Sunday, June 26 Livorno

Sunday, Livorno

I slept until 10AM, a solid 5 hours, the other guys awake shortly after. We have missed the free breakfast so we decide to walk the mile or so to the nearest food. The sun is so harsh everything looks like baked sepia tone. The route takes us past some very strange graffiti drawn in black and white on the wall of what we found is (or was) a mental asylum. Where the roads converge and widen there are a few shops. We look at the local restaurant, but its shut. The owner sees us looking at the door, and yells at us one of the favorite phrases we hear again and again, "It is lunch time, the restaurant is closed." Across the street there is a little Bar that has coffee and pastries. Ever the provincial American, I order a latte and get a glass of steamed milk, duh, cafe latte please. The road jokes, are all in place now, the mythology having been built upon from the first few days of our tour. Any line mentioning Ralf's towel and Lilly the zombie snogger are guaranteed to get a chuckle. In our sleep deprived state the scenarios involving the subjects get more and more ridiculous. The return of Ralf's towel has become something of a vision quest, although we have grown quite fond of it. As for Lilly, I wish her and her zombie "good luck" with their forbidden union.

Back at the Villa Mozzarello, we change into a room with a private bath, although the shower is hysterically small, about 2' x 2'. Lorenzo swings by the hotel around two and takes us to beach side Livorno where we can have some real lunch and see his home town, though he won't be joining us because he has to set up the Festival, of course. Lunch at the Red House is relaxed and delicious, though I can't remember what I had. Hmm... From what we saw of it, Livorno is a mellow place, I can imagine young Lorenzo and Lucca riding their bikes or scooters around. We walk past the marina with sunbathers toasting on the jetties, and by a private club, with it's swimming pool full of screaming kids.

The reverie ends when Nikki picks us up at four to take us to Califuria for the rest of the day. Not much is going on at the festival site, so I decide to explore west up the coast. The drop from the road above the coast line is near sheer, but doable, and sunbathers have picked out their choice spots up and down the hill. One thing I notice is the immense amount of garbage strewn about. Water bottles, whatever, nobody seems to have heard anything about packing out the trash. I'm sure it all ends up in the Mediterranean soon enough- Cheez whiz Livornitos, this is a spectacularly beautiful gift you have to enjoy, keep it that way.

I do get down to the sea and dip my feet in, one goal accomplished, then back up to the road and farther west. Cars are parked at the edge of the road so I am really careful about oncoming traffic whizzing by. I pass a really upscale hotel, The Castello Boccale, and a couple of private clubs. This part of the Califuria coast was used as a quarry, so there are man made shapes of perfect squares or rectangles set in the organic contours of the stone at waters edge, and these pools at waters edge provide a safe place for families with kids to swim as waves hit hard just a few meters away.

By the time I get back it's about 6 and the first band, Cowabunga A Go Go is coming on. They are from Hungary, and I have wanted to make a connection with them out of some unknown indebtedness to my heritage. They are onstage now playing punk and Link Wray influenced instrumentals with perfect blue sky and blue water behind, and they brought a bunch of friends with them from Budapest. The crowd is sparse at this point, but CBGG gives it their all. After their set I approach them all to say "Hi", but I'm unsure if they speak English. I have more success later talking with Sara (pronounced Shara) the bass player, and she fills me in on their history. It's ironic that we find a common ground not based on our Magyar heritage, but the culture of SoCal that spawned surf music. Jeff and I talk to her for a while, and the other members of her band join in too, it's amazing how their English is improving as we speak. The rhythm guitarist is a fan of Meshugga Beach Party and was excited to find out that it's my wife who plays keys for that band. He asks if I brought MBP t-shirts with me! Another spectacular orange sunset to the west as a Cheshire grin of a moon rises.

Jeff and I go upstairs for the 5 Euro drink and buffet combo. The upstairs patio is again blasting 80's pop-rock hits. Meanwhile the French band Les Arrondes is on the stage downstairs. They remind me of the style of The Nebulas and Lava Rats, they hit hard and keep it up loud the whole time.The mash-up of surf and Phil Collins is disorienting and painful. But the food is OK and the sky is turning from green to purple. Again the fancy restaurant has demanded that Lorenzo halt the music until 10 but he starts it up at 9:30, with a Beatles cover band, The Shuffles, on the B-stage. They are great fun and sing with a heavy Italian accent.

Meanwhile we Pollos set up for our "encore" set. Tonight we have more time to get our tones, and solve the reverb rattle issues. Looking out at the crowd I see so many people I know from America, friends from bands we have played with in the past, internet buddies and people we have just met that it seems like a home town crowd. Our set happens just as easily, much more relaxed in our execution, but fun and tight. We only play one song as a repeat of last night, "Teke Teke Teke" which seems to be a crowd fave of the tour. And that's that, the last show of the tour is over.

Upstairs, the restaurant takes it's revenge on The Madiera, as they wait more than an hour for their food to arrive, and then another half hour for coffee. The drama in the Madiera camp came yesterday as the rhythm section's plane was canceled from Indianapolis to Atlanta, and they missed their international flight. But, Todd and Dane arrived this afternoon and are ready for the first show of their week long tour with Lorenzo.

In my opinion, Los Coronas steal the night, what a fantastic stage presence they have and non-stop party sound. The drummer is right up front and the other coronas move around him striking poses. They play for more than an hour, the highlight for me came after the dramatic explanation of what the musical style tarantella is, as the trumpet plays a reedy Moorish scale, and then the band breaks into brilliant latin infused version of Dick Dale's "The Wedge". Later on Jono was talking with their guitarist Fernando and I butted in, and find we both dig John Cippolina. T-shirts exchanged talk of going to Spain, sure why not.

