I'm not sure exactly how it happened, but we secured a last minute show in the town of Leeuwarden, located in the northern reaches of the Netherlands. We arrived at the club, which had some generic name like "Rock Bar," and immediately deduced we were in for a good old-fashioned American-style bands playing for bands type show. The best way a touring musician can size up the legitimacy of a venue is to examine the obvious. That is to say, who's on the upcoming show posters and what bands have plastered their stickers all over the place? If names like "Synfull Kaos" and "Vomitorium" are haphazardly slapped beside weed-themed reggae fliers, disappointment surely awaits. 
As expected, the show was abysmal. Less than a week of promotion and a scene "geared toward extreme black metal," as explained to me by one of the five people who came out, made us wonder what the hell happened to our good luck streak. Nevertheless, we made the most of our time by exploring the quaint Dutch town, where the sun didn't set until after 1am. A few of us paid a visit to a coffee shop next door to the club and were pleasantly surprised by the affordability of the offerings. Even more pleasant were the picturesque canals and friendly locals (all of whom ride bikes; the ratio of cycles to cars is easily 100:1), especially after we enjoyed said offerings. Our accommodations for the evening were in a private apartment, inconveniently situated directly above a multi-floor nightclub that regularly hosts what several people referred to as "all night drug parties." Interestingly, entrance to this apartment was only possible by going directly through the club and using the same staircase the party crowd required to bounce from room to room. So our posse of 16, loaded down with sleeping gear and personal effects and guided by a maelstrom of spinning psychedelic lights, pushed its way through scores of acid fried Dutch teenagers dancing wildly to Michael Jackson's entire catalog. Drinks were spilled, curses were thrown, and before we finally made it to our sanctuary, at least one of us narrowly avoided falling victim to a young girl's projectile vomiting fit on the aforementioned staircase.
I wish I could say we relished in the legality of the Purple Haze all in our brains and called it a night, but the fun was just beginning. Downstairs the DJ switched to a sort of house/electronic motif and the bass frequencies shook the floor beneath us to such an extent that those of us unlucky enough to grab space on the floor literally felt as though we were being repeatedly pounded in the chest. A few dudes took up the "if you can't beat em join em" mentality and dove into the insanity. Rosetta's vocalist Armine opted to sleep in the van and was berated by a group of drunk meatheads for being a "Polish faggot" (they saw the license plate and thought Armine a worthy target of their racist macho aggression). Since I wasn't gonna be able to sleep anytime soon, I decided to take advantage of the in house laundry facility. With the first button I pressed to start the cycle the power blew and our entire floor went dark. How could this night get any better? Here's how: I ventured through throngs of hallucinating locals and once downstairs spent fifteen minutes trying to get the bartender's attention. I asked him to reset the breaker and he shouted over the bar that this was impossible because the entire building would have to be reset. Can't say I blame him, really. I wouldn't want 200+ angry and/or freaked out tripping/rolling/generally fucked up teenagers on my hands, either. 28
We were all stoked about this date because we believed Tilburg to be a rad town and 013 to be the crown jewel. Both proved to be true. 013 hosts the most excellently curated Roadburn Festival every year, so when we found out the same people responsible for that booked our show we knew we were in for a good time. There was some kind of huge Latin music fest going on in the main room, so the whole complex was busy and full of good vibes. The meal from the kitchen was top notch, and to cap it off several friends came up from Belgium to hang out.
Up to this point I'd been getting along fine without the convenience of a cell phone, but I woke up that morning and realized we were due to meet up with another tour the following day and had done little to determine the logistics of the meeting. I waited for a phone call from our new tour manager at the ticketing counter for what seemed ages while I watched several hundred people make their way out of the main hall. They all seemed to be glowing from the music, like it was just the medicine they needed. I liked it.
The room that hosted our show is known as the Batcave. The show was packed out. We played well and Rosetta and Blindead sounded awesome, as well. We wound up at a hotel somewhere out of town and spent our last few hours together drinking wine in the parking lot. 29
The rest of the tour was headed to Poland for a final show with Sepultura, but City of Ships was to meet with Mike Persil and our old friends Braveyoung in Berlin to start another five week tour. The drive was uneventful and pretty much looked like this:
In Berlin they dropped our trio at Tegel Airport, where we knew the dudes in Braveyoung were probably sleeping on the floor somewhere waiting for us. We bid adieu to Rosetta and our tour manager Mojo. The sun was low in the sky and those dudes still had another 9 hours to Gdansk. 30
We found our new tour mates camped out in Terminal A sometime after midnight. Mike Persil, our driver/tourmanager/booking agent, wasn't due to arrive with the new van and backline until 3pm, so we slept in the only 24 hour terminal in the airport and shot dice to pass the time. I remember waking up and being harassed by some cops, only to have an employee of one of the airlines approach us to say not to worry about the police. As she went on she translated that the cops said we'd be kicked out by the airport staff, but that she and her coworkers had no problem with us hanging out. You find asshole cops everywhere you go. Out of sheer boredom I put on some grunge threads (read: flannel shirt and a beanie), prompting the dudes to call me Eric Cobain for the next few weeks. 
