Havenkwartier is a community space next to a river. A weathered work boat rests on its dock. Truck drivers figure out their routes in the parking lot. Homesick American men walk around in dresses getting looks from the truck drivers. The truck drivers leave.
Laorens put this show together at the last minute. The government would pay for it. During load-in we found a footprint of dried Toulouse dog shit on a drum case. We were tired of paying for it.
Boutros Bubba was up first. They played math rock in English with a Dutch sense of humor. A song about a friend who got stabbed in the stomach and chest revealed that honestly he was more of an acquaintance than a friend. Most of the audience preferred taking pictures to dancing. I wish they would send me some of their pictures. My camera has taken a beating on this tour. After I dropped it for the 400th time, it punished me and I lost two days worth of photos.
Anyway. We played a set and it worked. Alan had the chandeliers illuminated. Esther tried tooth rot for the first and probably last time.
“Oh no! My smile!”
I bounced a stick off the floor tom during the two-beat rest in “Stumper” and this time I caught it.
We played another silent encore with “Cairo.” It’s the Pixies-Nirvana quiet verse-loud chorus bit. But to the extreme. Like surfing a beef jerky snowboard down a canyon of harsh Mountain Dew.
Afterward, Laorens put us up at his flat. He had fed us home cooked pasta, provided lots and lots of wine, left eggs and bacon for us to cook in the morning, and gave me The Rolling Stones and the Making of Let It Bleed to read during the boring green drive ahead. Greg and Esther enjoyed good conversation with Generous Laorens and Boutros Bubba until 4:30 while I slept under a table and Mike slept in the van. Again.
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