South Germany - June 2001

"The Tour of The Silver Sword"

"The Silver Sword Tour"

After blagging through my work day I shot round to Russell’s to record the intros onto mini-disc. The first beers of the weekend came out. On the way home I thought about having a wine. Glass of, not whingeing.

The weekend is getting closer. I started to feel tingly until, my God, my trouser area began to twitch! The festivals are coming, oh yes…!

Woke up at 9am to a lovely sunny morning. I knew there was a lot I had to do today so I went back to bed for a couple of hours. Our cat had to go to the vet, I had to go shopping, etc… All of our gear was eventually packed. Cash-check. Passport-check. Check checklist-check. A taxi was booked to Russell's house and we turned up there about 6pm. Left to pick up the East Grinstead massive (well, eleven of them), and ended up leaving for Dover at 7.30pm.

Surprisingly the coach is fairly subdued……nervousness perhaps……the calm before the alcoholic storm……? Never mind, because the FLYING HORSE will see us through. If not then we will shove THE SILVER SWORD up the arse of the FLYING HORSE and see what happens.

You already know that me and ferries are a no-goer, unless you want to see a techni-coloured yawn, so it’s no surprise that as we neared Dover I grabbed the seat in front of me and began gnawing on the headrest. But my fears were easily quashed when the harbour master said that only 38 ships had been lost that day instead of the usual 52. Walk in the park. I could see that this was going to be a breeze (maybe reaching force 5).

Just before boarding, Scott decided to buy a pair of sunglasses. Quite nice ones, but a bit Dame Edna for me. Anyway, he needed to cut the plastic holding the label, so he borrowed my leatherman. Very sharp. The result of this was a scratch deeper than the Suez canal across the lens. How’s your luck? Taking them back he managed to convince the ‘shop-keep’. "Honest guv’nor, I ‘aint done nuffin, they wos already scratched." The shop-keep fell for this little ruse and went out of business the very next day.

The ferry kicked off for Calais. We looked for a bite to eat. Not finding any bites we looked for food instead. Then the bar. Silverstone’s bar.

The crossing was going bloody well so I knew it was safe to drink.

’20 beers and we’re all told, doo daa doo daa!

Keep stopping for a piss ‘cos we’re too old, doo daa doo daa dayyyyy’

Arriving in Calais, it was obvious that we would have to make regular pit-stops (piss stops?). Lager has a tendency to race towards your bladder before it’s time.

One of these stops was at a service lay-by in France. Everyone piled out of the coach and ran in every direction except towards the toilet, so desperate were they to relieve themselves. (I don’t think I’ve sworn yet, so I’m due one). Andy and I scooted up an embankment for a slash, only to find it a picnic area. So carefully I edged my way down again. The grass was dewy and I was pissed. The grass won. My feet shot out from under me so fast I did not feel it happen. I went down like a sack of shit, smacking my head and hip on the ground. Result-badly bruised hip, ear, head and ego. A dizzy spell, then puking. I had been sick over a cat that was passing, but because I was drunk I thought, "I don’t remember eating that!" SUPER! The bruise on my hip ended up being 4 inches wide by 7 long, and an ugly yellow/purple colour. Curiously, they are roughly the same measurements and colour as my old feller.

Our driver, Dave, did a great job for us there and back. No mistakes, easy going, great guy. Especially seeing as he had to watch us get legless each night. The rest of the drive to the hotel was good. Got there at roughly 10.00a.m. Bed, immediately.

I met the others at 4.00p.m. by the stage. Using Jim's van we drove our gear from the coach into the town square and started setting up. The stage itself was a fairly good size, but smaller than I had anticipated. Still plenty of room though. The lighting rig looked great, but would certainly heat the stage up more when the boys went on. As it was it had reached 28 degrees that day. There were going to be four technicians. Sound engineer, monitor engineer, lighting engineer, and me with my one fader. A prat engineer.

Just before the sound check, the sound engineer invited me up to sit with him during the gig. Fucking great. Gunther was a really cool guy, telling me to advise him if I wanted because I knew the band and how they play. Thanks for that, it was much appreciated.

