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“You take your material where you find it, which is in your life, at the intersection of past and present. The memory traffic feeds into a rotary up on your head, where it goes in circles for a while, then pretty soon imagination flows in and the traffic merges and shoots off down a thousand different streets. As a writer, all you can do is pick a street and go for the ride, putting things down as they come at you. That’s the real obsession. All those stories. Not bloody stories, necessarily. Happy stories, too, and even a few peace stories…. What sticks to memory, often, are those odd little fragments that have no beginning and no end…. And sometimes remembering will lead to a story, which makes it forever. That’s what stories are for. Stories are for joining the past to the future. Stories are for those late hours in the night when you can’t remember how you got from where you were to where you are. Stories are for eternity, when memory is erased, when there is nothing to remember except the story."
-Tim O’Brien, The Things They Carried |
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-WINTER 2001 EUROPEAN TOUR SYNOPSIS, Part I-
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Hello,
Let’s be honest people, sarcasm and humor are crucial coping mechanisms, as are writing and photography, during life on the road. Before we post an Update of what’s going on in the life of Juno in the here and now we thought we should share a few funny stories about the most recent European tour we did back in November/December; including photos from both the spring and winter excursions. It would be a shame for so much history and hilarity to go undocumented. While Juno’s lyrical subject matter and music often deal in the tragic and harsher aspects of life we’re not a pack of miserable Goths delicately cutting ourselves to the suffocating plight of our inner pain. Sure, inner pain happens. Perhaps frequently. But it shouldn’t happen twenty-four hours a day at any rate. When so much of what passes for life is catastrophic, mundane and sorrowful I often look to funny people, creative pursuits and new places as the source material that makes life a worthwhile prospect. This has been my experience. Without each other we are nothing. People have been emailing with questions about the tour. Hopefully this tour overview can provide some insights and a few laughs while answering a number of those questions. That said, this second European tour was a fantastic time but it was also quite difficult in places. The weather was unseasonably cold. While we knew that going over in the fall/winter would be harsh, none of us were prepared for just how harsh. The dead of winter came early. As well, the drives were longer than the previous Spring 2001 European Tour, averaging six to ten hours each day in the van. We’d get to sleep by 3 or 4 am, rise at 8am, drive for hours, sound check and play a show. This we did over and over, day after day, which in some sense is what tour is all about. However, we were doing these drives and dates on the heels of having recently finished three tours in the U.S. and preceding Spring European tour. All added up, seven months on and briefly off the road was tough for far too many reasons to explain. Simply put, given the state of the post-September 11th world it felt like an incredibly interesting (if anxious) time to meet new people, see friends and visit numerous familiar and new places. Distilled to its essence, getting through tour is an exercise in loving the hardships and finding humor in the most delicate situations while being grateful that music and travel are the cornerstones of our lives. While I believe these tenets wholeheartedly, in the band-life of Juno we’ve repeatedly found that some members appreciate these things differently than others- often to hilarious effect. And then again, sometimes the effect is not so hilarious. It is difficult to remember at times that people are built of different firmaments, for some a life in music is its own reward, while others require more comforts and tangible proof of accomplishment. Sometimes a person or two has a meltdown or falls ill and can’t quite seem to recover, which in turn effects the whole process in strange, funny and frustrating ways. Often people get so swept up in working on their own ways of coping with the stress of travel, sleep deprivation and bad diets that they can’t properly process all that’s going on around each other. That’s tour, a balancing act of swine and swans.
Unfortunately, unlike on the last euro-tour, we didn’t keep a traveling online tour-journal this time around. Had we done so then I’m sure a few other Juno band members would be writing this update/tour overview now. Our apologies. Over the last month or so our band has begun a much needed tour hiatus. We need to take a nap, recharge our batteries and get our label situation in order. While passing the time Gabe and I've gone round a few times trying to determine which of us would write this tour synopsis. I type faster therefore I lost. I’d trust that Gabe’s update would’ve been much more succinct and by far more funny. [*By the way, I had kept a notebook of each day’s travels and shows, (intending to put much of it up on the website), but I can no longer make this material available. The notebook vanished while I was recently in Los Angeles. Months of writing, photographs and lyrics are now all gone. Should whoever has it find a reason to return it my stomach would feel a whole lot better. You can track me down via the contact info inside the notebook.] Suffice it to say, though exhausting and filled with tension on occasion, the second European tour was successful in many respects. I’ll randomly touch on some of the things that come to mind about the shows, people and cities. Please keep in mind that I’m writing this in April of 2002, some four months after returning from Europe. These are my semi-factual memories of the experience, unaided by much more than a tour routing Remi sent in an email a few weeks ago. I apologize, many names of promoters and bands will be missing from the stories. I can’t properly place everyone and I don’t want to disrespect anyone by getting names wrong. A Juno Update on more of what’s currently going on with the band should be available in mere weeks. Until then this should tide you over. More photos of Juno interests, adventures, adversaries and allies should be available soon as well. Please enjoy.
