The first thing I can remember about my third greatest gig of all time is playing Madlibs in the car with my parents and brother on the way from Ljubljana, Slovenia to Vienna, Austria. It is the way that many good tours start out. Usually I’m suggesting dirty words to old friends or my band-mate these days; but my family was the original Madlib crew. My brother Jake was only a teenager, so he was the only one really age-appropriate for this game, but it worked for the rest of our gang with our combined emotional maturity levels.
There was a border with no one working at it when we crossed countries. I found it strange, but my parents said this was normal for that part of Europe. I suggested that we go to lunch at Cafe Landtmann, rumored to have been a favorite of Freud’s, when we reached Vienna. We knew that we would all generously be fed a vegetarian meal at the venue that I’d be playing at later, so we all agreed on soups and sandwiches at the famous cafe beforehand. A large hummingbird danced before our table, and we oohed and ahhed... until we noticed that he had antennae! He must be an exotic bug! Would he sting us?! we wondered, and we all screamed like crazy Americans and made everyone stare.The first thing I can remember about my third greatest gig of all time is playing Madlibs in the car with my parents and brother on the way from Ljubljana, Slovenia to Vienna, Austria. It is the way that many good tours start out. Usually I’m suggesting dirty words to old friends or my band-mate these days; but my family was the original Madlib crew. My brother Jake was only a teenager, so he was the only one really age-appropriate for this game, but it worked for the rest of our gang with our combined emotional maturity levels.
There was a border with no one working at it when we crossed countries. I found it strange, but my parents said this was normal for that part of Europe. I suggested that we go to lunch at Cafe Landtmann, rumored to have been a favorite of Freud’s, when we reached Vienna. We knew that we would all generously be fed a vegetarian meal at the venue that I’d be playing at later, so we all agreed on soups and sandwiches at the famous cafe beforehand. A large hummingbird danced before our table, and we oohed and ahhed... until we noticed that he had antennae! He must be an exotic bug! Would he sting us?! we wondered, and we all screamed like crazy Americans and made everyone stare.
My parents, being fairly reasonable people, rented someone’s apartment for the night for themselves and my brother, but I’d been promised a room at the University of Natural Resources and Life Sciences, where I’d be performing at later. I saw my parents’ nice two-story town-home before the show, and they insisted that I could stay with them, but I said, “No way, a spare room at a strange college in a foreign country where I don’t know anyone else sounds way better!”
We all headed to the venue, called Tuwi, at BOKU (the University of Natural Resources and Life Sciences) around dinner time. I got my soundcheck done and then joined my family and some new friends for vegan pasta and bread on picnic tables outside. It was a warm night in June of 2010.
After dinner, we all went back inside the venue where they served all of us beer, even my brother, who was 14 at the time, but in all fairness, was super tall and had a full beard. Everyone smoked cigarettes and joints on the dance floor and they even danced to my music, which was something I had only seen children do before! I opened the set by greeting them with “Willkommen zur show!”and then apologizing for not knowing anymore German. My brother was standing around smoking and my parents were teasing him to go hit on college chicks because he looked so much older. Then my mom took pictures and videos of me playing, and the crowd asked for an encore. I teased them that they didn’t know yet that it was uncool to like me in America, and my mother asked me never to tell a crowd that ever again.
After my set, a jam band played, and then a DJ. My family retired to their own space for the night, but not before offering to take me back with them again. I insisted that I would be fine in the conference room that the staff had found for me to sleep in... with just a mattress on the floor... and no lock on the door. Never would this fly for 30-something me. But for just barely still 20-something me, it was apparently kosher. My family left so I tried some weed which I almost never did back then when I didn’t know the difference in strains and why some of them made me freak out! Smoke, dance, smoke, dance, repeat, all night, is what I did.
There were two African dudes fighting over me, who were both very handsome, but I was married. I wore a locket with his picture inside of it on that tour to remind me of how married I was, and to feel less lonely. One of these gentleman worked for the venue and kept supplying me with free beers all night, but I had to cut myself off and ask to be shown to my room. He led me to my room and explained how there was no lock and that he would check on me later. I didn’t like the sound of that. He tried to make a move but I showed him my locket. He waved at the picture and let out a tiny, “hello!” before leaving me alone.
After he left, I barricaded myself in the room, moving every piece of furniture I could find in front of the door. I didn’t want him or anyone else to try to come find me! The man who had shown me to my room told me that I would be paid for my performance the following day.
I woke up and was grateful to find that everything was still in its place and that it did not look like anyone had tried to come into the conference room. Rubbed my eyes, gathered my things, and headed to the bathroom... Argh, no shower! I wrestled my grungy, kinky hair into two dirty pigtails and brushed my teeth in the sink. Then I headed downstairs in search of coffee and money.
In the cold, clear light of day, Tuwi was tranformed from a crazy night club / vegan restaurant, to just an ordinary hippie coffeehouse. I approached the counter and found a man working there, who hadn’t been at the show the night before. “Entschuldigen sie... Guten morgen. Wo ist Bridget?” I asked him. Bridget had booked me and I’d been told that she’d be paying me as well, so I had said “excuse me, good morning” and asked the man at the front counter where Bridget was.
