Author: dm (---.hsd1.fl.comcast.net)
Date: 09-16-06 14:41
Sept. 3
Aberdeen, Scotland
There must be something in the water in Scotland. I think it's pure grain
alcohol.
From Tilburg I took 3 trains and 2 planes to get to Aberdeen for a Sunday night
called 'Gabberdeen'. After a long day of travel I arrived at the airport. And
waited. And sat. And waited. Finally at 10:30pm (closing time for the small
regional airport) two dudes came strolling up and asked 'Dan?'
So, off to the venue in the Sidekick. I arrived to the sound of 'gung gung gung
gung' at 500 bpm. There were a good 9 people there.
After some electrical issues, I got my gear set up and was ready to relax...but
what's that? The subs keep cutting? Wait, no, now the hi end is getting
cancelled...wait...ummmmm...oh fuck it, I need a beer.
I stepped upstairs to check out the karoke action, but found out it wasn't
karoke, well....it was, but it was only one guy singing. Yes, that was his act.
Phil Collins, Styx, Journey. All played to a crowd of the drunkest, oldest most
Scottish people I've ever seen.
I stepped outside and was immediatly coversated at by my new friend Keith, a
member of the Scottish Army and a recent arrival back from a four month tour of
Iraq. He couldn't stop gushing about how great American's were, and how awesome it
was that 'your boys' had already set up a KFC and Burger King, and how the
American's are kings. He also insisted that he buy me a drink. At some point he got
confused and kept insisting that I had done great job 'over there' and that I
shouldn't be scared to go back, that I should 'take it to em'. Okay.
Keith also helped me understand the concept of the 'grab-a-granny'. That's a pub
where all of the women are over 50 and a ready to get drunk and...well, you get the
picture. Go Scotland! It was really pleasant because he was 5 inches from my face,
spitting out garble that I couldn't understand, the whole time holding onto a
handshake that had lasted for a good 5 minutes. If had had a machine gun and a
helmet, I'm positive he would've gone in for the kiss.
Back inside, and after 3 hours or flatstick 488 bpm 'hardcore' it was my turn. My
set mostly consisted of yarbled sub-bass and a drunk local diel dressed like a
cross between 'dirty' era Chriasina Aguilera and a drag queen (weave and all)
screaming at me to PLAY SOME GABBER!!!!! and banging her wooden shoes on the wooden
dance floor. It was really great. Okay then, head down, 45 minutes and over.
Fine then. There was no chance for a microphone, it was a feedback nightmare. Not
even good feedback.
But this, my friends, was only the start of Aberdeen.
The real adventure came at the 'after party'. We were met out front by 'the
Reverend'. I asked how he was, he told me he'd just finished getting a blow job.
Here we go. Inside I sat down and listened as the good Rev informed me four times
that he was going to Holland next week to 'fucking take loads of drugs and listen
to gabber'. The Buckfast (fortified wine, somewhere along the lines of Night Train,
but with a hellish amount of caffeine added...the shit's been banned in other parts
of Scotland apparently) was flowing, but it was already 3:30 am and I was in strict
observation mode. Let's see, where to start?
OKay, the chicken wings had to have been there for days, and someone started
picking the meat off of the bone. This led too...
Keefe (the crystals of THC from a marijuana plant, and the strongest part) hits
from a bucket bong? check.
Ecstacy pills at 4am? check.
More Buckfast ? check.
Tons of shitty beer? check.
Chili peppers? check.
Wait...
what?
Chili peppers?
Yes, chili peppers. At some point it was suggested that chili peppers get you
really zooted. Not to pass up a good buzz, The Rev was up to the challenge to eat
five at once.
Thirty seconds..."whatever"
Two minutes "No big deal."
4 minutes, "Oh shite."
5 minutes...on the ground, no more talky.
5 minutes 15 seconds...two more geordies decide that he's faking and have a go at
it themselves.
Whups, no joke.
7 minutes...The Rev is puking in the bathroom sink, and his boys are on the
kitchen floor, fighting over the milk jug.
At this point, I decided that a hotel bed sounded fabulous, so we departed, but
not before I heard the Rev scream, "Fook yes I'll snort one." Pure class in
Aberdeen.
My gracious hosts Mark and Deen escorted me back to the hotel. I asked how late the
party would continue. They assured me that if I returned the next night, the house
would still be rammed with crazies doing god knows what to get high.
I got back to the Holiday Inn and was granted late checkout. Bad Scottish talk
shows and sleep.
The late wake up was a bit hindered by the testing of the fire alarms three times
and the maids constantly ignoring the do not disturb signs and the FUCKING LOCKED
DOOR and tryng to come in. After a very kind call to the front desk, I was back to
sleep for a bit. I awoke at 1:30 and taxi and trained it to Edinburgh.
Sept. 3
Edinburgh, Scotland
A beautiful train ride through the country of Scotland. Seaside, small villages,
rolling farm fields and a comfortable no transfer train ride. I arrived at the
station and called my contact John who was over in a flash and escorted me to the
venue for sound check.
