The Bluetones - Diary

6/12/06 Edinburgh

2006-12-13T17:14:00.000Z

Another year is drawing to a close already, we've had our ups and our downs as I'm sure most of you have too, but on the whole it's been a big shit-heap of fun.
It's nice, too, to end the year's touring with a gig in my (now) home town of Edinburgh. (I can get tiddly, go home after the gig and not have to worry about a 9 hour hungover drive to London in the morning. My heart goes out to the others, sniff sniff).
If anyone is wondering how I came to end up living here the story is simple; about 11 years ago I visited for Hogmanay and a bit of fun, fell in love with a girl, and fell in love with the city at the same time. Q.E.D.
Someone once said that when a man grows tired of London he grows tired of life, that man obviously didn't have to contend with the extortionate cost of living in London that so many millions have to face daily in these times, were that chap around today he may have said "When a man grows tired of London it's probably because it's too fucking expensive to fart in, so he should up sticks and move to somewhere nice like, ooh I dunno, Edinburgh" instead.

In comparison to the woeful night before in Wigan, the gig was a rip-roarious-rollicking-burn-down-the-sun-and-send-it-hurtling-towards-earth-in-a-blaze-of-glory kind of a gig. In comparison to past gigs in Edinburgh it was a bit of a disappointment. We all felt there was just a slight lack of atmos in the place. I guess we should only blame ourselves for that, but really I blame those that decided to stay in and watch DIY SOS on the telly instead. It was ultimately a bit of an anti-climax to the tour, but I'd like to thank those that came out and I do hope that they enjoyed it, got what they wanted, and bring their friends next time. Eh!?

Thanks to all who've supported us this year, bought our songs and stuff, came to gigs, checked out our website and blog, watched the newly posted cheap-o home-made video for 'Head On A Spike' posted on YouTube recently.
(Work is currently underway for the next cheap-o home-made vid for the next single, rumoured to be 'Surrendered'. But don't hold your breath)

We at Bluetones HQ wish you all A merry non-specific religious (or preferably non-religious) holiday festive period & a happy new year!

We hope to see you all again for more next year (2K7), and we hope you bring the neighbours.

Take care, for now.

SCOTT. xxx

WIGAN

2006-12-08T14:57:00.000Z

Boys and girls, the tale of Wigan is not for the faint of heart or weak of stomach, consider yourselves warned!, i'll start at the beginning: I wake up in Barnsley (not a good start), I roll over in bed and crush my reading glasses, I flick on the radio to learn that our sorry arsed cricket team has managed to wrestle defeat from the jaws of a nailed-on draw in the second test. Chesters awakes, lets out a gentle botty cough and reminds me that it's a month to the day since Rostock. That particular 'diem horriblis' you'll find chronicled under 'Eds Chesters Darkplace' but lets stick to this one, i'm not a supersticious person (I consider it unlucky) but the omens here are not good ....

Fast forward one hour ... we're sitting in the van headed foir Wigan, the rain is coming down in vertical sheets and the heating's fucked. Somebody farts but nobody's claiming ownership, I belch and a little bit of sick comes up, the taste proves as impossible to shift as the farty waft in the van. We arrive and check in to Wigan's prestigious Quality Hotel, the most inappropriately named hotel since I last frequented the Sea View Hotel ... in Birmingham. The room is cold so i run a bath, the top of the tap comes off in my hand. I won't describe the decor but suffice to say the interior designer must have truly hated all mankind.

Fast forward one hour ... I arrive at the venue for soundcheck, it's not really a live music venue ... it's a nightclub, all mat black and mock chrome but the first thing that hits you is the smell. It's as if a giant got caught short, peeled back the roof, dropped his pants, splayed his ample cheeks and emptied his rusty arse juice into the place ... before thoughtfully replacing the roof to seal in the flavour ... forever. John (promoter) shows me to the dressing room, I can't describe it, nobody can. John tells me: "don't worry there's no rats ... they can't handle the smell".

