Time to hang up the wig

  Wrexham, 20 September 2013 - the last official UK show

As those who came to our recent shows in Wrexham & Nijmegen will know (and any intrepid Facebook-ers out there may have already surmised), I am sad to announce that I will be leaving Hi-on Maiden.

I joined in November 2003 as third guitarist "Manic Gers", doing three-guitar shows at bigger venues and filling in for the then-incumbent Adrian Swift at some smaller shows. During a number of fairly dramatic line-up changes in 2007 I became the full-time "Dave Hurry", and ever since then I have been wigging it up on stage right.

Over the past year, it has slowly become apparent that I'm not enjoying the time on-stage as much as I used to, and after a long time trying to work out what I could do to fix that feeling I came to the (perhaps inevitable) conclusion that my heart simply wasn't in it any more. Being onstage and feeling like that was awful. I felt like I was letting everybody down: the rest of the band, the audience, and the music. As a result, I have decided that it is time to step away.

It was an incredibly hard decision to make, but I feel its the right decision for me and for the band. I have nothing but love for the rest of the band and everyone in it's orbit, including our dedicated followers and the many, many fine bands and venue staff we've met along the way.

I've had an absolute blast with this band, including some of the most memorable experiences of my life. I have toured Turkey, I have played in front of 2,000 people in Greece, and I have made some great friends all over the UK and Europe. I couldn't have done it without you, and my thanks go to every single one of you reading this.

Eddie reduces me to dust - Nijmegen, 5 October 2013

Two very emotional shows in Nijmegen this past weekend were officially my last, although today's developments mean that there are now two more Hi-on shows in the book for this year in Wakefield and Bolton. The lads have already been setting plans in motion to find a new Dave Hurry, but I have agreed to do those shows if things don't quite work out in time!

I couldn't be leaving the band in better hands, with the brilliant Simon now fully entrenched as bassist and support from an extremely enthusiastic new manager, I am confident that the band will go from strength to strength.

Sorry for the long rambling self-important post! I tried to keep it short (no, really, I did!) but it was really bloody hard to write!

All my love, and I'll see you in the crowd!!!

Dave "too sad to think of a nickname" Hurry III

P.S. Yes, I WILL finish the Rhodes diary. I promise!
P.P.S. If you fancy the job, get in touch with Adrian Swift! 
DH

RHODES ROCK 2013 - Part 2 (Or, "How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love The Cats")

Please forgive the delay in crafting this epistle. In the time since the last post I have lost a Grandmother, been on holiday, done a few gigs and been rather ill. Bear with me - I hope the following chapters are posted with a little more regularity. H x

Shortly after I turned around from taking that last photograph from Part 1, I noticed there was a bar behind us. Reasoning that I was on holiday, and that I hadn't had a drop of alcohol since leaving Yorkshire several hours and 2,500 miles ago, I decided I owed it to myself to try a drop of the local ale. The nice lady behind the bar sorted me out with a tin of lager, and we sat down to wait for our welcoming party.

In no time at all we were greeted by the Exclusively Lindos crew and guided on the extraordinarily short walk to our digs. We had been allocated three two-bed studio apartments just behind the Atmosphere Bar, and given my propensity for snoring the house down I managed to bag one to myself. See?! There's an upside to being an out-cast within your own band. Duggers made friends with the local stray cats, and I went straight for the shower.

St. Paul's Bay...

After acquainting ourselves with the accommodation (and after I'd noticed a few worrying drip-drip-drips from the ceiling in my bathroom), we took a wander down the hill into the labyrinthine streets of Lindos village. We did start wondering if we needed a ball of string (or indeed if the Minotaur might be just round the corner); 'dem streets ain't half wind-y! We had been told to head for Yanni's Bar which was to host the evening's entertainment, and believe me - when Hi-on Maiden are told to go to the bar, Hi-on Maiden go to the bar! The steins quickly appeared, as did a number of the crew. The now legendary Paul Collyer of Classic Rock Tours found us along with Les, a member of the security services who had lived happily in Lindos for many years. After a few hours of sitting and drinking, we decided it was probably time for dinner. Finding a nearby taverna ("Anything you don't like, the bill is on me!" spake the proprietor), we quaffed, quibbled and, er, ate dinner. During the meal I began to flag quite spectacularly, and after scooting along to Socrates Bar (another legendary bar where the night's gig had been moved on short notice, and hot DAMN was it packed to the rafters) I decided to call it a night.

 

The view from Atmosphere Bar.

