler?” “Spiderhitler? Awesome concept!” <br />
<br />
It’s a really fun show playing wise, and the crowd are having a decent enough dance of it. It’s easily the best on stage sound of the tour so far, and it feels like it’s almost at the point where the songs are playing themselves. There is one guy grunting a lot between songs, shouting “Hallelujah!” and “We love you! We need you!” Bit weird, but okay. He looks chuffed as fuck, anyway. Jon seems to be doing some sort of ballet dance thing between songs at the minute, which just adds to the bare feet thing. Fuck knows. Anyway, all in all, a very, very decent Sunday show. As I’m packing up my gear afterwards some big crust punk with a mohawk beckons me to him and starts shouting German at me. I tell him I can’t understand and he just shakes his head and says, “No English! Singer!” I happily oblige and find Johan and smirking, tell him his presence is required. I check it out as I’m packing the rest of my gear up and hear them saying something along the lines of “Best singer!” Johan thanks them, Mohawk has a mate now, who seems to be translating his German into more German. It all ends with them giving Johan a pair of snazzy sunglasses and insisting he wear them. He looks like a right tit. He walks around with them on top of his head for a good while afterwards though.<br />
<br />
I get chatting with Mark the Svalbard drummer once I’ve dried off and gotten myself a cold beer. He asks about my dad, since he thought it was great how he came to the show last night. We make a nice connection, although a sorry one, since we both have parents that have passed away. We stand chatting about that stuff for a while. I really like him, a real mild, easy going chap. We’ve made a really good connection with the Svalbard guys very early on, it feels like.<br />
<br />
<div>
Liam has had a couple of beers after the show, first time I’ve seen him a but tipsy. He comes up with the great idea of trading in all the beer tokens and taking a crate back to the apartment. He’s making a few saucy remarks, obviously taking the piss. Serena starts laughing at him, and Liam says he’s going to go all out Tommy Lee. “Tommy Liam!” I chirp in, well chuffed with myself. Serena and I decide we’re gonna make that name stick. When we get to the place, it’s one of those typical German style squat/apartments, although I guess it isn’t squatted. But it’s rough and ready, a couple of rooms with hand crafted bunk beds made out of thick pieces of wood. There is a shower and towels, though, and most of the beds have quilts and pillows. Of course, I left my sleeping bag in the van and the bed I’ve been alloted is bare, but Johan gives me his since he has his bag. Going back to the van would have been a pain in the ass. Andy laughs, saying that it’s typical of me to forget the sleeping bag, since I used to have a bad habit of not bringing one with me, and now even the one I have was given to me as a birthday present from Andy and Johan, and then I leave it in the van. Liam has done the same thing, it turns out, but he can’t be arsed going back either and says he’ll sleep in his clothes. <br />
<br />
This all leads to a conversation about sleeping bags as we’re sat around a long table in the front room whilst some of the gang play Yahtzee. Alex Svalbard tells us that he had once had this sleeping bag that had been left somewhere for a couple of years, he’d forgotten about it I guess. And then this one night they played in Bristol and were staying at Liam’s and the sleeping bag had turned up. When he went to remove it from it’s holder bag, though, it was no longer a sleeping bag and was now a scuba diving costume, the body suit you wear under the wetsuit. We all piss ourselves laughing as he says, dumbfounded, that he ended up just wearing that and sleeping in it. I’m laughing so hard it hurts my stomach. I don’t know why, but it tickled the shit out of me. <br />
<br />
We sit up until around two thirty, the Yahtzee gang, now including a very enthusiastic and equally serious Zoli, at one end of the table, Andy, Liam, Serena and I at the other. Serena and I get talking about studying and it turns out she’s a kindred spirit, psychology and sociology major. We sit there talking about our favourites theorists and the stuff we are working on at the minute. She is in the first year of her PHD, and she’s interested to hear about how it’s going with my soon to be completed Bachelors. It’s been another nice day, and a really good end to the night.</div>
Besatthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18249422950419263931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-872830042269797401.post-7827407200977466182019-10-27T16:56:00.000+01:002019-10-27T17:00:20.079+01:00BerlinI could get used to this crack. Seven hours of solid sleep, minus one piss break, in a decent bed. Zoli was already lying awake in bed looking at his phone when I arose from slumber. I asked him if he slept okay, he told me it was fine apart from the fact that every time Andy moved around in the bunk above him flakes of concrete from the wall behind him fell on his head. Otherwise, everyone slept well last night. It’s nice to wake up on tour feeling normal. The back wasn’t even as bad as I expected. Bonus.<br />
<br />
We were all booked in for brunch at some vegan place that Zoli has been raving about, and Feddi is meeting us there. We had a couple of hours to kill, though, so the Victims guys got showered and sorted and went for a stroll around the area. On the way to the van to dump the bags we saw a slew of drunk Hamburgers staggering around the streets like zombies. Must have been a heavy payday Friday! We passed a couple of blokes who were struggling to stand, looked like a right pair of wideos, I could swear they were gonna start shit with us when we walked by them but they didn’t notice us until about three minutes later when they then began shouting at us… “HALLÅ!!! HALLÅ!!!!” We just laughed and carried on.<br />
<br />
We grabbed some very decent coffee to go and went for a wander around the backstreets of St. Pauli without any real plan, but somehow ended up on the Reeperbahn. It must be fucking magnetic or something, you always seem to end up here in this city, intention or not. It’s pretty fucking miserable really, hungover tourist and sadness. I’m walking with Jon and I ask him what he felt about last night’s show. “One of the best shows we ever played,” he says, totally serious. He never fails to amuse me. We turned off soon enough and back into the nicer, quieter streets of St. Pauli where we bumped into Feddi on his bike with his young boy in the box on the back, half asleep. He said they’ve just been to some gymnastic park, enjoying the fresh air. It is indeed unusually pleasant weather for this time of year. There are still plenty of people taking their coffees at tables outside the cafes everywhere. A very nice change from home right now. We asked Feddi if there were any record shops around he was happy to show us, so we walked along with him having a nice chat along the way. The little record shop was really cool, with some very happy looking old guy with a moustache and a cheesy smile keeping the shop, and there were piles of records everywhere, but it was far too expensive for our tastes. There were some hardcore punk and metal records in there that I’d bought once upon a time for like, five euros, that were now going for thirty or forty, When did this happen really? And how much is my fucking record collection worth?<br />
<br />
We met up with Zoli and the Svalbards at the cafe. I love the fact Zoli gets very excited about good food places. He was buzzing around like a small kid, telling everyone the crack and giving tips. Of course, all the staff recognised his big mug and all. He told me he’d been here every time he’s been through on tour. It was a cool, rustic little place with a vegan buffet and coffee for €16, which was a bit steep, but the food was great, and they did freshly made scrambled tofu to order, which was the dog’s baws. There was a slight communication miss, though. Liam Svalbard ended up mincing down a piece of pork salami, believing that everything was vegan. Which was kinda how I’d translated the message and all, but then when I’d seen the buffet I figured there was no fucking way they were making Roquefort look that realistic. The ham slices had eventually stirred Liam’s suspicion but it was too late. Gutted. Jon was chuffed, though, when he heard that Serena is a meat eater like him. He was sat next to her enthusing away as he does. I warned Alex their bass player next to me that our guitarist was probably going to freak Serena out soon. I heard Jon saying to her that the only thing he refuses to eat is fish. I leant over and asked why that was and he replied stone cold, “Fish fuck in the sea.” Only Jon…<br />
<br />
Apart from the slight mishap, brunch was a roarin success. After thanking Feddi again for his help and hospitality we made our way back to the van to get going towards Berlin. I’d drive the first hour and a half, Johan the second. Except, we should have learned by now, that you can never trust the autobahn. When it works it’s great, when it’s SCHTAU it sucks. It wasn’t even SCHTAU today, it was just fucking closed for twenty five kilometers, turning our three hour journey into a six hour one. It was pitch black by the time we arrived at the venue, two and a half hours late. The venue people were cool about it, though, and very relaxed, which always helps. <br />
<br />
The first thing that hit me when we loaded the gear in was, shit, this venue is too big. It was a cool place, though. Seemed to be some old cinema or something, and there were myriad rooms and alcoves with stone walls, an outer courtyard with bar, another cosy little bar out front completely disconnected from the music room and even a little cinema room. I wish they had places like this at home. Zoli is chuffed, tells me they’ve sold over a hundred tickets in advance. Even then though, it would take twice that to fill the room out properly. Anyway, being late we decide that Svalbard should soundcheck and we can just linecheck later. There are only the two bands tonight and we’re using the same set up and backline pretty much. I’m happy to skip it and relax for a while, we have a few different friends coming tonight and most importantly, my dad is making an appearance. Zoli thought I was joking when I told him my old man was coming to the Berlin and Vienna shows. I’m really chuffed, I don’t see him as much as I’d like, but he’s making the most of his retirement and always travelling all over the place on his own, and he since he’d never been to either Berlin or Vienna he thought he’d kill two birds with one stone and spend a few days in each whilst catching a couple of Victims shows. Really cool.<br />
<br />
“Gareth? Gareth?” That never changes, though. Dad has a habit of calling and then when you answer he’s busy doing something else. I hear him talking to some random German and he’s obviously looking for directions to the club. “Been walking back and forth like a tit, boy! Can’t find the place.” Obviously he hasn’t put the address into his GPS on his phone, he’s just walking about asking people in his Welsh/Corby accent. I figure out he’s by the Ostkreuz station which is just around the corner, so go to meet him. It’s great to see him. Plus, he has a book delivery for me, and a war protest poster from Vietnam that he picked up for me when he was there earlier in the year.<br />
<br />
We walk back to the venue and after taking him in to say hello to everyone we go to the cosy bar at the front for a beer. I’m driving after the gig to the hotel tonight, but I can have the one with my old man. Especially when he’s buying. On the way I bump into another couple of friends who we’d arranged to meet tonight, Colin and Heike who we know from the States and the Another Breath crew, so we all sit down for a beer and a chat. Shortly afterwards we’re joined by the rest of the Victims guys and Jon’s dear friend Helene and her friend, who both live here. Helene put on an amazing show for us here at Kastanjenkeller years back. Probably one of the most fun shows I ever played. It’s magic having this little get together with everyone.<br />
<br />
The place is a fucking maze, though. Going back and forth a couple of times, I get lost. Three times I end up in that little cinema room, and then when I finally find my way back to the bar I end up walking through a door that leads behind the actual bar and get bawled out by the bartender. <br />
<br />
After sitting around chatting for an hour or so, over a very nice cold pint of pilsner, we head back into the gig room to see Svalbard. I’m pretty amazed when I see how many people are in the place, it’s pretty packed. Zoli is by the merch smiling profoundly. Apparently they’ve done over two hundred and thirty tickets. The place is buzzing and Svalbard get a really good reaction. My dad is stood at the back by the door to the merch room where I’m stood for Zoli for a while, “These are alright these ain’t they?” he chirps. They are a really good band, really good at what they do. And as a bonus, really nice people. It’s going to be a fun few days hanging out with these guys. <br />
<br />
The punks filter out of the room for some well needed air after the Svalbard set and we get to work. My dad cracks up at some crust punk guy who has taken a spot on the floor, lying down with his hands behind his head looking at the stage, waiting for us. “Not a bit of a poseur,” dad says with a broad smile on his coupon. Dad loves a poseur, Totally laps them up.<br />
<br />
The show tonight puts the rustiness of last nights show in perspective. It’s always the same with first shows. Even if it felt okay last night, tonight is so much better and so much tighter. We have a great time during the gig, I love seeing my dad stood against the side wall near the front with a big smile on his face, watching us and cracking up at the crowd moshing and crowd surfing. There are a lot of smiling, dancing punks down the front which always gives you that extra bit of energy. At one point Jon removes a pair of sunglasses from some punter and wears them for a song, chuffed as fuck. The only downer for him is that his guitar strap snaps off or something, but his old friend Breeder is on hand to help him out. It’s a proper banger and we’re all chuffed afterwards. Dad comes up to me as I’m wrapping my leads up and gives me a big smile, “No wonder your back is fucking knackered,” he laughs. He tells me he’s gonna shoot the crow, his words, since he’s been walking around all day taking photos of stuff and needs a kip. I tell him I’ll see him in Vienna.<br />
<br />
Some young guys get talking to me afterwards, a guy called Lukas originally from DC. He wants to ask me about my guitar pedals, he says the guitar sound was immense. I’m not all into the pedal talk, but happily talk to him about other things, and we stay there and chat for a while. Really sweet guy. I love meeting new people, always have time for a chat. We do really well on merch tonight and even get a percentage break on the door, on top of the guarantee. Not often that happens. This just keeps adding to Zoli’s levels of chuffed. What a great night it’s been, meeting up with more friends again and a brilliant show. I have half a bottle of cold beer and then we pack a couple to take with us back to the hotel. The weird thing is, though, the promoter has booked us into this four star hotel, but it’s the only show on the tour that Svalbard don’t have accommodation which feels a bit embarrassing. We could have happily taken some cheaper place where everyone could have stayed. <br />
<br />
When we’ve packed the van we go on a food hunt before heading off. Apparently there are places over by the Ostkreuz station so we head over there. The station is buzzing with Saturday night drunks and ravers, and we have to make our way through the concourse to the other side and through the rabble. There is indeed a cosy little area on the other side of the station and we find a little sit-down falafel place. The guy behind the counter seems less than happy to see us, though, he just stands there shaking his head as the nine of us order food. We sit outside at some tables and have a blather whilst we wait. I really appreciate the fact that it’s only day two and already it feels like we’re mixing well with the Svalbard guys. The food is worth the grumpy attitude anyway, really nice, fresh grub. When we’re done we make to go and Zoli starts complaining at us, saying he was thinking of getting another falafel wrap. Greedy sod. “Come on guys, it’s Saturday night in Berlin!” We walk off and he begrudgingly follows suit. The thing is, years back, of course we would have gone drinking until the early hours, but if I was out at one-thirty back home these days I would be falling asleep already. One-thirty in Berlin is more than a good enough innings, I reckon.<br />
<br />