On the B-Stage Doctor Legume (remember he was celebrating his anniversary at our first show at Four Bears in Alessandria) is blasting techno-surf. He is playing drums and keyboards live to backing tracks accompanied by a theramin player and a woman on tambourine, synced to the visuals of his "found footage" sci-fi videos.

Finally, our pals from the U.S and headliners for Sunday night, The Madiera hit the stage at about 1AM, and a large crowd is still there. Though the guys have had minimal sleep, they blast full throttle through a long set that keeps people dancing (yes Americans- people do dance!). Ivan is unflappable and shredding, though the set does include some quieter songs. I can see that the enthusiastic audience has the same effect on them as it did us, as the Madiera are much more animated than I have seen them before. They are off to a great start for their tour.

We get packed up as soon as The Madiera are off stage, hoping to make a quick exit, but there are a lot of people to say goodbye to old friends and new. Lucca gives us a ride back to our hotel and we arrive there around 3AM, then spend some time packing and showering as Lorenzo will be picking us up at 7AM.

Saturday, July 25 - Livorno

Our "B & B" doesn't have "B" so we wander around and find a cafe. Great discovery of a green grocer right next door so I pick up some grapes and a grapefruit. The club and the hotel really are in a very industrial area, so my opinion of scenic La Spezia is going to be very different from most other turistas.

A taxi back through La Spezia, we did indeed miss the typical vacation stay. At the station, there are many people coming out wearing bikinis and swim wear, right off the train. This leads me to believe that there are some nice Mediterranean beaches around here... We are very early for the train, but Jeff and Jono go for a walk, and I update this blog. There is a nice constant breeze, it is, of course, much cooler here nearer the water than any other place we have been in Italy. I called Lorenzo, he said that there were about 1000 people at last night's Surfer Joe Festival, so we are excited to get to Livorno.

Full-screen

We are met by Valeria (rhymes with malaria) at the Livorno station. She is the girlfriend for Lucca (Lorenzo's brother) and greets me with the always awkward for Americans double cheek kiss. She drives us to our hotel, the Villa Morazzana which is on a beautiful walled estate. It either used to be a grand private villa, a boarding school or perhaps a sanitarium. The grounds are walled, but there are two entrances at the front and back both with long dusty, eroded driveways. We are all in a single dorm style room with no bath, but that is down the hall. Lorenzo calls and asks us to come to Califuria, the site of the Surfer Joe Festival. I can't believe how beautiful it is when we arrive.

The festival takes place on the large deck of a complex that houses a disco, a fancy restaurant, a and sandwich shop. Off the deck, the cliffs drop a hundred feet to the Mediterranean. Beyond the complex is a long bridge and underneath on both sides of a river hundreds of sunbathers. Too many Speedos on the men for my taste, but many of the ladies are topless, so there is balance in the universe. We shoot a few hundred photos of the amazing scenery, walk across the bridge and have bread, cheese and variations of salted pork for lunch. Lorenzo takes us back to the hotel. He is at the end of his tether; he was up until 5 AM last night dealing with the many issues of the festival. We crash for a couple hours and Jono and I do some guitar maintenance. There is a wedding reception going on at the hotel- and what a perfect location; a black woman in a rainbow clown costume blowing balloon animals clashes wildly with the formal wedding clothes.

Valeria arrives to take us back to Califuria. The patio is starting to fill up. We had hoped to eat at the restaurant, but every table is reserved, they won't even let me take food out. But, out side the small cafe there is a buffet set up, all you have to do is order one 5 Euro cocktail. We eat while watching Lorenzo's band, The Wadadli Riders. Last night he sang lead vocals with his Beach Boys cover band The Pipelines, now he is playing lead guitar, later he will be backing up Rev. Hank of The Urban Surf Kings on drums. No wonder the guy is exhausted. The Wadadlis play most of the material from their new CD, a perfect accompaniment to the orange setting sun. But after they play the fancy restaurant complains about the loud music (duh, they rented out the deck for an all night rock show, what did they expect?) and requests that there is no music from 8 to 10, which means the whole night will be delayed by two hours. If we get on by 2 AM it will be a miracle.

During the long break I found an empty deck chair next to a woman whom I assumed was Italian, but her husband came over speaking American English, and his newlywed wife, Ruth, speaking real English. They have come from the U.K. just for the festival. We strike up a long conversation, they are both ethnomusicologists and Tim, an associate professor at UCSB, is writing a book about the history of music associated with surfing. Unbelievable and fascinating. Not surf music, but music associated with surfing, so his story begins in the 1800s with Hawaiian chants and gets up to date with Jack Johnson. Somewhere in there will be a chapter about my beloved reverb instrumentals, but only a small one. After each band plays he interviews them to see if they have any association with the sport. I would love to read the book when it's finished.

Best costumes go to I Fantomici, for their red swim shorts and white polos. In between sets there is a second stage with The Hangee V playing garage rock. Then Reverend Hank plays a fun set and really tight considering he had not practiced with Nikki and Lorenzo at all.

Los Twang Marvels is next on the big stage, they are fantastic and the guitar players in the front row hang slack jaw watching Alex and his amazing wife Marisol. It is a real treat to see Los Twang Marvels because they are having a great deal of trouble getting a visa to travel to the USA. I think they do a great show, but Alex was not satisfied at all. One problem is that the stage shakes and causes the reverb tanks to have an annoying constant rattle. More Hangee V on the B stage.

