Japan/Europe 2001:
Japan fawned, Europe yawned (again).

Well, that happened.

Talk about a whirlwind tour.  Japan, Europe, The UK and Ireland in just over three weeks.  I didn't keep a proper journal during this trip -the thought of lugging a computer around made my stomach hurt - but I did jot down several pages of now-indecipherable notes.  Here's a taste of what it's like to travel overseas with "Superchunk -the band some people have heard of."

9/29-30, 2001

Shove off is at 7:00 am (AM!).   Stopover in Chicago where we will catch the big plane to Tokyo.  My good karma (that's what I'm putting it down to) has enabled me to sit all by myself on the marathon journey. I can't tell you how much this means to me.  It's not that I don't like people it's just that I don't want them sitting next to me.  Not so good on the in-flight movie front: Wedding Planner (the story of a super-gorgeous woman who plans other people's weddings but just can't find anyone for herself), Tomb Raider (the story of a super-gorgeous woman who does some stuff I don't know about because I didn't watch it) and an Ashley Judd vehicle about a super-gorgeous woman who has to live in an incredibly nice Manhattan apartment with some guy she doesn't like.  I opted to stare straight ahead in silence like Putty on Seinfeld. 

Upon landing in Tokyo we are met by our label contact Andy. He informs us that 1,200 tickets have already been sold for our Tokyo show.  That is already more people than have ever come to see us headline a show.  Things have changed since we were last here in '92.  

We check into our rooms (we each got our own -I can't tell you how much this means to me) at the way-too -nice for us Tokyu Hotel and then go out for our first Japanese dinner of the tour. The food is great but the highpoint of the night  comes when I am standing at a urinal and I hear a young man and his girlfriend chatting outside the bathroom door.  He opens the door to the restroom, walks nonchalantly into a stall and proceeds to vomit loudly for at least two full minutes.  He flushes the toilet, cleans himself up, goes outside to resume his conversation with his lady and disappears into the night.

Think I'll sleep on that.

10/01

We do a few interviews with some local magazines.  Jim comes up with the day's best quote: "Lyrics are good."  One of the interviewers tells us of J Mascis' description of Limp Bizkit and their ilk: "sports metal." This becomes a catch phrase of ours for a solid 35 minutes.  We go back to the hotel for a production meeting with the people who will be helping us with our shows.  We meet Mayumi, our translator/tour manager.  Mayumi was born in NYC, raised in Japan and educated in Cedar Rapids, Iowa of all places. 

After dinner we head to a Karaoke establishment.  They take the form very seriously over here.  We pay our money and are ushered not into a big bar but a private room that can barely accommodate Mac, Laura, Matt (Gentling -the former AOL bassist/mountain climber made the journey with us and will serve as guitar tech/hike supervisor), Andy and I (Jim didn't come because he said he didn't want to outshine us). A pitcher of horrible beer is brought in and we get down to business.  

Mac leads off with Queen's "Bicycle Races" -a song I don't think he's ever even heard all the way through.  It might have been the performance of the night.  I follow up with "Back In Black" and Gentling does a superb rendition of Styx's "Babe."  Hopefully this will all be included in the documentary Mac has been filming which is tentatively called "Superchunk on Tour." Catchy, isn't it? Andy brings the house down with a version of "Jumping Jack Flash" that renders Aretha Franklin's version utterly useless. We bring it all home with a group version of "Bohemian Rhapsody" that has everybody yelling for less.

10/02

Up at 6:00.  This is our first show day.  I wander around town a little but nothing is open yet.  

Later.  After soundcheck we go to a little shopping district and look around. I picked up some joke coffee mugs that are too offensive and confusing to elaborate on.  We meet Number Girl, the band that will be playing with us at all three shows.  They are really nice and we fumble through greetings. 

The show is pretty good.  It's nice to play a big venue every now and then.  The interesting thing is that the stuff from the two most recent records gets the biggest response (most likely because the other records aren't widely available in Japan anymore). The kids are pretty reserved but very appreciative.  

We celebrate by going out for dinner and drinks.  We return from the hotel just in time to see Radiohead make their way out of the downstairs bar and out into some cabs.  Seems they are in town playing a show tonight also.  I think the club they played at -Budokan- was a little bigger than ours. 

Just as I'm about to fall asleep, I get an urgent call from Laura to call my girlfriend back at home.  One of our dogs -Maddie- is very sick and it looks like she won't make it through the weekend (kidney failure).  Maddie was/is (she's still out there somewhere) a dog I found on the side of the road about five miles outside of Chapel Hill. She was probably about 15 years old and very sweet.  I think she really appreciated being taken in (we had her for about a year).  We agree to have her put to sleep (a strange term, I know) and not see if the doctor can somehow get her to hold on so I can say goodbye in person when I get home next week.  Angie and I are both in tears when we hang up.  If there's a lonelier place to be than a Japanese hotel room when someone you love is dying, I don't know where it is. 

