Nurse the Hate: The Swiss Load Out

 

I am all in on the Euro 2021 soccer tournament.  This is not a soccer post, so stay with me here.  I know you probably don’t give a shit about Euro soccer, but I need a moment to give you some context on how my mind drifted back to a memory.  I became mildly interested in futbol when touring over in Europe.  The people there are all-in on their national teams, unified with passion like when an American city’s team goes to the Super Bowl.  That Euro soccer tournament is even better because it is the entire nation excited, not just one city.  There is nothing like the knockout round where an entire nation’s dreams are scuttled in front of an international TV audience.  Being a vindictive surly man, I enjoy seeing the dreams of others crushed, especially on a national level.  If you think seeing a guy at an NFL football game in a rubber dog mask is looking sad to see his team lose, just wait until you see someone that has traveled across Europe to see his nation’s team get blown out by the Swiss.  Take that you fucking Frenchie!  What could be better than to see someone with a French flag painted on his face, wrapped in a cape, crying openly when his team was stunned by Switzerland on penalty kicks?  “Je ne peux pas croire que nous ayons perdu. Il n'y a plus de raison de continuer. Mon coeur est brisé.”

The Swiss advance on what is possibly their greatest national victory.  Still, I’m not feeling great about the Swiss soccer team.  I am betting against them today versus Spain with a surprising amount of enthusiasm.  It’s not like I care about Spain winning.  Sure, I like Spain in general, but I’m not emotionally invested in their success.  I just want to see Switzerland lose.  I had to take a moment of reflection.  It was really fucking New Age as I sat looking off in the distance as I searched my inner feelings.  Why do I want the Swiss to lose so badly? 

I have a long and complicated history with the Swiss.  I have had some great times in Switzerland, met some very nice people, and enjoyed fabulous hospitality.  The entire nation looks like it was built by the Disney Corporation, a giant soundstage that is so picturesque that it makes wherever you live look like a run down Detroit laundromat.  The people are attractive, fit, and the economy is always humming.  We played a show one time where after load in I asked the promoter where we should eat.  He immediately started counting out Francs to hand me so we could have a high end meal.  I didn’t want this coming out of our guarantee, so I tried to stop him.  “Here!  Take this!  Don’t worry about it.  There is always more money.  We are Swiss!”.  It was greatly appreciated, but at the same time it was like he was rubbing our noses in it.  “Ah ha!  We have it so good, this doesn’t matter!”  Was this a moment of pure generosity that I somehow skewed in my cynical brain into a diabolical power play?  Probably. 

It likely did not help that I had spent about ten days in the van at this point with Christoph, our German driver/de facto tour manager that is the very definition of “schadenfreude”, meaning “takes pleasure in the misfortune of others”.   Example:  We are playing a gig that is going unbelievably well.  The band is killing it.  The crowd is excited.  The full room has a crackling energy.  I see Christoph over by the side of the stage smiling.  Hector takes a solo and I drift over to have a quick exchange with Christoph.  He leans in towards me so only I can hear above the din.  “Enjoy this Mr. Jagger because tomorrow we go to a city where they will hate you forever!”  He smiles as I go back to the mic.  Remember, he is on our team!  There is no better way to stay grounded.  I’m sure Christoph spent his entire time in the pandemic in a dark room typing madly into his “information machine” (i.e. “computer”) reveling in the travails of the public.  I know he had a great time.   That vibe just sinks in after a while.  The tour becomes a battle against all of your imagined enemies.

So, we play this gig in Switzerland.  It was one of those charming towns that blended in with the last charming town we played the night before.  There was an opening band that was moderately competent, but I didn’t find very interesting.  They were doing some kind of grungy hard rock thing, reminding me of all of those bands from the late 90s that blend together.  I have heard of Silverchair, Trapt, Breaking Benjamin, Three Doors Down and Chevelle, but I can’t distinguish one from another.  As far as I am concerned, they are all the same band with an ever revolving cast of characters playing an angsty kind of hard rock that conceals they really don’t have anything to say.  It’s like every dude that works at Guitar Center assembled these bands to showcase new gear.  Anyway, that Swiss rock band seemed like OK guys and they played their allotted 45 minute set.  And then they kept on playing.  Then they played some more.  It just kept going.

After an hour and a half, they finished.  I would like to point out that the crowd was largely indifferent.  The one thing I can say about people that go to see us in Europe, they are very loyal to their subgenre.  It is a particular thing in Germany/Switzlerland/Belgium that you ONLY support your favorite subgenre.  Hence, the rockabilly guy isn’t allowed to go see the Flock of Seagulls reunion, and the power pop fan would be met with disdain by his clique by going to see Social Distortion.  However, I think everyone is allowed to go to the enormous metal outdoor festivals where Ozzy and Iron Maiden rule like it is still 1985.  I haven’t cracked that code yet.   Maybe old metal is seeped into everyone’s teenage years so it gets a pass.

By playing that far over their allotted time, this band made a serious breach of etiquette.  Even 15 minutes long is complete bullshit.  As an opener, your deal is that you play exactly as long as you are supposed to and then quickly clear the stage for the headliner.  It isn’t “your” show.  You are a guest on the other band’s gig, and just like you don’t shit on someone else’s living room floor, you don’t play 45 minutes long.  Part of the live gig culture is that it is understood that you adhere to these rules.  You are in, and you are out.  Immediately, and I mean “immediately” after playing, you take your gear off the stage to enable the next band to set up.  You DO NOT break down your drum kit on stage.  You take the shit off the stage and then pack it up after you vacated the space. 

These Swiss guys finished playing, and they took some high fives from their small crew of friends and girlfriends.  Then they stood around on the stage for a bit.  They didn’t even pack up a guitar case.  Nothing moved.  We stood at the back of the room, dumbfounded.  Was this some type of cultural misunderstanding?   That was when the event moved from being annoying to legendary.  The entire band walked out the side door and lit up cigarettes.  They then leisurely had a smoke and chatted in the alley with as much sense of urgency as a Sunday afternoon on vacation.  I’m not talking about guys grabbing that quick addicts type of smoke, hurrying to get nicotine back in their system.  It was like 1970s TV talk show.  These guys were sitting on the couch talking to Dick Cavett.  You wouldn’t have known they had any connection to the gig whatsoever.  Eventually they came back inside and slowly broke down every piece of gear on the stage while chatting it up.  It took forever. 

This is known as The Swiss Load Out.  This incident is forever etched in band lore and has become a code word for any scent of this type of behavior.  Example:  “Man, those guys are running long up there… How much you want to bet they pull a Swiss Load Out?” or “I swear to God I saw some lederhosen in their gig bags when they set up.  You just know they’re going to be full-on Swiss Load Out.”  I think ultimately this is at root cause of my antipathy towards the Swiss side today.     Maybe this was the excuse I had to engage my own tiny ball of hate burning inside me against these otherwise gracious people and their wonderful nation because of my own fears and shortcomings.  I don’t know, but I will tell you this…

Go Spain.