"hyphenated-man in europe 2011" tour

   

   now it's time to get my third opera "hyphenated-man" on over to europe w/my missingmen which is tom watson (on guitar) and raul morales (on drums) and play it for folks there before the weather gets too heavy for my lame-ass joints. we've really got it together now - almost to the day it'll be a year since we started preforming it and so we got things pretty happening w/delivering it w/maybe less clams than ever or at least the potential to do such. me and my men are eager to bring it, having already toured it in japan and the u.s./canada where in many cases we blew minds including our own - it is a fucking weird piece but it's just something I feel very strongly I have to do at this point in my life. all three of us promise you the gig-goers we'll play our fucking brains out and cut no one any shorts. here for us is yet more righteous opportunities to work this baby in interesting parts for interested cats - it's all very much appreciated, truly!

tour diary:


thursday, october 13, 2011 - cork city, ireland

from tom:

   [tuesday] i left manhattan beach at 7:45am, and met m & r at lax at 8. a flight to philly, then on to dublin.

   [wednesday] made it to dublin at 8:30am. got to hotel and met timo. after some rest went to store with r and got some supplies: beer, bread, oranges, cheese, ham, chips and whiskey. we spend our day adjusting to the time change and drinking beer, trying not to rest too much. we all get tired after the whiskey, mike's on the couch and through a blanket over him. rail and i have a room and he's asleep. i sleep a bit, too. i get a call from lar and vinny and they come by to visit with more supplies. then timo too. we drink and talk till 12:30 am. a very nice first eve. i have a good nights sleep, with thanks to the no-jet-lag tablets from caroline.

   [gig day] up at 9, mick comes by at 9:30. we have a quick breakfast downstairs and he and i take the train to his town of greystones to get the van, about 45 min's away. suddenly, in my hazy mind, i realize that i am expected to drive. i've never driven on the left side of the road before, everything is inverted, steering wheel, shift and all. totally bizarre, i was scared and i think i scared mick too. we make it back to dublin to meet m, r & hiori at the adebisi pac joint to grab their gear. i am learning something new, backing up narrow alleys, etc...from there tour begins. drove to cork to play our first show. ate thai food. broke a string, in bed at 3:40am. long day.



from watt:

   tuesday at the crack of dawn my dear friend nanny toted my still-hobbled self to the fucking lax airport. actually I thought my ma was gonna take me but she tells me her sight ain't so good - she feels she's taking her life in her hands every time she drives now! she had cataract surgery a couple of years ago but she thinks maybe stronger glasses might help? she's seventyfive now so I guess this stuff happens but anyway, nanny came to the rescue like she has for me for thirty-plus years. the traff can be plug (and was) so we shove off from pedro at seven am for flight at eleven to start this tour. actually it's two flights on us air - this first one goes to philadelphia on an airbus 321 and then continues on to dublin in ireland on via boeing 767. I'm bringing the dan bass (1965 gibson eb-0) w/me onboard in soft case so hopefully no trouble w/that. if I used the flight case it would be murder later schlepping that whale around on tour. I'm hoping it's easy-go.

   it's beautiful day here in so cal. w/fall coming on, not so much marine layer so the sun is up bright and early. as I finish checking in, I first see raul and then tom - good, we're all here. this is our third tour for this "hyphenated-man" piece, my third opera. of course I've been insane stressed like I am always before tour (think of everything that can go wrong!) but I have to admit that us three have a handle on the piece better than ever so I feel pretty together about that. contrast that w/this same time last year when we shoving off for japan for the first performances ever of this piece - WHAT A FUCKING PANTS SHITTER! not only the usually pre-tour hell agony or worry but fucking trying to get this baby together, even w/'pert-near a month and a half prac! there is a lot to remember, all the parts and spiel, crimony. you can read about that adventure here if you want.

   now there was some trouble getting this tour together. dutch dude carlos, my euro bookerman for more than twenty years had tried the first part of the year to get this together but alas he's kind of fell out of the loop w/the circuit and felt very bad. I love carlos though so told him not to worry and my friends timo and mick in dublin volunteered to get something together. things change, you know? anyway, they got some gigs mainly for their island and the one next door plus a band named papier tigre in france wanted to tour w/us (which is neat cuz I've never played france on my own) so that made up the bulk of the gigs. hard weather is coming to europe so I didn't wanna be out too long and also I got much stuff to do back home as far as composing and recording so this tour's only a little over three weeks. it's my first time w/my own music w/out carlos in europe so it's kind of scary but I am hoping for the best. like I said, me and my guys know the piece better than we ever have so that's together. whatever happens beyond that is kind of beyond us so we will just roll w/it and try to learn as much as we can.

   the flight to phily's four and a half hours, all us three in the same row, I get good shots from window seat of lots of u.s., west to east. at phily airport I chow a phily cheesesteak w/provolone - the nice man asked me what instead of just foisting on that velveta bullshit. it's pretty good and so much I don't gag any of the next flight's crap and pass it on to tom instead. again we're three in a row but this time I'm aisle, tom once more salami. us three travel real comfortable. of course both my men ran ahead of me getting off the last flight but that's out of forgetting about the cojo w/them and not out of meanness. it's six-something hours to dublin airport, the new terminal two. immigration very kind but there was a man freaking out on the deck and hollering, some kind of drama - I felt bad. both flights I could stow the dan bass topside in the storage bins, grazie mille. I forgot to mention I filled the hours in the metal tube breathing farts w/reading "collected fictions" by jorge luis borges - man, can this cat write - short stories is his thing... big respect to him!

   we arrived at nine and a half in the mooring (it's wenesday) and... nobody here to pick us up at the airport, whoops! no big deal, miss hiyori is here from hamburg to do the merch (her idea, her volunteering) and she has leash (mine works in u.s. only) so we get timo on the horn and he says to take taxi into dublin's city center millineum bridge cuz there's an apartment there we're gonna konk at. mick (also drummerman for great band adebisi shank and richter collective partner) and legendary promoter timo came to the rescue and got this tour together after twenty plus years w/dear friend dutch dude carlos. no freak out. thirty euros for cab ride though (about fortyone bucks u.s.) which I have to admit is cheaper than the sixtyfive it'd cost me to get from lax to my pedro town if nanny or my sister melinda didn't cart my ass instead. this apartment is pretty big and right by the "italian corner" (well, there's two, one on each side of the liffey. I try to stay up cuz I don't wanna be on opposite side of euro time. timo comes by, so great to see him again, respect! he catches me up on his intense life, damn, the brother's gotta cut back on some hours cuz this too many hours he's got going is wearing him out and worse: getting him sick. for example he was up 'till five am last night! still he makes time for me and learns me all kinds of stuff. respect. mick bandsmen lar and vinny come by, alright, fucking happening cats. by this time tom has gone to the market and gotten some oranges, bread/cheese, beers and a bottle of bourbon from "clarke's" - what? reminds me of that swill I got in germany back in the summer called "george washington" and this shit is just as fucking bad. aaarrrggghhhh. tom keeps filling my glass though and I do the whole damn bottle. I think timo came back later. at least I stayed up 'til dark - I think I'm on irish time now (eight hours ahead of my pedro town).

   gig day and I pop at nine and a few minutes later mick arrives. we chow at a pad across the court (no road here) at a pad called "lemon jelly" and I have what's called an irish breakfast which (I hate to say but maybe I'm fucking stupid) is kind of like england full one? sausage, bacon, tomato, egg, toast, black and white pudding (what they here call it, not the desert but some other trippy stuff) - oh yeah, they call the bacon rashers too. maybe this pad was a little fancy but it was close. tom goes off to get the van we're using in ireland, an iveco from a richter collective band called enemies - very kind cats to help us out like this, thanks big time. first time tom's driving on the left (wrong) side of the road but he does good though he did give mick several heart attacks. we get a cab to join him and vinny near the adebisi shank prac pad near portabello college (near canal toad) cuz even though backline (amps/drums) are supposed to be at these first two gigs, why not have a bravo (plan b) just in case. respect to all these cats helping us out, truly.

   170 miles south to cork city from dublin and on our way out of town we get a drum head w/vinny and he leaves us from there. bye vinny! damn if he ain't a great bassman as is lar but w/guitar. tom does good at the wheel. miss hiyori brought her tomtom navigator which I think ain't is good as my garmin but it does what it does to get us there. sure is nice weather. very pretty irish countryside. three and a half hours and we make it to the venue three minutes before we're supposed to (seven pm), a nice man named paul helps us out. this pad is called the "crane lane theatre" and there's equipment for us. peavy combo amp for tom though so he decided to go w/lar's marshall. I'm using this ampeg b500dr - a weird ampeg I've never played, something I think that lasted only a little while. the cabinet is even weirder - an ampeg svt-806he cab which is like a 3/4 svt cab w/eight six and a half inch speakers rather than ten inchers. well, fuck it - I'll use this so we don't have to shlep the vinny's stuff in the van. soundman justin does soundcheck w/us and then we go w/gigboss emmet to go chow at a thai pad his lady chika works at called banna thai, gwoi tio pad siew is what I get - noodles and pork, really good!

   we ain't on 'til 12:20 and emmet asks us to play 'til twenty of two - yeah, it's a late night. I really dig emmet though - he did that last gig of the second opera ("the secondman's middle stand") for me. he's very cool people, very happening. no prob to do what he asks. I understand the sitch: they venue here wants people drinking beer 'til closing time, dutch heineken beermakers doing some sponsor w/it. no opening act either. the pad is packed w/much beer inside lots of folks and we bring the piece. actually I went to go piss right before and a trippy head here - there's a grating and a steel wall you piss against - not into the grate which you're supposed to be standing on. raul made the same mistake too. there's a line inside and some cat cuts in front of me - he then realizes and asks if I'm next. I tell him I ain't really in here to hang out and he says he thought I was waiting for somebody. we both fucking laugh. I hear the john coltrane playing - I made an "a love supreme" cd-r in dublin cuz I fucking spaced in my pedro town. I've learned more than a few tours ago to have your own "intro/outro" music.

   the piece is intense. I dedicate it to little joe in tokyo - it's his bday and his pop (professor andy) is from ireland... two great cats. I got a shirt the day before we left (monday) at a walmart that I'm gonna wear for every gig this tour. I start sweating it out right away. tom has a terrible tone. raul's drums sound ok (they're pearl) and my sound sitch is total fucking mime on stage, there in 'pert-near thought only. glad justin has a direct box for getting it out to the people. it's a good kind of stage sitch though maybe cement is under the wood deck we're on to make it kind of dead but fuck it, we're actually having a good time. you tell lots of squarejohn in the crowd but they ain't hostile. in fact, they're pretty much trippy kind of hard on the insanity of the piece. I do blow a fair amount of clams - why? don't know but I'm kind of nervous. I do laugh a lot though and tom/raul is right there w/me, very good focus from them. it is a wild ride, let me tell you. no walking off stage, we just keep wailing on it w/stuff from old bands like the minutemen, blue oyster cult, pop group, urinals, wire, and the red krayola. fuck, many times in the piece I knock my 'g' string out of town and I brought no tuner so I just crank on it using my ear. in "forever/one reporter's opinion" (where I combined a dos song w/one off "double nickels on the dime"), justin forgets to put my mic back up (I gave it up for tom to do a few) and so we gotta re-start the spiel part of that one, had to! damn, was it a wild gig. we broke the water though, the tour's on.

   it's hard getting through all those people but I get through - many kind folks hive me the good word, respect to them, truly. my first time in cork city - respect to emmet making this happen. I am kind of spent, kind of! I am more grateful though. tom drives us over the river (oh yeah, forgot to write that cork's a port town, lots of quays on the water and many bridges) to the windsor 'tel we'd earlier checked into. hard firing out the shower but I get hosed off and in the nightwear. fucking three bells when I konk but fuck, the tour's underway and that's a good thing. we worked the room.





friday, october 14, 2011 - myrtleville, ireland

from tom:

   raul and i have to wake at 8 to move the van into a parking garage. somehow it feels good to be outside in the morning air. we have a half-woke stroll and conversation before heading upstairs to sleep a couple more hours. we start off for myrtleville by 1 or so but stop in a town nearby to meet the promoter, patrick. he leads us up some winding roads to the irish beach town where we are playing. it's challenging on my driving skills, but i feel like i am getting the hang of it more and more. the pine lodge is a large house which has been converted onto a pub and live music venue. it also has rooms upstairs for us, so we can park and stay till we leave in the morning. it's very different from being in the city, it has a residential vibe. the house is in a beautiful spot looking down a revine towards the sea, the fog adds some drama, too. we hang with patrick for a while, but we all take advantage of the rooms upstairs and chill out for a bit. when we arise again i meet sarah the sound lady, she directs our efforts as we load in. after our brief set up and soundcheck rail and i do some ball hopping with sarah (shootin' the shit), and i think my final description of our music was 'hobo-erotic electro-tronic'. we also talk about baked goods, cause she's a pasty chef and that's interesting to me. we meet locals, and after the sun goes down (and after hearing about how the building is haunted), raul and i walk down the dark driveway and follow the street to the beach. i can't see anything, except the moon and the lighthouse across the bay. we make it to the sand and wonder what the water temp would be, talk about scary stuff and walk back up to the pine lodge. there is a burger trailer thing in outside in the patio area, and david the burger man makes us burgers and pizza. very home made, and tasty..thanks dave. the cooking food attracts a little grey fox that comes very close to beg for food. it's the healthiest looking fox i've ever seen. later, after the intimate eve of playing to a cozy crowd of locals, and chit chat with many kind people, we wind it down with patrick and bar maid, christine. patrick lays out the full 'shining'-like story that happened many years ago. one priest chopping up another priest and hanging the pieces in a room upstairs, near ours by the way. then it's "goodnight".