With the van packed as full as could be and Mike Persil blaring Sabbath Bloody Sabbath at full volume we set off for the first show in Potsdam, about 30km outside of Berlin. Mike wound up driving down a train track in the city center at one point (this was our first introduction to what proved to be the worst GPS system of all time). We spent the evening adjusting to the new gear and quickly realized the backline company shorted us a kick drum pedal, which almost resulted in the cancellation of the show. Fortunately the promoter came through and borrowed one from a local band across town. 
Everyone at the venue was friendly but the turnout sucked, which was a harsh blow considering I'd spent the last twelve hours telling the dudes in Braveyoung about how awesome most of our shows with Rosetta had been. We chalked it up as a stress free opportunity to acquaint ourselves with the new gear and hung out late with some good German kids. I spent a while talking with the promoter, who told me that his father had been a member of a secret police organization under the East German government before the wall fell. As part of his job he tracked down centers of resistance and either closed their doors or made sure whatever plans had been made there were never carried out. This dude is alive and still believes life under East German rule was better. Go figure. July 2009
01
I think because I enjoyed Slaughterhouse Five so much Dresden was high on my list of cities to check out. But we were late for load in and had to get right to business, of course. We played with our Boston pals Constants, who were nearing the end of their own mammoth tour, and had an awesome time partying with those dudes. The turnout for the show was much better than the night before, and the folks at the venue, AZ Conni, were full of good nature and hospitality. Ralph, the organizer of the show, told me he toured Europe with Godspeed You Black Emperor for 12 weeks in the early 2000s. He blew my mind with GYBE tour stories and gave us full reign over the venue before he headed home. What a rad guy. We played some foosball with Constants and hung out at the bar downstairs catching up and trading stories from our respective adventures. As night became early morning a couple of Punishers waiting in the wings, now nice and liquored up, came in for the kill. At this point myself and Orion from Constants were the last two Americans in the room. The Punishers attacked, but were wrong in assuming we'd have any interest in discussing their view of Barack Obama as savior of the universe. We put up our defense shields to keep them at bay, but eventually their idiocy broke through and I spouted some hot headed retort in hopes of shutting them up. Orion obviously knew how this was gonna turn out and bailed on me while I had my back turned. Shit! The Punishers' plan prevailed after all. I was trapped. Two grueling hours of heated debate later I emerged from my cave of despair and curled up on a couch as the sun rose, cursing these dudes (who I later found out didn't even watch the show) for ruining the end of my night. There's nothing worse than drunken political "discussion" with strangers.
02
That morning we lazed around the grounds of AZ Conni and played tons of ping pong on an outdoor table. I'm happy to say I went undefeated. Made fast friends with a dog who we suspect was totally blind but still loved a good game of fetch. We set off for Leipzig for a show at Zoro in the pouring rain. Our friend Andreas, who we met a week before, organized the show and did an incredible job. Zoro is top notch with a huge kitchen, sleeping places for bands, a shower, record store, foosball tables, and a couple of well-stocked bars. What more do you need? We played with Constants again and the show was perfect. All three bands did encores and we sold lots of merch. And if that weren't enough, Andreas is some kind of undercover gourmet chef. He prepared for us the most crucial meals I've eaten this year. Can't wait to go back to Leipzig. 
03
Frankfurt was far and away the worst show of the tour. Final attendance was 2, not including the promoter and the dude who printed our t-shirts. They showed us a feature Visions Magazine ran on us, which was cool despite the fact that we couldn't understand it. Clearly it didn't inspire any of Frankfurt's music loving population to make it down to Elfer Club, but we're grateful for the mention, anyway. During load out we exchanged words with a couple of bouncers at the club next door and it seemed fairly certain we were gonna get into with them. Things chilled out when some drunk English dudes walked by and made idiots of themselves by suggesting we visit a bunch of shitty tourist attractions in the UK. We calmed things down further by trying to one-up each other with how many lines from early/mid 1990's 311 songs we could recall. Braveyoung beat the shit out of City of Ships in that contest, for the record.
