Wednesday, December 15, 2010

The Holy Mountain is playing December 26th in Tampa.

First US show since October 2008.
Only show for an unknown amount of time.
We will have copies of the Here is No Exit picture disc LP
and some new shirts.

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

Monday, September 27, 2010

Blog posts from Euro tour 2007 pt. 3

March 22, 2007 - Thursday

The Falling of the Roman Empire

Rome, Italy – 19.02.07
Mila decided to ride along with us to Rome, as well as our new friend Nina who was helpful in her translations between Italian, German, and English. We packed into the van and set off.

Rome had been left off the tour last year in favor of Milan, so we were anxious to see it. Unfortunately, the sun was setting by the time we arrived, parked the van, and took the train to the tourist things. The coliseum was indeed large and crumbling and old, as I expected. The path through the old ruins was closed because of the late hour, but we peered through the barred gaps in the wall around them. That shit is old. Pillars everywhere and current excavation still going on, new ancient treasures popping up daily.

Nina was our guide, but she was a bit rusty so we got to see lots of city life and pedestrian type visuals while hunting for desired locations. We finally arrived at this famous fountain/statue/building thing swarming with all manner of humans, speaking numerous languages. They were all very excited to have their pictures taken in front of this admittedly impressive construct, often while tossing a coin into the large pool of water. Nina said that the fountain had been in a few movies and I think I vaguely remembered it from a Fellini film I saw years ago. As we sat around amusing ourselves by watching people and taking our own pictures, I found a little snack cake sitting on a bench next to me, still wrapped, and congratulated myself on being able to provide for myself as I ate it.

Back at the show, we met up with our hosts, had some great food and began the drinking. The show was not too crowded, but the kids there were ready to party and the bar was ready to provide drinks. Dirty Power Game played their brand of noise with some of the craziest vocals I've heard recently. I did not understand how he made these sounds, nor did I understand how he did them while playing guitar at the same time. Perhaps my mind is too simple or just bereft of musical talent. Or both.

After downing enough beers to stagger myself while we played, I decided it would be a good idea to slow down. However, through a confusing series of events, I ended up at the bar with the singer from DPG buying me a drink. I thought I was supposed to down the whole thing after the cheers, so I did. When I put it down, he was just sipping his and someone asked me why I did that. I didn't know. I did know that things got softer immediately and a fuzzy curtain started to come down over reality.

Outside by the van, a group of young Italian punks asked me to take pictures with them. They seemed very excited; they were blushing and smiling a lot. I think they were drunk, too. It was difficult to load the van because the world was hidden behind mosquito netting or something, and what I could see was rocking very slowly back and forth. That shit got loaded though, and we collected our group of drunks to go to the sleeping place.

This journey had already been made once earlier in the evening, and it was only a 10 minute walk across the parking lot, down the walkway that took you over the train yard, through the tiny metro station, and then 2 short blocks to the house. Being as drunk as most of us were, and weighted down with our bags, we looked at each other in confusion when we got to the steps for the walkway and found a large wire gate blocking our path. We began to help each other climb over and this was difficult as the gate was about 8 or 9 feet high and the gaps in the wire were too small to use as footholds. The energy expended getting over the gate left me in even worse condition than before and through the soft focus, I could see that more than a few of us were getting close to passing out.

At the end of the walkway, another gate. We were fucked this time. Then we saw a cleaning lady pushing a mop bucket and one of our friends spoke the native tongue asking her to let us through. She looked fearful when she turned and saw the lot of us, 9 people, drunk, all in black at 2 in the morning. But we only needed to get across the 20 feet of tile that she was mopping. We asked our translator to beg her to allow our entry. She lied of course and said that she did not have a key. I would not have let us through either.

Things took another bad turn when we got back to the other gate. I tried to climb it again. There was no energy, no power. I hung from the wire mesh for awhile then dropped off. Some people began trying to climb it again. It didn't look good. I was desperate and unable to focus my remaining strength. I trudged up the stairs to the first landing and looked over the wall. It didn't look too far. I put one leg over and fell, landing in wet grass, confused. It took a minute to get back up, while everyone made much more graceful descents around me.

