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-WINTER 2001 EUROPEAN TOUR SYNOPSIS, Part III-
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2.12.01- Koln, Germany. We played at a club called Underground. The club was enormous. We played to an audience of about 120 people. I think Remi said that was how many people came. This was a surprisingly good turnout for an early weeknight show in a town we’d never been to. But the club was so huge it felt like twelve people. But it didn’t feel bad. Quite the opposite, it somehow felt invigorating. It felt like the right thing to be doing. I can’t really explain it any better than that.
We slept in the band quarters upstairs and were tossed out in the morning by a very angry cleaning lady in leather pants. Apparently we were supposed to be gone by no later than 10am. It was 9:30am and she wanted to get the job done. She cleaned loudly in order to make her dissatisfaction well understood, slamming doors and crashing bottles into trashcans. That was great. Greg, “What’s that smell?” Jason, “Uh, I think its Filty Gerta….” Someone in leather pants had an onion in a headlock. No time to shower though. We loaded our gear into the tour van and headed for Nurnberg.
Pleasure Forever played a great set, sounding like a cross between Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds and Scratch Acid. The show ran long so we played a shorter than usual set. It was a good night for us on stage but none of us could tell if our audience were enjoying themselves. By and large it’s well known among touring bands that Germans have an amazing ability to make every band feel like they’re playing terribly. Much of the audience will just stand there rigidly, not even nodding their heads in time to the music. Rather, they’ll just sort of gaze intently upon your every movement as if examining animals in a zoo. While on stage you’ll be thinking, “Oh my God, we’re playing horribly and every person here hates us.” Not a good feeling. But then once the show is over people will come up to very excitedly engage you in a song by song analysis of the set. They’ll know every subtle shift in the music, making criticisms and astute observations. This unsettling exchange is totally unique to the German tour experience. I appreciate these conversations, certain other of my band mates- well, let’s just say it drives them crazy. The guys in Planes Mistaken For Stars referred to this behavior as “German tact.” As in, “Gotta love that German tact!” A statement frequently made right after a German says something you’re not quite sure how to take when he’s discussing an opinion of your music. I don’t mean to criticize our audience or bust on an entire culture, rather I’m just shining a light on something that we’ve experienced time and again only in Germany. As have many other bands as they’ve made their way across Europe. It’s a mind-fuck worth mentioning. Good or bad, it means people are paying attention and that's the whole point of bringing the music on tour. |
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4.12.01- Munich, Germany. This was an excellent show. We'd initially been scheduled to play a beautiful bar/club in the city’s core but at the last minute our show was moved to a small punk club on the outskirts of town. The promoter was concerned that the New End Original show playing up the street was going to detract from our draw. Shame, it would have been nice to see Norm and Scott. However, this place was mega-weird and I couldn’t have been happier. The stage was set up to look like a diorama of an alleyway. How do I explain this? We played in front of a mural of an alleyway; replete with an actual street lantern behind the drum set. This was a nice touch; it gave the place a unique atmosphere.
Our hosts made us dinner and then got all down in the mouth when we asked them if we could take out the emo-pop in favor of dining to something more up our alley like Talk Talk’s The Spirit of Eden and Husker Du. This prompted a wonderful conversation about our favorite bands with the other band playing that night. Seems they too were very much in love with these late-period Talk Talk albums. We’d begun the night with little energy or expectations and came to find that it was getting better by the minute. We were nearing the end of the tour and everyone was feeling ragged. But somehow we got a new wind. I think it was the stage mural and the friendliness of the opening band. Somewhere we found the energy. I won’t even try to explain how crazy this show was. Everything about that night was amazing. The audience was fantastic. I honestly can’t explain it. It just rocked.
