on a wayward bus

so much has happened. over this last week, that is. but at the same time, so very little. the routine, of bus to venue to bus to venue, has remained relatively solid. in edinburgh, yesterday, i did enjoy several walkabouts, exploring our small slice, as it were, maybe an area the same size as the whitaker neighborhood back home. all castles, crags, monolithic civic and religious structures, probably the prettiest place i've ever visited. but yesterday was a rare-y. we arrived somewhat early. as in 2 p.m. THE VOODOO ROOMS. this was a "one-off", specially set up by the club owner, who caters to a clientele that is, shall we say, heavily into "lifestyle music", in this case that lifestyle being swing. and the club was majestic, all black and gilt gold, silver touches, totally phenomenal in its art deco decor, and probably purpose built in that fashion in the latter part of the 18th century. i am sure that people made "lifestyle" decisions even in that epoch. i understand being obsessed with stuff. and i like going out, getting dolled up. but we are being judged by our "period correctness". to me this is narrowcasting. come on people! hows' about "free to be you and me"? of course, so much that i do dates me, and maybe that attitude does just that. i've sort of never understood a strict devotion to one style, musically and otherwise, and maybe this is where i miss the bus... maybe this is where frontiers are forged and expounded upon, where the real einsteins dwell. maybe i have been naive in my thought, my assumption, that merging genre is where we find things that are new. maybe there are no rules. that is probably the case. well anyway, i guess that i should relax. my same wish for the lifestyle people. and, to their credit, with three songs remaining in our set, they did.

what was tremendous about yesterday (i reside on the bus, at a rest stop where we must remain, some 60 miles out of london, camden town our ultimate goal), was a no-questions-asked attitude about catering to us, pouring a cider, ordering a rack of scottish lamb from the menu, providing juice and really whatever we wanted, in addition to our regular catering rider. this was the only real "rock star" day of the tour, sort of reminding me of my recent travels with the black francis band, where everything was so above the board that it makes this tour seem totally "ghetto". (this in parenthesis, because, well, did you know that, 20+ years ago, the folk that lived on the north side of first street would refer to the whitaker neighborhood, such as where i currently reside, platted as "sladdens' third addition", as "the wrong side of the tracks"? cut off from the city by 6th and 7th avenues, the freeway on/off ramps, and the chambers connector, and then by the tracks, first avenue, and then the river, our lovely little village was truly eugenes' only ghetto. and now it is eugenes' creative hub. this just to defend the use of the word. why, the glass menagerie on the corner of 5th and blair used to be a restaurant called "lighter brown/darker brown"... )

at least some of the issues of the bus, for myself, have been sorted out. remember, our bus, known as "animal crackers", is now on it's third driver on this shortish one month trip. for these four days in the u.k., we have PEER (say "pear"), another german driver, one who does not even work for this company. like us, he cannot imagine the crudeness of this bus. he set about cleaning, arranging, and organizing, from the get go. he has put every system to right. the heat and a.c. are now, instead of being totally full on all the time, perfectly regulated. i have, as of thursday, moved bunks, from the last uppermost on the left (room 403) to the first, lowermost on the right (room 101), in other words out of the snorers ghetto and into the comfort zone. of course, like every other station on our bus, this bunk has its drawbacks. it is where the central heating system does most of its work. my toes, needless to say, are quite toasty. but, not being over the back wheels, the ride is like that of a cadillac, all cushy, no jangling vibrations or crashing of worn out components to listen to, no grinding transmission or shattering of pancaked piston to endure. there was a stretch of two days, ending on that lucky thursday, where i only napped, maybe a cumulative three hours of sleep, feeling deathly and craven, really just barely propped up and surviving, trying to get sleep when all else where resting well in their bunks up in the front lounge, again propped oddly against couches and bucket seats, trying to rest. so shitty and sleepless. i had never felt this way ever before. now i am somewhat rested, having put the then necessary drink till i'm drunk and passed out leg of this trip behind me. i wonder, today, how long will it take to become normal, rested, with a regular (as much as it could be for a daddy) sleep schedule and habits that i am in full command of? well, these issues will probably be resolved by my big soft bed, my lovely wife, my charming sonny, and my scamp of a step-daughter. in other words, all the comforts of home. there in the ghetto.

today we leave the bus. today we play our last show of this poverty tour. today, or rather tomorrow at 2 a.m., we will be dumped with no ceremony at heathrow airport, where we then will shuffle about until 3 p.m., our scheduled hour of departure. to then enjoy (!!!) a 16 hour travel day, through frozen chicago, to portland, where i will have the good fortune to rest with my family at my mothers house just outside of oregon city, and enjoy a family dinner with my brother kevins' family, and then the next night a stay at the kennedy school, joined by some old friends for cocktails and such. my anniversary! of course i'll be missing it by two days. but back to the scene of the crime. as some of you may know, rachel and i were wed in our living room on december 20 of '06, then had a family-only ceremony at the kennedy school the next day, the solstice, our chosen day to celebrate the season, and now i do my best to "get to the church on time" and hurry on home across shivery seas and frozen tarmac and maybe the great pacific northwest will be kind enough to save some snow for me. however it is is how i will find it, and i will love it and remember that i actually do love my life. almost anywhere except on this wayward, derelict, rickety and out of control bus.

sofia plus 2 super!

and by that i mean that we are two gigs beyond what was sofia super! klaus had told us that we would never forget our gig in sofia, that the few musicians he knows who have played there said the same. and too true! i'd say that, for a day on the road in a strange land, this is now the ultimate, the most memorable, and for so many reasons. let me begin.