The Kiaueas begin at about 1:15AM. Ralf, Tom and Olly stayed at my house a few years ago when they came through San Francisco, one of the best bands we have every had at The Hotel Utah. They always put on a great show, with their paper machie volcano blowing smoke every few seconds. I am getting a little wiped out at this point, we didn't get in until 3:30 last night, and woke up at 8:30, so I put my head back on one of the sunning platforms behind the stage, dozing slightly while the music blares. New guitarist Matti (who we me t in Stuttgart) led an aggressive version of Caravan. Hangee V again while we set up.

We go on at 3AM, I'm a little short on humor, but the adrenaline kicks in and we plow through the hits. there is still a sizable crowd here, maybe 150, but about half drift away as the 4'o'clock hours draws. The reverb rattling is a distraction, and Jeff's bass amp sounds blown. It's all a blur. After our show, the Pollo and The Kilaueas (also staying at our hotel) help clear the stage in hopes of getting back to our hotel asap, but we don't get there until after 5AM, the sky already lightening, and roosters crowing. The Kilaueas, who drove down from Germany Saturday, didn't register before they went to the Surfer Joe Festival, and our hotel has no night desk person, so they can't get their room, and Lorenzo takes them to search for another place to stay.

Eyeshades and earplugs...

Friday, La Spezia

Friday, La Spezia

Another hotel breakfast, it's free and complete but unexceptional, as bland as our hotel. The taxi arrived and we had a funny exchange with the driver who was loading the bags into a passenger seat, he kept counting 4 people total, not including himself. "Ah, cinque!! Si, si!"

An hour wait at the station, and the train arrives and leaves on time. A nice crawl across Italy on the local, the train cuts through farm after farm in the plains toward Regio-Emelio, which I can tell is a much bigger town than I had thought from our brief visit 2 days ago. Bologna is a huge city, and finally to Parma where we have to change trains. 15 minutes sounds like a lot of time, but when you have to carry heavy equipment bags down and up stairs between platforms, it's not. Also, we needed to get some lunch in the crowded station bar. After Parma, the landscape changed to hills and distant mountains, the tracks lead us through many tunnels.

La Spezia is the end of the line, and after my first and successful try at using a public telephone, we find Herve and his girlfriend Chiara who will take us the our hotel. We drive through the downtown area of La Spezia which looks lively and colorful, a great place to explore, but then we keep on driving right out of the town and it's outskirts next to the huge port, with shipping containers (Matson, Maersk, Cosco, Han Jin) piled high, and huge cranes unloading cargo. The club and hotel are right next to the port. Instead of going to the hotel, they take us to his club to drop off some equipment, but we stayed there for about an hour, not doing much. Shake has an outdoor bar and they are planning a luau theme party tonight. Shake also has an inside bar, a stage and two rehearsal rooms. After a beer, we head for the B&B, which is really just a "B" as it doesn't serve breakfast. (It also doesn't have "i" so for the first time I won't be publishing my daily update). Very modest with the cot like singles we have slept on this entire trip.

At 6:30 we walk over to the club. This is definitely the industrial section of town and we have to hightail it over a 4 lane road to get to the club, which is surrounded on all sides by a highway, an on-ramp, the major road, and an alley that services truck yards. An island paradise surrounded by treacherous oceans? Chiara and her friend Maria-Luna (who are also the bartenders) are busy making flowers out of paper and decorating the stage for "Hawaii" night (everybody gets a lei as they enter). At the club, most of the gear we will be borrowing is already on stage. I will be playing through a 100 watt Marshall for the first time in 25 years. The drum kit needs major surgery to tighten up, the only tools at hand are masking tape and Jeremy's MacGyver like ingenuity. Also, a pipe over the stage has burst, flooding the upstairs bar and there is a big drip sprinkling Jono's side of the stage. Herve is upstairs mopping up, We do a few songs for sound check, the Marshall is putting out an ungodly amount of treble. Jono is using a Fender Blues Deluxe and Jeff's amp is overdriven as well, so everybody's tone is off.

Dinner up stairs is... Pizza! More bread and cheese! Jeremy and I require a variation in our palette so Herve takes us to a nearby restaurant and we have a couple big plates of melon and prosciutto. We get back to the club about 10:15, but Pollo won't go on until midnight. I pass the time swatting mosquitos and making our first set list that we have used on this tour. There is a possibility that we will get to record our sets at the Festival, so I want to make sure we don't forget any of the newer material.

By the time Friday turns to Saturday, the outdoor area has filled, mostly with people half my age and thankfully, there is a small breeze blowing in. For the first few songs of the set, there is the usual cadre of men at the front staring, seeing if we pass the test. But the women come forward to dance, and it's officially fun. We are plagued with drum issues, this is the problem with using an overused kit from a rehearsal room, although it does sound great. Behind the stage there is a little drop and the first few times Jeremy hits his "no look behind the back china" it falls off the stage. By the end of the first set, the problems are mostly worked out. The second set is great fun, and for the first time ever people sing along to "Moon Over Marin" and "Charlie Don't Surf". Frank Zappa's "Peaches en Regalia" gets a huge ovation, and afterwards I introduce him as a "Proud son of Italy" too much whooping! At about 2AM Jono breaks a string, conveniently during our last song, "Jack the Ripper". However, the crowd and club demand, so we do three more. It's now 2:30, and we are dead beat. Herve is very happy with our show and wants us to come back next year, but asks that we play until 4AM next time! We pack up and walk back to the Hotel, looking forward to few hours of sleep before we have to go the train stazione.

Thursday 23 July - Forli Italy

How many times can I write about the delicious chow at the AutoGrille? Well, we only stopped there once today, and it didn't let me down; I had a grilled prosciutto and ham panini, where can you get that in roadside America?

