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*...



... 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 ...



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 ...



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.

cologne - catch a cawling star (sept 22)

So to Germany, home of Germans, ample vegetarian options (nb. no sausage) and now the most entertaining (if far from technically perfect) football league in world. On a personal note I shall also remember it as the place where I learned to use IMovie.

Badly.

Yes. Cologne. Koln. Big K. However you spell it (and wherever you're from, even if that place uses a completely different character set) it's a city with a fuck-load of churches and the bells to match.

Oh, the bells.*

So, we arrived late on our day 'off'*1 and I went for a run - the wrong way. So much for the sights - that's a river and them's barges. Bah. Twelve kilometres of no cathedrals and calf-burning pain.

The next morning, however, I ran in the correct direction and who do I spot amongst the teaming mass of the cod-religious, the photograph(iers)? Why, a young man of inquisitive mind and stout heart. A beat-maker. A lover of the cross.



We climbed the steps (2 euro 50) and looked out across the land...



Noting, upon the way, faith in practice -




By 4pm and now in a pleasured halfling agony, we make it to the venue. This is something that happened*2 ...



What a guy(s). What a show. Christoph, scourge of sounddesks (and now spotting quite a fetching hairdo since our last encounter, a year or so ago) aced it. Germans, as they do, smoked and cheered. Afterwards, everybody smoked (except for me). EVERYBODY smokes here, even babies. Smoke for breakfast, lunch and tea.

Smoke snack.

Smoke-a-trition.

I love playing rock shows.

falco


*Please, PLEASE stop ringing the bells at any available opportunity. SOME OF US ARE TRYING TO SLEEP.
*1 Read as day 'in''- the van. The shitting, pissing van.
*2 Note that not much happened.