from watt:

   whoa, pop at eleven and a half - at noon I got an interview w/a cat w/a radio show named dan downstairs in the bar. I get out of the nightwear and packed up - fucking shave (forgot to yesterday) and bring down everything w/me. there's regulars hoisting beers already, the barman gives me a menu and I get "regular irish" breakfast (not my words but the menu's). it's like yesterday's but w/no "pudding" stuff. it's good. dan is cool people but it's 'pert-near like he pushed a play button on my forward and I deliver him a fortyfive minute soliloquy about the third opera. he's really cool people though, much respect to him. last night's gigboss emmet comes by right at the end - or maybe he made the end happen cuz I saw dan give the thumbs up when he made his entrance. election time is here in ireland so emmet gives me the rundown on some of it. some hard times cuz of debt for ireland like in other other e.u. lands now (greece really bad), chickens coming home to roost cuz of dumbfuck policies and self-enrichment for the not-so-many... you know, like in my land too!

   one and a half in the afternoon I say bye to emmet and dan, join my men for the short hoof (hobble for me, still got that fucking knee brace on though back home I never wear it - even at last week's "occupy long beach" march) to the car park and it's a little tough getting this fucking tomtom (sorry to my tom) situated but somehow someway by the time it does get happening, wouldn't you fucking know it - tom (not the fucking tomtom machine) has us on the right road for crosshaven, a little town to south where we're to meet patrick, the cat who's taking care of tonight's gig in myrtleville. can you believe that shit? alright. we're talking little villages here, south of cork and lots of country but still what looks like not too long ago built track homes in between the farms - we know cuz we make a wrong turn halfway and use this tiny path right through some of these tracts (tom a little shaky w/the narrow roads and getting a little too close to the curb but fuck, better than a head on w/oncoming motherfuckers who are straddling the line - I mean what line?!). crosshaven is right by the water and we find this bar "cronin's" we're supposed to meet patrick at. not too long and he shows up, asks us should we get some beers but I say maybe better if we get to the pad we're playing and drink there, AFTER the driving's done. a little more winding road, following him into myrtleville - it's been rainy all day but even a little more now. actually, I've been here to this pad which is called the pine lodge before - a friday the thirteenth six years and five months ago for the last performance ever of my second opera at the end of the "el mar cur todo in europe too" tour. patrick pours us some beers, gives me one called beamish that's dark and cold, I dig it. I chimp tour diary for last night.

   for tonight's chow we got burgers made by david in the back on a grill - I get one slathered w/his own homemade garlic butter, good eats. he made his own dough for the trippy little pizzas too, happening. thank you so much, dave. great not having to drive and even tonight after the gig - we're konking up stairs, right fucking on! no worry about moving the boat to avoid "clamping" - what they say here for what we call "the denver boot" back home. patrick's very cool people and knows lots of stuff, a great cat to learn from and it's good fun - like emmet too - I think they call it a gift of the blarney which I think means good conversation and I think I got that right though after patrick this stuff about kissing a rock at some castle, that's where it comes from? for some reason I thought it might've meant "bullshit" but you know the less younger I get, the more suspicious I am of assuming stuff - for someone like me I feel it's healthier - oh hell, why not check the blarney wikipedia entry just for the fuck of it.

   these young folks from cork city, agitate the gravel are opening up the gig tonight. actually one of the guitarmen ruairi is actually from here in myrtleville but he's moved to the big town to be in the band. the drummerman cormac is nineteen, the other three are twentyone. oh yeah, Muireann's got one of them trippy cort basses w/the plastic - ruairi too is playing a guitar I've never seen but of course tom knows about it... shit, it's an ibanez! enough hardware talk - nope... we're gonna share equipment though the guitarman chris has his own amp, a blackstar combo. they're very cool people. so is the soundlady sarah, we do a check w/her - she knows last night's man justin! tonight I use adebisi shank bassman vinny's ampeg svt 8x10 cab and ampeg svt-pro4 amp so no mime tonight! I rap a bunch w/these cats and some other gig-goers. very cool people here, truly. there's black blinds now they got on the bay windows you play in front of - I'm told that's new cuz those weren't here last time and you could see the sea right behind but w/fall coming, it's been dark for a while now anyway.

   the young cats do their set, I dig them. I sit right up front. damn if the guitar chris is playing ain't one of adebisi shank's lar's - I find out later he bought it in fact from the man! the do real good. it's twenty after eleven when it's our turn, pretty much as quick as we can get up when they finish. I love going on after bands that kick up some dust.

   I tell the folks here comes a weird piece that goes on for fortyfive minutes and one guy hollers back "ok, see you!" and I tell him "arrivaderci!" but I think he was having fun. I think we do the piece better than last night (raul really likes hearing the bass) and we still have a lot of fun. it's good to have w/this piece even though some gets pretty heavy. I clam some words and even some bass ones but not bad. the monitors are hard for me to hear but fuck it, we're having a blast delivering this baby. the folks have us do some encore and man, I think it's the most lamed-out "conspirator's oath" I've ever done - don't know my baka head was at... some of "black sheep" too - oh no! still, the gig's a hoot. tom and raul did real good though raul did have to get used to some dynamics at points cuz they get loud in this pad.

   I share good times w/many gig-goers when we're done. real good cats, everyone - some from last time too. a friend of that radio man dan this morning, his name's johnny (he does radio w/him too) talks w/me as I'm getting to do final spiel w/the agitate the gravel cats. and there's a lady from texas w/her two irish friends who tells me about touring w/an arkansas band in mexico. johnny's having a good time, I gotta do a spiel w/him when I get there's a chance to. he's a drummerman too. good people. I meet a younger drummerman who's pop's here w/him, great - love that. his pop tells me a bunch about rory gallagher, a great guitarman who made his home around these parts. I actually saw him in the 70s open for jethro tull and he smoked them, truth be told.

   when everyone bails, patrick fills in on some history about this pad, ghost history. some coal importers had the pad 'pert-near two hundred years ago, then last century it was a monastery. someone sometime supposedly got hacked up (not just knifed) and hung in one of the rooms - one of the closed off ones. patrick himself has had keys disappear and there's been shades of young kids passion though a hall. a bartender lady too has had glass jump off shelves and crash on the deck. whoa. it's shakes me up but I'm so beat I konk hard and quick.





saturday, october 15, 2011 - dublin, ireland

from tom:

   it was a restful sleep, a city place in spite of the haunted house thing. however, we have to load up and get back to dublin, so we thank patrick and have some coffee and bread and jam, and move along. the trip to dublin is an obstacle course of errors. i think we make every possible wrong turn. the gps is getting confused and the roundabouts are testing my capabilities, however, we get to the hotel where hiyori stayed when she got to dublin and we pick up some more merch that is waiting for us. then we head on to the center of dublin to wait outside the club before we load. we shuffle around the parking situation for the van and then load in right when it starts to rain. i get so drenched that i have to take off my jacket. the crawdaddy is a nice little venue with a separate bar section connected. it's inside an old train station and totally redesigned. very comfortable. steve, the sound guy, seems very capable and the sound is great. very clean power, no buzzing at all. mick, from adebisi shank comes by and he and rail go pick up some falafel's for us, and i think mine is the best i've ever had. it has a thin, burrito-like wrap, instead of pita bread, with just the right balance of ingredients plus a hint of pickles. superb. thanks mick. tieranniesaur is playing with us and they are very cool and sweet folks. they have a great sound, very hard to describe, but they remind me a little of a band called: life without buildings, or: delta 5. danceable, but trippy. great singing, and a lot of texture. i change strings, and we play a good set, i think. then we have to load out to make room for the next event at the club. mo is a great dubliner, and friend of the shanks, and a big guy, so, he helps with our load out, and makes it much easier. vinny helps too. thanks guys. after we find another parking spot, we get to our room down the block, and decide to go to see timmo at another gig he's doing tonight. we walk a little distance to the button factory and somehow squeeze into the overcrowded building and find a spot to sit and drink a couple beers. there are too many people for my taste, but i get a chance to rap with vinny and have great conversation. adebisi shank are some of my favorite people. vinny, mick and lar. i feel really comfortable with them, and it's great to make new friends like them. we hang for a while, drink beer, talk...and eventually head back to the hotel. it's a crazy night, lot's of people out in the streets, but we get to bed sometime in the early morning. it takes a while to quiet my brain, but i slip away at some point.



from watt:

   whoa, popped late again, at ten and a half but had to cuz late konk time and it seemed like that ghost stuff either left me alone or had their way w/me in zombie mode cuz I had not even a bad dream. most grateful watt for being spared. I hose off now - too tuckered last night and maybe I didn't soak the levis like the night before but that shirt I'm doing for these gigs got flooded which got took care of via all night on a coat hanger.

   patrick put out chow for us downstairs and I put between bread cheddar, salami, ham and then shovel some coleslaw. good coff too. it's raining out but we gotta get the gear out - it was cool of the folks here to let us wait 'til now to load out. big "safe seas" to patrick and we're on our way, whence we came - back by cork and up to dublin. by the time we get near cahir it's vital we get diesel in this boat - there's a flashing signal on the dash according to tom and I'm thinking maybe that means we're on fumes. 1.44 euro/liter works out to about $7.60 u.s./gallon so you can see how much easier this way we got it where we come from.

   back on the road north, we trip on when we're spieling w/each other yesterday on the way to myrtleville and somehow we get to trying to remember last tour we worked this shit when we did milwaukee - who was the opener that night. this is one thing the fucking diary I chimp can be kind of good for... we find out it was couch flambeau - it was their twentyninth anniversary gig - but we also find out how fucking much like a 'tard I goddamn chimp. man, I find beaucoup clams w/tom and raul 'pert-near laughing to death to hear such corn pouring out of the socket spiel. ok, there's some entertainment, I can take it - I deserve it! you really need to know why I never read this shit once it's chimped? embarrassing is too gentle word, even shame is. whatever. the really trippy thing though is some cat at the myrtleville gig asked tom and raul if we knew of a band called... couch flambeau! can you fucking believe that? the cat said tom and raul reminded him of them but how the hell did that obscure trip get channel into existence in that moment - by us rapping about hours before in the boat ride up there? damn, there's a ghost story kind of thing, huh? fucking a.

   we first have to go north of dublin a little, to the airport cuz miss hiyori has two boxes of merch that came when we were playing down south. the tomtom motherfucker has been laming out a few times but it's really bad finding this pad but luckily we get a visual and can get to it the old fashioned way. whew. the rain starts really coming down once we get to where we're playing tonight (via a couple of fucking blowbys - maybe some more my fault than the fucking tomtom and you know I ain't talking about our guitarman), "crawdaddy" is the name of this pad and it's in an old train station w/big stone walls. actually it's part of another pad called the "chocolate bar" (get it?) and joining them is this like five foot hallway filled w/red l.e.d. lights everywhere except the deck that makes you feel like you're swimming in it, I shit thee not.

   we luck out on the parking, get right up in it. steve is the soundman and is very cool people, so glad to have him as fourth member of our team for tonight. we do our check and vinny's amp sounding good (for an ampeg - my baka opinion). I asked miss hiyori about our sound the last two gigs and she said no bass on first one in cork city - man, was I a stupid motherfucker for lazin' out and using that piece-o, I could break my leg off in my ass for fucking that up so, god damn it. I came up short for those gig-goers and it makes me feel terrible. aaarrggghhh, it trips me out when I hear about folks who say they've never had a regret in their lives. I'd one be one big time jive ass lying motherfucker to try and make that claim, believe it.

   anyway, we get to meet tonight's band w/us, dublin cats called tieranniesaur and though they're a seven piece, only six can play tonight. friendly folks and their band is tight w/a dance sound (but not shill rave). speaking of beats like that (ones played by humans), I find out here on the internet that the lite brothers just played in scotland and they're in england tonight - what?! damn, we should've did some gigs w/them - they're so close, fuck! man, I wish them all the luck in the world, I love those cats. next month I get to do the "we jam econo '11: mini-fest w/them and speaking of THAT, a couple days each side of that since I'm in tokyo, mr shimmy and ms yuko are gonna record third brother's sister's daughter album w/me - I just got email from him saying he's booked the studio time - yatta! can't wait!

   the tour's bookerman (and adebisi shank drummerman) mick arrives and gets us some lebanon chow, he gets me a fucking happening falafel, in fact tom gets one too and says it's the best he's ever had, I shit thee not. it is fucking good. pickles! he gets me a half pint of jammeson but that's for after the gig. his bandmates vinny and lar arrive - respect to them! then bushie, andy and sarah from estel get here, fuck yeah! oh man, got play good for my buddies tonight. shit, I'm just saying that cuz believe me, I try hard as much as kind even though I might stumble some but I'm trying to convey a nervous feeling here cuz I care so much about my dear friends and I bet tom/raul feel just as strongly.

   early show, tieranniesaur hits at nine bells. very happening set from them, respect! 9:40 and fuck it, we go on five minutes early. whoops, we shared equipment and I guess their bassman wanted to be down some so we start the piece w/the bass tiny. it takes a few turn around and tries w/different knobs cuz my glasses are off and the writing little but I get it together. we do the third opera best so far of the tour but forget some about us - the dublin folks are amazing to do it for, you wouldn't believe their focus and respect, you wouldn't believe it. how incredible and kind of them, even w/all this crazy shit being thrown at them by us. of course I blow some clams (though fewer than last two times) and fuck if I don't get the 'g' string all flat again, time after time - I think tomorrow I change strings and you know what? I bet these are the same ones I used for the entire north american tour back in march/april... anyway - not to get off on a tangent for that BUT it does remind me I spaced and forgot to write about during last night's encore tom snapped a string in our encore cuz he was playing slide w/a bottle the night that in cork city (his theory). well, maybe I'm just daring the odds for some of that string snap to happen so tomorrow I change these soiled cables. sorry, I'm spinning of course in relating the gig, baka watt... the gig is happening, really. I feel so grateful to the dublin gig-goers, really I do - BIG TIME respect to them. and man, did steve do the fourth member thing on knobs, crimony! I could feel him being there for every little bit of the piece, every dynamic shift. you couldn't ask more from a brother. thank you so much, steve and thank you so much good people of dublin for being so kind to us.

