Waist to Ankle: The Birth place of Modern Civilization

Don't you think it's a bit silly that the city who's credited for the creation of Pizza, an international staple and resident of top 3 foods for every kid in the Northern Hemisphere, has not heard of "Stuffed Crust"? If I've learned anything here, and I have, it is that of the mentality: if it ain't broke don't fix it. In regards to Napoli specifically: if it's broke...well shit.
Napoli must hold a candle in the illumination of places that seem as though they should cave in upon themselves, but stand five times longer than the most functioning of modern cities. I don't understand it. Yesterday I saw a mother, father, and their child weave through apposing traffic at full speed, all three with maybe a knit cap between them. It's lunacy! And beautiful too! Everyone is hugging and arguing and buying meat off the street and honking their horns incessantly and doing that thing with their hands you always see really Italian people do in movies when they're caught in traffic.
I've only been here for maybe twelve or thirteen hours, but it's safe to say it's the zaniest place I've been. Peru included.
Last night we played in an underground theater whose name escapes me. It's something about at any moment it coming down on us. It didn't, but I did keep in mind how we were a stones throw away from Mt. Vesuvius. This theater was wonderful, high arches of granite, the musk of history and dirt, and some strange skinny Italian theater kids, too eager to help out and too strange in their theater ways for me to want to chat too much. OH, theater kids.....
We played well, had a massive pizza as is the custom, and then had some beers at a local bar spinning Can records and filled with books about Hallucinogenic plants. I didn't find any real correlation. Except maybe the Can records.
The two days before we were in Roma. What a place! How did it happen? But before I get into all the tourist crap, and there's plenty of that, I'll just express that outside the epochal columns and Michaelangelo'd paintings people still get drunk and hookers dance to Bad English at dive bars and shady slick and portly guys will try and sell you the digital camera they swiped from some tourist the few hours earlier; before their fourth beer and their fifteenth cigarette. It get's shady here!
Some guy tried to sell me a camera, sell me one of his hookers and then when I declined both, told me in stunning broken English, "I kill you". He might as well have had a knife in his teeth. He did have a rolled up porno mag in his back pocket. I guess that's Roma.
But we were put up in quite the swanky flat, a few blocks away from one of Architecture's grand marvels, the Coliseum. It's so looming and unbelievable I felt tiny. I do feel tiny here in Napoli too. So many people. Who will win in the game of life? How can we win? (?)
We saw all the usuals, Vatican, Pantheon, Mussolini's giant type-writer. Segue: Mussolini, what a dick! Aside from the really awful things he's better known for; he tore down an entire strip of Roman ruins to pave a street straight from the coliseum to his new massive white godless brick of marble, so when Hitler came to visit he'd have a clear view of his new structure. So much history.
Today we're going to Pompeii. I'm not sure what I'm going to think about that, petrified bodies and the like. Once I went to a church in the Czech Republic where the interior was made entirely of human bones. I WAS fascinated and ended up even touching a few skulls. Well I'm not TOO superstitious but within a week I had a breakup, got bit by a German Shepard, had $400 stolen from me and lost my camera. I'm not touching NOTHIN' today.
We're so close to the end. I fly back Tuesday and into the real world again feet or face first. Let's pray for feet. All is well down here in the boot.

