CAREENING THROUGH GERMANY IN A METAL FIRESTORM: March 2012
The Metal Firestorm 2012 Tour commenced a 15-date European run on March 22, 2012
in the Czech Republic. Featuring headliners Rage, support acts Tyr and
Communic, plus newcomers Scar of the Sun, the tour sported a formidable lineup
of bands that rarely grace American shores. Jen and I packed our trusty
backpacks and hopped a flight to Germany, buoyed by the promise of favorable
spring weather, killer music and perhaps the occasional 0.5 liter bottle of tasty German brew.
Samstag, March 24, 2012
We actually arrived on German soil on the 22nd; however, we took a
24-hour detour to the small east German town of Wildenfels to visit with our
dear friend Claudia (who lives down the street from us in Alabama, but was
coincidentally in Germany on business), her parents, and our young godson
Noah. Claudia grew up in Wildenfels, and her parents still live there, so
it was a homecoming for her. During our overnight stay, Claudia’s mother
treated us to incredible German cuisine (potato soup a/k/a Kartoffelsuppe for
the win!), her father plied me with more bottles of Radeberger pilsner than my
sorry jetlagged self could possibly consume, and we enjoyed hospitality fit for
kings. After walking around town on the morning of the 23rd,
enjoying a delicious bottle of Hacker-Pschorr helles with Claudia’s Uncle
Dieter, and eating some more ass-kicking Kartoffelsuppe, Jen and I spent 8
hours on Deutsche Bahn trains threading our way from the eastern end of Germany
all the way to the western end, with multiple starts and stops along the
way. At almost 2100 hours, we reached our destination, the picturesque
town of Andernach on the Rhine River. Fortunately, our hotel was just a
few steps from the rail station, so we collapsed in our room and slept soundly
to fend off the encroaching jetlag.
We awakened on the 24th to an awesome hotel breakfast (Fruhstuck) of
breads, cheeses, meats, yogurts, juice and coffee, then explored
Andernach. Weather was beautiful, with the skies sunny and bright and
temperatures in the 60s. We spent several hours relaxing on the banks of
the Rhine, watching the maritime traffic slide by on the river and soaking in
the day. We also discovered the old medieval city walls, which date back
to the 12th century and have been left untouched since the French
destroyed them in 1689. The town has sprung up around the ruins, with
roads, dwellings and businesses all within spitting distance of the medieval
remnants. Incredible. At around 1630, we embarked on the leisurely 2
km walk to the venue, the Jugendzentrum (more colloquially known as the Juz),
located on the eastern edge of town in a fairly remote area across the street
from a trampoline place (I kid you not). Not a bar or a club in the
conventional sense, the Juz is actually a youth center owned and operated by the
municipality. It’s a small, barebones facility, inside and out, but it’s
certainly adequate for a heavy metal concert and indeed is the site of the
annual Swordbrothers Festival. Capacity is probably 400 – 500, tops.
We waited outside for around 90 minutes for the doors to open. During this
time, I struck up a conversation with three Bulgarian dudes who were also
standing around. These metal maniacs from Sofia had flown into Dortmund
that morning, took a 2-3 hour train ride to Andernach for the show, and were
headed back to the train station immediately after the gig to repeat the
process in reverse. They had an 0600 flight back to Sofia.
Diehards, for sure. They were asking me about Stormspell Records and
nodded when I inquired about the Bulgarian band Epizod. Funny, they asked
which Epizod CDs I own. I laughed. Hell if I know, they’re all in
Bulgarian! For some time, it was just the four of us standing by the door
(Jen had wandered off, as she does, and was engrossed in a word find puzzle, I
think). As the hour approached and the skies darkened, black-clad
warriors slowly trickled onto the premises one by one. Doors finally
opened at 1830, and we were on our way. Woohoo!
My friend Joerg Duesedau of Dragon Productions in Hamburg was the booking agent
for this tour, and had graciously offered to place Jen and me on the guest list
for all three concerts. Only trouble was that the person at the entrance
showed me the guest list, and we weren’t on it. No problem, I
thought. I may not have been a Boy Scout, but I am prepared for such
contingencies. So I withdrew from my pocket the folded-up printout of my
email from Joerg confirming our guest list status for the three shows. At
that, the gentleman at the door relented and let Jen and me in, on the
condition that I surrender the printout. I argued the point, but he said
he had to have it so that he could show the Rage tour manager why he had let us
in. It was the only copy of the email I had, so I was loath to part with
it, but I did so for the sake of not holding up the long line to get in.
I figured I could find the guy (he was easy to spot, with glasses, a leather
jacket and a Motorhead ‘Rock & Roll’ shirt) later that night after the gig
and plead my case to retrieve the printout, in case I needed it at any of the other shows.
Jen and I then raced into the venue and took up a position against the stage (no
barricades tonight) on the right side, so that we could be directly in front of
Peavy. The three Bulgarians also reached the front row, albeit more
towards the left side. Between the Bulgarians and me stood a petite Asian
woman who looked vaguely familiar. Turns out, she was none other than the
Japanese superfan Yuki, who has traveled to Germany from Tokyo more than 30
times to see Rage. We had actually met Yuki in Andernach in 2004 when we
attended the Rage 20th anniversary tour concert here. She
remembered us too, and we had a nice, albeit halting, conversation. So the
front row for tonight’s gig (the stage was very small) consisted of three
Bulgarians, one Japanese, two Americans, and a couple of security guards.
Later that night, we also met a guy named Laurent from the southeast of France
who was driving from one Rage concert to the next and sleeping in his car.
American, Japanese, Bulgarian and French metal forces coalesced in Andernach
under the RAGE banner. It was an international heavy metal summit of epic proportions!
That said, the stage setup at the Juz left a good bit to be desired. The
stage was just too small to accommodate two drumkits and two sets of
backline. All three opening acts shared a single drumkit and backline,
but that kit was pressed against the very front of the stage, effectively
sealing off any passage between the left and right sides of the stage, and
ensuring that each member of the opening bands would have to stand in a
postage-stamp sized area with no room whatsoever to move about.
Definitely not ideal. And the main problem from the standpoint of a fan
in the front row was that my head was level with the snare drum, and maybe four
feet away from it. That meant the drums were ungodly loud for all of the
opening acts. I was okay as long as I had a monitor mix from the monitors
lining the front of the stage to offset the drums, but the techs unplugged the
monitors right in front of me before Tyr played because Heri Joensen uses
in-ear monitors. Crap. Again, from a technical standpoint, this
facility is somewhat less than optimal. The other major problem at the Juz
is the lack of climate control. When the hall gets crowded, the
temperature soars and the place becomes suffocatingly hot. As I looked
around the room and saw it filling rapidly, I knew we were in for a smelly sweatfest.
At 1915, the concert began, as Greek quintet Scar of the Sun took the
stage. I had never heard a note of this band’s music, but their debut
album, the oddly titled ‘A series of unfortunate concurrencies,’ was released on
Scarlet Records last year. It was not so easy to pin down their sound,
because Scar of the Sun straddle multiple genres, with elements of traditional
metal, progressive metal, and even death metal (the long-haired guitarist kicks
in growlies occasionally). Closest reference point to these ears would be
pre-‘One Second’ Paradise Lost. In all honesty, the band seemed a bit
stiff and nervous, but that was understandable. This is their first
international tour, and they were playing to a sizeable crowd that was totally
unfamiliar with their music. I enjoyed their six-song set just fine,
especially the catchy, textured closer “Gravity,” easily the most memorable and
dynamic tune on display. Also, I amused myself during the 30-minute
performance by watching the headphone-wearing drummer make an endless series of
wacky facial expressions as he pounded away at the tubs. More about him later.
Notwithstanding the absurdly cramped conditions, the set changeover was a
remarkably efficient 15 minutes, with band members – especially the drummers –
acting as their own and each others’ roadies for both the tear down and set up
duties. (In fact, the three opening bands had a combined 1 roadie that I
saw, with the band members themselves otherwise performing all pre- and
post-show tech duties themselves. No rock star egos here, folks!)
At 2000, it was time for Norway’s Communic to, um, communicate with
us. The Scandinavian three-piece wore matching (or almost matching) black
work shirts bearing the Communic logo and design in metallic silver.
Singer/guitarist Oddleif Stensland was over on the other side of the stage, so
I contented myself with watching hard-hitting, goofy-hair-styled drummer Tor
Atle Andersen and bad-ass bassist Erik Mortensen, the latter sporting a
backwards ballcap, a large “No Fear” tattoo on his right arm, and a 5 o’clock
shadow from hell. (Inspired by Mortensen, Jen announced to me after the
gig that she wanted a “No Fear” tattoo of her own. Never happened, for
some reason.) Two minutes into the first song, the drum kit was in bad
shape, as clip-on microphones had popped off a couple of the toms and at least
one of the cymbals was loose after a particularly intense Andersen
thrashing. There was no time to fix it, though, so Communic soldiered
on. On CD, I like but don’t love Communic’s music, as the songs sometimes
seem too long, ponderous, and hookless for their own good. Live, however,
it was a different story. The Norwegians delivered a pummeling 40-minute
performance, high on energy and headbanging, with Stensland being a riveting
presence as he poured out the anguished lyrics from the inner depths of his
soul and shook his blond mane. It also helped that Communic selected some
of their more immediate material, including the haunting “A Wayward Soul,” the
twisted epic “Raven’s Cry,” and the pounding “Blood River Flood.” It was
a great headbanging show from Communic, a veteran metal troupe that for some
reason gets very little love on American shores.
Setlist: A Wayward Soul, Facing Tomorrow, Communication
Sublime, Raven’s Cry, Destroyer of Bloodlines, Blood River Flood.
It’s no secret that Faeroe Islands sensation Tyr are one of my favorite
new-ish bands from the last decade or so. Their combination of
traditional metal instrumentation, Faeroese melodies, and extraordinary vocal
harmonies give them a unique sound that is utterly captivating to me. I
had only seen them twice before tonight, once in an over-in-the-blink-of-an-eye
25-minute set at the first Paganfest in Mokena, IL, and the other time in a
technical-difficulty-riddled night at ProgPower where at least one band member
appeared quite intoxicated on stage. So I was really hoping to get the
full Tyr live experience on the Metal Firestorm Tour. Not tonight, I’m
afraid. Oh, it wasn’t the band’s fault. Bare-chested
singer/guitarist Heri Joensen sang his heart out, and rotund bassist Gunnar H.
Thomsen rocked out and smiled amiably at the crowd all night long. And
the setlist was damn near flawless, a power-packed, all-killer-no-filler 8-song
“best of” that leaned heavily on well-chosen highlights from Tyr’s last two
albums while still leaving room for the evergreen classics “Sinklars Visa” and
“Hail to the Hammer.” So what the hell was the problem? The sound
was a muddy, impenetrable mess. Lead guitarist Terji Skabenaes (now with
a newly-shorn look that’s something akin to a cleancut 50’s and 60’s blond
hairstyle, in stark juxtaposition to the pierced nose and dozens of tattoos
that adorn his arms, neck and torso) was entirely inaudible. I couldn’t
hear a note that he played. So much for those dancing guitar melodies and
harmonies, much less the solos. Joensen’s lead vocals were barely present
in the mix. Damn that unplugged monitor in front of me! Don’t know
how it sounded elsewhere in the room, but what I was left with was a
bastardized, neutered sound that simply didn’t capture the magic and power of
these songs. What a shame. By the conclusion of this 40-minute set,
I began to wonder whether I will ever see a top-shelf Tyr gig. Tonight
wasn’t it. Still, it was cool to actually witness the band performing
these songs, and I was pleased when Joensen leaned down immediately after the
set and shook my hand before departing the stage.
