The most surreal moment requires a mention. It took place in the small town of Duderstadt. We were at a place just inside the very real, hard city walls. We couldn't help imagine being forced to climb them, with the "villagers" torching and pitchforking us from below. The place was called Das Backsteinhaus and to this day, I have no idea how we ended up there.
It was probably the only place of its kind in the town, which has about 20 000 inhabitants. Das Backsteinhaus was a Döner kebab joint, a sports bar, a stage, an internet café and a billiards place, all under the same roof. And there were we, among middle-aged men, some of which definitely had lederhosen. I drank a Diesel (half coke, half beer) and contemplated the situation.
We were there to entertain and we would definitely fail, at least partially. There was no way we could play things they liked. But we would give it a decent try, I thought, and constructed a new motto to be used in these situations, were they to come again: These are our principles. If you don't like them, we have others.
If nothing else, we should entertain the few people who'd come from Hamburg and Dresden to watch the spectacle.
We had been told to split our set into three half-hour sets, which is for us, rather impossible. We bent the rules a bit, and save all our gunpowder (Swedish expression) for the last set. As a result, the first two sets went without anyone really noticing.
Then, we played "the other" stuff, which was well, mostly the same, but we had a few aces up our sleeves. I thought okay, well, if I'm going to make an ass of myself, I might as well do it in Duderstadt. So when we played the Kinks' "All of my friends were there", I turned to the part of the pub were the old people sat and did everything in my power to act out the song. And I have honestly no idea what was going through their heads at that point. They probably thought it was just weird, which is was, for everybody involved.
But still, after hard versions of "Draw in the reins" and "Smell of an artist", together with the only real rock 'n roll song we've ever played, "Hound Dog", I think we had satisfied parts of the crowd. At least satisfied as in when you can solve no more salt or sugar in a mug of water.
So that was it. We did a good job, I think. Couldn't have done it better there and then. And I got my confirmation:
There was an older man, maybe 70, before me in the toilet, finishing his business. When he was done, he saw me and walked past me. And just as I was doing MY business, I heard from behind: "Ihr wart gut, ihr wart klasse!". I was smiling all the way back to Finland.
written by Mattias