Wednesday, October 7, 2009

zagreb - all good things (sept 30th)

In the beginning, of course, there was our second police stop and search of the tour, polite yet insistent questions about marijuana (no, we don't) and liquor (yes, we do) then a drive which took us through Slovenia*...

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... and ending, as scheduled in Zagreb. Now, the thing about great shows and fun nights is that I don't end up taking any footage of them, because I'm too busy going about the business of playing and then, hopefully, drinking until dawn in a park.*1 I appeltise - Zagreb, you were the fucking business.

Mitch had remarked, in his own idiosyncratic way, that the standard of English wasn't too high the last time he was here (with jimi Tenor) - it's safe to say that wasn't a problem on this occasion. But then again, what does he know? He was asleep, in the club, ten minutes before we went on ...

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So to the show, broken arms (and legs, allegedly) songs, more songs, singing along (with varying accuracy) and nothing but positivity and wonder. Footage on youtube, particularly here ... okay, the audio is a little compromised but you get the idea, the crazy, crazy fuckers. Seattle and Melbourne, you at the very least have some competition - perhaps the greatest audience in the world.

The next morning, five hours sleep, and even in the brain-hurting joy, a discovery or rather, undiscovery ...

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A BIG THANKYOU to everyone we met and drank with but to Mate, thanks for the show and see you again - next time, with a support band.

falco

* beautiful vistas a windscreen away - the curse of the touring band.
*1 this is exactly what happened. I should have turned in at 5am when sobriety was less of a distant dream.

Sunday, October 4, 2009

munich - octobernest (sept 29th)

to Munich, then, pants flapping immediately post-show in Brussels and the inevitable breakdown (van, and to a lesser degree, personally) ...

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Munich is German but German, so German, in fact, that italics, bold, underlining and screaming the word over and over again simply don't do justice to the sheer meaningacity* of the word. The crowd, aside from a couple of pocket psychos down the front, are adequate and we play a decent show despite sound problems and the age-old Falkous curse - too much fucking bread.

Here's 'chin music' as filmed from the merch desk by the one and only Paul Resende. Notice how I attack the mic like a hungry shark*1...

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After the show, we drove, and drove, and drove. To Croatia, of all fucking places.



* I went there. Alone.
*1 A hungry shark with an appalling monitor mix.

brussels - back to the front (sept 28th)

... to Brussels. I've made my share of mistakes and engaged in the occasional good time in Brussels, mostly due to the corrupting influence of both Chimay (bleu) and Jan De Mars, Beggars vassal and Wire-ite, but this will be my first visit to the venue La Botanique since 2004. Still, there was, as ever, laundry and a wonderfully Nathan Barley style hotel. Here. for the vaguely interested, is my journey twixt poles ...

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To top the evening, there was Moroccan food, courtesy of the self-same Mr. De Mars ...

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The next day, post-digestion (which took a while, due to the mass of food consumed) we made it to the venue. I was so excited to be here that I couldn't get the name correct.

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The Brussels crowd are a little on the quiet side (where have you heard this before?) but a good show is had by all in the echoing auditorium although, in frank continental fashion, we're the only band on the bill.

To the van, sweetcheeks.

falco

hasselt - one be one (sept 26th)

Hasselt, home of the Pukkelpop festival, extra polite hotel staff and lurking pederasts. I had a great time.

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I ran through the city, dodging fat families and the occasional odd stare - there was a fayre (fair? I dunno) here, littering the land as a bored, gaudy centre of nothingness. It was as shit as you'd imagine. That is to say, shit. I captured some footage, but only in the sense that I'd like to now uncapture it and use the time to buy some new shoes instead.

At the venue, the Muziekdroom, there was a brief 'piece to camera' which involved us saying a series of place names. I warn you now, jacks face features heavily in this short clip -

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The communal festival food was, as ever, uniquely awful, although Jack would like to put in a good word for the pudding. His dream, incidentally, is a world where the menu is entirely made up of starters and puddings with the tyranny of the too-filling main course resigned to history.

The show itself, aside from a broken guitar (I must be honest - I felt a little smashy) that Rob from Pulled Apart by Horses had fixed for me just the other day, was fantastic, featuring as it did, rock songs, Belgian staring, young Axel (how old were you, Axel, and why weren't you in bed?) and a little too much drinking. But hey, there are more important issues, the rider for one-

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... and, post-show, the thievery (five days later it still sits in the back of the van, untouched by human or musician kind)...

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What a glamorous bunch we are.

'night

falco




hamburg - plaisir junkie (sept 24th)

So, to Hamburg ...

We expect a lot from you, Hamburg, a lot, and I don't just mean porn, guns and public drinking - that all goes without saying.*

An odd day, then ..

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The Reeperbahn festival is about more than music. It's also about queues*1, awkward load-ins and posters. Thousands of the fucking things ...

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... with added gritty real-world information thrown in. About SANDWICHES.

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Whilst Danananakyroyd played Kelson and James Brown of Pulled Apart by Horses not-yet-fame engaged in interpretive dance...

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Such characters.

The show was ... okay, the crowd a little lame (to use the vernacular) by German standards and the temperature in the venue absolutely insane - as my completely ruined clothes and the vomit of Matthias bear testimony to. Christophe took some footage of 'plague of onces' from behind the be-grilled sound-desk ... perhaps it'll be posted on a later, less video-heavy entry.

Anyway, I don't keep accurate or up-to-date records but it may the (my) second hottest show of all-time, pipped at the post by the Tote, Melbourne, in 2003, a show at which an audience member claimed to have lost between twelve and fifteen pounds in weight.

Outside we ran into a bunch of disparate characters as my soaking wet jeans began to freeze and form as a wet-suit around my massive thighs - Richard 'Chill' Hawkins, Andrea Heil, the boy Churd and Ben from Biffy Clyro.

Then, a Jamesons (me, twice)), dance (not me), hug (all me) and curtsy (some girl) and we're off, protracted goodbye to dirty hirsute squat-boy Christoph not withstanding, bounding into the night as only bounders can.

Ta-ra.

falco


*and, to be honest, I wish it didn't.
*1 or 'lines', my yanqui buddies.