Setlist: Lay of Thrym, Shadow of the Swastika, Sinklars
Visa, Flames of the Free, Hail to the Hammer, Take Your Tyrant, Hail to the
Hammer, By the Sword in My Hand.
By 2200, it was time for RAGE. The cue for the concert to start was
when Pantera’s “Cowboys from Hell” started playing over the P.A. By the
lead break, the volume increased drastically, the house lights dimmed, and we
waited impatiently for the damn song to end so that Rage could begin. (I
used the occasion to curse Phil Anselmo and 90s, redneck, tough-guy, groove
metal generally. Why does a legendary band like Rage use Pantera as intro
music, anyway?) I could see drummer Andre Hilgers standing off to the
right of the stage all by himself, shaking out his arms, thumping his chest,
and generally looking nervous. When the accursed song finally ended, the
stage lights came up for the “House Wins” intro tape to roll. Just
remember, boys and girls, the mother^@#*ing house always wins. Then Rage
strolled out on stage, all smiles, and kicked into “Twenty One,” the title
track from their latest opus. Guitarist Victor Smolski (who is going a
bit grey around the temples, but aren’t we all?) and singer/ bassist Peavy
Wagner sported matching white guitars for the first couple of numbers, before
Victor switched over to a black one. Peavy’s mike stand was set up almost
directly in front of me, so I was just a couple of feet away from where he
sang. There was an occupational hazard to this arrangement. Herr
Wagner is a large dude, and it seems like he gets larger every time I see
him. (No, we’re not talking Jon Oliva large, but he could do with a stint
on the South Beach Diet all the same.) That means he sweats …
profusely. And did I mention that the Juz was a friggin’ steambath
tonight? By the end of the first song, sweat was pouring off Peavy’s face
and arms in veritable rivers of perspiration. I did my best to avoid the
floodwaters, but I was the involuntary recipient of large quantities of German
man-sweat regardless.
Other than the bodily fluid hazard, the most immediate characteristic of Rage’s
performance was the potential for shattered eardrums. I’ve been to
hundreds of metal gigs, so my ears are pretty well calibrated to an acceptable
range of volume at these events. For the last 15 years, I’ve religiously
worn earplugs to shows in hopes of staving off further ear damage above and
beyond the mild tinnitus that already afflicts me. But holy shit, it was
L-O-U-D during the Rage gig. I could feel the fillings rattling around in
my teeth, and those bass drums were like a jackhammer in my chest. Even
with my good plugs, my ears were ringing like hell when the show ended.
The good news is that, aside from volume issues, the sound was quite good for
Rage’s set. Each instrument shone through in the mix, and every note that
Peavy sang cut through loud and clear. Peavy sounded great, by the
way. Age may have shrunk his range a bit, but he sang with full power and
didn’t miss a note. Also, even though Victor was on the other side of the
stage from where I stood, his guitar was clear and loud in the mix, thanks to a
backline configuration that allowed for Engl guitar cabinets on both sides of
the stage, rather than just behind Victor. I could hear everything.
I just wished there was a knob to move it a notch or two down from 11 so maybe
I wouldn’t be deaf when the gig ended.
With 21 studio albums and well over 200 songs in the Rage catalog, it must be an
absolute nightmare to construct a setlist these days. Understandably, Rage
tilted things toward the new album, serving up no fewer than 5 cuts off the ‘21’
release. And those tunes sounded fantastic, especially the showstopping
“Forever Dead,” an absolutely colossal song that bulldozes everything in its way
live. “Feel My Pain” was more nuanced, featuring some awfully fancy
tapping and other fretboard gymnastics by the nimble Smolski, but quite
effective nonetheless. No surprise that they played “Serial Killer,”
perhaps the most brutal Rage song ever, complete with near-blastbeats and growls
from Peavy in the verses. Not my favorite new song, but I get it.
Less predictable was the band’s decision to play the semi-ballad “Eternally,”
with Communic vocalist Oddleif Stensland coming out to sing it as a duet with
Peavy. (The guest appearance made sense, given that Oddleif originally
sang the song when it was recorded on a Nuclear Blast sampler a few years
ago.) Where things got squirrely was in Rage’s choice of back-catalog
tunes to perform. No “Higher than the Sky.” This is like Iron Maiden
not playing “Run to the Hills,” or Slayer not playing “Angel of Death,” or Blind
Guardian not playing “Bard’s Song,” or Priest not playing “You’ve Got Another
Thing Coming.” You get the idea. It’s not Rage’s best song, but it
is their best-known, signature crowd-pleasing song that’s been a mainstay in the
set since the mid-90s. Not on this tour. Likewise, there was no
“Down,” which is Rage’s biggest hit from the last decade. Strange.
And when Rage dipped into the ‘Black in Mind’ album, the song they picked was
“Crawling Chaos.” Man. I don’t hate that song or anything, and I
know it was marketed as a single way back when, but I’d choose any of a
half-dozen or more tracks from that crushing disc before resorting to “Crawling
Chaos.” And “No Regrets” is fine, but I wouldn’t call it one of the
highlights of the symphonic Smolski period of RAGE. So there were
certainly a few head-scratchers in the song choices, from both an inclusion
standpoint and an omission standpoint. Still, it’s hard to bitch too much
when the set offered such bona fide, certifiable ass-kickers as “Refuge,” “Paint
the Devil on the Wall,” “Great Old Ones,” and the aforementioned “Forever Dead,”
so maybe I’ll just shut up and raise my fist.
Performance-wise, Rage were firing on all cylinders tonight, despite the boiling
temperatures and oxygen-deficient atmosphere. Smolski, in particular, has
really upped his game as a showman. So many virtuoso guitarists stand in
one place, seemingly afraid to get one hair out of place as they work their
six-string magic. Not Victor. He’s a headbanging maniac who works
the stage, makes plenty of eye contact with the audience, and is in a state of
more or less perpetual motion except for when he props a foot on the monitors to
deliver another mindblowing solo. Peavy also moves around well for such a
big man, and seems to have the most fun when he’s at the front of the stage
during the instrumental parts, rocking out on his bass, egging the crowd on,
sticking out his tongue, and making goofy facial expressions. And Andre
Hilgers is certainly a solid drummer who contributes plenty of power, albeit
without the percussive fireworks and panache of his predecessor, Mike
Terrana. It also helps that all three band members appear to get along
well, and are smiling and joking with each other in between songs.
Although Rage’s set lasted only 90 minutes, the duration was more than
satisfactory because there was so little filler or wasted time. Unlike
previous Rage tours I’ve witnessed, there were neither interminable singalongs
nor self-indulgent guitar / drum solo spots to sap the energy out of the
night. As to the former, Rage provided only a short audience
participation bit during “Don’t Fear the Winter.” As to the latter, the
band wisely packed all of their show-off ego needs into the framework of an
actual song, “Unity” from the album of the same name. Despite all the
gee-whiz-look-how-cleverly-I-can-play parts in the song, it never got boring
because (a) Smolski’s guitarwork is jaw-droppingly good, and (b) at any rate,
you can always stop looking at Victor and rock out with Peavy whenever you
like. The only real lull in the set was the funny part before final
encore “Don’t Fear the Winter,” when Hilgers started playing a familiar drum
pattern, prompting the audience to bust out with a lengthy “We’re Not Gonna
Take It” singalong, much to the amusement and delight of the band
members. In any event, by the end of “Don’t Fear the Winter,” the Rage
guys looked thoroughly gassed, and they all parked it on the drum riser for a
minute or two to drink some fluids and catch their breath before departing the
stage for the last time.
Setlist:
Twenty One, Forever Dead, Paint the Devil on the Wall, Feel My Pain, Serial
Killer, Crawling Chaos, Light into the Darkness, No Regrets, Unity, Eternally,
Refuge, Great Old Ones. Encores: Empty Hollow, Don’t Fear the Winter.
After Rage’s set, we hung out at the venue for a couple of hours. We met
Victor back at the merchandise stand and talked to him for a bit. (To his
credit, Victor has long had the practice of going to the merch booth after the
gig to meet the fans, sign autographs, and hang out. His bandmates, by
and large, do not.) Upon learning that we’re from America, Victor
immediately told us how much they enjoyed playing the 70,000 Tons of Metal
cruise in early 2011, and how they hope to return next year with an
orchestra. Interesting. We also spoke with the Japanese fan Yuki,
French car-driver Laurent, and the mad Bulgarians. By sheer happenstance,
we met a friendly, 50-ish German guy named Joe, who serves as Rage’s
webmaster. Joe immediately took an interest in us and said that we should
meet Peavy and go to sound check at some of the other shows we’d be
attending. Overall, Joe went out of his way to be kind, hospitable and
welcoming to us, which sure made us feel good, given that we were a couple of
bumbling, stumbling Americans a long long way from home. Eventually, Peavy
came out from the backstage area, and Yuki took it upon herself to make the
introductions. Very sweet of her. Peavy was visibly struck by the
presence of Americans at tonight’s show, particularly given the other
international attendees of which he was aware. He told me with a laugh
that we were “like a little village” following Rage. I didn’t want to
take too much of Peavy’s time, but I asked him about how they compiled the
setlist. He said it had been longer on earlier nights of the tour, but
that the band had cut two new songs (“Destiny” and “Psycho Terror”) because the
set just felt too long with them and the band had been too tired by the end of
the night. Anyway, it was cool to chat for a couple of minutes with the
great Peavy Wagner, whose music I’ve been enjoying for more than two decades.
Unfortunately, not everything went smoothly. Remember the whole flap about
surrendering the email printout to get into the concert? I met up with
Rage’s tour manager, Zottel, a shaved-head mountain of a man who speaks English
with a British accent even though he’s German. When I explained to Zottel
about the guest list fiasco and the email from Dragon Productions, he went off
in search of the email printout. (By the way, I don’t blame him one bit
for not taking my word that we’d been promised guest list spots for the three
shows. The booking agent had not said anything to Zottel about it, and the
man wouldn’t have been doing his job had he not sought confirmation that the
story I told him was true.) Surprise, surprise. The printout had
disappeared, and no one knew what had become of it, including the bespectacled
guy in the Motorhead t-shirt at the front door who had confiscated it from me in
the first place. Zottel asked me to print out another copy, but of course
I couldn’t. He asked if I could forward it to him electronically, but I
hadn’t had email access in three days and wasn’t at all confident that I would
do so before tomorrow night’s gig in Braunschweig. So we agreed that I
would contact Zottel tomorrow afternoon, and we’d figure something out.
By 2:00 a.m., we were tired and ready to begin the 20-minute walk back to our
hotel through the quiet, peaceful town of Andernach. Yuki would not hear
of it. It turns out, she was staying in our hotel (there aren’t many
budget hotels in Andernach, so it’s not as much of a coincidence as it might
seem). She was planning to take a taxi home, so she offered to let us
ride with her for no charge. When we politely declined, she
insisted. So we went on a taxi ride with Yuki, which proved to be a bit
of an adventure in its own right. First off, it’s not so easy to get a
taxi in a remote place like Andernach in the middle of the night at a music
venue outside the town, so we waited outside in the chill for quite some time
before a cab showed up. (Jen started to lose her patience. She
doesn’t like being cold or sleepy. At this time, she was both. So
she was shivering and muttering things under her breath about how we’d already
be home if we’d walked.) When we got in the taxi, I laughed aloud when I
heard the strains of some deep cuts from Accept’s ‘Restless and Wild’ album
kicking through the car’s CD player. (I think it was “Head of the
Pack.”) Even the cabbies in Germany are metalheads! I love this
country. Then the taxi driver took a wrong turn and ended up at a dead
end, up a slight grassy incline from the road he was supposed to be on.
