AMERICAN AQUARIUM "ROCKS" SPAIN

            I got up, goofed off in the gym, and then went to eat more gyros like a fat ass the next day.  I’ve just kind of mentally committed myself to not working out in order to give my body a rest and just enjoy Europe rather than killing myself trying to work out all the time.  I managed to wear myself out enough to sleep fairly well on the ride to Santa Maria de Param. 

            This tiny little village is in the middle of nowhere about three hours outside of Bilbao.  It’s surrounded by beautiful farmland and as we get closer there are houses built into the hills.  It looks like what I would imagine the Shire looks like in The Hobbit.  Cute little cottages built right into the hills.  It was crazy to see.  Our hotel is pretty nice, but not necessarily the cleanest place I’ve stayed at.  There is mold on the ceiling and in the bathroom which seems to be kind of normal in a lot of places here.  I’ve definitely noticed that American standards of both cleanliness and personal hygiene are different than they are in Europe.  Deodorant doesn’t seem to be popular here (especially with Marco).

            We had about an hour and a half before we had to go to the club so Kevin and I decided to go on a run.  It was a nice day for it.  The weather was sunny and warm with a cool breeze.  Along the way we stopped at a creek where we saw a snake swimming around.  We threw rocks in the water which the snake was very interested in.  He kept darting over to each one we tossed in.  I guess he was hoping it was a frog or something to eat.  When we got bored playing with the snake we ran back to the hotel. 

            The club was super small.  Marco has been to this place several times and says that everyone here is really cool.  He was right. They welcomed us with open arms and seemed really excited that we were there.  They gave us plenty of beer and coffee which made me very happy.  The first thing you see when you walk in is a glass display case with a collection of rocks that have eyes painted on them.  Apparently there is a local artist who walks the foothills looking for rocks that speak to her. Then she paints eyes on them.  It’s nice to know they have crazies in Spain too. 

            At this point in tour I’m getting increasingly frustrated with my equipment.  The gear rental company sent me the speaker cabinet that I requested in a giant road case which makes it infinitely heavier and more awkward to move.  In addition the low notes rattle the handles and the latches on the case and it’s annoying the shit out of me.  I try stuffing koozies under the handles and duct taping the latches down, but nothing is totally solving the problem. Tonight I try taking it out of the road case and I realized that in order to fit the cab in the case they removed all the handles and casters making it almost impossible to move.  I’m not pleased. I put it back in it’s case while cursing it in Italian.

            Gear issues aside the show was amazing.  There were plenty of people and some of them were young!  It was really fun and the crowd was pretty lively.  We got called up for a couple of encores and then went to sell merch and sign cds.  One young kid wants Kevin to sign a drum stick.  Kevin decides that he is now officially moving to Spain.  As a gift, the local “rock artist” gives us a bag with six painted rocks (one is for Marco). We all pick numbers to see who draws first.  Bj won and picks one that I think looks like Luigi.  I went next and Bj was nice enough to swap with me so that I can have the one that reminds me of my dog.  By this point it’s pretty late and we haven’t eaten dinner.  We go over to the owner of the clubs house where she has made a late dinner for us.  It was gazpacho, cured meats and cheeses, and pork chops.  Bj and I eat so much that we have to go lay down in the Sprinter.  We went back to the hotel and crashed for the evening.  It has been one of our favorite nights of the tour so far.

PORKO DIO!!!

            The fact that I woke up without a hangover is a full blown miracle.  We checked out of the hotel and went to find some food.  We got some sandwiches and went over the previous night’s events and how much fun we had.  We then hit the road to Bilbao.  I still haven’t gotten tired of hearing Marco’s cursing while driving.  I think I’ve decided on my favorite.  “Porko Dio.”  Its literal translation is “pig god.”  It makes me laugh every time.  I’ve adopted it and will be bringing it back to the states with me.

            Our accommodations for the night in Bilbao was a four star hotel right next to a beautiful cathedral.  I was very excited to find out the hotel even had a fitness center.  It’s the first one I’ve found in Europe.  I celebrate with a run on the treadmill before sound check.  The city itself seems to be lively with a cool vibe to it, and the same could be said for the club which is probably one of the largest places we have played here so far.  We finished sound check and walked around trying to find gyros (in Spain they put a tomato sauce they call “ketchup” on them and it’s delicious) for dinner.  Everywhere we walked people were hanging out in the streets eating and drinking.  Everyone seems so relaxed here in Spain. 

            We got back to the club around ten and there is no one there.  Seriously, it was us and the bartenders so we just went backstage to drink before having to play our first show to no one in Europe.  The club gave us a bottle of Jack and a few cases of Heineken which was nice of them.  By the time we went on at ten thirty people had actually shown up.  Not many, maybe only twenty, but I’m still amazed twenty people have heard of us this far from home.  We sounded really good even though Ryan broke a string early on and realized he didn’t have a replacement.  Whit picked up his slack on some of the solos and it honestly wasn’t that bad.  A group of English guys were hell bent on hearing us play Hurricane which was one song Ryan really couldn’t play with only five strings so we invited them backstage, gave them a few of our beers, and Bj played it acoustic for them.  They were ecstatic about the whole scene and really seemed to appreciate the gesture.  It was a really fun evening.  The night was not a financial success though.  Even with the high ticket prices over here we didn’t meet production costs, but thankfully we sold some merchandise to offset the loss.  You win some, you lose some.  I’m honestly surprised that we haven’t had more money losing nights.  Whit and I walked back to our hotel leaving the other guys to drink and socialize at the bar.  Whit wants to get up and walk around to explore the city the next morning while I have to get up early for a date with the hotel’s gym.

SPANISH ACCENT OR SPEECH IMPEDIMENT? DISCUSS.

                Mr. DouGall sent us on our way with a box full of bottling “mistakes” or “over/unders” as they call them back home.  It’s whenever the manual bottler either over fills or under fills a bottle they usually just get set aside to give away or for employees to drink.  We hit the road, thankfully that we have a tour manager who gets paid to drive us around.  As we head to Zaragoza the landscape changes to more of what I expect Spain to look like.  It’s half wine country and half high elevation desert similar to eastern Washington state.  It’s different but still beautiful.