i made mention in my last post that we were about to head off into the long dark night. and this was not necessarily to give an impression of foreboding. we all had to brace ourselves for this one. that, rather than being one day on the road, this would be more like two days compressed into one, with sleep being precious. but maybe not necessary. too true, all that. we flew out of cologne, after an 8 hour drive from rostock, and had a two hour flight into sofia. we fly on GERMANWINGS airline, on of the new super cheapo national carriers here in europe, forced to wait in a special passport control holding area, then get on a bus that would drive us all of 40 feet to the waiting airliner. 40 feet. then more cattle call.... no seat assignments means that every soul dashes to the open front and rear doors, and dives into the seat of their choice. if they are on the plane first. and nothing is free once you are seated. a sip of water. a coffee. no matter. the flight, as i mentioned, was blessedly quick, and we poor out of the plane and into another herding area to have passports checked and stamped and such. we were met outside the airport by LAZAR (not like our local retail hero, but short for lazarus instead), who plopped us down into a van. and off we went into the night, driving a most willy-nilly route from airport to BLU--BOX, our venue. the ride, at 5:30 pm, was the first of many amazements. small retail shacks lined the streets, in front of folks houses, and every once in a while there would be a small, poorly lit and undecorated room with maybe a few people sitting there, smoking. doing what? dunno. speed bumps lined any route with homes along it. around one bend, we pass a big party, people dancing in the frozen street and yard, holding babies and beers, little kids jumping around. more strange little shops. bumpy bumpy. no nappy.

20 minutes later and we arrive. the venue is loaded with kids already, many of them wearing the laminate to designate crew. many just leaning on the stage, drinking and smoking. we check out the rental gear. everything there is a o.k.. then through the labyrinth of this hall, which used to be a cinema, and many associated rooms and other halls within the same rambling structure. through a long hallway room, filled with laughing and drinking and smoking and colorful characters, who turn out to be the other bands, and of course their friends. one pal with magenta hair stops me, cocks his head forward, and gives me a "cheers". i mention my name, and ask for his. trill the "r"s in this one, long trills, and look over your glasses, and that will just about do it... "me MR. MATA HARI". o.k., cool. up the stairs and through several locked doors, that are always locked then behind us, and up and down the hall, to our "green room", this already stocked with plenty of booze and finger snacks. the floor is missing in several places. we all to the last man poor drinks and then, following lazar all the way, go back through the maze to do our endless sound check. somehow there are more and more people in the hall. just sort of about. and a crew of maybe 20 setting the stage and the mics and such. crazy. we finish our check 20 minutes after the doors were supposed to be opened.

two other bands tonight, and it turns out they both are fronted by an famous bulgarian musician. the first, KGB, a big swing band fronted by bulgaria's original punk rocker. i never got his name, but he reminded me in voice and demeanor and dance of our own dear BRUCE HARTNELL, but wiggling in a suit and suspenders. between every song he had the crowd, sold out at 1000 folk, in stitches. and the whole room rocked and danced through every number. so cool. smiles on every face. and including the band, apparently this band had not played in 5 years, and were cajoled into reuniting for this gig, which had the music community all riled up, such was the excitement generated for our visit. the second band was SKODA, fronted by my new friend, mr. mata hari. who, whilst his band set their gear, delivered a non-stop half sung half spoken dialogue/diatribe. i thought it was sort of "mr. bungle"-ey. this man has a huge voice. the band is ready, and they just merge into a set of crazy rhythms, crazy vocals, crazy horns. crazy all around.

we got ourselves ready, with our outfits, drinks, some funny dinner of potatoes and cheese. god bless these peoples. my kind of gut therapy. skoda is done. we ask mr. mata hari to introduce us. and away. and the same, intense joy from the crowd all night long. i could not say that they were any more loud or happy. just that that was the vibe of the entire room all night. worked up and rocking out. the room so smoky that i couldn't see the back. lights dimly show through the fog. i know that every square inch is taken. i can see the balcony, the crowd up there dancing their brains out. all beautiful women up front tonight. were there any men there at all? they were all in back. sent their girls up front for a good time that they can take home with them after the show. this was like full on rock star night. screaming shrill and loud after every song. girls singing the words to every song. i could have played for them all night. but we have a schedule to keep. to get through our long long night.

we are off to a party, at a bar, sponsored by our sponsors. thirty shots of abysinth are lined up. not little ones either. mr. mata hari arrives, with a small coterie, and we are only allowed to stay for 20 minutes. our van has a 6 hour drive, to bucharest, where we fly out at noon this very day. all of sofia was viewed at night.... and so we have a very very bumpy, somehow muddy, whiskey soaked drive. i don't remember falling asleep. totally natural. totally schlumped down, splayed across the aisle. .i wake up at seven a.m., the sky just barely light. we are at the romanian border. now things get really, uhhh, interesting.

why? we are often living like cattle on tour. we wait and wait, we get pushed around and corralled and driven. we walk around looking for food and succor. we arrive at the airport in bucharest, and take pictures with lazar, and we are in the middle of a rotunda, and there is nothing obvious to do with ourselves. is there a place to check in? not apparent. it is so hard to describe the overall disorientation of this place. as if we are looking at what you think might be regular scenarios, and yet they are not. we bumble around with our guitars. one man has the sense to ask someone. we go down a little ramp, and see that they are checking in only one flight at a time. an old man wears his winter cap, made of horse hair, causing him to look like elvis presley. sort of. our flight comes up, and we ask for seats, but it is another general boarding. which you might think would be good. but that is only if you love getting in shoving matches with old ladies. in the security line. in the lobby. the lobby. there is a lobby. but there are no signs. 5 non-operational t.v. monitors. airplanes 500 feet away on the tarmac. we wait and wait. we are bad, mad cows. i am, of course, hung over, sleepless (i did manage 3 hours in the van), and so, exhausted. i loiter and try to look as punk and pickled as i can, incessantly tapping my foot, looking glummer than glum, looking wistful out the window. at long last, and as if by telepathy, we learn it is time to board. we get in another match of shovings with all, only to get on a bus, and then make a mad dash, scrambling to find a seat, shoving into a seat, shoving luggage, fuck this. i manage an aisle, i look insane. no one asks to sit beside me. relief comes only in the smallest packages. we fly into dortmund. and real relief comes when i finally spy the bus. even though i hate the bus. heaven help me. i actually manage a small sleep. heaven help us all.