Instead of backing up, he took the taxi offroad, making a dreadful noise as the
vehicle’s undercarriage scraped the median, to get us onto the proper
road. Who knew riding a taxi in the middle of the night in Andernach could
be so much fun?
Sonntag,
March 25, 2012
My first conscious thought this morning was, “Damn those Central Europeans for
changing their clocks now.” Yep, clocks sprang forward during the
overnight hours, so instead of sleeping four hours from 3:00 a.m. to 7:00 a.m.,
I only got to sleep three hours between 3:00 a.m. and 7:00 a.m. Why were
we up at 7:00? We had a train to catch. Braunschweig is nearly 5
hours from Andernach by train, and the venue in Braunschweig is nowhere near
the train station, so there was little time to tarry. We scarfed down a
quick breakfast at the hotel with our hotel mates Yuki and Joe the Webmaster
(thanks, Mr. Slightly Grumpy Hotel Proprietor, for waking up early and starting
breakfast early for us on the day the clocks changed!). Then it was off
to the train station, where we said our farewells to Joe the Webmaster and
commenced the long train ride to Braunschweig, with our new friend Yuki in tow.
There’s no direct train from Andernach to Braunschweig; rather, we had to change
trains in Cologne and Hannover. I was especially excited about the first
stop, because our “layover” in Cologne was just long enough for Jen and me to
run out the front door of the train station and spend 3 minutes gawking at and
taking photos of the magnificent Dom (cathedral) of Koln, a hulking monstrosity
that towers over the train station and takes your breath away. The 3
minutes in front of the Dom constituted our sightseeing for the day, kind of
like that scene in National Lampoon’s Vacation when they finally get to the
Grand Canyon, stand there, take a deep breath, look at it, then scramble onto
the next event. Griswolds and Ekmans travel in much the same way, except
that we drink more beer and I didn’t see Christie Brinkley even one time on this trip.
Our train journey passed pleasantly and without incident thanks to the
ever-reliable Deutsche Bahn. By early afternoon, we were in the
Braunschweig train station, where we parted ways with Yuki (her hotel was
nowhere near ours). Unfortunately, the venue was roughly 10 km north of
the train station / center city, so we didn’t get to explore the old town
today. Instead, we hopped the M1 tram for 2 Euros apiece and rode 25
minutes north to get to the part of town where tonight’s venue and our hotel
are located. We disembarked from the tram right near the venue, Meier’s
Music Hall, because I wanted to talk to Zottel to see about getting this guest
list thing worked out once and for all. From the exterior, Meier’s Music
Hall looks like a total dump / dive bar. It’s located in kind of a
rundown industrial / commercial area of town, and definitely fits its
surroundings, with what looks like a mostly rusting tin exterior. When we
reached the venue, we walked right in, past various and sundry band members
(Andre Hilgers on a cell phone, Peavy Wagner looking up from where he sat to
give us a smile and a hello, Andre’s cute little blonde daughter running around
the venue in oversized pink ear protection), until we found Zottel. He
had been unable to reach my contact at Dragon Productions, and I had been
unable to print out my “guest list” email. What to do? Zottel
kindly allowed me to pull up my email account on his PC so that I could show
him my original confirmation email and he could see that in fact we were
supposed to be on the guest list. He read the email and immediately added
our names to the guest list spreadsheets for that night in Braunschweig and the
following show in Hamburg. Thanks so much, Zottel!
It was early (around 2:30 p.m.), and we still had our backpacks, so we hiked the
2 km to the hotel to check in and take a nap. Tonight’s hotel was part of
the new B&B Hotel chain. (Cue Yoda voice.) A strange experience
it was. We checked into the hotel without any human interaction
whatsoever. Inside the main entrance, but outside the locked foyer, was a
machine with a slot for credit cards. You type in your name, the computer
pulls up your reservation, you swipe your card, and it spits out a slip of paper
with a six-digit code. That code opens not only the door to the foyer, but
also the door to your guest room. Voila, you’re checked in. The room
itself was actually quite comfortable for its modest 54 Euro pricetag, featuring
in-room climate control system (a rarity at budget hotels in Europe), flat-panel
TV with satellite feed, and a shower and toilet right there in the room (many
times in European budget hotels these facilities are located in a hallway for
common use). We were cozy and comfortable. So we napped for awhile,
walked over to the Ikea store across the street to compare/contrast the
differences between U.S. and German Ikeas, and loaded up on free refills of
budget “cola” in a 0.3 liter paper cup for 1 Euro as we struggled to
hydrate. (We were not sure why the Ikea was open at all. It was,
after all, a Sunday, and the vast majority of German retail establishments are
closed on Sundays.) Refreshed, hydrated and slightly rested, we walked
back over to the venue at 1700.
Doors didn’t open until nearly 1830, so we had some time to hang out, drink beer
and talk to our French buddy Laurent outside the venue. It was a
beautiful, sunny, pleasant day, so we didn’t mind being outside, especially
with it now getting dark an hour later thanks to the whole “spring forward”
thing. When the doors opened, we had no trouble using our guest list
credentials to get in, and I grabbed a place up against the stage on the left
side, with the idea that I could be in front of Victor this time, all the
better to see his fretboard pyrotechnics and to avoid drowning in Peavy
sweat. There was no barricade tonight either, so the audience could press
right up against the stage.
For looking like a rundown rattletrap on the outside, Meier’s Music Hall is
actually pretty impressive on the inside. The website says its capacity
for concerts is 700, which looks about right. There were two large,
well-designed bars in the hall, with cool lighting and interesting props (like
the mannequins of Indiana Jones, Aragorn and others up on the walls). I
immediately liked the venue, so I grabbed a tasty Wolters Pils (the local brew)
and waited for the show. Moments later, Yuki appeared beside me, and once
again Japanese and U.S. metal forces were aligned at the front of the stage to
cheer on the Greek, Norwegian, Faeroese and German metal warriors.
Tonight’s show was much like last night’s, so in lieu of a repetitive
blow-by-blow account, I’ll focus on what was different or especially
interesting about tonight’s show. Scar of the Sun were the only band to
alter their setlist today, as at least one and possibly two tracks from their
performance definitely were not aired in Andernach. After the Scar of
the Sun gig, I was tapped on the shoulder and turned around to see Pappas,
the band’s drummer, who had come over to talk to us. He recognized Jen
and me from the night before in Andernach, noticed that we seemed to dig the
band’s music, and wanted to say hello. Pappas is a fascinating guy.
Aside from drumming in at least two bands (the other one being an act called
Disharmony, which he compared to Nevermore), Pappas has gone to music school in
New York (is friends with the Suspyre guys) and is trying to train for a
triathlon while on tour. Oh, and did I mention that he’s funny as
hell? Pappas lamented the fizziness of German bottled water with a shrug
of his shoulders and a plaintive sigh, “It’s Germany. What can you
do?” He lambasted the technology that had failed them last night while
the band drove around lost in their RV, saying, “GPS My Ass.” This line
turned into one of our favorite quotes of the vacation, and Jen and I could
make each other collapse in fits of laughter by saying “GPS My Ass” at random
times. Maybe we should get a t-shirt printed up. Anyway, Pappas is
extremely cool and we hung out with him at length in between bands and after
the gig was over.
All three opening bands enjoyed vastly improved stage and sound conditions
tonight, as compared to Andernach. The stage was large enough that there
was a little bit of room in front of the drum kit. This meant that
frontmen were actually able to be at the front of the stage, which seemed
particularly pleasing to Tyr’s Heri Joensen. And the mix was way better
for all three openers. Communic delivered another high-intensity
set, albeit with technical difficulties at the beginning of “Flood River Blood”
when Oddleif’s guitar was out of tune. There was a Communic fanboy
standing next to me, with his arms splayed across the monitor, looking up at
Oddleif and singing along with every single word. I was impressed by the
level of dedication on that one. After the gig, Oddleif reached into his
pocket and handed me a cool orange skull-shaped guitar pick with the band logo
on it. Nifty souvenir that. For Tyr’s set, I was overjoyed
because the mix was so good that I could hear everything: Lead guitars, lead
vocals, harmony vocals, bass, drums, prerecorded bits, the whole nine
yards. Tonight was everything I ever wanted in a Tyr live performance,
and I gleefully thrashed, shouted, sang and banged myself silly during their
set. During the part of “Shadow of the Swastika” where he sings the bit
about “Kiss my Scandinavian ass,” Jen and I looked at each other and sang the
line at full volume. Funny moment: Before “Hail to the Hammer,”
Joensen asked the crowd how many of us had brought our hammers tonight.
“Where are those hammers?” he asked. One fan shouted the response, “My
hammer’s in my pants,” prompting the entire band to bust out in laughter.
Joensen commented, “That’s the best one we’ve heard in a long time.”
Otherwise, Tyr’s set was 100% awesome from start to finish.
What to say about Rage? As good as last night’s gig was in
Andernach, tonight was even better. For one thing, it wasn’t quite so
oppressively hot, and there was enough oxygen in the room that the band did not
appear to fatigue the way they did at the Jugendzentrum. For another, the
stage was bigger so they had more room to move and to use their lighting
effects (including a freaking annoying strobe effect that they didn’t use for
either of the other gigs). And watching Victor play guitar for 90 minutes
is like seeing a clinic in heavy metal guitar wizardry. The guy does
unbelievable things on a guitar, yet also manages to be a headbanging lunatic
during the riffy sections. (Tonight Victor did all of this with a cut on
the third finger on his picking hand, which he covered with a black bandaid
until removing it when it interfered with his playing.) He made eye
contact with me at many points during the night, throwing me the horns during
“Refuge” and handing me his gig pick at the end of the night. (Unlike many
metal guitarists, Victor uses one pick – not one with his name or band logo –
for the whole show, instead of flicking dozens of them into the audience during
the concert.) For his part, Peavy was also smiling and making eye contact
with us. During an entire chorus of “Great Old Ones,” he locked eyes with
me and the two of us belted it out together. Awesome. And best of
all, after “Don’t Fear the Winter,” just when I thought the show was over as it
was last night, the band members resumed their stations and gave us an extra
encore: “Soundchaser.” Damn, I love that song. If that’s not one of
the all-time great Rage live songs, I don’t know what is. It just kicks
bucketloads of ass. And it did tonight too.
After the show, we hung out in Meier’s Music Hall as long as we possibly
could. We chatted with our international conglomerate of heavy metal
friends: Laurent, Yuki, and Pappas. (Sadly, the Bulgarians were not there
tonight.) I went over to the merch stand and dropped 53 Euros on a bunch
of crap I don’t need: Rage 21 shirt, gray Tyr shirt, tour poster, deck of
Rage playing cards for my brother, Victor Smolski logo guitar picks, and Rage
patch. All cool stuff though, and I had a nice chat with the
Italian-speaking merch woman, who was from Switzerland. When at last it
was time to say our goodnights, Jen and I made the 2 km walk back to the
B&B Hotel with ease, capping off an exhausting but brilliant day in a Metal Firestorm.
Montag,
March 26, 2012
This was a scheduled day off for the Metal Firestorm Tour, so we shifted into
the role of tourists / sightseers. We checked out of the hotel by 0900,
and took the M1 tram back towards downtown. After a killer breakfast of
amazing German pastries from a local bakery (Jen had a red currant Danish that
was at least as big as a human head), we explored the Altstadt (old town), saw
the Dom (cathedral), the Rathaus (city hall), the Schloss (castle, which has
sadly been converted into a shopping mall), and generally walked everywhere
there was to walk. It was another sunny spring day, and Braunschweig
proved to be a beautiful city to explore on foot. Wish we’d had more
time, but Hamburg beckoned.