Fast forward one hour ... we're doing the longest (2 and a half hours) and worst soundcheck of our career, nothing works, the local crew don't know thier arse from thier elbow and confess to not having done an actual 'gig' before. Here are some genuine exchanges between us and the guy in charge of the p.a. :
TONES: "It sounds fucking awful up here mate"
P.A. GUY: "Yeah well it will do lads"
TONES: "We can't hear any vocals on stage mate"
P.A. GUY: "Yeah that's cos you're not hearing the vocals"
TONES: "Who's doing the lights mate"
P.A. GUY: "Er ......... what lights?"
Mark apologises profusely to the 3 (yes 3!) support bands who now have a total of 15 minutes between them to soundcheck and calls a halt to proceedings by telling the p.a. guy: "If i wanted to work with clowns i'd have got a fuckin' job at macdonalds".

Fast forward what seemed like a lifetime but was actually a couple of hours ... I'm just about to have a last minute piss when our intro music prematurely kicks in, there's no way i'm gonna make it in time, the boys console me " ha ha ha, you'll just have to 'hold it in" with this we take to the stage. There are no setlists on stage, the keyboard is playing up and we are forced to abort 'serenity now' and start it again because my guitar has been tuned wrong, the sound is pitifull but we plough on, by mid set i need to piss so bad it's starting to hurt, by the last 3 songs i'm hunched over and delirious, so delirious that i'm actually considering pissing myself as a viable option, Pete Docherty does stuff like that all the time and the kids still love him so why not?. With the last strains of 'If...' still reverberating around the room I flee the stage, fly down the stairs, kick the squalid toilet door open and unload unending arcs of steaming amber that cascade over the walls and form foaming rivers beneath me. i'm doubled over with stomach cramp and groaning like a whore. The relief renders me so euphoric that i almost enjoy the encore but the reality is that this has been the worst gig i can recall in many a year. As i walk off stage Andy informs me that Brentford have lost ... at home ... 4-0! ... again!!! and i think about getting into heroine.

Fast forward 10 minutes and we're back in the hotel, we had literally put on our coats and left after the gig. A quick shower, an extremely large scotch and i'm ready for bed, only a peaceful night can now rescue me from this wretched day, I bid Chesters 'goodnight', reach over to switch off the lamp and the top falls off, a spark leaps out and fuses the entire electricity supply in the room ... God I love my job.

ADAMx

manchester 24/11/06

2006-11-28T00:49:00.000Z

I realise a few dates have been missed out including Glasgow but i did wax lyrical about that fine city this time last year, there is nothing further to report, it's still the best city in the UK, still the coldest and king tut's is still the best venue, alas the Glasgow hangover is still the worst. Nottingham is still Nottingham too by the way.
So to Manchester, sorted, top buzz n' all that. Our overnight stay at the Britainia Hotel is worthy of the first mention, to those not familiar, The Britainia is a vast hotel in the heart of the city, it's an ageing and decaying edifice bedecked in sapphire blue and painted gold woodwork, everything in it is about 100 years old including the dust, it has a huge open foyer with staircases that go on forever and looks not unlike the main frame of The Titanic, i was half expecting some paddy to rush in shouting "iceberg iceberg" at any minute. Check-in was an experience too, myself and trusty room buddy Mr. Chesters were greeted in 'our' room by a woman wrapped in a towel yelling "get out of my fookin' room", when we went to reception to complain we found ourselves in a queue of disgruntled guests that had also been checked into other peoples rooms, the queue included Scott who had been checked into Mark's room, Mark had been given a suite cos they'd fucked up his reservation the day before (hope your'e keeping up cos there's more) ... an hour later they finally found a room for me and Chesters that we could call our own, we'd not been in it 10 minutes when Andy (tour manager) casually let himself in and enquired "what the fuck are you doing in my room?", I briefly joined another queue to complain again but the staff looked so baffled and haunted i took pity on them and returned to my room, which we were now sharing with Andy, a computer salesman and a delightful old couple from Estonia.
The gig was one of the best on the tour, the crowd were a bit quiet at first but were 'goin fookin mental' by the end, with Thunder playing in the room nextdoor we were just amazed anyone showed up at all. Some of the chaps went back to the titanic to hit the bar which was screening the equally chilling disaster of England's 1st test down under. i went to the mojo bar where i was befriended by an extremely drunk Danny Macnamara from Embrace, he slurred wonderful things about us and bought me countless drinks, i probably should have said nice stuff back but didn't. The night ended in Chinatown, scoffing down an ill advised early morning snack which was interrupted by an emergency call from andy at the hotel demanding that i return immediately with brandy and food ... so i did.