We walk back through the station and Serena and Jon make a stop at some bakery kiosk. As we wait around for them Serena comes up to us, half smiling, half shocked, and says some rude German woman had just barged behind her in the queue and then just shouted her order over her shoulder, leaving Serena speechless. I comment that I guess she must have been wasted, Serena has a different reflection in it though, “She was just a fucking cunt!” laughing about it all the same. Andy cracks up, “Love the Brits”.<br />
<br />
The hotel we’re staying at us fucking ridiculous. It’s Germany, or maybe someone said Europe’s, largest hotel. It literally has thousands of rooms and we’re staying in the second wing of four, I think. It’s total Las Vegas. Pristine, huge and shiny, and somehow still tacky. The lobby has a huge glass ceiling about seven stories up, and there are bars and restaurants strewn about the place. It looks more like Central Station than a hotel. We dump our bags and decide on a nightcap before bed. There is some other band at the bar who we try to avoid, since one of the guys is wearing black metal clothes and has a man bun. Obviously a wretched person. I jest, of course. Zoli is curious, though, he always wants to know who’s who. We leave him to it as we take our beers to one of the sofas. Zoli joins us soon after and tells us they’re actually nice guys. I’m sure they are. We just couldn’t be bothered with band talk. <br />
<br />
Jon heads up before us, since he’s intent on making it to this market in the morning. I’m not far behind him, though. I’m more than ready for bed. The one beer was perfect. I walk into our room and Jon is sat meditating on the bed, full on yoga style. I apologise for barging in and disturbing him and his eyes burst open, “That weed I got from Breeder was a real upper! I’m fucking buzzing!” and then he starts banging on about circular time for a while. I don’t really keep track with what he’s talking about, I just leave him chatting away whilst I nod off to sleep in the bed beside him. Besatthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18249422950419263931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-872830042269797401.post-51037160379644544922019-10-27T02:39:00.001+01:002019-10-27T02:39:07.635+01:00HamburgIt’s a bit of a novelty, looking forward to going on tour and sleeping in a real bed. For the past six weeks I’ve been on the floor at my mother in law’s small apartment whilst our place gets replumbed. If everything goes according to schedule, we should be able to move back home when I get back from this tour in ten days. <br /><br />I’ve been looking forward to this tour for a while, first time we’ve been out for a longer stretch in a few years. Last time we did more than three or four shows was on the west coast in the US in 2016. It will be an interesting marker of where we’re at to see how us old guys with bad backs fare. The drives aren’t too bad, and the shows are all pretty early, which the fact that it pleases everyone immensely shows how old and boring we are. Fuck me. We are a middle aged Svenne banan punk band in every aspect. <br /><br />The only real big journey’s are the two bookending the tour. Stockholm to Hamburg, Eindhoven to Stockholm. And it’s only myself and Johan with a driving license. We split the first journey in two, though, leaving Stockholm after work yesterday and crashing at a hotel on the outskirts of Malmö just before the bridge. We got there without incident. It took about six and a half hours including the mandatory stop for dinner at Max’s. The hotel was a pretty nice Best Western right next to the Malmö Arena, where there seemed to be a big expo or something going on. After driving all evening I could have happily taken a night cap, but the bar was firmly closed. All that was left were a few pissed up businessmen and a deserted table with a couple of half drunk bottles of wine. Andy said when he’d gone in to check us in there was some woman who was pissed as a fart and had walked into a pillar. Swedes on business trips...<br /><br /><div>
Had a really good sleep anyway. Oh for a real bed. There was a bit of contention as to who was sleeping where, or maybe that was just in my tired paranoid mind. But I really wanted one half of the double bed as opposed to the shabby looking bunk bed. Andy went to get into the bottom bunk but was too long for it. Johan took it in the end and I crawled under the sheets and enjoyed every second of it, even Andy snoring beside me like a horse didn’t bother me. Funny thing is the big bastard woke up in the morning and asked who was snoring, complaining that it woke him up. Woke himself up.<br /><br />After breakfast at the hotel, which was included, but was in a big grey room overlooking the ice rink of the arena. Andy pointed out the pissed up woman from last night, looking surprisingly bright with her cup of coffee. The journey down through Denmark to Hamburg only took about five hours and was pretty easy. It was windy as fuck on the bridge though, a couple of times I had to fight the gusts pulling us off to the sea. I assumed with the wind being the way it was that the ferry from Rödby to Puttgarden was going to be a bumpy ride, but it was fine. It’s only a short stretch I guess. We only had time for a coffee and the one game of Yahtzee before we were off again. Jon has this proper big case for his Yahtzee kit, for some reason is has ASS BOY written on in huge letters. Jon marked us up on the scoresheet as JPT (Johan på toan), BRX (Brexit) and TOK. I love the humble self-image he has of himself. I felt a bit bad as we were sat there playing, I had one crap hand that meant me being forced to scratch the small straight and fuming, I called the dice a bunch of cunts, not noticing the old couple and their grandchild beside us. It’s Jon’s fault, he encourages everyone to take Yahtzee very seriously.<br /><br />We got to the venue in Hamburg about an hour early, having foregone lunch on the way from Puttgården due to the veggie options at the one dinner we found being french fries. This is a new venue for us here, we’ve pretty much always played the Hafenklang.and it seemed to cause a few hurt feelings that we weren’t playing there this time. It’s a bit of a shame, they’ve always taken such great care of us. I don’t really know why we ended up at this place this time around, but it looked pretty cool all the same. A smallish room, with cosy setting, sofas and shit, dotted about the back, and still very punk, in the basement underneath a hip little bar. There was nothing to do for the next hour anyway so we decided to go for a walk and stretch the old pegs, but we’d only walked two minutes when Zoli phoned. He was stood outside the venue with two boxed of our merch. It’s pretty fun how Zoli and I toured together twelve years ago and then apart from a couple of glancing moments, hadn’t really seen each other since then. And then last year we met him at a show in Budapest and now he’s our booker, and for the first few shows on this run, the tour manager. Not that we really need tour managing, but fun to have him along all the same.<br /><br />We have to work out what to do with the merch, since two minutes ago the staff in the bar above the club said they didn’t know much about our gig. But now there’s this old guy there, who apparently is running a techno club directly after out show. Seems pretty friendly. Zoli gets chopping with him and he tells us that we can take the merch downstairs, that the sound engineer is down there. “Thanks Techno Man” Zoli chortles and we trudge downstairs. We get talking to the sound engineer and he tells us he’s going to be a while so we can still go for a wander. I ask him if we’ll be able to leave the gear in the club tonight, hoping obviously that we don’t have to have it in the van overnight, and that Johan and I will be able to have a drink after the show. He tells us that the techno club starts at midnight and it finishes at six pm the day after. “Drug abusers, you know?” So I guess we’re not leaving the stuff in the club…I then notice a ridiculously high drum riser on the stage, it’s like, shoulder height. We ask the guy if that is really where the drums are supposed to go. “Yes,” he says without a blink. I laugh and tell him that’s not going to happen.<br /><br />It’s nice to see another part of Hamburg for a change, instead of the usual meandering around the Reeperbahn. We’re on the outskirts of St Pauli on the other end, it’s a nice little area full of coffee shops and bars, small shops, and a couple of old assed churches. When we get back to the venue we soundcheck, which seems to scupper the sound engineer’s plans, since he was hoping we’d just go for linecheck, being the first show of the tour and all. It’s just as well we did because soundcheck throws up a few niggly technical issues. It’s gets a bit fucking strange when Svalbard soundcheck and Serena the singer is asking for more vocals in her monitor, and the sound guy tells her to sing louder. What the fuck…<br /><br />The Svalbard people seem friendly. I don’t really know much about them apart from they’re from the UK and they once did a cover of This is the End on a compilation record back in the day. They’re going to be out with us for eight of the nine shows of this tour. Just from the brief bit of chat around the vegan pizza the promoter sorted us out with, I can tell we’re going to get along just fine. Still one of the things I love the most about touring is making new friends and meeting old ones. And on that point, both our old friend Daniel Haffenklang, who always used to book us there, and our dear, beloved Stachel, texts me and asks about going for a beer. We arrange to go to some bar that sells good stuff that Stachel knows about. Text Daniel the place and ask him if he needs a guestlist, suspecting that he won’t since he knows everyone in Hamburg. He tells me he’s sorted. Zoli then tells me that it was Daniel that booked this show for us tonight… which I guess explains why we’re not playing Haffenklang. I knew Daniel ahd left there but not that he’d started here. Although he has now since finished here too…<br /><br />Stachel and his girlfriend and another friend of there’s arrive outside the venue where we’re waiting for them. It’s so great to see him. One of my favourite people on the planet. It’s been far too long since we hung out. They have been living on Gran Canaria and then Mallorca for a couple of years. Anyway, it’s great to see him. His cheeky face is exactly the same as ever. “Garrrrry!” His tone hasn’t changed, either. We go to a hip little beer abr five minutes away, Stachel is very enthusiastic about good ale, and he loves bringing friends to good places. He kindly treats us all to a round. I wasn’t going to drink before the show, but I spot and ale that is only 3,9% which Stachel tells me is really good. Johan and Andy go for one too. Funnily enough, we all say afterwards how it went straight up to our heads. My ears go a fuzzy warm about halfway through the pint. Ridiculous. It’s great chatting and catching up with everyone, and soon enough, Daniel arrives too. Couldn’t ask for a better start to the tour.<br /><br />Zoli’s good friends, The Cold, are opening the show tonight and Andy, Johan and I feel we should go and support them. The fact the stage times have all been pushed back suggests that the walk up is slow. I’m surprised when we get there to find the room pretty well filled out. I enjoy their set as well. Svalbard are good, too. They have a bit of an epic, black metal tinged punk thing going on with Envy-style parts going on. The sound is really good out front, and a lot of people seem to be in to them. I get the feeling that they’re going to pull a few people on this tour. <br /><br />Our show feels okay. It starts well enough, there are over a hundred people in the room and it feels like a good attendance in this room, I have plenty of energy to begin with, spurred on a little by Stachel’s presence up front, his huge smile glowing as ever. But the energy kind of fades a little somewhere along the way. There isn’t a whole lot of movement from the crowd, it’s all arms folded and nods. There are barely any crust punks here tonight, either. I don’t know if that’s a Haffenkland issue. There is the usual crescent of empty space in front of the stage, with everyone else cramming at the back, and as we’re playing Errors Jon decides to fill that space and comes flying over to my side of the stage on the dancefloor in front of me, he comes sliding across on his fucking knees to play the harmony break with me in the middle of the song, chuffed as fuck he is. Proper cheesy rock moment gone wrong. Only thing is, he totally misses the notes and it sounds as sour as fuck.Things perk up a bit when we get to My Eyes, about half way through, and as I’m wondering what’s keeping Jon from starting the intro riff I notice him steadying himself on the ridiculous drum riser, right up above Andy. He stands there like a rock God, rocking out the intro riff. I crack up at the sight of it. Then when he gets to the end of the intro Andy has to wait to kick in the drum start because Jon needs time climbing back down again. Fucking nonsense.<br /><br />We kind of plough through the rest, the crowd starting to make the first tentative signs of movement for a couple of the old songs. But there is the odd miss from Andy here and there, I manage to pull my lead out of my pedal a couple of times, and then during one break I look up and see Johan looking stressed, his hair is sticking out into wide flanks either side of his head, as he walks about the stage asking if anyone has seen his ear plug. I daren’t let him see, so I turn away and laugh my ass off. For some reason, the sight of him, with his wild hair, just cracks me up. It hits me how old and pathetic we must look.<br /><br />By the time we get to the end of the normal set, it feels pretty clear we’re not doing any encores. It’s been a typical first show on tour, had that vibe all over it. And besides, the sound guy put the music on as soon as we finished. There is one guy in a Wolfbrigade t-shirt though, who was looking chuffed all through the gig, who comes up to me as I’m packing my leads away and asks if everything is okay. I assure him it is. He seems disappointed we didn’t play longer, tells me he drove three hundred and fifty kilometers to see us. Feel a bit bad about that. I was feeling a bit down on the gig by the end of it to be honest, but I didn’t mean to show it. I don’t know why I felt that way really, it was a perfectly acceptable gig.<br /><br />We sold a bunch of merch after the show anyway, so I guess people were into it. Jon had said before the last song about how when he used to go to shows he used to do this thing called “moshing” but he guessed Germany had missed that boat. To be honest, though, I can’t remember the last time I saw Jon moshing at a gig...Not like any of us old sods do that anymore, if the truth is told. When I go to gigs, ninety percent of them time, I’m an arms-folded nodder.<br /><br />There are a pair of older punk guys insisting they buy whoever isn’t driving a shot. I lie and tell him I’m driving. “Okay, where is Johan!?” he shouts enthusiastically. That puts me on the spot. I canät think of anything else than to tell him Johan is driving, too. He’s not buying that though, and goes off in search of him. The fact is, Johan said he could drive the van to the sleeping place tonight, and I would take tomorrow. It’s all irrelevant though, since neither of us would likely end up drinking more than one at any rate. <br /><br />The techno club people are soon chasing us out. Techno Man has now changed his tune and all. I’m stood talking to Zoli at the merch who is packing up, and he storms over fuming at him, complaining about the fact that we haven’t taken our backdrop down yet. “If you don’t get rid of this RUBBISH I will take it down and burn it” That gets Zoli going straight away and the two of them end up in a bit of a row. It ends with Zoli shouting, “I don’t like you anymore Techno Man! What happened to that mellow guy we met this afternoon? Bring that guy back!” Techno Man seems to be offended by the actual backdrop, too. “I hate this shit with skulls and crossbones!” Zoli points out it’s only skulls, no bones. Fucking nonsense. Fuck knows what Techno Man’s problem is.<br /><br />With help from Stachel and crew, we load out into the street whilst Johan goes to get the van. Jon is nowhere to be fucking seen though, apparently he bumped into some hippie woman from the techno fest and is nowing getting a tarot card reading. Great fucking timing. Load out doesn’t take long though thanks to help from everyone else, but Zoli still finds time to wind up a couple of German women who are wanting to get into the techno club. They obviously don’t appreciate his charm. I have a couple of beer tickets left, so head into the hipster bar and trade them for a couple of bottles of Becks for the sleeping place and give one to Zoli. After a lot of hugging, we say goodbye to our dear friends and then head off for some vegan kebab that Feddie, the singer from The Cold leads us to. We park up the van in some park next to a church, or some kind of tower anyway. When I get out of the van I find Jon stood up against the bricks of the tower with his arms outstretched embracing it, starting up at the sky. Leave him to it.<br /><br />The vegan kebab is fucking great. I go for a box of kebab and french fries, Feddi is helping the entire Victims/Svalbard crew translate their orders. Both Liam and Serena from Svalbard told me they’d seen Speedhorn back in the day. Liam told me that the singer in his old band had been in our first video as part of the crowd. I asked him who that was and he told me his name was Merv. “Fuck me” Big Feet Merv?! Small world!” I laughed. We all stand around on the busy street noshing it down and making satisfied groans. Andy joyfully observes that it’s not even one am yet and we don’t have to leave until the afternoon tomorrow. We’re staying at a band apartment, which Zoli received the address for, but also a picture of the door since there were a few doors to the same address. They’d told him to look for the monkey. There was obviously a bit of farting about, and we tried four or five doors before realising that the picture of the door we’d received was on the opposite side of the street from the address we’d been given. It wasn’t much bar a couple of rooms with bunks and a shower. But it was warm and it was quiet.and that’s all we needed. We sat up for a while with the Svalbard guys drinking that beer and having a chat and then went to bed.<br /><br />Zoli gets into his bottom bunk and groans about the hard mattress, saying he’s going to wake up looking like Nordberg from Naked Gun. Tickles me.<br /><br />It’s a luxury not having to set the alarm in the morning. </div>
Besatthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18249422950419263931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-872830042269797401.post-50371970023473258532019-10-07T14:34:00.005+02:002019-10-07T19:37:41.504+02:00Punk Rock: exploring extremism and politics within subculture I'm in the early stages of writing my bachelor thesis in psychology. This is what they call the home straight, the final stretch, as it were. It's been five years of full-time study, part-time/sometimes full-time work, dropping off and picking up from nursery/school, and playing gigs and recording records. I'm still working on that fucking book, too. Actually, I'm not really working on it anymore, my part is done, I'm waiting to see what's going to happen with it, more like.<br />
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Anyway, what I'm slowly getting around to is this. These last five years of studying have been a great journey, one I never thought I would take when I was stuck working in a warehouse in Corby twenty-two years ago, dreaming of full-time touring with a band. I was convinced then that I'd never go back to education, such had the misery of senior school been. So to have ended up studying a degree in behavioural science in a second language, in another land, really feels quite remarkably absurd. I've loved almost every second of it, though. Funny how much "easier" studying is, when you're "genuinely" interested. I've always been pretty good at relating the reading material and applying the theories I've studied to my own background and areas of interest. Looking back over some of the papers I've written, I thought about how some of the things I've worked on might be of interest to those who read or share an interest in the stuff I write on this forum, Punk Rock and Coffee.<br />
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The main intention with this site has been to share accounts of life in a band on the road, both current and previous. But looking back over it, I appreciate that it's also a kind of chronicle of my life and my perceptions of it. Always with a fair hint of mischief, of course. As touring has become less frequent, as life becomes more hectic, the amount of tour diaries aren't of the same quantity they once were. So I thought that in the abscence of that, I would share a couple of articles/papers I've written over the last five years. This main piece was a long essay I wrote as the final exam piece of my A-level course in social sciences at community college here in Stockholm. The module was titled "A history of racism" and we were given free reign to write about anything within that context. I chose to write about punk rock and look at aspects of extremism within it, especially those within the nazi punk scene. I wanted to try to make an understanding of how young people can fall into such an ideology within a subculture that is renowned for being predominantly left-wing. This was written almost three years ago, and is far too long to share on this platform, but for anyone who is interested you can read it right via the link at the bottom. The primary source of the material came from an interview I did with a former member of the nazi punk movement in Sweden. I may write an article based purely on that interview here in the future. The writing is fairly meandering at times (go figure), but I was pleased with the overall results.<br />
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You can read it here, translated to English from the original Swedish text, if you so wish:<br />
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<a href="https://drive.google.com/file/d/12eh9VrjWNf7echgAyAnomp-OjG6qFMyo/view?usp=sharing" target="_blank">Punk Rock: exploring extremism and politics within subculture</a><br />
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Next up will be some more tour diaries, from an actual "tour" that is longer than three days. We'll be heading out with Victims, with Svalbard from the UK in support, around Europe at the end of October. Really looking forward to it, even if I am going to have to work on my bachelor thesis on the road. A little, anyway. But then, it's not like we're still paryting like it's 2009.<br />
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<br />Besatthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18249422950419263931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-872830042269797401.post-76217217333637856062019-09-18T00:07:00.003+02:002019-09-18T07:35:41.352+02:00JyväskyläEven after unnecessarily watching about an hour of Sleeping With the Enemy until about four am, a film I’ve seen loads of times when I was younger, and didn’t even watch it until the end, just lay in bed pointlessly watching a portion of it, knowing I was wasting valuable Z’s, I still woke about just before ten. I felt surprisingly alert anyway. The worst thing is, I knew we’d be up all night tonight, since we had to drive through the night after the show in Jyväsylä to make it to the morning boat in Åbo. The drives have been easy on this little jaunt, but as usual it’s the last one that’s the worst. So more than likely I’d come home a worn out old wreck. Completely my own fault. I may have toned down the booze completely, but I still have a problem battling sleep it seems.<br />
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There was no breakfast on offer at the robot hotel so after showering we made our way out to the streets of Tampere in search of some breakfast. Since we had a couple of hours to kill before picking the gear up from the venue I had earmarked a visit to a Lenin museum they had here, apparently the largest one in Europe. I wasn’t expecting it to be much more than the size of a living room, but I thought it could be cool to see. We walked about not really being able to concur on what anyone wanted. I had a vision of a cosy cafe and a strong cup of coffee but after becoming frustrated with the lack of veggie options we ended up eating at some indoor food market that had a Mexican style grill in it. I was pretty chuffed with my tofu quesadilla but Andy seemed a bit down on his vegan burger. Cracks me up sometimes though. When he orders food he’s normally quite abrupt. “I’ll have the vegan burger” was all he could muster. And then when it came solo on a plate, he looked at the woman and said, “Fries?” There were no fries, which I guess bugged him. Johan and I cracked up at his style. “He doesn’t waste energy on unnecessary words with people he doesn’t know,” joked Johan.<br />
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It wasn’t really the breakfast I’d envisioned but I was still satisfied, certainly more than Andy was at least. We moved along the main street to the end of the road and then took a left over to where the Lenin museum was housed. It was on it’s own floor in a large building, but it cost 8 euros to get in, and given we didn’t have that much time it didn’t really feel worth it. We ended up back at a cafe next to where we’d eaten, and which had us all straight away lamenting the fact we hadn’t taken breakfast here. It was a lot cosier. Andy and Jon tucked into some buns to compensate, whilst I enjoyed the simplicity of a superbly made espresso. Andy went off for a wander before we’d have to meet up with the Massgrav guys, the other three of us stayed on for a game of Yahtzee. Jon really cracks me up. He carries dice and his writing pad around with him wherever he goes in case the occasion for a round pops up. Before we started he laid down the law, “You roll the dice off the table, the dice gets scratched.” My snigger was met with a stare to let me know he was serious. Jesus Christ. Fucking typically enough, in his second throw, one of his dice started bouncing towards the table edge but I didn’t move my arm in time and stopped it in it’s tracks. “Thank you,” sighed Jon, relieved. <br />
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Just as we were about to leave the cafe it started pissing down, properly hammering down from the heavens. It’s been a bit of a feature of this weekend, the rain. I’m glad I lent Jen’s rain jacket, even if it is bright yellow. Fuck punk points, I’m all about sensible atire these days. I texted the rest of the gang to let them know we’d be late and got various replies from different groupings reporting where they were taking shelter. The rain passed after a short while anyway and we met up with the guys outside the hotel. We headed over to the central station and found some cabs, but were looking for a bigger bus to take us all together. Jon approached an old boy in the cab at the front of the queue and asked him if he could message through to his company and send a big cab our way. He looked at him and told him to call one himself. Miserable old sod. <br />
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By the time we got back to the club the rain was just starting to drizzle down again, so a quick pack was in order and then we were on our way. The drive to Jyväskylä didn’t take long. Just long enough for Johan and I to watch the Liverpool game and then to discuss an alternative, ironic analysis of Sleeping With the Enemy. Andy joked saying he assumed that Julia Roberts was the enemy, being that she was clumsy and always leaving stuff in a mess and all that. Then Johan added that it couldn’t have been easy for the husband, how he was always falling ill to the pig sty he was living in, like that time he cut his foot on the beach when she left broken glass on the sand and didn't bother cleaning it up, and that he ends up dying and shit, to which I concluded that he was indeed actually killed by mess. We all piss ourselves, thoroughly amused.<br />
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Norse has another good band tip for us today, Charles Wood and Shitgubbs. This pops up in conversation about bands with great names, to which Norse happily adds this to the canon. Apparently they came from Karlskoga and were awesome. Fuck knows. I love listening to the Massgrav guys gabbing though, they are a great crack.<br />
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The venue tonight is way bigger than the other two places we’ve played on this little run. It’s the kind of venue that when you walk in, the first thing you think is, Uh oh… this is gonna be a rotter. The set up is really professional and everything, huge PA, huge lighting system. It’s just, there is no way we’re going to even half fill the place, so sounding great and looking cool in the shit hot lighting system ain’t really gonna help. Of course, you have to shake that feeling off and just get on with it. We get talking to the sound guy and he seems like a nice bloke, not really much of a punk, but seems to have a clue. He tells us that there is another punk show on in town tonight, at a really small place, with local bands playing, but it’s on earlier in the evening and that everyone should come here afterwards since our show is on later. I can’t help thinking, yeah, or maybe they’ll all just get steamboats and stay right where they are. This place we’re in is part of the university and they have everything from lectures to theatre to punk gigs on here. I kinda wished we were playing the smaller place… <br />
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After soundcheck I drove the van over to another venue, a well known old place, where they were making us dinner. Apparently there was some other non punk gig on here tonight. I can’t imagine there is a big enough scene in Jyväskylä to accommodate three gigs. The food is decent anyway, another version of punk stew. There has been a lot of talk from Jon and Jeppe this weekend about how the Finns never put salt in their food. Jeppe reckons there was actually a movement against salt use in the 70’s, similar to the movement against alcohol in Sweden in the early part of last century. I guess the Finns REALLY used to love salt. Jon has complained about the lack of it every time he’s eaten this weekend, though. Had to crack up last night, though. The curried punk stew in Tampere was indeed missing a bit of flavour to it, and I asked Jon if he happened to have any salt in his bag, since there wasn’t any backstage. I wasn’t in the slightest bit surprised when he pulled out a little sealable plastic bag containing McDonald’s salt sachets.<br />
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After eating we drove back to the venue and found the local support band in the backstage. They were a bunch of very friendly young guys, and we had a really nice chat with them about playing in bands and the scene here. They were convinced there was gonna be a good crowd tonight. Jeppe and I got talking about touring, about back in the day when we toured full time. It hit me that the one and only time before this I was in Jyväskyla was nineteen years ago. At the place we ate dinner. I could see the look on the young guys faces being blown away by that fact and it hit me that we must seem pretty old to them. Jeppe asked who we were playing with back then and when I told him we were supporting Biohazard he laughed. Which, prompted by Andy started the ball rolling on all the bands, mostly rubbish, that we supported back in the day, and some of the catastrophic fallout that came with some of them. From kicking Rammstein’s pyrotechnics over and then later crashing their aftershow party we weren’t invited to, to being left stranded by Mudvayne in Europe, who cancelled the tour halfway through and didn’t bother to tell us since we’d been a bunch of assholes in their eyes I’m sure. Gordon had called the guitarist a fat strawberry. We really did play with some shockingly lame bands back in the day, and never really made an effort to get along with them. Biohazard were great though. Can’t say anything but good things about those guys, had the time of my life on that tour, many, many moons ago.<br />
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Johan turned up in the dressing room a while later, joking about the fact he needed to Victims purse, since the punks were swarming the merch table. I went out a while later to find about eight people in the room and Jon and Johan at the merch table playing Yahtzee. It did get better, though. Somewhat. The young guys in Warfare State played for about half an hour and by about halfway through their set I’d say around seventy or eighty people were in the place. I mean, the room could probably take five hundred, but with the lights down it didn’t look too bad. Done far worse in far bigger rooms with Speedhorn, that’s for sure. Whenever we play gigs to small crowds, or indeed okay crowds as in tonight, but in large rooms, I always think of the Get in the Van book and Rollins recalling how Dukowski balled him out for being down on a show with a low attendance, telling him that it doesn’t matter if there are only four people in the place, they’ve still paid to come see them and deserve a show, it ain’t their fault. I always try to remember that. Tonight was going to be fine. I think the main thing that’s playing on my mind, as well as everyone else’s, is the drive through the night to the ferry. There will be no party tonight. Ola is still tanning away a few tins, all the same. <br />
