Day 2: Karlsruhe

A new day dawns and we head into a dank rehearsal studio for two days. Among other matters, we've been contracted to play one of our records from start to finish as a part of the Don't Look Back/All Tomorrow's Parties festival in London and somehow, it's worked it's way up in some of our minds to be a major chore. The Big Anxiety sets in. After several attempts and false starts, we barely make it three songs into recreating the record only to break down into a juvenile argument about the proper setting of an Ibanez Tube Screamer or the original key of the song. Eventually we fall into a pattern of picking on Daren the outsider substitute drummer for "not grooving...". Whatever that means, it seems to make everyone feel better except Daren of course. What the heck, dude's on salary. Piece work vs. the Big Score. Go with the cash in hand son.

Fun fact: In Germany you can get a ticket for giving the finger. Don't give anyone "the finger" while driving in Germany. Germans are 100 times more likely to call the police or they will go completely crazy and hunt you down until you start crying. Worst of all, you can actually get a ticket for the offense. A couple hundred Euros. So yeah, take it easy.

During the rehearsals I try to encourage Daren to get into the habit of keeping time through the big holes in the music. I tell him that Danny has been known to come out of a breakdown into a completely different song. Not exactly true, but hey, why let the truth get in the way of a good scare tactic? He seems to get it and this technique provides a nice musical walker-like crutch for all of us.

The next day it's back to musical holes big enough to drive 18 wheelers through followed by blank stares and train wreck downbeats. That's rock and roll. A foil is emerging in the form of a Texan drummer. Daren? Samantha? Bewitched. Maybe the dude's a devil worshipper? Why is there drool all over the snare? So many questions.....

We break for Turkish food both days. Turkish coffee and Baklava. As we leave, through the glass, I see Danny exchanging words and handing one of the curvier servers his business card. Weird. How did he fuck up that hip anyway? Dude couldn't dance when he was drunk. Too many golf courses in the desert. Where'd they steal all the water to keep `em from drying up?

Flip me off? Go ahead, I might just turn your ass in.