Saarbrucken

I'm rapidly coming to the conclusion that having a "Wales - Land of my Fathers" (surely that should be "our fathers?") scarf on tour is almost as massively useful as Ford Prefect's towel was in the late Dougls Adams' Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy. You can kneel on it, stick it in your tool box so the contents don't shift in transit, wipe up beer spills with it, polish guitars with it, wipe a patriotic tear from a bass player's eye with it, and if you're really pushed, wear it around your kneck when it gets cold.

Cheers Felix from Leipzig!

Paris

A big show in the Elysee Montmartre, an old theatre somewhere in this great mess of a city with about fifteen hundred punters expected. Petter is a little nervous, bless him, so I reminded him that all guitarists are show-offs at heart and that he shouldn't have any trouble, being as sickeningly talented as he is.

I've found the perfect use for my Wales scarf, when Jay isn't draping it over his amp in an act of patriotic fervour that is (I thought the surname Cavanagh would have given him Irish ancestry). Anyway, I employ the aforementioned kneckwear as a handy hassock, making the act of kneeling to gaffer cables and pedals to the stage a far less arduous experience.

I write this on a laptop kindly loaned to me by our driver so posts should be a little more frequent for the rest of the tour. Cheers Tim.

Wurtzburg

Show number two of the German bit. We spent our day off after the Krakow show parked up at Auschwitz and took the opportunity to have a good look around, both there and at Birkenau (Auschwitz 2) a little way down the road. If you ever get the chance  go and have a look - it's a most sobering experience, and a reminder of how very close we are to quite staggering acts of inhumanity given the right (or wrong) set of circumstances.

Boredom kicked in big time in Leipzig the following day what with the lack of laptop, early load-in and having only one guitar to restring. Luckily we had ping-pong, pool and table football close to hand in the great little Anker venue. I had a bit of a kick around outside with a couple of the local kids as well, one of whom insisted on running home to get a present for me. He came back with a "Wales - Land of my Fathers" football scarf - a baffling gift I found quite touching. It was Dan's birthday but he didn't seem to chuffed to be another year older. Hope you had a good birthday mate.

Krakow

It's been a few gigs since my last post as I couldn't muster the required effort after having my laptop stolen in Oslo. Still, one mustn't dwell on such things. I have most of my stuff backed up and there were no bank details or other sensitive info on there. Enjoy your new computer dick head.

So, we've been to Arhus, Berlin and Warsaw since the last post and it's been pretty much sleep, load in, gig, load out, sleep, load in, etc, etc. There's been a bit of time for post-gig merriment on the bus but my merry-making has been of the quick night cap and straight to bunk variety. Nevertheless, it always seems to be four in the morning before I get there. Luckily I have a few series of Count Arthur Strong's Radio Show on my phone to listen to so all is not lost entertainment-wise.

I found a good answer for the occasions when the tour manager asks if you have any more names for the guest list. Simply reply, "Yes, sometimes I call it the friends register." Guaranteed to raise a titter. The more you say it the more the TM will love it.

We have a day off tomorrow and it looks like we'll be having a look around Auschwitz.

Laptop stolen from venue in Oslo. Gutted. Normal service will resume presently.

Oslo

It turned out the bus still wasn't ready for us so Tim had to find yet another replacement to get us to Norway, and it's a bit shitty to be fair. Still, any port in a storm. It's the first I've been on with bunks three-high so there's not a great deal of headroom to be had, and those sleeping at the top require skills in mountaineering to reach theirs. What it does have is a larger forward seating area and this became the setting for the inaugural Anathema tour bus pub quiz, won by Les and John with a cracking score of nineteen (out of forty - perhaps some of the questions were a bit tough). They won eleven (yes, eleven) Euros to do with as they wish, and Les is going to compile the next one in a week's time. So much more civilized than the previous evening's leisure pursuits. The bus is now fixed and on it's way to rendezvous with us in Oslo, so it looks like we can finally settle in to our rightful home and hopefully stay on it for the rest of the tour.

Vasteras

We're holed up in a hotel in Sweden - Tim has gone to drop the bus off and the other will be here around midnight, apparently, so we have more than a little time to kill. Jay and new shop girl Brian have sloped off on free bikes while the rest of us have set up a makeshift computer club in the bar. Anyway, it seems it was a far more eventful night on the ferry than I'd realised. I turned in early as I rapidly grew tired of listening to fat bald men singing out of tune in a language I couldn't understand, but by doing so I missed out on all the action, as usual. One member of our entourage spent the night in the ship's brig (sharing the metal cell with a man-mountain who'd found himself in a dance floor brawl) after an act of advanced pranksterism went a little too far. Petter (now affectionately known as Pettourettes) won a trip on the same boat after buying a Jack and Coke, then had a good shout at another passenger. It could have turned nasty but Les bravely defused the situation by falling backwards into a fruit machine. We had to leave Danny in Stockholm this morning as he'd overslept and we couldn't wait any longer for him to disembark, so we're down one band member, and John has just lost a stare-out competition with a fridge full of beer. Only nine hours to go....

Viking Line to Stockholm..

