Category: Music

It seems like I never left. I guess that’s the fun of playing in multiple bands… once in awhile, when one tour ends, I can say to a bunch of lfriends in a foreign land, “bis bald (see you soon auf Deutsch)” and actually mean it. After leaving Europa with Ludicra a scant month and a half ago, I have returned with Impaled. Hell, I haven’t seen some of my friends in Oakland as much recently as some of my friends over here.

We have already started this tour six feet deep in the hole. We’ve nothing new to promote, but the invite to finally play Obscene Extreme in Czech Republic was too enticing to resist.

Never mind that we are flying during summer travel months and the price of oil is skyrocketing faster than Libyan anti-aircraft missiles towards a NATO bomber. We went ahead and took the ass raping sans lubicrant from the airline. Delta, I have doubts about their love of flying when they nickel and dime you to death.

From the safety video I took a picture of when my iPhone clearly should have been off, endangering the flight:

Big Sister Stewardess will eat you alive with her giant, collagen lips. That still didn’t stop me from being a dick and opting out of the full body scan at the airport. Sure, some big dude cupped my balls and was obviously upset at having to do so, but I think it’s worth it to upset a dude and make him cup my balls.

After a relatively uneventful flight, we arrived in Prague and picked up our luggage. The rest of Impaled started lining up behind some people waiting to have their luggage checked by customs, while I made a beeline for the door that said, “Nothing to Declare.” They quickly followed. I love continental Europe, where you’re not treated like a criminal just because you want to visit the country. I’m sure coming back, some disgruntled, mustachioed fella representing “Homeland Security” will be sure to grill me about the possibility of having some wacky tobaccy hidden up my keister. As if I couldn’t just get it in Oaksterdam.

Outside the airport in Prague came a familiar site; the red Iveco tour van that has been my home so many times before on this side of the Atlantic.

Our driver and friend, Conny, was replaced temporarily by our other friends from Dresden, Tony and Chris. We were to be on our way to Dresden after a stop at Nomads of Prague to pick up a some amps. Again. Seems like I just saw Tschepitz and his sunshiney face.

After that, we met up at a Beer “Garden” that consisted of some umbrellas over tables in the back alley of an apartment building. Curby, our benevolent benefactor for setting up this tour and the man behind Obscene Extreme, came with our merchandise and to watch us eat and drink a bit.

We headed to Dresden and finally met up with Conny for a peek at the art space she’d been working on and a BBQ with a bunch of good friends from Dresden. Super cool. We took it “easy” in that we only drank until 1 or 2 am, and not until the sun rose. Hey, our first show at Death Feast was tomorrow.

The next day we headed west and made our way to Death Feast. In the town of Hünxe, population nada, we drove around for about half an hour until we saw one tiny piece of paper taped to a pole with an arrow on it that said “death feast.”

Several hundred people were in attendance at this open-air festival. That meant several hundred pairs of cut-off camo shorts were in attendance as well. The Germans have a propensity for dressing uniformly. Go figure. We didn’t have much time to start enjoying the fest as we had to get cracking organizing our garbage to sell and tuning up guitars.

It seemed like we had just arrived and we were already on stage. Nothing says death metal like surgical scrubs bereft of blood because there was no time to get any. We turned out an energetic performance, but nothing I’d call tight. Despite all the intricate melodies and harmonies, we are still basically a bunch of three-chord punks. Leon del Muerte was here with Exhumed and managed to grace our stage with his farty presence. I managed to practice up a bit of my German and squeaked out, “Eure Väter schupsen Kinder vom Fahrrad und riechen den Amsaddle.” Your fathers push kids off their bikes and sniff the seat. I’m told this is a grave insult here, though I might have been lied to.

After us was Exhumed who I joined on stage at Matt’s request to sing one song. It was the first time I’ve sung an Exhumed song in twelve years, and about as long since I’d listened to “Gore Metal” in order to re-learn the words. A good time was had by all, though I’m sure a bunch of Exhumed fans were wondering why I didn’t puke. Sorry, yeah, I’m the guy before that guy and I’m the one you never saw play live outside the Bay Area. I’m also a full head taller and I’m terribly handsome.

The rest of the festival was fun, and we were all excited to get to see Dismember for the first time. They turned it out quite well and we were satisfied. Unfortunately, all nights must end, and we had a 2 day drive to get to our next show in Italy.

