Europe 2013 - A Tale of Hickoids and Grannies

Introduction:

Hello and welcome to a bunch of writing about the Euro-Tour of the Hickoids with the Grannies in late March-early April, 2013. I've just finished this, thinking I was going to write a brief post for this blog and put it up. Instead, evil writarrhea got ahold of me, and output just kept flowing (isn't that a lovely image?). Completely unlike me. So, anyway, if you read this all the way through, keep a couple of things in mind.

First of all, I make no claim to this being EXACTLY what happened on the tour. This is stuff I remember or heard about only, and it's only the way I remember it. If you were on the tour, and I've forgotten something or remembered something wrong, then forgive me. I'm doing all of this from my surprisingly still sort-of-fresh memory.

Secondly, you'll notice there's not much mention of drinking; I pretty much quit that after turning 50. Treating the body a little better here and there (although ice cream is still a problem).

Well, enjoy, if possible. I'm warning you...

The Story of the Hickoids/Grannies Euro-Tour 2013, as told by A Guy Who Was There:

We drove the Freak van to Houston on Wednesday the 20th to catch our flight to Amsterdam. The flight left at 4:40 pm and arrived in Amsterdam at around 8:00 am the next day. Now, until then, I'd never been on a flight over four hours. This one was around nine....but you know what? Not bad. Got up a couple of times to stretch the legs, but other than that, no big deal. We were served two meals by KLM and all was relatively well. My tailbone area hurt a bit (remnants of a childhood injury; I have a hard time sitting in the same place for hours), but that was the only complaint I had. Plus I was going to Europe! For the first time!! Although two residents of our house had not wanted that.

Before leaving, I had correspondence with Chris from the Grannies about what drum gear we were bringing. We each brought our own cymbals, bass drum pedal, snare drum and stick bag. The rest we were renting from a place just outside Amsterdam. Chris had said he was bringing two duffels to hold all his gear, plus clothes and costumes (Grannie old lady dresses, etc.). As I needed a bit less, I eventually settled on one large suitcase, big enough to hold my snare drum, pedal and stick bag, along with all my clothes, toiletries and CPAP machine. That's a huge suitcase. 20" wide, even, which I'd chosen as originally I thought I might put my cymbals in there.

So, I had the cymbal bag as a separate piece and my backpack, which held my video camera and other electronic gear. My guess was that I would check the suitcase and cymbals, but as it turned out, KLM said it was fine to take the cymbals on board as carry-on. And that worked. Although I was nervous that the weight of the cymbals would cause them to fall out of the overhead compartment and decapitate the singer. That didn't happen. He seems to be fine.

We got into Amsterdam and, after immigration, headed to the baggage area. The Grannies met us there, and we all hugged, as old rock and roll men tend to do. Most of the baggage made it okay. Well, everything arrived except for Tom's suitcase, which contained his pedal board. The airline said they would keep checking for it, and when it turned up, deliver it to our hotel. My enormo-suitcase's handle stem was damaged from poor baggage handling and would not extend more than an inch. So, I had two choices. Bend over and pull the suitcase, ruining my back in the process, or adopt a bent-knee Groucho walk and pull it that way. I more or less combined the two, so my back sort of hurt, but not too badly. (Later, I fashioned a duct tape handle for the suitcase, but frankly, once the drum equipment was gone from it, it wasn't that heavy.) Seems like one of Davy's bags had damage, too, but I forget what it was. Baggage handlers, they rule.

Once past customs, we hung out at a little coffee shop while Jeff and Sluggo went to retrieve the vehicles for the tour. The Grannies had a mini-van to hold the lot of them (six in total - Sluggo, Drew, Chris, Dean, Dean's friend Brad and Faron, their driver, although he met up with them a bit later). I didn't mention this earlier, but Michael, the bass player of the Grannies, had an unfortunate accident a few days before the tour began and couldn't make the trip. What's a band to do? That's right, call up Tom Trusnovic. Tom filled in on bass for the Grannies....and did a remarkable job....more about that later. We had a Transit van to hold the five (later six) of us, with the equipment in back.

While waiting for the vehicles and attendant males to return, I thought about getting some Euros, but Dean (native German) stopped me by handing me 50 Euros to tide me over for awhile....he said we'd get a better exchange rate outside the airport. Dean was mega-valuable as our Euro-expert.

Sluggo and Jeff making it back with our transportation, we headed off to a little place about 30 km outside of Amsterdam to pick up the rented gear. A pleasant fellow named Gijs Smoeff was our liaison there. Sluggo had had a special bass drum head printed for the tour, and I quickly slapped that on the rental drum.....we loaded up, and away we went....back to town.

We went to the hotel to check in; it was called the Blue Square Hotel (owned by Best Western), actually a bit away from the Amsterdam city center, as I learn later. Our room wasn't ready yet, so we hung out in the Grannies room for a bit.

I left for a bite to eat with Drew and Jeff. We went to a place across the street, and the counter lady didn't speak English....and I didn't read Dutch. Drew helpfully told me that "kip" referred to chicken. So I ordered something with "kip" in the name....and ended up with three quarter-chickens. Jeff didn't order anything then, and we split those. I just needed the coke to have the classic Jake Blues order. Somewhere during this time frame, Tom's suitcase was delivered to the hotel. He was a complete man again.

The Grannies headed to a back-lined practice room to run through their set with Tom quickly. The other Hickoids went to our room, which turned out okay, with four single beds, joined in pairs. Someone was going to have the floor that night, and I picked the bed nearest an electrical outlet for the CPAP machine....and I continued to do that sort of spot-and-grab the rest of the trip. That machine has changed my life, and I needed to keep on it here as well.

Okay, we go off to the club (after discovering a nice parking ticket on the Transit), to a place called Pacific Parc, which was the name of the restaurant/club as well. We ate our dinner on the very stage we played upon later, and what a dinner. Hospitality in Europe generally is amazing, as I'd heard and  experienced over the next days. And yes, the french fries are served with mayonnaise.