The next morning, after giving the maid the shock of her life - or not, if she's used to seeing half-naked fat pale Englishmen lazing about under the air-con unit - I walked down into the village to find myself some breakfast and stock up on cool H2O. I was immediately struck by the number of crêpe cafes. Having always associated that particular batter-y treat with France (it's got a hat over the e, people!) I was rather perplexed. Even more perplexing was the fact that, all of a sudden, I really wanted to have one. And have one I did. 8 f***ing Euros later I went back to my room to swot up on a couple of songs set for the gig (yes, we did play a gig...eventually).

Eventually I saw some signs of life from the other rooms, and went out to say hello. We then found to our delight that the boys from Sack Sabbath had arrived, and were staying in the digs above ours. With the Sack boys already having some stories to tell (isn't that right, Bill?), we whiled away some time before heading back down to Yanni's for a quick drink or two. Some local friends of the festival had organised to lead a short introductory tour around the village, leaving from the Atmosphere bar. Being right by our digs, we headed back there to have yet another beer before joining the walk. We were first taken up to the main road which runs behind the village and overlooks it - one hell of a sight, truth be told. Leading us back down into the village, we were made aware of all the venues the festival took in, and advised to check out the "welcome party" that night. Heading back to Yanni's (my spell-checker is simply going to have to get used to that word - it crops up a lot), we imbibed further and chatted with some punters before deciding it was dinner time.

Ozzy took us Hi-on boys to Maria's, just round the corner from Yanni's, where the Sack boys had consumed a nice morsel or two the night before. We may have been a bit accidentally sweary, but the food was unbelievable. I discovered "spetsofai", and enjoyed watching our young drummer try (very badly) to hide the fact that he was smoking from his father, who clearly knew! Then it was time to meander down to the welcome party, which was already in full swing. We enjoyed our fellow bands, and purchased some mementos. I think we all already knew this was going to be a trip to remember. I eventually decided that I'd drunk all the lager I could stomach (Mr Hurry does not lager like), and headed off for me bed.

The beginning of a lager-y friendship

I awoke after an absolutely atrocious night's sleep, and, remembering our last encounter, popped a t-shirt over my pallid torso in order that I not make the maid feel any more uncomfortable than she needed to feel. I went out for yet another crepe, finding a slightly cheaper one this time, and bumped into Simon in Yanni's. Our four-stringer had been out until 9:30am - he's supposed to be the sensible one!!! We took a walk round to the amphitheatre which would be the setting for the Think Floyd gig the following week, and then on to St Paul's Bay where the chaps were hard at work building the stage for the two-night main event. Simon and I headed back to Atmosphere, and from there the story of the rest of that day is quite a short one. Essentially, I sat there drinking all day with the quite lovely, and quite ginger, "Bill's Bored" of Sack Sabbath fame.

Bill loves me

Joined at various points by various members of various bands, we whiled the day away drinking more and more and more and more. Ultimately joined by the rest of the Sack boys (and girls), we went for dinner at the nearby Agostini's. The food was unbelievable, the view was incredible - the restaurant sits right at the top of the village, overlooking the whole shebang. Tremendous. In short order we found ourselves back in Atmosphere, where I was joined for a short time by Mr Swift before slinking off for a kip.

Sack Dinner - Nose of Manic lights the way...

NEXT TIME ON RHODES ROCK!
Some people play some gigs! Then....shock, horror, so do HI-ON MAIDEN!

See you then. YAMAS!

Dave "if knowing when to stop drinking shit European lager makes me a lightweight, I'm winning" Hurry

RHODES ROCK 2013 - Part 1

I remember the 'phone call.

It was September 2012. It was HOT. I was standing outside the Red Lion in Gravesend, about to play keys with one of my other bands at their Really Red Roar Festival (in fact, I've just found a video of it here). I was supping on a pint of Guinness and discussing the various merits of Queensrÿche with Paul Naz when my mobile rang. It was Our Intrepid Leader.

"How d'yer fancy a week in Greece next June, chap?"

I've had worse propositions!

Some months and lots of rather panicked emails and phone calls later, I put my suncream in my rucksack and headed to Cambridge. This was the first leg of a 2,000 mile journey from my front door to the sunny village of Lindos. Lindos is a village (and archeological site of some interest) on the Greek island of Rhodes, and host to the 2-week classic rock festival we had been invited to take part in.

I was met at Cambridge by The Rhythm Section. I hopped in the car to join them for the drive up to Dugginson Heights, located in a rather nice suburb of north west Leeds. Spanko "toast and hot chocolate, please!" Harris and I sat in the front, with our guest drummer for the week sat in the back surrounded by far too many large suitcases. Cameron "Nicko McBrain Junior...Junior!" Spence and his father Spanko had each brought two enormous pieces of luggage, which caused me some concern given the size of his motor. We would have to get 5 band members (complete with at least 3 fat arses), all associated luggage, 3 guitars and Spanko's pedal board in the car for the drive to the airport in the morning! Putting that fear aside, I sat back to enjoy the drive and the company. The sheer enthusiasm we all had for music while sat in that car was quite exhilarating. We arrived safe and sound oop North around 7pm, and unloaded the car so that the boys could rethink their wardrobe strategy for the week!