Not that long of a drive to Forli, only about and hour from Modesto, er, Regio-Emelio and our hotel is right off the freeway. It's very modern, and they have one room ready for us even though we arrived at noon.We have an unbelievably convoluted plans for the next few days. Lorenzo has to go back to Livorno this afternoon with all the equipment so he can get to the Festival site first thing tomorrow morning. That leaves us here in Forli, on the Adriatic side of Italy, and we will have to take a train to La Spezia for Friday night's show, and then a train to Livorno on Saturday morning. And we have to do it carrying our guitars and bags. Stay tuned to see how it all works out.

Back to this afternoon- Jeff and Jeremy stay at the hotel while Jono, Lorenzo drive about 35 minutes way out in the country. In addition to the ever present grapes there are also pear and fig trees, and lots of ancient farm houses with either fallen roofs or satelite dishes, sometimes both. We are headed to meet a man named Roberto who is an instrument collector and a huge fan of early rock'n'roll. We arrive at his house and he is very enthusiastic and friendly, eager to show off his collection of Fender, Mosrite and off brand guitars. His record collection fills up an entire wall, his CDs and music books fill the other side. In between are two blonde Showman amps and a 1962 Reverb tank. He also serves us some very sweet watermelon which contradicts the heat. After some nostalgia chat, we schlep the huge cabinets downstairs, and the heads, (much bigger amps than we ever use) and into the van. Ivan Pongracic calls, he has just arrived in Livorno from his flight from Michigan. I look forward to seeing him on Saturday.

Back in the van to Forli and the American Graffiti Diner, our club for the night. We load in the amps, and the owner, Ricardo invites us for lunch. So, we head back to the hotel, only about a mile away, to pick up Jeremy and Jeff, then back to the diner. There are many of you who will think it is absolutely insane to go to Italy and eat at a 50's diner. I might agree with you, but... we have been eating, sleeping and dining totally by the designs of others, so, first, we don't really have a choice, and second, comfort food is really appealing right now. I have a chicken Caeser and a chocolate shake! In your face, foodies! As with the The Millwakee 50's Diner we ate a last Wednesday, this is not a strictly commercial attempt to cash in on the diner craze, ala Max's or Denny's. Ricardo is a rockabilly enthusiast, owns a '32 T-Bucket and lamb chop side burns. He lives the life and his passion for the 50's is realized in his restaurant, which is covered with Italian versions of American movies and all kinds of rock and pop iconography from the era, . And the food is great too!

Our hotel is outside of the scenic part of Forli, where ever that might be and without a driver, we are stuck at our business man's hotel until before the show. The AC, showers and internet pass the time. Ricardo shows up just a little after 7:30 to take us to his diner... nobody where's watches here, and there are no clocks in any of the hotel rooms, but people are more or less on time. Now the German's they are on time! Hate to be perpetuating stereotypes, but that's the facts.

We set up, but can't really do a sound check because the restaurant is full of people eating. We have dinner outside with Roberto and his wife. Roberto is such a well connected super fan, that it turns out we have a few friends in common-- small world . We also meet Lucky, a lifetime rocker who several people mention is the #1 rockabilly guy in Italy, He loans us the drums and bass amp, and also all the memorabilia decorating the diner. We are greatly indebted to Luck and Roberto for loaning us equipment for the night. The diner is completely packed, there are a few hot rods in the the parking lot, many motorcycles too. The clientele is covered with tats and dressed up for a night out. No poodle skirts and no tourists. This is the greaser crowd, faux or otherwise. Congratulations to Ricardo for doing such great business!

We played two sets, all the hits. Roberto's Showman amps sound really good as his 1962 Reverb is very sweet. After the show, Roberto takes his gear and Ricardo gifes us a ride back to the hotel, also presenting us with matching American Graffiti T-Shirts.

One personal little bummer about Forli- when I was growing up, my Mom had a beautiful coffee table book about the city of Ravenna and the Basilica di San Vitale, with pictures of it's detailed mosaics. We are so close and can't get there. Next time, he says wistfully.

Wednesday, 22 July from Toscalano-Maderno to Regio-Emelia

Got a great night sleep, and then ran around the town pulling Pollo Del Mar posters off the wall. Breakfast with the guys and we were on the road by 11. We couldn't arrive at our hotel in Regio-Emelia until 5 so we had some time to sight see Lorenzo suggested we check out in Verona.

Our first stop was outside Verona at the second biggest music store in Italy. Lorenzo was looking for a George-L cable, but they didn't have them. I guess you'd have to go to the biggest music store in Italy for them! But, the store is cavernous, the biggest music store I've ever seen, with all the American stuff you could imagine, as well as European brands. It's a candy shop for sure, but I'm off sugar.

Verona is known around the world as the home of a fictional character. You can even go see the balcony where this non-existant person didn't deliver her famous soliloquy written by an English play-write. Verona does have a lot more going for it than just Giuliette. Unlike Alessandria and Toscalano, Verona is much more grand, obviously a center for business for a long long time. We parked our car near the Roman era stadium which is still in use for operas and concerts. Outside the stadium the set pieces for the various operas are laid for observation, and there are many people dressed in character asking a few Euros for the chance to pose with them. We follow the signs for Giuliette's balcony which takes us down the main turista artery, a 20 foot wide alley that is paved in marble, and lined with shops and restaurants, one of which serves a club sandwich with a fried egg on it. The shops have familiar chain store names, there is even a Foot Locker. The alley feeds into the central square where the beautiful ancient buildings all have the major fashion stores in them. Just look up, and you will see the history, even if the walking level is pretty depressing. But, seeing as how Verona is a commerce city, the center has probably always had stores in them. Nothing ever changes. We were not able to find Giuliette's mythical balcony, maybe it doesn't exist either.

