Summer Breeze

Back to square one for me, the annual Summer Breeze festival near the lovely town of Dinkelsbuhl in Bavaria being one of the shows on my first trip out with Anathema two short/long years ago. My overriding memory of that trip was leaving my passport in the Czech Republic and having to fork out €450 for it to be couriered to Stuttgart airport with only moments to spare before check in closed. That was painful.

This time we flew into Frankfurt (rapidly becoming our most familiar European airport) and on the plane found ourselves sitting next to the legendary Herman's Hermits (well, their surviving members anyway). Les of course talked techy-talk with their keyboard player (who looked like he'd just stepped out of a lineup on Never Mind The Buzzcocks) while I battled the urge to ask if Herman's Hermits need German permits to put on their shows. It was noticeable on arrival that it had been quite some time since we'd exited an airport to find it cooler outside than in, a most refreshing change. A three hour bomb down the autobahn, interrupted only for the consumption of fine sausage, and we arrived at the festival site where it all came flooding back to me, though it did seem a lot smaller than I'd remembered. 

As it was a two stage setup we had the all-too-rare luxury of a sixty five minute changeover. The excellent local crew ensured the show went smoothly and we were all finished and packed up by half past six. So, a spot of dinner and a few beers it was then. It was then I found things were not going as smoothly as I'd imagined. An utter prick among the production staff was making life very difficult for the band for reasons known only to himself, smugly shaking his head in response to polite requests for wifi passwords and hotel room keys, and all the while demanding €95 for rental of a poxy keyboard which was part of our technical rider anyway and so had already been paid for. When Les challenged him about it and asked (with admirable restraint) why he was being so unreasonable the bloke offered him out for a fight! Utterly outrageous behaviour, especially when you consider that without the bands there'd be no festival and without the festival he'd be out of a job. We won anyway - he gave us the keys and Les didn't pay. Balls to your little scam. It was a shame though because everyone else there was great.

It was a bit quiet later on in the hospitality area, though Vincent livened things up by extracting a bottle of rock pop  from the production office (read the contract), making it two-nil to Anathema. The elderly turban-wearing metal fan we'd met a couple of years ago put in an appearance, prompting a flurry of top puns. I reckon I won with "Sikhs Sikhs Sikhs, The Number of the Beast" but that's only because I can't remember any of the others. Since our flight back wasn't until quite late the following evening I had a pretty mellow day exploring Dinkelsbuhl with its turrets and lakes and country parks. I'd highly recommend a visit to what is probably the archetypal Bavarian medieval town.

So that's it for the summer festivals. We've got a couple of weeks off and then we're spending the best part of autumn touring Europe and Scandinavia (with a little trip to Beirut beforehand). 

Keep your eyes on the main website for news. In the meantime here's a picture of a nice German shed:

Oulu

Back in the old sausage factory and it's piddling down. The equipment didn't arrive in time last night so the band made do with what was available - a random assortment of guitars, amps, drums and keyboards courtesy of tremendous supports (and sports) Anneka van Giersbergen and Petter Carlsen and the chaps at the rehearsal space connected to the venue. It all sounded pretty good, though unsurprisingly some of the keyboard sounds were a bit rinky-dink, and my lack of a tuner caused me some major headaches off stage. Still, a damn good gig nonetheless. Trusty Tim arrived with the new transport halfway through the show, and what a bus it is. Bigger, comfier, more luxurious and sporting a bonkers paint job. It says "Royal Class" on each side. I like that. Tim doesn't like it but we want to keep it, not least because the downstairs pub is twice the size and will provide a perfect setting for the planned quiz night and karaoke session. It arrived pulling a trailer full of brand new posh amps kindly loaned by the nice people at Peavey UK and they're being put through their paces as I write this. It all sounds bloody great, not least because Danny and Vincent have fancy new effects boards and one or two new cables and power supplies to boot. John (who was this evening delivered to the stage in a multi-couloured shopping trolley) has new cymbals as well. This is all of course nothing compared to the sheer magnificence of my new toolbox. Les may not be impressed but what the hell does he know anyway?

Portugal

Les, Matt, Brian and myself only just made it in time for the show in a beautiful big theatre in Lisbon, having missed our flight from Liverpool after being caught in massive traffic on the trusty old M62. We ended up dashing down to Gatwick for replacement passage on a TAP airbus which got us there with just an hour to spare. The band had found themselves having to set their own stage as a result, and whilst their efforts were commendable they fell some way short of the standards I rigorously impose upon myself. Having said that, I can't sing anywhere near as well as Vincent.

We awoke parked by the sea in Porto the following morning, Jay almost finding himself in it (see photo). It was a spectacular swell coming straight in from the Atlantic, hitting the harbour wall in great explosions of water, and taking me back to the times I spent as a kid dodging the best the North Sea could throw at us in East Yorkshire.

Seville

The second gig of four in Spain and unsurprisingly the venue facilities have taken a rapid nosedive and show times have got progressively later. For example, the gig in Granada will in fact be taking place the following day, the band expected on stage at around twelve-thirty am. Hot running water seems to be a scarce commodity here, as does toilet paper. Eagles aren't though. We often see huge ones wheeling in the sky as we drive from one show to the next, a most pleasant sight that I'm not used to back home.

Switzerland

It was jolly nice being in Switzerland for a couple of days - it's amazing how much the catering improves the nearer you get to Germany. As usual the chef (Barbara) at the Z7 in Pratteln cooked up some smashing grub, highlights being the home (or venue)-made vegetable soup and the fish-filled pastry parcels. Onstage hassles with cables and suchlike marred the previous evening's performance at the Rocking Chair in Vevey, though the equipment was so well behaved the following day (in front of film cameras as well) that I've decided to take it all out for a Mcdonalds when I get the chance. It looks like we'll be in a different venue in Bulgaria on the 20th as the roof has collapsed at the one we were supposed to be playing.

Home again

So that's the tour over and done with - I write this back home in nithering Lincoln as I ponder just how I'm going to prepare my delicious steaks this evening while drinking a cold bottle of Old Speckled Hen. The last couple of shows were good, though not necessarily from a lighting point of view - poor spec once again thwarting Stefan Wolf. We arrived hours late in the impressive city of Bratislava where yet again smoking appeared compulsory among gig-goers, giving my already sore throat even more to grumble about. Despite this the Slovak people were all very nice, though it takes them an age to hoover a carpet. Support "The Ocean" missed the gig by being even more tardy than Anthema but this was no great loss as they'd developed a special way of annoying the hell out of me. How a band can complain they have too little space to set up when they have more lights on stage than amps and instruments is beyond me. Still, good luck to them.

The Prague show was also good, and I finally got the load-out pizza I'd been badgering Les about since the beginning of leg one. Another victory for pester power.

Thanks to some heroic driving through snow and rain we ended up back in blighty way ahead of schedule and dropped all the gear at Matt's handy lock-up near Derby. Later that evening, as I cracked open a bottle of wine bought on the ferry, I got a phone call from driver Tim.

"I thought you might like to know what happened on the way back to the depot," he said.

Apparently he was passed by his own trailer as he drove along the motorway. It had come uncoupled from the bus, most likely due to some idiots or other trying to nick it while he was parked up at services. I don't know why but this seems a fitting end to the whole tale. Maybe the trailer had finally had enough and was making a run for it. I wouldn't blame it after what happened in Romania.

We reconvene for three shows in Ireland in a few weeks. See you then.

RIP Don Van Vliet, aka Captain Beefheart. A true genius.