EUROPE - KASSEL, GOLDGRUBE

The Ghostbuster’s theme comes on the playlist, prompting a worrying Pavlovian response (‘Bustin’ makes me feel good’) and I realise the genetic imperative to spill my seed is ramping up. Gonna have to schedule some phone sex with my wife. I’ve previously sampled the unique and rather quaint European petrol station sex accessories and can say for certain they do not cut the mustard. But hey if you like your PocketPussy to resemble what it must feel like to mouthfuck an aquatic creature, by all means get your freak on. 

Kassel today, ‘Germany’s Birmingham’ we’re told, with all the exotic promise that entails. Chris pretty ill, Simon ill for a month now (physically; hard to pinpoint how long mentally). Rest of us awaiting the inevitable. Japan’s Sigh headlining tonite’s show which means those of Inhuman Nature able and willing shall enjoy earlier postshow beverages as we’re off stage by 8pm. The dream. Then get a session in with High Command when they get off. Good dudes, like ‘em and their maternal tour manager Ashley a lot. Last nite they enquired as to why a bottle of gin had been included in the rider. ‘You asked for gin on your rider,’ Ashley said in consternation. ‘We should get tequila instead, then we can do shots before we play,’ Razzle reasoned. ‘You’re not getting tequila.’ Think we’re cut from the same cloth in Inhuman Nature. Sipping beer and eating stale bread in the van now, like a medieval peasant. Of rock. 

Curious German man waiting for bands to arrive at venue, armed with various photographs he wants signed, probably to sell online. Not sure how economically viable that enterprise is. He accosts High Command before they can get out the van, they sign from their seats. The man hangs around unsure, asking Pitz about us. ‘They’re Inhuman Nature. The photos you have here are for another band, Inhuman Condition.’ The man seems disappointed. We are too, really wanted to sign our names over photos of the wrong band. 

Backstage Sigh’s driver tells us the autograph hawk always hunts at this venue but never attends any shows. Driver also informs us we got our Carnet for nothing, it’s not needed, rules have once again changed. I will never forgive the endless travesty that is Brexit. I should clarify something, however: Brexit should have happened, but in reverse. The continent should have ostracised and excommunicated us, not the other way round. We don’t deserve to be here, ruining the peace of the Euros.

It’s the Japanese we end up disturbing tonite, though. Some logistical genius has decided to put 4 touring bands on one bill, and in one tiny green room. Sigh do not engage with us, but even if they did speak much English it would have been to little avail - we get so shitfaced, and hotbox the space, that we can barely speak with any comprehension. The venue does Jägerbombs as a long drink only, we realise to our horror/delight as the bartender pours out 3 shots worth of Jäger into a single cup, dashing an afterthought of energy drink in. Simon hesitates. ‘I can’t do this.’ ‘Yeah you fuckin can,’ I shriek and we down cups. I then immediately fuck up every task I have to do. But the bartender doesn’t charge us, won’t accept payment. Fucking score. 

So we’re a bit activated. At load out, Sigh’s tour manager, the Archetypal English Cunt, pulls Ashley aside and lays into her for our behaviour. Gist is ‘something something unprofessional’, ‘something something inconsiderate’, and a lot of something something misogyny. He makes threats to speak to the booking agency and generally casts aspersions as to Ashley’s competency. Speaks to her like shit and in a way that you just know he wouldn’t dare speak to another man. 

By the time I hear about this, I am many triple Jägerbombs in and, shall we say, up for a chat. I march over to Sigh’s van where their TM is. I offer to him that there seems to have been a misunderstanding. He goes off, saying we all should have vacated the green room so Sigh could get ready before playing. That would have been no issue whatsoever if only he/they had made the 2-second effort to communicate to us. ‘They had to get ready in the van,’ he bleats with the kind of Anglowhine that would make you think some unspeakable tragedy had befallen poor Sigh, unwilling victims caught in the maelstrom of High Nature/Inhuman Command’s debauched backstage bacchanal. 

Remembering the stand-offish, looking- down-his-nose vibes he gave off most of the nite, I hold firm that all he had to do was be a grown up and speak to us. He backpedals when challenged on some of the shit he slung at Ashley. I ask him if we’re cool and make him shake my hand. Strapped into the van with their anime shoes and bewildered expressions, Sigh stare at us during the whole interaction. 

I should have called out the prick more on his misogyny/bullying (he said much out of line shit that I’m abbreviating here) but I was aware of how drunk I was and how aggressive/abusive I can get when it’s an ideological enemy (see: various arguments with Brexiteers). So I tried to be mature and vaguely respectful towards this manbaby, especially since I’m representing not just myself but Inhuman Nature, I don’t want to embarrass them (note: I will frequently embarrass them on this tour). 

I especially kick myself for not further calling him out when we later discover that, after shaking my hand and feebly avoiding my eye/Jägerbreath, he then called the agency and complained about Ashley. Like a little fucking manbitch.