Back to the van, and on the road to Regio-Emelia. Once we get off the highway, it turns to flat farming land. Lots and lots of grapes, but I get the feeling this isn't the high-end wine region, but more like Modesto or Fresno. It's so hot I'm surprised that the grapes don't turn to raisins while still on the vine. The sexy GPS lady leads us astray a few times. I can't blame her, some of the roads are ridiculously narrow, and we do have some confrontations with larger vehicles coming from the opposite direction.

We arrive at our hotel for the night, a very modest B&B and the four of us are assigned to one room. In the late afternoon 100+ temperature, everybody lays down for a nap and start snoring away. It you have ever heard the unsyncronized loops of musique concrete, where the rhythms converge then stray, then you know what I was hearing. After earlier experiences on this trip, I don't want to complain about showers but this one changes temperature like a rotating gel on a color wheel, and the towel is so scratchy, it doubles as an exfoliator.

Over top the Salumeria del Rock (a salumeria is a sausage factory, and quite possibly this used to be one, though the name could refer to the percentage of men in the audience). A very casual place in the countryside, the smell of fertilizer hangs in the air. It's a cool club, with and indoor/outdoor seating area. In addition to our name being displayed outside the front door, it is also on the front page of the menu. I wonder if anybody thought that Pollo Del Mar was a food special? After our set up we have a long wait before we play, but dinner is tasty although some of the more exotic requests are no longer on the menu. As we play I am pretty sure that we are be much too loud, but nobody complains. The only new addition to the set tonight is "Penetration" as a request. After 7 shows, we have become quite the well oiled machine, the mistakes are minor and probably noticeable only to ourselves. I love this kind of club, you can hang out in the parking lot and drink beer under the stars, or sit inside and get blasted (by the band or the grappa). The wait staff is very nice, and the food is great. The location could be a little better, but as a roadhouse, it is perfect.

I'm kind of amazed that I have been so steady with this journal, publishing everyday. If you have any questions or feedback, I'd love to hear it. Thanks for reading.

About the lack of photos, yeah I know it would be a lot better with some, but it is a pain to edit and upload at this point. When I get home I will add lots of pics!

Tuesday, 21 July Toscalano-Maderno Italy

It's the nicest thing to spend two nights in the same place! Especially this place which is so beautiful. Breakfast downstairs with all the free machiados you want- that's a $6 cup of coffee in the US. Today is laundry day, one the most mundane and most looked forward to events on tour. Ah... And you know, it's always a challenge to figure out washing machines in foreign countries. You don't even need to buy soap for these machines, it's injected right into the laundry cycle. After laundry and lunch, we drive about a mile down the road to the center of town, park and stroll around. Again we are a little late, so most places are closed, but we do find a pizzeria, and each order a different topping, and then trade slices. Delicious. As Jono and Lorenzo order coffee, I excuse myself to get lost.

I walk back down to the water, and past a little marina. Up on the hill in front of me I see what looks like an old church, and wish there was a trail up the hill. Low and behold, I see the international sign of the hiker with an arrow pointing between two buildings across the street. I can't believe my luck, and the trail is perfect, after I pass the lower buildings, it turns into a dirt trail that switch-backs up the steep side of the hill, about a 150 meter climb. Full of pizza, and sweating profusely in the midday sun, I really regret not bringing along some water. And just as I had that hoped, the trail hits a road, and there is a restaurant next to the the church which is also the Monte Maderno Parochial school. Man, what a view of Lago di Guarda!. After a little exploration I head back down the hill, past the marina, and turn right to walk around the bump of a peninsula that is Toscalano. Some beaches, some seaside hotels, very expensive looking private residences and low rent camping facilities. This must be a huge vacation destination, for either tourists or people with second homes. Everywhere the purple bougainvillea attaches itself to walls, climbing up to the red tile roofs. When I get back to the Hotel Sorriso (that means "smile") I have a nice long, free VOIP conversation with Wifey, and then it was time for a swim. Jeremy is already in the pool, Jeff joins us a few minutes later, and Jono shows up a bit later, he was on his own private walkabout.

Moved over to Taqui's Bar about 6:30. It's a casual, open air restaurant in a park that features a small train ride for kids, amongst over play structures. Good size stage. So we set up and run through a few songs, then have dinner at Taqui's, I went for the hamburgeso with monzarella. They have Duff beer, straight out of The Simpsons, and yes the celebrity endorser is Barney. There was a German couple who had watched the sound check with their two small children, who loved the music. They also loved that we rode the train with them (strictly for a photo-op!). The kids really wanted to see the show and hung around waiting for us to start. The boys must have rode the train 20 times.

It was extremely nice to play outside under the stars with a cool breeze blowing. The only odd thing is that there is another outdoor concert going on across the river from us. They have a full size PA system going for a battle of the local bands, and we can hear their songs when we take breaks between songs. Another nice long set with two new additions- "South of the Border" and Jono's "Death Valley Daze". We finished around midnight. After tear down, the booker Matea offers grappa and pizza, which I rudely didn't stick around for but heard was a delight. So ends Tuesday!

Monday, 7/21, We'll have fun fun fun on the Autobahn

Monday started with muesli and coffee in the Hotel Schiller. I might have voted to stay in Frieburg for our extra night as it is unbelievabley cute, and I love the weather. But, we have a 7 hour drive to Toscalino Maderno (near Salo, the final home of Mussolini) so it's better to bite the bullet, drive today, and be refreshed for tomorrow night's show.