Doktor Ross Sewage
www.doktorsewage.com
The G.O.R.E. Corps Minister of Filth
reporting from field of battle: Europa

If my tour ramblings are not enough for you, a photo is worth one-thousand blogs. By my calculations, if you want to look at our tour photos, that’s 311,000 blogs you can read by checking the links below. If you just like looking at people other than yourself having a good time in strange lands, there’s that too.

Facebook is our venue of choice to display photos, because we are lazy web surfers. More like web waders. So many photos, Facebook made us put it into 2 albums. Enjoy.

http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10150234424533338.368462.81741018337&l;=e614525d66
http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10150235615843338.368893.81741018337&l;=40720caad5

I’ve never understood anyone saying during a tour, “I’m ready to go home.” I never am. I may have plenty of loved ones left behind, but there’s an exhileration of being on the road that’s intoxicating to the extreme. Despite regular blacking out, bad shows, depression and frequent nervous breakdowns, it’s like nothing else in my life. A tiny little time bubble where I am moving at 186,000 miles an hour and the rest of the world slows down.

Because of this wanderlust, as the Germans call it, I always try and stay a bit longer. Hell, I’m so poor, playing music is the only way I can get a plane ticket to anywhere. As Aesop says, limited talent taking us infinite places. Besides, what better way to wind down than continuing to eat and drink in strange lands.

I was happy that Chirsty and Aesop could make the time to also stay with me this time. My usual travel partner has usually been Raul, both of us having post-tour excursions in Europe, Japan, and Mexico.

We tried to have one last group breakfast with some traditional food before dropping off John and Christy, but it was Easter Sunday. Oh, and the Bavarian dick wads in the tiny shit burg we stopped in were only willing to give us hard looks and told us their kitchens were closed. At 2pm. After the fourth inquiry at a restaurant we got the hint and instead ate some kebobs and pizza with Italians and Turks. So much for the hard-working German stereotype. The xenophobic stereotype, at least for these Bavarians, was still intact.

We dropped off Laurie and John at the airport with much sadness and hugging. Then we were on our way. I had a discussion comparing German and American inventions. Then we found the greatest German invention ever. Move over, jet engine, the time of the German travel pussy is now. Available at many German truck stops, the travel pussy is essentially a ballon with a gash. Maybe that’s why German truck drivers are so happy. I picked one up for Aesop. Because he’s gross.

We headed to Nürnberg and stopped off at the Reichsparteitagsgelände, the sight of the famous speech by Adolph Hitler documented in the movie Triumph of the Will.

We climbed the steps up to where the giant swastika was blown up as a symbol of the end of the Nazi regime. Nearby, there was a football game in a stadium full of chanting Germans. The ghostly echoes reverberated through the stands and provided a bone chilling soundtrack to this rotting memorial of totalitarianism.

We finally got our traditional German meal provided by a pretty fräulein in the city center underneath a castle once occupied by Barbarossa. I had the equivalent of mac and cheese, and it was amazing. There used to be a cheap box meal I had here the first time I visited with Exhumed called Hüten Snack, cheese noodles, and never could find it again. Now I was having the adult version. Age. It keeps happening. Fuck.

We headed towards Prague and camped somewhere outside Pilsn, the birthplace of Pilsener beer. Many people laud the Belglians for their fine ales, but for my money, the Czech do beer best. Refreshing, crisp, and it doesn’t make you feel like you’re going to regret having so many.

We had camped on the side of the road because we couldn’t find any of the campsites that were listed in our atlas. The next day we finally found it on the way to Prague, by one sign, listing the “town,” Camping. What the fuck? We czeched it out and found a beautiful campground with an open cafe. For about twenty-five bucks total, we each had a three course, amazing breakfast with my favorite meal, smazeny syr and kroketys. Basically, fried cheese and fried potato balls. I don’t recommend this when you come to Czech Republic, I demand it.

We went straight past Prague to see the birthplace of our favorite grind core 7″ covers at the ossuarry in Kutná Hora. In this tiny chapel lay 40,000 skeletons rearranged into fantastic art. This was my second time there, and it was still amazing.

We met up in Prague with our friends we made in the Turbojugend who put our show on a couple weeks previous, Vladimir, Stanislav, Jan, and Clint Eastwood. At least he was a dead ringer.

