The tour did not involve a visit to Ukraine or even any countries bordering Ukraine, but it was most definitely a war-time tour of Europe.
In late February and early March I had a very busy tour throughout Scandinavia, mostly Denmark, playing for socialist parties, leftwing youth groups, squatted social centers, unions, and a birthday party. The timing of the tour was fairly perfect. Originally planned because of the birthday party, which was in Reykjavik, my arrival in Scandinavia coincided with the lifting of Covid restrictions there. In Denmark they had just been lifted prior to my arrival. In Norway they were lifted while I was in Bergen for a lovely but brief visit. So when I flew there from Copenhagen, everyone was masked. Three days later on the way back, there was one person wearing a mask on the whole plane (and he wasn't from Scandinavia, judging from his accent). The tour then was busy, with lots of post-Covid excitement in the air, especially at first.
I was still in the middle of the tour when Russia invaded Ukraine -- or when the war in Ukraine that has been ongoing since 2014 massively escalated, depending on how we want to describe this horror show. The gigs all went ahead as planned, but folks who showed up to them invariably had just come from a protest of some kind. Usually they arrived looking like they were trying to figure out what to think about what had just happened. Leftwingers are not generally accustomed to wrapping themselves in national flags, so whatever their analysis on the events taking place, the proliferation of yellow and blue in every direction was unsettling to many, regardless of their sympathies. Stories of conflicts between those who had come to protest both Russian aggression and NATO expansionism, and those who had come to oppose the former and promote the latter, were an immediate part of the new war-time political landscape of the Danish left. It soon became clear that this was part of the new political landscape of the left everywhere I went.
My personal ability to sleep on any kind of normal schedule has been shattered since the onset of the pandemic. I've learned to cope with this just fine, which isn't so hard when you don't have a job with any kind of regular hours. But since the beginning of hostilities between Russia and Ukraine it's gotten much worse. Like many people I know, I often feel like I'm helplessly waiting for the mushroom clouds to appear, while also feeling helpless to do much about the suffering of the people in Ukraine and around the world so deeply affected by this conflict, and the desire to speak out against the insane brinkmanship being practiced by the Biden administration is significantly muted by basic human empathy for those dying beneath the bombs, which in this particular instance are Russian bombs.
One of the many indications that I'm not alone in all of this is the contrast between that February-March tour, and the one I've just completed, which took me to various parts of Germany, Belgium, the Netherlands, Norway, and England. It was, in the end, a great trip with all kinds of highlights, which I'll expound upon below. But it sure started slow, with very few gigs actually planned in advance.
People don't generally tell you when they've decided not to organize a gig. You hear from them when they do want to organize one, not when they don't. But I'm sure that the reason I didn't hear from some of the groups I would have expected to hear from is because of the new polarization that is rife within the left in many countries now, in terms of where people stand on this new war, and how to go about walking what seems to many to be a treacherous political tightrope. The atmosphere is one that stifles -- people will tend to do other things with their time than throw themselves into the frying pan by organizing a gig for someone who will inevitably be addressing these issues. Other people have been distracted because they've been involved with mobilizations in various countries to help the refugees flooding into the rest of Europe from Ukraine since February. Still others are too despondent about it all to bother organizing anything, while they wait for World War 3.
This mid-April to mid-May tour was planned far in advance, at least in terms of the travel arrangements. Otherwise I would probably not have tried to book a tour during a massive event like this war, and everything else that goes along with it. But here I was with free plane tickets to Frankfurt, so I did my best.
This would be the first tour I've done in a long time that involved very little time in anyone's car, and no rental cars. I had gigs in several different countries, but usually only one or two per country, so there were a lot of flights, a lot of trains, and a whole lot of walking through cities dragging wheeled suitcases around. I was carrying my octave mandolin on my back, which is the only reason my spine isn't compacted by now. If I had been doing all that walking with a much heavier instrument like a guitar, I might not be feeling so chirpy by now.
The tour would begin and end in Frankfurt, home of a very big international airport from which Condor now does direct flights from Portland. My friend had miles on Condor, so Frankfurt it was. My first destination was a really cheap hotel across from the main train station in the city. Coming from Portland, much of which resembles a refugee camp, the obvious destitution among the homeless drug addicts that largely populate the immediate area between the train station and the hotel was not shocking, but it was depressing to see in Europe, where such sights were rare, for a time.
