THE LEGENDARY PINK DOTS 40th ANNIVERSARY TOUR
Half way through the US tour, Edward has been keeping a tour diary on Facebook. For those who don’t do Facebook, you can see it here.
September 28- Day 1
So…..here I am again. Heathrow Terminal 3. A relatively smooth run on the London Underground for close to 2 hours; a skip through Security and my fit bit tells me a mere 4066 steps. I guess this is Day 1 of the US Tour and, if all continues to go smoothly, I’ll crawl off the plane in Denver in around 12 hours. Really sad to leave this morning I must confess, but I’m up for the adventure to come. Heading for a sandwich at the Pret now…I shall make this diary a shade more colourful in the days to come…..
September 29- Day 2
DENVER
It’s 3.25 am and I’m wide awake. Jet lag and stress. My journey from London had been fairly smooth but the rest of the guys had such a tight connection at Frankfurt that although they (just) caught the plane, their bags and therefore our equipment didn’t. No idea when it will turn up and we’re set to start the run to Kansas on Tuesday.
With the notable exception of (London) Southend, I dislike airports. It’s the way we’re herded from Point A to B, then pushed into the endless “Duty Free” zone with towers of Toblerones and smiling fiends out to squirt an expensive perfume on us. Security can be unpredictable too. Once, in St.Petersburg, after a myriad of checks before we actually made it to the scanners, we encountered a situation where a small dispute was going on concerning a long object wrapped in a towel. The owner of said object was insisting it couldn’t be screened so the two officers asked him to unwrap what turned out to be a ceremonial sword. After a small discussion in Russian they waved the passenger through, together with the sword, onto the flight to Düsseldorf. I frequently wonder if he squeezed it into the overhead locker.
September 30- Day 3
DENVER
We’re still waiting for 3 of the missing bags containing our equipment for the tour. Poor Joep spent much of his Sunday talking to Lufthansa call centres in South Africa (?!). All we know is that THOUSANDS of bags failed to make it onto designated planes at Frankfurt on Saturday. We’re stressed beyond belief but at least that squirrel in the tree threw a nut at us with “Hope” scratched on it. I WILL be positive…
October 1- Day 4
DENVER
At last, some good news. Our equipment showed up last night. Alas, Joep’s small bag of clothes remains lost, and I’ll take this opportunity to warn everyone that when the nice person at the Check-in desk offers to put your bag in the hold at no extra cost, DON’T DO IT! This warning especially applies if it is a Lufthansa Check-in desk.
It’s for this reason that our new shirts are displayed below. It is not a tacky advertising ploy, it’s a reminder that there will be a moment not so far away when the band will resort to wearing their own shirts out of sheer necessity. All bands are forced into this eventually. Sadly, for Joep, this moment will arrive a little sooner.
October 2- Day 5
DENVER to KANSAS. A VERY VERY VERY VERY LONG WAY.
With such a torrid haul ahead of us and with jet-lag seeming like a positive condition for once, it seems like the perfect moment to talk about “The Vehicle.”
Perhaps our most famous vehicle for a tour was the unforgettable “Hein Bus” late in the 90s. Our old friend Hein owned it and we rented it from him for European Tours. It was huge, light blue and, so slow, snails cruised past us laughing into their shells. Going uphill, it could manage no more than around 40mph. When the terrain was flat, we’d manage a breathtaking 55. Despite all that we were actually stopped for speeding in the Czech Republic.
Such an ominous moment…the good traffic policeman turned white when he stepped inside our tank. Apparently we were breaking around 15 different laws and Niels attempted to reason with him by pointing out that the bus was passed ‘roadworthy’ in The Netherlands. The (rather kindly) man in uniform shook his head and reminded us, “Sir, this is not The Netherlands, this is the Czech Republic”. In my head, I was picturing a fine with a figure stretching to the Polish border. Incredibly, the officer warned us to buy a vignette for the highway and to observe the the speed limit in future. We gave him an album.
The “Hein” Bus served us for a few years and we cursed it daily. It was the bus that Amanda Palmer travelled in with us when she took care of the merchandise desk. Eventually it met a gruesome end when joyriders stole it and set it on fire, presumably because their delight evaporated when it refused to overtake a tortoise.
October 3- Day 6
KANSAS TO MINNEAPOLIS
It’s 6.15 and I’m grateful for the 5 or so hours of sleep I had before the jet lag kicked in. Last night in Kansas was intense. So many new songs to nail, I felt like I was clinging on to the tail of a wild horse . But the audience was appreciative and gentle and the whole night was ultimately a joyous occasion.
400 miles more today, so it means at least 2 road stops and a fitting theme for the day.
The U.S. can be an edgy place for those small breaks . In the 80s when I applied black mascara cracks to my face and painted my nails black, it was sometimes hard to remove the evidence before driving off into the American Night . This did not go down so well in Alabama or Mississippi where a stunned silence would fall upon Denny’s as I’d wait for my toast to be served.
Once in Eastern Washington, Phil led the path to a table as two of Spokane’s finest muttered about how they’d like to “hang him high”. Maybe it was the avocado smoothie.
Even so, my most vivid memory of a road stop was on the highway near Osnabruck in Germany. The menu actually contained an apology for the food. The line went, “As you are aware, it’s not possible to serve the finest cuisine at a highway stop, and even if it was, you probably wouldn’t appreciate it”. Even so, I ordered an omelette. I can confirm, it was truly the foulest omelette I’d ever sampled but I did at least strike oil.
Incidentally, the image attached to this post originated from yesterday’s road stop somewhere in Kansas State.. the coffee can be strong in those parts.
October 4- Day 7
MINNEAPOLIS TO CHICAGO
Last night at The 7th Street Entry was fun. Lots of kind, familiar faces of good souls who had followed us for years and it was great to recall all those past visits to Minneapolis over the last 3 decades.
As I type we’re heading for Chicago which is another city I really love but I’m mentally preparing myself for Traffic Jam Apocalypse as we drive. Nothing is more stressful for a travelling band than that occasional gridlock of irritation, panic, metal and oil that can literally sabotage a show. Perhaps the worst example I can recall was an Easter run from Berlin to Bochum maybe 20 years ago.
All was going fine until our van began to cough and splutter on the highway to Hamburg. We managed to crawl into a small town named Pritzwalk where we found a kindly mechanic who was prepared to cure the malaise. Trouble is, it needed around 6 hours.
Don’t ask me how we spent those hours in Pritzwalk. No Internet cafes, no record stores, no Starbucks….
Eventually the trusty vehicle was fixed but our estimated time of arrival in Bochum was a worrying 8pm which is when the public were allowed in. However, it was EASTER, and it seemed like everyone in Germany was also heading for Bochum. We kept our ears pressed to the radio. The airwaves were alive with traffic alerts, relaxed commentators delivering rational advice about how it was the night to use a helicopter.