The route back was a hellish inferno. We had to get around the train yard and this was no easy task. The world was collapsing around me and inside me, as I was confronted with endless city blocks and step after step after step and no jesus to carry me when I was weak. Brett was also having difficulty maintaining, he had 2 beers and asked if he could put one in my bag so he didn't have to carry it because he was weak and wanted me to be jesus to his beer. I was drunk, I accepted and found the next day that he had put the open beer in my bag, keeping the other, and soaking my goods with the wetness and aroma of hops. Straight edge people do not have such dimly remembered accidents, or perhaps with orange juice and sodas, maybe soy milk.

Back to the struggle to succeed as a biped. The steps came with more and more difficulty. There was bumping into things, knocking over things, kicking things, breaking things. Cursing things. So many blocks walked in the dark, with Brett as my evil, drunken walking partner, himself causing the breaking and smashing of random encountered items. And then it was over.

We got to the house and one of the other inhabitants was making pasta for us. It tasted so good, and was the only thing that saved me from waking up in a pain cave. Somehow, I was in my bag unclothed and sleeping and I did it all by myself.

March 18, 2007 - Sunday

but after the gig...

Bologna, Italy

The city of crust punks and the site of last year's most chaotic show. We didn't have time to walk around much, but it was all about the Atlantide anyway. The small two story building is set right on the corner of a major intersection, and was soon packed with even more people than the time before, blocking up the sidewalk and spilling into the street. The four bands that played covered the grindcore, the screamy hardcore, and the crust punk sounds thoroughly. The humans in attendance looked pleased. Crazed bodily motions accompanied our set. The assault and picking up of band members occurred a few times and general chaos, too. Strangely, I did not get tired at all under so much physical duress. A small miracle. So many songs were played. So many beers were drank. This was my favorite show I ever took part in. Thank you Bologna.

We retired to the home of Mila and laid ourselves down.

and then....

La Spezia, Italy

This was a show I was looking forward to because we got to play with Giuda, one of the Italian bands that played a rowdy show with us in Bologna last year. Mila is their singer and he runs the Agipunk label, responsible for many quality releases. He is also older than me and I like hanging out with older punks that are actually friendly and still active.

The venue looked like it was the cafeteria for the old power plant overshadowing it in the background. From the outside, it also looked like it could have been some kind of barracks or military installation. In the main room, on the opposite end from the stage, was a huge kitchen that looked capable of preparing food for hundreds. There were also various side rooms, one with a bunch of computers, another with beds, and another with a bar that hosted smaller shows and dance nights. It was in this computer room I speak of that an hour or more of digital computer upload was erased by a simple pressing of the shift key. I cursed technology and wiped my tears with my sleeve.

The food and the hospitality were great, there were many records for sale, and over a hundred people showed up. We were told that they had never tried to have a crust punk type show in La Spezia before and that they were surprised so many people had come.

There was a punching bag on stage.

A photographer sent by an American magazine came to capture our performance visually. I got drunk and fell down during some song. The flashes were really attracted to this event. I made a mental note to fall down more during our shows.

The drinking was excessive, with mounting numbers of passed out punks laying about the room. There is photographic evidence of two such sleepers laid out on the stage using Brett's guitar case as a shared pillow. I reached a point of alcohol saturation bordering on bursting and sent myself away to get flat in the dark.

The continued Euro updates

Monaco/Imperia, Italy

We woke up to the sweat necklace signature of the van sleep, heated by the rising sun over the beach outside, Euro joggers and Euro bladers and assorted other Euro physical exertion enthusiasts seen rushing past us through the between curtain cracks. Stretched and scratched, moved along to collect the others, made an attempt to purchase fluid for contact lenses, and Timo led us into a grocery that seemed to stock a lot of meat, and then revealed itself to only stock meat. We walked outside and looked at the sign above the door: CARNE.