Bruce "that rabbits dynamite!" Dugginson hadn't quite made it home from work yet, so we sat around with his lovely ladyfriend and awaited him. Just after he arrived, Spanko and I headed out to pick up Our Intrepid Leader at the train station, Our beloved Adrian "Grandalf" Swift has been without a car for a while, and is now a rail traveller like myself.

Back to a memory of another 'phone call. I called Duggers to make the final arrangements for kipping over at his the night before the flight, and distinctly remember him saying to me that we'd just have a light one, maybe some dinner and an early night. Immediately thereafter I called Swift to finalise arrangements with him and relayed Dugginson's message. To which Swift said, "Ah. That'll be us all getting clanged, then!"

He wasn't wrong. Via a pint in the Bull's Head, we all ended up in the New Inn. Then back home for a few bottles of Trooper ale and a pizza. I went to bed sometime between 3 and 4. The rest of them went to bed sometime between 4 and 5. We wanted to be at the airport, an hour away, by 6am. Oh dear!

My worries about car space, as many of my worries ultimately do, proved unfounded and all of us fit comfortably in (albeit with Spanko's bass across the laps of those in the backseat). The drive to Manchester Airport was free and easy. Manchester Airport itself was a clusterf**k. Queues and queues and queues and queues. We had arrived 2 hours prior to our flight as advised, yet we were still called out of the first queue to head for the priority check-in desk, delayed at security (although that was partly due to the two Northerners in the band forgetting to take their belts off before walking through the scanner), and found ourselves trudging to the gate as the final call was given. Not the stress-free start to the trip I was hoping for!

Thankfully, after that it was smooth all the way. The flight to Rhodes was uneventful but full, and didn't seem to bother our resident nervous flyer too much. Once landed, we collected our gear from the conveyor and, after checking it had all arrived intact (always a worry!) we headed for the airport transfer the organisers had laid on for us. "Rock and roll!" said the man who took my guitar and loaded it into the back of the bus. It was! The drive to the village was about an hour, and in no time at all we had arrived in Lindos. Which was, quite simply, stunning.

Arrival in Lindos I...

 II: In which Justin Lee Collins Swift ensures his 'equipment' has arrived safely.

Next time...

Cats! Crepes! Crap jokes! We might even play a gig!

Until then, YAMAS!

Dave Hurry

HI-ON NIJMEGEN - 18 & 19 May 2012

Whoops - took me a little while to get around to this one!

Picking up where we left off, the Tremendous Titans of Tribute (that's us) had put our heads down at my gaff for a few - and I mean a few - short hours of sleep before we were off to Holland-land.

Caption competition time...!

I've had a few a rude awakenings in my time. On one pre-university holiday with pals, a friend of mine took to waking us all up to with Edwin Starr's "War". But nothing quite prepared me to wake up to the sight of Bruce 'ran out of bog roll and had to waddle to the ladies' Dugginson towering over me [insert height joke!]. I can't remember what it was he wanted, but perhaps that's for the best. I got up to make the coffee and rally the troops to ensure we were out of the door on time. Which we were! We're always slightly amazed when we get to Dover and haven't missed our ferry!

The rest of the journey was relatively smooth. I have vague recollections of visiting the gents for a Sit Down with Eddie 'shopping for blood' The 'Ead in a neighbouring cubicle, singing as much of Rod Stewart's "Sailing" as we could remember. I recall Adrian 'what the F**K are you playing?' Swift discovering a new energy drink named "Go Fast!", which was to Red Bull what White Lightning is to Old Rosie. There was a bit of a scrabble to find some motion lotion - we were running on fumes by the time we got to the first petrol station on the continent (fill up in Calais next time if you're worried, Swift!). Then the only battle ahead was finding somewhere to park in Nijmegen! We arrived a little early, so went to find ourselves a beer at our favourite bar on Grotestraat.

Of course, when the sun is out, the first thing we all do is take pictures of whatever we're drinking...

Beers out of the way, we headed to the Rockcafe Backstage to start off the business at hand. It was so good to see all our old friends again - the minute you see Astrid's welcoming smile, you know you've come home! Theo tweaked the dials while we made a racket, and prepared ourselves for the evening. I went off to find myself some chips and mayo, and wandered back around showtime.