5.12.01- Geneva, Switzerland. Switzerland. This was a return visit to club L’Usine. This place is HUGE. Enormous. Cavernous. The sound system is a health risk. Massive. The kitchen serves a gourmet meal to the bands every night. Incredible food. This club soothes the weary rock soul. Basically, the place functions like a self-sustaining rock ‘n’roll compound replete with sleeping quarters, back stage areas, offices, showers and bathrooms on multiple levels, all accessed via elevator. The whole city has a city underneath it; a maze of tunnels, bunkers and storage facilities build throughout the 20th Century. Once again on hand was our gracious promoter, dubbed "the rock of human kindness". We spent half the night and morning comparing surgeries, scars and family traumas. That is, until a drunk guy went crazy outside and started smashing our tour van with gigantic trash dumpsters at 5am. That wasn’t so good. Eventually the cops were called. They snuck up and tackled him. In the U.S. they would have cordoned off the whole block and shot him to death. I remember being impressed with their restraint. 6.12.01- Marina Di Massa, Italy. Our drive to Italy was majestic. We climbed staggering snow covered passes and drove through an incessant series of mountain and coastline tunnels. We caught glimpses of hundreds of small fishing villages clinging to the cliff sides. Birds circled in the hazy orange light of afternoon sun.
Eventually guy showed up and told us where to park the tour van for load in. He was a short, dark man with a moustache and no sense of humor. He was not havin’ it. Nothing was funny to him and he felt no reason to even pretend to be friendly. But I felt badly for him, I could tell his back ached by the way he walked. He scratched his ass and sighed a lot. He made us espressos and refused to answer any questions. I didn’t blame him, being nice when you’ve got a backache and an ass-itch is nearly impossible. Sooner or later the soundman showed up. He was a nice young man but super wound up and easily annoyed. He wanted to get sound check over as quickly as possible. He wanted to go to dinner. Right off the bat I could feel it was gonna be a rough night. |
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We then headed off to dinner with him and his friend. We were taken to a restaurant where we ate by candlelight. Not a single light was on in the entire restaurant’s dining area. Of course the food was incredible. When eating, Italy’s where you want to be. Or at least where I want to be. That simple. It’s just right. People live on rubber-band time. Nothing ever starts when people say it will. No one ever really knows or cares. Answers are often just a shrug and a “maybe?” Or “Anything’s possible, this is Italy!” This is where you relax and put on three or four coats, two pair of pants and eat bread with olive oil while waiting for more food. At some point eventually something else happens. That’s Italy. These people are the masters of improvisation and problem solving.
We sat around shooting the shit with Remi and Celine (she rejoined us at a train station in Germany somewhere) and the two Italians from the club. Much to our surprise, our friend Ernesto from Finale-Emilia soon pleasantly rejoined us. He took a 3-hour train and then hitchhiked to Massa Di Marina. He hauled an enormous portfolio carrying watercolor paintings by his friend Waldo Saavedra. Waldo’s a Cubano-Mexicano painter that we've all grown to like very much. We first learned of him when we stayed at Ernesto’s home on the last European tour. Ernesto’s got numerous originals of Waldo's amazing work. I’ll try to post some photos of his paintings on our website soon. After dinner we returned to the club and proceeded to play one our worst shows of the tour, if not our lives. A disaster of broken strings, unruly sound and bitter cold conditions. Levi’s illness had him nearly down for the count. Dude was ill. Like should-have-been-in-a-hospital-ill. We were a mess all the way around. Sometimes things go wrong. We stayed at a small, family-run hotel. Ernesto came with us. In the morning we walked up and down the main street, fetched ourselves espressos and ate pastries in the sun. That was aces. Life by the sea is good.
7.12.01- Verona, Italy. Giovanna and Paola came to the show. They got there late but it wasn’t their fault. Almost the entire audience got there late. The club made us a delicious dinner and then at about 11pm tried to get the show started. This was not such a good idea. It should have started much later due to the rate people were trickling in. We were the only band playing. Usually in Italy the headlining band goes on around 1 or 2am. Even on a weeknight, most people don’t show up until midnight or later. As mentioned, time is flexible in Italy. We began the show playing to an audience of about 8 people, including St. James and Susan from Boston. They’d followed us from the show at L’Usine in Geneva. By about halfway through our set the club was a third full. By the last two songs it was full. We finished when the soundman said, “You are finished. I am sorry no more. The club must close early or the neighbors will complain.” |
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What? This club was in the middle of a vacant industrial district. Weird. Anyway, the audience was pissed. You do not want to bum out these people. They don’t take kindly to it. We tried to explain that it was beyond our control. Paola and Giovanna stood by our side translating for us and explaining the situation to angry fans. It had its funny moments; I’ll give it that. It was nice to learn that though we’d never been to Verona a lot of people had our albums already or had become familiar with our music by downloading mp3’s.