                Zaragoza is a stark contrast to Lierganes.  It’s a fairly large city and our hotel is an extremely nice one downtown with the biggest beds that we have had on tour.  The club itself is really nice.  It’s definitely a rock and roll club/bar that is dark with pictures of rock bands and guitar players all over.  The stage was very small and we were cramped but the sound was awesome.  The promoter is named Alex and he takes us to a tapas restaurant.  I knew I would love it when we got there.  The place looked like shit on the outside, but the interior was very warm and welcoming.  Wood paneling and white table clothes would occupy the interior while a bar stood in front of a line of hanging Chorizo sausages and other cured or dried meat. 

            This meal was my favorite so far and not just because of the food.  The whole Spanish attitude towards food is so different than what we are used to.  For Alex it was as much about the socializing as it was about the food.  There was no menu.  Food was just brought out in courses for everyone to share.  The pacing was very slow and relaxed allowing for time to talk and get to know each other.  From start to finish we were there for well over two hours.  They brought out several bottles of good Spanish red wine first, then a salad with endive, olives, tuna fish, carrots, egg, and cabbage. The next course was a selection of various sausages and chorizo with cheese and bread.  Then more wine.  The main course was a traditional Spanish dish of rice mixed with pig’s blood, fried potato slices, and fried egg.  I think it was call Murcilla.  As horrible as it sounds I thoroughly enjoyed it. We all did, except for Marco.  Growing up in Italy, pig’s blood is somewhat common and he was forced to eat it as a child so he hates it.  It just means that there is more to go around for the rest of us.  We follow this with more wine and then dessert.  Dessert was like tiny little Klondike bars covered with whipped cream and chocolate sauce.  By this point we are pretty drunk and absolutely stuffed so they bring out a “digestive” shot.  It turns out to be shots of a very sweet and somewhat thick white wine.  After some coffee we finally stumbled out with only twenty minutes to go before we have to hit the stage.  Once again I’m wishing I could play lying down.

            The show was really great.  It was a small room that was packed with a lively crowd.  We played well considering all the rich food and wine we had ingested at dinner.  After our set we sold merch and started hanging out with the locals.  We met a girl named Shelan and her boyfriend Alex.  They were super cool and spoke English fairly well.  We took the opportunity to practice our horrible Spanish and had a really fun drunken conversation.  I’ve heard about how people from Spain have a lisp when they talk, but I had no idea how pronounced it would be.  The letters c, s, and z are all pronounced as a “th” sound here.  Imagine a Spanish speaking Sylvester the cat.  After a while, Shelan and Alex said they wanted to take us to another bar where they had some friends, so we packed up our gear and started walking with those two, Alex (the promoter), and some other people from the show.  We dropped Whit and Bj off at the hotel because they didn’t want to go out and then the rest of our group went to a cool local bar. 

            It was a small spot, but it had a cool atmosphere and a Dj.  Shelan seemed to know lots of people at the bar and she also knew the Dj so she told him a bunch of Americans were with her and to play American music.  Marco tells us that Americans are kind of exotic in this area and that’s why there was such a fuss about us being there.  I remember thinking his music selection was funny, but by the next morning none of us can remember what he played.  We were too busy talking to everyone who knew any English at all.  I met a girl named Reyes who was very excited to practice speaking English. I was embarrassed because her name is pronounced with a rolling “r” and for the life of me I can’t make that sound.  I sound like an old cat purring while having a stroke.  We decide to go by her nickname of “queen” which works much better for me.  Shelan thinks it’s funny that I can’t make that sound so she keeps yelling “Ryan” with the most exaggerated rolling “r” that I’ve ever heard.  Reyes tells me she just got a job in Detroit that she starts in a few weeks.  I reassure her that her English is great and that she will love it.  I decide not to tell her Detroit is a shithole.  The whole night is basically stupid conversations like this, half of it lost in translation, but we are happy for the new company.  It’s what I love about touring: meeting strangers at the beginning of the night and saying goodbye to what feels like old friends at the end.  This particular night ended at four thirty when we finally decided we had enough so we said our goodbyes and went back to the hotel.  I slept like a baby.

MCDONALDS, DUNES, AND DAY DRINKING

We woke up on Wednesday morning in France and packed up to hit the road to Bordeaux, our stopping point for the long trip to Spain.  We went downstairs at the hotel because they offered a complimentary breakfast buffet that we were grossly underdressed for.  Everyone looked well put together and proper, almost to the point of looking uptight.  Meanwhile, here we were looking exactly like what we were: a scruffy bunch of band dudes who just woke up for free food.  They had Nutella and fresh croissants so I didn’t give a shit.

                It was a really long drive. I got some reading done, but I mostly tried to sleep in the van.  The Sprinter we have is great for short drives where you are wide awake, however if it’s a long drive and you are hoping to get some sleep there is in fact not one single comfortable position.  The seats are hard and don’t recline, the headrests are awkward, and the air conditioning doesn’t circulate well in the back so it can get kind of stuffy.  I realize I am totally bitching about some first world problems and shit, but when you spend as much time traveling as we do, being able to sleep in the van is important. 

                We finally arrive in Bordeaux that night and check into a hotel called the Quick Palace.  Now that sounds sketchy as hell, but it wasn’t that bad.  No hourly rates here.  The rooms were very small and had very few amenities.  In fact, the bathrooms were comical.  The toilet and sink were in the shower.  That’s right.  They were IN the shower.  The whole bathroom was a tiny closet that had a waterproof seal on the door, a drain on the floor, and a shower head that just sprayed everything.  It was really odd to use.

                After check in we went to a grocery store to get some wine since it’s so cheap here.  Besides, how often can I say I get to drink Bordeaux in Bordeaux?  I don’t know if it’s because it’s local or because everyone drinks wine all the time, but wine is ridiculously cheap here!  Whit and I bought some bottles that averaged about 4 euros, but the most expensive we saw at the shop were still only 8.  After stocking up on drinks we split up to find cheap food.  Marco really wanted KFC because they don’t have that in Italy.  Ryan went with him and the rest of us went to McDonald’s because all the good places to eat had already closed.  On a side note, it’s easy to lose track of time here. It doesn’t get dark until ten at night, so when it feels like five or six it’s usually nine.  I actually really like it.  One of my favorite parts of summer back home is the extra hours of daylight.  Anyway, at McDonald’s they have one menu item specifically for France and it’s the McBaguette.  It is two oval hamburger patties with Swiss cheese, lettuce, and course mustard on a baguette.  It was surprisingly good.  Bj ate his Le Big Mac and then went over to KFC to get a bag of fried chicken because he was still hungry.  Afterwards, we all went back to the hotel to drink and relax after a long day of being cooped up in the van.