We had a traditional Czech dinner, which meant more fried cheese for me. Fuck yeah! We walked to the city square, one of the prettiest in all Prague, walked into some shoegaze show, drank and drank, and ended up at a bar near Vlad’s. I fell asleep, and everyone took funeral memorial pictures with me as the deceased (on Christy’s camera). It was all fun and games until the bar owner wanted to take one and woke me up with his cold, clammy hands all over me. Creepy.

Me and Christy stayed with Vlad and apparently Aesop witnessed Jan and Conny mosh till 8 in the morning. The Turbo Jugend of Praha are the most congenial and generous annihilators of my health yet. Great guys who partied us near to death. Awesome!

The next day, after some recovery, we headed to the Prague castle and St. Vitus Cathedral, where we did the St. Vitus Dance. First you groove to the sound like your legs was broken, it’s supposed to look like a fit or a convulsion. Golden Lane apparently is broken, so no tiny houses and golem gewgaws for us. Then we headed to the Wallenstein palace and gardens, where there is the most Dan Seagrave inspired monument ever, the dripstone wall. I can’t find any real info on it, but suffice to say, it’s BAD ASS.

We met up with Vlad again, and I made a last minute decision to stay with Christy and Vlad in Prague and go see the Macabre / Rompeprop / Birdflesh show. Aesop and Conny left, and we jumped on the tram, because Vlad, a Czech television repoter by trade, refuses to pay for tram and says, “no problem.” Problem. The inspector is on this tram.

At first when he came up, Vlad tried to sound American. It was not a good impression. Then the guy talked to me and I went into the mode an old friend from my youth would go into anytime he had trouble with the law: slack-jawed idiot. In Europe it’s even better, because you’re an idiotic American. This worked in Finland, too, when I forgot to check my Leatherman and tried to get it through security. The guy led us off the tram and after dealing with Vlad and looking at me and Christy acting the fool and saying we thought trams were free, he just let us go out of frustration. Score one for the morons of the world!

We made it to the show, which was awesome. Birdflesh and Rompeprop nailed it. It was fun to freak out my friends who didn’t expect my face to be showing up at their show in this place. The best is listening to Adde from Birdflesh yelling, “I can not believe!” Like the Swedish Chef. After the show, some folks got it into their heads to go to a strip joint they were told about to get a few more beers. From a previous experience in Prague 15 years ago, I was thinking there are no strip joints in Prague. When someone tells you they’ll take you to a strip joint, you’re gonna end up someplace more sinister. Still, Prague has been very westernized, so maybe – nope, it was a whore house. Note: there are STILL no strip joints in Prague.

Then nothing notable happened.

The next day, Christy, Vlad, and I did some more sightseeing watching the famous astrological clock tower in the center of Prague. Vlad saw us onto a bus, and we went off to Dresden to meet up with Conny and Aesop. Conny runs a tiny gallery there called Knark Art Gallery, and I had a piece in the current show, my Swans poster from a few months back. We drank then headed to the awesome punk club in the neighborhood, Chemie Fabrik. They have an excellent drink called Rattenhirn which looks like a rat brain floating in blood.

We checked out La Casa Fantom from Norway, a two-piece playing Man is the Bastard style power violence, almost. Later around the fire outside, I got into a bit of verbal tussle with the drummer. He started getting into it with me about American inventions, or something, and it was amazing how patriotic I could get when I knew I was dealing with some punk who was likely getting social welfare and healthcare from one of the nicest countries on Earth. You’re gonna try and compare your lazy no life sentencing fjord asses to my awesome failing empire prison-filled homeland? Nuh-uh.

The next day, our friend Maike took me and Aesop to get Zimmerman hosen. Basically, German cargo pants. It used to be these were the traditional pants of the German carpenter, but now that no one in Germany works more than 10 hours a week or gets up before noon, these are the Carharts for the hip German punk. Of course Aesop and I bought a pair each. It’s probably like going to Portland and buying a Pabst shirt. Fuck it, they’re awesome, with two zips in the front for a flap so you can comfortably get at your junk with your pants still buttoned at the waist. Let the uses for such a contrivance run wild in your imagination.

We headed to Berlin later on and took in the Jewish memorial, some Berlin wall, and the Brandenburg gate and made it to the Weedeater show in town to meet up with some friends we were staying with. “Oh mein Gott!” The next day, it was off to Tegel airport and – schade – home.

