CHAPTER THREE - Das Travelodge der Schinken

Joe and I get to Bremen, Germany around 2:30 PM in dire need of a shower - it's 5:30 AM Los Angeles time after 13 airplane hours! But the spritely Manu Melchart, who works for the promoter and speaks about 5 languages, politely picks us up without commenting about our goatishness in any of them! It's a hazy, midsummer afternoon and we head droopily for the hotel, passing posters for our Delmenhorst concert with Herbie Hancock on town boards...or are we hallucinating?

Just before soundcheck, I decide get me some cash-money. The Hotel Zur Post is conveniently located just off the Bahnhofplatz (train station plaza), which aside from the marketplaces nearer to the churches is probably the busiest area of town (generally true in Germany). Inside the Hauptbahnhof there's a GeldAutomat (ATM). If you get cash from foreign ATM's instead of exchanging at the airport you get the best rate and there is no exchange fee (Yup - it's $2.50 at the 7-Eleven around the corner from home but FREE in Europe). This is great. If you know your password. But there are no letters on the ATM keyboard here, so this big doofus is completely stumped. I have a rather LONG password that's a pass-word - I spell it out when I enter it, naturally not paying attention to the numbers... I try to figure out what numbers the letters would correspond to (nosleepnosleepnosleep). Feeling like EIN GROSSE IDIOT, I humbly change my $10 at a nearby bank... Hey - what's the German word for "DOH!"?

Off to the venue...Richard makes it in just before soundcheck (yow, that must've hurt!) at the Stadthalle where the Beck's Brewery 125th Anniversary Gala is to be held. We watch in awe as the cyberflexible Helena Wyder performs a Cirque du Soleil-esque rope climbing/twirling/spinning thing (she's the act before us on the program for this private corporate gathering) and the irrepressible Joe Bob charms a set of Beck's beer glasses out of Manu. After soundcheck, Joe beelines for bratwurst beside the bahnhof but Richard, Matthew and I divebomb La Dolce Vita, a wonderful Italian restaurant where we suck up lots of garlic while the staff watches Germany (not yet eliminated!) in the World Cup and Matthew's wineglass inexplicably implodes in his hand (I'm not making this up!).

I bolt awake at 4:00am, undoubtedly following in the footsteps of many people who've lost 9 hours in life (luckily I have traveling to explain this). Then it's TV time. Charlie's Angels dubbed in German! NBC-Europe's got an artist guy who paints full pieces on toilet seats all over Holland! Weird people in Prague! Matthew, apparently struck with the same biological need to be awake one floor below me, spends his time in a much more productive way: he rises for an exhilarating walk through the old town at dawn. Hey - what's the German word for "Like that's gonna happen?"

Around 9am, the customarily huge German breakfast called Fruhstuck is no disappointment at the Zur Post. Dining overlooking the Bahnhofplatz, I think, "How nice. People awake. Must behave like awake. Must remove fork from cheek." I greet Richard on my way out. "Vie gehts?" (German for "how are you?") to which he replies, sturdily after his enviable night of un-jet-lagged sleep, "No."

We explore the town individually, fighting off sleep...the cobbled marketplace, the tall, beautiful stone churches (from the 1600's), the refreshingly green parks, the fact that the dollar is kicking the Deutsch Mark's ass... Lunch at the venue is followed by a much-delayed tech rehearsal, and then it's a brisk walk back to get clothes and dinner.

Around 9:15pm it's still light out (those wacky northern latitudes!) and we walk back to the venue, following Richard's "I know there's a shortcut" hunch (note to self: question authority). It turns out the event is running WAY late. Sir Peter Ustinov (apparently ein huge big deal in Deutschland) opened the show with NUMEROUS amusing Beck's-peppered anecdotes and insisted on going on when scheduled despite delays with the catering (for 800+ Beck's European mucky-mucks). The serving was delayed as was the show. We do 4 songs (cut from 7) for a rather ...confused albeit polite crowd. Hey - what's the German word for "Crickets!"