We boarded a train at 1220, connected in Hannover, and reached Hamburg before
1500. If we had to pick one European city, Hamburg would be it.
We’ve been here six times, at all times of year in all kinds of weather, and we
love it dearly. It feels different than the rest of Germany, since it’s
so far north and is a port city. Anyway, we checked in with a human being
at the slightly dumpy but fine Hotel Kieler Hof right near the Hauptbahnhof
(central train station), then went to go meet our German friend from Alabama,
Claudia, who we had seen at the beginning of our trip. Claudia was in
Hamburg on business, so the plan was for us to hang out with her Tuesday
afternoon and evening. She was staying in a fancy Marriott Hotel, where
everybody speaks English and Americans are running around everywhere and they
charge you 20 Euros a day for wifi and the thermostat doesn’t work. To
paraphrase country music phenom Justin Moore (nevermind, I’ve been living in
the Deep South too long), that don’t sound like fun, sounds like it
sucks. Anyway, we had a great outing with Claudia to the Miniatur
Wunderland, an amazing tourist attraction that’s like miniature train sets and
dioramas on steroids. I can’t really describe it, but they had
miniaturized versions of Switzerland (complete with the Matterhorn), Hamburg
(including the Hauptbahnhof and the local football stadium), the USA and
Scandinavia. As we were walking through Miniatur Wunderland and marveling
at everything, I looked up and saw a heavyset German dude with a shaved head
checking out the exhibits. No, it couldn’t be … but it was.
Zottel! Rage’s tour manager was rockin’ Miniatur Wunderland just like we
were. How random is that? He looked up, saw us, and started
laughing. I asked Zottel why he’d come here, and he said the band was
hanging out at the Hard Rock Café and he and one of the roadies had wanted to go
exploring. He then complimented me on my ass-kicking Heathen baseball
t-shirt, noted with approval that I had been in the front row at both shows, and
said he’d see us tomorrow at the gig. What a funny coincidence.
We had a lovely falafel dinner and a nice walk through Hamburg in the chilly fog
to get Claudia back to her crappy overpriced Marriott hotel. Then we
wandered back to our cheap-ass budget hotel near the Hauptbahnhof and got an
absolutely blissful night’s sleep, disturbed only by the occasional loud and
unruly drunk exiting the Viking Bar, a rather seedy-looking drinking
establishment across the street from our room.
Dienstag,
March 27, 2012
Today was our last full day in Germany, so we had every intention of seizing the
day and draining the dregs. And so we did. After a delicious hotel
breakfast, we were on the street before 10:00 a.m. for a marathon bout of
sightseeing that took us through all the favorite parts of our beloved Hamburg:
the old town, the Reeperbahn, the majestic and solemn Bismarck statue, a St.
Pauli souvenir store where we racked up a sizeable bill for useless Hamburg
crap to take home (mousepads, refrigerator magnets, even a damn St. Pauli /
Astra pint glass), the Fischmarkt, the waterfront, a Russian submarine parked
at the dock, and the lake near the old city. The weather was to die for:
sunshine, blue skies, temperatures in the mid- to upper-60s. Even though
it was a Tuesday, everyone was outside. I think the entire city played
hooky to enjoy this beautiful day. Walking around town with Jen before
noon, drinking a tasty Holsten pils and munching on some ass-kicking spring
flavors of Ritter Sport chocolate as I went, I couldn’t help but think that
this is life at its best. It just doesn’t get any better than this.
It was after 1600 when we finally made it back to the hotel. We munched on
some bread and cheese, then headed over to the venue. Tonight’s gig was at
the famed Markthalle, conveniently located just minutes from the central train
station. The Markthalle is a positively brilliant place to see a
concert. Funny, to get in, you have to climb two sets of rather steep
stairs. (Can you imagine the lawsuits if this were a bar in the
States?) They always open the outer doors 30 minutes or longer before the
gig, so that guests can settle in, drink a beer, check their coats, pick up
merch, etc. in the anteroom before the actual hall doors open. And the
hall itself is designed with a terraced concept that provides for a series of
steps fanning out from the stage. Not only do the steps make for a
convenient place to sit between bands, but they also mean that even
vertically-challenged patrons can have great sightlines to the stage from the
rear of the club. Also, the Markthalle stage is far larger than those in
Andernach and Braunschweig. (I think the openers had as much room on
stage in Hamburg as the headliners did in Andernach.) The hatch-shell
design of the stage is acoustically beneficial, and the lighting set-up is
completely pro. I love the Markthalle.
There were no problems with the guest list tonight. (Thanks Zottel!)
As usual, I immediately gravitated to the front row, this time right in the
middle. In contrast to the other two gigs, a barricade was erected here,
creating a five-foot wide photo pit between the front row and the actual
stage. In a way, this was better because it allowed for a broader
perspective in watching the bands than being right on top of them, pressed up
against the stage. Once again, we passed the time in between acts
chatting with our friends Pappas, Laurent, and Yuki. Everyone seemed to
have enjoyed their day off, but it sounded like we did way more sightseeing and
walking around Hamburg than anybody else did.
The common denominator for all four bands’ performance tonight was that they all
looked and sounded better tonight than they did at either of the two previous
gigs. Perhaps they were refreshed from the day off (after 4 straight shows
to start the tour). Perhaps it was just the superior lighting and sound
system at the Markthalle. When the layers of thick fog interacted with the
killer light package, every band had the perfect “metal god” stage atmosphere
(even though the fog made it hell on pro and amateur photographers alike trying
to capture images of the night). Perhaps I was deriving extra enjoyment
from tonight knowing that it was the last night and that in a matter of hours we
would be commencing the long, slow journey home. Whatever the case may be,
tonight was my favorite of the three show nights.
Each band (again with the exception of Scar of the Sun) played an identical set
list to Braunschweig. Nonetheless, some nuances of the performances made
tonight feel different. During Scar of the Sun’s set, for example,
the band kindly dedicated their next-to-last song to Jen and me by name, and
even got the crowd at the Markthalle to cheer for the two people from Alabama
who’d been following the tour for the last three shows. It was an
incredibly kind and unexpected gesture on their part. These five Greeks
have big hearts, and they’re out there trying really hard. I’ll pull for
‘em all the way. Communic seemed to go over better in Hamburg than
they did in either of the two cities. Maybe they’ve toured here more
often or have a larger fanbase here? Either way, they were obviously
chuffed by the reaction. When Oddleif came out on stage, he saw my
smiling mug in the front row again, so he stopped and smiled and gave me the
thumbs up. Cool. And the crowd went ballistic for Tyr.
From the ferocity of the crowd’s response to the professionalism that the band
exuded on stage, you’d be forgiven for thinking that Tyr were actually the
headliner tonight. They were welcomed like royalty. Interesting,
Heri Joensen addressed the crowd almost exclusively in German tonight.
This was different than the past two shows, where 80-90% of his stage banter
was in English. Christ, how many languages does this guy speak? At
the end of yet another triumphant Tyr performance, this one with absolutely
pristine sound and an apeshit crowd, Joensen reached out and handed me the
printed setlist. What a cool memento of the night, and the tour!
Rage suffered through some obvious technical difficulties at the start of their set.
When the “House Wins” intro tape ended, and the band strolled on stage to start
playing “21,” Victor strummed his guitar and … nothing happened. Andre and
Peavy had gone on with the song, the beginning of which is mostly bass and drums
anyway, but Victor and his heavily tattooed/pierced tech scrambled around the
stage like mad for 30 seconds or so, eventually ixnaying the wireless and
plugging in Victor’s guitar just a split second before the main riff to “21”
kicked in. So they salvaged it. But during “Forever Dead,” Peavy’s
wireless transmitter also died, so he had to be hardwired into the amps for the
rest of the night. If this flustered the band, they didn’t let on about
it. All three Ragers were all smiles during the show, and the stage banter
was longer and more playful tonight (who the frick knows what they were saying,
but that’s how it seemed to me). Peavy took to using the word “F**king” in
almost every song title he introduced (i.e., “No F**king Regrets,” “Paint
the F***king Devil on the Wall,” “Serial F**king Killer”). Each time,
Victor cracked up laughing. This must be some kind of “in” joke between
them. Both Victor and Peavy spotted me in the front row, and waved,
smiled, threw horns, or otherwise acknowledged me. During “Great Old
Ones,” just as in Braunschweig, Peavy stared right at me as he sang the chorus,
so I belted it out with him, matching full power with full power. The
biggest tease of the night came after “Don’t Fear the Winter” and before the
final encore. Victor got a mischievous glint in his eye and started
playing a slowed-down version of the melody from “Higher Than the Sky.”
Peavy joined in, also laughing as he did so, and the crowd went nuts, everyone
singing the chorus at the top of their voices even louder than “We’re Not Gonna
Take It.” I really thought they were going to play “Higher Than the
Sky.” God knows the audience wanted them to. Both Peavy and Victor
looked back at Andre, who simply glared back impassively. Is it maybe
Andre who doesn’t want to play this song? Who knows. For whatever
reason, they stopped and instead tore into a highly satisfying version of
“Soundchaser” to round at the evening. Nice consolation prize, but it sure
is a mystery why “Higher than the Sky” has been banished from the setlist.
The post-show party was short-lived tonight. Our friend Claudia from
Alabama had skipped out on part of a business dinner to come to the Markthalle
for her first heavy metal concert ever. She had arrived about three songs
into Rage’s set, and walked right in the club because there was no one there to
take her money or give her a ticket. Jen was waiting for her at the back
of the hall and handed her a pair of earplugs as she walked in. Claudia
quickly ditched her red sweater so that she’d fit the black uniform for the
night. And I think she had fun. Afterwards, Claudia had the most
insightful comment about Rage, saying “I like the way the guitarist made his
guitar sing.” Well put. She was partial to “Empty Hollow” and “No
Regrets” and “Eternally.” After the show, we introduced her to Yuki and
Laurent and Pappas, took a bunch of photos, and then it was time to go.
The Markthalle people were shutting things down quickly tonight. Victor
did not even have a chance to sign autographs and shake hands at the merch
table. We said our goodbyes to our Greek, Japanese and French
friends. On the way out, I stopped to say a quick hello and thank you to
the Communic guys. Bassist and guitarist were very nice and gracious,
with the bassist explaining his ProgPower absence to me by saying, “I’m not
allowed in America.” Drummer, however, was an ass. When I told him
I’d really enjoyed watching Communic for the last three nights, he bllurted,
“Then why are you wearing the wrong shirt?” I was wearing a Rage ‘XIII’
shirt. Good lord, man, I didn’t say your band was the greatest band in the
world and I love Communic more than life itself. I was just saying I dug
your set. Don’t give me shit for not buying one of your crappy t-shirts.
I bought plenty of other crappy t-shirts on this trip. That left a
bit of a bad taste in my mouth, but so be it. So then I walked over to the
Scar of the Sun guys, thanked them profusely for the song dedication, and wished
them all the best for the remainder of the tour. Classy, cool dudes for sure.
With that, we left the Markthalle, stumbled down the two flights of steps,
deposited Claudia at the U-bahn station to ride back to the fancy-pants
Marriott, and walked back to our comfy, dumpy cheap-ass hotel for a couple of
hours of peace and quiet. Before we knew it, we were on an S-bahn train
headed out to the Hamburg Flughafen. Twenty hours later, we walked back
into our house in Alabama. If not for the ringing in my ears, the
stiffness of my neck, and that St. Pauli pint glass in my backpack, I could have
sworn that the whole thing had been a fantastic dream.