Another fact I wasn't aware of is that most of these shows would have an opening band that would expect to use our rented gear. Which was fine....it wasn't ours! There was an opening band on this show, whose name escapes me, but they were a good solid young indie/punkrock-ish act. The Grannies followed, with the bass debut of Tom "Tony" Trusnovic. They were great, and I was simply amazed by Tom and his note-perfect performance. It reminded me of a similar experience I had with the Nipple 5, a band I was in around '95-'96. We did a West Coast trip with the Fuckemos, and the bass player quit before we left. Randy Felton filled in, with NO practice, and nailed everything better than any of the regular band members did. He did it just by listening to our cassette tapes. Pardon my brief tangent....

The Hickoids' European debut was well-received and fairly solid, although I did have one or two equipment issues. The rack tom stem was not very solid, so rack toms tended to droop this way or that. Not a huge deal, but the snare drum stand was. It was solid enough, but the rubber feet on it were such that on certain surfaces the snare drum would drift back toward me during a song. Even at 51, I tend to hit the drums like an only somewhat-controlled gorilla, and this was an issue the rest of the tour for me. I didn't have any duct tape handy this night to stabilize the stand placement, so I just moved it whenever there was a pause in a song, and sometimes when there was not....leaving a bit of a gap. This apparently wasn't an issue for Chris, but he's a better-mannered drummer than I.

Here's a clip, shot by a nice fella named Mike:

And that's that. Show went well. Very nice staff at the club (which was the norm for this area of the world). And Faron had joined the entourage by this time, as the Grannies' driver. We spent a peaceful night after load-out, but the Grannies (or only Dean's buddy Brad, I should say) had amusing adventures that night. 

Now, the Hickoids, being a relatively calm, stable band (these days!), like to socialize after a show and then pack it in for the night. I know I like my rest. And I suspect many of the Grannies are the same way, but the aforementioned Brad apparently was not. He got into some trouble during the night in Amsterdam, unbeknownst to us until the next day. We vacated the hotel room from noon to 12:30-ish....I say "from," as Tom and I were out at noon; the others weren't. Tom insisted, for whatever reason, on pulling the van up close to the front of the hotel to pick up the others as they leaked out of the hotel. So he pulled the van up close to a bike lane (a no-no there), and on top of that, had the van pointing in the wrong direction, blocking the vehicle entrance lane. He waited with the van there, and locals were not pleased with Mr. Trusnovic's performance. He received many scowls and disapproving looks from locals, even a finger wag from one Amsterdamian.

Eventually everyone was loaded in the Transit (or Euro-Freak) and off we went to Düsseldorf, Germany. On the way, Jeff talked to Sluggo from the Grannies and got the scoop about Brad. Apparently, at some point in the night, Brad found himself locked out of their hotel room in nothing but a towel. And, on top of that.....well, let's just say that the hotel staff discovered that he had befouled a previously-locked break room pantry. Why they knew it was Brad, I don't know. Perhaps Amsterdam detectives are quick. Brad was confronted about this behavior, but he had other issues to resolve. Like, where his pants and passport were.

That's all I know. Jeff received another phone call later saying that everything was clear, and that Brad had his legal credentials again. We continued to Düsseldorf.

I'd like to mention German gas stations/rest stops/convenience stores. They are grand structures, featuring many different types of edibles (good ones, even) and nice, clean bathrooms that you have to pay .70 Euro for. You then receive a coupon for .50 Euro toward something in the store. Not a bad way to operate. I looked forward to these stops.

Let's move on, shall we? Düsseldorf, land of German industry and Kraftwerk.

A minute here. I'll admit it. I have a Kraftwerk fetish.They're not anything I listen to everyday, nothing like that, but when I do, I enjoy it. Seems to reset the mind somehow. Plus, in this world of pop entertainers in and out every fifteen minutes, I think they're one of the few who had a tremendous impact on popular music, every bit as much as the Beatles or Chuck Berry had. Now, whether you appreciate what that impact was or not, the truth is they are hugely influential. However, none of this is the reason I ever listened to them. I just did. And I'm a drummer.....a drummer who likes to hear DRUMS in music. A few years ago, my day job was basically a programming job....programming e-Learning modules.....and my fellow programmers and I would "talk Kraftwerk" often. Probably because of one workmate's obsession with Europe. So, there's that, too.

Anyway, I had hoped to drive past the Kling Klang studios in Dusseldorf if we had the chance. Not enough to wreak havoc on the Hickoids' daily touring lives, but it was a small wish. It didn't happen. When we return, it shall. I did meet one guy from the opening band in the green room of the Dusseldorf club who told me he lived next to the power station that the Maschine Männer had viewed when naming their musical ensemble "Kraftwerk." Jeff mentioned to me something about someone telling him where something Kraftwerk-connected was, but I forget what now. Maybe the Kling Klang studios. Anyway, enough about those red-shirt-wearing made-up men. Back to the tour....

We get to the club in Düsseldorf, The Tube, which is situated on a small, mostly deserted street. And we unload gear. Once the gear is inside the club, I begin to assemble the drums. There is an opening band that's going to use our gear, so I figured I'd go ahead and get the drum kit set up. While I'm doing this, there's a bit of mayhem outside.

Got to back up a bit. (Can't this guy write ANYTHING in order?) Before the gear can be unloaded,  our suitcases and travel bags need to be removed first and placed behind the van. Now, several folks are back there, ready for a shovel of gear from whoever is in the back of the Transit. Rice, thinking that it's possible for someone to reach in the side of the van and grab a bag while we're busy unloading, puts his special "blue bag" in the front seat of the van, to get it out of the way, and maybe keep it protected a bit more. Towards the end of the unloading (and when I'm already inside working on the drum kit), someone opens the passenger door of the Transit, grabs his blue bag and takes off.