Driven home by "didn't-see-that-red-light" Roman, Richard recounts his Bobs-Autobahn tale-o-terror:

The Bobs once did a week of appearances on Italian TV "RAI". After our stay in Rome we had a day off and then a concert in Milan. Our Promoter, Ezio, had driven down from Milan in his new Subaru Turbo-Wagon and volunteered to transport us back. Gunnar was not feeling well (having contracted a severe case of the Linguini Limbo) and opted out of the ride preferring to catch a train. This is one of the many evidences of Gunnar's superior judgement.

As we installed ourselves in Ezio's car (myself riding shotgun, Janie, Matthew, and Joe wedged in the back seat) complaints about cramped quarters were heard all around. Ezio was calmly putting on his sunglasses and driving gloves. He turned and said "It's OK, I don't think it will be a long ride.....(But it's like 600 Kilometers) You must excuse me, I can't talk anymore as I must devote my attention to driving."

This conscientiousness was reassuring in the light of our week's experience with the Italian standard of roadway courtesy. (Even a Boston driver would be unprepared for Roman traffic) but our comfort faded as soon as we hit the autobahn (or whatever it's called in Italy) With a demonic (but I must say stylish) stare Ezio accelerated to 210 Kmh (132 mph) and kept the speed resolutely there as Bologna, Florence, and all those renaissance cities zipped by in a blur.

It was an e ticket ride, though most amazing were the occasional truck and German tour bus who managed to pass us. Ezio would take advantage of these events to mutter under his breath "German Pigs" at which point we would all exhale and pray to be on the relative safety of the autobahn.... 

Saturday morning we do a live broadcast for Radio Bremen while sipping cafe au lait at a charming coffeehouse above an arthouse theatre. We sing "Leisure Suit" without explaining it beforehand to the (again) somewhat confused audience. More town wanderings in the afternoon, the siren call of STARBUCKS having been replaced by that of the STADTBACKERAI (bakery) near the Zur Post.

That evening we van it to Delmenhorst, opening for Herbie Hancock. Here the stage is built yearly in the middle of a suburban industrial complex and about 1700 people attend the one big summer concert each year. It's kinda cool! At soundcheck we bond with Hancock's percussionist, Bill Summers, a True Chong of Immense Coolness. An alumni of UC-Berkeley, Summers immediately clicks with Richard and ends up helping us out of a messy technical problem by loaning us a mike for our set.

Many friends are at this show including Joe's pals Christof, Simon and Uta, touring singers Linda Tillary and her group, and my pal Christoph Bull. An awesome keyboardist from Los Angeles (and fellow Berklee alum), Christoph gets top honors for traveling 5 hours on a train from Mannheim (where he was visiting his family) to catch the show!!!! (That's LA for ya - we can't seem to hook up in Hollyweird but somehow in Europe it works out!).

We rock the house! Or rather, the rain-drenched, enthusiastic, precipitationally deluged but mightily resilient huge crowd, bringing them to their feet with "Purple Haze." It was wild, wet and woolly! Later, Hancock and The Headhunters soothe the soaked souls with unprecedentedly cool funk.

Highlights of the Home Stretch: At Ow o'clock a.m., the airport-bound taxi driver enthusiastically yells, "Streets of San Francisco!" upon learning we are from California...Matthew and I discuss what to do when you encounter a bear... During a three-hour layover at Amsterdam's Schipol Airport, Joe mercilessly mocks my stuffed moose, Marty - while simultaneously stroking the model (read:toy) motorcycle he purchased in Bremen...A woman approaches us and asks a question in some Slavic language. Joe quickly responds, "Um...no speak....uh...whatever you're doin' there," flashing the goofiest smile I've seen him make as I crawl under the plastic seat.

AUF WIEDERSEHN, EUROPE

 Early Vocal Quartet