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Tour Blog; DAY 8; BERLIN, GERMANY - Ambushed by Amanda Palmer.

Posted on May 20, 2010 at 12:20 PM

 

I know a lot of expatriates who were initially drawn to Europe for it’s depth and history, but still seek a scene that can match the dynamics of NYC…   As if caught in an invisible tractor beam, left over from some top-secret freak WWII Axis mind-control experiments, they all end up inevitably pulled like moths to the same bright flame: BERLIN

Being here now, I can see exactly why. The city is gushing. Certain boutique gallery-lined neighborhoods feel exactly like SOHO, only the inhabitants’ jawlines are cut by a sharper chisel, the eyes are quarried from brighter crystal, and the air doesn’t smell like a wet dreadlock. 

Just like in Copenhagen, you risk death-by-bicycle every time you leave the safety of the tour bus, but it’s worth it... Random notes: They play Rammstein in supermarkets (the old ladies seem to dig it). The taxis are all Mercedes. They sell champagne at Haagen Dazs.

 

Berlin Museum

 

Berlin Wall. Среди этой смертной любви = amidst this mortal love.

On the road, according to legend, if you have a pure heart; if you pour enough sweat; if you splay your bloody fingernails on your guitar strings enough times, the Tour Gods will sometimes smile down on you… That’s how i felt when I got a text msg from our good friend and collaborator, Amanda Palmer, informing me that she’s in Berlin also, and it’s her birthday!

She had a tiny dinner party just outside the city… petite bohemia... all the gypsies were there… musicians, artists, travelers, writers (like her fiancé Neil Gaiman, who’s speaking voice is so fucking smooth and hypnotic it’s unfair. I'd pay to hear him read my gas bill.)

We drank white wine and ate carrot cake… Amanda gave me neon feathers for my hair (which I’ve since worn at every show)… We were comparing Neil’s insta-charming daughter, Holly, to those cats that lay purring in the sun rays of dusty antique bookshops…when, “oh fuck. What time is it? That clock says 22:30. What the hell does that mean? What town is this? How do you call a taxi in German?”  

I arrived back just in time. The fan-show was in an ubercool underground punk venue known as White Trash... the interior looked like a Victorian mansion decorated by Henry Rollins. 

Half way through our set, Amanda and her portable circus ambushed the stage….bringing with them several tall mugs of Franziskaner and the spirit of the Vaudevillians; unscripted spontaneity, freedom, and abandon...

For 20 minutes we danced on that delicate line between “genius” and “utter trainwreck” -like ballerinas in combat boots… Screaming along with the crowd to irreverent covers of Radiohead and The Cure, until the beer kicked in and that smudged line disappeared under the foam altogether…. Simply put: FUN. Unforgivable and Unforgettable.

It was hard to tear away from Berlin on a Friday night, but, despite my grumbling, the bus was departing at 1am sharp. Our Tour Manager, Jack, was inflexible, -insisting that there was “important band business” waiting for us in Amsterdam early the next morning…

As I will learn 8 hours later, “important band business” to Jack, evidently means “smoking cheap Turkish hash and eating at Burger King” -which he will do 3x before i even wake up. Cool. Thanks a pantload.

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Tour Tour Blog; DAY 7; COPENHAGEN, DENMARK - Mr. Fucking International

Posted on May 14, 2010 at 01:38 PM

Waking up in Copenhagen, the first thing you’ll notice is all the bicycles. They’re swarming… I’ve taken 2 steps from the bus, and already had 6 or 7 near-fatal collisions before I could even put my sunglasses on and wipe the Merlot crust from my teeth. The paths are lined with the ghosts and relics… Rusted spokes, seats and frames strewn so densely you could be walking on the bottom of the East River.

The second thing you’ll notice is WHO is riding the bicycles: CUTE GIRLS.

-Blindingly Cute Danish Girls in short skirts and leggings and knee-high leather boots… drifting in and out of your field of focus by the hundreds, like a montage… apparitions from all your boarding school daydreams combined…

I tried to take a pic but my Blackberry lens shattered from the sheer majesty.

We love this city. 

Oft heard is the cliché about “old world charm” coexisting with modern cosmopolitan hustle… but it def applies here. Crumbling churches next to skate parks next to hidden café’s…

In one such cafe, Boy Genius (me) tried to decipher the morning menu without asking for a translation… I signaled my waiter with a worldly nod and pointed to an exotic 30-letter word that I THOUGHT meant ‘fruits of the season’. –turns out that i'd ordered a steaming 4000-calorie bowl of liver pâté. For breakfast. James Bond over here. Mr. Fucking International.

