Cittanova Here We Come
Logistics: London Heathrow - flight departure 12.45
Miller drove up from down Brighton way, & to miss any traffic problems was already at the airport by 9 o’clock. Colin Hodgkinson had travelled the day before to a B & B, conveniently situated next door to Zoot’s residence in Fulham.
At 9 am. Zoot, Maggie, Colin H & myself, boarded a bus that dropped us at Hammersmith where we took the Tube to Heathrow Terminal 2. Met Miller – much backslapping amidst exclamations such as “ Sunny Italy here we come” & Maggie’s often repeated, “ I can’t wait to get stuck into that pasta”
We checked in & were off to the designated departure
gate. I had no baggage to check in, just carry on items - a small shoulder bag
& a leather stick-bag. Of course I was confronted by a “Jobsworth” who
informed me that I was only allowed one piece of cabin baggage, which got me
annoyed ‘cos volume-wise my two little items were way less than some of the
stuff people were allowed to proceed with. I managed to get round the problem
by stuffing my stick-bag into my shoulder bag, which stuck out a bit but there
were no more threats of relieving me of my “Tony’s. My Tony Hicks – sticks…… I
will continue to use this as rhyming slang for sticks, in memory of a very fine
drummer who recently passed away. Tony was the drummer with the 70’s band
“Backdoor”. Our bass-player Colin H was also in that band & a lifetime
friend of Tony’s…….. R.I.P. brother tub-thumper. We take off on time – things
were looking good!
At Rome airport, after getting off the Airbus we are immediately confronted by a security X-ray machine – not again?
We go through after waiting about 10 minutes & follow signs for Terminal A. By this time the nicotine addicts in the band namely Maggie, Colin H & myself, are dying for a fag, but as is the norm these days, the airport is no smoking. We aren’t surprised, but still we have our eyes peeled for a “Perspex Palace”, the kind of smoking area that exists at many airports. No chance! We are just approaching a ticket/passport control booth when miracle of miracles, we spot a lone figure sitting in kind of an alcove, puffing away like a good ‘un. The floor was littered with dozens of dog-ends so we all thought, ”This must be the place”. We wandered over to the oasis & lit up with smiles on our faces & got chatting to our fellow fag-man. He was a youngish chappie from the Ukraine, who was on his way home from Uruguay, where he had been involved in making a documentary. His face lit up when we said we were muso’s, & he eventually asked if we knew Sting, we said no, but we did know Andy Summers, which seemed to satisfy him that we had some level of street credibility. We finished our nicotine fix, shook hands with our new found friend & headed off towards the aforementioned
control booth, being ahead of the other two reprobates, I was subjected to a stern bollicking by the man on duty. To the effect that under no circumstances was “Sir” allowed to smoke anywhere in the airport. I wanted to say, “Well why doesn’t someone clean up all those dog-ends on the floor”, but just said,” I’m sorry, I thought you could smoke there”
This seemed to satisfy him. An anal examination was not on the cards this time & I was waved on through, followed by my naughty mates.
At the gate for the flight to Lamezia Terme we were met by our tour manager, Alberto Agostini who would, during our stay in Calabria, prove to be a really top-notch geezer. He was studying to be a lawyer but enjoyed looking after the likes of us if we should choose to venture into Italian airspace. I think he was also into the music.
Without further ado we boarded the plane for the hour flight to Lamezia.
On landing we were met by the courtesy bus from our hotel in Cittanova, about 90 minutes drive due south. The driver was a chunky guy with a shaved head. If someone had said Mussolini was his grandfather, I wouldn’t have been surprised. A more gentle soul you could not wish to meet – his name was Fortunato.
At 8pm. Italian time we arrived at our hotel the Uliveto Principessa Park Hotel, a four star jobbie …..Things were looking good. We had been travelling for 11 hours. We assembled in the restaurant, ate a four course meal & then it was time for some well earned kip.
Breakfast - As I said on a previous trip to Italy for the
same promoter, on seeing nothing much else but pastries for breakfast,” You
can’t play the blues on a croissant”……..Thank God they had some boiled eggs. So
breakfast wasn’t the disappointment I expected….. Thing were looking good.
We filled up the morning with a trip to a local mall to see what was cheap for
the buying, and then returned to the hotel for yet another three courses of
fine food. At 4.30 it was time to go to the gig venue, which was an old
cinema/theatre. This point in time is one of trepidation. Even tho’ details of
equipment are sent weeks ahead of our arrival, everyone in the band is
wondering what kind of gear they are going to find at there disposal on stage.
