Wake up, head banging to the familiar beat of the drum. It’s still early, too early. I crawl out of bed, step over a girl who I think was with the Slovakians, who is lying on a mattress in the middle of the floor, and head back down the hallway for a piss, making sure to avoid the one with the piss puddle I stepped in last night. I head back to bed, hoping the headache will be gone when I next awake.
It’s still there when my eyes open again, daylight now having invaded the room. If anything the headache is worse. The rest of the guys start to rise around me, the snoring blame game commencing. Viktor assures us that no one is innocent. I get up out of bed and the first thing I see is two pair of shoes sticking out from the bunk directly above. Vik and Kev.. They look like a right pair of dog’s arses. Make me feel better. That and the horse tranquilizer pill Luc gives me.
I was sure there was a shower here somewhere but I’m fucked if I can find it this time around. I give up and head to the dining room for breakfast. The coffee is like a gift from the Gods. We tuck into sandwiches and fruit and a couple of mugs of the black stuff and I’m halfway to feeling human again. Time to pack out and get going, we have a five hour trip to Bremen and a stop at the border shop to make. When we’re finished packing the van I notice Kev sat on the curb, staring bleakly into nothingness. I ask him if he’s okay. “I just did a poo and it made me feel worse.” Poor Kev, he’d been looking forward to a shit, he hadn’t done one in a couple of days, most unusual for him.
We thank the guys from the house and head off. It’s another sunny day on tour. It takes a couple of hours to get down to the boat at Rödby, and then we have a wait for twenty minutes, quite nice just to stand around in the sun anyway, even if it’s blowing a little cold. My neck is aching, it’s been a while since I’ve experienced the tour aches, bangover Kev calls it. When you got sharp pains shooting out from all over it’s quite hard to imagine where you’re going to find the energy from for the next show but somehow you do. Of course, the booze usually helps, gives with one hand during the night, takes with the other in the morning. We get a crate of Tuborg in from the duty free shop on the short ferry ride over to Germany. We treat ourselves to it out of the band money since we made okay in Stockholm but we’ll have to be careful with that, seems like a sensible bet leaving the cash with Luc.
When we get off the other side and head straight for the infamous Border Shop. The Pyramido guys are brimming with excitement, Ronnie is handing out the warnings, putting a half hour limit on the stop. We walk in and Dan Bass turns to Luc and asks him if he’s ever been here, Luc tells him that he hasn’t. “Let me teach you everything I know” he says and then takes a sample shot of some minging booze they’re handing out.
I walk around with Viktor and Ronnie, laughing along as Viktor adds more and more bottles to those he already has clutched to his chest. “Are you not buying anything Bloggy?” he asks me, I tell him that I’m not that great with the hard liquor, plus I think Luc is picking up a bottle with the band money. Seems like I’ve got my new nickname for the tour, I seem to pick up a new one each time we go out.
We get back to the van and wait for the rest. They arrive a little while later, a vast assortment of booze clinking along with them. Luc laughs telling me Dan Bass had already had three free sample shots of different stuff before they even got off the first floor. We’ve only got about ten minutes down the road before all six of the bottles have been opened and passed around, Kev now sat next to Dan being right in the firing line. Total punishment for the fucker. A bottle of Fernet is making its way across the back seat and Luc asks me if I want some, I fucking hate Fernet anyway so it’s not on the agenda but I tell him I’m going to drive in a bit anyway, Luc stops with the bottle to his mouth with a look of horror on his face, “Me too”. Not today you’re not mate.
The booze flows pretty much all the way to Bremen, the Pyramido guys fucking chuffed. Dan and Kev seem to have found each other, they’re involved in deep conversation about Bremen hardcore from the Nineties as the bottles go back and forth, seems like they have a lot in common. There is this one particularly nasty looking bottle of pineapple liqueur that Kev finds repulsive, says it tastes like Toilet Duck, “It’s refreshing” exclaims Dan. The word “Refreshing” will be repeated many times during the next couple of hours. At one point a Cockney Rejects song comes on the stereo which sends Stix into overdrive, the boy loves Oi.
I take over from Ronnie after a petrol stop. As I pull out on to the motorway the guys in the back are all chanting, “Sprit, sprit, sprit, sprit!” After a while and get in too chat with Dan Guitar and Henrik. Really nice guys. Turns out Henrik’s wife is from Brazil, adding to the tropical connection on this tour. I hear Luc in the back, obviously disgusted by something he’s just swallowed. “That’s horrible!” “It’s not good, but it’s important” Dan Bass parps up. We all piss ourselves laughing. Dan is in fine form. “Now now Bloggy, don’t write and drive” Que laughter again. Seems like the Border Shop was a great ice breaker. This is going to be a fun few days.
It’s nice to be back in Bremen. We’ve been here a few times and I really like this city, it’s a nice place. What I like most about it though is my dear friend Stachel. It’s been too long since we hung out. It’s so fun that he’s putting the show on here tonight. “Oi fuck off!” is the first thing I hear when I get out of the van, I look up and see that familiar smiling face sticking out of the kitchen window at the top of the house. Nothing changes.
It’s raining as we load the gear in to the squat that is G 18. Typical. I really love this venue though, we played here with Victims a couple of years back and it was fucking insane. There were around a hundred and fifty people packed into the tiny room that night, I’ll be happy if there are thirty in tonight, it will still look okay. Kev has less fond memories of the place though, he shat himself on stage here with Hard to Swallow, back in ´96. Fucking cacked himself first song and had to make his way to the bog which had no light bulb in the ceiling. He only had the one pair of pants too, so he had to fashion a pair out of gaffa tape. The thought of him wearing gaffa tape pants is one that has cheered me up on many an occasion.
It’s great to see Stachel again, he’s busy in the kitchen making dinner for us. There is coffee and snacks ready for us though, fucking magic. Viktor turns to me and says in Swedish, “He’s shorter than ever”. The coffee hits the spot perfectly, and those little peanut puff things that Andy Victims loves so much ain’t exactly cat shit either. Stachel tells me I need to eat the fruit and vegetables too though, good to see he’s concerned for my health. He’s always concerned about me. I’m like the son he never had.
We decide to skip soundcheck and let the first band take care of it, we’ll just line check before we play. The guys from the first band are involved in putting the show on, the singer Tom is a super nice guy. They seem pretty psyched about Pyramido playing. I think it should be a good vibe at the gig tonight. After dinner it’s time for the first beer of the night. It goes down a treat. Kev is looking a bit ropey though, think he’s a bit pissed from the van journey. How the fuck Dan Bass is still in check I don’t know. The fucker is still smiling though, which is more than I can say for Kev. Grumpy Kev Viktor calls him. “I’m gonna be doomed at this rate” Kev moans.
We sort out the sleeping places and then head downstairs to the little room with the fussball table in it where we’ll set the merch up. The Fiske Fjäse or whatever it’s called, is out and about. Tastes good. Tonight feels like a night for a shot before the gig. Dan Bass and Henrik head off for a bit of tourism whilst the rest hang out just talking shit and drinking. Except Ronnie of course. Viktor, who is now called Nitty, because of his fine knitted jumper, meaning we now have Stix and Nitty as the two drummers on tour, is sat in the corner enthusing about each bottle of booze we have with us.
Tom’s band Dregs, start up around ten, everyone except the drummer stood on the floor. There isn’t much space for much more than the backline. The volume in the small concrete room is fucking furious. There are maybe forty or so in watching them, as well as us guys, it looks more than okay. It’s not totally my kind of music, big bouldering riffs chugging along, but they do it really well. Everyone in the place nodding along in unison to the wall of sound.
After Dregs it’s time for DB. Just the right amount of booze in the system, I’m ready to go for it. I really love floor shows, it’s the ultimate setting for a punk gig. My amp is insanely loud in this room, the treble tearing into your eardrums no matter how much I fiddle with it. Fuck it, let’s do this.
I have an absolute blast during the gig. One of those where my feet have got their dancing shoes on. It feels good to be playing with the guys from the other bands and Stachel, as well as everyone else in close proximity. Pure fucking petrol. Apart from constantly fighting with the sound on the amp, I really enjoy the show. The new song Nervous is working out well in the set, it’s a bit of a dancer, fits in well in the middle of the set. Right little dancer. By the time we’re done I’m pissing sweat, need to get out in the cold night air to cool off. I know it’s asking for trouble, but it’s an almost orgasmic feeling going from the sauna of the venue out into the cold. I have to force myself back inside. The tiny corridor leading from the front door into the back room is filled with people and smoke. I don’t know if I can be arsed with it but then I see Stix there, holding a bottle of beer for me. Dancer.
Pyramido are a fucking exceptional band. One of the best around at doing the slow thing. The sound, albeit punishingly loud, is spot on tonight. I can hear more of Ronnie than I could last night. I stand there with Stix, enjoying ever last drop of the cold Becks, almost entranced by the sound the guys are making. Nicely played boys, nicely fucking played.
We sell a bit of merch tonight, a few shirts and records, seems like people were pretty into it. There is this one guy, totally random, who lived in London for a while, who really liked Kev’s old band Regimes. Kev is well chuffed. We stand hanging out there for a while, talking away to various people. Micha from Punk Distro is here, always nice to see his smiling mug. When we’re done I head back into the music room and the obligatory punk disco is on the go. Kev and Luc in the thick of the action. Pissed.
The beer is no longer free although it’s cheap enough to keep us going. They’re closing the bar soon though and the lady working is doing her best to get us to come along to another bar. She says Pyramido are being boring, luckily DB are willing to escort her. I ask Nitty if he’s sure about not coming, he’s adamant he’s staying put. He looks more than satisfied just being here with his Fiske Fjäs. Dan Bass jumps aboard though, after a little convincing. As we leave Nitty turns to Stix and warns, “Keep an eye on him, keep a good eye on him”.
We follow Sandra to the bar, amazingly it actually is only the five minutes walk she’d promised. It’s a really cosy little living room type bar with sofas. We get some beers in and park ourselves in the corner. Sandra is supping on a Pina Colada that catches my eye, she lets me have a taste and I’m sold immediately. I have to have a cocktail. I see they’re selling Zombies, one of my particular favourites, for four Euros fifty, I tell Luc to get the band money out. I tells me he hasn’t got it with him. I know he’s lying. I know that he’s right too. We stick to the beer.
The place is pretty busy and we’re all chatting away on one side of the table whilst Kev is sat opposite next to a couple of girls, looking like a drunk old tramp sat there talking to himself. He’s gesticulating towards me, I can’t really figure out what he’s trying to say though. I can only offer a confused shrug in reply. “I’ve had twenty shots! I’m fucked!” he proclaims. He’s got that crazed look in his eye.
We head back to the venue about an hour later, Kev dragging behind, “ I’m going to fucking die. I don’t want to die on tour! The fucking Swedes are killing me!” “Gaz, I’ve had twenty shots!” We get back to the house and Kev fucks off into the dark somewhere, I head to bed. Drunk, but not alone in that, not by a long stretch. Still, day two on tour and I can already feel the immune system is getting stronger.
Monday, April 6, 2015
Saturday, April 4, 2015
Copenhagen
It was pretty nice, waking up first day on tour in my own bed, sharing pillow talk with Polly. “Pappa hasn’t got any hair” she says patting my head.
As you do as a parent of a small kid, I woke up a quarter of an hour before the alarm went off. It took me a while to get to sleep last night too, thinking about getting up early and making the journey. Felt ok though. I got up and put a pot of strong coffee on, had breakfast with Poll, watched a couple of episodes of Plonsters and then it was time to go. Now it’s tour for real.
The sun is shining, a nice day for the drive. I pick up Luc and we head to the practice room to pick up his bass, and then we head over to Vik’s and load the gear in the van. It’s Good Friday, or whatever they call it, so there’s hardly any traffic on the road, in the vein of the Swedish tradition, everyone had already fucked off to the countryside yesterday being that it’s a long weekend. It takes around seven hours to get down to Malmö, me and Luc fighting over the air conditioning most of the way, the tropical fucker doing his best to create a sauna in the van. We make the compulsory stop at Max’s in Jönköping, always a good place to stop. Luc calling off his boycott of the burger chain that has lasted since the scandal they had last year. “Jävla Moderaterna!” he says chomping into his Green Burger.
It’s great to see the Pyramido guys, it’s been a while since I saw Ronnie. Will be fun to tour together again. They’re all waiting outside their practice room for us when we arrive. The sun shining in this part of the country too. I hope the weather stays on our side, I have a nice vision of sitting in the sun with a nice pint of draught in Prague. After the pack is done, I hand the keys to Ronnie and we head off to the bridge. As soon as we pull out Viktor Pyramido, who is sat beside Ronnie up front, turns around with a cheeky smile on his face and asks if anyone wants some booze, a bottle of something called Valhalla in his hand. As is usually the case in the beginning there is a bit of band segregation going on in the van, the Valhalla breaks the ice nicely, even if it tastes like shite. Bitters aren’t really my thing, I wash it down with a Plopp bar directly.
About ten minutes into the journey and me and Vik are talking records, the new Violent Reaction record the subject of conversation. I ask Vik how it is and he says it’s good, a bit more Oi than the seven inches. To my utter amazement Viktor turns around again and says, “On the subject of Oi I’ve got some reading material” and hands over a laminated print out of the Wikipedia on Oi punk. Completely fucking random! I can tell this is going to be a fun tour.
We get to Ungdomshuset around six pm, plenty of time since the nights here are normally pretty late. It’s good to be back here. Last time we played we were in the big hall for this grindcore fest, tonight we’re in the small bar, which suits us a lot better. There is a band from Slovakia playing tonight too, which is pretty cool I think. We load in and soundcheck, which takes a good while, they have a policy here like they do at 44 where beginners get to work the shows, which is great because they get a chance to learn their trade, although I can tell Vik is getting pretty tired after hitting the snare for fifteen minutes, and then when he stops the lady asks immediately, “Can I have a little more snare please?” When we’re done Ronnie tells us to crank the guitar and bass before we play, but it sounds pretty good on stage anyway. Afterwards one of the Slovaks comes up to me and Ronnie and asks what time we’re leaving in the morning. They’re playing in Copenhagen tomorrow too and our van is parked in the yard in front of theirs. Since we’re heading to Bremen we conclude that we’ll be leaving before and the Slovakian guy suggests we move the vans around so we can get out in the morning without having to wake them. Sure thing we tell him, let’s do it. “Okay, erm… I just need to find someone who is more sober than me to drive the van out”. We wait around for five minutes and then give up and head in to get some dinner. We hang out up in the dining room upstairs, enjoying slices of vegan pizza. Really nice stuff, I help myself to my fill. Me and Vik had taken a walk to the garage and Vik had got a six pack in, the can of Tuborg Classic washes the pizza down a fucking treat. We sit around having the crack, recounting old stories, as one does, stories I’m hoping to catch again with Kev and Ronnie when I interview them for my new Podcast.
Kev still worrying about how he’s going to cope on tour, his throat and all, is sat downstairs at the bar with his friend Sarah, having a beer. I know fine well that a couple of beers in and all that concern will be washed away. Sander, Luc’s Dutch friend who lives here has turned up too, and we sit around with him enjoying a couple of beers. We got five tickets each and they’re good for a bottle of Höker Bajer, or whatever it’s called, pretty good Pilsner that does the job anyway. I can feel myself warming up after a couple. Sander has bought five bottles from the Mikkeller bar for him, Vik fucking chuffed, looking forward to getting stuck into them after the gig. Vik and Luc start talking about the Brazil tour that Nitad did, which Luc helped set up. They tell us about this old guy called Joel who drove all the punk the bands on tour back in the day, this random old guy with no teeth, couldn’t speak a word of English. Apparently whilst waiting around before the first show, Benis had come into the guys, having being stood outside smoking, and says that there is this homeless guy trying to get into the building, that he couldn’t understand what he was saying, he was just stood there pointing. “That’s the driver!” Luc had assured him. They tell us this other mad thing, that when on the tour, there had been this torrential rain, a huge storm that had caused huge flood on the highway. Joel, who they’d nicknamed Quasi was driving full speed in this terrifying rain and then just stopped dead, and start reversing back down the road, the flood slowly following after. It was so bad that there were fucking dead cows floating along in the fields beside them. Horrible.
By about ten there are only few that have straggled in, not that it will take many people to make it look half decent in here. The thing is, nearly everyone we know in Copenhagen is away on tour. It feels like Copenhagen and DB is never really going to happen, I don’t know. Nitad had a big thing going on here back in the day, but it was a different scene then, like Vik says, that scene died pretty suddenly here. Things change I guess. Once upon a time there was a plethora of great bands doing USHC style punk, not that we’re really in that particular pigeon hole either. Anyway, after a couple of beers I’m really in the mood to play, no matter how many are here. By the time we go on, around eleven, there are maybe thirty or forty people including bands. That’ll do me just fine.
I really enjoy the gig, we crank the volume up and bang it out. We play pretty tight and I feel a good amount of energy flowing through me. Fifteen minutes is more than enough for this shit though. At one point I bang in to Kev but the contact is soft, no wood on skin, at least I think. Kev seems alright anyway. We get a decent enough reaction from the small crowd, one guy, who buys a seven inch with an English fiver, seems to be a fan. Kev says he knows all about the band, about how I play in Victims and Kev’s history in Hard to Swallow, Speedhorn, the lot. This leads Kev to determine he’s a mongo. We sell a couple of shirts too, every little helps.
Pyramido start shortly afterwards and we stand down front, engulfed in the drowning wall of sound they produce, Vik now happily tucking into his Mikkeller beer. He’s got some strong as fuck IPA with a really bitter aftertaste, not totally my thing, too strong for Pappa Bear. I’m feeling a bit sauced on the Bajer as it is. I really love the Pyramido set anyway, they do this style so well, and they have their sound totally nailed. When they get to the end of their first set I’m trying to figure out who is working their sampler until I realize that sound engineer has forgotten to turn off the Tragedy album they’d been playing all night. Dan politely informs they don’t require a DJ right now..
After the Pyramido set we hang out at the back of the room by the merch, Kev is now well and truly sauced. “Bad things have happened Gaz” he says to me. I assume he’s referring to the bumpy cuts on his head that he’s obtained through bashing the mic off his head but he points to his broken zipper on his jeans and says they’re his only pair. Vik tells him that he can pick up a pair of pants on the boat tomorrow. Vik seems to think there’s nothing you can’t buy on that forty five minute boat ride tomorrow. I think the Mikkeller is getting to Vik too. I fucking piss myself laughing when Vik offers Kev a bit of his beer geek, fine cultured IPA. Kev takes a sip and then recoils in disgust, “That is fucking rank! It tastes like Ajax!” he shouts, scraping his tongue with his fingers, trying to get the taste off, “You’ve ruined my night” he moans as heads off to the bar for a Bajer
The Slovakian band start up a while later. I think they’re called Adacta or something, Wolfpack patches all over. They play a full song to line check which receives applause from the punters milling around up front. “No no, that was only soundcheck. Thank you” explains the guitarist. We hang out and watch from afar, they play pretty standard crust but do it well enough. I’m feeling a bit pissed from the beer, pretty obvious by the way me and Luc are pissing ourselves laughing at crap jokes, also the fact that I had a toke on Pyramido’s E Cigg, some sort of electric cigarette thing. Daft. By the time Adacta are done I’m starting to feel that it would be a good idea to go to bed, it’s past two as it is and breakfast is at nine. We head up to the dormitories and I pick a place in between Ronnie and guitarist Dan from Pyramido. I had planned on brushing my teeth, but once lying down I’m not sure I can manage getting back up and heading down the corridor to the bog. Luc reasons with me and I pull myself up and head down in my socks. What a fucking rookie mistake, I walk into the first toilet which has no light in and stand in a wet puddle of what I assume is piss, or sick. Fucking rubbish.
