First Three Days

Three is quite a recurring number. The Beagle Boys were three, so were Huey, Dewey and Louie and the Good, the Bad and the Ugly (though they have been momentarily downsized to two). The three musketeers, the ninja turtles (personally, I think Leonardo was a jackass, so he does not count!), not to mention the Holy Trinity, the Schwarzeneggers before Patty came along, Triceps and the breasts of the bargirl in Total recall''. It appears, then, that since the times of Jesus the number three has been quite in fashion. In Italy, it’s common belief that after three days (just like guests) fish starts to stink!

It is precisely in the name of the foul-smelling creature of the seas that I intend to write a brief account on the first three gigs, in three different venues, of a three-people band’s third tour.

If it is true that Giuseppe Signori would bet – among other wagering exploits – up to 1,000,000 Liras that he would be able to eat quite a sizeable Danish cake in thirty steps (you are highly recommended to look into it, it’s really hilarious!), it would be fair to imagine our friend Romeo from Graz’s Explosiv to be a good match, in terms of the number of beers guzzled in a single night with his apprentice Steve. Anyways….

Humongous stage, a lighting system that would have made Steven Spielberg go green with envy, a spectacular set greeted by the best of crowds. It would have been impossible to start a tour on a better note. And then of course a private apartment exclusively for our use, a luxury bathroom, hot as hell, Wi-Fi connection (and the ensuing X-rated spree) and bounty a go-go.

Late morning breakfast and a heart-warming adieu.

We set off for Budapest on June 2^nd, my very birthday; easy rolling, high-cuisine egg sandwich and snickers lunch. God bless Gordon Ramsey!

As we arrive in the chaotic city, we have mixed feelings about killer cucumbers and contagious deer salami. We triple park and walk three flight of stairs with our gear and “paraphernalia” on the back; the underground club is as cosy as explosive factories used to be during the Great War.

The house is already full for the show of our friends, Rose Parks. The venue stays full and the crowd, soaked in sweat due to the tropical heat, does not lose its enthusiasm for the full-hour’s therapy session. The number of vinyl records starts to drop, thanks to Dàvid. It would not have been a decent birthday had we not celebrated it in a very manly fashion.

The festivities were spent is a sleepless last-minute hostel, thanks to the loudly flatulent and unbearably snoring of my bed “mate”, who was blatantly drunk and stinking of it. Again, I need to thank him for sharing his body fluids and for preventing me from getting any fucking sleep! THANKS MATE!

All rise for the morning shower. As our colleague Alan Alanas sharply put it, the true goal by now is to go to bed in a dirtier state than the very bed we sleep in! The theory is quite arguable, but boy did we feel like real men, those men we thought had gone extinct. ANYWAYS,

It goes without saying that Alan goes immediately missing in the ladies’ room, which he selected after accurately scrutinising the sign on the door.

Salami, sweet peppers and coffee for breakfast; I can’t stop feeling sorry for the toilets that were forced to witness our presence!

A quick tour in the suburbs of the Hungarian city, and then we set off again, this time for Gyor, as guests of the abovementioned friends. This time, after a five-o’clock supper, we play in a cellar/cinema theatre. Yes, a cellar/cinema theatre, fully equipped with a projector, seats and saltpetre!

COOL! Some of the people in the crowd had waited for this concert for months, while others are there for the opening act, a crust/hardcore band that breaks the ice by spitting on the amplifier head and cavorting on the ground with a beastly growl. AWESOME!

We begin late and turn in even later. And more tired. And dirtier. To sum it up, we had never felt so manly. Let me conclude with the perfect beginning, today June 4^th: eight in the morning, Bob Marley accompanying the largest-breasted woman ever seen on the Web. What an incredible freak of nature. It’s a real shame he died so young.


David