Friday set list:

Caught Somewhere In Time

2 Minutes to Midnight

Sea of Madness

Revelations

The Number of the Beast

- Seventh Son of a Seventh Son - 

Moonchild

Infinite Dreams

Can I Play With Madness

The Evil That Men do

Seventh Son of a Seventh Son

The Prophecy

The Clairvoyant

Only the Good Die Young

Run to the Hills

Fear of the Dark

Iron Maiden

---

The Wicker Man

Bring Your Daughter... ...To The Slaughter

Running Free

I did not have a good gig. Just before my very first solo of the night, right there in the first song, a string went. Of course, my backup guitar (the old "Manic" guitar) is less than desirable compared to what I'm used to playing, and I've never quite tweaked the sounds in my rig to make it sound passable. Thankfully, Duggers and Eddie are LEGEND - legging it downstairs during the instrumental break in Infinite Dreams to get one of Swifty's spares and getting it all ready for a quick guitar change-over. Duggers literally got back onstage just in time to start the last verse! I nearly shed a tear. The rest of the show went reasonably well, and after the show I got the chance to catch up with all our pals. The drinkies rather got the better of a couple of our number, as good-natured as it was I was a little worried we'd have to break up some fisticuffs! Then it was back to Carola's to sleep it off.

Kronenburgerpark

Awakening the next morning to an absolutely beautiful summery day, I was set to task preparing coffee (as, of course, is tradition). A tasty continental breakfast was laid on by Carola, and all in all we were having a wonderful time. It really is like coming home - good friends, good traditions, good times! It's so easy to fall back into the rhythm of the place. After breakfast we took a walk into town (as, of course, is tradition), and went for a wander in the Kronenburger Park not too far from the Backstage. Eddie reveled in the history, while I lazed in the sunshine. Soon, it was time to go and get Eddie some more fake blood and something slightly more hellish than a tattered green mask to put his sweeties in. We all look forward to our sweet delivery during Eddie's "Satan" spot in "...Beast"! "Let's go shopping for blood!" said he, to which I said "Hey, that's a pretty cool name for a song!". Dethklok. Look 'em up. Steve "we can have beer now?" Harristopolis and our erstwhile tubthumper went off to watch the football, while the rest of us had some more beer!

On our travels around Nijmegen this year, we had sighted, on numerous occasions, something that announced itself to be the "Maxi Fun Bus". To the untrained eye, this was a rather awkward looking combination between six bicycles and a bar, which had severe trouble with corners of any type. To those in the know...it was a clusterfuck. It still did look like Maxi Fun though, and we had a good chuckle watching it try and get round the rather phallic statue just off Bloemerstraat. We all traipsed to the riverfront hoping to find a decent bar, but failing rather miserably we headed back to Grote Markt (pushing through a rather colourful gay pride parade en route!) to settle down for beer and food - Wiener Schnitzel !

More beer...!

Back at the venue, Duggers and I worked on a short acoustic set to open up with. The main set tonight had been chosen by the good people of Nijmegen on our behalf, and was an absolute belter!

Acoustic set:

Revelations
Wasted Years
Infinite Dreams
Arc of Space

Saturday set-list:

Aces High

Wrathchild

The Prisoner

Die With Your Boots On

Killers

Remember Tomorrow

Flash of the Blade

Still Life

Strange World

Murders in the Rue Morgue

Children of the Damned

22 Acacia Ave

Transylvania

Back in the Village

Powerslave

To Tame a Land

Charlotte the Harlot

Iron Maiden

 ---

Where Eagles Dare

Flight of Icarus

Hallowed be Thy Name

The acoustic set was warmly received, and the main set was absolutely blinding. I had one minor catastrophe to speak of: the beginning of Still Life bears a striking resemblance in arrangement to the beginning of To Tame A Land. Your humble narrator found himself playing a transposed version of the melody from the former of the start of the latter. This was one of only 2 "false starts" I can remember in my history with this band, and it elicited a rather shocked and colourful blast of language from our Mr Swift! Thankfully I managed to laugh it off and we got on with the show!

It's always with a slight pang of sadness that I start packing down my gear after a Nijmegen show. However, as is of course tradition, we always end up partying until the small hours (regardless of what time we've got to set off!). I was feeling a bit glum, and had decided not to drink too much as it usually just serves to deepen the mood. Despite this, it's hard to say no when Astrid plonks a bottle of....well, plonk, in front of you. And then another. I sat and had a really lovely chat with Astrid, which somehow is something I've never really managed to do in all the times we've been there. She's a real pleasure to talk to, as is everyone who frequents Backstage. Nicko 'someone hand me a rope or a shotgun' McBrain finished the night asleep on a bench, and I ended up taking the second bottle of red wine to bed with me....bad form, Manic!

