DENIZ TEK'S 3 ASSASSINS TOUR DIARY PART TWO
5/1
MEDIEVAL MEANDERINGS UNDER A PINK DAWN SKY
Arrive at the Italian border just before dawn. There's a pink sky over Genova.
We are in that strange state when you are beyond exhaustion and enter a sleep
deprived existence, running on a cocktail of endorphins, adrenaline, and cortisol.
Things seem unreal now. We pass vast marble quarries. Coffee, more driving.
More marble mines. Assisi, up there on the hill north of the road, where they
wouldn't allow Kent Steedman and me into the monastery a few summers ago because
we were wearing shorts in 40 degree Celsius heat.
We hit Foligno.
Lunch is Tartuffo pasta, chicken Grand Marnier and white wine Greco di Tufo.
Stefano's our tour guide.
Barolo...Brunello di Montalcino...Morello DI Scansano wine store. We browse
enviously among the bottles that we cannot afford to buy. We take care of
the other duty besides laundry that is difficult yet essential on the road
... we call home.
I get a couple of hours sleep but I'm still deprived. Just enough to lose
the high, but keep the pain.
Can't remember much about this day. Gig at a railway workers union hall. May
Day dance, old people...can we have as much fun when we are 70? The gig: debacle
of sound checks, acoustic bands, got there too early, free drinks...always
our downfall.
Pizza is delivered
backstage. The worst pizza here beats the best pizza anywhere else.
The gig...opened up and bled. High anger factor. Scott breaks three strings.
"Blood From A Stone" is played stupidly fast. But we are good troupers.
We swallow our pride, finish the show and sign autographs.
I gave a T shirt to Uri, the son of one of the promoters. The promoters Flavio
and Otello are good Italian citizens all. We head back to our hostel, sleeping
four bunks to a room. Pippo takes a blanket and sleeps outside on the stone
floor to escape Scott's snoring.
Beautiful girls,
incredible low prices here....Romano notes that these girls all look like
pictures in medieval paintings. Not surprising when you consider where we
are.
Stefano Constantini,
guitar slinger.
5/2
NEIL ARMSTRONG EXPOSED AS A FAKE AS THE HAND OF LAW COMES DOWN
Leave town at 1030. Major road problems just north of Napoli. Just a few kilometres
ahead of us there is a collision involving petrol tankers which explode, destroying
an overhead bridge which falls, completely wrecking the autostrada in a burning
mess. This causes a few deaths and several casualties who have to be evacuated
from the inferno by helicopter. Photos of this in the newspaper the next day
show a scene of destruction comparable to that of a successful bombing attack.
There's a 1.5 hour standstill, then a 150km detour - and then we take the
wrong road. Meanwhile, discussion focuses on popular left/hippie version of
recent world history. Scott enlightens us about the CIA involvement with Kennedy
assassination, also we learn that Nixon didn't end the Vietnam war. Discussion
continues about the virtues of the Green Party (Scott) versus the Libertarian
Party (Deniz), but Scott laments that Ralph Nader took votes from Gore. Scott
asks Romano about the CIA involvement in failure of the communists to gain
control over Italy just after WW2.
Scott also knows a lot about medicine, offering herbal based cures for many
illnesses. We talk on into the evening. The highway winds its way up through
the mountains. It's getting too rough in this van to write.
More about the CIA...we wonder how they 1) concealed or possibly 2) invented
the flying saucers, and also how they might have staged the 1969 moon landing
in an anti-Soviet disinformation campaign. This conversation was interesting.
It made me wish Mark Sisto were here. A very well informed conspiracy buff,
he would have had some vital additional information.
This drive seems endless. Lots of roadwork, dozens of kilometres where half
the autostrada is blocked. Lots of trucks. My back hurts from an old ruptured
disc. I have to get out and stretch. The sun shines, but we have no time to
bask. Finally after an eternity of driving we pass Cosenza, and another 10
kms brings us to our exit. We head east up the mountain, to the town of Rogliere,
and as we pass though the town square we are waved over by a two Polizei standing
next to a patrol car.
Oh, shit.
If they search us this is gonna at the very least cause hours of delay...and
I don't even want to imagine the worst case, who knows what Pippo is carrying?
And we are already way late! What happens next is that the stern face of the
cop breaks into a grin. In a flurry of machine gun speed Italian, we are told
to follow. They are our escort, arranged by the mayor, who happens to be a
big Birdman fan, into the town of Marzi...now I've seen everything. The 3
Assassins especially are amazed and amused. They simply cannot believe this.