I thought we were back in Prague, becaue the airport experience in Berlin was Kafka-esque. First, we are in the normal line. But then we are shuffled to the self-help line by Christy. I hate these machines, because it always ends up you have to get help because their programming sucks. So, sure enough, lady sends us to another line, and that lady gets into it with us because it’s the wrong line. Then, only my name comes up, but Christy’s name doesn’t match her passport and they threaten to make us buy a new ticket. Then we get into it about carry ons being too heavy, which always pisses me off because I make up for that weight by being skinny, unlike this Fat Frau at the counter. Okay, so then I have to take our guitars downstairs, and THEN pay for the luggage somewhere else. I’m running and find the place, and Herr Dude says I have to pay for four pieces over my limit because Frau Fucknut has put all the luggage on MY ticket only. He makes a call and that gets cleared up, so we enter the security area for our gate. Of course, me and Aesop’s pedals get flagged, and we have to wait or something. So I put back on my metal stuff while this lady is watching, wristwatch, necklace, etc. at which point the lady leads us OUT of security. We go to a separate room, and the lady monitors us and takes us back to security, where we AGAIN have to take off all our shit, rescan the bags, despite being surveiled the entire time. AUGH! I finally get on the plane and my seat is next to a Jephova’s Witness preacher from New York, living in Germany to preach, and he wants to ask what I think of the bible. I knew I had to stay awake or I would wake up as a cockroach.

We transferred at Frankfurt, and because we were flying to America, there had to be two more lines with more beauracracy asking us more inane questions that were already answered on our fucking tickets. On the plane, United sucks, no more free booze on International flights, the cheap fucks. Lufthansa gave me a free beer for a CONNECTING flight. I tried to go Lufthansa the whole way, and thought I succeeded… ya gotta read the fine print about air partners online though, and see who is “operating” whom’s flight. I would complain more about United, but what’s the point. They’re gobbling up every other airline with the government’s help so pretty soon they’ll own all air travel and we’ll accept it like so many communist cattle. You become what you fear most.

That got deep. Shit. I watched a bunch of movies and got home. The end.

Doktor Ross Sewage
www.doktorsewage.com
dispatched from Die Struwwelpetra Ludicra 2011 European Tour

Is there some reason we have to spell København as “Copenhagen” in English? Even phonetically, without knowing any Danish, I can look at the real Danish spelling and sound out the name of the city way closer to the actual pronunciation than the Anglicized version. Of course every language does this to a certain respect, but I’m calling bullshit. It’s offical: Merriam, Webster, you’re on my shit list.

I’ve played København twice before this, and I have to say, it made me hate Denmark. Both times at club Lopen, on the edge of Christiana. Christiana, the hippy paradise outside the laws of the kingdom, where you can noodle dance all day, smoke hashish, and ignore the fact that it’s actually run by motorcycle gangs dealing meth and heroin. Impaled had an epic fail at Lopen, totally hated by the crowd who couldn’t understand our schtick. When I returned with Wolves, me and Aaron were totally sick, asked for peace in the band room, and instead woke up to the opening band and their little sluts and dick head friends sitting on top of us, smoking, and they drank all the beer.

I came into København with a sneer… and left with a smile. Third time’s the charm.

We played a club called Stengade, with local hiking metal punks Solbrud, and friendly French froggy band Alcest. We felt bad, because Dornenreich were on tour with Alcest, but not invited to play this show. We didn’t know that until 2 days before, and Aesop is friends with the band. It was awkward, all we could do is say sorry at that point to the somewhat miffed members.

The place filled up pretty quickly. Super organizer Martin paid us up in advance and provided a delicious meal. Turns out, this place was a culture house, fully subsidized by the kingdom. That meant tons of food, drink, good pay, accomodations, all paid for by the governmeny to bring the art and culture of heavy metal to the Danish masses. Yeah, fuck you America.

The bands all did well, and our set went fantastic, with a good amount of Danish and Swedish dredlocked masses sticking around for our headlining gig. The only bummer was that Aesop had to reset up his drums, because the opening band got the message from someone in the venue that it was okay to use our drum set, despite us not being asked. It seems fairly common that the headlining band is asked to share their rented gear with locals who must clearly have their own equipment near by, or they wouldn’t be locals. I guess this is the other side of the socialist coin that we enjoy so much while touring in Europe. You get all that stuff and treated like a real artist, and then you are expected to give some back for the good of the show. Still, it’s just so freaking annoying for drummers to have to reset their entire kit. God damn engineering feat. So, we didn’t make a federal case out of it, because everything else was so rad and we were treated so well. A long night of drinking followed the set, hanging out with Martin and the lovely staff and some new friends from the show.