We're on our way to Stockholm on the SS Gabriella once again, Les having just belted out a more than passable rendition of Tom Jones' Delilah - part of our formidable karaoke task force which also comprises Anneka, Petter (voice of an angel, mouth of a trucker) Carlsen, Lee and John Douglas (though the latter was not quite pissed enough to take part) and other notable absentees. Tim's picking up the mended bus sometime tomorrow after having dropped us (and the trailer) somewhere random in Sweden - we'll wait twelve hours or so until he returns, then we head to Oslo. Quite unlike our Scandinavian tour this time last year, it's starting to feel a bit parky of a night.

Helsinki

Another show down and it's all a bit of a blur really - they do do awfully long gigs you know. It's taking a while for me to get into the swing of things on this tour, though I blame that on flying in and the fact our original bus conked out before we'd had a chance to get on it. We are getting on the old Viking Line ferry to Stockholm tomorrow morning and we don't really know what we're going to do when we get there. The problem is that there's an eighteen hour gap between Tim dropping one bus off and picking up the other which should be fixed and ready to take us to Oslo for the gig on Thursday. One idea is to disembark the ferry upon arrival in Sweden, hop back on for the journey back to Finland, and then get back on it again to return to Stockholm - total journey time being thirty six hours. It's a strange prospect but it might just work. The alternative is to crash at driver Tim's house (he resides in Sweden) but apparently it's in the middle of nowhere and facilities may be stretched between thirteen of us. There is one more idea but that involves booking hotel rooms in Sweden, the cost of which would probably negate our going on tour in the first place. We'll see.

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?

Seinäjoki

Day one of leg one of the 2010 European tour and, despite the fact we're on a Ryanair (tarmac your runway for you sir?) flight to Tampere, we're not off to a flying start by any means. The tour bus, which we loaded on Monday and which was supposed to meet us at the airport in Finland, has broken down somewhere in Sweden. Driver Tim has managed to procure a replacement and this will now meet us at the venue in Seinäjoki at about 11 tonight, giving us just enough time to sling the gear on stage and hope for the best.

Beirut...

...was alright - not much to report really. Now we're on our way to this little lot:

Leg one

24-09-2010 Seinäjoki, Rytmikorjaamo

25-09-2010 Oulu, Club Teatria
26-09-2010 Tampere, Klubi
27-09-2010 Helsinki, Tavastia
30-09-2010 Rockefeller, Oslo
01-10-2010 Train, Aarhus,

02-10-2010 Columbia Club, Berlin
03-10-2010 Proxima Club, Warsaw
04-10-2010 Studio Club, Krakow
06-10-2010 Anker Leipzig
07-10-2010 Posthalle, Wurzburg
08-10-2010 Centrum, Erfurt
09-10-2010 Matrix, Bochum
10-10-2010 Elysee Montmartre, Paris
11-10-2010 Garage, Saarbrucken
12-10-2010 Lagerhalle, Osnabruck
13-10-2010 Boerderij, Zoetermeer
14-10-2010 Effenaar, Eindhoven
15-10-2010 Antwerp, Trix Hall
16-10-2010 Substage, Karlsruhe,
17-10-2010 Backstage Hall, Munich 

followed a couple of weeks later by leg two (band members should have enough time to at least give their girlfriends a quick kiss between the legs). It looks like I'll be writing a more official blog on the band's main site, though I'll be carrying on with this one. Stay tuned.

Credit is due to Ian Pattinson and the late Humphrey Lyttleton for the "legs" gag.

Back in the UK now after a pretty grueling week with lots of travel at seriously odd hours, not very much sleep, and some pretty fine gigs in the middle of it all - this despite all the hiccups described in previous posts (I didn't have much time to write anything much so listing ill-fortune became the default theme for this particular excursion).

Highlights for me included the drinks we enjoyed with the fine gentlemen of Porcupine Tree - Steven Wilson surprising and impressing with his capacity for red wine (and his appreciation of the mighty Cardiacs). We also got rather merry in Poland with Ozric Tentacles who were all very lovely and nothing like the crusty hippies I expected them to be. It's a bit of a family affair with them - Ed Wynne plays guitar and his son Silas takes care of the keyboards (making it a Wynne-Wynne situation in my book). Brandi, Ed's missus, plays bass. Best grub of the trip was the Moussaka served backstage in Athens - another recipe I wouldn't mind having. On arrival at Liverpool the luggage carousel got jammed, resulting in what one band member rather dubiously described as "a suitcase Hillsborough". Hmmmm.

We're off back to Beirut at the weekend, a trip which will hopefully include a visit to Abdel Wahab's fine restaurant, and this time I'll know to pace myself (must save a bit of room for that crunchy sparrow).

Inowroclaw...

....after a six hour drive through dense fog from Berlin:

Danny's very nice Carl Martin distortion pedal has died on us, as has the power supply for his Line 6 delay (thankfully this one runs on batteries).
A member of one of the support bands took a swig of coke, not realising there was a wasp hiding in the can. The little bugger stung him on the tongue (!!!) and he's been rushed to hospital with an anaphylactic reaction.

Anyway, off to dinner with Ozric Tentacles in a bit.

Athens (or Thessaloniki continued....)