The barista launched into a lengthy explanation, using way more German words than I understood. Geez, I really hadn’t thought this through. I backed up and asked him if he spoke English. He chuckled and confirmed that he did.
He poured me a cup of coffee and called Bridget on his phone. He spoke to her in more German and then got off the phone and addressed me. “Apparently there was a misunderstanding. Bridget thought that you were paid last night.” My forehead crinkled in concern and I’m sure my voice got squeaky, too. I asserted that I had not yet been paid, and he asked me if I could wait a few hours for Bridget to come in. I explained that my family was picking me up and that I had a plane to catch back to London, to begin my long journey back to the States. There was no way I could wait, and I needed to be paid before I left town.
The barista was very understanding and called Bridget again. She agreed that he could pay me out of the till as long as I could sign a receipt to verify that I’d received my full pay. He handed over a pile of Euros and I signed, and heaved a sigh of relief. My parents had left me with an emergency cell since I didn’t have a cell phone of my own back then. I called my parents and asked them to come pick me up. They arrived shortly after and more Madlibs were transcribed. I gave my brother a copy of my favorite book, 1984, which I had finished reading for the second time on that trip.
My parents and brother dropped me off at the small Ljubljana airport before they returned to their home there. I had one last pint of my favorite local beer that I had discovered when I had been visiting them and chilling out for a few days in Slovenia in between tour stops. I was almost too tired and partied out to finish that one last beer. Almost.
I took a plane to London, a plane to somewhere in between, and finally a plane to Portland. My husband arrived at the airport to pick me up. He didn’t drive but he’d wanted to meet me there and help me get home by shuttle or max train. He brought me a bouquet of flowers, and asked me all about my trip. I’d been gone for a couple of weeks, maybe just a week and a half, but it felt like we’d been apart for so long.
We decided to take a shuttle and I chattered on about my trip. When we got off and started walking home, he warned me that he had something unpleasant to tell me, but that he had wanted for me to be excited about my trip and to share it with him first. It was one of the kindest things that anyone had ever done for me.
When we reached our apartment, he broke the news to me, that one of my closest friends had died a couple days before I got home. Vanessa had been killed in a work accident. While she was working and passed away during the day on June 24th, 2010, it was night time in Vienna, and I was high and drunk but mostly jacked up on the good feeling of playing, at that time, the best show of my career. It felt paradoxical and impossible that these two things had happened at the exact same time. And then I didn’t want it to be one of my favorite shows anymore, for a while.
Vanessa had been a performer as well: she opened for friends’ bands occasionally; she didn’t seem to pursue it as fiercely as I did. I felt guilt for having just finished my first European tour, and for having achieved some local success as well; I was touring the NW every other weekend those days. It was unnecessary guilt, my husband pointed out. If she had wanted it as badly, she would’ve pursued it harder. He reminded me how much she had loved being a welder, and how she died doing what she loved. It brought me peace, and it was another one of the kindest things he’d ever done for me.
Another friend told me, you make a space for her on stage and bring her with you. That is what I do now. And my fruit-loopy, sober, mountain dew-drinking, dancing-her-ass-off-at- any-opportune-moment friend, Vanessa, would have loved me playing in Vienna and I know she wouldn’t want me to feel bad for having fun that night, when I had no way of knowing what was happening back home. So I remember this show, and I always remember my family’s company, my audience’s ebullient response, my husband’s acts of kindness... and my friend, dancing, high on caffeine, as if she’d been in the crowd, or is now dancing in space.
My parents, being fairly reasonable people, rented someone’s apartment for the night for themselves and my brother, but I’d been promised a room at the University of Natural Resources and Life Sciences, where I’d be performing at later. I saw my parents’ nice two-story town-home before the show, and they insisted that I could stay with them, but I said, “No way, a spare room at a strange college in a foreign country where I don’t know anyone else sounds way better!”
We all headed to the venue, called Tuwi, at BOKU (the University of Natural Resources and Life Sciences) around dinner time. I got my soundcheck done and then joined my family and some new friends for vegan pasta and bread on picnic tables outside. It was a warm night in June of 2010.
After dinner, we all went back inside the venue where they served all of us beer, even my brother, who was 14 at the time, but in all fairness, was super tall and had a full beard. Everyone smoked cigarettes and joints on the dance floor and they even danced to my music, which was something I had only seen children do before! I opened the set by greeting them with “Willkommen zur show!”and then apologizing for not knowing anymore German. My brother was standing around smoking and my parents were teasing him to go hit on college chicks because he looked so much older. Then my mom took pictures and videos of me playing, and the crowd asked for an encore. I teased them that they didn’t know yet that it was uncool to like me in America, and my mother asked me never to tell a crowd that ever again.
After my set, a jam band played, and then a DJ. My family retired to their own space for the night, but not before offering to take me back with them again. I insisted that I would be fine in the conference room that the staff had found for me to sleep in... with just a mattress on the floor... and no lock on the door. Never would this fly for 30-something me. But for just barely still 20-something me, it was apparently kosher. My family left so I tried some weed which I almost never did back then when I didn’t know the difference in strains and why some of them made me freak out! Smoke, dance, smoke, dance, repeat, all night, is what I did.