The Metal Firestorm 2012 Tour commenced a 15-date European run on March 22, 2012
in the Czech Republic. Featuring headliners Rage, support acts Tyr and
Communic, plus newcomers Scar of the Sun, the tour sported a formidable lineup
of bands that rarely grace American shores. Jen and I packed our trusty
backpacks and hopped a flight to Germany, buoyed by the promise of favorable
spring weather, killer music and perhaps the occasional 0.5 liter bottle of tasty German brew.
Samstag, March 24, 2012
We actually arrived on German soil on the 22nd; however, we took a
24-hour detour to the small east German town of Wildenfels to visit with our
dear friend Claudia (who lives down the street from us in Alabama, but was
coincidentally in Germany on business), her parents, and our young godson
Noah. Claudia grew up in Wildenfels, and her parents still live there, so
it was a homecoming for her. During our overnight stay, Claudia’s mother
treated us to incredible German cuisine (potato soup a/k/a Kartoffelsuppe for
the win!), her father plied me with more bottles of Radeberger pilsner than my
sorry jetlagged self could possibly consume, and we enjoyed hospitality fit for
kings. After walking around town on the morning of the 23rd,
enjoying a delicious bottle of Hacker-Pschorr helles with Claudia’s Uncle
Dieter, and eating some more ass-kicking Kartoffelsuppe, Jen and I spent 8
hours on Deutsche Bahn trains threading our way from the eastern end of Germany
all the way to the western end, with multiple starts and stops along the
way. At almost 2100 hours, we reached our destination, the picturesque
town of Andernach on the Rhine River. Fortunately, our hotel was just a
few steps from the rail station, so we collapsed in our room and slept soundly
to fend off the encroaching jetlag.
We awakened on the 24th to an awesome hotel breakfast (Fruhstuck) of
breads, cheeses, meats, yogurts, juice and coffee, then explored
Andernach. Weather was beautiful, with the skies sunny and bright and
temperatures in the 60s. We spent several hours relaxing on the banks of
the Rhine, watching the maritime traffic slide by on the river and soaking in
the day. We also discovered the old medieval city walls, which date back
to the 12th century and have been left untouched since the French
destroyed them in 1689. The town has sprung up around the ruins, with
roads, dwellings and businesses all within spitting distance of the medieval
remnants. Incredible. At around 1630, we embarked on the leisurely 2
km walk to the venue, the Jugendzentrum (more colloquially known as the Juz),
located on the eastern edge of town in a fairly remote area across the street
from a trampoline place (I kid you not). Not a bar or a club in the
conventional sense, the Juz is actually a youth center owned and operated by the
municipality. It’s a small, barebones facility, inside and out, but it’s
certainly adequate for a heavy metal concert and indeed is the site of the
annual Swordbrothers Festival. Capacity is probably 400 – 500, tops.
We waited outside for around 90 minutes for the doors to open. During this
time, I struck up a conversation with three Bulgarian dudes who were also
standing around. These metal maniacs from Sofia had flown into Dortmund
that morning, took a 2-3 hour train ride to Andernach for the show, and were
headed back to the train station immediately after the gig to repeat the
process in reverse. They had an 0600 flight back to Sofia.
Diehards, for sure. They were asking me about Stormspell Records and
nodded when I inquired about the Bulgarian band Epizod. Funny, they asked
which Epizod CDs I own. I laughed. Hell if I know, they’re all in
Bulgarian! For some time, it was just the four of us standing by the door
(Jen had wandered off, as she does, and was engrossed in a word find puzzle, I
think). As the hour approached and the skies darkened, black-clad
warriors slowly trickled onto the premises one by one. Doors finally
opened at 1830, and we were on our way. Woohoo!
My friend Joerg Duesedau of Dragon Productions in Hamburg was the booking agent
for this tour, and had graciously offered to place Jen and me on the guest list
for all three concerts. Only trouble was that the person at the entrance
showed me the guest list, and we weren’t on it. No problem, I
thought. I may not have been a Boy Scout, but I am prepared for such
contingencies. So I withdrew from my pocket the folded-up printout of my
email from Joerg confirming our guest list status for the three shows. At
that, the gentleman at the door relented and let Jen and me in, on the
condition that I surrender the printout. I argued the point, but he said
he had to have it so that he could show the Rage tour manager why he had let us
in. It was the only copy of the email I had, so I was loath to part with
it, but I did so for the sake of not holding up the long line to get in.
I figured I could find the guy (he was easy to spot, with glasses, a leather
jacket and a Motorhead ‘Rock & Roll’ shirt) later that night after the gig
and plead my case to retrieve the printout, in case I needed it at any of the other shows.
Jen and I then raced into the venue and took up a position against the stage (no
barricades tonight) on the right side, so that we could be directly in front of
Peavy. The three Bulgarians also reached the front row, albeit more
towards the left side. Between the Bulgarians and me stood a petite Asian
woman who looked vaguely familiar. Turns out, she was none other than the
Japanese superfan Yuki, who has traveled to Germany from Tokyo more than 30
times to see Rage. We had actually met Yuki in Andernach in 2004 when we
attended the Rage 20th anniversary tour concert here. She
remembered us too, and we had a nice, albeit halting, conversation. So the
front row for tonight’s gig (the stage was very small) consisted of three
Bulgarians, one Japanese, two Americans, and a couple of security guards.
Later that night, we also met a guy named Laurent from the southeast of France
who was driving from one Rage concert to the next and sleeping in his car.
American, Japanese, Bulgarian and French metal forces coalesced in Andernach
under the RAGE banner. It was an international heavy metal summit of epic proportions!
That said, the stage setup at the Juz left a good bit to be desired. The
stage was just too small to accommodate two drumkits and two sets of
backline. All three opening acts shared a single drumkit and backline,
but that kit was pressed against the very front of the stage, effectively
sealing off any passage between the left and right sides of the stage, and
ensuring that each member of the opening bands would have to stand in a
postage-stamp sized area with no room whatsoever to move about.
Definitely not ideal. And the main problem from the standpoint of a fan
in the front row was that my head was level with the snare drum, and maybe four
feet away from it. That meant the drums were ungodly loud for all of the
opening acts. I was okay as long as I had a monitor mix from the monitors
lining the front of the stage to offset the drums, but the techs unplugged the
monitors right in front of me before Tyr played because Heri Joensen uses
in-ear monitors. Crap. Again, from a technical standpoint, this
facility is somewhat less than optimal. The other major problem at the Juz
is the lack of climate control. When the hall gets crowded, the
temperature soars and the place becomes suffocatingly hot. As I looked
around the room and saw it filling rapidly, I knew we were in for a smelly sweatfest.
At 1915, the concert began, as Greek quintet Scar of the Sun took the
stage. I had never heard a note of this band’s music, but their debut
album, the oddly titled ‘A series of unfortunate concurrencies,’ was released on
Scarlet Records last year. It was not so easy to pin down their sound,
because Scar of the Sun straddle multiple genres, with elements of traditional
metal, progressive metal, and even death metal (the long-haired guitarist kicks
in growlies occasionally). Closest reference point to these ears would be
pre-‘One Second’ Paradise Lost. In all honesty, the band seemed a bit
stiff and nervous, but that was understandable. This is their first
international tour, and they were playing to a sizeable crowd that was totally
unfamiliar with their music. I enjoyed their six-song set just fine,
especially the catchy, textured closer “Gravity,” easily the most memorable and
dynamic tune on display. Also, I amused myself during the 30-minute
performance by watching the headphone-wearing drummer make an endless series of
wacky facial expressions as he pounded away at the tubs. More about him later.
Notwithstanding the absurdly cramped conditions, the set changeover was a
remarkably efficient 15 minutes, with band members – especially the drummers –
acting as their own and each others’ roadies for both the tear down and set up
duties. (In fact, the three opening bands had a combined 1 roadie that I
saw, with the band members themselves otherwise performing all pre- and
post-show tech duties themselves. No rock star egos here, folks!)
At 2000, it was time for Norway’s Communic to, um, communicate with
us. The Scandinavian three-piece wore matching (or almost matching) black
work shirts bearing the Communic logo and design in metallic silver.
Singer/guitarist Oddleif Stensland was over on the other side of the stage, so
I contented myself with watching hard-hitting, goofy-hair-styled drummer Tor
Atle Andersen and bad-ass bassist Erik Mortensen, the latter sporting a
backwards ballcap, a large “No Fear” tattoo on his right arm, and a 5 o’clock
shadow from hell. (Inspired by Mortensen, Jen announced to me after the
gig that she wanted a “No Fear” tattoo of her own. Never happened, for
some reason.) Two minutes into the first song, the drum kit was in bad
shape, as clip-on microphones had popped off a couple of the toms and at least
one of the cymbals was loose after a particularly intense Andersen
thrashing. There was no time to fix it, though, so Communic soldiered
on. On CD, I like but don’t love Communic’s music, as the songs sometimes
seem too long, ponderous, and hookless for their own good. Live, however,
it was a different story. The Norwegians delivered a pummeling 40-minute
performance, high on energy and headbanging, with Stensland being a riveting
presence as he poured out the anguished lyrics from the inner depths of his
soul and shook his blond mane. It also helped that Communic selected some
of their more immediate material, including the haunting “A Wayward Soul,” the
twisted epic “Raven’s Cry,” and the pounding “Blood River Flood.” It was
a great headbanging show from Communic, a veteran metal troupe that for some
reason gets very little love on American shores.
Setlist: A Wayward Soul, Facing Tomorrow, Communication
Sublime, Raven’s Cry, Destroyer of Bloodlines, Blood River Flood.
It’s no secret that Faeroe Islands sensation Tyr are one of my favorite
new-ish bands from the last decade or so. Their combination of
traditional metal instrumentation, Faeroese melodies, and extraordinary vocal
harmonies give them a unique sound that is utterly captivating to me. I
had only seen them twice before tonight, once in an over-in-the-blink-of-an-eye
25-minute set at the first Paganfest in Mokena, IL, and the other time in a
technical-difficulty-riddled night at ProgPower where at least one band member
appeared quite intoxicated on stage. So I was really hoping to get the
full Tyr live experience on the Metal Firestorm Tour. Not tonight, I’m
afraid. Oh, it wasn’t the band’s fault. Bare-chested
singer/guitarist Heri Joensen sang his heart out, and rotund bassist Gunnar H.
Thomsen rocked out and smiled amiably at the crowd all night long. And
the setlist was damn near flawless, a power-packed, all-killer-no-filler 8-song
“best of” that leaned heavily on well-chosen highlights from Tyr’s last two
albums while still leaving room for the evergreen classics “Sinklars Visa” and
“Hail to the Hammer.” So what the hell was the problem? The sound
was a muddy, impenetrable mess. Lead guitarist Terji Skabenaes (now with
a newly-shorn look that’s something akin to a cleancut 50’s and 60’s blond
hairstyle, in stark juxtaposition to the pierced nose and dozens of tattoos
that adorn his arms, neck and torso) was entirely inaudible. I couldn’t
hear a note that he played. So much for those dancing guitar melodies and
harmonies, much less the solos. Joensen’s lead vocals were barely present
in the mix. Damn that unplugged monitor in front of me! Don’t know
how it sounded elsewhere in the room, but what I was left with was a
bastardized, neutered sound that simply didn’t capture the magic and power of
these songs. What a shame. By the conclusion of this 40-minute set,
I began to wonder whether I will ever see a top-shelf Tyr gig. Tonight
wasn’t it. Still, it was cool to actually witness the band performing
these songs, and I was pleased when Joensen leaned down immediately after the
set and shook my hand before departing the stage.