The van pulled into the tiny coastal country of Monaco to get some pizza and see what the popular vacation spot for wealthy shits had to offer. It had to offer many yachts and expensive cars and expensive shops and luxury hotels and beautiful seaside views littered with the toys of those with only the finest tastes. We walked around a bit, looking good, until some civilian affairs type told Brett that he had to put his shirt on. This was indeed the playground of the gilded elite.

The chosen route into Italy was a two lane road that wound its way through the cliffs and mountains along the coastline of the Mediterranean Sea. While it offered nice things to look at for those of us on the passenger side, it made progress slow and threatened us with car sickness. It was determined that we would take the highway the next day.

Imperia was a small town with a rocky beach that we took a break to enjoy due to our early arrival. I was forced to fall asleep on a big rock because there was a perfect mix of sun and cool air and wind and clouds. This mix is rare to be found and demanding of relaxation. On the last Ludacris record, there is a song called "Ultimate Satisfaction". Within this song, one of the highlights of the record, is a slowed down refrain of the word satisfaction. It is glorious. It sounds like peanut butter and foreign substances and blurred vision. Life was good during the entry and execution of this nap.

There were bad directions to the show, as in, the show was in the next town over, and not technically in Imperia. This small bit of omitted info caused our GPS to stare back in confusion when asked to locate the show. A call was made, directions clarified, and we still arrived over an hour early for the show. I did some push ups.

We were fed lasagna and other edibles until we were bloated and hateful, victims of over indulgence. It appeared that everyone at the show was over 30 and/or college professors, or aspiring professors or failed professors. Another interesting thing about the show was that no one was taking money at the door. There was a small, clear plastic box with a piece of paper that said 5 Euros, and everyone placed their entry fee there, making change from the existing Euros within when necessary. Curious, and a little re-assuring when asking the question of whether humans suck completely or not.

The only band playing this evening was ours, and the crowd did not seem especially excited by the sounds we were making. We rewarded them by playing the worst show of the tour. I did my part by having terrible vocal sounds for their ears and a low level of physical performance moves. In fact, I felt like garbage and finally accepted that the tour sickness had made its way to my body.

It was cold inside after the show. I slept on the merch table. The table came up to about the middle of my chest and was maybe 2 feet wide. I was very still in the night.

February 22, 2007 - Thursday

February is not cold

Marseille, France

A last minute show to fill a day off. We drove all over the city trying to get to the beach so that we can see the Mediterranean Sea, as none of us had, even German Timo. When we finally did manage to get to it, there was cold breeze blowing in and we actually had to bundle up for one of the only times on the trip. It was all very pretty and appealing. There were rocks and we made pictures of ourselves at this location, doing things both motionless and other.
We found a burrito place. The price: 12 Euro. That is about 15 American dollars. Kiss your ass with those French burritos.
The show spot was something to see. It was an artists collective covered and stuffed with all manner of 2 and 3 dimensional creative endeavors, almost obsessively covered and stuffed. Many of the works involved penises and sex and death, specifically. Of course. An improv noise band played after us, and they were fun to watch. Slept.
Toulouse, France
Le Dollar Bar
First in a run of two American themed bars we played in France. The backdrop next to the stage was an airbrushed rendering of a guy with a mullet and sunglasses, riding a motorcycle through an American flag. Yes, I saw this with my own eyes. Another wall had a drag racer bursting through a one dollar bill. They also played a live Whitesnake dvd and a Megadeth dvd on the big screen. Not a bad show, but uneventful. Oh, and the kicker table was worthy of the scrap pile. A real piece of shit, like most of the French kicker tables. Puke on you.
Toulon, France
Another American themed bar. A sampling of the decor: the Che Guevera corner table, the Native American Indian wall, the rebel flag on the ceiling next to the Jack Daniels flag, and the broken guitars with Rolling Stones and Pink Floyd written on them. Not sure if anyone liked us. Stayed with some good people.Next.
Nice, France
Last show in France. The city was fun to look at. Troi found some French breakdancers, so we watched them for awhile. The bar we played was cool, the metal bands were metal bands, and the sleeping place was a bit tight. It was impossible to fit all of us, in fact. Timo, Tyler, and I slept in the van next to the beach and enjoyed or lives.