Now, I'm fuzzy on a bit of this, as I heard it all secondhand later. Rice, Dean and the owner of the club take off after the bandit(s). Some time later, Dean finds the bag, with the contents dissheveled but mostly there. Rice's cables and tuner are there. What's missing is his, uh....relaxant. And some ear buds. That's it. What's especially odd is that the thief didn't grab the myriad of iPods and phones charging by Rice's bag. Those were all still there. But at least Rice got most of his possessions back, so we could continue as a somewhat unsullied lot.

We went off to a hostel run by a friend of Dean's and got a couple of large rooms there for the night. Since we'd be coming back late, we were provided with a code for the keypad to get back into our room that night. And then, just to grab a bit of local flavor, Dean led us on a fairly long walk from the hostel to the club, but the city lights were worth the walk.

One oddity of the Düsseldorf show is that there was no food provided for the bands....strange in this continent. I actually grabbed a personal size Margherita pizza from the pizzeria down the street; pizza's good for me before gigs....must be the carbs.

There was an opening band, Hack Mack Jackson, who some of the Grannies know members of (remember, Düsseldorf is Dean's hometown; his Mom is there!). And they rocked it in grand style.

The green room for the bands is in a basement. I spend some time in there getting the camera ready for Brad to shoot video that night. Brad doesn't appear before we go onstage, so I take the camera with me...hoping to catch him at the front of the stage. He doesn't appear there, either. Guess there will be no in-house video of this show. Bummer.

And yes, bummer. I think the Düsseldorf show might've been the most fun show of the whole tour....although really, it'd be hard to pick. We played our asses off that night. Thanks to the magic of duct tape, the snare drum stand didn't drift. The crowd was great. Turns out someone had shot some video, and here's a taste of the set:

The Grannies followed with a smoldering set. Dean was having a blast, and it filtered down through the whole band.

During their set, after I'd shot some video of them, Davy, who was minding merch, waved me over. He said he needed to unplug his pedals to save battery power, and would I mind running the merch area for a bit? He also said he hadn't sold one thing. I said sure, no problem. For whatever reason, the second I got in there, people came over to buy merch from both bands. It was one of my only times to "do merch" ever, but I have to admit it was pretty fun. I didn't even have to shake my hair or boobs around.

Davy made it back later to the merch (I think I waved him off a couple of times; was having too much fun as promo-slinger). Following the bands' sets, the club had turned into sort of a dance party (that had happened in Amsterdam as well, although there the music was a bunch of old rock 'n' roll...maybe here, too....can't really remember....and it was loud). Davy mentioned to me that we were eating next door, and I'm not the argumentative type normally, so I went to the Ham-Ham restaurant next door for a meal with some of the fellas. My first actual German schnitzel was a schnitzel "al natur," which meant it didn't have any breading on it. Delish. Jeff had a "Düsseldorfer." 'Nuff said.

After eating and a final packing up of merch and the equipment (we were returning to the Tube the next day to pick up our gear), some of us took a taxi back to the hostel....to shower and turn in for the evening. By this time, it was a nippy 30 degrees or so (-1 Celsius, perhaps).

We got back to the hostel, and there were two college-aged girls standing by the front door and the aforementioned keypad. The first thing they said to us as we strutted up is "the keypad isn't working." And that was true. Actually, it seemed that the keypad had no electricity going to it at all. Just plain dead. So there we all stood, freezing our butts off. A couple of us tried throwing small rocks at windows where the lights were on, but no luck. Eventually, a taxi pulled up, the driver walked to the door, muttered something in German, and walked back to his taxi. The frauleins said he was waiting on passengers from inside. Whew. That meant SOMEONE would come open the door soon. And they did. All and all, we were outside a good twenty minutes, and I know I was beginning to resemble Jack Nicholson in his next-to-final shot from "The Shining." After the three "sh"s, I hung out in one of the hostel's communal rooms with Rice, Jeff, Tom and Dean. Rice was excited the vending machines contained beer.

The next morning, we had one of those big community breakfasts in the hostel (Backpackers - Dusseldorf it was, just remembered), and then it was off to grab the equipment from The Tube (and the kindly owner met us on time!), and then the comparatively longish drive to Berlin. Did I mention I dig those German travel stops? I did? Yes, I do.

Berlin is even colder than Düsseldorf, which makes sense, I suppose. The projected low for the night is 19 degrees F. And there's snow and ice everywhere. And graffiti. Berlin is a land of graffiti. Not even good graffiti most of the time.

Well, the cold doesn't bode well for a Saturday night rock engagement at even a storied venue like Wild at Heart. I stride into the club, and as many of us do, ask "is there Wi-Fi here?" I get a negative reply but am directed to the cafe next door. So I go over there, order and pay for a coffee and sign on to "do my business" on the internet. After some time of that, I leave the cafe and go back to the club, whereupon I run into Rice, who asks where I was. I say the cafe next door, which has coffee and nice decor. He decides he wants one, too, and when I follow him back over there, he's ordering at the counter and mentioning we were playing at Wild at Heart (which I hadn't done). After he does this, he is comped his coffee, and the counter girl looks at me, sighs, then puts her hand in the cash register and returns my two Euros to me. Yep, returns 'em. She didn't want to accept a tip, either....I think Germany doesn't have much of a tipping culture.

It turns out this cafe is where we have our venue-provided meal, in this case a very nice chicken satay. Texas Terri Laird has joined us by this time, and we all swap stories and make merry. This night, the Hickoids go first again, and I have to say, out of all the shows of this Euro-tour, this one is the only one that was a little disappointing to me. Maybe it was the smallish crowd (yes, ti was Saturday, but it was damn cold outside), but it seemed like response was lukewarm at best, and I don't think Jeff was particularly inspired. As many have also said of Don Brewer's drumming, our performance was "competent." Brad was back on camera by this time, though, and got footage of us. The Grannies ripped through their set as usual. Those guys are "per"fessionals. (By the way, I hadn't mentioned this yet, but Tom's Grannies nickname was Schlitzie; his choice, straight out of "Freaks." Don't know why I just thought of this.) We were warned this time about leaving any equipment or luggage in an easily grabbable place, so we watched like hawks during load-out this time. In the middle of the load-out, some guy came running down the icy sidewalk brandishing a broken pool cue as if he were after someone, but I never saw who it was. He stopped at the entrance to Wild at Heart but eventually left, and I never did hear anymore about what that was all about.