10/03

Head down to the lobby in the morning,  totally depressed about Maddie. Call Angie again and she tells me that she and a friend took her to the vet and that she held her as she slipped away. It only took a minute and there was no pain.  More tears. Goodbye, friend.  We take the bullet train to Nagoya.  I take a long nap at the hotel.  Meditate. Dinner.  Drank four beers and felt like a loser. 

10/04

Splitting headache. Feeling a little better emotionally. Up too early for anything to be open.  I've been living off of egg salad sandwiches during the days.  But there ain't none to be had at 7:00 am. 

  We go to a store called Tokyo Hands -a department store that sells absolutely everything.  Mac and I are stopped by two young ladies who are fans of the band.  One of them takes our picture on her watch camera.  They are equally spooked when Mac takes their picture on his palm pilot. 

I honestly don't remember much about this show except that one of the aforementioned girls brought  every single thing we've ever released to get signed.  How she got it all I have no idea.  Another nice young woman brought us a big plate of homemade sushi.  

10/05

Another train ride, this time to Osaka.  We are staying at a hotel smack in the middle of an "entertainment district."  There are hundreds of people wandering around the street in front of the hotel.  There are tons of pachinko halls and arcades.  There are also several houses of ill repute.  

The club tonight is called Bayside Jenny.  It is situated right under a monstrous ferris wheel.  There have been 700 tickets sold.  That's really great for us.  Would you believe Queensryche are playing here soon? My stick bag didn't make it to the venue for soundcheck so I get to use a pair of monogrammed sticks once used by the drummer from Loudness. Actually get to see Number Girl play.  They rock but the most unusual thing about them are the massively long introductions in between songs.  I can't understand a word  they're saying but the audience listens with rapt attention and then laughs every 30 seconds or so.  Hope they weren't saying that we're dicks or anything.   

We pull out Elvis Costello's "Lipstick Vogue" at the end of our set and actually get through it pretty well. This might have been the best audience in terms of response.  

We regroup after the show at a nice Japanese restaurant for a farewell dinner.  Mac is elected to say a few words of thanks to our hosts and crew.  The singer for Number Girl does the same.  He and his band then break into a song that I cannot possibly even begin to describe here.  We all say goodbye and hit the sack because we gotta get up real early and fly to Tokyo and then fly home (where we will get to sleep in our one beds before heading to Europe). 

Major thanks to all who helped bring us over to Japan and helped us get around, especially Andy, Mayumi,Matt and our sound man Eric. 

10/07-08

Went out to a club in Chapel Hill last night and got a lot of "what are you doing here's." Told people I quit the tour and came home.  Actually, we saved a ton of money by flying to RDU from Japan instead of going straight to Europe. Weird to make such a long trip and then have to get up the next morning and do it all again.

Security at RDU is extremely heavy because of our leader's decision  to bomb Afghanistan. There are armed soldiers all around. We arrive to find that they are going through everybody's luggage with a fine tooth comb.  Turns out this is just for passengers on American -we are flying Untied. The ticket agent tells me that I could be in serious danger of not being allowed back in the country because my passport expires in 6 months.  Makes sense to me.  I can't wait for her to read this diary and realize how wrong she was. 

This is going to be a straight shot to Gatwick in London and then a short flight to Glasgow. The plane is pretty empty and I get a whole row to myself this time.  We land, collect our luggage and wait for the shuttle to Glasgow.  The Superchunk European Curse really kicks in at this point.

**A little background**

We actually did well the first two times we went to Europe (early '92 and early '93).  American guitar rock was being fully embraced by the UK media and our first shows in London were events.  Of course this all had to do with the fact that we were in the local music weeklies and not really because people actually knew our music. Some did but most people were at the shows because they'd been told that it was something they should see.  

Flash forward to '94 and it is a whole 'nother story.  Mac and I are riding in a car with our former-European label head and our booking agent (much much more about him later).  The following exchange takes place in full earshot of us:

Former-Label Head (depressed and confused): Why does Europe hate this band?

Booking Agent: It's not that they hate them, it's just that nobody cares about them.

It's been all downhill from there.  We've toured Europe for every record since No Pocky and it's been like beating our heads against the wall since '93.  10 years later and it's like the band never existed over there.  Van problems are a given for us in Europe.  We were broken down in Barcelona in '93 and  stuck in a crummy hotel for many days while we waited for Show Trans (much much more on them later) to send a mechanic from England down to fix our heap. Not a new van,  a mechanic.  After much scrutinization this member of the Show Trans brain trust presents a can of industrial strength putty to John our tour manager to apply to the leaky engine -every 50 miles or so.  I can still see John covered in oil (it would spray up into the windshield when the van was moving) and shaking his head in disbelief at a rest stop in France.  Then there was the time that our Indoor Living tour manager James ran a red light in Germany and got us rear ended.  He later absconded with all the accounting for the tour. Add to this the fact that we rarely seem to break the 100 people attendance mark and you can see that the Euro Tour experience isn't something we really look forward to.  There is also the fact that the dates for this tour were not confirmed until the last minute even though from what I can gather  it was in the works for some time.  We shall see. And see hard.