   we gotta pack up quick for this pad's round II - whoa, what a trip... one of the cats in the later show's band is darren, he was in estel for a few gigs including the one when I first played w/them in may of 2006 - so good to see him again! we go to the 'tel which ain't too far away to hoof (hobble in my case) and spend time w/the adebisi shanks and their bud dek (very happening cat). they say timo's working this gig at "the button factory" and yeah, I wanna go see him! we hoof (I hobble) down to this pad (except mick, he's gotta get back to the greystones), passing the phil lynott statue on the way and damn if this town ain't hopping w/partying people, I mean the streets are way alive, intense. kind of too much for me but I wanna see timo. this pad's got a german duet called modeselector (or like raul thought: bone collector?) and whoa, I got to sit in a back part cuz of the rave pavement roller. it's beautiful to see timo again, even in this sitch (big hugs for him) and plus we get to rap w/moe who is righteous people. he's got rory gallagher inked on his arm! we talk a bunch about him. big respect to moe, big respect.

   time to bail but first I eat a lamb kebab (a little one that's good), streets jumping still at three fucking bells. we're in a cab back w/tom driving the driver crazy w/spiel - it's like I'm carrying a load! at the 'tel (we're in "the playwrite's suite" but it ain't fancy) and I hose off and damn if I don't feel old, aaarrggghhh. into the nightwear and then konk as quick as I'm no longer standing.





sunday, october 16, 2011 - belfast, northern ireland

from tom:

   i get a coffee and we get in the van. we drive to belfast, find auntie annie's and load. my first time here. i'm a moving a little slow, but i feel fine. it's cooler in northern ireland, and it has a different vibe (obviously). load, check....find food. i want to get an irish stew and a pint of guinness, but i can't seem to make it work. i can get the stew but they don't serve beer, but i can bring it in, however, i have to buy a 4 pack of cans at the store and that's too much. after realizing defeat, raul and i get noodles from an asian place across the street, and that's fine. before showtime, mike and i talk about the who in the tiny backstage room. we go from the tommy movie through the earlier years, and on to the later times... we get to play with a grate two piece combo called, continuous battle of order. they have a good home town crowd too. fun show, i break a guitar cable.



from watt:

   pop at ten and a half, again a whoa from watt. gather up the still-sweaty things and put them in a plastic sack save for the gig shirt which gets worn and it's pretty dry anyway - trippy how one side smells less worse - the side where the strap don't go across and that's probably cuz that nylon strap retains kusai smell - I wonder how you clean those motherfuckers? no chow at this pad so I hobble while the rest of his hoof the short way to the boat and be off to the next country on this tour: the ireland part of england.

   tom is jonesing for coff so after some fucking loops (goddamn tomtom gps), we get across the liffey and I have him pullover in a tiny town part so raul can run and get him fixed - fuck, wouldn't you know it but this little road is james joyce street! that's a trip. the sun's out bright too, what the fuck? we leave dublin whence we came (from the airport which is north, 'member?), it's only about a hundred miles between here and belfast. they got these roadside service centers called "applegreen" and we chow some breakfast there. it's that "full breakfast" stuff like from england and here, I gotta say the bread are in pretty big slices which I mean not thick-wise but across. tom sure has been doing a good job w/the clutching, shifting and driving all from the wrong side, I'm very proud of him as well as big time grateful. it would've been a little bit of challenge for me w/this fucked up hiza (knee in jap) but ain't everyone getting tired of hearing that excuse? I know we're all grateful to tom pulling this duty, 'nuff said. interesting detour: not getting diesel where we chowed (my dumbfuck mistake), we follow a sign to one of those gas pads that's not roadside but in a town. fuck if we find though but we do see some interesting irish backroad. another "applegreen" stop once we find the highway after our wander and we diesel up. the border w/northern ireland is invisible - no stops or even a marker that we can see but all the sudden the road signs are in miles and there's no irish language version of every road and town name. the weather's getting cloudy.

   we get into belfast around four and this pad "auntie annie's" is the same one I played six years and five months ago which was my only other time here. where you play is upstairs which is very happening for staying in shape and shlepping the gear up two flights of stairs. at least they're not narrow. gigboss darren shows up at five and we shlep the gear up - fucking baka cojo watt on one side of lar's marshall cab w/darren on the other. we soundcheck w/soundman jonathan and then meet the opener, a local duo called the continuous battle of order (one of mick's richter collective bands!) and both cats hornby and craig are very cool people, very cool. I watch their soundcheck when we finish (putting on new strings during mic setup) and really like what they got going, it's a trip. I think the lite brothers would dig it much too - oh, by the way, they're here at this pad in four days - damn, we're just missing them - kuso!

   across the street is a india chow pad called "archana" and I get something called a balti, the kind they got w/chilies and garlic and hunks of chicken in it. I don't know much about india chow but dig the stuff I've had. I spoon this balti onto pieces of garlic nan bread (fucking love nan bread) and man, is it good eats, great! I go back to the venue and this man daniel comes backstage to give me a sack of brownies he made, very kind of him. he tells me it's a tough scene for young bands in the belfast scene, very tough but cats still go for it. much respect to them.

   earlier gig (maybe cuz of sunday?) so gig starts around nine and a half and I watch continuous battle cats go for it. man, they are intense! hornby on the guitar, sitting on a square stool and wailing on it. he rocks back and forth, hollers w/out a mic and sometimes lifts himself up while working his guitar like nobody's business, craig cooking on the drums right along w/him. great team.

   since we're using the same stuff, changeover is quick and easy, we start the piece w/in ten minutes of them getting done. first three parts have a big prob w/feedback 'til raul let's soundman jonathan know w/a fingerprint that it's the drum monitor and to scissor it. whew, that shook me up bad cuz it was bogarting our whole sound pretty fucking big time. the setup for us is kind of lame - I got too in front w/the mic and raul gotten fucking behind me which I hate cuz I like looking right across to him and not behind. tom has some problems w/his eyeglasses strap but actually these things are kind of tiny cuz in the big picture it's a fucking happening gig. I really can hear my spiel good so I can but lots of nuance in where otherwise it just a ramrod foist. the belfast gig-goers are most kind and show respect like the dubliners, no yammering to bogart the delivery of the piece to them. like I said, weird having raul behind - I do not dig cuz raul deserves right up front w/me and top - fuck, if I had to really be forced to choose, I'd wanna be behind HIM, you know? truth. I went over and did one too many "man shitting man" like a fucking bozo. goddamn it, I know most these cats don't know the piece and have nothing to compare to (or feel let down by) but shit, doing something like really robbed some VERY ESSENTIAL DRAMA at a very critical moment, a really lame clam from me, really lame. but these folks are very kind and have us back for more. we have a good time giving them the encores and I finally remember to ask folks to START YOUR OWN BAND! (better to ask than tell, right?) one gig-goer and his buddy tell me right after about having to make a choice between going to a gig and playing one - they ask for my opinion! lots of kind words from lots, most grateful watt, truly.

   hornby (who played earlier) talks to me about john coltrane, there's a picture of him on his telecaster guitar. he is most sincere about him - I give him a button to choose from the ones raul made for me. respect. this cat is genuine. I'm so glad I got to meet him and drummerman craig, so glad to hear them play and so righteous to get share a stage w/him here in their town.

   gigboss darren (man, is he happening, I promise I won't wait so long to come back - I promise!) rides w/us not too far to a 'tel where hey, it's only twelve and half - no late konk tonight, I'm digging that some. hose down and into nightwear, our leg on this island now done for playing, we take ferry tomorrow night for further journey, stay tune for further tour spiel being chimped by me. tom and raul have promised me some too so hopefully this whole diary won't be a watt bogart. respect to them





tuesday, october 18, 2011 - newcastle, england

from tom:

   [monday] today is a big day. first the drive to dublin, then go to the adebisi shank prac place to meet vinny and mick and load out their gear. it was very kind of them to let us use their stuff, and organize to the van for this part of the tour. the van belongs to a band called enemies that mick's label put's out. many thanks for all that, y'all. after the load, we head to the music store where lar work's and drop off all our bags and gear, and raul, mike and hiyori hop out too. i have to drive the van back to where mick lives, about an hour south of dublin in greystones. it's nice to hang with mick, and when we get to where he and kim live (nice seeing kim again too), mick makes me some beans on toast with a some basil on top. the rain starts to come down while we're sitting there, mick has to resolve some tour details and kim and i play with their 2 cats till i have to catch a train back to dublin. mick walks with me through the heavy winds and cold (for me) rains. i'm drenched by the time we get to the train station, and soon i say goodbye to mick and ride along the east coast of ireland reading confederacy of dunces. vinny meets me at the station to bring me to the button factory, where timmo is housing our stuff (thanks timmo, for everything) and mike and rail and hiyori join time for a quick bite before we have to grab a taxi to the ferry building. we load our things and get onto the shuttle and board the ferry to takes us to the u.k. it's a good 3 or 4 hours on the boat, but it's comfortable and has internet, and at this time, maybe 1/10th full. raul and i wonder if we could swim to shore if the ship goes down. we do this at several different points in the trip, figuring whether swimming back of forward would be better, or if we would just try to find a buoy to hold onto and wait. regardless of any strategy we both decide that in the dark cold waters we would probably be happier to just die. anyhow, we survey the journey, and disembark without any trouble from the border guards, who say "here come some americans" as we walk past. kind of a nice welcome, actually, as opposed to strip seating us, i guess. we grab our stuff, find a taxi, and get the travel lodge nearby and try to get some rest because tomorrow is already here.

   [gig day] we wake and get ourselves organized and outside to meet up with kirk, who will be our tour manager/driver from here on out. he pulls up in a large silver van and we toss our stuff in the back and we start our first part of the tour where i'm not driving. i join kirk in the front, and try not to talk his head off. we drive 5 hours east (from holyhead wales) all the way to the other coast and get to newcastle and load. the cluny (as in, george) is a cool pub/cafe with a live space attached. we check and get food from the cafe. i get hungarian goulash and a pint of local ale. we meet the guys in the other band playing tonight, hot club de paris. sweet dudes from liverpool, we have a gig together again in a couple days. raul and i meet someone named rich, who has brought his video cam to shoot the gig. we talk a while and find out he has some prog roots like me, and rarely do i get to connect with anyone on that subject without them giving me a hard time, or attitude. after a nice conversation with him, i bring him to meet mike and they chat it up for a long while. rich has a lot of information to share. mostly on films, and directors, but also music, too. the talk helps time go by. the gig goes well and after our show we load out, somebody steals rails sweaty shirt, and i grab all the left over food and beer i can grab. thanks cluny...xoxo, tom



from watt:

   monday I popped at eight, we gotta shove off and do the last day in ireland dance. fucking tomtom (not the guitar missingman) very confused so a few mindless loops 'til I get tom (missingman guitar) on an 'a' road south instead of the 'm' one we came in on yesterday so different scenery a little bit. fuck if the wind don't start to blow. we pull over to an "applegreen" and I shovel a breakfast chow like yesterday but w/baked beans and damn if they don't taste 'pert-near just like those ones out of the campbell's can when I was a boy. I should report here I almost crumpled coming into this pad - they had some halloween stupid shit stickers on the deck w/some creature hands making like some creature (no shit?) was prying open to get up and out and I don't know, I got took w/out taking care and for that moment I was very fucking glad that goddamn brace was on my fucking yowai hiza (weak knee). thank god I stayed up.

   this time we watch the tomtom to see when the border comes - there's a couple of signs for moneychanging and then you see offramp and direction shit using both english and irish language so then it's clear we're in republic of ireland again. I think it's pretty ok it's casual border like that, no soldiers or even fruit inspection like what we got between either cali and arizona or oregon. man, the wind is really blowing but tom does real good. we get to adebisi shank prac pad near the canal toad part of dublin (portabello bridge) about one in the afternoon. mick and vinny come in a bit to help shlep the shit into their pad and then we head on over to "music maker" where lar works (see how much all three of them cats have helped us? righteous!) so we can stow our sacks and shit there 'til it's time to head for the ferry. from there tom mick head out to return the van and since I had no internet yesterday, I search out a 'tel where I get a coff and use there free wifi to update the fucking diary I've chimped. as I do that, fuck if the sky just don't start coming in one hell of a rain storm. I think about tom - he's gotta take the train from the greystones where he's gotta drop the van off... raul goes to laundromat which we need bad but fucking ten euros a load?! aaarrrggghhhh! well, that's the way it goes and anyway for that kind of money the levis are still wet. better than the alternative though so... I get back to the music store, most of the stuff here is fender as far as basses and guitars go - I rap w/vinny (adebisi bassman) about p-bass vs j-bass... lar said soon they're recording and I'm thinking he might want vinny rocking a p-bass, I don't know. I record mostly w/my moon which is like a j but I really dig where a p has got's it's pickup and I think one pickup a string gives you more punch than two, just sayin'. I feel a little weird trying to act like I'm learning both these cats anything cuz even though they're in their twenties, they can play like total motherfuckers - basically they can big time learn me! respect.

   timo arrives to the store, big hugs - timo's here! I apologize for being such a spacefuck w/the bones space from the other night, what a baka watt! tom shows up (yatta!) and the rain's subsided (more yatta!). we shlep the shit over to "the button factory" and then go chow nearby at the "ire cafe" and I get a bacon and cheese panini and share it w/tom. we gotta say bye to timo and head for the port to catch the ferry to england. the taxi is packed but we make it - bye bye to timo, wait a minute... we don't know what ferry line is taking us, I only have a reference number - baka! timo quick makes a call on his leash (one good thing these motherfuckers are good for) and it's stenaline, whew, that was close cuz tom thought it was p & o line! and here we thought we had good time but then wouldn't you know that we're loaded onto the ferry (I think its name was "adventure") just as we get there - fuck! but we made it, great. so much respect for mick and timo, so much BIG time. oh yeah, we passed that "occupy dublin" thing on the way out of town, respect to them folks too, solidarity.

