Erika Ransom

11/05/2004

MRR January 2005

European Tour. (Part I)

Whiskey.

I am ending tour exactly the way it started. Sitting at my desk late at night, listening to the sound of clack-clack-clack of my fingers on keyboard, writing my column for MRR. Except last month, I was drinking Jim Beam with a splash of cola, trying to calm my nerves. I hadn’t slept well in days, tense about leaving for Europe and also trying to get all the last-minute things done before I left. Granted, I was excited as hell, and had been looking forward to this trip for a long time. I knew it was going to be great. But energy is a strange thing, and my body was on edge from the waiting. Once or twice I had to remember to breathe.

On the last day before we left, I woke up about 8am and just lay in bed for a couple of hours, listening to the sounds of birds and the morning traffic, thinking. I went to work, and didn’t get out until 13 hours later, finishing projects that had to get done before I left. Fucking shit! I was pissed. About midnight I came home to empty kitchen cabinets and my things all packed and ready to go. I was hungry, tired, frazzled. My eyes hurt.

Late at night, trying to write for a few hours, I was a wreck, thinking about rape, thinking about what happened in Philly. Letting all of those terrible emotions that come with personal recollection run through me. I wrote until the sun came up, and I knew that I had to go to bed. It was the first day of tour.

Before I go any further, take heed. This story, about my band THE PROFIT$ on European tour in October 2004, is not a scene report. It is missing important details and simple facts, and contains no helpful contact information. My notes were lost early on, and after that I decided to ignore my journalist’s head and just live without worrying about writing it all down. It was good to be in the moment. So, this column is only my thoughts on this experience, and it may not even make sense. Now, you’ve been warned, and the names have not been changed! Before I continue, thanks to everyone who made the shows possible and took such good care of us. Tour was an amazing experience I’ll never forget. Onwards!

18 Hours.

This was our first European tour, so we didn’t know what to expect in the way of borders. We didn’t know what to expect at all.

We left Boston in the late afternoon. It was raining as we ran our gear across the asphalt to John’s van. We brought our guitars, and I brought the heavy wood and metal box that houses my guitar head. I couldn’t imagine leaving my amp behind, even on such a far trip. I don’t attach myself to material things, but if I did, this machine of tubes and chrome is my dearest possession. It is the electric sound of my rage!

From Logan we flew to Detroit. It was odd, carrying my guitar, standing on the moving walkway, being carried by a machine through the Detroit airport to our gate. Everything was clean, well-lit, glass and white walls. The only time I’ve ever been in Detroit has been on tour a couple of years ago, driving into the heart of the city. The juxtaposition was overwhelming. My memory of Detroit, of the real city downtown, is long city blocks of boarded up buildings. A ghost town of misery and poverty bitterly divided by race and class. Detroit punks told us stories such as going to a party, and seeing brain matter drying on the wall, human remains from a previous tenant who met a shotgun blast. Indeed, the Detroit I saw was an urban battlefield.

Back at the polished airport, people sat in comfortable chairs and watched television before catching planes.

We found the one bar that allowed smoking, and I ordered a whiskey and coke, and tried to relax. With no sleep for days, things were a bit surreal. After months of planning, we were on our way!

Three planes and two punk vans, through Boston to Detroit then Amsterdam, with baggage carts, finding gates, layovers, security, airline peanuts and strange desserts, we finally arrived in Bremen, Germany. The trip, in total, took eighteen hours.

Coffee.

We picked up our baggage and found ourselves in the airport lobby, greeted by a punk with a warm smile waiting for us–it was Stivie! Hello! But we were a little confused. Where was customs? And the terrible border guards? Did we miss it? Nope, that was it. I’ve heard so many horror stories of bands being turned away at the US/Canadian border, missing out on shows or an entire tour, so we were quite surprised our crossing was so easy. We were lucky! Another surprise came when Stivie lit his smoke inside. I thought he was just being a punk. Nope. In Europe everyone can, and does, smoke everywhere.

It was late afternoon in Bremen, and cloudy, with the same gray sky we left in Boston. In their tiny tiny kitchen that barely had room for the table, much less the people crowded around it, Stivie and his great housemates Kauczuk and Lotti made us feel very welcome with lots of good vegan food, bread with strange spreads, strong coffee, too many rolled cigarettes, and kick ass punk mix tapes. The sixth person, and their little refrigerator, had to sit in the hallway!

One of the first things I noticed was that language wasn’t a barrier, which I had worried about. I kept joking that the Germans’ English was better than ours! Perhaps because speaking a second language takes mental energy, it is slower going, and makes you think more about what you’re going to say and your word choice. The pace and thoughtfulness made for good conversations, I thought, about life, punk, experiences and traveling. I became more aware of my lazy mouth, vocabulary and slang, and I have deep respect for people who speak two (or more!) languages. (Ah, time to brush up on my poor Spanish! Es muy mal mis amigos…)

That night, when even the strong coffee and the excitement couldn’t keep me up anymore, after the long journey it was so nice to climb up the ladder to the finished attic of their little house and lay in my sleeping bag, listen to the rain, and fall asleep so far from home.