At Hamburg we had a choice. A route passing Hannover or the one that goes by Bremen . We chose the latter, and it was brutal. Frantic phone calls were made to the club . “ We’ll be there by 9”…”We’ll be there by 10..” Ultimately we were given a deadline of 11 pm before a sad cancellation became necessary . We made it by 10.55, piled our equipment on stage, hooked it up and PLAYED!
The next day we heard on the radio how we’d made the right choice. Call it divine intervention, but the highway passing Hannover was so blocked, the helicopters did indeed hover in the skies – courtesy of the emergency services delivering blankets to the people.
October 5- Day 8
CHICAGO TO CLEVELAND
Behold the Merc Desk! Elisa is taking care of peddling our wares on this tour and it’s one hell of a task. The Merc Desk is what literally keeps us alive on the road and makes the tour feasible.
Even so, there were darker days when we had to take care of the desk ourselves, literally taking nights in turn. On reflection this proved to be a little unwise and the idea was scrapped after one ill-fated night at a club named The Etage in Bayreuth, Germany. The Etage occupied the space above a prison. On the way to the (many many) stairs, inmates would shout to us through the bars, asking if we had “something nice to smoke”. We gently declined as we had no wish to end up playing on the ground floor.
Even so, on this particular night, two of our more inexperienced bandmate merchandisers (no names!) enthusiastically took to their new role. An animated crowd gathered. There was much joy. There was much laughter. Normally we’d sell maybe a single cd in Bayreuth but that night seemed to be different. Happy consumers left the venue loaded with our produce.
On the following day, the disaster unfolded. We counted the takings…I think it was around 100 marks ( Maybe 50 dollars). An unholy silence descended. Then came the stuttered muttering of “ B….b….b…but how? “ I guess we’ll never know, but maybe those guys downstairs offered the punters a few tips in exchange for “something nice to smoke”.
As a footnote, Merc Desk champion Elisa had an extremely busy evening in Chicago at The Beat Kitchen. One hell of a venue and a truly memorable night! I love coming to that city. Tonight we return to the Grog Shop in Cleveland.
October 6- Day 9
CLEVELAND TO DETROIT
A mercifully short drive today and I’m leaving this sleepy Super 8 in around an hour. Breakfast was the digital pancake attached to this missive. I hope it’ll be my only mistake today.
It’s comforting to make the declaration that the World became a much safer place when I decided that I’d never drive a car. For a start, my left eye is a lemon. Secondly I have a tendency towards narcolepsy. Sleep can overcome me almost anywhere and at any time.
It has caused many a curious moment when I’ve had the role of the co-driver. A typical scenario is that the driver would ask me a simple question like “How far is the next gas station?” and I’d reply along the lines of, “They really shouldn’t allow horses on the highway”. I guess there’s a connection somewhere but I’m actually answering from this “other” road in a completely “other ” dimension.
Perhaps the most extreme example of this occurred when we drove to Naples for a show.
On the night before the event we stopped at a hotel in the Alps, and I was asked to show my passport only to find, to my horror, that it wasn’t where it SHOULD be. A terrifying moment, especially as we were driving to the Deep South so we could take the ferry to Greece. I literally panicked the whole night, trying to figure out where I had lost the precious document.
It meant an extreme state of tiredness the next night in Naples where I fell asleep while carrying my keyboard to the van. No warning sign… a bit like someone throwing a switch. Happily I wasn’t injured, but my dignity still hasn’t recovered. In the event, we made it to Greece and back, and the first time I was asked for my passport again was in a tunnel in one of those mountains that separate Italy from Switzerland. Luckily, my residence permit was enough. And the passport? I found it lying on my chaotic couch back home.
October 7- Day 10
DETROIT TO TORONTO
I like Detroit. It’s a rough city with an ominous reputation but in my experience, people have always been kind to me there. Even so, I can recall one disturbing incident in that city back in maybe 1998.
Imagine the scenario. It’s 6 am and we’re speeding down the highway into the city with rain so hard, it’s as if a trio of gamelan orchestras are pounding away on the roof of the bus. The light on the dashboard is blood red. If we were driving today a computerised voice would be shouting, “Get gas now. As in RIGHT NOW. As in IMMEDIATELY….”
We took the exit marked “Roll the Dice” and swung into a tank station with where the proprietor sat behind a thick wall of reinforced glass, like a figure in the mist. There was another guy in the gas station. He was shouting at us but we didn’t understand a single word. One of us tried to engage with him as his hand slowly moved towards his pocket.
That’s when our tour manager, Paul yelled, “OUT ! NOW! “ A couple of us dithered and the order was barked a little louder. “NOW”
It seemed the strange man was pulling a gun from his pocket. Happily we’d managed to fill up, though who knows how much fuel we consumed as we accelerated into that derelict morning in downtown Detroit.
Happily last night in the wonderful El Club was much less traumatic although I briefly became that “figure in the mist” thanks to a broken smoke machine. Even so, a fine night . Onwards to Toronto today – Adelaide Hall!
* * * * *
Dear Lord. I am but a humble traveller. My needs are modest. Would you be kind enough to grant me a real plug for the bath ? I’m so tired of those mysterious metal levers between the taps or that thing that looks like an inverted Christmas Tree but just doesn’t fit in the space it’s made for…
And lo, a voice from everywhere and nowhere filled the room at the Motel 6 in Windsor, Ontario, declaring.. “Sure, buddy!
And World peace was declared…
October 8- Day 11
TORONTO TO MONTREAL
If I’m forced into making a list of my top 5 favourite cities, Toronto will certainly be there. It’s a multi- cultural wonderland. Wandering Downtown produces surprises at every turn. It’s friendly, vibrant and I could just go on about this place forever.
However, my first taste of Toronto haunted me in a negative way for quite a while. It was back in 1987 when I was a solo opening act for Skinny Puppy. I have to say that those 6 weeks or so are responsible for some of the greatest memories of my life. There were no borders between Puppy members, Puppy crew or your humble narrator. It was truly one huge family that stuck together through thick and thin. For me, being alone on stage with a microphone, a borrowed keyboard and a cassette machine, it was often terrifying and more than once I left the stage in tears. Bless those guys – they were ALWAYS there, ALWAYS lending me support.
The show in Toronto was the biggest of the tour. A huge venue, packed to the rafters and for a while there, it seemed like I was enjoying my best night of the whole tour. But then came the moment when a bunch of skinheads decided they’d had enough of me. Insults flew, objects flew…and I kind of lost the plot, first by shouting back, then by leaving the stage. Self- confidence hangs by the slenderest of threads even to this day, yet that night remains as one I wish I could live all over again just so I could deal with it differently.
Needless to say all the Puppies were right there for me again. I love those guys…
Last night it was a different story at Adelaide Hall in Toronto. A packed house that really raised our spirits. 7th show in as many days tonight in Montreal (L’Esco) then, A DAY OFF!!!!! The view is from outside the room this morning. Scarborough’s fair right now….