   the ferry ride is like three and a half hours. let's spend a little time thinking of band names: fists full of tufts, let's spend A LOT of time spiel about that lady who got all einstein w/her youtube.com video about her idea of u.s. and "others" who make sounds like "ching chong ling long ting tong" on their leash. that actually happened at the beginning of our last tour doing this opera but we were so busy doing less important things like that to be aware of such brilliant controversy. let's explore "reflexology" and just where are all those parts of the bottom of the feet and the insides of the hands are connected to which organs... we dock at holyhead in wales (not england, baka watt) about one am. trippy words I ain't used to on the "welcome" sign - yeah, that's welsh... yeah, this my first time to this land. of course one day I wanna go to port morion (more south of here), where "the prisoner" was shot. I dug that show, one of the only things it's probably my easiest ever entry into into the "united kingdom" - even though I have our work permits, I'm not asked to present them, thank you officer! soon we're in a cab for a "travel lodge" not too far away. the driver says he spent time in virginia... says he knows virginia's a commonwealth and not a state - says the people swear allegiance to the queen there... "oh yeah?" I him from virginia...

   we do the shell game to get all four up to the chamber (me, the hobbler coming down each time), divvy out the blankies and bedding and konk. damn, we didn't do a gig but hell if this day wasn't full. I am big time fucking tuckered and konk once in nightwear and konk-masked.

   gig day and I pop at nine. fuck, what a weird dream - my pop was in it. we're walking across some bridge and damn if it ain't over the moscow river and there's red square in front of us. next somehow we're in some kind of museum and my pop is checking out real close some medals and shit on a uniform jacket on display. what? he's got his eye real close on them and appears awkward - what? my pop awkward?! I never much saw that and it makes me feel very uncomfortable - in this fucking dream but also now, thinking of it, trying to relate it. next in this nightmare (it fucking 'pert-near is) me and my pop are in a room w/scaled-down models of boats and planes - I remember my pop building a plane w/me, him doing most of it and me watching which is how I dug it cuz I had no idea what to do... him xacto'ing the balsa wood pieces and sanding/shaping them smooth, putting on the thin paper and doping them for the wing surfaces, painting it dark blue and then fastening on the metal stuff like the wires to rudder, the landing wheel (yeah, it had just one tire in the center!) and then the little gas motor. it was a proj that took quite a while, many sessions and I just dug being there watching him and listening to why he did what did for each step - it was amazing for me, it was the best. I'd ask baka things but he never got bothered and would calmly get me straight on where I was confused. none of this shit in this dream had that plane (fuck, what did happen to that plane? lost somewhere in the pedro navy housing where we first moved to?) but I'm thinking of that now cuz of those things in the cases... then I found myself lost, found myself separated, alone w/out my pop - it's there when the fucking dream ended but put the hell feelings in me as I laid there for like an hour before rousting the team. what a fucked up thing that was.

   england driverman kirk is gonna come and get us at ten am but maybe more like eleven? yep, here comes a silver mercedes sprinter now but I real tall and long boy, damn - you can stand up in this baby. there's a table and seats facing each other then. probably terrible on gas mileage which means kind of like u.s. van? the driverman kirk says he's twentyfour, he asks my age straight back - I like that. I say thirty years apart but actually I got two days and two months before that. he seems like cool people, alright. ain't really use to this way w/a driverman though I've done it a couple of times and of course there's stooges world. welcome to our world, brother kirk - I hope we don't drive you nuts! he says he's from birmingham (the one in england, not alabama). up the coast, first time for me here - kind of like welsh version of pch - after an hour and a half it's good bye to wales (actually going from west to east cuz we were in the north part of wales) and hello england - we hit a gas station and fill some of our tanks (none for this boat) - I get a sandwich called "deep fill chicken & chorizo" and then I stuff in some "steak & onion" (I shit thee not) flavored potato chips for texture the way I do back home on tour. towards manchester and then onto leeds, from there is destination newcastle. some sun on the way but big time clouds and it's pretty chilly. the sun really comes out and it starts raining! in japan I think they say foxes are getting married when this happens. we pass the "highest motorway in england" and damn if it don't look like where you turn off to get to san jose from the I-5, for a bit. of course every land is their own land and it's only my baka head making the links but I saw that one for a moment.

   we get into newcastle about three and a half after only a little wander... driverman kirk has navigator gps machine that's as baka as miss hiyori's tomtom but he let's us hear it issue retarded orders (I muted the fucking tomtom and only got visual baka orders - remember I was the only backseat man in ireland - the other three rode up front) and still somehow we find we're playing tonight, "the cluny" w/not too much difficulty. this town is laid out across the tyne river and this pad is right by that. I really like how it is, chow pad right next to gig room and a very good gig room w/character all it's own. it's been twenty years since I last played this town if you don't count playing here w/the stooges five months ago. can you believe that? I am old punk, I'm thinking but that still was the 90s! well, just the beginning but still so far from my real old 70s punk days... shit, how things blur in a way... but what's important I think is the moment and soundman ross here is a good cat and is into being our fourth man for the gig. respect to him. the gigboss joel and the padboss justin are all righteous cats, I'm really digging stuff. first time on this gear driverman kirk procured for us. he said u.s. guys don't dig laney bass amps but I tell him I prefer that way over the ampeg shit for the stooges... he said he wished he knew that ahead time cuz he went and got me a ampeg svt classic and it's 8x10 cab. aarrggghh. he got tom an older laney gh100l guitar amp w/a 4x12 cab that he was hesitant on cuz he's a fender man (uses and older silverface bandmaster through a 4x10 at home) but damn if it don't turn out to be ok - not like a marshall thing that he's just not into. raul's been given a tama kit to work that's pretty typical except for a smaller kick drum, a twenty inch but it sounds good. we do our check quick (shit's gotta be done by six cuz two hour curfew for the chow pad) but that's normal for us anyway. we get to meet the cats we're sharing the stage w/who are from liverpool and they're called hot club de paris - really nice guys who are in a trio - hey, we get to play w/them again in sowerby bridge saturday!

   for chow I shovel a stew made here out of rabbit and w/that is some chunky homecut fries plus some steamed vegetables like cabbage and carrots. the rabbit is trippy, second time I had it (first time was in huesca part of catalonia). hard to remove the softness image of the bunny in the head while chowing it, crimony. I remember getting two live lobsters in the mail from mission of burman clint for letting him use my bass amp. it was a trip, I had no idea and it was total surprise when I opened up this styrofoam box that got delivered to my pad - god damn! two lobsters w/rubber bands around their claws. well, I boiled one - alive - and he kept pushing on the lid so I had to put all these heavy plates on top and it made me sick in a way when I was chowing cuz I boiled that poor motherfucker alive - hell, I gave the other one to someone who I think let it out in the sea which probably killed it cuz it's atlantic and we're pacific. anyway, empathized feeling like this makes chow different, just sayin'.

   I go back to the dressing room and a cat from not to far south named rich comes to visit - he wants to film tonight and of course, sure. we get to talking though, he lived in cali for a while and just helped w/this foo fighters documentary that recently came out. he knows a butt-load about movie stuff, actually all kinds of things even though I'm his pop's age and older than his ma. he's a great spieler, very interesting and not really a windbag or bogart - he keeps apologizing for any apparent bogart but I tell him it's ok and even tom joins in so the time 'til the gig starts pass quick. so great to meet rich.

   hot club de paris goes on at nine pm and these two cats are nice enough to let me sit at a table right above and to the starboard of the stage. man, is this band happening. there's something really genuine about them for me, whatever the fuck that's supposed to mean cuz I'm already feeling it was stupid for me to just chimp that but fuck, on the other hand it is most sincere feeling in me too. I just really like them. they used our stuff (actually not our stuff, we're using someone else's - kirk procured it) w/their guitars. they all sing together well, the bassman is really good and does most. they do a great version of "the anchor" which was the first minutemen song to go over two minutes. man, I hope this doesn't sound too stupid cuz these cats are a lot of fun but by the last song they make me cry some, like coming from the corner of the eye a little bit. I know why I love music when I feel this. good work from these cats.

   we're ready to go right on but knobman ross says twenty more minutes please, no prob. it gets time and thank god the coltrane goes on cuz it wasn't there for a while. I'm a little nervous cuz of rich filming and we didn't do a gig last night and those are like hiccups for me cuz I usually never have a day off on tour - "when you ain't playing, you're paying" someone pretty wise once said probably back in vaudeville days. it's not just that but I get out of the tour rhythm pretty easy... actually, I'm doing ok even w/the clams and I'm way lucky to have tom/raul playing real good - I mean I'm lucky to have them! we bring the piece real good to the geordie, I think. they show huge respect for the tiny parts and rev it up for the louder ones, much connection I feel. there's a couple of times I think of that crazy dream I had w/pop in it but keep it in check, keep it from bogarting on my obligation to bring this thing. I shouldn't have my cord going to my amp right where I'm standing cuz that's a little scary. I fuck in a couple places of "jug-footed-man" and think I gotta refresh myself on the solo I got there in the end. what a great way to begin playing england, here in newcastle though, very genuine w/the gig-goers, like me watching the liverpool cats... man, it's at trip. we bring the encores and tom breaks an 'a' string but we keep charging. I tell the folks it's england and we (us three in the band) should acknowledge a debt I feel to some bands from here - we already did a pop group tune but we finish up w/two wire ones. I can't even imagine what the minutemen would've sounded sounded like w/out those two bands - or would there even had been a minutmen? anyway, I feel good about ending the gig that way.

   many kind words after and lots of posters to sign - good idea for these to be made put I should've put raymond's name there cuz he drew the arrow-pierced-egg-man creature. I get to meet in person oli, who's the mind behind detective instinct and sue, great folks. rich is real nice to help us load out. I get to say thank you to many kind gig-goers and also joel/justin who brought me here, big respect. one cat tells me "diamond" to express himself, I can dig that. thank you so much. oh yeah, there was guy from indiana - I could detect an accent.

   it takes a good half hour or so to find the 'tel (another travel lodge) cuz the fucking navigator gps machine is fell of it - I can't tell you how many times it said "you have reached your destination" but kirk gets us there w/some skill moves and I think it's crazy to put weight on a driverman about stuff like that. actually I think we're on the other side of the river from where we played but whatever, we all have a good time shooting the shit cuz it was a real good time playing the gig and our spirits are way up there. it's only midnight when we check in and we rap a little as a hose off quick and get in the nightwear. there's even a little tennessee whiskey w/some water, konk is easy. big time.





wednesday, october 19, 2011 - glasgow, scotland

from tom:

   we wake at the travel lodge, and mike, kirk, and hiyori have some breakfast next door at the little chef restaurant. raul and i sit outside in the chilly sunshine, drinking coffee and finding things to laugh about. i think joking around is an anxiety defense mechanism for me, and i'm glad that raul doesn't get tired of it very easily. in fact, he's pretty good at keeping it going. we roll towards glasgow today, but stop at the hadrian's wall museum and mike pays for our entry to learn about the roman rule in england 1900 (or, something like that) years ago. we even walk up the road to check out a portion of the original wall and check out the incredible vista looking 360 degrees over the english and scottish border. this is only my second time in glasgow, and my first with mike. i was here with raul a year and a half ago playing with lou barlow. i always like the scots, i connect with their sense of humor, and, of course i love the accent. i try to learn the show promoter lady, valerie's name, using a scottish accent, and it turns out to be really difficult for me. we talk over some food upstairs from the live space here at nice 'n sleazy's, and see mike's old glasgow pal, dep as he comes in. i met him with raul and lou last time, but apparently he and mike have known each other for quite a while. he has a record label and a store here in glasgow, and i understand that we'll be staying with him tonight. i try to use the internet without much success. the gummy stumps play before us and they have bizarre thing going that i like, but i don't get to watch much of it. we get through a sweaty show, and break down to make way for the afro-beat dj thing that's on next. it's a cold load out, but soon we have dep and kirsteen join us in the van and they direct us to their place for the night. up a few sweeping fights of stairs we enter an amazing top floor in a beautifully restored scottish-type mansion-like house. really incredible. we have several drinks and talk, and kirsteen mentions that she's sad to have lost here german-bought pack of american spirits and a new yellow lighter. ironically, before leaving the club, a young punk dude handed me the very pack of cigarettes as a gift, saying he'd found it on the floor. i believe he did. anyhow, i pull the pack from my pocket like a magic trick, and return them to kirsteen to complete the circle. it gets late, and ultimately i succumb to gravity.



from watt:

   pop at nine and take first soak of the tour. shallow tub though (way short too) so it's kind of lame one but I don't wanna sound like a whiner, just reporting what happened. the sun is out bright but it's cool out, definite autumn for cali boy. there's a chow pad next door to the 'tel called "little chef" and I shovel something called a "loaded bloomer butty" which kind of like an england old style breakfast (or some of it) put between two pieces of bread which is kind of how I chow breakfasts, using the bread to make kind of fajitas or little burritos w/the toast as the wrapping fabric to combine the plate items - I like when shit combines and fuck, it happens in the stomach anyways, why not ahead of time in the fucking mouth?

   we pull anchor at one pm and head north to scotland. I had a nightmare last night but very abstract - mainly just water and all kinds of it: river, ocean, waterfall but being up in all those sitch's and perpetually drowning, fuck, not pleasant. I chimp diary from the back of this sprinter here, tom's now joined us but sits back facing forward. I got a little table to rest the 'puter on.

