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Italy is soooooo beautiful. The region we are driving through is very mountainous with quite a few lakes and rivers. Quaint villages and cities line the shores and are tucked into breathtaking valleys. Our drive to the Gompm Alm Music Festival in the alps will take approximately 4 hours. Its another hot ride because an unusual heat wave has even hit the Northern mountain region.
Gompm Alm Fest is a camping event and appears to have more of a jam band vibe than a regular blues fest. We look forward to meeting Massimo, our Italian promoter today. Alligator recording artist Michael Burks is also on the bill and will be following our set. We are looking forward to doing a second show with him the following day at the Liri Blues Fest.
We are still in Italy, but you'd never know it. Most people speak German rather than Italian here in the Italian Alps and the architecture definitely leans more toward the German/Austrian side of things. Its also a bit of a shock to see a type of palm tree growing around the Bavarian-style buildings. All of our accomodations have been very nice. The Koning Haus is sleek and modern. There is no air conditioning as it is rarely HOT here in the mountains as it has been this week. We finally have wi-fi but it costs 4 euros (about $5) per hour. We have a lot of catching up to do so we pay for three hours.
Less than 90 minutes later we are showered and back in the van, on our way to the Gompm Alm Festival. It will take approximately an hour to reach the mountaintop festival site. It has to be close to 100 degrees in town, but we are told to bring jackets with us as it may get quite cold on the mountain after dark.
There is no easy way to get to the top. Miles of twisting hairpin curves and steep inclines. Leading our caravan is a festival staffer who has driven down to guide us up the mountain. Ahead of us is Michael Burks and his band. They are pulling a trailer full of gear. By the time we reach the festival site almost all of us are feeling a bit queasy from being jolted around and the stress of two-way traffic on a road wide enough for only a car and a half. Several times we had to inch our way around vehicles coming the opposite direction - sometimes there is only an inch or two to spare between the van tires and the edge of the cliff. At last the pavement ran out and the road got even narrower as it continued snaking up through the forest. Many festival goers have chosen to park below and take the cable car to the top but a surprising number have driven up, parking their vehicles in the woods and along the road and hiking the rest of the way.
It takes longer than anticipated to get to the festival site so we arrive late - a few minutes after our set is supposed to begin. Andy J. Forest from New Orleans has stretched his set until our arrival. We fling ourselves from the van, grabbing guitar cases and within a few minutes we're checking micrphone levels and tuning up. The crowd is mostly young, diverse and international. Some look like they've been camping there for a while already. Pup tents dot the landscape everywhere. In front of the stage is an awning that stretches out like a huge umbrella, which offers a little protection from the elements. The air is brisk - quite a contrast to the stifling heat at the base of the mountain. From the stage we could look out across the mountains. The wind is whipping and it appeared some black looking clouds were moving in. Massimo, our Italian promoter/agent is here to see us perform. It seems an odd choice, but he has eight separate tours running concurrently and this was his only opportunity to hear us. The crowd really seems to dig what we're playing. People are dancing and moving in close to the stage. It soon becomes apparent that Rusty's hollow-body guitar is not happy with the abrupt climate change. Normally the guitar stays true to pitch but today, he is having trouble, and has to quickly tweak the tuning between each song. While he tunes, a man calls an invitation to me that I am welcome to share his tent tonight. Hmmmmmmmmmmm. From the stage I laugh, thank him for the invitation but point out I don't think the guy with the long hair would appreciate it much if I did that.
Finally, in the middle of Robin Trower's "Day of the Eagle" his high E string snaps. He ends the song and we trade guitars and we finish out our set with me playing rythm on the Epiphone and Rusty playing my Telecaster. Tough for both of us because my strings are much lighter than his and each guitar has a very different feel and sound. I have to watch every note I am playing.