ADAM x

17/11/06 Sheffield

2006-11-20T12:59:00.000Z

It's been branded the "Sex City", or the "Sports Capital of England" and more recently the "Home of Electro/Indie/Punk(Ad Infinitum) Revival".
To me Sheffield has always been about getting hammered in the Leadmill (tonights venue) dressing room.
No matter what night of the week it is when we play the Leadmill, it's always Indie Disco night. The Sheffield Leadmill is the eternal indie disco. Now, indie or not, discos are not my bag. I rarely attend and if I do it's usually because I'm lost. I'm no dancer, a low talker, and a touch hard of hearing (12 years standing next to 3000 decibels of bass takes it's toll). Being in the disco is, to me, the worst kind of sensory deprivation.
Thus, post gig, I am always to be found sat in the safe harbour of the dressing room, glas o' wine/cognac in hand, jibbering like a buffoon to all and sundry about not much at all. That's more my idea of fun.
The gig itself was, as it usually is in this town, a stormer. It's a great venue: nice wide stage, loud sound system, punters up for a good time, cheap booze etc.
But once the final chorus of Bluetonic is but a ringing in the ears, and the rather predictable platters of the indie DJ are to be heard blaring from upstairs, I am able to at last uncork the wine, change my t-shirt, ensconce myself in the dressing room corner, and send my brain on another vacation.
"Blah-blu-blurrrrgh, bibble-bib-nib, worrraghmyonabaaaght? Beshtfagginmate, nahnahnahthey'reshit! Wazzatyasay, dahngimmethat, ayeshuldnah etc etc... "
This until 3a.m. when at last auto pilot kicks in and takes me unwittingly to my hotel room and safely to bed.
Thanks again Sheffield. You never disappoint.

Scott. x

16/11/06 POOLE

2006-11-19T22:29:00.000Z

The last time we were here i was reprimanded by a couple in the car park for suggesting that Poole was "near Bournemouth" (it is). They explained that they were sick of having to say they were from "near Bournemouth" to the geographically challenged. Being from London i don't have that problem but Scott lives in Edinburgh or 'near London' as it's known stateside, Eds as you all know is from the sleepy Durham village of Nearnewcastle.
ok class, exercise books out ..... Poole is a bustling harbour town on the Dorset coast and is the biggest natural harbour in Europe. Bournemouth is much larger resort town just up the road. Poole is nearly 1000 years old, down the centuries it has traded in wool, fisheries and pottery and still has two world famous pottery centres, on in the town and another out on Purbeck Island. Bournemouth by comparison is a shitty-nappied baby of a mere 200 years with it's primary source of cash coming from tourism.
It's Bournemouth's development as a tourist resort in the 19th century that is the seed of the rivalry between the two towns. Pine trees were planted and plush hotels erected to bring fat French holidaymakers with even fatter wallets to Bournemouth while Poole remained underfunded and unwanted. The city fathers of Poole developed an inferiority complex when the residents of Branksome and other border towns began to omit Poole from the addresses in favour Bournemouth, rigid borders were drawn up and new laws passed to prevent the town from being swallowed up by it's aggressive baby brother.
Poole even had a brief skirmish with the French when in 1406 the pirate Henry Ford (one of Pooles most notorious residents) was accused of raiding French ships at sea for gold and baguettes and stuff, it wasn't technically a war but the French did invade, they torched the harbour and made off with some sheep.
Happily things are more civilized between Poole and the French thesedays though not necessarily betwwen Poole and Bournemouth. The latest bone of contention is The Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra which is based in Poole but has pissed of the locals by refusing to change it's name. Why it is that mankind seems genetically pre-desposed to hate and envy the bloke next door/ next town / next country is a matter for a far less confused mind than mine.
After the gig we snorted crystal anthetamine from the waxed cracks of endless liquored up whores etc ...