Back in bed and Vik and Kev, who has by now long forgotten any worries he had about his health on tour, are asking me if I’m coming back downstairs for a drink. No thanks boys. No thanks. I look forward to seeing Kev in the morning.
As you do as a parent of a small kid, I woke up a quarter of an hour before the alarm went off. It took me a while to get to sleep last night too, thinking about getting up early and making the journey. Felt ok though. I got up and put a pot of strong coffee on, had breakfast with Poll, watched a couple of episodes of Plonsters and then it was time to go. Now it’s tour for real.
The sun is shining, a nice day for the drive. I pick up Luc and we head to the practice room to pick up his bass, and then we head over to Vik’s and load the gear in the van. It’s Good Friday, or whatever they call it, so there’s hardly any traffic on the road, in the vein of the Swedish tradition, everyone had already fucked off to the countryside yesterday being that it’s a long weekend. It takes around seven hours to get down to Malmö, me and Luc fighting over the air conditioning most of the way, the tropical fucker doing his best to create a sauna in the van. We make the compulsory stop at Max’s in Jönköping, always a good place to stop. Luc calling off his boycott of the burger chain that has lasted since the scandal they had last year. “Jävla Moderaterna!” he says chomping into his Green Burger.
It’s great to see the Pyramido guys, it’s been a while since I saw Ronnie. Will be fun to tour together again. They’re all waiting outside their practice room for us when we arrive. The sun shining in this part of the country too. I hope the weather stays on our side, I have a nice vision of sitting in the sun with a nice pint of draught in Prague. After the pack is done, I hand the keys to Ronnie and we head off to the bridge. As soon as we pull out Viktor Pyramido, who is sat beside Ronnie up front, turns around with a cheeky smile on his face and asks if anyone wants some booze, a bottle of something called Valhalla in his hand. As is usually the case in the beginning there is a bit of band segregation going on in the van, the Valhalla breaks the ice nicely, even if it tastes like shite. Bitters aren’t really my thing, I wash it down with a Plopp bar directly.
About ten minutes into the journey and me and Vik are talking records, the new Violent Reaction record the subject of conversation. I ask Vik how it is and he says it’s good, a bit more Oi than the seven inches. To my utter amazement Viktor turns around again and says, “On the subject of Oi I’ve got some reading material” and hands over a laminated print out of the Wikipedia on Oi punk. Completely fucking random! I can tell this is going to be a fun tour.
We get to Ungdomshuset around six pm, plenty of time since the nights here are normally pretty late. It’s good to be back here. Last time we played we were in the big hall for this grindcore fest, tonight we’re in the small bar, which suits us a lot better. There is a band from Slovakia playing tonight too, which is pretty cool I think. We load in and soundcheck, which takes a good while, they have a policy here like they do at 44 where beginners get to work the shows, which is great because they get a chance to learn their trade, although I can tell Vik is getting pretty tired after hitting the snare for fifteen minutes, and then when he stops the lady asks immediately, “Can I have a little more snare please?” When we’re done Ronnie tells us to crank the guitar and bass before we play, but it sounds pretty good on stage anyway. Afterwards one of the Slovaks comes up to me and Ronnie and asks what time we’re leaving in the morning. They’re playing in Copenhagen tomorrow too and our van is parked in the yard in front of theirs. Since we’re heading to Bremen we conclude that we’ll be leaving before and the Slovakian guy suggests we move the vans around so we can get out in the morning without having to wake them. Sure thing we tell him, let’s do it. “Okay, erm… I just need to find someone who is more sober than me to drive the van out”. We wait around for five minutes and then give up and head in to get some dinner. We hang out up in the dining room upstairs, enjoying slices of vegan pizza. Really nice stuff, I help myself to my fill. Me and Vik had taken a walk to the garage and Vik had got a six pack in, the can of Tuborg Classic washes the pizza down a fucking treat. We sit around having the crack, recounting old stories, as one does, stories I’m hoping to catch again with Kev and Ronnie when I interview them for my new Podcast.
Kev still worrying about how he’s going to cope on tour, his throat and all, is sat downstairs at the bar with his friend Sarah, having a beer. I know fine well that a couple of beers in and all that concern will be washed away. Sander, Luc’s Dutch friend who lives here has turned up too, and we sit around with him enjoying a couple of beers. We got five tickets each and they’re good for a bottle of Höker Bajer, or whatever it’s called, pretty good Pilsner that does the job anyway. I can feel myself warming up after a couple. Sander has bought five bottles from the Mikkeller bar for him, Vik fucking chuffed, looking forward to getting stuck into them after the gig. Vik and Luc start talking about the Brazil tour that Nitad did, which Luc helped set up. They tell us about this old guy called Joel who drove all the punk the bands on tour back in the day, this random old guy with no teeth, couldn’t speak a word of English. Apparently whilst waiting around before the first show, Benis had come into the guys, having being stood outside smoking, and says that there is this homeless guy trying to get into the building, that he couldn’t understand what he was saying, he was just stood there pointing. “That’s the driver!” Luc had assured him. They tell us this other mad thing, that when on the tour, there had been this torrential rain, a huge storm that had caused huge flood on the highway. Joel, who they’d nicknamed Quasi was driving full speed in this terrifying rain and then just stopped dead, and start reversing back down the road, the flood slowly following after. It was so bad that there were fucking dead cows floating along in the fields beside them. Horrible.
By about ten there are only few that have straggled in, not that it will take many people to make it look half decent in here. The thing is, nearly everyone we know in Copenhagen is away on tour. It feels like Copenhagen and DB is never really going to happen, I don’t know. Nitad had a big thing going on here back in the day, but it was a different scene then, like Vik says, that scene died pretty suddenly here. Things change I guess. Once upon a time there was a plethora of great bands doing USHC style punk, not that we’re really in that particular pigeon hole either. Anyway, after a couple of beers I’m really in the mood to play, no matter how many are here. By the time we go on, around eleven, there are maybe thirty or forty people including bands. That’ll do me just fine.
I really enjoy the gig, we crank the volume up and bang it out. We play pretty tight and I feel a good amount of energy flowing through me. Fifteen minutes is more than enough for this shit though. At one point I bang in to Kev but the contact is soft, no wood on skin, at least I think. Kev seems alright anyway. We get a decent enough reaction from the small crowd, one guy, who buys a seven inch with an English fiver, seems to be a fan. Kev says he knows all about the band, about how I play in Victims and Kev’s history in Hard to Swallow, Speedhorn, the lot. This leads Kev to determine he’s a mongo. We sell a couple of shirts too, every little helps.
Pyramido start shortly afterwards and we stand down front, engulfed in the drowning wall of sound they produce, Vik now happily tucking into his Mikkeller beer. He’s got some strong as fuck IPA with a really bitter aftertaste, not totally my thing, too strong for Pappa Bear. I’m feeling a bit sauced on the Bajer as it is. I really love the Pyramido set anyway, they do this style so well, and they have their sound totally nailed. When they get to the end of their first set I’m trying to figure out who is working their sampler until I realize that sound engineer has forgotten to turn off the Tragedy album they’d been playing all night. Dan politely informs they don’t require a DJ right now..
After the Pyramido set we hang out at the back of the room by the merch, Kev is now well and truly sauced. “Bad things have happened Gaz” he says to me. I assume he’s referring to the bumpy cuts on his head that he’s obtained through bashing the mic off his head but he points to his broken zipper on his jeans and says they’re his only pair. Vik tells him that he can pick up a pair of pants on the boat tomorrow. Vik seems to think there’s nothing you can’t buy on that forty five minute boat ride tomorrow. I think the Mikkeller is getting to Vik too. I fucking piss myself laughing when Vik offers Kev a bit of his beer geek, fine cultured IPA. Kev takes a sip and then recoils in disgust, “That is fucking rank! It tastes like Ajax!” he shouts, scraping his tongue with his fingers, trying to get the taste off, “You’ve ruined my night” he moans as heads off to the bar for a Bajer
The Slovakian band start up a while later. I think they’re called Adacta or something, Wolfpack patches all over. They play a full song to line check which receives applause from the punters milling around up front. “No no, that was only soundcheck. Thank you” explains the guitarist. We hang out and watch from afar, they play pretty standard crust but do it well enough. I’m feeling a bit pissed from the beer, pretty obvious by the way me and Luc are pissing ourselves laughing at crap jokes, also the fact that I had a toke on Pyramido’s E Cigg, some sort of electric cigarette thing. Daft. By the time Adacta are done I’m starting to feel that it would be a good idea to go to bed, it’s past two as it is and breakfast is at nine. We head up to the dormitories and I pick a place in between Ronnie and guitarist Dan from Pyramido. I had planned on brushing my teeth, but once lying down I’m not sure I can manage getting back up and heading down the corridor to the bog. Luc reasons with me and I pull myself up and head down in my socks. What a fucking rookie mistake, I walk into the first toilet which has no light in and stand in a wet puddle of what I assume is piss, or sick. Fucking rubbish.
Back in bed and Vik and Kev, who has by now long forgotten any worries he had about his health on tour, are asking me if I’m coming back downstairs for a drink. No thanks boys. No thanks. I look forward to seeing Kev in the morning.
Stockholm
Like the crap Stones song, I was a bag of Mixed Emotions today. I was really looking forward to going on tour, the first time with DB travelling in van, the first time I’d been in a van for a couple years myself, at the same time this would be the longest I’d been away from Polly to date.
I had a feeling of slight anxiety in my stomach for most of the day, both the leaving Polly thing and the fact that we’re playing Stockholm and we’re organising the gig. We needed a good start to the tour tonight. You never know what awaits us in mainland Europe, it’s our first time playing down there, although Pyramido have been down a few times so maybe a few people will show up. Anyway, a good few people in tonight would give us a boost for the trip down to Copenhagen tomorrow.
I had asked the Pyramido guys if they wanted to come up for the show tonight, understanding full well that it doesn’t make any economic sense for them to travel up to Stockholm only for us to head back the exact same seven hour journey tomorrow, but it would have been fun to have them on the show, they’ve never played Stockholm before. Instead we asked Massgrav and Damaged Head to play, which makes for a real good line up too. Funny thing is, a few weeks ago another gig got announced, at Lilla Hotel Baren, just around the corner from Kafe 44, with Viagra Boys playing, which is Benke and Benis from Nitad’s new band, making that two shows within a couple of blocks of each other, each with two halves of Nitad on the bill, Vik and Modde being with us. Nitad are actually back for one last gig in a month’s time but I’ll miss it since I’m going to a wedding in Corby, would have been fun to see the show but never mind. “We’ll always have Jersey” as I said to Vik on the subject.
The other reason for the heavy feeling in my stomach was a disaster of a maths exam I took at school this morning. Total crash and burn stuff. Maybe I’m exaggerating but it didn’t feel good. And then straight from school I jumped on the tram and took it all the way to the van hire place that my old mate Tim Switchblade works for. He wasn’t around but the keys were waiting. First time I’ve driven a van of this size too, but I acclimatized myself to it pretty quick. After picking up the van I dashed by the flat to pick up some last bits and bobs and then picked up Vik and Kev on the way to the practice room to get the gear for tonight. Non fucking stop. Straight from school to tour. I get home in ten days, Sunday night, and start back at school on the Monday. Ambitious as I know it sounds, I actually have school work with me and plan to study on the road. I know how unlikely that sounds but I think I might actually manage it. How times have changed…
Soundcheck went okay anyway, the usual fare for 44, a young kid doing the sound, just finding their way in the profession, a whirling sound coming out of the PA between songs that nobody could locate. I was happy enough with the sound by the time we were done though. So was the sound guy it seems, well there were two of them, one long haired punk, one short haired, and the short haired one had been fist pumping away during check and then went straight to the merch stall and bought a shirt. Chuffed. Polly and Jen had turned up too, Poll with her big ear protectors on, looking really cute. God I’m going to miss her, still could be worse, could be going to war instead or tour. Or something like that…
Luc and Vik went to pick up some beer for the bands and I went in search of coffee, a headache deriving from a lack of caffeine intake. Jen and Poll headed off after a while, Poll disappointed that there were no cinnamon buns as promised. Typically, just as they left Tompa Eken turned up with a plate of newly baked rolls, something he’s been doing for the bands since the Eighties. Tompa’s buns are famous within the scene. Fucking beautiful too, I’ve hardly eaten today. Kev even give me cash for some coffee, things starting to level out thank fuck.
I was talking to Modde in the back room, he was asking about the new podcast I’m doing and I invited him to come and have a chat. Modde, obviously a few beers in already, gets choked up, telling me he’s really honoured. I cracked up. Should be fun to do when I get home though. I was pretty chuffed with the fact that by the time Bengtsson opened the doors at seven there was a queue of punks outside waiting to get in. The show is all ages, meaning no booze, so I guess a few were coming to get the stamp and then fuck off to the pub, but surprisingly a lot stuck around. A lot of younger punks seem to be in the crowd, making it a refreshing change for us. I had a bunch of friends coming down, most of them in the pub talking of coming along earlier. We have the usual Stockholm problem where we had to warn everyone earlier that they’d have to turn up early because it was looking like being busy, nobody takes it seriously though. My friends Erik and Maya from school came along anyway, chuffed to see them here, and we had a quick chat before they fucked off to get a quick beer.
Damaged Head end up going on about fifteen minutes early, for some reason, so I’m on the phone texting people frantically that they need to get down. I head down the side corridor to get to the front of the stage and from what I can see into the room, it looks packed. Modde is pissed up, talking nonsense between songs about Easter. And then Gonzo, my good friend who now lives about an hour from town, phones me, really gutted that he can’t get in. I think he’s joking at first but he tells me Bengtsson is adamant it’s sold out! I run upstairs and beg for him to be let in, I manage to sort it but Bengtsson assures me he’s the last they’re letting in. I guess that means a few of my mates in the pub won’t be getting in.
I head back to see the last of Damaged Head and Vik is pissing himself laughing. He tells me this punk guy who always bring a tape recorded with him to shows just stage dived and somehow got his wallet chain tangled up in his wristband it was flying around in the mosh pit, the punk frantically trying to reel it in. I head back out to the café where the merch is and see Andy Victims has just arrived. I asked him how the fuck he got in and in his usual deadpan style he tells me he just walked in, put his money in the jar and walked past. I reckon Bengtsson let him pass because he’s into Andy’s sister. The DH set is great anyway, tight as fuck. I can’t help looking at Linkan playing drums and thinking, what a talented bastard, one of those that plays everything, he was sat in the dressing room earlier playing Spanish style classic guitar. He wrote all the riffs to the Herätys record, that tells you all you need to know. I can’t help looking at the young long haired sound guy either, stood right at the front of the gig, headbanging away.
My friend Jimmy is here too, an old Speedhorn fan who turned into a mate, he’s working on tour himself a lot these days, as well being a film maker, and he’s brought his camera along tonight to record our set. He’d been filming some other band earlier anyway. Good to see him as always, as it was my mate Joran, one of DB’s biggest fans, or at least, one of Luc’s biggest fans, he really digs the artwork, got all the shirts. It’s time for us to head up and play, still no sign of Erik and Maya. Fuck it, they paid anyway. I missed it, but during switch over Luc has somehow managed to fuck himself in the jaw with the big iron handle on the door between the gig room and the café, right proper uppercut. Seems he’s ok, although if he’s caught himself in the teeth he wouldn’t quite be so cute anymore. He was in a rush to call Anja and tell her it was sold out and she’s not on the list. Great boyfriend.
The room is pretty full when we take to the stage, changeover is quick since all the bands are using my amp. Before we even start I’m pissing sweat, the new lights they’ve put in here are hot as fuck. It’s a nice feeling for a change to play a Stockholm The set flies by anyway, of course. I don’t know what Kev was worried about, he sounded solid. I guess there are another nine shows to go though. It was nice to see a bunch of young punk kids down the front, really getting into the gig. It’s great to see the contrast between this little skinhead, boots and braces, can’t be much more than twelve, and Kev on stage screaming at him. Better that than a bunch of mates stood around taking pics for Instagram. Anyway, great first gig of the tour.
When we’re done, I pack down, leaving my gear for Norse and the Massgrav guys, and check my phone. Erik has texted asking what time we’re playing again. I simply write back, played. They turn up a while later feeling really bad about missing us and buy a t-shirt. I call him a fucking poseur and we have a laugh about it. Seems like we’re selling good on the merch anyway, some guy tells Luc that the tape we did with Hello Bastards and tells him it’s the best hardcore record he’s heard in ages. These other kids are hanging around, telling us they’re still buzzing from the adrenaline of our set. Some other girl buys a couple of the badges Luc has made, the particular badge in mention is a picture of a small cock, the Luc thought he was going to get shit for from this girl, but she ends up buying two. Fucking great.
Massgrav play to an absolutely packed room, I can barely be arsed even making my way in, it’s so hot there. I check out a bit from the side, they’re tight as fuck as always. Vik is laughing again, saying they’d had this long intro playing at the start, all drums and stuff, and then when it ended all you could was Norse shouting, “It’s not fucking working, fuck sakes”. Brilliant. Massgrav pummel everyone as always, they know what they’re doing on stage. I really like the sense of humour Ola and Norse have too, take the piss out of the scene and everyone else, tongues firmly in cheeks.
The night is over and done with by ten, perfect. Bengtsson gets everyone out sharpish, we sort payment out, everyone happy, and load out. I’m hoping to get home as quick as possible, Jen has saved me some dinner, and she’s waiting up for me until I get back. Funny way to start a tour, sleeping at home, showering, eating left over dinner. We say bye to Tompa and Bengtssson and the rest of the guys and head off. There are a load of punk kids sat in the middle of the road outside, having an after party. I’m more than happy to drive around them via the pavement, they’re most appreciative, waving us off and thanking us for tonight.
We take the stuff to Vik’s drop the gear, packing it in to his very tight lift, and then I head home. Manage to make it before Jen heads to bed. I grab a shower, change Polly’s nappy, take Bonz around the block for a piss, heat dinner up and crack open a can of beer I’d saved from earlier. Been gagging for a beer since we played. Nice end to the night. The following nine nights will probably be a little different.
I had a feeling of slight anxiety in my stomach for most of the day, both the leaving Polly thing and the fact that we’re playing Stockholm and we’re organising the gig. We needed a good start to the tour tonight. You never know what awaits us in mainland Europe, it’s our first time playing down there, although Pyramido have been down a few times so maybe a few people will show up. Anyway, a good few people in tonight would give us a boost for the trip down to Copenhagen tomorrow.
I had asked the Pyramido guys if they wanted to come up for the show tonight, understanding full well that it doesn’t make any economic sense for them to travel up to Stockholm only for us to head back the exact same seven hour journey tomorrow, but it would have been fun to have them on the show, they’ve never played Stockholm before. Instead we asked Massgrav and Damaged Head to play, which makes for a real good line up too. Funny thing is, a few weeks ago another gig got announced, at Lilla Hotel Baren, just around the corner from Kafe 44, with Viagra Boys playing, which is Benke and Benis from Nitad’s new band, making that two shows within a couple of blocks of each other, each with two halves of Nitad on the bill, Vik and Modde being with us. Nitad are actually back for one last gig in a month’s time but I’ll miss it since I’m going to a wedding in Corby, would have been fun to see the show but never mind. “We’ll always have Jersey” as I said to Vik on the subject.