12.11.01/13.11.01- We flew ten hours from Seattle to Amsterdam, Holland on NW/KLM Airlines (the same people who sent my duffle bag to the Midwestern US for the first three weeks of the Spring European tour). The flight was uneventful, as was every flight I’d taken since the Sept. 11th attacks. Understandably, no one was laughing in the air anymore. Cabin, crew and passengers were all somber, all suspicious, all of the time. So we wrote, read or tried to sleep while babies screamed and businessmen rubbed their bloated, salty feet. I can’t even remember the names of the in-flight movies or the “food” they served us. All I remember is that Levi made sure to order a delicious vegan meal and none of us received second helpings of ice cream with our bland coffee.
A couple of hours after our post-dawn arrival we met up with our tour manager Remi and his girlfriend Celine. They’d taken a long train ride from their home in Lyon, France to meet us at the airport. With them they brought vinyl copies of our newest album, A Future Lived In Past Tense, released on the label Modern City Records: moderncityrecords.com. Remi and Celine are thoroughly on top of it; we were very excited to find that they’d pressed AFLIPT on two heavy, thick slabs of beautifully colored vinyl. Jason Farrell did a tremendous job of reformatting the album’s artwork. In my opinion packaging is always much better in the larger record cover format than the cd version. Vinyl releases still have a way of feeling more real than compact discs. Album covers have a gravity that jewel cases just never will. They somehow say, “Here is a band, here is the evidence of its efforts.” Jewel cases say nothing except, “Place your coffee cup here.” |
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Prior to AFLIPT, Modern City Records also did a limited vinyl release of our first album, This Is The Way It Goes and Goes and Goes but it is by now very out of print. Sad to say, AFLIPT will be out of print as well by the time you read this. [Each of these vinyl full-lengths was released to coincide with a European tour in limited quantities of 500 copies each. moderncityrecords.com]. BUT you may still be able to find a vinyl copy of either album if you search online distributors such as insound.com. As well, we brought a few copies of AFLIPT back with us to sell on our website bosski.com/juno once we have an online store up and running in the next few weeks.
Back to the story! While at the airport two drivers from Germany delivered our tour van; the same comfortable, huge blue Mercedes-Benz we’d had on the previous European tour. We spent a few hours driving in Holland picking up gear and ransacking windmills. We rented amps in Rotterdam and I believe we rented a drum kit somewhere in Bremen, Germany. I got Andy from The Ex’s Fender combo amp; it’d been rewired and split into a separate cabinet and head. The bastard screamed out a lot of volume but gave us problems the entire tour, sounding with each passing show more and more like a faulty foghorn wheezing its last gasp. Even replacing the tubes did little to alleviate the harshness. Aye, we just laughed our asses off every night about that one. Or not. Oh well. Gabe and Jason each were given Marshall 4 x 12 cabinets and 100-watt heads. Levi was shackled to a gargantuan Ampeg SVT bass cabinet and dead-heavy head. It took two and sometimes three people to lift it up venue stairs and stages. This picture ought a give you an idea: Once, late in the tour while in Leeds, Levi asked Greg if he wanted to help him get the bass rig up three flights of stairs to which Greg jovially replied, “Not really,” and then walked off with a self-satisfied smile on his face. Yeah, this was a display of appalling tour behavior but somehow it came off absolutely hilarious at the time. People show their true colors in the most unlikely ways. If I remember correctly Jason and I got stuck lifting the damn thing in and out of the club that night. I believe we also routinely carried significant portions of Greg’s drum kit. Let us speculate; swan or swine? He may forever be the youngest child…. Ah yes, the things we learn while touring…. Now back to Day One…. |
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Next to the club was a skate park too wet to session. Shame that, as skateboarding’s by far one of the most important activities humankind’s had the good sense to invent. Outside it was ballz-cold and drizzling. Members of every band wore huge sweaters, parkas, hats and scarves.
