Rock'n'Roll Adventure.com
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Testimonials from actual Rock'n'Roll Adventurers: "You guys f---ing rock! This was an amazing adventure! I loved every minute!" "I love you Mike! Thank you SO much!" "Wow! Incredible! Great fun. You should have your own TV show!" "Mike, you're a dream-maker. I've dreamed about touring Europe my whole life, performing my music at concerts and on European radio, and you made that dream come true. Thank you!" "This was the best Summer of my life. SongSchool was just awesome. May I have a meatball, alsjeblieft?" "An unforgettable experience. Our every gig... rocked to the fullest. It was a blast [playing] to an extremely appreciative European audience." Here is Steve's account of his Spring 2006 Swiss Rock'n'Roll Adventure Tour (excerpted with permission from his forthcoming book "Piano Man"): Rock and Roll in the Swiss Alps Last year I had the sweet opportunity to play some rock band gigs in the Alps of Switzerland. It was an unforgettable experience. Meet the cast: Chicago Mike - The American Reverend of Rock & Soul in western Europe, long-haired hippy giant out of Chicago. Jeremy - Organ player from Utah, certifiable freak show, earth angel. Rich - Guitar and bass journeyman, fall-down funny motherf---er. Boy - Our drummer, a 50 year old Dutchman. Boy is deaf. Predictably, he was also our soundman and our interpreter. It takes about 24 hours of travel time, moving constantly, to get from Chicago to the Alps via plane, bus, rail and electric car. Our first four gigs were in Zermatt, a remote but very posh ski village at the foot of the Matterhorn in Switzerland. Mike had lined up band gigs at The Papperla Pub, a very cozy and accessible tavern at the main rendezvous location in the village. Our every gig in Zermatt pretty much rocked to the fullest. Our listeners were the skiers and tourists on holiday in the Alps. They skied the slopes all morning and afternoon, and the evening drinking was done to the live rock show of Chicago Mike and the Big Eyed Beans. Europeans eat up voraciously the canon of great American and British rock, and with Chicago Mike they were getting it from the belly of the beast. It was a great thing to be a part of. Because Mike has this legendary habit of breaking strings, I got to do lots and lots of songs. It was a blast nailing classic rock signatures with a live band to an extremely appreciative European audience. The first night's gig was nearly a total disaster for me, however. After traveling 24 hours and not sleeping for like, 48, add to the mix clean Alpine air and altitude, I was completely naturally high and ready to rock the f---ing house. I lugged my 80-pound weighted-action keyboard halfway around the world to do my best on it, and I couldn't wait to hit it. The pre-show set-up was fairly chaotic and rushed. I plugged in my power adaptor, switching to a European electric plug, powered up, and within 5 seconds I had burned out my power supply. Done. 220 volts is not converted into 120v by the plug, idiot, it is converted by a converter. I knew this, and in the chaos and with my sleep-deprived wits, I blew it. Literally. I was my own personal rage for half an hour. The band fired up without me, because I had no instrument. I was despondent at the possibility I had actually fried the circuitry of my keyboard. After I cooled off and resolved to let it all go, I joined the stage to sing and sit in using Jeremy's keyboard, which was problematic but ultimately it worked out. The next day I hiked across Zermatt about six times to find a new and rather specific power supply and adaptor, and European power converter! It worked out, and I was good to go for the rest of the tour. The Papperla Pub in Zermatt, like most ski bars in Der Schweiz, has many gorgeous female bartenders, all of whom are dating or married to an equally gorgeous male ski champion. Or property owner. So they are all by default extremely nice and kind, because they are secure and happy, and have no desire whatsoever to hook up with some roaming American rocker dude. We lived like kings all the while in Zermatt. A free gourmet hotel dinner every evening, free drinks everywhere we went, though we bought plenty. We had our own floor in a chalet; we toured the stores and eateries all day, rocked a 3-hour show in the evening, ate dinner, drank and partied at night. This one young local-born beauty adopted us for a couple of nights. They can drive you crazy, these gorgeous young highly intelligent and styling European girls, as they can anywhere else in the world. I'm stupidly susceptible to their charms and of course I fell in love. We all dropped in and jammed with the other great musicians in town, shout out to the great Doc Fingers and the beautiful funk band at The Pink. Our final three gigs in Switzerland were to be at a disco bar some two hours further up into The