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Massgrav were superb again. They weren’t quite as jokey tonight, but every bit as brutal musically. I think it really works well with Jeppe on second guitar. I enjoy our gig too. The stage is nice and spacious so there’s plenty of space to move around. During My Eyes I kind of overestimate this, though, and swing my arm in the air before the fast bit comes in after the intro and end up punching one of the lights. Hurt like a bastard for a while, but I haven’t cut it thankfully. In other news Jon now seems to have adapted the style of playing barefoot on stage. I can only imagine what Jen will say next time she sees us play, she’s allergic to this look. There is always something with Jon, though. Always. All in all, I enjoy the gig and by the halfway point of the set there are some people dancing up front. It sounds good to me and I feel it was pretty tight, except for Andy missing the odd thing, but nothing major. He says afterwards it felt rubbish, though. Says he had a really bad sound on stage and couldn’t get into it. Funny how two people in the same band can have totally different gigs.<br />
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After the show they turn on the lights pretty much straight away, and after selling a bit of merch, Andy and Johan shower off and then we start packing the van. There is no rush, since we’re gonna end up being at the harbour at least a couple of hours before check in, but I still want to get going whilst I’m wired after the gig, since I’m taking the first shift. I crack up as we pack the van since Fenok seems to have gotten himself a bit tipsy, and is walking back and forth with a pint in his hand, taking one case at a time, making small quips to everyone he passes on route. I haven’t really seen him drunk so far this weekend, but he seems to have decided now was the time. Some of the young guys are sat on some concrete steps outside the venue, listening to music and partying, but it’s fucking cold out and doesn’t look the slightest bit fun to me. I guess we are old.<br />
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The drive to Åbo isn’t as bad as I thought it might be. It takes a long time, about four hours, of which I drive three of them before Norse takes the last stretch. Ola sits up front with me DJing and chatting away, keeping me alert. He does a great job of it, I’m really impressed by the fact he stays awake all the way to the boat at five am. The only fucker is that I get flashed by a speed camera whilst looking for the heater to get rid of the foggy window. I wasn’t going that fast, but hadn’t noticed the limit had gone down to eighty, Fucking bastard. Tonight was the first time I’ve drank Red Bull in about fifteen years I think..It did the job, I’ll give it that. That and Ola anyway. By the time Norse drives the van to a stop at the harbour I have a hard time sleeping. There are six of us in the back, all trying to sleep sat upright, rain hammering the roof of the van. Only Fenok seems to be in the land of nod. By the time we get out of the van and on to the boat, three hours later, my knees and back are in fucking agony. Getting into bed in our cabin in the bottom of the boat and turning the lights out feels almost orgasmic. I don’t even care if I sleep, I‘m just overjoyed at stripping down and stretching out under a quilt. Unfortunately, as much as I could happily sleep for the entire eleven hour voyage, I have to keep the day turned in the right direction, so begrudgingly set the alarm for twelve-thirty. I intend to enjoy every second of the next four hours in bed. I fall asleep almost immediately. Besatthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18249422950419263931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-872830042269797401.post-54344720658294997202019-09-14T18:18:00.003+02:002019-09-14T18:18:42.792+02:00TampereAfter more than twenty years of touring, there aren’t many “firsts” left in the bag, but this morning saw one. I went for a jog. I’ve been running a lot recently, I’m trying to get fitter and get my back in shape, and I’ve really been enjoying going out every day, listening to a podcast whilst skipping along through the woods. I’d brought my running shoes in my bag, but I wasn’t really all that sure I was actually going to put them to use. But after coming up back to the room after breakfast, and still having a couple of hourse before checkout, I thought, fuck it. Let’s go. So, for half an hour I ran around the botanical gardens and the bay next to the hotel, listening to an interview with Margaret Atwood. Times certainly have changed. <br /><br />We met up in the lobby of the hotel at twelve, but as we were about to head out it started pissing down. So we sat about for a bit, shooting the breeze. Norse parped up when he recieved a link with a band called Puppy and the Handjobs and their song I Eat Abortions. “Was it Ken, who sent you that?” asked Ola. Norse laughed in confirmation. Ola chuckled, not in the slightest surprised.<br /><br />When the rain let up we made our way out. We had a couple of hours to kill before we could get in to the club and pick up the gear to load the van. Both Johan and Ola had asked the sound guy last night if they could have the number to the person opening the club up today, “Yes, but do not ring him before two. Text me instead.” Norse was itching to give the guy a call, just to fuck with him. We stopped at a cafe on the way to the venue, enjoyed some nice cappuccino and the warmth. For a nation of coffee drinkers, the java isn’t always the best in this country. But today’s hit the spot. Satisfied from the caffeine most of us headed back out to have a look at a record shop, whilst Johan, Jeppe and Jon stayed for a game of Yahtzee. Jon has brought a kit with him. He takes it very seriously.<br /><br />The record shop was pretty cool, a lot of old jazz records, but I wasn’t really in the mood for spending the time to cipher through everything, just looked for the usual two or three I’m always after and never find, and then left it. Ola was chuffed at having spotted a Spider lp, merrily telling me how great they were, “Poor man’s Status Quo,” he said, “Awesome.” Aside from that I spotted an old vinyl which was a collection of old Nazi propaganda speeches, “A terrifying documentary of hate,” it said on the sleeve. I was a little tempted, but backed off. Twenty euros was a bit steep for something that made you feel a bit queasy. Another highlight of the record store was the little section of rap records they had, with the sign “Hippiti Hoppiti”. We’ve been taking the piss out of the Finnish language since got here, just adding an “i” on the end of every word as you do. This was great, though. It’s like they are good humoured enough to take the piss out of themselves. Good people, the Finns.<br /><br />By the time we got to the venue it was raining pretty heavily. Fucking cold too, the summer rains have long gone by now. We stood under a tin roof to keep out of the miserable weather, waiting for someone to open up the place. It’s a pleasure having eight people in the van, though. By the time we did load out through the pissy rain, it was done quick as a flash. Two days done and we have the van load down. Still, nothing like loading backline into the van in the rain to make you wonder how many other ways you could spending a Friday afternoon. After the van was loaded we drove back to the hotel and decided on some lunch after picking up the luggage, before making the drive to Tampere. It was only a two hour drive and load-in wasn’t until seven pm, so we had loads of time. We parked the van up in the grove by the hotel, right in front of a gang of old alkies who were making a right racket. I was sure they would start up some blabber with us but they were too fucked to even notice the huge van that had just blocked out the sun stood in front of them. <br /><br />We popped into a falafel place with some nice vegan and veggie options, just next to the hotel. I sat with Jeppe and Norse, talking about Jeppe’s time in Napalm Death. We’ve known those guys for years, and Jeppe toured with them when he played in Nasum, and then has jumped in for Embury on occasion, like four shows or so. He told me that the first time he was asked, Embury called him like, two weeks before the gig and asked if he could jump in, since his wife was heavily pregnant at the time. Jeppe asked him how many songs were in the set. Twenty five, Embury said. This obviously had Jeppe concerned since he wasn’t even going to get the chance to rehearse with them, he’d be practicing the songs on his own at home. He expressed this concern to Embury, but he reassured him, “Ah man, youäll be alright. Just thrash the strings. That’s all I do.” <br /><br />Ola drove to Tampere, which was pain free. Luxury touring Finland, it’s only two hour drives between the shows. Although, saying that, the worst drive we have is the last one. We play Jyväskyla tomorrow and then take the boat home from Åbo, three and a half hours away, at eight-forty five. So we’ll have to drive through the night and then sit around in the van for a few hours waiting to board ko doubt. Should be a great crack. <br /><br />We made our way to the hotel in town before going to the venue. It was in the middle of town, one of those self check-in with a code deals. Andy was navigating up front, but his phone seemed to be getting a bit confused, and then adding a bit of snickering in the back as the directions changed at short notice, plus Ola now playing some sort of Benny Hill music through the stereo, was adding a bit of confusion to the scene. Jeppe seemed to be stressed by the Benny Hill music, which in turn seemed to amuse Ola. <br /><br />The hotel was in the middle of the city, but there were roadworks everywhere, so getting to the parking space was a bit of a squeeze. And then when we did eventually depart the van you had to press in a code for the room at four different doors before we made it into the room. We were on the sixth floor so we took the lift. Andy, Fenok and I piled in with our bags, but the thing was pretty tight. Ola spotted a little bit of space, though, “Room for one more in here,” he said and squeezed in. Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep. We stood there wondering what was going on with the lift. I assumed that we were overweight, but nobody was buying it at first. Then Ola moved out, and the beeping stopped as the door closed on his coupon, the three of us laughing our heads off as we moved off, leaving him behind.<br /><br />The room was decent enough, Johan and I taking the double bed, Andy and Jon taking camping beds. We pretty much just dumped the bags and then left. On the way out, I was holding the door for the others, but it was taking a while. Then the door started beeping, obviously the code system here is pretty tight. Just as I was about to close it, Fenok came walking along the corridor. “Is Ola in the room?” This tickled me no end.<br /><br />Jeppe took the drivers wheel to the venue, Jon sat up front with him. Jon spent a lot of time in Finland when he was together with a girl here years ago. And he seems to know, or seems to think he knows, his way around every city in the country. It all started getting a bit cabin fevery though when Jon started dithering with his phone. Ola was sat behind, looking at his GPS, saying one way, and Jon was saying another, whilst Jeppe was just getting confused as the rest of us sat in the back giggling. “I’m waiting for my phone to update, but it’s up there to the left.” Ola wasn’t sure, though, his phone was saying right. We went with Jon. The second we made the turn Jon declared, “Fuck, this was totally the wrong way.” Confusion reigned for the next few minutes, with Jon not saying much at all, waiting for his phone to update. Johan asked him if was looking at the map or the GPS directions. Jon answered that he as just looking at the map. Johan suggested he turned the directions device on. Jon just got more flustered. And then punched the sun visor in frustration. “My phone is updating!” We ended up going with Ola’s GPS.<br /><br />The venue tonight is a real classic in the Finnish scene. And full of the old punk charm. It’s a nice location just outside of the city, by the water side, opposite this big iron tower. Ola explained what the tower was for but I don’t remember what it was. Something about steel balls, or something. There was nobody at the venue yet, so I gave the promoter a call. I told him we were outside the venue waiting to get in and he replied, “When you arrive?” in a typically concrete Finnish accent. He said something about food and a sound guy and as he was talking, some punk guy came and let us in. It was the last time I’d hear from the promoter for the rest of the night. The food was waiting for us in the backstage at least, a pretty decent rendition of punk stew, but more of a curry flavour to it. It did the job just fine. Just nice with something warm.<br /><br />We set up and soundchecked and then having three hours to kill before we played, grabbed a beer from the bar and then hung out at the merch table, next to a room with a flipper machine and foosball table. When we played here last time with DB we spent all night playing the Kylmä Sota guys but I couldn’t be arsed tonight. Fenok and Jon hung out at the flipper machine for a while. I get the feeling Fenok is one of those quiet flipper geniuses. He seemed to be tonking the arse of the machine anyway.<br /><br />The place steadily filled up over the next hour or so, and you could tell early on that it was going to be more lively than yesterday. It is Friday, I guess, so not that strange. But the rumour going, from friends in Helsinki last night was that the Tampere punks were a lot more lively than those in the capital. The local support, Reign of Terror, got up on stage to do a quick soundcheck. We’d obviously missed the mail, but they just plugged straight into our amps without asking. We looked at each other and then I went up and asked them what was going on. The bass player was stood there with his lead, not knowing which amp to plug into, since both Johan and I play through Ampeg bass amps. I told him that nobody had told us they needed to use our gear, and to be fair to him, he looked a little embarrassed, saying he thought we’d been told they didn’t have any gear and they were supposed to use the house gear that we’d already stripped away from the stage on arrival. I told him it was okay, but just to remember the settings so he could reset them when they were done. I think he misheard me though, since he didn’t seem to dare fiddle with the amp after that. <br /><br />They were pretty good, though. Young punk kids playing old school thrash/death metal with a bit of a stomp. The bass player had a pretty nice Jeff Walker scream going on, too. The best thing about them was the drummer though. Jon was taken immediately. “Finnish Nigel” he said with a look of delight on his face. He did indeed remind me of our old mate from the UK, had the same military style going on. He played hard as fuck, too. There was a pretty good crowd in for their set, and Jon stood watching them with a big smile on his cheeks. Loving it.<br /><br />Massgrav were fucking banging tonight. And Norse and Ola were on fire, as usual. They sounded great and totally slayed the crowd. I had a great time taking care of their merch off to the side of the stage as they played. I love touring with friends, getting to see them play and them giving you that buzz. It makes up for all the standing around in the rain. After the first block Ola said, “Thank you. Thank you for clapping. Apparently because of some technicality this is no longer part of Sweden, but I guess you all still know the language? Or should we take it in English?” And then a little later on after another block, “Hey Tampere, or as we say, Tammerfors.” Norse then chimed in, “I think we should stick with the official name, Tammerfors, so everybody gets it right.” I stood at the merch table pissing myself laughing at the cheeky bastards. There was some huge Antifa skinhead stood in front giving them the finger, though. But he seemed to be smiling along with everyone else. By the time the guys were done I was buzzing to get on stage.