After dinner, Gabe, Jason and I were asked to do a television interview. We did it seated in a tight semi-circle in a small office upstairs from the stage room. With the producer, cameraman and interviewer all staring at us too observantly it quickly devolved into a mess of complicated questions and poorly worded responses. We were like a pack of mice interrogated by owls; Jason fidgeted with his necklace and said, “Um…uh, well…uh….” Gabe intently stared down at his own hands or passively marveled at Jason’s comments. I too stared at Jason or evasively answered pointed questions about my lyrics. My favorite question was: “Vat iz zee sound of Juno?” At that moment I had no idea, I was too tired to think about “zee sound.” Yes, let’s just say we were less than a riot but faired only a little better than an AMWAY meeting. The interviewers were sweet people, all very knowledgeable about American underground music and labels. We bonded on the bands Calexico and Giant Sand. Much to our good fortune it soon was time for us to play. Let the chain-smoking begin! This show was well promoted. We played to a large audience but I’m pretty sure they expected us to be something we’re not. Which would be either A) “emo” or B) “calm.” We were neither. What we were was “loud” and “crazed.” The sound was awful and people stood very far back from the stage in that prototypically German arms-folded-head-erect-eyes-unblinking-way that says: “Hmmmmm? I was confused but now- ah yes, now I understand.” What can I say? Hell, we were tired from the flight and spent the set trying to dial in our rented gear, which made the show feel not so great. But that’s to be expected. The first few shows of every tour feel like an exercise in figuring out how to perform and pace ourselves again. In the end the bands, audience and television crew all seemed to get what they came for; some music, some heat, something unexpected. Remi & Celine sold a boatload of vinyl.
After months of planning, booking & promoting- when a band finally arrives in Germany he occasionally very much likes to enjoy himself in their company. The last time we were in Europe he was with us at our show in Hamburg where he raised Hell until 6am. I’ll say it again, the man raised Hell. He attacked Broecker’s crotch all night and taught him German swear words (Broecker’s dad immigrated to the U.S. from Germany and so David had a few swear words up his sleeve for old Dolf). As well, Dolf told all of us the story of how he was so drunk once while traveling with the Melvins that he spent the night passed out under their tour van, shivering in the mud with his head next to the wheel. After searching for him to no avail they nearly killed him while getting ready to drive off. This story took place during winter. Needless to say, when Dolf goes apeshit on the juice, Bettina stares at him with rapt amazement, shaking her head and beaming a kind of befuddled, wondrous love. At one point, while Dolf held court on all things political and musical, I watched with such joy as she shook her head and unconsciously lifted her hand over her mouth in exasperation, “Dolf, you really are such an asshole, I am so amazed by you?!” She smiled and laughed at his outrageousness. Dolf was greatly stunned by her pronouncement, perhaps even more happily befuddled than she by his own behavior. Seeing them in this moment was a thing of nearly inexplicable beauty. Dolf and Bettina are marvelous people. After the show they put us up in their gorgeous flat and made us an exceptional breakfast in the morning. They really are tremendous; both have done so much for the German punk scene over the years, it’s just incredible. In Germany they’re the patron saints of punk rock. Thanks to Remi we’ve been very fortunate to meet and work with them. |
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As well, Julia, the promoter of our Spring 2001 Hamburg, GDR show came to Bremen to visit with us. We’d wanted to play at her venue again but it was being remodeled. Damn. After Bettina helped Dolf off to bed, Julia and I spent the early morning hours debating politics, sex, music and architecture. All done in a whisper as my band members slept all around the living room and dining room. After not sleeping for 40+ hours, why discuss architecture till 7am you wonder? ? Julia used to be an architect. Now she runs the collective in Hamburg and puts on shows. She too is a bad ass. On tour you always meet the most interesting people…. every single time.