October 9- Day 12
AN AUTUMNAL DAY OFF IN MONTREAL
We feel a little blessed as the sun beams down at us on this lovely Canadian morning in Montreal.
The Dots have quite a history in this exquisite city. Back in 1989 we had an uproarious show at the famous Foufounes Electrique club, where we heard the cry of “Champignons” from an audience member for the first time.
We STILL hear it in places like Paris, Lyon – pretty much anywhere in the French speaking World, and I can’t help wondering if it’s just someone who just really gets around.
Then there was that alarming night, also at Foufounes when Phil cracked his head on the low entrance to the stage. It was like Dracula’s birthday treat..blood EVERYWHERE. We had to hold up the show until the stars had subsided and the ice packs and bandages had been applied. Accident and illness are too frequently part of the touring tapestry.
My worst experience was back in 1995 at the end of a European Tour, just a fortnight before we flew to America for a 35 date marathon. I’d been coughing for days but matters took on a seriously darker shade in the car park after a show in Ciney, Belgium. The malaise seemed to take over with a coughing fit that nearly caused me to faint.
Yet still we soldiered on to Amersfoort the next day although the rest of the band insisted that I saw a doctor. I protested as I was inadequately insured and desperately broke. Even so, it proved to be the wisest course of action. The good doctor diagnosed “pneumonia”, ordered me into bed, put me on the heaviest antibiotics, and recommended that I ceased smoking immediately.
I complied with the final instruction , but decided that I could just about manage to perform…..in a comfy chair, centre stage, for around 30 minutes. By necessity we cancelled the next show in Liege yet made it to Paris 24 hours later for the final date of the tour. The antibiotics were kicking in….thank you Sir Alex!
Twas a fine night in the tiny L’Esco venue last night. Packed and passionate and, inevitably, somebody shouted “Champignons!”
October 10- Day 13
MONTREAL TO BOSTON
Framingham, Massachusetts. It’s 6am. It’s dark and cold outside and our first day off is truly over. In reality the biggest part of it was spent in the van. That doesn’t necessarily add up to a bad day as Vermont in Autumn is breathtaking, but we could have all done without the horrendous traffic jam close to our destination. Even so, I can recall worse days off.
Going back 3 decades, a brief Italian break comes to mind.
We had played in Carpi. It was one of those shows where the P.A. seemed to be a slightly extended version of someone’s recently discarded home stereo. We were paid in sheathes of corn and when it came to that painful moment when we enquired about a hotel, someone pointed towards some hard cold benches. No bedding. No heating.
Some of the guys opted for the van. I went for the bench and shivered under my coat. I couldn’t be angry because the organisers were nice people. They had probably slept on benches too so I felt like showing a little solidarity.
Better still, we had two days off in Torino coming up. I fantasised about walking along boulevards, eating a real Italian pizza, glorious sunshine…. That fantasy died as we pulled the bags from the van on the first of those days. I’d left mine standing next to the comfy bench. The rest of the day was spent trying to organise a rendezvous with the folks back in Carpi so I could pick up my bag. We agreed upon the station.
Day 2 was spent on a train so slow, it managed to lose a whole hour en route to that little town. Worse, it looked as if I’d miss the train back. Dark visions of that bench once again poisoned my fragile eggshell mind. At Carpi , someone from the club was, happily, waiting for me with my bag…. but I needed to be fast. The train back to Torino was approaching the platform, also late. I winked at my guardian angel who clearly values synchronicity.
The picture below was my attempt to capture the colours as we sped through lovely Vermont. Tonight we play at Great Scott in Allston.
October 11- Day 14
BOSTON TO BROOKLYN
Boston is a city that looms large in Pink Dotted history. Go back to 1990 when we were denied U.S. work permits on the grounds of having “no artistic merit”, and you’ll note that it was the Boston Globe and WZBC Radio that championed our cause, leading to us passing quality control a year later.
Our eventual triumphant return to a Boston stage in 1991 saw hundreds turn up to see us, only for them to stroke their chins, and mumble “hmmm” as we flailed ourselves before them.
Then there was the Hallowe’en bash at a club owned by Aerosmith. Marilyn Manson was on the main stage while we packed the closet at the back. As we loaded in our equipment, some of those good souls in the line were muttering “Oh my God” – not for us, but for the guy searching for the end of the queue, who bore a striking resemblance to Marilyn.We took a peak at the main event and it was impressive – within a year Marilyn was a worldwide celebrity…
There have been glorious nights in Boston too.For example, a string of shows in The Middle East, including a fine evening together with the newly formed Dresden Dolls in 2003. Then there was the utterly astonishing Brainwaves Festival in 2006- easily the best event of it’s kind I ever had the honour to be part of.
Last night at Great Scott was a heartwarming affair. Many old friends in attendance, and the reception we received was wonderful. Tonight we play in Brooklyn at The Knitting Factory- one of our favourite venues!
October 12- Day 15
NEW YORK TO PHILADELPHIA
One hell of a show at Brooklyn’s Knitting Factory last night. I really love that venue and it was great to chalk up another memorable New York night on our wall.
The Pink Dots’ first ever US show was in New York back in 1989 and it was truly an event I’ll never forget. The Pyramid Club was the venue where we shared a stage with the excellent Cop Shoot Cop and a dressing room (no, dressing ‘space on some stairs’) with a pair of drag performers who were appearing next door.
It was one of those scenarios where the club’s welcoming committee greeted us with, “You’ll find the PA in that corner, be careful when you hook it up, here’s a dollar for a communal bagel, close the door when you leave”. It was initially daunting, but ultimately we had fun.
Those were the days when we actually had TIME to enjoy the Big Apple. One day after we had all walked the streets of the city, one of our number ( again, no names…) declared that he had found the bargain of the century in Canal Street.
A noble vendor had chosen him to be the winner of a brand new video camera, still in its box, for a mere 90 bucks. We gathered around him as he removed the shrink wrap and broke into that box to discover…..a house brick. Some people buy bridges, Pink Dots buy bricks…
Incidentally the attached photo was taken outside the venue..my kind of transportation.Tonight we play at the Boot & Saddle in Philadelphia…
October 13- Day 16
PHILADELPHIA TO BALTIMORE
Welcome to our temporary refuge for the night in New Jersey. As we drove towards it, gasps could be heard from our travelling troupe…it seemed like we were approaching a white palace.
If you are now thinking that we’ve found a suitcase full of cash on our travels, then do feel comforted by the fact that the mob aren’t chasing us. It was cheap to stay here…a one-off bargain from one of those online Hotel sites.
We’re astonished. Along the New Jersey Turnpike, the usual practice is to “follow the cockroach“ as the critter will be heading for a place that’s almost affordable.
