After 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
… the whole atmosphere was eerie. I recall it being a difficult one to perform or even start the concert. How to find the right songs and words for a crowd of people having just lost both a very good friend and one of the key figures of local/regional social and cultural activities? Most of them about to leave for the funeral in Nice, five o'clock in the morning.
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After two days in Burgundy's finest, being fed and watered, being treated like the long-lost son or brother, this feels more than ever like some place I could imagine calling home some day. Even more so knowing I'll be without a flat in eight months time in Germany. Opening up a punk festival at Les Tanneries was a wild ride last night. No safety net.
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