As the dust settles on a tour – alongside Rob John Hope, accompanied by Denise Dombrowski – you’re thrown back into civilisation like a stagnant pool of administration and now again charged electronic devices which buzz and ring and demand your attention. High time to reminisce, and relive it, before memory escapes me, growing muddled, and straying.

Let’s work backwards, shall we?

Prague

We ended our wee tour of Germany in another country, altogether, Czech Republic (or Czechia as no one but the Government wants to call it).

Prague was one one of two additions I added to the tour. And proof I’m no booker. Our show was set for midnight on a Monday. I eventually went on at 1:15am to an objectively shitfaced audience, whom Robert John Hope had just slayed and swayed before me, leaving them singing along to his original melodies they assumed to be covers – like all the acts before us.

They say people of Czech Republic drink more beer per capita than any place on earth.

This bar, I’d say is hitting well above average. There was a “puking only” designated bin. The place was actually quite full – till my set, and again, it was Monday at midnight.

Well done, society.

What I was struck most by, was how notable the change was going over the boarder from Bavaria into the Czech Republic. Suddenly billboards reigned supreme, and casinos, and whorehouses for truckers in debauch pockets of woods.

Literally as I was saying, “in Italy you sometimes you see them, standing, waiting off the motorway”, I locked eyes with a lady of night (at midday) waving in that manner you assumed only people did with handkerchiefs out saloon windows to passing cowboys. A “yoo-hoo”, kind of flick of the wrist, almost Queen Coronation style wave as we speed past where she stood clutching a clasp bag at the side of road.

You didn’t see that in Bavaria.

Bavaria

After days of autobahn, mountains come like saving graces. Nested in beautiful patch of winding county roads and fields is the small town of Koetzting.

The old train station, still lining a working rail, has been converted with love and fetching antiques into a beautiful venue and bar, simply called Bahnhoff Koetzting, “Train Station Koetzting”.

“You won’t find us on google maps anymore. People waiting for the train kept leaving 1 star reviews when their train was delayed – not even knowing we’re a venue!” says Olli, the owner, in vaguely British accent, though he is in fact a local.

This may be the highlight of the tour. Good graces, an incredible show by Rob where the crowd demanded an encore (even though we still had another set to go) – my best set, too. The people were kind and attentive, and we were treated with the utmost hospitality.

That’s everything when you’re getting out of a five, or more, hour journey. There’s nothing that kills you more than a grunting bartender as you turn up, who doesn’t know you’re playing, doesn’t have a meal or a bed for you, and expects you to play for tips in twenty minutes.

Here, the stars alined, and we even bumped into Philos, the director of Robert John Hope’s upcoming video, who Rob never met, and who just happened to be dating Olli’s daughter.

“He’s been here max twice in three years. Yes, this is a very weird coincidence”, he says.

That’s the gold of traveling. I once bumped into my next-door neighbour, whom I’d never met, in Salou, Spain.

Serendipity abounds on tour. And its lashings of energy that surge through you when something strange like that occurs. You feel like you’re on the right page of the story. You feel the wind at your back to keep going, to see it through.

“I’ll get my camera, film you after the concert, and we’ll edit you into the video” says Philos to Rob, much to his dismay.

“Dammit, thought I could get away without being in the video” Rob says to me after.

–

Marburg is, in my books, the most beautiful town in Germany. I’ve played it a few times. There’s a beautiful venue cut into the rock, called Q Café.

The owner is fresh from some surgery and in high spirits. “Spent 50 years of my life, having no clue I had a disformed ventricle in my heart – they just figured it out, had no idea how I as alive! I feel much better now”, says Jorg, cheerful, after he introduces us to our sound-tech, two months into the game, and eagerly offering us lemonades.

Jesus, you realise how many ways there are to live a life. How many people are going through it in different ways.

In Dortmund, the night before a lady who bought my Artbook/Album couldn’t get through to me and Rob how much the night helped her after “a incredibly terrible, shitty week”.

The man who comes up after telling tales of “how wold it was in Ireland in the 80’s”, how he’s seen everyone play, like Nirvana touring Bleach (he strongly did not enjoy), and everyone else under the sun.