The other reason for the heavy feeling in my stomach was a disaster of a maths exam I took at school this morning. Total crash and burn stuff. Maybe I’m exaggerating but it didn’t feel good. And then straight from school I jumped on the tram and took it all the way to the van hire place that my old mate Tim Switchblade works for. He wasn’t around but the keys were waiting. First time I’ve driven a van of this size too, but I acclimatized myself to it pretty quick. After picking up the van I dashed by the flat to pick up some last bits and bobs and then picked up Vik and Kev on the way to the practice room to get the gear for tonight. Non fucking stop. Straight from school to tour. I get home in ten days, Sunday night, and start back at school on the Monday. Ambitious as I know it sounds, I actually have school work with me and plan to study on the road. I know how unlikely that sounds but I think I might actually manage it. How times have changed…
It was good to see Kev as always. He got in late last night. He hasn’t been feeling so well these last few days though, coming down with a cold. He’s been sat at Vik’s place all day taking it was whilst Stix was at work. I think maybe some of the problem lies within Kev’s head though, it’s the first time he’s done a long stretch doing vocals and he’s a bit nervous about how he’s going to hold up. I assure him that if all else fails we’ll just take the old Speedhorn route and neck some shots before we play each night. Vik was saying to me the other day how Kev had been voicing his concerns, “You do tend to forget, he is actually forty seven soon” Vik reasoned. I guess…
Anyway, Kev looked in pretty good shape, the day at Vik’s seems to have done him good. We head to the practice room and load the gear into the van, there isn’t much to take, just my guitar cab with the broken wheel, a couple of heads, guitars and drum bits. Most of the gear we’re taking is Pyramido’s. Even so, despite Vik asking me to do an idiot check we manage to forget Luc’s bass. We only realise once we load the gear into the venue. Fuck… Lucky the first show wasn’t in Copenhagen anyway. Both Massgrav and DH are willing to help us out though so we’re good. I could tell Luc wanted to head back and pick his guitar up but I really didn’t want to drive back in rush hour traffic and on top of that sacrifice the parking spot we’d pinched right outside the venue for the van. Last thing I could be arsed with is arriving back half hour before show time and then stressing around Södermalm looking for a space to fit a seven meter van! Still felt a bit bad about it though, which only added to the weight in my gut that had been there all day.
Anyway, Kev looked in pretty good shape, the day at Vik’s seems to have done him good. We head to the practice room and load the gear into the van, there isn’t much to take, just my guitar cab with the broken wheel, a couple of heads, guitars and drum bits. Most of the gear we’re taking is Pyramido’s. Even so, despite Vik asking me to do an idiot check we manage to forget Luc’s bass. We only realise once we load the gear into the venue. Fuck… Lucky the first show wasn’t in Copenhagen anyway. Both Massgrav and DH are willing to help us out though so we’re good. I could tell Luc wanted to head back and pick his guitar up but I really didn’t want to drive back in rush hour traffic and on top of that sacrifice the parking spot we’d pinched right outside the venue for the van. Last thing I could be arsed with is arriving back half hour before show time and then stressing around Södermalm looking for a space to fit a seven meter van! Still felt a bit bad about it though, which only added to the weight in my gut that had been there all day.
Soundcheck went okay anyway, the usual fare for 44, a young kid doing the sound, just finding their way in the profession, a whirling sound coming out of the PA between songs that nobody could locate. I was happy enough with the sound by the time we were done though. So was the sound guy it seems, well there were two of them, one long haired punk, one short haired, and the short haired one had been fist pumping away during check and then went straight to the merch stall and bought a shirt. Chuffed. Polly and Jen had turned up too, Poll with her big ear protectors on, looking really cute. God I’m going to miss her, still could be worse, could be going to war instead or tour. Or something like that…
Luc and Vik went to pick up some beer for the bands and I went in search of coffee, a headache deriving from a lack of caffeine intake. Jen and Poll headed off after a while, Poll disappointed that there were no cinnamon buns as promised. Typically, just as they left Tompa Eken turned up with a plate of newly baked rolls, something he’s been doing for the bands since the Eighties. Tompa’s buns are famous within the scene. Fucking beautiful too, I’ve hardly eaten today. Kev even give me cash for some coffee, things starting to level out thank fuck.
I was talking to Modde in the back room, he was asking about the new podcast I’m doing and I invited him to come and have a chat. Modde, obviously a few beers in already, gets choked up, telling me he’s really honoured. I cracked up. Should be fun to do when I get home though. I was pretty chuffed with the fact that by the time Bengtsson opened the doors at seven there was a queue of punks outside waiting to get in. The show is all ages, meaning no booze, so I guess a few were coming to get the stamp and then fuck off to the pub, but surprisingly a lot stuck around. A lot of younger punks seem to be in the crowd, making it a refreshing change for us. I had a bunch of friends coming down, most of them in the pub talking of coming along earlier. We have the usual Stockholm problem where we had to warn everyone earlier that they’d have to turn up early because it was looking like being busy, nobody takes it seriously though. My friends Erik and Maya from school came along anyway, chuffed to see them here, and we had a quick chat before they fucked off to get a quick beer.
Damaged Head end up going on about fifteen minutes early, for some reason, so I’m on the phone texting people frantically that they need to get down. I head down the side corridor to get to the front of the stage and from what I can see into the room, it looks packed. Modde is pissed up, talking nonsense between songs about Easter. And then Gonzo, my good friend who now lives about an hour from town, phones me, really gutted that he can’t get in. I think he’s joking at first but he tells me Bengtsson is adamant it’s sold out! I run upstairs and beg for him to be let in, I manage to sort it but Bengtsson assures me he’s the last they’re letting in. I guess that means a few of my mates in the pub won’t be getting in.
I head back to see the last of Damaged Head and Vik is pissing himself laughing. He tells me this punk guy who always bring a tape recorded with him to shows just stage dived and somehow got his wallet chain tangled up in his wristband it was flying around in the mosh pit, the punk frantically trying to reel it in. I head back out to the café where the merch is and see Andy Victims has just arrived. I asked him how the fuck he got in and in his usual deadpan style he tells me he just walked in, put his money in the jar and walked past. I reckon Bengtsson let him pass because he’s into Andy’s sister. The DH set is great anyway, tight as fuck. I can’t help looking at Linkan playing drums and thinking, what a talented bastard, one of those that plays everything, he was sat in the dressing room earlier playing Spanish style classic guitar. He wrote all the riffs to the Herätys record, that tells you all you need to know. I can’t help looking at the young long haired sound guy either, stood right at the front of the gig, headbanging away.
My friend Jimmy is here too, an old Speedhorn fan who turned into a mate, he’s working on tour himself a lot these days, as well being a film maker, and he’s brought his camera along tonight to record our set. He’d been filming some other band earlier anyway. Good to see him as always, as it was my mate Joran, one of DB’s biggest fans, or at least, one of Luc’s biggest fans, he really digs the artwork, got all the shirts. It’s time for us to head up and play, still no sign of Erik and Maya. Fuck it, they paid anyway. I missed it, but during switch over Luc has somehow managed to fuck himself in the jaw with the big iron handle on the door between the gig room and the café, right proper uppercut. Seems he’s ok, although if he’s caught himself in the teeth he wouldn’t quite be so cute anymore. He was in a rush to call Anja and tell her it was sold out and she’s not on the list. Great boyfriend.
The room is pretty full when we take to the stage, changeover is quick since all the bands are using my amp. Before we even start I’m pissing sweat, the new lights they’ve put in here are hot as fuck. It’s a nice feeling for a change to play a Stockholm The set flies by anyway, of course. I don’t know what Kev was worried about, he sounded solid. I guess there are another nine shows to go though. It was nice to see a bunch of young punk kids down the front, really getting into the gig. It’s great to see the contrast between this little skinhead, boots and braces, can’t be much more than twelve, and Kev on stage screaming at him. Better that than a bunch of mates stood around taking pics for Instagram. Anyway, great first gig of the tour.
When we’re done, I pack down, leaving my gear for Norse and the Massgrav guys, and check my phone. Erik has texted asking what time we’re playing again. I simply write back, played. They turn up a while later feeling really bad about missing us and buy a t-shirt. I call him a fucking poseur and we have a laugh about it. Seems like we’re selling good on the merch anyway, some guy tells Luc that the tape we did with Hello Bastards and tells him it’s the best hardcore record he’s heard in ages. These other kids are hanging around, telling us they’re still buzzing from the adrenaline of our set. Some other girl buys a couple of the badges Luc has made, the particular badge in mention is a picture of a small cock, the Luc thought he was going to get shit for from this girl, but she ends up buying two. Fucking great.
Massgrav play to an absolutely packed room, I can barely be arsed even making my way in, it’s so hot there. I check out a bit from the side, they’re tight as fuck as always. Vik is laughing again, saying they’d had this long intro playing at the start, all drums and stuff, and then when it ended all you could was Norse shouting, “It’s not fucking working, fuck sakes”. Brilliant. Massgrav pummel everyone as always, they know what they’re doing on stage. I really like the sense of humour Ola and Norse have too, take the piss out of the scene and everyone else, tongues firmly in cheeks.
The night is over and done with by ten, perfect. Bengtsson gets everyone out sharpish, we sort payment out, everyone happy, and load out. I’m hoping to get home as quick as possible, Jen has saved me some dinner, and she’s waiting up for me until I get back. Funny way to start a tour, sleeping at home, showering, eating left over dinner. We say bye to Tompa and Bengtssson and the rest of the guys and head off. There are a load of punk kids sat in the middle of the road outside, having an after party. I’m more than happy to drive around them via the pavement, they’re most appreciative, waving us off and thanking us for tonight.
We take the stuff to Vik’s drop the gear, packing it in to his very tight lift, and then I head home. Manage to make it before Jen heads to bed. I grab a shower, change Polly’s nappy, take Bonz around the block for a piss, heat dinner up and crack open a can of beer I’d saved from earlier. Been gagging for a beer since we played. Nice end to the night. The following nine nights will probably be a little different.
Wednesday, April 1, 2015
Diagnosis? Pyramido!
Tomorrow we start our European tour with the devilishly handsome chaps in Pyramido. Well actually, tomorrow we play Kafe 44 in Stockholm with our pals Damaged Head and Massgrav, we pick up the P's in Malmö on the way to Copenhagen on Friday, and from there we hit the highways and byways of mainland Europa! We figured since we're all here we may as well play a hometown show and hopefully get a bit of bunce in for the trip down to Denmark. My friend Erik from school thought it was delightfully charming that the height of our ambitions as far as earning goes was simply to cover the petty money to the next show. Erik listens mainly to Kanye and is only now, through me, beginning to get a grip on what it means to be in a punk band...
Anyway, the van we're renting from the guys at New Direction apparently is so new and advanced that it has plug sockets in it, meaning that the not so new laptop I've lent from Andy Victims (mine died a slow and not so dignified death) will have a power supply, meaning I'll be able to write tour diaries for each show, live from the road!
See you soon Europe!
Monday, March 30, 2015
Punk Rock and Coffee Podcast
I've been planning for a while now to invite guests to share their stories with me through the blog, whether that be in the form of me interviewing said guests or said guests writing in themselves.
I've been touring in bands for almost twenty years now and as well as having countless stories of my own to tell from that time, I've also had the pleasure of hearing a vast assortment of others from friends and acquaintances. I don't know how many times I've sat in a van, in a backroom somewhere, a café or a bar or someone's house and been gobsmacked, horrified or in tears of laughter as someone has recounted a story from their own history in this life we call underground music, and the thought has occurred to me that others should hear these stories.
I've decided that instead of interviewing different people and putting the conversations into words, or indeed asking others to take the time to write the stories themselves, that I'll simply record these conversations and make them available in the form of a podcast. The idea is that when I'm out travelling with bands on tour, or on holiday somewhere, or indeed simply at home here in Stockholm, to entice different friends and acquaintances with a cup of coffee and a sugary bun of some sort, be it at a café or somewhere else suitably tranquil, to come and sit with me and retell some of these stories from life on the road, or just share their experiences from a life dedicated to music that belongs in the "underground".
Helping me produce this will be my editor/mixer Gonzo, he who knows how to work recording programs and the like, I've got no fucking clue. The pen, or in this case, the dicta-phone is my tool.
I decided that the first episode, the first in the spotlight so to say, is yours truly, Gareth Smith. I was in Corby last year visiting family and my friend Pat McMahon, who is a DJ at the local radio station, asked me along to talk about my life growing up in Corby, my life in Raging Speedorn and what came afterwards. It's kind of where the whole idea for this podcast was born. There will hopefully be an array of others to follow, although I don't promise to keep myself to any form of timescale. Life is busy enough as it is.
Anyway, enough reading, more listening. Just click on the link in the right hand column and enjoy.
Post script: The podcast will soon be available in the Apple Podcast Store. So Gonzo tells me...
I've been touring in bands for almost twenty years now and as well as having countless stories of my own to tell from that time, I've also had the pleasure of hearing a vast assortment of others from friends and acquaintances. I don't know how many times I've sat in a van, in a backroom somewhere, a café or a bar or someone's house and been gobsmacked, horrified or in tears of laughter as someone has recounted a story from their own history in this life we call underground music, and the thought has occurred to me that others should hear these stories.
I've decided that instead of interviewing different people and putting the conversations into words, or indeed asking others to take the time to write the stories themselves, that I'll simply record these conversations and make them available in the form of a podcast. The idea is that when I'm out travelling with bands on tour, or on holiday somewhere, or indeed simply at home here in Stockholm, to entice different friends and acquaintances with a cup of coffee and a sugary bun of some sort, be it at a café or somewhere else suitably tranquil, to come and sit with me and retell some of these stories from life on the road, or just share their experiences from a life dedicated to music that belongs in the "underground".
Helping me produce this will be my editor/mixer Gonzo, he who knows how to work recording programs and the like, I've got no fucking clue. The pen, or in this case, the dicta-phone is my tool.
I decided that the first episode, the first in the spotlight so to say, is yours truly, Gareth Smith. I was in Corby last year visiting family and my friend Pat McMahon, who is a DJ at the local radio station, asked me along to talk about my life growing up in Corby, my life in Raging Speedorn and what came afterwards. It's kind of where the whole idea for this podcast was born. There will hopefully be an array of others to follow, although I don't promise to keep myself to any form of timescale. Life is busy enough as it is.
Anyway, enough reading, more listening. Just click on the link in the right hand column and enjoy.
Post script: The podcast will soon be available in the Apple Podcast Store. So Gonzo tells me...
Wednesday, March 18, 2015
Antwerp
From Alvik to Antwerp, Victims is starting to get about again. Last week we played a very last minute show in Stockholm at Sick Sound’s release party for their latest fanzine. It was a bit of a strange one, a few bands had hopped off at the last minute for various reasons, ourselves jumping on due to the fact First Blood from the States had cancelled their tour, so the whole thing ended up being a bit flat. In all honesty we did it for the money. We wouldn’t usually play Stockholm twice in the space of four months but with studio time for the new album coming up we’re not in the position to knock back income. And despite it being a low turn-out it was fun to play a new song, Errors, in the set. Plus my dad was in town visiting and he came along which made it all the more fun. The new Sicksound zine looks ace too, they really take fanzines to another level.
Today’s show in Antwerp had been planned a few months in advance however and I was really looking forward to it. I went to bed worried that I was going to wake up in the night vomiting though, the dreaded stomach bug is going around Polly’s nursery and I lay there thinking how fucking typical it would be to start puking in the middle of the night and have to cancel the show, or even worse, get sick in Belgium. That fucking bug can pounce at any given second, without warning. I’ve been washing both mine and Polly’s hands hysterically this last week, she probably thinks I’ve lost the plot. The alarm went off at six and thankfully we were all still in good shape, I’d even managed to sleep pretty well, something I normally have a hard time with the night before I travel.
Johan came for me just before seven. He’d had the night to himself, Pia and Billy having headed off to Nyköping for the weekend. We spoke about the luxury of having your apartment to yourself, how rare that is, and as much as you love your family, isolation now and then is good for the soul. His night alone turned out just like all of mine do though, you have these plans to do this and that, listen to this record, watch this film or read that book or whatever and before you know it you’ve passed four hours without doing much or any of the above. We picked up Jon and Andy and made our way across the still sleeping city of Stockholm to Bromma airport, which is the smaller airport that is actually within the city limits, just out by where we used to live. A very easy start to our trip.
The flight was just over two hours, it was one of those planes with the wings on top and we were sat underneath them, just behind the engines so the noise on route was constant and gave me a headache. Probably didn’t help that I’d drunk nothing but coffee all morning either. We get to Brussels airport and make our way to the train station from where we take a simple half hour journey to Antwerp. The sun is shining and spring seems to have arrived in this part of the continent. We’re all pretty chuffed as we stand there by the cab rank, feels like we’ve arrived on holiday. I’m already regretting bringing my thicker jacket with me since it’s a pain in the ass to carry about. Jon on the other hand is stood there in his trusty sheep skin 70’s football manager coat, Venom hoody pulled up over his Bolthrower beanie hat, scarf wrapped around him, puffing away on a fag with a pained look on his coupon. I ask him if he’s not hot in his garb, “I’m always freezing”, he mutters, taking another drag. Must be poor blood circulation I guess…
We take a cab over to the venue which is only a few minutes away and right by the harbor, where we meet Peter who runs the place. He’s got one of those friendly faces I recognise from somewhere in the scene. He tells us that he booked Victims way back in the days before I joined the band, fuck knows where I know him from. I doubt very much that he booked Speedhorn… The venue is a squatted place, although they seem to have a good deal with the council, relatively hassle free. The place used to be a warehouse or storage space for what I can’t remember. The gig room is a simple square room with a bar in the corner and an open stage where the PA speakers hang from the roof as opposed to being towered on the side, really decent size. The place resembles a bunker. There is an outer room where we’ll sell the merch and besides that in the same building but separately run is a café. Peter takes us here first and tells us to order some coffee which will be on the house. I don’t know why, but the free cappuccino feels fills me with a feeling of joyous appreciation. I was fucking gagging for some caffeine and having proper barrister treatment on the house was a hell of a bonus. It’s the little things in life.
We sit around and talk about this point a little, that of the “little things”. We don’t want or expect rock star treatment, we don’t expect five star hotels or bottles of fine wine on the rider, just something as simple as being greeted with a friendly smile and being made to feel welcome makes a huge difference. We speak about how what a contrast England is for example, not on a punk level I have to add, but on that tour bus “next level” where you’re met with an attitude designed to make you believe you should be grateful to even be there, that the venue is doing you a favour. Touring on the continental mainland, on all levels, has always been a far more pleasurable experience. This free cappuccino just made my fucking day. On top of that Peter hands us a tenner each for buyout. Not sure if this is for the afternoon or whether it’s to cover dinner later, as stand up as Peter has been so far, he gave us cash back straight away for the train and cab, a buy out for lunch might just be pushing it. There was a big kitchen upstairs though…
We sit and enjoy our coffee and ponder what to do with the afternoon. My eye catches this really nice book of paintings that some artist has left for sale. Full of skulls and weird abstract images, twenty Euros, I wish I could afford it. We’ve got about five hours to do with what we please, total luxury. We were here a few years ago when we played a show with Napalm Death in this bigger venue a little outside of the city centre. We took a walk into town that day and the little we got to see of it looked promising. Now we’re right in town, the sun is shining and we’ve got all afternoon to enjoy it. After dumping our bags Peter shows us around the corner to the harbor and points along quay to the Museum Aan De Stroom, telling us that should be our first stop. It’s this wacky glass building built on misaligned platforms of red brick. Peter tells us you go can go to the top and stand on the panorama roof for free. Sounds like a good plan, we make our way up.