By this time, Andy the Tour Manager had joined us to drive our vehicle and boss us around. We needed it. After load out, he ran us by a little place that sold lamb "burritos," I'll say. They were really good; the experience was a bit like going to Taco Cabana in Austin after a show. Now, Andy was between apartments in Berlin, so he had two places for all of us to stay. I stayed in the "old" apartment, which still had most of what we needed, including a free landline to the states....so I talked to Michelle that night. Davy, Dean, Chris, Drew, Brad and Faron stayed with us, too. I shared a futon with Davy, which was fine....I had earplugs to block out the low-horsepower chainsaw sleeping next to me. And I don't think he was a bit selfish with....anything.

The next day, after a breakfast stop, it was off to Potsdam for an afternoon show. Potsdam was only about an hour away, and this show was at a nice arts complex there, called Waschhaus Potsdam. Once again, there was a fabulous food and coffee spread for us....AND we were treated to a nice late lunch at a boat restaurant a shortish walk away, but it seemed like an eternity due to the cold. We were near water, and there was wind. Yowzah! Second schnitzel of the tour, this one breaded, and I'm a happy traveler.

But the show.....well, the show was very ill-attended; again, the cold won. We had five or six paying customers, but we were paid the full amount guaranteed, along with an apology from the promoter....as if he could have changed the weather. No matter, I thought both sets rocked. At least the people who paid were attentive to the show and got close to the stage. That's all Jeff and Dean need to work 'em properly. I was actually pretty happy with this gig. So happy that I ended the Hickoids set with something I've worked into some shows since, the "polite" drum destruction at the end. You can almost look at it as an ESPN slow-motion replay of drum destruction. It's fun, and I don't have to buy drum gear afterward. Viva Potsdam!

Since Potsdam was an early show, Andy drove us to some sites in Berlin when we got back. We saw the Brandenburg gate and the Reichstag, as well as the Ramones museum, which was closed. He also showed us some older buildings still standing but full of Russian bullet strafings as well as the hotel Michael Jackson dangled his baby from. For whatever reason, I found it fascinating to know if I was in former West or East Berlin all the time. I almost wanted to do the patented Homer Simpson dance by one demarcation, jumping back and forth yelling "West Berlin....East Berlin.....West Berlin....East Berlin!" But I play in the Hickoids, a classy act, so I didn't do that. And then we were dropped at the "old" apartment again, and it was another futon night with Mr. Jones, after carousing with Dean a bit.

The next day was our day off. Originally, Andy had tried to book something in Malmö, Sweden for that day, but nothing came to fruition. So, we used that day to get to Denmark at a relaxed pace and meet up with Tom's old buddy Brock Sternberg in Copenhagen. We were to play Copenhagen the next night.

So, in the morning, we had to leave town early enough to catch the ferry to Denmark. It was an hour and a half or so to the ferry port, but of course, we stopped first to get breakfast items at a small eatery, sending Andy into a bit of a tizzy....him thinking we wouldn't make it to the ferry port on time. Nonsense, Andy, we're Americans. We just make things on time. This would become especially prophetic at the end of this trip.

As it turned out, we just did make it on time. Our Transit was in the lead, with the Grannies vehicle just a bit behind us.....and their vehicle was the last one allowed on the ferry before leaving. We just did make it. We're Americans.

This ferry journey was two hours, and you must leave your vehicle (who'd want to stay?), so we went up to the ferry lounging area, which was pretty large and resembles an American mall food court. So, what did we do? That's right, get food. And beverages. A nice cashier gentleman even gave me an instant cappuccino packet (which I just used at home recently).

We also went to the top deck of the ferry for a look around, but it was a brief look around due to the cold. I shot a little video of us all up there, huffing warm breath into our mittens and such. Two hours allows for various activities, even on a ferry. I probably spent a lot of it trying to wipe off all the oddly white grime on my coat from sliding between trucks to get to the communal area. Forgot to mention that the trek from the vehicles to the "people area" was an adventure in itself.

After the ferry trip, we had another hour north to Copenhagen. Once there, we went straight to the Sternbergs' residence. Brock Sternberg, as I probably mentioned earlier, is an old school chum of Tom's from New Mexico, and he, his wife Rikke and their two children live in a very nice house. The plan was that the Sternbergs would be housing all twelve of us. This immediately sounded like just way too many to handle, so I suggested to Jeff and Rice that I'd like to see about getting a hotel room.....lighten the Sternbergs load a little....and maybe see some of Copenhagen during our extra day. Rikke whipped up a scrumptious meal for us, and afterward, Andy drove Rice, Jeff and me in the Transit to our hotel, the Star Hotel....which was in downtown Copenhagen.

After some clean-up, we took off in the cold downtown for a good walk-around, see the sites, etc. There weren't all that many sites around where we were, but we did hit an ATM to get some krone (the Danish currency). A side note here: much of the Danish currency has Queen Margarethe on it, the head of the royal family. Denmark's government is similar to England's, with powerless royals and an elected body parliament. Brock told us something interesting; it was not uncommon to see the Queen in the grocery store, amongst the locals. I wonder if she favors paying with money sporting her visage. (Maybe it all does, I'm not sure.)

We went to a local bar (name escapes me) and hung out there for an hour or so, Jeff zeroing in on slot machines, while Rice and I ended up conversing with an inebriated roofer. Quite a nice fella, he was from a small town near the southern coast of Denmark and was in town doing a job. He'd been put up in a hotel and was about to finish the job the next day. As part of the celebration of finishing said job, he said he'd be at our show. This was all through his extremely broken and drunken English, so I figured he wouldn't remember any of what we talked about. He probably told somebody the next day that he met some techno musicians from Canada, and that we were playing next week in a sex shop.....something to that effect. I did learn from him, though, that any krone coins with a hole in them were basically worthless.