"So, a drummer walks into a bar..."

We said another teary goodbye to Carola and hauled ourselves down the motorway back towards Calais. I think I managed to sleep most of the way, and despite our best efforts we did indeed miss the ferry!

All our heartfelt love to all our friends at the Backstage - you are the reason we keep coming back!

Until next time,

Dave 'horrible, horrible, horrible, HORRIBLE botty' Hurry

CARPATHIA - Boston Arms Music Room, London - 25 May 2012

"What do you mean Mr. Right could be sitting beneath this ad?"

Once upon a time, there were five smelly boys who played some long songs and did some gigs. They were really smelly. Sometimes they smelled so bad, they were forcibly removed from moving vehicles. This is their story. It smells...

Gig number three with extreme progressive metal outfit Carpathia had been in the book for quite a while. This chapter of the tale begins on the searingly hot day prior to the gig, whereupon your humble narrator was lucky enough to stumble out of his Dartford office at the same time as a colleague who just happened to be driving to Boringwood. Huzzah. Perhaps the only time I have ever been relieved to be getting in a car and heading around the M25 to a Watford postcode. This act of kindness landed me in proximity of the rest of the band well within time for our pre-gig rehearsal. 

Tom "it's a bit like one of those magazines where you get to build your own remote control car, or cybernetic pleasure slave..." Atherton was nearly home and very kindly let me into his humble abode (once I'd removed the remnants of Cornetto from my beard) while he went off to teach a youngster how to beat the skins 

[ALERT! ALERT! Smut Detector! Drums. Hit the drums. He went off to teach a youngster how to hit the drums. That's better ]. 

Once the rest of the band arrived, we set off in the Athers-mobile to the rehearsal studio, where we found Tom "my farts have got a direct line out of my pants" Sullivan already messing about with guitar sounds.

I haven't got any pictures of the gig, so here's a photo of King Crimson.

Looking as if somebody just farted.

I wasn't feeling particularly rock and / or roll, having done a full day at work and not really eaten anything, so I was glad when the rehearsal went reasonably well and was over relatively quickly, giving Pete "titties of love to you too, sirrah" Mannion and I plenty of time to get back to the station before the last train. There began the adventure - Sully dropped us off, only for us to quickly discover that the station was shut! The reason given was a power outage in the area. Curious, given that the high speed train had just gone past. Ever the man of action, Pete got straight on the dog to Sully and in no time at all we were dropped off at Stanmore tube. I got back to London Bridge in the nick of time to get home for some kip before getting up for work again the next morning. It's a hard life.

I couldn't get out of work for the Friday morning due to some poor scheduling on my part, although my afternoon was clear. As such I found myself at the venue before anyone else, even the staff, had arrived. I took this as a sign from Dog that I needed a pint, so off I went to the Aces & Eights bar across the street (after deciding that the Boston Arms itself was a bit raucous for me at 5 o'clock on a Friday afternoon). When I walked in, I suddenly realised that this was the very establishment in which Tom & Tom had asked me to join the band, some fifteen months previously. Another sign from Dog! 

One pint of the black stuff later, the 'phone rang. The Toms had arrived and the load-in was beginning. As I picked up the first bit of gear I saw Paul "a pair of yellow EYEEEEEES!" Nazarkardeh walking towards us with his Phyrexia band-mate-cum-promoter Elliot in tow. I believe the organisation and promotion of this gig had been a joint production between Elliot and the very lovely Jesel, who had put us on at the Hatfield Forum in March. Paul and Athers would be playing in two consecutive bands on this occasion, which has the added benefit of making changeovers between the two a bit quicker. Paul was a bit worried about whether he'd have enough energy to cope with playing two sets, but as a fellow who frequently plays near 2-hour shows with Hi-On Maiden, I respectfully told him to man up (although I suspect he works a lot harder than I do on stage!).

"7 out of 10, could try harder" - Sully rates the facilities...

As we were the only band to bother to turn up for a soundcheck, we got things rolling with the illustrious sound-man Tony. Everything felt a little bit keyboard-heavy onstage, which is a strange feeling as at rehearsal I'm usually struggling to hear myself somewhat. As a guitarist, I have a bit of control over my onstage volume. Unfortunately, when it comes to keyboards, I have no control, at least for now. Any advice fellow ivory-ticklers reading this blog can provide would be gratefully appreciated. I don't really have the where-withal to lug around my own dedicated monitor!

