The Whiskey Daredevils just returned from a road trip in Europe. Frontman Greg Miller fills us in on what happened.
Leo is snoring very loudly in an animalistic wheeze five feet to my right. I’m not sure if I should whack him with a pillow or call for immediate medical attention. This nicely compliments the bass roar of Martin’s snoring, about 15 feet down the hall, collapsed on a mattress like a corpse. It’s 830 am, and I guess I’m up now.
Gary is sleeping face down on a mattress like he had been executed mob style, and they left his body like some kind of warning. He doesn’t appear to be breathing, but I can’t really get involved in that right now. I scurry off to the shower and leave him to his fate.
When I return, Gary has risen like Lazurus. He is extremely disheveled and continually repeats “Eins, zwie, prost!”. In the frivolity of last night, the Germans taught him this as some sort of toast that was really hilarious at 4a.m. I guess it got even funnier when they ran out of beer and got into the plum moonshine. There are probably a lot of things that get real funny when you bust out plum moonshine.
Gary isn’t so much hungover right now, as still drunk. Well, O.K., he’s not “drunk”. He’s still shitfaced. It’s 1030 am, and he is tearing into breakfast rolls and cheeses like a man that has been adrift at sea for 10 days. As he chews the rolls open mouthed, he repeats his mantra “Eins, zwie,, Prost!”. He’s going to have a great day today, or a really long nap.
We head out and once again admire what is known all over Germany as “The Park Job”. It’s a quick ride to Stuttgart, and Christoph needs to get there to meet his family for his youngest daughter’s hearing test. Not that this medical visit wouldn’t be extremely entertaining, but I choose to get dropped off at the Porsche Museum with Leo in tow. The museum is very sleek, like you would expect a Porsche museum to be, and is located right next to the Porsche manufacturing plant. It’s a totally solid decision on our part, as Leo and I kill two hours walking around the museum. The highlights for me are when Leo points to cars saying how much “it was just like his Porsche”. (Leo bought an old Porsche 914 in 1989. It had to be towed to his house. He never got it running, and it didn’t appear he really even tried. He did say he “partied” in the broken down car while it sat in his driveway. Shortly after this purchase of the broken down car, he sold it to a “hillbilly”. This “hillbilly” made a few quick adjustments to the car while in Leo’s driveway and drove it away out of Leo’s life forever. Hence, the time of Leo P. Love, Porsche Owner came to an end.)
We meet the rest of the crew at 5pm at the Landespavillion, site of a legendary Cowslinger show. We decide to check into the hotel, but somehow get lost as the first generation GPS unit we have sends us in a circle around the city twice. Oh yeah, and it’s rush hour. The bottom line is we get to our hotel with exactly enough time to drop off our bags, and climb directly back into the van to drive back into the city for soundcheck. The vision I had of reclining in my hotel bed with a crisp German pils has been replaced with sitting once again on my bench seat stuck in traffic. We really bungled this…
Despite the fact that it is about 60 degrees outside, the interior of Club 1210 is about 85 degrees. It’s empty and the air hangs in the room like an unwanted relative. We feel listless as we soundcheck, and wait for the club to fill up on a Tuesday night. My gastro intestinal crisis continues as I shit in the club 4 separate times in 17 minutes. We have plenty of friends in the area. Soon enough Johan, Christoph’s sister, Robin and his wife, and other luminaries arrive. We have no support band tonight, so we get to it around 10:15.
The first part of the set isn’t very good, but we redeem ourselves in the second part of the set. I notice a group of rowdy girls up front taking pictures of us, themselves, and God knows what as we really sweat our asses off up on the small stage. In this kind of oppressive heat, it can be tough to deliver the goods. There is always that voice in the back of your head saying, “Take it easy. Why move around? It would be more comfortable to coast here.” But then you realize that these people came out on a Tuesday night to hear you play the stupid songs you made up on your couch, and you owe them the best you can deliver.
The very enthusiastic girls turn out be members of the Stuttgart Roller Girls, and become increasingly insistent we pose for pictures with them. They are out on a girls night, and are throwing back shots and beers like Vikings. A short blonde fireplug asks me about 9 times to take a picture with her while I kiss her cheek. I try to vary the pose, but I’m not really sure why picture #3 is any different than picture #8. “My boyfriend Rutilo LOVES you guys!” This attention has not gone unnoticed by the tough athletic lesbian of the group, who steps in to keep “her girl” focused on the ladies. This woman is a world class heptathelete and is extremely serious about fitness. “Feel my abs. They are rock hard.”, she says in a thick German accent. (They were.)
Sensing she is getting uptight about the prospect of losing her girl to the singer of the rock band, I say to her “Ah…I’m not really a third wheel here.”
“It’s not like that.”, she says.
“Um, it sure seems like that…”
Leo has now lasered in on the girls that swirl around us buying shots and beers for all. Which one will enjoy his attention? The Puerto Rican ex-Army brat? No…not her. The tough lesbian and her girl? Nope. The loud crazy Spanish girl! Yes! When Leo witnesses two of the girls playing some game where they “marry” each other, he moves in on the Spanish girl to get “married”. After the ceremony, he creepily leers “aren’t you going to kiss your husband?”. She cackles and pushes him away, but Leo’s grip is strong. As the Puerto Rican girl remarked, “He is strong like a mentally sick Uncle.”
Leo gets his harmless kiss, and Christoph sits back observing all. “Mr. Jagger…Perhaps we should tell Leo he can have the single room at the hotel?”. The one thing Christoph likes better than his Swabian homeland is seeing guys make bad decisions while drinking. I think there is nothing he would like better than for us to uncomfortably drive the Spanish girl home tomorrow morning while looking forward to extracting every cringe worthy detail of the night after dropping her off.
We start to load out as the party begins to lose steam. As Leo hauls his drums outside to the van, the group of Rollergirls heads out the door for some late night food. As I push Ken’s refrigerator sized base cabinet to the van, some kind of plan is hatched with Leo and the girls to continue the party. Three of them walk up to me and say, “Come with us.”.
“Nah…you got the right guy.”
Leo heads out into the night with the girls to “party”. We stop for currywurst at a late night stand, and I eat a sloppy plate standing next to a banged up prostitute in knee high white boots. I have once again proven I am not very “rock and roll” as I had back to go to sleep.