i get in trouble every day. yesterday i boo boo by bringing some friends onto the bus. just us. ASGER, a friend i met in february there in copenhagen, and his daughter SOFIE and her friend JULIE. brought 'em onto the bus. didn't know that the band had already had a talk about this, that no one but family were to be on the bus. but that weren't the real trouble, no. that were that when we walked on, the driver bertie was asleep in his bunk in the front lounge, and so i escorted them all to the back lounge, and we had a nice quiet conversation for 40 minutes or so, mostly about being rock n' roll daddys and such. the trouble is that we left the front door of the bus open. bertie comes walking back to us in his skivvies, saying it is cold, we left the door open. we saw no one get on the bus, but that is not the point. tour busses have been robbed, hijacked, ransacked. all our money, all our lives are onboard. so i goof up. i get read the riot act by steve, joe, klaus. i make a round of apologies. we stew and argue in our collective fashion, and then we are friends again. and, considering the situation, the sheer difficulty of this tour, we are amazing friends.

oh it was great to see asger again. he had not heard our band before, and he was really surprised, effusive in his praises, and stoked that he and his daughter, who was also at the black francis show at the bigger stage at VEGA, got to check us out. having a friend on the road is super cool. a break from the boys and from my typical nest of thoughts. (thank you captain beefheart.) a pause that refreshes. ya know? after soundcheck and supper, he took me to a bar, MCKLUUB, that he described as a very famous rock n' roll bar, and sure enough it were smoky and rusticky, like a country bunker, like PAPPY AND HARRIETS out above joshua tree california. we chatted until sofie and her friend joined us. we sat crowded in a small booth with six other locals, goofing about music and fatherhood and the obama-ness of the future of the world. (as an aside, can the word "bush" finally be recognized as the near profanity that it truly is? say "that's totally bush!", and no one can mistake your meaning.) thank you asger for the most wonderful night.

no hurting that we were at the most wonderful club of all time, VEGA. so together, so well equipped, such beautiful decor and good sounding rooms and perfect gear. and we actually had a proper all ages crowd. did i see all those kids drinking beer? i think so. so we are playing in paradise. when i walked into the building at 2 pm, up the stairs and to the catering kitchen that i have been so looking forward to, i spied the same chef from my last visit, whisking up some magical something. i put down my bags, said hello to the other band, all of them occupied by their laptops, and scooted into secret toity, for a moment of relief. when my "job" was complete, upon opening the door, i was met by a "representative" of the club, who cheerfully informed me that this was not my room, that i must follow him through the labyrinth of the club, up over across and through to a little secreted-away hallway, all set up for us. no private chef for us... we play in the small room, not deserving of catering. so what. it is still vega.

this must be contrasted with our previous night. where there was more trouble for danny. which i will come to in the richness and fullness of time. but the room, the building, there in hamburg, rock city, was the most amazing, sci-fi version of a rock n' roll hang out that i've ever seen. this joint, HAFENKLANG EXIT, exists in the basement of what was, for five years in the early 70's, a magnificent department store, one that no one used, and so it lay abandoned for 30 years, probably used as a squat, all vandalized and derelict in the most grotesque and disorienting way imaginable. holes in the dressing room walls. hallways lined with rocks, that lead to sealed off passeges. a central spiral stairwell surrounding an atrium some 50 feet across, with a hole in the wall bar on the ground (basement) floor. another little venue with a boy and girl duo behind a glass door off the atrium. nothing here makes sense. i had a sense of desperation i've never felt, from the moment we entered the building, all boarded up and graffitied, all the way through soundcheck. i took a nap backstage for an hour, as much to pass the time in this hideous and disorienting place, as anything else.

as i woke up, peering out of the backstage, the room is totally full of folk, and all of a sudden it is a magic place, found it's missing piece, everything is fine again. and we play maybe the best show of the tour. unlike the typical club crowd here in germany, this one is full of smiling faces, most all of them dancing and thrashing around. and afterwards, lots and lots of them want to hang around and cut up. this night became particularly drunken, and this is where the trouble begins. something about a pint of whiskey. don't worry too much, as i am still here. during the load out, which i don't remember, i was told that i fell over on my side, and, turning over onto my back, i held myself up like a crab for about 15 minutes. steve kept asking me if i was o.k., and through my funny smile i answered that i was just fine. one of those nights that i don't recall climbing into my bunk. oh well. we have another vacation from booze tonight. anything that i can do to preserve myself through these next, longest days of my life. we will first get through this gig in rostock. then on into the perpetual night. and sofia.

this writ on november 16th, 2008, at jfk airport in queens, n.y.
i thought maybe this weekend i could get some thinking done. but all i have thought about is missing out on the mr. whitaker contest. not that i would be deserving of being a nominee. would i hint at that? though i have lived there since 1990? maybe an honorarium could be bestowed me. besides, i only have the sauce on a fraction of the time these days, being the busy beaver that i am. time to sauce? well, i do my best.