The hotel for the night is rarely predictable. I do recall shows in Copenhagen where the band would be bedded in an establishment at a spot known locally as “Dead Man’s Corner”. It was misleading as the guy who violated our bus during our first stay there was very much alive. After that we drew straws as to who would sleep in the bus for the night.
Then there was the hostel in Stockholm…A dormitory where we arrived late for our 6 bunk beds in the corner. It was a floor packed with snoring strangers. Even so, one poor soul groaned “Be quiet!” as we tried to tiptoe through the room carrying amplifiers.
Ah, the Rock’n’roll lifestyle….
I thoroughly enjoyed the show in Philadelphia’s Boot & Saddle. A nice venue and, once again, a kind and supportive audience. Baltimore awaits us tonight….The Metro Gallery.
As a footnote, this post relates to the room I stayed in at the white palace.It later transpired that the roaches gathered for a party in one of the other rooms we booked. Cunning blighters……
October 14- Day Between 16 & 18
ALEXANDRIA, VIRGINIA TO CHAPEL HILL
OK, I concede that it’s lame to skip a number. I’m superstitious. I faithfully say “White Rabbits” three times at the start of every month. Alena does it too – just to humour me.
I hate passing someone on the stairs. I don’t open umbrellas in the house. Yes, it’s ridiculous — please don’t hold it against me.
Last night in Baltimore was quite stupendous. A very decent crowd for a Sunday in The Metro Gallery (what a fine venue!) and we were in good form. The show was strikingly different to the last one we played in that special city. That was (I think) in 1993 in a venue called “Steeltown”.
If my memory serves me well, it doubled as a bowling alley and we played in what was essentially the foyer. It would have been kind of ok if wasn’t for the fact that this large waiting room bordered a hall where a heavy metal band had the volume all the way up to 11.
We could hardly hear ourselves. When we tried to hook into a rhythm, the drummer next door would explode into action and we’d be inclined to follow him instead. The 40 sympathetic souls who gathered for us offered gentle encouragement but it was one of those shows we now file under “T” for “Train Wreck”. “Train Wrecks” are happily rare but there have been shows where, years on, I blush with embarrassment.
One classic example was in Nancy circa 1990. The heat was playing havoc with the sequencer on a keyboard. “Princess Coldheart “ was steadily SPEEDING UP as we played
it. There was nothing subtle about this. We gallantly attempted to keep pace with it, and I believe we just about succeeded. Of course, the audience thought it was just meant to be like that.
Then there was that show in Paris back in the 80’s where we shared the bill with our old friends, Minimal Compact. At the time the drums were played from a cassette machine perched on a stool in the centre of the stage. Graham, who was our second keyboardist back then, had an odd tendency to burst into interpretive dancing during “Neon Gladiators”. Fine, except that on this occasion, he wildly slammed himself against the button marked “Stop”. It was a little like pulling out a can from the bottom row of a neatly constructed pyramid in the supermarket. A Train Wreck. Thank you Graham.
Today is (gasp) our second day off, but we’ll spend it on the road. Tomorrow sees us play at The Local 506 in Chapel Hill. We pray that the trains run on time.
October 15-Day 18
CHAPEL HILL
Chapel Hill has to be one of the most charming destinations on the whole US Tour. Sadly attendances have been thin over the years (may it be different tonight at Local 506! ) but the reception is unfailingly warm and the small town is a delight, bristling with bookstores and record shops.
Even so, I can’t help but recall our most memorable show in North Carolina- the first visit to Tremont Music Hall in Charlotte. Tragically it’s gone now, but it was a space dripping with atmosphere with one of the kindest promoters (Penny) we have encountered on the road. Even so, that first show was bizarre.
It seemed like every witch, warlock, mystic, fakir, guru, and local cult member from the whole state was in attendance. It was hard to move for the moon rocks. They were channelling and chanting in every corner and we anticipated a truly special night.
Alas, we were disappointed. When we finally took to the stage the boys and girls in cloaks were so engaged in discussions about Aleister Crowley they failed to notice that the show had actually begun. They talked at an excruciating volume throughout the whole set and we eventually trooped off feeling utterly dejected.
It’s fair to say that I’m often quizzed about my beliefs when it comes to the occult. In fact I always purposefully avoid the books, the websites and the various societies as it’s a subject / search that is deeply personal.
We returned to the Tremont at least twice more after that famous show and the attendance was significantly smaller, but sweeter…..
The picture below depicts the welcoming committee at our hotel here in Chapel Hill. The little guy flew into my head, then decided that our window could be a perfect place to spend the night (OUTSIDE not inside….)
October 16- Day 19
CHAPEL HILL TO ATLANTA
I think the year was 2008. We stopped to fill the tank of our bus at a small gas station close to the border of North and South Carolina. The proprietor expressed his concern in a quiet but noticeably urgent fashion, “ You folks had best be careful down here…” We were officially in The South.
It’s as hostile as it is hospitable. I can’t forget being in a bar in Baton Rouge on the night when Barack Obama was elected.All of us were wildly excited as the results rolled in, feeling that the World just might change for the better. Then we noticed how some of our fellow diners were looking at us.
The South. Atlanta 2016. I’d just left the stage, hyped up by a decent show and the great reception that we’d enjoyed. Then a rather sour woman started tearing strips off me for that verse in “So Gallantly Screaming” (the extra 4th verse) that expressed my horror at trigger- happy police in poorer corners of The States. It seemed that her deepest wish was to be reborn as a wealthy landowner in South Africa, circa 1963.
I think I spluttered an inadequate,“But why are you here?”
I do not judge. The woman was in the wrong place, but I feel a little bit of me dies when I encounter this kind of thing.
I have to emphasise that such confrontations are rare. The Dots are blessed with an audience that crosses boundaries, dissolves prejudices and genuinely celebrates the glory of human diversity. But I know it’s a bubble. A love bubble. May it float and bloat and find a place to land on this sad planet which needs to heal so badly. Call me a hippie, but I’ll say it again, “Blessed be the deviant…”
Tonight’s show is at The Masquerade in Atlanta. As for the picture, I’m happy to report that some things aren’t too expensive on the road, but be advised to test them first.
October 17- Day 20
ATLANTA TO NEW ORLEANS
It’s a trek we made often, but the experience of August 1997, leaves an extraordinary imprint on my memory. After a show, the band’s practise was (still is!) to drive out of a city and find a quieter place to bed down for the night. In the 90s this could be an especially complicated procedure as we travelled in an enormous camper. Needless to say, parking was always an issue.
On the night of 30 August we headed all the way into Alabama as our battle bus was a slow beast and it’s a long road to the Gulf Coast.
The routine demanded that 2 of us always needed to stay in the vehicle overnight for security reasons, and I was one the unlucky ones on that occasion.
After a restless night, I was screaming for a shower and a coffee but couldn’t decide upon the right order, so I chose for the simplest option as there was a grocery store a few paces away. I didn’t pay much attention to the inevitable TV as I sipped on this horrendously sweet pink flavoured brew that I favoured at that time – until I noticed that everyone else in the store appeared to be transfixed upon the screen.