Spirits were high. We scattered like ants and walked for miles. Saw a man pushing a stroller wearing a shirt that read OBAMA IS THE NEW BLACK. 

I also saw this van

 

This tagged Agness billboard

 

This carnival in the distance

 

This wonderful graffiti

When I returned to the venue, the line for the show slithered for blocks… 

 

Dan and I booted up a video camera and started interviewing the fans in the front… I asked them random questions that I hoped would put them off-balance and illicit unusual responses:

1. What are you running away from? 2. What were the causes of the American Civil War? 3. We now know that the universe was created 4.5 billion years ago, but what happened before the Big Bang?

The best answer came from a quiet, pierced kid with a thick accent who flashed a giant Cheshire smile as he said, “Chuck Norris.”

The show was explosive… a complete riot from the minute the curtain opened.. security was minimal, so the stage was infiltrated several times… funny to watch Chris, our British Guitar Tech, amble across the stage with a Gibson under one arm and a 15-yr-old screaming banshee under the other….

The bars in that neighborhood were either too smoky or too douche-y, so, after the show we just kept the bus doors open, poured Claret in brown paper coffee cups and entertained one another in the open air… spilling secrets… spreading rumors… being 15.  -sad we had to leave so soon.

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Tour Blog; DAY 6 GOTHENBURG, SWEDEN. Blood Sausage and Hammer Pants

Posted on May 12, 2010 at 03:34 PM

Woke up in rainy Gothenburg, rolled off the bus and immediately walked a mile to my favorite café. Along the way I passed dozens of large Kill Hannah tour posters glued to kiosks, but almost all were covered by newer posters for some freaky-ass glitzy European magician with a bad chin job.

I also passed some miniature neon stormtroopers on patrol

Then i saw this: a pissoir. Without knowing Swedish, i can't possibly deduce what a pissoir is. Time Machine or Teleport or something. 

My trek continued, and as i was scuttling slowly in the middle of the street, I kept feeling soft gusts of warm air at my ankles… I eventually turned around to discover that i'd caused a traffic jam of small electric cars… led by an infuriated Swede who had apparently been revving his engine, just inches behind me, for the past 2 blocks... 

I had to smile. Those things are so fuckin stealth... -learned a couple lessons: 1. Swedish cars sound like hair dryers...  2. when a bunch of Swedish men are late for work and going apeshit and screaming at you, they sound like Muppets and it’s really cute.

Back at the venue, a large wolf pack of seriously devoted fans sat huddled under a network of umbrellas and garbage bags in the cold rain, waiting for doors to open... 

The KHK street team baked us a colossal brownie, which we all devoured.

The pattern of unpredictable foreign catering continues. (blood sausages and beets); Vegans look away.

This Swedish band poster was hanging in our dressing room… imagine their conversation in 1983: “…Are you SURE that’s what we should name the band, guys? I mean, once we print these, there’s no going back.” 

Their ghosts still haunt the venue.. The stage crew whispers of a local legend, that sometimes, when you're alone, if you listen closely, you can still hear the sound of gold lame' Hammer pants flittering in the wind...  

It's like i died and went to Xanadu heaven, and these boners all assembled at the gate, waiting to take my drink order, tie up my rollerskates, and give me coke and a tour of the palace.

Serious question tho.. To save the world, if you HAD to, which one would you fuck? I've got dibs on the lesbian in the striped shirt. At least she's confident. You can take the Mongoloid on the upper left. (The one on the far right looks gentle, but you know he smells like cologne and cabbage water)

The venue was a mid-sized assembly hall, and we filled the entire thing with fog and iridescent blue lights... 

The show was a riot, but my vocal chords gave out... i sounded raspy and thin, and was really struggling with pitch... Thankfully the crowd was so cool that they saved the day...singing a lot of it for me… and creating such an upbeat atmosphere that even my weak performance couldn't sabotage the evening…

A couple hours after the show, some fans were STILL waiting in the rain by the bus, so we ended up huddling with them for a while.. talking about music and the places they'd traveled... -one girl’s KH tattoo was particularly impressive..