                The next morning we all met downstairs to finish the trip to Spain.  Bj was still snacking on cold chicken from the night before.  Marco suggested we go to the Dune du Pyla, which is the largest sand dune in Europe and it wasn’t too far out of the way.  Now I’ve seen some sand dunes before. But this thing was no joke.  You can see it towering over the tree line from miles away.  One side is so steep that they have plastic stairs and ropes to get you to the top and then the dune STILL keeps going up from there.  We make it to the top (which sucked in jeans and cowboy boots) and then someone had the bright idea to go all the way down to the other side where the ocean was.  I knew it was going to end badly but I went figuring that I could use the exercise.  I didn’t think the other guys really knew what they were in for on the walk back up.  We finally made it to the bottom where the beach looks out over the Bay of Biscay.  Most tourists don’t come down to the shore and now I know why.  I turned around to look at the dune and you couldn’t even see the top.

                We started back up to the top.  For every step up you took, you would slide down about half of that making progress extremely slow growing and frustrating.  My back hurt, my legs hurt, and I was sweating profusely. It was a really good workout I have to say.  Marco told me I should take off my boots so it would be easier.  I would be less bogged down by the sand.  I told him that I was an American and would never accept defeat and surrender my boots to a French sand dune.  Plus I didn’t want to spend the rest of the days drive with sand between my toes.  When we got two thirds of the way up I looked back and saw Bj sitting in the sand.  He had taken off his shirt and was obviously struggling. We waited and he finally made it up the dune, but we are all pretty sure now that he had some sort of heart attack.  Ryan was with him and said that Bj started to panic when his heart began beating oddly and his left arm started to shake and go numb.  He did survive though and probably won’t have fried chicken for breakfast again anytime soon.  It’s probably for the best.

                The hike up the dune wore me out so I was able to get some sleep in the van that day.  As we drove into Spain the scenery was unreal.  Marco assured us that this was not typical of the rest of Spain.  The mountainous northwest region looks more like Austria or Switzerland according to him and I have to say it was amazing, especially looking out and seeing rocky cliffs jut out over the ocean.

                The little town we played was called Lierganes and it was an old touristy Spanish town with beautiful architecture and mountainous scenery.  We were playing a place called Los Picos Whisky Bar and it was a cool spot.  It was a small dark hole in the wall with a great stage and PA system.  We had some beers, sound checked, and then the promoter and his friend took us to an Italian place around the corner.  I had a caffeine headache all day (which was a lot of fun while climbing that dune) so I got an espresso.  We had more beers and I got a caprese salad that kind of sucked.  I should have ordered the pizza.  The guy waiting on us was the owner I think and he talked shit to us and joked around the whole time.  He didn’t speak any English, but he was hysterical and took great enjoyment from fucking with us.  I’m always am really amazing by anyone who has personality to still be funny even with a language barrier in the way.  After dinner he brought some really delicious gelato.  The tiramisu was the biggest hit at the table, but I think his plain vanilla was my favorite.

                We took pictures with the owner and headed back to the club.  Out front was a bunch of people waiting for the show and the inside was packed too.  We played great and the crowd was still older than us, but not as old as previous nights.  Most people were in the 30 to 40 range and they seemed less uptight than the German crowds we had seen. They were livelier and danced more.  It was a really great feeling.  We like playing for the more enthusiastic crowds since that’s what we are more used to back home.

                Afterwards we stuck around and made new friends.  I made friends with an English guy named Andrew DouGall who owns the microbrewery in town.  He was really cool and bought me some of his beers to try.  He then gave me his card and said to come by the next morning for a brewery tour if we wanted. 

                Our hotel was in the next town over or maybe a separate part of town, but still just as beautiful.  I got up early and walked around the picturesque village and did some running whenever some good stretches of sidewalk became present and periodically took pictures.  Hotels here have actual keys instead of key cards like I’m used to so I of course forgot it when I left and locked myself out.  The lady at the desk let me in, but it was awkward because she hadn’t seen me leave and neither of us could understand the other. 

                The rest of the guys finally woke up and we stopped by the brewery on our way out of town.  All the employees in this tiny brewery were super cool and they immediately started pouring us beers.  Then they made the mistake of telling us we could just pour what we wanted.  They had a Pale ale that I really liked so I helped myself to quite a bit of it.  I haven’t had any Pale ale since I’ve been here to Europe.  It is a very English and American thing.  Apparently this part of the world doesn’t care for such hoppy beers.             

                By noon we were pretty well wrecked.  It’s times like these when I realize how different my life is.  Here it is lunch time on a Friday when most everyone I know in America would be hard at work and here I am drinking for free on a private brew tour in Spain while getting paid to play music.  I am very thankful things have turned out this way and that I am as fortunate as I am.  I may not be worthy of it, but I certainly appreciate it. 

               

Germany, France, and Flannery O’Connor

                It’s Tuesday afternoon and we are about to cross the border into France on our way to Ensisheim.   I haven’t written since Saturday so I will do my best to catch up.

                Saturday night was a lot of fun and I enjoyed hanging out with another American band.  They weren’t uptight like some bands can be and they kept up with our incessant use of foul language, offensive statements, and bad humor.  They seemed relieved that we didn’t take ourselves too seriously, and we all shared amps and drums to make the night go by more smoothly. 

                There really wasn’t anything cool going on after the show so both bands just hung out in the large green room of the club drinking Krombacher and hanging out with the German owner wearing the snakeskin boots and cowboy hat.  He gave us all t-shirts and I scored one from the other band as well.  When the club shut down we all went to the bed and breakfast where we were staying and I went to bed. 