san martino spino and vicenza

Outside there are three goats making goat sounds. Eric just pointed out how the chicken, even when it's trying cannot be quiet. A tractor drives by, the house is cold, old, boxy and miles away from any town. Yet there is internet. Usually, finding internet over here is like finding a contact lens on the bottom of Crater Lake. It just doesn't happen. But this is Samuele's house outside Ferrara and the dude's got all sorts of stuff you wouldn't expect to see in a rural farmhouse.
We've been all over the place in the last few days, from the bucolic reaches of North-Central Italy to the bulbous foothills near the Northwest. I'll admit I'm quite partial to the rural areas. It's not so far off from my family's homestead back in the Sacramento valley. Depressive grey skies, vivid green fields and idiot drivers. We played at our friend Tiziano's small, small....small house in San Martino Spino; a sleepy outpost for who knows what else but espresso and old people? Tizio (his nickname) grew up in this town and it's clear as day he finds it home. Peculiar though, considering he's a worldly troubadour who spends half his year traversing Europe and pretty much anywhere that will have him play. An eccentric in every positive sense of the word living in an itty-bitty conservative Italo-Mayberry. He's friends with the craziest of bands, big and small, and shows a hospitality to his guests unfamiliar to many our age from stateside. Lessons are being learned in regards to hospitality.
We set up and kicked out our set in a space no larger than Kanye's sock drawer, really pushing the limits of my snare drum. Before the show we all sat down to pasta and red wine. Mom, you would have been into it. We had three ten liter boxes of "red wine"; that's pretty much all you really need to know.
On the subject of red wines: there seems to be an affinity for a local wine here called Lambrusco. I'm not saying I don't like Lambrusco, that would be pointless. That's like saying I don't like Handi-snacks or French Fries; which I do. But it's not going to win any medal's of honor from the fellas at Dom Perignon. It's a frizzy, semi-sweet, semi-dry, off rose colored intoxicant. It works, that is true.
Eric told me one time that for a period in his life he considered himself a "bum wine connoisseur". He was talking about Thunderbird, Night Train, all those malt wines that rot your gut. I'll leave the handle of Carlo Rossi out of this one for Mom too. Carlo kinda sits on his own throne, he's the bourgeois version of bum wine. Well, to finish the thread I think Tizio would fill the shoes as Lambrusco connoisseur. Maybe that's harsh, as there is a resilience in pride for even the most "off" libations here in Italia.
So then we left Tizio's place, bodies and minds surprisingly intact and spry enough to hang in through the two hour AutoStrada (rat-race track) up the North and into Vicenza. Somewhere en route I got a kind of car sickness, mixed with one of those feelings that screams on the inside "what am I doing with my f***ing life" and I almost lost it. It was hard to figure out, and frustrating like a sore muscle or a runny nose during a make out session. We played and I channeled that energy well enough, in fact maybe turning out my best performance yet on the drums; but when the show ended it came like a riptide and I was sucked up to my bed on the second floor above the venue to relent the strange feelings. The band packed everything up for me and I slept well, rose early this morning again to the mute sky, like looking inside out of a soiled cotton swab.
But you think, don't let this weather wear you out. And then I'm back in the saddle, onward south to Bologna for our biggest show of the tour. Opening for Art-Punk inventor/innovator/pretty much rock legend Mike Watt. A suprising and exciting possibility. We hang out now at Samuele's farmhouse, waiting for Tizio to come and drive us an hour south to the venue. The trip is tightening and tomorrow we play in the city that was once the earth's navel, Roma. How amazing? Life IS good. Many missed folks back at home, but shitchyeah, you know, shitchyeah....

Ferrara- San Bennedetto del Toro

Italy has really been good to Ghost to Falco. As I think I’ve mentioned before, this is my first time in this country, outside of an airport anyway, and the hospitality is stunning. Milano was wonderful, great first show here and then Eric and I took the train over to Ferrara, which is about 30 minutes north east of Bologna. The city itself keeps about fifty thousand people and is muted well by the looming eastern block style grey skyline. We got into town around three in the afternoon, packed tight with all our bags and in good spirits residual from fashionable Milano. It’s as though each cobblestone in Milano is a runway; the city oozes aesthetic class and superficiality. Beautiful, tight bodied superficiality….
Anyway, our pickup in Ferrara was dodgy at best and we had little to no information on who was gonna get us or where we would go. Half past four Stephano, our then host and purported touring bassist arrived; looking frazzled and like the cat in the bag was getting feisty. So he tells us he’s no longer going with us, but that he’s arranged another bassist to drive us and learn our set. Eric and I are pretty much like, “whatever” and so we go to his studio on the edge of town. Soon Samuela shows up. He’s very polite, super humble and, a little into our first practice, scared shitless that we are not the folky electro project he was told we were. But like any perceptive musician, within an hour or so he was basically bounding off amps all Van Halen and scissor kicking. Well pretty much…
One day of practice and then we headed south to San Bennedetto Del Tronto, a seaside laze on the Adriatic Sea and not short on wealthy pensioners. We meet our host, Paolo, who is maybe forty and definitely holding baller status in this town. All I’m saying about this gig was that it was pretty much an Indie Rock love story: show up to the gig, go off and have a three course authentic Italian meal, drink two bottles of wine and get macked on by the waite staff, then return to the venue and have the place packed. THEN, after the gig and everybody is buying up the merch, have the owner come up to you, post-massive amazing dinner-gratis- and him telling you we’ve exceeded his expectations immensely and we deserve an extra hundred and fifty euros:::::::::::
Seriously…
We had a great evening of course and retired to our Pension just a few minutes walk to the beach. I got lost, as I like to do but luckily I don’t sleep in so I had two plus hours to find my way while the rest of the band slept.
Gas is ridiculous here and the tolls for the highway are outrageous; like twenty euros for about one hundred and fifty miles. So we came back up to Ferrara last night for a spontaneous gig at a club called Zuni, which was also very nice and served us excellent food and wine. It was a sparse turnout though, as the show was set up just a few days before. So we are in Ferrara another day today and it is Thanksgiving. You are all asleep, hopefully you trained your stomachs. There are friends and family I miss today and wish I could be with. All good things though, what an adventure!

the dog

Milano

We’re in Milano right now, in a flat on the fifth floor, rooftop view of the west side of town. There is a dog on the floor, some fine Italian canine sleeping on his big furry, floppy ears. His name means “Big Rabbit” or something like that. I’m moving more than a little slow today after my first night in Italy.