There it was….an underpass in Paris. A car crash. The news was just emerging that Lady Diana hadn’t survived.
I never have been and never will be a fan of the British Royal Family but I absorbed this news with a feeling of unendurable sorrow. I’d found all the incessant headlines about her in the dreadful U.K. press tedious beyond belief, but shortly before the tour I had caught some footage of the Princess in Africa, walking through a goddamn MINEFIELD in an effort to focus the World’s attention on a tragedy that never made it to the front pages.
It was a show of rare courage and compassion that had always been lacking from the others in those high towers and it warmed my heart.
And then, without warning, she was gone.
As we travelled we tried to find out more from the primitive radio we relied upon but it was impossible to get past the Sunday preachers and the static. Ultimately it was in the Howling Wolf in New Orleans where the tragic story was laid out before us on Maybe 50 tv screens hanging from the ceiling.
The attachment relates to the song that needed to be written about that strange journey.
On a brighter note, a big THANK YOU to the wonderful audience and good people of The Masquerade in Atlanta last night. A memorable evening for sure. Tonight’s show in New Orleans is at The Santos Bar.
October 18- Day 21
NEW ORLEANS TO HOUSTON
We’re looking forward to an uproarious Friday night at Warehouse Live in Houston. The State of Texas has always been kind to the Pink Dots and early indications suggest a promising long weekend as we methodically complete a triangle of cities, driving up to Dallas on Saturday then down again to Austin a day later.
Even so, it’s with the merest hint of alarm that we see ‘rain’ indicated in the weather forecast. In the U.K. we talk about the weather to avoid difficult subjects. In the U.S., the weather can be just about THE most difficult subject to focus upon.
Houston is a city that has seen quite a bit of that extreme weather. I do recall a show where we approached the city with clouds darkening dramatically above us. Then, as we were literally parking the bus, the heavens opened.
Imagine an enormous tap turned up to 11. Imagine being trapped in a corner as the bath overflows and you are powerless to stop that all consuming torrent. We sat in our bus for around 20 minutes as the water rose up around us.The door of the club was a few short paces away but we just couldn’t get there. Conversation in the bus moved to stories about helicopters, hurricanes, tsunamis…
Even so, the rain eventually eased a little, and we were able to trudge through the flood, holding our equipment high in order to protect it. Again, the show would go on.
Few people showed up that night although around 150 had bought tickets in advance. Sometimes I lament the fact that I never learned to swim.
The attached picture depicts the street view from the balcony at Santos Bar in New Orleans. Such a strange, intense atmosphere to this city and I swear the room levitated during a particularly wild rendition of “Hellsville”.
October 19- Day 22
HOUSTON TO DALLAS
Just a few hours North on the I 45 today for our second Texas show.
In fact we’ve been to Dallas many times by now, invariably playing a show in the Deep Ellum district which transforms itself from a sleepy corner in the daytime to a wild Party Zone when night falls.
Still, I’ll recall one of our early visits in this post.
By now we’re used to people showing up before we do. It can be great, exchanging words with fellow travellers as we wait to load in, without the pressure of trying to be there for everyone after a show.
However, on one early trip to Dallas, I had a nerve wracking encounter with someone who kept on insisting that “he had the secret key to The Tower.”
“Fine” I initially replied, but it didn’t end there. As the afternoon progressed, he kept appearing – always barking the same message while delivering a sinister wink.
I suppose such encounters go with the territory considering the music we make, but I ended up being confined to the dressing room, a little nervous to face the public that night. Strangely I met this person once more on the next tour and the contact was completely normal.
It’s at times like these when the heavy load of responsibility concerning any message I may be conveying becomes painfully apparent. Go back to the 80s. We had a show in Kiel and whenever I tried to say something to the audience, a guy would scream at me relentlessly. Ultimately I had to (gently) ask him what the problem was.
He screamed back “You’re so NEGATIVE….”
I replied , “But isn’t that what you are being right now?” He ran at top speed through the audience and out of the club.
‘Tis a fine line we tread. Sometimes the irony of a line in a song is missed. Sometimes the humour doesn’t quite get through. Sometimes a line I consider to be obvious is received as ambiguity. Nevertheless,to sweeten the message would amount to killing the taste. I cannot do that.
A curious show in Houston last night. We were in the smaller room while a heavy metal mini-festival was going on in the big room on the other side of the wall. We actually had some curious first timers who chose the wrong room and thought the metal band was the Dots. To quote a line from a famous ‘rockumentary’….”We hope you like our new direction….”
The image attached is from a T-shirt I spotted, on sale in a gas station .No comment necessary.
October 20 Day 23
DALLAS TO AUSTIN
Austin is my favourite city in Texas, and it’s pretty high up in the rankings in the whole continent for me. It seems like music seeps out of the cracks in the sidewalk. Great record stores are everywhere and the streets are deliriously packed when night falls and takes the mercury with it.
We had some great shows there but I must say one of the most memorable ones was in 2016 at Elysium. It was particularly tough for me. My long suffering back had decided to floor me with a spasm and I couldn’t leave the comfy armchair in the backstage area before the show.
Fellow members plied me with pain killer after pain killer, but whenever I tried to stand up, I just collapsed backwards once more. I have no idea what happened as the show itself approached, but as the adrenaline kicked in, the pain retreated and amazingly I declared myself fit to perform.
In 2016 we concluded the set with “So Gallantly Screaming Anno 30” which is all about America and is, in reality, extremely confrontational. There was a little section close to the end where Phil would slam in with improvised sound effects, and on this particular night, that’s when the fun began. Instead of the howls, slams and creaks, emerged what sounded like a Chinese pop song.
I thought it was great, but it…umm…just kept going. I was primed to begin the last verse but on and on it went with Phil wearing an expression bordering on panic. I cannot remember who solved the issue but, in that typically irritating way, it seems that Apple’s ‘iTunes’ had burst into action on Phil’s laptop without being summoned. I felt his pain as it has happened to me (and probably millions of others) on countless occasions too. We all learned from that incident that if a laptop is used on stage, it’s wise to kill the WiFi.
After the show I spoke with a few witnesses to the bizarre incident. Maybe they were just being nice, but it seems that nobody noticed anything was wrong. As for my back pain? It duly returned in time for Houston the next night.
Last night’s show at Three Links in Dallas was thoroughly enjoyable despite the tiredness we all now feel after a string of long drives and short sleeps. As is the tradition, I heard the cry of “Yee haw” at appropriate moments and I left the stage of this great little club feeling elated. Tonight’s appointment in Austin is at The Barracuda.
As for the attached photo, taken at a gas station yesterday, no caption is required.