The hotel was cheap in the sense of being inexpensive, but the room was comfortable enough, if tiny, and a fine place for jet lag recovery, which generally involves being up at weird hours that you wouldn't want to impose on someone you might stay with. I don't know Frankfurt very well, but it didn't take long to discover the pedestrian streets not far away. If you're ever in a European city wondering where to find the older part of town, or nice pedestrian streets, just look for the biggest cathedral you can find on a map of the area wherever you are. Works very well most of the time.
Every train I took in Europe was more than three times faster than any train that exists in the United States, I'm pretty sure. Looking at Maps on my phone, taking the train to many cities is faster than driving, or if it appears to be slower, that's only because you haven't hit the traffic jam yet. The tedious part is once you arrive wherever you're going, you can't just leave your luggage in the trunk of the rental car, you have to drag it around to wherever you're staying or performing, and likely both.
Luckily the first gig involved staying upstairs from the venue, which was near the train station in Leuven, one of the many beautiful cities in Belgium. Apparently much of it was destroyed by shelling during World War 1, but this is not evident at all when you walk around the city center, which has been impeccably restored to its medieval glory since then.
As nice as it was to walk around the city, though, the best thing about Leuven is the ever-expanding neighborhood of collective enterprises that the gig I had was part of. The last time I was in Leuven I played in a big community space that used to be a warehouse. This time I was playing in a bar that was a local bar before it was bought by a collective of leftwingers. Before the recent purchase, it had been a hangout for local folks, which, being Flanders, included rightwingers. The new owners have turned the place into a forum for discussion and debate, along with music and poetry. Unlike the "safety"-obsessed anarcho-puritans that have become influential in many leftwing circles, at the weikcafé Het Groot Ongelijk in Leuven, the rightwingers are welcome to contribute to the discussions, even in the form of shouting their disapproval from the peanut gallery about something a speaker is talking about on the mic. As a result of the collective's policies, the bar continues to have a diverse array of local conservatives and leftwing activists, all drinking and talking together nightly. A true "public house."
In the collective pub was a Dutch sign indicating that we were on Whistleblower Street. The day after my gig in Leuven was the EU Free Assange Wave demo in Brussels. I had been asked to MC the event, which seemed like a lot to do, given my suspicion that there was not going to be any real stage management going on. So I asked Kamala Emanuel to co-MC it with me, given that she was in town to join the rally and sing harmonies with me, and has had lots of experience MC'ing rallies in Australia, where she came in from.
It was all a bit haphazard, with the aforementioned lack of stage management and last-minute speakers being added as well, both of which made everything go on longer than planned, and meant eliminating music from the program -- namely my second set -- but overall it was a powerful event, particularly because of speakers like London member of the British parliament, Jeremy Corbyn, and Jullian Assange's wife, Stella Assange. The band Chicks on Speed provided some festive music breaks. Attendance was not overwhelming, given how much promotional effort had gone in to the event, but the stage setup was great, the livestream was excellent, and the several hundred people in attendance took up much of the square, and looked like a decent crowd. By my estimation more than half of the folks who came came from different cities in Germany, from relatively nearby ones like Cologne to very far-off ones like Munich.
My visit to the Netherlands happened to coincide with King's Day there, which I had never witnessed, but which I have now learned involves most every Dutch person in Amsterdam roaming around the streets, getting drunk, participating in community events, and wearing a whole lot of orange. It was a rare case that I can recall when I was walking around Amsterdam and hearing Dutch spoken more than any other language. Whether tourists avoid the place on King's Day, or if they were just temporarily outnumbered by locals, I don't know.
The one gig I had in the Netherlands had been planned far in advance, and it involved yet more echoes of a man who died a few years ago and is still present in the lives of so many, having provided the musical backdrop for so many Dutch people from the 1960's until a few years ago, when he put out his last album, not more than a few months before his untimely demise at the age of 69. I'm talking about Armand, and a mutual friend of his and mine, Peter Bruyn, who just published a book about a venue in the beautiful city of Haarlem that was central to the Dutch folk revival in the 1960's and 70's, De Waag. Armand and I also played there, in my case much more recently than the days of the folk scare, and Peter wanted me to do a set, along with his short presentation about his new book, which he was handing out liberally all evening to various folks who had a role to play in it, whether because they were artists mentioned in the book, titled Troubadour, or because they had heard Joan Baez or Pete Seeger sing in the place. The room was packed to the gills, hot, sweaty, just like the old days. I was happy to get outside into the cool evening air as soon as my set was over.