ADAM x

11/11/06 - Reading

2006-11-16T11:39:00.000Z

"What a diff'rence eight days makes"

Ah, it's nice to be back in familiar terrirtoy. Last night's triumph has me in a buoyant mood and damp at the prospect of more of the same.
We overnighted at the Ibis, Leeds. They're cheap and clean, the Ibis chain, but not comfortable. I awoke with a crick neck. If only I'd done one more year at osteopathic college, maybe I could heal myself.
Anyway, I loped into Leeds centre to do some banking. Yes folks, I've taken it upon myself to look after all things fiscal in the Bluetones camp. Amusingly for the onlooker, each time I cross the road I look like some kind of paranoid obsessive. Over-exagerated swivelling of my upper body to look left... then right... then left again... then right again(come on kids, you can't be too careful).
The journey to Reading passes uneventfully, as does load-in, soundcheck, dinner(a sandwich), then the thumb-twiddleing starts. I've never been a good thumb twiddler, I don't like to feel time slipping away pointlessly, so I make a few calls to pass the time. Zazie, my wife, is coming to the show tonight, childminder sorted out and all that, so I have to be especially good on stage. And the thumb twiddling starts again... and then I make a poor judgement call bourne of complacency following last night's good show and a good soundcheck today.
I went to the pub for a pint of Guiness. I know that sounds innocuous enough, but those two units of alcohol take a far greater toll on my time-keeping and performance than you'd think. I realize that I'm writing this with the benefit of hindsight, and sometimes a drink is just the thing to enhance a performance, BUT I wish I had been completely straight for last night's show as I was for the Leeds gig.
So to the gig. It was a sell-out, and the people expected. I'm not saying it was a poor performance, it wasn't, it was good, very musical, Mark was very funny as uausal, but the crowd were a bit quiet for the first half. I think I felt the change in atmosphere during Hope And Jump. I enjoyed every moment of Hope And Jump, maybe it was the nature of the song, or that it was relatively new to the set, whatever, it focussed me on the job in hand.
From then on, the show was business as usual. I particularly enjoyed The Last Song But One, enhanced as it was by some very spiritual flailing of arms; more 7th Day Adventist than Sisters Of Mercy. The night was topped off and tucked up with a splendid rendition of Bluetonic.
Off we went for a quiet drink backstage and then to London to our respective beds (e. Scott)

Note to self: don't drink and drum.

Tara then, Eds.

12/11/06 Leeds Cockpit

2006-11-14T16:11:00.000Z

So, after a very brief recuperation the UK leg kicks off in Leeds. Now, most of the day was spent on the M1, so I shall spare you all the grisly details of our journey, dear reader, and instead transport you straight to the gig. Which as is usual whenever we play this particular venue, was an absolute belter.
Most notable occurence of the evening from a personal perspective, was the presence of a particularly over eager punter at the front of the crowd, who wanted to show his appreciation of the show by 'offering' yours truly 'out' for a 'fight'. Hmmm.
Anyhoo, we didn't dwell too long on it and eventually drove the sucker out with one ballad too many...I spotted him mooching away, flicking the Vs defiantly as the crowd absorbed his neanderthal silhouette. You know what? I reckon I could've 'ad 'im, an' all!

Special mention must go at this point to the lovely Emma (see picture), who after the show presented me with a carrier bag of belated birthday goodies. Take note kids, if you want a fast track to my affections I make no bones about the fact that tasteful gifts are always a winner.

