So, what happened to Belgium?

AIRLINE SEATS

Damn we got bad seats. The last in the plane. Not only is there a couple less inches to begin with, you can’t lean them back---And the 3 bitches in front of us do so and crush our legs. “I think the seats broken,” one of them says. Right. All 3 of them. Fuck you. We grind our knees against the backs of the seats the entire time, hoping to make it as uncomfortable as possible for them, too.

BELGIUM

In Belgium, we stay (briefly) at a hostel---not because there’s anything wrong, but because once again we fly out right after the show. I get the top bunk. It’s my first time in a hostel, but seems fine to me. There’s a very cool obstacle course outside that I’d like to try, but I’d probably break an arm or something. It looks like a Shaolin or military training course, with ropes and logs and such all in the air. Even a trapeze.

Belgium is the origin of French fries---they have many small places that serve only a variety of fries, and you watch them cook them. Very cool. I could eat here.

So, we clean up, walk down to the town/village. It’s just past the monastery, which excites Jack because they make beer. But now they moved the beer making elsewhere. Down in town, I finally find some cheap chocolate (the good stuff); but there’s only a few bars left in the store. Dammit. Back to the hostel, rest up a few minutes, then our car arrives to take us to the club.

The place has a very comfortable feel… and a gothic building across the street which turns out to be the police station. Also one of those fries joints across the way.

This is also the home of the shitting dog, it seems. And the Tease the Small Children Foundation. See photos.

SAXON

The night we played in Belgium, Saxon was also supposed to play, and there was a bit of worry about losing some ticket sales to them. However, they cancelled, because Biff’s house burned down.

Bob didn’t do it. They wouldn’t let us bring matches on the plane. But seriously, sorry, Biff. It’s the one thing I always fear happening to me. (As if you’ll be reading this anyway).

And do they have a good crowd? Yep. Metal lives on here in… in… wherever we are. I’m having trouble keeping up. It’s that sleep thing. But I know we’re in Belgium, I have chocolate, and they have good ice cold sodas at the bar. Life is good tonight.

After the show:





Some young guys hand me a phone. “Say hello to this guy.” Hey, this is the Wizard from Brocas Helm. Why the hell aren’t you down here? “It’s my father. Hahaha!” Hey, do it again. –Bob this time. “It’s my mother.” Did I mention that the drinking age in Belgium is 16?

They claim they’re almost drunk. Could be.



PASSPORT (somewhere)

We’re standing in the baggage check line.

At the front, when we’re ready to hand the bags over, Jack realizes his passport is gone. But you had it a minute ago. “It’s not in any of my pockets. I checked again and again.” I ask one of the girls working if she’s seen it, or if someone might have turned it in somewhere.

Nope.

This might be a major disaster.

Jack is rifling through his luggage.

Suddenly he pulls it from---his pocket.

Another airport---heading to Heraklion from Ioniona---“Where’s my sticks?” Jack has lost his drumsticks between the hotel and the airport. I saw them in the alley when we loaded---maybe they fell out in the trunk. Regardless, he has to borrow 3 sticks for the show, and new sticks in Athens are $16 a pair. He buys 2 pair---hope they last for the next 3 shows.



ITALY 3/26



OK. So what’s the best part of Italy? I win the lottery, and get to ride from Rome to the first show with 3 beautiful girls. Do you know who we are? Are you kidding? I have all your stuff since I heard you in the ‘80’s. You have to sign all my stuff.

Life is good. We talk obscure metal bands on the way, and Motorhead/Wendy O. I tell them stories of riding on Wendy’s shoulders, and her doing a photo on my car.

Why aren’t there more girls like this? Wish I had a few days to spend here. (Writing in the van, going to the next show. So my handwriting is bad).

We whip around winding mountain roads (after leaving the expensive tollway) and eventually pull into a castle for lunch.

A castle. For lunch. A table full of bands being served several courses---wine, beer, meats, cheeses, pasta, lamb, spaghetti. Served on the 3rd floor of the castle. I’m a bit too tired to really appreciate it, and my throat is beginning to hurt. I drink that rare glass of wine, in hopes that it might help. It doesn’t. During the night, it develops into a cough. Time to shove down more vitamins.