When I originally was planning this tour, I was figuring it would mostly be in Germany, Belgium, and the Netherlands. But between these three countries I had only confirmed four gigs, so when I got invitations from organizers in two different Norwegian cities to play up there, I happily adjusted the tour plan accordingly. Looking at plane tickets it became evident that many of the flights to Oslo were routed through London, and thus it was possible to include London in the travel itinerary for about the same price as just a roundtrip to Oslo. So, the new plan was to go to Oslo, then London, then from there back to Frankfurt.
Both of the gigs in Norway involved meeting lots of young folks who had heard my music on Spotify or YouTube and were now coming to their first live show. There are few things more invigorating than meeting new fans. One of whom was one of the folks who opened for me, who did a wonderful Norwegian rendition of my song, "St Patrick Battalion."
The venue we played in, Hausmania, has been central to the left and alternative scenes in Oslo for many decades, along with another historically squatted social center, Blitz. Blitz was celebrating its 40th anniversary during the weekend I played at Hausmania, which may help explain why I had a much bigger turnout in Trondheim than I had in Oslo. Timing is important, but sometimes scheduling conflicts are hard to avoid. (Such as this whole tour, actually.)
A direct flight to London and then a ride on the underground that was a bit longer and far less comfortable than the flight from Oslo had been, and then an inordinately long drive through London traffic spent in the back seat of a friend's car, and we made it to the Telegraph at the Earl of Derby in south London, where the one gig I had in England was taking place the night of my arrival. At this gig I was joined not only by Kamala but also by the other singer with whom I recorded a couple of great albums, Lorna McKinnon, who had managed to come down from Scotland for the weekend for work. Unfortunately no one recorded that gig, but the three-part harmonies were amazing...
May 1st in London was the first May 1st when I've participated in an event that wasn't in Denmark in a very long time. May Day 2000 was a most memorable day spent in New York City, but from the following year onwards, most May Firsts I found myself in Denmark, often doing four or five gigs in the same day, at different times, at different May Day events, in different parts of that small country. This time I was marching with around a thousand folks, by my estimate, from all over the world, generally leftwingers of one variety or another. Communists from Turkey and Kurdistan were prominent, along with a variety of the more militant trade unions. Somewhat conflicting positions on the war in Ukraine were represented, and there was some kind of minor scuffle around it, but nothing serious that I saw. Although the march itself was festive and often very musical, the rally that took place in Trafalgar Square at the end of the march was a complete let-down, a typical array of boring speakers and no live music at all.
The free days in London after May 1st were largely spent playing music and turning Jane and Tony's apartment into a recording studio. We recorded Prolesville Sessions there by Kentish Town. Another day was spent taking instructions from Niels, the Danish videographer who has spent years now doing video work of various kinds with the campaign to free Julian Assange. We had a fun day of singing the same song hundreds of times in different parts of town, under various circumstances. Video coming soon...
The train from Frankfurt to Heidelberg was very delayed. The part of the trip that was supposed to take 20 minutes took an hour. By a nice coincidence, I happened to sit down next to a young man who turned out to be from Kyiv, Ukraine. Talking to him reminded me of so many of the descriptions from journalists I've heard about what it's like meeting Ukrainian refugees. He just seemed completely lost, like the proverbial deer in the headlights. What just happened? Why am I here? Just a few weeks earlier he had been living in his apartment in Kyiv, working for a bank, taking vacations in Istanbul, like so many middle class Ukrainians. Now he's on a train, having just left his bag of clothes behind by accident on another train, wondering if he gets off at the next stop to try to locate his bag, will they let him on the next train? The Ukrainian passport no longer gets you on trains for free, apparently.