   we pass a sign for hadrian's wall and damn if I ain't seen these (the signs) every time to/from scotland but have never actually seen the wall so I ask kirk to do a turn-off cuz hell, it's only a couple hours to glasgow and we'd be getting into town way early as it is. from the turn-off we're in a pad that's a little roman army museum built on the grounds of a roman fort called magnis. it's five pounds (about eight $ - I springboarded it) a person but fuck it - let's learn! they got some neat stuff about romans, hadrian (first roman emperor to wear a beard), romans in england and the stuff that's been found around this place. there's a little film in three-d, whoa, I've never seen a film where you wear those kind of glasses and though it ain't as dramatic as I might've thought it'd be, it a little bit ok. w/out the glasses it's impossible to watch. I've always been skeptical of that shit. I know d. boon would've dug all the history stuff - we'd stop on minutemen tours to check out revolutionary and civil war stuff back home or anything that had history if we had enough time (like even a fucking barbed-wire museum in the midwest), d. boon loved history... he got me into it. once the museum was done it was time for the wall itself and w/my fucked up hiza, it's a little bit of a challenge but fuck if I'm gonna cower out, I wanna stand on a part of it, even if it's up on a big-ass rise in the land. there's a pond w/some swans on the way, beautiful countryside out here. there's some grad to hobble up and no path on the hill part, much sheep turd looking like steroided-up raisinettes, all shiny and shit plus some cowpies to avoid and though I'm a slowgo, I eventually make 'pert-near the summit. incredible vista from here, whoa! damn, you wouldn't believe how good shape the wall's in for being around nineteen hundred years old. shit, I played an outdoor sports trip made out of communist concrete a couple summers ago in belgrade and that shit was crumbled and pitted like crazy after only about fifty/sixty years! kirk says if we stay thirty minutes we'll be late so... the hobble down is kind of scarier for someone like me in my condition so tom let's me use his shoulder, thank god.

   we're back on the road, there's some wind buffeting the boat and as tall and narrow it is don't help much for that but kirk's a good wheel man. at four bells we cross into scotland. there's some wind farms but lots of sheep grazing, some cattle too. we're playing this pad called "nice n'sleazy" and get a parking spot right in front of the pad, alright. the gigboss valerie helps wheelman/roadboss kirk park it and drop anchor. where you play is downstairs here and they got a chow pad above it. this is why having an svt is such a great thing, especially the fucking speaker cabinet. we do soundcheck w/scott and this pad sounding good for a low ceiling shotgun room w/a low stage. they got a good p.a. and a good man working it. there's a little buzz and this ampeg's got no ground lift so he mics up a speaker and puts a foam windsock on my vocal mic. smart man. I do an interview w/a young man named mikey for his webzine "the middle" and he's very cool people, bright young cat.I get to meet the band before us tonight, local cats called the gummy stumps, good dudes. there's a singerman named spicy colin and two robs - one works drums and the other has an electric w/two guitar strings and one bass string only - wild! I get to talking w/them - they don't know about cathars but they know about templars and masons. spicy colin especially knows about some scottish connects... hmm... connects - you know my pop's name "watt" is a name from around here?

   there's a chow pad called "noodle bar" across the street and I chow a plate of duck/szechwan/udon that's pretty tasty. back across the street, I catch the gummy stump set. they're great, truly original and very much to the heart. "you're too big for your britches!" spicy colin sings w/all the veins on his throat all intense. and the rob working string was 'pert-near a one man however he was very much aided and abetted by the other rob on the trap kit- trip when they finish cuz he just piled everything in the kick drum and carried that off-stage. my old friend from here carolyn comes says hi - actually I met her through secondmen drummer jer. she just lost her pop to cancer, big hugs for her.

   we're on at nine thirty which is good for a work night. some cat says "blow it up" and I tell him I'll blow it up. the sound on stage is really good and the gig-goers right up there in your face but man, are they showing the respect, showing it big time. there's some hollering but just in loud parts, the tiny stuff has pin-drop going. tom and raul's playing real good though tom's got some cable trouble but he pushes on and throws not the hint of a fit. I blow less clams than last night though I'm still choking on the bridge to "blowing-it-out-both-ends-man" especially w/the fingering, fuck. but in the big picture, I work the piece pretty good for me - oh, kirk cut a hole in raul's kick drum front head at soundcheck so that's happening for more "face" and maybe a little less "dome" from it... turns out he was a drummer at some point in his life, great! anyway, back to the gig: probably the best we've done it on this tour, we work it good. the folks want us for more, we bring them the encores on fire (like a dork though, I call scott steve - fucking baka watt). great gig. thank you glasgow folks.

   much time signing stuff and talking w/folks. this cat chris white wants us to record w/him tomorrow which is very kind but no real time, so sorry about that - so kind of him to ask though. I sign a reactionaries album for a couple getting married, that's a trip. a man from edinburgh brought his son, respect to him. there's a young man who was at last night's newcastle gig - he's wearing a blue oyster cult shirt - he got one of the bass strings I took off in belfast from miss hiyori - I think it was the 'g' one - I think that's a good thing, I'm very glad he has it. I get lots of the good word. man, valerie sure put together a happening sitch for us - I ask her if she knows carrie from sleater-kinney, there's a resemblance...

   we load up the stuff and my old buddy dep and his lady kirsteen for a short drive to where they live not too far away. it's a giant house from 1870 that was split it up into four pads and renovated, just a great place to live - very scotland and solid. we got some woodford reserve bourbon from gigboss valerie and it's pretty happening - we spiel about lots of everything 'til three bells passes and konk demands us - me long before hosed down and in the nightwear.





thursday, october 20, 2011 - liverpool, england

from tom:

   i wake early from a headache pounding, and i get some water in the kitchen and see the sun rising through the windows facing east. i can see that there's a chill out there, but no rain. i manage to get back to sleep for a bit, but i still have a headache when i awake again. we return to our places in the kitchen and have coffee and talk while kirsteen makes a nice breakfast for us all. in the daylight i can really check out how nice the house is, and get the tour from dep to the rooftop greenhouse and deck. we leave, sadly, but we go to liverpool today. it's my first time, and i'm looking forward to it. we load into mellomello, a smallish club/cafe space and meet some of the locals phil, dean, ian...nice folks. before playtime, i go with kirk, mike and hiyori to a mexican restaurant nearby, i get a beef burrito, and jalapenos. not fabulous, but the ingredients seem good quality. afterwards raul and i take a walk, just around the nearby walk streets, and almost get lost. we get back to hear elmo and the styx freaking out onstage. we watch from outside for a while, and when we go in we see the guys from hot club de paris, they live here. i go upstairs before our show, just to detach. while we play there is some tension in the crowd, maybe a fight or two trying to start. lots of breaking glass during the quiet parts too. nothing too heavy though. it is also a very sweaty gig, but a good one i think. some people come up to say how inspiring it was to them, and we have a relatively easy load out to the curb and into the van. we have phil and his girlfriend, emma join us and show us to the hotel. the hotel is really fancy, carver ceilings in the entry and old iron railings. the room is more of an apartment, with a kitchen and a couple bedrooms and a living room. we stay up talking for a little while. suddenly i figure i'd better get some rest.



from watt:

   pop at ten bells and can smell dep and kirsteen cookin' us up breakfast chow - that's what I'm thinking anyway and it turns out to be the case. this is really a bitchin' pad, I check out more of it w/the light of day flooding it through the windows. more good rap (and eggs/beans/sausage/tomato, yummy!) from dep and kirsteen - man, they are a smart couple... rappin' about art - my best friend is raymond but I'm such a 'tard about such thing but that's not the case w/tom and he can wail w/them. turns out some artists are suing some auction houses and my guitarman and our hosts explain some about the corruptions in the dealer world. aaarrrgggghhhhh.

   dep gives me his little label's (called "watts of goodwill") latest release, an album by a glasgow band called muscles of joy. he tells us of his two journeys through the u.s. in the early 90s, even made it to my pedro town! man, some harrowing adventures - be careful when traveling in the u.s., young explorers. I'm not say don't come cuz I think it's righteous and the more the better but be careful, please. he said there's a big diff between a ymca here in scotland and one he stayed at in portland, maine, big fucking diff. he said he didn't feel safe. still, he braved it out and like I said, sallied forth twice. I wish more u.s. cats would visit over here too. we need more folks everywhere visiting each other! I'm very lucky w/my kind of work.

   it's 'pert-near one pm. big hugs for dep and kirsteen, we pull anchor and head south back to england. there's big time clouds but now and then some sun gets through. on the road, it's me and raul looking fore w/tom looking aft, a triangled trio'd troika. out the window I see another "chef" chow pad, a cousin of "little chef" maybe? a little tinkering w/the letters produces "choad ref" and tom has a good time w/that for a while, mixing it in w/the michael d campaign poster image w/saw in ireland. both him and raul keep promising me diary for this tour but of course there ARE priorities, god damn it.

   lots of sheep and countryside all made easier to see cuz there's no billboards on the side of these roads. ireland was like that too. not back home... sometimes they'll have so many fucking billboards that it's 'pert-near like you'll see one telling you how many fucking miles (or feet) to the next one. just after three we pass back into england - we were in scotland just under a full day, damn. wheelman/roadboss kirk drops anchor and we get fuel (about $8.44 u.s. a gallon!), I get potato chips - this is the land of the weird potato chip flavors, I get a sack of worchesters sauce ones and a sack of roast chicken for a pound - the sauce one's pretty trippy but the chicken kind of has a bouillon cube thing going. actually the main reason we stopped was cuz raul had to piss and both him and tom are a little uncertain about how kirk feels about piss bottles... when we get back on the road, I ask kirk (I ain't gonna cower) about such things and he says he's into them. alright. back on the road... all the sheep, you can see why the industrial revolution had fuel from the wool getting produced here, towns like newcastle fed from it.

   the port town of liverpool, ship builders too - the titanic was constructed here. last time I was here was the same as glasgow, six years and five months ago. the pad we're playing is called "mello mello" and real close to the chinatown here. we get in about five pm. robb is the pad boss and said the cream people (we're talking the band w/jack bruce!) were here and it has a studio - had one back then too, there's history here. right now a theatre group is doing prac upstairs but that's where we can have our backstage. the gigboss phil is very cool people I met just this summer at a stooges gig in chester, amazing how he got this going for me. he's got a great label called anti-pop too. oh yeah, he's the soundman for tonight and I'm using his bass amp - an eden wp-100 navigator preamp going into an eden wt-1000 power amp and then to a svt 8x10 speaker box. tom and raul are using what they did last night, what we're carrying (provided by kirk). we do our soundcheck and then go chow down a couple of blocks away at a "mexican" restaurant called "savina" that's kind of "del taco" but black beans cold in the middle (from can?) and no cilantro - kind of mexican taste in the beef cubes. a bowl of potato wedges w/the way europe does chorizo - like pepperoni sausage and not ground up like we got in our parts. the taco shells are brittle shaped ones and the burrito tortilla soppy gooey lame - I only chow half the burrito and hardly any of the papas - it's twelve pounds (about nineteen bucks u.s.) and well, I just don't wanna get sick... I don't think I will... actually I've had way worse in the u.s., way worse (any one say some pads that claim "tex-mex" maybe?).

   hobble back and watch the first of two openers (first time this tour we got two other bands on the bill), a local trio called elmo and the styx. bassman dean is wild w/a style all his own. I met him before when I first met gigboss phil in chester. they do a great set, really wild. later dean will tell me what makes them them is that they're "best mates" and that's the connect. I go upstairs and phil shows me the 1965 eb-3 he just got. it's been modified w/a later bridge (three point) and a jazz pickup for the pack one - it plays really good, much respect. man, it's the night of big bass - next up is super fast girlie show, a two piece w/bassman pasha tearing it up big time w/a heavy fuzz - he uses a pick like dean but dean goes for an attack that gives him 'pert-near a funk sound whereas pasha's got feedback squealing along w/his trip. they both also share roles as lead spielers for their bands. s.f.g.s. drummerman stenif (sp?) throws out incredible spirit as he wails his kit - not to say e.a.t.s. drummerman jj didn't tear it up cuz he did too - it's quit an honor to share the stage w/both these bands. speaking of liverpool bands, paul from hot club de paris is here to lend me a cable - damn, ain't that so very nice of him. I really dug his band and can't wait to play w/them again saturday. big hugs for him, big hugs.

   we go on at 10:30 on the money. unfortunately the fucking only way to play john coltrane broke so we gotta go w/out his introduction, oh well. bass is kind of miming it on stage but still raul slams good. more than any other drummie I've ever done rhythm section along side, raul really REALLY listens to the bass when he's playing and WANTS to really hear it. amen. anyway, "work the room" is a very happening philosophy and that kind of takes precedent over wishful thinking in a pragmatic sense, just does. amen to that too cuz what do you want - a fucking hissy fit over less-than-perfect sitch? fuck no. actually there's a great energy in the room that is trippy to define, it ain't typical one. something pretty unique happens for us too, "confused-parts-man" gets clipped by a phrase at one point by tom but we hold together pretty seamless, then I scissor an entire verse but STILL we manage to be right there for each other. that was a trip! big respect for tom and raul. so we kept the keel in the water. I even screw up the first line of the intense wind-up, the part before the last (twentyninth man) but somehow improvise to salvage the intent. fuck, this is not the place to clam... I don't want anyone thinking I'm putting blame anywhere. before that I had to grab the cymbals to make the way clear for the "and no beards" line but even that wasn't a big dealio. the encore is loosed w/all the folks singing "a love supreme" when we finished just truly beautiful. man, what great cats. I'm so glad I got to holler "hot club de paris" three times right before that for luck. I mean this third opera is crazy and I can just imagine what people are thinking when it gets laid on them for the first time - even if there wasn't ONE clam blown so I'm grateful, truly.

   much good word from the gig-goers and the cats in the opening bands. dean is really excited - we talk bass and stuff. all the cats in both groups are way into the moment - so are me and my guys.

   gigboss phil brings us to an apartment (they rent these by the day like a 'tel room - the first night of the tour in dublin found us in one) and we have a good time spieling w/him and his lady emma. good good cats. trippy, the story of his cousin giving him a cassette when he was boy that had nothing written on it but "this will change your life" and much later he found out it was the minutemen "what makes a man start fires?" album. now showered and in the nightwear, I give respect to him. a little after one I konk pretty much way tuckered.