We rolled into the bus station after a twenty-hour ride across three countries. What a mess, trying to fix this jetlag and then I’m posted up against the window for so long, sleeping poorly and with no reading light until half past two in the morning. I slammed a pilsner before we got on and that just made me want to pee. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t a horrible bus ride by any means; the seats reclined to an adequate angle, I had a nice view of the countryside, there were no foul odors and they played a dubbed version of Under Siege upon our entrance to Italy.

But the Frenchie Gestapo pulled us over three times throughout the night, checking our passports, dogs sniffing our bags and then making us get off the bus entirely for a sweep through the cabin. The police looked bewildered the entire time, not knowing what to do next and milling about our bags that we had to drag out from under the bus. It was really a bit silly.

We got into Milano around noon, took the metro to the train station and sent a few text messages from a pay phone. You can do that now. We caught a regional train out to a stop near Pavia and our host and engineer Carlo picked us up in his Peugot. He’s taken great care of us so far. He drove us out through the countryside, looking much like the flat lands of Sacramento and a milky grey sky looming all afternoon with no sun for show. We came down a pocked dirt road and into a collection of very old buildings. We walked through the door into a 15^th century villa, high ceilings and dusty chandeliers. Carlo helped us get our bags upstairs to our rooms and this place was really like a Scooby Doo Mystery. There were mirrors all over the place, two hundred year old vanities and stone framed, single pane windows with ten-foot curtains.

It’s funny to me that the first night I’ve ever spend in Italy is spent in the oldest structure I’ve ever slept in. There was a stage downstairs with quality sound equipment, a bar with way too much Aperitifs, and a dinner of creamy pasta and red wine. Eric and I started the evening musically because we were late additions to the bill. We played well, very loose and vocal. It’s not easy to get used to some of the songs without bass, I usually sync up with Ryne and without that low end I can tend to drift a bit. But we were tight.

I drank a few amaros, some beer and then a negroni with some of the locals to chat with about world affairs, girls and music. It was a warm welcome to their country. The evening gets a bit hazy around three in the morning, but Eric said I was doing something I called the “travel dance”, which later involved me getting sick in the bushes. Too much fun. Today we got up and hung about the villa, talked with Carlo and road into Milano with him. I’ve been taking a lot of picture with my Holga, hoping it will turn some cool shots out. Tomorrow we catch an early train to Ferrara and meet or driver and bass player. We’re also opening for Mike Watt in Bologna, which is radical. Today is a little lost. Might walk up to see the dome soon. Milano is nice but I’m eager to get to Roma. And I am quite tired today.

17hr bus ride.

It's quite nice outside. We just made a huge pot of lentils and pinto beans. Here are some photos of us at a tapas joint, and Ben, Eric and I enjoying a beer at a squat near their flat. Tonight we ride the bus to Milano, then play tomorrow night in a town thirty miles away. Not stoked on the drive, but excited to get into Italy.

Barcelona, Spain

I feel like a homing pigeon here. I cannot get lost. The mornings are crisp enough, though it's humid and the sun doesn't rise until nearly eight. Yesterday was last night and this morning and more all together and my body has no idea what time it is. But I got enough rest to rise around six thirty and go to the bus station to greet Eric, en route from Toulouse, France. I stepped in dog shit firm enough not to cake to my soles; it is a good day.
We're trying to figure out how to get a drum set to the venue tonight. It will be my first show here in Spain, or out of America for that matter. It's still not set in. Last night we went to a show off Las Ramblas, the destination for wayward youth, acrobats and bunk hashish. The show was really good. The first act was a five piece, local, who are friends with the wonderful folks putting me up here. A sort of la-la-la good times pop outfit with just enough edge for me to want to drink my four euro beer quickly so i could shake it up. I avoided the white guy overbite though (try it in the mirror, you'll see what i mean). Afterward an American act played, a three piece from Alabama I believe, maybe Tennessee... Anyway, Dawn Landes was the singer's name. She was good, talented guitar player with a nice voice, but the real stimulation came from an outstanding drummer whom, at one point was manning a keyboard, a harmonica, and somehow also working an intricate beat with pretty much the whole kit. It was very impressive. I kept my wits (and my money) about me and staved the boozy urges off to just one beer. Ben and Judith (my accommodating hosts) and I traversed back across the city around two in the morning, winding through alleys moistened by unknown liquids and wafting unmentionable smells.
I'm headed out soon to explore once again, maybe Park Guell. Yes, then a rendezvous for the drum kit. Tonight is our first show. Eric and I haven't played together in two months. It will be very free. I need an espresso and not another croissant, I'm three deep in just twenty hours. Spain is great, prideful and subdued. In fact much more subdued than I remember. Maybe I am just that much more adult and not in it for the the same reasons as years ago. Tomorrow is Montpelier, France and then on to Milano. There are gaps in shows but we have to travel by train for now. That is all, I need to go explore.