FROM ARMADILLO: Alright my babies…I was NOT in Sweden with our boys in pink and black. But the road report must go on, and the following report arrived in the proverbial electronic plain brown envelope for your reading enjoyment. Here you go!
SETLIST AND ROAD REPORT FOR SKOGSROJET FESTIVAL, REJMIRE SWEDEN, 28-JULY, 2013
Prolog-
Since the ‘Dillo has, over the years, done so much to help the TS support team out (a lot of it grunt work that he was never asked to perform) it seemed only right that we on the staff return the favor. So here you are Terry (and by extension all his babies), the Not Armadillo official TS blog Road Report for the final TS show of the summer of 2013, Skogsjet* Festival in Sweden.
*-No one, and I mean NO one (more on that later) seems to know how to pronounce the name of this little shindig, so you are hereby warned to look for the variations—and feel free to vote for your favorites.
OK, let’s see…how does he usually do these things? Le Dillo usually throws up the set list first and then let’s everybody hang for a few days for anything resembling usable information. So off the top of my still jet lagged head, here’s what I think the boys played Saturday night (will probably need correcting):
1-You Can’t Stop R+R
2-Shoot ‘em Down
3-Stay Hungry
4-The Beast
5-The Kids Are Back
6-We’re Not Gonna Take It
7-I Believe in R+R
8-The Fire Still Burns
9-The Price
10-We’re Gonna Make It
11-Under The Blade
11-Burn in Hell (Full Drum Solo)
12-I Wanna Rock
Encores:
Come Out And Play
S.M.F.
I may have the order totally wrong, but I think the songs are right.
OK, now what does he usually do next (after making us wait forever, that is)?
Right, he acts out the delusion that he’s the Armadillo Faulkner, and describes the locale like some sort of dirtbag travelogue. And by describe, I mean describe in minute detail; pushing back the fun stuff by paragraphs and often full chapters.
[Note: The original idea here was to show Terry how he SHOULD do these things, as in “cut to the chase.” But upon mentioning to some TS peeps that this fill-in was planned, there emerged a consensus that the column should be used to demonstrate to Armadillo just how annoying his ancillary prose can be. Apologies in advance for you, the readers, having to wade through the next section. But know that it’s length and absurdity is purposed to help us ALL in the future. So without further ado, here now the faux road report, in the style to which we have become accustomed, meaning with further ado.]
Friday Morning, 7/27/13. After a 2 ½ hour van ride from Stockholm airport, through the scenic, idyllic, and occasionally Ferrari-strewn Swedish countryside, band and crew arrive safely in Kopping, a heretofore unknown little hollow in the southeast of the nation, which turns out to be a truly lovely and welcoming mini-metropolis; replete with electric trolleys and shopping within walking distance of the hotel. Both hotels, actually. The one we were booked into, and the one we actually stayed in since it had air-conditioning. (Apparently global warming has caught this part of Scandinavia unprepared).
But I digress—deliberately (see above) and not for the last time. See how much fun it is Terry?
Notice while I said ‘the band and crew arrived” I mentioned nothing about any luggage or gear. That’s because DELTA apparently stands for Don’t Expect Luggage To Arrive. Not a single bag, backpack, guitar case or duffel has managed to make it out of the cargo bay to accompany us. My kingdom for a guitar pick!!
Have I digressed recently? No? We’ll then, let me get to it.
Kopping is not just the picturesque hamlet of several paragraphs ago. Based on our on-stage experience of Saturday, it appears to be a favorite summer vacation destination for many of Northern Europe’s moths. They were everywhere; in infinite varieties, colors and sizes, drawn by the lights of the stage and one assumes the moth brothels (mothrels?) doubtless within flitting distance. Now, this is the spot in the Report where I was gonna absolutely punish you all with a three page treatise on Lepidopterism. It was gonna be epic payback. You get it Terry? Epic? But it turns out I have actual work to do and cannot devote the research hours required to getting the dissertation right. And I refuse to mail in satire. So take a deep breath and we shall continue post-commutation. [Are you following all these references and tortured syntax? If so, see a doctor immediately].
Oh, one more thing on the moths…Spoiler alert-one memorable show moment was AJ catching a moth twixt drumsticks, a la Mr. Miagii. But I’m getting ahead of myself (he wrote with full self-awareness, not to mention unfettered contempt for his target audience of one).
I wonder what fettered contempt is.
Yet even more on Kopping. It also serves as the principal city for the region that the Skankjet Fest resides in. And fun fact—said region apparently is the glass blowing capital of all Sweden.
While I would love to just leave that little nugget out there as an Armadillo-esque annoyance, there actually is some entertainment value here. Among the gifts the grateful promoter presented to the band Saturday was a 14” clear glass wine decanter, in the shape of a cock-and-balls. I’m not making this up. Curved, thick, circumcised (I guess they’re not worried about the Nazis coming back any time soon) and millennium-appropriate in its lack of pubic hair, said phallus came with the festival name (Sploogejet) inscribed right on it. Truly a conversation piece; although apparently no band member wished to have that particular conversation take place in their own house.
So the gift was offered to me. And a tempting offer it was; but upon reflection I realized my apartment already houses a substantial collection of phalli, both glass-blown and otherwise, and this addition would be merely overkill.
And there was a further complication, in that this particular object d’art seemed ill suited to withstand the rigors of Delta’s renowned baggage handlers (see above). So a command decision was made. I would just leave the thing in the room next to the maid’s tip. Problem solved.
Or not; for on Sunday morning prior to checkout, the realization hit that perhaps this little bit of largesse might not be received in the spirit in which it was given. It might even get me into hot Swedish water if there existed a particularly unfortunately worded anti-sexual harassment statute in the land of Abba. [Speaking of Abba, Kopping is absolutely swimming in billboards for the Abba Museum, conveniently located in…Stockholm! Go figure.]
Anyhoo, back to our story. So Sunday morning a warning is passed (as euphemistically phrased as possible) to the front desk of the hotel. Oh, Oh. The hotel. Oh. I almost forgot. It turns out the hotel is owned and run by a woman who was an exchange student for a full year in the home of Eddie Ojeda’s first cousin. And they still correspond. Small world, wouldn’t wanna clean it.
Whaddaryoutalkinaboutanyway you A.D.D.-riddled sadist?!?!?!? What does this have to do with the road report???
Oh right, the road report. Sorry. So anyway, back to the glass cock-and-balls.
So we tell the desk vaguely what’s in store for the lucky chambermaid, and their response is…”Can we have it? We’ll put it on display in the lobby! Oh, and could you please have the band autograph it?”
Ummm…okay, I guess.
So Arma’s babies, if you’re ever in Kopping, Sweden, keep your eyes peeled for what is doubtless the most unique TS artifact in the world! No lie.
Okay, so let’s see, got in Friday, no luggage, etc. etc. etc., picturesque, moths, glass johnson autographed before leaving Sunday, Eddie’s cousin yada yada yada…
Yup, that about wraps it up for this edition of the road report. See you down the road.
I now return you to Armadillo. I hope you found reading this diatribe as tiresome as I did writing it.
—ANONYMOUS—
Well, there you go, my babies! Don’t blame me….blame high airline rates! Perhaps our anonymous writer will feel generous enough to tell us if the boys ever got their instruments and how the show actually was! wow. Am I really THAT bad? This is Armadillo, wishing you a safe holiday until we all return on the road once more!
Armadillo