We kinda took things easy after the show, in anticipation of the busy weeks ahead. Snuggling up with a bit of Edward Fox on the telly, and a head ringing with the harmonious nose music of my new room mate, Nobby...our sound tech.
Aah, life on the road. How sweet it is.

Mark. x x x

9/11/06 Amsterdam.

2006-11-12T16:57:00.000Z

The Amsterdam experience is definitely one that has lost its edge down the years. I remeber the first time I came here I felt like that fat German kid in Willy Wonker's Choccy Factory, I was a giddy young man in a town full of weed, whores, poppers, booze, & dildos.
These days you can get all that stuff in Stoke but at least in Amsterdam they can speak English, in fact everyone does, in bars, shops, banks, everyone addresses you in English, there aren't even many Dutch accents around , it's as if they just gave up and fucked off years ago and I don't blame them, Amsterdam is, a few half decent squares and canals notwithstanding, a fairly uninspiring place. But it's popularity as a party town has just engulfed the city which is awash with pan-European stags and beer boys, business types on seedy jollies, and ageing homeless guys who came here in the '80s for the cheap acid.

Tonight we are sharing the venue (Paradiso) with Ice Cube, there be hard looking brothers everywhere. Some of the boys checked out his sound check and attempted to blend in by pulling up their hoods, others frequented some of the local coffee bars, me & the missus went shopping, I bought hash cakes, she bought socks.

The gig itself was great and sold out which was a tonic after the horror-show at Rostock. One guy called out "Play Solomon Eats The Worm" throughout the gig, we thought it odd as we'd opened with it. Having the Cubester next door lent a surreal edge to the proceedings between songs you could occaisionally hear his phat beats pounding, but them hard looking brothers I mentioned earlier were actually rather friendly when we did cross paths.

After the gig we found ourselves in some after-hours rip-off joint where the beer was the price of oil, and you had to buy your coat back on the way out, but the entertainment was first class. A middle-aged crooner with an electric piano lounged his way through the back catalogues of Elton John, Robbie Williams, Frank Sinatra et al (Yet curiously refused to play any queen).
This guy had X-factor up the ying-yang and we applauded heartily and without a shred of post-modern irony.

On the way back to the bus I became suddenly and inexplicably detatched from the group and found myself in the red light district alone, vulnerable, and high. There was plenty of window action around and I couldn't help but notice a shop neon reading "Dutch prostitutes the best in the world", but the young lady on display looked distinctly Oriental, I pondered this for a while, "But she can't be from Holland" I muttered to myself, eventually my curiosity got the better of me and I approached her pimp to resolve the matter. I said "Excuse me mate...How Dutch is that prozzy in the window?"

Adam. x

8/11/06 - Christiania, Copenhagen.

2006-11-11T22:19:00.000Z

8/11/06
Christiania, Copenhagen.
Club Loppen.

If you don’t already know the story of Christiania then I’ll briefly tell it as I have had it told to me.
Sometime in either the late ‘50s or early ‘60s, due to a housing shortage, a disused military compound near the centre of Copenhagen was claimed by a large collection of the cities homeless. They succeeded in persuading the then rather liberal government to hand over this piece of land and decree it an independent state. Once inside Christiania you are no longer inside the EU. It became rather like a large hippy commune, self policing and self governing, allowing those with something to offer a chance to come in and build their own homes and live relatively cheaply and freely. Power to the people, eh?

Well it seems not for much longer. The freedoms enjoyed for around 40 years here are in jeopardy as the new more conservative government wants to try to close it all down and get the land back for re-development. It would be a shame to see that happen, but having said that it seemed to me on this visit that Christiania has been broken enough for it to seem already lost for good. There is a far more seedy and sinister feel to the place these days compared to when we first paid a visit in 1996. Gone are most of the festival style stalls selling ready rolled soft drug ciggies, and gone too are the cheerful and friendly stoner characters that once populated the haven. All replaced by more suspicious looking hoodie wearers, irritating cockneys, and the odd dogdy geezer on the corner whispering “Skunk, you wan’ buy skunk?” as you pass by.
Still, some things don’t change, and the Loppen remains the friendly albeit ramshackle club it always was. By far, so I am told, the coolest venue in the city.