It was to be an early night, 7:30 doors, show over by 11:30. I couldn't complain
as I had an early flight to Brighton the next day.
As a few guys set up the small but ample sound system in a free small room, I was
taken around the corner by a nice fellow to have a pint of ale.
As I sat telling him my story of last night, a smile came to his face.
"What was this guys name?" asked my drinking partner.
"The Reverend" I answered.
"Fookin' hell, my brother hasn't changed one bit" he jabbed.
Hilarious. Of all people I end up with the brother of my entertainment for the
night before.
I sat and chatted up the bar maid at the venue for a while and then the music
started with a nice DJ mix of noise, indie hip hop and experimental electronics.
I forget the name of the second act, but he played nice electroish IDM off of a
tracker and wore a pirate hat. Frog Pocket from the Wrong Music stable followed.
Wacky outfit, splatter beats and jumping around like an insane person. Turns out
he's a professor of something or other at a high brow University. Of course.
I had a very cathartic set and managed to get the place going quite a bit.
It's fun to play through a small p.a. in a small room to a small crowd on a Monday
night, and they were appreciative that I gave it my all.
John's mother picked us up from the venue and drove us out into the countrty for
the evenings accomodations. She was kind enough to make us a beautiful tray of
bread and 4 cheeses and crackers and melon and peaches and tea and....bed.
Sept. 4
Brighton, England
John woke up long enough to put on a bath robe and enjoy breakfast before so
kindly letting his mom take me to the airport solo. I slept through most of the
drive and rain. I arrived into London Gatwick Airport and was promptly greeted by
my host Ian and his friend Steve.
Gatwick airport is strange. I hear all of these horror stories about cusoms and
immigration at Heathrow airport, but Gatwick is decent. The first time I went
through I had to urinate and the wait was a half an hour, but they were nice and
didn't ask any questions. The second time there was no wait and again, no
questions. Things are a bit 1984 in the aiports now though. Any international
flight, they take your picture at leasty two times, and each time you check through
the next check point, your last picture is flashed and matched to your face.
Out of Gatwick, we drove to Brighton and enjoyed a nice pint of cider before
taking a long stroll around the city. We ran into Colin, another of the nights
promoters, on the street. He was trashed already, or at least close to it.
Brighton has a certain vibe. Tons of students, tons of freaks, tons of druggies and
tons of drunks in a quaint seaside beach town.
After a healthy Full English Breakfast (veggie please....baked beans, veg sausage,
roasted tomatoes, hashed browns, toast and an egg with sauces galore...fuck I love
it) we went to a pub and shot billiards and drank a couple more pints. It was a bit
of a long stay in a bar for my tastes, but the locals seemed to enjoy just sitting
and catching up and letting me in on their dark secrets.
We took a stroll back to the car, couldn't figure out where to pay, finally did
and then took a short drive to the other Ian's house. He was cooking us dinner. And
something else. When we got there, the house was a buzz with activity. Cooking,
talking, TV, music, shouting, dogs....and very little space. They don't make
hallways in the UK like they do for our fat US asses. I was aided by Ian into the
basement of his house where there was a bed set up. He informed me that his sister
had been staying there, but I was to be there for the night. He also stumblingly
told me that he'd heard 'dodgey' stories about me and he didn't want anything
broke. His eyes also seemed to have trouble focusing.
We went upstairs and sure enough, there was a nice curry cooking on the stove,
along with....egg whites? Strange. Protein, I guessed.
Then another 'chef' carried the egg whites into the living room and started
gathering it and cutting it into lines with a credit card. I've never seen anyone
do that with egg whites. A lot of people sitting in the room seemed really
interested in the eggs as well. They all snorted the eggs and instead of giving
them energy, it made them near comatose. Ketamine in the house ladies and
gentlemen. Yeesh, that stuff is garbage.
I decided that Ian needed to do a show called 'Cooking With Ketamine' but he
didn't get it, at least right away. After staring at the wall for 35 seconds (yes,
I did count) he stuttered a laugh. I don't think ketamine and jokes mix. After my
Brighton experience, I'm not sure ketamine and anything mix, but more on that
later. I was offered more times than I can count. I've never done it and I don't
have a desire too, and that lack of sire is increased each time I watch someone
indulge.
So, after dinner we loaded and went to the club, where chef Ian was also the
sound guy. Ever watch a guy try to set up 8k of sound with ketamine?. You should,
you'll enjoy it. So, after a 2 minute sound check I decided to take a walk on the
Brighton Pier. It was a gorgeous clear sky/full moon night and A walk by myself was
quite enjoyable on the near deserted tourist trap. Eerie laughs wafted from
childrens rides no longer running, only the pre recorded sounds of 8-bit enjoyment.
At the end of the peir there was a bar where I enjoyed a pint and meandered to the
end of the walkway to a huge sign that said simply 'Crazy Mouse'.
Back to the venue and everyone seemed to have white rings around their nostrils. Oh
boy, here we go.
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