And what a time we had. I — no — we all were amazed by the beautiful surroundings, what with all those magnificent mountains sticking out of the ground all over the place. There was a downside though: Austrians.
Not all of them of course. Friday was an unbelievable rock and roll orgy of legendary proportions. And I’m not upset anymore that someone lifted three of my sticks — coincidentally being the only ones with matching pairs in my stick bag. I’ve succeeded in convincing myself that the culprit wasn’t that mincing weirdo but rather one of the multiple pretty gals I hung out with and didn’t understand a word of that night. They must have had their reasons, and trying to imagine exactly what they are has turned out to be an enjoyable pastime during those many idle moments while on the road.
The following two nights were a letdown thereafter. We’d expected to play in two “biker bars” but it turn out to be more like Bennigan’s with motorcycle crap on the walls. And frankly, the cultural backwardness on those two dates was appalling. A complete disinterest in live music, or for that matter, any real music. Can you believe we heard “Rock Me Amadeus” at least once on the radio every damn day? One guy asked me if Dresden was in Poland. And what’s with all the hair gel? And how many “fauxhawks”? 6 point 7 on the D-bag scale. Another oddity, although not really a downside, was that many Austrians seemed to take pride in being uncomprehensible to Germans. Austrian is also by no means a sexy sounding dialect. That’s saying a lot, coming from someone who has lived over a decade amongst Saxons, whose dialect–let’s be honest–sounds downright retarded.
I’m being too negative because I’ve just gotten home and I’m completely exhausted. I can’t neglect that even in those few bleak moments we encountered numerous allies, and I’d be more than willing to go again to rock out and further explore them majestic mountains and valleys, if you get my drift.