There are dark, steely grey clouds hanging heavy overhead today, and the rain is relentless. I decide to go for another brief exploration of the city, still in search of 2nd hand goodies, and this time utilize the city’s metro service. A little more successful than yesterday, I found 2 decent shops but alas no great bargain. I give up and head back for sound-check.

The checking of the sound is followed by the eating of the shepherds pie/garlic surprise that the resident chef/drug dealer knocked up for us.

Forced back rather than wolfed down. We are grateful though. It is at least inexpensive and filling. But the bus will stink in the morning.

The show goes well, however there are a few minor grumbles about the sound onstage being difficult to work with. We are perhaps a little quick to forget that only 3 nights ago we played to 14 people and a dog.
The turn-out tonight was around 150, which was a spoonful of medicine for the ego.
A few brandies in the dressing room, a brief chat to some of our guests, and we are cattle-prodded onto the tour bus to make way for our next, and final port of call on this European stint. Amsterdam.
The brandy puts me to sleep soundly as we roll down the road into the dark cold night.

Scott. x

7/11/06 - Copenhagen. Day 2.

2006-11-11T22:18:00.000Z

7/11/06
Copenhagen. Day 2.

A delightfully restful sleep in my tiny cocoon puts me in fine fettle for a bit of an aimless amble around town. I always make a point of seeking out the second-hand and vintage clothing boutiques in whichever city I visit, forever in search of that elusive bargain (like the fine pair of brogues I picked up in Hamburg for 20euro), but alas today my search proved fruitless.

This is a very attractive city though with its many verdigrized spires and intertwining side streets, and not too large, it is the perfect kind of place for simply strolling about. In the past when we’ve paid a visit to Copenhagen there simply hasn’t been the time to venture very far so I was determined this time to see much more of it, and see more I did.
It costs nothing to simply look.

The evening brought on some level of anxiety as hunger approached, but luckily after little trepidation, Eds and I stumbled upon the ‘Spicy Kitchen’ on Torvegade near Christianshavn St. where a relatively cheap curry was the perfect antidote to the drizzle and the delirium tremens.( Lamb and spinach curry, basmati rice, naan, poppadums, mango chutney, and a half litre of beer for £11! Can’t be bad.)

Without wanting to sound like too much of a killjoy the post-dinner invitation to sit in an “Oirish” theme pub and watch 22 British men-in-shorts play kiss-chase did not appeal to me somehow. And so I headed back to the cab-inn for a quiet night and to catch up on a bit of Monk (season 3). In this particular episode Tony Shalhoub’s obsessive-compulsive detective foils a plot to rig a game show. A good episode but not enough Captain Stottelmeyer for my liking. Night.

Scott. x

6/11/06 - Copenhagen.

2006-11-11T22:13:00.000Z

6/11/06
Copenhagen.

We have some time to kill. The next gig isn’t until the 8th, so that gives us 2 days to get to know Copenhagen a little better. We are based in one of the cities luxuriously cheap ‘Cab-Inn’ hotels, right around the corner from the Tivoli station. The rooms here are small. In fact to call them rooms at all would be to imply that there is some room within them. They can be more accurately described as cocoons with kettles. However, they are clean and ideal as a base camp for a few days.
We arrived in the late afternoon, and after a much-needed shower and a bit of a lie down it’s soon time to start thinking about heading out on a hunt for food. Now, after all the heavy weight red meat that we’d been getting through thus far
I felt it was time for a change. It’s going to take a ton of bran flakes and about 20 years to shift most of the dead cow lining my guts, and if I was to attempt to ingest more tonight I fear I may never poo again, and I do like to keep regular. Oh yes.