Speaking of sex shops, there were several of those near the hotel, as well as obvious hookers wearing what we came to know as "the European hooker uniform." That consisted of a puffy coat with fur around the hoodlining and boots with fur around the top. We passed a few of these, and Rice thought they were "ladyboys." I wasn't sure, but they didn't seem too attractive. And again about the sex shops, goods were freely displayed through window glass to passersby. And many times, they were next to regular goods stores or even toy stores. Denmark must have no word for zoning.

After a quick nosh from the corner 7-Eleven, we were off to bed. Did I mention that while all this was going on, Davy, back at the Sternbergs, had volunteered to do some laundry for us? What a guy.

The next morning, we took another stroll to get coffee and breakfast and more looking around. Copenhagen has many beautiful buildings, churches, theatres, sex shops. Wait, I talked about sex shops earlier, didn't I?

Just for the record, "fagfolk" translates as "professionals." Giggle.

So, after bumming around for a large part of the day, we meet up with the rest of the Hickoids and Grannies and head to the club, which is a basement club called The Devil’s Door in Daemonens Port (or something like that). It was below a baby supply store, so we had to delay any real noise until after 6:00 pm. The staff has left some snacks for us backstage, but before the show, we head to a “burger place.” This “burger place” is just down the street from another “burger place.” Now, I write “burger place,” but the truth is they had many types of comfort food, and I once again chowed down on a Margherita pizza. I think I ate several of these during the course of the tour. After the ceremonial filling of the bellies, we headed back to the club.

There was a show runner fellow there named Leon (and I might have the wrong name), who is initially fascinated by the fact that I had an Axis kick drum pedal. He comes into the green room somewhat later with his Trick kick pedal, which he’d bought secondhand from a well-known metal drummer (whose name and band he’s from escapes me). Trick pedals are not cheap…go ahead, look ‘em up yourself. Axis aren’t cheap, either, but they’re a regular BMW next to Trick’s Ferrari. Leon later brings in his Trick snare drum as well. Probably proportionately expensive.

Leadfoot Lee’s One-Man Band is the opening act, and he is indeed a one-man band. Good one, too, although I stayed in the backstage area preparing the video camera and such during much of his set. The Grannies set was crazy as always, and I got some good video during this one. The Hickoids set featured some cameo appearances: Sluggo came on in full dress for “Queen,” and lay there during the Wade-Driver-cops-kicking-his-ass lines. He also sang backup on that one. Then he, Dean, Drew and Chris (all in full dress) hit the stage with us during our only performance of “Brontosaurus” the whole tour. Chris played a cowbell, Drew clapped and danced……it was a good old cross-dressing time. Brad shot more video. He was being a good boy now.

After load-out, Andy dropped us “separatists” at the hotel, while the rest of the crew went back to the Sternbergs. Quiet night. Big day tomorrow.

The next day was another big travel day…..another ferry…..back to Germany. This time, the ferry trip was only about 35 minutes. But the hold was still as crowded. You really had to slink and squeeze between all the trucks and other vehicles in the hold. So, the food court visit was shorter this time. And, back to Germany…

We disembarked and drove to Hamburg. We’d be playing the Hafenklang, a club my old friends Dixie Witch had played a couple of times and that my former and occasional band Honky was actually playing a week later. The Hafenklang had a hostel bedding situation with full bathroom next door to the club, so we’d be staying in there. There must have been eight or nine bunk beds in there, squeezed in a little tightly….but there was room for us all. Davy wasn’t feeling that well, so after load out into the club, he actually slept in his bunk for a few hours.

Off for a walk, with Andy and Dean leading the way. We went down to the Reeperbahn, which I still mistakenly call the Reeferbahn at times. The Reeperbahn is sort of a boardwalk, filled with sex shops, souvenir stores and sex shops. And diners and casinos, too. And sex shops. I did pick up a couple of shirts for Michelle and myself down there, as well as magnets for a couple of friends. We also went into a music store and gave a look around at what a German musician would be confronted with shopping for gear. Andy made a special point of taking us to a street sign reading "Buttstraße," which should give you an idea of how much Andy cared about us having a good time.

As I might have mentioned earlier, Europe is a twelve-year-old American boy's dream land. One hour, and everybody sounds like a chorus of Buttheads walking around. Had I mentioned that every exit off the autobahn is marked "Ausfahrt?" Maybe I had. I'll stop now.

Back in the club, we're given coffee and tea and some snacks.....and then it's announced "dinner is almost ready." These people and their hospitality. Great dinner at a large table put right in the middle of the club floor by where we'll be playing later. There's a really nice natural wood floor in this club. Word is that the Hafenklang is on the German government payroll; they get a subsidy to keep it running. Nice.

The Grannies hit the stage first tonight and worked people into the usual frenzy, except for one notable glitch in the middle (which turned out to be the end) of their set.

I had shot a couple of the Grannies numbers already for future video use and was waiting for them to play "Eviller," which we had all agreed would be the number for a composite video. In the middle of a song, Sluggo left the stage, came out onto the club floor (as he often did during shows) and began swinging his "Feel the Love" special around windmill-style. I did think about turning the camera on during this but wanted to save some time and battery life to make sure I got "Eviller." Boy, was this a time I should have listened to my first instinct. After a couple more moves and swings, Sluggo turned around to go back to the stage, but he fumbled the guitar and dropped in on the club floor. The nut popped off the guitar, rendering it useless then. So, like any good rocker, he turned around and began smashing the guitar on the floor. The first hit knocked a good chunk out of the natural wood floor as well. So, I had the video camera off all during this, but I did get one good still shot of the aftermath:

And that was that for the Grannies set. Even if the set was short, the end was memorable. The Hickoids' set was another fun one, and just to add a note of solidarity with Mr. Sluggo, I performed another polite destruction of the drum kit at the end. I wanted him to know "I'm with you, brother!" The Hickoids care.