1^st set. The town square was filling up, but not with the speed I was expecting. A few stalls were being set up, selling drink. We still had a couple of hours before kick off, so we went down the high street to get some grub. Unfortunately I missed the support act, Mark, but comments from other people seemed to indicate that he did quite well.

Now it was time to rock.

The intro thrummed out across the square, with the lights flashing a myriad of colours through the fog of the smoke machine. Scott runs on and "Good evening Lahr". Cheers from the crowd. As he started playing, Russell and Calvin ran on, strapped in and rocked out for Terry's entrance, stage left. This 1^st set was proving to be a bit of a struggle to motivate the audience, but generally this is normal. The local Bangkok chick boy was wandering round the square fucking people off, but he soon disappeared. As it got darker the lighting rig looked more and more effective. Good responses from the crowd towards the end of the 1^st set, but they still needed to move forward more. They did.

After a 15-20 minute break the boys were back on. The monitoring engineer was there, so was Gunther and myself, but the lighting engineer was nowhere to be seen. I took this opportunity to consult the union handbook. I quote rule 32, section4, ‘Missing Engineers’.

As the R.A.W. handbook states, I had no choice but to play with the lighting desk. Gunther was only too keen saying that his mate had gone for a piss but had not returned.

As it got darker, the crowd got a bit braver and moved closer to the front. Songs were banged out to the receiving German ears, with the glow of the stage flicking across their heads. There was a marvellous drum duet with Scott and Andy that amazed everyone. Andy had his eyebrow pierced the next day, but we’ll come to that later.

All told, there was around 1000 people at the gig. Euphoria had certainly grabbed and held their attention because everyone stayed until the end. Tumultuous applause washed around the square to finish off what had been a musically brilliant evening. All we had to cope with now was the packing away and after gig-drinking, though we were all gasping following our duties of Rock.

We were treated to a little lock-in courtesy of Charlie. Bar standing area was only about 15sq metres, with 25-30 patrons enjoying beer, Ramazotti and whatever else we could lay our hands on. This lasted till 5.00a.m.

Where the bloody hell was Andy? We had our own ideas of where he was so we left it for an hour, crashing out in Claire's room, chatting. 6.00a.m. Scott, myself, Terry and Paul took a brisk half hour tour of the town looking for Andy. He was nowhere to be seen. Dirty little tyke was probably nesting with Dorkas. ROCK!!

Up at 9.15a.m. for breakfast after quite a good nights sleep. I think only four or five of us made it up for breakfast, and because I felt so crap I went back to bed for another 2 hours.

During this time Scott had bumped into Andy while window shopping in the high street. Apparently he had stayed up all night talking and looking at the Euphoria website. Thousands believe you. We don’t. Andy wanted to get his eyebrow pierced, so they both trotted off to the jewellers to get it done. Everything was calm as Andy sat down; the needle smoothly punctured the first few layers of skin before erupting in a fine shower of claret the other side.

"That was okay", said Andy. Then he saw the blood. "No it wasn’t", he gibbered, before passing out sparko on the floor. It was in this comatose state that he dreamed of David Blunkett. Playing football. What was happening to him? We’d have to keep a beady eye on this one. Scott was hunched over double laughing. With concern? Naaah.

After getting cleaned up for the festival that day I still felt a bit groggy, but a bottle of Rothaus Tannen Zäpfle will sort that out. We left for the Montreux Festival.

Again, the coach party is quiet. Too many beverages the night before? I think so!

With a shattered, totally disappointed look on his face, Terry sat up from his seat and looked at me. "I forgot to have a wank!" Priceless.

Entering the grounds we passed some circus tents, cows, camels, sheep, a hedgehog and some things like goats, but these had wings and hovered three feet from the ground making a noise something like ‘lubba lubba lubba’. Or was that just me? No it must be true, I saw them.

The stage was again smaller than I had anticipated and we chose to play outdoors, with no covers. In front of the stage was an amphitheatre type set up with three levels. This looked like it was going to be great. Hot Chocolate's tent was massive compared to ours, but as we all know this was merely to make up for what they lacked in appeal and musical talent. Especially since we ended up blowing them away and Errol Brown was no longer in the band. Get him back in there.

