Saturday, May 17, 2008

Lausanne to Geneva > Cave 12: Pix...

I was finally led to a pharmacist in Geneva who properly diagnosed my ailment (a damnable dry cough); she sorted me out in minutes. The cost? Three Euro, or less than six dollars.

(Any Stateside Republican jackass who, when faced with similar realities, cries "socialized medicine," should be gutted on the fucking spot.)

Digression is my hallmark, but the cough disappeared the next day and with it, the horrendous headaches.

Below, photographs of our rail journey from Lausanne to Geneva. Shame I felt so out of it upon arriving at Cave 12 - I snapped few images there, and didn't even grab a poster. Fatigue was palpable...

(Captions to follow.)















(Click above for a larger version of the image.)

Fassbind's Non-Bavarian Breakfast Klatch...

Writing from the best of the many hotels into which we've been booked during the tour... Luxury beckoned only a hard crash-and-burn. We stumbled in from what Balazs described as the finest gig of the entire, 99-week tour, and after B*Tong joined Gaybomb and Mr. Pandi in a triple suite (to escape my horrid snores), I took the other double for myself and sunk deep into the mattress for a spectacular, dreamless plummet... Awoke to join the others on the hotel's panoramic eighth floor breakfast room, and we silently tucked into croissants as the world below inched by... Geneva is always lovely, but on this morning, her rain-soaked streets and unseasonably chilly air matched our mood of steeled resolve; it seemed more vibrant than ever. Cave 12 lost its lease a year ago, and performances are now parsed out to friendly venues. Friday is club night in Geneva, so the audience for our deformations was limited, but the response was raucous... It was a difficult performance, a struggle from start to end. We've been opening with Henry Cow's "War" for two weeks now, and our rendition has begun to grow its own set of gory locks. Wish Dagmar were here to harmonize with me, teach me a few million things, etc.

Promoters Sixto and Marion went out of their way to make us feel at home, and their hospitality and expert promo efforts helped bolster our spirits and hastened our recovery from the fatigue and malaise we'd been hauling about our necks... I probably sang better this night than on any other evening of the tour; it was a death-walk, but I pushed through the demarcations I'd steadily assembled. Marion, in fractured but still comprehensible English, told me that "You are a great singer, with wonderful presence, but, y'know, with one note." Best review of the entire tour.

During our dummy check I asked her if she'd found any of my other notes lying on the floor near the monitors...

Off soon by rail to Basel, then Hamburg.

Love,

Tom