14.11.01- After this first show in Bremen we spent a lot of time in Northern Europe getting acquainted with Sweden, Norway and Denmark. Our second show was many long hours away in Sweden by tour van and ferry. Lund, Sweden kicked ass. This place was even colder than Germany, with a wind willing to skin us alive every time we stepped outside. The show was at communist students collective, Smalands Nation. Once inside the venue we were greeted by an enormous red and black wall mural of Che Guevara staring proudly off into the distance in a handsome beret. Yup, if you’re gonna look up to communist leaders he’s a good one. The students running the place were very nice; they allowed us Internet access and made us a vegan dinner of spicy soup and thick bread. While in the men’s room an astoundingly drunk guy leaned over my urinal, inspected my cock and asked very politely, “Christian?” He staggered like an alcoholic dancing bear over to his own urinal. I nodded “No.” Eyes still laser-focused on my goods, he then asked, “Scotsman?” Again, nope. “American?” I shrugged my shoulders to suggest, “Maybe” Mumbling obscenities; he sort of unintentionally leaned into the urinal, stumbled forward and slid down its urine-soaked porcelain interior. I couldn’t quite tell if he’d passed out or if he was all too aware of his actions. Either way it was classy. Time to play the show! The show started very late and the audience was frozen. Too calm, they stood like those Precious Moments figurines found on gift shop shelves. I doubt they had any idea what to expect from us. We’d never been to Sweden before and with the exception of the kids running the event we had no idea if anyone present was familiar with our music. As in, right up until we were about half way into the first song, “Leave a Clean Camp and a Dead Fire,” none of us could gauge whether people had come to see us or were simply willing to tolerate us until the late night disco was to take over. We were excruciatingly loud and played a terrifically sloppy, high energy set. Soon enough it felt like a proper rock show: lights, heat, screaming, sweating, bleeding, breaking strings, throwing bottles. The whole nine yards. The promoter thanked us for coming and said he’d heard a few kids say it was one of the best shows they’d seen all year. But he also said many were asking why we played such a short set (60 minutes is short?). Only in Europe do people get pissed if you don’t play forever, which in hindsight as I think about it really is an awesome way to express appreciation for a band’s music. While packing up, Gabe discovered that someone had stolen his guitar tuner. He became totally obsessed with finding it. T-o-t-a-l-l-y o-b-s-e-s-s-e-d. But it never showed. The promoter was terribly upset and embarrassed. I felt worse for him than I did for us. He gave Gabe some club money so that we could replace it the following morning. It helped because Gabe was a broke-ass. We were then given rooms in the student dorms. A party RAGED on the floor above; all kids from the show. It was fucking crazy. But at this point I still hadn’t slept since boarding the plane back in Seattle. I fell asleep, too exhausted to even take my shoes, pants and parka off. In the morning we got Gabe his replacement tuner and drove to Oslo, Norway. 15.11.01- Our show in Oslo at Club Bla was remarkable due to one specific stunning interaction: Before we played that night I went into the men’s room to brush my teeth (why’s all the action in the men’s’ room by the way?). Upon entering I stumbled upon two Norwegian men in their mid to late twenties wearing backwards baseball caps, hella-saggy-jeans and skateboard shoes. They were videotaping each other sitting on the toilet. Right, fair enough. They eventually trained their camera on me while I brushed my teeth, saying things like “Are you in the band Juno?” and “Where is Nate Mendel?” and “We are Sunny Day Real Estate’s biggest fans!” and “We came to see Juno because Nate Mendel was in SDRE!!!” and “Are you as good as SDRE?” and “There are no bigger SDRE fans in the world than us!” and “We are onions for SDRE, that’s sort of something like ‘dorks’ in American!” You get the picture. Their enthusiasm was intense. When I told them that Nate wasn’t touring with us in Europe you should have seen the look on their faces. A wave of panic rushed their bodies. I then very politely told them that I couldn’t answer any of their SDRE questions (they’d intended to ask Nate a great many “VH1’s Behind The Music”-style questions on video; no doubt to be rewound, duplicated, distributed and studied for years to come). They asked, “Why not, if you know Nate Mendel why don’t you know about SDRE and The Foo Fighters?” To which I ponderously replied, “While I was always a fan of Will’s drumming and Nate’s bass playing, I can’t tell you much of anything about Sunny Day Real Estate, I guess I wasn’t paying attention.” I was still brushing my teeth; unintentionally drooling a mouthful of white foam. Their reaction was priceless. Aw shit, I wished I’d had their video camera. It was like I’d told them they were about to die horrible deaths at the hands of murderers with steak knives and vats of acid. Little did I know that telling them I wasn’t a Sunny Day fan was like I’d committed a sin. Honest to God, they just about keeled over on the spot.
“Yes, you are brushing your mouth with the shit of the people of Oslo,” he said with a slightly horrified grin. Touché. We all laughed at that one and then introduced ourselves and shook hands before exiting the bathroom.