                I slept in until breakfast time and went downstairs to the “Fruhstruck” room.  One of the first words that I made sure I knew in German was the word for breakfast.  I generally eat two big breakfasts back home.  I eat one before I go to the gym and another one afterwards, so I’m used to eating a lot of calories in the morning and I usually wake up starving.  It was the typical German breakfast spread: several types of bread, butter, jam, honey, cheeses, cured meats, boiled eggs, coffee and orange juice.  The other bands tour manager was eating by himself. When we asked where his band was he said that he could almost never get them up for breakfast.  He wouldn’t have that problem with me.

                We had Sunday night off and our six hour drive quickly became eight due to traffic and detours.  One particularly long detour had us driving through all sorts of tiny German villages that would pop up between beautiful expanses of farmland.  We passed one monastery in particular that I really liked.  The buildings looked very old and traditional, which reminded me of something an Englishman named James had told me back in Eppstein.  He referred to many of these traditionally designed buildings as fake architecture because they were rebuilt to look like what we flattened during the war.  I don’t know for sure which these were, but it doesn’t matter to me.  I liked watching the unfamiliar scenery go by.

                I also got some reading done on the drive.  My friend Liz had given me a book called Clan of the Cave Bear, which I will admit took me longer to get into than I like.  It was slow to start, but it’s moving at a quicker pace now and I’m really enjoying it.  I also read some Flannery O’Conner short stories from a collection that Whit had.  I didn’t like them.  Let me try my best to explain why: I love movies.  I can enjoy some movies that are just sheer entertainment. You know… the ones that are simply a medium to covey a narrative.  However, I really enjoy movies as an art form as well.  Movies that make the viewer think, and feel things they may not want to, and that push the envelope.  I love movies that are meant to be discussed, and that aren’t clear cut or one dimensional.  For whatever reason I love this sort of thing on film, but I really struggle with it in literature.  Maybe I’m just not imaginative enough?  Maybe I rely too much on visually observing nonverbal communication to read into a situation? I don’t know, but either way I didn’t like the authors’ work.  It’s not to say I don’t like literature that has some depth to it.  I just didn’t connect with any of the stories.  Maybe I will revisit it in a couple of years and see if I like it better then.  In the meantime I like Ray Carver’s work WAY better and am regretting not bringing my collection of his short stories.

We finally got to Koln that evening where we would be staying with the club owner for two nights.  It was a giant house in an obviously expensive neighborhood.  The décor was really funky and you immediately got the impression that the house belonged to rich European hippies.    The house was set up to host bands often so everyone had their own bed and they even had a rehearsal room.  In typical American Aquarium fashion we found no use for the latter.  They had three dogs that loved to bark and the biggest one (whose name was Guta) was especially cute.  The wife of the owner greeted us and showed us around. She apologized for her husbands’ absence, but he was at the club for that evenings show and she informed us that we were more than welcome to attend.  We politely declined and opted to walk to find dinner on a stretch of road not far from the house that had a few restaurants. 

                We stopped at an Italian place much to Marco’s delight.  Most everyone got pizza, but I tried a salad with onions, tuna fish, and white beans.  It sounds gross, but it was pretty good. And to be fair, I couldn’t read the menu so I’m lucky I got something even remotely edible. 

We went back to the house and Whit, Kevin, and I hung outside with Marco while he smoked.  We talked about his experiences in America and what he liked about American bands.  He says that they are always the best because they have an attitude of “we can do this.”  He was basically saying that the idea of being able to “make it” is very much an American thing.  He thinks this is why American bands put on better shows and are better musicians than your average band over here.  Most European bands just kind of do it to seem cool and don’t take it seriously. 

When we finished our conversation we went upstairs and watched a really interesting English film called “This is England,” which is about a young boy getting involved in a skinhead gang.  I really enjoyed it and fell asleep immediately after it was over.

The next morning I went for a long run and explored Koln a bit.  I found a cool downtown area, a park with trails, soccer fields, and a coliseum where Bruce Springsteen is playing next week.  After I got back and showered the other guys started to wake up and we had the typical German breakfast that I am quickly falling in love with.  I keep eating too damn much though!  My weakness is bread and covering it in butter and honey is just so hard to refuse.  I’m going to have a lot of work to do when I get home to get back in shape.

I went back to bed and slept some more after breakfast and then went for another walk when I got back up.  We went to the club to load in around four.  The owner, Marcus, is very nice and shows us around.  He looks like an old rocker from the seventies or eighties and has bright red hair.  Not naturally red though.  It is the kind of red that you would find in a Crayola box of crayons.  It looked like he died it with Kool-Aid.  The stage is nice and the sound guy is definitely the best we have had so far.  Ryan had been having some issues with his pedals since his adapter fried the first night, but we finally got it under control.  Sound check ended up sounding awesome.

The green room was catered with chicken marsala, green beans, and potatoes.  It was really good, but at this point I’m wondering if there is any food I don’t like.  What I loved though was this tin of assorted cookies on the table.  They were hard buttery little cookies of different shapes and sizes.  Some were with chocolate and some were without.  They were the kind I would expect to accompany an English tea time.  The tin didn’t last us very long.

After a while, a guy named Jeremy came into the green room.  We had met him in Eppstein.  He was from NC.  He is currently stationed at Rammstein and had come to see us play again.  This time he brought a three liter bottle of Crown Royal.  It was really nice of him.  After having some drinks we went out and played.  There was a good little crowd especially for a Monday!    Afterwards I found this even more remarkable because the ticket price for the show was fifteen euros, which is about twenty American dollars.  Again it was lots of bearded old men wearing Neil Young shirts and stuff like that which is totally cool with us.  I am not complaining, I am simply stating what the crowd demographic was. It is still mind boggling that anyone over here gives two shits about us. The crowd is super attentive during each song and very enthusiastic in between them.  We played really well and afterwards we sold and signed a whole lot of merch.  One guy even knew all of our individual names and was hunting us down one by one for our autographs.  “Where is Kevin? I need Kevin to sign,” he would say in a thick German accent.