From up there you can see the whole city with the cathedral protruding proudly above the surrounding rooftops, right in the middle of it all. Peter told us that is where we’ll find everything else we’d need. We hang out up there for a while taking pictures and enjoying the fresh air, enjoying the panoramic views. The museum itself has what seems to be an exhibition on Antwerp during the First World War and there are some stunning pictures lining the walls of the escalators that take you from floor to floor. Johan remarks that it would have been a great alternative had the weather not been so inviting.
We head over into the labyrinth of old cobble stone streets and alleys, which are broken up on a regular basis by numerous plazas. It’s not the most beautiful city I’ve been in, although there are some stunning churches dotted about, there is an element of dirt about the place, but it certainly has its charm. We walk around exploring the place for the best part of an hour before hunger starts to impinge upon us. There are countless cafés and bars to choose from and we dither around from place to place in a fog of indecision. I spot some place that is selling soup and fresh bread for five Euros which we look at for a bit but then carry on. We keep saying to ourselves that we should stay away from the main square next to the Central Station since it’s bound to be swarming with tourists and tourist prices but nevertheless we end up there, as if sucked in by a tractor beam. We head into a Tex Mex place called Chi Chi’s that may as well have had Shite Franchise written on the sign. One look at their sorry looking buffet should’ve been enough to warn us off, but still we sit.
We leave the place about fifty minutes later and I’m filled with a mixed feeling of regret and anger. Johan and I decided to share a plate of nachos and cheese quesadillas which despite the place being empty took around half hour to arrive and when they did caused a choke/laugh. The plate of nachos was actually four nacho chips with a bit of melted cheese and a jalapeno on, a blob of cream and guacamole on the side. The quesadilla was one pirogue cut into four measly sections. They cost seven Euros each and then when we got the bill they’d charged us two fifty each for the tap water. Felt like a complete kick in the balls. Of course when the waitress came over to clear the table and asked us if our food was ok we mumbled that it was fine, yes, and then left the place cursing them in Swedish. Really brave.
Feeling aggrieved from spunking the ten euro buy out on effectively nothing we felt the need to find a decent bar and rectify the anxiety with a nice draught glass of something Belgian. We made our way past the main square where there were a load of people stood around watching what seemed to be a cow weighing competition. Beyond them were two guys, maybe farther and son, playing bongos and singing We Will Rock You, Jon looked over at us, “If this is what tourists do then fuck going on holiday!”
We made our way from the square and back in to the smaller streets, trying not to look at the vast array of menus offering infinitely better food than what we’d gone for. It’s important this food thing, it’s like when you go on holiday, food is one of the crucial factors and you’re gutted if you end up with something crap.
Anyway, we meander through the streets, looking in a record shop or two, which is never fun when you’re broke, before landing in one of the many smaller squares off the back of a church where there is a cosy little corner bar with some tables outside that are bathing in the sun. The girl working in the bar speaks some Swedish and has a friendly demeanor. Johan asks her what the best beer they have is, to which she bashfully replies that she doesn’t have much knowledge on the matter. Two locals sat at the bar point to the tap of Le Chouffe.
The beer fully redeems Tex-Mexgate, I enjoy every drop of it as we sit there basking in the sun’s warmth, idly chatting away. If only every day on tour was like this. I could easily have sat there all evening drinking the Le Chouffe but it’s soon time to go and we pop into one of the many Frituur shops and pick up some chips and satay sauce, something that just has to be consumed when in this part of the world. You tend to forget how far along Sweden is with eradicating cash from the system though, it’s easy to assume that you can pay for everything, everywhere with card, like at home, but when I try that here the guy tells me that the minimum transaction for card payment is twenty five Euros! The chips cost three. Thankfully Andy has cash. Johan does too, he brought thirty quid with him from the band account, although what he thinks he going to do with that in Belgium I don’t know.
We arrive back at the venue around five-thirty, the rest of the guys from the other bands are there, sorting out soundcheck. We’re playing with a bunch of old friends tonight. The headlining band, who invited us over to play and sorted our flights is Blind to Faith, which has Stijn from Reproach on vocals as well as Vincent and Cedric from Rise and Fall on guitars. The two other guys I don’t know but I immediately take to the bass player, this little, long haired heavy metal looking dude with a cheeky look on his face. We’re in the back room where there are some beers, some regular pilsners and then a couple of local blondes, one at six percent and the other at nine. The bass player, whose name is Loek, starts to tell me about the beers and asks me if I would like one, I take a sip of his six percenter. It’s pretty nice but you can tell it has the capacity to blow your tits off. I’m still feeling a little warm from the Le Chouffe. Loek explains to me that you’re fine with a couple of these blondes before the show but after that you should move on to the regular beers, otherwise the show could get messy. A couple he says? A couple would put me to sleep. He sips away, chuffed.
The first band on the bill are White Jazz, which is Bjorn and most of Rise and Fall, really looking forward to seeing them play, I’ve heard good things. It’s nice to see Bjorn, always really friendly. We soundcheck once Blind to Faith are done, always a good idea when you’re lending most of the gear. And it’s just as well we do since a couple of minutes in and Jon’s guitar, his trusted friend Judas, packs in. He stands there looking confused for a couple of seconds and then flips the guitar over to look at the back. Much to Johan’s horror the protection plate that covers the wiring has been removed and one of the wires connecting the volume pot has come off. When Johan asks Jon why he removed the plate in the first place, Jon answers sheepishly that it’s been like that for ages. “That’s a really British answer” notes Andy. Luckily enough the sound engineer is on top of his game and he’s got his soldering iron out and fixed it in a couple of minutes. That sorted, soundcheck commences and by the time we’re done and everyone is happy and it’s pretty much time to open doors.
The outer room where we have the merch set up starts filling straight away. We catch up properly with the guys from the other bands for a while. It seems like we’re getting no more food, making the Tex Mex disaster all the more miserable, so I head into the back room to looks for some crisps for me and Johan. We’re getting pretty fucking hungry again. The room is full of people, seemingly most of the guys from the second band, Wrong Decision, and their brawny shell-suited friends, this one guy dressed in all white like he’s just came straight from Wimbledon, a little party going and the beer and food, crisps, is being devoured at a rapid rate. I help myself to a can of the regular pilsner and fill up a plastic cup with some crisps for Johan, after scoffing about half a pack of Sweet Chili Doritos with Andy who has now turned up. The Wrong Decision guys look like the typical gang of local tuffs you see hanging around the Esso garage up Abbey Way in Corby. I get the feeling that the fridge is soon going to be emptied. I head back to the merch and warn Jon of the situation in the backstage room, he tells me he’s already stuffed away a couple of those strong beers in his bag. Thinking ahead as always.
White Jazz play first, although I miss the start of their set having not knowing it had commenced. Peter wasn’t joking when he said the room with the stage was like a bunker. There is a little tunnel going into the main room that acts like a vacuum, the noise all but disappearing by the time it’s got to the outer merch room. Inside it’s packed and I can’t really see that much of the gig. I notice the drummer from Link is here and I say hello. The gig is really good though, a lot more angular and maybe arty than the Rise and Fall stuff, three of whose members are in White Jazz. I catch the last half of the show anyway and I’m really impressed. I look forward to the seven inch when it comes out.
I also sit through the best part of the Wrong Decision set as I’m out by the merch chatting away to the Reproach guys about punk and being a parent, Frank from Reproach having also recently become a dad. Andy has bought a couple of records from the distro but right now that’s not on the agenda for me, my student budget already stretched to the limit. After a while Johan goes in to check out the band and comes back almost immediately saying they sound as their appearance would lead you to expect. I can’t help but let my curiosity get the better of me and go to check it out, although through the side door which takes you to the right side of the stage. There I find Jon, still with many layers of clothing on despite the heat of the room. Jon is digging it big style, being that it sounds like old school NYC hardcore that doesn’t really surprise me. “I really like hardcore” he reasons as I smile over at him. In all fairness it’s a pretty okay rendition of that style although there are some berks in the crowd throwing windmill moves around, Wimbledon amongst them, which is disappointing. They play for quite a bit longer than the scheduled twenty minutes and I’m guessing they started late too, but they’re young kids though so it’s not that strange I guess. I have to crack up though, when they finally finish the emotionally drained, bare-chested singer gives a big dramatic kiss to his girlfriend who is stood up front. Looks fucking daft.
And so it’s time for us to play. Or at least, I assume it is. We’re all tuned up and ready to go, I’ve tuned Cedric’s guitar that he’s lent me as a spare, checked the settings on the JMP amp he’s also lent me, the others guys seem to have done the same, so I start to strum my guitar, quietly at first. Thing is, only after I’ve started making considerably more noise do I notice Andy crawling around on all fours looking for something. Turns out his hi-hat clutch is missing. Andy isn’t ready, not by a long shot. Thing is, now me and Jon have started making noise we can’t really quit, people have shuffled into the room and they’re now waiting. I can see this is stressing Andy out considerably. We stand there for around five minutes making noise whilst Andy readies himself. I feel pretty bad for him, the glaring, open stage set up hardly helping matters either…
We finally get going and the long doom intro is soon forgotten. It feels great on stage. There is plenty of room, it’s a nice surface that doesn’t have you slipping about the place and although the sound isn’t great everywhere, I find it best over in front of Andy, I have a lot of energy. It’s one of those gigs where you feel fit as fuck. Some gigs you look down at the set list after five songs and wonder how you’re going to make it, others, like this, you feel like you could play all night. The guys from Reproach are down front over by Jon, fist pumping away, shouting between songs. I have to laugh, Tim their guitar player had said to me earlier that our album Killer is one of his favourite records of all time, that he’s listened to it at least once a week since it came out in 2008. He said the same thing to Andy, Andy told him he needs to buy more records. Anyway, Tim and Bjorn, Stijn’s cousin who drives Reproach on tour are over there in the corner, shouting for the song The Burning Fire from that album, pretty much between every song, after a while they even start singing the intro bit. I doubt the guys ever played that song live, even when it was fresh. I toured a lot of the Killer period and that song never came up in discussion. Horses for courses and all that I guess.
Anyway, the set flies by, and by the time we’re done I’m pretty spent. It’s fair to say this is the most energy I’ve had on stage for a while. We pack down and everyone seems happy with the show. Once I’ve caught my breath I head to the back room and exactly as I expect I find an empty fridge. Those fuckers have stripped the cunt clean. Johan and Andy are stood there shaking heads, not amused. As much as I would have liked to come in and help myself to a cold Belgian beer I can’t help but smirk to myself, thinking back to when Speedhorn were kids and we’d wipe out all the booze that came across our path. Little bastards.
Bjorn Reproach is in the room too, leaning over the table sorting out lines. He asks me if I’m interested, I’m not. He gets on with it and then goes into turbo mode, he’s chatty enough at the best of times and the fucker is always laughing, but this takes him to a new level. Bjorn Rise and Fall is also in the room and whilst Bjorn Reproach blasts on relentless, the rest of us talk kids, Bjorn RF having an eighteen month old at home.
Presumably having noticed the situation with the fridge, Peter sorts us out with some beer tokens for the bar, very appreciated. Thirsty as fuck now. I head to the bar just as Blind to Faith are starting. I head to the side of the stage with a small plastic glassed, yet very tasty draught blonde beer and enjoy their set. Bjorn is there, still buzzing, and I hang out with him enjoying his company. When he sees I’m out of beer he asks me if I want another. I gratefully accept his kind offer. He comes back a few minutes later with a Triple Bos, and shouts something in my ear about it being from the forest, that Bos means forest, that the beer comes from around here. All I know is that it’s the nine percent stuff. I give it a clunk, it tastes every bit a nine percent beer. Bjorn swigs away on his whilst I treat mine with a little more respect. It’s like fucking drinking crack! I’m only half way through but I start to feel weird, almost stoned from this beer. Bjorn turns around to me again, “I hope you like it!”. “Yeah, absolutely”, I assure him, not wanting to appear rude but knowing full well that I’m not going to be able to finish this beer. How the fuck Loek reckoned you’re okay with two before a show is beyond me. Satisfied with my response, Bjorn gives me a big smile and clinks my bottle with his and gets back to watching Blind to Faith. He turns around again about a couple of minutes later, and asks if we can take a picture together, he’s obviously still buzzing his tits off. Of course, we take a pic and Bjorn shows me it, complaining that his flash is crap. A few moments later he turns to me again, “I’m gonna head off to find my girlfriend. Is that okay?” I just laugh at him and give him a hug before he scoots off into the crowd. Feeling stoned from this evil beer I feel the need to get out of the room and into the significantly cooler, more open space where the merch is at, dreaming of coming back down to the normality of six percent beer.
I head out to find the other guys there, Blind to Faith finishing shortly afterwards. Andy is having exactly the same experience as me, complaining about the mental beer. Jon has obviously tanked his because he’s laughing extremely loudly at everything. Johan seems to be the only one who’s avoided it. He has a sup of mine and shakes his head. I leave the remaining half of the bottle on the merch table and find a normal pilsner placed into my hand almost immediately. Thank fuck for that. Loek comes up to me after the show, same sly grin on his face that he’s had all night. “You’re from the UK?” I answer in the affirmative. “Do you know Bloody Kev?” It is indeed a small punk rock world we live in.
Turns out Loek, who plays bass in BTF, as well as the drummer Nabbe, played in the great Dutch band Insult. They toured with Hard to Swallow years back and they’ve been friends ever since. I can’t believe it. This gets me going straight away. Nabbe comes over later on and the three of us talk about the HTS guys and Kev and all the other common friends we have. This, more than anything is what I love about playing punk, that connection you make with people from all over. We spend a good half hour babbling away over another beer.
I take merch duties for a while which I always enjoy since it’s a great place to meet people and chat. A lot of the punks here seem to be shocked by the cheap prices of our shirts. Ten Euros? Weird. This one girl comes up to us later on and shows us this book she has with her, a project she’s worked on that is a collection of set-lists from all over. It’s really nicely laid out. Jon says to her, “That’s a really nice idea!” “It’s not an idea, it’s a product” she replies. Touché. Again, I wish I could have afforded. Could have done some really nice shopping on this trip…
The night draws to a close about half hour after Blind to Faith finish. The mental buzz from the Triple Bos now have subsided I find myself in the mood for a beer at some chilled out bar. Ideally somewhere nearby to where we’re staying, just one or two before bed time. The place empties pretty quick and we say goodbye to everyone. Peter tells us he’ll call a cab but we decide to head off and get some food first. We find a kebab place after ten minutes or so, almost everywhere else is closed. A bit stuck for choice, we order a veggie wrap. It takes ages and turns out to be pretty crap, it’s essentially diced red peppar and onions in a tortilla bread with some sauce they call samurai which is sickly sweet. The guy who runs the place is a chirpy little guy though, who it turns out, used to live in Malmö and merrily goes about impressing us with his Swedish. Jon engages. The conversation bumbles along whilst our stomachs rumbled in anticipation. It wasn’t worth the wait. The samurai sauce they seem to love is not my bag…
We head back to the venue, the city by now well and truly wrapped up in bed and asleep. It feels like the chances of us finding a cosy bar to enjoy a beer in are minimal. And if I’m honest, I’m starting to feel pretty tired myself, it is past two after all… By the time the cab arrives my eye lids are heavy and the bar idea is well and truly canned. If it wasn’t for the cab driver slamming his foot on the gas as soon as we sat down I would have fallen asleep in the cab. “I love the driver,” Jon says as the engine revs all the louder. We drive about five minutes and arrive at our destination. They have a band flat above some practice rooms, although it seems to be in the process of being built. We’re met by a friendly woman who shows us in, Andy looking back in horror at me as the first room we enter resembles a building site. But after climbing a very steep and narrow spiral staircase we come to the flat, where there a numerous beds, a couple of showers and kitchen that contains breakfast for us in the morning. This will do just fine! A quick wash and into bed it is, I lie there and read Primo Levi for all of thirty seconds before my eyes give in.
The next day we awake early(ish) and find another glorious spring day awaits. I put the coffee on, make a couple of sarnies and afterwards I embrace the shower. A cab is coming at two to take us to the airport for our flight at five. With a few hours to kill Andy, Johan and I head into town for a walk, Jon opts to sleep until we leave. We spend an hour or so walking about before taking a seat at a café back in the area where the flat is and enjoy some cappuccino and some sunshine. Fucking perfect. If only every gig on tour was as luxurious as this one has been.
I’ll soon be back out on the road with Diagnosis? Bastard! for a ten date trip around Europe. I very much doubt I’ll come home feeling quite so refreshed after that trip.
Today’s show in Antwerp had been planned a few months in advance however and I was really looking forward to it. I went to bed worried that I was going to wake up in the night vomiting though, the dreaded stomach bug is going around Polly’s nursery and I lay there thinking how fucking typical it would be to start puking in the middle of the night and have to cancel the show, or even worse, get sick in Belgium. That fucking bug can pounce at any given second, without warning. I’ve been washing both mine and Polly’s hands hysterically this last week, she probably thinks I’ve lost the plot. The alarm went off at six and thankfully we were all still in good shape, I’d even managed to sleep pretty well, something I normally have a hard time with the night before I travel.
Johan came for me just before seven. He’d had the night to himself, Pia and Billy having headed off to Nyköping for the weekend. We spoke about the luxury of having your apartment to yourself, how rare that is, and as much as you love your family, isolation now and then is good for the soul. His night alone turned out just like all of mine do though, you have these plans to do this and that, listen to this record, watch this film or read that book or whatever and before you know it you’ve passed four hours without doing much or any of the above. We picked up Jon and Andy and made our way across the still sleeping city of Stockholm to Bromma airport, which is the smaller airport that is actually within the city limits, just out by where we used to live. A very easy start to our trip.
The flight was just over two hours, it was one of those planes with the wings on top and we were sat underneath them, just behind the engines so the noise on route was constant and gave me a headache. Probably didn’t help that I’d drunk nothing but coffee all morning either. We get to Brussels airport and make our way to the train station from where we take a simple half hour journey to Antwerp. The sun is shining and spring seems to have arrived in this part of the continent. We’re all pretty chuffed as we stand there by the cab rank, feels like we’ve arrived on holiday. I’m already regretting bringing my thicker jacket with me since it’s a pain in the ass to carry about. Jon on the other hand is stood there in his trusty sheep skin 70’s football manager coat, Venom hoody pulled up over his Bolthrower beanie hat, scarf wrapped around him, puffing away on a fag with a pained look on his coupon. I ask him if he’s not hot in his garb, “I’m always freezing”, he mutters, taking another drag. Must be poor blood circulation I guess…
We take a cab over to the venue which is only a few minutes away and right by the harbor, where we meet Peter who runs the place. He’s got one of those friendly faces I recognise from somewhere in the scene. He tells us that he booked Victims way back in the days before I joined the band, fuck knows where I know him from. I doubt very much that he booked Speedhorn… The venue is a squatted place, although they seem to have a good deal with the council, relatively hassle free. The place used to be a warehouse or storage space for what I can’t remember. The gig room is a simple square room with a bar in the corner and an open stage where the PA speakers hang from the roof as opposed to being towered on the side, really decent size. The place resembles a bunker. There is an outer room where we’ll sell the merch and besides that in the same building but separately run is a café. Peter takes us here first and tells us to order some coffee which will be on the house. I don’t know why, but the free cappuccino feels fills me with a feeling of joyous appreciation. I was fucking gagging for some caffeine and having proper barrister treatment on the house was a hell of a bonus. It’s the little things in life.