October 21
A small inbetweener before the latest chapter of the Tour Diary. We are trying to find Scandinavian shows for next February. Gothenburg/ Copenhagen look assured but we do want to play Stockholm and Oslo…If anyone can help with contacts it would be really appreciated…
October 21-Day 24
AUSTIN TO PHOENIX (FIRST PART)
The squeamish should look away now. The creature in the picture below is a fire ant.
I confess I’d never heard of the species until a posse of them decided to have a party on my foot after a desert stop a few tours ago. “Excruciating” does not begin to describe the suffering they metered out. I could hardly walk, I sat with my foot lodged in a bucket of cold water before I could contemplate the soundcheck.
We’re in West Texas right now, and there’s nothing out there except, maybe, a whole lot of fire ants. And scorpions.
It was in West Texas many tours ago when Ryan discovered a small scorpion in the shower at the small motel in which we stayed. Bless him, he coaxed the small guy into a cup and returned him to the desert.
I remember that, in order to simply enter that establishment, we needed to tiptoe carefully through entire colonies of bugs. No complaints. It’s West Texas…it’s their patch.
It was a fine show in Austin last night, and we have to say “Thank you” to those hardy friends who followed us throughout the Texas adventure.
October 22- Day 25
LAS CRUCES TO PHOENIX
The Pink Dots have a complicated relationship with the city of Phoenix. I must say I always enjoy that descent into the huge metropolis where the cacti seem to spring to attention on both sides of the highway. Sometimes we stop, just for that “Kodak moment”, and so far I’ve managed to quell the near irresistible urge to hug one of spiky green giants.
Having said that, the final destination can often be challenging. Possibly the most memorable show I can recall was at the Mason Jar club at the end of the 90s.
It had to be one of the most uninviting venues we’ve ever played in. A cubic sore on a parched landscape, invariably locked down even when we arrived on time. Air conditioning had me digging for a coat; hospitality was a bag of Doritos missed by the cleaner from the night before.
As we prepared for the soundcheck the club’s owner (Frankie) poked his head around the door, loudly made it clear that he’d never heard of us to one of the staff, and duly left the building again. Even so, when he returned, his interest in The Pink Dots suddenly surged. His tiny venue was PACKED.
After we’d received the fee (invariably a cruel ‘door deal’ and maybe a dead scorpion thrown in for good measure), Frankie decided he wanted us to be part of his ‘Wall of Fame”. There it was, a gallery strewn across the stained concrete interior. Grimacing stars and Frankie, smiling broadly, shaking hands.
We did the polite thing. We said “Cheese” with Frankie in the middle and after a few minutes a photograph was produced from the club’s office.
Then came the signing ritual. One by one we scrawled our names but our guitarist at the time, Edwin, added a small exotic extra message in his native Dutch. “Je bent echt een klootzak, Frankie”
I will not translate it here. Look it up, memorise, and use only when absolutely necessary.
I’m sure tonight’s show at Rebel Lounge in Phoenix will be different. Do spread the word that we are coming as this one seems to be a little under the radar. The photo attached was taken on our 16 hour drive from Austin to Phoenix (I‘m typing this missive in Las Cruces, New Mexico).
October 23- Day 26
PHOENIX TO LOS ANGELES
I should begin this post with an embarrassing confession. Following yesterday’s rant about the old Mason Jar club in Phoenix, it turned out that last night’s venue (The Rebel Lounge) Was the SAME VENUE, cleaned up, refurbished and much friendlier. May the floor open up and swallow me!
Today we head for Los Angeles for what could be a sold out show at The Echo. This scenario forms a stark contrast to our first LA manifestation back in 1989 at “Club With No Name”. Across the street from the venue was the famous MacArthur Park, a tiny patch of green surrounded by concrete giants, just about big enough to hold a cake.
It was a sunny day and Downtown LA was sleepy and dusty on that Saturday. Consequently it felt like a good idea for myself and Elke, to lie down in the Park and simply enjoy the weather. Within a few minutes a tall, slightly imposing, figure appeared and asked us what we were doing there.
The figure was ‘John’ – a man who knew everything about that little park and sincerely warned us to go back inside as soon as the sun began to melt into the city. It seemed that the whole area transformed as the shadows crept in. John told us about murders and muggings and mayhem in that sweet green patch, yet his presence made us feel safe.
John was an articulate and deeply intelligent man who had once been connected with the Black Panthers. Sadly, life had dealt him a rough hand and his home at that time was a fire escape in a skyscraper. We invited him to our show as a guest and he just grinned and said “They ain’t gonna let me in…”
I insisted that as the band’s guest, they HAD to let him in. When the doors finally opened at around midnight I went out into foyer to make sure he could enter. Security guards would have none of it as, at first, I remonstrated and then pleaded with them. John shrugged his shoulders and we were forced into making a premature farewell. He showed no resentment as he offered a gentle, “ I told you so….”
My life felt richer for that all too brief encounter. As we loaded in our equipment after the show, it was If every alleyway bore menace. It was exactly the place that John had described a few hours earlier.
I believe some tickets are available at the door for the show at The Echo tonight. The attached picture was taken on yesterday’s drive through the wilds of New Mexico and Arizona.
October 24- Day 27
LOS ANGELES TO SAN FRANCISCO
I’ve lost count of how many times we have made this journey up Interstate 5. With every American Tour, we lament the fact that we never have the time to enjoy the coast highway but, truth is, San Francisco is too important to risk arriving late.
Still, if we had to choose our most memorable show in SF, then it has to be the one at The Fillmore in 1998. In fact we earned our spurs with a sellout show at The Trocadero a year earlier. Inexplicably 1200 people showed up for that one, making it a record attendance for The Pink Dots in the US. This small landmark led to the offer no band could ever refuse – headlining The Fillmore.
Of course the classy venue had changed since the days of Bill Graham, but the awareness that, just for a night, we joined the ranks of Pink Floyd, Jimi Hendrix, Miles Davis, The Doors was unforgettable. It was also very intimidating as we certainly played much better at other venues during that tour.
As for the treatment we received, I’m delighted to say that The Fillmore lived up to its reputation. No chips and salsa at this establishment…it was more like the Feeding of the 5,000. Real knives and forks. A banquet waiting on arrival.
All in all, a night to treasure and, until very recently, I was convinced that we had neglected to record the show. Then, out of the blue, Edwin sent me the personal copy he had made on his minidisc recorder ( remember them?).
Here is a link for the curious…
Tonight’s venue in San Francisco is “The Bottom Of The Hill”.
A big thank you to all who made last night’s show at The Echo in Los Angeles an occasion to cherish. The first sold out show of the tour, recalling many glorious nights at The Roxy at couple of decades ago.
October 25 Day 28
SAN FRANCISCO TO PORTLAND
You read the header correctly. San Francisco to Portland …in one day. I guess it’s the one drive we’ve been dreading. It’s not that we haven’t made this enormous trek before, but normally we never had shows in SF and Portland back to back. We’ll just be as disciplined as we can be about it, but I fear this adventure may take its toll on our fragile resources of energy.