Finished the night sitting up on the bus talking and laughing with our great friends Carah (original singer for Shiny Toy Guns) and Daniel (who, years ago, we NEARLY convinced to get a chest tattoo of our faces arranged like Mt. Rushmore) --- Went to bed early to rest my voice... exited for the next show.

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Tour Blog; DAY 5 OSLO, NORWAY - I'm not hungover, i have "after-drinking anxiety"

Posted on May 6, 2010 at 09:06 AM

 

Woke up to the sound of Norwegian Border Patrol searching through my toiletries. Minutes before, they’d boarded the bus in classic Gestapo fashion, and tried to shake us down for 200,000 Krones (approx £20,000) in “tax”— We either had to pay, or turn around and cancel our first show ever in Norway.

I spilled out into the parking lot for some air… pupils slammed into pinholes by the bright sun... Scenery was straight out of The Sound of Music… kinda like Montana... rolling hills covered with ancient trees… pretty as fuck.

-started kicking little rocks and brainstorming ANY other possible options we might have… Leave the bus and hitchhike with an acoustic guitar? Take 4 taxis 150 miles? Twitter to the fans and play an “unplugged” set right there in the forest like Medieval Times?

Finally, after a couple hours, the show promoter came to the rescue, using his relationships with some political heavyweights to have our BS tax lifted... As the saying goes, “the show must go on” … and I’m so glad it did…

By 3pm we were in Oslo. 

The venue, Sub Scene, is in the garden level of what is essentially a Victorian mansion... winding iron stairwells… portraits on the walls.. so cool.. the dressing room was on the upper floor., and filled with fruits, chocolates, cheeses, and even a photo of the Royal Family of Norway

I had an hour to wander.. so I asked a bouncer where the nearest H&M was… then I walked in the exact opposite direction. After about 15 min the city opened up to a gorgeous bay filled with old ships... 

-had a fun Meet and Greet with the street team.. We were given some cool gifts.. including some great art, poetry, chocolates, and a statue of one of the famous trolls... Freaky-looking trolls are now sold as trinkets in every tourist shop, but they’re actually a big part of Scandinavian folklore going back thru the ages… In the early days of wonder and mystery, in this country covered by dark impenetrable forests, they were considered very real. Their noses look like dicks.

 

They also gave us a small brick of caramelized goat cheese… a local delicacy… which weighed about 5 pounds, smelled like ear wax and tasted like plaque.  Just remembering that cheese gives me forehead zits. So gross.

Backstage, Dan’s beard was the major topic of conversation... He truly is trailblazing new territory… A length and richness has been achieved (esp in the central chin region) that, within the entire history of the band, puts him in a league all his own…  -somewhere between Brooklyn Vegan and the bad guy from the Flash Gordon… We love it. When he buttons up his shirt and slicks back his hair, he looks exactly like a Hell’s Angel in court.

 

The show was a blast… felt like we were playing on a private Vaudevillian stage built in the great hall of a Manor House… would love to film a video there…

After the show we walked to a nearby bar, where I was curtly informed by the woman next to me that, in Norway, it’s “rude” to order a drink while wearing sunglasses…

I told her that I have Cataracts, and that, in my country, it’s rude to make fun of people with degenerative eye diseases...  Her husband bought my next round.

The currency is beautiful, and I think I’m getting a grasp on this Norsk language… 

So far I learned that the word for ‘hangover’ is fylleangst, and translates literally as after drinking anxiety…

I also I learned how to say ‘tractor’, ‘pager’ and ‘civil war’…  so the next time you’re in Oslo, and you need any of those 3 things, let me know and I'll hook you up.

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A RACCOON on TOUR ; DAYS 3-4 STOCKHOLM

Posted on May 3, 2010 at 10:33 AM

A Finnish girl got annoyingly wasted (or “utterly ruined” as they say in Britain) and shadowed us to the kabob shop at 5am. -didn’t speak any English, but somehow strangely knew every word to the song You’re So Vane by Carly Simon… Whenever she felt ignored, which was every 30 seconds, she’d belt out a line, "…clouds in my coffee... CLOUDS in my COFFEEEEEE!" 

Such a Lost in Translation–esque moment, i had to laugh a little at the absurdity of our lives.

We pried off the Stage Four Cling-on by 6, and eventually I fell asleep in the back lounge watching Octopussy... -had weird dreams about riding on top of elevators.