Afterwards, a group of us including Jeremy and a friend of Marco’s named Stephanie came back to the green room with us to have some more drinks and hang out while the club owner closed up shop.  Stephanie brought Marco a bag of Pretzels, which I of course pillaged.  My Dad would be pleased to know that the pretzels in Atlantic City are better.  When the owner was done we took pictures with our new friends and said goodbye.  I think a few of the guys stayed up pretty late drinking and talking with our hosts when we got back, but I went to bed. I wanted to run in the morning.

I woke up early after sleeping like a rock.  We have been very fortunate so far.  I don’t think anywhere we have slept has had air conditioning, but the weather has been so nice that we haven’t needed it.  I am positive that I just jinxed myself and the weather will be sweltering in Spain now that I said anything.  I walked down to the park and ran sprints and did pushups. Afterwards I ate breakfast and didn’t over eat.  We got in the car and drove back to Frankfurt to pick up some cds that got held up in customs, but when we arrived they couldn’t locate our package so we pretty much wasted a couple of hours and left empty handed.

We arrived in Ensisheim about an hour late and no one at the club speaks very much English which is already very different than our experience in Germany where everyone seemed to speak a fair amount of English.  The stage at the club was something straight out of a Poison or Ratt video from the eighties.  It was a series of platforms or tiers at various heights.  Kevin and I shared a riser that was probably six feet off the ground and I had about a foot and a half of room between getting hit with a cymbal and falling off the edge of the stage.  In spite of its dumbass layout it sounded pretty good. 

One thing I won’t get used to is the fact that everywhere in Europe feeds you, and I mean they feed you well.  It’s not like they just send out for pizza.  They pull out all the stops.  Not only does everyone want to feed you, but they want to sit down and eat with you even if we can barely communicate with each other.  They sit down with strangers and make us feel like we are family that has been coming over every Sunday for as long as anyone can remember.  They are so warm and welcoming in this regard.   This little French Grandmother made a giant pot of pasta with a sort of chicken stew to put on top of it, and then an apple torte for dessert. Her grandson was very happy to make sure everyone had enough food and wine saying only that “this food is good as fuck.” 

As great as I think this is I really hate playing on a full stomach, but I don’t have a choice here.  They feed you usually an hour before your show so I really just want to play laying down every night.  Tonight was no different.  We played well and sounded good even thought the crowd was the smallest yet.  There were some big French biker looking guys up front who were really attentive and would yell “good job” after every fast song, but would step outside to smoke during every slow song which made us all laugh.  They might have heckled us, but I seriously think they only knew how to say “good job.”  Our European booking agent was at tonight’s show too which was cool. She was very nice and seemed to really enjoy it. 

The show is long since over and now I’m finishing this blog entry at the hotel which does not offer free wifi much to my dissatisfaction.  I guess I’ll post this tomorrow at some point.  It’s our day off and we have a very long drive.  I think we are going to drive for eight hours, stay the night in Bordeaux, and then finish the drive the following day.  Maybe I’ll get to try some good wine while I’m there.

-May 23^rd, (2:06a.m.) Ensisheim, France

MY CHOCOLATE COVERED HANGOVER.

                Marco is an awesome tour manager.  So far, he is taking good care of us.  I’m really enjoying listening to him talk shit and curse at people in Italian, especially when he is driving. He has taught me a few derogatory words and phrases so far, but I think he is holding out on the good ones so we won’t understand him when he uses them on us.  He saw a tall beautiful woman on a bike as we pulled into Berlin.  He called her “cavalla,” (I’m sure that spelling is wrong) which basically describes her as a horse in Italian… a big, beautiful horse. This is very much a compliment according to him and I repeat it along with other phrases he taught me in the wrong situations where they don’t apply just to make him laugh. 

He has a good sense of humor and his English is really spot on, which makes things very easy for us. Every now and then he can be hard to understand though. Again, he was describing a woman and he called her “matcher.” I thought he was saying an Italian word, but he was trying to say “mature.” He also thinks I play the bass (pronounced like the fish).  Someone accidentally called him Marcus and he laughingly said that was a black mans name.  Since then he has referred to everyone we have seen that’s black as Marcus Johnson.  It cracks him up.

 I know I’m painting him as a sort of racist, Italian version of the Pepe LePew character from Looney Tunes so far, but he isn’t like that.  He is a very passionate fan of music and movies and that has occupied the largest parts of our conversations.  His main job is working for a gay and lesbian film festival in Torino where he writes the synopsis of each movie and puts together the brochure and/or program from what I can tell. 

He tells me all about Berlin as we drive into town. I have to make a conscience effort to not hang out the window like a dog because I’m so excited.  It’s definitely big and has a lot of character. There is a lot of graffiti, art, and plenty of parks.  It’s not particularly clean though. There is broken glass everywhere and I definitely saw some syringes this morning when I was walking around. It’s cheap to live in Berlin and there is a big party and drug scene, so Marco says it’s very easy for young people to move to Berlin and sort of “lose their way.”  The parks are also a hub for drug dealers and users.  We saw some shanty towns which was odd because the shanty towns, crappy buildings, and really nice buildings all occupy the same space. There doesn’t seem to be “good areas” or “bad areas.”  It’s all just “Berlin.”  Everything coexistences together from block to block.

The club we are playing is more what we are used to. Imagine the first floor of the Pour House in Raleigh, but with the shitty rock and roll ambiance of Slim’s.  It really reminds us of our favorite club in Savannah called the Jinx.  Everyone here is covered in tattoos, piercings, and crazy haircuts.  We feel right at home.  Not because we fit in, but because over the years we have always gotten great receptions from the employees of places like this. It’s not that they necessarily like our music, but I think they like the genuineness of our band.  We don’t have a particular look and we aren’t trying to fit into any popular style of music.  We just do it because we love it and we have way too much fun doing it. At the very least they seem to respect that about us.  The other band was a bunch of old English dudes that were straight out of Spinal Tap. They were nice, but horrible.  After sound check the club fed us Tandoori chicken with curried veggies and rice at a Tiki bar next door. It was really good.

