Tour Diary: 2002 (Eugene) > Page 1

EURO TOURO SPRING Diary PART 1: 2002 But FIRST--A brief public service word of medical caution from OXBOW's lead singer: "Abuse NOT the Fentanyl!" DAY 1: WHEREIN IT IS REVEALED THAT KARLA TOMATA IS IRREFUTABLY A MOTHERFUCKER We never believe it. Never. Not until it happens. And it happens in so many discrete steps. So many incremental stumblings that the fact that it happens at all amazes us like the miracle of goddamn birth. Or a papal edict regarding boy fucking. Or something like that. We mean, one day we're standing on line at Safeway having the courtesy clerk ask us if he can help us out to our cars with our weekly purchase of KY and condoms. And the next day we're in Berlin blinking back the sunlight. We're not bumpkins. I mean we've figured out that the big silver bird can magically transport us places but it's just dislocating that's all. Especially when you throw in: - Shipping equipment - Booking shows - Booking shows that stay booked - Booking shows that stay booked that don't suck - Getting work permits that we can't get - Having to sneak into Britain because the cocksucker Karla Tomata won't fill out the paperwork for said work permits because he's too busy sucking all the cocks he can to take the time out to do the paperwork that we'd pay him for that would allow us to legally play England and might help him sell our CDs since he is our goddamned distributor - Getting on a plane withOUT suicidal pilots, disgruntled aviation mechanics fucking shit up, or politicians in skirts with boxcutters - Getting on a plane with schedule C pharmaceuticals taped to your body like so many Christmas tree ornaments. We mean it's a prodigious undertaking. And the fact that it happens at all is nothing short of astounding and due largely to the brobdinagian efforts of The Pizza Man from Switzerland, Manuel Liebeskind at Splatter who specializes in sighing deeply, massaging his brow, and answering as many questions as he can regarding the arcane rituals of Teutonic peoples. Rituals like saluting, marching, and building concentration camps. In any case spirits are high and the schema is that Niko and Eugene go over early to do an OXBOW-phonic Simon and Garfunkelesque unplugged deal at the following event.

OXBOW SPECIAL EVENT SURPRISE SHOW RECORD RELEASE PARTY !!!!! date: may 4 place: aggregat, im glaspavillon der volksbuehne, berlin (this is a very famous theater of berlin). pictures attached, this is a sort of art gallery, very small, but nice and some sort of popular. type of show: acoustic show, guitar/voice, MAY BE interview or such, 15 minutes show, 30 minutes absolute max. we don't want to compete with the 'real' oxbow show. should be some sort of an in store type event, introduction to the band. volume limit is 75db (!!!). double bill: the same party is the vernissage/opening party of an exhibition of holger emil bange, called 'punk collection'. he shows newspaper/magazine articles and cassette recordings from radio broadcast of 1977/78, the first appearances of punk in germany. oxbow will be a kind of bridge to today's music world... tv: Viva Plus will film the event and may even suggest some additional things like a new issue of the famous 'eugene robinson show' talkshow series, with special guests niko wenner (oxbow) and holger emil bange (beginning of punk in germany expert).

BUT FIRST: THE PLANE RIDE OF FUCKING DEATH! EUGENE: And so it starts. First with the sobbing. And then with the... well what was the sobbing about? Oh God... the life, the love, the lederhosen and the leaving of all of that, that I hold dear into a future fraught with the possibility of violent death in the air, on the ground, or somewhere in between. Let me live let me live let me live... Maybe it's the "medicine" I've taped to my body. Maybe it's started to leech into my system. Or maybe it's Bryan Ferry, Johnny Mathis, and Caetano Veloso all the way in, baby. And throw in the sky sluts, uh, I mean, flight attendants, urging me to "go ahead... take TWO bottles of wine" and you have an air incident (or several) ready and willing to happen. Another public service word of medical caution from OXBOW's lead singer: "Abuse NOT the Fentanyl!" Two hours in and so far nothing though. No knives brandished. No planes plowing into Pennsylvanian fields with intrepid Americans mumbling Schwarzeneggerian catch phrases. Nothing. Except for melancholy. And erections. And to make... OK.. the Plane is fucking crashing!!!! It's fucking crashing!!! THIS IS FUCKING IT THE PLANE IS GOING DOWN! IT'S... IT'S... Shit. Erections. Death and the faces of our loved ones flashing through my head. Perfect. The plane lands, finally, we land... in London and the longing of no place, no place, no place until we get to Berlin. THIS plane takes off and lands and Manuel the Intrepid is there, whisking us off to a sushi party in old West Berlin. Swedes, Spaniards, Tunisians, Swiss and us monoglot Americans all in attendance. We eat, drink, play Caetano Veloso and grab our crotches. Make that "Eugene grabs his crotch." "Make that crutches." (--Eugene) Drunk as a hoot owl and ready for tomorrow's show.

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