friday, october 21, 2011 - birmingham, england

from tom:

   i feel some chesty cough in the morning, i don't like. we have to get out of the room sooner than we thought, so we pack up and join phil for breakfast across the street. he kindly pays the tab, and then we load into kirk's silver rocket and head towards birmingham. it's a big city, and has a sprawling, almost L.A. vibe to it. i like it. we arrive early enough to go to the hotel for a short rest before going to the super sonic festival where we play tonight. raul and i walk to the fish and chips place and i get some french fries, or: "chips", and raul gets a chicken sandwich, which has a bit of an indian (as in east) angle to it. we eat and loaf about for a bit. we get to the music fest event location around 7:30 and load some gear in. not everything, cause we will use some of their back line tonight, to simplify. there's a lot of time to burn still, and i decide to change my strings to avoid any breakage. the evening crawls until it's beginning, and after some exploration of the premises, the doors (or gates) are opened and the birminghamians begin to flow into the quarantined streets and venues of the super sonic fests' bordered world. long winded, yes, like the night. however, there are some great bands playing in the two separate live spaces, and it's nice to be able to hear some music before we play. we also eat food provided by the events' organizers. veggie stuff, i have some rice, fried onion, and salad. onstage, part chimp plays before us and we watch them from the side of the stage. there's a stage guy there, from whom i don't get a name, that raul and i spend a little time ball hopping with. i take three or four nervous pisses into plastic water bottles before our time comes. we do a quick change over, and play a decent set of our opera and then do the inverse. even so, we hang at the fest, and watch the trippy music of the secret chief 3, totally awesome guys and sounds. very satisfying. raul and i and kirk, along with some help from the nameless stage guy, load out to the side door and wait till kirk can get his van out from parking and pack up.. we join hiyori and mike till the end of the secret chief's set and find our way back to the hotel and i have no trouble going to sleep. thanks birmingham.



from watt:

   pop at nine bells. we were due to be thrown out at ten and a half but last night gigboss phil said he had extended out to one pm HOWEVER that has been countermanded and getting the heave-ho is back at original time so we gotta get the clothes that ain't been dried and hang them in the boat. by the way, trippy about these washing machines - they're also dryers! they don't dry too good but it's the same fucking machine.

   last info I get from internet is kadafi's been killed in libya.

   on the way out near the lobby, I check out the ceiling work and tops of the pillers in this older building that's being renovated... the plaster moldings were incredibly reliefed and detailed, crimony - also all curved and arched, damn.

   it's a little gray but not big time and we meet phil and emma and chow nearby, "the brassier" is the pad's name and damn if he don't buy us all breakfast. big respect to brother phil! I get the "full" I've been getting full 'pert-near every morning so far on tour. the writing on the little blackboard outside said "the fattest hot buttered toast" - I shit thee not. w/beans and an egg and some sausage, I fill those fat toast slices along w/the cooked up tomato but hold off on the brown sauce - "brown sauce" ???! that name is not appetizing maybe? me thinks so.

   hugs, big thanks and byes to phil and emma, southeastward toward the midlands and england's number two town, birmingham. just under a hundred miles, only takes two hours. our kirk is originally from these parts but now lives in oxford. much different accent here than liverpool - yeah, less than a hundred miles away. again, what a wide selection of sounds from kirk, damn. we also hear that cd dep gave us yesterday, it's good trippy stuff.

   orange alert from tom - I had the same thing happen to me yesterday morning but it was mostly before we pulled anchor - I'm thinking maybe that pad across from the glasgow gig did it? damn, it tasted going down but maybe not so much saying farewell. took maybe like five individual wringer sessions. I don't know what chow hit him but he's kind of a little bit bent over. what worries me more though is this hack he's got - the kind where you hear chunks being tossed around in his lung - he had this on the north ameircan tour last spring and by the time we were in canada I made him go to a clinic for help and antibiotics. I worry about my guys much... remember, that's priority number one in my head for my tours: get my men home safe. number two is to play as good as we can for the gig-goers. number three through a hundred is try hard to not to be so baka.

   we get in to birmingham at one and a half and kirk's thinking is we get to the 'tel early since they need us at the gig at seven. good thinking. finally a pad w/free internet. just outside this konkpad (sorry I didn't get the name like a baka) is a street sign w/the town's coat of arms. it's trippy w/a hammer being held by a hand coming out of a castle tower w/a woman on one side of it hold painter stuff and a man on the other w/factory worker stuff. of course in the middle is a shield below a knight's helmet but at the bottom the motto is "for what?" and I'm asking myself what the fuck is that about? is this fucking for real or has it been fucked w/by a subversive? (I am not against this kind of subversion, by the way). trippy. I get a lot of work done, lots of stuff happening back home in my music world, too much to spill out here and I wanna keep it kind of on the q.t. now. mr shimmy sends me "memos" (maybe demo? maybe sketch?) of two tunes for our upcoming recording for our third brother's sister's daughter album next month, yatta!

   seven and we go to a former custard factory not too far away from the 'tel in the town's center that's been converted to an art space by folks here. it's the home for this "supersonic festival" we've been asked to be a part of. not so much like a typical festival, more grass roots, I like it. first there's olives, pita bread pieces and chili to chow 'til they bring on vegetarian stuff I don't know the names of but tast real good. there's garbonzo beans, string beans, rice, carrots - I use my hashi to shovel it down. right after I do an interview w/a nice cat named matt who's involved w/the festival. he asks me stuff regarding to the old days of the underground and where is it now, questions about what is important about an underground. I'm into it.

   there's two main places for playing here tonight. we're at "space 2" and so I watch the two bands before us there. the first one is called apatt and they're a fucking trip. dressed in white, this is a four piece w/everyone always trading instruments - everyone playing everything and styles constantly switching around. trippy films are being projected at the same time on the walls - some of it w/alfred jarry's "ubu roi" and shit too, snips of crazy art stuff. these cats were a trip, big time. even what seems gregorian a capella at one point! whoa. go over to the "boxxed" stage has got hoodie guys doing the button pushing thing, looks serious. back over to see another four piece called part chimp and holy smoke! they truly can smoke, big time - very VERY bitchin' and I'm way into it. I don't wanna reference things here cuz that's what happened when I tried to express myself to one of their guitarmen tim when they got done... man, did I feel stupid about that, very stupid/very baka. I got to shake all their hands though and I hope that went beyond baka talk. hope so. what they did made me very inspired to play.

   we go on at 11:30 - I even look at my fucking watch to make sure. I think the soundman's name neil or nils or something like that - I'm so sorry not to be sure but I got told right before going on and acutally I never got to meet him. I just hope he can be our fourth man - I can imagine his dillema of not knowing what the fuck is gonna get thrown at him. captain beefheart's "ashtray heart" goes on and then there's some synth kind of instrumental (no cd player so no coltrane, damn it) before I give a tiny speech about it being an honor to be here, the piece is fortyfive minutes in thirty parts and a please to the soundman - we hit it. I got the ampeg svt they got here for back line (tom and raul have their stuff except for tom using a marshall cab), this amp is pretty beat and sounds... well, kind of beat but I'm gonna work it. we bring it intense - there's yammering and though not like last night, you can tell maybe less than total focus but still good cats to play for - you have to remember it's kind fo a big cinderblock room. I think it someways it might even appear kind of funny, especially the baka bass player. I can imagine the soundman having to deal w/all the dynamic baka things hulred his way... a couple time HUGE lowend feedbacks come up through the deck like earthquakes but the crew is good and get's them under control quick - much respect. I get lost in "stuffed-inside-the-drum-man" cuz, uh, fuck - for some reason I start thinking of what I just saw of the part chimp gig, why now?! aaahhh - I play whatever and luckily that spiel part is small. I rally my baka self. I blow a few more clams down the line but none that bad. raul gets his arms tangled up for "fryingpan-man" but it's a couple of stumblebums. acutally we do go for a band for this sitch, I'm real proud of tom and raul. we finish up right on time and I thank the people. no encores, festivals are like that lots, w/tight schedules (along w/no soundchecks and such) but I think they're good to you cuz you can maybe blow some unexpecting minds. the one lame thing was a cat I really dig, a brother sam buddy named scoth egg - he's goona be on the next cuz album (when brother sam finishes the first one!) but I digress... the point here tonight is we got to bring the birmingham peeps the third opera. a cat from france said he saw at the all tomorrow's parties last december and said we got it more together, merci frere!

   secret chiefs 3 are on next and they're really great, an instrumetal six piece (or seven?) from the u.s., around brooklyn? macario is their roadboss, I talked to him earlier - our last french gig will be w/him in paris... his ma is the secret chiefs 3 merch lady! I stand by those tables to watch these cats wail up there in thier druid hoods - the sound has got kind of middle east feel... lots of gig-goers come up to me to give the good word, much respect to them. one couple came from newcastle - they saw the gig there, whoa. the stuff we used got loaded out, tom describe a very internesting scene w/the locals - "tell them you need your tambourines back" says one cat who is very much into somehow getting into the gig but alas tom is powerless to help. we gotta pull anchor before the end of the set but I come to the side of the stage and in bewteen a tune tell them "much respect" and give macario a big hug.

   ok, back to the 'tel... hose down and get the nightwear on, konk comes at two bells? maybe... fuck am I tuckered.





saturday, october 22, 2011 - sowerby bridge, england

from tom:

   i wake up coughing, so i pack up and walk to the corner store for some "chesty cough" syrup and then join the others for breakfast in the hotel. i load up on baked beans and a sausage with english mustard and juice. soon we get rolling, today we go to sowery bridge. there's a chill when we arrive, but the venue is a great old "working man's club" from the 40's or 50's (maybe it's much older?) and has an authentic english atmosphere, and we load up the metal stairs in the back. there's some time to kill after sound checking, so we walk up the street to ben's place (bassist from the band: nice sharp pencils, playing tonight), and we get a home cooked meal from his mom and sister (i think), and do some internet. Skype can be very useful on tour. i walk back to the venue with kirk. the pencils are an interesting 2 piece band (bass/drums) with great vocals. very entertaining. then our buddies from liverpool, hot club de paris play a great show, and i get to spend more time listening to them than i did in newcastle. very nice. we play a good show, but i have trouble with my compressor pedal, and some dynamics are lost because of it. i also feel the sound being ridden by the sound man, martin. he's doing a great job, but i think i'm a little loud and whenever i try to get softer i feel it compensate in the mains. it's cool though. it was a fun show, and i enjoy talking to some locals after we load down the metal stairs in back. we have to get on the road to drive a few hours southwards, finally stopping at the travel lodge in toddington to get a few hours sleep.



from watt:

   pop at a quarter of eleven - what??!!!!! fucking baka watt... the free shovel finishes in fifteen fucking minutes. make way for the galley in full hobble - shahzad sees me at the hatch, he spoons out chow for me in a bowl and finds me a table to park my ass at. he pleads w/the 'tel help for some extra time in my regard. I chow w/him and try to explain peculiar watt things to him while finding out the many parallel universes we share, what a beautiful man - so kind to me. he wants me to give him a tour of my pedro town next he's in so cal... of course, yes! absolute. he tells me about getting bass lesson from the incredible carol kaye bass lady, respect! one trippy thing is he didn't know ivan jullian was a guitar player - whoa! that blew my mind. ivan w/bob quine was in my book one of the greatest guitar duos ever - they were the six-string part of the voidoids who were fronted by richard hell (my first punk rock hero - when I put his picture on my bass back in 1977, it was a line in the sand). richard changed my whole idea of the bass cat in the band, me the baka coming from only arena rock and never being in a club 'til punk. man, shahzad is righteous cool people... you know last night the whole secret chiefs 3 band was at a table in the chow room and I was right close by but kept to myself cuz didn't wanna barge in and bogart on them - believe or not there are times where I'm painfully shy - I shit thee not... it ain't all the time, for goddamn sure but sometimes... big hugs for shahzad.

   I see another roadsign as I'm hobbling to the kirk's boat - it's got the same coat of arms I saw yesterday but the motto reads "forward" instead - what?! which one is right? tom got a bottle of "chesty cough" for his uh, chesty cough. man, I worry big time for him. you know about last tour and how that sick lung shit beat on him so... god, miss peak even worse... that really weighed on me bad, real bad. when my crew hurts, I hurt - can't help it, worries me to death.

   getting north of birmingham is tough, the traff total plug and we find ourselves in fucking parking lot mode. in fact at one point this passenger of one car in front of us gets out, runs to the nearby woods to piss - that's how slow the fucking traffic's going, I shit thee not! a few minutes later another clown does the same thing. aaahhh, I see - this one hour easy plug is cuz of a wreck and the road opens up soon as we clear it. this is where the other side starts it's go-sow cuz of fucking looky-loo, humans are bizarre. we listen to a ricky gervais "podcast" (man, is that a stupid word, huh?) that kirk plays but didn't know it 'til it's over and I ask him what was that - wheelman/roadboss kirk's got a pretty huge breadth of a sound collection. tom is proud to show his latest triumph in filling a piss bottle to the brim.

   kirk puts on the radio and there's a debate about england leaving the european union. I guess everything's falling apart piece by piece w/that way of organizing. maybe what's happening in greece has something to do w/it even though they use pounds here? I wonder how much longer for the euro? I gotta admit being current news is way down on the list when I'm in tour mode. I hope somehow all the peoples and land here get the best they can. that's the fairest idea I think a baka like me can foist on them.

   the weather is now very sunny but temp mild, really nice. soon as we pass the white rose road marker (we're in yorkshire now) the turnoff for sowerby bridge comes right up and remember the other day I said a part of the road in england here looking like that part of the I-5 in cali where you go through livermore on the way from so cal to the bay area? well, that's where we're at. then right away we're in val running along a river.

   we drop anchor at three pm - this bad is called the "sowerby bridge working men's club" and it's a roadside pad w/a small "ballroom" upstairs. pretty neat. the stage is pretty high and cut right into the bulkhead like a theatre, sort of. soundman martin brought in his p.a. stuff but built into this pad (not being used tonight) is a column of four ten inch speakers on each side made by "kitchen-marshall" - yeah, very old rare shit, crimony! yeah, martin and his helperman sam are very cool people. the gigboss ben is also in the opening band, a great duo called the nice sharp pencils - he lives right up the road, real close. he sure is righteous people to make this happen - I turned down a london gig to do this, took me like half a second to decide. big respect to brother ben. he's also an incredible singer and bassman. respect.