Long drives are never easy but there have been worse ones in our history. An example that comes to mind is from Morlaix in North West France to Zagreb in what was Yugoslavia (now Croatia) at the start of the 90s.
In fact we had the luxury of two whole driving days before a show on the third, and things went swimmingly all the way to the border that separated Italy and Yugoslavia in Trieste. We reached that forgotten suburb of Hell at around 10 pm, only to find that the Customs Office was closed.
In those primitive days we were obliged to carry this foul document of vomit inducing bureaucracy called an ATA carnet. There were yellow pages, white pages, and green pages – each carrying a list of what we had in our bus. The monstrosity cost us a fortune, but it needed stamps from customs officials both in and out of EVERY country we drove in. Should there be a mistake by one of those often sadistic men in uniform, or should we (God forbid) miss a stamp, then we’d be fined …heavily.
We spent the night in Trieste waiting for the Italian office to open at 6am which is when we claimed our place in a queue of sad, defeated truck drivers. They felt our pain as we counted the hours slowly peeling away.
As we gradually wilted from sheer frustration, one kindly truck driver offered us this warning ,“ If you think this is bad, wait until you get to the other side..”
The clock struck 12, we finally looked into the empty eyes of the bureaucrat behind the glass panel – only for him to slam down a shutter. Time for lunch. Cue blood curdling screams from our quarter. Cue a deathly silence falling on the place. Heads turned. Nerves jangled…and, would you believe it, Mr. Customs gingerly slid the barrier up …and (gasp) stamped our form.
So what awaited us on the terrifying “other side”? In fact we encountered a jolly man in uniform who made little pirouettes as he inspected our bus.
The inevitable question was posed, “Do you have any merchandise?” We instinctively sang “Yes” in almost perfect harmony and offered him a sample of our wares. The bloody form was stamped within the space of five short minutes. I really hope he enjoyed the album.
A hot and steamy night in San Francisco, but this missive is being typed at a Motel 6 in Vacaville in an effort to ease the pain of today’s massive haul. A big thank you goes to Anthony who served us the delicious vegan food last night, courtesy of The Millennium Restaurant.
The attached image hails from last night’s venue, Bottom Of The Hill. Tonight we play at Polaris Hall in Portland. We believe a handful of tickets are still available.
October 26- Day 29
PORTLAND TO VANCOUVER B.C.
My first taste of North America was the beautiful city of Vancouver, British Columbia way back in 1986. I confess that the prospect of crossing the pond alone to play 3 solo shows at The Channel One club made me incredibly nervous. I’d seen too many TV documentaries about gangs and guns. I’d heard too many stories about how nobody in America walked the streets because it was too dangerous … It sounds ridiculous now, especially as I lived in Central Amsterdam at the time.
I owed the adventure to a marvellous agent in the city named Laurie Mercer, yet everything nearly ended at passport control in the airport. Laurie had sent me what I thought was a visa. In fact, it was an application for a work permit which I needed to have processed at the Canadian Consulate in Europe, in order to be granted that elusive visa. On this occasion the border was thankfully mellow. After a consultation with Laurie, the good men in uniform let me in. The whole stay in that city feels like a wonderful dream now. I miss Debbie who gave me shelter for nearly 3 weeks – she was tragically taken from us far too early.
I remember having so much fun with cEvin who took on the role of sound engineer for the shows ( a 4th show was added because the initial trio sold out). I remember writing “Ophelia” together with cEvin in Mushroom Studio. The whole song took a day and we agreed that we should maybe keep this project going! Tear Garden turned 34 this year…
I remember the sunshine. I Remember the mountains. I remember the cars that stopped for me when I needed to cross the street. I remember the ride to Seattle for a surprise show at The Fabulous Rainbow.
When I returned to Europe it felt like a little like dropping from the loneliest, loveliest cloud in a deep blue sky. Vancouver B.C. is special for me. I hope to see some of you tonight at The Biltmore. The link is for “Ophelia “ by The Tear Garden:
A big thank you to all at Polaris Hall, Portland, last night. Another sold out show, and the reception we enjoyed was just what we needed after that insanely long drive from San Francisco.
October 27- Day 30
BELLINGHAM, WA
I suppose you are wondering why this missive is being written in the small town of Bellingham when we actually played in Vancouver last night and will drive to Seattle in a few hours.
The reason for this small pause in the tour is what we refer to in the bus as “The Merc drop”. It’s a tiresome but necessary operation when we play a single show requiring the crossing of a border in both directions within the space of 24 hours.
The procedure is to book a hotel just before crossing the border and to leave almost all the CDs, vinyl and shirts in one of our rooms. The alternative is either an unconvincing lie or a stuttered confession to one of the men in uniform, potentially leading to disaster.
At the very border a few miles from here, we once were forced into counting all our precious goods and leaving them in a warehouse for the night. It took hours, but the good Customs officers had informed us that they would search our vehicle AFTER the count, and even a single cd missed by us would lead to the confiscation of everything. Of course it was an empty threat and I’m sure they had a lot of fun in the canteen discussing our terror, but that was the day when we decided against any more risks.
Even tonight, as we travelled back into the USA with a single unsold shirt plus a few American made CDs, we just HAD to encounter the the token caveman at the border. He just needed to make a point of forcing us to pay tax on those CDs ….a princely 13 USD.
In Europe, it’s Switzerland that causes us the biggest headache. Everything around it is part of the European Union, but we’ve been known to fill all the left luggage lockers in Offenbach station in order to play a single show in Basel.
On one occasion we returned to Germany to find police surrounding those lockers as they (obscurely) seemed to believe that we were part of some elaborate drug smuggling ring. Needless to say, we ruined their potential moment of glory.
Still, the show at The Biltmore was decent and we’re looking forward to our appointment at The Sunset Tavern in Seattle tonight. Just 3 shows to go…it’s hard to come to terms with that fact!
The attached photo was snapped during our 1000 mile drive over the last 2 days. Sadly the weather did not follow us…
October 28- Day 31
SEATTLE TO SOMEWHERE (Probably Boise,Idaho)
While I confess that I’m a man of precious few words when I’m on the stage, I do cherish going walkabout after the show and meeting the good souls who decided to spend an evening with us. It’s a tradition that stretches back decades, and the whole event just wouldn’t feel complete without this simple ritual. Even so, sometimes it just isn’t possible.
The show in Vancouver on Saturday had an unsatisfactory aftermath. A DJ set the room throbbing and squeaking within a few minutes of our departure from the stage, and it was clear that the audience and band were expected to get out fast as a new event was about to begin. It always feels brutally rude, and by no means was The Biltmore venue the guiltiest offender in this respect, but it’s a problem we encountered more in that city over the years.
Yet…… sometimes we do have the last word.
