ROADLOG: EUROPE 2011 - PART II - Brother Dege

ROADLOG: EUROPE 2011 - PART II

THE DUTCH & SPRINKLES

11.8.11

Note.

The Dutch love peanut butter.

Theo claims they invented it.
I need to do some research

To see if this is true.
That put it on a lot of stuff.
Even more than they love

Peanut butter,

They love sprinkles.

Little chocolate sprinkles

That you put on cupcakes.

It’s really kind of cute.

When a person from Holland

Asks if you would like

Some “sprinkles,”

You cannot help but smile.

It’s a major part of their food thing.

Upon further research

I discover a Dutchman

Invented chocolate sprinkles.

His name is Gerard de Vries.

Look him up.
The Dutch put sprinkles

On everything.

It’s like everyone is a kid

And wants sprinkles.

Even the way the Dutch

Say the word sprinkles

Is endearing.

They get a contented gleam

In their eyes

And the word rolls

Off their tongue

Like little Christmas bells.

Jingling.

**
Speaking of Christmas.
The Dutch also invented Santa Claus.
Except their Santa Claus
Looks like a hairy version of the Pope.
And his "slave elves" are black.
No bullshit.

BJORN’S HOUSE

11.8.11

Bjorn picks me up.

We roll to his house

Which is near the German border.
I watch the scenery unspool.

The Netherlands.

Autumnal beiges

And the wheat flap.
And the straw barley yapping by

Off the flat track of the land

Spinning off into the distance.
Farmhouses.

Barns.

Windmills.
Canals.

I think of it all
Along with

The blood of revolutions

Plagues and executions

Cradled in the ancient dirt

Of Europe.
What a place.




**

Bjorn and I arrive at his house.

Meet his wife and daughter.

Nice family.
Eat a good meal

Composed of rice, sausage

And peanut butter.

GIG: CULTUURHUIS, HEERLEN, HOLLAND

11.8.11
Gig is at a city arts center.

Community funded.
Nice place. Good sound.

Before gigs,

I try to be quiet and read.

And not talk.

Just to save my voice.

Still dealing with the snot

And scratchy voice.
But for me,
That is near impossible.
I like to talk too much
And vibe with people.
I can't shut up

And just be quiet.

I find a bathroom

On the other side of the building.

I hide out in it

For awhile,

Sitting on the floor

Reading.

Then I play.

Gig. Good.

Attentive artsy crowd.

Finish up.
Load out.

Roll back to Bjorn’s

Where I sleep on a cot

In the computer room.
It’s actually really comfy.

 

BELGIUM

11.9.11

WEDNEDAY
I’m playing at a biker bar in Belgium.
Bjorn the Road Manager
Is my minder for this leg of the tour.
Venue is loud and rowdy.
Lot of chatter.

I take note that
The spacey, slide-scape jams

Might not go over too well here.

The attention span is too short

And the focus is on partying.
Fuck it.
I plug in my gear.

The step-down transformer, once again,

Blows the breaker on the venue.

They flip the lights back on
And find a better outlet

To plug it into,

Which usually solves the problem.
I crank into the set.
About 45 min in,

My stomp box breaks.

It is pretty much just a piece of wood

With a pick-up in it.

When you stomp on it,

It sort of sounds like a kick drum.
Nonetheless,

The thing breaks.
Bjorn unplugs it while

I am still playing

And goes to work on it

At the soundboard with

The soundman and another guy.
I segue into

…drumroll…
Space jam, slide-scape.

Fuck it,
I stretch that thing out

For 10-15 mins

While

In the back of the club

I can see my stompbox

Being operated on
Under a flashlight
By Bjorn and the other guys.
I take a 20 min break.

Check in with Bjorn.

They’re in the middle

Of what looks like

Open heart surgery

On my stompbox.

Glue gun.

Solder.
Duct tape.
Miraculously, Bjorn resuscitates it.
It’s alive, again.
Fucking A.

Here’s to you, Bjorn.


    Open-heart surgery on the Stompbox.

      Bjorn Maessen, leg breaker, P/T road manager.