Our driver to take us to the train station after the Thessaloniki gig failed to turn up meaning we had to get three taxis at six in the morning. When we arrived we were rather unhelpfully informed that there was a train strike and we would have no chance of getting to Athens in time for the next gig, so we flew instead. Luckily Les had enough on his credit card to cover it.

At the Athens show, supporting Porcupine tree:

One of Danny's power supplies died, meaning no reverb pedal,
John knocked over his crash cymbal, and his floor tom collapsed mid song, meaning some hasty repairs and a lot of gaffa,
Porcupine Tree's keyboard player fell off his riser (after a manly swig of sake), injuring his head and ribs,

etc, etc.

We are about to board a plane to Poland via Berlin. What could possibly go wrong?

Thessaloniki

So far on this trip:

Mark (front of house) had to cancel due to an ear infection (not ideal for one who mixes sound for a living),

Les dropped  a bottle of beer, smashing it in the airport cafe,
We sent Vincent's suitcase to baggage handling with his passport still in it,
Les left his brand new book on the plane,
Vincent spilled tea all over his laptop,
Jay broke a bass string mid-song (and we didn't have a spare bass with us),
Vincent spilled a bottle of water over the stage - not good with all those electrics there.

They're still only halfway through the set and I have the fear....

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:

Tunis

So Anathema finally make good on their promise and return to play a gig that should have happened well over a year ago, the venue this time being an old prison rather than an important and culturally sensitive national landmark. I guess they thought it would be handy to have cells close to hand in case a spot of impromptu cat sacrificing broke out mid-gig (government officials were present just in case, scrutinising events from an elevated row of patio chairs, and a couple of not very secret agents were reportedly seen shadowing band members as they enjoyed a drink in a local bar later that night). As he's currently lounging around in Majorca, John's drum stool was filled on this occasion by Portuguese stand-in Daniel Cardoso who did an incredible job considering he'd had just one and a half rehearsals. Great drummer though he is, he does have some work to do before he reaches the standard of the legendary John Douglas. For example, I imagine it would be quite some time before he's seen baring his arse at Danny from the side of the stage during a heartfelt and tender acoustic number. You've either got it or you haven't.

The Tunisians now hold the gold medal in the "hotel furthest from venue" sub-category of international pro-celebrity gig sorting, making the Russians look like rank amateurs and leaving them smarting in humiliation. I honestly don't know what the Tunisians were thinking (a common notion, I found). It's like playing a gig in Manchester and staying in Birmingham, it being a tortuous slog down the motorway (a game which involves driving very slowly while keeping the white line separating the lanes as close to the centre of your bonnet as possible) to and from our annoying beach resort hotel where they served tasteless beer that doesn't get you pissed and where I felt like a tit dressed as a roadie among all the vacationing families. Who's bright idea was it to dump a rock band and their crew in a place where all the entertainment and facilities are designed to please ten-year-olds anyway? The person whose uncle runs the bloody place, that's who. God knows what the rest of the guests thought of us, though I have a good idea what some of the staff were thinking. As Mark and I ate our dinner one evening the waiter insisted on putting a floral spray on our table (replacing it after I moved it), asking us in that particular way if we were enjoying our stay. And then there was the Tunisian Bruno who it seems would have been prepared to do anything to get one of us to have a game of ping pong with him. Jay finally obliged (and beat him), but the only thing Bruno bummed that day was a couple of cigarettes off Les.

Anyway, after the gig (more on that later) we got back to the hotel at three-am, and deciding not to visit a nearby bar with everyone else as I was bloody knackered, I went straight to my room where I found all my belongings were missing - clean clothes, shampoo, the lot. It turns out the maid had somehow misinterpreted my reply of "no thanks" when she'd asked earlier if I wanted my room cleaned as "yes, and not only that, can you remove all my possessions and put them in your office, apart from any toiletries which you should put in a carrier bag and hide it under the bed." Seriously, the mind boggles. Anyway, after remonstrating with the front desk I was eventually told my things were in safe hands and would be brought to me in the morning, though they would wait for me to call so I wouldn't be disturbed. Unsurprisingly, I was woken up at eight-thirty by the maid hammering on the door. I was not happy. I tried to get back to sleep but conceded defeat a couple of hours later and went for some food and a couple of beers in an effort to feel sleepy again. It did the trick and I went back to bed. An hour or so later the phone rang, and like an idiot I answered it. I was to immediately vacate the room - they needed it for new arrivals. So instead of slumbering in air-conditioned loveliness I found myself seething and drinking vodka in the insane heat while watching masochistic nutters doing aerobics to bad techno music. I really was not happy. I put my stuff in Les's room (he'd forgotten to put his "coldener" on so it was mafting in there), returning a little while later for a much needed nap, only to turfed out of there after half an hour as they needed that room as well. What the hell was going on? It felt as if there was some insane conspiracy to make my stay in Tunisia as miserable and frustrating as possible. Our flight back to the UK wasn't until two-thitrty in the morning (why??) but that didn't stop our hosts from then deciding we'd be picked up at seven to go to a bar in Tunis until it was time to go to the airport. What? Are you insane?

LEAVE ME ALONE! ALL I WANT IS SOME SLEEP!