We get to the hotel in Glasgow at noon and find that the rooms won't be ready til 3:00.  The surly young woman behind the desk begrudgingly agrees to let us stow our luggage in a side room ("but it can't stay there for too long because Weight Watchers is in there later").  We hit the town looking for fish, chips and beer. We find all three.  Glasgow is a nice town but it feels thoroughly dismal.  I can't believe the happy-go -lucky Teenage Fanclub are from here.  

After dinner we head up to King Tut's Wah Wah Hut, the venue we will be playing tomorrow.  The Hut is a pretty legendary club, its major claim to fame being that its where Creation owner Alan McGhee first saw and offered to sign Oasis (they were opening for a Glasgow band called 18 Wheeler -the band who opened for us last time we were here in '94).  There are a few bands playing upstairs and I go check it our for a bit.  Downstairs I have a drink with Mac and Jim and am turned onto "Digital Love" by Daft Punk -a song it turns out everybody but me is already into.  I gotta get radio one of these days. 

In what will become a pretty standard observation for this tour, I notice that there is not a single poster or flyer announcing that we are playing.

I think I'm getting sick from too much airplane air.

10/09

We regroup in the lobby and meet Scotty our tech dude.  Scotty is from Sheffield (home of Def Leppard, Joe Cocker, Pulp and the Human League) and will prove himself to be quite the trooper.  Our long-standing soundman/tour manager Mr. Jason Ward is also onboard for this trek.  The crabby woman at the counter informs Jason that she refused the box of T-shirts that arrived yesterday  because he wasn't checked in yet. She is utterly remorseless. 

After soundcheck we are presented with our dinner: promoter pasta.  The term "promoter pasta" dates back to the early '90s and was coined by our old tourmates Seaweed.  It is exactly what you think it is.  Mac is daring and orders something else from the limited band menu.  I am sad to say that he barely touched his tuna potato. It is exactly what you think it is. Jason and Scotty miss dinner because they have to go to the airport to pick up the refused box of t-shirts.

Local stars (Edinburgh actually) Idlewild have agreed to open for us tonight.  Word gets out that they are playing (their appearance is unannounced) and the show sells out.  It was so packed for them that I didn't even get in the room to see them.  We set up and play.  There are a bunch of people still in the room, which is nice. The curse kicks in and I break both of my snare drums.  Seems the twine that holds the snares to the drum were ancient and snapped.  Gaffer tape to the rescue but some momentum is lost.  This is made clear by the young woman in the Idlewild shirt right in front of Mac who stares zombie-like at us when not talking on her cell phone.  There are plenty of people that dig it and we actually go over well.

Chat with the Idlewild guys after the show (very cool dudes) and pack up.  I am happy to find that they've left two t-shirts from their merch box  in the dressing room (they're long gone at this point).  I take 'em and will wear 'em with pride when I'm out of clean clothes in two weeks.  Thanks guys. 

10/10

I'm up at 8:00 and in search of heavy duty twine for the snares.  I have to wait outside of a drum and bugle store until it opens.  The nice chap in the drum department tears the entire back room apart and comes up with the sole packet of twines.  They are American and he admits that the distribution company probably just put a pound sign over the dollar sign.  He apologizes and I pay way too much for something that I almost  always bring with me.  Live and learn. He was nice to look so thoroughly. 

Back to the hotel. Jason announces that Travelodge is banned.  The company now  joins the ever-growing list of restaurants, hotels and motels that have been banished from our tour experience (see previous diaries). I sit in the lobby and watch the Weight Watchers file out of the conference room.  They are remarkably thin.  Guess they are veterans. 

We hit the road to Nottingham, England.  We are fortunate to have a superfan in tonight's promoter Anton. The last time we were in  the UK we played only London and an Anton-promoted show in Nottingham.  We had about 400 people in London and about 80 in Nottingham.  We are not expecting to do much better this time.  This is no slight on Anton, it's just that there is so little interest in the band in the UK. We are playing the tiny room of a huge venue called Rock City and are excited to see a  poster for the show (with the exception of Belfast it will be the last). The local crew guys are very cool -they are older rock and rollers- one even has a ZOSO tattoo on his forearm. 