Setlist: Lay of Thrym, Shadow of the Swastika, Sinklars
Visa, Flames of the Free, Hail to the Hammer, Take Your Tyrant, Hail to the
Hammer, By the Sword in My Hand.
By 2200, it was time for RAGE. The cue for the concert to start was
when Pantera’s “Cowboys from Hell” started playing over the P.A. By the
lead break, the volume increased drastically, the house lights dimmed, and we
waited impatiently for the damn song to end so that Rage could begin. (I
used the occasion to curse Phil Anselmo and 90s, redneck, tough-guy, groove
metal generally. Why does a legendary band like Rage use Pantera as intro
music, anyway?) I could see drummer Andre Hilgers standing off to the
right of the stage all by himself, shaking out his arms, thumping his chest,
and generally looking nervous. When the accursed song finally ended, the
stage lights came up for the “House Wins” intro tape to roll. Just
remember, boys and girls, the mother^@#*ing house always wins. Then Rage
strolled out on stage, all smiles, and kicked into “Twenty One,” the title
track from their latest opus. Guitarist Victor Smolski (who is going a
bit grey around the temples, but aren’t we all?) and singer/ bassist Peavy
Wagner sported matching white guitars for the first couple of numbers, before
Victor switched over to a black one. Peavy’s mike stand was set up almost
directly in front of me, so I was just a couple of feet away from where he
sang. There was an occupational hazard to this arrangement. Herr
Wagner is a large dude, and it seems like he gets larger every time I see
him. (No, we’re not talking Jon Oliva large, but he could do with a stint
on the South Beach Diet all the same.) That means he sweats …
profusely. And did I mention that the Juz was a friggin’ steambath
tonight? By the end of the first song, sweat was pouring off Peavy’s face
and arms in veritable rivers of perspiration. I did my best to avoid the
floodwaters, but I was the involuntary recipient of large quantities of German
man-sweat regardless.
Other than the bodily fluid hazard, the most immediate characteristic of Rage’s
performance was the potential for shattered eardrums. I’ve been to
hundreds of metal gigs, so my ears are pretty well calibrated to an acceptable
range of volume at these events. For the last 15 years, I’ve religiously
worn earplugs to shows in hopes of staving off further ear damage above and
beyond the mild tinnitus that already afflicts me. But holy shit, it was
L-O-U-D during the Rage gig. I could feel the fillings rattling around in
my teeth, and those bass drums were like a jackhammer in my chest. Even
with my good plugs, my ears were ringing like hell when the show ended.
The good news is that, aside from volume issues, the sound was quite good for
Rage’s set. Each instrument shone through in the mix, and every note that
Peavy sang cut through loud and clear. Peavy sounded great, by the
way. Age may have shrunk his range a bit, but he sang with full power and
didn’t miss a note. Also, even though Victor was on the other side of the
stage from where I stood, his guitar was clear and loud in the mix, thanks to a
backline configuration that allowed for Engl guitar cabinets on both sides of
the stage, rather than just behind Victor. I could hear everything.
I just wished there was a knob to move it a notch or two down from 11 so maybe
I wouldn’t be deaf when the gig ended.
With 21 studio albums and well over 200 songs in the Rage catalog, it must be an
absolute nightmare to construct a setlist these days. Understandably, Rage
tilted things toward the new album, serving up no fewer than 5 cuts off the ‘21’
release. And those tunes sounded fantastic, especially the showstopping
“Forever Dead,” an absolutely colossal song that bulldozes everything in its way
live. “Feel My Pain” was more nuanced, featuring some awfully fancy
tapping and other fretboard gymnastics by the nimble Smolski, but quite
effective nonetheless. No surprise that they played “Serial Killer,”
perhaps the most brutal Rage song ever, complete with near-blastbeats and growls
from Peavy in the verses. Not my favorite new song, but I get it.
Less predictable was the band’s decision to play the semi-ballad “Eternally,”
with Communic vocalist Oddleif Stensland coming out to sing it as a duet with
Peavy. (The guest appearance made sense, given that Oddleif originally
sang the song when it was recorded on a Nuclear Blast sampler a few years
ago.) Where things got squirrely was in Rage’s choice of back-catalog
tunes to perform. No “Higher than the Sky.” This is like Iron Maiden
not playing “Run to the Hills,” or Slayer not playing “Angel of Death,” or Blind
Guardian not playing “Bard’s Song,” or Priest not playing “You’ve Got Another
Thing Coming.” You get the idea. It’s not Rage’s best song, but it
is their best-known, signature crowd-pleasing song that’s been a mainstay in the
set since the mid-90s. Not on this tour. Likewise, there was no
“Down,” which is Rage’s biggest hit from the last decade. Strange.
And when Rage dipped into the ‘Black in Mind’ album, the song they picked was
“Crawling Chaos.” Man. I don’t hate that song or anything, and I
know it was marketed as a single way back when, but I’d choose any of a
half-dozen or more tracks from that crushing disc before resorting to “Crawling
Chaos.” And “No Regrets” is fine, but I wouldn’t call it one of the
highlights of the symphonic Smolski period of RAGE. So there were
certainly a few head-scratchers in the song choices, from both an inclusion
standpoint and an omission standpoint. Still, it’s hard to bitch too much
when the set offered such bona fide, certifiable ass-kickers as “Refuge,” “Paint
the Devil on the Wall,” “Great Old Ones,” and the aforementioned “Forever Dead,”
so maybe I’ll just shut up and raise my fist.
Performance-wise, Rage were firing on all cylinders tonight, despite the boiling
temperatures and oxygen-deficient atmosphere. Smolski, in particular, has
really upped his game as a showman. So many virtuoso guitarists stand in
one place, seemingly afraid to get one hair out of place as they work their
six-string magic. Not Victor. He’s a headbanging maniac who works
the stage, makes plenty of eye contact with the audience, and is in a state of
more or less perpetual motion except for when he props a foot on the monitors to
deliver another mindblowing solo. Peavy also moves around well for such a
big man, and seems to have the most fun when he’s at the front of the stage
during the instrumental parts, rocking out on his bass, egging the crowd on,
sticking out his tongue, and making goofy facial expressions. And Andre
Hilgers is certainly a solid drummer who contributes plenty of power, albeit
without the percussive fireworks and panache of his predecessor, Mike
Terrana. It also helps that all three band members appear to get along
well, and are smiling and joking with each other in between songs.
Although Rage’s set lasted only 90 minutes, the duration was more than
satisfactory because there was so little filler or wasted time. Unlike
previous Rage tours I’ve witnessed, there were neither interminable singalongs
nor self-indulgent guitar / drum solo spots to sap the energy out of the
night. As to the former, Rage provided only a short audience
participation bit during “Don’t Fear the Winter.” As to the latter, the
band wisely packed all of their show-off ego needs into the framework of an
actual song, “Unity” from the album of the same name. Despite all the
gee-whiz-look-how-cleverly-I-can-play parts in the song, it never got boring
because (a) Smolski’s guitarwork is jaw-droppingly good, and (b) at any rate,
you can always stop looking at Victor and rock out with Peavy whenever you
like. The only real lull in the set was the funny part before final
encore “Don’t Fear the Winter,” when Hilgers started playing a familiar drum
pattern, prompting the audience to bust out with a lengthy “We’re Not Gonna
Take It” singalong, much to the amusement and delight of the band
members. In any event, by the end of “Don’t Fear the Winter,” the Rage
guys looked thoroughly gassed, and they all parked it on the drum riser for a
minute or two to drink some fluids and catch their breath before departing the
stage for the last time.
Setlist:
Twenty One, Forever Dead, Paint the Devil on the Wall, Feel My Pain, Serial
Killer, Crawling Chaos, Light into the Darkness, No Regrets, Unity, Eternally,
Refuge, Great Old Ones. Encores: Empty Hollow, Don’t Fear the Winter.
After Rage’s set, we hung out at the venue for a couple of hours. We met
Victor back at the merchandise stand and talked to him for a bit. (To his
credit, Victor has long had the practice of going to the merch booth after the
gig to meet the fans, sign autographs, and hang out. His bandmates, by
and large, do not.) Upon learning that we’re from America, Victor
immediately told us how much they enjoyed playing the 70,000 Tons of Metal
cruise in early 2011, and how they hope to return next year with an
orchestra. Interesting. We also spoke with the Japanese fan Yuki,
French car-driver Laurent, and the mad Bulgarians. By sheer happenstance,
we met a friendly, 50-ish German guy named Joe, who serves as Rage’s
webmaster. Joe immediately took an interest in us and said that we should
meet Peavy and go to sound check at some of the other shows we’d be
attending. Overall, Joe went out of his way to be kind, hospitable and
welcoming to us, which sure made us feel good, given that we were a couple of
bumbling, stumbling Americans a long long way from home. Eventually, Peavy
came out from the backstage area, and Yuki took it upon herself to make the
introductions. Very sweet of her. Peavy was visibly struck by the
presence of Americans at tonight’s show, particularly given the other
international attendees of which he was aware. He told me with a laugh
that we were “like a little village” following Rage. I didn’t want to
take too much of Peavy’s time, but I asked him about how they compiled the
setlist. He said it had been longer on earlier nights of the tour, but
that the band had cut two new songs (“Destiny” and “Psycho Terror”) because the
set just felt too long with them and the band had been too tired by the end of
the night. Anyway, it was cool to chat for a couple of minutes with the
great Peavy Wagner, whose music I’ve been enjoying for more than two decades.
Unfortunately, not everything went smoothly. Remember the whole flap about
surrendering the email printout to get into the concert? I met up with
Rage’s tour manager, Zottel, a shaved-head mountain of a man who speaks English
with a British accent even though he’s German. When I explained to Zottel
about the guest list fiasco and the email from Dragon Productions, he went off
in search of the email printout. (By the way, I don’t blame him one bit
for not taking my word that we’d been promised guest list spots for the three
shows. The booking agent had not said anything to Zottel about it, and the
man wouldn’t have been doing his job had he not sought confirmation that the
story I told him was true.) Surprise, surprise. The printout had
disappeared, and no one knew what had become of it, including the bespectacled
guy in the Motorhead t-shirt at the front door who had confiscated it from me in
the first place. Zottel asked me to print out another copy, but of course
I couldn’t. He asked if I could forward it to him electronically, but I
hadn’t had email access in three days and wasn’t at all confident that I would
do so before tomorrow night’s gig in Braunschweig. So we agreed that I
would contact Zottel tomorrow afternoon, and we’d figure something out.
By 2:00 a.m., we were tired and ready to begin the 20-minute walk back to our
hotel through the quiet, peaceful town of Andernach. Yuki would not hear
of it. It turns out, she was staying in our hotel (there aren’t many
budget hotels in Andernach, so it’s not as much of a coincidence as it might
seem). She was planning to take a taxi home, so she offered to let us
ride with her for no charge. When we politely declined, she
insisted. So we went on a taxi ride with Yuki, which proved to be a bit
of an adventure in its own right. First off, it’s not so easy to get a
taxi in a remote place like Andernach in the middle of the night at a music
venue outside the town, so we waited outside in the chill for quite some time
before a cab showed up. (Jen started to lose her patience. She
doesn’t like being cold or sleepy. At this time, she was both. So
she was shivering and muttering things under her breath about how we’d already
be home if we’d walked.) When we got in the taxi, I laughed aloud when I
heard the strains of some deep cuts from Accept’s ‘Restless and Wild’ album
kicking through the car’s CD player. (I think it was “Head of the
Pack.”) Even the cabbies in Germany are metalheads! I love this
country. Then the taxi driver took a wrong turn and ended up at a dead
end, up a slight grassy incline from the road he was supposed to be on.