We sit around and talk about this point a little, that of the “little things”. We don’t want or expect rock star treatment, we don’t expect five star hotels or bottles of fine wine on the rider, just something as simple as being greeted with a friendly smile and being made to feel welcome makes a huge difference. We speak about how what a contrast England is for example, not on a punk level I have to add, but on that tour bus “next level” where you’re met with an attitude designed to make you believe you should be grateful to even be there, that the venue is doing you a favour. Touring on the continental mainland, on all levels, has always been a far more pleasurable experience. This free cappuccino just made my fucking day. On top of that Peter hands us a tenner each for buyout. Not sure if this is for the afternoon or whether it’s to cover dinner later, as stand up as Peter has been so far, he gave us cash back straight away for the train and cab, a buy out for lunch might just be pushing it. There was a big kitchen upstairs though…
We sit and enjoy our coffee and ponder what to do with the afternoon. My eye catches this really nice book of paintings that some artist has left for sale. Full of skulls and weird abstract images, twenty Euros, I wish I could afford it. We’ve got about five hours to do with what we please, total luxury. We were here a few years ago when we played a show with Napalm Death in this bigger venue a little outside of the city centre. We took a walk into town that day and the little we got to see of it looked promising. Now we’re right in town, the sun is shining and we’ve got all afternoon to enjoy it. After dumping our bags Peter shows us around the corner to the harbor and points along quay to the Museum Aan De Stroom, telling us that should be our first stop. It’s this wacky glass building built on misaligned platforms of red brick. Peter tells us you go can go to the top and stand on the panorama roof for free. Sounds like a good plan, we make our way up.
From up there you can see the whole city with the cathedral protruding proudly above the surrounding rooftops, right in the middle of it all. Peter told us that is where we’ll find everything else we’d need. We hang out up there for a while taking pictures and enjoying the fresh air, enjoying the panoramic views. The museum itself has what seems to be an exhibition on Antwerp during the First World War and there are some stunning pictures lining the walls of the escalators that take you from floor to floor. Johan remarks that it would have been a great alternative had the weather not been so inviting.
We head over into the labyrinth of old cobble stone streets and alleys, which are broken up on a regular basis by numerous plazas. It’s not the most beautiful city I’ve been in, although there are some stunning churches dotted about, there is an element of dirt about the place, but it certainly has its charm. We walk around exploring the place for the best part of an hour before hunger starts to impinge upon us. There are countless cafés and bars to choose from and we dither around from place to place in a fog of indecision. I spot some place that is selling soup and fresh bread for five Euros which we look at for a bit but then carry on. We keep saying to ourselves that we should stay away from the main square next to the Central Station since it’s bound to be swarming with tourists and tourist prices but nevertheless we end up there, as if sucked in by a tractor beam. We head into a Tex Mex place called Chi Chi’s that may as well have had Shite Franchise written on the sign. One look at their sorry looking buffet should’ve been enough to warn us off, but still we sit.
We leave the place about fifty minutes later and I’m filled with a mixed feeling of regret and anger. Johan and I decided to share a plate of nachos and cheese quesadillas which despite the place being empty took around half hour to arrive and when they did caused a choke/laugh. The plate of nachos was actually four nacho chips with a bit of melted cheese and a jalapeno on, a blob of cream and guacamole on the side. The quesadilla was one pirogue cut into four measly sections. They cost seven Euros each and then when we got the bill they’d charged us two fifty each for the tap water. Felt like a complete kick in the balls. Of course when the waitress came over to clear the table and asked us if our food was ok we mumbled that it was fine, yes, and then left the place cursing them in Swedish. Really brave.
Feeling aggrieved from spunking the ten euro buy out on effectively nothing we felt the need to find a decent bar and rectify the anxiety with a nice draught glass of something Belgian. We made our way past the main square where there were a load of people stood around watching what seemed to be a cow weighing competition. Beyond them were two guys, maybe farther and son, playing bongos and singing We Will Rock You, Jon looked over at us, “If this is what tourists do then fuck going on holiday!”
We made our way from the square and back in to the smaller streets, trying not to look at the vast array of menus offering infinitely better food than what we’d gone for. It’s important this food thing, it’s like when you go on holiday, food is one of the crucial factors and you’re gutted if you end up with something crap.
Anyway, we meander through the streets, looking in a record shop or two, which is never fun when you’re broke, before landing in one of the many smaller squares off the back of a church where there is a cosy little corner bar with some tables outside that are bathing in the sun. The girl working in the bar speaks some Swedish and has a friendly demeanor. Johan asks her what the best beer they have is, to which she bashfully replies that she doesn’t have much knowledge on the matter. Two locals sat at the bar point to the tap of Le Chouffe.
The beer fully redeems Tex-Mexgate, I enjoy every drop of it as we sit there basking in the sun’s warmth, idly chatting away. If only every day on tour was like this. I could easily have sat there all evening drinking the Le Chouffe but it’s soon time to go and we pop into one of the many Frituur shops and pick up some chips and satay sauce, something that just has to be consumed when in this part of the world. You tend to forget how far along Sweden is with eradicating cash from the system though, it’s easy to assume that you can pay for everything, everywhere with card, like at home, but when I try that here the guy tells me that the minimum transaction for card payment is twenty five Euros! The chips cost three. Thankfully Andy has cash. Johan does too, he brought thirty quid with him from the band account, although what he thinks he going to do with that in Belgium I don’t know.
We arrive back at the venue around five-thirty, the rest of the guys from the other bands are there, sorting out soundcheck. We’re playing with a bunch of old friends tonight. The headlining band, who invited us over to play and sorted our flights is Blind to Faith, which has Stijn from Reproach on vocals as well as Vincent and Cedric from Rise and Fall on guitars. The two other guys I don’t know but I immediately take to the bass player, this little, long haired heavy metal looking dude with a cheeky look on his face. We’re in the back room where there are some beers, some regular pilsners and then a couple of local blondes, one at six percent and the other at nine. The bass player, whose name is Loek, starts to tell me about the beers and asks me if I would like one, I take a sip of his six percenter. It’s pretty nice but you can tell it has the capacity to blow your tits off. I’m still feeling a little warm from the Le Chouffe. Loek explains to me that you’re fine with a couple of these blondes before the show but after that you should move on to the regular beers, otherwise the show could get messy. A couple he says? A couple would put me to sleep. He sips away, chuffed.
The first band on the bill are White Jazz, which is Bjorn and most of Rise and Fall, really looking forward to seeing them play, I’ve heard good things. It’s nice to see Bjorn, always really friendly. We soundcheck once Blind to Faith are done, always a good idea when you’re lending most of the gear. And it’s just as well we do since a couple of minutes in and Jon’s guitar, his trusted friend Judas, packs in. He stands there looking confused for a couple of seconds and then flips the guitar over to look at the back. Much to Johan’s horror the protection plate that covers the wiring has been removed and one of the wires connecting the volume pot has come off. When Johan asks Jon why he removed the plate in the first place, Jon answers sheepishly that it’s been like that for ages. “That’s a really British answer” notes Andy. Luckily enough the sound engineer is on top of his game and he’s got his soldering iron out and fixed it in a couple of minutes. That sorted, soundcheck commences and by the time we’re done and everyone is happy and it’s pretty much time to open doors.
The outer room where we have the merch set up starts filling straight away. We catch up properly with the guys from the other bands for a while. It seems like we’re getting no more food, making the Tex Mex disaster all the more miserable, so I head into the back room to looks for some crisps for me and Johan. We’re getting pretty fucking hungry again. The room is full of people, seemingly most of the guys from the second band, Wrong Decision, and their brawny shell-suited friends, this one guy dressed in all white like he’s just came straight from Wimbledon, a little party going and the beer and food, crisps, is being devoured at a rapid rate. I help myself to a can of the regular pilsner and fill up a plastic cup with some crisps for Johan, after scoffing about half a pack of Sweet Chili Doritos with Andy who has now turned up. The Wrong Decision guys look like the typical gang of local tuffs you see hanging around the Esso garage up Abbey Way in Corby. I get the feeling that the fridge is soon going to be emptied. I head back to the merch and warn Jon of the situation in the backstage room, he tells me he’s already stuffed away a couple of those strong beers in his bag. Thinking ahead as always.
White Jazz play first, although I miss the start of their set having not knowing it had commenced. Peter wasn’t joking when he said the room with the stage was like a bunker. There is a little tunnel going into the main room that acts like a vacuum, the noise all but disappearing by the time it’s got to the outer merch room. Inside it’s packed and I can’t really see that much of the gig. I notice the drummer from Link is here and I say hello. The gig is really good though, a lot more angular and maybe arty than the Rise and Fall stuff, three of whose members are in White Jazz. I catch the last half of the show anyway and I’m really impressed. I look forward to the seven inch when it comes out.
I also sit through the best part of the Wrong Decision set as I’m out by the merch chatting away to the Reproach guys about punk and being a parent, Frank from Reproach having also recently become a dad. Andy has bought a couple of records from the distro but right now that’s not on the agenda for me, my student budget already stretched to the limit. After a while Johan goes in to check out the band and comes back almost immediately saying they sound as their appearance would lead you to expect. I can’t help but let my curiosity get the better of me and go to check it out, although through the side door which takes you to the right side of the stage. There I find Jon, still with many layers of clothing on despite the heat of the room. Jon is digging it big style, being that it sounds like old school NYC hardcore that doesn’t really surprise me. “I really like hardcore” he reasons as I smile over at him. In all fairness it’s a pretty okay rendition of that style although there are some berks in the crowd throwing windmill moves around, Wimbledon amongst them, which is disappointing. They play for quite a bit longer than the scheduled twenty minutes and I’m guessing they started late too, but they’re young kids though so it’s not that strange I guess. I have to crack up though, when they finally finish the emotionally drained, bare-chested singer gives a big dramatic kiss to his girlfriend who is stood up front. Looks fucking daft.
And so it’s time for us to play. Or at least, I assume it is. We’re all tuned up and ready to go, I’ve tuned Cedric’s guitar that he’s lent me as a spare, checked the settings on the JMP amp he’s also lent me, the others guys seem to have done the same, so I start to strum my guitar, quietly at first. Thing is, only after I’ve started making considerably more noise do I notice Andy crawling around on all fours looking for something. Turns out his hi-hat clutch is missing. Andy isn’t ready, not by a long shot. Thing is, now me and Jon have started making noise we can’t really quit, people have shuffled into the room and they’re now waiting. I can see this is stressing Andy out considerably. We stand there for around five minutes making noise whilst Andy readies himself. I feel pretty bad for him, the glaring, open stage set up hardly helping matters either…
We finally get going and the long doom intro is soon forgotten. It feels great on stage. There is plenty of room, it’s a nice surface that doesn’t have you slipping about the place and although the sound isn’t great everywhere, I find it best over in front of Andy, I have a lot of energy. It’s one of those gigs where you feel fit as fuck. Some gigs you look down at the set list after five songs and wonder how you’re going to make it, others, like this, you feel like you could play all night. The guys from Reproach are down front over by Jon, fist pumping away, shouting between songs. I have to laugh, Tim their guitar player had said to me earlier that our album Killer is one of his favourite records of all time, that he’s listened to it at least once a week since it came out in 2008. He said the same thing to Andy, Andy told him he needs to buy more records. Anyway, Tim and Bjorn, Stijn’s cousin who drives Reproach on tour are over there in the corner, shouting for the song The Burning Fire from that album, pretty much between every song, after a while they even start singing the intro bit. I doubt the guys ever played that song live, even when it was fresh. I toured a lot of the Killer period and that song never came up in discussion. Horses for courses and all that I guess.
Anyway, the set flies by, and by the time we’re done I’m pretty spent. It’s fair to say this is the most energy I’ve had on stage for a while. We pack down and everyone seems happy with the show. Once I’ve caught my breath I head to the back room and exactly as I expect I find an empty fridge. Those fuckers have stripped the cunt clean. Johan and Andy are stood there shaking heads, not amused. As much as I would have liked to come in and help myself to a cold Belgian beer I can’t help but smirk to myself, thinking back to when Speedhorn were kids and we’d wipe out all the booze that came across our path. Little bastards.
Bjorn Reproach is in the room too, leaning over the table sorting out lines. He asks me if I’m interested, I’m not. He gets on with it and then goes into turbo mode, he’s chatty enough at the best of times and the fucker is always laughing, but this takes him to a new level. Bjorn Rise and Fall is also in the room and whilst Bjorn Reproach blasts on relentless, the rest of us talk kids, Bjorn RF having an eighteen month old at home.
Presumably having noticed the situation with the fridge, Peter sorts us out with some beer tokens for the bar, very appreciated. Thirsty as fuck now. I head to the bar just as Blind to Faith are starting. I head to the side of the stage with a small plastic glassed, yet very tasty draught blonde beer and enjoy their set. Bjorn is there, still buzzing, and I hang out with him enjoying his company. When he sees I’m out of beer he asks me if I want another. I gratefully accept his kind offer. He comes back a few minutes later with a Triple Bos, and shouts something in my ear about it being from the forest, that Bos means forest, that the beer comes from around here. All I know is that it’s the nine percent stuff. I give it a clunk, it tastes every bit a nine percent beer. Bjorn swigs away on his whilst I treat mine with a little more respect. It’s like fucking drinking crack! I’m only half way through but I start to feel weird, almost stoned from this beer. Bjorn turns around to me again, “I hope you like it!”. “Yeah, absolutely”, I assure him, not wanting to appear rude but knowing full well that I’m not going to be able to finish this beer. How the fuck Loek reckoned you’re okay with two before a show is beyond me. Satisfied with my response, Bjorn gives me a big smile and clinks my bottle with his and gets back to watching Blind to Faith. He turns around again about a couple of minutes later, and asks if we can take a picture together, he’s obviously still buzzing his tits off. Of course, we take a pic and Bjorn shows me it, complaining that his flash is crap. A few moments later he turns to me again, “I’m gonna head off to find my girlfriend. Is that okay?” I just laugh at him and give him a hug before he scoots off into the crowd. Feeling stoned from this evil beer I feel the need to get out of the room and into the significantly cooler, more open space where the merch is at, dreaming of coming back down to the normality of six percent beer.
I head out to find the other guys there, Blind to Faith finishing shortly afterwards. Andy is having exactly the same experience as me, complaining about the mental beer. Jon has obviously tanked his because he’s laughing extremely loudly at everything. Johan seems to be the only one who’s avoided it. He has a sup of mine and shakes his head. I leave the remaining half of the bottle on the merch table and find a normal pilsner placed into my hand almost immediately. Thank fuck for that. Loek comes up to me after the show, same sly grin on his face that he’s had all night. “You’re from the UK?” I answer in the affirmative. “Do you know Bloody Kev?” It is indeed a small punk rock world we live in.
Turns out Loek, who plays bass in BTF, as well as the drummer Nabbe, played in the great Dutch band Insult. They toured with Hard to Swallow years back and they’ve been friends ever since. I can’t believe it. This gets me going straight away. Nabbe comes over later on and the three of us talk about the HTS guys and Kev and all the other common friends we have. This, more than anything is what I love about playing punk, that connection you make with people from all over. We spend a good half hour babbling away over another beer.
I take merch duties for a while which I always enjoy since it’s a great place to meet people and chat. A lot of the punks here seem to be shocked by the cheap prices of our shirts. Ten Euros? Weird. This one girl comes up to us later on and shows us this book she has with her, a project she’s worked on that is a collection of set-lists from all over. It’s really nicely laid out. Jon says to her, “That’s a really nice idea!” “It’s not an idea, it’s a product” she replies. Touché. Again, I wish I could have afforded. Could have done some really nice shopping on this trip…
The night draws to a close about half hour after Blind to Faith finish. The mental buzz from the Triple Bos now have subsided I find myself in the mood for a beer at some chilled out bar. Ideally somewhere nearby to where we’re staying, just one or two before bed time. The place empties pretty quick and we say goodbye to everyone. Peter tells us he’ll call a cab but we decide to head off and get some food first. We find a kebab place after ten minutes or so, almost everywhere else is closed. A bit stuck for choice, we order a veggie wrap. It takes ages and turns out to be pretty crap, it’s essentially diced red peppar and onions in a tortilla bread with some sauce they call samurai which is sickly sweet. The guy who runs the place is a chirpy little guy though, who it turns out, used to live in Malmö and merrily goes about impressing us with his Swedish. Jon engages. The conversation bumbles along whilst our stomachs rumbled in anticipation. It wasn’t worth the wait. The samurai sauce they seem to love is not my bag…
We head back to the venue, the city by now well and truly wrapped up in bed and asleep. It feels like the chances of us finding a cosy bar to enjoy a beer in are minimal. And if I’m honest, I’m starting to feel pretty tired myself, it is past two after all… By the time the cab arrives my eye lids are heavy and the bar idea is well and truly canned. If it wasn’t for the cab driver slamming his foot on the gas as soon as we sat down I would have fallen asleep in the cab. “I love the driver,” Jon says as the engine revs all the louder. We drive about five minutes and arrive at our destination. They have a band flat above some practice rooms, although it seems to be in the process of being built. We’re met by a friendly woman who shows us in, Andy looking back in horror at me as the first room we enter resembles a building site. But after climbing a very steep and narrow spiral staircase we come to the flat, where there a numerous beds, a couple of showers and kitchen that contains breakfast for us in the morning. This will do just fine! A quick wash and into bed it is, I lie there and read Primo Levi for all of thirty seconds before my eyes give in.
The next day we awake early(ish) and find another glorious spring day awaits. I put the coffee on, make a couple of sarnies and afterwards I embrace the shower. A cab is coming at two to take us to the airport for our flight at five. With a few hours to kill Andy, Johan and I head into town for a walk, Jon opts to sleep until we leave. We spend an hour or so walking about before taking a seat at a café back in the area where the flat is and enjoy some cappuccino and some sunshine. Fucking perfect. If only every gig on tour was as luxurious as this one has been.
I’ll soon be back out on the road with Diagnosis? Bastard! for a ten date trip around Europe. I very much doubt I’ll come home feeling quite so refreshed after that trip.
Friday, March 6, 2015
Make Punk Not War
I’ve been playing in Victims since early 2009. In that time I’ve got to travel to some really interesting places and I’ve played some amazing shows. In a lot of ways, I’ve realised many of the dreams I harboured during my days with Speedhorn. Not just the travelling so much, we did plenty of that with Speedhorn, but more the type of shows we’ve played. Sure, we played some monumentally big festivals with Speedhorn, before a sea of people that rippled off into the surreal. But the thing is, my dream when I was a kid was not playing those kinds of shows, it was playing on a floor in a tiny room full of likeminded people, all going nuts. I can genuinely say that my favourite show with Speedhorn wasn’t Ozfest, it was a house show in Bradford.
I’ve played a lot of those kinds of shows with Victims this last six years, house shows in the States, punk squats in Europe, as well as some great DIY Fests, but one dream of mine has still not been realised; Russia and the Baltic states. Everyone who knows me knows I have a bit of a thing for Russia and the old Soviet, I suspect that it stems from my childhood obsession with football and teams with exotic sounding names from Eastern Europe like Spartak Moscow, Dynamo Kiev and Skonto Riga, for whatever reason I find the territories behind the former Iron Curtain fascinating and it’s always been a dream of mine to go and play there one day.
We’re very privileged in Victims in so much that we have a regular flow of emails coming in offering us shows. The situation this last few years, namely that three quarters of us have become fathers, and add to that the fact that we’ve just so happened to relay our paternity leave, has meant that we’ve had to politely decline the majority of shows that come our way. It’s not just the time away that is the reason behind us knocking back shows either, it’s the fact that the added responsibility of having kids means that we can no longer just fuck off and play shows and come home with nothing to show for it, or at least, we can no longer afford to come back with debt for the sake of playing shows. We’ve been offered tours a couple of times this last year in South East Asia for instance, which of course would be incredible, but the fact is it would cost us a lot of money to travel there and play because their isn’t the economy in that part of the world to make it possible for us to at least cover our costs. Victims going to Asia on tour would be an amazing experience albeit a very costly one and right now, with young kids at home, we can’t afford it. Maybe by the time our kids leave home and we’re in our late fifties we’ll be able to take that gig...