We have to again drive through the pedestrian walkway to the club, but no one stares at us today. In fact, there is a lot of car and van traffic because all the shops and restaurants must be serviced by noon, so all the delivery trucks are crowding the tiny walkways. Tom shows up promptly at noon and we do the load out. I haven't mentioned this before but in Europe, bands have to fill out publishing forms telling what songs they played, and who the authors are. It takes a few minutes, but maybe I will see some residual$ (hahaha). Tom has a magazine that had a preview of last nights show. Roughly translated it says: "From California, the most amazing surf band ever. Can you believe this group is coming to Frieburg?" After load out, Lorenzo does an fantastico job snaking around the other vehicles in the tight alley, and we hit the road.

It is a long road day- Jono reads and provides historical data on current locations, Jeremy dozes and takes lots of pictures, Jeff is always optimistic keeps the band smiling. Lorenzo is like an octopus- one hand on the wheel, one on the stick shift, one hand on the cell phone, one on his iPhone, glancing at maps on his laptop, programming the GPS, organizing our tour and the final details of the festival, and always on the lookout for a cup of coffee at the next AutoGrill.

Lots more corn... where is all this corn going? Certainly not on our plates- they just don't serve veggies here. Jono theorizes that the corn is being shipped back to America so we can make fuel and corn syrup.

The most enjoyable part of the drive is coming back through Lucerne, next to the long beatuiful lake with the craggy alps in the background. The tunnels are long and dark, good for taking a nap. Once we crossed back to Italy, the highway slowed and the scenery shifted to more industrial. We had to go around Milan at rush hour, but it wasn't so bad this time. We did see a big rig squashed like an accordion on the other side of the road, and the backup behind the accident was 10km long.

Finally our sexy GPS lady told us to turn towards Lago di Guarda, and the scenery becomes more vivid. The hills near Bresce have been quarried away for thousands of years leaving them with flat bright faces. The stone is sliced into layers at the factories below and shipped around the world, the rubble stays local and used to build bridges, houses, and roads. Coming over the hill you get a spectacular view fo the lake, and start to descend to the water line. What could you compare it to? Perhaps if Sausalito ringed Lake Tahoe, but on a much bigger scale, and with more variety in the flora? I don't know, it's useless to compare it to any place in America, it's Northern Italy! 5 Star Luxury resorts and more modest hotels and motels ring the shore.

Mattea the promoter meets us outside the Hotel Sorriso in Toscalino Maderno, He has arranged to check us in a day early and luckily they have rooms available. When August starts next week, there will be no availability anywhere around here. Our rooms are great, I luck out and get a single (thanks guys!). It is small like a monk's cloister, even having a crucifix over the bed. I don't have a balcony my room overlooks the pool. This is a family place, parents with little kids, and teenagers to young to be on their own, but to old to be seen with their parents. Dreadlocked fuschia bougainvillea climbs the walls, the clear pool is tiled in bright sky blue.

By the time we head out for dinner it is after 9 and I am famished and a little dizzy. There is a restaurant across the street but the consensus is that we should walk around a little bit. We follow signs for a few different bistros and pizzarias down an ancient road, but being Monday night, they are closed. We end up making a big circle and coming back to the first place, which turned out to be just fine. Dinner was accompanied by wine and toasts, and finished of with a shot of Grappa, 75% alcohol and tastes like acetone, guaranteed to burn holes in clothing, sanitize a hospital floor or run a diesel engine if needed.

Back in the Hotel Sorriso, a cool breeze is blowing off the lake but I have to close my windows to keep out the mosquito buzz of the racing Vespas.

Sunday: Gonna fly high, like a Freiburg, yeah!

Here's a one sided conversation Jono had last night about the beer he was drinking:

Zombie: "What are you drinking? That stuff is piss. It's made by the Bavarians, which shouldn't even be part of Germany, it's part of Austria, and that is an insult to Austrians!" So he tried the local apple wine, which, to my insensitive palette, reminded me of piss. Meanwhile, Lilly the bubbly California blonde had dumped her French suitor and was last seen snogging a Zombie in the back of Das Bett. Well, really, who can resist a Zombie?

++++++++++++++++++++

Not enough sleep last night, but it was great to do the load out in the morning. We said "Goodbye" to Ralf, but we'll see him again at the festival next weekend. And, for what it's worth, all praise Google Maps!

On the road to Frieburg, I am impressed that there is corn growing in the cloverleaf on ramps to the highway, a great use of space. Also impressed by advertisements on top of the urinals that light up when they are used. Jeremy got a toy straw that uses the same technology. Everywhere on the highway there are families in packed cars, pulling camping trailers and adorned with bicycle racks. Bored kids sit in the back seat watching their individual DVD screens. The vacation season is starting and everyone is heading south.

Upon arrival in Frieburg, we parked the car and gave a call to Tom, the local promoter and a member of the Black Forest's only surf band Leopold Kraus Wellenkapelle. He came over and met us, squished into the van and took us to our stay for the night. We carry all our bags into a bar that had giant styrofoam punk monsters decorating the walls- where they have a dorm upstairs. Only problem is that they had no idea we were coming! So, reload the van and Tom takes us to a very nice guest house, that had a beer garden next to us. But they were full! Back int the van... Third time is a charm, and in this case, very charming! The Hotel Schiller had space for us, and the rooms are fantastic. Jeff, Lorenzo and I have great view of the hillside. Jono and Jeremy have a room with a balcony over looking the hotel front. And the water is really hot! Immediate showers all around.

An hour of down time, then over to The Great Raeng Teng Teng (no idea what it means) for load in. The club is in a very old section of town which is pedestrian only, except for the public transport which runs on rails through the main drag. People stare, children point, locals laugh as we drive through, stuck between two trains. And, gah, the street signs are in a heavy Gothic font (possibly Fette Fractur) which is only legible to readers of the Guttenberg Bible, Heavy Metal bands and prison tattoo artists. Of course we miss the side street, and have to call Tom to guide the van, so he hops in, we make a loop passed the University, enter the old city center again, to more stares, laughs and pointing. Did I mention how cute Frieburg is? I can't wait to come back here.