maybe you'd think that gig time is sauce time, and to a small degree it is. i mean, sauce being "that feeling" of sauciness, life-tang, that kind of thing, and 'tis true, whilst i am playing i am feeling all of that. something about knowing that eyes are upon me. that i am performing. that i am becoming. though often i am not sure what. th at alone is enough to give me the sauce. i think at times in my life i have felt like i was on stage all the time. back in my immediate post-collegiate days, when i knew how much of a freak i was because i was constantly reminded by every "joe lunchbox" (mrs. palins one enduring contribution to our culture...) that i was a freak, a faggot, chaseable, eggable, punchable, ridiculous. now, we are merging with another story entirely. but that feeling... of being on, being on fire, on my game, on to something... that was full time sauce. not enough to get a nomination as mr. whitaker, no, but enough for a lifetime achievement award. right?

well, some of you might know that last night i (we, the daddies) played our very first ever shopping mall gig. yeah, just like TIFFANY. thats right, bitches. (thanks, mr. gadsby.) except, we played outside, in a driving mist and rain, with a lighting derrick swaying over our heads in the 50 mph gusts, and with a 40 foot tall topiary bear, name of mr. bimberlinks (yes, that's right, i know, i know) sitting a few hundred feet away, the beneficiary of all the nights events, which included fireworks, rain, a parade, whipping wind, state senators, and a version of "new york, new york". and the debut of our new tour drummer, KEVIN CONGLETON, who totally rocked it. another one of those mystifying performances, in that he shedded to learn the entire set, with only two short rehearsals in eugene a few months ago. crap. i wouldn't have even been able to get the tempos, much less the names of the songs, figured with that much practice. i guess that is what it takes to be a "real" musician. not just an underachiever. like me.

well, there we were. what more could you ask for. a six hour flight, a soft bed, lots of salad. reasonable good hotel coffee. way too many hours of ESPN. now five hours of boredom in J.F.K. airport. then another marathon cross country flight. and to think, we'll do this all again in 10 days, except in macro, as we fly for 11 hours over greenland to frankfurt germany to begin our european poverty tour. the poverty coming from the lack of pay. maybe i'm spoiled. working with mr. thompson for the last year has raised my expectations (probably raised to where they should be, what with my record of servitude and all that, and my four mouths to feed, and all that, and my elevated standards, and all that), and though i still try to adhere to my philosophy that i am lucky to be receiving any monies from my musical endeavors, it's extra hard to leave my home and family and even my jobitty job for a month nowadays. what, have i lost my sauce? no, i've found another. actually, a couple of them.

first the body. then the mind. then the soul. well, no, i'll take any portion of any of the three or what ever part of what ever M & U i can find. today i had a short one for the mind. i was shopping for gloves here in very chilly dortmund, germany, and, in the el cheapo department store, where my gloves where, i spied, in the grocery half of the store, my old friend val stevens, stocking the shelves. she was about 10 years older than she is, and she looked good, and she looked at me twice. maybe i looked like me to her. anyway, she looked like someone she wasn't, but it didn't really matter, because, through the aisles, i still walked with val. my mind marched with her on my less chilly now gloved walk, around the curving streets and along the train tracks and under the heavy low grey skies. nothing like walking and talking, nothing like it for me, we were able to reflect on every passing tree and house as if they were touchstones in our life, full of shared meaning and everyday wonder. of course, there is nothing like the real thing of course. real val. real company. a real walk.

yesterday we were outside of dusseldorf, spending our one day off of this tour in fabulous willich, germany. but not really. we finally arrived at the place of the windshield replacement surgery at about 2pm, spent about two hours getting to a hotel, where we had a shower room, and there, in the lobby, dustin and i ponied up for our own room. and 40 euro never better spent. need i remind you that i love these fellows that i travel with, and that there is not always or even rarely a time i can choose to be away from them, and so, to be with my heterosexual life partner, alone, in a hotel room, even for just 20 hours, is heavenly. away from the bus, priceless. steve and jason also shared a room, and i think some of my opinions may be shared by them. in our room, napping first for me, for dustin, a shower and a bit of beard upkeep. we roam the streets of our little village, just a scant few mile from where the rest of the band and crew were hopefully not languishing, locked overnight in the busyard whilst the adhesives dried on the new windscreen.

we ventured out a bit later for a wonderful german dinner across the street, and that was followed by a bit of wine and an epic cribbage battle, wherein which i set a new record for crib points, averaging 10 free points per crib. mama mia. we had some num nums found in den bosch, some wine, stayed up as late as we could with the laugh track on 10. some curling on the t.v. sometimes that is all you need for a good night. and on this night, that'd have to do. the bathtub (oh please blessed relief for these bunk-weary hip bones) had no stopper and the hot water eased up and stopped for good as i tried to dial in the mislabeled and hardly sensible faucets, so no bath. no shower. who cares about a shower, really? i can't get worked up. o.k., i guess i did a few days ago. euro-shower of the gods! but i don't need that every day. and a bath! only when i really want one, do i really need one. so i wait for another two weeks, until i am home. unless... some sneaky way that i can sneak one in... some backstage door, the keys to the kingdom, some alleyway apartment that is left open... i can sneak in, take a dunk, water the flowers, and split, full of spa-treatment energy. yeah, keep those tiny dreams alive. who knows. who is to say. really? today i have body maintained, and so i don't care.