   I get fish and chips next door at a pad called "marina" and hey, I had to eat this kind of chow at least once this tour and it's probably my last chance so I went for it, not big - only two smaller pieces. knobman martin tells me he's from lancanshire, not too far away (they're the red rose) and that there's a cricket match every year to "celebrate" the war of the roses which had many folks butchered - ain't humans strange? in the u.s. they reenact civll war battles too, crimony. his wife made us some very tasty salsa, very much! good heat and happening flavor - love it.

   we do soundcheck and then ben ferry's my hobblin' ass up to his pad (my guys hoof) and his ma and sister has cooked us up some excellent fucking chili - kidney beans in it, the whole deal. there's happening salad also. I use hashi to bring it down. I update diary - I've been doing the chimping on the drives - trippy not to be wheelman/roadboss on a watt tour cuz no-drive mode for me is usually reserved for stooges work.

   I wanna see nice sharp pencils so I have ben shlep me back w/him soon as I get the diary uploaded, I meet the hot club de paris guys - yeah, we get to play w/them again, righteous! ok, upstairs to see ben and his drummerman chris do it - the nice sharp pencils are a bass and drum duo and I ain't talking "push play button playing at music" bass and drum but real drummer and real bassist. fuck, can ben fucking thump, crimony! he does these strum things too like a flamenco cat would do, getting the fingernails going like picks in going forward down on the strings - d. boon would be way into that! d. boon loved flamenco - he learned it from this cat who had a profound effect on our music lives/philosophy, a pedro cat name roy mendez-lopez. much respect to him. fuck, can ben sing too - wow. much respect! up next the hot club de paris guys who we played w/a couple of days ago in newcastle. this time the seem a little less nervous - less awkward banter between the tunes although they still get in some funny spiel. the playing is fucking tight - I'm standing right in front of guitarman matthew and he's kicking up much dust. he's playing through his own hiwatt combo this time, sounds great. big al's on the kit raul's using and he's using those ear cover things he did last time so I guess it ain't a shtick. over on stage port is paul and he's got a VERY HAPPENING flannel, a gray one. he's bassing it up while singing his heart out, truly righteous. I get to meet his ma too, she came to the gig - yatta!

   wow, two bitchin' sets by two bitchin' bands - I'm inspired big time but then also for some fucking stupid reason I feel a little insecure. we set up pretty quick - paul used the ampeg cab I'm using but brought his own hartke head - ben did likewise but used an ampeg b5 - did I mention he worked a musicmaster bass? I don't like the sound of those usually but damn did he make it sound good! I dug paul's sound w/his rick and I really ain't into hartkes but that shows to go you that it's the person so much more than the machinery - truth be told! yeah, the person... that's kind of my problem tonight: the person. watt's feeling a little insecure, I don't know what but like a baka I let it get to me some though not all the way too terrible but damn, I know I could've done better... I mean, I always think I can do better but this a little more than the usual. the dynamics thing for tom is a little tough for tom tonight and maybe as a result his timing some but I still think he did real good. raul was slamming but later he told me he had a little of that "coming out of a cake" feeling I had - fuck, I probably fed it to him w/my own lameness w/some confidence. sometimes this happens to me, I get self-conscious which is just the worst - no, it wasn't the worst gig I've ever did but... aahhh, I'm analyzing it a little hard here but it's hard for me not to be honest w/myself when I'm chimping diary about this shit, I hope the handwringing here at too much a suffocater. I'm out a context a little here, too close to the thing I'm trying to talk about... shit, I got a little scared. I spaced on some parts but not too huge... let me tell you this though: I am SO GLAD I got to play here and w/these bands, so glad - it was HUGE honor for me. sometimes watt comes up a little short but that's got nothing to do w/what's in my heart, more of a choke in the execution - some. I think if I wasn't so inside myself and the gig was up against another kind of yard stick then maybe it was pretty much ok but I just felt like I could've manned up a little more. I'll tell you this right now though: I'm really lucky to have tom and raul. lucky to have brother ben to bring us to his town too - this is not self-pity watt talking but the aware side of double-clutched fuck-thee-not I wanna somehow be a little more down the road w/someday. actually you know what? I laughed a bunch during this gig, that's a good thing. I'm thinking about that as I chimp now.

   besides the fellow musicians, there's really kind gig-goers here, really kind, oh man, big big respect to them. brother ben brought on a really good gig, really good. I sign posters for them, a little embarrassed but very grateful, very grateful. one cat my age gives me some rory gallagher, oh man, respect. talking w/the hot club cats, they want me to flow bass w/some collaborating - bass from my pedro town, flown into them via internet. fuck, that is huge honor. fuck yeah, bring it, I say. we have a good time for the little bit we got cuz fuck, we gotta drive south so it won't be so much a hellride tomorrow. big hugs for brother ben, BIG grateful hugs.

   after like a half an hour into the drive, I konk, waking again when we arrive at a "travel lodge" 'tel in toddington, great job by wheelman/roadboss kirk - that was 'pert-near three hours for him. respect. I konk again once chambered. bye bye england, that was our last gig in this land. thank you much everyone here, truly.





sunday, october 23, 2011 - lille, france

from tom:

   we rise at 8-8:30, and realize that there's no little chef connected to the travel lodge. we walk over to the gas station to get our last uk style breakfast of the tour, and hop into the van to head to the train and take the chunnel to france. it's only a little more than a half hour train ride to the french coast. then we roll on to lille. we arrive early but the folks at la peniche help us load onto the boat/barge/club floating on a canal there. i guess this isn't that uncommon to have here, but it's the first time for me. rafael is doing sound, yann is running the show. after a brief sound check, raul and i get a quick tour of the old part of lille nearby from a nice fellow named arthur, who is on his way to work. i have been here once before while i worked on some music for my friend alexis at the le frennoir (sp.?) film institute in a town called roubier (sp.?) which is close to lille. during our walk we bump into arthurs' mom, who was riding her bike somewhere, and they kiss each other hello. that was a cool moment, something very french about it.. we continue on and return to the boat and meet papier tiger for the first time of our 8 shows together. not many words exchanged, but i know we'll get there soon enough. it's an early show on a sunday evening, and papier tiger starts at around 6:45. it's my introduction to their music and there's a lot going on at first listen, however, i say to raul that we'll humming these songs in a couple days. our set is tough for me because we have to play so softly for the legal volume limits here, and much of the set i can't tell if i'm making any sound. it brings my playing down to a different focus and i struggle to make sure volume is alright. i figure i need to play parts right, and trust that the sound lady has it out in front. the softer parts are not a problem though and i think it all works out fine. after the show, and break down and load, we have a home cooked meal in the little chamber in the bow of the boat. curry lentils, rice, a leak tart and some delicious beet and apple salad. it's a cool way to end the show, with the club people and all who helped and the papier tiger boys whom we've just met. this was another long day, so we head to the hotel to get some sleep. we have a quick debrief in mike's room, with a shot of bourbon and hit the sack.



from watt:

   pop at eight and a half, we gotta pull anchor at nine cuz we're gonna take the chunnel to cross the english channel to get to france. next to the 'tel is some roadstop chow mall type hooked to the gas stations and I get my last "english" breakfast of the tour at ten pounds fortyeight (about sixteen fucking seventyseven u.s.!) and it's the lamest one, had to force it down the in hole... ok, last greasebomb 'til I have a sunday chow w/my ma and sister... hey, that reminds me - it is sunday so I should send her an email saying me and my guys are ok. I ain't saying my ma cooks up england-style breakfast but she does do bacon and eggs and that's the only time I chow that stuff all week - the breakfast chows I whup up don't use eggs or toast or bacon. oh yeah, the coff that came w/this pile had a handle on each side, big motherfucking cup.

   well, the morning started real gray but turned to kind of sunny. we go south and around london (thank god we ain't gotta go through it) cross the thames, continue to dover - see two ladies trotting their horses on the side of the fucking freeway - I mean motorway! we get to dover (where the chunnel opens up in england) a half an hour ahead of our scheduled departure, good planning on kirk's part - respect! I go foul this pad's faciliites. thirtyfive minutes for the chunnel crossing and it costs us 153 euros (about $214 u.s.). you don't drive through the chunnel, you drive up into a train car and the train carries you across. we never get out of the boat. we get into france at 1:30 pm (we lost and coming over cuz of time zone change), thier side of the chunnel opens up in calais. raul pops the top hatch for some air - first time we've done that. after half an hour of wind tunnel, we close it back up. the weather though is real nice here.

   us three band guys have discussion about greetings. like when somebody greets you w/something like "are you ok?" well, it kind of bugs me. if "how are you?" seems like a bogart - I usually answer w/a "I'm glad to be here" or something like cuz I don't dig the interrogation. when I meet someone I usually say "hey, it's great to see you" or something declarative rather than a fucking third degree interogation kind of a trip. I guess most folks don't even think about it do the question thing out of mindless habit or even to somehow show like you're concerned and therefore a compassionate feel but it kind of creeps me out. I ain't that social but then I ain't that much of an anti-person at all. it just seems not neutral enough of a way to make a connect, seems to much of a foist. I ain't anti-people... I guess I just take the words at their face value and it seeps like a weird literal sitch. if it's a sleepwalk formality, then maybe that's kind of jive too, no? tom and raul have their own way of expressing some of what I'm thinking - I hope you don't think it's a "little sir echo" thing, it's just maybe a coincidence we all three agree on this thing.

   we got fuel up but this gas station we pull into (only one around and we need diesel now) has no employess, must use card... kirk's having trouble working it and he's as lacking as we are in french but luckily a lady helps us get it happening. merci! it ain't too far to lille and it's real near the french border w/belgium. I played here two years ago at the zenith. the navigator puts us to a big lot where a giant circus tent is - yep, that's for a circus but in the canal right near is where we're playing - on a barge tied up to the side - "le peniche" is what this pad is called and "rock the boat" is their slogan. alright the first gig ever of my music in france is gonna be on the water.

   tom detects an odor. I hear him notify anyone in earshot from otherside of boat.

   we do a soundcheck w/soundlady raphaelle - we're inside, the stage at the fore w/us facing aft. the overhead is maybe a fistfull worth from the top of my head. france now has some tough noise restrictions so we play a little tiny. drums are loud though where we are cuz it's kind of a cubboard where we at. I like this sitch tonight, like it much. there's some great cheese and bread in the dressing room in the foreward hold. this gig is part of the "ground zero festival" www.groundzerofestival.fr I meet the promoterman yann, great cat. his company has put on many stooges gigs (includeing the one a couple summers I ago I did w/them at "le zenith"), respect! he spent two years as a younger man in michigan, near muskegon. I update the diary - by the way, I stand corrected as to the bullshit notion I put forth regarding the titantic (that boat) being built in liverpool - I'm told it was actually built in belfast. man, am I dumbfuck. everyone: please be skeptical of anything you see chimped or hear uttered by my 'tard self. my apologies. the crystal antlers http://crystalantlers.com/ folks wrote hi to me on a tour poster - they were just here - that was sure kind of them. respect.

   tonight and the next seven gigs after for us are in france and papier tigre will be w/us on all of them. they're from nantes (in france's brittany part) and are very nice cats. they're a trio but no bass - there's pierre on drums, eric on guitar/singing and arthur does guitar/percussion. eric spent his six through eleven years in tulsa, oklahoma so his english is good - I mean really good, better than me. their merch man bill is very cool people too.

   seven bells and they're on. they got some angular rhythms, pierre is sure smooth. eric sings all in english, speaks some in between songs and that's in french. they're a really good band. they get sweaty - now I understand why they changed clothes before they went on. man, have we had some good bands to play w/on this tour, I'm way into it - lucky watt!

   it's easy to choke on the smoke (look at last night!) so I rally myself big time - we're on at eight but hit it five minutes early, yann says it's ok to. here goes... cast off! I'm nervous a little, the pre-spiel and piece warning are in english and I'm stumblebum w/my 'tard talk - I wanna be to the point but am bumblefuck - luckily when I count us in, there will be no ridiculous fucking banter. sure, the sound's a little tiny but I'm digging it. the light's are in my eyes so I can't see the crowd so I just throw myself into it. raul and tom are there for me, they're spirit is way up. the tiny sound gets to tom a little though and he loses some energy in his body language. it gets a little tough on his dynamic thing too. I keep my spirit up - we're floating on the water! I am not self-conscious like sometimes last night, thank god - that's the worst feeling ever. it's not like I'm free of clams, I blow some - tom blows some and even raul does but it's no big deal cuz on the whole I feel we deliver the piece good. it's sweaty. actually I've sweated out the gig shirt every gig this tour, it's less or more when it comes to the levi. we come off stage and tom's a little bummed cuz having to play tiny but I tell him don't worry, just try harder w/the body language when things get tough but actually I know that feeling though it was for different reason (my reason was cuz I was baka) so I try to reassure him. it is weird feeling though, I know. he rallys for encore though. great boat gig! many happy people.

   we have chow after the gig, load out after thanking gig-goers giving thanks first. merci. the chow was made by one of the helpermen here and did righteous: lentil curry and rice, a very happening leek quiche and a tabouli salad. I use my hashi to bring it down. we have a good rap w/out new tourmates and then make for the 'tel, checking in at before eleven, very happening! rightat away a hose-off and into the nightwear. we got more of that woodford reserve bourbon we got in glasgow and have a little of that before sack time. yeah, a good early konk to finish first day of french tour leg. Áa va!