We are directed backstage at the town park amphitheater, where we unload,
set up and soundcheck. The big EV PA seems more than adequate. We go back
to the albergo which is a converted farm..."agritourisme" as they
call it....named, strangely, La Cisterne...rooms are clean, tastefully austere
without being spartan, beautiful! We shower and go downstairs to the dining
room and have a glass of wine and panini with prosciutto and pomodori secchi
...sundried tomatoes in oil ... and champignons. We are going to start at
11 pm. We get back to the gig at 1105. Everything is a go.
Romano: "She was
a nice girl"
Romano kicks off the opening riff of “Future Now.” The drum roll
brings the rest of us in, and on my side of the stage, nothing happens. I
have no sound. At the same moment I note the alarming presence of a smoke
machine six inches away from and pointing straight at my effects chain: a
Boss tuner, a Tech-21 gain pedal, a Boss PN-2 tremelo pan, and a Crybaby wah.
Not sure of the cause of the problem, I have to check everything, so I disassemble
and check all the leads, change 9V batteries in all the pedals, check the
guitar jack port. Can't isolate the problem. Things seem to work intermittently,
and none of it makes sense.
My frustration
grows as the band powers through the first three Scott Morgan songs without
me.
This is not really
a problem since Scott and Stefano are quite capable of rocking the house guitar
wise. Stefano is a powerhouse player with incredible sustained energy and
occasional blasts of jaw dropping brilliance. When combined with his brothers
in arms Romano and Pippo, anything can happen. Anyone who has seen A10 knows
this. When DTG toured with A10 in 1995 it was a challenge every single night
to match their all-out frontal attack. And Scott Morgan can outplay most if
not all the lead players he has worked with over the years. He just doesn't
show off.
Suddenly everything is on again, and I realize the problem was most likely
caused by the smoke machine (which I hate), causing condensation in the pedals
and shorting them out. I gradually work off my anger as I get warmed up, and
the rest of the gig goes pretty well except for a too fast, over the edge
“Blood” and a problem with the bass drum being ineffectively anchored
and sliding forward off the edge of the drum riser, severing the mike connection
in the process.
A full moon shines
down on the little town gathering, it's peaceful existence in this valley
tucked away in the mountains of Calabria joyfully shaken for this night.
After we finish, the good people of Marzi gather around the stage and chat
with us as we pack up. I am getting the feeling they have never had an authentic
rock and roll gig in their town before. They are ecstatic, warm, friendly,
and they leave us with a great feeling.
After a show they and we will remember for a long time, the mayor Giuseppe,
the Chief of Police, the local promoter who is a radio guy, and his friends
will treat us to a meal we will never forget: local Calabrian red wine pasta
1: penne with tomatos and garlic pasta 2: penne with bacon and hot chilies
(Thai hot, only in Calabria) roast lamb chops with fresh sage (sublime) insalate
fresh local fruit espresso grappa at 4am after many photos and hugs with the
owner Frank who (looks like a Don), his wife (a real southern Italian mama)
who cooks, the mayor, his friends (local DJ, a farmer, record store man, and
others) and the ever present, loyal, R&R soldier Roberto Calabro, we retire
to our chambers upstairs for rest. I sleep six much-needed hours in total
comfort and without dreams.
Ad hoc meeting of Marzi
City Council and Music Appreciation Society. "More grappa?"
5/3
AMEN TO BRAZIL
Wake up 10am, run (scared by Killer Dogs), find a beautiful tree-flanked rail
line to run along. It is a beautiful morning, with clear bright sunshine.
My run takes me past walls of political posters for the upcoming elections.
It is weird for me to see huge Communist and Fascist posters in the street.
In America, our two major parties are so close in comparison, as to be indistinguishable.
More workout, pushups, sit-ups. My daily 50. Shower. Breakfast.
We take the Ionian way... cut across the mountains to the coast. This is the
most remote area. Like northeastern Utah . Deep valleys, a dry desert like
1000 foot vertical walled canyon. No tourists. I didn't know Italy had this
kind of country. The trip was worth it just to see this stuff.
Van conversation of the day, discussion about what animals have milk (mammals
finally get the nod) and having achieved consensus on that, which mammals
milk can be drunk. The whole range was considered from tigers down to rodents,
and aquatic mammals were not spared close scrutiny in this regard. This takes
up the better part of an hour. We stop for espresso and beer at a tiny village
on the shimmering blue Ionian Sea, where the southern horizon faded into glowing
haze. Scott and I decide to write two songs: "Ionian Sun" and "Calabrian
Moon" We write them in the van. We used some of the van time wisely to
trade lyrics to Morgan and Tek songs, since we might want to cover the others
in our respective solo groups someday.