We went to the hotel, and boy oh boy what a neighborhood. Hookers everywhere. Driver Conny opted to stay in the van, and good thing as some hoodlums ended up trying the doors some time in the night. Something was rotten in the state of Denmark.

In the morn, walking around, I realized this really was the most Americanized European city I had seen yet. Every corner had a 7-11 (never forget) and Burger King, KFC, and McDonald’s. Any Floridian death metal band would’ve been chuffed for a taste of such fine American cuisine they missed so much, but I was a tad disappointed. I got a waffle with Nutella. Yum.

Onto our second 2 day drive we went. We would’ve had a great show in Rendsburg tonight, but for the fascist and cowardly Interweb troll fucktards I’ve mentioned before. Sigh…

Instead, we drove into the Höbichengrund forest area to seek camping. This is a small part of the area made famous in Goethe’s “Faust” as the gathering place of the witches, so witch statues abounded. Not creepy at all. It’s almost Easter and all proper shops close on Good Friday. We were left with the pickings at a gas station, which in Germany, aren’t so bad. They baked us some fresh bread, we bought wine, beer, and sandwich fixins, and we boosted some TP from the bathroom.

We got to a camping site, the kind where you pay to park next to a bunch of RVs, and opted instead to park for free directly across the road and set up. Christy is a master tent builder and did it in the dark. We drank and drank and looked at the awesome night sky.

I woke up early in the morning, as I’m want to do, and decided on a hike through these haunted forests supposedly full of witches. About an hour in, I felt nature calling. Like, REALLY calling. The TP felt about a million miles away. John had told me about similar situation he was in and cleaning himself in rocky mountain streams, but all I could find was puddles. I hiked off the path to find seclusion, and luckily, found some moss on a dry, old branch. It actually made good paper, soft yet scrubby. But watch your step if you walk these woods, because now it’s haunted by much more than witches… look out for Moss Sewage.

We moved on to the last show in Hot Karlsruhe. Dude-icra was playing Dude Fest, which kind of felt like a smaller, German version of Roadburn. Except the people were different. Promoter Chris and his staff were excellent and friendly, but the crowd just seemed… weird. Lots of myspace haircuts. Good thing our friend Dirk from Belgium came to his fourth Ludicra show and actually chatted with us. Whatta guy!

I usually am really nice to the sound person in any club. I wish I hadn’t been in Karlsruhe. Right off the bat as we were loading in, this fat turd of a German tells us to move our asses, which is impossible as we were holding heavy gear and people were in our way. This was the sound guy, and it was already going bad. When it was our turn on stage, he was a prick, but again I was trying to be nice, because he was doing our sound. I guess it didn’t help, by all accounts, but we still had a good show… right to the end. This Colonel Klink came on the monitors during the last twenty seconds of our song to tell us we had to stop. Aesop flipped him the bird. I checked my watch: we were a meager two minutes over our set time. When he came up after and said he tried to stop us four times (not true) Aesop flipped again, that is to say, out on him. It was kind of awesome, but I’m not so confrontational, I just got to the business of moving around him and getting our stuff the hell ou of there cause I was pissed. I apologized to the guys from Julie Christmas, and they didn’t seem to think it was any kind of problem. Till THEY dealt with the sound guy. He also yelled at Master Musicians of Bukkake and turned off all their lights when they went precisely one minute over their set time. I guess this guy’s raison d’être was just to piss off bands. It’s a shame no one kicked his ass, but I suppose everyone just wants to do their best on stage for the tigers, then just be done with the stress. Fuck that guy.

Still, I’ll always attempt to be nice to the sound person as much as possible. Always introducing myself, and trying to be personable. Even if I hate their guts, I’m relying on then a great deal, at least, until we make it to the big time and have our own sound guy. Keep dreaming, kiddo.

We got a pleasant surprise from the group we rented our heads from, Nomad of Prague. I keep giving them ups for their great service. They had an employee in attendance with another band there, and he took our heads when we were done and we got to save a few bucks because they only charged us for up to this fest. That, and we are no longer worrying about the gear in the van and we don’t have to go to Prague to return anything. Of course, we are still going!! It’s fucking Prague!!! Woo hoo!!!