I was less excited about the show than I was about getting to see my old friend Laura Raber from high school. She was a foreign exchange student from Germany and over my senior year we became really good friends and even went to prom together.  She is an absolutely amazing person and I couldn’t wait to hang out with her in her home country for once.  She showed up with her brother Wolfe and his friend Tom.  After introductions we went to a store and bought beer. She told me I had to try Berliner Pilsner. It was .70 euros which is around .89 cents back home and it was a 22oz (or whatever the milliliter equivalent is) bottle.  I thought it was going to be hobo beer, but it was really good.  We took all our beers into this big park near the venue.  It was really packed and totally sketchy, but in a way that didn’t feel dangerous.  Fireworks were going off for some reason. Maybe the day of ascension? We talked for a long time and got as caught up as we could in the time we had. She told me more about Berlin and Hamburg, (where she currently lives) and she taught me some more German, which I would go on to mispronounce and bastardize for the rest of the night. 

We went back to the club and played. The crowd was just ok. Berlin on a Friday night has a lot going on so it’s harder for a band like us. We were happy though.  The club really liked us and gave us some shots that were kind of like bloody Mary shots.  I didn’t like them, but Ryan did and early on in the evening it was evident that Ryan and I were going to be the ones partying hard down in Berlin.   A dance party broke out after our set.  It was really funny to watch, but we were told it was not a typical German dance party. It’s sort of their version of a hipster party.  You dance wildly to non-dance music.  They played Billy Idol, Talking Heads, and The Smiths.  We drank a lot of beer and then we told Laura that we wanted her to take us somewhere cool.  She exchanged numbers with Marco so he could tell us when to come back and we left to go somewhere down the block. 

The club was in a basement that looked like a meat packing plant. It was somehow exactly how I imagined a German club would look.  I bought a round of beer and Laura made me order, pay, and thank the bartender entirely in German.  Ironically, he spoke better English than I do.  We went into the main room to dance to a DJ playing Electronica.  Everyone here dances exactly the same.  It’s a real laid back kind of head bob dance and no one dances together.  We were informed that you’re supposed to try to act very cool and aloof. Ryan and I were not having that. We broke out some ridiculously bad dancing and for some reason decided to try to be wingmen for Laura’s friend Tom.  Our attempts pleased no one in the club except for Ryan, Laura, and me.  Tom thought it was funny, but we definitely embarrassed the shit out of him.  We spent a LONG time there apparently, but it went by so quick.  We just continued to drink and talk to strangers, and do our newly discovered German dance until Marco called Laura and said it was time to go.  She walked us back to the other club where we found the other guys and continued to talk harmless shit to random Germans and yell curse words in butchered Italian.  In other words, we were really bringing America’s A game to Europe.  We said goodbye to Laura and every stranger we had harassed and went to our Hostel.  We had a private room with six bunks and our own bathroom.  The sun was coming up.  I knew I was going to hate life in the morning when I woke up.

I was right.  Ryan and I woke up somehow still drunk and hungover at the same time around eleven when we had to leave our hostel.  Today was much warmer in Berlin and the hangover made it feel even hotter than it was.  We set out looking for cheap “doner” or gyros, but all we could find was a schwarma place.  It was really good and they put pickled cabbage, pickled beets, and potatoes in it.  When that didn’t cure my hangover I decided to kill my pain with chocolate. Since I’ve been here I have been fighting off a craving to eat every piece of chocolate I can find.  I finally caved.  If I was going to feel like shit then I might as well eat like shit.  I bought a chocolate bar with nougat in it first, and then I had one with hazelnuts in it.  After that, I ate one filled with marzipan, and then one filled with strawberry yogurt.  The last one was my favorite.  The tartness of the yogurt was really great with the chocolate.  Why don’t they have this stuff back home?  While I was trying to kill my pain with chocolate we got to wander all over Berlin and even got to visit parts of the Berlin wall.  It was so exciting.  I honestly never thought I would be able to see all these cool things and still be doing the thing I love.  Totally worth the divorce!!!!!

We finally left Berlin and drove a few hours to Lauchhammer where the club is a Texas style Saloon.  That’s right, a fucking saloon. The owner had on a snakeskin cowboy hat and matching boots on when we pulled up and wore them all night.  There were American and Texas flags all over the bar.  It was quite comical.  If it wasn’t for the beer selection you would never know you were in Germany!  The stage was great and the room sounded awesome for sound check.  Afterwards they took us upstairs where they had a giant spread laid out.  Sliced baguettes topped with salami on some, cheese on others, swordfish as well, and some type of raw sausage mixture that would have made my mother cringe, but my Dad would have loved it.  They were all good. There was roasted chicken, meatballs, schnitzel, scalloped potatoes, pork chops, Serrano ham wrapped sausages, roasted cauliflower and broccoli with a hollandaise sauce, and lots of good bread.  I’m going to be fat as fuck when I leave here!

The show itself was amazing. Much like the first night the owner (who was also named Ralph) was a big fan and had been to Texas and SXSW a lot.  He loved our cds and played them often in the club.  By the time we went on it was packed. We played well and have sold lots of merchandise so far.  I hope all the shows go as well as they have been.  I’m about to go back to the merch stand and finish selling our stuff. Hopefully we will get into something fun tonight after the show with some wild and crazy German locals!

-May 19^th 2012 (11p.m.) Lauchhammer, Germany

AUSFAHRT, STAGE LEFT….

                Ausfahrt is my new favorite word.  Pronounced “ass-fart,” it simply means exit, so you see it when driving on the autobahn constantly. I am actually writing this from the front passenger seat of our new Mercedes Sprinter heading to Berlin from Eppstein. I didn’t realize I was on the autobahn at first.  I fell asleep when we got on the highway and woke up when a car went by us so fast that you could feel the Sprinter move in its wake.  Our van is comfortable, but certainly not the car I’d like to be experiencing the autobahn in. I keep enviously watching the fast lane as Audi, BMW, and Mercedes sports cars go flying by us.  I’ll take what I can get though. I think most Americans grow up revering this “autobahn” as a no-holds-barred, Mad Max style, crazy German speedway. It’s not. It’s just the regular old highway with no speed limit signs posted and the occasional Ausfahrt.  A lot has happened since I last wrote on Wednesday evening. We met our tour manager, left Frankfurt, and played our first show.