I noted that neither of them washed their hands in the sink. Really, what would have been the point right? All in all, it was an excellent random meeting, more than worth the long drive to Oslo. Maybe I’m not doing a very good job at retelling this story? At the time it was terribly bizarre. Upon returning to the US, I told Nate about it. He laughed his ass off, as did William. Now if we could only get our hands on that videotape. As for the actual show in Oslo, it wasn’t too shabby either. People threw beer glasses at us and demanded we play more songs. Again, I suppose no band can really ask for more than that. Eight of us slept stacked on top of each other in the living room of a tiny, crowded flat somewhere in the city that night. Jan, our promoter, had borrowed it from a friend. When we went looking for the shower we discovered that the friend was home. Surprisingly, the shower was in the bedroom, situated next to the bed he was soundly sleeping in. Of course that’s where the shower is. Right, note to self: the shower goes in the bedroom. The toilet was out the flat’s front door and down the hall. In the morning we met the flat-owner during a hasty breakfast of toast, jam and cheese. We discussed snowboarding and rock and roll. Morning talk of snow injuries and Turbonegro go hand in hand in Oslo. Then we drove to Bergen, Norway. 
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16.11.01- The drive from Oslo to Bergen was another long ten hours, essentially requiring that we drive across the entire country. But the incredible fjords and snowfields made the drive pleasurable. Imagine hard, black water serenely butted up against massive, rounded mountain slabs, all under white skies holding a distant yellow sun low-slung on the horizon. I’d never seen geography like it. We played in Bergen at The Garage, a large downtown club cool with the college singles scene and indie rockers. Here we met Dennis “The Handyman.” He’s an old-timer metal head, totally lovable and abundantly eccentric. Dennis wanted to fix everything in sight. Needlessly, he instructed us on how to restring our guitars, situate our tuners and coil our cables. He also showed us the right way to stab and gut an enemy in a close-quarters knife fight, and how to hit someone to death with a bat. Holy shit! The guy’s an angel…of death. As it turns out Dennis owns the Garage but no one is supposed to know that for some reason. Okay.
The show was a lot of fun. The club was packed and hotter than hell. Everything I owned (guitar, pedals, cables, amp) malfunctioned in a sea of liquids at my feet. My amp sounded like a whoopie cushion. Dennis decided we needed a fog machine. We could hardly see. The stage sound was terrible; like a swarm of bees. But yet amazingly again, people were very pleased and asked us a zillion questions about our tours and albums. For some reason the Norwegians seem to really have an interest in how we approach recording our albums vs. the explosive energy of our live shows. People at this show were very familiar with the songs and many seemed to have an idea about what we’d be like live. Either that or they were just very drunk by the time we went on and ready to freak out along with us. The Handyman’s fog machine and hyperactive light show lent themselves well to the night’s band/audience interactions. The whole place was soaking in sweat and beer. As ever, after our set ended the club turned into a disco. And yes, Norwegian girls are devastatingly beautiful, especially at 3 am as they strut around in high heels, jeans and dark, embarrassing sunglasses under the glow of flashing colored lights and lung-crushingly thick cigarette smoke. Jason went to bed immediately after walking off stage. He couldn’t handle it. Remi & Celine too. The other band we played with was from Bergen. Emo to the 9th power. As the disco got underway, I came to discover that the singer was maybe the most rico-suave ladies-man I’d ever seen in my life. Cream-colored turtleneck, say no more. His guitarist and I spent most of the night leaning against a wall eating oranges while admiring his subtle, yet somehow still awe-inspiring pick-up moves. I really must take more photos at these times. Sorry. In the morning we loaded the van in the rain and shot photos of Dennis. I photographed a mural inside the club of a naked woman in black high heels fighting a bull. Nude bull fighting? Where is this possible? Surely this is just fantastic wishful thinking.
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17.11.01- Porsgrunn, Norway. We did another long drive back across the entire country of Norway; again more beautiful than the drive prior. Honestly, this country must be seen to be believed. This show was at a club called Sort and Bla. We played with a Norwegian band named Delaware. They had a manager with a perm and all of them wore shiny shirts and a few even had leather-ish pants. New gear all around and their own traveling stage lights. The band sound checked for about two hours while we slept on the club’s couches and booth seats in our parkas and gloves (because once again goddamn it was cold). They finished checking and then their manager demanded that we headline (this way they’d play middle and have the largest audience, anticipating that people would leave if it got too late before the last band played). It fast felt like a lame “battle of the bands” vibe. None of us protested, we were so tired from the long drive. It sucked but at the time it just didn’t matter, our stomachs were calling. Manager-with-perm was “managing” the situation.
