2005 European Tour Reports
Wednesday 23rd February 2005
Ancienne Belgique, Brussels
Panic stations ahoy!
Arrived with plenty of time to spare, though with the tour carrying two
top of the range 'Beat The Street' busses, plus a forty foot articulated
lorry; it meant we were carrying a very hefty amount of production too.
In actual fact, an additional eighteen crew to accommodate bringing in
our own lighting rig and full PA spec. And that's without mentioning the
performance-based theatrics of a twelve foot tall, fully articulated
puppet, living gargoyles, aerial performer, angle grinders, projection
screens, ramps and the usual massive light show.
So, panic stations it is when all this is being tried and tested for the
first time this evening: Crew and Cradle or, even at times both melding
into a simple Crewdle; flitting around like proverbial shitseekers at a
dung beetle convention. Bit of a shit analogy I realize, but I'm writing
this before two o'clock the following afternoon... so please do give me
a break, it's not all plaques and hams on the road.
Kept out of the way for the best part of the day, basically perusing the
local music and comic stores with Sarah and replacement bassist scum
Charles... and when Sarah decided to call it a day, the two of us were
invited to some local rock stores to browse and scam some free stuff
(which, of course is always a boost to one's day).
The nicest gift was one that was made to me of a Dani Filth Living Dead
Doll, replete with death certificate (well, it might come in useful on
this length of tour...) and poetry, stage clothing and realistic
corpse-like features. And it all was roughly about the same dimensions,
especially in this cold.
And so after a hefty dinner and even more fulsome interviews, it was
only until support artistes Moonspell were halfway through their set
that everybody realized, that the time was fast approaching for our
first show with all possible amount of teething disasters preparing to
loom. But that said, despite road-testing everything from codpieces to
kilts, new in-ear monitoring systems to keyboard stands, the show went
surprisingly well. Sure, there were a few hiccups when intros to songs
either started too late or started so fast that I was still introducing
the song in question and yeah, there were a few bum notes and vocals;
but all in all the eighteen hundred strong Belgium crowd lapped it up
for the full ninety minute set, even the newest, most unrehearsed of
tracks. And it looked fantastic!
Another surprise came in the form of Kerrang! magazine's 'at home'
feature with my good self that our manager Fay brought over from England
with her...... it was actually a well written piece (by our good friend
Dom Lawson) and the pictures of my abode were pretty cool too. And the
lack of sarcasm... it was a wonder not to be seen.
So to end this first entry into this diary of a madman, I believe that
we had an extremely successful first day out here in the wild
extremities of a wintry Europe.
And thus to conclude in the time immemorial styling of the late lamented
Sir David Pubis, previous bassist scum (whose job it was on the last
tour to document these events), the weather was slightly on the cold
side though it didn't rain.
Charles, being the second blonde in the band, but the youngest, (thus
making him possibly the most dippy), making the singularly most stupid
comment of the tour so far about the white stuff blowing about in the
air.
'My god, what is it'? he was heard to cry...
Snow my dear boy, snow....
Just wait until Spain and that big yellow blob on the roof of the world.
Thursday 24th February 2005
Podium, Hardenberg, Holland
Good guys that we are, we didn't stay up all night partying the night
before, (not saying that at some point we won't...); so therefore
everybody awoke refreshed and eager for the day’s events.
The crew certainly appeared to be top of things today as the teething
troubles from the Belgium show seemed to have been overcome and sound
check happened practically on cue.
The stage at the Podium wasn't quite as accommodating either, so the
show had to be cut back into a slightly smaller configuration, which I
actually preferred as it meant that you didn't have to crusade to reach
a mid set beverage, but it did constrict the puppet's movement about us
whilst we played. Angle grinding was also back in the set, which always
looks really impressive, with it's high arc of showering sparks
red-rainbowing the drum kit. I say 'back in' as we couldn't angle grind
the previous night as some weird Belgium law forbade the use of power
tools without everybody (including the audience) wearing goggles. Now
that would have been a sight! And could you imagine the scenario?
'This is our last song for the evening, now if everyone could kindly don
the safety equipment provided at their feet, we shall begin.... this is
fucking From The Cradle To Enslave.....'
The gig itself went really well, despite monitor guy Keith (he of the
unusual Saturnine haircut), accidentally sending me a drum mix at one
point that nigh on blew my eardrums for about three or four songs; but
other than that it was raucous and raw and exactly the way these
thousand seater shows should be.... sweaty, loud and thumping, just like
good sex.
After a brilliant encore everybody trudged upstairs with exuberance to
hang out with the Moonspell guys to talk, drink and, in the case of Mr.
All ender, smoke reefer until his face fell off.
In actual fact, on the rare (cough, cough) occasion that he does partake
of the weed he has become known in these circles as Jacky and Slide,
mainly due to that awesome and magical moment when one man metamorphoses
into the sludge beast.
Another thing worthy of note today would be the changeover to the Star
liner tour bus that we were expecting at the beginning of the tour, but
had to wait for it being cleaned after Snoop Doggy Dog had ill-gotten
his greasy paws all over it. And what a beauty she is... two lounges,
(one of which is at the front at the top of the stairs and is more akin
to an observation deck than an actual lounge: so much so, that on
awaking bleary-eyed in Amsterdam, I actually thought for a moment that I
was sailing on a canal barge...); a kitchenette and toilet, eight luxury
bunks and best of all; which unfortunately we are turning into an
editing suite for the duration of the tour so that we might work on our
forthcoming DVD (eat Halloween), a back bedroom complete with double
bed, topnotch sound system, fridge, starry mirrored ceiling (for
looking' at yo bitches booty I presume) and all the mod cons you could
ever require on the road save a jacuzzi. Everything is in leather
upholstery, there are TV's everywhere and game consoles and there is
even a miniature balcony. I fucking love it!
Now just to kill, sorry, lose the other seven passengers and I'll be in
touring heaven, apart from being a trite lonely up there on stage. Ah
well, we all have to make the occasional sacrifice!
And so, that brings us nicely to the end of day two, finding myself and
Martin Foul pimpin' it out on the leather sofas watching 'The Wicker
Man' and sipping brandy from a decanter. Posh cunts that we are....
Friday 25th February 2005
Paradiso, Amsterdam, Holland
Today was a good day. Maybe it was the heady brew of antique waterways
and Dutch friendliness, dykes or straights, but Amsterdam is always a
good place for us to play, but that might possibly be the floaty pink
elephants talking.
Today had to be a good day as the last time that we played in the
vicinity (last Summer's Waldrock festival) was a disaster of epic, nay,
monumental proportions.
To briefly explain the situation, we were terrible at a headlining show
in front of thousands of fans. The reason being, if the truth be told,
was that we were flitting between festivals and mixing the album at the
same time and it was beginning to take it's toll, especially on me, who
was beginning to feel a bit ground under the millstone. Add to this
sloth-like concoction a day's worth of interviews (by the end of which
there was no food left to eat as those bands with considerably less
interviews than us had scoffed the bloody lot), technical stage problems
and a skinful of booze, the result was disastrous. Thus it was precisely
the reason that tonight's show had to be our redemption and in a way,
our apology.
But onto that later....
For the most part of the afternoon Adrian, Martin, Charles and James
disappeared into the city centre to buy annoying mooing cow devices
whilst the daily activities of life on the road carried on as serenely
as they had done for the last couple of shows. Then about four thirty
and without sound check, everybody was ushered into the back of vans
heading towards our first instore of the tour at the Boudisque on the
Haringpakkerssteeg where four to five hundred kids were awaiting us.
Normally one would expect this kind of thing to be a bit overwhelming
especially in confined spaces, but I really get off on meeting the fans
face to face and they are our bread and butter after all.
A busy hour and a half later (someone was overheard to have been asked
if their hand hurt after all that signing, only to reply rather
intrinsically that it wasn't because of the signing that his hand
hurt....) and after picking up some freebies, we were dashing back to
the venue to quickly cough back some burgers and then think about
getting ready for the show. The editing suite at the back of our coach
has already doubled up as my official warming-up space (mainly because
of the stereo and the fact that I can make as much unwholesome noise as
I damn well please without upsetting any of the others), therefore I
didn't see hide nor hair of anybody until about fifteen minutes prior to
going on backstage where the ritual of donning leather and lamp oil
continues to this day.
The show itself was awesome, everybody pushing the envelope back to make
this one as good as it could get and there were some really interactive
moments between the band, performers and the stage layout, especially
the very effective grilled floor lighting, wreathed in swirling smoke
and thrashing shadow. The audience were really up for it too as the
whole place erupted to the likes of 'Nemesis', 'Tortured Soul Asylum'
and 'Thirteen Autumns and a Widow' though there was a slightly worrying
moment when one girl collapsed in the pit for a track until the security
rightly waded in to her rescue, so of course if you see anything like
this from the stage it's a concern, though this sort of fare is rare and
far between I will hasten to add!
Anyway, she was fine and the show rocked like a mutherfucka, especially
when the crowd were asked to shout out 'Happy Birthday' for Sarah
Jezebel, who suddenly became the most shy and quiet female on the planet
at that tumultuous moment. Lost for words... I thought I'd never see the
day.
Afterwards we hung out with our record company reps, drank, watched
Judas Priest on the bus and the bleary-eyed sludge monster returned in
the ineffable shape of Paul 'slopbucket' All ender. Charles once again
brought blondes into total disrepute with a comment to floor giants...
'How do you get that mirror to light up from behind?' he asked of
Martin.
I'm surprised that he then didn't ask just who that weird chap was that
was constantly facing him in it either...
The sap.
Saturday, 26th February 2005
E-Work, Koln, Germany
Another great day, another great show and definitely the most well
attended thus far. In fact I believe that by the time Moonspell hit the
stage the venue was sold out and judging by the roars heard from below
stage, the young upstarts from Portugal were going down a storm.
Again we ate very close to the beginning of the show as tonight's gig is
an early one (on stage at eight fifteen) because of a discotheque going
on at the club afterwards. This is obviously not a good thing as the
food (as bloody lovely as it is always at this venue) will be swilling
around our guts as we hit the stage and that tends to make me fart quite
badly. Nevertheless if this happens I always make a point of doing it
near the bass player, then moving away so that if any audience member
does get wind of it, I am exempt from blame. This is a common procedure
amongst the singer fraternity and a secret I fear hideous retribution
may be forthcoming for, as it is an ancient and well guarded ritual
known to the elite as 'cheruffing'.
It might not be such a problem running short of time prior to the show
if I could actually set my laptop clock to European time instead of
British, as I always seem to be a hour behind everybody else, which is a
problem when attempting to stagger into huge boots and buckles and do
your eyeliner at the same time. Last week in Greece I nigh on put my
bloody eye out!
Anyway, the show started on time and there we were, seven fog-enshrouded
figures going for it for all we were worth, wraiths and music in perfect
disharmony. Tonight we had decided to move the set around to accommodate
what we could or couldn't use, a procedure that is quite common practice
near the beginning of a tour, as four shows in with this full
production, we are still on a learning curve. Some venues have limited
rigging height, some stages are too deep or too short, others don't
possess the necessary permits needed to use the angle-grinding guns.....
the list goes on. Tonight we're lucky, in respect to the fact that
everything can be used; puppet, ropes, fire, the lot. And it most
certainly is, that is until one of the projection screens is somehow
knocked askew mid-set and the decision is made to cancel using them, as
only one working on the left would look a bit shit side.
Still, the rest looked good and our performance was probably one of our
better ones so far, though the set change felt awkward and still in
parts and so, as a band we've decided to compromise further on the
running order.
The encore was definitely the best part tonight, a solitary second
encore "From The Cradle To Enslave' tearing Koln a new arse with it's
intensity, even the sparks from the angle-grinders seemed angrier than
before as they rained down on my upturned face.
Quick note too oneself.
Remember to close my fucking eyes.
Afterwards we showered and partied, though not necessarily at the same
time, wine was poured and reefers smoked. Moonspell, it turns out, are
quite the potheads, which suits Paul (literally) down to the ground.
Tonight they are hilarious, with their bassist , who is quite
incomprehensible at the best of times, ranting away about green women
bass guitars, Johnny Walker Whisky (red label preferably) and a band
called Black Leather. Every few minutes he interrupts his epic
monologues with a burst of furious head banging or better still, a long
chug on his beer. God knows what else the Eve would bring him and the
rest of Moonspell as tonight that are planning to take the magic
mushrooms they bought back in Amsterdam. We will revisit this scenario
at some point tomorrow I guess when they've all gone stark raving mad.
Headed to the dance floor of the club afterwards with Satya (performance
artiste) and Keith(monitors and nuttery) to get drunk and watch the
German two-step, as tomorrow is a well-deserved day off. Then I returned
to the bus whereupon I watched the Borstal film 'Scum', talked drunkenly
into the small hours and then sometime around four, fell into a coma
quite coincidentally in the back bedroom of the bus. Where there is a
large bed. That's very comfy. That's not at all like the bunks usually
(and diplomatically) slept in by all.
That's why I got up about nine and got back into my own bed, lest guilt
got the better of me.
Good night.
The band is slowly going mad. I can smell the wounds that seep and
simmer even through my own cobwebbed dreams. Only yesterday, day-off
day, did Paul and I sit glued to TV screens in our makeshift editing
suite whilst the rest of the band had a 'Lord Of The Rings' extended
edition trilogy viewing marathon going for nigh on twelve hours
straight. Having not seen the extended version of "The Return Of The
King', (as I was in India when it was released...) I sat in on the last
film, all fucking four hours of it, including the half a hour extra CGI
weeping footage toward the end. By half past three in the morning
everyone looked like Gollum himself, eyes shrunken deep within the
recesses of malformed skulls, long time empty windows to beaten and
broken souls.
Adrian wanted to top himself ten minutes from the end, but we persuaded
him that the marathon stint would all be in vain if he were to kill
himself now. Better later in the privacy of his own bunk, where it
wouldn't alarm the rest of the nesting Orcs.....
Monday 28th February 2005
Schlachthof, Wiesbaden, Germany
Having endured the last half an hour of 'The Return Of The KIng' means
that anything is possible and so it is with renewed vigour that I ascend
the mighty and lofty flights to Asgard today.
The weather was actually sunny for the first time though the wind, as I
found out whilst on the phone, was ball-bitingly cold. The day passed
without incident, everything now falling into a methodical and clockwork
routine.
Food was scoffed, toilets fouled and DV tapes were watched endlessly for
our forthcoming documentary.
Sound check was a tad on the loud side, the empty Schlachthof
reverberating like an old tin can and we hoped for a better sound once
the crowd swelled in, which it and they did.
Eric (formerly Legion of Marduk) turned up with his wife and his
adorable baby just before stage-time and monitor man Keith chose these
precious few hours to renew his haircut challenge.
On the previous American tour he had had his hair cropped to look like
his face had passed through some form of hairy hoop, this time though
the challenge was to shave his hair in the manner of a ski mask, though
to me he now looks like a European tour adaptor or a nineteenth century
bare knuckle boxer, fighting one and all for a hock of prize ham.
Virginal as it now is, I'm sure that in the coming weeks it will
flourish into something quite spectacular, especially when it gets dyed
black for added emphasis.
And so onto the show.....
