ILL in Amsterdam.

It’s now February 14, Valentine’s day, and we have just left Amsterdam for Klon Germany. I neglected to write yesterday on accounts of a wicked flu I picked up somewhere between Manchester England and Brussels. Let me just say that to be sick on tour is to be completely and totally miserable. I woke up on the 13th with a fever, body aches, and a wicked case of the loose lung which rendered me completely useless for the entire day.

The team was extremely supportive the entire day however, allowing me to take leave from load-in duties and being all-in-all just completely sweet. It’s hard though, because I was raised to think that if you’re not helping when others are working then you’re doing something wrong. Brussels had treated us extremely well, because the venue had paid for our stay in a super nice hotel, complete with complimentary breakfast, free wireless, and unbelievable water pressure in the showers. I actually thought of that Seinfeld episode when Kramer buys the ultra high water pressure shower head off the black market and gets blown back upon trying it out. Even in spite of the good hospitality, I woke up the next day with a case of the DEATH. I laid out in the back of the van for most of the trip to Amsterdam, saying nothing outside of my periodic wheezing and sniffling. All I could think to myself during the trip was, “and we have a show to play tonight? AND tomorrow night? SERIOUSLY?” Shara had a radio interview/performance at a Dutch radio station at around 2:30, but I stayed in the van to lick my wounds as rain began to fall outside. The whole scene was a bit depressing, and even a little pathetic on my part.

We arrived at Paradiso at around 3:30, and were welcomed by a team of cheerful stage hands, all of them smiling and speaking sweet dutch-accented English. I think Dutch as a language is one of the strangest sounds my ears have ever heard. It sounds like someone trying to make fun of both English and German at the same time. Dutch also makes me think of the Swedish chef from the muppet babies – a truly delightful association. Team Diamond wouldn’t allow me to do any of the heavy lifting for the load-in, which is lucky for me because my muscles felt like they had taken the day off in a big way. It was hard for me to even stand up for most of the day. To combat my unwanted road-induced illness, I drank about 5 bottles of water, a whole liter bottle of orange juice, and three or four glasses of tea in the afternoon. Needless to say, I peed like a racehorse about once every hour for the entire day, a fact which made me somewhat self-conscious during our three-plus commute from Brussels.

During sound check, I sat on the side of the stage with my head hung low and my eyes barely staying open. What a sad scene I must have made. I’m not usually one to get headaches when I’m ill, but my head throbbed constantly all day. After our check, Brian escorted me to the pharmacy to pick up some medicine, only to find that the wall with the cold and flu remedies was a a labyrinth of Dutch. I had to ask the lady behind the counter for a recommendation. She pointed to a specialty ibuprofen and a thera-flu type powder thing to be used in hot water. Afterwards Brian and I meandered for a bit and made a stop in one of Amsterdam’s many fine coffee shops. I sadly behaved myself for fear of exacerbating my malady as Brian smoked half a doobie of some chronicles. Our set was an early one at Paradiso, starting at around 8pm in the upstairs room. The funny thing on this evening was that Wolf Mother, one of the “it” bands in the world right now, was playing the main stage beginning around 10pm. Our show was extremely well attended, packed all the way to the back, and the crowd was the best one we’d had yet. We even managed to sell about 80 cds and a good bit of merchandise. The show itself went very well, and I guess the adrenaline kicked in for me somewhere along the way because I felt just fine during the whole performance. Shara had told me to take it easy and not strain myself too much, but that’s hard to do when you’re playing music that genuinely moves you. The crowd ate up every song, whooping and hollering and begging for more after each tune. And sure enough, by the end of the set I was soaked with sweat. As we exited the stage, we gave our self-congratulations and wished Shara luck on her encore. She did that Prince tune, “why don’t you call me anymore?” and came backstage again. But the crowd still wanted more. They were not yet satiated, and had not had their fill. So she went out again and did another encore, this time doing one of the album tunes, “the good and the bad guy.” Again she exited the stage and came backstage where we again applauded her. But again, the crowd wanted more! They love them some Shara Worden in Amsterdam. So, she did one last encore before we had to break down the stage and retire to watch Wolf Mother.

The Wolf Mother crowd was outrageous, reminding me of the year 1976 as depicted in the classic film “Dazed and Confused.” Long hair, denim jackets, handle bar moustaches were abound, not to mention the few conspicuously high-on-mushrooms members of the audience. This was quite the scene. I really dug the show, even though it was the loudest music I’ve ever heard in my life, and there was a gargantuan Dutchman of about 6’5’’ in front of me for most of the time. Apparently “down in front!” is a phrase not often heard in Amsterdam. Luckily, we got to store most of our gear in the Paradiso so that we could do our load-out the next day. Shara, Brian, James and I left the venue to find a late dinner, and we settled on a little Thai place called “Mai Thai.”

After dinner, we met Nuno in front of the venue and headed to our hotel, only about three blocks from the venue. The hotel was stupidly called “Hotel Art Gallery,” and we were greeted wearily by the grumpy night reception guy. This place provided the cherry on top of an impossible day for me. Our rooms were on the 4th floor, and because there were no elevators, we caravanned up the 3-foot wide staircases laughing at the absurdity of the situation. We huffed and puffed, dragging our luggage behind us all the way. As I got to the fourth floor, I looked back to see James holding a broken suitcase wheel….. “dude, is this yours?” Yes, of course it was mine. This is the kind of day it had been for yours truly. After all of my troubles with whatever sickness I had picked up, my suitcase wheel had busted on the last volley of stairs in an impossibly narrow staircase in a cheesy hotel in Amsterdam at 1am. If there is a god, he/she/it was certainly having a laugh on this one. Tomorrow we will continue on to Germany.