Blog posts from 2007 Euro tour pt. 2


Whatever day it was, 2007.
Lyon, France.
Woke up to some fuckers snoring. Again. Like everyday. This time the snoring was in French and was emanating from unnamed member of the opening band. Around 7:45 am, one of the other dudes woke up, lit a cigarette and filled the room with smoke for the other 9 of us. The snoring got even more blower at this juncture.
So, we eat, do laundry, try to load the van and leave when a groupof düdes walk up asking us stuff in French. We do not know this language. The slap on these bright orange police arm bands and tell us in broken English to give them our passports as they begin a quick search of the van. I continued to match my socks on the sidewalk and put them in my suitcase. I have a small compulsion to match my socks and put them away sometime, especially on tour when socks mean so much to me.
The pat downs began, they opened all my pockets and touched all my items, made jealous faces at my wad of Euro dollar band money, and put hands on and around my penis location area. French police may be the least scary of all the world's police forces. At least Canadian mounties ride horses. These guys didn't even have a car, they were on foot.
Towards the end of this harassment, everybody from the squat came to the door to see what was going on and the cop by the door saw about 15 people staring at him and pulled out his police stick. Timo dogged them the whole time, asking what we had done, to which they eventually answered that they didn't have to tell us. Sissies. Then they left and then we left and my socks were in proper order.
St Etienne, France
The return to the Elephant Pub, sight of a majestic evening last spring featuring Orange Sunshine, Roger Moore, and us. What an event that was. This time was better, we played with a punk band and what was called a "cold wave" band. This turned out to be 2 düdes playing drums and keyboards, sounding like the Mob or maybe New Model Army.
We were mainly excited to see our friends from last year and they came through, as well as a few of the people from the squat in Lyon. The food was good, the show was going well until we tried to set up and realized that the other band had accidentally taken one of our drums. This made a short delay and then we played to a receptive, but dwindling crowd with an abnormal amount of females. I liked this though.
But after the gig, we made to Befa's flat/building. Since we had last been there, they had moved friends into all of the reamining apartments in the building and effectively had the whole building to do as they pleased. Nice. Waiting for us when we got there was a giant pot of vegan beef stew with potatoes. Fuckers. It was a great night.

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Lyon, France
The place: a lovely 3 story squatted complex covering hundreds of thousands of square feet. The power is drawn from the streetlights, so we had to wait until after 6pm when the lights came on to get lights and power inside. But there was so much food and it was an ambitious assortment. Vegan spring rolls, salads, 2 different apple pie things, lentil stuff, rice stuff, I lost track and ate. Then they began with the carafes of beer, which was something new. We spent the evening drinking out of little plastic cups and refilling them from carafes of the coldest and best tasting French beer yet. There was no way of keeping track.
The opening band played as long as humanly possible. The second band was better and not as drawn out. Still, we were not in such good shape by playing time. The set started out a bit slow and shaky, but worked itself out. By the end we had been coerced into playing our longest set ever. 17 songs. Thats what you get when your drunk ass keeps asking for more. You get our drunk ass. They seemed to enjoy this racket.
Everyone was happy and drunk. As soon as we had finished, a dance party started lead by reggae, The Pixies, and a suprisingly good Gossip record. The Americans were barely able to function after another hour or so and we kept bumping into each other in random halls and rooms, confused. Then we all found ourselves in the kitchen again upstairs, shoveling food like lonely college freshmen. Fat asses. Then someone took my sleeping bag and I had to get one of our French speaking hosts to retrieve it and avoid trouble. A similar thing happened to Brett last year in another French town when 2 men took his sleeping bag and were sleeping in it in the corner of the room. He, however, did not have the benefit of a translator and the results were scary and/or amusing. So, we slept. And it was cold.

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are you going to fall asleep watching cable?