The sound had improved somewhat, though it remained quite muggy up on
stage. This was not to say that the gig was a bad one, far from it, it
just could have been better. Satya couldn't hang her ropes anywhere but
midway through the crowd, which actually looked pretty impressive during
'The Black Goddess Rises', as if the night held more than the one
entertainment. And only half the crowd got to see her performance, which
made it even cooler, as if it were but an aside, an embellishment, an
afterthought. And for once the band actually got to see just how
impressive her spins and silks looked....
The crowd seemed to love the show and we were hailed backed on for
another encore, which we undertook with renewed menace. Adrian was a tad
angry afterwards as his drum riser apparently kept moving throughout
'From The Cradle To Enslave',, but his drumming was steadfast
nonetheless. My trousers during the encore break tore in half as I
struggled to be free of the leg buckles in order that I might don my
leather kilt (easy pervmeisters), so much so that I went back on with
only one leg still intact! That's the price of drinking too much Afri
cola, possibly the world's most potent non-alcoholic drink. Only legal
in Germany and some parts of Holland, it contains enough caffeine to
fell a bull Elephant, henceforth why the majority of us were up until
the small hours watching crap films and making general mirth in full
anticipation of the morrow when our second signing session will be
undertaken in Hamburg.
Great. Free stuff!
Tuesday Ist March 2005
Docks, Hamburg, Germany
It seems that nearly everyone stayed up late last night and so
grogginess seems to be the order of the day today. Plus the weather is
ridiculously cold, Paul has contracted the flu and I have a bloody ear
infection (no doubt brought on by the ear monitor outburst of a few
nights ago...). so all's well in the Cradle camp today...
After the obligatory coffee, croissant, toilet visit and tour diary (or
if it's a bad day, tour diarrhea...) it was off for a quick peruse
around the local erotic boutiques of the Reiperbahn before a perfectly
executed sound check at precisely five on the nail. Then came the moment
everyone had been waiting for, the signing session, that is everyone bar
Paul who looked like he really didn't need to worry about putting any
make-up on, seeing as he appeared as the spitting image of Death himself
anyway.
Three taxis took us to the instore, our elderly taxi driver just so
happened to be a Bad Religion fan, which was kinda weird seeing as he
was playing a tape as soon as we had gotten in. Food and drinks were
provided and then we were whisked downstairs to one of the biggest music
stores I have ever seen (and I seen a few), to be confronted by at least
four hundred eager fans, queued all the way round the aisles of the shop
floor like a massive, meandering centipede.
It was a really good session despite the stage lights in the store
pulsing like a seventies discotheque and the people that we met were all
pretty interesting, especially the people who brought along unusual
things to sign, such as guitars, breasts, mock breasts, cigar boxes and
even Bibles (as befitting as bibles to our band so obviously are..).
Afterwards we wandered the shop floor seeking out our freebies, mainly
due to the fact that the list handed in prior to the signing had nothing
really on it that they had in stock, but I guess that just meant finding
some bargains. One of mine came in the shape of 'The Vincent Price
Collection' on DVD featuring 'Theatre Of Blood', 'The Abominable
Dr.Phibes' and it's sequel, 'The Abominable Dr.Phibes Rises Again', all
three, you understand, absolute classics of the genre. Genuine
must-haves for fans of the great man.
Burgers quickly scoffed on the way out, we arrived back at the venue
with an hour and a half to spare, so it was to the bus I retreated with
a chilled bottle of Chardonnay and a Satyricon ceedee to begin the
warming up process. At this point in the day the weather was becoming
like a blizzard and the whole atmosphere of the day suddenly collided in
a collage of colour and sound, seasonal bravado and bloody good wine.
The show itself went really well, though the audience did seem a little
subdued, but we played well despite the intense heat of the stage and
the constrictions imposed upon us by the strangely shaped area. Five
songs in my ear started to play up again and it was only until I was
able to nip off to the side and muffle it for a few moments that the
clarity came back. But saying this, this was not a bad show by any
means, ear and audience but a minor thorn to this, our sixth show of the
tour. We were tight and although Paul had almost fully crossed over to
the ranks of the living dead by this point, even he enjoyed the show,
despite the constant dripping nose.
Not much to report on the aftershow, other than a long hot shower,
another quick spin round the twinkly street boutiques and finishing the
wine off on the bus whilst reading the last chapters of George Orwell's
'1984'.Everybody was then in bed by two-thirty to avoid being woken up
for the ferry into Sweden.
Hardly rock'n'roll but we liked it!
Wednesday 2nd March 2005
Kulturbolaget (KB's), Malmo, Sweden
Today was freezing, there is no best way other than that to describe
Malmo's climate on this, the second of March. Absolutely freezing. I
walked a few streets from the venue and despite three layers, a leather
jacket and a scarf I could still feel the wind chilling me to my marrow.
Perhaps I should have put some trousers, shoes and pants on too, but
that's another story...
The last time we played this venue I believe was way back in 1997 with
Opeth, I could be mistaken, but it was definitely a bloody long time
ago. Nothing seems to have changed much in the duration, the size being
the main problem with this place, it's relatively tiny, perhaps 800
capacity at best. Nevertheless everybody is friendly, the food is good
and the dressing rooms upstairs are immaculate.
The afternoon finds us interviewing with the local college radio
station, who seem very pleased with the course of the questioning,
especially as I give them a signed special edition of our album to take
away with them on the strength that they play Mr.Crowley during their
Ozzy hour. They agree. Job done.
Sound check over and a really nice dinner scoffed, it's onto the usual
routine of making up and warming those dulcet tonsils of mine into some
semblance of a voice. A doctor arrives at some point to have a look at
my ear and prescribes amputation, sorry, ear drops. They seem to work
almost immediately, which is a relief as it seemed that I had an egg
growing there, such was the inflammation. Anyway, another exceptional
bottle of wine is opened (no need to chill it today) and the gig is
green lights go.
The place is rammed to the nines as we stride onto the relatively
cramped stage, but the crowd is obviously pleased to see us here after
such a lengthy hiatus and the atmosphere is electric. Maybe it is
because Adrian's family is watching today, maybe it's the wine, but
tonight, despite the odds being stacked quite firmly against us in terms
of space and illness (Paul still lives the twilight existence of the
dead), the show is amazing. Compared with yesterday which seemed a tad
slow in parts, tonight's is frenetically paced and all kinds of shapes
are thrown for the benefit of the crowd. Sometimes there's a magic
coming together on stage when everything falls into place totally and
tonight experienced one of those precious moments. We rocked big style.
So much so that everyone in the band seemed enthused on exiting the
stage and thus the party spilled upstairs into the dressing rooms.
Sharlee from Arch Enemy/Witchery/loads of others (or as I like to call
him due to his aristocratic mannerisms, the Marquis De Suave) guested in
the Moonspell dressing room for what was tantamount to a relatively
sizeable piss up (as the throbbing in my brain is testament to whilst I
am writing this) and Ares (Moonspell bassist) is definitely on his metal
trip again, singing the whole of 'Smoke On The Water' start to finish to
a rapturous response. Even the fans still waiting outside on the street
below are treated to one of his monologues on Johnny Walker and the
price of metal and it is very evident that both bands are bonding well
on this tour (if you recall we have toured with Moonspell several times,
the most prominent being the 2003 tour with them and Type O in the
states). Which is always a good thing.
Anyway the night obviously wound to conclusion at some point, though we
did carry on for a spell on the bus (eventually hitting the sack around
three), listening to Dissection, The Prodigy and The War Of The
Worlds-The Eve Of The War, amongst others, but not before something
truly embarrassing befell me in the toilets. Now I know what you're
thinking but I can assure you it was nothing like that, I actually got
locked in and if it wasn't for Adrian''s wife hearing my bleats for
assistance, then I might still be in there today!
Fortunately I had two beers for company during the twenty minute rescue
operation so I was finding the whole thing increasingly hysterical,
especially when all attempts at forcing the lock failed and they had to
go find a crowbar with which to jemmy the frame. Apparently the same
thing had happened to another guy from a band the previous year but in
the other dressing room toilets and on that particular occasion they had
to rescue him by ladder! Now that would have been embarrassing,
descending down to the waiting autograph seekers below!
Why does this sort of thing always seem to happen to me?
I remember a similar situation a few years back in Italy when I was
being interviewed live on air by my good friend Sylvia and having drunk
about a litre of water (it was in the nineties that day I seem to
remember), I had nipped out during a song to use the bathroom, only to
have the toilet lock jam on me, leaving her at a loss to my whereabouts
and me having to shout across to reception for assistance. Well,
eventually it appeared in the guise of a screwdriver and the lock had to
be taken completely off before I could carry on and finish the bloody
show. And you know what? I'm sure it's but the first in a long line of
toilet imprisonments for my good self and I'm not talking any George
Michael stuff here either....
I'll leave that for the guitarists in the band.
Thursday 3rd march 2005
Arena, Stockholm, Sweden
Awoke to the great news that the dates in England are close to selling
out, which is important as they are obviously on our home turf and thus
it is with a sense of achievement and well being that this news reaches
my ears. I really can't wait for the English dates as we haven't played
there for at least two years (apart from a brief appearance at the
Download festival last June) and it will be a fitting end to this tour
to return to reclaim our homeland.
But what, I hear you ask, of today's events?
Well, sub zero temperatures once again but inside this vast arena the
heating is turned to full. I watched the crew begin to assemble the
massive production that we have brought with us and at some point will
make the effort to try and capture some of this elaborate process on the
video camera for posterity.
A few interviews to do today and a photo shoot just prior to going on
stage and yet another instore, this time at the record and cd exchange
in the centre of Stockholm. We arrive about five to find the street
blocked with about four hundred kids, all stamping their feet as much to
keep out the perpetual cold as in eager anticipation of the band's
arrival.
The store is an independent and though pretty accommodating, there is a
weird layout routine in place, meaning that kids go down one aisle to
meet two members of the band, then have to double track to meet a
further two and so on, obviously leading to some very confusing moments
and some inevitable encounters with a huge and irate Scotsman (i.e our
tour manager, Big M). Nonetheless it was good fun and we had the usual
eclectic mix of fans and gifts. One such being a can of glitter spray
that was instantly opened and emptied onto James and Charles' heads,
being the celebrity gay icons that they've now become.
Not much time at the end to pick out freebies so we pretty much just
grabbed and ran, having to wolf down cold burgers in the taxis in order
to give us enough time back at the venue before the show. It was tight
(what with the aforementioned photo shoot not helping matters much
either), but when we do make stage the response is well worth the wait.
Of all the shows (and yesterday's was phenomenal), this was certainly
the best in terms of production and performance. Everything is utilized
from projectors to puppet, from fire to silks and the band, though
relatively still unwell, play like the little troopers you've come to
know and love. The crowd is the best so far in respect of furious
reaction and the huge stage actually feels like we cover it amply, with
the podiums being utilized either by myself or the guitarists. Tonight
every song in the set is played so all in all we are on stage for at
least an hour and forty minutes, though the time seems to fly by. By the
time the second encore ends in an explosion of crowd blinders, fireworks
and guitar ringouts we are exhausted, though everyone is thoroughly
chuffed with the outcome of the night.
Not much in the way of partying afterwards, I spend an hour having my
ears re-moulded (which is not a wholly pleasant experience having things
pushed around the second bend in your ear canal, especially if you
already have ear trouble...) and then it's back on the bus to watch the
omnibus version of East Enders (a popular British soap opera) where two
of the most ruthless characters are bumped off in one scorching episode.
Then, seeing as I'm having trouble sleeping of late, possibly because of
the adrenaline, I decide to nurse a couple of beers and retreat to the
back lounge to listen to some new ideas that we've recorded as a band
recently.
Then I turn in just in time to be greeted by a volley of farts from
various corners of the bunk compartment.
Charming as always.
Saturday 5th March 2005
Rockefeller, Oslo, Norway
Not the best of night's sleeps what with Paul's undead virus finally
infiltrating every orifice in my head and Martin and James being two
pissed up wankers down in the belly of the bus, but at least it's proper
sleep that finally slumps over me about five or six in the morning.
I know, it's not the best of starts for this Norwegian entry, but in all
honesty, it wasn't the best of days. Aside from the fever and constant
cough (that has, at the last count, ragged at least four people's voices
to phlegmy shreds), it was quite a relaxed day (in the minute or two
between painful coughing fits), the venue was cool and the food, once
again, exceptional throughout the course of our constant campaign upon
it, but when you're ill and today I felt like death was eschewing upon
my throat with a vengeance.
Spent most of the afternoon working and reading the first chapters of
'The Gospel Of Filth', our collaboration with esteemed author Gavin
Baddeley which cheered me up no end with it's constant references to the
dark arts. Later, shortly after sound check, I conducted an interview on
the bus with a local webzine and read some more from my pulp horror
compilation before bumping into an old friend of the band's, a certain
Andrea Meyer, former wife of Samoth from Emperor, one time pagan icon
with Hagalaz' Runedance and now etching a more gothic path through her
work with Nebelhexe. Paul and I both knew her from the 'Principle' days
( when she actually guested on our debut offering) so we sat and chatted
for a while before she had to dash home and rescue the babysitter from
the machinations of her seven year old daughter.
Showtime wasn't until ten, which is relatively late in comparison with
the rest of the gigs and so I found myself on the bus with hours to
spare. I decided to start watching an old horror movie but got too
restless as stage-time rapidly approached and increasingly more ill, so
by the time we were due to go on, I felt decidedly off.
The show was actually a good one and everybody in the band played very
tightly, I just had to keep disappearing between tracks in order to hack
up phlegm and re-hydrate with boiling hot steam baths. By the time the
encore hit I was feeling a little peculiar and at one point fought hard
against blacking out... I was certainly unsteady on my feet and the
close proximity of all those par cans and boiling under-stage lights
didn't do me any favours whatsoever, so much so, that I collapsed back
in the dressing room, a ruined husk of a man.
Even Satya, who is also feeling the effects of the dreaded lurgy had a
bad one, as her usual mid-air silk
routine had to be jettisoned due to the proximity of the crowd and the
hanging Nympheta-Mic, practically as soon as she had graced the stage.
But all told, the crowd wanted more, which is the main thing. Our utter
devotion to their pleasure.
Afterwards, on regaining composure and having a lengthy shower, I ducked
out the back way to avoid the humdrum of well-wishers and party animals,
well aware that I wouldn't be much in the way of company for them in my
present condition. Instead I retreated to the bus for a brief but
relaxing massage and to watch the rest of my film in the company of a
beef sandwich until falling into a haunted, restless sleep, dreaming of
warmer, sunnier climes and the restoration of health.
Fat chance of that for weeks.
Sunday 6th March 2005
Amager Bio, Copenhagen, Denmark
Denmark has never been that strong a market for us and as I seem to
recall, the last time we played Copenhagen was merely a stop-gap for the
rest of the Scandinavian shows and that was exactly what I thought would
be the sum of today, but how wrong I was.
