3/17/05

We have commenced the “No Sleep Till April Fool’s” tour. The first leg, from San Francisco to Frankfurt, was already hell. The plane was completely full, and the seats so small our legs were hitting our ears. I had this fat bastard next to me that spilled over into my seat all the time, and he continually made these smacking noises, like he was kissing himself. I had to put on headphones to keep from going crazy or killing him.

No sleep on the plane. Too damn uncomfortable. Now, a 5 hour wait in Frankfurt for the Dublin plane. We found a McDonald’s that takes US money (no Euros yet) $7.60 for a Royale and fries. My associates of course bitch that the food is making them sick, but I feel fine.

Now I’m sitting on a granite floor because our lounge isn’t open yet. There’s a lot of shops in the terminal, but $4 for a small chocolate bar is too much. I’ll wait till we can hit a corner store.

DUBLIN

So, we’re in Dublin. St. Patrick’s Day. Rowena is indeed waiting at the airport—we breeze through Customs (it’s only hard coming home) and shove all the crap into a taxi/van. Head to town, and yes, driving on the wrong side of the road. None of us have really slept for over 24 hours, and I imagine we look a bit rough. We slide into the hotel, lay on the beds for a few minutes to determine their value, and then wanderlust sets in. Can’t sit still in a new town, this is our first time in Ireland.



So, it’s Ireland. St. Patrick’s Day.

Dublin. St. Paddy’s Day.

It’s a bit—drunk out. At six in the afternoon, you can pretty much figure what the night will bring.

And it does. Hoo eee

Here’s an oddity: I’ve wearing my flight ace hat and long outback jacket. For some reason, people keep coming up to me to tell me they love it. Girls hug me, guys shake my hand. Others look on in awe and adoration. I still don’t know what it is, but I start to suspect though I’m weird at home, here I’m very fashionable.

Burger King and McDonalds. About 4 of each, in 6 blocks. Also an Eddie Rockets. Eh? I grab a Pepsi to fill my empty stash, costs me about $2.50. Have to hit the bank in the morning and get some Euros.

Back to the hotel, around 8. Jack and Margo are there. Rowena is going to meet us downstairs. Rest can wait. We stroll down into party town with her and Battleram, who have also arrived.

Damn. It must be drunk out. Girls are flirting with me, and that just doesn’t happen that often. Rowena propels us into the underground of a bar, where the metal things are—

On the sound is Judas Priest, ACDC, Angelwitch, Slade, Venom, and a lot of NWOBHM. And also Cry of the Banshee rings out.

I pick one guy up off the floor. Later, he has his head on a table, standing like he’s holding the table down with his forehead. But he doesn’t fall over.

One of the cute girls comes over and steals my hat. She wears it to get pictures. A guy with her is obsessed with it; is it real, he collects WW2 stuff. Eventually I recover it. I guess I get the hat and he gets the girl, maybe I should have traded.



Around 11 pm now---a few guys are trying to start fights. I pretty much avoid them, and don’t let it bother me. There is no honor in fighting drunks, and we haven’t even played our first show yet---I need my hands in good shape. So I just avoid conflicts. Like the guy said, once you start fighting, you’ve already lost. These days, I pretty much feel you should only fight to protect others and yourself, and on a rare occasion, for honor. Depends on the circumstances.

Or if some jackass breaks into my car.

Back to the hotel, no serious incidents (one Sieg Heil, one drunken swing that misses by about 4 feet) I try to get some sleep.

Hmmm, there’s Internet cafes everywhere---might have to upload some stuff later.

And we need to find some plug adapters---we didn’t realize Ireland used a different format; I brought the transformer but not the specific adapter. Oh well, got until 6 (sound check) to find something.



FUCK. …..

…..FUCK….

Jesus, there’s a bear in our room. And someone’s killing it. Nothing else could account for that ungodly noise.

Except that snoring bastard BRW. Well, no way I’m gonna sleep through this. What time is it? 4 a.m.

Dammit, someone else is sawing. How can anyone sleep through the bear’s death?

I guess 2 hours of sleep is better than none. Let’s try headphones.

Damn, I can still hear him. Turn the music up—but now it is just high enough that I can’t sleep through the music.

So I listen to music and doze for 2 hours till 6 am, may as well get up, get a shower while there’s no competition.

How’s this work? Ok, here’s the temperature control. Fuck it’s cold! Must be the other direction. Fuck, now it’s spraying ice needles. I can’t believe the other setting was the hot. I get some pliers and start pulling ice cactus out of my ass. Man, everyone else in the hotel must be using all the hot water. So I rub my hair down with the snow shooting out of the showerhead, and prepare to abandon ship.

Let’s try this again. I crank it up higher—so, that’s the trick. The hot water valve doesn’t open as soon as the cold, so you need a stronger flow. I finish up, and debate whether or not to tell the other guys my discovery.

Fuck ‘em. It’s 6 am and I’m up. Screw the world.

(Bob figured it out – Jack didn’t.)

And later---you know, it’s almost 8, but the entire world seems to be sleeping, there’s almost no sign of life in the town. Guess it’s the aftermath of last night.

It’s 5 am. We’re at the airport, headed for Brussels. The club closed at 3. I washed my hair quick like, because you never know when your next chance is.

So how did the show go? Like this.



Although the turnout was pretty good, Rowena felt bad that it wasn’t larger, regardless of how many times we told her it was fine. And it was. A hundred true metal fans are better than 1000 posers. Sound check went good. Everything sounded fine. One item pops up, though—there’s some law that live bands must finish before midnight, or the club can face a huge fine.

This put a small crimp in all acts, Litany, Battleram, Old Season, and us. I think OS took the worst hit, timewise, in order to give us more. We cut about 5 songs from the set.

Now. The first song started okay. Then my sound went wonky. I thought it was my cord cutting in and out, so I tried to get someone’s attention to grab my spare. Finally, I got someone with sharp eyes to help me (sorry, I still suck with names) and I say. Go for it. Change it. Then I realize the bass solo in IB is coming up, and I go, no, wait a minute---but of course my words are eaten by the sound and fury, and I go dead exactly when the bass should start. Jack sees the whole thing, and fills in with drums---I keep playing my part, regardless of the silence, because when things go to hell you have to look good, or at least mean.

Well, shit. It wasn’t even the cord; I’m still cutting out. Apparently the baggage handlers whacked my preamp around a bit too much. (Usually it’s customs that breaks off the switches). Of course, it worked flawlessly during sound check. With a brief spark of fury, I crack it on the top---and it straightens out and behaves. Hope it holds for the rest of the shows.

But now, my monitor isn’t working---well, actually it is, but it sounds like a 2 ton duck quacking and farting.

Put on the evil look and carry on. The sound is probably okay, just not in front of my monitor—this is what I hope.

And Cry of the Banshee rings out beautifully---the Emerald also sounds solid and powerful. Overall, a pretty good show. But I still hope to do better as we go.

DUBLIN FROG MARCH
I’m wandering around at the show---the security guy comes up and grabs my arm. Another guy comes up and takes the other arm. “You must come with us.” “Walk up here into the light.” Great, what have I done now? Guess it’s time to be searched. “You must take a photo with this guy.” They needed better light for the camera phone.

Next stop Brussels—of course, no sleep again. Like I said, airport at 5, show tonight. Maybe sometime during the day I can catch a few hours of sleep.

After I buy my chocolate.


Looks like my kind of town.





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