Food, Beer and Cigarettes.

Our first show was on Friday, October 1 in Bremen at an amazing youth center downtown. I was told the graffiti-covered building had hosted DIY punk shows for the past ten years, and it was easy to believe given the posters and stickers that covered every inch of the place. We arrived early, and the show collective made an amazing dinner for the bands and volunteers–no mystery stew in a plastic bucket here! There was a large buffet of vegan delights like falafel, salad, veggies and other goodies. These punks know how to cook! In addition to the food, there was a small bar downstairs in the concert room and the bands were given free beer and water. I was impressed both by the generosity, and the collective work that made it happen, qualities that seemed to be the norm throughout our experiences with the European DIY scene.

Besides the great food, another difference I noticed was that the show was all-ages, but there was a bar as well. Between bands, punks hung out and even drank beers in the middle of the street outside the youth center. A voice yelled inside of me, “Get off the street! Hide the beers! Respect the space!” But of course this was no big deal. To give you an idea of how normal this scene was, and how strange it was to me, below is a conversation I had with a German punk, describing many DIY shows in the US.

“For instance, at ABC NO RIO in New York City, one of my favorite places on the east coast, you can’t drink or smoke inside,” I said, holding a beer.

“What do you mean? They don’t have a bar?” asked the cool German punk woman with short blonde hair.

“Well, they don’t have a bar, but you can’t bring your own beer, either. Drinking in or around the building isn’t allowed.”

“Why not?” she asked, looking confused.

“The police would shut down the place and that would cause a lot of problems for the building, and would end any shows there. And, you can’t smoke inside. But I don’t mind, I don’t miss the beer, and it’s actually nice without all the smoke.”

Her eyes went wide as she looked at me, trying to comprehend. “What the fuck!!” she said as she lit up a cigarette and walked off. Wow! She thought I was nuts!

Sloma arrived with his van, and the gear we were renting, and also his friend Hubert who was going on tour with us. They had just finished a long journey as well, as they drove straight from the middle of Poland to meet us at the show. The first thing they said to us was, “Why aren’t you playing shows in Poland?!!” With this attitude, we immediately made them honorary Bostonians!

The show itself was full of energy, and the perfect way to start tour. The punks up front danced, which made us feel at home and so happy to be there, and everyone was very supportive. I felt a little strange before my songs, speaking in English my usual rants and explanations on stage. But, I hoped people got the gist of what I was trying to get across, and I think they did. Zerstört die Propagandamaschinerie!

Once again, I hit my word limit, so I have to end here, just when I was getting started. It has been strange coming back home, and my head is not quite all back yet. As usual, I am writing this too late at night, with too many things on my mind. To be continued until next month! Love and Cheers, Erika

Ransom END Notes

Ah, another four years of Bush buddy boy. This first decade of the new millennium has really gone to hell, hasn’t it? And we were worried about Y2K! Fucking shit. My past columns about state propaganda, the Bush administration, the Iraq war, and so on are still valid. You can go back and read them and not much has changed. So, for the next couple of months I’m going to write about being in Europe. It’s the best thing I can do! But to keep things current, I’ve invoked the MRR columnist’s sacred right of ENDNOTES. This first set is dedicated to Wells Anarchy!

1. FUCK BUSH, all the Republicans, all the Democrats, anyone who is closed-minded enough to believe the superficial tripe about “traditional family values” and who voted to “protect the sanctity of marriage between a man a woman” in the constitution of eleven states. FUCK YOU. My anger is only rising.
2. Hello to Erik Sandberg, reading MRR (and not buying it, hey, watch the merchandise buddy!) in a record store in San Francisco right now. Cheers!!
3. “We are the champions, my friends…” The cable access show I worked on for the DNC recently won top awards in three categories at the Northeast Regional Video Festival for the Alliance for Community Media (whew!), the organizing body for cable access stations across the country. Yes, I am a cable access diva! At the awards ceremony, when I accepted my varnished wooden plaque, I thanked CCTV and “Bush for another four years of programming.” Have you ever heard two hundred people hiss and boo at you before? Sarcasm, anyone? But I closed with, “As Elvis said, ‘Thank you. Thank you very much!’”
4. After eighteen episodes, Roach Motel has gone on hiatus. I’ve decided to continue to focus on DIY political punk music, collective venues, and activism but with more of a documentary style format. Projects will take longer to create, but will be more in-depth and polished, and another way to help document our scene and people’s organizing efforts. In addition to cable access, I plan for the new projects to be distributed on DVD. So watch for that!
5. THE PROFIT$ ’99-’04 featuring all of our previous releases is now out on Active Distribution. It only took us nine months to get all the music and art together! I’m really proud of the way it came out. Thanks to Jon and Marta for being so “awesome”! (www.theprofits.org)
6. Stay pissed!