The rain hit as soon as we hit our last note. I feel terrible for Michael Burks and his band. They will have rain in addition to the cold wind blowing at them from the back of the stage. The weather doesn't seem to phase the festival goers though. Some hunker down under the umbrella awning and the rest ignore the rain and continue to guzzle beer in the pub area. We shove our guitars into cases and eventually make our way into the building, where Massimo joins us and starts ordering food and drinks for everyone. (yes, more food!) Outside, lightning and thunder rumble loudly, but inside the cozy two-story hiker's shelter there are platters of strong cheeses and cured meats, an unusual bread and the obligatory bottles of carbonated "fizzy" water, regular spring water (also called flat or naturale water) and of course, red wine in small stoneware pitchers. Massimo orders hamburgers, pizzas (with tuna - probably my least favorite dish thus far) and something sort of like a large dumpling that I can't even begin to describe. It tasted like stuffing, but each bite tastes a little different. They are extremely filling. After we finished eating Massimo orders tiny shots of cherry flavored Grapp for everyone. Grappa is really potent and tastes like moonshine if left unflavored. Somebody quickly grabbed Ado's and drank it. He has been drinking water and coffee. Grappa is the last thing he needs. He has to drive us back down that damn mountain.
Massimo picked up a nylon string guitar from a chair in the corner. It was missing a string but he plays well and soon Rusty and I were singing along as Massimo tore through Grand Funk Railroad's "I'm Your Captain." He said he felt GFR's contribution to rock music had been underrated. We told him our story about Farner performing for Doug Pullen's going away party, and also tell him that Mark and Leesia's son had been in a terrible accident. We haven't been able to get online so we haven't checked for an update on his condition but on the mountaintop I say a little prayer that the Farner family is getting the miracle they are hoping for.
Once business is taken care of, we finally get ready to head back down the mountain. This is one hedonistic bash. Everywhere you look, people are staggering. Many have stayed later than they planned to and have missed the last cable car down the mountain. A number of people beg us for a ride down to their cars. Away from the festival site its pitch black and few are carrying flashlights with them. As we pulled away Ado asked if we would mind giving a ride to a mother and daugher who had approached him for a lift. He felt he couldn't agree before asking us, so they had walked on ahead. Needless to say, they were extremely relieved when we pulled along side and told them to climb aboard. As we made our way back down we are boggled at the number of people (many of them intoxicated) who are trying to hike back down to their cars in the dark. We dropped the mom and her daughter at their car parked near the cable lift. She tells Ado there is an easier way to get back to town. They live not too far from the cable lift but she insists on climbing in her car and leading us down the mountain until we are close to our destination, and then she turned her car around and headed back up the mountain toward home.
The constant altitude changes and long rides have wreaked havoc on my body. My left foot is almost football size. My right foot only slightly smaller. All my joints ache and are swollen, as is my face. No one else seems to be having a problem. I am in constant pain and avoid the video cameras because my face is so swollen.
7-18-10
Our next stop is the Liri Blues Festival in Isola del Liri, one of the only cities on the planet with a waterfall in the center of the city. It is a nine-hour trip. Tonight we're opening for Alligator recording artist Michael Burks. We have less than two hours to rest and shower before we head to our sound check.
From the outside our hotel doesn't look like much. We check in and then a man leads us over to another building where our rooms are. From the outside I fear we've finally gotten a fleabag hotel. Once inside, we are relieved that our rooms are actually pretty nice. The air conditioning works well and there is a real TUB, rather than just a shower. I'm overheated, exhausted and fairly cranky. After a cool bath I laid down, spreading a towel across the pillow so my hair won't soak the pillow. When I wake up about 40 minutes later I have chenille textured stripes across my face. Lovely. Hopefully they'll fade before show time. The nap, air conditioning and bath have worked their magic and I feel 100% better than I did an hour earlier, although I'm still swollen almost beyond recognition. My biggest gripe is that I am out of hairspray. I have been looking for it at the roadside travel centers for tthe past two days. Ado will do anything for us, but somehow he doesn't grasp how much I crave this one hair product. Out of necessity we've been traveling with open car windows so perhaps he thinks my alternating finger-in-a-light-socket, windblown look or the sweaty, plastered-to-my-head look is what I normally look like, but for some reason we never get to a regular store and now there is no time to find any. Uck. Out of our entire tour, I would not have chosen this show to have a bad hair day. That's just the way things shake out sometimes though, and I've just got to roll with it.
The stage is set up about three blocks from the lovely waterfall in a piazza (town square). This is another serious stage, with more LED lighting. We have decent equipment to work with. Rusty has a Fender DeVille and I played through a vintage Fender Super Vibralux. For Dave there is a Kurzweil keyboard and a Hammond B3 - but the Leslie only spins at one speed. Ah well.