Today's show at the Amager Bio required a re-configuration of the stage
show into one solitary huge arch, with just one projection screen
holding court above the drum kit, something that actually came off
pretty effectively. The venue was a lot bigger than we expected an I was
pleased to find out that it was close to selling out. The only annoying
thing was having to make a huge detour in order to avoid the
ever-lengthening queue that was forming along the side of the bus. No
offense to anyone who attended the show, but with this bloody illness
still at my throat, the last thing I wanted to be doing was standing
around in the freezing cold signing things... any other day and it
really wouldn't be a problem, but today.... nah.
I pretty much stayed on the bus for the majority of the afternoon
working my way slowly through the mountain of DV tapes still left to
log, an arduous process but very entertaining at the same time,
especially when you stumble on footage of the band you thought long
forgotten. Sound check was about five and that went smoothly enough with
Paul Collis (sound engineer) bringing in some extra PA speakers to
accommodate the lack of mids in the empty room. Dinner is a buy-out so
Thai is the order of the day, but by the time it actually arrives there
is precious little left to enjoy it properly, so it is just a case of
wolfing it down quickly before climbing into my stage gear and heading
out for show number ten.
Now this is the part where I eat my words (as well as my beefy noodles).
This has got to be one of the better shows of the tour, both playing
wise and audience wise. I had totally misjudged the Danish people, going
solely on past experience alone. Tonight they are riotous and they
certainly invigorate the band into playing one of our best gigs to date.
Throughout the entire set they sing along to everything and for the best
part of an hour and a half I forget that I was ever even feeling ill.
During the encore (and I know that this won't particularly please my
girlfriend to hear this...) there is a blonde girl in the front row who
continuously gyrates and flashes her boobs at the band. On closer
inspection, (i.e on crouching over the monitors on the pretense of being
thoroughly dramatic...) I notice that she is actually masturbating with
her other hand down the front of her trousers. Can you believe it? Front
row of a thousand capacity venue to the manic thunder of 'Mother Of
Abominations'! The sheer nerve of it! I don't even know whether she gets
to where she was going with it as the set ends and I zoom off for a
costume change for the second encore.
Did I ever mention that some of our fans are a little out there?
Anyway, a great show but not a great shower as the water is freezing and
then I'm left feeling like a cave-bound Gollum when the light flicks
off, leaving me to struggle with both taps and towels in the dark.
Terrific. Still, it at least wakes me up, even if I do stub my toe on
the shower rim.
Afterwards I head back to the bus (the long way round) for a brief
nightcap and to pack for the airport in the morning, as tomorrow we are
flying out to Helsinki at the ungodly hour of nine thirty for the first
of four festival dates (the other three appear later on in the week in
Budapest and Poland). Oh well, at least we have a hotel for the night
which will be a nice alternative to sleeping on the bus, however
expensive and luxurious it is.
And hot running water. With proper lighting.
Monday, 7th March 2005
Ice Arena, Helsinki, Finland
We were actually awoken at eight thirty for some ungodly reason that
beggars comprehension as we arrive at the airport and the flight isn't
until half past twelve, so we sit around for what seems like hours
sipping coffee and trying to keep awake. The flight number is a
fortuitous AY666 so we're expecting either gremlins on the wings or
worse still, a mountainside fireball somewhere over Norway. This, as
previously mentioned, is the first of a spat of festival shows, so we're
only carrying our basic flying gear; no extra lamps, pyrotechnics, just
a stripped down crew (not literally, the airport staff would have them
arrested...) and an overnight bag each.
Half the band and crew almost don't make the flight as they apparently
didn't hear the announcement, but they glide in just in the nick of time
and it's 'hoorah! We're off to Finland matey.
Arrive about three and head straight to the hotel to drop our stuff off
and grab a quick shower, which is bloody quick, as no sooner as I'm out
and dripping wet, I'm getting a phone call demanding my personage down
in the lobby.
The show is at the same venue as we played on 'Tattoo The Planet' with
Slayer and is supposed to be a festival, though the bill is comprised of
only three bands....ourselves with Kreator and Dark Tranquility
supporting, so really it's pretty much like a headline show but I swear
there's more people here than at Slayer.
The usual mixed bag of press and television is undertaken and after
dinner some of us decide to head back towards the hotel to max out,
whilst some decide to stay to watch the bands... I'm with the first lot,
preferring the warmth and comfort of a nice hotel room to the slight
chill of the Ice Arena and it also the privacy that has been lacking
over the last few weeks living with these rapscallions.
The show is great despite the lack of a sound check, the crowd really
getting behind the band in these Nordic regions. The only complaint I
have about the lack of stage show are the risers which are approximately
two inches high and not much good for anyone (apparently they had wheels
at one point but they wouldn't stay fastened to any one fixture so all
they were at that point were glorified skateboards!) And that would have
come as quite a shock, halfway through 'Tortured Soul', jumping on one
of the risers only to find myself cruising towards the press pit at
about thirty miles an hour!
Once the screams for yet another encore have subsided it's back to the
dressing room to gather our gear and attempt a unified hotel run. Of
course getting the whole band in one place at any one time is nigh on
impossible and a few of us make it back whilst the rest conduct drunken
interviews that are barely worth repeating, let alone printing.
Grabbing another shower I wait back at the hotel for Martin and James,
who are up for a night on the tiles at a local metal bar that apparently
stays open until three (by this time it's already one fifteen) and so
off we march like proverbial lambs to the slaughter. The rest I'm sure
you can imagine.... free booze of varying strengths, tastes and
descriptions and a few hours of signing stuff, shouting and meeting old
and new friends. As tomorrow is a travel day back to Berlin there's no
reason to err on the side of caution (this will be the first night I've
actually been out on this tour...) so once the bar closes, it's back to
some friend's flat to carry on the melee, six people squashed into a
tiny Finnish taxi.
And the rest they say is pisstory...
Wednesday 9th March, 2005
The Planet, Vienna, Austria
& Thursday 10th March, 2005
Petofi, Budapest, Hungary
Okay, perhaps it's the hang over from two days ago still looming large
in my head, but the thought of playing catch-up on my tour diary on
today of all days, staring out across the grey concrete metropolis that
is this part of Vienna in winter, wind whipping at the huddled figures
of snowbound pedestrians, I really can't be bothered. So instead of two
separate entries for today and tomorrow, they'll be a combined one. So
there...
Anyway, this club has never been my favourite due to the squalid nature
of the backstage and the low-ceilinged stage which traps a lot of the
sound, hence why I'm skipping over much of the day as most of it is
spent on the bus working, reading and where possible, sleeping. That is
until around about five when several late notice interviews come in for
me courtesy of Rock Sound (actually quite an enjoyable questionnaire
about various non-related-to-band topics) and The Friday Rock Show (both
British based), which turns out to be a few words on the untimely and
ultimately saddening death of Tommy Vance, a rock deejay whom I have met
several times and grew up listening to as a youth, thus I was only too
happy to comment live on air about how sorely he will be missed.
The show was okay as shows go, just extremely loud and hard for me to
decipher what was going on for a lot of it, so for me it wasn't the
best. 'The Haunted' joined the tour today (which is obviously rather
cool for a three band bill as it now stands) and they apparently didn't
have the best of shows either. The trouble is with the sound always
being a tad too oppressive in this club, but the fans liked it and
that's all that matters I guess at the end of the day. Anyway, the
encore was actually really fun after the small problems in the main set,
so there was some consolation to be garnered from the bleeding eardrums.
Attempted a shower afterwards but by the time Paul had spent his usual
half an hour of manicuring, grooming and possibly waxing in there,
decided against it as the water had turned an icy cold once again. There
were a few weakeners hanging about the place still, so I decided to head
out the back way once again and slip onto the bus relatively
unnoticed...Satya having the brilliant idea that if I put a box over my
head then no-one would guess that the person entering the posh tour bus
could be anybody other than someone from the band who didn't want to be
noticed, i.e, as incognito as the delivery of our daily kidnap victim.
Sat talking with Sarah for about an hour and listening to music before
deciding that tomorrow could well be a better day and that I could reach
it an awful lot quicker if I took a sleeping pill and slipped into a ten
hour coma. So that is what I did...
And woke up in Budapest.
Now I love Hungary, mainly due to the fact that for the most part, this
was the homeland of one Elizabeth Bathory, the notorious sixteenth
century 'Blood Countess', thus named for her supposed favourite pastime
of bathing in the blood of beautiful serving girls that took her fancy
(well you would if you could, wouldn't you?), thus satiating her dark
and perverse lesbian fantasies. We actually based an album on her
eminence, entitled 'Cruelty And The Beast', but then you already know
that don't you?
Another reason for loving this city so much is the fact that in late
Summer 2002, myself and Martin Foul came out here to work with the
Budapest film and radio orchestra and choir for our album, 'Damnation
And A Day', spending literally a week in this beautiful, historic place,
visiting local landmarks and the odd bar or two in our time off.
Not that I get to witness any of it today, as press, a signing and our
manager turning up forbids going into the city with the crew, but it is
freezing outside and maybe it's for the best. Instead, for the majority
of the afternoon I read through the first couple of chapters of our book
whereupon something quite out of the ordinary occurs.
Just finishing a verse on Magic and it's connection with coincidence,
I'm interrupted by a long-awaited call from my girlfriend, at which
point, seeking some privacy from the bus, I head out into the frosty
outdoor venue where we headlined last Summer (today we're headlining an
indoor festival, thank the stars...).
Walking around the perimeter of the auditorium, mainly to keep warm
whilst I'm on the phone, what do I happen to stumble upon lying on the
floor other than the Indian amber bracelet that I had lost during the
course of last Summer's show. I mean, what on earth were the odds on
that? Bearing in mind the amount of shows that had probably come and
gone since then and the fact that I'd just been reading something on the
subject of coincidence made it all seem so entirely improbable... but
there it was, definitely my bracelet, even down to the same badly tied
knot I had put in it when it had snagged the first time.
I was very spooked, so the sight of Hungarian vampyric royalty flitting
around the packed signing session later that evening really came as no
surprise whatsoever. I even dedicated a song to them when we finally hit
the stage at a little before eleven that evening, not for fear of their
presence but more out of uncommon courtesy than anything else. I knew
that if they truly meant us harm, they'd find us; I think they came as
much out of curiosity as anything else, I mean, Cradle Of Filth are a
curious bunch of fuckers, are we not?
Anyway, the show was okay, I was blessed with the delivery of my new ear
moulds, so, in order to give my one battered ear a rest, I decided to
switch over to my left ear for tonight, something that had a similar
effect to a guitarist suddenly deciding to play his instrument the other
way around. Considering I haven't used this ear for at least thirty,
maybe thirty five shows and I've had an ear infection, suddenly the
clarity of proper sound hit with razor-like precision. Everything was
fine until I hit the high screams and then it felt like a fifty megaton
nuclear device going off inside my head. There was no real time to
rectify the problem other than snatched moments between tracks, so I
just scowled and bore it for the duration of the set. Afterwards I would
sit down and discuss the problem with Keith and Paul Collis and a
decision would be made to prep the new earpiece tomorrow sometime before
the show, sometime before the next extraordinarily vast slew of bands
start their run (it's another festival we play tomorrow in the Czech
Republic).
Joke to no-one; If I was a crew member of the Starship Enterprise, I
could always rely on my final front ear if all else failed.
Later that evening, missing a precious shower once again
(Pauuuuullllllll, stop with the post shower pedicures!), I finish the
bottle of Egri Tramini white wine off ( to cool, just shove it outside
the backdoor of the bus for five minutes....perfect!) and then retire to
my bunk for the night, actually quite relieved that our vampyre friends
have decided to leave us to our own devices tonight and that they merely
fade into the throng of thousands drifting homeward.
Then we left Hungary, as did they.
Friday 11th March, 2005
Sport Hall, Zlin, Czech Republic
There's something about festivals that I really find annoying and I
think it's the fact that every bloody one, be it indoors or out, has a
problem with a lack of toilets and showers. Today we are in a huge
sports arena and yet, once again there are limited, non-lockable toilets
and shower blocks, all within easy access of the dozen or so female
festival hands that are mooching about the place. I'm not that bashful a
person, but when all and sundry can see you washing your tackle then I'm
afraid, to be honest, I'm a big fucking jessie. So much so that I spend
as much time trying to secure keys to our shower block (which is right
next to the access corridor to stage) as I do under the hot tap. Still,
my endeavors are to everybody's benefit, as Root's dressing room is
right next door and their name does suggest buggery.
Anyway, Keith and I have our promised vocal rendezvous (on stage prior
to the show start time of three and definitely not in the showers) to
sort out the ear problem and then it's a quick haircut courtesy of Ben
(puppet master and hardened-buttocked gargoyle), a shoulder massage from
Satya (she of the flame and bulbous-buttocked gargoyle) and an hour long
conversation on the phone with our manager.
Dinner was very cabbage-heavy but nutritional to say the least and was
tucked into just prior to a heated debate between the 'Iron Maiden
Appreciation Society' (IMAS....i.e. the rest of the band) and new boy
Charles, who appears to not only not like the Iron's, but, horror of
horrors, also doesn't like AC/DC with Bon Scott, which as Adrian put it,
doesn't entitle him to have any say on the subject of heavy metal from
this day forth, likening his dislike of these bands in the field of
metal to that of driving a car without a valid license!
And so the argument raged as I disappeared to the bus to watch the
director's cut of 'King Arthur' on my own, accompanied by a glass of
wine or three, knowing full well that we had hours to kill before our
stage time of eleven forty five. I suppose that in a few days from now
we will be back to our normal rush of a stage time, but tonight seems to
drag like Priscilla, Queen of the desert.
Eventually and after a few technical problems we go on closer to eleven
than was first anticipated and the reaction is overwhelming. This has
definitely got to be the best audience reaction of the tour (there are
three and a half thousand people here this evening, especially as most
of these punters have been around since three when the first band 'Bed
Sores' (?) went on. Whether they paced their energies or are now
completely drunk, their welcome is legendary and much appreciated.
We tear through the songs fuelled by their screams, dropping only the
one song tonight, 'The Black Goddess Rises' because we were unable to
hang the ropes for Satya's web spin, but nevertheless the set seems
short in comparison. The encores are delivered with equal enthusiasm and
the crowd goes ballistic. What more is there to say of today? Bleak and
cold, cabbage-orientated and vacuous, yet a day warmed by hospitality, a
good movie, a long hot shower (guess who gets there first straight after
we leave the stage? I wonder...) and the tumultuous reaction of three
and a half thousand rabid fans. It couldn't be better.
Just before I tumble into a fitful drowse, it occurs to me that there
was no signing today. There was one yesterday and there will be a huge
one tomorrow and after all it was another festival, as great bands like
Root, The Haunted, Apocalyptica and even good ol' Bed Sores are
testament to. Then why not today?
And then it occurs to me... none of us like signing Czechs.
Czechs. Cheques.
Geddit?
Oh well, good night.
Saturday, 12th March, 2005
Spodek, Katowice, Poland
On the subject of signing sessions, nothing could have prepared us for
the response we received here today in Katowice, Poland. It was so
totally new to us, it was like fetal mania. There must have been at
least a thousand Polish fans jostling towards us in the outside circle
of this huge sports arena, if not more, for it took us a good two hours
to tear through the amount of signing that we eventually managed. By the
end of it (though some might argue that this is not why my hand is
hurting...) I thought my wrist was going to seize up with the effort.