                Wednesday night after we left the Irish pub, we went exploring a little and asked for a good bar to go to. We were directed to an “American style” bar called MeatPackers.  It was essentially Appleby’s. I went back to the hotel and tried to sleep. I couldn’t. Maybe it was the jetlag or the fact that I had slept for thirteen hours the night before, or a combination of both. It was kind of refreshing though. Everyone knows I tend to spread myself kind of thin and as a result I have the ability to sleep anywhere at a moments notice usually. A mild form of narcolepsy I guess.  I tried to remember the last time I had real trouble sleeping and I couldn’t. I got up and went to the community computer. After a while, a well dressed German came up and spoke to me (keep in mind that it’s four in the morning). After realizing I spoke English he pointed to facebook and asked “You search girls?” “No, just keeping up with friends back in America.” He then said something in German, looked me up and down, and said “you search boys?” “Hahaha. No boys” I said. He then went away.  Note to self: Don’t wear your short running shorts to the hotel lobby late at night.

                I finally fell asleep at some point and woke up very early.   I took a coffee spoon from the room and stuck it into the pocket of my hoodie before wandering into the streets to find food, hopefully yogurt.  All the markets I had previously been to were closed and there were very few people on the street. Apparently it’s a holiday here so everything (even Starbucks) was closed. I finally found some yogurt at a shop in the subway.  I figured that if the trains were still running there would at least be one convenience store open. I then went back to bed and slept in late. Whit and I went for a walk down by the river and saw lots of German police breaking up some hippie protests. Ryan and I had seen something similar the night before.  I’m not sure if it was Occupy Frankfurt or what but the police weren’t having it. The police were literally disbanding a drum circle. I wish the police would do that at music festivals here. Nothing infuriates me more than a hippie drum circle. 

                At one o’clock we were finally picked up by Marco, our Italian tour manager.  I like him a lot. He is friendly and easy to get along with. He is my height, but really slender. He has a shaved head with some righteous mutton chops and giant sunglasses. Kind of like the Dj Moby if he was into punk music.  He wears really tight clothes and has a denim jacket with a home made patch across the back made from a band t-shirt. It has the bands name (Big Black) with a picture of a power drill and various sex toy attachments for it.  We immediately decide we will get along with this man.

                We make the thirty minute drive to Eppstein which is a beautiful German town that looks so stereotypically German that it’s almost comical.  I really liked it.  The only hotel in town is some rooms above a tavern. The set up was similar to that in Frankfurt. It had small rooms and smaller beds, but definitely comfy.  Oh yeah, and it was next to a fucking castle!  We grabbed lunch at a Greek place and got the best Gyro I’ve ever had.  They are called doners here.  Apparently we will be eating lots of them which is fine with me. They are all over Europe and are really cheap. The pita was different than I’m used to though. It had a crispy exterior much more like ciabatta bread than a pita. After lunch we explored the castle which was quite busy. Apparently they were hosting some sort of medieval torture festival. The only thing torturous though was the German cover band that they had playing. It was three old Germans playing HORRIBLE stuff. It was like a bad Will Ferrell skit. They played “I had the time of my life” from the Dirty Dancing soundtrack for the love of god!  I laughed really hard at them while we wandered around and I took lots of bad touristy-type pictures. 

                The place we were playing was walking distance from the hotel. It was a small restaurant/listening room with a decent stage. The owner, a very friendly German man named Ralph and his girlfriend/bartender took very good care of us. From the moment we got there they were very excited and had lots of questions about how the trip had been and what was on the setlist for the evening.  He has liked us for quite a while and has been playing our cds constantly since he found our music on a trip to Texas several years ago.  He is very much into Texas country and Americana music.  They also were very enthusiastically giving us all sorts of new beer to try.  Good local pilsners and ales. Some other stuff I haven’t tried too.  He also seemed very concerned about the plight of Native Americans in the states, oddly enough.  This made me laugh, but not to his face.  I’m still too intimidated by the German accent to start talking any shit.

We unloaded our rented gear and started dragging it upstairs. At this point I was definitely regretting ordering such heavy equipment. As we were setting up and sound checking, we realized that every table had reservations on it. When it was time to go on the whole room was packed. Now, it’s not a big room, but every single seat was gone and people were standing in every available spot.  It was a great feeling. They loved us and were very much aware of who we were. Some had known about us for quite a while and others looked us up when the heard an American band was coming and only knew a few songs. They were great. So attentive! Oh yeah, and this crowd was OLD. The average age was probably forty. I’m not complaining. They were stuck around the whole 2+ hours and bought tons of merchandise so old people are OK in my book.  We actually didn’t have to play for so long but they kept calling us back onstage! Afterwards, we stayed and talked with everyone and continued to drink. The, Marco and I drank some Sambuca with espresso beans in it. I ate the espresso beans before I was told not to. I won’t be making that mistake again.  We walked back to our hotel and crashed for the night. It was early, maybe midnight.

                I woke up the next day and couldn’t find a suitable trail to run on (narrow cobblestone streets make running hard) so I broke out my jump rope and just did that.  It’s an odd feeling listening to Jay Z and Kanye’s H.A.M. (Mom, that stands for hard as a motherfucker….don’t ask) while jumping rope in the shadow of a castle. After showering and packing up we went back to the venue because here in Europe everywhere feeds you dinner and many places even feed you breakfast! It was a good one too. Eggs, crusty bread and butter, cured meats and cheeses, fruit, cappuccino… I was in heaven. The owner ate with us while wearing his American Aquarium shirt. He was very pleased with last nights turnout and so were we.  It was nice to be so far from home and meet people who are so passionate about what we are doing.  It was a great first night that will be hard to top.

                So, now we are off to Berlin on the autobahn. Marco tells us tonights show is very much a typical rock club. I am eager to see it. I like loud rock halls much better than listening rooms typically.  The owner also feeds us at his Tiki bar next store. Seems like an odd combo, but we will see how it goes.  That’s it for now. We are almost at our Ausfahrt!