Scotty, Jason and I struggle with the space-age twine I bought in Glasgow.  Seems this stuff is impossible to tie into a knot.  We get it as best we can and I decide to use traditional grip* for the next few shows so as to not risk blowing out the new twine. 

*This is the style used by many jazz drummers and probably made most famous by Charlie Watts.  It's harder to play really loudly using this grip.

We return from dinner to an almost empty club.  The show is actually pretty good.  The people who came are fans and like the band.  Anton and his friend cheer us along and we try to oblige a request for "Baxter."  It's been a long time since we last played this and we abandon it halfway through.  I end "Hyper Enough" with a few seconds of the drum intro to Zep's "Rock And Roll."  The monitor man's eyes immediately perk up. 

The van is loaded up and guess what?  It won't turn over.  Thanks again, Show Trans.  We eventually get it going and head to .....the Travelodge on the outskirts of town.  The ban will now officially kick in.  The guy behind the counter is even less friendly than the woman in Glasgow.  Guess they trained at the same place.  He brushes off a request for wake-up calls with a dismissive "Why don't you just set the alarm on your TV?"  Oh, I'm sorry, I hadn't yet traveled ahead in time and gone into the room and seen that  such a possibility exists.  We arrive to find that there are no phones in the rooms.

10/11

This will be our travel day to Paris.  Or maybe it won't.  Guess what?  The van won't start. The thing just will not turn over.  It's about 9:00 in the morning and Jason is desperately trying to call our good friends at Show Trans.  He sees that there is an insurance policy attached to the rental contract and calls the company.  Guess what?  The insurance company tells him that they have terminated Show Trans' policy.  Jason finally gets ahold of them and demands a new van.  Guess what?  There are no more available.  He calls AA (not to be confused with the substance-abuse organization that we will all surely be in need of once this tour is over) and asks for some road assistance.  Should be here in an hour.  Guess what?  An hour later and they're not here.  

Scotty does his best to call everybody he knows in the van rental business and guess what?  There isn't a van to be had in all of England. Everybody laughs when he tells them who we rented this one from.  Our only hope is that we can get a jump and take it to a garage to get looked at.  Eventually the AA man comes and kindly jumps us and takes us to his garage.  We need a new alternator.  Show Trans will get the bill for this one.  Did I mention that they haggled with us for years regarding the piece of crap van that broke down in Spain? 

We head to a pub for fish and chips and wait for the van to be fixed.  It finally is and we head off for Dover where we will spend the night.  Truth be told, that could have been so much worse than it was. Laura and I are roomies for this tour and we end up watching a true crime story about a woman accused of murdering her child.  I wanted to watch this BBC documentary about pornography but I was too shy.  

10/12

I see Jim in the lobby of the hotel and the first thing he asks is if I saw the amazing porno documentary that was on TV last night.  No, I was too shy. 

We make the short drive to the dock and get on our ferry for the quick trip to Calais. The boat is full of older English people.  Where they are bound, I don't know.  We are bound for Paris where we are told we will be playing on...a boat.  

Many hours later we pull up to a stretch of what appear to be floating nightclubs docked on the river.  LA GUINGUETTE PIRATE will be our home for the next 8 hours.  In a former life the club was a Chinese fishing boat.  Please take a moment an re-read that last sentence. Man.  As we board the venue I am reminded of Albert Brook's great line from Broadcast News: "62 dead in a landslide in India...and I wish I were one of them."  

The band area is situated in the aft section of the boat and my drums will be at a fairly noticeable incline.  Hope everything stays in place.  Jim has it the worst because he has to, and I am not making this up, stand on a hatch for the entire show.  He will literally be a foot above Mac and Laura when we play.  As I sit and try to make sense of all that I'm taking in, Mac introduces me to a reporter.  How fitting that my first ever interview with a drum magazine will occur on a Chinese fishing boat docked on a river in Paris.  The guy is cool and takes photos while we soundcheck.  He asks why I have so many cymbals in the inner sleeve studio photo on HTSU and I only have two here.  I tell him that there is no more room what with all the harpoons and fishing nets. 

By this point I'm actually kind of into the whole experience.  The dressing room is a converted van and the promoters are being very nice.  They have everything on our rider inside and we are enjoying ourselves.  Dinner is served in the bowels of the ship.  There are quite a few people here.  My old roommate Miles even shows up. 

The show is really good.  The place is packed (maybe 200 people?) and everybody has a great time.  You have no idea how weird it is to be playing the drums when the boat you're on starts rocking back and forth.  In truth I'm glad I experienced this situation.  My meditation work has really helped.  Had this night happened before I started meditating I would have been a very unpleasant person to be around. 

Now it's time to get lost for 2 hours on the way to the hotel.  Ok, see you in the morning!