Dinner seemed an ocean away as I stood to look at the undead hordes
packed in there and eventually we had to stop the line, as both nagging
bellies and a pressing stage time started to weigh heavily upon us.
The day started quite late for me (I overslept, not ascending from my
pit until about two thirty... lazy git), but I was soon thrust into the
whirl and rash of television and magazine interviews which I decided to
undertake onboard the bus, as the venue was overrun already with drunken
bands (today, being Saturday, the show kicked off at approximately nine
in the morning, meaning that as headliners our crew had to be up and
working at the ungodly hour of seven o'clock sharp..). Anyway, it always
looks good for the journalists having a luxurious pad to conduct the
interviews in and our bus driver Jurg always makes a point of cleaning
up with immaculate precision, even lighting scented candles to cover the
band's fetid three-week-out aroma.
After the signing and having devoured a plate piled high with as much
food as one can possibly cram onto one, I navigate the labyrinth of
corridors, wending my way back to the comfort of the bus and desperately
trying to avoid contact with any of the other bands (the reason being
that engagement will result in drinks and one will lead to another and
we do have a show to do) and the odd sheet or two of black ice.
Safely back on board I chill out in private watching 'the Village', or
as much of it as I can cram in whilst getting ready and crack open yet
another fine Chardonnay. By now, as Big Martin informs me on one of his
pre-gig security runs, some of the other bands are already kicking off,
smashing bottles and themselves in the process and suddenly I feel
extremely grateful that I've chosen to wrap myself in the sanctuary of
the tour bus. Two or three hours later and that will probably be me
there midst the thick and sick of it, but for now all my energies are
focused towards warming up for the show and knocking a quick one out in
the toilet.
Festival technical problems strike again and we find ourselves on stage
to the tune of about twenty five minutes late, agitated, fidgety and
nervous, but then the lights dim in the arena and the familiar, haunting
strains of our intro music wafts across the enormous stage and all too
soon the wait is forgotten as the adrenaline kicks in. Tonight there
must be at least four thousand people in the venue and despite the fact
that no alcohol is being served inside (an irony not lost on me that
everybody backstage seems to be drunk) and that most have been here
since the early hours of the morning, the crowd seem really up for it. A
little more subdued than usual I must admit, but tonight we go all out
on the performance aspect, throwing everything from our extensive
arsenal at them in order to win over the day and therefore I think that
the crowd may be more in awe of the spectacle than in the mood for
moshing. The sound is excellent thanks to our crew's earlier endeavors
and Satya and Ben are able to crawl, swing, glide and burn to their
merry hearts content. All in all, a very cool show indeed.
Afterwards I manage to beat Paul to the shower for the first time in an
aeon and purposefully take the piss with the length that I'm in there.
On drying off, the quest is for booze and conversation and in two shakes
of a sacrificial lamb's tail we have both in equal measure. Pain, Napalm
Death, Dark Funeral, Katatonia, The Haunted, Arcturus and Amon Amaarth
have all played today and are skulking around in one form or another and
it isn't long before our dressing room is packed. Apart from a slight
altercation with someone's nose, the night is relaxed and I end up
hanging out with our good friends Peter (from Pain) and the guys from
Napalm. Shane Embury is definitely on one tonight and keeps insisting on
hugs and cuddles, whilst Lord Handyman from Dark Funeral just lurches
from one room to the next like a zombie on downers.
At some time or another we are politely asked to vacate the premises and
saying our goodbyes for the upteenth time we head back to the bus to
sniff out more crates of Polish beer and watch 'Scum'.
Again.
The night dissolves into early morning and a border crossing, but I am
long in my grave before the border police raid the back lounge looking
for drugs and cigarettes (both James and the bus driver getting fined
for possession of too many Marlboro reds in the process).
A great day and the end of our short lived festival run. Now it's back
to our own shows and the re-emergence of Moonspell who have been playing
with themselves whilst we've been away.
Well, it's hard not to...
Monday 14th March 2005
Hyde Park, Osnabruck, Germany
I used to love playing the old venue here in Osnabruck, it was like a
circus tent filled with weird and wonderful antiquities despite being a
mite on the cold side and squalidly run down. Then there was always the
mongoloid autograph seeker who, without fail, would materialize with his
Polaroid camera to have his photo taken with the band. That cool little
guy added to the atmosphere as if somehow he was intrinsic to the decor,
because now that the new venue has been built just over the road (in
quite the same fashion as the other), he doesn't show.
Another reason for me liking this venue is the fact that it sits outside
of town, in fact nestled between a main road and dense, evergreen
forest. In fact straight after eating breakfast/lunch I decide to call
our manager back and take the winding trail into the woods to go looking
for werewolves or prudish girls in red capes. The effect is
exhilarating, so much so that on my return I dive straight into the
day's work with renewed relish. There are interviews to be done of
course and DV tapes to be pored over and before long sound check has
arrived, which is swift and effortless for once in a long while.
Food is eaten on the run as doors rapidly approach, so I take mine to
the back lounge and settle down to watch 'The Abominable Doctor Phoebes'
in all it's hammy, Technicolor glory. What a great movie! Everybody into
the genre should own a copy of it as it is an absolute classic of it's
time and Vincent Price is as aristocratically ghoulish as ever. One
slightly strange thing I did notice however is that his dead wife
(played by the astonishingly beautiful Caroline Munro, whom you actually
get to see quite a lot of) doesn't even make a credit, which is very
strange as she later went on to become a Hammer House of Horror icon
(along with the likes of Ursula Andress, Veronica Carlson and Ingrid
Pitt), playing all kinds of vampy roles and later still, one of the more
famous Bond girls.
Anyway, veering away from sexual fantasy and back into the realms of
reality, the band running positions slip behind schedule, so instead of
the nine forty five stage call, it falls back to ten past the hour,
which comes as some relief as I'm running fashionably late again myself.
The show is hot and sweaty beyond imagining and even the make-up
fixative gives up it's ghost halfway through the set, leaving stinging
tears of mauve paint trickling into my eyes for at least a song or two.
Somehow the slightly dead crowd stir from their slumber at our entrance
to the stage and all hell kicks off as we tear into 'Gilded' and
'Nemesis'.
Tonight we are fucking raging and the sound is so good it hurts, the day
off yesterday abstaining from booze, smoke and swinging our heads round
like Regan from 'The Exorcist' obviously paying off in vast amounts. We
drop only the one song tonight because of the curfew and Satya's aerial
spin, but at least she gets in the silk routine during 'Nymphetamine',
though she does have to swing over the crowd barrier where the only
rigging point is in the roof. The encore seems to fly by and although
genuinely knackered by the end of it, I feel as if we could have done at
least two or three more numbers, though when I did eventually manage to
lose the adrenaline, I suddenly realized just how much effort we had all
put into the show.
Of course the shower thief was up to his usual swift trickery once again
and by the time I eventually made it to the Moonspell catering camp, he
was sludge-faced already, having smoked himself into a near stupor. I
stayed and drank, swapping stories about the last couple of days and
what bands we had both played with during that brief sojourn away and
then it was time to leave for Berlin, so hopping on the bus with all
beer cases fully emptied, I watched the rest of my film with Big Martin
and went to bed happy. And somewhat drunk.
I guess the hangover tomorrow will only serve to remind me not to play
any good shows in the future, as we are prone, as a band, to celebrating
far too hard when we have them.
Stupid twats!
Tuesday 15th March 2005
Columbiahalle, Berlin, Germany
Three weeks beyond the outer rim finds us reich, sorry, right in the
heart of the Fatherland, playing at the rather excellent Columbiahalle
with it's renowned catering facilities. The last time that we played
here was with Sepultura supporting us way back in 2003 on the 'Damnation
Every Day' tour and I remember the food being excellent back then also.
Gig shit, food great.
With the slightest of hangovers clinging steadfast, the most welcoming
addition to my dietary supplement is a fried breakfast with lots of
strong coffee at catering. What a start to a long but satisfying day in
these people's very capable hands. Later, dinner would be seafood
starter, meats and veg of all description and to round it off, the creme
de la creme, chocolate gateaux and meringue pie with fresh strawberries.
Most of the bands would need to rolled onto stage if this kind of
feeding frenzy continued unabated.
Delicacies aside, this was one of the first slightly warmish days of the
entire tour thus far, so I dispensed with the coat but still kept my
magic scarf that refuses to be misplaced no matter how hard I try or how
drunk I get.
The pre-sales for tonight are not altogether amazing, about seven
hundred and fifty plus but that with several hundred on the walk up
makes for a sizeable crowd once Moonspell hit the stage. The balcony is
closed for obvious reasons and it is here that we set up a camera on a
tripod in order to film the full stageshow for the benefit of the
producers of our forthcoming live DVD, in order that they might witness
the possibilities of filming from all the right angles.
Returning back in time a jot, most of the afternoon, if it wasn't spent
gorging oneself in catering was slogged out on the internet sorting out
various business details and downloading emails that have been clogging
up my accounts for the last few days. I really had to fight off the
grogginess of the food and the slowly dissolving hangover for some of
it, especially after the huge dinner and I so desperately wanted to
sneak off back to bed but I knew with Showtime a matter of hours away,
i'd either slip into a coma and miss my warm-up stint or worse still,
sit staring up at the ceiling wearing heavy spectacles of tiredness but
not being able to sleep. So instead
I hit catering again for lots of thick, strong coffee and took myself
off to the bus to do some working out, in the vain hope that adrenaline
would put an end to all this lethargy. Which fortunately it did.
Come stage time we were mentally on a razors edge in anticipation of
doing well here in Berlin and with 'The Haunted' (who are renowned for
their critical fret-watching) side stage for the entirety of the gig, we
knew we would have to be on peak form. And sometimes you need this kind
of pressure to make the stars come right and make everything fall into
place, which is what exactly happened.
Four shows in a row we have been on top form and of all of them I think
that this was the best in terms of physical performance, the stage was
big enough to run about on and the crowd were definitely the best
witnessed so far here in Germany. We played the full hour and a half set
and incorporated everything into it, with three hilarious moments
highlighting the night for me.
One was during Satya's silk performance when prior to the show everybody
had been warned to stay outside her swing radius, which they did, only
that James and Charles took things a little far by huddling up in the
furthest recesses of the stage together, whilst Satya pirouetted nigh on
twenty feet away, totally out of their path by seemingly miles!
The second was me headbutting the 'Nymphetamic' as it dropped from the
ceiling, something that made a resounding thud across the auditorium and
left me with a nugget sized lump on the side of my temple and the third
when the P.A shut off for twenty seconds or so at the end of 'Black
Goddess', leaving us bemused in the face of a suddenly very quieter
show.
Anyway, all's well that ends well and the show was fantastic
nonetheless. After the best sounding encore of the tour we then
retreated to the dressing rooms (shower thief first) to mildly party,
finish internet use and generally hang around being the childish turds
that we are. Bus call is early as the drive overnight is a monstrous ten
hours and just before getting on the bus slightly stoned to watch one of
the worst films I've ever been witness to ('Heist' starring Gene
Hackman-thanks James!), I sit and watch (too tired to participate)
Moonspell and the Haunted play a five-a-side soccer match using one of
our metallic stage arches as a goal in the parking lot. Quite a scene,
Portugal versus Sweden, I just wonder what Sven Goran Ericsson would of
made of that, especially with Fernando Moonspell looking particularly
tasty in the penalty area.
A great day had by all apart from Sarah who repeatedly had the lights
turned out on her as she took a shower, which presumably pissed her off
immensely as she called us all utter cunts and threw an assortment of
hard fruit at Martin's head.
Nice girl.
Wednesday 16th March 2005
Longhorn, Stuttgart, Germany
Yesterday may have been the first slightly warmish day of the tour but
here in Stuttgart it actually feels like Spring is upon us. The sun is
shining, the air is sweet (well as sweet as being right next door to the
autobahn can be) and birds are upon the wing, which gives us the chance
to open all the windows and actually air out the bus for once. I'm going
to miss that foul and fetid dank aroma we've spent three weeks
cultivating, but the devil drives as the devil must as they say.
This is actually our fourth performance here so we know the place like
the back of our hands (is that a fresh scar there?) and therefore we
also know it's limitations. There is no shower to speak of unless you
wash in the kitchen and the hall itself is long and thin with very
little in the way of height clearance. Despite these things however,
catering is great and the hall is always full with fans.
Tonight is no exception, from the vantage point of the balcony that runs
parallel with the length of the venue, we are able to watch the audience
swell. Last time that we played here, I shamefully admit that we were
throwing bread and biscuits at the them from behind its wall, but
tonight nothing undignified like that happens, instead we spotlight the
best haircuts amid the sea of fans by angling the lights that hang close
to our fortified position.
No mullets to speak of unfortunately, but there were definitely a few
David Hasselhofs lurking in the throng. Someone from the other bands had
to take it one step further though and used the other lights to
spotlight the girls with the biggest cleavages, something that had us
all busted in about twenty seconds flat.
I then decided once again to ignore the many pleasures of the back stage
area with its Borstal appeal and retreat to the bus to read, popping in
once to watch a few songs from The Haunted's' set, which sounded raucous
as fuck. I secretly hoped that our sound would be as good a few hours
later.
I needn't have worried though, the muggy and often confusing din of the
sound check finally blossoming into a crystal clear and razor sharp din.
No thrills on the additives tonight, there are no hanging acrobatics, no
backdrop and no screens (a height clearance issue). What the paying
public does get however, is a fast and furious hour and a half of pure
fucking armageddon. The stage is relatively small in comparison with
some of the other venues we've played, but it doesn't stop us from
delivering the goods. Satya and Ben are warned by the fire inspector not
to point their grinders upward in case of setting alight the dust that
has collected over the years in the roof and therefore, during the
encore, I get most their sparks either straight in the face or all down
my back, a case of mind the fire hazards and set fire to the stupid
singer instead.
This must be a record for us, playing five really amazing shows in a row
and tomorrow being a day off means that we can actually celebrate. And
celebrate we do... necking red wine and mixing with the other bands in
the observation lounge/dining hall. I get chatting with Moonspell and in
particular Fernando about books (he has written two and I am in the
process of starting to think about writing one....at some point) and
generally everybody seems to be having a good time. Charles drinks
heroically in front of the dressing room window, Adrian frisbees a drum
skin out across the road, James turns into an ornamental potted plant
whilst Paul revisits the magic garden again courtesy of fat neat
reefers. Later back on the bus when the venue finally throws us out with
the trash, Sarah and Martin Foul have a mock slagging match and I trip
over the bin and fall headlong down the stairs, bringing the bin and its
contents with me. Thankfully I only graze my head though our driver
seems more concerned about the mess made than the state of my
near-concussed bonce.
Tomorrow we have a day off in Nuremberg so we're thinking of going
rallying. Either that or we're just going to look around the old parts
of town. On St.Patricks day and quite close to a few Irish bars.
Yeah and I was born a Mormon!