Later that night, I felt restless, so a few of us went back out to the Reeperbahn to "soak up local culture." That included my first trip through a red-light district. With Dean leading the way (Andy didn't join us for this adventure), we strode up to a wooden fence with a sign reading "18 and over only, no women admitted." As I recall, the entire sign was in English, too. Once inside, the interior resembled a wild-west street from a movie lot. The storefronts were pretty much glass, with women behind them who would one-at-a-time and almost in time, open their glass and ask us to come over. Since there were seven of us, they probably figured none of us would and none of us did. Still, it was a completely surreal experience. We were through that block in a couple of minutes probably, and then it was off to a "döner" for more grub. After that, Jeff and Rice hit a casino (what else is new), and some of us, including me, headed back to the pseudo-hostel to turn in.

Guess where Sluggo went in the morning? That's right, the same music store we visited earlier the previous day. He picked up an axe to see him through the rest of the tour.

After Sluggo completed his shopping the next morning (expensive trip for him!), we loaded out of the club and headed to Bingen, which is a small town about an hour west of Frankfurt and just west of Wiesbaden. It was a pretty long (for Europe) drive. By the way, once we got to Berlin, Andy did all the driving until Belgium. He's a true mensch.

JuZ Bingen is another place partially subsidized by the government. Great club, with a couple of large rooms to the side for bands to hang out in, stay or whatever. Showers, too. The opening act, P.J. Franco & the Burnouts (there was one Burnout, we're talking bass-drum duo) were actually practicing in one of the rooms when we got there. The show tonight was a nicely-advertised benefit for Sluggo's son Blixa, who was diagnosed with leukemia early last year and has been undergoing costly treatments. That lil' man is another true mensch...and at five!

We were treated to band room snacks (fruit even; I ate a lot of fruit on this trip, much better than what I normally end up eating on a tour), and of course, there was a great vegan chili cooking up in the kitchen. PJ Franco & the Burnouts began with a two-piece aural assault of pure magnificence. Such talent in such young people (21 & 19, I believe). Don't know what else to say. I should practice more. As it turned out, PJ is the son of a friend of Sluggo's. The generations collide!

The Hickoids set went well, and the Grannies tore it up in strong fashion once again. Sluggo had the crowd chant "hi Blixa!" while he recorded it. Just an enormous love fest with a bunch of great loud music for the main course.

After the show, some of us decided to get a hotel in town, while others stayed in the band rooms. I opted for the hotel (with the CPAP issue, I can never be sure). By this time, Jeff was feeling rather poorly and dribbly, and it was good that we all got a good night's rest. Rice and I shared a room that had a really beautiful hill view, but I kept my hands to myself.

The next morning, it was off to Kortrijk, Belgium. Due to the European union, travelling between the countries we went to on the continent meant almost nothing, except for a sign letting you know you were in Germany or Belgium or France. Andy had warned us to have passports ready when we entered Denmark from the ferry, but there was no stop there, either. Just kind of a wave-through.

This was Friday, of course, and we had to hit the "Brussels Loop" around 4:30 in the afternoon. Not quite as bad as say, hitting Houston at 5:00 pm, but it did remind me of that a bit. We were stuck in traffic for awhile, but that just means more time for bad jokes about Davy's selfish behavior (you have to ask a Hickoid for details about THAT one).

Kortrijk sits in the NE corner of Belgium, not too far from France. It's a smallish town with a fabled venue in it, The Pits. Rice had played there before, as have others I know. It has one of the smallest stages I've ever seen....maybe slightly smaller than Headhunters' stage. But somehow, we fit up there, although the equipment was staged at odd angles. I had a heapin' helpin' o' Davy Jones amp in my left ear (con ear plugs) all set.

Not all that long before we played, Rice, who had been here before, took a false step and scooted down these stairs leaving him black and blue in a day or so. He was okay for the show, so he didn't have to apply for any Belgian government help. The stairs were really steep and really shallow...maybe only six inches or so.

Another odd feature of The Pits is the urinals open to the public just past the entrance to the club. I saw a couple of fellows use them during the evening. Let me find a picture to post here:

Just to the right of all the instrument cases was our merchandise table. You could ALMOST make a deal while taking a whiz. By the way, the two previous pics were taken by Tom "Tony" Trusnovic.
And we played music, too. Much of it.

The original idea was that the Grannies were staying with a fellow that worked at the club, and we were supposed to stay with a girl who worked there. I realized fairly quickly that the fact that EVERYONE smoked at this tiny club (it was the foggiest of the tour, by far, probably due to its small size) meant that most likely the place we would have to stay at would be smoked-up as well. And while I really don't care if people smoke or not, it'll pretty much ruin my CPAP machine. I gotta be in a smoke-free sleeping arrangement (with nearby electricity as well). Such is the state of this semi-centennialist's health. Plus it helps me look like a snotty elitist.

So, I reserved a couple of rooms at the nearby Hotel Belfort, the second one of the tour technically owned by Best Western.

The hotel was actually right across from the street from a big (Easter?) carnival that was going on, making it not only hard to approach but incredibly difficult to find a road to get back to the club from there. After Jeff and I checked in, it literally took us about 25 minutes to return to the club, due to all the twisting and turning we had to do to get back to a place probably only two kilometers away at most.

After the show, we piled into the Transit to head to the hotel. Right then, our would-be host from The Pits walked up and drunkenly slurred something about going to a party now, so I knew we'd made the right call for everyone, not just ol' Space Chimp (which is what Drew called me after he first saw me with the CPAP mask on). As he often likes to do, Rice slept in the van to act as watchdog, which became important....as someone did bang on the van during the night. Rice popped up, and the potential intruders went away.

And this is where our two bands....sniff....parted ways....sort of. The Grannies stayed at the house they were scheduled to stay at, and it seemed like that worked out. Their plan was to fly to London and rent a car there to take them to Bath and the B.O.B. Fest, which was their last show. They would then drive back to London and fly out the next day. We took all their equipment and major luggage with us from Belgium. Andy also left after the Kortrijk show; it was back to Berlin for him. He had work on Monday! As the Grannies were nearing the end of their run, we got Faron as a driver for England. Nothing better than a Brit for that left-lane nonsense.