Russia though, well that’s something different. I think we’ve had at least four offers this last two or three years to go there and play and if it was up to me we’d have been every time, or at least, we’d have gone once. It seems that the scene in Russia carries with it a bit of a stigma though. The other guys in the band simply aren’t interested and I’ve often had my enthusiasm for the offers knocked down with, “Gaz, if you want to go to Russia you’re gonna have to go there as a tourist”. I think Andy was there with an old band in the Nineties, although he doesn’t seem to want to talk about it so much. He just shakes his head and grumbles a no at me. The worry is that apart from the country being a little well, you know, corrupt, there is a strong Nazi presence in the punk scene. This is nothing I can vouch for either way since I’ve never been there. I’ve heard it a few times from reliable sources although the understanding is that it’s gotten better over the years.
That’s not to say it’s not there. My friend Ove went there filling in on drums with Massgrav a few years back and he told me all about it one day over the counter at Sound Pollution. Ove told me that the shows they did went really well, all soundly organised and well attended, the crowds were really into it and they got paid. I was delighted with the report, thinking immediately how I would use it as a source of encouragement next time we got an offer. But in the midst of my delight, Ove added a postscript:
“Everything went fine until the last show, which was some place in the middle of nowhere a couple of hours drive from Moscow... We’d played the gig and it was good, a load of kids bouncing around to the set. Then afterwards whilst waiting to get paid, the guy who had booked the shows and travelled with us came up to us and said that we’d have to wait at the venue for a while because a bunch of Nazi’s had turned up and were hanging around outside waiting for the punk kids to leave. We asked him what were we gonna do and he just said, totally unmoved, “Ah it’s ok, pretty normal, they can’t get in so we’ll just have a disco and get drunk and sooner or later they’ll get bored and fuck off””. And it seems that indeed they did. Sooner or later...
This unfortunately confirms some of the fears over on this end. For me though, despite this, I still really want to go. I’ve come across Nazi’s before and I’ve been fucked over by promoters before and I get that it’s a risk, but I figure the likelihood of being killed in Russia if we went to play there is pretty fucking minimal and whatever shit happens would simply provide great writing material. Sometimes it’s the crazy, scary stuff that makes the best stories. The other guys don’t necessarily agree. Although Andy has been making noises of late that he’s heard it has gotten better and maybe he’d be willing to give it a go, if it was through a referenced, reliable source.
This year I got as close as I’ve ever come. We received an email inviting us to headline a punk festival in Ukraine, offering to pay flights and accommodation. To my surprise it wasn’t kicked into touch directly, the guys all said it sounded interesting. There was just that little thing called The War that was going on but Andy mailed the guy and asked him about the dangers of going there and received an email back assuring us that where the festival was being held was a long way away from the conflict. Ukraine is a big fucking country after all. After a lot of uming and ahing we went ahead and accepted the offer, the promoter even throwing in five hundred Euros extra.
There were a lot of bands from the Baltic states and Russia playing the bill, with only us and our mates Reproach from Belgium coming in from the West. As much as the worrying shadow of the war was looming I was still really chuffed that we were going to Ukraine, finally I was going to play a gig in this part of the world. A fucking dream coming true. The nearest I’d been previously was a two hour stop over at Kiev airport with Jen on the way to Thailand, which was pretty cool in itself. Totally old school place where the line for the customs took almost the entire time allotted for the stop over due to the fact there was just one old, worn out lady who looked like she despised the lot of us working and the system they were using was from an era many moons before the digital age. It’s just this kind of thing I love.
As the weeks went by the tensions in both the country and the Victims camp steadily rose and I noticed that I received the same slightly worried reaction every time I told friends or family that we were off to Ukraine in May. With the situation intensifying all the more on the Ukrainian-Russian border Andy mailed the Swedish embassy in Kiev asking for advice. They wrote back saying that they weren’t warning people to stay away from the region we were travelling to right now but they couldn’t guarantee how it would look in a couple of months time. That was enough for everyone, for me too. As Johan put it, “I’ve got a family to think of and as much as it would be an amazing experience to go to a place like Ukraine and play I have a lot of respect for war and don’t want to die”. Johan’s words hit home to say the least. As much as I love playing punk and travelling to places you’d never hit up on “holiday”, I have a beautiful little girl to think of and putting myself into a risky situation just to play some songs is grossly negligent. Last time I checked Reproach’s web page they had a list of upcoming gigs for the year up, the Ukraine festival conspicuous in its absence.
I guess if I ever do end up going to that part of the world then it will indeed have to be as a tourist. Maybe not when there’s a war going on though.
I’ve played a lot of those kinds of shows with Victims this last six years, house shows in the States, punk squats in Europe, as well as some great DIY Fests, but one dream of mine has still not been realised; Russia and the Baltic states. Everyone who knows me knows I have a bit of a thing for Russia and the old Soviet, I suspect that it stems from my childhood obsession with football and teams with exotic sounding names from Eastern Europe like Spartak Moscow, Dynamo Kiev and Skonto Riga, for whatever reason I find the territories behind the former Iron Curtain fascinating and it’s always been a dream of mine to go and play there one day.
We’re very privileged in Victims in so much that we have a regular flow of emails coming in offering us shows. The situation this last few years, namely that three quarters of us have become fathers, and add to that the fact that we’ve just so happened to relay our paternity leave, has meant that we’ve had to politely decline the majority of shows that come our way. It’s not just the time away that is the reason behind us knocking back shows either, it’s the fact that the added responsibility of having kids means that we can no longer just fuck off and play shows and come home with nothing to show for it, or at least, we can no longer afford to come back with debt for the sake of playing shows. We’ve been offered tours a couple of times this last year in South East Asia for instance, which of course would be incredible, but the fact is it would cost us a lot of money to travel there and play because their isn’t the economy in that part of the world to make it possible for us to at least cover our costs. Victims going to Asia on tour would be an amazing experience albeit a very costly one and right now, with young kids at home, we can’t afford it. Maybe by the time our kids leave home and we’re in our late fifties we’ll be able to take that gig...
Russia though, well that’s something different. I think we’ve had at least four offers this last two or three years to go there and play and if it was up to me we’d have been every time, or at least, we’d have gone once. It seems that the scene in Russia carries with it a bit of a stigma though. The other guys in the band simply aren’t interested and I’ve often had my enthusiasm for the offers knocked down with, “Gaz, if you want to go to Russia you’re gonna have to go there as a tourist”. I think Andy was there with an old band in the Nineties, although he doesn’t seem to want to talk about it so much. He just shakes his head and grumbles a no at me. The worry is that apart from the country being a little well, you know, corrupt, there is a strong Nazi presence in the punk scene. This is nothing I can vouch for either way since I’ve never been there. I’ve heard it a few times from reliable sources although the understanding is that it’s gotten better over the years.
That’s not to say it’s not there. My friend Ove went there filling in on drums with Massgrav a few years back and he told me all about it one day over the counter at Sound Pollution. Ove told me that the shows they did went really well, all soundly organised and well attended, the crowds were really into it and they got paid. I was delighted with the report, thinking immediately how I would use it as a source of encouragement next time we got an offer. But in the midst of my delight, Ove added a postscript:
“Everything went fine until the last show, which was some place in the middle of nowhere a couple of hours drive from Moscow... We’d played the gig and it was good, a load of kids bouncing around to the set. Then afterwards whilst waiting to get paid, the guy who had booked the shows and travelled with us came up to us and said that we’d have to wait at the venue for a while because a bunch of Nazi’s had turned up and were hanging around outside waiting for the punk kids to leave. We asked him what were we gonna do and he just said, totally unmoved, “Ah it’s ok, pretty normal, they can’t get in so we’ll just have a disco and get drunk and sooner or later they’ll get bored and fuck off””. And it seems that indeed they did. Sooner or later...
This unfortunately confirms some of the fears over on this end. For me though, despite this, I still really want to go. I’ve come across Nazi’s before and I’ve been fucked over by promoters before and I get that it’s a risk, but I figure the likelihood of being killed in Russia if we went to play there is pretty fucking minimal and whatever shit happens would simply provide great writing material. Sometimes it’s the crazy, scary stuff that makes the best stories. The other guys don’t necessarily agree. Although Andy has been making noises of late that he’s heard it has gotten better and maybe he’d be willing to give it a go, if it was through a referenced, reliable source.
This year I got as close as I’ve ever come. We received an email inviting us to headline a punk festival in Ukraine, offering to pay flights and accommodation. To my surprise it wasn’t kicked into touch directly, the guys all said it sounded interesting. There was just that little thing called The War that was going on but Andy mailed the guy and asked him about the dangers of going there and received an email back assuring us that where the festival was being held was a long way away from the conflict. Ukraine is a big fucking country after all. After a lot of uming and ahing we went ahead and accepted the offer, the promoter even throwing in five hundred Euros extra.
There were a lot of bands from the Baltic states and Russia playing the bill, with only us and our mates Reproach from Belgium coming in from the West. As much as the worrying shadow of the war was looming I was still really chuffed that we were going to Ukraine, finally I was going to play a gig in this part of the world. A fucking dream coming true. The nearest I’d been previously was a two hour stop over at Kiev airport with Jen on the way to Thailand, which was pretty cool in itself. Totally old school place where the line for the customs took almost the entire time allotted for the stop over due to the fact there was just one old, worn out lady who looked like she despised the lot of us working and the system they were using was from an era many moons before the digital age. It’s just this kind of thing I love.
As the weeks went by the tensions in both the country and the Victims camp steadily rose and I noticed that I received the same slightly worried reaction every time I told friends or family that we were off to Ukraine in May. With the situation intensifying all the more on the Ukrainian-Russian border Andy mailed the Swedish embassy in Kiev asking for advice. They wrote back saying that they weren’t warning people to stay away from the region we were travelling to right now but they couldn’t guarantee how it would look in a couple of months time. That was enough for everyone, for me too. As Johan put it, “I’ve got a family to think of and as much as it would be an amazing experience to go to a place like Ukraine and play I have a lot of respect for war and don’t want to die”. Johan’s words hit home to say the least. As much as I love playing punk and travelling to places you’d never hit up on “holiday”, I have a beautiful little girl to think of and putting myself into a risky situation just to play some songs is grossly negligent. Last time I checked Reproach’s web page they had a list of upcoming gigs for the year up, the Ukraine festival conspicuous in its absence.
I guess if I ever do end up going to that part of the world then it will indeed have to be as a tourist. Maybe not when there’s a war going on though.
Wednesday, February 18, 2015
Professional Punks
I read an interview with the band Frau recently, in it they were asked about the punk scene in the UK. One of the responses offered was that the UK punk scene is full of professional punks. That a lot of the people involved, whether in bands or running labels, booking shows or writing zines, whatever, a lot of them have professional jobs. This got me thinking, being that I’m now back in school and aspiring to something along those very lines.
Reading the interview reminded me of a conversation I had with Mark from Black Breath/Go It Alone about the differences between the scenes in North America and Europe. He told me that he thought it was amazing that so many of us “older guys” were still playing in bands, that it seems like it’s a much more accepted thing to do in Europe than on the other side of the pond. That is, being old and playing in a band is not frowned upon over here like it is for those guys back home. He was curious as to why this was. One reason may be that culture and subculture is supported a lot more by the government in Europe, even though there are plenty of complaints to the contrary from people here I think this holds water somewhat. I remember when we were kids in the band Sect, applying for a Prince’s Trust grant from the government to fund the recording of a demo tape. Some woman came down to our practice space at the local community centre and interviewed us, it took about twenty minutes and then they posted us some money to put towards the studio. Free fucking money, couldn’t believe it. In Sweden today you can apply for money to support your art from an organisation called Studiefrämjandet which gives support to bands in all sorts of ways, donating money for equipment and so on, all you have to do is, once signed up, send a report off stating when and how often you’ve been practicing, and you can claim money back.
I’m not saying that "the system" over here doesn’t have huge flaws, it does, and it’s getting worse for sure, but I’ve always been amazed by how much harder things seem to be with everything in North America, especially in the good ol' US of A, land of the free. At least that’s the impression I always get from friends who are from there. Mark told us that if you’re still playing in a band after the age of twenty five you get looked at like you’re a bum whereas over here there seem to be people still doing the band thing well beyond that. Indeed it isn’t that uncommon for punks in their forties and fifties to still be at it. I always remember how Mark put it: You can play in bands when you’re young, up until about twenty five it’s deemed okay, but then if you haven’t “made it” by that point it’s time to scrap it and get educated and get a proper job.
“Made it” has always been a fucked up concept to me. What the fuck does “making it” mean really? The thing is, slowly but surely getting back to the point, job/band thing, the one doesn’t necessarily have to be sacrificed for the other in Europe. You can have an education; you can have a professional job and you can play in a punk band simultaneously. That conversation with Mark, sparked into the conscious again by the interview with Frau, brought me to think about the fact that I know quite a few punks or people in and around the scene that have some mental jobs that they leave behind on a Friday night to go do this punk thing at the weekend, or even every now and again for a lengthier period of time. Of course, I now belong to the older generation where this phenomenon is more prominent. Amongst the younger, of which I once was, it’s a lot easier to do punk full time, before kids come into the equation, before “digs” becomes rent and when your body can still physically function after endless months of touring, function at a bare minimum at least.
But yeah, the older you get the larger part normal life plays for most of us. For most of us punk becomes an impassioned hobby, but a hobby none the less. It’s not something you’re forced to give up at twenty five or face being labeled a bum. And as much as I know some charming bums within the scene, I know a fair few others who have professional jobs, as Frau would put it. My mates Karl and Jamie who play in Disculpe and a bucket load of other bands from around the Deptford scene are both professors, or something along those lines, they both work at universities and they’re both clever as fuck at least, one an expert in sociology, the other in music theory. Alec and Mucky Marcus run a successful tattoo studio and coffee shop business which Kev helps run. Nige who played drums in their old band Regimes is now some mega rich real estate entrepreneur or something. We know a guy called Sean from Canada who made millions through the internet boom and can now be seen at practically every London gig going. Wayne is a vegetarian chef who works at some fancy restaurant in Primrose Hill on and off. I once knew a guy who worked for the McLaren Formula One team, some physics expert or something, who played in bands back in the day. I even knew a guy called Willis from Swansea who sang in Black Eye Riot, absolutely mental in the nicest sense of the word, who was rumoured to work for Jackie Chan as his PA in Europe! I’m not sure that was ever confirmed though.. Still, the thought of Jackie Chan’s PA drinking poppers and almost blinding himself in the backroom at a Speedhorn gig in Swansea is an image I’ll hold dear for the rest of my days.
One of my dear friends mentioned above, Karl Ghostface Kidneybean Broome, is as I said a lecturer in sociology and since I started studying we’ve had a few interesting conversations on the matter. I’ve decided I’m taking him on as my mentor since he’s soon out of contract with the University of Sussex, although I can’t afford to pay him. Student and all that. Anyway, Karl, like me is from a working class background and has a long history in the punk scene, and that coupled with a passion for sociology has led him to where he is today, and he’s started to write about these matters on his new blog, What Is Not To Be Done. Check it out, it’s a very interesting read.
The scene is full of professional punks? Maybe. I know a few at least. A few others beside the lot mentioned above. Like I said, my aspirations now lie somewhere with that lot too. I’m at the start of a longish road towards obtaining a degree in sociology which I hope will take me to a job that is a far sight more rewarding that some of the shite I’ve dealt with in the past to make the rent. Something in the school environment appeals to me at this moment in time. I figure that with the long summer breaks I’ll be able to both spend time with the family and still go on tour. Be a professional punk.
Reading the interview reminded me of a conversation I had with Mark from Black Breath/Go It Alone about the differences between the scenes in North America and Europe. He told me that he thought it was amazing that so many of us “older guys” were still playing in bands, that it seems like it’s a much more accepted thing to do in Europe than on the other side of the pond. That is, being old and playing in a band is not frowned upon over here like it is for those guys back home. He was curious as to why this was. One reason may be that culture and subculture is supported a lot more by the government in Europe, even though there are plenty of complaints to the contrary from people here I think this holds water somewhat. I remember when we were kids in the band Sect, applying for a Prince’s Trust grant from the government to fund the recording of a demo tape. Some woman came down to our practice space at the local community centre and interviewed us, it took about twenty minutes and then they posted us some money to put towards the studio. Free fucking money, couldn’t believe it. In Sweden today you can apply for money to support your art from an organisation called Studiefrämjandet which gives support to bands in all sorts of ways, donating money for equipment and so on, all you have to do is, once signed up, send a report off stating when and how often you’ve been practicing, and you can claim money back.
I’m not saying that "the system" over here doesn’t have huge flaws, it does, and it’s getting worse for sure, but I’ve always been amazed by how much harder things seem to be with everything in North America, especially in the good ol' US of A, land of the free. At least that’s the impression I always get from friends who are from there. Mark told us that if you’re still playing in a band after the age of twenty five you get looked at like you’re a bum whereas over here there seem to be people still doing the band thing well beyond that. Indeed it isn’t that uncommon for punks in their forties and fifties to still be at it. I always remember how Mark put it: You can play in bands when you’re young, up until about twenty five it’s deemed okay, but then if you haven’t “made it” by that point it’s time to scrap it and get educated and get a proper job.
“Made it” has always been a fucked up concept to me. What the fuck does “making it” mean really? The thing is, slowly but surely getting back to the point, job/band thing, the one doesn’t necessarily have to be sacrificed for the other in Europe. You can have an education; you can have a professional job and you can play in a punk band simultaneously. That conversation with Mark, sparked into the conscious again by the interview with Frau, brought me to think about the fact that I know quite a few punks or people in and around the scene that have some mental jobs that they leave behind on a Friday night to go do this punk thing at the weekend, or even every now and again for a lengthier period of time. Of course, I now belong to the older generation where this phenomenon is more prominent. Amongst the younger, of which I once was, it’s a lot easier to do punk full time, before kids come into the equation, before “digs” becomes rent and when your body can still physically function after endless months of touring, function at a bare minimum at least.
But yeah, the older you get the larger part normal life plays for most of us. For most of us punk becomes an impassioned hobby, but a hobby none the less. It’s not something you’re forced to give up at twenty five or face being labeled a bum. And as much as I know some charming bums within the scene, I know a fair few others who have professional jobs, as Frau would put it. My mates Karl and Jamie who play in Disculpe and a bucket load of other bands from around the Deptford scene are both professors, or something along those lines, they both work at universities and they’re both clever as fuck at least, one an expert in sociology, the other in music theory. Alec and Mucky Marcus run a successful tattoo studio and coffee shop business which Kev helps run. Nige who played drums in their old band Regimes is now some mega rich real estate entrepreneur or something. We know a guy called Sean from Canada who made millions through the internet boom and can now be seen at practically every London gig going. Wayne is a vegetarian chef who works at some fancy restaurant in Primrose Hill on and off. I once knew a guy who worked for the McLaren Formula One team, some physics expert or something, who played in bands back in the day. I even knew a guy called Willis from Swansea who sang in Black Eye Riot, absolutely mental in the nicest sense of the word, who was rumoured to work for Jackie Chan as his PA in Europe! I’m not sure that was ever confirmed though.. Still, the thought of Jackie Chan’s PA drinking poppers and almost blinding himself in the backroom at a Speedhorn gig in Swansea is an image I’ll hold dear for the rest of my days.