May 18^th (4:30p.m.) Berlin

“FOR THIS SUCCESS, I TAKE A PISS…”

                So, while I was on my run yesterday I had scouted out a few seemingly German-style restaurants that had English on the menu for us to eat at since I knew everyone would want to try something authentic for dinner.  I figured it was best to ask the concierge about it though and she directly me to a place called the Apfelwein Haus that was about a twenty minute walk across the river, but she said that was definitely where we needed to go.  We tried to wake Kevin up, but I’m guessing the Xanax was still kicking and he didn’t want to get out of bed so the rest of us went to dinner.  The walk was nice. The weather here is cooler than back home, but it’s not uncomfortably cold or anything. 

                The restaurant was nice and warm, and had a really cozy feel. It was very busy and had big, long wooden tables for family style seating. Our waiter was a giant overweight German that spoke English with the kind of German accent that (thanks to Hollywood villains) makes all Americans cringe.   When we all ordered water he started actually giving us shit. “tattoos… Budweiser (Ryan had on a Budweiser hat)… and you order water?” So, we asked what we should get and he said that their house specialty was their apple wine so we got that. It came out in a big clay vase and was delicious. It wasn’t very sweet. I was expecting a cider but it was much more like a wine.  I got Nurmburg Bratwursthausen, or something like that. Basically it was brats with sauerkraut and mashed potatoes. It was delicious. Like… really delicious.  I could eat that meal everyday. The potatoes had enough butter in them to give Lance Armstrong a heart attack.  After we ate we started to walk back.

                We decided to grab a beer near our hotel and that we should at least try to wake Kevin up again. He finally got up and we went to an Irish pub next to our hotel which was packed due to a soccer match. Whit and Ryan Stayed there while Bj, Kev, and I went to a German bar down the street that was less busy. One of the biggest differences here in bars is that many will only have one beer on draft which they display on their sign out front. There are Henninger bars, Bitburger bars, and Binding bars…etc. They serve all sorts of beers in bottles, but what’s on the sign seems to be all they have on draft. For instance, the Irish pub only has Guinness and Kilkinney.  This German bar served only Henninger and was inhabited by a few drunken old men watching the Desseldorf v. Berlin Soccer Club match. Our bartender barely spoke English and was kind enough to give us an extra beer on the house before we left. 

Apparently Visa’s aren’t accepted at this place so he directed us to an ATM down the street.  To show us the way/make sure we didn’t stiff him, he sent what was obviously the most outgoing of the drunken old men with us.  The guy was from Dusseldorf and sang what I can only gather was a Dusseldorf fight song of some sort.  I found this wildly entertaining mostly because I feel that all drunk, old men should sing, especially Europeans.  The more obscure the song, the better.  When we got to the ATM he asked “You find?” and we said yes and thanked him for his help. I will never forget his reply as long as I live: “For this success… I take a piss!”  He then turned towards the building and pulled out his penis to urinate and started singing Pink Floyd to us. “We don’t need no education….. We don’t need no thought control….” At this point we were all hysterical.  This was not how I envisioned drunken old European men, but if they are all this funny then I’m ok with it.  After a verse he stopped and we all went back to the bar to pay our tab.  Kev and Bj went to get chocolates and I went to bed early. It was around eleven.

I slept until one which I haven’t done in years, and went to the market to get more pistachio and coconut flavored milk and an apple for breakfast. After that (and a few cups of coffee) I went back down to the river for another run. I ran even further than yesterday and explored a new section of trail. This city really is beautiful.  Ryan and I went for a walk and grabbed some dinner at the market again. Now I’m sitting at the Irish Bar which is the only place I’ve found so far with free wifi and we are about to pack up and go explore some more.  Our hotel only has one computer to share so it’s always occupied and the German keyboard is a bitch to navigate. Hopefully I’ll get to post again soon.

May 16^th, 2012 (8:24) Frankfurt, Germany

DEAR FRANKFURT, YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL.

            We arrived in Germany this morning at about 8 a.m. without incident. In fact, getting here was infinitely easier than many trips I’ve taken to New Jersey.  There were no delays, no issues checking and retrieving our instruments, no screaming kids on the plane, and Kevin was too pumped full of Xanax to have a panic attack and get us all arrested. 

            Our hotel is the Leonardo City Central Hotel or something like that. The rooms are nice, but very small. The beds are barely big enough for one person and all the furnishings look like they came straight from IKEA. It’s a great location. We are right downtown and there are plenty of places to walk to.

            In fact, when we first got to the hotel we decided to find a market and get some food. The clerk in the lobby gave us directions to one that was about two blocks away. It was completely overwhelming to be honest. It was so strange to not be able to read any labels and have to guess about what it is that you’re buying. And forget about reading the nutritional labels.  I wish I knew German.

Everything looked so good though! They had sandwiches that looked unreal and then everything else was seriously offered in chocolate flavor. It was damn near a candy shop.  I would have diabetes here for sure.  We must have looked like idiots.  Picking things up, shaking them, turning them, putting them back down, scratching our heads, grunting...  It must have been a sight. One thing I tried that was amazing was pistachio and coconut flavored milk.  Yes, that’s right: pistachio and coconut flavored milk. At least I think that’s what it was.  I do know it was awesome.

            After our breakfast we took naps. Come to think of it, I’m not sure if Kevin has even truly been awake during the past 24 hours. He has just been in Xanax-zombie mode since leaving for Charlotte and I don’t blame him. The poor guy had been dreading that flight for months. I hope when he wakes up that he is a little more cognizant of his surroundings and can start to enjoy himself.

            I woke up before everyone else (around 3p.m.) and decided to walk around Frankfurt. Since I can’t read and certainly can’t pronounce street names, I decided to rename everything so I could remember how to get back. Wundmuhlstraeb would now forever be called "windmill street” as far as I was concerned. You’re welcome, Germany. I walked about a half mile to this beautiful river with bike/running trails, parks, and several foot bridges that go across to the other side.  I took a few pics and then ran in one direction until it ended, crossed over, and ran back. The weather was beautiful and so was the scenery. I listened to European electro-pop while I ran so that I would feel more like a native. That and I didn’t have any Hasselhoff on my iPod. It was a perfect way to start the trip.

            I’m back at the hotel and the rest of the guys are waking up. The plan right now is to find some authentic German food and beer and try not to make asses out of ourselves like we did at the market earlier. Hopefully it goes well. 

-May 15^th, 2012 (6p.m.) Frankfurt Germany