We (that is, Eds, Ryan ((current swag man)), and myself) happened upon a rather attractive French restaurant called ‘Phillipe’. I had lobster soup, followed by baked halibut, all washed down with a very fine beaujolais villages.
Just the ticket I thought.
Then we asked for the bill.
If somebody had forewarned me about the cost of eating out in Copenhagen then I may well have brought a packed lunch. As it was I had to take out a small mortgage in order to pay for the meal. Tomorrow I plan to survive solely on the complimentary polystyrene cups provided by the cab-inn.

After the trauma of paying for our grub we resigned ourselves to spending a quiet night in the hotel bar. A few glasses of wine (from riders past) and a quick diary update, and it was soon time for bed and to wonder what delights tomorrow may bring. Bon nuit.

Scott. X

Bonfire Night, Rostock. “Eds Chesters’ Dark Place”

2006-11-10T08:58:00.000Z

Bonfire Night, Rostock. “Eds Chesters’ Dark Place”

Days off are for rest and recuperation; sightseeing, a nice meal, couple of drinks and bed – textbook.

Maybe it was the Jagermeister that our good friend Carl from club Knust was plying us with, or the meat mountain for 2 persons that I shared with Adam. Either way something skewed my senses into thinking it would be a great idea to get really drunk at the Russian disco and wake up feeling rotten this unholy Sunday morning.

Rostock is an industrial Baltic sea-port, and the venue is a warehouse on the docks, a filthy stinking heavy-metal kind of place. The weather today is foul; dark, grey, seeping drizzle, a fetid miasma of a chilled stink.
All tours have low points, and the next five hours saw my spirits sink to new lows leaving me in an acute nauseous alcohol depression.
I felt waves of delirium tremors, followed by pangs of guilt for being the “absent father – out on the lash while she’s left holding the baby”, so to speak.
“You can’t beat yourself up about it though”, I tell myself,
“Other dads have to work abroad”,
“Sometimes people just drink too much”

I console myself in tuning my drums, always a worthwhile and wholesome exercise, like digging your vegetable plot, or cleaning the barrel of your gun.
My drums sound shit. The room sounds shit. I can’t play. I’m shit. Shit. SHIT.
We run through some songs and its just rubbish and I can’t hear what I need to hear and then I’m feeling paranoid and guilty about being some kind of morbid incubus. Shit. And then… The bombshell…
We’ve only sold fifteen tickets!
You’d think it couldn’t get any worse wouldn’t you?
Mercifully, you’re right.

Dinner was a delicious Feta salad followed by a hearty hotpot, just what the doctor ordered. I phoned home to find a perfect Bonfire Night being enjoyed by my lovely wife and kids and things didn’t seem so bad anymore. As stagetime approached, the absurdity of the situation became apparent. There were fourteen people in a room that could hold 700. It was kind of embarrassing but amusing at the same time. We took the stage and Mark’s opening gambit of a rip-roaring rawk n’ roll
“Hello Rrrrrrrostock” lightened the mood perfectly. From then on it was a charming ‘Bluetones in your living room’ kind of gig, most enjoyable.
Mark thanked everyone personally, and individually, we left the stage and then we ALL went to the pub next door.

The promoter, Frank, did tell us later that he’d never done a show on a Sunday before.

Eds. X

04/11/06 - Hamburg (Day 2)

2006-11-10T08:57:00.000Z

04/11/06
Hamburg (Day 2)