We refused to go along with their stupid plans anymore and I went and sat in a corner with my headphones on and listened to some Cardiacs to calm myself down. We were finally picked up at ten and I don't think I've ever been more relieved to get the hell out of anywhere in my life.

Anyway, the gig, allowed to go ahead despite more accusations of satanism, was good though the PA lacked oomph. The crowd had a great time, though sadly absent was the lovely Myriam who'd made such an effort to make our stay pleasant last time we visited, refused entry by some dick head among the promoter's entourage who'd been "wronged" in some way. Grow up idiot. Support act Carthogods were entertaining, having brought Fabio Lione over from Italy for a spot of stunt singing. Universal was played with an interesting twist and the mayor of Tunis was sufficiently impressed to allow more rock at the venue in the future. Good though this news is, I really don't know how long it'll be before I'll feel like making a return visit.

Best quote of the trip?

"I can say this now, my rival has a nuclear weapon on the darkness of his anus" - Ahmed Chebil on the shit-stirring, letter-writing, satanism-accusing rival promoter.

And the moral to this tale? Never suggest a Tunisian man's wife is a donkey.

Pistoia Blues Festival

More baking heat, this time in Tuscany - a beautiful part of the planet and a world away from the bits of Italy I've found myself in previously. All was going well until we found we'd been delivered to the wrong hotel - suddenly whisked from air conditioned luxury to a town centre three-star with faulty plumbing and a decidedly rickety elevator. Still, we were close to bars and restaurants and suchlike so it was a fair trade-off as the other one was in the middle of nowhere. We ventured out for a production feed (cheers lads) in the evening and found a little place which seemed nice, nestling at the edge of an elegant square in the town of Prato. If only we'd known about the service before we sat down. What remnants of our order that survived the journey from waiter's notepad to kitchen and back to our table arrived in such a random fashion we may as well have just asked for one big plate of chips between us. Matt's burger arrived before most of the starters, these accompanied by vegetables meant for other absent main courses. A mysterious bowl of what looked like vegetable soup appeared and had us all perplexed. I then had to remind the bloke that I'd ordered some onion soup, though he decided to treat this as a brand new request which meant more agonising minutes looking on as others ate half of their dinners. Eventually I got a completely different steak to what I ordered (where was the red wine sauce?) with no roast potatoes, but tucked right in as I'd lost the will to complain. Won't be eating there again.

Pistoia is a beautiful town. The gig was in the magnificent medieval square overshadowed by a cathedral and museum on two sides, grand old buildings on the others. Porcupine Tree (headliners) were setting up when we arrived, my introduction to them amounting to being told in no uncertain terms that if anything happened to their precious stage carpet the plug would be pulled on our show. Fair enough. I'm Darryl by the way, pleased to meet you. I built a couple of pedal boards as usual (nice multi-level one for Dan this time) and watched the first two support acts from the side of the stage. North Atlantic Oscillation caught my ear - great harmonies and dynamics. Anathema played a good set and then it was time for PT to take the stage. I have to say I was intrigued by their setup. At the front were a couple of pedal boards, racks of guitars and a lovely looking old wooden keyboard. Right in the middle though, was a vacuum cleaner. I remember thinking, "Wow, that's interesting. Maybe they mic it up and put it through some effects or something". Sadly not. One of their roadies hoovered the bloody carpet with it.

I headed back to the hotel pretty early after all was done, missing the spectacle of PT's tour manager thumping a member of Astra for nicking booze and behaving like a twat, allegedly. Matt and I took advantage of the late night roast pork sandwich shop across the road from our lodgings - a bit salty but nice all the same. Les slept in the hotel corridor as Jamie couldn't hear his increasingly desperate attempts to get into the room they were sharing. Hey ho.

I have to say a big thank you to our drivers who really looked after us while we were there - top blokes the pair of them. The photo shows Porcupine Tree's crew setting up in Pistoia. (They did help us out by the way, lending us a couple of essential bits of kit, so cheers fellas.)

Hey, guess what. We're in Tunisia again on Wednesday. Watch this space.

Sonisphere Madrid

Another day, another Sonisphere. This one was going to be nuts from the start as ever-thrifty Les had us flying home the moment we cleared the stage in a worthy effort to save money on flights. Of course this would mean a pretty tight schedule, one exacerbated by hour after tedious hour of delays caused by, among other things, adverse weather and dumb passengers. We were delayed (thankfully) by thunderstorms on the way to Madrid; our flight was bumpy, Dan's and Vincent's from Paris choppier still, though the one carrying Porcupine Tree's crew was reportedly a terrifying journey into hell. The reason for the thunderstorms was the insane Spanish heat. Anathema played in blazing mid-afternoon sunshine on a baking stage (106 Fahrenheit if the thermometer was to be believed), John no doubt regretting not bringing a sombrero with him. I on the other hand could really have done with some oven gloves to aid the removal of pedals after the show. It was a speedy pack down and then straight to the airport and back to Bristol on a plane full of very well behaved though quite staggeringly talkative school children. All in a day(and a half)s work for your trusty crew. Italy and the Pistoia Blues festival on Wednesday.

One way of dealing with Spanish heat.