After the show Giovanna and Paola walked us around the Verona city center until 3am. By the glow of street lanterns they directed us to fountains, town squares, frescos, and coliseums. These are truly some of the loveliest people we can call our friends. Giovanna gave us photos she had shot of our previous European tour. These images should soon be available on the website. They delivered us back to our hotel and said goodbye, they had a long drive back to Finale-Emilia. |
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It was good to be back here, Wiesbaden’s where we ended our Spring European tour. Out in front of the club are a decent mini ramp and a vert ramp in need of relayering but it was too bitterly cold and wet to skate either of them. It looks like the place is soon going to be entirely torn down. The club is just one brick building in a whole compound of similar structures. Every surface is covered in random displays of graffiti. Some pieces are breathtakingly complex and rival anything I’ve ever seen in American graffiti art. Karen decided to briefly stop by before the show got going. After sound check we went downtown to some hipster joint where people sat around on pillows, smoking and wantonly staring at one another. We chewed the fat like a couple of old geezers on a dry run. We had lots to bullshit about and not enough time to do it. She dropped me off back at the club. I showed up just in time to see my band mates loading our gear on stage as the prior band exited. I thought that was odd, it was still very early. The soundman was a full blown pain in the ass.
But what could we do? The show started early. We played last of four bands. After the show we were kept awake as the German kids running the place had an after-hours party with their friends. They sang early 80’s new wave songs at the top of their lungs and did hilarious dances on the bar. To little avail, most everyone in the Juno camp tried to sleep through this. I didn’t fight it. I just stayed awake and soaked it in. There was no other way, the German kids were on a roll: “Tainted love…..OH OH OH OH OH!!! Tainted love, touch me baby tainted love….OH OH OH OH OH!!!!!!! Don’t touch me please, I cannot stand the way you tease!!! Tainted love…..OH OH OH OH OH!!!!!!!” Upstairs in the club office I checked email and replied to friends half a world away. Life at home was all anxiety ridden; people speculating on anthrax bio-warfare scenarios, briefcase-carried nuclear bombs, stock market crashes, more airplane hijackings, etc…. In another three days tour would be over, and I’d soon enough rejoin the American mass-mind. I figured why not stay up? In a few days I’ll once more be sleeping in the comfort of my own bed, up to my eyeballs in the discomfort and anxiety of my own country. For now it’s good to just sit listening to the 5am sound of people singing new wave songs.
10.12.01- Saarbrucken, Germany. Though these dates are nearest the end of the tour I’m finding that my memory of them is increasingly hazy. We were tired. Or maybe it’s just that right now I’m tired? I can't remember what happened at this show. I’m writing this at 3am. Neutral Milk Hotel’s playing on the radio and I can’t keep track of my thoughts as I sing along to the lyrics: “Father made fetuses with flesh-licking ladies while you and your mother were asleep in the trailer park….” I love this band. Get On Avery Island and In An Aeroplane Over The Sea. Genius. |
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11.12.01- Amsterdam, Netherlands. Here we met up with our friends Niels and Danielle. They live in Rotterdam. Niels booked our shows in Holland. Danielle shoots excellent rock and fashion photography. We owe both of them major debts of gratitude. Niels booked us to play in the Paradiso Upstairs. The Paradiso’s a big theater venue near Amsterdam’s red light district. The club’s been around forever and has played host to thousands of great shows. The venue’s gorgeous. Apart from the soundman and monitor mixer, the staff are top shelf assholes. After sound check we went to dinner at a Japanese restaurant around the corner with Niels and Vinnie. Oh yeah, his name’s not Vinnie though. While on the Spring Euro-tour David Broecker gave him the nickname because he’s such a feisty shit talker with heavily greased hair and a penchant for criminal boasts. Now none of us can remember his real name, what a bunch of bastards. Sorry Vinnie.