this morning, having slept in a strange but strangely comfortable sort of tiny hotel bed, not knowing if it was really morning as it was still dark out there behind the sash, i realized that i had gone to bed more than eight hours prior. the state of disorientation is so profound on this trip that i had to check my ipod, my only reliable and un-trickable clock, so as to know that, damn the light, it was still 7:30, that i had slept a lot, that i could read and relax and not worry whether i would sleep or not. it was dark for a while more. understand that the sun is still at an extreme angle (i asked today if we were close to the arctic circle, and though we are not, the sun does not ascend beyond 20 degrees in its azimuth), making the hour of the day difficult to ascertain. you know, little comforts, little certainties. well, anyhoo, a slow morning culminates in meeting dustin, jason, and steve curbside out the hotel at 10:45 am, awaiting our bus, manned by our new driver, gods be praised, name of bertie, whom i was so very glad to meet as we jumped on, blocking traffic, saying an overly profuse "hello, and glad to see you". this morning and this event specifically have put my soul to ease. i am complete.

for your well being, i bring you mine. after my belly aching of more than one fashion, i have emerged feeling as good as i have for weeks. which, mind you, is not awesome, but awesome indeed compared to how i was feeling four days ago. and three. i bailed on the meds, and kept with my usual at home therapy of osha and vitamins, and did i mention that i sweat a lot on my sick day, which seems to be key, and i've coughed and coughed and the (eew!) mucus comes out and i feel light on my toes and like i've slayed many dragons and i'm ready to puff out my chest and feel feelings and eat and laugh again, all under the low heavy sky, like it were springtime without the basketball in the park.

now, we have played some show in the time since my last post, but we'll have to get to that later. my sense are working again and i am happy for it. so, really, love ya's, dan.

well, after the show tonight i started developing a stomach ache. which became an epic stomach ache, coupled with a fever, by about 3 am. i hadn't slept up to that moment, and of course i wasn't sleeping through it. anyone who knows me well knows this one, with the cramping, puking, staying close to the bathroom for the better part of a night and an early morning, until the cramping subsides and i can crawl into bed. well, lets just say that there are a lot of differences when you are on the road. beginning with the bathroom. of which there is not one. i mean, a peepee room is not a bathroom. permanently stinky and in an acrid way, we hold our noses to have a place to take a leak in the middle of the night. can't stand up, can't sit down, can't kneel (appropriate for my condition currently). next comes the antibiotics and other meds i was prescribed... i am sure they each are on extra strength status. combined with a food intolerance, to work some significant mojo. and then, with the bus leaving at 5 am, and bouncing and bumping and the temperature ranging from breezy and cold to stifling and hot (i think at the bus drivers whims, as in, when he opens his window to smoke, it is the former, then afterwards, when he is jerking off or whatever he does while he drives us all over the road, the latter), i could feel my fever increasing, along with the swelling in my belly. i spent the rest of the night and all this day until 5 pm with my head on a pillow on the table in the front lounge. laying down caused too much pain. i had to be close to the trash can for my evacuations. after all that, i crawled into my bunk for a lovely 2 hour nap.

and now backstage at MUZIEKODROOM PLACE in hasselt, belgium, i had a few bites of chow, a little ice cream, and a soda. i'll be weak and wobbly until tomorrow anyways, and my sadness, beyond my physical condition, is that i will not be able to party down for days, both because of the antibiotics and the dry times i'll be living and that i won't have any strength for days as well. oh shite. our solitary day off comes in a few days as well. i guess i can concentrate on ME for this brief time, even though it is a day off on the bus. no, no hotels on this trip. just this god-dammed bus.

that is all i have in me tonight. see you tomorrow. love, weakly, dang.

klaus walked me to the doctor today. he heard my coughing hacking and sputtering during the amazing six flights up three floors load in today. and so he approached and convincingly suggested that we visit a doctor somewhere here in weinheim this afternoon. see, the heater was off on the bus again last night. our driver, who shall now be referred to as "dispepto" couldn't (as in, didn't try to) fix the heater, and in its stead put a dinky space heater in the front lounge of the bus. dustin slept head down on the table for a few hours, and i awoke freezing in by bunk just as he was crawling into his bunk. i wrapped myself in my bunk blanket and curled up by the heater, which, when placed about a foot from your face, would warm your face and no more than your face. i sat there shivering for about an hour and a half, until dispepto came from his under bus bunk, and fired up the bus for our 6 am departure. with the motor running, the thing heated up in about a half an hour, and at that point i crept back to my bunk, to lay there close to sleep but never quite getting it, laying there until 11 am, when the bus pulled off the freeway into a full service (McCafe, gas/restaurant/mini market, casino!, and porn store!!) service area, the bus with a flat tire and dispepto with a full bag of his own. i could feel the infection creeping ever further into my lungs, and the coughing that i had been enjoying all night long was now roughing up my throat. i now understand the l.s.d. feeling... i haven't really slept yet on this trip. so today i am on three or four hits. ha ha.

now, actually, i am on drugs. the way the health care system works here is that everyone must have insurance, and those that cannot afford it are automatically covered. since i lost my insurance from the high street five days ago, i was able to use the services of the doctor and apothecary for the same prices that our german crew is abled to. so, late in the day, we walked around our neighborhood, finding a few offices of differing doctors. the dentist? probably not. womans health? nah. a couple of other doors had just closed for the day. one nice lady in an office just ready to close sent us across the street to doctor rolf kochs office, and, though he was just ready to scoot out the door as well, he overheard klaus' explanation of my dilemma, and dragged me back into his office to listen to my lungs. and just like that, he wrote out some scrips for this and that, took 20 euro, and sent me on my way three doors down to the pharmacy. another 20 euro, for what would have cost $120 US, and i'm feeling better already. not really. just at ease. that kind of better. you know, every time i even enter a doctors office i feel like i needn't be there in the first place. this was smart, though. to avoid another aspen story. this one substitutes german health care for "i'm too broke to see a doctor", and switches the bus without heat for the floor of the junkies house we slept on, dirty and dusted with the hair of six cats, as my night-before lodgings. thanks, klaus, and thanks, doctor koch.

