Home / Tour Diaries / AntiProduct Tour Diary / AntiProduct Tour Diary – Entry #4, 6/5/05

AntiProduct Tour Diary – Entry #4, 6/5/05



by A.Product

AntiProduct has just been on tour in Europe, including some former Eastern Block countries! They’re off the road now, but that has only given frontman A.Product (aka former Life Sex & Death guitarist Alex Kane) time to collect his hazy thoughts and recount them just for you! Whenever he has an update, Mr Product will give us tales from the grottos, gypsy camps and gulags that dared to book AntiProduct on their recent tour.


When are they gonna put computers in toilets? Porn? Perfect. Emails? Same again. Metal Sludge on the can?! You?re all slapping your foreheads going, ?Yes, of course! That?s actually the one thing that?s missing from my life!? Well, we don?t have that yet but reading this will sure make you wish you were living in the future. This is coming to you in the form of a Lucasonian Serial. It ends where, once the gang has gotten through the Czech border they discover they have no change to call the?

April 10th Walbrzych, Poland. Whiskey Bar.

Part I

The Arrival:

2:40 pm, German/Polish Border

So, so far, despite minimal bullshit and having no fuckin? DVD player, the roughing isn?t that un-make happenable. A bit of PMS, some griping about whatever, but on the whole it?s all smiles and hugs. Until Poland that is. We hear from a fellow band crossing the German border at the same time we are, whose gear is also being methodically and thoroughly searched, that the kids go hard in Poland and it should be a good gig. This guy musta still been a fuckin? commie on acid because he sure didn?t tell us the whole story.

I haven?t bathed since this thing started and there?s parts of me smelling bad that I didn?t even know I had, right? So what? I?m climbing into the same stinking, filthy suit again night after night (I actually have with both my Rob Halford Metal UV Codpiece /Chaps combo and my Willy Wonka on more acid suit) and no matter how clean I get, that shit is like alien blood in there. A combo of man sweat, rock sweat, ball sweat, fart, a bit of poop, blood, sliver and miniscule bits of broken bottle, some dirty cock, beer stained filthy stage filth, spit, drool, etc. You fuckin? put in on. I dare you. It?s like a right of passage every night from normal life to ?the thing? taking over. A. Product has less friends than I do.

4:15, Somewhere in Poland

We get lost on the way to Waaahhhlbryycczzzhhhgh, say hi to our buddy the farmer?s Polish double, send me in for directions (and do picture the sight. Me, whatever is wrong with my hair, make-up smears, bad clothing, ?Excuse me, do you speak a little English?? First the wide-eyed stare and then the screams.). We finally get to our supposed destination via Cwej?s way, as Poland doesn?t register on the GPS, needless to say. This is next to a bus stop where there are two HUGE Swastikas painted on the walls behind where we?re parked. Yep, we?re lost in the bad part of Poland! Julian cautions me not to go pee outside because we don?t know where the fuck we are. I call the promoter who also has no idea where we are and seems a bit distracted to be getting the 9 people people are waiting to see to the people waiting to see them. Strange, I think. He speed talks something about somewhere else around there and I pretend to understand his Eeeennglish and agree to meet him there in 5 minutes. Then I realise I have no idea what he said. Call back. He picks up annoyed ?What?? ?Dude, bro, we have no idea where we are. Couldn?t you just find this big bus stop across from the blue shopping mall?? ?Garble, garblski, garblska.? Right, I know! ?We?ll meet you at McDonalds.? ?Ah, yeaski, McDonalda. 10 minteses.? The roads here, by the way, are basically rubble filled with pot holes (like the Republican parts of Chicago) but they got bright shiny Maccy D?s and Blockee Bustees already amidst the shabby and mostly vacant remains of what used to be communist Poland.

5:45 pm, McDonalds Parking Lot

30 minutes later, after Cwej has gone into this parking lot behind the easily findable McDonalds to survey every car internally to see whether our buddy was in there. By the looks he was getting, I surmise this isn?t looked upon favourably in Poland. Then buddy shows up right as Cwej walks around the corner and out of eye/ear shot.

Him: ?I can?t believe you no find. Follow Tesco sign.?
Me: ?Who are you??
Him: ?Follow to club. Easy, you moron.?
Me: ?Hu-fuckin-huh??