With the sound well and truly checked we loaded gear off and waited for proceedings to start.. Premature Birth (who, ironically enough, arrived late) got things off to a blinding start, with some brilliantly humorous growled introductions. TrenchHead brought hardcore to the masses, and while they aren't really my thing, they were tremendously good. Both bands had created a wonderful atmosphere, and during the latter's last number I headed to the downstairs store-room to get ready to drag my gear back on-stage. It was time to get it on.

Set list:

Wherever The Silence Dwells intro

Truth Of The Moment

Solitary Red

Tearful, Part II

Finding It Hard To Contain

From the very first note, I knew I was going to have a good gig. The low piano notes with which I enter "Truth..." rumbled the floor (and, in turn, rumbled my 'special place'), and once I was into the main riff organ parts, there was no stopping me. I even added my own little death metal growl to the start of the vocals (wait 'til you see the video...!). The whole number was a great deal of fun, and the rest of the show followed suit. We'd drawn the biggest crowd of the night so far, and we were determined to give them a show. Once again, Paul failed to get over to me for our guitar-keyboard harmony lines at the end of 'Finding It Hard...", this time due to a general lack of space. I am simply going to have to get a key-tar...

...or maybe not...!

That big fat last chord faded away to rapturous applause, we said our farewells and we started to pack down. The very lovely guitarist from TrenchHead came over to express his thorough enjoyment and amusement at the amount I seemed to be throwing myself into the gig - "You looked as if you were living every single note!", said he. I was! 

Once packed down, I found myself a pint and settled in to watch Phyrexia. If I had looked like I was having a good time onstage, I had nothing on those guys. Paul and Elliot were windmilling with admirable aplomb, and the rest of the guys were just as much fun to watch (and indeed listen to). I'm fairly sure all their songs were about dragons. 

Unfortunately I couldn't stick around to check out the headliners Necroriser - this gig was simply on the wrong side of London to stay the course. For the second night in a row, I found myself on the Pisshead Express out of London Bridge. Praises be it was a Friday night with no work the next day!

Look out for videos from the gig to be posted soon on that there Interweb. 

Until next time, lots of love.

Christopher "the concentrated evil of Captain Kangaroo" Harrison

HI-ON SWINDON - 17 May 2012

I've got so many blogs to write, I wasn't quite sure where to start. It's like walking into the bathroom in the morning; do you void your bowels first, or do you break with tradition and clean your gnashers before doing anything else? Or maybe just go straight in the shower, but when you're in there, what gets scrubbed first?


Hash tag: First world problems.


So I thought I'd start with the weekend of 17, 18 & 19 May 2012. This particular foray was one I'd been looking forward to for some time, as it meant visiting two venues which are always highlights for us; not only did we get to visit our fine friends Andy and Tiggy at Riffs Bar, but then it was off to Nijmegen - our home away from home.

Comfort cushions - for those aching bott-botts on the road...

First, the minor problem of getting us all together in one place. Since Steve "we can have a beer now?" Harristopolis joined the ranks, this has been considerably easier. No longer do myself and Nicko "Swindon, I am in you" McBrain Jnr have to trek from railway station to railway station; we merely have to meet the bass player in NW6 and hop in the car. Bostin'. This is even better now he's finally hacked the radio in his second-hand Vauxhall. Rush. Rush, all the way.


Before I'd even left home, however, came the telephone call I always expect, nearly always receive and often dread. Adrian "it won't start" Swift got on the blower to inform me that, no sooner had he picked up the van and stopped for motion lotion, he'd broken down. As starts to the weekend go, it wasn't quite as bad as "Er, we can't get to Guernsey", though it was less than desirable. Thankfully, a short while later I had another call to let me know he was on the road - "We'll be astronomically late, but we'll be there" was the word. With a sigh, I set off to meet the skin-beater.


As I emerged from the exit at Queens Park, some sort of altercation had taken place; there was a blur of tracksuits running off into the distance, accompanied by some colourful language from a young lady left behind. Rather than become embroiled in any criminal investigation, I suggested to Nicko that we move a safe distance away. Thankfully, 'Arry arrived within minutes and we were on our way. An update from Swifty told us that he wasn't even in Leeds yet. Time for an extended junk food break, then.

Creepy.

We arrived at Riffs Bar in plenty of time, and settled ourselves in. I took up residence on the piano with a cup of coffee, and was quickly appointed 'The Doctor' by Andy & Tiggy's little'un, whose beloved doll was suffering from a number of minor injuries requiring my undivided attention. Bless. From then on, it was a long wait for Swift. Punters started to arrive, including my good friend Boba Fett who I have not seen for a number of years. Mr & Mrs Eddie arrived, and the word came that the van would roll up at 8:30pm. "All hands to the pump", said the text message. And it was!