Our sound check was a train wreck; the soundman only ran vocals and drums through the mains. Guitars were running only at stage volume. Lame. So we had to explain in English/Norwegian how the guitars needed to be routed and balanced through the main P.A. along with bass, drums and vocals. He said, “But it will be too loud, too huge (as he waved his hands around like he was being attacked by birds)…I do not do this way?” I said, “Yup, that’s right- too loud, that’ll be fine (as I gave him the thumbs up).” We had him throw Jason’s guitar in the stage right P.A. speakers and Gabe’s in the left, and place mine split down the middle. Just how it should be. And it sounded absolutely enormous. A smile swept his face. He was psyched and so were we. Time for dinner! Our promoter, Dan, was awesome. While giving Gabe and I a ride he asked lots of questions like: “Was the Juno song “Things Gone and Things Still Here” inspired by the film The Crow?” Whoa, heavy. But no cigar. He was such a nice person! He couldn’t get over that Gabe was in his front seat. He said he was very happy to have booked us in Porsgrunn because we’re one of his favorite bands. Apparently no one ever comes there to play because it’s a small town of 40,000 people far off from either of Norway’s two major cities. Crazy. When entering the house we discovered Delaware relaxing on the couches, having already eaten. When I said hello and told them my name one of them replied, “Don’t bother, it doesn’t matter. We won’t remember you anyway.” Right, N-I-C-E. Moving on…. The club’s door person made us dinner in the kitchen while she blasted the Bad Brains Rock For Light album on a hi-fi in the dining room. We were in Heaven. Then we took naps and watched a wacky TV game show featuring Norwegian pop music stars and their former high school classmates. Delaware’s manager waxed nostalgic; letting everyone within earshot know that he’d worked with the Norwegian pop stars now on the TV. During the height of their careers of course. He sneered, “Oh her, she’s washed up…now they just trot her out once a year during the holidays to sing Christmas songs…she’ll never do anything again.” His boys on the couch were impressed. Shiny-dudes, hello? In ten years if you’re lucky enough to be on some lame TV game show will he be sneering the same things about you to the next artist he manages? We went back to the club to find a mess of people milling about waiting for the first band to begin. When they did it was like Tom Waits, Pink Floyd and Cabaret all rolled into one. The band was made of three older prog-rockers colliding with the jazzy lyrical ruminations of a guy in a white shirt with ruffles and leather pants. 100% awesomeness. They covered a Tom Waits song to smoky, miserable perfection. Then Delaware took the stage like they were playing an arena show: lights, shirts, high gloss guitars, hair product, action!!! Almost 30 songs and two hours later it was finally over at half-past 1am. I’m gonna be a bastard here and just say it- this band was excruciating. And yes, a great many people left after they played. So we gathered up our instruments and walked onto the stage like we were entering a coliseum death match. Good Lord, how moronic. Competitiveness between bands is a drag, especially while on tour because so much of what tour should be about is discovery of new music and building new friendships. But there it was, the battle-of-the-bands vibe. Without wanting to we found ourselves soaking in it. We began with the ten minute song, “We Slept In Rented Rooms” and from there the set moved across the room like a slow tidal wave. Though the circumstances were weird it was a great show. The P.A. swallowed people whole. Otherwise apathetic audience members lost their cool.
We all stumbled around for the next ten minutes trying to pull it together.
As we were doing load out Delaware’s manager walked up and very calmly, very purposefully extended his hand to me. With his eyes squinting like he was troubled by a math problem he said, “You are a very good band. Very unique. See, I even bought your cd? You have won tonight’s audience.” I shit you not. It sounded like an apology or a declaration of defeat. It was like a scene in some corny 70’s movie. A few of the band members thereafter were quite nice and talkative with us. We packed up and got hassled by a young girl who kept trying to climb into our van. She wanted us to hang out with her brother and his friends. None of us were so into partying with alcohol, cigarettes and children at 4am in a bitter cold parking lot, even if it was Norway. We stayed at the promoter’s mom’s house. Slept from 5am to 8am. In the morning she rose and made us breakfast like it was perfectly normal to have seven people sleeping over for three hours. She was fantastic and demanded that she get her photo taken with us before we left for Kobenhavn, Denmark. Norway is beautiful and the Norwegian people are wonderful. Thank you Dan. We must go back.