Sonisphere Bucharest

After a couple of hours kip in a bloody horrible Belgian hotel we got on a plane to Romania, ate a dreadful in-flight meal on the way then were dropped off at a proper big hotel in Bucharest, this one only ten minutes from the airport and right next to the festival site. Russians take note. In fact, as I constructed pedal boards in my room for the show the following day I could see Metallica playing their set. (Un?)fortunately I couldn't hear them as my window wouldn't open. According to Matt they were a bit ropey.

Despite the festival stage being enormous we ended up with an area about the size of a tea towel on which to work, the reason for this being Rammstein's stage-hogging monster of a set - all welded pipes, gas canisters and steel walkways, though I can forgive them as their concert was incredible - perfect sound, insane pyrotechnics and a wicked sense of humour. They definitely gained a few fans in the Anathema camp. We had a good titter with them at their after-show party as well, Les taking the time to engage in a bit of friendly keyboarder rivalry:

"Balls to your treadmill, I've got a mini trampoline and a unicycle!"

I look forward to the day he readies the act for stage. All in all a highly enjoyable weekend.

Graspop

A nice mellow voyage to Zebrugge on the North Sea ferry for the band to play a blinder in a packed marquee, opening with a mighty rendition of Led Zeppelin's Kashmir. Afterwards I met someone who is kind of partially responsible for my being there. The gentleman's name is Biff Byford and his band is Saxon. When I was fifteen my uncle took me to see them play at Sheffield city hall. It was the first gig I'd ever been to. Not too long after that I bought my first electric guitar, and now I make a living travelling the world tuning and re-stringing the things. So I shook Biff's hand and said thanks. All he had to say in response was "Who are you?" It meant something to me though. I also met a very knackered Lips, lead singer with Anvil. He's just as nice a bloke in the flesh as he is in the highly entertaining documentary, "Anvil: The Story of Anvil".

Jamie was rather keen to show everyone his very smart yet curiously branded sunglasses which apparently he found in his car. Here's a photo of him wearing them (click for larger view):

How they came up with that name I've no idea, but I reckon they should team up with the company that makes the television we saw in Turkey. I'd buy shares in Arcelik and Knobbout.

Cologne (continued)...

Not a good day football-wise for both Germany and England. It was embarrassing to watch our eleven idiots cluelessly chasing the ball around the pitch, our being in the company of many surprisingly cheerful though unsurprisingly crapulous locals. And what a bar we chose to watch it in - dimly lit, curiously decorated and full of weird Heath Robinson-style automated musical devices. "Tunnes & Schal", a deeply sinister robotic accordion/tuba combo relieved us of far too many of our euros, their repertoire being remarkably comprehensive and their renditions flawless. Who could possibly resist this?:

Tunnes & Schal play Kraftwerk

Luckily our ferry back to the UK was the not-too-shabby Pride of Dover, not its sister ship, the oddly depressing Pride (should be Shame) of Kent which carried us across the channel at the start of the trip.

Three days rest then it's Graspop in Belgium followed closely by Sonisphere in Bucharest.

Cologne

Just watched Germany lose to Serbia in a pleasant city square. The locals don't seem that bothered which is good as a lot them made the effort to doll themselves up for the occasion. So now we're down by the river watching USA v Slovenia, making sure we'll be in the right frame of mind for the England v Algeria game later this evening. A few Bitburgers should do the trick.

In Germany you can experience the disappointment of your team losing while waiting for your tram.

Frankfurt

A very hot and sweaty concert played to several hundred happy and excited Frankfurters. Danny rather aptly dedicated his performance of "Are You There?" to a chap in the audience called Amir. Most amusing.

Just arrived in Frankfurt and it's piddling down. Not much to report from Hamburg - good crowd, good local crew, nice take on the traditional ham and cheese load-in grub. All very efficient.

Germany

Well on our way to Dover and we find ourselves on the bus that took us to Scandinavia and back last autumn, though it's had a lick of paint and a new bog since then. I wonder if that's anything to do with the fact it's also the bus that followed Davina McCall and David Walliams (among others) on their recent charity bike ride for sport relief. Apparently we're much nicer to have on board. With the bus comes top driver and all-round good (dirty-minded) bloke Tim, who never fails to inspire confidence whenever we entrust our lives to him. Among the improvements to the bus, I've noticed the kettle has been replaced, or "upgraded" as some might put it. I wouldn't. The new one glows blue, and when it's ready it spits out exactly one mug's worth of boiling water (note to self: remember to put a mug there). It's not so much a tea's made, more a "water's poured". Now call me old fashioned, but sometimes I want more, or less, than exactly one mug of boiling water. What about my noodles? What about John's "Vesta" ready meals (which I haven't come across since the 1980s)? What if I want tea in a small china cup? The possibilities of being annoyed by this thing are probably endless, though I can't think of any more potential grievances right now. Why re-invent the bloody wheel though?

Download 2010..

..or "Heavy Metal Holidays" as Les so aptly puts it. Anathema played a blinding half hour set and then after a frantic pack down I found my old mate Darren who'd been parked up, patiently waiting until I could get his ticket to him. What followed was booze, food and a stunning set by AC/DC who I expected would be entertaining but not nearly as good as this. Later poor Darren had to wander the campsite and eventually curl up on the grass as an inebriated Jamie had nicked his sleeping quarters, though in his defence Jay had erected two tents and got to sleep in neither.