Anyway, while walking to the restaurant he told us that his band was having a problem getting their newest album through customs in the U.S. He said, “Motherfuckers, your puritanical country can’t handle album artwork prominently displaying images of high-grade transsexual porn. What about all that freedom of the press and no censorship bullshit? What’s wrong with a little high grade transsexual porn with your punk rock? Transexuals are naked people too you know. ” I felt Vinnie’s pain. Somehow I really did. Performing in the main hall that night was Nina Hagen. Her sold out show was a spectacle of bottomless devotion. Nina was as confounding as ever. I remember seeing her when I was a little kid; she was one of the forbearers of the European punk/no wave scene. Though she often sings in screams and guttural moans, her voice displays an amazing operatic range. She's thoroughly eccentric, often speaks in a made up language and is prone to some serious spazzing out while on stage. Numerous members of her audience shared these same characteristics. It could be said that one either loves or hates Nina’s music. The people who love Nina Hagen are way into Nina Hagen. Many years ago I used to date a Swiss girl whose two favorite bands were Nina Hagen and Alice Donut. This is where I learned about Nina’s psychotic-punk freak-outs. At the time I remember that both Nina and the girl I was dating wore lots of horizontally stripped tights, and had multi-colored hair, and put on thick, Bladerunner-esque face paint. Both were angry as hell and ready to do something weird about it. At the time that was punk. I was into it. So I’ve always carried a bit of a soft spot for good old Nina. So to find Juno playing a show in the same building many years later, well it was just shocking. Oh, look how we’ve grown…. When Nina took the stage 600 fans threw flower bouquets at her feet. Not kidding. People were so excited! I saw tears in many eyes. For some this didn’t seem like a show, it was more like a date with a deity. Like, The Almighty is a Goddess named Nina Hagen. Maybe it is. She came out in a floor length robe and had long, thin sticks in her hair. Her face was heavily painted in white pancake make up and a generous smear of bright red lipstick. She looked like everything I’d imagined she would. The songs were for the most part sort of maudlin odes to love, betrayal, mother earth, murder, meditation, etc… She was on fire. The audience had her back for four encores. That’s right, four. As Nina’s show came to its close we were asked to take the stage in the smaller venue upstairs. Her audience was given the option of attending our show as well. Consequently, many did. Hundreds of people crammed themselves and their cigarettes into our show. Before we’d played a note the room was a chimney flue of cigarette smoke. As we walked on stage people started clapping, presumably these were the ones already familiar with our music. A clutch of kids in Juno t-shirts stood at the edge of the stage recording everything on digi-cam. This was our last show of the tour and it felt like it in the best way. Here was a mess of people, we were in Amsterdam playing a beautiful club, and we were in the company of our friends. Our set was long. Extremely long. Our amps sounded awful. The monitor mix was feeding back. Our stage volume was too loud for how shallow the width of the stage was. However, the P.A. rocked. The hall was a long rectangle with wood floors, wood-paneled walls and a high ceiling. Acoustically, out in the room it sounded great. On stage however it was a nail bomb of shrieking monitor feedback. Somewhere in the middle of our set we did “A Listening Ear” and Greg broke some part of his drum kit. We must have stood playing the middle portion of that song for at least ten minutes. It’s designed to be improvisational/flexible but goddamn, ten minutes of super-s…l…o….w…..playing on a song that’s already eight minutes long. That felt nearly divine and none too nerve-wracking. We played a haul of up tempo songs and an equal number of the slower material. The audience was awesome and receptive to all of it. The soundman had some serious shit going on with the light show as well. He was into casting “moods” for each song. Blues, then greens, then dark purple and sizzling hot white! AAAAAAAAAAhhhhhhhhhh! Each song had its own color! That was pretty and more helpful than I’d ever before acknowledged. As long as there’s no red light going on it’s a good time. The show was finally over but people wanted an encore. We’re about the most reluctant