Germany. beer. boredom. sickness. curry chick peas and potatoes. cigarettes. snot. diapers. no interest in sex. books. cats. cats. cats. sleeping bag. blank. people. noises. fun. punks. beer. liquor. no skateboard. no snow. not cold. no sleeves. no sleep. Im not going to bed. Tomorrow, we visit Dachau and then play Munich.

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February 21, 2007 - Wednesday

Future repulsion
Category: Pets and Animals

Living more is sometimes repulsive and the idea of it is the makings of dread. The many decisions. Too much future pain and deaths and dying and failure and disappointment. Dealings with the ignorant and the illogical, the cruel and the self righteous. The bigots, pigs, shit heads, addicts, assholes, thugs, rapists. All the unpleasant and offensive, primitive, immature asses. And their victims. The broken bones, car crashes, plane crashes, cancers, suicides, murders, quiet suffering and torture. The future wars, those that fight in them, those that die in them, and those that get caught in the middle of them. And all the good moods turned sour, with or without reason. And the day when I can pet cats no longer.

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Category: News and Politics

Besancon, France
All morning with the sickness and the mid level nausea. So disappointed with myself. I kept my head down until we drove into Besancon. A beautiful city, reminded me of Edinburgh a bit just less dark. We had time to walk around a bit, across a little bridge where there was a guy playing an accordian, and it was all very European. Found the good throat lozenges with the lidocaine in them that actually work. Found a Righteous Pigs 7" old enough that it pressed in West Germany.
Played with 2 French bands in an ashtray, underneath an ashtray, under a heating lamp. I became slightly claustrophobic because there was a low ceiling in the basement, it was packed full of people, it was hot and there was a severe shortage of oxygen. All of these things were troubling and overwhelming, psychically and physically. It felt like tight diapers.
The French bands played as long as they could I think. I don't know how they could have known any more songs. There was even a 7 Seconds and a Black Flag cover.
I played sober and without glasses, unable to see or breathe very well. Eventually, I gave into the heat and removed my shirt, regardless of fat gut quality. I hope no one got pictures of this beaching. At the end of the set, we cut things short because Troi broke a string, and we were being shouted at to play more. A girl called out in a thick accent, "lets see the drummer naked!", to which Greg replied by climbing on his drum stool and beginning to remove his pants. At some point, he must have realized the potential repercussions of pants removal and the smell therein, and he pulled his pants back up. During this also, another voice yelled in the most broken of English "the singer naked!". It was a ladies' voice, but I did not look to see who it had come from, because I have no lady in France that I am aware of, and thus, this was a stranger to be avoided.
The drinking lasted well into the night, and later I slipped out to sleep in the van. When it is cold out the van is nice. Next: Lyon.

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Transcripts of the Broke and Unknown
Category: News and Politics

Reims, France
We play a squat that the cops were in the process of shutting down, but the people there were going to do our show as their last before leaving. The power had already been cut, so we understood why we had seen them wheeling out a generator when we drove in. There was enough power for the amps and PA but only so much for the lights, we spent the whole evening with a few dim lights and many candles. Many beers.
The first band consisted of a balding guy in his 40's playing guitar while wearing a blonde long hair wig/trucker hat, a guy singing in a flowered dress, and another dude in his 30's wearing sun glasses and sitting on a drum stool holding sticks. Their set began with a programmed drum/rhythm guitar track coming through the PA, and the guy on the stool playing air drums, blast beats included. He also did death metal vocals throughout the set, while the guitarist played leads continuously through every song. The singer jumped up and down a lot. It was something. The third band sounded enough like Discordance Axis that maybe a case could be made that they were plagiarizing their entire existence. But many bands do this, and it could be worse than sounding like a clone of Disco Axis. We got around to playing, and at the end of the set more songs were requested, but I said we would need more drinks first, hoping for a beer. What I got was cognac, and then we played more songs. This was the first of two French nights that involved cognac. During the playing of songs, I was assaulted by humans that picked me up above them. When they were done with this, the picked up Troi. After this, they made an attempt to pick up Brett, but he proved too heavy and he was dropped, breaking a part of his bass. Its all fun and games until someone fucks up.