Shame I didn't get to have a beer with Emily (who I hadn't seen since she was five years old) and her Das Bunk sign - sorry, mobile phone trouble meant I didn't get the message until I was back home. There'll be another time.

Germany on Tuesday and back to the world of bunk.

Matt Rowley is Monitor Man

London

The near demise of a crow and a motorcyclist were nothing compared to the greenfly genocide on the windscreen of Les's trusty van on our eventful trip down to the capital. An atmospheric show at the Islington Academy was almost cut short due to a baffling technical issue affecting Danny's amp and pedals.  It turns out John's china crash had fallen from the drum riser, hitting the switch on the power outlet supplying Dan's side of the stage on its way down. Now what are the chances of that happening? An impromptu acoustic "Are You There?" filled the gap nicely and we were on our way again. It was an excellent gig, and I think everyone's now enjoying a well-earned chill out before Germany in a few weeks.

Ekaterinburg

(I think I have this figured out - from left to right: Margaret Thatcher, Michaela Strachan, an Anathema pick for whoever correctly guesses the bloke in the glasses. A young Billy Crystal?)

Ekaterinburg was bleak compared to Moscow and St. Petersburg, though nowhere looks particularly appealing when the weather's drab. A sizeable portion of the city's population appear to make their homes in ramshackle tin roofed huts which I imagine would be quite cozy in the winter months when the fire's going. It was odd to find such a well specified venue in the midst of all of this, and I'm still struggling to figure out the meaning of the giant silver blob hanging from a knackered crane at the building's rear.

The food during our visit to Russia was uniformly excellent, goulash soup being a particular highlight for me. I got to try proper Borscht for the first time as well. The meal on the Ural Airlines flight back to Moscow was such a vast improvement on the one served coming in that I can only assume they read what I said about them in my previous post and gave the catering company a massive kick up the backside. So, do fly with them if you wish, they're alright. The BA flight back to Heathrow was great, only a third full and staffed by stewardesses whose sole purpose seemed to be to keep us in food and perfectly chilled booze. To top it all we were chasing a beautiful sunset for much of our journey west, and the view of London as we came in to land was quite simply incredible.

I like Russia a lot. Everyone we met, be they fans, local crew, hotel staff or whoever were friendly and helpful, and the country itself frequently impressed with its sheer scale and rough edged beauty. I find it hard to believe that I spent so much of my early teens terrified the USSR would blow the crap out of us with no more than four minutes notice, though I feel I may have the BBC to blame for that with their gritty apocalyptic dramas of the time. I'm already looking forward to a return visit.

Ronnie James Dio 1942-2010. Much respect.

A conversation between our Russian promoters:

"Right, we've got an English rock band coming to play a concert tomorrow, they're going to need a hotel for the night."
"Okay, how about this one?"
"How far is it from the venue?"
"Fecking miles away."
"That sounds perfect. Ah, hang on a minute, it's quite close to the airport."
"You're right, I didn't notice that. There is another one that's sodding well hours away from both the airport and the venue."
"That sounds good, we'll stick them in that one."
"They're going to want to eat tomorrow lunchtime. We should find a restaurant that takes so long to get to they'll feel they might starve to death by the roadside before they get even halfway there."
"Yes, and it should have seventies funk-disco music playing continuously while they eat."
"I know of a place which satisfies both criteria."
"Good. Then let me ask you a question. For the drive there, how bumpy will the roads be?"
"Incredibly so."
"Excellent, book it immediately."

 "It seems our arrangements for the band are complete. Lets have some vodka."
"Cheers."

Moscow

More post-gig drunken shenanigans at the Tochka Club last night after a well attended and entertaining show. Lord knows what time everyone got back to the hotel but it took a major feat of people-management (and white knuckle driving) to get everybody up and to the airport in time for the flight to Ekaterinburg, upon which was cheerlessly served the worst meal in the history of air travel, unless of course greasy pressed ham and horrible cake are your kind of thing. The stewardess burned me twice with her kettle, the dimwit, and this was while she was apologising to another passenger for spilling water over him. Don't fly Ural Airlines, even if they advertise on this page. Russia seems to be caught up in a bumpiest roads contest with Turkey, and I tell you, if I were a betting man I'd have trouble deciding who to put my well-earned fiver on right now. We're starting to wonder if we'll get back to the UK on schedule, what with that pesky volcano and the looming BA strike.

St. Petersburg

It was a jolly good gig enjoyed by many in the worryingly crumbling city of St. Petersburg where I can honestly say I've never seen such filthy cars - all of them covered in a thick layer of light brown dust. Come to think of it, I don't think we passed a single car wash on our excessively long journey from the hotel to the venue so perhaps the two phenomena are related. After the show we boarded the overnight train to Moscow, a most agreeable mode of transport unless you're the poor sods in the compartment next to the vodka-fuelled big sweaty man's singing competition which regretably I missed by retiring to my cabin early like a good guitar tech. Les has been taking full advantage of the legendary Russian hospitality by having Kellog's Vodka Flakes for breakfast (part of your five a day over here) making for some incredibly artful swearing at all sorts of odd hours, though I must say there have been far too many utterances regarding "hairy arses" and suchlike for my sensitive ears. He also has a new and novel means of finding his way home should he become lost.