I must admit I wasn’t feeling too clever when I got up today, but I endeavoured to get up off my arse and have a brief stroll round the area where our bus had parked.
I wandered through a fun fair and sought some grub on the Reperbahn, still slightly groggy but looking forward to the day ahead. I had made plans with Stefan and Wibke to visit some of Hamburg’s galleries today, and I wanted to be at my bright and perky best, so a nice greasy lunch and a gallon of Coca Cola soon got me going.
Most of the rest of the band and crew were in a bar watching a Bundesliga match, (not sure who was playing) when my hosts arrived to take me out on a day of culture, so hitching a lift on the city’s Metro system we headed off to a gallery called Deichtorhallen to check out a ‘History of Fashion Photography’ exhibition. It was quite interesting, but didn’t really set my world alight. But hey, what do I know?
Our next port of call was the Kunsthaus gallery where they were exhibiting a collection of Modern Chinese Art, ranging from painting and sculpture to video and room-size installations. Now I’m no Brian Sewell when it comes to arty talk, but this stuff was amazing and very enlightening too. It made me realise how little I actually know about Chinese culture beyond the clichés and snipped items in the newspapers and on telly.
Afterwards we all went out for a spot of din-dins on the Reperbahn (Chinese, natch) and finished the evening at a bar called Rosi’s. The Fab Four themselves were known to frequent this place during their Star Club days, and I don’t think the decorator’s have been over burdened here since those heady times.
So, dear reader…that was my Hamburg experience in a nutshell. And a more suitable receptacle for it, I cannot think of.
I wonder how Rostock will compare?
Auf wiedersehen.

Mark. X x x

03/11/06 - Hamburg (with relish)

2006-11-10T08:56:00.000Z

03/11/06
Hamburg (with relish)

The city that Kevin Keegan conquered, gave the world The Beatles and birthplace of Ronald McDonald’s stripey-jumpered arch-nemesis…

I roused from my slumber late morning, and decided to try and get a bit of sight-seeing done before sound-check, but my plans were again foiled by the bitter cold weather and horizontal rain, so I only made it as far as the Wal-Mart where I purchased some lip balm and slunk back to the bus.
(I know we keep bleating on about how cold it’s been this week, but boy…it’s arctic here at the mo.)
When the rain finally eased off I ventured out to do a spot of shopping at a thrift store pretty close to the venue (Knust), where I picked up a rather fetching suede jacket, completely impractical for this weather, but effortlessly stylish nonetheless.
The gig that evening went off really well and there was a very warm atmos. As you might imagine, we’re not exactly playing to stadium size crowds out here, but the general vibe at the shows has been great and there is a real sense of camaraderie between band and audience.

After the show we were all invited to a club just down the road (Gruner Jager) by the promoter, and my plans for doing this tour completely teetotal went right out of the window. Scott and I indulged in a little DJ ‘ping-pong’ with Stefan and Wibke, whose club night it was, and the whole evening just seemed to fly by. A Friday night that I had originally intended to spend taking it relatively easy was now well into Saturday morning, and here I was charming the locals with my drunken tales and wobbly dancing.
Somehow I managed to stagger back to the bus and fell into a horrible boozy sleep. We’ve been here for 3 days now, and I must say, everybody we have met and worked with has been incredibly friendly and accommodating. There’s a day off planned for tomorrow, and as soon as my hangover clears I intend to do some proper ‘mingling’ with the locals.
“I don’t care how cold it is outside…the warmth of the natives shall thaw my spirit.” I think, as my eyes close and a horrible headache descends.
Night, night.

Mark. x x x

02/11/06 - Berlin

2006-11-10T08:52:00.000Z

02/11/06
Berlin.

For obvious reasons Berlin is one of Germany’s most fascinating and eclectic cities as well as being a rather attractive one. The corridor to the old East is flanked by buildings old and new, occasional gaps in the architecture where something once stood and unending lines of towering trees.
After our breakfast of curry-wurst unt schnitzel, I took a stroll down the Ubenschnitzveltknoffendanzstrasse to check out the wall, and get this!?!…it’s not there!
The only man-made structure visible from the moon and some idiot tore it down.

The gig itself was another charming affair, the audience were affectionate and polite, arrived on time and stayed until the end.
After the gig we went downtown to where popular French pop outfit Phoenix were playing, in a slightly less “small” venue.

We did our bit for Anglo/French relations before ending up in the local meat market nightclub. Four floors of music, all of it unlistenable.
At least the tequila took the edge off the intense cold, it’s fucking freezing here!

Adam. X