“I could only live in a city – I need the noise” he says to me, smoking a cigarette out in the cold, and rain in just shirt.

“It rains a lot here” I said, reiterating Denise’s reminisces of her time spent studying in Dortmund.

“No, it doesn’t” he says, as the rain pelted off our heads and we ran back in, where the lady who had a bad week perched over our merch stand, idling through my artbook, and so spoke, again, this time about sailing for a further twenty minutes – and her face lights up we talk of waves, and bounding across the Irish sea.

“Maybe, I should take up sailing.” I say to her.

Sounds like touring on steroids.

Dortmund were huge fans of Jess Smith and Rufus Coates, as was everyone on this tour Jess was good enough to book for Rob & I. The bar played their songs before we donned the stage. They also played a full AS Fanning album, not knowing we know him, evening sharing a brilliant bassist, Felix Buchner.

That’s a another odd thing about touring, how small the world of musicians actually is. As I came up on stage for soundcheck, there was a note attached to female hula dancer portrait behind the stage, that read…

Evidently, Sorcha, who plays the Irish music session I do occasionally at 800a was playing this Dortmund bar the night previous, and left a series of notes for me.

Small, strange world.

Should sail it, really. Make it smaller.

Darmstadt

I’d been to Darmstadt twice before playing gigs with Joe Marshall. It literally translates as Colon Town, but then again, Liverpool is kind of the suffering the same faith, and no one brings that one up, so let’s move swiftly on.

Somehow Joe and I had always ben rubbed the wrong way by Darmstadt. There was the old lady who laugh in our faces for missing a tram, that didn’t stop where we were… at the tram stop. There was a man carrying a beer, we asked where we could buy one – who just said “no, I’m not telling,” and laughed in Joe’s face.

Then there was the happy hour, before our set, where elderly drinkers in the bar who yelled and scream the price of the tequilla, evidently still delighted it was half price, enough to yell it out, before pounding it down their throats, no less than nine times, as can be told by the fact one went purple. I mean, fully purple. I’m still amazed he was able to walk the uneven ancient wooden floors of the Goldene Krone (one of the only bars left standing after the war), and made it down the stairs to the toilets and back.

But, enough of the past! This time round, we made to the Altstadt (old side of the city), and had one of the greatest hosting couples imaginable, those who run a venue just to break even, just for the hell of it, and for the love of music.

They adored Jess and Rufus, and made us right at home, after the show we stayed up listening to records and eating soup, and all was good with the world.

Sorry, Darmstadt, I miss-judged you. Though, during the set, and staggering man, came late into the concert, and starting wooing, and cheering at the utmost inopportune moments, heckling, terribly, until he had to be kindly escorted out.

Well, c’mon, ya need a bit of that, from time to time. Keeps you on your toes. Ah, Darmstadt. You beaut, you!

Berlin

This is the second show of our tour, and the second I personally booked. My beloved Fabio and my beloved 800A, where I play, pretty much exclusively in Berlin – now joined by Hank Chinaski, my new Wedding venue as of last weeks relaunch of Open Sofa Session – was happy to host us for our homecoming show of the tour.

It’s a bleary, blizzard of beauty. We stayed lated, played long, and enjoyed every minute. It occurred to me in the moment before I left, how lucky I am to have a place like this in my life. Long live 800A, great champions of independent music in Berlin city!

Lychen

Finally, we arrive at the start. There’s a small beautiful town outside Berlin called Lychen. It’s home to beautiful lakes and an old cinema, now catering to gigs. It has the best sound of the tour, a wonderful crowd, some sweet people we chatted to after, and everyone treated us stellar. It was the start of it, when nerves our at the highest, and we’re getting into the swing of things.

My highlight was listening to Denise and Rob figure out their melodies, outside in the sun, while we sipped on beverages, and took in the spying birds above.

It’s all about who you’re with, and these two, we’re nothing shy of the best you can hope for.

Till next time. Till the last.

Happy sailing!

–

Conor Kilkelly,

7/May/2024, Berlin