18.11.01- In Denmark we played at another squat, this time named Huset. It was a beautiful building inside and out. Among other things the club has a movie theater and a bar/live music venue in it. They’d prepared us some delicious vegetarian food but Levi’s a vegan and wasn’t havin’ it. So he and I went around the corner with one of the promoters to an Asian restaurant. I’d never been to Denmark and couldn’t help but notice how architecturally well designed this city was. Everything exhibited a harmonious geometry and soft, warm colors. At least that was my immediate impression. The show was a low-key affair. The club normally doesn’t have shows during the middle of the week but our tour routing made it impossible otherwise. They wanted us to play so they very kindly made an exception. The club was designed more as a jazz bistro/poetry reading room than a loud, live music venue. In fact, a rather heated poetry slam preceded our set. There were lots of candle-lit tables and handsomely dressed young couples seated having drinks and cigarettes. The vibe was very reserved, almost sleepy. We decided to play a bit more of a down tempo set, done as much in an effort to work with the environment as to give ourselves an evening’s reprieve from the lunacy of the previous shows and driving schedule. It was awkward but pleasant playing to a roomful of seated cosmopolitans. After the set I did an interview with a local radio station DJ and his recording engineer. He began by asking a lot of questions about the impending U.S. invasion of Afghanistan. They were surprised to find that I was interested in the history of the conflict and had strong opinions about it. Much to my astonishment the interviewer informed me that we didn’t make music that would suggest I was politically well informed of such things. He imagined my interests and lyrics to be more strictly in keeping with personal events, not political ones. Mind you, he said this as politely as one can possibly say something offensive. To which I suggested his assumptions were rather inaccurate. Many of our songs are quite directly aimed political statements, however couched in life-stories and situational imagery as they may appear upon first listen. I told them that I saw no reason why a song can’t address the personal and the political, even the historical, universal and spiritual all at the same time. As the Embrace song goes: “Your emotions are nothing but politics.” He pondered this a moment, moved onto a few lighter questions and wrapped it up. Though it was one of the weirder interviews we’ve had, all in all it felt like an interesting and worthwhile discussion. Our group was divided into two camps and placed at apartments across town from each other. Gabe, Greg, Remi, Celine and myself stayed together. Gabe, Greg and I watched Dutch porn television out the corners of our eyes while checking email until dawn. No idea what sort of thrilling antics Levi and Jason got themselves up to across town. 
19.11.01- OH SHIT! Berlin, Germany. Talk about politics, this city is steeped in political history. It is such an amazing place. The last time we were in Berlin our promoter Dietmar gave us a guided tour of the city that was just incredible. Truly one of the highlights of the first European tour. This time we arrived late to the venue Wild At Heart and Dietmar seemed a little stressed out by our tardiness. But it was all a ruse. Deep down we could tell he was excited to visit with us again. Dietmar’s cool. We sound checked quickly and met the other band we were playing with that night, Planes Mistaken For Stars from Colorado. I’m very happy to say we’ve met them because those fellas got personality. The stories of their European tour were nightmarish, heartbreaking and funny. Two of their guitars arrived broken coming off the airplane. They had monstrously long drives, quite a few even longer than ours. On and on and on their stories went. This Berlin show was the last of their tour. Though difficult, they felt like the whole thing had been well worth it. That’s the spirit! Their live show was bone crushing. They destroyed the place. I can only describe it as Death Metal making love to Space-rock. The club was packed to occupancy, which means it was suffocating. Picture a long hallway with a bar on one side and a small stage big enough to fit about 3 people with drums and amps at the end of it. Juno has five bodies, drums, three guitar amps, farfisa organ and a bass rig. The situation was tight. Imagine air so humid it felt like you were drinking water with every breath. Inhaling other people’s sweat is tough love. Kids knew the words to the Juno songs. This never fails to astound me. Dietmar was happy with the turn out and performance of both bands. At the end of the night Gabe, Jason and Dietmar sat talking together at a booth. I sat across from them talking with a very cheeky British girl and her American friend, a guy from the Midwest who said he was living illegally and getting by as a construction worker. He said he had no idea what he was doing living in Berlin, all he knew was that it felt good to be there. While we talked a German bar crawling, metal-hag in a seriously weathered pair of black leather pants came over to harass us. I couldn’t tell if she was living in those leather pants or if they were living on her. Inches from my face she sang Rolling Stones songs at the top of her lungs. Soon she rasped at us, “Americans why don’t you stay in your own