i was able to stroll around weinheim for an hour this afternoon. my very first out of bus in the daylight experience. what a cool little town. quaint as hell. 200 year old houses and shops, all what we call "gingerbread" style, decorated and bavarian. two castles lord over this town, one immense and empty, only exterior walls, hence its name "the wind-castle", with a giant tower for rapunzel to live and long in. twisting cobbled streets leading up the hill to where a christmas market was being assembled, to be populated this weekend with revelers. winding streets took me farther afield than i really wanted, but it was, like i said, pretty as hell. no, i said "quaint as hell". i meant, "pretty as fuck". sad that i am really in no state to wander, or to enjoy much of much today and tonight. the antibiotic i am on is a strongy, so strictly no drinking for a couple of days. no whoooweee. maybe that will get me to sleep. the wine, which was my plan, sure ain't doing it.

our show last night, at KOFMEHL in solothurn, switzerland, was truly odd. we played after a cute rockabilly band name of THE ROYAL FLUSH, cute because they were pretty obviously just starting out, and they had a bad night, with the second guitar player breaking a string just as they started out. so starting out on a bad note. we came on raging on another really small stage, and kept it up for almost an hour. the crowd was small and reserved, though they were "in", but it an hour, something happened to yours truly. maybe the sickness was just now setting in. the wind went out of my sails anyway, and i ended the show pretty flatly. always a little sad at this. i showered and went to sleep immediately. now it becomes clear where the infection comes from. don't go to bed still wet. ah hah.

kofmehl is a room that was purpose built to be a music showcase. and though all the staff were really casual and informal, to the point that none of us knew what extent of the facilities exist or were available. we played in what klaus said was the small room, capacity 200, and that there was another large room for shows up to 1500. maybe we'll play there on our next trip across the pond. we were served our dinner there. once again creative chefery came to our aid, this time with a brothey leak soup with lots of pepper, chicken with a fruit sauce, and string beans and a salad. we are warmer. we feel good. we a taken care of. we make good show. we go bye bye. we see you tomorrow. good night my babies.

this is shitty. this is dark and shitty. this place. is this a place? are we driving through the arctic circle? 9:00 am, and it is darkness all around. we are in a cloud, smothered by mists, compressed by snows, diluted by rain, partially revealed by light that is only half-light. the day advances. the light seems to recede, by its own logic. fucking wintery northlands.

i can make out some signs of life out the window. an incomplete structure, abandoned or becoming i cannot tell. and only so much can i deduce in the foggy darkness. so, yes, people live, or have lived here. some fool planted acres of wine grapes. good luck with that. ice wine, anyone?

we live our days on the bus. the daylight hours are swallowed up. the trip from bunk to couch. maybe to the other couch, or table. this, really, has become quite a drag. all of these cities, i can know them only from the reflection of shop lights on the wet nighttime sidewalks. i finished a little walkabout at 2 am last eve, and, a half block from our bus, noticed a giant church spire, maybe 150 feet tall, one that i could not make out in the dark, our perpetual night outside the bus. i'm not sure i've really visited anything but 1000 bars. we are forever on the bus. i huddle in one lounge or another with my friends. on the bus. we try to entertain one another. at times we hide out. or fool ourselves that, by crawling back into the bunk, some sleep might just happen. but the bus wobbles, slapping us around our tiny bunks. no stable place to lay, sit, or stand. the diesel engine strains. there is a sour piston, slapping and straining against its workload. the germans have done a poor job with these northern roadways. cracky, bumpy, lumpy. cripes. could i be longing for airplane travel? gods help me, no.

dustin wakes up and we each question the other about sleep. i've a bit less of it than i need. i feel on l.s.d. again. we save each other by brewing the coffee and digging into an epic game of gin. another. we are the only ones up, today, for hours, and that is as per usual. the bus has, in the past, provided a cocoon of sleep for me, but somehow not on this trip. i recall my last bus adventure here was much the same. so extra pains have to be taken to stave off sickness. i'm o.k. i wish i could pull off the miracle sleep of all my mates. joe, jason, steve, kevin, can spend all the day there in the bunk. i suppose they are sleeping. i suppose i am jealous. i really ought to take some time to rejuvenate, before i get back home, back to baby daddy and baby mamma and big sister. how is it that, at home, i have become an expert napper, but no such luck here? i maintain enough fresh legs to play the show. bah. how long has it been since i have seen some sunshine? next tour, how about the mediterranean?

the shows have been great though. even the ones that i assumed to be dogs were actually, according to the folk i've been meeting, totally awesome. last night in cologne, a 40-something rockabilly tough, and his equally rough looking gal, stood motionless in front of the stage for the entire night. no expression, no motion. and, much like the muscled rockabilly boy i accosted in kufstein, he claimed that he had a great night, that we were awesome, what a fun show, etc. i suppose that these are people not given to dancing. much. there are always a few jigglers in every crowd. MTC, club last night, was packed to the rafters, we sold a lot of merch, the show was real high energy, we played great. the mosh pit days are definitely over, aren't they? but since our crowd is so diverse, people really might take a little while to understand our band. after all, they know us as a swing band, and they probably use cues like trendy, hip, retro, etc, to understand what we do. that is before they see us. then they have to throw all that out the window. we are clowny, cartoony, over-intense, dramatic. we don't play too much of what "those other swing bands" play. which is more jump blues than anything else. we get sexy. we geek out. we can be ourselves. it isn't time to pretend we are something else. we are at least somewhat modern. we assemble. we steal and borrow and rewrite. isn't a part of doing what we do, which here i'll call art, the attempt to be understood? yeah, it takes a bit of wondering. come on in. it is refreshing as hell to leave the hipper-than-thou hipsters and taste makers of the u.s. behind.