The next morning was early call. We had to get on the road to the chunnel to take us to England.We were on the road by 8:00, with a chunnel appointment for 10:00. The chunnel is the tunnel that takes you across the English Channel between France and England. And take you it does. You don't drive it. You drive into what looks like a series of large train cars left over from WWII, park and then the train car drives the vehicle load and you through the chunnel. Here's a look at one of those train cars:

Entering England had us all a bit nervous, but Jeff had done the right thing by purchasing our work permit. We didn't have a problem once on the Brit side. We stopped at the non-European immigration building, Faron stayed with the van (he had a European passport), and we went inside. A very nice woman said "oh, you're a band, aren't you?" and kindly directed us to the immigration forms we each had to fill out. They weren't much, the officers looked at them and sent us on our way. Faron reported that the officers out there looked in the back of the Transit for a few seconds and that was it. Pretty easy, but we'd heard stories. I'll bet having the work permit saved us from major hassle.

The drive to Bath was smooth, especially when no Americans had to drive. Green Park Tavern was the name of the club where the B.O.B. Fest was being held. It was a three-day punk rock fest with around seven or eight bands each day. We were playing before the Grannies about fourth from the end. Perfect slots for us both. Well, that almost held up. And the end result....well.....

Green Park Tavern was another one of those wonderful places in terms of hospitality. There was a full meal waiting for us when we got there....and they had many mouths to feed, there were around eight bands playing.....although I believe some were local. Most of the bands were dressed in "punk rock uniform," meaning black leather, maybe spikes on jackets, you know the look. I don't think most of them knew what to think when they first saw Davy. And Davy heard about it, too.

One odd thing about the set-up here was the thick steel barricade erected in front of the stage. Strange. After being near the sound man in the back and seeing what CDs he had to play to check his sound system, things became clearer. Let's just say that his favorite music was NOT that usually classified as punk rock. He was clearly on a job and trying to protect his gear by throwing a barricade up. Although, from what I'd seen so far, the crowd was fairly docile, although into it. More about this sound man (and his ponytail) in a bit.

This being a festival, there was somewhat of a back-line already there, including a drum set with completely unreliable hardware. Not the first time I've been confronted with this, but it never fails to amuse me (really, that should be "terrify me") when larger events are put on with equipment provided, and the equipment provided is only partially functional. I mean, either get good stuff or ask the bands to bring their own....don't say you'll provide and then dress the stage with stands that don't "stand." And I'm pretty certain the stands weren't in bad shape due to a couple of days of drummers using them; they were just crap to begin with. The cymbal stands either had lockdown plates that wouldn't lock down very well or were locked down in some unwieldy position permanently. I can already hear it "Oi! That'll work! It'll be good enough for them drummers!" Most of the time, I'm fairly amenable to playing on unfamiliar equipment, but this was going to be akin to being a guitar player if the frets kept changing sizes and the tuning pegs were constantly loose. AND you're the backbone of the band.....there's not much room to breathe, and well...."I'll just lay out for a bit while I figure this out." No, sir.

As I recall, there were no major mishaps, though....in other words, the beat kept beating on. And the Hickoids were able to have constant support and adequate separation. Bad bra joke. I particularly enjoyed Jeff being able to use his "Dame Elton" line in the appropriate country. After several bands' solid punk rock, and not much deviation from the format, we were greeted damned ecstatically, like a breath of fresh (American?) air. There was a lot of head bobbing, smiling....even some hair throwing, from those that had it.

The Grannies were scheduled to immediately follow us, but there was a snag in the schedule. As was explained to us, another band that was supposed to play later had a member who was caught doing some substance, and the club was very nervous about this (our almost-completely-sober asses were warned about this early on). But rather than bump the band off the bill, they decided to have this band play as early as possible (in other words, after us) to get them out of the club. This meant the Grannies would have to wait....which sucked, because I had planned on setting Chris's stuff up for him, giving him time to primp and preen before taking the stage. Oh well, stuff happens. It gave me extra time to get the camera back from Brad and prepare for shooting the Grannies.....this was their last show of this trip, and Sluggo had said he wasn't going to take the new guitar home with him. Hmmm.....

The Grannies were again on fire. Dean wore a hilarious old lady suit with big, saggy boobs that Jeff kept trying to pull him over the barricade by. And the Grannies got close to the end of the set. Then they played this song for the closer:

Sluggo's end to the guitar REALLY upset the sound man. So much so that he raved on and on about it for around an hour after the Grannies were finished....even while the next band was on. Here's a quick peek:

This went on for awhile. The sound man (and his ponytail) went so far as to scream at Anna, the sweet show organizer. I saw him accost her with his rantings a couple of times, until she was sobbing near the front door of the venue. What a prick. I hope the video of him has been seen by many. No piece of his equipment was hurt at all, and it struck me that he was probably high-strung enough over dealing with "punks" that he was just waiting for something like this to set him off. (I did just learn that a piece of Sluggo's guitar did send someone to the hospital for stitches....I was unaware of that.)

Some of us weren't sure what the score was with the venue after what had happened. We rather quietly packed up merchandise and gear we'd brought in and shuttled it out to the Transit across the street.This was it for the Grannies; after staying the night in Bath, they were hoofing it to London to fly out in the morning. I secured the Hickoids some hotel rooms in Avon, a little north of Bath. After many hugs and all, we bade the Grannies goodbye. I miss them now.

The next day, after some time getting prepared, and some tea in a nice outdoor common area at the hotel, we headed out for.....yes, Stonehenge.