monday, october 24, 2011 - laxou, france

from tom:

   raul and i rush downstairs to catch the tail end of the complementary breakfast, but i only get a coffee, juice and yogurt before we get in the van for our trip to nancy, which is a ways east. we travel through a part of belgium, stop in luxembourg for a quick sandwich, and arrive at the soap box rock 'n roll club around 5. we do our thing, load in, etc... this was an added show, and it's a monday, but i like the vibe in this place. the stage is about 3 or 4 inches high, and there are no monitors, but the room sounds good and we kill some time getting to know the club owner jean-charles before stephane and antoine show up, the ones who organized the show. we also meet sound man, yann. we set up and run through a quick sound check and wait for papier tiger to show up.. we have some food that stephane and antoine brought for us, talk about the french resistance here during the nazi days, wait. we play first, and i think it sounds great. there's something about the minimal mic situation i like. just vocals, and kick drum through the tiny pa. we work the room with our volume. then papier tiger play. it's a cozy little crowd of locals and friends of the promoters and club people. i spend some time trying to learn french yann's friends. i meet someone named elody nelson, which is totally strange because was just talking with mike and raul about the serge gainsboug record, melody nelson. coincidence? maybe. after the show we drive 70 km south to a town called epinale to stay at antoine's place for the night. we climb the stairs, i brush my teeth, and join raul on the foam mattress on the floor.



from watt:

   pop at eight bells to make sure I get the free trough going downstairs. it's called "continental" cuz maybe we're on the continent? anyway, two rolls stuffed w/jambon (french for ham) and fromage (cheese) is what I shovel. I don't do coff so I can go back up to the chamber and get more konk aided by konk mask. fucking heater won't shut off (wall plate heat radiator) so I have to keep the window full open to make some sort of blend. it's a little cool out but sunny. I do the for real pop at ten and try in vain to get on the fucking internet and though the 'tel desk man says it's gratuit (free), in practice it's taunt.

   we pull anchor at eleven and shove off southeast for laxou, in france's lorraine region. 260 miler, probably four hours. tom has asked me to make wheelman kirk some cds from tunes off my ipod so he can play them on his boat's player. I make him one of the first two wipers albums. I am huge wipers listener since "is this real?" came out - tripped on it at zed's records in long beach cuz of the fucking wild album cover art (wouldn't you know on a tour I'd end up konking at the pad of its painter, mike king? yep!) and bought just cuz of that but then when I heard it when I got home I couldn't stop playing the motherfucker, righteous. second one not as good but third one up there w/the first one... after that I fell off the track - sort of the same w/another band, wire - just really dug the frist three albums and then... it ain't these guys' fault - I blame myself more. they are what they are - kind of like what popeye said but different, huh?

   tom's still dealing w/the crap in his lungs but says he feels better. we discuss the possibility of maybe some kind of archimedes screw device to help get that fucking lunguini up from w/in him. man, my gig shirt is fucking kusai (jap for very bad smell) - I should've used the 'tel soap/shampoo to do a sink wash of this fucker, what baka dumbfuck I am. france has beautiful country side like england but different. they got tons of sheep and cows too but somehow these are different. ain't that a trip? you don't see though walls made of piled-up stone and the fields seem broader and maybe not as hilly in these parts.

   we pass through the tiny country of luxembourgh where the diesel (gazoel in french) is only 1.27 euro a liter (about $6.72 u.s.) which for europe is econo. we fill the tank. I get probably the worst kebab plate I've ever had and that ain't econo eight and a half euros ('pert-near twelve bucks back home!) - I've learned my lesson. oh yeah, the other thing cheap in this tiny land is the cigarettes and people buy them in the gas stations by the butt-loads. we continue on, I chimp diary after making a cd of roky erickson tom asks me to make for kirk. great to hear roky, always great - love that cat. trippy kirk never heard of him cuz he knows so many other musics, trippy.

   starting to get dark at four pm, when we get in a little after, it's on the outskirts of laxou (which itself is right outside nancy), old roadhouse style. the pad is called "soapbox club" and the bossman is there to greet us, a great cat named jean-charles. his english is good so tom starts gnawing his ear off and it's good to listen in on. I'm so glad tom's feeling better, an ill tom breaks my heart. I'm glad raul's doing good to though he said he's been hacking up a little green. man, why is it that the old baka healthy? don't get me wrong, it's a good thing to be but like last tour, for some reason I'm not the one getting sick.

   we set up our stuff. this a real neat pad but a tiny pad so only p.a. for spiel and kickdrum, makes good sense. soundman yann is very happening and cares much as we check - he has to get behind tom to get to the soundboard to make adjustments, then come out to the front to see how it's sizing up. he's gonna be a great "fourth man" for us tonight. promoterman stephane arrives and I thank him much for getting it together for us. mick in dublin booked it w/him maybe three days ago? something like that, wow... VERY SHORT NOTICE - what a great brother to take something like this on and make it happen. respect! you see, monday's are hard to book in europe, mick was telling me but I really wanted to do as many french gigs as possible, whenever/however. so what I'm trying to chimp here MERCI MOTHERFUCKING BIG TIME, frere stephane.

   him and his buddy antoine brought baguettes, sandwich meats, tabouli and shredded carrot stuff to chow, it's good. we're worried about the papier tigre cats but eventually they arrive, whew... their navigator gps toy fucked up and made their trip a fucking hellride. so glad they're here safe. they touring in a vw van maybe half our size. we agree that since we're set up that we'll go on first tonight. I wanna switch off w/them all these gigs actually - I asked them last night if it was ok and they were into it. people, this is a great band.

   I go out hobblin' around the near the club. there's a huge memorial across the road for those part of the resistance in the second war sacrificed for the liberation of france. next to it's an old sherman u.s. tank. the first war too and even going back before that, the war that made germany a country - this part of france has took much hell from those. bossman jean-charles says old people in town ask how he could have a german band even play here but he tells them this is a different generation and that even he feels in some of them "a weight" or guilt about that. we talked about this earlier when we got here cuz tom was interested, having seen that memorial but now that I had walked amongst it, I got it my mind - actually I'm thinking what would d. boon think and kind of thinking it out loud w/papier tigre singerman eric and we get talking about stuff - he's a deep cat, intelligent man - yeah, all three guys in this band are only twetnyeight but they are big time sharp, their english better than mine and they can play their asses off. we talk about joyce, we talk about dante - ok, it's time to fucking go on!

   nine and half bells and we bring the piece. maybe less pressure not being cleanup? I don't know but tom's in top form, raul's on fire. great life my men bring to the piece and they buoy me up like a massive gas bubble. I put my bass up a little higher, don't know why - maybe cuz of seeing arthur (other papier guitarman) last night? I don't but did right before we started and it's trippy cuz now the notes seem in a little different place. some clams are blown but no capsizers. it's a fucking happening gig. soundman yann did real good too, also filmed (late he flowed me the mpegs). no encore, I think it would be bogus to bogart on our tour brothers.

   they change into their gig clothes (not too much different from their non-gig clothes except for the shorts on pierre and arthur, rolled-up ones for arthur) and then bring it. now I know why wheelman kirk play fugazi on part of the drive earlier, I hear some brendan and pierre confirms it later but that's not to say there's any rubber stamp going on here, it's just an incidental reference from some baka like me who has poor imagination. these guys really know how to use space in their sound and really work the interplay. I'm so glad singer/guitarman eric spent his six u.s. years in oklahoma instead of somewhere else in the u.s. maybe cuz well, I just do - you know, that woody thing w/out having to pretend to bring it. even w/all the hits pierre lays on his drums, man, is he smoov (sic), way smoov. I can't help but to bop my crippled as to their sound.

   great gig, everyone happy. rain must've come down while the gig went down cuz we gotta load out in but it's not too bad. our plan is to head to where stephane and antione live, epinal, about fortysix miles south. actually, we're already loaded up, did it right after we played so I think the tigres brought it and no wonder w/that sound of theirs! respect. kind words from the gig-goers, one has me sign his "spiels of a minuteman" which has both english and quebecois which is canadian french. jean-charles gives me a small glass of "jack russell" whiskey and it's terrible - he even said it was, "like the dog" he laughs! he's a good cat, so great to play his pad. respect.

   wheelman kirk does the drive good - I hate night driving but he doesn't drink and is very responsible man. I would not konk as easy as I do w/someone else I think in his sitch so I am most grateful. it's two bells when we arrive at antoine's pad, third floor which means eight flights of stairs cuz where u.s. people say first floor is on the ground, most folks here say first floor above ground is first floor (and floor on ground is ground one). so kind of antione to have us aboard, so kind. I see a bass in the corner - yeah, he's a bassman too! I get in the nightwear and konk.





tuesday, october 25, 2011 - oullins, france

from tom:

   when i get up, antoine has coffee and some bread with pear preserves that his grandmother made. there's a little rain but no too much. we drive to leon, and get to the venue and the papier tigre van pulls up a few minutes later. we load downstairs with help from the club crew. mustard yellow floors, makes me think: french's. the place is a sort of community center and live venue that has been here for 30 years. i'm sure it's a vital space for the leon music scene. after the usual motions, raul and i go for a short walk around the venues perimeter, and then we join what seems to be the entire staff and all band members, etc, in the eating room for some chili like beans and meat over rice, and salad. the salad really hits the spot for some reason. probably because we've been eating a lot of bread and cheese lately, and salami. all of it being very tasty, but it can stop you up, if you know what i mean. we watch seb and the raaa disk play (actually, it's only seb. a one man show) and it reminds me of children's music for adults. he plays a keyboard with his big toe for christ's sake. i think fabreeze may be a good idea. having said that, it's a really cool performance, and there are even a couple little kids there rocking' out to it. papier tigre plays next and i have a better chance to hear whats going on in their music, and thoroughly enjoy their subtle complexity, and raw animal magnetism, of course. we play good, i have fun, and nothing bad happens. we do the load out/pack up as quickly as possible, and then head to the hotel. i send a couple of emails and then kirk and raul and i conk out slave-ship stye.



from watt:

   pop at nine to find a rainy epinal. I hose down now, didn't last night like a baka, aarrggghh. antione arrives (he konked elsewhere to give us more room, righteous brother) w/bread, butter and jams from his grandma - he also makes us coff. turns out he's a bassman, alright! so very happening. he's got a cort bass but not the plastic kind. stephane (our version would be "steven") arrives and tells me taking chances promoting different and interesting gigs, he is on adventure w/his music journey and not just same ol' fucking same so' shit, respect to him, big respect. he says good stuff is worth the gamble - hear hear! that's my kind of cat. big hugs for both brothers, man, I put w/them all the well-wishes for good luck I can.

   we head for oullins, 240 miles southwest. like how laxou is in the metro area of nancy, oullins is in the metro area of lyon, just west of where the rhone and saone rivers meet. lyon was a roman town - in the summer of 2011 I played an old amphitheater from those times w/the stooges just, two days after fucking up my knee and it was also bastille day - ain't that a trip? ain't it been a long time this fucking knee's been hurt? crimony. wheelman/roadboss kirk needs piss stop so I get a little sack of "mini saucissons secs" since I chowed only hunks of baguette w/some butter at antioine's - these little links are tiny salamis, all pinched off at then ends. raul is amused, tom is aroused - I got good men, there ain't enough times I can let the world know that. morning started out rainy but around twelve and a half the sun starts coming out. in a hour it's back to gray though, rain along w/it.

   soon after seeing a rainbow (tom says he's got an idea involving a flag...), out in the middle of nowhere is some trippy roadside steel art sculpture but as I try to get the shot, wouldn't you know it's that part of the porthole that's had birdshit on it this entire time we've been rolling w/kirk? I look over at raul. usually he's the glassman when we stop for gas. he shows me his toothbrush - by coincidence he's just scrubbed out his mouth bowl.

   now the fog comes down, can't even see the tops of the windfarm blades, 'pert-near. there's a times herald tribune I got in england cuz it had a haruki murakami story in it (wanna read it). he's got a new book out (excerpt here) but there's also a kind of intense story on a new book on deng (d. boon always dug non-fiction more than fiction - maybe I'm a little half-ass backward that way?) and I read this as tom perfects his barbershop rap: "top o' me ol' pink hole in ya" ad infintum 'til melding into riffs on roky erickson's "the hole in baby's head" and all the wonder that can bring. somehow I find a parallel but can't word here right. speaking of mr murakami, in the head of last night's pad had a trippy sticker on the bulkhead. I mean this pad had tons of stickers and posters and stuff plastered/stuck up but it 'pert-near all hahd koa (hard core) 'cept this one that yanked my eye it's way - "kafka on the shore" it read - what?! that's the name of the first haruki murakami book I read, is this the name of a punk band? you go to the url printed on it (seanconley.tk) and tell me. I thought it was trippy to find this sticker from a young man in a hahd koa head and then read about it this writer he referenced (maybe not on purpose?) and well, fuck, maybe all the links in this paragraph I put here will be dead ones by the time they get read.

   we're playing a community center - like in the old days on touring the western europe continent, something government funded. it's called "le clacson" and what appears to be a mainman named clapton (or was it el capitan? fuck, I hope I didn't screw that up) helps us load in after kirk incredibly wheels his big boat down the tiny streets. great sounding room and good system, we do soundcheck w/michele, damian doning the monitors - yep, a funded pad here for sure but VERY RIGHTEOUS folks, truly. some local cats julien and seb do an interview w/me, a very good one cuz they know so very much about the old days, wow, incredible. I actually explore parts about myself when I get to do good spiels like this. merci to them, merci.

   the folks here cook up some chile con carne for us and damn if it ain't as good as what we chowed at brother ben's pad in england - ain't that a trip?! I wonder if he phoned them in the recipe or what! damn, that's a trip. good blue cheese hunks to go w/it too. I use hashi to bring it down. sometimes slower is better when it comes to shoveling.

   I do an interview a man from the radio station connected w/this pad. he asks me good things and is very straight forward. he's close to my age. we end up talking about johnny thunders - ha! alight! first act is about to go on - damn, it's seb - I spieled w/him earlier w/julian! he goes by the name seb and the rhaa dicks but actually it's one-man-band w/him playing keyboard w/big toe on left foot, a kick drum pedal working a cymbal w/the right while he's singing and strumming twelvestring guitar. there's sampler pedals involved so he also does sound on sound live w/what he's doing. it's really happening and I dig it much. he finishes up w/an anthem that includes in the chorus:

I got the head
I got the balls
I got the head
I got the balls
head/balls
balls/head
head/balls
balls/head

"all reactionaries are paper tigers"