European Tour Diary 2018: Day 7 Steinhagen

We do the ultimate quick trip to see the massive cathedral in Cologne in the city center.  Christoph is completely inflexible about trying to park the giant van anywhere near the location.  As is the case for most of Europe, there is no place to park.  We bargain for him to circle the area while we hop out and take a look.  “15 minutes and that’s it!”    Sugar says “Hurry up!  The Funstapo is coming!” as we hustle over.  It is the quickest cathedral tour of all time.  We get extracted with the van acting like a Vietnam era chopper.

Just outside of Bielefeld we stop at a large rock formation that has a pagan ritual appeal as well as a 12^th Century relief carved into it.  A dangerous staircase has been cut into it that would be immediately shut down in the United States by rightfully concerned safety experts and insurance companies.  Mr. Roth and I ascend to the top where a guy is taking pictures of his girlfriend in modeling poses as she is perched at the very edge of a ledge.  It feels like he was just about to suggest she take her top off when we arrive as he is sending us a vibe that we have ruined his little party.  Leo leads an impromptu yoga session as Christoph and I look down from the perch.  It’s good to be out of the van.

The venue is Kiefernklaus Steinhagen and is in the middle of nowhere.  It’s a German version of a roadhouse and is owned by Mike, a long time friend of the band.  It’s a large complex of rooms and tiny maze hallways.  It is hard to figure out who and how many people live here as different people emerge from upstairs to wander through the various common areas.  Even more confusing is the band sleeping accommodations are intertwined with the daily living areas.  Sugar takes a nook near a child’s desk.  Leo takes a couch in an office.  Hector, Chanda and I take a little shed in the back we call “the gnome chalet” thanks to it’s proximity to a homemade koi pond and weathered ceramic garden gnome.  Access to the Gnome Chalet can only be made by walking out of the main building, through the garage, past the toilet with the unicorn on it, and down the stairs towards the pond.  It is exactly the kind of off kilter scene I like.

There is a support band tonight, Cut from Bologna Italy.  They are nice guys that have been doing it a long time.  You can tell they have the confidence of a seasoned road band.  We find all kinds of common ground at the excellent band meal, a creamy beef and leek stew served with bread.  We talk about old SST bands, which when they start playing the influence of the Minutemen and fIREHOSE becomes evident.

Our friends Mirjana and Tobi arrive, albeit separately.  Mirjana looks striking as always and as usual seems taller than I remember.  I ask her about how she and Tobi are getting along with raising their son Milo, a young boy that social media informs me reliably injures himself doing stunts every three weeks or so.  She shakes her head and looks at the ground and says “Well…”.  Uh-oh.  That is a shame as I love those guys.  I hope they can cobble together a workable situation and can be good to each other.

Tobi looks exactly the same as well.  Why do these people look the same to me and I am beginning to look like Fredo from The Godfather?  It must be all the walking they do.  It can’t be the diet as all these people do is drink beer, eat bread/sausage.  Tobi has the sly smile and infectious laugh that is his trademark.  He is fun to hang around with and I wish I saw him more often.  He is still working with troubled kids and the influx of refugees has had an impact.  There is great conflict in the country about how to assimilate all these people into the country.  The German culture is distinct and the immigrants are hesitant to fully embrace it due to some fundamental differences.  There is a stricter sense of pride in what is German, a more defined idea of what it means to be from the nation than we have in the United States.  Like most Western European countries, people here worry about losing their distinct culture to newcomers.  Making matters worse is the subject is so sensitive with possible racism language triggers, it is difficult to even talk about in mixed company.  It is a real test for the nation.

Cut start their set and they are really loud.  They are also really good.  I wish I could have a clearer mix to understand the vocals.  They have a post punk approach that reminds me of Fugazi.  They work really hard and win the crowd over.  They finish with about ten people from the crowd on stage playing instruments.  I hope we see those guys again. 

This show has a real “friends and family” feel to it.  We know a lot of people here.  Mr. Buda-Pest, a man that gave Leo a tattoo years ago is here but looks totally different with a beard and new fashion look.  I remember when we played that show and during load out Leo urgently approached me about making a series of drawings that I do on set lists about his history of facial hair.  It was approaching 1am.  Mr. Buda-Pest, so nicknamed as that is what he had tattooed on his knuckles, was a tattoo artist that lived nearby.  The plan was they would go out from here and “make party” at some other nightclubs.  Then after getting even more fucked up, he would give Leo the tattoo at daybreak.  A seemingly terrible idea.  That’s what happened too.  Look at his wrist sometime.

People are very friendly and buy us shots.  Then we get on stage and get a tray of Jager delivered.  Then we get a tray of peppermint shots.  Then a tray of unnaturally blue shots arrives.  Now some more clear ones.  They are trying to kill us, and frankly they are succeeding.  All things considered, we play pretty well.  Even the guys in Cut seem to dig it after an initial “What the fuck is this and why did we have to open?” phase. 

After the show we get hit with more shots.  Holy Christ.  I seek refuge outside where a pretty blonde and her boyfriend, a dead ringer for Kyle McLaughlin, are standing in the courtyard by the beer garden.  The blonde looks like central casting for “German SS officer’s pretty and cold emotionless wife in her early 40s”.  I have a conversation with her in which she dismisses almost everything I like with swift pronouncements.  It’s great.  Wine appreciation:  “A waste of time.  You drink it.  You get drunk.  That is it.”.  Good restaurants:  “It is something for old people to feel important. You get it.  You eat it.”  Americans:  “Why does every American say “awesome”?  Everything is not always awesome.  It makes you sound stupid.”  The British:  “They are the most stuck up assholes on the planet.  Fuck them.”  She then criticizes the graphics decisions of the sign of the bar.  She is the best.  Pure direct German bluntness behind icy blue eyes.  

I wander back inside to get out of the cold that has settled in outside.  Mike the owner sees me.  “Now you must let me give you some bourbon”.  It is literally the last thing in the world that I need.  He takes me to the bar and pours me a tumbler of Jack Daniels while he, Mirjana, and a guy I just met named Andrew do Russian vodka shots.  Andrew pulls me aside to show me a photo on his phone.  He is really drunk.  “This is my girlfriend in America.  She is going to school there.  She come back next month.  But she does not know, she is no longer my girlfriend.  I find another one.”  He smiles a boozy smile.  “That is the thing my friend.  There are so many girls.  When you have one, you can just go get another.”  He laughs at his joke.  Mike pours me another Jack Daniels.  Oh God.