Bjorn is a road warrior.
Over the past 10 yrs,

He’s been a roadie, stagehand,

And road manager

For hundreds of European

And American band tours.

Punk, metal, rock, roots, folk,

Blues, ska.
He’s done them all.

We met six yrs ago.

He was the European road manager

For that CC Adcock tour

I did in 2005.

On the first day we met, I said,

“By the end of this tour, you will hate

Everyone in this band.

And I will be one of your

Good buddies.”

Such was/is the case.
With the stompbox fixed,

I roll back into the set

And crank out another

Hour + of tunes.


THE DRUGS

Bjorn and I hang at the club
For a bit afterward
But I'm burnt and feel
Like getting out of here.
Shows over.
It's time to roll.
10 years ago or whatever
Things would have been different.
We would've hung all night,
Drank, whatever.
But I've had to grow up
A lot since then.
I have a kid.
I'm engaged.
Older, wiser?
I don't know, maybe.
I'm trying.
They call it maturing.
It ain't easy.
But like a lot of things,
It has to be done.
At least to a certain degree.
I can't drink and party all night.
I don't do drugs anymore.
Drugs actually bore the shit out of me now.
Especially drug talk.
Unless it's psychedelics & mind expansion,
My mind just turns off when I hear it.
It's like talking about golf or something.
Or a lost war.
I had some good times.
Bad times, too.
It was just a lot of time wasted,
Trying to figure shit out
And using dope as some sort of
Deluded-therapeutic buffer.
Some people are like that.
I was one of them.
It seemed logical at the time.
Felt pretty damn good.
But it eventually became a drag.
So I moved on. Slowly.
Thank the gods.
I hate talking about this shit, actually.
It's pretty clichéd
And can easily get preachy,
Which is fucking lame.
Fuck the preaching.
Just do what you want to do.
Live and explore this life.
That's what it's about.
It's not all pretty.
And when the time comes,
And you get burnt, beat down,
Exhausted, whatever, etc.
Take your licks
Like a man,
And accept it.
And know when
It is time to move on.
One journey into the unknown ends
And another begins.
Fuck it,

What else are you going to do?

**

Bjorn and I
Load out the gear.
Smoke one more cigarette
Outside the club.
Then, apropos of nothing,
We turn
And

Go gentle into that good night.
Too tired to rage
Against the dying of the light.

We weave through

The lithe

Belgium roads

Roundabouts

Nameless intersections

Miles of highway.

Miles of night

And the theater of stars

Hovering above us.

11.10.11
GIG & RADIO SHOW

THE BUNKER

GEMERT, HOLLAND

The venue is another community arts center.

It’s called The Bunker.

It’s got its own radio station,

Music venue,

And production facility.

And some other stuff.
Not sure what.

Everyone that works here

Seems really cool

With an earthy,

Rather than urban,
Punk rock vibe.

Load in.

Sound check.

Then I do an interview

For a radio show called

“Lost in the Blues”
or maybe

“Hotdogs & Cool Cats.”
Not sure which,

As the bumpers

Are all in Dutch.

The host is an interesting guy.

He asks good questions.
He gets it
And hones in on the fact
That what I am doing musically
Isn't just “blues.”
It's something else.

It is whatever it is.

Even I don’t know

What it is.
Only time decides

What your shit is.

Nothing else.

Not hype.

Not sales.
Not money.
Not magazines.

Not print campaigns.
Not fans.

Just time.
That's it.
Time.
The gig goes well.
After the show,
The locals give me
The amputated leg
of a mannequin
That was lying around the club.
"Here you go, Dege leg."
Fair enough.
I accept it
I pack the leg
Into the car
With the other gear.




Lost in the Blues Radio Show:
Lost in the Blues Radio Show, Holland, 2011-11-10

11.11.11
NOTES ON THEO

Theo picks me up

And we roll

To the next venue

In Belgium.


      Theo: Booker, road manager, good guy.

The guy is total class act.
Theo is a huge music fan.
He has a deep and profound knowledge
Of American music.
Europeans really internalize
And appreciate American music.
On this tour alone,
Theo
Turned me on to so much
Music I'd never heard of.

It’s obvious from the way

He conducts himself

And how the people

Around here treat him,

That he is a well liked

And respected guy.