the high point of our show the night before in bielefeld was a toast taught me by conny's girlfriend (he and klaus both call bielefeld home), which goes like this: "zur mitte, zur titte, zur sak sak sak". which translates to "from the middle, to the tits, to the balls". i am still saying to myself, "go figure". this another crowd that could not be moved to move. usually fruiting off on stage frees folk up to do what they like. and it seemed that, just at the end of the set, we had 30% of them dancing. a small victory. that's all we would get. because then...

the low point... the opening band taking literally all our beers. apparently this is just how things are done here. maybe we should leave a little plate out for donations, since we are buying the shit anyhow. today, we play hide the salami with all our catering. right on to the bus. already overcrowded. we gotta save our food for us. to save us.

no, not that kind of boner. clean up your act. what is another word... gaff, snafu, accident, incident. today there was a little trouble on the bus. not previously documented trouble. the heater is working. the lights are back on. it isn't that certain band members are jeapordizing our stay here by consistently leaving the bus's bay doors open, so that maybe some mad fool can have my baby, my bass guitar. or someones undies. no, i have no gripes like that to think on today.

today, in the very middle of our very short but very late in the day drive to cologne, just after the minor victory of the acquisition of a burger king double cheeseburger, dana was making his way to the jump seat up by the driver to enjoy the view, coffee, and a cigarette, and, with his hands full, he tripped, lunging forward and planting his head quite hard against the massive front glass of the bus. i was sitting at the table 10 feet behind, and i didn't see what happened, but i surely did hear it. a thump and a cracking sound mixed together... i looked up to hear dana moaning, holding paper towel to his head. klaus leapt to his aide, and it was then i spied the major crack in the full front windshield. holy shit!

dana was, fortunately, o.k. and in fact, by this much later hour, he doesn't even have a bump on his noggin. a human cannonball. this "boner" is only one because this piece of glass will cost 2500 euro to replace. there is no insurance to cover it. even though it was an accident. now, everyone had a good laugh about it after a bit, though i'm not sure dana will be able to work one up. everyone has accidents. it only becomes easier when you are sleep-deprived, hungry, permanently pickled, and generally disoriented. what can happen? well, this blog is a very brief trip through only a few of the many many "situations" that i have been involved in. i cannot speak for, nor recall, all of the boners that each of the 30 some past and present members of the band have been involved in.

lets start in cleveland. 1998. just about in the middle of our very first nationwide bus tour, and we had played at the crusty old AGORA THEATER to a fun crowd. i chatted with two gals, who wanted badly to take me to the docks to their favorite dance club. lynette, who drove us down there, was pretty worked up. partying with a rock star? (don't worry, i've never called myself that before, just getting in character here.) maybe a crush? too many drinks? o.k., we did make out. just a little bit of making out. and while the anarchy ensued, our tour manager, chris wrightsman, had been calling me repeatedly. when i finally had the sense to look at my electronic leash, i saw six calls from him... and i was already 30 minutes late for our bus call. i rallied these ladies, trying to express the gravity of the situation, that i was keeping 11 other guys waiting, and into the ford thunderbird we climbed, the ladies still all unreasonably distracted (drunk!) to focus on my needs. lynette was applying makeup as she swerved out of the parking lot. and we swerved and alternated between crawling along and then hairily speeding through lower downtown cleveland. swerving, laughing, me crying and worrying, also laughing, swerving as i was being swerved. we rounded a 30 degree corner, but speeding and swerving, she couldn't pull it off, and of course the curb that we hopped was unusually tall, maybe for a storm drain, tallest curb i ever did see, like a foot tall, and though my hands were in front of my face, my nose broke as i went into the back of lynettes drivers seat. we skidded to a stop about 30 feet from the GUND CENTER, where the cavs used to play. i didn't realize that i was hurt, of course, wearing a red shirt, but yes there was blood pouring down my front, reddening my black coat to match my shirt. lynettes friend, i'll call her wendy, was obviously in shock, screaming that her boyfriend was going to kill her, he was going to be so mad, he's gonna think this is the last straw, he's blah blah blah. lynette was calmly sorting through her cassette tapes, which were madly strewn about the front of the car. i persuaded wendy to let me out, and the damage to the car was severe and hilarious. like an obediant puppy that knows it'll be rewarded with a milk bone dog biscuit, the car was down on its haunches, the front wheels not only pointing different directions but also splayed horizontally to the ground. the pointy front of this circa '87 thunderbird was no longer pointy. all the fluids had drained out under the car, like someone so scarred they had to piss. on the cell phone now, chris amazed and disappointed, "don't you move, schmid, we are coming to get you." how could i leave these ladies? this was worse than a boner. lynette had sort of come to by now, and she couldn't stand up, when she tried to exit the car. her foot. i convinced her to call an ambulance, that hopefully one would arrive before the police. this was bad. she was wasted. a friday night, cars speeding by after all the bars had closed, maybe the fuzz were just too busy, but how long could it take? we traded phone numbers, and just then the bus pulled up. chris came and escorted me away... and i never saw those ladies again. don't think me too much the cad... i did call lynette the next day, finding her laid up in the hospital with a broken foot. the police were so kind as to give her a ticket for reckless driving while she was sleeping that night, her foot in a sling. me, i had a double shiner for the rest of the tour. i was young (36!) and recovered quickly, and i had a new bend in my nose, to make two, and to increase my already strange countenance.

should i go on? there were two hospitalizations. one in '92. an asthma attack in aspen colorado, my first serious one. we missed our shows at the double diamond, john denvers favorite hang. he'd been helped off the stage there many times. yeah, i thought that one was gonna kill me. i played the next show, three nights later, in boulder at the fox theater, played it from a chair, oxygen tank at my side. thanks, gods, i didn't need it. and we rolled on.

