You see the thing about the German road network is it's incredibly efficient. Only today I was marvelling at the sheer magnitude of it all. Taking millions of people to all sorts of places, many of them at speeds the V8 super cars would be proud of, delivering parcels, moving houses, feeding the masses.... you name it, the German roads can do it. Until something goes wrong of course. And then you're pretty fucked. Most likely staring at the back of a truck for the next half an hour, munching on an over-priced pretzel you just bought at the service centre, thinking about the terrible coffee you could buy at the next one, cursing the fact that you're missing out on such a beautiful day, all the while wishing you could sit down and write the blog to tell everyone about the show at Der Schlauch, Wismar, the previous evening (pictured). Which really was a lot of fun. Similar to the way I remembered it from last year, only with a few more people and a bit more Guinness. But it was Arthur's day, or so I was told. How does a German person know about Arthur's day in Ireland? And why was a German bar serving Irish beer in the first place? Questions for another time folks, questions for another time.....
The photo of me here is just after the performance, which I finished wearing a beanie instead of my normal standard issue RF truckers cap. The reason for this? My hat was doing the rounds with Lena trying to collect some coins to help pay for today's petrol. Typically we pass a hat around at some stage through each performance and that's generally how you get paid most of the time for shows here. It's a slight cultural difference I think - in Germany people seem far more willing to contribute in this way. There seems to be a tacit understanding that this is how the musician makes a living, and if they have enjoyed the evening then it's a way of showing the performer their appreciation. (Or perhaps buying a CD or two if they are so inclined...). For this reason, someone like me (more or less unknown to 99.999% of the population) is able to book and plan a tour, knowing that I'll make enough money at least to pay my way, maybe even buy a new truckers hat or two if I spot them along the way. I'm constantly amazed at the generosity of the audiences here, and their openness towards music they've never heard before. Love.
Incidentally my T-shirt last night was from a small independent record store in Melbourne called Pure Pop records, which recently ran a campaign to sell bricks to help build a new sound-proofed performance space, on account of some nearby residents making noise complaints, having purchased property directly behind a long-established record store holding concerts regularly in their beer garden. Much like the people of Milsons Point in Sydney who bought houses next to
Luna park and then wondered why there were kids screaming in their ear all day... Ah people. So confusing. But anyway, here's a link to Pure Pop if you'd like to check it out. And if you're in Melbourne, you really should. It's gold!
A link to pure pop records
I'd love to tell you more about Wismar, but as it happens I'm now at the venue for the next concert, typing this blog furiously as people arrive for the show. On the one hand trying not to make any spelling mistakes, on the other trying to meet people as they enter... Also knowing there is a vast supply of Ikea-issued hot dogs ready for consumption, which I really must sample. Perhaps several times. Suffice is to say Wismar is a lovely little seaside town, nicer ever than I remember it. Lots of lovely boutique-style shops/cafes, the kind that have you wandering round with a relaxed yet curious expression on your face, usually spending money on things you don't really need to put on shelves you don't actually have. But hey that's living right?! It's a good thing we had to leave straight after breakfast, lest the tour budget suffer a devastating blow from the purchase of a deluxe edition hand-made wooden penguin set.... Anyway thanks to Stefan and the crew at Der Schlauh, it was grand! (That's an Irishism. From the guiness perhaps...).
In closing, why is there a pig on this bridge? I don't know. I just don't know.
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