Especially in Dutch music circles.
He is a really good dude.

Totally sober

Devoted to his wife

And he’s not a greed hound.

I thank the gods

For bringing good people

Like Theo

Into my life

And leaving the bastards

At bay.

I don’t need anymore bastards.

Fuck them.
Over the course of the tour,
I never hear Theo complain once.
And when he offers criticism
Of something,
He does it in such a diplomatic
And inoffensive way,
You can't help
But listen. 

GIG: AARSCHOT, BELGIUM

The venue
Is a small bar

Run by an interesting

Guy name Jokah.
Like Joker.

But with no R.
He's an intense looking dude.
Like a tall, stocky Charles Manson
After he shaved his head.
But in actuality,
He is a good, friendly dude.
He hooks me up with
Jameson & Cokes
Whenever I need them.
Which is not to often,
Because I'm trying to
Get into chill mode.
And whiskey is hard to play on
Once you've had too many.
It can be a disaster actually.
So I go slow. And easy, baby.

Theo splits from home.
We make plans
To meet up tomorrow.

He is spending time

With his wife

In Holland,

So I am on my own.

Before he leaves,

I ask Theo

Where the hell am I

Staying after the gig?
Theo tells me that

The club has booked

Me a room at a place

Called “The Castle.”
Some kind of hotel.

I guess.

So I’m on my own

In Belgium.

Fuck it.

**
First thing I notice

Upon arrival

At the venue, De Loods

Is

There’s no PA.

Just a Marshall combo

And a mic.
Insert: worried face.
Jokah calls a few Belgian guys

Who haul some more small amps

Down to the venue

And we Frankenstein

A makeshift PA together.’

It’s pretty ghetto,

But it works.

And it doesn’t sound too bad.

Fuck it.

The venue,

Which is next to an art gallery,

Fills up quickly.
I meet and talk with

A Belgian music writer

Named Mieke Geukens

Who wrote a nice review

Of my Folk Songs record

And voted it the top album

Of 2010.

Nice!

Nice lady.
I get lucky sometimes.

We shoot some photos

And make arrangements

To do an interview

In the future.

This was Mieke's Top Albums of 2010 list:
1. BROTHER DEGE - FOLK SONGS OF THE AMERICAN LONGHAIR

2. MORELAND & ARBUCKLE - FLOOD

3 .COTTON BELLY’S - COTTON BELLY’S

4 .SPIKEDRIVERS - SEVEN

5. MAVIS STAPLES - YOU ARE NOT ALONE

6. LIZZ WRIGHT - FELLOW SHIP

7. NATALIE MERCHANT - LEAVE YOUR SLEEP

8. HT ROBERTS - SPIRIT LEVEL

9. RYAN BINGHAM & THE DEAD HORSES - JUNKY STAR

10. TOM FELDMANN & THE GET-RITES - TRIBUTE - THE GOSPELS SIDES

*I kicked Natalie Merchant's ass!

With slight trepidation
I begin the set

And

Lean into the Frankenstein PA

And kick out the jams.

It works.

Crowd hangs with me

And follows

The trajectory of the set

And

All the ambient detours.

Nice.
I like it when

I don’t have to be an entertainer

And can just be an artist.
Sure, it sounds bloated, indulgent.

But I know I’m not a great entertainer

Nor a virtuosic musician.
I’m an artist
Disguised as a musician.

**

The gig goes well.

Crowd hangs in there till the end.

Play an encore.

I hang out with the locals.

Cool people, Belgians.

I know there’s

A long historical rivalry

Between Belgians and the Dutch,

But both are, in general,

Cool motherfuckers.
I haven’t met one asshole

On this entire tour.
Amazing.
In America,

They’re everywhere.
I wonder if it’s because

I’m a guest in this country

And I can’t recognize

The assholes.

THE ILLUMINATI LODGE
Aarschot, Belgium

After the gig.

I have no idea where

I am sleeping tonight.

Theo is gone.
I have no car. No ride.
No minders or road manager tonight.

I was told there was

A room booked for me

At some place

Called The Castle.