then, in '98, on the crappy old warp tour, i ingested some of the wonderful catering, and somehow something caught in my throat, which within hours was closed. five days later i was in an emergency room in florida, having not had a bite of solid food for these last days, and having nothing to drink save water. even juice hurt to ingest. the doctor there gave me some pepcid, which i couldn't take. slowly, after maybe another 10 days, i had lost 25 pounds, and was somehow barely able to survive the tour. i had throat widening surgery back home, and a week later i was off to england for the euro warp tour. the big british breakfast saved my life. beans for breakfast! still a favorite in my house. the warp tour catering, in my mind, is to blame for that turmoil. roast beef that glowed iridescent green, an indelible image from the catering tent. shit.

well, of course i could go on and on. for today, maybe i'll quit with the nostalgia. it is danas day to suffer. hopefully an insurance settlement will bring a smile to all of our faces. i'll have to wait until later on to relate our nights in bielefeld and tonights endeavor in cologne. until then... i remain, dang.

super wild at heart. super in every way. yeah, i called that wonderful club dinky, and in truth it is just the right size. we were wedged onstage in a way that we haven't been in 17 years, since the max's tavern gigs, and maybe only a few other times have we been so close to one another. this bar/club, and its associated restaurant next door, they know how to get the most night out of their spaces. wall to wall crowd, everyone living it up largely, they fed us, got us drunk, rocked our worlds. i hope we returned the favor.

klaus took a few of us on a short adventure after the gig, to a bar down the road called FRANKENBAR. not as scary as it sounds. every drink was a double. the bartender would do shots with us. and, like club wild at heart, this was an owner operated joint. too cool. and though it were only four short blocks to the bus, i got lost on my walk back maybe three times. nothing looked familiar. no duh. i had seen a wee bit of kreuzberg in february, when i met alistair and he gave me a bit of a walkabout. but nighttime, vodka, and delirium combine to make a woozy way. bumbling back into the club, two handsome gentlemen name of jesse and joe gave me the escort that i apparently required. thanks fellow fellas.

today i was able to sleep all day. just the medicine that i needed. up all night, sleep all day, i didn't know the bus had left berlin, and i woke in bielefeld, and find myself at FORUM, another wonderful example of the kind of hospitality that you just cannot expect but you lap it up when it is about. a shower. washer and dryer. a wonderful hot meal. all day catering and snacking. the num nums are nummier, because everything is made with care, because they do care. i guess that is the big difference, right there. a level of meticulousness, covering all the bases, helping those that are merely passengers. all i need now is a big old hug.

there were a few other stops i haven't touched on yet, and so here goes, in an abbreviated fashion...

our first day was sort of a tune up for the whole production. meeting the crew at the airport, a short bus drive to ingolstadt, a funny little show at a cafe/bar, a smaller crowd than we have been lucky enough to enjoy at any of the other shows. nothing really to recall, except that we had folks at the show who had seen us at the warp tour 10 years earlier. the crowd was just a little hesitant, but all smiles for sure. this club was also a tune up for my lungs... i am inadvertantly smoking a pack a day at these shows. in fact, tonight is the first non-smoking show of the trip. i could hope for a few more, but i'll be surprised if there are any more at all. funny, i used to miss the smoky bar. not so much any more.

next day we made a long drive into zagreb, croatia, to experience for the first time what a confusing mish mash these now-western countries are. subtle and sly, nothing makes the same sense. i used to think that a shopping mall is a good place to get grounded when traveling, but not so much here. the mall looked more like an airport shopping area, and there were absolutely zero kids in the mall, where IGOR and his wife BRANKA, our hosts and the promoters, escorted us to get our catering taken care of. i think the population must be way on the decline. igor spent an hour in the grocery store in the mall, but the grocers had no vegetables, so we ducked into a very small closet sized store that had some fresh produce. weird. our club this eve was KSET, a student cooperative for music and recording arts. when we wheeled in in the early afternoon, there were maybe 20 kids in the club, and surrounded by beer bottles and full ashtrays. i guess that is part of a musical education... gotta learn how to party. i think these folk all have a head start. we played after a swing cover band, all good soloists, and we played to a full room, maybe 200 tonight. once again, all smiles. dustin was particularly energized, more than his usual expressive self, and i have never scene such a cell phone video frenzy take place. more smiles. after the show, a frigid walk down the avenue to our shower room, already destroyed by the band, floor covered with sopping towels, and pretty gross. i was the last in. not tonight, please.

next was ljubljana, slovenia, already covered here, except for the sense i had all day of being on acid.

the only other day i haven't mentioned were kufstein, austria, and this partly because the show there was quite frustrating. i mean, we played great, the club was awesome and took great care of us, almost with luxury appointments, great catering, everything but the crowd was cool. i mean, they were cool, but they may have been too cool. you know? no one danced. it always feels that we are not coming across correctly if no one dances. about half way into our set, i jumped out into the crowd, carrying my bass, and approached a rather large rockabilly gent (who i later learned was named stephan), and in a lame attempt to get someone inspired enough to move about, told him to try to relax. hoping that if the biggest guy in the crowd could be comfortable getting down, other people might be inclined in the same direction. this was not to be. this is a small mountain town, full of wealthy mountain kids. sort of like aspen. no need to move, or try to have fun, or anything of that silly sort. fugedaboudit! i did get to cruise around a bit after the show with some new friends to a cool indoor/outdoor bar, looking eye to eye with one rather gothic rockabilly gal and her two also oversized friends. they make em' big in kufstein, and in berlin as well.