Alps in a town called Saas-Grund. Seven of the ten highest mountain peaks in the Alps surround Saas-Grund, and the land was breathtaking. The small hamlet even further up the mountain where we had accommodations is called Saas-Fee, and is known as "The Pearl of the Alps". The Old-Inn was run by some great guys who took care of us in every way. We had a real stage and large crowd every night. In our crowds were mostly hardcore ski teams, tourists and locals. Man, do they know how to drink and smoke and have fun. They ate up everything we played. Rolling Stones, Eagles, CCR, all the classic rockers and sing-alongs. Shots of whiskey flowed complimentary from the bartenders like nowhere I have ever experienced. I had the good fortune to stay a couple of nights in the hotel above the club. That is luxury, my friends leaving your gear set up for a three-day run with a warm bed waiting above the very place you are playing and partying. There was a girl bartender at the Old-Inn named Sanne (Sah-nuh). She's an absolutely gorgeous blond from The Netherlands, with a smile to melt the glacier. She had the room next to mine. Jeremy our organ player from Utah (and my roommate) joined her for a nightcap one night, they smoked a joint on the adjoining balcony under the mountains. They were laughing together for hours on the balcony while I entertained a naked German skier girl in my bed. She was more adorable than pretty, and I loved it. Yes, she had one true Swiss Alpine mountain slope-sculpted ass. At times like that, my vagabond, at-times pathetic, "great protracted American childhood" of a lifestyle is utterly without regret. When Jeremy and I let the girls go in the early hours of morning, I don't think we had ever seen each other so happy. On the last day before departure, I skied the Alps. It was four-and-a-half hours of pure masochism. For reasons of fate and inexperience, altitudinal brain damage and language barriers, and foolish bravery I was at every moment on skis in the Alps over my head. I was constantly under stress and usually in distress. Often, I was in trouble. Occasionally I was in danger. Once I was completely out of control and in the middle of a Black Diamond run, though not by conscious choice. I lost some gear, slid about 50 yards down the mountain uncontrollably and non-stop on my butt, and finally got to a blue run as the sun was setting behind the mountains. I ended the evening with a touch of hypothermia back in a bed in Saas-Fee. It was the most agonizing day that I would never trade for anything. Playing music and hanging with my band mates was a true joy and privilege. We laughed, smoked, ate well, rocked, worked, commiserated, shopped, gorged on chocolate, made new friends, and all in all had a time none of us will ever forget. My last day in Switzerland was for travel, and I was determined to spend a night on the town in Zurich. I was now on my own, the rest of the band heading up to the Netherlands for the next string of gigs. My entire night in Zurich proved to be a very jeopardous, taxing and expensive adventure, but again, worth every bit of suffering. Having to lug my electric piano around caused me a serious problem. Upon arrival in Zurich, I hailed a taxi, proceeded to put my piano into the back of the cab and immediately busted the glass of the cab's special meter, required by Swiss law. The cabby was apoplectic and insisted that it would cost him 400 francs ($300 dollars?) to repair it. We argued as we drove (had they not heard of insurance in Switzerland?) and I told him I'd pay him 100 francs. The only affordable hotel room I could find was far outside the city limits. But I arrived early and spent the entire evening and night hoofing and cabbing from one bar to the next, making my way gradually to the center of Zurich. I hit a couple of piano bars, played one of them and met some beautiful kind patrons. As the night was getting late I finally found the perfect bar to get wasted in. It was filled with about forty young Europeans from every country, all sharing my mission. I drank with a righteous Brit, a proud young man from Ghana, a very dangerous dude from Kosovo ("F--k America"), a Swiss teenager, a German, and others I can't remember. There were lots of strip clubs around, but I came to understand that they were all fronting brothels. Not my style, that extreme. And very expensive. Nothing is cheap in Switzerland. Bring lots of money. The same cabby who's meter I broke and who was furious at me ended up having breakfast and coffee with me the next day and taking me to the airport. We practically became friends. He does not believe a plane hit the Pentagon. These are only some of my stories and memories from this grand tour. I can't wait to go back. Musicians and vagabonds of all stripes get yourselves to Europe. ~ Steve Kouba, composed Spring 2007 |
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