About to have dinner in the excellent Tochka club in Moscow. Might go for the ribeye steak.

Thank You Sporty Much!

Russia

Another flight at bollocks o'clock (or bollocks-hundred hours if you've done military service) in the morning from Heathrow meaning a through-the-night slog down the M6 from Heckmondwike via Liverpool. Basically you miss a night's sleep doing it this way, one you'll never get a chance to catch up on. I bet I missed some great dreams. The fatigue does make for quite a pleasant floaty feeling on the plane after a couple of ales though, and conveniently helps one overlook the rude behaviour of French fellow passengers (you know who you are Madame avec le gros cul). Mark (from Cornwall) quite sensibly booked himself a hotel room near the airport for the night so he's nice and fresh, the bastard. Now why didn't I think of that? Les was most impressed with Terminal 5, particularly the thoughtful inclusion of a bar right next to our boarding gate. I don't know how but we managed to shrink our check-in baggage tally to nine items from nineteen - a miracle of downsizing if ever I saw one, though Dan still carries with him a suitcase the size of a chest freezer. First time flying with British Airways for me - might as well have been EasyJet. Most unremarkable. Our Russian hosts met us at the airport. They are called Igor and Dmitri. It's like arriving in Scotland and being met by Jimmy McSporran. Perfect.

Only with this band...

...would you find yourself printing Russian visa applications in the back of a van in the car park of the Staines branch of PC World having just got off a flight from Istanbul after an insane bus ride through perilous terrain at the end of six days hard slog with little sleep and sporadic feasts and an absolute ton of laughs. Beats working in an office.

See you in St Petersburg on Thursday morning.

Today's workplace...

...and I take it all back. The local crew in Izmir (a company called Diva) have been superb. They even keep the cables tidy.

Sleep

Why is it so difficult to sleep on this bus? It's a nice bus, kitted out like a narrow boat on wheels - you can't look anywhere without seeing polished wood of some description. The bunks are comfortable and spacious (with a full window this time) and all the facilities one would expect are present and correct - playstation, dvd, well-stocked fridge, etc. Ooh, and wifi! Maybe it's the schedule we've been keeping? Once we're loaded up and ready to go it's generally gone two in the morning and that often heralds the first chance we've had to get something decent to eat all day. Or maybe it's the bumpiness of the Turkish roads? It seems you can't go more than two hundred yards in this country without feeling you've driven over a badly designed cattle grid. Or some cattle. You're continually being jolted awake from your shallow slumber, all the while fearing that if the driver takes the next corner too speedily you might find yourself in a heap among the socks in the aisle. Then again it could be the heat. The bus has excellent air conditioning, though unfortunately it's being rationed like food in a Dickensian workhouse. When asked to turn it on the driver cheerily obliges, as he should as the band are paying for it, but then works under the assumption that this will be the only occasion, ever, that we will require cool air. Surely it should have clicked by now, after the quadrillionth time of being asked? If it's hot (which it is, every day) turn the damn thing on. I can hear Bill Hicks' father now as he responds to his son's request for the blessed relief of air-con as they drive through the baking heat of Arizona.

"No son, it eats gas."

One generally wakes feeling mildly roughed up, coupled with the disconcerting feeling that someone's been trying to smother you with hot, damp smelly towels. Not ideal at all.

Didn't see much of Istanbul and Ankara unfortunately, partly due to the Turkish plague of half-arsed venue staff doubling or trebling the time it takes us to set up with their incompetence and lethargy. Moan, moan, moan.

On a lighter note, it's a lovely morning and we're heading to Izmir by the sea for the last show of the tour, and it's open-air. Should be a good day.

Why is this brand unavailable in the UK?

click on photo for larger view

Bursa, continued...

Bursa was just one of those gigs. It took hours and hours to set up as we were beset with so many problems (courtesy of the shittiness of the venue's equipment) that Matt almost resorted to a strike ballot within his one-man union, so miffed was he. The in-house sound guy was so lackadaisical in everything he set his mind to (or didn't) we may as well have asked the luxuriously moustached tea/popcorn dude to sort out the stage for us. The chaps who turned up with the front-of-house mixing desk suggested new tone-meister Mark Ellis position himself behind a solid pillar, lest the precious board get damaged, meaning he would neither see nor hear the band. Then to cap it all the on-stage monitoring system conked out almost before a note had been played, which merely made Matt more miffed. I also ended up doing the light show (actually two lights - must ask for a lampy bonus), this being one more thing the useless venue staff couldn't have cared less about.

"Welcome to Turkey," as our helpful local roadie Mustafa so aptly put it.

Looks like a hung parliament back home. I expect much impassioned political discourse on the bus today.

Bursa (apparently kebab capital of Turkey)

Day four (gig three) of our Turkish excursion and bunk flu has me firmly in its grip. Yesterday I felt dreadful and today I feel like shit, so thankfully there has been some measurable improvement. The germ-spreading capabilities of the onboard air conditioning system are of course to blame, the source of the outbreak almost certainly traceable to the bunk of monitor engineer Matt Rowley who's been coughing continually since we checked in at Heathrow.