And off he races while we scream and honk for Cwej to return as quickly as his sturdy little legs will carry him. And they?re off. This is the kinda driving (censored) seems to live for as we can just about catch sight of our guide in the very distance around that third bend by the dust in his wake. He?s blasting out full bore and we ain?t about to give up the ghost. The last time we played in Poland was with Ozzfest and I remember everyone sleeping but for me as we pulled into town for the big rock show and seeing a severed hand with a little white hanky to the side of it in the middle of the road surrounded by those plastic police numbers that look like they?d be more suited at a Denny?s than in the middle of the road at 6:30 am around a severed hand. Could be the driving, I think to myself.

The Venue, 6:15 pm

Finally we catch up to him, as he screeches from 60-0 in an absolute halt, perfectly mirrored by (censored)?s own ?liberated? stop. She?s just over qualified, I?m thinking now. We?re at the joint and it?s basically a doorway with a peephole in a huge towering very Communist looking towering block of towering flats surrounded by stairs that would make that Escher painter dude dizzy. We are greeted very warmly. A bit too fuckin? warmly as the two dudes running the show can?t seem to keep their hands off Marina and Milena. I?m in all, ?C?mon fellas, let?s be gentleman? mode. As they speak very little American they hear ?smile, smile, nod, grin.? And they are wasted! I?d had a look at the contract for this show on the way in and it says we?re playing from 6pm-12am. I?m like, ?Ok, that?s a lot of jams then.? So every something about this is feeling pretty fucked up so far. And remember, we?re a little gang of nine with an exact equal number of boy and girls and none of the boys or girls know too much about the ancient art of kickin? 150 Polish people?s ass in self-defence tonight-fu.

I ask for dressing rooms and the by now numbering four drunken, touchy feely, slobbering dudes supposedly running the night are tripping over themselves to be by the ladies. It?s like a comedy watching me try to physically insinuate myself strategically between the girls and the maulers while they try to manoeuvre around me to get to the girls, all played out like we weren?t doing it. Real life is goofy.

We?re at a back door somewhere behind the building (trepidation) finally and the head mauler and proprietor is fumbling drunkenly with a set of keys on this lock on the door for what seems like hours. We?re all looking at each other like, what the fuck is this guy?s trip? Does he really work here or what? At least he?s distracted from trying to pet the girls. A fifth dude shows up, piercings, baseball cap, tats, just like back home. He points his boss to the other door to the right. That door actually opens promptly to much laughter and slapping of the fore head from Papa Mauler. He tries to usher the girls into the room in an attempt to grab a grope. After he leaves, we?re kinda wondering what?s going on here and you can see the girls are feeling uncomfortable. Let?s go check the venue before we whip ourselves into another paranoid frenzy. Yesterday was fine and we thought we were gonna be eaten.

We walk in and see about 45 people, two of which are in AP shirts somehow already and none look directly at us but wait until we have turned away from them and then stare very openly, all at once, together. So we get the, ?Is good for supportski band you never knew would be playing tonight using your gear and drums? They need peecks too, please.? After all, we only came from London, England to supply gear to the boys who practice next door?s big gig!!! OK, makes sense. The PA is a vocal monitor that?s about half as strong as the speakers on either side of your computer. The ?stage? is the dance floor and the lowest part of the room. So, we?ll basically have horny, drunken, giant, strategically better located Poles listening to and watching us play through a computer, after the local Polish (and polite to a fault, I might add) emocore band is finished breaking our gear. And the whole country is still grieving for their fallen Pope, too, by the way.

7:45 pm, Dinner and The Twins

Before sound check at dinner, we must apparently get repeatedly reprimanded by the (I still don?t know what he did), Promoter Something Guy for being late. ? Sorry, I didn?t know that we were meant to literally start at playing at 6 pm, unlike any gig we?ve ever played in the world ever, like the contract said. That part was written in crayon and was a bit hard to read, sir,? I?m like. Then it?s dinnertime and I notice Greg and Mono sitting with a pair of super fuckin? hot blonde girls, with brilliant and bold bodies with tits and everything in the right places that look remarkably alike. Though I have a committed relationship (make all the jokes you want), I still like to make a fool of myself and pretend I?m slick. I press up my most winning smile and say ?Hey Fellas, who?s the hot wool?? Luckily they don?t understand a word of English and only clock the winning smile. I feel the ?hey asshole thinking about putting on the clock block, fuck off vibe? from Mono and sit down messing with my hair just so. ?Blah, blah, blah? the girls hear and smile back. ?I got ?em and Greg and Mono are just gonna havta hate The King for a while. ? I give the girls the right-side-look-up-from-under-my eyelashes-Prince-circa-Purple-Rain look (which just came out here last week) and they swoon. Bingo. Like the 90s never happened. I finish my coffee and destride my stool like it were a bronco I just broke flashing a quick wink at the girls. By now, Greg has let me know through our telepathic connection they are twins. Oh, they?re twins are they? Is it still cheating if there?s more than two of you?