Load in to the club down a flight of stairs, a good size room, we set up and run through a few songs that seem to be suffering from repetitive stress syndrome. Dinner down the street, we each order a varaition of schnitzel, and I go for the spaetzele on the side. Unfortunately our dinner takes a little while to arrive and just as it does, Tom comes to our table to tell us that the club is full, and it is time for us to go on, so our dinner is anything but relaxed. Still, the schnitzel was tasty. Back to the club and right on stage.

It was a long strange set. Though the crowd applauded between each song, there was no dancing and they just stood there blowing cigarette smoke in our faces (yes I know this is Europe, I'm just being provincial). We did a nice long set, with a few more bumps than we should be happy with. But the crowd would not let us stop, and we ended up playing nearly every song on the set list. Eventually, we had to stop- we ran out of songs. Tom was very happy with the turnout for a Sunday night. No tear down tonight (I like this tradition!) and walked back through the quiet and, and did I mention charming, old town of Frieburg to our hotel. One final Sunday note- I had left the hotel key with the front desk, but didn't know that they closed at 11. I was about to have a wee meltdown when we saw that the management had posted a note on the front door telling us that our room key was placed in Jono and Jeremy's room. Very impressive efficiency!

You make Das Bett, and you have to sleep in it

Mischa put out the familiar spread this morning, bread, cheese, coldcuts and coffee. We chatted on his balcony for a while and formed a plan, basically to leave Stuttgart as fast as possible. Ralf came over to lead us out of town, and asked if I would ride with him to Hamburg and I happily agreed. Once we were on the autobahn, he kept a good pace, but explained that sometimes he goes more than 200 kph (120 mph) on his way to Berlin to see his girlfriend. As it was there were many cars that passed us like we were standing still. It took about 3&1/2 hours to get to Frankfurt. The road in to Frankfurt stayed close to the Main river the whole way, and we found the club fairly easily.

Das Bett is in the Sachsenhausen district on Flabbergaste street (gesundheit!) The narrow cobblestone road in front of the club is off limits to vehicle and a little 5 year old girl chews out Lorezo for backing in. Next to the club there is a brass sculpture of a peasant woman, and she spits a stream of water out of her mouth every 30 seconds or so, drenching an unsuspecting passerby. Hilarity ensues!

We load in the gear then have to take a walk while our dorm is prepared. (The dorm is on the third floor above the club and is accessed by the tightest circular stairs. I keep expecting to find lost members of the Anne Frank family). It has 5 Ikea beds, and floor space for Ralf. And a shower- cold water only.) Our walk takes us to the Main River and we walk along the shore to the next pedestrian bridge. There are all kinds of youth in costumes, we get our pic taken with a squad of girls wearing Dragon Ball Z, but we see ninjas, pokemon, halloween costumes, zombies. This has something to do with a Christopher Street Paraded. Across the river to a central square called Petersplatz, named I guess for the cathedral nearby. As it is almost 6PM, the bells of the church start ringing, and continue for a full 115 minutes. Poor Quasimodo. the central square is pretty charming, though obviously a mecca for tourist with the usual mimes and musicians. Some of the buildings are ancient, in the style with the exposed criss-crossing beams. Very Richard Scarry . Outside the square becomes major mall land, and there is also an Italian festival going on, so there are lots of sights to take in. One mall is housed in an incredible Bucky Fuller geodesic worm whole. Not my pic:

Ralf encourages us to try a Herring sandwich, but I have to say it doesn't really appeal to me. I could really go for a bag of carrots. I haven't seen a vegetable in a few days. In fact, the comparisons between Germany and Texas continue to pile up, they very least is that greens are unattainable.Around the time of the Herring sandwich, we lost Jeremy and Jono, but they were back at the club by the time we got there. On the rainy walk home, Jeff took the chance to reconnect with a friend he made many many years ago-- just gave her a local call.

The club provided dinner at a restaurant next door called Safron, quasi Indian food with nice spice, and lamb or beef kabobs. And who should walk in but Martin Schmidt from The Razorblades! I have talked and communicated with him for a few years now, so it is great to meet him. He is an ace guitarist and journalist. And pretty damn funny too. I asked him, "What goes on in the Sachsenhausen?" his reply: "Knife fights and beatings" Ha ha. And lots of public drunkeness.

We amped ourselves up for a long set and wore our new matching black shirts and hats. The club was densely packed, smokey. and filed with Zombies. turns out there was Zombie Walk flash mob / tonight. But hey, zombies are enthusiastic dancers, I am happy to see them. Additions to the set include the 10 minute Wild West Medley and Jack the Ripper, as always, Link Wray is universally popular. Again, the crowd demanded encores. Wow! but we had to end at some point so the club could continue the entertainment with Tarantino night DJ. Jeff appears to be turning into a Zombie as the flesh hangs off his finger tips as his callouses ripped. We were warmly greeted after the show by an adorable California blonde named Lilly who gave us giggly hugs- she was so happy to meet someone from California after being here for months studying German.

Outside on the Flabbergaste after the show for some air- not quite as bad as Martin suggested, but it has the potential. We walked around a bit, more zombies... but the funniest thing was the the Polizei van filled with a bridal party and the cops taking pictures of them. Then the cops took the ladies for a ride around the block, rolling over and smashing bottles the whole way. The street just got louder and louder, I retreated to our attic while the other guys closed up the party at some late hour.