It’s with fond remembrance that I recall a show in Vancouver early in the 90s which also took place in a large discotheque. The audience didn’t even have the chance to applaud the last song before the pneumatic, brain crushing thud pushed them towards the exit and the bright young things in their Saturday best rolled in to transform the atmosphere.
It was particularly bad on that occasion as friends had travelled from Seattle to see us and even in the dressing room we had to shout to communicate with them.
However, one of those friends was Dale – a remarkable man, a remarkable artist and an electronic genius. Dale had actually built a Tesla Coil which he demonstrated with a seismic rumble and a flash of lightning right before our eyes. Then there was that device that mutated one cent coins into small bronze pellets. Still, the task facing him in the disco was slightly simpler.
Very quietly he mumbled into my ear, “I think I need to do something about the noise” and he left the room. Seconds later the pounding stopped, the strobes retreated and terrified technicians were running down the corridors in a “What the Hell just happened…”kind of way. Then Dale reappeared with a devilish grin and a torch.
As we loaded our equipment into the bus in an eerie silence I had to ask Dale the One Thousand dollar question, “Ummm, was that you.?”
He shrugged his shoulders and mumbled, “They need to do something about those circuit breakers…”
A big thank you to the warm, responsive crowd at The Sunset Tavern in Seattle last night. Many old friends in attendance and the whole event felt like a celebration! Now we head for the mountains!
The attached photo was taken inside The Canadian Customs Office .
I will never again complain about paying Import Tax after witnessing the sacrifice a bear has to make when crossing the border.
October 29- Day 32
BOISE TO SALT LAKE CITY
A cold day in Boise, Idaho and there ain’t much out there except a bunch of potatoes. It’s not meant to be an insult. Idaho is proud of its potatoes and we’ve been reminded of this fact on the many occasions when we opted to stay in the State capital.
It’s the only realistic target to aim for when driving East from Seattle or Portland, but it’s so far from either of those cities that normally everything is closed when we pull up at The Econolodge or Super 8.
It invariably means a scramble for food…any kind of food. Maybe potatoes even. Idaho is, after all, the Potato State. A pity we’re always just too late to actually taste them.
Happily our dash for sustenance last night took us to a Thai restaurant and the veggie noodle dish I had was quite decent. However when the clock reached 8.30, a visible panic seemed to overtake the waitresses. As the only ones left in the establishment, we were allowed to feel in no uncertain terms that it was time to leave.
What is this monster that walks the streets of Boise by night, devouring all in it’s path? Oh God, I just realised.It’s……. it’s ………(gasp) THE POTATO BLOB….
On we go.The Temple awaits us. It’s snowing down there
October 30- Day 33
SALT LAKE CITY
The finishing line looms ahead right now. Tonight we’re at the Urban Lounge in Salt Lake and the final show awaits us at Ophelia’s in Denver tomorrow night.
How fitting to finish this wild and wonderful tour on Hallowe’en night in one of our favourite cities. As per tradition, here is a little something to get you in the mood.
October 31- Day 34
EVANSTON WY TO DENVER
It’s still dark out there as we prepare to leave the charming Prairie Inn in Evanston,Wyoming.
When we showed up last night at 1 am, the temperature was -18C and it felt as if only the brave and the foolish were daring to venture East.
Typically, I’ve been studying road conditions since the clock shouted 6 being the obsessive that I am. It’s almost as if I need something to worry about. Even so, if all goes well, we’ll reach Denver at a civilised hour for the last show of the tour.
It’s Hallowe’en. It looks like a big crowd will be there and I hope to recognise a few old friends underneath the make up and the masks. Will I dress for the occasion? Hell no, as someone once so kindly remarked, it’s Hallowe’en every day in Ka-Spel World.
Thanks to all who made it such a fine evening in Salt Lake City. A great turnout on such a cold night and we loved every moment of it. The attached photo is of The Prairie Inn. It’s always the case that the hotels we enjoy the most are the ones we have to leave the earliest.
November 1- Day 35
HIGH ABOVE DENVER
And then it was all over…..
I’m feeling a little confused. Nowhere to go to. No swift scramble to the breakfast room, the bathroom, the bus…
I’m high above Denver this morning and our Hallowe’en finale at Ophelia’s is done and dusted. It was just last night, but it could have been a week ago or a month ago.
Touring messes with the perception of time. Just yesterday as I ploughed through the snow for a coffee in a remote spot in Wyoming, it seemed inconceivable that less than a week before I made a similar pilgrimage in the punishing hot sun of Southern California. The States of America roll away like the chapters of a book and although we adhere to a disciplined daily ritual, it feels like we’ve been on the road for months.
Denver is a great place to call time on this adventure. We have so many friends here and last night was a masked celebration of all we achieved in this long month away.
Now it’s time to be organised. There is packing to do, a bus to return…
Randall and Elisa are already on the road to Portland to return our vehicle and as soon as I’ve finished typing this post, I’ll see what I can squeeze into my tired bag to take with me tomorrow. I’m excited to go home again and be with my lovely family…it feels like I’ve been away so so long…
Even so, I’ll miss my family on the road. Six people in a van, all looking after each other, laughing together, sighing together, delivering night after night. Maybe the whole World should go on tour for a month…it may just land in a far better place.
November 2- Day 36
AND NOW FOR THE AIRPORT
Most of today will be spent at Denver International Airport, which I understand is a hot topic for conspiracy theorists. It’s huge, ultra modern, spacious and is rife with stories of underground bunkers, cryptic murals, and Masonic symbols. A fascinating tale and worth checking out through Google.
I’ll certainly have plenty of time to explore this mysterious place .12 hours before I’m due to depart, a 40 minute delay has already been announced for my flight to London. Even so, apart from the diabolical effect on my metabolism, I tend not to worry so much about flying.
Nevertheless, there was one Transatlantic flight I’ll never forget.
It was back in the year 2000 from New York to Amsterdam after a long Pink Dots tour around the US which stretched to nearly 40 shows.
We’d been in the air for around 2 hours when the “Fasten seatbelts” message flashed and the plane literally plunged downwards.
The sound of a plane’s engine under extreme stress is frightening.When accompanied by the cacophony of smashing plates and glasses, it becomes terrifying. The pilot happily managed to steady the plane, but the atmosphere in Economy Class was funereal. No hostess appeared to calm anyone’s nerves for two hours and the video streaming ceased. The only “comfort” to be had was from the pilot who insisted that everyone HAD to keep their seatbelts on as similar turbulence could occur further down the flight path.
It had to be the tensest five hours I have ever endured and, when we finally landed, stretchers and ambulances were waiting for the less fortunate .
I vowed never to fly again after that experience and managed to keep my word for a whole three months. I will stop here as it’s not the best subject to dwell upon when there’s a plane to catch….
The attached photo is well overdue. These are the participants of the adventure which reached its conclusion yesterday. What a ride! A big thank you to Terry who took the picture!
November 3- Day 37
HOME!!!