Drive past Bari, up past Termoli, hit thunderstorms, then into Pescara. It's
raining steadily. We hang out in a little bar waiting to find out where to
go. The Gig at Kabala. Tiny jazz club. Small pizza and beer at sound check.
Sound restrictions resulted in us having to use restraint and actually the
best sound of the tour. Shoe Paolo and his brother are here. The Loose guys
are dancing. The Loose drummer is drunk again. It's not a problem.
The band and sound are together. Unlike the rest of the crowd, which was somewhat
reserved, at the back of the room are three beautiful well figured black ladies
up dancing. They got more and more into it and became the focus of our playing
as the dancing became more wild. Later we found out they were from Brazil.
The Brazilian Amen Corner.
After the show, Romano and I are sitting at the bar, drinking Moscato. I'm
not usually into sweet after dinner drinks but this was different. Subtle
fruit but not at all cloying or overly wet. Smooth, in a way like a good Western
Australian unwooded Chardonnay.
In Pescara we are staying at a miserable albergo....smells like urine. If
I wasn't so tired it would be impossible to sleep here. Next morning I've
got to get some fresh air. Go out for coffee down the street with Romano and
Scott. On the way back there is a nice girl who catches Romano's eye as she
enters a travel agency. I go out for a long run on the beach, end up getting
lost after using a church tower as landmark, to find out there are several
just like it. An hour later find the Albergo after backtracking to the sea,
get our stuff, and get ready to go.
Romano checks Deniz' chords for evidence of conspiracy.
5/4
FINITO: NEIL ARMSTRONG'S BOOTS AND PLAYING FOR THE ANARCHISTS
We go to the shoe store and Paolo sells me some shoes. They look like astronaut
boots.
The girls on the street are out in force. Romano admires them openly. Most
walk on with an imperious shake of the head, pretend not to notice, but occasionally
we see a smile. We go with Paolo and his brother to lunch at "Trieste",
a cafe with tables on the beach. Capers, olives, pizza Margherita slices,
champagne. Life on the road is so tough!
We go back to the club for the gear. Maneuvering the van from the narrow street
between randomly parked vehicles into the tiny alley at a bad angle takes
an hour. Load out. Drive to Rome. Villagio Globale...a huge Communist and
so-called Anarchist squat built into an abandoned Army barracks right near
the center of Rome by the river Tiber.
I've played here
many times by now and know the drill. As per usual, sound check among many
odd people hanging about. While changing strings people shamble up, say things
in strange tongues, shamble away when they find out I have no dope, no cigarette.
Many Africans, mideasterners, displaced Rastafarian enthusiasts of all types.
Communist food is offered: small pasta, chicken, cheap red, served in plastic.
Back to Pippo’s flat on Via Donna Olympia just one block from the vast
palace grounds, now a park. The pad is beyond a hippie hangout...black lights,
great books everywhere. Keyboards. TVs. Hanging sharks in aerial display with
UFOs. It is wonderful like déjà vu within a dream to see this
kind of thing again after three decades. Mold covers all. No food. We go back
to the gig. Which is loose. We play well but the sound is difficult and it's
hard to hear the vocals onstage. We do the usual two encores, then we're done.
Could be better but we rocked. Somehow we manage to break through the barriers
and get into The Zone, even if only for a song or two, each night.
It has been a dream fulfilled for me, to play with Scott, living legend of
Motown green-eyed rock and soul, and the Three Assassins, Romano, Pippo and
Stefano, the battle hardened vets of A10. Beyond all the great music, these
are free spirited guys who I am proud to know and have as friends.
The dressing "area" (not a room but a curtained-off corner next
to stage right) immediately fills up and things disappear - including the
professionally recorded DAT tape done by Roberto Hanrahan, son of an expatriate
Australian author who lives in a villa outside of Rome. I'm told later that
the DAT was ripped right out of the machine.
I'm getting sick,
and have a restless night among mold and cat urine which is making me sneeze
and cough. This tour is over.
We sit in Pippo's flat and work up the figures to see how much money we are
out of pocket for this lovely vacation. It's raining again, and it is certain
the gig clothing will not be dry before I see the high plains and mountains
of Montana out of the airplane window.
The "3 Assassins" album is available by mail order from Career.