<br /><br />Last night was fun, but it couldn’t compare with tonight. I had a great time on stage, loved every second of it. It seems like we all had a better show tonight. It sounded tight, too, and onstage it was banging. When it sounds and feels that good on stage then it feels secondary to me what the crowd is doing. But the fact they seemed to be having a really good time was a bonus. <br /><br />As we were sat sweating our asses off in the little side room afterwards, the singer from Reign of Terror was on full volume. Obviously pissed off his tits. I kinda liked him though, we’ve all been there. He was only a kid and meant no harm. He told me that it was an honour to play with us “old guys”, which made me smile. It was getting a bit much after a while, though, I was trying me best to humour him but you couldn’t get a word in edgeways. Army Drummer was sat looking embarrassed and kept apologising for him to which I told him there was no need. Then he told Johan and Norse that he wanted to sign up with Doomstar, said it’s a pain in the ass booking their own gigs and would be better if somebody else did it for them. Norse asked them if they have played many shows. “We’ve done two in five years” he said. Norse commented that wasn’t a whole lot of shows for the amount of time they’ve been a band. He said, “No, but we want it to be really special when we play.” Norse then asked him if they had a record out or anything. “Kind of. We recorded one ourselves”: I had to get out of there by that point, I had by now stopped sweating and really wanted a beer from the bar, and some other company. The singer guy left a while later wearing his bass without a case, and a bike helmet. <br /><br />After chatting with some friends and other people we know like the guys from Rotten Sound, we settled down to a beer in the bar. Last time I was we ended up partying all night in this cosy bar upstairs, all decked out with sofas and stuff. Think we left about four am, and Ola seemed to be up for that. He and I went outside to check out what was going on but the bouncer told us that it was closing soon, so we had to do with the bar at the venue. It was nice, though. I had a really good chat with Jeppe over a pint or two. Talking about university and coming from a small town and being working class etc. Feels like we have really similar backgrounds. <br /><br />There was a big clock on the wall and I was surprised to see that it was only one thirty, since we’d played at midnight. Until we realised the clock was stood still and it was actually closer to three. With that we decided to get the fuck back to the hotel and asked the place to call us a cab. There was more farting around in the lift on the way up to the rooms at the hotel again, this time Ola refusing to get out, claiming the beeping sound would stop if Jon got out. Jon left, and four or five us lifted off. But then when we got to the sixth floor the fucking thing started beeping again and the door wouldn’t open. A quick laugh was soon replaced by just the slightest bit of panic and then Ola said, “I’m dying for a piss.” I really could not be arsed been stuck in a lift at this time of night with Ola, Jeppe and Andy, in a robot hotel with no staff working at it. Thankfully the door opened and we found Johan and Jon laughing.<br /><br />It was a relief to get in to bed. Johan and I lay there for a while watching Sleeping With the Enemy for a while, completely unnecessary at this hour, but it’s hard winding down after playing a gig if you’re not drunk. Besatthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18249422950419263931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-872830042269797401.post-63642636479880731492019-09-13T17:31:00.000+02:002019-09-13T17:31:11.199+02:00HelsinkiThere was a fair bit of to-and fro over how we were going to do the trip to Finland. Three shows, Thursday to Saturday, two bands travelling together. The obvious problem for everyone is adding two travel days to a trip with only three shows. But the arguments for taking the boat were that we could skip flying amd the flight shame that come with it, as well as being able to take a van and with that our own backline. It was a long time ago we played shows with our own backline. We went with the boat.<br /><br />We picked up the Massgrav guys over by the TV4 offices next to the harbour. The check-in closes an hour before departure so there was a bit of trepidation over being late, but as it turns out we were an hour and a half early. So I walked off in search of a kiosk and some snacks, whilst Jon walked off into some park to smoke a spliff whilst we waited for Massgrav to arrive. It was Jeppe who suggested the pick up spot, and despite the fact that he works in the area, he was last to turn up. Ola assured us this would be a pattern we’d soon come to recognise. Of course, we turned up at the boat and parked at the front of the line we were guided to, but ended up sitting there until every last lorry had rolled on board. We must have sat there longingly looking at the parking attendants, hoping to be given the sign, for about an hour and a half. The chimney on the boat was spewing out thick black smoke, proper minging. Nice to skip the “flight shame”... <br /><br />Still, it was fun to be sharing the van with the Massgrav guys. First time we’ve shared a van with another band in ages, but there was no ice breaking required with these guys since they’re old friends. We amused ourselves with old stories whilst we waited. Johan got talking about a trip to Finland years before when they travelled on the boat back right through the middle of Storm Gudrun. Apparently Andy had a right bad time of it, white as fuck as the ferry crashed over the waves. With the conversation moving on the sea sickness, I told the guys about my pathetic efforts at sea. I’m renowned for the old sea sickness, especially on smaller boats, big ferries not as much. But once I got sick on a fucking kayak that Jen and I had rented out, thinking it would be a pleasant way to spend an evening, paddling around Karlbergs Slott in Stockholm. I only lasted twenty minutes before having to turn back, pale as a ghost. Fuck, once I got sea sick snorkeling in Thailand. Jen looked up and spotted me rabidly swimming toward the rocks on the coast, the bobbing in the life vest having got the better of me. Pretty fucking weak. <br /><br />It seemed like the only vehicles boarding the boat were trucks and horse trailers. Norse pondered aloud as to where the horses slept during the eleven hour night crossing, Ola cracked, “Djurhytt.” Jon made a remark about me not having to worry about it, I wouldn’t have to share with the horse, referring to another one of my ailments, horse allergies. Jeppe parped up, “What, do you get sea sick on horses too?” We all burst out laughing at that. We were finally given the go ahead to board, only to be stopped on the way and told to turn back, change of plans. Apparently the boat was fully booked and they were having some logistical problems. I had a sinking feeling that we’d be told there was no room for us, but finally they let us on, the very last vehicle on the boat, almost a half hour after the planned departure time. <br /><br />Ola had good news though, he’d heard that the boat was going to arrive an hour and a half late tomorrow morning. Being that we were due to arrive in Åbo at seven am, and didn’t need to be at the venue in Helsinki a couple of hours away until four pm, the extra time in bed in the morning would be most welcome. I guess that the fleet of lorry drivers went directly to their cabins since there was barely anyone on the boat. Just us guys and a few asian tourists. It was like a ghost ship. I’d been imagining a wild disco and the Massgrav on the karaoke celebrating Fredrik, their drummer’s birthday which was today. But it was completely dead. There was some guy singing Elvis in the piano bar to pretty much no one, and a depressing band on the big stage in the main disco playing shit Eighties pop to a crowd of olds about twenty strong, all of them sat at the back of the room looking on as the band played, fake smiles plastered across their coupons. What a fucking gig. Whatever happens tomorrow, the show can’t be worse than this, anyway.<br /><br />We sat down to dinner at an Italian restaurant. All very civilized as we sipped on red wine, Ola and Jeppe on the old stor starks, and enjoyed stone oven baked pizza, which was surprisingly good. We ate ourselves full and then wandered off in search of some action in the boat. The first time I took the boat to Finland was almost twenty years before and it was absolutely wild. Our tour manager Doug ended up in boat jail after getting into a fight with the Norwegian car rally team. But that boat was packed and everyone on it was wankered. This was a different vibe. Guess it is a Wednesday night… After a short sit down in the “Sea Pub” we ended up back in the piano bar, listening to the light tinkling of the ivories and enjoying a pint. It suited me down to the ground, listening to a bit of Simon and Garfunkel, but the guy soon packed up and fucked off, obviously glad to get to the end of his shift. We sat around for another couple of hours anyway, enjoying each others stories and having the crack. We were trying to work out what we’d do in the daytime tomorrow in Helsinki since we’d have all day to entertain ourselves, and Jeppe was promoting the idea of going to the cinema. Which got Norse on to the subject of film, and his favourite franchise, Rambo. We got into it. I told him I loved the first film, back before it was Rambo and simply just First Blood. But Norse was adamant. He reckon the only below par film was Rambo 3, when he’s in Afghanistan. He rated the four films as follows: 5 out of 5 for the first, second and fourth films, Rambo 3 only receiving a 3 out of 5. I haven’t seen it but I couldn’t imagine the recently released Rambo 4 was any good. Norse said the only negative he could give it was that it was too short. I burst out laughing and asked what 4 was about, he said that it starts of with Rambo working as some guide in Thailand. I was sold.<br /><br />As is always the case, gain a bit of extra time in the morning, take liberties with the other end. As the clock struck midnight I was telling myself now would be a great time to go to bed. Extra lie in would give me eight hours sleep. Fuck, even if I went bed in an hour I’d get seven hours of Z’s. So we went to bed at quarter past one after having another beer. I could barely keep my eyes open by then. I checked my clock just before I turned out the light. 1.20. Set the alarm for 7.30, still ok. Before I killed the light the clock jumped an hour ahead to Finnish time. Fuck. Forgot Finland was an hour ahead. Balls. At just past 6 some light orchestral music began playing through the speakers, accompanied by a female voice announcing the boat would be arriving in one hour. So much for the lie in. So much for Z’s. Wonder where the fuck Ola got his info from.<br /><br />Even after a quick shower in the cabin bathroom/toilet, I still felt like hell. Clean. But hellishly tired. We pulled off the boat into the rain of Helsinki. We stopped at the first service station on the way and poured some coffee into ourselves. Breakfast was pretty slim pickings though, there was barely anything vegetarian to choose from. They had a Subway, but it wasn’t opening for another two hours. Things took a considerable turn for the better when we arrived in Helsinki two hours later though. It was only eleven so we still didn’t need to be at the venue for another five hours at least, although we hadn’t been given an exact time by the promoter. But doors were at seven pm, so we made a logistical estimation of four being plenty of time. We decided to take a chance on the hotel the promoter had booked, hoping we’d be able to check in a little earlier. So to arrive and find that not only is the Scandic we’re booked in at some fancy four star joint, they had the rooms ready for us! Me and the other Victims guys decided to rest up in bed for a while, the Massgrav guys were going to explore Helsinki. Stripping off down to my kecks and climbing in under the cool bed sheets was like rolling into heaven. Absolutely fucking wonderful. My night had just been saved.<br /><br />Andy, Johan and I got back up around one pm and went off in search of lunch. Jon was staying firmly in bed. Last time we were here we found this great Mexican canteen type joint, fast food but properly done. I got it up on the map and even though it was a half hour walk it felt worth it. Of course, when we got there it was closed. Fuck. It turns out it was a chain, though, Johan searched on his phone and we ended up a while later at the actual place we’d eaten last time around. Still a bit tired and unfocused I chose a burrito with salsa verde and chipotle sauce, which was by far the hottest option on the menu. Burnt my fucking mouth off. Woke me up, at least. <br /><br />We got back to the hotel for rendezvous just past four. Jeppe and Norse had been to the cinema to see the new Tarantino film. Ola and Fred had gone and checked out this underground church that I’d wanted to see, and then gone for beer. I wanted to see that church. Would earmark it for tomorrow. The venue was only five minutes away with the van, and just as we were pulling in the sound guy called Jon, asking where were. Turns out he’d been waiting for us since two. Seems like someone had made a balls up with the communication. He seemed a little bit pissed off, although not with us. We hadn’t been given a time for load in. Amazing, you get to the city five hours early and still manage to be two hours late.<br /><br />The venue seemed pretty cool, anyway. Kind of artsy, culture space with loads of different bars and a terrace area overlooking the inner courtyard where we had the van parked up. Seemed to be an art gallery on the other side of the yard, and some restaurants around. Must be the hip part of town. The sound guy hurriedly went about his business but I assured him we’re normally quick soundchecking, and we still had an hour and a half until doors. We got set up fast enough, but then things started to slightly tits up. First off, the sampler wasn’t working. Andy and Johan messed around with it for a bit, trying different cables and other bits and bobs, but no signal was coming out of it. Eventually we gave up and decided to move on with soundcheck. But we had another problem. Jon’s amp had died. It had been working seconds before, but now his time had arrived there was fuck all coming out of it. So much for the joys of bringing your gear on tour. The sound guy was now beginning to get really stressed, running back and forth like a dog with a stick up it’s arse. Jon wasn’t doing to well either. Fuciing sucks when your shit breaks down. He loaned Norse’s amp for the time being. But then his lead was buzzing like hell, so he had to change that too. Sound guy, as stressed as he obviously was, made a professional job of it, he could certainly do his job. <br /><br />By the time we were done, Massgrav had about twenty minutes to check their stuff before it was time for doors. And the local band, Diskelmä, had just arrived. Somehow Sound Guy got it all wrapped up in time. Ola turned, to me chuffed at the sight of the Diskelmä bass players axe shaped bass. “It’s an actual axe bass”, a look of delight on his face. Proper ridiculous. An old friend of ours, Janne, who used to have the label Combat Rock that put out Victims records in the past, turned up to see us. Was really nice to see him. Really friendly guy. He’s pretty big in production now, doing really big gigs. He’d been touring with Jon and Jeppe on their Nasum world tour a few years ago, but that was the last time we’d seen him. As we were stood catching up, the promoter turned up looking all flustered, exclaiming that we’d had a table booked at the restaurant over an hour ago. The planning around this day hadn’t quite gone that smoothly. He was darting about a bit, but he managed to chaperone us to the joint next door. He told us we could order whatever food we liked from the menu. We took a long table and sat down to what was some of the best food I’ve ever eaten whilst out with the band. Proper amazing vegan cuisine. Jeppe and I were almost drooling in it. Charcoal grilled seitan with sweet potato puree, grilled asparagus and a lime and mint mayo. It was simply outstanding. I felt bad for the Massgrav guys, though, they were playing in forty minutes and couldn’t enjoy it as they should have.<br /><br />When we got back to the venue Diskelmä were just at the end of their set and it seemed like the room was fairly well attended. Although they weren’t moving all that much. I saw my old friend Niklas from Harhat, who was stood with Janne. I was still raving about the food, and told him how amazing it was. He looked at me and said, “Yeah, they’re pretty good.” I told him that I loved it and was chuffed. “Yeah, cool, they’ve been around a long time, everyone kind of knows them.” Nice, I said. It has to be one of the best I’ve ever had on tour. Now he was looking at me a little bit surprised, “Really?” Turns out he thought I was talking about Diskelmä… I laughed and told him I was talking about the food. The penny then dropped and he cracked up. Being diplomatic I said that what I saw of the band sounded pretty good, too. “Yeah,” he said, “The singer just puked on stage, though.” Now I was a bit confused. But upon inspection it was as I’d heard it, the singer had indeed left a pile of puke on stage, and then the band had left it there as they exited the stage. It was right by where Ola would be standing. Niklas told me he’d puked up whilst singing into the mic, so we might not want to use the same one. Fucking punx.. I had to go and break the news to Ola. Who had to go break the news to Sound Guy. Ola sure as fuck wasn’t going to clean it up.