Friday 18th March 2005
Haus, Leipzig, Germany
Having rested well in Nuremberg shopping and dining out in the old town,
today finds us in the beautiful city of Leipzig. It's a bit of a climb
to our dressing rooms but from their lofty vantage point there is a very
scenic view out across a lake, where the trees rustle and the water
ripples with the first warm gusts of Spring. Paul, being the first one
out of bed as well as the first one into the showers daily, apparently
has walked around it twice already, quite possibly in contemplation of
yet another shower. Today these are communal, but I manage to get in
there twice without too much upset other than Sarah walking in on me
naked, whereupon she screamed, either out of shock or horror, one will
never know as she is now permanently mute. Thank the stars!
The hall itself is very grand and stately, with a huge carved alabaster
arch framing the massive stage. Although the place is carpeted, the tone
during sound check reminds me of thousands of Smarties being tossed
around in a maelstrom, so there is little point in continuing as we can
do nothing more until the sandbags (as Paul Collis so affectionately
refers to the punters as) arrive and there is also have an imminent
signing to be addressed.
Prior to this engagement, the rest of the afternoon is extremely
relaxed, allowing me to browse through the first chapter of our
forthcoming book and make corrections to a few of my notes and quotes
against a backdrop of trees, as opposed to the repugnant industrial
buildings that usually surround the buses at these type of venues. Then
I speak to it's author, the right honorable Gavin Badderley and plans
for amendments to chapters two and three are plotted out for after the
weekend. I actually end up speaking to quite a few people on my mobile
during the next hour or so and it is only later that I consider the
terrible repercussions on my phone bill. Up until now I have been
extremely careful with my finances on this tour (normally I am renowned
for spending two or three times my whole tour Per Diem allowance), as
I'm planning to upgrade my sports car when I get home, choosing to limit
myself to presents for family and the occasional freebie DVD from
signings. Which brings me neatly around to today's...
Picked by up taxis straight from sound check, we are driven straight to
the Jupiter megastore where we are due to appear in all our gory glory.
However it seems that the store must be embarrassed with our presence,
for despite laying out all manner of food and drink (including some
really strong tequila-based beer), they put us on a floodlit podium
outside the back entrance to the store which is actually inside Leipzig
railway station. Bizarre! At least the longest train there is the one
made up of people queuing for signatures.
A very strange hour and a half follows with all kinds of curious
bystanders either gaping at us like spectators at a zoo or joining the
line to have the Cradle flyers being handed out scrawled upon. And I
swear that my signature is getting worse, a one time master at this
malarkey, out of necessity to keep the queue moving, it now closely
resembles the mess a monkey might make given a free hand with a marker.
Anyway, the reward for our vigilance again are a couple of free items
each, so I opt for the 'Troy" and 'Catwoman' DVDs ('Troy' for my
interest in ancient Greece and Catwoman for my interest in Halle Berry
in a leather playsuit... miaow!) and a pile of burgers in case we miss
dinner. I eat three and miss dinner on account of my bloated stomach
anyway, so back to the beast I go to listen to the new Judas Priest
album and to curl up like a hamster in a cage awaiting my colon to do
it's thing. Then I get ready for stage and the seventeen hundred fans
that are amassed in the great hall chanting something akin to 'Anal',
'Anal'!
The gig is fantastic, the sound having finally picked up now the
sandbags are in and once again we are on top form. Tonight we are
extremely energetic and could have played for longer had we the
opportunity and had Charles known more of our material. Nevertheless
it's a fucking top do although I manage to tear my new trousers and then
fail to catch my mic as I throw it in the air at the end of the show (a
daily habit and one I thought i'd perfected...), but these are but minor
irritations compared to the fun we all have playing onstage this
evening.
Afterwards, spilling up into the dressing room, everyone shares in a
beer or two, Sarah accidentally sees my willy in the aforementioned
shower incident and then we decide to steal three purple freestanding
ashtrays/bins
to turn into medieval purple helmets for the guitarists (well we have
monks on stage, might as well also have knights!). These we cram into
the wardrobe case along with our stage gear so that if anyone gets in
trouble it'll be our gallant servants.... the legendary Crewdle of
Filth.
A great day and one that goes on late into the evening when eventually
the beer floweth not.
Saturday 19th March
George Elser, Munich, Germany
So much for the weather improving! Today the skies are moody and bruised
until about five when it decides to pelt it down with rain. This is the
very same venue that whilst we were on Sony we were visited by their
local rep, who confused us with Sepultura, mistaking me for the seven
foot tall and black, Derrick Green! He then proceeded to sit by the side
of the stage during their set and promptly left when we came on! The
tool.
Anyway, there isn't really much to report about the origins of today
other than people walking about backstage like zombies, some technical
difficulties resulting in one of the projector screens going down (we
make a last minute decision to cancel using the other due to the
lopsided nature of having just the one), and everybody fighting over who
could get into the only toilet backstage. it might not seem much of a
problem, but when you have three bands and twenty odd crew members plus
local venue staff, you have a big fucking problem! And
add to that the fact that the showers are also in the same room....
well, it became a bit messy to say the least.
Sound check went well and dinner was exceptional to the point of
bursting so a lie-down seemed the next course of action whilst I watched
stuart Gordon's 'Beyond Re-animator' in the back lounge of the bus.
There was plenty of time before stage as everything was running twenty
minutes behind, so I managed to edit some more from the book too, now
heading into the murky underworld of chapter two, entitled 'Goetia'
after our aborted first album. This mainly deals with necromancy, the
black arts, ritualisation and magical combat as opposed to the first
chapter's foray into why England became known as the 'evil empire'. All
fascinating stuff indeed and I can't wait for people to have the
finished article in their hands.... it's going to blow them away.
The show is another good one and sold out, so the onstage temperature is
ridiculous, especially as both cooling fans seem to be pointing at the
floor which is alright if you want cold heels. The crowd is even better
than the previous night and that always fires the band up. Satya manages
to go through her silk routine over the front row of the crowd and
several minutes later a girl is pulled unconscious from the blossoming
pit (I wouldn't panic though gig-goers, I am pretty sure that she
fainted due to being on Martin and Jame's side of the stage and got
caught in the down-wind exuding from their putrescent costumes).
Both the main set and the encore are played with real malice, the sound
razor sharp and precise. Afterwards we all meet up in the dressing room
to comment on the show, our stage wear thoroughly soaked through with
the heat. Sarah actually beats Paul to the shower for the first time and
there is a frustrated slew of men holding their bladders as she washes
her hair, more so when the rest of the band follow en suite.
Rejuvenation won, it's into catering to crack open the wine and converse
with the other bands. This lasts for at least an hour of debauchery;
drinking, smoking, fighting, air-guitaring, vomiting, the usual. Martin
Foul is once again in fine form on the drinking front and it's not long
before he's smashed a few things up and done all of the aforementioned
things and more. Moonspell are not playing Slovenia with us tomorrow for
some odd reason, so we part company with them in style.
Another excellent day in the company of Kings and gentlemen. And not
forgetting women.
Sunday 20th March
VPK, Ljubljana, Slovenia
We have never played Slovenia before and so today we are expectant of
quite a turn out of fans. In actual fact the club holds about a thousand
but as usual with these kind of places the room is oversold due to
demand. Not that we care, the atmosphere will be all the better because
of it.
I stumble from my grave at about one thirty to find catering and the
squalid toilet conditions (there seems to be a nest of flies in the
gents...) and into the news that the equipment truck is approaching
being five hours late (in fact it doesn't actually arrive until well
past three). The apparent reason for this is that the safety barrier on
the weigh-bridge into Slovenia wasn't on and the whole articulated beast
fell off onto it's side and then the driver had to wait until a crane
was delivered in order to put it back onto it's wheels! So you can
imagine the panic that the crew are experiencing when it does eventually
arrive, as the doors cannot be put back due to a twelve hour drive to
Switzerland tonight and the stage itself requires extending outward. All
in all there is a lot of work needed to be done with the stage as even
the structure of the roof needs attention. Suffice to say we are unable
to use the aerial performances tonight due to the lack of height
clearance and the puppet is also a no go because of the minimal access
to the stage. To get to play tonight the band have to walk a barriered
-off section along the side of the crowd, which later will prove
embarrassing as we stand like lemons awaiting the intro to kick in
whilst kids scream at us from mere inches away. Anyway...
The rest of the afternoon is spent undertaking press and national
television on the bus in the comfort of the observation lounge and I
just about manage to finish the final one before a hurried sound check
booms in the background. Dinner is a variety of dishes, so I opt for all
of them, making a plate abrim with both seafood and meat, veggie muck
and more iffy looking sea cuisine. Then there's real widget Guinness to
wash it down with and a nice bottle of white to smuggle back onto the
bus and enjoy whilst I watch 'Catwoman'. I don't get to scratch too far
beneath the surface of it before Showtime dictates a warm-up session
singing along to Satyricon, The Red Hot Chilli Peppers and our own
'Nymphetamine'. Then everybody piles onto the bus as the temperature
outside has dropped immensely and our only route to stage, as I've
mentioned, is through the side of the venue.
Inside the place is heaving with bodies, the place is quite literally
rammed to the rafters. The intro eventually starts and the crowd goes
ballistic. It's a stripped down punk rock affair tonight but what a
show! The sound is phenomenal and I have to take my hat off to our crew
for their professionalism in getting everything looking and sounding
this good under such harrying circumstances, it's a minor triumph
beneath such incredible duress and one that's toasted afterwards at the
bar, where a double shot of Jack Daniels is a mere Euro! Much mayhem
ensues, including Charles and myself donning white bin bags to confuse
the locals into thinking that's what we always wear offstage. James
returns ashen-faced from the toilet where, whilst taking a well-deserved
poo, a couple start having sex in the cubicle next to him and he has to
retreat discreetly, but obviously still flushing (something the couple
obviously don't know the meaning of). Such is the spirit of the night
that a make-up artist had been brought in to corpse-paint the bar staff,
which I find totally hilarious but also rather cool, (attention to
detail always finding favor with me...). Even Satya and the usual
alcohol-avoiding Ben join the merriment and the bar stays open well past
it's usual hour to accommodate the rest of the crewdle too.
Subsequently we have to leave pretty swiftly as the drive is horrendous
tonight, so it's back to the bus to watch the end of my film and to sip
on nicely chilled Guinness until I drift into sleep, not awaking until
about four in the morning (I think that was the hour as I tried
desperately to direct my urine flow into the toilet, bleary-eyed and
groggy), when I crawled back into my own bunk.
Well, I hope it was mine.
Monday 21st March
Volkhaus, Zurich, Switzerland
Zurich on a bright, crisp sunny day is a wonderful hangover cure. There
was not much on the catering front when I got into the venue, so I
decided to go for a walk, make some phone calls back to England and look
in the DVD store that is just down the road. Ultimately the credit card
made a belated appearance as the shop didn't take Euros and there were
just so many titles screaming my name. Every time we play this venue, I
always manage to gravitate toward the same thing, spending a small
fortune on rare DVD's. And this shop is a specialist. For example there
are about seventy Hammer titles, all the latest release region ones,
Lucio Fulci collections, Dario Argento, Manga, everything. I even spend
my buy out dinner money on a couple of cheap ones (most of them are
really expensive, it is Zurich after all and you can't spell Zurich
without ending on rich...). There is even a Lamborghini Diablo parked
just down the street from the venue as well as a multitude of Porsches
and high end Mercs kerbed about. The place is crawling with money and I
haven't even made a comment about nazi gold. In truth Zurich is home to
most of the big Swiss banks and accounts and therefore is a stinkingly
well off city. And on my morning stroll I got to see quite a bit of it,
albeit whilst I was on the telephone talking business and money.
From the moment I stepped off the bus this morning there have been kids
outside the doors of the venue. Now I've voiced my opinion on this
before, I don't mind signing stuff, in fact i'd do it all the time if I
could, but when you've just stepped off the bus and are just looking for
breakfast or are in serious need of the toilet, the last thing you want
is a pen and a dozen albums pushed in your bleary, weakened face. So,
sorry if this gets back to those dozen or so kids that absconded us
during the course of the morning, but in future you might want to save
your time and come afterwards when everyone is drunk and fair game!
There is no time for sound check today as the doors are relatively early
and the truck is late again, but when we hit those well-trodden boards
it becomes very evident that the sound is great nonetheless. Now this is
our third time here and so it's third time lucky for us as previous
shows have always been marred by technical issues, but tonight
everything is clear, well produced and the crowd are amazing. 'Nemesis'
and "Her Ghost In The Fog' both become sing-a-long chants as does the
beginning of 'Mother Of Abominations' and the chorus line of 'From The
Cradle To Enslave'. In fact some of the best moves I've ever seen the
band do are pulled off during the encore and the in-joke afterwards is
the fact that we're turning into the Beegees live.
And that, my friends was the ninth great gig in a row.
Afterwards we keep with tradition and knit jumpers and rescue injured
puppies, sorry, shower and drink. The departure time is not so bad and
after a bit of back door signing (ooer, sounds a bit rude!), I sit and
watch 'Gladiator' with James, Paul and the remnants of a nice chianti,
which had been a gift from a man named Beatrice (along with some
chocolate bunnies). I know that everything that I have just said seems a
bit gay, but I can heterosexually assure you that it isn't. Beatrice is
a perfectly harmless fan who always follows us about on tours in Europe
so subsequently he is on all the guest-lists. This tour I think he's
seen us twelve times, having traveled over twelve thousand kilometers in
the process, all the back to his home country of Switzerland. He's a
very nice guy and Paul, in no way fancies him at all, not a jot.
Tuesday 22nd March
Rainbow, Milan, Italy
Today is chaos day. Firstly the buses have to park several streets away
without power and secondly, every time you enter and exit the venue you
are constantly accosted by kids. I know this sounds miserable and I can
assure you that it is not intended as such but I just couldn't be arsed
hanging about the place all afternoon, watching local stage hands
smoking cigarettes and stealing our bloody coffee. Also the venue was a
bit depressing backstage and so, after the necessary basics of life were
undertaken, I opted for a powerless bus and worked on my laptop whilst
the sun was still up, opening all the upstairs windows to freshen the
air. Several interviews came in via the telephone and at five I was
dragged back for sound check, dinner and a succession of press and
television. One was hosted with Christina from Lacuna Coil and it was
nice to see her again, even if it was for a short spell. Then I had a
visit from some nice official men and then retreated to the bus to use
the small amount of reserve power to read and then get made up for the
show, candlelight serving to light the hallways and bottom lounge. The
solitude was quite ominous without music or television, there on a bus
in near darkness on a piece of wasteland in a foreign city. And the
fucking size of the city rats about! Me and Big Martin spotted one as he
escorted me back to the club, scampering away at our footfalls into a
drainage pipe or something.
The show is great once more (number ten in a row) and we all make full
use of the stage size, including the climbing of the metal staircases
that ascend from the stage on either side. The sound is a little sharp
but eventually we curb it to our advantage. The crowd are singing the
guitar lines as well as the lyrics tonight which makes for some of our
set sounding like 'Heaven can Wait' by Iron Maiden. The place erupts for
'The Forest Whispers My Name' and suddenly we're into encore land once
again, having played for an hour straight. The next four songs blaze by
and before we've known it we're back in the miserable dressing room
cracking open beers and expelling the adrenaline. There is a small meet
and greet with the record company to follow and a another priceless
quote from Charles regarding the lights on the bus.