It was fairly cold still and very windy out there. We decided to do the actual tour, which meant you got an audio tour with your admission price. Most of the guys didn't opt for the audio tour, but I grabbed it anyway. The narrator, of course, was hilarious for anyone who's seen "This Is Spinal Tap." My guess is that this particular audio tour has been around for thirty-odd years and Christopher Guest's introduction to the song was parodying that, or that this speaker had seen the Spinal Tap movie and was, maybe unintentionally, letting said introduction influence HIM. Either way, it was funny. "Now, you see the round barren places in front of those stones. Why are they there? WE DON'T KNOOOOW." Priceless stuff.

We tried to take a band photo out in front of the stones, but Tom was nowhere to be found. I still really don't know what happened; perhaps he'd forgotten his jacket getting out of the van, but he'd gone missing. I got this shot of Jeff, Faron, Davy and Rice, though:

Got some others, too. You get the idea. Really, the tour is just a giant circle around the stones, with occasional numbers on markers corresponding to chapters of the audio tour. I only listened to a few; it was really cold out there. We found Tom later, and I did get a picture of him in front of the stones. Maybe some Photoshop work can put us all together one day. Maybe. A stop in the ol' souvenir shop, and we were out of there.

On to London, for the final show of the tour. It was Easter Sunday, so we had an early show at a place called the Islington, with Bob Collum and our host Marianne Hyatt's band Country Dirt. And some people showed up! Easter Sunday and all, I thought it might be a bust, but it was a pleasant enough Sunday early gig. Country Dirt was especially entertaining; their read of "Your Cheating Heart" to kick off the set was fun. Bob Collum and band (including Marianne) were a treat as well. Great to see these fine ex-pats.

Before we played our set, and since I had a drum kit to use there, I went out to the Transit and removed the kick drum head Sluggo had had printed and put it in the drum head box he'd brought it in. That was going back to the States...somehow. And I wanted to minimize anything I had to do at the airport. At the time, I had no idea how important that was going to be.

A note about the London show: there was another "interesting" sound man. Now, I had no issue with this guy, but Davy and Tom did. For one thing, he was a very "hands on" sound guy; word was that his main gig was as Jethro Tull's monitor mixer, so he was slumming it at our little gig....still, he shouldn't have had the temerity to just beginning plugging and unplugging Davy's pedals to try to get a sound. Davy was pretty pissed from the get-go, and I think the sound man and Tom had words, too. The drum kit here was pretty beat up but worked perfectly well for what I needed it to do. Hell, it actually ranked above the kit provided in Bath. And this was a let's say "quieter" gig, more in line with alt-country than what we're used to. So we behaved for most of the show. I let loose on the final number, "Gudbuy t' Jane," though. Just had to. Didn't want them to think we were THAT soft!

Once the show was over, and after hugs and goodbyes, I went about packing for the airport...which meant putting the snare drum, kick drum pedal and stick bag back in the suitcase and sealing all that up. I'd be ready. We headed toward Dover, where we'd get back on the Chunnel to France. Faron drove us to Dover, and then he took some transport to his brother's place....conveniently in Dover. Now the fun begins....

We had a reservation for the Chunnel and made our check-in with plenty of time to spare. We went into the travel center, changed out a few monetary units and got a couple of snacks. After bading Faron farewell, we got back in the Transit and got in line for the Chunnel. The line began to move, people were driving into the train car, when....someone towing a boat got into the train car, and they closed the door. A representative came back to our van to tell us "sorry, you're on the next train. Leaves at 3:00 am." This was at around 1:00 am. Our flight was leaving Amsterdam's Schiphol Airport at 10:25 am. And clocks would move ahead an hour once across the channel. And we still had a loooong drive after getting to France. This was not looking good...

Jeff complained to the liaison the Chunnel company sent to soothe nerves, but really, there wasn't much that could be done. In the back of my mind was the though, and I wasn't about to bring it up, "if we'd only spent ten fewer minutes in the station travel center...." We would have probably been ahead in line and would have made this. Well, hindsight and all....

The liaison, who really was quite nice, came back to the Transit and said we could take a freight version of the transport which left in an hour. We'd have to leave the vehicle, as they have different rules for that one, but we'd be ahead of the 3:00 regular version. We quickly opted for that. So, after a very quiet hour sitting in the Transit, we boarded the freight version. Once parked, we left the vehicle and got on a bus that took us to another shuttle train, which is what we rode through the Chunnel. While on that shuttle, Rice made plans for the near future.

I had already resigned myself to another day in Amsterdam, keeping the worst-case scenario up front, so in case it came to that, I wouldn't be that disappointed. Everybody was really pretty quiet during these hours, actually.

Rice took the wheel of the Transit once we got back to it. And he hauled ass like a madman. France has posted speed limits, but as I recall, Belgium and the Netherlands didn't. There were several hair-raising moments when the GPS, which Smitty was using from the front to navigate, would not be correct and turn backs and forwards had to be made. But the bottom line is....

....we made it to the airport, by....I forget what time, really. Thankfully, Gijs met us at the departure area of the airport to take the van and equipment from us, so we didn't have to deal with any of that. That guy rocks. Davy and Tom hadn't repacked their stuff yet, so there was a pause while they did that. I went on into the airport to wait for them.

We got checked in, and right then, while waiting for the other fellas, I remembered my cymbal bag was good for 22" cymbals, which meant it'd be big enough for that special kick drum head. Slipped that right in.

And then it was the massive haul to the gate....the gate you need is always the last one in the airport from where you begin. It was a mad sprint to the gate....all the while, I'm carrying that damned cymbal bag. The bag weighs around 30 lbs. but seemed like 130 by the time I got to the gate. At Schiphol Airport, the security check is all at the gate. They had to check my backpack due to all the camera and electrical equipment, but they assured me there that I would indeed make the flight. I panted a huge sigh of relief and told them to take their time - I was no longer in a hurry.

The flight home was a smooth nine hours. Two meals served. Nodded off many times. We got to Houston. Immigration and customs checks are quick (all baggage arrived satisfactorily), the van is secured and we load up and head home. I'd rested so much on the flight that I drove us back to Austin.

Whew. I can't wait to go back.

Thanks for reading. Now I can get to the Grannies and other Hickoids videos...