<br /><br />The Massgrav guys were great as always. The crowd, not as much. It was very Big Town Syndrome, everyone stood with arms folded, nodding along, nobody daring to be the first person to take the first step forward, leaving the large empty oval in front of the stage. After the first block, Ola said, “We need some more some more space, could everybody please take a step back, we’d really appreciate it.” After that they just spoke Swedish between the songs. Norse taking the lead most of the time. “Den här låten handlar om tunnelbanan, din suger också va?” It was only before the last song that Ola inquired, “You all speak Swedish right? If not, we have a crash course in Swedish for sale over at the merch table. You’re welcome. Congratulations Finland.” I’m not normally one for fun lyrics in punk songs, but the Massgrav guys do it so well. “DIY, DIY, blah blah blah!” Love it.<br /><br />The crowd moved a little further forward for us, but for the most part they were statuesque. It is Thursday I guess. Not like I’d be jumping around like a tit at a show on a Thursday night back home. I really enjoyed playing, though. It sounded really good on stage. For some reason Jon had brought his wah wah pedal with him, though. He never uses it a practice, but decided he’d bring it with him and try it out during the gig. Typical him. He had a bit more hassle towards the end of the gig too, his tuning pedal seemed to have given up on him. Seems like it wasn’t his night. He looked over at us and shook his head, and then pointed at his broken pedal, slight look of despair on his face, and then started up the into next song. It sounded off though. When we got to the end of the next block Johan turned to Jon, “Tune your guitar Jon.” Jon came belting over the stage to us and with everything he had, arms by his side as he took full stomp with his feet into the stage, “I said my tuner pedal was DEAD!” his voice pinching at the end as it rose a few tones higher. Fucking cracked me up. He gathered himself once the outburst had passed, and introduced This is the End. It was the first time the crowd had moved all night. It felt too bad to not do a couple of encores now that they’d finally got going, even there was only a couple of voices in the crowd demanding one. I had a great time blasting through a couple of old bangers all the same. <br /><br />Feeling older than my forty one years, I very much appreciated the early show tonight. To be done and wrapped up by ten fifteen was a dream. Plus we didn’t have to check out of the nice hotel until midday tomorrow. Let’s see if we could take advantage of it… Both Niklas and Sami from Harhat had left by the time we were sorted in the changing room, and our friend Satu, who I didn’t even know was there, came up to me to say hello. Another friend of ours, Otto, who booked us last time we were here, caught up with me for a while too. But as he explained, they’d soon be clearing everyone out since they normally did in these type venues. A lot of the time they’d have a hip hop club on, something to make the money back on what they’d lose on the punk shows, I guess. There was no after party tonight, although they were clearing out all the same. It would have been nice to see the guys for a little longer. But of course, everyone was up for work in the morning anyway. I enjoyed one of the IPA’s from the rider that the Massgrav guys had been kind enough to leave for us, and then we made plans. There was word of a cosy bar around the corner, but being pretty tired and wanting to catch up on sleep, we decided to head back to the hotel bar for a beer and some chill. It’s a nice feeling sitting in a hotel bar with a brew, knowing you can head up to bed whenever you like.<br /><br />I still managed to sit up a little longer than necessary, though. It was very enticing sitting there with the Massgrav guys, listening to their stories. They’re one of those gangs that make you laugh, just listening to them gabble. Although there were a group of beefy Finnish middle aged businessmen sat at the table next to us, who’d been panning vodka grogs which they were mixing themselves the entire time we’d been sat there, and I noticed one of them wasn’t as charmed by Massgrav as I was. He was making faces at us, and then mock laughing. I thought he was going to parp up at one point, but then he seemed to get over it when two of group reappeared with a round of shots. Fuck knows what had got his goat. I had the impression he was annoyed with us talking Swedish. Although, he the bastard looked like he probably hated everything. Johan and Andy went up to bed, and I was on the brink of following them, but then Norse asked if we wanted another. Just the slightest bit of hesitation on my behalf was enough and he shot off to the bar. I’d insisted on just a small one but he came back with a pint of Lapin Kulta. I could only manage a couple of sips. It just wasn’t going down. Ten minutes later and we were all off to bed. Jon following behind us in the complimentary slippers the hotel provided.<br /><br />Andy was just turning the TV off when I got back to the room. I read about a paragraph of my book before putting it down and turning the light off. <br /> Besatthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18249422950419263931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-872830042269797401.post-87750502868147368662019-08-18T15:19:00.000+02:002019-08-19T10:49:12.056+02:00Vyskov, Pod Parou FestIt’s a fucking long day, just for one show. Honestly, I’m not even sure it feels worthwhile. Getting up at the crack of dawn, leaving home at six in the morning to play a show at midnight. Johan had it even worse though, he was driving an hour or so from Nyköping and then picking us up on the way to the airport. Fuck knows what time his alarm was set for. As I met up with a very tired looking Andy, pale faced and yawning, clutching a mug of coffee, and Jon at Gullmarsplan at six thirty this morning, the first thing Andy said to me was that this has to be the last time we fly anywhere just to play one show. Funny thing is, we had been offered another show this weekend, but Andy couldn’t do it. <br />
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We’re fully aware, also, that flying back and forth to the Czech Republic for one show epitomises everything we’ve been commenting on with our new album. Not that we’re claiming we aren’t a part of the problem. We are. We have to do better than flying for one show. Still, when we piled into Johan’s car to make for the airport, I was happy that this would be the last time we fly this year. As well as the effects of “flight shame”, it’s just a lot of fucking faffing around for one gig. The flight was on time, at least. Not that we would have been stressed by a delay. We were due to land at eleven-fifteen, and even with the three hour drive from Prague to the festival, we’d still have around nine hours to kill before show time. <br />
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As we sat waiting to taxi to the runway, I was thinking about something I read in a Rachel Cusk novel a few weeks ago, about how the pilot reduces the oxygen in the cabin before take-off to make the passengers sleepy and therefore calm. I wondered if this was true. I know I often feel knackered as soon as I take my seat on the plane, and that it’s hard to keep my mince pies open until we’re up in the air. I looked over at Jon, sat across the aisle from the other three of us, and decided that Cusk’s theory had some weight. He had began scribbling some jewelry designs on a block paper, it’s his new thing, but had fallen asleep with the pen in his hand.<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7DsqbI9_9Jo/XVlS3bbQ18I/AAAAAAAASDI/d5U3mK4DKnINvlqBK2j9K8f_8MsIPj99wCEwYBhgL/s1600/Screenshot_20190817-114817.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7DsqbI9_9Jo/XVlS3bbQ18I/AAAAAAAASDI/d5U3mK4DKnINvlqBK2j9K8f_8MsIPj99wCEwYBhgL/s200/Screenshot_20190817-114817.png" width="112" /></a>When we arrived at Prague airport the first people we met were the Satanic Surfers guys. They were also playing the festival tonight. Andy, their bass player, who is always happy, greeted us with his usual smile. This despite the fact that their luggage had been lost. Or something, it wasn’t quite clear. They’d flown from Copenhagen and for some reason they had their luggage checked in all the way to Stockholm, since they’re flying there tomorrow to play a fest in Uppsala. Andy said that he’d tried to garner information from the people over at the Oversized Baggage pick up but an old guy there had replied to him in angry Czech. Andy made an impression of him as way of painting an audio picture of the scene. It sounded like an irritated wasp. Tickled me. Another thing that tickled me was the fact that both Happy Andy and our Andy were wearing the same KLF long sleeve, printed by and sold by our Jon. Anyway, the upshot seemed to be that their gear was somewhere at Prague airport in a container. We left them, wishing them luck and said that we’d catch up with them later. As mentioned, there wasn’t any stress for time, at least.<br />
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We were met by a father and son team upon exiting the baggage pickup. The son, Lukas, was driving us, and his dad was taking the Surfers. We explained to him that he might be waiting a while. The old boy looked like a right character, Cock Sparrer shirt, slicked back grey hair. We’re playing after The Exploited and UK Subs tonight, “Deadlining” as Happy Andy put it, where you play last but after the main attraction. If this old boy was representative of the crowd at the fest, then I can’t imagine many of the punters sticking around to see us after the Subs have finished. We told the old boy he might be waiting a while, but he didn’t seem that arsed, just smiled and gave us the thumbs up.<br />
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When we left the airport we had to peg it to the van since it was pissing down. The three hour drive to the fest would be plagued by sporadic rain showers of biblical proportions, not that it seemed to faze Lukas as he flew along the wet motorway at 160 clicks an hour. Not being able to see much out of the foggy windows, I just tried to get my head down into the new book by Ta-Nehisi Coates, and tried reasoning with myself that if we crashed at this speed we’d all be extinguished before we knew what hit us. Still, every time he slammed on the breaks when someone pulled out in front of him my head snapped up out of pure instinct. The couple of coffee stops we made along the way gave a welcome relief at least. I really don’t think Lukas paid it any mind, and I don’t think the people in this part of the world value life any less than we do up in Scandinavia, it’s just the way they drive here, after all, every other fucker on the road seemed to be driving just as fast.<br />
<br />
Something that does seem to be a universal phenomenon, though, is the disgusting mess you find in men’s public bathrooms. It doesn’t matter where you are, and it never ceases to sicken me, but the toilet ring is always covered in piss and pubes. What the fuck is that all about? I mean, I get the piss stains, although it’s vile, but what’s with the pubes detaching all over the place? And why do men never feel the need to give the fucking ring a wipe when they’re done? It was the exact same crack today. I was sickened having to follow some old boy who had stood there with the door wide open, just pissing away. The ring was a disgrace, and whether he’d found it that way or not, he certainly didn’t consider cleaning it. I was busting for a tom tit as well, so had to clean up the bastard before taking a seat, cursing the male of the species in it's entirety as I did so. And then I thought back to earlier on at Arlanda and remembered the guy who had come out of the cubicle and found the cleaner waiting there with his wagon. He asked him if he could have some of his spray, and when the confused cleaner said that he would clean the toilet, the guy insisted that he do it himself. I guess he’d caked the pan and had an attack of guilt.<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YrvhQHSjWiA/XVlS4SBpRHI/AAAAAAAASDY/KopJHgGN4Ak7hH8vg_lW66e-4oJ4OIfLQCEwYBhgL/s1600/DSC_0494.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="112" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YrvhQHSjWiA/XVlS4SBpRHI/AAAAAAAASDY/KopJHgGN4Ak7hH8vg_lW66e-4oJ4OIfLQCEwYBhgL/s200/DSC_0494.JPG" width="200" /></a>When we got to the festival we found that the Satanic Surfers guys were already there. Whatsmore they had already eaten and been paid. How the fuck did they manage that? And how fast were they driving? The festival was kind of how I expected it to be, kinda like the Chaos Piknik Fest we played in Poland last month, there were already a lot of pissed up punks despite the relatively early hour. Although I guess at a three day festival of this sort, time and relativity have their own dimension. The stage was a lot bigger here, though, like “big festival” size stage. Although the crowd didn’t seem to be “big festival” size crowd. Maybe most of them were still in their tents, but it felt like maybe the festival area was a little too big for this line up. The location was quite something, though. The merch stalls were set up alongside the big stage, and along the perimeter of the festival area the open landscape was dominated by a beautiful picture of rolling green hills that stretched all the way to the horizon. Happy Andy said that he’d been told that the place was the site of a famous battle during the Napoleonic wars, the Battle of Austerlitz, which took place among those very hills in 1805. Quite a strange sight, looking at the hills in the background whilst in the foreground there was boots and green mohawks passed out in the dirt.<br />
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We got called out by some pissed up Jock Punk, you know, the guy who wears a sports hoodie with the sleeves cut off, half-leg denim shorts and sneakers, the denim shorts starting below the ass, the studded belt wrapped around them seemingly failing miserably at its job? That guy. He came up to the merch stand where Andy, Magnus from Satanic Surfers and I were standing looking at our phones. I know this is not a good look. Although I couldn’t understand what Jock Punk was saying, I could tell he was saying it somewhat aggressively. When I asked him if he spoke English, he grunted and then asked us what we were doing with our phones. <i>I’m reading about the Battle of Austerlitz, what are you doing with your shorts?</i> He was too pissed to stick around though, he just smirked to himself, looking completely satisfied, and shufftied off. The three of us put our phones down and stood and stared into the oblivion of pissed up street punks shouting along to whatever Czech punk band of the forty or so there were playing this weekend. I had to crack up at some of the band names on the bill, Punk Floid, which I can only hope was not a decoy and actually was a band doing Pink Floyd covers in the key of Oi!, amongst the best of them. <br />
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I really didn’t know what to expect from the show later, but the woman running the production office seemed to be bang on the ball and really friendly. She came over to our backstage room, which was a party tent with a wooden table, with a couple of ice cold cans of pilsner, a list for the performing rights society and a menu for dinner. We had thought about trying to head to the hotel for a few hours, since we still had eight hours until show time, but Satanic were on at seven and we were going to lend them our guitars as back up, so decided we’d head back to the hotel after they’d played. As we were sat in the tent waiting for dinner and restringing guitars some old punk guy wearing a kilt came in to us with Driver Dad from earlier and started talking to us in very broken English. It was hard to process what he was saying though because, quite frankly, his outrageously big nose demanded full attention. I’m not being a dick, but it was the biggest nose I’ve ever seen. He actually looked quite like Hoggel, the troll from the film Labyrinth. Whatever he wanted, he seemed happy as fuck about it. Turns out he was the compere and was telling us that he would introduce us before we played later on. We all just sat there transfixed by his nose, though. Johan, who had been closest to him, said afterwards that he felt hypnotised and the whole time the guy was talking he was sat there imagining his arms slowly creeping towards the guy and giving his nose a honk, like the Mole scene in Austin Powers. I made a crack afterwards, in the same vein, “Nose to meet you,” which had Johan pissing himself.<br />
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Happy Andy asked us if we could watch their merch whilst they played, so the four of us took different turns at guarding the stall whilst the others watched their set. Hoggle was introducing them too, he was introducing all the bands I figure, and he stood on stage babbling on in Czech for about five minutes. Fuck knows what he was saying but when the time finally came it was clear to everyone he introduced the band as “Satanic!”. Rodde, their singer amended the error before they kicked off their set, “I don’t speak Czech but I know for sure he only said Satanic. He forgot the Surfers bit. We’re Satanic Surfers!” Then Andy added later, “It also said on the program next to our name SK, which I guess is Slovakia? Well we’re from Sweden. Thanks.”<br />