There were two African dudes fighting over me, who were both very handsome, but I was married. I wore a locket with his picture inside of it on that tour to remind me of how married I was, and to feel less lonely. One of these gentleman worked for the venue and kept supplying me with free beers all night, but I had to cut myself off and ask to be shown to my room. He led me to my room and explained how there was no lock and that he would check on me later. I didn’t like the sound of that. He tried to make a move but I showed him my locket. He waved at the picture and let out a tiny, “hello!” before leaving me alone.
After he left, I barricaded myself in the room, moving every piece of furniture I could find in front of the door. I didn’t want him or anyone else to try to come find me! The man who had shown me to my room told me that I would be paid for my performance the following day.
I woke up and was grateful to find that everything was still in its place and that it did not look like anyone had tried to come into the conference room. Rubbed my eyes, gathered my things, and headed to the bathroom... Argh, no shower! I wrestled my grungy, kinky hair into two dirty pigtails and brushed my teeth in the sink. Then I headed downstairs in search of coffee and money.
In the cold, clear light of day, Tuwi was tranformed from a crazy night club / vegan restaurant, to just an ordinary hippie coffeehouse. I approached the counter and found a man working there, who hadn’t been at the show the night before. “Entschuldigen sie... Guten morgen. Wo ist Bridget?” I asked him. Bridget had booked me and I’d been told that she’d be paying me as well, so I had said “excuse me, good morning” and asked the man at the front counter where Bridget was.
The barista launched into a lengthy explanation, using way more German words than I understood. Geez, I really hadn’t thought this through. I backed up and asked him if he spoke English. He chuckled and confirmed that he did.
He poured me a cup of coffee and called Bridget on his phone. He spoke to her in more German and then got off the phone and addressed me. “Apparently there was a misunderstanding. Bridget thought that you were paid last night.” My forehead crinkled in concern and I’m sure my voice got squeaky, too. I asserted that I had not yet been paid, and he asked me if I could wait a few hours for Bridget to come in. I explained that my family was picking me up and that I had a plane to catch back to London, to begin my long journey back to the States. There was no way I could wait, and I needed to be paid before I left town.
The barista was very understanding and called Bridget again. She agreed that he could pay me out of the till as long as I could sign a receipt to verify that I’d received my full pay. He handed over a pile of Euros and I signed, and heaved a sigh of relief. My parents had left me with an emergency cell since I didn’t have a cell phone of my own back then. I called my parents and asked them to come pick me up. They arrived shortly after and more Madlibs were transcribed. I gave my brother a copy of my favorite book, 1984, which I had finished reading for the second time on that trip.
My parents and brother dropped me off at the small Ljubljana airport before they returned to their home there. I had one last pint of my favorite local beer that I had discovered when I had been visiting them and chilling out for a few days in Slovenia in between tour stops. I was almost too tired and partied out to finish that one last beer. Almost.
I took a plane to London, a plane to somewhere in between, and finally a plane to Portland. My husband arrived at the airport to pick me up. He didn’t drive but he’d wanted to meet me there and help me get home by shuttle or max train. He brought me a bouquet of flowers, and asked me all about my trip. I’d been gone for a couple of weeks, maybe just a week and a half, but it felt like we’d been apart for so long.
We decided to take a shuttle and I chattered on about my trip. When we got off and started walking home, he warned me that he had something unpleasant to tell me, but that he had wanted for me to be excited about my trip and to share it with him first. It was one of the kindest things that anyone had ever done for me.
When we reached our apartment, he broke the news to me, that one of my closest friends had died a couple days before I got home. Vanessa had been killed in a work accident. While she was working and passed away during the day on June 24th, 2010, it was night time in Vienna, and I was high and drunk but mostly jacked up on the good feeling of playing, at that time, the best show of my career. It felt paradoxical and impossible that these two things had happened at the exact same time. And then I didn’t want it to be one of my favorite shows anymore, for a while.
Vanessa had been a performer as well: she opened for friends’ bands occasionally; she didn’t seem to pursue it as fiercely as I did. I felt guilt for having just finished my first European tour, and for having achieved some local success as well; I was touring the NW every other weekend those days. It was unnecessary guilt, my husband pointed out. If she had wanted it as badly, she would’ve pursued it harder. He reminded me how much she had loved being a welder, and how she died doing what she loved. It brought me peace, and it was another one of the kindest things he’d ever done for me.
Another friend told me, you make a space for her on stage and bring her with you. That is what I do now. And my fruit-loopy, sober, mountain dew-drinking, dancing-her-ass-off-at- any-opportune-moment friend, Vanessa, would have loved me playing in Vienna and I know she wouldn’t want me to feel bad for having fun that night, when I had no way of knowing what was happening back home. So I remember this show, and I always remember my family’s company, my audience’s ebullient response, my husband’s acts of kindness... and my friend, dancing, high on caffeine, as if she’d been in the crowd, or is now dancing in space.
No comments:
Post a Comment