Sie hat jetzt eine Mission. Sie muss jetzt singen. Ich sehe das Unheil kommen und es steuert direkt auf mein Mikrostativ zu. Eine Vokal-Fregatte die am Tresen abgelegt hat und unaufhaltsam Kurs genommen hat. Es kommt zur Kollision, unvermeidlich, jedoch anders als erwartet. Irgendein kleineres Hindernis, möglicherweise die eigene Motorik, schickt Madame auf die Bretter. Indirekt. Über Bande, sozusagen. Via Mikrostativ und Klavier. Versenkt.
Read MoreIt looked promising up to a certain point. The vinyl got ready just on the day I had to leave, after things seemed to not work out at all just ten days prior. Gigs went down nicely, merch could have been better, but still kinda OK. Good vibes peaking with the Perpignan show I had the pleasure to share with Boucan. Playing some of the album tracks together felt like flying. Bliss. Utter bliss.
Followed by a sunny morning after weeks of drizzling rain. Just as if all would finally be fine, take an enjoyable twist. As if the spell was broken. That being the sunny morning of Friday, 11 October 2024, when loading in and hugging the Boucan boys a last time before setting out for the Teruel concert. Before the fragile flower of optimism crumbled, fell to pieces, disintegrated on the hard shoulder of a Catalan motorway, a few miles south of Macanet. The second hold-up in my touring history.
Read MoreStill time for a coffee in the old town of Split. Coffee. It's the thing here. Everything is discussed with coffee. Negotiations, arguments, plans. Business, family, weather. Coffee here is the glue of society. The black liquid that keeps it all running.
Read MoreNur das wir an diesem Abend gerade mal fünf sind. Coltello, Mäkkelä, unser Veranstalter, der Bar-Besitzer und die australische Theken-Kraft unseres Veranstalters, Fucker. Fucker durfte auch mit. Fucker heißt vermutlich nicht wirklich Fucker, wird aber von unserem Veranstalter nur so genannt und ist lediglich dabei um die Spielautomaten zu bedienen.
Read MoreIf you haven't done it yourself, touring for a couple of months or longer on your own, you probably can't imagine how this feels. Changing places on a daily basis, losing ground both literally and metaphorically. It can feel, or rather it does feel, marvellous. Being free to do what you always wanted to do. On your own, walking across the sunny main square of Maribor, having a coffee in one of those unique, renown Kaffeehauses of Vienna, meeting wonderful, interesting people. Sounds great? Oh it is, but there are those other moments or times, the dark ones. When you realize being on your own is not always a walk in the park, when you realize it's just a nicer expression for solitude.
Read MoreI’ve been touring a lot over the past years. I think it’s safe to say an average of 150 shows a year. I wouldn’t have done that without serious reasons. If a routine like this comes to an immediate halt this feels like I imagine it must feel like stopping a vehicle going 300 KMH down to zero in a split second. It has a strong physical effect. I felt mentally and physically terrible in any imaginable way. Never thought I’d need it that much.
Read MoreAfter eight hours of driving here from Basel my interest and enthusiasm in exploring yet another town has completely disappeared. My first evening in France on this leg of the tour, trying to make my way down to JL’s Celtic Pub in Tarbes, doesn’t feel special or particular or anything even near. Empty the closest. Just driven here by the urge to perform. From Germany, to Poland, to Slovakia, to Czech Republic, back to Germany, to Switzerland and now — finally — France.
Read More20.09.20, Wroclaw
Zurück in Wroclaw. Ziemlich kaputt. Zumindest lädiert. Es strengt gerade an. Aber jeder Gig, jeder Tag eine Belohnung. Wäre da nicht die ständige, unterschwellige Angst, fast steinerne Angst, doch noch irgendwo, irgendwie den Virus einzufangen
Thunder Bay Greyhound station. Oh my. Been there? It’s the place where excitement starts. I have to admit I was pushing my luck here.
The Mayor in Winnipeg — no, that’s how they call him, he’s not the mayor of Winnipeg — set the show for 7.30/8.00pm the very night. According to Greyhound’s timetable I’m supposed to make it to Winnipeg by 6.45 pm. Unfortunately the hydraulic ramp for the wheelchair refused to do what it was designed for…
Read MoreThey looked at me with a both knowing and pitying smile, an expression of “well, good luck son. Some just never learn…”, a respectful undertone (“oh, he seems to be mad but, wow, he apparently really does it”) and at the same time pointing out what a great thing it is riding a coach from Toronto all the way to Winnipeg via Thunder Bay.
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