Obviously never hearing of generators, he asks, 'If there isn't any
power on the bus tonight, will we have to drive in the dark?
The plum.
Adrian smokes some weed backstage and goes off white, whilst our deejay
friend and promoter's rep, Claudia fetches everybody another bottle of
wine to share before we decide to haul all our personal gear back around
the corner to the bus. Adrian for some reason seems unusually chilled
this evening and sits appreciating all the songs that are spun onboard.
The night isn't a heavy one, even though we know that tomorrow is a day
off, although there's talk of the separate crew bus buying Jagermeister
and whisky at the services stop and carrying on drinking through to ten
in the morning. No doubt that will be those hellish rakes Keith, Adriano
(guitar tech, side of stage server of drinks in an unofficial capacity
and one half of the final encore kilt-handler crew) and possibly Wolfie
(lights) or Paul Collis. Actually it can't be Paul as he's abstained
from booze since New Year's Eve as I have done with cigarettes. That'll
be three months next week then, bright little stars that we are.
Tomorrow will be a hotel day and a day for me to abstain from the booze
too (needing to re-energize for the next bout of four shows in Spain and
Portugal), but I'm sure that someone will kick off big style seeing as
we'll be spending it in a resort town to the North of Spain, having
driven through the mountains overnight.
Someone will, it's us.
Thursday 24th March 2005
Sala Apollo, Barcelona, Spain
Another situation today much like the Italian show where the bus has to
park around the corner and the only entrance is where the punters
congregate. This means a lot of " excuse me, I'll do it later'' or the
infamous pretending to be on the phone routine at which I've become
something of a master. It doesn't always work mind you, some people are
so insistent that if you were talking to your Mother on her deathbed
they'd still demand an autograph. It isn't really that bad, later on we
make amends for our avoidances by going over to the bar opposite and
(whilst procuring free drinks) signing as much stuff as we possibly can.
The show we've played before, the backstage is small and awkward, the
stage not much better, but the audience as far as I can remember is
always maniacal-they actually manage to squeeze at least a thousand
people in a room that appears to hold no more than eight hundred-which
is exactly what happens tonight with a sold out show on our hands once
again.
Most of the afternoon is spent working on editing the book again,
because of the hotel situation the night before we are up at the crack
of dawn (well, ten o'clock) so it makes for a lengthy and productive
day. There are a couple of interviews to conduct a little later, which I
make sure happen in the comfortable surroundings of the bus and then a
somewhat muddlesome sound check courtesy of a wispy sounding room and
bounceback from all the metal work interior. Dinner is a buy-out, but
pizzas are brought in as there is nowhere local to eat unless of course
you want to be trailed by hundreds of fans. Subsequently, people are
near starving due to the recent poor catering.
Prior to the show I am escorted back to the bus, pushing against the
huge, meandering queue that stretches right around the block all the way
to where the busses are parked. There I watch 'The Witchfinder General'
and prepare for the oncoming show, opening another bottle of white and
mentally taking it easy, knowing full well that tonight's show will be
hot and chaotic. Which it is.
Despite not being able to use the angle-grinding (for the first time I
hasten to add, the excuse from the female club owner being that it
'looks' like pyro and she doesn't want other bands to usurp her
authority on this issue by using real ones!!?! Stupid bitch) or the
puppet or any of the aerial or the projectors (the club has some
already, two to each side of the stage, but stupid bitch won't let us
use them as 'we're not qualified'), it is a fucking amazing show,
reminding me a lot of the South American ones we undertook last year
because of the 'stripped down' punk-rockness of it all. The crowd are as
wild as expected, though the stage isn't as hot as I thought it would
be, the club has air conditioning and the doors to the side of the stage
are opened between bands to ensure some circulation. Thank the Gods!
Anyway, the show ends on a bang despite the lack of pyro (we have
another run of the gargoyles to try and make amends) and the last encore
tracks are amongst the best we have played on the tour. We then attempt
showers in the tiny backstage area and then, as mentioned before, brave
the bar opposite once the dispersing crowd has petered out to a few
hundred. There is a silly amount of signing and photographs to be
undertaken, but after the show and when you're getting free drinks, you
don't mind in the slightest, in fact at times you don't even notice.
Food is also laid on and this is where my problems for the next day
start as the meat I am eating eventually gives me food poisoning. How do
I know this? Well you try second-guessing getting up around five in the
morning, belly on fire, cramps and a dire need to vomit and shit water.
I was in no doubt as to the reason for these tests of endurance as I
hadn't drunk that much the night before (about the same as Charles who
was totally fine the next morning and he usually drinks like an underage
girl...) and I had to make the bus pull over several times just to
discard the bags I had skillfully manage to gush/dribble/gush into.
Nonetheless dear diary (or dear diarrhea), the day was a good one, the
night was the opposite completely and I fear that tomorrow's entry into
the annals of history will be brief and more than likely written in
short, painful spurts.
Friday 25th March 2005
Sala Jam, Bergara, Northern Spain (though they don't want to be).
Apologies to all and sundry, especially the fans waiting diligently
outside the bus after the show for hours for my autograph, but today was
a painful day and thus my entry shall be a brief one. After having made
the club open early so I could use the toilet in the stockroom several
times, I eventually made it in after trying to get some more sleep.
Catering was okay but my appetite was a thing of the past so I decided
to watch a few films on the bus, fuck my sound check off and try and
forget the pain I was in. Subsequently I saw the beginning of 'Alien
Versus Predator' and awoke to catch the credits streaming. Much of the
day was spent in a sleeping pill daze attempting to shake off the poison
and I must have drunk seven or eight pints of water at least. I couldn't
bring myself to do anything until dinner which was, as everybody agreed,
fucking horrible, so Satya, taking pity on me and my predicament, made
me some scrambled eggs on toast which was about the best thing I've
eaten for days.
Attempting to wake up from my stupour, I drank coffee and watched
'Troy', downing vitamin C and doing press-ups (about five, that's all I
could manage) for invigoration. I was ready for the show and feeling
less groggy, but my stomach still gnawed incessantly but the heroism of
the film inspired me to go on and be a brave little soldier. And the
kilt always helps...
The gig was another good one which means that we have equaled our
successful run of the Ozzfest two years ago, but one that I personally
didn't enjoy as I could barely jump around and crouching/bending
over/jumping was definitely a no-go as my stomach pirouetted out of
control every time I did. The crowd were a tad on the inactive side
which hardly inspired my confidence and twice I had to leave the stage
in the grip of stomach cramps. Still, we managed to do the whole set
(it's funny but we only manage to drop songs if somebody else is ill)
and do it well. The band played really tightly and I think I was extra
vigilant on the timing in some way of recompense for any inactivity I
might be showing to the crowd. We end the set well and everybody seems
to be pleased with the show back in the dressing room but there is a
certain lack of passion and adrenaline we normally possess after a
performance. Still dripping with sweat I ignore the shower as there's a
queue and make a swift beeline for my inner sanctum at the back of the
bus. Via the bog.
Thus concludes this brief analysis of the day as I still feel bad but
getting better, the copious floods of water helping to flush my innards
out. As I said at the start, I apologies to all the fans who were
screaming like harpies outside the bus for hours after the show, but you
were told I was ill and it's just a pity that you didn't scream as loud
as that whilst we were playing. So, more sleeping pills quaffed,
oblivion beckons and everything fades to black as the engines purrs into
life and we lurch off, this time heading twelve hours headlong into the
maw of Portugal.
Saturday 26th March 2005
Colloseum, Porto, Portugal
Now this is a venue! The audience might as well watch us from the stage
as it is that big. In fact the whole place is enormous and for once in a
few shows we are afforded the luxury of parking off the road and very
close to the doors of the venue, though they put the Cradle dressing
room four floors up so that everything becomes a bit of a trek if you
need some of the meagre catering provided or you need to repair your
stage wear as I had to do for an hour this afternoon (with the aid of
Big Martin of course, I've never been that good at D.I.Y, ask my
wrist...), hammering poppers into my new pair of leathers and trying to
resize my new stage outfit. Then I explored the venue, which is a
grandiose building in the Portuguese style much like the Royal Albert
Hall in comparison (my sister used to organize the parties and events
there...) and finished yesterday's tour diary as I just couldn't fulfill
my duties yesterday what with my stomach being the way it was feeling.
In fact today I feel loads better, that is until I go out to dinner with
Paul and Big M. who are gluttons at the best of times and by the end of
the meal, with all the Imodium I've taken over the last couple of days
stiffening my insides, my stomach starts to grind again. Desperate
measures are then undertaken in an attempt to relieve the pain (seeing
as sound check is forsaken due to the cavernous nature of the building's
interior), as in a hot shower, a tablespoon of Gaviscon, tincture of
Mercury, some tiger balm and eventually some pills that I had left over
from my Christmas in India, which was exactly when the last time I had
food poisoning was. These were actually a last resort as I couldn't tell
which were which, so in the end I took a gamble and swallowed the green
ones.
I didn't enter the matrix, though something in this long list of
remedies obviously did the trick as the gnawing soon went away, leaving
me feeling in a state of euphoria prior to the show, all dreamy and best
of all, not in any pain. Which is the best time to watch a really grisly
horror film just to make up for it.
This night's entertainment came in the shape of the uncut version of
'Saw' which is about as visceral as it gets this side of 'Salo' (which I
also have with me, but I'm saving that for a rainy day; i.e when Paul is
stoned and at his most defenseless and prone to being sick...) and I
manage to watch the majority of it until time necessitates my face to be
painted up like a freak, as in Showtime!
The crowd is massive, at least seventeen hundred people, maybe more in
tonight and they are well warmed up by the time The Haunted and their
fellow countrymen Moonspell have finished and we have put ourselves
before their limitless mercy.
Our set is cut quite dramatically tonight as there is a curfew and
Moonspell and ourselves are supposed to be co-headlining, though we are
ending the show because of the running order for the rest of the tour
and our bigger, more theatrical stage show. So we lose two, supposedly
three songs from the set, but at the last minute we decide to go for
'Thirteen Autumns' as well, due to the fact that we're having an
incredible show, the crowd are going ballistic and this will be our
thirteenth show in a row where we have had a good gig. Thirteen shows,
thirteen Autumns. It's all about the numbers.
The only thing that we are unable to perform with tonight is the
web-spin aerial routine that is usually reserved for 'Black Goddess', so
everything else makes an appearance including a Portuguese flag that is
thrown from
the pit onto the monitors and once held aloft, sends waves of adulation
rippling through an obviously very patriotic ensemble. 'Thirteen
Autumns' is actually the best we've played it thus far and all the
encores leave the band extremely enthused once we've returned to the
fourth floor dressing rooms. Adrian is a little upset about a small
mistake in 'The Forest Whispers My Name', but apart from this everybody
else is in an excellent mood. There is also plenty of time to loiter
about this evening and loiter we do, signing stuff through the venue
gates, hanging out with the other bands, and finally when it all peters
out and we are road bound once again, 'Saw' is watched to it's gory
conclusion and a few erstwhile beers are consumed, before the night
winds down at the ungodly hour of five o'clock when James exclaims that
'Catwoman' is a load of old wank and I inevitably remind him that he was
the one who made me sit through 'Heist' not long back.
The blonde cunt.
Anyway, tomorrow Paul and I are going out to lunch with Fernando and
Mike from Moonspell in Lisbon (as apparently it has the best seafood
restaurants in the whole of Portugal), so it is in this flavor that I
swallow my sleeping pill and drift off into a dream about having my skin
burnt off in a poisonous river.
Nothing to do with horror films you realize, simply my imagination
paying me back for not having used it properly during the course of
today's tour diary entry...
Sunday 27th March 2005
Coliseum, Lisbon, Portugal
This was definitely one of the best days of the tour by far. With the
poison totally out of my system I can fully appreciate the seafood
breakfast that was promised by Moonspell the day before. The best start
of a day as one could imagine in beautiful Lisbon (if only the weather
was less breezy), sitting outside in the very epicentre of the city,
Easter Sunday shoppers strolling by and the freshest seafood this side
of the murky deep all piled up high in front of us for our delectation.
First came the salted shrimp and green wine, second, clams in a garlic
and herb dressing (well some decided to have roast beef on top of
everything as an afters) and last but not least, two of the most
enormous crabs I've ever dissected and scoffed. All with bread and
dressing and port. It was a fantastic meal and one that came to about
two hundred and seventy euros for seven people, but then what the hell,
it was the best seafood that I've had since Neptune's fiftieth.
After a walk about the huge and palatial venue I went back to the bus
that was parked down one of the cobbled streets and did some work whilst
outside the weather turned dark and troublesome, eventually pouring down
with cinematic rain. It was kind of nice sitting alone on the bus with
minimal lighting in this ancient city, with the rain making a symphony
of sorts on the roof and dark figures roving the cobbles outside.
Sound check happened pretty much on cue, though the sound was vacuous
once again as the place was massive and only the two thousand plus
tickets sold would do it much justice, once the doors were open. A TV
interview happened just prior to this with our old friend Antonio
Freitas who has been interviewing us since time immemorial, which was
laid back and generally rather fun (especially after the wine and port
of earlier and another cheeky little white from the venue bar).
Anyway, it was undercover of my magic scarf that I headed back to the
bus after sound check, still full from the meal earlier on. I call it my
magic scarf not because it possesses Harry Potter-type properties to
render oneself invisible, but because of my seemingly impossible ability
to lose it... and god knows I've tried!
Once safely back on board I settle back with a cup of tea and 'The Devil
Rides Out' , another masterpiece from the Hammer horror vaults starring
Christopher Lee and Charles Gray amid a plethora of other well
recognizable British actors from the seventies. I don't actually get the
chance to see the end once again as duty calls, but tonight I have the
luxury of half an hour in the venue to warm up and change into my battle
outfit.
Our entrance to the stage is met with rapturous response, obviously
Moonspell's home crowd have been well and truly warmed up prior to our
brutal arrival. Tonight we repeat the set from last night despite the
fact that it runs over by a few minutes, but we figure that we can just
play most of it faster. This is definitely one of our best shows of the
tour and certainly it is one of the biggest, the place is heaving and
press is everywhere. There is a moment when I overshoot the monitor I
jump upon and suddenly fear that I will end up with my teeth smashed in
at the barrier but luckily the wedge rights itself and balance is
restored. Still, I shit myself nonetheless.
Everybody is re-energized for the performance tonight and it shows. It
maybe not as big a stage as the one the night before, but it's big
enough and needs covering with gusto. The whole set is in thrall to our
passionate, sweaty display and we win the crowd over with a seamless
performance set amid a spectacular looking backdrop courtesy of our
crew. A song is dedicated to Jensen from The Haunted as this will be his
last show of the tour as he has to return to Sweden to visit his sick
father... a shame as he is a really nice bloke and will be sorely
missed, as was his Mexican moustache when he shaved it off.
Anyway the set ends with the best catch of the microphone thus far and a
massive ring out and then it's up three flights in the lift to celebrate
with the other bands until about two in the morning. Much is drunk
(James and Charles finish off about three bottles of Port on their own)
and by the time we stagger back to our Jawa Sandcrawler (the bus)
everybody is cooked. Still, tomorrow is another day off, so what better
way to end another successful run of shows other than getting
obliterated in the company of friends and work colleagues alike.