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February 14, 2007 - Wednesday

Transcripts of the lifestyles of the broke and unknown
Category: News and Politics

Where were we? All of the Toilet paper in Lille, France is pink? Apparently this is a popular color as we have seen much of it across France. I think it is a reassuring color to rub on such a sensitive spot as the human anus.
After the show in Rouen with Youssof Today, we went to a sleeping place but not before stopping and having British Matt buy 3 cases of beer. We made our best attempt to overcome 72 beers, but there were still 18 left in the morning. Somebody was snorting heroin somewhere and I was glad to not have been there. Then I found out that the french deoderant I bought for .85 Euros, was actually better at its job than anything I had used prior. Thank you French Sav A Lot.
Somewhere on the drive we stopped for making piss aand the bathroom smelled so foul that I though to myself, "what the fuck? this shit stinks in here". I opened the first available stall, and scrawled on the wall in perfect English: this place smells like hooker pussy . How crass and how wrong. This place smelled like the inside of human anus. Plus piss.
Cannot locate falafel.
Amiens, France @ Le Grand Wazoo
This was the first of the cognac nights. These fuckers are crazy with the shit. The place was prety great though with some of the best art I've seen in a bathroom ever. We were properly fucked up by the time we played and ended up playing Champagne pts 1-3 and also Juice pts 1&2. I slept in the back of a very nice flat but had bizarro dreams that kept me waking up. Fortunately, I have forgotten them.
We left for Paris, dropped off Matt, and listened to Copkiller. Further along the drive we happened upon the words "FUCK COPS" sprayed up about 30 ft long on a wall next to the highway.
Then Paris. We finally found parking and left Timo to have a nap. Walked for an hour and managed to see the big tower that is to be seen. It was big and fun to look at and stand under and the weather was cold enough that I was happy. We took pictures with the anti terror dudes strolling around carrying machine guns. I took a picture with a rhino. Then we had to go.
I'm tired. Next, we'll talk about Reims and the squat with no power but with cognac.....

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February 11, 2007 - Sunday


All right you little shits. There will be a large, bloated update of fat writings for you shortly, after I transcribe the analog notes, but not yet. Shits. We are busy with the party

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February 7, 2007 - Wednesday

Johnny Blacklung and the Coughs
Category: Goals, Plans, Hopes

I have a goal, a plan , and a hope to not die of cancer tumors in my lung sacks. There are few goals in life as important to me as this one. The next time that I come to the Europe for the tour, I am going to try to bring oxygen tanks and masks with which to breathe in this hostile environment. Of course, if next winter is as warm or warmer than this, I will be killing myself out of sweat induced desperation and perhaaps hallucination. By then kevin costner may be in charge and life will be a bad movie. If things stray to this course, I will probably stay around and watch the movie.
Only about 20 misfits soongs made it on the trip. A small tragedy.
Yesterday was push up day. My favorite days of the week. We incorporated the raising of the feet and felt the burning results. I hope that my giant breasts do not make my sisters or my female friends jealous upon their return with me to the states. Please, stay your fears. I shall only use them as instruments of good. Push up day, I love you.
This evening entailed a show in the city of Rouen. I have tried to pronounce it, but my American mouth appears to actually be an ass opening, incapable of French speaking. It does cough exceptionally well, though.
A new experiment was under way tonight. I made the attempt to play without being drunk. It was a little boring, but contained so many fewer calories. Chasing after the buzz has grown tiresome, and I do not have the funding nor the desire to pay for the necessary liquors to produce a guaranteed alcoholic stupor. I must drink what is provided, and mostly this is beer. The juices make appearances too, though usually we are so dehydrated from drinking that the juices quickly disappear.
Perhaps I will try to reacquire sleep now.
No cats tonight but the weather was much colder. I was able to wear my scarf more. It seems they call them shawls in Germany? I do not support that title.
Good evening from Rouen, France. Live 2007