I guess everyone had kind of a weird night with the folks attending the show, but it was a pretty friendly eve amongst the bands, maybe more so because of this strange vibe. We had a good time hanging with the folks of Sabbath Assembly, Liturgy, Master Musicians of Bukkake, Junius, Julie Christmas, and Corrosion of Confirmity, amongst the rest. Sometimes that’s hard to make happen. Maybe it’s the penchant the Dude-icrans have for making constant penis and fart jokes backstage. Hell, in front of the stage. In the van. At breakfast. I can imagine we are hard to take seriously.

One last thing about Dude Fest: I was finally getting to see Earth, having missed them at Roadburn. I was super in the moment, gently swaying, feeling the pain and beauty of their music. Then I heard in the middle of their set, of course in an American accent, “Freebird!” Seriously? SERIOUSLY?! How old are you? Pretty old, it turns out, to try and heckle with that old gem. Then, “Sweet Home Alabama!” I saw who it was, and was pretty bummed after we’d had some decent conversation earlier in the day. To Earth’s credit, they busted few licks from the latter mentioned song and took it in stride. But I was removed from a special moment, on my last day of tour, at an already awkward event. I let it get to me too much, sure, but dammit, artists should be able to respect another player enough that if they aren’t into it, leave the room. Or come up with something better than Freebird. Ultra lame, and that was the unfortunate feeling I left with.

We kicked it for awhile in the streets drinking, then at the hotel drinking. There’s that kind of sad undercurrent that this Band of Brothers (and Sisters) is parting ways and the last tour for Ludicra for the forseeable future is dunzo. Laurie articulated this look well.

Bye bye to Laurie and John as we take them to the airport, and the curtain closes on Ludicra’s Die Struwwelpetra Tour. Thanks for having us, Europe.

Doktor Ross Sewage
www.doktorsewage.com
dispatched from Die Struwwelpetra Ludicra 2011 European Tour

Halfway done…

I got really sick after Roadburn. My gaskets broke and I was leaking precious fluids from my nose. No fun.

We headed to Belgium, land of cartoons. Really, you know this because all Belgians look like cartoons. This is not a slam, not in the slightest. There are many beautiful Belgians (one of our adorable promoters of the eve, Sophie, for instance). It’s just that I feel I could capture any Belgians likeness with three pen strokes. Maybe it’s because of a prolonged exposure to Tin Tin and the Smurfs.

That isn’t to say Belgium isn’t a hard place. It can get rough when you don’t have a government, and your club is literally on the Mean Street.

Yup, Rue Mean. That’s where La Zone is, an excellent art spot, restaurant, and club. They also sold books and records. I love these all inclusive places in Europe, which is why I asked the booker, Odyssey Booking, to get places like that for us. Excellent work.

The show was great, with a few friends like Arno and Dirk showing up again or a Ludicra show. Arno is pretty awesome for having a tattoo of our friend Matt Shapiro.

The show was great with a good band Sardonis playing. In the morning, Christy did it up with an excellent breakfast from the food provided by the club at the band flat they had. God bless European hospitality, Christy’s excellent cooking skills, and Belgian chocolates.

Oh yeah, also a neighbor’s cat snuck in and cuddled with me for a few hours. That was awesome. I am Dr. Doolittle.

Next we went to Utrecht, of which the coolest thing about the night I already mentioned before, the amazing full stacks of destruction at the dB club. All I can really say about this show was that the staff was awesome, and it wasn’t as grim as we dreaded after so few showed when doors opened… but not by much. Also, the opening band had a song in which the bridge part consisted of a cover of “The Bird.” Haven’t you heard?

Next we went to Hamburg, where I had little hope. We had a show in Bielefeld cancelled due to, apparently, one prick in a punk house with too much time on his hands. I’ll have to deal with that whole mess in a later entry, because it deserves special attention, causing this Hamburg show we got added to and one complete cancellation for a fucking Friday night. That is a major bummer. The quick way round is that we were accused of having ties with fascist bands, you know, despite having two Jews in the band. Way to do your fact checking, you Deutsch douche bag.

The club was plenty nice. Problem was, the actual headliner cancelled, so we had to take that slot on what was ostensibly some kind of pop punk show with a band called the Elektro Boys. They were nice enough, and I enjoyed them well enough for what they did… along with about 5 others. Still, I was impressed: they had mics on all their cabs, in-ear monitors, a sense of humor, and played a full professional set for the couple folks who really came for them. Extra guitars were ready to go… it was basically the stereotype of orderly Germaness made reality.