fucking country? Go the fuck home! I fucking hate Americans!!! Look at you! You have no sense of humor! Fuck you American motherfucker!” That was pretty good. While trying to hide a shit-eating grin, the only half-hearted thing I could muster in response was, “That’s cool. We might be on the same team. I’m not so big on most Americans either.” To which she sputtered venomously, “That’s not funny, shut up you fucking American.” The British girl tried to run interference. But the Wicked Witch of East Berlin was gonna trifle with me. Okay, fire away lady. She stared me down and writhed on a stool. She caressed the thighs of her leather pants; finger nails painted black of course. Whipping her hair from side to side, in a thick German accent she shrieked the greatest Stones song of all time, Gimme Shelter: “IT’S JUST A SHOT AWAY! IT’S JUST A SHOT AWAY!!! IT’S JUST A SHOT AWAY!!! OOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHH CHILDREN! IT’S JUST A KISS AWAY!!!! KISS AWWWWAY!!!! KISS AAAAAWWWWWAY!!!!!!! KISS AWWWWAAAAAAY!” Ah hell, that cinched it. She was crazier than a shithouse rat and totally cool. We were in Berlin on tour in a rock band; she hated my American guts and didn’t give a flying fuck about anything but The Rolling Stones. What’s not to love? Dietmar took us back to his flat where we ate buns and cheese and looked at punk zines and discussed the brilliantly bizarre new Pleasure Forever record. We slept with his cat. Jason and Gabe put on their flannel pajamas like good little neutered domesticians. In the morning I got up early and went for a stroll in the sun. I found an old graveyard and walked around creeping myself out while ghoulishly shooting photos of dilapidated tombs and headstones. As we loaded the van Dietmar asked us if we’d be interested in contributing a song to a The The tribute album he was considering doing. That sounded like a strange and demanding choice for a tribute album. We’re now trying to figure out which song we should take a crack at. Any suggestions?
He looked at me like I was an idiot, as if to say, “Of course you moron.” By way of explanation he showed me his cd collection- everything in it was great. He also pointed out that he had both Juno albums and said that he’d been looking forward to doing sound for this show for quite some time. He was such a sweet person and a good soundman. His name was Holger, Juno’s Archangel sent to guide us through the long night. We played last on a bill with four seriously emo German bands. What is up with German emo? Where’s the jokes? Lighten up fellas and save the pathos for the songs. None of them wanted to talk to us. When spoken to they just kind of shrugged and smirked. But they were all really young kids, which may have had something to do with it. Or maybe I’m not being fair. Because everywhere I went that night I had taken to wearing a pair of orange-colored over-the-ears headphones (like the kind air traffic controllers wear on the tarmac when bringing planes in for landings). Consequently, the night felt somber and strangely quiet back stage, like I was floating in incorporeal space between the living (the other bands and audience) and the undead (our band/my life). But my reason for wearing the headphones was practical. The ears were fried and my voice was gone, I needed a break from all the sounds around me. And I needed to shut up and rest my throat. After sound check the club made us a terrific dinner. When the show was over the club put us up in a hotel across town. We each got our own room. Ahhhh…. the lap of luxury. Such rare occurrences should not to be squandered. However, by the time we got back to the hotel it was past 4am. To our collective horror, Remi told us that we’d have to get up by 7am to get Celine to her train in Belgium. She’d decided to go back home to France for the duration of our eleven days in the UK. Celine had fallen ill with a cold and sleep deprivation. She’d become increasingly irritable and quiet as the days rolled on. Oh, and she hates the UK with a burning passion much brighter than the white-hot desert sun. It was a good time for her to take a break from van-life with a bunch of exhausted, smelly rock-n-roll Juno’s. So with just two hours of sleep we choked down a delicious, if hasty breakfast in the hotel restaurant and hauled ass to the train station. We were not pumped, especially me. I wanted that hotel room because I’d developed a throat infection and sorely needed the rest. We didn’t get to the station in time for her to make the train. She was pissed. We were tired and wishing we were all still asleep in the hotel. Call it a draw. Celine hung out at the station and caught the next train two hours later. She had plans to meet us once we returned to the continent for our remaining dates in Germany, Italy, Switzerland and the Netherlands. At least for the time being, the vibe in the van was refreshingly lighter. Remi drove us to Calais, France where we caught a massive ferry to Dover, England. For three hours across the English Channel we bobbed and lurched in bad weather like a toy in a bathtub. British soccer hooligans in matching warm-up suits stormed up and down the halls in mock displays of hardness. But I wasn’t buyin’ it, their tummies were just as upset as anybody’s on that boat. It was no one’s fault but our own that we ate bad candy bars and drank piss poor cups of coffee. 
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Author: Arlie Carstens 5/8/2002 3:48:34 PM