I think I actually hit the sack around five, though Sarah, James and
Charles stay up well past this infernal hour and manage to break dawn,
Charles once again managing to be sick.
The best day thus far or at least, being close to dammit.
Tuesday 29th March 2005
Shithola, Granada, Spain
Having a hotel room the night before always helps as you wake up close
to the show and usually don't have to check out until midday, affording
yourself the luxury of an early shower, clean sheets and above all else,
total privacy to get up to all kinds of medical experimentation. The
buses have been parked outside today's venue since about four the
previous day, so we return to them in dribs and drabs, some having gone
shopping, others just oversleeping and hoping the cleaners overlook
their rooms. In fact, because of the change to Summer time, I have
forgotten to put my alarm forward an hour and if it were not for Sarah
ringing my room to see if I wanted coffee in the lobby, then no doubt I
would have been awoken in the same manner. We then decide to go shopping
ourselves as the venue is close to a cheap supermarket and there is talk
of cut price ceedees et al.
The rumours are true, our scouts have done well once again and we come
away with some right royal bargains in the shape of soundtracks and
DVDs, all to the tune of about six Euros a piece.
This is the first day of the tour that the weather is actually hot, the
sun breaking cloud cover warms the bus to reptile house temperature and
even with all the windows open it still remains boiling. Still, a
welcome change to the cold and it actually puts one into a state of
relaxed lethargy, so much so that I forsake work for a few hours and
instead watch all the end of all the films that I've missed due to stage
time, curled up like a cat on the bed in the back lounge contemplating a
siesta.
The show is a relatively small one today, perhaps five or six hundred
people and the venue itself certainly isn't the biggest- the dressing
room/production office/shower/toilet actually sits on the side of the
building like a portacabin and the stage is relatively tiny is
comparison with most of the shows we've played on this tour, but the
crewdle are determined to make it every bit as good as all the rest and
set about reconfiguring the stage to incorporate a stripped down version
of our full production. The result is fine and the show is an excellent
one, egged on by the other bands watching from a balcony vantage point.
A good night's sleep in a hotel room has obviously given us back our
stamina, as tonight we are raging and the sound is vicious. We play the
full set tonight in growing anticipation of the Parisian show which we
will be filming for our forthcoming DVD, attempting to keep the stamina
up, though the set seems to race by, quite possibly due to the vigour in
which it is played. Despite being a relatively small crowd, the audience
are fucking loud and this spurs us on even further (funny, if the
audience is dull then it has a really draining effect on the band, as
one can imagine... and the show itself then seems to drag on
forever-future audience members take heed!).
After the show everybody is buzzing and having signed autographs through
the mesh fence for forty or fifty fans, a few of the Cradle camp stagger
onto the Moonspell bus for a few joints, some good wine (they seem to
have their bus nicely stocked!) and a heavy metal sing-a-long to the
likes of Iron Maiden, Celtic Frost and Death. This continues for at
least an hour or so and we are enjoying ourselves that much that we
forget bus call and eventually have to jump ship as our bus honks us
from the gate, weary, bleary-eyed but happy with the metalness of it
all. Moonspell are a great bunch of people and it will be a shame to
have to part company once again, which is always a bad part of this
career, the fact that it is rare to tour with the same band even twice
(which we have already done with these lot). And there are a lot of
bands that we have played with over the years that we miss terribly, in
fact those bands are far too numerous to mention here. Sure, you get to
see them from time to time if they venture to your shows or you happen
to be sharing the same bill on a festival, but that's about it. Ah well,
that's showbiz for you I suppose.
And so to finish this entry for today, I've promised to mention that
Sarah has a nice heaving rack in exchange for services rendered.
She made me a nice cup of tea to round off the day.
Wednesday 30th March 2005
Aqua Lung, Madrid, Spain
Today I was very anxious to get up as early as possible in order to
visit the Prado art museum, which is situated here in Madrid. It houses
a huge amount of paintings and amongst it's contributors are the likes
of Brueghel, Bosch, El Greco and Goya, of which my favourite painting in
the world ('The Garden Of Earthly Delights' by Hieronymous Bosch) is one
of them. In actual fact, my second favourite painting in the world (
'The Triumph Of Death' by Pieter Brueghel) is not only housed here as
well, but it is in the same bloody room (room 56A). That room is
possibly the second best room in the world, aside from my office, which
is better.
The last time that we played here in Madrid, at the Riviera club, Dave
Pubis and myself stole along to visit it and this time I have promised
Charles and Fernando from Moonspell that I would take them along to see
it too. Pedro, their keyboardist, tags along as well and so we flag down
a cab and get the hell out of the venue for a few hours (which,
incidentally, is a part of a long abandoned swimming complex known as
the 'Aqua Lung').
I love this gallery and the works on display are fantastic. There really
isn't enough hours in the day to truly appreciate it all but we give it
a fair crack, that is until we stumble onto someone from a school party
who recognizes us and we have to flee the second floor as all the kids
now want signing, whoever the fuck we are. The Goya collection (over one
hundred paintings) is really good, his dark phase being amongst his most
morbid and best work. I decide to buy a canvass print of 'Saturn
Devouring One Of His Children' from the gift shop and a poster of 'The
Triumph Of Death'. Then we visit the sculpture rooms and it is decided
that in future, should any one comment on having a small penis, the
reply would be that it's not small, it's actually 'classical'.
Two hours is quite a substantial amount of time when you actually have
it spare and so we see quite a lot of paintings and classical penises.
Afterwards we decide to head for a coffee, which actually turns into
three Spanish wines and a lighthearted conversation about women, the
weather and the wanton. Then, fearing an imminent sound check we race
back to the venue to find out that we needn't have bothered. I do have
some press to do though and so I undertake a TV interview in front of
the carcass of an old fighter plane (something to do with the themed
swimming centre... though what great big Easter Island heads have to do
with downed aircraft is anyone's guess...) and then a taped face-to-face
interview sitting out on deck chairs in front of the Rapa Nui.
Dinner is after sound check and is okay but nothing special and then I
attempt to make it out to the bus to do my thing, over the fence instead
of heading right around the block where the chances of being mobbed by
autograph hunters is much, much higher. Unfortunately as I'm halfway up
the wire with my bag in tow I'm spotted by people waiting at the bus and
therefore I make a mock phone call and retreat, having to then walk all
the bloody way round and being hassled anyway.
Having a bit of a blonde moment once on board, I forget the advent of
Summer time (again) and that both clocks in the bus are an hour slow and
therefore totally mis-time my warm-up and getting-ready session.
Therefore when Big Martin arrives to get me half an hour before stage
time, I'm just struggling into my leathers and balancing a white contact
lense on the tip of a finger. Panic fucking stations!!!
Struggling with the speed in which I am expected to do everything I need
to do, we have a lucky break with a security guard who lets us in
through a secret gate and then it's practically ten minutes until I'm
standing in front of the Madrid audience, bellowing out the words to
'Gilded'.
The show is weird tonight in respect of the nonchalant crowd (of which
both other bands tend to agree with) despite playing well and having a
damn good sound. There are a few minor technical problems when Paul's
guitar amp switches itself on and off and I have to stall the beginning
of 'A Gothic Romance' whilst Adrian switches his ear monitor around, but
overall the set is as good as the other fourteen great shows that we've
had in a row. It's just the crowd that seems a little lacklustre to
these eyes. So, an excellent gig overall, but it could've been better
had the crowd been a damn sight more noisy and one of their number
hadn't lobbed a coke bottle at Keith the second we walked off stage.
Afterwards everybody waits for the crowd to disperse by partying
backstage with many witty anecdotes being exchanged and the overall tone
being one of smut and merriment. Ol' drippy features makes another
welcome return as does 'Anal Cunt's' brand new album when the water
heater fires up in the dressing room. I must admit I get quite drunk but
not enough that I can't balance a crate of beer on my head on the way
back up the hill to the bus.
Then to a more sobering experience of watching 'Salo' with Sarah and
Charles. If you've never seen this film then it's the one we based the
video to 'Babalon A.D' on and not one for the faint-hearted as it's
depiction of abduction, rape, torture, excrement eating and subsequent
slow and painful death, despite being a few decades old, is more than
disturbing enough. In fact it is so disturbing that Charles cries
several times, more so apparently than when he went to see Bambi. Last
week.
Tomorrow is another day off ('so soon?' I hear you cry...) so we aren't
really that bothered that it is well past five when we eventually turn
off the lights and go off ourselves, dreamily reminiscing about the
day's more than colourful events.
Tuesday 12th April 2005
The Academy, Bristol, England
Ah, sunny old England! The next five days seem like a holiday after the
stress surrounding the live ordeal in Paris as once again we return to
the haunted shores of our birth, so with that in mind it should be
downhill all the way to the finish in London on Saturday. We hope.
The day starts exceptionally early as a week's gap has elapsed between
the European leg and this final portion of the tour as it seems that
everyone has just started to wean themselves back to the hours of the
living. And so it is in this state that I awake in a slight state of
panic thinking that the time is half past noon (well that is what the
new bus clock states) when in reality the time is actually a quarter to
nine. In the morning nonetheless!
An early start to the day it is then and so we take ourselves around the
corner to the local student greasy spoon to munch on bacon butties and
drown on strong coffee. The star bus is actually outside the venue on
our return and for the merest instance I actually believe that it has
come to reclaim it's former proud owners from the clutches of an
inferior model, but unfortunately it pulls away on our arrival to the
news that the 'Manic Street Preachers' now possess it, though it sounds
as if the bus is undertaking some possessing of it's own as members of
their crew now believe that the bus is haunted since our usage. That'll
be the ghost of James’ Bonzai tree he bought in Europe and we killed
with brandy then...
Speaking of James, there is a funny incident involving a party of school
kids that apprehend him as he is climbing into the bay of the bus to
retrieve his suitcase and one that he would have avoided had it not been
for someone activating the only real improvement on this bus (that of a
'Star Wars' style door that swings shut at the push of a hidden button),
thus leaving him stranded outside and subject to the fervent questioning
of a children's curious school trip. And how we laughed from our vantage
points; crammed as we were all along the back windows overseeing his
sweating blonde confusion.
We get into the venue early and lounge about most of the morning either
watching the Crewdle set up the stage or better still, getting up to
backstage mischief with the catering. Sarah then helps me dye my hair,
Paul nips into town to buy shoes and Martin, well he just lies slumped
in a coma until about three when both the author and publisher of our
forthcoming book make an appearance and whisk me away from the madness
and into the cosy arms of the public house opposite to sit, discuss
literature and drink Guinness.
A live interview via the phone then intervenes with Total Rock Radio and
on my return to our table I discover our manager Fay and an ever
increasing crowd of fans evidently piling up prior to the show. We
decide it best that we find a more reclusive establishment further away
from the venue and that is where we spend the next hour discussing
deadlines and the variations of leather trims for the limited edition of
the book. Bristol it seems, on my brief sojourn into the city, seems
positively radiant on this, the nicest day England has seen in nigh on
two months and not the sprawling shit hole that I had come to expect
from all the descriptions put forth by poisoned minds.
Sound check goes well and then people head out to eat, though I have
some unfinished business concerning the book which I carry out back on
the bus for an hour or so whilst Sarah grabs me some take-out from the
Thai kitchen that she and the others seem intent on emptying. This is a
good few hours being interviewed for the forthcoming chapters and very
relaxed, so much so that the time flies by and soon it is time once
again to head backstage and begin getting made up for tonight's
performance, the bus having had to retreat around the corner as parking
outside the venue is an issue best left undiscussed.
The Bristol crowd, though only a thousand in strength, are rapturous, we
hear them even before we hit the stage as openers for these five English
dates 'Mendeed' go down very favourably indeed. In fact you could say
tonight they are splendid! Ironically not only have 'Mendeed' used the
same local studio as us (they are actually Scottish, a fact that leads
us to warrant our drummer erecting a barrier between dressing rooms
known only as 'Adrian's Wall'!) but my girlfriend Toni has modeled for
their latest ceedee and a good friend of ours now manages them. That's
quite a connection and one that I'm sure will continue as these guys are
really rather good, reminding me of a distinct cross between
'Dissection' and 'Bleeding Through'.
Anyway, our show goes well despite the not very deep stage and the crowd
do us proud, inviting comparisons between the European and British
audiences, with favor falling obviously this side of the channel. A
superb gig is had by all and it is nigh on impossible to highlight any
one particular moment that stood out other than my Marilyn Monroe
impression when the under-stage fans blew my kilt up during the encore.
Thankfully I was wearing trousers beneath, no need to give anybody heart
attacks or a curious sense of well-being!
Show done we return to the warming comfort of showers and eventually the
bus after a brief signing session in the street. Tonight is Paul Collis'
birthday bash on the crew bus and as far as my spies inform me, they are
popped up to at least seven in the morning on god knows what. Meanwhile,
I party for a little while before exhaustion overwhelms me and I crawl
for the comfort of my bunk, safe in the wonder of what tomorrow in
magical Portsmouth will bring, as ravens wing me to my rest midst the
catacombs of this replacement tour vehicle.
Wednesday 13th April 2005
Pyramid, Portsmouth, England
Awoke to find the bus parked practically on the promenade this morning
as the wailing of gulls and the foghorns of passing ships insinuated and
then proved beyond comparable doubt. Apparently today we were not
actually in Portsmouth as such, but in a neighboring suburb known only
as The Valley Of The Kings. The venue appeared to actually be two
pyramids, one housing a water-sports, sorry, water-sport park (the
spelling is only slightly different but believe you me the two are light
years apart) and the other the venue. All carpeted, it appeared very
plush and inviting indeed and the catering laid on was very
traditionally British- toast, juice and cereal with bacon butties if
required... which they definitely were in copious amounts. After a
lengthy spell on the phone with our manager, I decided to go
sight-seeing with Martin, James and Charles to gulp in lungful of
seaside, briny air and to play the slot arcades further up the
promenade. Pursued by fans we ducked in to play the two pence waterfalls
with ten pounds worth of change, seeing whether all four of us could put
in as many coins as humanly possible at the same time and whether this
avenue of attack would result in winning a (small) fortune or simply
leave us with an ever-decreasing fund of small change. And sure enough,
not more than ten minutes later we were standing outside looking for a
bar for refreshment, wherein Charles ordered his usual half a lager
sandy before complaining about his forthcoming headache.
About three we decided to return to the venue as there were several
interviews to be undertaken, firstly a fun 'guess what the band is'
affair with 'Terrorize' magazine and I was surprised that the play list
consisted of quite a few old-school bands and others that I knew of as
opposed to the half-expected entourage of obscure underground acts from
Indonesia (like 'Tank Of Hangman' and 'Gothic Mess') that I thought they
might try to catch James and I out with. In actual fact one of the few
bands that we failed to guess was actually Eighties Christian hair-metal
band 'Striper', which we later posed with the record of (and The
Worsens) as a gesture of our continuing stupidity for the magi.
A 'erring!' feature then followed en suite with James, Martin and I
having all kinds of weird and wonderful questions being fired at us by a
panel of fans whilst photographs of the event were being snapped about
us. This lasted a good hour and a half and finished just in time for
another quick round of photos and of course sound-check, which passed by
with nary a problem aside from Keith's bad hangover in monitor world.