The technical specs in the venues have been going steadily down hill since we started - today in Bursa we have equipment seemingly supplied by the Turkish equivalent of the Early Learning Centre. In Eskisehir last night we battled shoddy electrics, frankly bizarre mixing desk placement, a ragtag band of misfit mic stands that would not do as they were asked and a stage that, being honest, would have really benefited from a good hoovering. But, as is often the case in these situations, the gig sounded great. I guess it must fire the band up having to battle against the odds to put on a show.

Time for load in now, this time fuelled by a breakfast comprised of Les's delicious birthday cake and an ice lolly.

Antalya

A free concert in the beautiful Ataturk Culture Park where the audience were forced to share the area in front of the impossibly high stage with shrubs and hedgerows, presumably quite an inconvenience for some of them. As the show drew to a close the band were extremely honoured to accept a floral tribute from no less a notable than the minister for culture himself, graciously received by Vincent who proved himself a dignified and worthy ambassador, not only for Anathema, but for the UK music industry as a whole.

Best not get too used to this..

My view from my balcony as I write this, shortly after breakfast at the Porto Bello hotel in Antalya. Our Turkish promoters have very kindly put us up here for a much needed rest, our yellow wristbands indicating we can help ourselves to anything the hotel has to offer with complete impunity. I'd say it's a lucky escape for them being that we're all too knackered to take full advantage of such a kind offer, and bearing in mind we reportedly ate, drank and telephoned our way through fifteen hundred dollars in two days during the infamous "Black Cat" debacle in Tunisia last year. After the show tonight (a free one in a big park with Anathema headlining) we'll be boarding the tour bus where I imagine conditions will be somewhat different.

On my way to meet the band for our six-day jaunt around Turkey. Should be a lot of fun.

4th May     Antalya

5th May     Eskisehir

6th May     Bursa

7th May     Istanbul

8th May     Ankara

9th May     Izmir

Hope the bus has decent air-con.

Drachten

Bit of a funny gig really, what with the mysterious and rather large stranger getting in my way at the side of the stage, the most feeble drunken stage invasion I've ever witnessed, and my utter conviction that I'd been belmed at for no good reason, knocking my chipper mood for six. It all came good in the end as it always does somehow, and thankfully the post-show shower was nice and hot. Dinner was lovely as well - top marks to the chef.

The ferry ride home from Zebrugge (much nicer than the Rotterdam boat) almost rivalled the now legendary Stockholm/Helsinki Viking Line crossing for sheer bizarre drunken tedium. This time we had loudly farting pensioners, cabaret turn Rocker-Fella sticking noodly guitar solos where they're least wanted in his you'll-never-guess-what-I'm-going-to-play-next set, and a hyperactive French version of the Kids from Fame leaping about the place. I also experienced what it feels like to eat the world's most disappointing pizza.

Turkey next week.

Dordrecht

Great gig in another converted church (Rock 2 - God nil) in the handsome, historic town of Dordrecht with its jauntily-angled buildings and surfeit of elegant river craft. Whilst the front row at the Deventer gig had representatives from the "gran-athema" contingent, Dordrecht had the other end of the spectrum amply covered with three fine young lads air-guitaring and singing along with youthful vigour. I'm not so sure about the devil sign/yawning combo one displayed - must have been a little past his bed time. I'm also harbouring the suspicion that some of our missing picks ended up in his pocket. You know who you are. Anyway, it seems Anathema can truly claim to be a group that appeals to all ages. There's a lot of pension/pocket money to be had out there.

Deventer

It may not look like much from the outside but our bus for these three Dutch shows might just be my favourite yet, despite its obvious flaws. The bunks are most capacious, though the curtains (providing much-needed privacy) wouldn't look out of place in your granny's bungalow. The kitchen is far better designed than others I've come across, though its situation on the top deck means something as simple as making a cup of tea can be a hair-raising and potentially life-threatening experience. We have three lounges (including one at the front - essential in my opinion) but nothing to match the original travellers' arms from my first European tour a couple of years ago. Swings and roundabouts really.

The Deventer gig was a classic "airing new material" kind of a show. It sounded great from where I was standing, despite Vincent's Electro-sodding-Harmonix pedals messing with my head once again by not working at the most awkward of moments. They sound tremendous but don't travel well. It may be time for a rethink. Anyway, always nice to be in the Netherlands - good place, good people.

Finally..

..only one more day and we'll be boarding the North Sea Ferry (only ten minutes away from me), bound for the Netherlands and three shows which could not be more welcome for so many reasons. I will be reporting from the bunk so be sure to stay tuned for all the latest news, comment and analysis.

Not long now.

Anathema's much-anticipated new album will be released on My 31st and the first shows in a long while are just a few weeks away. It's been a long, cold winter.

Old news for many of you but the first dates of 2010 have been announced on Anathema's official website. So far in April we have Deventer, Dordrecht and Drachten, part of what's shaping up to be the places beginning with "D" tour. Then in May there's three dates in Turkey followed by a couple in Russia. Can't wait to get on the road again.