band to do encores (short of The Wedding Present) but we did it. Niels came back stage and asked us to do it. So we did it because he was the captain of our ship that night. And yes, without a doubt they got an encore. They got a much bigger finale than any of us could have intentionally sprung on them. We played the “The French Letter.” Live, the song works out to about twelve or fifteen minutes long. The sound guy decided to bathe the song in blue and white light. Good choice. About half way through the song I felt hands on my arms and back. My eyes were closed so I just tried to ignore it. Then I felt the hands caressing my thighs. I had a look around. Standing next to me was a woman in a very short, tight black dress with spaghetti straps. She had on black high heels. Her hair was dark brown and cut fashionably short. She placed one arm on my shoulder as she stroked Gabe’s chest with her other hand. He played guitar facing her, their eyes locked. Sure, this kind of behavior was totally par for the course at a Juno show. Right, happens all the time. Or not. Whatever, it was too funny to think about so I closed my eyes and tried to refocus on my place in the song. We moved into a part of the song where everyone drops into a rest while Jason’s guitar does an ascending scale, and then everyone hits the same bombastic mark for eight measures before all hell breaks loose. As Jason was playing his part I felt something pressing on my thigh. I looked down to see this same woman now lying on the stage floor. She had kicked her high heels off and had situated herself equidistant between Gabe and I. Her legs were elevated, one foot pressed against my thigh and one against Gabe’s. She was on her back and had hiked her dress up past her navel. I noticed that she had a number of large tattoos running up her right thigh. She was wearing a white g-string. One of the tattoos was a large Chinese dragon. Her legs were spread very wide. She then raised her pelvis so that her crotch was prominently facing the throng of thunderstruck audience members. I tried to gauge the crowd’s reaction. I thought, “maybe this happens all the time in Amsterdam?” I was fairly sure by the looks on their faces it didn’t. It was like time had stopped; people’s mouths were frozen in leering smiles or shrieks and grimaces. Like a human motor-drive Danielle shot photos at a fever pace. What would our stage guest do next? Oh, right of course….she then pulled the white g-string aside and aggressively began masturbating with her legs wide open to the world. Eyes closed and back arched, feet digging firmly into the backs of our thighs. Her hand reached out and grabbed my ankle for additional leverage just as the song exploded into its final passage. All hell broke loose. Cymbals went crashing. The audience went ape shit. My guitar wrenched past my amp as I broke the mic stand in a strangle hold and threw it into the crowd. Though Levi was in the thick of his illness and seemingly so very near death, he rose to the occasion and dropped bass bombs. He and Jason fell into each other in a clash of guitars and cables. Water pitchers and alcohol flew across the stage. Gabe made a subtle, though very crucial shift to the right. For the remainder of the song he played guitar straddling over our uninvited performer as she continued masturbating. I hit the floor and finished the song singing so loudly and out of breath that I started to black out. Some guy (presumably her significant other?) jumped up on stage like a determined war hero dodging swinging guitars and flailing limbs to save his darlin' from the clutches of the barbarians. It played like a scene in some overdramatic war movie. Right, buddy....don't forget her high heels. In a cacphony of feedback, I crawled off stage heaving and gasping. Greg had split his hands open and was bleeding through his makeshift duct tape bandages. Our band, the audience, the sound guy, the monitor mix lady, the bar tenders and bouncers- every last person up in that motherfucker was sweat soaked and slipping on a thin sea of mixed liquids. Cigarette smoke hung thick and low like a translucent second ceiling. Bewildered people screamed and held their faces in a daze, as if to say, “What the fuck just happened?” This was mind-blowing. I love music. And that, our friends, brings an end to The Juno Winter European Tour 2001. Thanks for reading and for being a part of the life of our music. We greatly appreciate it. Take care of each other. Best Regards, Arlie Carstens/Juno
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