Off to the hotel---an hour and a half to rest before the show. Wake up 3 hours later---what? There’s a problem with the drums, so they didn’t call us for sound check.

So we get in there very late at night---normally a club would be open. I get to try a Trace Elliot this time--- but disaster strikes. The line 6 has no input signal, the baggage handlers have finally polished it off. (The bass case looks like a 200 pound gerbil got at it. See photo).

I try to set up the bass amp manually, but get rushed into sound check without even tuning.

All I can hear on the stage is the drums. No bass, no guitar. Nothing remains except to hope things improve by the time we play. I can tell that the sound is roaring out into the hall, but on stage, only drums.

Between the other bands, I frantically work on the line 6---a difficult task, armed with only a power screwdriver (wrong bit) and my fingers. No soldering gear, pliers, screwdrivers, wire or anything because of airport security. Nevertheless, 10 minutes before we go on, I’m successful. Fire in the hole.

Man, the stage feels good. It’s a bit high to interact with the crowd, and there’s an iron fence keeping them 4 feet back from the edge of the stage. Those 2 things I don’t like---it creates a distance from the crowd that you have to work harder to overcome. But it has a great bounce and flex to it, like a wrestling ring, and it’s deep enough that I can easily pass behind Bob at any time.

With the line 6 running, I can now hear what I’m playing. Although it loses power during TOD (are those solos cursed?) Bob also loses power to his pedalboard, but I’ll take credit for one of those. He blames me for both, though.

Man, the crowd goes wild. And possibly the greatest moment of this tour, for me: The 3 girls are down front. Right down front, center stage. And one of them has an expression I have seen before, but only on guys---an expression that says, this is it. This may be the night of my life. A look that expresses barely maintaining control, totally succumbing to the roar of the songs. A blissful crying out. Shit, I can’t find the words, but I know the expression. An epiphany. I guess we were better than she expected. (I drew a heart on her album when I signed it.)

And I love that. It bumps this show up to #2, only following the Athens show---I hadn’t expected the Italians to be so fanatic. Fooled me. A bigger turnout than we expected also, this was supposed to be the smaller show. Does that mean the Easter show will be good or bad? Will we go to hell for playing on Easter? Doubt it. How can you be at fault when you’re trying to make people happy?

The waitress. Very pretty. “Do you want a drink?” How about soda. “Beer?” Soda. “Do you want a beer?” Hmmm. Coca-cola. “Ah, Coca-cola.” She brings me a giant glass and a big smile.

Off to the next show. This time we stay in an Agricultural Hotel, which is kind of a bed and breakfast thing. This is the nicest place we’ve stayed in … of course, we’ll spend almost no time at all here. Didn’t even get a chance to use the fine new shower.

There’s a little girl outside, maybe 5 or 6 – she comes to me and starts speaking very animatedly to me, serious look on her face. Many hand gestures. She seems more like she’s 30 from her composure and speech. Of course, I tell her I can’t understand a word, can she speak English? Nope. But I swear she can understand me; she just says something that I would swear is “it’s ok”, but in her language.

Eventually it turns out that she wanted to show me that the goat had had twins. And here they are.

In Italy, we seemed to spend a lot of time worrying about being late – and it continued. However, we got to the club (The Shining – big picture of Jack Nicholson on the wall) … another nice place, lots of biker stuff on the walls, a Honda 750 chopper in the room, and some nice crash and burn videos running on the screen.

NOTE: Bob writes and reminds me that I've mixed up the clubs. He's right. The first one was the Shining, the second had the bikes. A rare instance in which he is right.

The bad part: The stage has a rope around it, keeping the crowd about 5 feet back from the stage. I try to get it removed before we play, but no go. Damn language barrier. It’s harder to work when you’re isolated from the crowd, I like to be right down in their faces. Near the end I make a break from the stage and run down in the alley (knocking something over on the way, probably a mike stand) and fire up the crowd, but overall, this may be our lowest response… and I attribute it mainly to the separation of band and audience. Still, there are the hardcore group maintaining our lifeline, so on we go.

Afterwards, back to the hotel, and what? Yes, 2 hours of sleep, get up, get on the road. I can’t believe this is physically possible, but it is. Hurray for chewable children’s vitamins, which I’m crunching all day long.



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