One of my dear friends mentioned above, Karl Ghostface Kidneybean Broome, is as I said a lecturer in sociology and since I started studying we’ve had a few interesting conversations on the matter. I’ve decided I’m taking him on as my mentor since he’s soon out of contract with the University of Sussex, although I can’t afford to pay him. Student and all that. Anyway, Karl, like me is from a working class background and has a long history in the punk scene, and that coupled with a passion for sociology has led him to where he is today, and he’s started to write about these matters on his new blog, What Is Not To Be Done. Check it out, it’s a very interesting read.
The scene is full of professional punks? Maybe. I know a few at least. A few others beside the lot mentioned above. Like I said, my aspirations now lie somewhere with that lot too. I’m at the start of a longish road towards obtaining a degree in sociology which I hope will take me to a job that is a far sight more rewarding that some of the shite I’ve dealt with in the past to make the rent. Something in the school environment appeals to me at this moment in time. I figure that with the long summer breaks I’ll be able to both spend time with the family and still go on tour. Be a professional punk.
Thursday, February 12, 2015
London (Peckham)
It took a while to get going this morning. Woke up first around ten thirty, closed my eyes for a second and then it was eleven thirty and Andy was all showered and ready to go. It left me confused for a couple of seconds. We had big plans today since we had the afternoon to do what we pleased with. We’d spoken about walking over to Greenwich for a look about, maybe go to the Maritime Museum, or maybe head over to London Bridge and walk along the South Bank, take in the Tate Modern, fuck knows why but I’ve never been. Of course, we’d neglected one major issue. It’s January.
Once showered we head down to the High Street with Kev and make our way to Café Bianca for a sitting of English Breakfast. There’s a big gang of us, all of Victims and Disculpe, tucking into to various fried breakfasts. Jon is in his element here, mad for the fry up, “The tea actually is greasy too, I love it”
I go for the veggie breakfast of course and for once I don’t feel sick afterwards. You always get a ton of food and I usually spend the latter half of the meal bloated and nauseous but continuing onwards like wounded soldier marching stubbornly into no-man’s-land. Not today though. I actually leave half an egg and a hash brown. It’s tough though. It’s like the fuckers are staring at me, mocking my stomach. One moment of madness that catches my eye during breakfast is Niki, sat across from me pouring vinegar on his poached eggs. It’s as if he hasn’t a care in the world. Fully satisfied we head back outside, the icy rain dampening our commitment to our afternoon of sightseeing. We trudge back along the road to the Waiting Room and as soon as I take a seat and sup on a cup of London’s finest coffee I realize I’m going nowhere for the next little while. Andy and Jon head off for a wander but they’re back soon enough and we hang out in the warmth of the café with the gang.
We’re supposed to be at the venue for three and so with an hour to kill, we head back to Kev’s to chill out for a while. Cue everyone sitting around on their phones. Karl has headed off to practice with his other band Bad Meat, who he has together with Mad John, who are playing at the after party tonight. Yes, not only are there ten bands playing the gig in honour of Karl’s fortieth, there’s an after party at the Birds Nest starting around midnight with another four bands on the bill. The thing is, Karl gets in touch after a while and says to Kev he’s not going to make it for Disculpe’s set time of five thirty and wants to push it back a bit. Kev is flummoxed. He says they can’t put it back, it’s all organised. As soon as they decide the Disculpe gig is cancelled, Niki fucks off to catch the first train back to Southend, delighted. So that’s that, no Disculpe tonight.
We meet back down at Marv’s practice studio just after three to load the gear for tonight into the van. We need to bring drums and a few extras for tonight. Kev and Karl have warned about the potentially poor sound at the venue tonight, The Montague Arms in Peckham, having experienced some pissy sounding shows there previously, the problem being there’s nowhere else in south London that’s the right size for the show according to Kev, so they’re doing all they can to take precautions, one of which is bringing a decent drum kit.
It’s pretty fucking cold in the venue, although with doors opening shortly and the expected onslaught of punters through the door, that should change soon. The venue itself is a big old pub with an oblong room with the bar lining the back wall. The interior is very Maritime with wooden steering wheels here and antique globes there, as well as an array of dead animals about the walls, it’s quite a place. The high stage is in a separate room at the bottom end of the pub and although you can see through to the stage if you’re in the bar area the sound doesn’t make it through. Quite nice really, means you can stand and have a nice undisturbed chat with a beer if any of the ten bands on the bill don’t tickle your fancy.
We’re here early so we can soundcheck since Kev has concerns with the PA. It’s just as well we do and all since it turns out Kev’s bass head is fucked. Don’t know what’s up with it but it sounds like it’s under water. Johan plonks away on it for a bit, looking around for eye contact with somebody. The sound guy, some young Scottish bloke who looks a bit lost, asks when we’re ready to go... Jamie comes to the rescue with another head. Soundcheck goes smoothly otherwise and despite the concrete interior of the room it sounds pretty good up on stage.
Jay and Dave Speedhorn turn up during soundcheck, their usual mischievous grins firmly in place. It’s good to see them as always. I have to admit it’s been strange at times watching Speedhorn from afar, my band, the band I started and wrote a great deal of songs for, now out playing again. Of course, I declined the offer to reform many times over the six years since we called it a day in 2008, and I felt that I could no longer keep the other guys from doing it again if that’s what they really wanted. For me the band finished at the right time though. But who’s to say what’s the right time or wrong time? I’ve always been against this huge wave of reunions we’ve been witnessing this last decade, it’s almost like the new thing is the old thing. For me it really took the fucking biscuit when Refused reformed. But then, who am I to say? And isn’t it just entertainment, after all? If people are enjoying themselves then what’s the harm? Anyway, as much as I’ve supported the guys in their choice I’ve kept myself away from a lot of the press surrounding it, which hasn’t been so hard to do living in Sweden. It’s been a little strange... I’m therefore very happy about the fact that there’s no strained feelings with Jay and Dave, I don’t know if it’s because they come to the band a lot later and have a bit more distance to it or whether it’s just because they’ve always been easy to hang out with. Whatever. It’s good to see their smiling faces again. These guys were with the band when we toured with Victims and now here we all stand, chit chatting. Funny how things go.
Soundcheck is done just after four and we’re on at eleven, nine bands between now and then. Thing is we’re kind of stuck in the middle of nowhere and when I asked Alec earlier about going for a walk around Peckham he just laughed. Kev is manning the door for the night, he’s got a lot of work on. He tells me that he’s got around twenty tickets left to play with and within the first ten minutes most of them have gone. He tells me it’s looking like being about thirty of forty over the two hundred capacity for tonight. I’m tempted by one of the fine ales they’ve got on sale here but I don’t have much money left and have to spread it out over the night, plus I can’t really get started on the piss now when we’re not on for another seven hours or so. And Kev, bless him, has bought a hundred beer tickets for the bands, even if it’s Carlsberg, it’s at least free Carlsberg. Free for us anyway, not for Kev so much. Before any drinking takes place I need some food anyway, so we decide to take a walk down the road on the back of some tips from the pub manager and pick up some dinner.
It’s dark out and the rain is drizzling down miserably. There really isn’t much around and we take a kebab shop over a rather looking dodgy noodle place, that doesn’t have much in the way of vegetarian cuisine anyway. Falafel it is. And it’s fucking good. Really clean and fresh, the hummus is to die for. So glad we went for this. The place has a coal fire on the go where some guy is sat roasting meat on a stick, it looks pretty disgusting but there’s no denying it smells pretty good. We take a seat by the door and watch the take away clientele pass through the place as we tuck into our grub. Most of them are wearing jogging bottoms, real give up on life garb.
We head back to the venue, stomachs filled and satisfied. When we get back I’ve got two shocks in store. One is that the place is fucking rammed, the bottle neck that runs along the bar is jammed and I can see it’s going to take a long time to get served. The second shock is that our good friend Jos from Holland is here. I look across the mass of heads in confusion, he looks back with a wry smile. There are a whole load of other mates here too, the Deptford Crew of course and then there are some old mates from home who have travelled down with Jay and Dave, people like Dix from Scurge and Scott from Defenestration, people we’ve grown up with in the music scene in Corby and Kettering. It’s great to see everyone, this feels like it’s going to be a hell of a party. I slowly make my way through the crowd to Jos, “Well hello, what the hell are you doing here?”
I fight through the crowd back to the bar to get myself a beer and then check in on the band currently playing, Organised Death Machine, which has our mate Pablo and Kiwi Chris amongst its ranks. From where I’m stood, just near the door, the sound doesn’t travel to all that well and most of the bottom end on Pablo’s bass has drifted off somewhere into the ceiling. Seems like they’ve had a pretty good gig though, there’s plenty watching them. They’re the only band I even catch a glimpse of until Regimes play a couple of hours later. There are simply too many people in here, I can’t be arsed battling my way back and forth about the place so opt to station myself in the vicinity of Kev and catch people there for a chat. I hang out with Viv and Wayne for a while, and Misa is flying about the place like an atom, laughing her ass of as always. She comes powering through the crowd towards me with her compulsory two pints aloft, resting on her head. She gives me a big hug, “Gaaaaaaaaaaaz!!!” we spend about a minute just laughing without actually conveying anything to each other. After a while Misa laughs, “Gaz you are so…how do you say? Is cuddleable a word?” Cue more hysterical laughing. Misa is fucking crackers and I love her.
A while later Vik arrives with Bea. Funny being with Vik and Kev in London and not doing a DB show. Vik turns to me, “There are far too many people here, it’s ridiculous!” It is actually starting to feel a bit crushed in here at times, if a fire kicked off right now we’d all be fucked. Kev has at least put a SOLD OUT sign on the window now, but with extra admission and band members its way too much in here. Kev looks chuffed.
Once showered we head down to the High Street with Kev and make our way to Café Bianca for a sitting of English Breakfast. There’s a big gang of us, all of Victims and Disculpe, tucking into to various fried breakfasts. Jon is in his element here, mad for the fry up, “The tea actually is greasy too, I love it”
I go for the veggie breakfast of course and for once I don’t feel sick afterwards. You always get a ton of food and I usually spend the latter half of the meal bloated and nauseous but continuing onwards like wounded soldier marching stubbornly into no-man’s-land. Not today though. I actually leave half an egg and a hash brown. It’s tough though. It’s like the fuckers are staring at me, mocking my stomach. One moment of madness that catches my eye during breakfast is Niki, sat across from me pouring vinegar on his poached eggs. It’s as if he hasn’t a care in the world. Fully satisfied we head back outside, the icy rain dampening our commitment to our afternoon of sightseeing. We trudge back along the road to the Waiting Room and as soon as I take a seat and sup on a cup of London’s finest coffee I realize I’m going nowhere for the next little while. Andy and Jon head off for a wander but they’re back soon enough and we hang out in the warmth of the café with the gang.
We’re supposed to be at the venue for three and so with an hour to kill, we head back to Kev’s to chill out for a while. Cue everyone sitting around on their phones. Karl has headed off to practice with his other band Bad Meat, who he has together with Mad John, who are playing at the after party tonight. Yes, not only are there ten bands playing the gig in honour of Karl’s fortieth, there’s an after party at the Birds Nest starting around midnight with another four bands on the bill. The thing is, Karl gets in touch after a while and says to Kev he’s not going to make it for Disculpe’s set time of five thirty and wants to push it back a bit. Kev is flummoxed. He says they can’t put it back, it’s all organised. As soon as they decide the Disculpe gig is cancelled, Niki fucks off to catch the first train back to Southend, delighted. So that’s that, no Disculpe tonight.
We meet back down at Marv’s practice studio just after three to load the gear for tonight into the van. We need to bring drums and a few extras for tonight. Kev and Karl have warned about the potentially poor sound at the venue tonight, The Montague Arms in Peckham, having experienced some pissy sounding shows there previously, the problem being there’s nowhere else in south London that’s the right size for the show according to Kev, so they’re doing all they can to take precautions, one of which is bringing a decent drum kit.
It’s pretty fucking cold in the venue, although with doors opening shortly and the expected onslaught of punters through the door, that should change soon. The venue itself is a big old pub with an oblong room with the bar lining the back wall. The interior is very Maritime with wooden steering wheels here and antique globes there, as well as an array of dead animals about the walls, it’s quite a place. The high stage is in a separate room at the bottom end of the pub and although you can see through to the stage if you’re in the bar area the sound doesn’t make it through. Quite nice really, means you can stand and have a nice undisturbed chat with a beer if any of the ten bands on the bill don’t tickle your fancy.
We’re here early so we can soundcheck since Kev has concerns with the PA. It’s just as well we do and all since it turns out Kev’s bass head is fucked. Don’t know what’s up with it but it sounds like it’s under water. Johan plonks away on it for a bit, looking around for eye contact with somebody. The sound guy, some young Scottish bloke who looks a bit lost, asks when we’re ready to go... Jamie comes to the rescue with another head. Soundcheck goes smoothly otherwise and despite the concrete interior of the room it sounds pretty good up on stage.
Jay and Dave Speedhorn turn up during soundcheck, their usual mischievous grins firmly in place. It’s good to see them as always. I have to admit it’s been strange at times watching Speedhorn from afar, my band, the band I started and wrote a great deal of songs for, now out playing again. Of course, I declined the offer to reform many times over the six years since we called it a day in 2008, and I felt that I could no longer keep the other guys from doing it again if that’s what they really wanted. For me the band finished at the right time though. But who’s to say what’s the right time or wrong time? I’ve always been against this huge wave of reunions we’ve been witnessing this last decade, it’s almost like the new thing is the old thing. For me it really took the fucking biscuit when Refused reformed. But then, who am I to say? And isn’t it just entertainment, after all? If people are enjoying themselves then what’s the harm? Anyway, as much as I’ve supported the guys in their choice I’ve kept myself away from a lot of the press surrounding it, which hasn’t been so hard to do living in Sweden. It’s been a little strange... I’m therefore very happy about the fact that there’s no strained feelings with Jay and Dave, I don’t know if it’s because they come to the band a lot later and have a bit more distance to it or whether it’s just because they’ve always been easy to hang out with. Whatever. It’s good to see their smiling faces again. These guys were with the band when we toured with Victims and now here we all stand, chit chatting. Funny how things go.
Soundcheck is done just after four and we’re on at eleven, nine bands between now and then. Thing is we’re kind of stuck in the middle of nowhere and when I asked Alec earlier about going for a walk around Peckham he just laughed. Kev is manning the door for the night, he’s got a lot of work on. He tells me that he’s got around twenty tickets left to play with and within the first ten minutes most of them have gone. He tells me it’s looking like being about thirty of forty over the two hundred capacity for tonight. I’m tempted by one of the fine ales they’ve got on sale here but I don’t have much money left and have to spread it out over the night, plus I can’t really get started on the piss now when we’re not on for another seven hours or so. And Kev, bless him, has bought a hundred beer tickets for the bands, even if it’s Carlsberg, it’s at least free Carlsberg. Free for us anyway, not for Kev so much. Before any drinking takes place I need some food anyway, so we decide to take a walk down the road on the back of some tips from the pub manager and pick up some dinner.
It’s dark out and the rain is drizzling down miserably. There really isn’t much around and we take a kebab shop over a rather looking dodgy noodle place, that doesn’t have much in the way of vegetarian cuisine anyway. Falafel it is. And it’s fucking good. Really clean and fresh, the hummus is to die for. So glad we went for this. The place has a coal fire on the go where some guy is sat roasting meat on a stick, it looks pretty disgusting but there’s no denying it smells pretty good. We take a seat by the door and watch the take away clientele pass through the place as we tuck into our grub. Most of them are wearing jogging bottoms, real give up on life garb.
We head back to the venue, stomachs filled and satisfied. When we get back I’ve got two shocks in store. One is that the place is fucking rammed, the bottle neck that runs along the bar is jammed and I can see it’s going to take a long time to get served. The second shock is that our good friend Jos from Holland is here. I look across the mass of heads in confusion, he looks back with a wry smile. There are a whole load of other mates here too, the Deptford Crew of course and then there are some old mates from home who have travelled down with Jay and Dave, people like Dix from Scurge and Scott from Defenestration, people we’ve grown up with in the music scene in Corby and Kettering. It’s great to see everyone, this feels like it’s going to be a hell of a party. I slowly make my way through the crowd to Jos, “Well hello, what the hell are you doing here?”
I fight through the crowd back to the bar to get myself a beer and then check in on the band currently playing, Organised Death Machine, which has our mate Pablo and Kiwi Chris amongst its ranks. From where I’m stood, just near the door, the sound doesn’t travel to all that well and most of the bottom end on Pablo’s bass has drifted off somewhere into the ceiling. Seems like they’ve had a pretty good gig though, there’s plenty watching them. They’re the only band I even catch a glimpse of until Regimes play a couple of hours later. There are simply too many people in here, I can’t be arsed battling my way back and forth about the place so opt to station myself in the vicinity of Kev and catch people there for a chat. I hang out with Viv and Wayne for a while, and Misa is flying about the place like an atom, laughing her ass of as always. She comes powering through the crowd towards me with her compulsory two pints aloft, resting on her head. She gives me a big hug, “Gaaaaaaaaaaaz!!!” we spend about a minute just laughing without actually conveying anything to each other. After a while Misa laughs, “Gaz you are so…how do you say? Is cuddleable a word?” Cue more hysterical laughing. Misa is fucking crackers and I love her.
A while later Vik arrives with Bea. Funny being with Vik and Kev in London and not doing a DB show. Vik turns to me, “There are far too many people here, it’s ridiculous!” It is actually starting to feel a bit crushed in here at times, if a fire kicked off right now we’d all be fucked. Kev has at least put a SOLD OUT sign on the window now, but with extra admission and band members its way too much in here. Kev looks chuffed.
Another friend that’s made the trip from Holland is Ester from Flees and Lice, she’s another real character and an old friend of Misa’s. Together they make quite the team. Ester doesn’t recognize me from being in Victims at first, I guess that’s the cross to bear as the “new guy”, I empathise with Ronnie Wood. Once me and Ester remake our acquaintances, the last time we met was when we played her place the Crowbar in Groningen, she’s into full flow. She tells me I look tired and says she has some stuff for that, if I’d like some. It’s a nice gesture but I’m good.
I make my way back through the bottleneck and up to the raised area where Johan and Andy are sitting with our merch. I catch Karl and his wife Jules sat beside them and take a seat myself. I get talking to Jules about kids TV shows and she gives me some good tips. We talk about Backyardigans, the Canadian TV show that Polly is insane about right now. Jules is Canadian and she smiles when I tell her how much Polly loves it. It’s funny when you’re a parent and you realise that the battle for the TV with your kid is a battle you have absolutely no chance of winning, and then before long you start to get into the shows yourself. All I can say is, Backyardigans has some brilliant tunes on the show. To be honest, Polly only really discovered the television a few months back and it’s easy enough to draw her attention away from it, all I have to do is put on a record, any record, and start dancing and she’s right there with me. Still, when you’re making dinner or the doing the laundry or whatever other chore there is constantly to attend to, the TV is a handy distraction.
Regimes are on and then there are two more before Victims are up. Regimes haven’t played for a long time, except the warm up show for this a few days back, and I’m really looking forward to seeing them. This will be their last show, I think. It’s fun seeing Mucky Marcus play guitar again, my SG come to that. I didn’t really know what to expect from their gig but as much as I always liked the band, I’m not sure I remember them ever being this good! It’s tight as shit, works great with Jamie on bass too, and the crowd are packed in and going mad. Kev is in great form too, I’m buzzed to shit watching them. When they play Chemical Cosh the mosh pit are all singing along to the chorus and a few stragglers make it up on to the high stage to launch themselves immediately off it. What a fucking bonus.