Most people stay indoors in the heat of the late afternoon, so there aren't many people roaming around town when we do soundcheck. A few curious passersby stop to listen but we quickly finish sound check and head to a restaurant for dinner. Because of the heat, Italy is a late night country. The cities come alive at 10 pm, and our shows typically start between 10 and 10:30 p.m. Michael Burks, bassist Oscar, drummer Popcorn and Wayne, the keyboard player have already arrived at the restuarant with Manolo, their tour manager.
Our server smiles shyly and apologizes for her poor English but she speaks better English than most of the people we have talked to thus far. She is friendly and soon loses her shyness in trying to communicate with us. white wine, water, bread with hummus, cold blanched snap peas, a cold salad made of beans, risotto and seafood. After the appetizers came a 4-cheese risotto, and after that came our "second plate." Rusty ordered veal, Dave a meatloaf dish with chunks of egg, Andy and Pete ordered a puckery lemon chicken, and I enjoyed chicken breast with white wine sauce.
The piazza is filled with people when we take the stage two hours later. The sound crew makes us sound like a million bucks and there are video cameras and photographers everywhere. Ado takes my camera so he can get pictures for us. Our energy level is off the charts and Rusty is having a great time playing and mugging for the audience. He and Dave throw down some seriously badass riffs during the improv sections and my rendition of Voodoo Woman goes over really well with the crowd of several thousand, who roar their approval after each song and press close to the stage. So much fun.
We autograph photos and CDs for at least an hour and try to meet as many people as possible - including more of my new Facebook friends who I have been communicating with for the past several weeks - all the while grooving to Michael Burks and his band, who are taking the people in the jam-packed piazza to another level. There is a frenzy of photo flashes when Michael steps down from the stage and walks through the crowd during an extended solo. I caught a shot of him myself as he made his way back to the stage.
Dave, Rusty and I make our way around the corner to a small bar and grab a drink. We talk with more people and pose for more photos with folks who later become our friends on Facebook. Such warm, friendly people. I wish the language barrier weren't quite so wide, but we manage to communicate on a very basic level - lots of smiles and handshakes and cheek kissing. I give guitar picks to some of the kids milling around backstage. Several teenage boys have volunteered as crew members for the festival.
"Maybe our band will play the Liri Blues Festival next year," one of them tells me. Learning that they are players, I give them the last of the guitar picks I have stashed in my pocket.
"I will use this pick if we play the festival next year," he tells me solemnly.
Standing side stage, Rusty mentions to Manolo that it would be fun to jam with Michael. He is shocked into silence when Manolo dashes off to confer with Michael between songs. Minutes later Rusty is strapping his guitar back on and he and Michael Burks trade licks for 30 minutes or so. At one point, Michael took a turn at the B3 while Rusty played, and then Dave jumped on the keyboard with Wayne. The crowd absolutely loves the two of them playing together and the roar is deafening when the show finally draws to a close.
Late into the night we linger, all of us musicians and the sound crew. Michael, Rusty and I have a long conversation about mutual friends, Southern cooking, promoters, venues and festivals, international touring, guitars, gear - you name it. After Rusty had thanked Michael for at least the third time for being so gracious, the Grammy award nominee tells Rusty he remembers how it felt to be snubbed and shut out by other musicians back when he was starting out. He asks to exchange contact info and tells us to call him if there's ever anything he can do for us. In-freaking-credible. You'd better believe we'll do everything in our power to promote his shows at every opportunity - especially when the band rolls through Michigan.
We have always gone out of our way to be open, cordial and helpful to musicians we have met on the road or on our own home turf. I'm sad to say that most of the time, the response to our friendliness is at best, a smirk and a nod, and at the worst, a chilly look and no response whatsoever. There have been times where we haven't had time to chat because we're under pressure to clear the stage quickly after the set, and I always feel bad afterward. I hope we never act like that. Ah well, like Santa Claus, we remember who's been naughty and who's been nice. And although we don't respond or acknowledge their actions, we always will remember those who have tried to halt or destroy our musical endeavors.
Its really late when we finally roll back to the hotel for a few hours' sleep.
7-19-10
We have the day off from performing but it is still a travel day. We drive to a hotel called Villa Fanini, located near Massimo's home base in Ascoli Picena. It is a nice hotel. The guys go into town to do laundry. I'm feeling pretty ill from the drives so I stay back at the room while the guys head into town to do laundry. After dinner we all try to catch up on our videos, photos and blogging.