04
Needless to say, we were all feeling especially patriotic on this day. We broke out the American flag and flew it from the back window of the van with unhealthy levels of pride beaming from us all. We listened to Springsteen and the Eagles all day as a salute to the glue that holds America together, Wal-Mart. God only knows how Europe makes due without these oases of value and culture.
All bullshit aside, the drive to Antwerp was a giant traffic headache. This was the third time the CoS crew drove through Cologne, and certainly would not be the last. I feel like I could paint a picture of the cityscape coming over the Rhine River just from memory. We made it into the heart of Antwerp and here the GPS system failed miserably once again. A few of us jumped out of the van, figuring we could find the venue more efficiently on foot. No sooner did we spot the bar than did I watch in awe as our enormous van, guided by a maniacally grinning Mike Persil, came lumbering down what was obviously a pedestrian-only alley. Mike roared with laughter and gave a confident thumbs up as if to say, "It's cool!" Ben from Braveyoung told me he could've reached down from the passenger seat and stolen someone's dinner from a sidewalk cafe. Unbelievable. 
The show was cool. The bartender hooked us up with way too many premium Trappist beers, and holy shit were they good. We played with a good local band called Versa, who proved to be great guys. Tim and Davy from Maudlin came out, and Andrew Weiss, our fallen comrade, had recovered enough from his surgery to make the trip with them. It was like a huge reunion only a week after his being rushed to the hospital. We were psyched to see him up and around. 
We roamed the streets of Antwerp all night, thoroughly digging the overwhelming layers of history all around the venue. Later we realized the bar we played is a favorite haunt of some neo-Nazi racist biker gangs, so that caused quite a stir among us. Worse yet, one of their girlfriends took a liking to a few members of our crew and refused to leave us alone. We'd been fielding nasty looks from the leather clad crowd all night, so we wondered if she'd been sent to create an excuse for them to start some shit with us. Fortunately nothing significant came of all that beyond immense irritation at the presence of this clueless girl. The venue put us up in an apartment a few floors above the show space, so we dragged upstairs and began to settle in. Before we went to bed the owner of the club, who we'd already begun to refer to as "Papa," barged in our door and threatened, "If you're not quiet, I'll kick the shit out of your fucking asses!"05
Woke up sometime in the early afternoon feeling the miserable after effects of too many high abv beers and an enormous plate of french fries at 3am. As we drank coffee at one of a thousand sidewalk cafes in the old city, Mike got a call from the promoter of the festival we were scheduled to play that day saying that he couldn't afford to pay us. Mike told the dude he probably should've made that decision months ago when he agreed to have us on his show. It sucked, but could we do? We hung out in Antwerp a while longer before making for Lille, France.
Marie, our hostess and promoter, welcomed us most warmly at her apartment. She's been putting on shows for years and is well-liked by lots of bands we're friends with. Plus she's got a killer record collection and a Super Nintendo with NBA Jam. We also managed to score a set of poker chips in Lille, which began a most excellent streak of tournament style competition among most members of the tour.
She took us out to explore her town and we ate it up. On the steps of an old church we ran into a group of kids who were singing loudly and passionately along with a lone acoustic guitar. The melody was simple and they were drunk as hell, but their enthusiasm was infectious. They approached us and insisted we take the guitar and sing some songs for them, which we did. We talked with them for an hour, drank some beers and kicked a soccer ball around the courtyard before we decided to head back. They told us they'd be at the show the next night, but they didn't turn up. 06
The show at Le Select was rad. We'd heard some rumors of noise limits being enforced throughout France, and sure enough during our first show there the owner of the club came in with a decibel reader during sound check to ensure we were staying within the legal limit. We weren't even sure volume could be a problem, because we were literally drawing power for five guitar amps and a slew of pedals from one outlet. The place had a stage, a decent PA, and they do shows regularly. One outlet.
Davy and Weiss came from Belgium to hang out, so per usual we hung hard with those two. By that point it was starting to feel like they'd joined the tour. Marie did a great job promoting and organizing, cause even without a local band we had a good crowd. We stayed up all night playing poker and drinking excellent French wine. We had to catch the ferry to the UK the following morning at 6am. Seemed kinda pointless to sleep for two or three hours. This was our fourth sleepless night in about two weeks. Sweet sweet delirium.
To be continued.