Jokah offers to let me

Crash at his house.
I think about.
But

I've spent the last 10 days

Being around other people.

It would be nice to just

Be

Alone.

For a night at least.
I could rest my voice.

Lounge.

Relax.

And

Be alone.

It is nice to just be alone sometimes.

If I crash at Jokah’s house,

I know I’ll end up drinking,

Smoking cigarettes,

And staying up late
And further blowing out my voice.

I politely thank Jokah

For the offer to stay at his place

But I opt to crash

At this place called The Castle.

I need some alone time.

Thankfully,

No one takes offense.
Arrangements are made

To bring me to the Castle.
We load my gear into

The car of a guy named Jimmy.
Jimmy works at the Castle.
He’s got the keys.

He will drive me.
We roll out

Through the dark

Belgian countryside.

Down skinny winding roads.

30 min later,

We turn a corner

And there,

Lit in the distance

Is the Castle.

It’s a creepy looking place

Place made of the Freemason stones
And old wood.
It doesn’t look so much

Like a castle

As some kind of medieval lodge.

We unload my gear,

Walk in,

And strangely,

No one is there.

The whole place is empty.

No staff.

No guests.

No nothing.

It’s like The Shining.

Jimmy leads me upstairs,

Down a long hallway,

And to my room.

Room #9.
He opens the door.
I lug in my gear.

Drop it on the floor.

We say our goodbyes

And Jimmy leaves.
I’m alone in the Castle.
The room is just a regular

Hotel room.

Bed, bathroom, TV, dresser.
Nice, but nothing extravagant.
I shower, relax.

Watch some TV.

It’s 2:40 a.m.
Eventually; I grow bored
I get up to smoke a cigarette outside.
Walk around the place.

Once again,

It’s like I’m in the movie The Shining.
There’s classical statues here and there.

A large ballroom room

And dining area

With a white grand piano

And

Dinner tables covered

With white table clothes.

Spooky.
Once, again.
There’s no one here.

Not a soul.

I find a sculpture

Of an owl

And get the Illuminati creeps.
I get the feeling that

This place is 

Some kind Bohemian Grove-style

Illuminati lodge.

It’s got a dark, aristocratic vibe.

I smok.

Walk around

Space out.

Back in my room.

There’s just eerie silence.
I feel like Scatman Crothers

Is going to walk around the corner

At any minute.

**

MORNING AT THE ILLUMINATI LODGE
After a night

Fighting for sleep

In the Illuminati lodge,
I finally crash into my dreams

And

Lay there till morning.

None of which

I can remember.

I smoke.

Walk about the exterior

Of the lodge.

Discover a lake.

More statues.

Stare into the leaves.

Ground.

Water.

Smoke levitating

In the still air.

And still,

Not a soul around.
How weird.
How strange

That I ended up here.

      Photos of The Illuminati Lodge, Belgium

  

  

   

  

BRUGGE, BELGIUM

At some point

Theo and I drove 

Through an ancient town 

in Belgium

Named Brugge.

It's been arround

Since the middle ages

Maybe longer.

It began as a Gallic-Roman settlement.

It’s pretty amazing.

There’s an actual mote around

The old section of the city.

Much of its ancient architecture

Is still intact.
In America,

We freak out when we see

Something 100 yrs old.
In Europe,

The scale of history
Dwarfs it.

BLAUBLUES, HARINGE, HOLLAND

11.12.11
Theo picks me up at “The Castle.”

He trips out on the place, too.

And decides to take some pictures.

We walk around.

He takes photos.

Then
We load up

And drive to Haringe, Belgium

For the next gig.

BLAU BLUES, GIG

11.12.11

I’m playing in a tent.

It’s a blues festival

In Belgium somewhere.
I’ve got a tent stage.

And a big ass tent PA.

Nice.

All to myself.

The contract calls for 3

30 min sets.

When a band from the venue

Connected to my tent finishes,

I bang through a set.

It’s a good night.

Maybe the best of the tour.

200-300 people fill the tent.

Sounds is great.

Crowd rocks.

The acoustics of the tent

And the sound system

Allow me to feed back

The Dobro

For

Long stretches

Without it being too harsh.