Backstage passes, meal and drink tickets were handed out by Jim, and were gladly received. Free food, free beer and music. You could not ask for a better night.

It was time to set our gear up. Deep, heavy thunder clouds drifted slowly our way, but the rain luckily held off. As for the lightning that evening it was too distant to be a problem.

Scott’s kit was set up first, taking over a good quarter of the stage. Amps were brought on and plugged in; the sound engineer was ready. Great sound towards up the top and back of the ‘amphitheatre’. But then I got a call from the stage. Thinking there was a problem I climbed down. "Have you set up the mini-disc on the desk yet?" asked Russell. Frustrated at having to trek down, I answered. "Yes. An hour ago. Can I climb back up now?"

After Euphoria’s sound check, Smartdog turned up. They took their gear on stage and puzzled over where the drum kit was going to go. They would have to fit in around our stuff. Eventually they plumped for sticking their kit in the rear left corner, as every where else was taken. Move over boys, there is a MAN'S kit on stage!!

They played three or four songs in the check, with their musical influence seemingly to be Kula Shaker. The lead singer had quite a good voice but seemed to lose it on high notes or powerful pieces. Throat problems? Maybe. The two backing vocalists had no excuse. They were more out of tune than a whippet with it’s bollocks spinning in a blender. Their mix was pretty crap.

The overall sound was better on the top of the ‘amphitheatre’ than at the desk. Shame they could not have set the desk up further back and more central, but I think they were limited on the length of the multi-core.

The gig started with Smartdog kicking off the evening. Not a bad selection of covers, but it was the vocals that let them down. As well as the drum kit. The snare was none-existent, with the rest of it needing filling out. Lack of kit does not help.

SOMETHING ROCK THIS WAY COMES

Euphoria then got their turn, and as they were introduced the crowd sensed a change in the air. Scott’s kit was uncovered, taking up a good portion of the stage. (lovely phrase that, ‘good portion’). Deep blue lights flooded the stage as the intro pulsed over the audience. The air was throbbing. (another dictionary favourite, ‘throbbing’. The two together make up a ‘throbbing good portion.) The crowd knew something special was going to happen.

In true rock fashion, Scott runs on to the stage, pumping up the audience and getting them clapping. And then, in another rock moment, he does a beautiful little hop and skip round to the back of his kit. "Tiptoe through the tulips…" Russ and Calvin then come on and start rocking. Terry enters the stage behind Russ, accidentally treading on his effects pedal, resulting in the lead guitar switching from good chunky rock sound to a ‘70’s funk, typical of cop shows in that era. Great start to an even greater evening. Each song played was well received by the crowd, who began standing up from the back and moving forward. Any nerves the boys had were not there any longer, as the crowd, who were almost soiling themselves with excitement, grew to around 3000. Terry got them all dancing and singing with his own brand of audience participation. Drum solos are always a treat to watch if you have a good drummer. But what about if you have two drummers playing on the same kit in the same solo? Even better! Scott and Andy once more did their piece, with Scott handing the reins over to Andy who did a great job and had a dream come true (even though he later confessed to cacking himself). Congratulations. This was simply the best band of the night. The encores sent the Germans wild, wanting more and more.

The applause was immense when Euphoria finally finished. The crowd was ecstatic, the lads were knackered, it was time for a nice cool beer.

After the gear was broken down and loaded onto the coach, we stayed for another hour or so drinking and chatting, before leaving for the hotel at 2.00a.m. Straight to bed.

Up at 9.00a.m., breakfast, back to bed for half an hour. Up again and loading the coach for our journey back to England. We left Lahr with a tearful farewell at 12.15p.m. It was a beautiful day. I still felt a bit pissed up and rocked out. Would there be a few beers on the ferry? Ooh yeah!

On board the ferry in the bar we were sat next to the drummer of Ash, who had been gigging in Germany too with Weezer, in Bonn, Mannheim and some other places I can’t remember.

Quotes of the weekend:-

Thanks to everyone who organised both festivals, the fans, the band, the coach party, Dave our driver, sound and lighting crew, but especially to you, the reader. You really are very special, you know? Take care now. Bye Bye.

Steve (R.A.W. in association with Iron Chalice.)