A very beleaguered-looking Adrian Swift wheeled some gear in, with Bruce "Sh*t! Sh*t! Sh*t, and more sh*t! Knackers!" Dugginson in tow. The next fifteen minutes or so were a blur of equipment and noise as we rushed to get the show on. Then it was upstairs to get changed before "Doctor, Doctor" rolled and we were on.


Setlist: (it went something like this...!)

Moonchild

2 Minutes to Midnight

The Trooper

Wrathchild

Still Life

Killers

Infinite Dreams

Murders in the Rue Morgue

Wasted Years

Back In The Village

Run to the Hills

Seventh Son of a Seventh Son

Powerslave

22 Acacia Avenue

The Number of the Beast

Hallowed Be Thy Name

Iron Maiden

--- 

Fear of the Dark

Bring Your Daughter... ...To The Slaughter

Running Free

The view from the chod.

It was LOUD. And it was good! We had a blast on stage; the relief at finally making it, after what had to have been a frustrating day for Duggers and Swift, was palpable, and the rest of us were just pleased to be back doing what we love doing. Steve The Greek was, once again, an absolute pleasure to share the stage with, and the crowd at Riffs didn't disappoint. Even on a Thursday night, the people of Greatfield know how to rock.


The load out was typically dull apart from one rather memorable moment whereupon I decided I'd be able to manoeuvre the bass cab out the narrow corridor and up the steps by myself. I took a little bit of a waspie, and "Manic's Massive Tumble", as it came to be known, quickly passed into legend.


The original plan for this Thursday had been to get to Swindon, get on, get off, and get back to mine for some kip. It didn't quite happen that way - we arrived at my gaff at 4am, and had to be up in around 2 hours. It was a sad sight; watching these poor, beaten troopers stumble, zombie-like, into my flat. Nicko wasted no time making sure he laid claim to the one available bed, with the rest relegated to the floors of Manic Towers.


On to Nijmegen!!!!zzzzzzzzzzz


In Part Two, beer is drunk!


Love,
Dave "didn't say anything good enough for a diary nickname, but fell over once or twice" Hurry

New York 2012 - Part 1: Introduction

Or, "What I Did on my Summer Holidays, by Christopher James Harrison, aged 27 and a bit"

The flickering needle jumps into red. New York crawls out of its bed.


A bit of a departure in terms of subject matter, this blog here. I've had no gigs to speak of recently (and I'm not sure there's much else in my life left to blog about), although I've had a terrific time of late. More of that in a little bit. 


Incidentally, since you asked, I can next be seen onstage with Hi-on Maiden at Riffs Bar in sunny Swindon on May 17 before we head off to Nijmegen, Holland to make a racket at the Rockcafe Backstage. I believe the next Carpathia gig is on 25 May at the Boston Music Room in Tufnell Park. July, August and September are looking pretty busy for Hi-On, and I recently had contact with one Lee Abraham who is writing his next prog-rock masterpiece which should feature some six-string gymnastics from your humble narrator. All in all it's shaping up to be a rather nice year for me musically. 


Apart from various weekend jaunts to Ireland and mainland Europe (musical and otherwise),  I haven't really had a proper holiday since I went to Stockholm for a week in June 2008. In fact, unless you count Christmas periods, I haven't really had any extended break from work since then either. So when my grand friend Sasha "it wasn't a rock - it was a rock lobster" Zivojinovic decided to take his beautiful lady to New York to see the Blue Man Group and invited friends to join them, I had to give it some serious thought. 


I've been meaning to return to the east coast of the USA for many years. I haven't been out there since 2008, and have some fine people whom I count as true friends in residence in the various states on the eastern seaboard. For three years in a row, 2006-2008, I visited on Labor Day weekend for a few days of jamming and hanging out with said fine people, but since then I haven't made it for various reasons. On top of this, I've wanted to see New York City for some time. The sights, the sounds, the smells. 


No-one else had elected to join Goc "better start packing...oops!" Kaboodle & Sasha on their trip, and while I didn't want to be a third wheel I really did want to go. After a bit of rumination (and a lot of brow-beating from Sasha, who needed a guitar-shopping partner!) I booked up, and the departure date rolled around a couple of months later.

Spotting LOST numbers at airports always makes me a little trepidous...

There's something moving in the sidewalk steam...