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I was a little surprised, since although there wasn’t a huge crowd watching them, a couple of hundred or so, they sold a lot of merch. They were superbly tight as well and had great energy on stage. I really enjoyed watching them. Andy is a great, great bass player, and never stops smiling, despite the furious speed of the riffs he’s playing. I cracked up laughing at one point during their set when Wattie from Exploited turned up and was stood down in front of the high stage, shaking a few hands at the crush barrier. Mid song, Andy shouted down the mic, “Hej Wattie! Exploited!” without dropping a note. Absolute genius. <br />
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I headed back to the merch to find our Andy in a bit of a pickle. He shouted over to me to come help him with some punter. I could see straight away that the punter was wankered, and Andy told me he’d been stood with him for about ten minutes. Punter had slouched up to the merch stall cross eyed and said, “CD” to Andy. Andy tried to explain that we didn’t have any records with us and after much confusion and back and forth the guy seemingly ordered a t-shirt, although identifying what size he wanted had caused further problems, and then on top of that he only had a one thousand kroner note and the shirts were four hundred, and Andy had no change. So the situation as I found it was Andy holding a one thousand note and Punter leaning over the barrier to the merch table, barely able to talk. And then I noticed that Punter had actually put his newly acquired Victims shirt on, well, half on at least, he’d struggled to roll it down over the other two or three shirts he was wearing. He had obviously stoated about the festival buying shirts and just putting them on, one on top of the other. I borrowed some change from the Satanic money and we finally sent the guy on his way, much to Andy’s relief. <br />
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Johan had purchased a couple of draft beers from the backstage bar and brought me one over as I stood to the side of the stage watching the end of the Surfers set, whilst keeping an eye on their merch. I’ve made a point this last couple of years of staying off the beer before the show, simply because I feel a lot better on stage without beer in my stomach, but given there was still five hours until we played, <i>how could that possibly be?</i>, I allowed myself the pleasure. And it was good. It was very, very good. Jon came up alongside shortly afterwards, and asked how the beer was. He’s still not drinking, which is great, but he likes to keep in the loop I guess. I noticed his feet were bare, and asked him where his shoes were. “In the backstage room”, he replied, as if it was a completely obvious answer. Johan told me afterwards that apparently Jon has a thing now where he walks around barefoot for forty five minutes each day. It’s his new thing. He has so many new things that I can’t always keep up. Some logic behind the bare feet, I’m sure though.<br />
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We headed back to the hotel once Happy Andy had taken back control of their merch stand. We had a pretty luxurious deal with Lukas who was seemingly assigned to us for the entirety of our stay. I’d assumed at first that it was the usual deal where the shuttle driver picks you up, drops you off at the fezzie and then bids you farewell. Lukas, though, was just waiting around to take us back and forth whenever we wanted to go. I appreciated even now, how happy I would be for that arrangement by the time we were done playing later. His dad was also in the van with us, since he was driving Satanic and he was going to check them in at the same time as us. Those poor fuckers were leaving at six in the morning to catch an early flight to Sweden to make the Uppsala show tomorrow. So happy we weren’t on the same flight. <br />
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The hotel was another very pleasant surprise. It was located on the other side of the small town of Vyskov, which looked very picturesque in itself and would have been worth having a deek at if we’d only had more time… The hotel though, was a quaint little place in beautiful surroundings, with a pretty little terrace outside their restaurant, with a little pond and tennis courts. The rooms were very comfortable too, relatively speaking. There is a difference of course between holiday standard and tour standard when it comes to hotels. This was most definitely a high standard in the tour measurement. We’d told Lukas to pick us up at ten fifteen, which would get us back to the fezzie around ten-thirty, but by about eight-forty five, twenty minutes later, Andy texted me from his and Johan’s room next door, saying that he was falling asleep and wanted to head back to the show and watch Mr. Wattie. I felt bad, though, having Lukas darting about back and forth, he was telling me how tired he was and was going to sleep for a bit. To be honest, I could happily have stayed there on my bed reading until it was time to go. Jon was sat on the bed beside me meditating, which I think might be another new thing. After a while, we decided to head down to the terrace and have a beer. I left Jon lying on the bed, telling him we’d come get him when it was time. <br />
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The cold bottle of Urquel, sat beside the little pond with the fountain, was just the trick. This was my third beer of the night, which I mentioned to the guys, saying it was the most I’d had to drink before a gig in ages. Andy laughed and said, “Yeah but over the space of seven hours. I think you’ll be okay.”<br />
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We made it back to the festival in time to see the end of The Exploited set. The sky was now pitch black, only the light of the stars and the full moon glowing within it. The crowd in front of the stage was considerably bigger now. It was the same for the UK Subs who played after them. I have to say, I was surprised by both bands. Wattie was in great form and looked pretty healthy, and Charlie Harper, what can you say? Seventy-five years old and still capable of banging out an hour’s set. He’s six years older than my dad! That’s unbelievable. And there I am, stretching out my bad back and groaning, complaining about the long day, a whole thirty four years younger. That’s pathetic. I felt embarrassed and inspired by Charlie all at the same time. <br />
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As expected, the large crowd that had been in attendance for the two main headliners duly dispersed afterwards. I remember Andy saying to me earlier that he was glad we would be playing in the dark, at least, but I didn’t know if that was going to help all that much. Happy Andy and the Surfer guys told us they had to leave, which was understandable since they were leaving at six am and it was now close to midnight. Besides, Driver Dad, who was taking them back to the hotel and then driving them tomorrow, was properly pissed up. He’d been on the beer for a couple of hours and had now moved to whiskey. Most of the Satanic guys were pretty boats too, but Andy and Rodde were keeping on their guard. We reasoned that the old boy had been in the game for a long time, though, and would probably get the job done without killing anyone. Stefan the drummer told me he’d been talking to him earlier and he said that he booked his first show in 1979, a year after I was born. Being that this was during the times of the old eastern block, he’d been sent to prison for booking punk shows, sitting inside for a year at one point. That’s fucked up beyond belief. And they say things were better before…<br />
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After Hoggle had finished presenting us we walked back out on stage, having just line checked about a minute earlier, and despite the bright lights, it was fucking cold. Not often I start a set in a sweatshirt. The crowd had filled out again somewhat, which I guess we could thank our friendly compere for, and although it paled in comparison to the Subs crowd, it was still a lot better than I thought it would be, a few hundred at least. My guitar was insanely loud on stage, though, and it took a few songs to get things adjusted, leaving me struggling through the early part of the show. Things went really bananas during the second song, The Sea and Poison. Andy had four counted it in with his sticks, but during the count-in one of sticks snapped and the top part of it flew off and landed on his sampler pad beside him. But it was too late, we had all kicked into the song. It wasn’t one of the “background noise” samples we have either, but a sample of some guy speaking about the end of the world. So as we were rattling through one of the faster songs in our set, we were all confused to fuck, some loud voice talking over the entire thing. Must have been equally as confusing for the crowd.<br />
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The rest of the gig went pretty well though. Despite the long day and the late hour, I had plenty of energy for the entire show. I’ve been running five times a week since I got home from holiday, I guess it has helped a little. Before we finished, Jon thanked the crowd for sticking around to see us and then made a comment on the full moon above the stage. I took a moment to myself, looking up at it on the other side of the valley. It was beautiful. <br />
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Even though the gig had been a little up and down, somehow I managed to make a slight fuck up in This is the End, we still felt up enough to go back on and play a couple of extras, since the crowd were shouting for them, and we still had twenty minutes of our fifty five minute slot left. And then that was that. The Russian band, The Svetlana’s were on after us. I passed them on the way down from the stage, happy to be done. We got settled up with the friendly production staff who gave us a crate of cold beers to take back to the hotel, packed up the merch and our gear and got ready to head off. Some punk girl, probably around thirty years old or so, came up to me and Jon with a piece of paper in her hand, looking confused, asking where Wattie was. She wanted to know if he was still back here or if he’d gone to the hotel. We looked at The Exploited’s party tent, which was a couple down from ours, and noticed it was empty and Jon deduced that he had probably gone back to the hotel. The girl seemed disappointed. “Why is he at a hotel? What’s punk about that? He should be here partying!” I guess if playing DIY shows for close on four decades, as well as having a bright red mohawk when you’re sixty odd is disqualified by sleeping at a hotel the festival is providing, then fair enough, maybe Wattie isn’t punk.<br />
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When we got back to the hotel the UK Subs guys were sitting in the little reception, enjoying a couple of tins. I wanted to take a perch and talk to Charlie but reasoned that I would have nothing much to say, and didn’t want to play the English card, so we left the crate on the reception desk, and took a can each out the terrace area. When we came back in, half hour later, due to the cold, Charlie had gone to bed. The guitarist and bass player were still there and we exchanged a couple of words with them. Even though we were leaving just after nine and it was already close to two, it’s always the case that after the gig that you’re too wound up to head straight to bed, the winding down process can often take a few hours and sometimes a few tins. <br />
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We went up to the rooms around two-thirty. I took a shower, deciding I’d be better doing it then so that I could just roll out of bed in the morning and into breakfast. Just as I’d tucked into bed, someone knocked carefully at the door. Jon looked at me curiously. I shrugged my shoulders. He opened the door and, lo and behold, the girl with the piece of paper was back. She asked Jon if she knew where Wattie’s room was. “He’s supposed to be in room twenty six.” Jon told her that this was room twenty six and that Mr. Wattie was certainly not here. I waved from my bed as if to provide further evidence that Wattie was not in the building. After some further gentle persuasion, the girl finally went on her way. <i>Jesus fucking Christ. </i><br />
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By the time I did eventually put my head down on the pillow, those big ones you have to fold in two that seem to be all the rage in Eastern Europe these days, I read about half a page of my book before falling asleep in it. <br />
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It had been a long day. It would be an equally long day tomorrow to get home. Was it worth it? Probably. Maybe. Besatthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18249422950419263931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-872830042269797401.post-33181373063684347872019-07-02T11:00:00.001+02:002019-07-02T11:12:21.789+02:00Lärz, Fusion FestAfter waking a number of times during the clammy, kebab scented night, I felt grubby and tired when the alarm finally went off. Johan said he felt like shit, too. You could already sense the heat outside and it was yet to reach nine am. We’d certainly be glad for the van’s air conditioning today. I imagine we'll be spending a lot of time in it if it really is going to hit thirty eight degrees this afternoon.<br />
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Thomas had slept in the van and was waiting for us around the back of the hostel as we slumped out into the glaring sun. He must have been cooking in there last night. He doesn’t seem bothered, though. He doesn’t seem bothered about much, to be fair. He just gets on with the job. The drive to Lärz up in northern Germany was pretty uneventful, apart from the odd assholed cutting us up on the autobahn, which seemed to properly fry Thomas’ piss. He told me he’d read the blog after the first show and gave me an explanation for the L in Polish, apparently it’s the letter to denote a subject is plural. I tried to explain that I was referring to my dad and his crap joke about how the only thing you need to know to learn Spanish is just to put an “O” on the end of everything.<br />
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We stopped a few times along the highway and each time we got our for a piss, or a coffee, or snacks, it seemed to get hotter. We had no idea what this festival held in store for us today. We had no idea what the festival was in actual fact, the whole thing seemed to be Europe’s best kept secret. Ninety thousand people and nobody has heard of it. Or maybe we’re just old punks completely out of touch with what’s going on. We’d soon find out, I guess. We just made the turn off the motorway and were now about forty minutes of country roads away from the festival site. It took a little longer than expected though due to their being a thiry klicks an hour limit on what appeared to be a long, straight completely normal looking, two-laned country road. The bloke driving the BMW in front of us was sticking religiously to the limit, though, which was getting on Thomas’, and I imagine the long snake of cars behind us, tits. After creeping along for about twenty minutes in this fashion, Thomas decided he’s had enough and overtook. And about twenty minutes later Fusion Fest appeared on the horizon, almost dominating it, so fucking huge was the place. <br />
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The festival site is on an old military airstrip, and as we turned off the road and into the site I guess we were on one of the old taxi runways. I read that the place was actually an old testing site for the Luftwaffe and that after the end of the war the Russians took it over, which is why the posters for the festival spell Fusion in cryllic lettering. The runway stretched on for what seems like miles until we eventually came to a little portacabin with some young woman in it, handing out artist passes. She seemed a little miffed that we didn’t have our tickets and car pass printed out, pointing out that it did actually express we do that on the email we received. Who the fuck prints out tickets these days? Anyway, after telling us to make sure we printed the tickets next time, and me doubting there would be a next time, we were on our way again, along more dirt roads followed by cement runways. There were people swarming absolutely everywhere.<br />