10/13

The road to Rotterdam beckons and we hit it.  We watch in horror as a squirrelly motorcyclist follows an ambulance through bumper to bumper traffic only to disappear.  We get a little closer and see that he has rammed into a car and bitten the dust.  He's ok but the owner of the car is livid.  The ambulance was on its way to care for another motorcyclist who bit the dust.  We then see another motorcyclist who bit the dust.  And still another.  We are told this is a daily occurrence in Paris.  

The fumes from the engine have been creeping into the van for the last couple days and I have a severe headache as a result.  I'm in the process of finishing up Ian MacLagan's great autobiography All The Rage. It's the story of his exploits as keyboardist with The Faces, Stones, Dylan and others.  It's gotten me more excited about getting back to putting my notes together for my own memoir, the tentatively-titled Career In Rock.  Before we left for this tour I was really enjoying going through old photos and remembering all the bizarre stuff I've seen and experienced since my first ever gig at a backyard party in August of 1981.  

The drive to Rotterdam was interminable.  The weather is actually really nice in the city -maybe 65 degrees.  Tonight's club, Rotown, is more of a restaurant than a rock venue. We are treated to great food before loading in.  We are thankfully the only band on the bill tonight -makes for less headaches and I've already got one.  Jason, Jim and I hoof it over to the train station and change Francs into Gilders. I'm just along for the ride.

Just as we're about to go on I see our old friends Joe and Kristin from back home.  Joe has moved to Amsterdam for work and partying purposes.  Another good show.  People seem to know the songs and respond enthusiastically.  Afterwards a kid asks me if I always "showboat like that." We opt to leave the gear at the club rather than wade through the mass of ravers who've sinced flooded the club. Nitey nite.

10/14

Amsterdam is just a short drive from Rotterdam so we take a leisurely breakfast at Rotown before embarking.  We pull into Amsterdam and I realize this is the first time I've actually enjoyed being in this country.  Our hotel is walkable from the venue and the weather is great.  The hotel is festooned with old gig posters from the legendary Paradiso club (tonight's venue) and one featuring my old roommate Ed Crawford catches my eye.  Ed and his new band Grand National are, as we speak, on the road opening for his old fIREHOSE bandmate Mike Watt.  Hope it's going well. 

We play tonight in the upstairs portion of the Paradiso.  Spiritualized are playing in the big room (this is where several songs on the Rolling Stones Stripped album were recorded) and we will go on right after they're done.  Last time we played here it was weak.  I'm hoping for it to be a little better.  

We go off to eat with Joe and Kristin and check out their house which is situated just two blocks from Anne Frank's house.  My goal at dinner is to get to get Joe to tell all of his great job stories.  He doesn't let me down and has the table enthralled with tales of his time as The Balloonatic,  a half gorilla/half clown who delivered balloon bouquets.  The best Balloonatic story involves Joe running out onto a softball field in the middle of a game and handing a bouquet to a seething thirdbasman while getting yelled at by the ump.  He then looks up to see the woman who hired him standing in the parking lot and yelling "I got you, you son of a bitch!" at the thirdbasman. 

On our stroll back we see several outdoor urinals.  Wish they had those in the states.  Wait, no I don't. 

The show.  There is a bit of graffiti on the wall of the dressing room at the Cat's Cradle which reads "Don't worry, if they just stood there with their arms crossed, it means that they liked you."  Amsterdam must love us.  I have never gotten less energy from a crowd.  I was literally yawning by the end of the show.  We tried our best, that's all I can say.  

10/15

The beautiful morning has wiped away the memories of last night's yawnfest.  Mac and I sit in the lobby and peruse the guest registry.  He finds the best inscription: "Absolutely the worst hotel I've ever paid money to stay in."  I didn't think it was so bad.  Smell ya later Amsterdam.

Back to Calais and Dover.  I get some fish and chips and am completely turned off of them for at least a year.  Don't hold me to that.  

We drive to London and encounter the usual 2 hour drive from the outskirts to the hotel (three cheers for Jason and Scotty for getting us here safely).  Our fraying nerves are alleviated when we realize that Mr. Jonathan Richman is standing next to us at the front desk.  He nods that "even though I don't know who you are,  I do know you're in a band" nod and splits.  Indian food, I hear you call me. 

We sit in the hotel bar after dinner and listen intently as Scotty tells us of his brief tenure in Zoo 2, a U2 tribute band.  To break away from the pack of U2 cover bands, Zoo 2 specialized in covering Rattle and Hum in its entirety. Would loved to have seen it. 

10/16

Up early and off to find an internet place. I do and read through several nice e-mails,  the gist of most  are "loved your show here -it's a shame nobody came."  Yup. 