That’s something I’ve been looking into. A mic for my bass cab. Basically, I hate DI boxes because I run fuzz, and direct, this sounds like shit. I prefer micing. I got into an argument with a sound guy about this, and he pointed out a typical cheap mic available in a bar isn’t going to get the full bass frequency. Noted. So, I want a mic that’s made for bass and I can have it ready for any sound guy trying to plant one of those infernal DI boxes in front of my amp.

It didn’t look good for us in Hamburg. But… the promoter from Rendsburg, who had her show taken from her by the same kind of over-reaching fuck monkey Internet trolls who can’t check that they’re ruining a time for DIY musicians with progressive attitudes, instead of taking on a real threat to democracy… wait, that sentence is screwy. Carol, the promoter of one of our cancelled shows (Rendsburg), brought all the people from this punk place who wanted to actually enjoy music to our show from about 160 Kilometers away. Thanks! When I see dredlocked punks waking in when we play, I feel like everything is gonna be better. And it was. We played, they danced, and the night was okay. Thanks, good punks of Rendsburg for coming to see us in Hamburg… cause no one else did!

We went to the Reepeebahn afterwards, the famous area of Hamburg populated by prostitutes, sex shops, and women for sale in windows. 14 years ago when I was here the first time as a 21 year old, this was amazing and interesting. Now it’s depressing. At least there were wild bunnies roaming around on the walk back home.

Onto to København… Actually I’m here, but I’ll write about it after. Suck it.

Doktor Ross Sewage
www.doktorsewage.com
dispatched from Die Struwwelpetra Ludicra 2011 European Tour

So we stopped by this label / record distro. We went inside and there was this Japanese band on tour. Aesop introduced me to their tour manager, who was European but of Japanese descent. He was telling me how proud he was of being able to bring over this super great band. I wasn’t a super fan, but I was trying to tell him some stuff I liked about the band and he walked away as I was talking to tell someone else how super great they were. Then he came back, and I would try to talk again, and he would walk away. It was super annoying. I looked into the conference room and everyone from Ludicra was meeting this Japanese band and the manager guy went in and was telling everyone how super great they were, and they all said he was super great. I couldn’t take the ass rimming anymore so I went outside to wait by the van. Eventually, John, Christy, and Laurie came out and we were just waiting for Aesop. The record distro turned their lights off and started up a showing of the first Godzilla movie super loud with explosions and all that going on. At the same time, the school kids at the High School next door started banging aluminum baseball bats against metal picnic tables. The cacophony was driving me crazy when Aesop appeared around the side of the record distro wearing a giant novelty size polo helmet and carrying a giant polo stick. He said he was going to go with the other band, and I kept trying to yell over the din of the Godzilla movie and the baseball bats about how we were going to meet up, because I didn’t think we had a show with the Japanese bands. I got frustrated and gave up asking and went around the side of the van, while Christy and Aesop played swords with the oversize polo sticks. Aesop finally came to the other side of the van and yelled through the windows about having to pick up his kid Ezra because he’d been hit by an arrow, or that’s what I thought he said. I got frantic, asking how we’d fly him home early, why was Ezra alone and not picked up, was he currently bleeding or at a hospital… Another guy who looked like the guy who hates mustard on the CKY videos stood next to Aesop and was trying to yell I didn’t understand. Finally, the Godzilla movie ended and the kids stopped with the aluminum bats and I could hear that Ezra was fine, he’d found an arrowhead in his salad, and Aesop just had to pick him up from school everyday after tour. Okay, cool, so we just leaned up against the wall of the distro building and were chatting when the school kids came up in unison and started peeing on the wall. One guy drifted and started pissing on Aesop’s friend so I smacked him in the head and chased him away. The kids all started pissing on each other laughing and I had just fucking had it. I yelled that this had to be the worst fucking town on the planet, and turned to see Leslie Nielson. “Tell me a about it,” he said, “I have to teach here. It’s been messed up ever since the nuclear meltdown.”

About then I woke up confused in a rest stop we were at on the way to Denmark. I stumbled out of the van to find Aesop and hit him and told him what a jerk he was.

I also told him about Ezra, and now he’s worried because Ezra is going to camp soon. He’s going to tell him to avoid the salad.

Doktor Ross Sewage
www.doktorsewage.com
dispatched from Die Struwwelpetra Ludicra 2011 European Tour