He said he had been given a spot in a refugee camp in Duisberg, but there were just curtains separating beds, no private rooms. I didn't ask him how awkward it might be for a young man to be in a refugee camp overwhelmingly filled with women and children. I imagine an atmosphere like that which I've heard about during World War 2 in the US and the UK. Able-bodied young men could get dirty looks sometimes just for not being in uniform. In any case, he didn't want to stay there, and was heading to a friend's place in Switzerland for two weeks. He had his life planned two weeks ahead now. His name is Dmitro. I managed to get him to accept a 50-euro note to help him on his way, and wished him all the best when the train eventually arrived. (I have his number, if anyone in Germany or perhaps elsewhere in Europe reading this has an extra room, preferably for much longer than two weeks.)
Kamala and I got to Heidelberg in time to play an outdoor show for several dozen adults and quite a few very patient children. The setting was a woodsy courtyard surrounded by five-story buildings, in which most of the audience lived. The atmosphere in the courtyard we saw upon arrival was nothing short of idyllic, with happy children jumping on a trampoline or running around in the grass, while their happy parents chatted with each other or played with their children. Some of the new collectively-owned buildings being constructed in the neighborhood right now are reclaimed from the US military base that had been abandoned in Heidelberg a long time ago. Much better!
After Heidelberg I flew on my own up to Trondheim, which is easily one of my favorite cities anywhere, partly because of the nice chilly weather, but mostly because of Svartlamon.
Svartlamon began as a squatted neighborhood where properties had been abandoned, including a car dealership, as I hazily recall, and it eventually grew into what it has become today. At least until recently it was an often contested thing, much like Christiania in Copenhagen, but on a much smaller scale, and without the open-air hash market or the mobs of tourists.
As in Christiania, many of the houses are very improvised constructions, and very colorful, works of art as much as living spaces. Other buildings clearly were once used for purposes other than living spaces, but have been creatively converted into housing. During the day, the preschool is where the action is at, and also the noise that can most easily be heard in the neighborhood during the daytime, along with the trampoline that has been recently set up not far away from the preschool. At night, the center of gravity shifts to the restaurant and bar twenty meters down the main road, the Ramp -- or to an outdoor gathering of adults in the same area as the trampoline, which often turns into a multigenerational party, where the kids jump, and the adults do other things.
Uffa, Trondheim's premier punk rock social center, located about a five-minute walk from the edge of Svartlamon, was crowded with all kinds of folks, including a bunch of the usual studded punks, as well as a table full of clean-cut Maoists, folks associated with Svartlamon's anarchist infoshop, and a whole bunch of other people of mysterious origin. Bjorn-Hugo had done a lot of postering and other promotional efforts for the gig as he has reliably been doing since I met him 17 years ago, but no one seemed to know where many of the young people came from.
Bjorn-Hugo strategically waited until after my concert at Uffa to start promoting the rally he was organizing for Tuesday in solidarity with Julian Assange. Perhaps starting the promotion sooner would have been good, but it was great to see someone taking the initiative to organize a rally just because I was in town with a few days free. We had around 70 people, unless you go with Bjorn-Hugo's estimate of 100.
Most of my time in Trondheim was spent in Svartlamon, playing music with folks who live there, or who live nearby. Particularly Yuan-Yuan and her Gozheng, what they call the Chinese harp, which I discovered while jamming with her is really well-suited for improvising in F# pentatonic.
The community is full of artists and musicians, who actively make art and music, rather than just talk about it. Oftentimes, they weren't stopping to eat lunch, so lunch became a meal that you generally didn't eat until 4 pm. Which works well in Svartlamon, since that's when the Ramp opens.
As I sat down on the plane headed to Portland, I still smelled like a Svartlamon bon fire. I had a row of seats to myself in my free Premium Economy seat, so I doubt anybody minded.
As was getting on the plane I noticed a woman with a Ukrainian passport checking in. The Ukrainians can fly direct to the US now, unlike all the other refugees languishing in overcrowded church-run tent camps in Tijuana, getting kidnapped and shot by narcos. Nice to see someone getting a welcome of some kind from these white supremacist states of America, though, whether blond or not.
The blond refugees are refugees, too. And I feel for those who are coming to join the many Ukrainians attempting to survive in the ever-gentrifying city of Portland. The rich ones do well, anyway. I don't know what this woman's situation was. But as a US citizen I got through immigration at PDX faster than most of the passengers, so I was passing by when I heard a woman with what I took to be a Ukrainian accent asking if this was the flight from Frankfurt. Good, the refugee has someone to pick her up, at least.