I stumble across a little shop which sells old 7" singles.  I am pleased as punch to discover several singles from my youth that I now "need."  I'm amazed at how cheap they are -most in the 50 pence to 1.50 range.  Is buying old Elvis Costello, Klark Kent, Teardrop Explodes and Police (their very first self-released record -minus picture sleeve -no, this isn't a Jack Rabid impersonation) singles as unfashionable in the UK as buying Head East and Angel records is in America? Maybe so.

Next stop is a bookstore where I find My Magpie Eyes Are Hungry For The Prize: The Creation Records Story. I first saw this book earlier in our tour but was not up for tackling all 750 pages of it (this tome is so thorough that Oasis doesn't even enter the picture until page 585). Now I am.  I also pick up the new Mojo and am delighted to see that our mugs have finally made it in.  The review of the new record is good but of the "they sacrificed success for credibility" slant.  What can you do. 

Upon returning to the hotel I am devastated to find out that I have missed the sight of Jonathan Richman playing a game of solo hacky sac in the hotel driveway. Mac said he was just seconds away from getting it on video. Curses.

Next stop: the Garage.  We have played the Garage in the Islington section of London every time over here since 1995.  It's an ok place to play but like most clubs it's the last place you'd want to hang around in.  After soundcheck we meet up with English friends Neil and Sean (I think they've seen us every time we've been here since '92 -Neil even put us up a few times) and head out to eat.  We are stopped at the backstage door by a wonderful chap who drove all the way up from Bournemouth (2 hours away) to see us and get some stuff signed.  

The restaurant we want to go to isn't open yet so we go to the legendary Hope and Anchor pub for a drink.  I sneak downstairs and ask the sound guy to take my picture on the tiny stage.  This is where Madness shot their "One Step Beyond" video and was, I believe,  the site of the Police's first show as well as  U2's first gig in London. 

At the restaurant Neil fills us in on the latest Ryan Adams news (see end of last diary for tie-in).  Neil's friend Brad (a fellow NC dude) has been playing guitar with Ryan on his current tour and stated that Mr. Elton John has been jamming with them from time to time.  Too weird. 

Back at the Garage I overhear Mac talking with one of the guys in one of the two other bands on the bill.  He's mentioning the Creation book and when I tell them I bought it  Mac introduces me to Pete Astor the man responsible for the "My Magpie Eyes..." section of the book's title. Seems Pete was a leading light in the Creation records family in the 80s when he fronted the band The Weather Prophets.  He kindly signs the book for me.  

Our hapless booking agent appears and immediately begins apologizing for the tour.  As Jim is wont to say, "No apology could be too great." 

London is always the highlight of our European tours and tonight is no exception.  There are probably 350 people and they all want to be there.  The only bummer is when a guy who looks remarkably like Mr. Bean knocks over the organ in the middle of a song.  I watch his face when he realizes what he's done and I don't doubt that he is truly mortified.  We get the hook right as we are about to do "Precision" because of time constraints.  

I am thrilled to snag a poster for an upcoming Garage appearance by an Australian band called Teen Spirit: The Nirvana Experience.  The pictures on the poster are all from-behind pictures of a blonde guy in a big Cobain-ish sweatshirt knocking over amps and rocking out.  Maybe I'll start a Foo Fighters tribute when I get back.

My apologies to Mr. Tony Ware for not getting to say hello.

Gotta get to sleep because the really depressing part begins tomorrow.

10/17

Tonight's show is in Leeds -a town we haven't played since 1994.  I think we actually did ok.  That show was notable for being the only time I have ever kissed a girl on the road.   If that makes me a square then fine.  I'm living by my rules not yours.  Sorry, I think I just slipped into an early Black Flag song there for a second.  We have no idea what to expect tonight.

Who's up for promoter pasta?  This batch is actually pretty good.  Afterwards we go to a little mall to amuse ourselves.  I get lucky and find the only store in England that sells Fortean Times -the journal of weird phenomena.  

The show is ok -maybe 60 people.  Anton and his friend are here as are a few people from London. There's even a couple from San Francisco.  

As we load out I notice a poster advertising a "Detroit Rock" night at the club featuring The Stooges, The MC5 and that classic Detroit band The Strokes.  Ok, thanks.

Blah.

 10/18

Madchester.  Last time we played here was in 1994 at a club called the Boardwalk.  My reading tells me that local heroes Oasis practiced in the basement there at one time.   Fascinating. 

The gig is on the campus of Manchester University.  This is great news because that means we will not be in a room with penises drawn on the walls.  We also find out that downstairs in the big room will be none other than Southside Johnny and The Asbury Jukes.  We run through Nick Cave's "Love Letter" at soundcheck but have to cut it short because one of my brushes explodes.  

Dinner is across the street.  I think the constant inhalation of diesel fumes has screwed with my digestion.  I can barely eat my pasta.  Or maybe it's just because it sucks, I don't know. As  I hightail it back to the venue I am accosted by guys selling tickets for the Jukes show.  I get in the venue and see that it is packed with middle-aged people.  Southside Johnny is loved in Manchester.  Let's go upstairs to our venue and see how much we are loved.  Even I am shocked to see how few people are in attendance.  There can't be more than 15 here.  