I catch up with the Victims guys and Vik afterwards and everyone is smiling, surprised by how good the set was. As soon as Kev is done he’s back to the door. The squeeze in here just seems to be getting tighter. I exchange glances with a few familiar faces around the crowd, all of them deflecting back the same sigh I send them. Kev tells me that the bouncers, who have been a bit freaked out and are acting like cunts, patting everyone down all the time, have said that’s it’s one in/one out, irrespective of whether you have a wristband. I look through the doorway to the smoking allotment and there is even a crush of people there, waiting to get back in. I happen to catch little Jay’s face in the mass, shaking his head and smiling. I hope he manages to get back in before Victims play. That would be ridiculous. One person who won’t be getting back in is Kyle, the old bass player from Scurge, who has been caught with a bag of the naughty stuff. As he’s being led out I ask his mate who is following him out what happened, “Only got himself to blame, fucking blatant!”
I get talking to Kelly Apple for a while, I don’t know if she’s boats or what but she’s going on about Jon, “your guitar player”, she says she’s thinks he’s really hot. She recalls the last time she saw Victims play, must have been the Grosvenor a few years back, my first tour with Victims, she says that she approached Jon, really nervous and really drunk, and told him that she thought he was really attractive and then threw up on her shoes. When she repeats the story a few times I begin to understand that she is pretty steaming. She keeps saying to me that I can’t let her go near him tonight. I look over at Jon, flummoxed by the whole affair. I catch up with the guys later and tell them what Kelly said, Jon eyes light up, it’s actually really sweet, I’ve never seen Jon flattered in this way before. “What can I say? The ladies love Jonny” he says. He just about pulled it off.
The set times are running late, how could they fucking not be with all these bands? I was thinking that it was covered, that the music curfew was midnight and with Kev setting the Victims set time at a very ambitious ten fifteen we were ok. It turns out in fact that the curfew is eleven, and there are still two bands to go before we play. I can tell Kev is for the first time, starting to get a little nervous. He says we’ll get things moving along and he’s cursing one of the earlier bands who took ages at change over. Well go figure.. Paco Mus’s band, The Lowest Form is up next. I’ve been looking for him since he has some records for me that I ordered a while back. The first time I clock him is when he’s up on stage setting up. I don’t see much of their set, I simply can’t be arsed fighting my way through. The sound is pretty bad from where I’m standing though, the bass amp sounds like a wet fart. Shame.
I catch Paco afterwards anyway and he tells me he’s given the package of records to Andy. It’s nice to finally meet him, to put a face to someone you’ve been corresponding with. Kluster Fuck are now on stage, and we’re after them. These are good friends of Kev, good people, we’ve met them before at Ungdomshuset in Copenhagen where they’re involved. Kluster Fuck are the first band that have played today that you can trust when they say they’ve got a fifteen minute set. Most of their songs average out at thirty seconds. It’s not totally my thing but what they do, they do really well. Anos, who’ve I’ve only ever seen sing, blasts the fuck out of the kit and Kristine has an insane set of lungs and is absolutely manic on stage. She sounds like a pit-bull being tortured. Fifteen minutes and it is indeed done.
We get up on stage as quick as we can, knowing time is against us. The room is packed, the anticipation almost boiling over, I am fucking ready for this. And then I hear this little Scottish voice, almost apologetic, as if excusing itself for existing, it’s coming out of the monitors somewhere. “There’s nothing from the bass drum.” Johan and I look at each other and then together in the direction of the sound guy in his little hut at the back of the room. Johan asks if we should change the mic but gets nothing in response bar a shrug of the shoulders, the guy looks completely fucking scoobied. He mumbles something about us just starting and he’ll sort it but somehow I don’t trust that. When we start looking to address the problem ourselves, amidst shouts from the crowd of “Just get on with it”, we‘ve been stood here a while now and it’s getting uncomfortable, the sound guy appears on stage. Johan suggests he swaps the mic with the hang tom, he does as told. He tries the broken mic lead, blows in it a little, Andy shakes his head but Johan confirms that’s actually a valid course of action since moisture can cause glitches and blowing it away can work. Eventually he gets things sorted and with bass drum now sounding we launch into Death Do Us Part. The wait was worth it. The crowd kick off from the very start.
It’s one of those gigs where you feel like a fucking King up on stage. The place is packed, the crowd is swathing about the dance floor, I clock Jay and Dave in the middle of it all, getting tossed about and loving every second of it, people are stage diving, Kev amongst them, kicking the mic into Johan’s mouth, he doesn’t care. The gig flies by, it’s one of the most fun shows I’ve played in ages, and last night was no cack affair either. We drop one of the more mid tempo songs, weighing the feeling in the crowd, we just keep it going. We’ve got four songs left and I hear that little voice again, coming out of the monitors. “Last song.” I can’t work out if it’s a question or a demand although I couldn’t give a fuck either way. I know the other guys haven’t heard him, even when he repeats himself, so I just carry on. We finish with This is the End again and it feels like I spend more time pumping my fist in the air than playing guitar, I look over to the right hand side of the room and see Kev and Misa, raised above the crowd with one arm around each other, the other lofted in the air, singing along to the chorus. Feel like fucking AC/DC up here. Magic, pure fucking magic.
How do you top that? The crowd moves out quickly after the show, everybody I’m sure desperate for a bit of legroom. I’m fucking desperate for a good pint now but Jamie are Kev and wanting to get moving since they have to take the gear and the van back to the practice room where it will be safe for the night. We contemplate walking, I could certainly do with the brisk air, but it seems stupid to blow off a lift, and plus, there’s an after party to get to. Everyone seems to be heading there and up early or not, I need a couple of pints. I just hope the Birds Nest isn’t as stupidly packed as this place was. We all squeeze into the van, making space for Vik and Bea as well as Goy, who spends the entire trip laid up behind the back seats on the luggage shelf, pissed up and moaning about the state of music, saying he missed UFO. Love him.
If it’s even possible, to my horror, The Nest is more crammed than the earlier show. Fuck. I’d envisioned sitting down for one thing, with a pint and a nice easy catch up with some mates. It’s not happening. It takes about half hour to get served and you can forget sitting, there’s barely room to stand. Wayne’s band Nembutal are playing, as is Karl, Mad John and Nige’s hard rock band Bad Meat, and Kluster Fuck are on again and our travelling partners Link. I barely see anything of any of them, you can’t see fuck all in here. I’m on the other end of the bar with Jos and his mate, Andy and Johan, Vik, Bea and Viv. The others fleet about but we station ourselves here. Alec is with us for a while but leaves early, stating he can’t be fucked with the crush in here. Can’t say I blame him. Jon is over by the left hand side of the bar, he’s made a connection with Misa. When I was on my way to the bogs I catch Misa trying to pronounce Jon’s name, it goes on for ages, “Jo? Joe? Joon?” ad infinitum. The two make a great match.
We hang out for a couple of hours, I’m surprised we make it that long. Jos is taking the piss out me and my beanie hat. I have to admit, I’m going for the Ian MacKaye look, I figure you gotta go with the flow, roll with the punches a thinning hairline throws you. Karl, suffering with the same problem, age and thin hair, tells me I look prime, bless him. Jos calls me on it though, takes my hat off me, starts pissing around with his own flat cap, turning it backwards and making faces at me. Piss taking fucker. Point taken big guy. We cuddle up for a photo together.
Another piss taker arrives, Kiwi Chris, although is piss taking is a little more venomous. He says he saw the gig and thought we were shit. This is his usual approach. Don’t know if he has a really small penis or what but there is definitely some insecurity issues there. Funny, I clocked him down the front when we were on, huge smile on his face. Viv lambasts him but I can take it, I know where it’s coming from and I know he doesn’t mean any harm, although his tongue constantly purchases him black eyes. He asks me if I saw his band. I could easily say that I did and that I thought they were shit but that’s just not me. He doesn’t believe me at first when I say what I saw I thought was good but when I repeat myself a little smile appears on his coupon. Kiwi Chris…
We leave around two, we’ve managed to say hello and hang out with most people, although I wish I could have made more of it. One of those occasions where you’ve talked to loads of people and really haven’t spoken to anyone. I meet Jay before he leaves, he’s heading off to the Amersham Arms for some drunken debauchery, the rest of that crew are there. He cracks up, tells me Dave is wearing a boot print on his cheek that he received during our set. The only person I haven’t really managed to hang out with tonight is Wayne, but we catch each other on the way out. I’m sure we’ll be back with DB at some point, otherwise I’ll have to make a private trip over with the family.
We get back to Kev’s just after two. The alarm is set for eight, six hours of sleep on the floor. I like a hard bed though, good for this shit old back of mine. I hear Kev coming back sometime around three with what sounds like Kiwi Chris’s voice behind him. It sounds like Kiwi is boats. I get up for a piss once they’ve gone to bed and find the bathroom mirror has been taken down from the wall and laid on the floor and various plastic bottles have fallen into the tub. I wonder if Kev will need waking in the morning…probably not. He always seems to make it through somehow.
I retake my position on the floor between Andy and Jon, glad we’re on the afternoon flight.
I make my way back through the bottleneck and up to the raised area where Johan and Andy are sitting with our merch. I catch Karl and his wife Jules sat beside them and take a seat myself. I get talking to Jules about kids TV shows and she gives me some good tips. We talk about Backyardigans, the Canadian TV show that Polly is insane about right now. Jules is Canadian and she smiles when I tell her how much Polly loves it. It’s funny when you’re a parent and you realise that the battle for the TV with your kid is a battle you have absolutely no chance of winning, and then before long you start to get into the shows yourself. All I can say is, Backyardigans has some brilliant tunes on the show. To be honest, Polly only really discovered the television a few months back and it’s easy enough to draw her attention away from it, all I have to do is put on a record, any record, and start dancing and she’s right there with me. Still, when you’re making dinner or the doing the laundry or whatever other chore there is constantly to attend to, the TV is a handy distraction.
Regimes are on and then there are two more before Victims are up. Regimes haven’t played for a long time, except the warm up show for this a few days back, and I’m really looking forward to seeing them. This will be their last show, I think. It’s fun seeing Mucky Marcus play guitar again, my SG come to that. I didn’t really know what to expect from their gig but as much as I always liked the band, I’m not sure I remember them ever being this good! It’s tight as shit, works great with Jamie on bass too, and the crowd are packed in and going mad. Kev is in great form too, I’m buzzed to shit watching them. When they play Chemical Cosh the mosh pit are all singing along to the chorus and a few stragglers make it up on to the high stage to launch themselves immediately off it. What a fucking bonus.
I catch up with the Victims guys and Vik afterwards and everyone is smiling, surprised by how good the set was. As soon as Kev is done he’s back to the door. The squeeze in here just seems to be getting tighter. I exchange glances with a few familiar faces around the crowd, all of them deflecting back the same sigh I send them. Kev tells me that the bouncers, who have been a bit freaked out and are acting like cunts, patting everyone down all the time, have said that’s it’s one in/one out, irrespective of whether you have a wristband. I look through the doorway to the smoking allotment and there is even a crush of people there, waiting to get back in. I happen to catch little Jay’s face in the mass, shaking his head and smiling. I hope he manages to get back in before Victims play. That would be ridiculous. One person who won’t be getting back in is Kyle, the old bass player from Scurge, who has been caught with a bag of the naughty stuff. As he’s being led out I ask his mate who is following him out what happened, “Only got himself to blame, fucking blatant!”
I get talking to Kelly Apple for a while, I don’t know if she’s boats or what but she’s going on about Jon, “your guitar player”, she says she’s thinks he’s really hot. She recalls the last time she saw Victims play, must have been the Grosvenor a few years back, my first tour with Victims, she says that she approached Jon, really nervous and really drunk, and told him that she thought he was really attractive and then threw up on her shoes. When she repeats the story a few times I begin to understand that she is pretty steaming. She keeps saying to me that I can’t let her go near him tonight. I look over at Jon, flummoxed by the whole affair. I catch up with the guys later and tell them what Kelly said, Jon eyes light up, it’s actually really sweet, I’ve never seen Jon flattered in this way before. “What can I say? The ladies love Jonny” he says. He just about pulled it off.
The set times are running late, how could they fucking not be with all these bands? I was thinking that it was covered, that the music curfew was midnight and with Kev setting the Victims set time at a very ambitious ten fifteen we were ok. It turns out in fact that the curfew is eleven, and there are still two bands to go before we play. I can tell Kev is for the first time, starting to get a little nervous. He says we’ll get things moving along and he’s cursing one of the earlier bands who took ages at change over. Well go figure.. Paco Mus’s band, The Lowest Form is up next. I’ve been looking for him since he has some records for me that I ordered a while back. The first time I clock him is when he’s up on stage setting up. I don’t see much of their set, I simply can’t be arsed fighting my way through. The sound is pretty bad from where I’m standing though, the bass amp sounds like a wet fart. Shame.
I catch Paco afterwards anyway and he tells me he’s given the package of records to Andy. It’s nice to finally meet him, to put a face to someone you’ve been corresponding with. Kluster Fuck are now on stage, and we’re after them. These are good friends of Kev, good people, we’ve met them before at Ungdomshuset in Copenhagen where they’re involved. Kluster Fuck are the first band that have played today that you can trust when they say they’ve got a fifteen minute set. Most of their songs average out at thirty seconds. It’s not totally my thing but what they do, they do really well. Anos, who’ve I’ve only ever seen sing, blasts the fuck out of the kit and Kristine has an insane set of lungs and is absolutely manic on stage. She sounds like a pit-bull being tortured. Fifteen minutes and it is indeed done.
We get up on stage as quick as we can, knowing time is against us. The room is packed, the anticipation almost boiling over, I am fucking ready for this. And then I hear this little Scottish voice, almost apologetic, as if excusing itself for existing, it’s coming out of the monitors somewhere. “There’s nothing from the bass drum.” Johan and I look at each other and then together in the direction of the sound guy in his little hut at the back of the room. Johan asks if we should change the mic but gets nothing in response bar a shrug of the shoulders, the guy looks completely fucking scoobied. He mumbles something about us just starting and he’ll sort it but somehow I don’t trust that. When we start looking to address the problem ourselves, amidst shouts from the crowd of “Just get on with it”, we‘ve been stood here a while now and it’s getting uncomfortable, the sound guy appears on stage. Johan suggests he swaps the mic with the hang tom, he does as told. He tries the broken mic lead, blows in it a little, Andy shakes his head but Johan confirms that’s actually a valid course of action since moisture can cause glitches and blowing it away can work. Eventually he gets things sorted and with bass drum now sounding we launch into Death Do Us Part. The wait was worth it. The crowd kick off from the very start.
It’s one of those gigs where you feel like a fucking King up on stage. The place is packed, the crowd is swathing about the dance floor, I clock Jay and Dave in the middle of it all, getting tossed about and loving every second of it, people are stage diving, Kev amongst them, kicking the mic into Johan’s mouth, he doesn’t care. The gig flies by, it’s one of the most fun shows I’ve played in ages, and last night was no cack affair either. We drop one of the more mid tempo songs, weighing the feeling in the crowd, we just keep it going. We’ve got four songs left and I hear that little voice again, coming out of the monitors. “Last song.” I can’t work out if it’s a question or a demand although I couldn’t give a fuck either way. I know the other guys haven’t heard him, even when he repeats himself, so I just carry on. We finish with This is the End again and it feels like I spend more time pumping my fist in the air than playing guitar, I look over to the right hand side of the room and see Kev and Misa, raised above the crowd with one arm around each other, the other lofted in the air, singing along to the chorus. Feel like fucking AC/DC up here. Magic, pure fucking magic.
How do you top that? The crowd moves out quickly after the show, everybody I’m sure desperate for a bit of legroom. I’m fucking desperate for a good pint now but Jamie are Kev and wanting to get moving since they have to take the gear and the van back to the practice room where it will be safe for the night. We contemplate walking, I could certainly do with the brisk air, but it seems stupid to blow off a lift, and plus, there’s an after party to get to. Everyone seems to be heading there and up early or not, I need a couple of pints. I just hope the Birds Nest isn’t as stupidly packed as this place was. We all squeeze into the van, making space for Vik and Bea as well as Goy, who spends the entire trip laid up behind the back seats on the luggage shelf, pissed up and moaning about the state of music, saying he missed UFO. Love him.
If it’s even possible, to my horror, The Nest is more crammed than the earlier show. Fuck. I’d envisioned sitting down for one thing, with a pint and a nice easy catch up with some mates. It’s not happening. It takes about half hour to get served and you can forget sitting, there’s barely room to stand. Wayne’s band Nembutal are playing, as is Karl, Mad John and Nige’s hard rock band Bad Meat, and Kluster Fuck are on again and our travelling partners Link. I barely see anything of any of them, you can’t see fuck all in here. I’m on the other end of the bar with Jos and his mate, Andy and Johan, Vik, Bea and Viv. The others fleet about but we station ourselves here. Alec is with us for a while but leaves early, stating he can’t be fucked with the crush in here. Can’t say I blame him. Jon is over by the left hand side of the bar, he’s made a connection with Misa. When I was on my way to the bogs I catch Misa trying to pronounce Jon’s name, it goes on for ages, “Jo? Joe? Joon?” ad infinitum. The two make a great match.
We hang out for a couple of hours, I’m surprised we make it that long. Jos is taking the piss out me and my beanie hat. I have to admit, I’m going for the Ian MacKaye look, I figure you gotta go with the flow, roll with the punches a thinning hairline throws you. Karl, suffering with the same problem, age and thin hair, tells me I look prime, bless him. Jos calls me on it though, takes my hat off me, starts pissing around with his own flat cap, turning it backwards and making faces at me. Piss taking fucker. Point taken big guy. We cuddle up for a photo together.
Another piss taker arrives, Kiwi Chris, although is piss taking is a little more venomous. He says he saw the gig and thought we were shit. This is his usual approach. Don’t know if he has a really small penis or what but there is definitely some insecurity issues there. Funny, I clocked him down the front when we were on, huge smile on his face. Viv lambasts him but I can take it, I know where it’s coming from and I know he doesn’t mean any harm, although his tongue constantly purchases him black eyes. He asks me if I saw his band. I could easily say that I did and that I thought they were shit but that’s just not me. He doesn’t believe me at first when I say what I saw I thought was good but when I repeat myself a little smile appears on his coupon. Kiwi Chris…
We leave around two, we’ve managed to say hello and hang out with most people, although I wish I could have made more of it. One of those occasions where you’ve talked to loads of people and really haven’t spoken to anyone. I meet Jay before he leaves, he’s heading off to the Amersham Arms for some drunken debauchery, the rest of that crew are there. He cracks up, tells me Dave is wearing a boot print on his cheek that he received during our set. The only person I haven’t really managed to hang out with tonight is Wayne, but we catch each other on the way out. I’m sure we’ll be back with DB at some point, otherwise I’ll have to make a private trip over with the family.
We get back to Kev’s just after two. The alarm is set for eight, six hours of sleep on the floor. I like a hard bed though, good for this shit old back of mine. I hear Kev coming back sometime around three with what sounds like Kiwi Chris’s voice behind him. It sounds like Kiwi is boats. I get up for a piss once they’ve gone to bed and find the bathroom mirror has been taken down from the wall and laid on the floor and various plastic bottles have fallen into the tub. I wonder if Kev will need waking in the morning…probably not. He always seems to make it through somehow.
I retake my position on the floor between Andy and Jon, glad we’re on the afternoon flight.
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