Woke up at the Viking Ferry Station in Helsinki where I chatted for a long time with a 13yr old member of a Swedish fencing team while the boys in My Passion made human pyramids.

In my morning haze, I swore the guy in this ad wasn’t wearing pants

 

The ferry from Finland to Sweden is actually more like a cruise ship.. The trip takes 16 hours, and it's notorious for hilarious euro-style debauchery… Imagine the creepiest 10-story motel you’ve ever been in, surrounded by ocean, and overrun with drunk 16 yr old Scandinavians. Everyone keeps their cabin doors open.. no one sleeps… and there’s even a “night club” on one level of the stern, where Nordic girls dress like Cupi Dolls and dance like baby giraffes to bad retro disco. It's like a Bat Mitzvah gone horribly, horribly wrong.. look at the people dancing, look at eachother... back and forth.. 

Inside the ship, its 1983, but outside, it's timeless... The route is dotted by hundreds of these little lonely postcard islands… some of them no more than 20 feet long.. and some with tiny wooden Monopoly houses on them..

I stared for a long time… daydreaming about going “off the grid” one day…filling one of those tiny cottages with books, candles, fishing tackle and a warped piano.. no electricity.. maybe convince a few close friends to buy other islands nearby; we can all ride canoes, grow beards and catch scurvy. There’s a word you don’t type very often.

Bus driver Russ (emerging tour MVP), showed me an Old WWII trick… he put his iPhone in a pint glass to amplify the sound..  So we sat for a while watching the eskimo sun set over the Baltic Sea to the soundtrack of Squeeze Pulling Muscles From a Shell.

 

At one point Greg and I went to the top level to find a quiet place to get some work done, and these little hellraisers kept streaking past us… too funny. They begged us to buy them beer, and when we didn't, they turned on us. In thick Finnish accents they called us “Afro Boy and Fag Man.”

For a sec we considered depantsing them, duct taping them to eachother, and sending the whole pimply mess down on the elevator to the formal dining level-  but neither of us were familiar enough with maritime law in international waters.

Bunch of stoned Finnish college kids were playing Truth or Dare in the hallway so I joined them until the breakfast buffet opened at 7:30am… At one point, in the worst summersault attempt I’ve ever witnessed, this poor girl’s tailbone hit the floor like a fucking bowling ball

Smoked a hand-rolled cigarette and watched the sunrise… fucking beautiful hot neon orange – cut like a samurai blade thru the volcanic ash cloud…

European buffets are funny, cos everything is so unfamiliar and hard to identify… It’s like food roulette… You get all excited thinking you’re biting into a piece of potato, but it’s fake turkey. You think it’s bread, but it’s pressed fish... No clue what’s a dip, or a sauce or whatever… Like, i’m pretty positive I just poured soup all over my potato fish turkey shit.

I prom-smuggled in a bottle of wine, which I drank out of a coffee mug, and around glass 3, I was busted outright by a robust waitress.

She put up a big fuss.. tried to confiscate.. but I held strong. I kept staring at the rigid contours of her face. “These people are descendents of Vikings,” I kept thinking. “that’s so fucked up”

With my left eye starting to shut involuntarily, I argued that since I purchased the wine in the Duty Free shop, that I was “free” to drink it anywhere I wanted.. and that it was her “duty” to let me..  not exactly a slam dunk of a legal case, so when that failed, I just maintained eye contact with my good eye, and kept whispering the word “duty” over and over until she stormed off.

For fun, Dan and I challenged eachother to assemble the most “euro-looking” breakfast… 

Got to Stockholm and were met immediately outside the venue by a large group of fans... This one in particular got my attention. ha.

Saw some great fan tattoos at the meet n greet – met up with some top members of the KHK Street Team

 

We were so happy to be in Stockholm.. The weather was ideal, so we wandered all over town singing Easy Lover by Phil Collins... thru the ancient stone streets, past statues and shops and tourists and bistros

I watched these cute kids in a school yard at recess playing hockey

The show was epic… Some fans had traveled from Italy and France, and the vibe was electric… Afterwards we went next door to a bar called Medusa, where we talked to locals, snuck pints of beer to underage kids, and listened to Nordic metal.

At 2am, in the final minutes before the bus departed, I sat on a cold stone wall at the edge of a rushing river and listened to the sound of ships’ masks creaking.. My love affair with this city continues…

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