 By showtime there are about 40 people in the hall.  Anton and his friend are here.  I honestly cannot think of anything to say about this show.  Maybe I'm just blocking it out. I dunno.

Back to the hotel and what I will say is probably the nicest hotel shower I've come across.  If you are ever in Manchester do yourself a favor and stay at the Tulip Inn.  You will not be disappointed. 

10/19

We rise early so Scotty can take us to the airport in Liverpool and then get on his way and drop our gear and the piece of crap van back in London. I don't envy his next 8 hours.  

The drive to Liverpool is very short -maybe 30 minutes.  We say our goodbyes to our new friend and hunker down in John Lennon Airport.  It's small -about the size of the airport that Scranton PA must have.  If I ever get to take that dream vacation to Scranton I'll let you know. 

I check my e-mail at the airport and find out that my best friend from high school lives in Osaka but didn't know we were playing.  I didn't know he lived there.  That sucks because I could really use that $2.00 he still owes me. 

The flight to Belfast, Ireland takes only an hour.  We hump our gear to the curb and try to squeeze it all into two taxis.  I am utterly amazed at how green the grass is here.  It's really like no other I've ever seen.  Ireland's national color should be green.  Hey, wait...

Our taxi driver is very nice and rattles off the names and significance of all the places we pass.  A few minutes after we pass the dock where Titanic was built we are dropped off at the club.  I am startled to see a very cool poster for the show.  What went wrong? 

Inside we are met by two of the more memorable characters I have met in my years of touring: Dee and Dave.  Dee works at the club and Dave seems to be just hanging out.  Dee appears to be in his late twenties and has a long ponytail and a friendly smile.  Dave is around 38 but looks much younger, almost like the archetypal astronaut of the '60s.  While Mac and Jim go do a radio interview I stay and chat with Dave and Dee.  It is only a matter of seconds before Dee takes his shirt off.  He is remarkably buff and I can't help but notice a huge bruise right on his left pec.  There are also several smaller ones all over his chest.  Maybe I'll work up the courage to ask him about these later.  For now I will listen to him talk about some of the famous music types he's come in contact with.  Some of his remarks are disparaging and I won't put them here, My favorite one was regarding Shane McGowan: "What a waste of space, I have nutting for him." Might not translate without the accent and the bruises.  

We get so many e-mails from Ireland asking us to play here that we are quite optimistic about tonight's turnout.  Our hopes are dashed severally when we walk into the club after dinner and find no more than 30 people. Uh oh.

Backstage is insane.  Dee and Dave are going  through almost an entire commercial-sized Vodka bottle by themselves.  I watch as Dee excuses himself and then returns moments later wearing a shirt for the first time since I've met him.  He takes it off the second he re-enters the room.  "I would go naked if I could," he explains.  Dee takes a shine to Jim and begins wrestling with him.  Jim plays along but is visibly uncertain of how far this might go.  We all are.   Luckily nobody gets hurt.  Dee explains that he got the bruises when a hulking man went on a backstage rampage. Hate to see the other guy.

The show goes off well.  There are a handful of people who really dig it and we play to them.  Seems No Pocky For Kitty is the Belfast favorite -that's the only album people seem to want to hear songs from.  We end with three in a row from that record.

I return to the dressing room and find Dave sitting in the exact same place where I left him.  He's on his cell phone with his boss (I was never certain what he actually did for a living).  Seems Dave was relieved  of his job during the 65 minutes we were onstage.  After the call he asks me if I enjoyed the show.  He will ask me the same question four more times in the next 40 minutes.  I never see Dee again. 

The wait to load out of the club takes an eternity.  We are able to snag some cabs with the kind assistance of some nice locals. 

One to go. 

10/20

The light at the end of the tunnel.  We've been traveling with 5 guitars, a big case of cymbals, an amp and five people's worth of luggage these last couple days.  We've been fortunate to find some nice cabbies (several have out -and- out refused to deal with all our gear) to ferry us around.  We get up early and make our way to the Belfast train station where we will catch a train down to Dublin.  

I'm so glad we took a train because we actually got to see the a lot of the beautiful countryside. I think I even saw a leprechaun hiding behind some bushes.  

Jason snags us a monster-size cab in Dublin and we head to the venue. Ain't no one there yet and we unload all the gear onto the sidewalk in front of Mono -tonight's club.  The promoter arrives but she doesn't have a key either.  Mac, Jim and I go to the hotel to check in.  I have my first -and I'm proud to say only tantrum of the tour.  There is no elevator and I have to lug my massive bag (full of sticks and books and clothes etc,) up several flights of stairs.  I trip and fall on the way up and then knock over a bunch of chairs that are in the middle of the tiny hallway.  I think I even used some swear words.  