We do sound check, trying to keep some degree of composure, pretending this bar with a peephole door in a prison with a computer is actually a venue and have taken to saying ?Every gig is Madison Square Garden,? before the big rock show and so it is. Sound check consists of 45 minutes of feedback and questions from supportski band about more gear they can borrow, ?Eees ok to play white Lez Pauolo?? I ask the Promoter Something Guy, as Papa Mauler has disappeared, if he would mind helping me keep an eye on the gear while we change? He looks at me like I just called his dead Mother a rotting cunt. ?You?re things save hea. No worry,? as I swear I see his eyes mentally calculate the value of our shit with a quick glance. Now, I?m worried.

Quick aside to one of the gang, on the sly before heading back to the dressing room to start preparing. ?Hey Mono, keep an eye out. I?m getting a weird vibe. No big deal.? Under his breath, ?Yea, Ich know (he?s Dutch or something). Alle have been saying zis sing az well.? Full blown, flashing light, police siren blaring, bomb dropping paranoia overload times nine. We all know what we?re all thinking and ?The Fear? has taken hold as one of all! Dun Duh Dun Duh Duuuuuuh. Now, we must be very quiet and smart. Pretend you?re invisible. It?s worked in the past. Use your super-powers now! So, we start being the most friendly, polite, well-behaved non-visibles at our own gig.

The last thing Promoter Something Guy says to me before I leave is, ?You will play when these boys are done.? ?When will that be?? I ask invisibly. ?When they are finished, you fool,? comes his reply. ?And why you no let them use your micro stands. Ees make no sense.? ?Well, we?re kinda like a hi-intensity, pretty theatrical, maximum impact visual band and?oh, sorry, next time we won?t make that mistake, good buddy.? Now I?m straddling the line between condescending and just mocking the guy to his face but figure I?d better pull it back a few notches as I?m not in the mood for fighting with my whole family around me as cannon fodder. I?m sure Marina could handle herself but there?s only one of her.

9:15 pm, Dressing Room

In the dressing room, it?s all running around, and hand waving and wailing (not really, but it?s better for the story) ?Holy shit! We gotta play the gig ?cause they?ll take our gear if we don?t!? ?We gotta get the girls in the van right after the gig and leave them the keys in case they gotta split quick. ? ?Here, take this screw driver and don?t be afraid to use it.? One of my dearest friends and full blown serious brother here to eternity in London is a guy named (censored). Now, he knows people and things that most don?t and certainly shouldn?t. Particularly as relating to the (censored) in Poland. I call him from the dressing room on my mobile (utterly destroying my credit), talking fast so?s to get the words out and advice in before ?She? tells me ?I?m sorry. You have insufficient credit,? right as (censored) was gonna tell me how to deal with (censored) issues.

His advice was, get a screwdriver and don?t be afraid to use it. Then he said, don?t follow anyone anywhere and just get the fuck outta there but you havta play the gig or they?ll have your gear for hostage. Cool, so we?re fine then. I think, don?t say anything to anyone. This will be too much info to absorb right now. I shake it off and replace the phone to its place in my backpack and coolly turn to the gang ready to put a brave and unworried face forward. ?What did (censored) say?? their eyes pleadingly ask. Now, be calm and keep it together, Alex. ?No problems, really, but everyone should carry a screwdriver and not be afraid to use it. He he?? Silence. More silence. Some more silence on top of that. ?Kidding?? I croak.

We change into our stage gear, with me constantly reminding the gang that we?re here to do a job and we must focus on that. Everyone seems a bit tense, failing Clare, who basically couldn?t be afraid if you promised her a billion dollars and 208 more guitars. It?s like she had an operation to have terror removed and is carefree and in a good mood. I resent her this. By now, once the stretching and warming up has started, which we do whether or not we will be murdered after a show, we got Julian coming in every five minutes saying. ?(censored) has just called and wants to see how we are.? ?Hey, (censored) called (censored) and told him what was up. He?s got a cousin here he?s calling now.? ?(censored) called again to say hair spy and a lighter will work good if we don?t have enough screw drivers.?


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