It affects the musicians in different ways. For me it’s what kind of drum set
will it be. Is it in relatively good condition etc? A moment of supreme
confidence building or as in this case, “Oh bloody hell, what a shitty snare
drum”. The first thing I had to do was put a new drum head (skin) on the snare
…Luckily they had a spare available, it was better but not great. The ride
cymbal was light years away from my irreplaceable Turkish 22” K. Zildjian but
one just has to get on with it. The worse thing for me was that the hihat pedal
spring tension was way too strong, which means to keep the cymbals together in
the normal closed hihat playing position took too much pressure, which does not
help when trying to achieve relaxation. which is the essence of good playing. I
couldn’t seem to get the tension a little softer, even tho’ I twisted the
appropriate bit. The wobbly drum stool didn’t help either! …. Things were
not looking good.
As far as specifications go the sound system seemed OK. The problem was the sound guy(s). It took way too long to get anything like we required, which can wear you out. We often got the “thousand yard stare” from the four or five guys clustered behind the board, when we requested some change. Eventually we got something like we required & told them not to change anything, but as we left to go back to the hotel, they were still saying “testing, testing” in the vocal mikes.
Things were decidedly, not looking good.
We arrive back at the venue; go to the band rooms – the heating is on…..good ( it gets cold at night in Calabria). So we are joking around etc. those that do are having a beer when suddenly all the lights & the heaters go off. A blown fuse it would seem. Over the period of about half an hour various characters come backstage & stare at the fuse box. Eventually one of them pushes the right button and then there was light……..joyous cheers from the band.
Then arrived the evening’s auspicious occasion, namely being introduced to the mayor of Cittanova. We all shook hands with him & said,” Hi man, how’s it hanging”. Maggie of course, always ready to see the funny side of things – curtsied, which got everybody laughing.
From the moment of our arrival the number of bums on seats had gone from about two to more or less a full house.
After some chat from the mayor & one of his mates, we walked on stage to polite applause, & cranked out the first toon, Chuck Berry’s “Promised Land”. Oh dear, you could hardly hear Zoot’s vocal……We had obviously been sabotaged by the local Mafia. Things got a little better as the show progressed but all the vocalists had way less than a perfect situation. Maggie & Zoot were left with sore throats. Even tho’ things were stacked against us we managed to perform well enough ( by the audiences standards, not ours ) to be brought back for an encore. Afterwards there were the “Stone the Crows” albums for Maggie & myself to sign, & posters for all to sign. We were up against it but managed to pull it off. We returned to the hotel feeling that only our reserves of mental fortitude & experience had got us through, which is a drag but as they say……… The show must go on!
On the Sunday morning because of flight availability we were forced to amuse ourselves at the hotel until 3.45 pm.
Fortunato the gentle giant drove us to Lamezia where after hugs & many “Arrivederci’s” we walked into the airport….we had a two hour wait until our departure – so we thought. Oh dear, our flight was delayed by 35 minutes. Our very capable tour manager Alberto, who was also on the flight to Rome, & also had to get a connecting flight, immediately leapt into action & returned with the info. that an Alitalia ground staff person would meet us & escort us to the correct gate for the London flight ( the last one out of Rome ). If we didn’t make it, it would be a night in Rome at a reasonably poncy hotel & all expences paid by Alitalia & a flight out the next morning, which would have been OK. even tho’ we were all dying for a decent cup of Rosie.
A young, petite Alitalia lady waving a card with London on it greeted us when we disembarked. Maybe it was stress but to me it sounded like she had a bit of a cockney accent. Then a mad dash or at least a power walk for about 15 minutes plus a shuttle ride & we arrived at gate C33 & finally after being eyed up for possible terrorist connections we boarded the Airbus. 3 hours 50 min. later we touched down at Heathrow. As expected our checked-in baggage, namely one guitar, one bass guitar & two bags did not make the plane. So while the guys sorted out the delivery of their missing items, Maggie & I made some smoke in the nearest “Perspex Palace” Miller then went to his car for a further 90-minute drive home. The rest of us took a cab to Fulham, which cost us £45. The return trip had taken the best part of 10 hours.
The first thing we did is make a cup of tea & celebrate yet another journey over shark infested waters in pursuit of the perfect blues solo.
Foot note; Zoot has just owned up that it might have been him fusing the lights at the gig when he turned on the heater in the food room, where because of the food, it had been left off. Either way it shouldn’t have blown a fuse! Even before we left Italy, our friendly promoter Gigi was talking to Zoot about further gigs over there for later in the year. Will we go –
I think so. Are we gluttons for punishment? No, but we do like pasta.