Instead of backing up, he took the taxi offroad, making a dreadful noise as the
vehicle’s undercarriage scraped the median, to get us onto the proper
road. Who knew riding a taxi in the middle of the night in Andernach could
be so much fun?
Sonntag,
March 25, 2012
My first conscious thought this morning was, “Damn those Central Europeans for
changing their clocks now.” Yep, clocks sprang forward during the
overnight hours, so instead of sleeping four hours from 3:00 a.m. to 7:00 a.m.,
I only got to sleep three hours between 3:00 a.m. and 7:00 a.m. Why were
we up at 7:00? We had a train to catch. Braunschweig is nearly 5
hours from Andernach by train, and the venue in Braunschweig is nowhere near
the train station, so there was little time to tarry. We scarfed down a
quick breakfast at the hotel with our hotel mates Yuki and Joe the Webmaster
(thanks, Mr. Slightly Grumpy Hotel Proprietor, for waking up early and starting
breakfast early for us on the day the clocks changed!). Then it was off
to the train station, where we said our farewells to Joe the Webmaster and
commenced the long train ride to Braunschweig, with our new friend Yuki in tow.
There’s no direct train from Andernach to Braunschweig; rather, we had to change
trains in Cologne and Hannover. I was especially excited about the first
stop, because our “layover” in Cologne was just long enough for Jen and me to
run out the front door of the train station and spend 3 minutes gawking at and
taking photos of the magnificent Dom (cathedral) of Koln, a hulking monstrosity
that towers over the train station and takes your breath away. The 3
minutes in front of the Dom constituted our sightseeing for the day, kind of
like that scene in National Lampoon’s Vacation when they finally get to the
Grand Canyon, stand there, take a deep breath, look at it, then scramble onto
the next event. Griswolds and Ekmans travel in much the same way, except
that we drink more beer and I didn’t see Christie Brinkley even one time on this trip.
Our train journey passed pleasantly and without incident thanks to the
ever-reliable Deutsche Bahn. By early afternoon, we were in the
Braunschweig train station, where we parted ways with Yuki (her hotel was
nowhere near ours). Unfortunately, the venue was roughly 10 km north of
the train station / center city, so we didn’t get to explore the old town
today. Instead, we hopped the M1 tram for 2 Euros apiece and rode 25
minutes north to get to the part of town where tonight’s venue and our hotel
are located. We disembarked from the tram right near the venue, Meier’s
Music Hall, because I wanted to talk to Zottel to see about getting this guest
list thing worked out once and for all. From the exterior, Meier’s Music
Hall looks like a total dump / dive bar. It’s located in kind of a
rundown industrial / commercial area of town, and definitely fits its
surroundings, with what looks like a mostly rusting tin exterior. When we
reached the venue, we walked right in, past various and sundry band members
(Andre Hilgers on a cell phone, Peavy Wagner looking up from where he sat to
give us a smile and a hello, Andre’s cute little blonde daughter running around
the venue in oversized pink ear protection), until we found Zottel. He
had been unable to reach my contact at Dragon Productions, and I had been
unable to print out my “guest list” email. What to do? Zottel
kindly allowed me to pull up my email account on his PC so that I could show
him my original confirmation email and he could see that in fact we were
supposed to be on the guest list. He read the email and immediately added
our names to the guest list spreadsheets for that night in Braunschweig and the
following show in Hamburg. Thanks so much, Zottel!
It was early (around 2:30 p.m.), and we still had our backpacks, so we hiked the
2 km to the hotel to check in and take a nap. Tonight’s hotel was part of
the new B&B Hotel chain. (Cue Yoda voice.) A strange experience
it was. We checked into the hotel without any human interaction
whatsoever. Inside the main entrance, but outside the locked foyer, was a
machine with a slot for credit cards. You type in your name, the computer
pulls up your reservation, you swipe your card, and it spits out a slip of paper
with a six-digit code. That code opens not only the door to the foyer, but
also the door to your guest room. Voila, you’re checked in. The room
itself was actually quite comfortable for its modest 54 Euro pricetag, featuring
in-room climate control system (a rarity at budget hotels in Europe), flat-panel
TV with satellite feed, and a shower and toilet right there in the room (many
times in European budget hotels these facilities are located in a hallway for
common use). We were cozy and comfortable. So we napped for awhile,
walked over to the Ikea store across the street to compare/contrast the
differences between U.S. and German Ikeas, and loaded up on free refills of
budget “cola” in a 0.3 liter paper cup for 1 Euro as we struggled to
hydrate. (We were not sure why the Ikea was open at all. It was,
after all, a Sunday, and the vast majority of German retail establishments are
closed on Sundays.) Refreshed, hydrated and slightly rested, we walked
back over to the venue at 1700.
Doors didn’t open until nearly 1830, so we had some time to hang out, drink beer
and talk to our French buddy Laurent outside the venue. It was a
beautiful, sunny, pleasant day, so we didn’t mind being outside, especially
with it now getting dark an hour later thanks to the whole “spring forward”
thing. When the doors opened, we had no trouble using our guest list
credentials to get in, and I grabbed a place up against the stage on the left
side, with the idea that I could be in front of Victor this time, all the
better to see his fretboard pyrotechnics and to avoid drowning in Peavy
sweat. There was no barricade tonight either, so the audience could press
right up against the stage.
For looking like a rundown rattletrap on the outside, Meier’s Music Hall is
actually pretty impressive on the inside. The website says its capacity
for concerts is 700, which looks about right. There were two large,
well-designed bars in the hall, with cool lighting and interesting props (like
the mannequins of Indiana Jones, Aragorn and others up on the walls). I
immediately liked the venue, so I grabbed a tasty Wolters Pils (the local brew)
and waited for the show. Moments later, Yuki appeared beside me, and once
again Japanese and U.S. metal forces were aligned at the front of the stage to
cheer on the Greek, Norwegian, Faeroese and German metal warriors.
Tonight’s show was much like last night’s, so in lieu of a repetitive
blow-by-blow account, I’ll focus on what was different or especially
interesting about tonight’s show. Scar of the Sun were the only band to
alter their setlist today, as at least one and possibly two tracks from their
performance definitely were not aired in Andernach. After the Scar of
the Sun gig, I was tapped on the shoulder and turned around to see Pappas,
the band’s drummer, who had come over to talk to us. He recognized Jen
and me from the night before in Andernach, noticed that we seemed to dig the
band’s music, and wanted to say hello. Pappas is a fascinating guy.
Aside from drumming in at least two bands (the other one being an act called
Disharmony, which he compared to Nevermore), Pappas has gone to music school in
New York (is friends with the Suspyre guys) and is trying to train for a
triathlon while on tour. Oh, and did I mention that he’s funny as
hell? Pappas lamented the fizziness of German bottled water with a shrug
of his shoulders and a plaintive sigh, “It’s Germany. What can you
do?” He lambasted the technology that had failed them last night while
the band drove around lost in their RV, saying, “GPS My Ass.” This line
turned into one of our favorite quotes of the vacation, and Jen and I could
make each other collapse in fits of laughter by saying “GPS My Ass” at random
times. Maybe we should get a t-shirt printed up. Anyway, Pappas is
extremely cool and we hung out with him at length in between bands and after
the gig was over.
All three opening bands enjoyed vastly improved stage and sound conditions
tonight, as compared to Andernach. The stage was large enough that there
was a little bit of room in front of the drum kit. This meant that
frontmen were actually able to be at the front of the stage, which seemed
particularly pleasing to Tyr’s Heri Joensen. And the mix was way better
for all three openers. Communic delivered another high-intensity
set, albeit with technical difficulties at the beginning of “Flood River Blood”
when Oddleif’s guitar was out of tune. There was a Communic fanboy
standing next to me, with his arms splayed across the monitor, looking up at
Oddleif and singing along with every single word. I was impressed by the
level of dedication on that one. After the gig, Oddleif reached into his
pocket and handed me a cool orange skull-shaped guitar pick with the band logo
on it. Nifty souvenir that. For Tyr’s set, I was overjoyed
because the mix was so good that I could hear everything: Lead guitars, lead
vocals, harmony vocals, bass, drums, prerecorded bits, the whole nine
yards. Tonight was everything I ever wanted in a Tyr live performance,
and I gleefully thrashed, shouted, sang and banged myself silly during their
set. During the part of “Shadow of the Swastika” where he sings the bit
about “Kiss my Scandinavian ass,” Jen and I looked at each other and sang the
line at full volume. Funny moment: Before “Hail to the Hammer,”
Joensen asked the crowd how many of us had brought our hammers tonight.
“Where are those hammers?” he asked. One fan shouted the response, “My
hammer’s in my pants,” prompting the entire band to bust out in laughter.
Joensen commented, “That’s the best one we’ve heard in a long time.”
Otherwise, Tyr’s set was 100% awesome from start to finish.
What to say about Rage? As good as last night’s gig was in
Andernach, tonight was even better. For one thing, it wasn’t quite so
oppressively hot, and there was enough oxygen in the room that the band did not
appear to fatigue the way they did at the Jugendzentrum. For another, the
stage was bigger so they had more room to move and to use their lighting
effects (including a freaking annoying strobe effect that they didn’t use for
either of the other gigs). And watching Victor play guitar for 90 minutes
is like seeing a clinic in heavy metal guitar wizardry. The guy does
unbelievable things on a guitar, yet also manages to be a headbanging lunatic
during the riffy sections. (Tonight Victor did all of this with a cut on
the third finger on his picking hand, which he covered with a black bandaid
until removing it when it interfered with his playing.) He made eye
contact with me at many points during the night, throwing me the horns during
“Refuge” and handing me his gig pick at the end of the night. (Unlike many
metal guitarists, Victor uses one pick – not one with his name or band logo –
for the whole show, instead of flicking dozens of them into the audience during
the concert.) For his part, Peavy was also smiling and making eye contact
with us. During an entire chorus of “Great Old Ones,” he locked eyes with
me and the two of us belted it out together. Awesome. And best of
all, after “Don’t Fear the Winter,” just when I thought the show was over as it
was last night, the band members resumed their stations and gave us an extra
encore: “Soundchaser.” Damn, I love that song. If that’s not one of
the all-time great Rage live songs, I don’t know what is. It just kicks
bucketloads of ass. And it did tonight too.
After the show, we hung out in Meier’s Music Hall as long as we possibly
could. We chatted with our international conglomerate of heavy metal
friends: Laurent, Yuki, and Pappas. (Sadly, the Bulgarians were not there
tonight.) I went over to the merch stand and dropped 53 Euros on a bunch
of crap I don’t need: Rage 21 shirt, gray Tyr shirt, tour poster, deck of
Rage playing cards for my brother, Victor Smolski logo guitar picks, and Rage
patch. All cool stuff though, and I had a nice chat with the
Italian-speaking merch woman, who was from Switzerland. When at last it
was time to say our goodnights, Jen and I made the 2 km walk back to the
B&B Hotel with ease, capping off an exhausting but brilliant day in a Metal Firestorm.
Montag,
March 26, 2012
This was a scheduled day off for the Metal Firestorm Tour, so we shifted into
the role of tourists / sightseers. We checked out of the hotel by 0900,
and took the M1 tram back towards downtown. After a killer breakfast of
amazing German pastries from a local bakery (Jen had a red currant Danish that
was at least as big as a human head), we explored the Altstadt (old town), saw
the Dom (cathedral), the Rathaus (city hall), the Schloss (castle, which has
sadly been converted into a shopping mall), and generally walked everywhere
there was to walk. It was another sunny spring day, and Braunschweig
proved to be a beautiful city to explore on foot. Wish we’d had more
time, but Hamburg beckoned.