Everything in place for tonight's sold out show, we then decided to
forsake the take-out option, favoring a return to the pub for dinner and
a swift Guinness (save for Charles who didn't even think he could manage
his usual half a sandy top, having half a coke instead), taking in the
opportunity to watch the sun descend over the rest of Plymouth and a
portion of the Isle Of Wight further out to sea. Time was of the essence
this evening as no longer had we sneaked back into the venue than it was
time to don our reeking costumes and warm-up for the evening's
forthcoming extravaganza.
It was plainly obvious from the moment that the intro cavalcade finished
that we haven't played down in this part of the British Isles for a long
while as the response was overwhelming. Maybe it was the power of this
makeshift pyramid being harnessed to it's full mystical effect or not,
but the audience were seemingly in a spiritual dimension of their own.
Sarah's sister was in the photo pit snapping away as we launched into
'Mannequin' and the rest of the show just seemed to fly by as we were
fully motivated by the audience's reaction. Afterwards we stayed
backstage whereupon our good friend Dom Lawson appeared as too did my
sister, both traveling down from Brighton to catch our performance. Wine
was opened and reefers smoked and generally everybody had a cool time
until that dreaded point of the night when everything has been ousted
back into the trucks and the road crew appear like nomadic tribesmen
scouting out booze... then you know there's maybe half an hour left
before we're rounded up and we're back on our way into the land of the
dead again. Tonight we left the hieroglyphic-strewn confines of the
dressing rooms like tomb raiders from the mighty pyramid in a train of
people carrying stolen treasures upon their heads....i.e cases of
Carlsberg, whereupon we weaved our wave back out to our modern day
camels to drink it all and save nothing for those fops at the British
museum.
Nile should play this place.
Thursday 14th April 2005
Wulfrun hall, Wolverhampton, England
Another superb day in the company of the wall-eyed, vain and insane. I
didn't arise until about twelve so I missed out totally on the mass
exodus of three into town for a full English breakfast, but that didn't
bother me none as the day was sunny, we were back at Wulfrun Hall in
Wolverhampton (where we always do a good show), we had an imminent
signing about to occur and my girlfriend was due to be arriving around
six-ish.
So, into the venue for scavenged sandwiches, a long hot shower and to
find somebody to venture out and find something for the bloody ulcer I
have developing.
Interviews started after the menial tasks of the day were past; the
aforementioned shower, the cleaning of my leathers and several brief
spells in the khazi, then the real work began, though using the toilet
this morning had been no easy task in itself. The first was an 'access
all areas' type affair with Metal Hammer and I must say it was a real
pleasure talking to the journalist who also patiently waited whilst
another interview came in from erring! radio for me, spending twenty
minutes out in the street on a mobile getting the live spot recorded
whilst he chugged back beer from our ever-increasing beer cellar.
Both these undertaken, there were a couple of other phoners to contend
with before sound check occurred and we had to rush this as the in-store
signing session was rapidly approaching and we had to leave in order not
to disappoint the people lined up. Like a sunshine bus full of
underprivileged children on a day's excursion out to the beach, we
arrived at the MVC store in town just in time. As per normal there were
not enough chairs for everyone, so there then ensued the usual palaver
of fussing around in full view of the queue as we attempted to squeeze
seven people into the space of five, though Charles did opt to sit on
Jame's knee.
The signing was great fun, they always are, and this being the only one
that the record company had common sense enough to book on these fair
shores, made it all the more important. The fans as usual were the stars
of the day and they came like the proverbial beasts two by two into the
maw of the ark, or in this case, in awe of the dark, or more probably,
they saw the daft.
An hour and a half seemed to fly by as we signed and posed for
photographs but soon the shopping arcade had to shut so the remainder of
the queue could be fitted in on time. Then we got the chance to peruse
the store for freebies and in this case I managed to grab 'Sky Captain
and the World Of Tomorrow' (a very underrated film indeed), the
'Scum/Romper Stomper' double bill, 'Gothica' and The Missing', AC/DC's
'Family Jewels' dvd and last but not least, the new Chemical Brothers
album. Phew! All that shopping gave me a real appetite for fast greasy
sex, sorry, food, which was lucky as that is all we had time to cram in
our beaks as we climbed back aboard the minibus and headed toward the
venue where friends and family awaited.
There was enough time before the performance to enjoy a drink around the
corner, though tonight's venue also housed a show for 'The Lighthouse
Family' and the pubs were an eclectic smorgasbord of Cradle fans and
casuals. I would come to taunt the other show on stage, getting a
whirlwind of 'Fuck Offs!' going straight through the roof toward the
other show, just to demonstrate just how crazy our fans really are. Plus
it was good, clean, violent fun and I think 'The Lighthouse Family' are
pretty much just tawdry casual shite for people in cream cotton
trousers.
Just before show-time there are a lot of familiar faces backstage
including our clothes makers 'Sinwear' and my girlfriend Toni, an extra
band for this evening, the erring! TV contest winners 'Headspeed' as
well as journos and photographers and even before the show there is a
fair amount of booze swilling about in eager bellies.
The show, as all those played at this venue before, is a great one, and
we hit everything with relish despite the enormity of the sound onstage.
This is a trivial problem for about three tracks and then the sound
sorts itself out, especially (and unfortunately) having shouted at Keith
to turn various offenders down. Or off.
The whole band really goes for it this evening and the whole stage is
traversed, even the PA monitors, in order to garner the best response
from the audience, who once again are a nutty bunch of fuckers. The
encore is preceded by a swift burst of Sarah's latest opus 'Lesbian
Butterfly' from behind stage and finished with one of the best and
over-the-top ring outs of current times.
Now, the partying...
It always happens in this band and I guess it always will. We have a
tremendous show playing to friends and the suchlike and suddenly we feel
the dire need to celebrate to the extreme, despite the fact that the end
of tour isn't for a few days yet. In this case, having showered and
drunk the rider from the backstage areas, mixed with the other bands and
then taken it to the bus, we, that is James, Charles, Martin, the usual
offenders, all decide we want to go to the local eighties disco for a
bit of a boogie, though Charles is still under the impression that it is
gay night.
Well, the rest of the evening is a bit of a blur, though I do recall
several dozen drinks, a pole-dancing competition (in order to show the
local lassies how it should be done) and a short-lived smash-a-thon back
on the bus involving plastic containers from the fridge and yoghurt.
Apparently Sinwear and Toni ended up parked by a field halfway back to
Norfolk attempting to lure a fully grown sheep into their people carrier
and somehow I end up in my own bed, having attempted to vacuum up the
mess I have made, to absolutely no avail. The vacuum doesn't work as
neither anymore do I.
A great if not disarming day.
Friday 15th April 2005
Academy, Manchester, England
Euurrrghhh! Not only to the mess I made last night, nor the stinking
cold or hangover I now possess but to the weather (which first took on
the bruised sky look then degenerated into grey and rain) and the
backstage area at this place which really reminds me of football locker
rooms at the local village hall, just less appealing!
Obviously the mess was still there in order that I would clean it up
when I eventually surfaced from my pit (at the rather unsocial hour of
two thirty) but once again, neither the vacuum cleaner on ours or the
crew bus worked, so I began picking the debris up bit by bit by hand.
Then a valet service turned up and did it properly (and at some expense)
so at least I was spared that additional misery, though as penance for
my sins I did have to undertake an interview almost straight away, even
before i'd located breakfast.
The afternoon then continued with further photography sessions and
interviews for Metal Hammer and Power Play, though why I bothered with
the one from Power Play (though the interviewer was very patient) I
really don't know, as the review and previous interview with them was
sarcastic beyond belief. Today was not a day for sarcasm, not with this
riot of a head on.
Food is a buy-out and barely edible, so a few good hours is spent in the
company of Sarah's mobile attempting to contact one of her Swedish
friends to decipher some medicine a Swedish doctor had prescribed me in
Malmo (both Sarah and me feeling shitty and hoarse) and knowing that the
medicine works, we just needed to know how much to take. Twelve it seems
is the prescribed dose and it is with some reluctance that we dissolve
the dozen tablets and pray firstly for a miracle and secondly, that the
effect of taking so many won't be like downing arsenic. Actually my
wishes were one and the same but that's besides the point.
Okay, so the panic is on as everything seems to be a chore today and the
process of getting ready for the show seems to happen in slow motion,
but thankfully I am ready as the intro starts with both fingers tightly
crossed behind my back that my voice won't fail me. Thankfully I needn't
have worried as not only does it hold out but it actually improves as
the set goes on. The crowd is huge today and the Academy sold out, so
some of the unlucky few trying their luck at the door end up at the
'Atreyu' show across the road. The poor saps! The crowd are fucking wild
and at times appear louder than the PA itself, there are a few minor
fuck ups by the band but generally it turns out fifty times better than
I had at first anticipated. The stage is huge but seasoned vets that we
are after seven weeks trawling (or peddling, in some cases) our arses
through Europe finds us as comfortable with this as seven metal
pissheads in an Iron Maiden brewery. Again there is no aerial due to the
height restrictions but everything else is wheeled out for the
delectation of the throng. Main set done, the encore follows in similar
fashion and all to true, ardent English support. It seems that the very
roof at any time might cave right in with the tumult.
We leave the stage to thunderous applause and it's not long before I've
found my way back to the bus with a handful of sleeping tablets and a
hot cup of Lemsip, determined to nail the lid shut on this awful
exhaustion before the morrow, when London awaits with so many friends
and family clasped tightly to her fateful bosom.
I definitely need to rest lest I go mad.
Saturday 16th April 2005
Forum, Kentish Town, London, England
I much prefer the Kentish Town Forum to our usual haunt, the slightly
smaller yet infinitely more claustrophobic Astoria with it's awkward
positioning in the centre of London and it's lack of parking, it's
herd-you-in-then-herd -you-out-again policy and it's early timetable
because of the multitude of gay clubs on afterwards. No, the Forum rocks
for feeling as if you can breathe around it and the fact that half past
eleven finds me making a cup of tea on the bus that is actually parked
within the venue's grounds. Fantastic! No hauling stuff through fans and
an opportunity to relax and enjoy the very last day of this thoroughly
pleasurable European tour with the sun shining and music blaring from
the stereo on the bus. I then watch the stage start getting set up for a
little while before exploring the cavernous interior of the main room
and the labyrinthine backstage area where I find, much to my surprise,
that the cornered off top room/lounge doesn't actually reek of blocked
drains as previously warned, and so decide to make my own sprawling camp
there.
After the preliminary shit, shave and shower are accomplished, Sarah and
I decide to walk around the corner to a wine bar for lunch, passing en
route the back alleys where some of our horror movie 'Cradle Of Fear'
was shot. It was here that I got to mulch some mugger's poor face into
the asphalt and also put out the eyes of an inquisitive policeman (for
more info visit www.cradleoffear.com) before decapitating his partner.
Oh and by the way lunch was squidgy, overpriced salmon fishcakes with a
Guinness.
On our casual return (there was no real rush as such) we noted that a
queue was already forming around the corner so I had Sarah lean out of
the second floor window where her vantage point allowed her to take
photos of the crowd as it gradually snaked along the road and all the
way up to the wine bar we had just frequented. A funny moment came a
little later when we spotted a kid skulking around the abandoned church
next to the Forum and then, just as he reached down to pick up a brick
to lob through one of the windows, he was eagle-eyed by security who
promptly went to apprehend him as he swiftly did a bunk over the wall
the other way.
Family started arriving by about two thirty so again (and this was
shortly before the queue had gotten too meandering) we disappeared off
for a quick drink and a chat before sound check was once again
pronounced to be underway.
This went well, though during it I spotted my sister's boyfriend
snapping pictures from every angle of the multi-tiered balcony, but then
he is the infamous David bailey so I guess it's to be expected. Then
everybody huddled backstage to drink and smoke, converse and explore,
watch the massive queue get even bigger and more diverse and meet some
of the strange characters that have been following the band about.
Dinner then beckoned but i'd eaten enough and decided to live out my few
remaining hours before final show time packing up my stuff from the bus
and getting ready for the show with no absolutely zero pressure and in
my own sweet time. Climbing onto the roof of the Forum I was able to
watch the sun descend lazily behind Hampstead Heath and suddenly feel
the freedom that finishing this last show would afford me. I would be
able to go home and relax, safe in the knowledge that we, as a band, had
done a great job on tour. But first...
The pre-show tension is obviously a thing of the past this evening as
everybody in the band seems raring to go, equally excited about playing
in front of a two thousand plus home crowd and the fact that it was
almost over. I remember last shows on previous tours, the giant white
bunny playing keyboards at the end of the Ozzfest, the thousands of
toilet rolls hurled at us by the audience and Type O Negative in
Philadelphia and the balloons and bags of flour we threw over Moonspell
in Toronto, but tonight, tonight has to be good. And it is...
Seven weeks on the road has done little to dampen our zest for
performance and tonight we are raging like the bull-faced bastards that
we are. From the moment the intro rolls it's unearthly menace out like a
carpet of woe until the final arc of fire and bludgeoning ring-out on
drums and guitar, everything is played with precision and more
importantly, enthusiasm. This evening we are granted all of our stage
props including the aerial and silk routines which is the first for this
leg of the tour. The actual dimensions of the stage here at the Forum
are pretty vast, so everything is equally spread and everyone keeps to
routine and the occasional flight of whimsical fancy. The crowd are
amazing, possibly the best of the tour and maybe one of the better
crowds we've encountered playing London in a long time and it is they
that keep everything rolling like thunder right through the main set,
the encore and the final finale of 'From The Cradle To Enslave'.
Afterwards we stagger off the boards full of smiles and sweaty
handshakes and swiftly retire to the rooms above to gasp for breathable
air and spirits of the finest order, taking perhaps a half hour out
before venturing to the cornered-off upper tier bar where the after-show
do is in full swing. Up there lurk all manner of creatures, from friends
and family to wives and girlfriends, journos and regular liggers the
party is in full swing as I arrive and instantly have a rum and coke
pushed into my hands as Martin Powell enters the ladies toilets at some
velocity on a skateboard. This little soiree continues for a couple of
hours until most are obliterated or just speaking bollocks, one or the
two, but hey, it's all over and why should we not celebrate like
proverbial thieves in the temple?
The adrenaline begins to wend it's way out just in time for us to be
wended out too, as the bar shuts about one thirty-something. Everybody
then spills out into the car park to say their farewells and to pick up
their luggage (which is being transferred to the crew bus for one night
only, as the band bus has returned to Germany prior to the show) and
seeing as only three members of the band are traveling back to Ipswich
tonight (the rest apparently staggering on to a club and then Adrian's
London flat), there's plenty of room for that one final party back home.
Which all goes swimmingly (quite literally) well, that is until Paul
Collis bursts into the back lounge sporting his tour itinerary wedged up
his nose, the bus lurches round a corner and he ends up with it wedged
even further. And with loss of blood, the silly sod. Drinks (and the
suchlike) are aplenty on the homebound journey and it is a sozzled wreck
that finds himself dropped outside his house, suitcase at his feet and
in a terrible state of play, drunk but very, very happy.
And that is, as they say, job well done.
THE END