The day before we were scheduled to depart, I was suffering. There's a line in a Pain Of Salvation song, which I'm probably misquoting, but which sums it up quite well - "It all catches up on you when you slow down". It was no surprise to me that I would get laid low with some Devil Bug after a few days off work. In the words of Super Hans, I was being sick out of both ends. I even managed to yak in the street on the way back from the doctor, which is up there with one of the classiest things I've ever done. True to form, I plonked myself on the sofa and started watching my Stanley Kubrick DVDs, which for some reason always make me feel a bit better when I'm ill. Thankfully, come the evening, the torrent had stopped coming forth and I packed my bags ready for the 5:40am taxi call.


In a wi-fi enabled taxi (who would have thunk it!) and in the quiet of pre-rush-hour London we made it from SE13 to Heathrow in under an hour. Once checked in and through security, we did what every self-respecting holiday-goer does, and went straight to the pub for beer and breakfast. I opted out of the booze initially, still feeling a little bit delicate after the previous day's vile extrusions. However after a cup of coffee and a sausage sarnie I was right as rain. Onward to the flight!


Most of the flights I've taken in my life have been fairly uneventful. My very first was to Guernsey as a child, and I've loved it ever since. The most memorable thing that's happened whilst airborne since would probably be on a family holiday to Florida in 1997. After a 9 1/2 hour delay at Gatwick with two children, my mother was presented with a miniature bottle of Bacardi and an even smaller can of Diet Coke. This sent her, blissfully I would imagine, straight to the land of boozy nod. I still remember that day. I was given a fiver and sent to the bookshop, where I bought myself a copy of Douglas Adams' "The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul". This proved particularly memorable given the amount of time we'd spent delayed in that great cathedral of despair, as the first paragraph reads thusly:

It can hardly be a coincidence that no language on earth has ever produced the expression "As pretty as an airport." Airports are ugly. Some are very ugly. Some attain a degree of ugliness that can only be the result of a special effort. This ugliness arises because airports are full of people who are tired, cross, and have just discovered that their luggage has landed in Murmansk (Murmansk airport is the only exception of this otherwise infallible rule), and architects have on the whole tried to reflect this in their designs.

This flight to New York was colourful, to say the least. I was seated (after swapping seats twice to accommodate couples who were determined to sit together) next to a very slight lady who had more holes punched in her than anyone I've seen outside of a Slayer gig. Security must have been a nightmare for her. She was very nice, and we had some rather engaging discussions about music, art and her kids. Complimentary drinks and the first meal came, and after the second complimentary glass of red wine the poor lass conked out. I settled in to watch a film on the seat-back screen, but before I'd got very far my companion groggily awoke and began to frantically look around for something to be sick in. I scrambled out of my seat to allow her to rush to the ladies for what would probably be a photo-finish. Unfortunately the facilities were occupied, and the couple seated by the bulkhead had the floor in front of them decorated in short order. For the rest of the flight I was on constant "get out of seat" alert, but thankfully she seemed to simply need to sleep it off. Sasha was not so lucky, and found himself seated next to a middle-aged lady who was clearly under the influence upon boarding, and who proceeded to a) nick vodka from the bar whenever no-one was looking and b) spill every single drink on Sasha. How she got on the plane in that state is a mystery to me, but the staff dealt with both the resident alcoholic and the lightweight in seat 63 with cheerful aplomb. My dear friend seemed mostly well for the remainder of our time together, apart from a slight wobble on the runway at JFK (as the second airsick bag came into use, the first fell over onto the carpet narrowly avoiding my shoes). 


Into the queue for the predictably humourless border control fellows, we couldn't wait to get out of the airport and on our way. Once admitted, we took the AirTrain all the way to Jamaica Station and then began to navigate the subway system. While it is an enormously simple system to navigate when in full control of your faculties, when you've been on the go for as long as we had it seemed monolithic in difficulty. We asked a harassed looking transit cop (fresh from what had to have been a frustrating encounter trying to explain to someone the difference between "uptown" and "downtown"), who sent us in the right direction. Eventually we emerged into the New York City sunshine at West 103 & Broadway. Goc and Sasha went to their digs and I trundled down Broadway to my own to try and wash the flight off of me!

"And I'm hovering like a fly, waiting for the windshield on the freeway..."

In Part 2, our intrepid international inhabitants tromp through Central Park, irritate some joggers, spend a ludicrous amount of money on fruit-related gadgetry and discover something in a toy shop that makes them grin like the jet-lagged loons they are.


Until then,


Christopher "here comes a bikini whale!" Harrison 




Soundtrack to this blog:


Budgie - Hammer And Tongs
Spock's Beard - Walking On The Wind
Gentle Giant - In A Glass House
Frank Zappa - Shut Up 'N' Play Yer Guitar Some More
Karmakanic - Turn It Up
Marillion - Chelsea Monday
Iron Maiden - 22 Acacia Avenue (live)