A hole in the net

Friday 8PM, Club Kiste Stuttgart

Jono and I had breakfast in the Hotel Rothouse bar, as the other guys foraged around the neighborhood. It's always good to have a quiet meal. We then walked over to La Catrina to load the equipment into the van, then back to the hotel to load our bags. Even though it was raining we decided to walk around the fancy area over the river, to get Lorenzo a lamp for the merch table and to find a bank to exchange our worhtless francs. Switzerland does not use the Euro, I suspect because they need the income from fees for exchanging money. We were paid in francs, so we couldn't really leave the country with them. Most banks wouldn't exchange our money unless we had an account with them, but seeing how the minimum opening balance was a million dollars, we had to find a lesser facility. That was fairly easily accomplished after a long walk around the high end shopping area, as was the purchase of a lamp. Back to the van in the garage, and a quick exit to Zurich. Or not, as one member of the band whose name starts with a J forgot their passport. So back across the river to the red-light district and the Rothaus. Unbelievably, and quite luckily for J (and for this blogger who is badly in need of content) the Passport was still in the open safe. Crisis avoided, we found our way through the city to the highway, and that was it for Switzerland. I have to mention the classic apartment buildings and endless acres of blooming sunflowers, tremendous additions to my memory bank.

The terrain changed completely as we entered southern Germany. The autobahn carving methodically through the valley and crest of patched cornfields, skinned over the wire mesh of stationery ocean size swells. I thought it looked like west Vermont if it was the size of Texas, but Jono thought it looked Maryland or Virginia. He's probably right. I think we passed through the area known as the Black Forest, but I'll have to check on that. I know our show on Sunday is in Frieburg, which is at the heart of the Black Forest.

It started raining harder, and our only breaks were brief pitstops. I shouldn't mention this in a public blog, but I did something of a very questionable nature, Wifey please forgive me. We went to a McDonalds. I know things get ugly on tour but this was a new low. I only had a McSalad... but I feel so dirty! Rain falling heavier as we got to Stutagart. The country side starts to fade away and the building more dense. We enter one long tunnel after another, always descending, Stuttgart is at the bottom of a well perhaps? We drove through the city center, missing the road that the club was on, and exited the other end, eventually coming out near Mercedes Benz city, with it's factories, museums and buildings of modern architecture, not to mention a huge soccer stadium with a floating roof. Obviously we missed the straat so flipped around to head back. The reason we missed our turn is that the road did not cross the highway but ran parallel to it. With a lucky break we found our selves right in front of The Kiste, and, found a parking spot right in front! The club has taken the VW/Schwinn flyer I threw together, and blown it up to poster size, adding the important informaion that we are from Chicago! Awesome! This is the biggest room we have played so far, but it's still pretty small.

Simple load in except for the heavy rain and set up, we ran through a few songs, then let the opening band set up. They are called Fante Howl, kind of a strange indie rock band, with too many influences to assimilate. We will not be going to our hotel until after the show, so we are stuck here to blog, chat with locals and drink- depending on who you are. Another odd neighborhood around the club. The red light district is around the corner, and next door is a real bikers club- a man outside is wearing his "Hell's Angels Stuttgart" colors. I don't mention this stuff to give me any kind of boho cred, but I do enjoy popping my little American bubble. I came to Europe to play lots of gigs, and if the shows are in colorful areas, well that goes with touring.

=================

2AM Saturday morning, a flat somewhere in Stuttgart

Very, very enthusiastic audience tonight, but not as much dancing. They wanted the visceral experience, so we tried to give it to them. Loud and fast.... Additions to tonight's set was the premier of the "Star Trek" theme, and the Pyronauts' "Sifaka". The crowd asked for 3 encores, but we only had two in us. We were wiped out. Ralf from the Kilaueas was here and I spent a lot of time talking with him. We will hopefully see him tomorrow.

OK, here is where things get really strange and outside the bubble mentioned earlier. Tonight we are staying at Mischa the promoter's apartment. Of course it is impossible to find parking near his home, but we do, eventually. But it is at least a mile walk with our bags, dragging them over cobblestones the whole way in the light rain. It becomes a desperately bad joke, and when we reach his building, you know he is going to live on the top floor, which, of course he does. Five flights up to Mischa's hermitage. Jono starts laughing hysterically, maniacally even. What else is there to do? This is a first class band flop house, two stark rooms with filthy pads on the floor. Old newspapers and show posters stacked high, a room filled LPs CDs, walls covered with club rock posters of forgotten punk bands. No table, no shower. Unless you were in a punk rock band when you were 23, you can't possibly imagine. Really. Really. Ask me or anyone of us. It's all true. The bubble has been popped!

Mischa cooks up a plate of pasta for us and the story of how tonight came to be unfolds. Lorenzo had confirmed a gig with someone named Peter at the Zwolfzehn, another very nice club in Stuttgart last March, in fact it was one of the first shows confirmed for our tour. Then, just two weeks ago, Peter contacted Lorenzo and cancelled our show, saying that he had forgotten that another promoter had already booked his club for the night. Lorenzo diligently found us another show, and Mischa was recommended to him from a couple sources. Mischa quickly found The Kiste for us, but Peter did not mention the original contract's particulars including hotel. Peter did offer us 100 Euros cancellation fee, which helps some. I haven't known this cast of characters for more than 12 hours, but let me say that if any band is going to be coming through Stuttgart, do not work with this Peter persona non grata.. Lorenzo, who is a very sharp business man, seemed genuinely upset that one of his bands was treated so poorly. I say that, and I hope I don't sound like I am whining, it is certainly no fault of Mischa's or Lorenzo's. Obviously we aren't U2, or even a U2 cover band, but we still need a bed and shower after long drives and sweaty shows.