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We found our way to the Artist Landing Area a few kilometers further around the perimeter of the festival site, and squeezed the van along through the hordes of barely-clothed people into a large backstage area. After picking up food tickets and keys for the hotel we were staying at, which took a little while since the place we were supposed to stay at had not had the keys returned from the night before by whoever was staying there, but we ended up getting keys to another place that looked a lot nicer anyway, and then we jumped back in the van and drove along the main road inside the festival grounds to our stage. We all sat in the van, wondering what the fuck this place was? Europe’s Burning Man was the only rumour I’d heard a few weeks ago. Dotted amongst the ravers and bars was stage after stage, most of them housed in old hangars that were buried in the ground, like tunnels with grass and greenery grown over them. Kind of reminded me of hobbit holes, but huge. And it was by now clear what the main crack with the festival was: music (mainly electro but almost everything else, too), art, and drugs. It kind of reminded me of Christiania, in the sense that it had the spirit of an autonomous free state, although the drug culture didn’t seem to be quite as explicit. It was a friend of ours, Adrien, who played with us a couple of summers ago, who’d booked us to this thing. He’d promised me it was a very special festival and that they had a tradition of punk bands playing on one of the stages on the Sunday. I trusted him that it would be good. It would certainly be different, if nothing else. Quite the contrast from the piss up in the field in Zelebsko a couple of days before.<br />
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We found our stage and weaved around the back of it, where we found someone in a yellow vest waving us in through the fence that he was opening up. Once inside we jumped out and the first thing I thought about, again, was the heat. How the fuck was this going to work, really? The guy who greeted us was the stage manager, Martin. He welcomed us with a big smile, but then his face turned a little grey as he told us that we had no rush with the gig, since everything had been delayed around fifteen minutes. He then told us that a festival goer had been found dead in their tent this morning, and they’d turned off all of the music at the festival for fifteen minutes as a mark of respect. He didn’t really know what had happened, but unfortunately it didn’t seem that hard to work out. It must have been quite strange, though, this huge place, silent for fifteen minutes, given that the festival is a week long and the beating music is literally does not stop during that time. There are over a thousand artists alone appearing at this thing. Martin himself has been here two weeks already working. As much as I was interested to explore the place and experience it, I couldn’t imagine being here for more than an evening. <br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7StJ-xX4XBA/XRsfcmqMwkI/AAAAAAAAQhY/vJsIipeAOSgKLqXzhH_2yYx-NJpe65tGQCEwYBhgL/s1600/DSC_0232.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="112" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7StJ-xX4XBA/XRsfcmqMwkI/AAAAAAAAQhY/vJsIipeAOSgKLqXzhH_2yYx-NJpe65tGQCEwYBhgL/s200/DSC_0232.JPG" width="200" /></a>We had an hour or so to kill before we had soundcheck, so went off to get some food. There was an area with a large choice of different food stalls, all vegan, and it was hard to choose, it all looked great. We all tried different stalls and then looked for some shade to scoff it down in. We decided to head back to our stage and hang out there in the air conditioned portacabin that was the dressing room until it was time to work. The sweltering heat had made me thirsty, and upon inspecting the fridge and being surprised to find cold beer, I was really tempted. But Andy advised me against it, saying that it would probably not be a good idea playing for half an hour in this heat with beer swishing around in the belly. It made sense, I guess, but fuck did I want one. A little sad, I abstained and took a water instead.<br />
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Adrien came in to say hello. I barely recognised him since the last time we met, he’d changed his look a bit. Was nice to see him, though, and he seemed chuffed that we were here. He told us about the punk tradition, that the festival was started by some old punks and that they had this stage for them. The fact they were punks is what explained the whole non-commercial attitude to the festival, I guess. Apparently the police are not allowed into the festival site, and if they really must, then they are escorted by festival staff. <br />
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The thing with the stage was, being a tunnel under a mound of earth, it was actually relatively cool inside. A lot cooler than outside, anyway. But then the big singer from the grindcore band playing before us came walking out laughing, his t-shirt drenched in sweat, and said, “I know it seems cool in there when you first go in, but it’s not cool up on that stage!” The thing is, I assumed it was now our turn to get up there, but then shortly afterwards he was back up there and they were playing again. And then I realised that he’d only done soundcheck when he came out the first time. I’d also been making hints at the eventuality of playing in shorts tonight, which only raised a shake of the head from the rest of the guys. It’s one of Victims cardinal rules: no shorts on stage. But in fucking thirty eight degrees heat? I don’t know about that. It’s alright for Andy, he plays in fucking shorts, but no one can see them. All this was put to rest when I checked out the grindcore band, all of them wearing shorts, and decided that no, I can’t be done.<br />
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It was indeed hot up on the stage, and I was already sweating my ass off just setting up. I asked the guys working if there was any stage towels, but they told me they’d all gone already. I found a couple of used towels at the front of the stage, that stank, probably had been used by the band before, but they would have to do.<br />
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The hangar was pretty full, probably around five hundred people in there at least, and I felt pretty buzzed playing the long guitar intro again. When we all kicked in, though, Andy just kind of disappeared, and it was pretty hard to follow him. All I could hear was myself. It would be that way for most of the show, although there was a little sweet spot behind Johan, so I found myself there quite a lot. The gig was still a lot of fun, though, and the crowd seemed to have a good time. Amongst the ninety thousand or so ravers here, there was still enough punks and crusties amongst them to fairly fill this little hanger. Weirdly enough, as hot as it was, the night before in Wroclaw had been worse. At least there was oxygen in this place. The set went smoothly tonight, too, and I felt that all in all, we’d had a pretty solid weekend of shows for what had been the first time we’d played in a good while, and playing six new songs in the set.<br />
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After catching my breath, and drinking enough water to fill a small pool, I went to the cabin for one of those cold beers. Only to recoil in horror as I found they’d been replaced by warm ones. Fucking gutted. I knew I shouldn’t have listened to Andy! Warm beer was not an option. There were two bottles of warm sparkling wine too, but they weren’t an option either. We decided to have a walk around the festival and see what was what, maybe get a beer from one of the bars and moose about the place, or maybe head over to the larger backstage area where there were supposed to be free beers and food. We found a bar just adjacent to our stage, beats coming out of it just like everywhere else here, and everywhere you could see there were people dancing. The bartender didn’t speak much English, and it took a bit of time to get our order sorted, but eventually she came back to us with three bottles of beer. Johan felt one of them and nodded. I guess that meant it was cold enough. We walked off with them, pleased up until the moment we had a sip and then looked at the bottle a little more closely. It was 2,5% lemonade shandy. Basically lemonade with a hint of beer. Fuck sakes… It was pretty refreshing, to be honest, but not what we’d been hoping for. We walked around drinking this pish and taking in the sights. There was so much going on that it was hard to take in. Just endless beats, from every direction, overlapping at the edges, and dancing everywhere, with the odd naked person thrown in. Some of the larger stages had what I assume are bigger artists in this universe, and the crowds were in the thousands for them, most of them off their tits, I imagine. Johan kept walking into the crowd to check it out whilst the rest of stayed off to the side, joking about how he was probably checking the PA system out.<br />
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We made our way back round to the Artist Landing Area. I was dreaming of sitting somewhere with a cold, draught beer. All this madness going on around me, and that’s all I wanted. Of course, the bar was closed when we got there. And the food from the canteen area looked rubbish compared to what the stalls were selling out in the public area, so we went back out in search of something better. After eating we made our way back to our own little backstage. I hoped that the beer in the portacabin would now be cold at least. It wasn’t it. It was still a sickly, piss warn. But it would have to do. I wanted a fucking beer!<br />
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Thomas was still sat in the cabin, watching his tablet. He didn’t seem too bothered, although I felt pretty bad for him, just sat there on his own. He really didn’t seem bothered, though. We took a beer each and a deckchair behind the stage area where the friendly guys in the grindcore band, Henry Fonda, were still hanging out. They were leaving shortly, but they told us, as had a few others, that we had to stay around until it got dark, because the lights at the festival are an amazing sight. The thing is, it was almost ten now, and the sun was still a way from making a complete exit, and after the beer and the food, every one of us was feeling pretty sunk. This is Victims on tour, 2019. I saw also that Thomas had made his way to the van and was sat in his driver’s seat, still watching his film, or whatever it was. We looked at each other and affirmed that it was time to go. I went over to the van and said to Thomas that we’re gonna pack up our stuff and get going. He looked at me quizitevly, “Ok. Are you sure?” Proper pro. <br />
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As we wriggled our way out of the festival area I got the feeling that the party was only starting for the ravers, although it didn’t ever really seem to stop. Before long we were out and back on a quiet country road, driving through the rapidly diminishing dusk. The hotel was only a quarter of an hour away, and it was a sight for sore eyes. An old manor house, set beautifully off the side of the road with a large garden behind it, decorated by a stream and watermill off to the side of it. Stunning looking place. It seemed that most of the lights were off, though, and although we had keys, we couldn’t really work out where to leave the van. Thomas and I went off to explore, walking across the large garden and coming around the rear of the house. Some old boy, must of been in his late fifties, wearing a flowery bermuda-style shirt and small round glasses, came walking out of a side door with a watering can. He hadn’t seen us when I said “Hello” as carefully as I could. He startled like a cat on a hot tin roof, almost leaving the ground, hand holding his heart. His shock soon turned the three of us all laughing out loud. He couldn’t speak any English, and Thomas German was only slightly more advanced than the two words I had. Eventually, through perseverance, we got the message that we could park the van in the back garden. <br />
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When we all came traipsing across the lawn a few moments later, the old boy was sitting at one of the tables on the patio, drinking what looked like a very inviting bottle of Bitburger Pilsner. I motioned to him, trying to ask him if it was possible to purchase one, although it did seem like the bar was closed. I guess he was just sitting down to an after work beer. The conversation was going nowhere, though. I could figure out that he was asking where we were from, I looked at Johan for the German word for Sweden. “Schweden!” I joyfully repeated Johan. “Schweden! Nein!!! Blont”, he said, motioning to his grey hair. “No, no blond hair, no hair at all,” I said, lifting my cap. “Nein!” pointing to my bonnet. He burst out laughing. Right, how about that beer then? I thought. We went up to our rooms, which were of luxury standard compared to where we’d stayed the last couple of nights, like the kind of place Jen would agree to stay if we were on holiday standard, dropped off the bags and then went back down to the garden. Luckily for us, we have Jon in the band, and his German is pretty impressive. He agreed to do the honours for us, despite the fact he still isn’t drinking, himself.<br />
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The old boy was still sat there, looking chuffed. Jon got the gab on and when he understood the gist of things, he jumped up smiling, and retrieved three bottles of beer. And then he pulled up a wooden bench and waived for us to join his company at the table. The beer was cold. Cold enough, anyway. It was a beautiful night. The sky was lit with shining stars and the air was a perfect temperature. It was pure tranquility, and a million miles away from where we’d just came from. Jon and the old boy talked for a while, every now again motioning to us with the odd German phrase, that we repeated like school kids, which seemed to please the guy immensely. We sat there, raising our bottles and going through the international rounds for the word “Cheers”. Then the old boy pointed to the stars and then to us all, and said, “Freunde der nacht”. Jon told us it meant, “Friends of the night” or something. We all repeated, much to the old boy’s delight. I could have happily sat there with him for another few beers. It was the most relaxed I’d felt all weekend. But for the mosquitoes being a pain in the ass. We called it a night and headed upstairs to bed. Just after I showered my phone rang. It was someone from the festival. To my horror I thought they were going to say we were at the wrong hotel. But it turned out that Johan had left his microphone on stage. Nice of them to call us. Unfortunately for Thomas it meant we’d have drive back into the madness tomorrow on our way to Berlin. <br />
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We ate breakfast out on the patio, Jon was already up and talking to some Americans and their Dutch driver. We sat around talking to them for a while, the morning sun on our backs, drinking black coffee and munching on freshly baked bread. I really could imagine coming here on holiday, this part of Germany, Meklenburg-Western Pomerania, is absolutely beautiful. Although our flight wasn’t until five pm, we still had to get going kind of early since Thomas had to drive all the way back to Warsaw. On our way out I spotted our friend from last night on the other side of the garden and shouted to him, “Auf wiedersehen!”. He raised his fist in the air and shouted back, “Freunde der nacht!” huge smile across his face. <br />
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It seemed like a lot of the ravers from the fest were leaving today, although the beats were still going, but there were a lot of tents being packed down and dreary faces heading towards the exits, heavy bags on their backs. I could only imagine how knackered they must be feeling. After picking up the mic, we drove out with the rest of the traffic and got pulled over at a police stop just outside the festival site. If they weren’t allowed inside, they were certainly not to be denied on the outside. Picking off drivers over the limit must have been like taking candy from a baby. There were shit loads of cops, putting people through the paces, fingers on noses, walk in a straight line, etc, etc. A young, blonde cop, with perfectly toned arms and rubbish tattoos, asked Thomas to step out of the car. He asked him when he last drank alcohol. Thomas took some time to ponder over his answer. “The last time? Hmm, the last time I drank alcohol was maybe two years ago”. The cop looked at him and smiled, then let out a faint laugh. “I believe you” he said, and handed Thomas his license back, telling us we could go. We all laughed as we drove off.<br />
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He dropped us off at Berlin Tegel airport around twelve. We had five hours to kill before our short, one hour flight home. Even if it was probably going to be boring as shit, we’d still be home tonight before Thomas. He gave us all a big hug and then we waved him off. Proper pro. </div>
Besatthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18249422950419263931noreply@blogger.com2