We boarded a train at 1220, connected in Hannover, and reached Hamburg before
1500. If we had to pick one European city, Hamburg would be it.
We’ve been here six times, at all times of year in all kinds of weather, and we
love it dearly. It feels different than the rest of Germany, since it’s
so far north and is a port city. Anyway, we checked in with a human being
at the slightly dumpy but fine Hotel Kieler Hof right near the Hauptbahnhof
(central train station), then went to go meet our German friend from Alabama,
Claudia, who we had seen at the beginning of our trip. Claudia was in
Hamburg on business, so the plan was for us to hang out with her Tuesday
afternoon and evening. She was staying in a fancy Marriott Hotel, where
everybody speaks English and Americans are running around everywhere and they
charge you 20 Euros a day for wifi and the thermostat doesn’t work. To
paraphrase country music phenom Justin Moore (nevermind, I’ve been living in
the Deep South too long), that don’t sound like fun, sounds like it
sucks. Anyway, we had a great outing with Claudia to the Miniatur
Wunderland, an amazing tourist attraction that’s like miniature train sets and
dioramas on steroids. I can’t really describe it, but they had
miniaturized versions of Switzerland (complete with the Matterhorn), Hamburg
(including the Hauptbahnhof and the local football stadium), the USA and
Scandinavia. As we were walking through Miniatur Wunderland and marveling
at everything, I looked up and saw a heavyset German dude with a shaved head
checking out the exhibits. No, it couldn’t be … but it was.
Zottel! Rage’s tour manager was rockin’ Miniatur Wunderland just like we
were. How random is that? He looked up, saw us, and started
laughing. I asked Zottel why he’d come here, and he said the band was
hanging out at the Hard Rock Café and he and one of the roadies had wanted to go
exploring. He then complimented me on my ass-kicking Heathen baseball
t-shirt, noted with approval that I had been in the front row at both shows, and
said he’d see us tomorrow at the gig. What a funny coincidence.
We had a lovely falafel dinner and a nice walk through Hamburg in the chilly fog
to get Claudia back to her crappy overpriced Marriott hotel. Then we
wandered back to our cheap-ass budget hotel near the Hauptbahnhof and got an
absolutely blissful night’s sleep, disturbed only by the occasional loud and
unruly drunk exiting the Viking Bar, a rather seedy-looking drinking
establishment across the street from our room.
Dienstag,
March 27, 2012
Today was our last full day in Germany, so we had every intention of seizing the
day and draining the dregs. And so we did. After a delicious hotel
breakfast, we were on the street before 10:00 a.m. for a marathon bout of
sightseeing that took us through all the favorite parts of our beloved Hamburg:
the old town, the Reeperbahn, the majestic and solemn Bismarck statue, a St.
Pauli souvenir store where we racked up a sizeable bill for useless Hamburg
crap to take home (mousepads, refrigerator magnets, even a damn St. Pauli /
Astra pint glass), the Fischmarkt, the waterfront, a Russian submarine parked
at the dock, and the lake near the old city. The weather was to die for:
sunshine, blue skies, temperatures in the mid- to upper-60s. Even though
it was a Tuesday, everyone was outside. I think the entire city played
hooky to enjoy this beautiful day. Walking around town with Jen before
noon, drinking a tasty Holsten pils and munching on some ass-kicking spring
flavors of Ritter Sport chocolate as I went, I couldn’t help but think that
this is life at its best. It just doesn’t get any better than this.
It was after 1600 when we finally made it back to the hotel. We munched on
some bread and cheese, then headed over to the venue. Tonight’s gig was at
the famed Markthalle, conveniently located just minutes from the central train
station. The Markthalle is a positively brilliant place to see a
concert. Funny, to get in, you have to climb two sets of rather steep
stairs. (Can you imagine the lawsuits if this were a bar in the
States?) They always open the outer doors 30 minutes or longer before the
gig, so that guests can settle in, drink a beer, check their coats, pick up
merch, etc. in the anteroom before the actual hall doors open. And the
hall itself is designed with a terraced concept that provides for a series of
steps fanning out from the stage. Not only do the steps make for a
convenient place to sit between bands, but they also mean that even
vertically-challenged patrons can have great sightlines to the stage from the
rear of the club. Also, the Markthalle stage is far larger than those in
Andernach and Braunschweig. (I think the openers had as much room on
stage in Hamburg as the headliners did in Andernach.) The hatch-shell
design of the stage is acoustically beneficial, and the lighting set-up is
completely pro. I love the Markthalle.
There were no problems with the guest list tonight. (Thanks Zottel!)
As usual, I immediately gravitated to the front row, this time right in the
middle. In contrast to the other two gigs, a barricade was erected here,
creating a five-foot wide photo pit between the front row and the actual
stage. In a way, this was better because it allowed for a broader
perspective in watching the bands than being right on top of them, pressed up
against the stage. Once again, we passed the time in between acts
chatting with our friends Pappas, Laurent, and Yuki. Everyone seemed to
have enjoyed their day off, but it sounded like we did way more sightseeing and
walking around Hamburg than anybody else did.
The common denominator for all four bands’ performance tonight was that they all
looked and sounded better tonight than they did at either of the two previous
gigs. Perhaps they were refreshed from the day off (after 4 straight shows
to start the tour). Perhaps it was just the superior lighting and sound
system at the Markthalle. When the layers of thick fog interacted with the
killer light package, every band had the perfect “metal god” stage atmosphere
(even though the fog made it hell on pro and amateur photographers alike trying
to capture images of the night). Perhaps I was deriving extra enjoyment
from tonight knowing that it was the last night and that in a matter of hours we
would be commencing the long, slow journey home. Whatever the case may be,
tonight was my favorite of the three show nights.
Each band (again with the exception of Scar of the Sun) played an identical set
list to Braunschweig. Nonetheless, some nuances of the performances made
tonight feel different. During Scar of the Sun’s set, for example,
the band kindly dedicated their next-to-last song to Jen and me by name, and
even got the crowd at the Markthalle to cheer for the two people from Alabama
who’d been following the tour for the last three shows. It was an
incredibly kind and unexpected gesture on their part. These five Greeks
have big hearts, and they’re out there trying really hard. I’ll pull for
‘em all the way. Communic seemed to go over better in Hamburg than
they did in either of the two cities. Maybe they’ve toured here more
often or have a larger fanbase here? Either way, they were obviously
chuffed by the reaction. When Oddleif came out on stage, he saw my
smiling mug in the front row again, so he stopped and smiled and gave me the
thumbs up. Cool. And the crowd went ballistic for Tyr.
From the ferocity of the crowd’s response to the professionalism that the band
exuded on stage, you’d be forgiven for thinking that Tyr were actually the
headliner tonight. They were welcomed like royalty. Interesting,
Heri Joensen addressed the crowd almost exclusively in German tonight.
This was different than the past two shows, where 80-90% of his stage banter
was in English. Christ, how many languages does this guy speak? At
the end of yet another triumphant Tyr performance, this one with absolutely
pristine sound and an apeshit crowd, Joensen reached out and handed me the
printed setlist. What a cool memento of the night, and the tour!
Rage suffered through some obvious technical difficulties at the start of their set.
When the “House Wins” intro tape ended, and the band strolled on stage to start
playing “21,” Victor strummed his guitar and … nothing happened. Andre and
Peavy had gone on with the song, the beginning of which is mostly bass and drums
anyway, but Victor and his heavily tattooed/pierced tech scrambled around the
stage like mad for 30 seconds or so, eventually ixnaying the wireless and
plugging in Victor’s guitar just a split second before the main riff to “21”
kicked in. So they salvaged it. But during “Forever Dead,” Peavy’s
wireless transmitter also died, so he had to be hardwired into the amps for the
rest of the night. If this flustered the band, they didn’t let on about
it. All three Ragers were all smiles during the show, and the stage banter
was longer and more playful tonight (who the frick knows what they were saying,
but that’s how it seemed to me). Peavy took to using the word “F**king” in
almost every song title he introduced (i.e., “No F**king Regrets,” “Paint
the F***king Devil on the Wall,” “Serial F**king Killer”). Each time,
Victor cracked up laughing. This must be some kind of “in” joke between
them. Both Victor and Peavy spotted me in the front row, and waved,
smiled, threw horns, or otherwise acknowledged me. During “Great Old
Ones,” just as in Braunschweig, Peavy stared right at me as he sang the chorus,
so I belted it out with him, matching full power with full power. The
biggest tease of the night came after “Don’t Fear the Winter” and before the
final encore. Victor got a mischievous glint in his eye and started
playing a slowed-down version of the melody from “Higher Than the Sky.”
Peavy joined in, also laughing as he did so, and the crowd went nuts, everyone
singing the chorus at the top of their voices even louder than “We’re Not Gonna
Take It.” I really thought they were going to play “Higher Than the
Sky.” God knows the audience wanted them to. Both Peavy and Victor
looked back at Andre, who simply glared back impassively. Is it maybe
Andre who doesn’t want to play this song? Who knows. For whatever
reason, they stopped and instead tore into a highly satisfying version of
“Soundchaser” to round at the evening. Nice consolation prize, but it sure
is a mystery why “Higher than the Sky” has been banished from the setlist.
The post-show party was short-lived tonight. Our friend Claudia from
Alabama had skipped out on part of a business dinner to come to the Markthalle
for her first heavy metal concert ever. She had arrived about three songs
into Rage’s set, and walked right in the club because there was no one there to
take her money or give her a ticket. Jen was waiting for her at the back
of the hall and handed her a pair of earplugs as she walked in. Claudia
quickly ditched her red sweater so that she’d fit the black uniform for the
night. And I think she had fun. Afterwards, Claudia had the most
insightful comment about Rage, saying “I like the way the guitarist made his
guitar sing.” Well put. She was partial to “Empty Hollow” and “No
Regrets” and “Eternally.” After the show, we introduced her to Yuki and
Laurent and Pappas, took a bunch of photos, and then it was time to go.
The Markthalle people were shutting things down quickly tonight. Victor
did not even have a chance to sign autographs and shake hands at the merch
table. We said our goodbyes to our Greek, Japanese and French
friends. On the way out, I stopped to say a quick hello and thank you to
the Communic guys. Bassist and guitarist were very nice and gracious,
with the bassist explaining his ProgPower absence to me by saying, “I’m not
allowed in America.” Drummer, however, was an ass. When I told him
I’d really enjoyed watching Communic for the last three nights, he bllurted,
“Then why are you wearing the wrong shirt?” I was wearing a Rage ‘XIII’
shirt. Good lord, man, I didn’t say your band was the greatest band in the
world and I love Communic more than life itself. I was just saying I dug
your set. Don’t give me shit for not buying one of your crappy t-shirts.
I bought plenty of other crappy t-shirts on this trip. That left a
bit of a bad taste in my mouth, but so be it. So then I walked over to the
Scar of the Sun guys, thanked them profusely for the song dedication, and wished
them all the best for the remainder of the tour. Classy, cool dudes for sure.
With that, we left the Markthalle, stumbled down the two flights of steps,
deposited Claudia at the U-bahn station to ride back to the fancy-pants
Marriott, and walked back to our comfy, dumpy cheap-ass hotel for a couple of
hours of peace and quiet. Before we knew it, we were on an S-bahn train
headed out to the Hamburg Flughafen. Twenty hours later, we walked back
into our house in Alabama. If not for the ringing in my ears, the
stiffness of my neck, and that St. Pauli pint glass in my backpack, I could have
sworn that the whole thing had been a fantastic dream.