The city is really cool.  Tons of shops and pubs and whatnot.  We have no time to check out any of it.  After soundcheck we go for some surprisingly good tapas. I think I even moaned at one point. 

We head back to Mono and guess what?  There are even less people than in Belfast last night.  The two opening bands play and we put our gear into place. I take a picture of the club from onstage (I debated putting photos up for this diary but I figured it would take too long to load -I think I will later) for posterity.  This might rival Bloomington, November of '91, when we played to eleven people.  

There are actually about 50 people by the time we play.  My rented bass drum pedal dies during the fourth song.  The drummer for one of the opening bands kindly lends me his.  The action is kind of slow and hampers my ability to play a song I already loathe performing: "On The Mouth."  The rental dude appears out of nowhere and starts fixing the broken one.  I swap them out and continue the show.  

Several people from last night's gig have made it down.  It's good to see them again and get their energy.  The pedal dies again -this time at the very end of the show closer "Precision Auto."  I take the beater and fling it against the wall.  We finish the song and I throw the pedal up in the air, doing my best to make sure it doesn't hit anybody. 

(October 27: I have had a rethink about this after witnessing a performance last night by The Damned.  The drummer who wasn't Rat Scabies was very upset by the inadequate light show the in-house man at the Cat's Cradle put on.  He kept complaining about it into the mic and even hit the lamps at one point.  It was so distracting that it nearly ruined the show.  I really wanted to clock the guy and say, "Dude, I've seen a thousand bands play here and you're the first person to ever cause a stink about the fucking lights.  You're lucky to be in this band." Wonder if people think that about me when I get visibly bummed onstage. The Damned drummer got his when, at the end of the show, he started picking up pieces of his very nice drum kit and tried to fling them at the lights.  He never even came close.  All he had to show for his effort was a pile of nice drums.)

Jason comes up to me as I'm packing my cymbals up.  "You are not going to believe what is going on," he whispers.  I'm actually excited because I think it means he's met a special lady.  Unfortunately it is not the case.

Because there are two sides to every story I will wait before launching into a massive tirade against our hapless now ex-booking agent.  In brief, it seems our hapless ex-booking agent owed the Dublin promoter money from a previous show and just told the guy to essentially call it even with our show.  

SO GUESS WHO DIDN'T GET PAID ONE RED CENT (PUNT) FOR THEIR SHOW?

We are flabbergasted.  So is the woman who is responsible for paying us.  She knew nothing about the arrangement until she went to get our money and was told what was happening.  Guess who can't be reached on the phone?

In shock, we drag our gear outside and numbly place it on the curb.  We hail a couple cabs and head back to the hotel.  We all meet in the hotel pub for beer which we hope will take away all the pain.  Mac and I stay later than the others and meet a great couple from Cambridge, UK.  They are in their early 50s and are on a little holiday.  They've just returned from Orlando, Florida and fill us in on their trip.  Strangely, they never made it into Orlando proper but spent all their time on the outskirts and at Wet and Wild.  That would be a pretty bizarre first taste of America.  Fudruckers, Chili's and the Octoplex Cinema.  I retire about 20 minutes later. As I was leaving she asked Mac, "He's the drummer right?" Must've  been my stubble.

10/21

As we make our way to the Dublin airport Mac fills me in on a great bit of conversion I missed after I turned in. 

Woman: We listen to a lot of reggae (I cannot stress how little these two people looked like not only reggae fans, but music fans).

Man: It's great for when you're smoking up.

He also tells me of a great quote he read in the new Vanity Fair.  When asked about the ga-ga reception the White Stripes have received in the UK, frontman Jack White says, "It's like they've never heard music before."  I couldn't have said it better.  

We're waiting in line at the airport and I hear that voice.  "Jonny Wurster."  Only one face could possibly go with that lazy cackle.  I look up from my reading and sure enough, there he is -Mr. Ryan Adams. Seems Ryan and band played Dublin last night too.  It's great to see him and Brad (Brad was also on the Whiskeytown tour I played on in '98).  We chat a little (Brad comments on my week-old stubble: "Goin' for that Kenny Loggins look, huh ?") but they've got to get on their flight to Manchester.  We've got to go to London and hang out in the Travel In at Gatwick until our flight tomorrow morning.

Laura and I have dinner at the hotel restaurant.  Mac and Jim soon join us.  There is no mention of the previous two weeks -just fun, small talk.  It's nice.  

I won't bore you with the return flight.  I didn't sleep and I didn't watch any movies.  I actually felt proud of us for getting through what was in all honesty a dismal European tour. 

Ok America,  you ready to get your ass kicked by us?