During the last set,

I close with “Battle of New Orleans”

And segue into the section of the song

Where I layer loops and feedback,

Emulating the sound of hurricane.
It usually separates the tourists

From the purists.
It’s noisy, loud,
Rumbling,

And

Not easy listening.

After I fade out the hurricane,

I grind into a Hendrix-inspired version

Of the Star-Spangled Banner,

Played on slide.

They tent crowd calls from one more.
I pull out

“The World’s Longest Hotdog”

And riff on frikandels and shit.

“Hotdog” is probably the most

Serious song I’ve ever written.

I’m joking of course.
James Taylor probably wishes

He wrote that bitch.

It’s moving and emotional.
The song came to me like a dove

And flew into my hands

With its wings gently wafting

On the breeze.
After the show,
A French artist guy
Showed me his sketch book.
He did these while I played:

 

 

Also,

At this gig,

I met Bob Margolin,

Who was also playing 

At this festival.

Bob played guitar

in Muddy Water's band

From 1973-80

And even appeared

Playing guitar at Muddy's side

During the filming of

The Last Waltz.

Muddy taught him

How to play slide old-school style.

Bob watched my set 

From the side of the stage.

After the set we talked shit,

Drank beer.

    Me and Bob Margolin, Beglium.

Of course,

I asked him

A bunch of fanboy questions

About Muddy.

Bob was so chill
Approachable and cool.

Another musician 

Who isn't an asshole.

What a great dude.

So grateful I get

The opportunity 

To meet such good people.

DE BROUWERIJ, ASTEN, HOLLAND
11.13.11

Last gig of the tour.

A guy that makes

Cigar box guitars

Has a display set up.
These things are the rage

Right now.
This guy’s box guitars

Sound really good.

Sound better

Than my fucking Dobro.
Fuck it.
I’ll play cheap shit till

I die.
It still sounds good.
Speaking of which,

I notice my pick-up jack

Is coming loose on my Regal.
Something is always breaking

Or falling apart

Or being reborn

On tour.

Such is life.

Fuck it.
And move on.
And don’t complain too much.

It’s bad form.

**

I tear into the last set.

Try to make it count.

I play two sets.

Close with the layers,

Loops,

Scapes,

And noise.

I walk out

With the Dobro

Leaning against the amp,

Still cycling feedback,

Sending a little mayday transmission

To the dark stars.

    The last note of the tour. (Theo)


11.14.11 – Amsterdam / Rated - PG
I wake early.

Pack my shit.

Say goodbye

To the ghost of Townes.
Wish him luck.

Theo drops me at the train station.

We say our goodbyes.

I thank him.

He’s a total class act, that Theo.

I catch the noon train to Amsterdam.
Then catch a cab to the hotel.
Toss my crap in room.

And walk to the Van Gogh Museum.

I love Van Gogh.

After reading the Lust for Life

In the 90’s.

I was hooked on

Van Gogh’s story

And art.
Van Gogh

Will break your heart.

After a couple hours
At the Van Gogh museaum,

I cab it to the Anne Frank house,

Which is interesting.
And sad.

It’ll bum you out.

But that’s history.

Last time I was

On tour here,

We got wasted,

And threw down.

This time around

My shit is totally square.

And PG-13.

Museums, food, books.

I love it.
It’s a different time.

I’m at a different place

In my life.

I like it here.

It’s nice to grow up

Somewhat.

**
My Morning Jacket

Paradiso Club

Amsterdam

Damn these dudes are good.

Been a fan

Of My Morning Jacket
Since ’00 or so

But I’d never seen them live.

Seen footage, but not live.

All I have to say is:

Daaaammmmmmnnnnn.

MMJ are so good.

What a great band.

They were so killer,

I couldn’t even be jealous.

They’ve got the great vibe.

Amazing tunes.
Ripping players.

Each of them are just monsters.

Guitarist Carl Broemel is a fiend.
Damn that dude was good.

Working overtime on his shit.

On stage,
They come off

Like good buddies

Just

Rocking together.

Jesus, they were great.

Glad I finally caught them live.

Damn.

Damn.

Damn.

END OF TOUR.