(all photos by jonpauldouglass)

Lifestyles Of The Beat And Sleepless (Murphy’s Law, The Domino And

Chaos Effects, And Other Treats)

(multi-locational)

(photo by JPWD)

I write to you from an aerial suppository lodged somewhere in between Newark and Kansas City. The band and crew alike have just returned from a multi-country stop unlike one I’ve ever experienced before, and now our grizzly frames are stuffed like sardines into a tiny regional jet-thing. We’ve just gotten word (via email) that our bus is broken down about 400 miles away from where we’re flying to be picked up from - and we have a few thousand pounds of gear with us to boot. Let us backtrack…

So this won’t be a food blog (as I’ve hinted at before, the “blog” is about to start becoming a multi-format platform of ramblings) but a memoir of sorts of some intense times.

We had just finished our “turn” of main stage slots at Mayhem (In Flames, Machine Head, and Trivium were all to do 1/3’s of the different 3 stages on the tour) when a few days before, In Flames had to leave due to a family emergency. So with that recent occurrence, MH and ourselves divvied up the IF dates - and this was our final side stage show before being all main stage shows. Raleigh, NC was our home for the day - and it had been a little bit since we’d played the side stages. Today was a hot day - one of the hottest I could remember on the tour. Our discount bus’s A.C. was half working, outside was varying from hot and dry to hot and humid, the well-done cooked porto-potty back yard, and gravel front yard were our challenging landscapes of the day.

It was quite a trek back and forth to main stage (to eat and use bathrooms and do press and all that) and this tour has been a hot one the whole time. The show ended up being fantastic - and afterwards, we had to pack our stuff to ship off to a hotel in order to fly to Germany the next early morning. We pulled up to a half-scary joint where we unloaded and headed to our rooms.

I had this peculiar hot tub thing in my concrete-walled cell.

Everyone got about 3-6 hours of sleep (the magic number of foreshadowing of the days to come) and we headed to the airport. The whole deal with this major show thing was that we were to miss 3 Mayhem shows in order to play Wacken Open Air in Wacken, Germany (the biggest metal festival in the world - we were to play direct support to Judas Priest) and a support slot to Iron Maiden at the O2 Arena. 

We did our first flight, then the long one (I believe I got about 3-6 hours or so of sleep; the other dudes all couldn’t sleep) - and it’s funny - most people always say “ah man, it must be great flying in first class!” Ha. We’re always coach, back of the bus, cheapest tickets and airlines possible. My first seat that I was assigned was a non-reclining seat with a power box in front of my feet - so there was no room. I pleaded with the flight attendant and was able to get an exit row aisle for a price (airlines charge for everything nowadays… it’s a little scary they charge for exit rows - isn’t that where “able bodied” people are supposed to assist in case of emergency? I’m “able”) and then I zonked out for a bit.

Arriving in Hamburg at 7:30am, we stayed at a real decent hotel across the airport - got free breakfast and everyone napped a bit. We headed down after the short doze, and met for lobby call where they sent too few vans; once sorted - we were on our way. 

Wacken is probably the nicest set up festival we have ever played. The attendance of the weekend had been ranging between 80,000 - 110,000 per day, the catering was great, the dressing rooms were well equipped and stocked, and the back stage had the nicest damn bathroom trailer I have ever seen (it had TV’s playing previous years’ performances, nice lighting, AC’d, cleaned every 15 minutes, etc). I’ve seen a lot of murder-scene-esque bathrooms in my life time - and this one was a welcoming treat. 

The show was by far one of the greatest of our lives - 80,000 plus people all rocking their asses off. It went off without a hitch - it was perfect (I think we will be releasing the footage as a live DVD some day). Next was a signing…

So, I have done a lot of signings in my day - and I know what works: no direct photos with the band (if you do photos, plus signings, plus chatting with each person… what inevitably ends up happening is that 100’s of people get completely skipped due to each person’s time taking so long), and one or just a few items to sign per person. Now - I know this seems intense… but it’s far far far worse to skip 100’s of people who have been waiting for an hour to meet you… so I briefed the signing people - and did they listen? No.

It was chaos. No line, people setting up cameras while trying to greet others (and this is not the fault of the concert goer), and in the end - lots of people left out. I told this jerk running the thing “We do not want to miss anyone waiting for us - so you need to get the line in order, and tell people no pictures unfortunately due to the length of the line.” The prick didn’t give a shit - they were useless and unhelpful and I am very sorry to the people who we missed out signing for, the kids who got pushed around by bully-ass security (once they finally got off their ass to assist in helping the line move - but too little too late, my friends). I was angry. I keep my cool most of the time - but the signing Genius pulled me by my shoulder and said we needed to wrap up - I gave him a piece of my mind. 

Still fuming from the signing’s unfortunate ending - we collected our things, did some other bits, ate, and prepped to leave.

Easy right? No.

Our next dickhead of the night was some cocky little-prick who ran the shuttles back to the hotel. The hotel was an hour plus away, and the festival was in the middle of nowhere - so naturally - we needed a ride. Ol’ Nice Guy told us that we missed our shuttle and there was nothing we could do (apparently we had one booked, but we missed it due to the signing running late) - our manager and I exchanged some heated words with the gentleman, and basically he told us to go F ourselves. Thankfully, our booking agent called that dudes’ boss and it got sorted after a while.

Arriving back in the room far later than initially intended, we got 3-6 and woke up for a 4:30 or something a.m. lobby call to fly to London. 

1.5 hour flight to London after some whacky customs and - did I forget to mention that we are all lugging 1000’s of pounds of flyable gear (getting charged at each airline) to pull these shows off - we got picked up in our van to go to the hotel. 

We drove to the Holiday Inn at Heathrow to check in; we lugged it all in - wrong Holiday Inn - there’s another one. Loaded back in to the van and went to the “other” Holiday Inn. After a few minutes of trying to check us in, our tour manager Brian Griffin (real name) found out there is a third Holiday Inn; by this point we were all just laughing at fate’s cruelty - piled in and went to the third Holiday Inn at Heathrow airport. 

The rooms weren’t ready, so everyone laid across chairs, the floor, anything they could to grab some z’s. We slept for a couple minutes, got into our rooms, slept a couple minutes, and piled back into the vans to go to the O2. The ride to the O2 took 2 hours in London traffic - we arrived with compressed coccyx and all, deliriously fading in and out of consciousness - dropped our bags and I had to head to a guitar clinic.

The clinic was amazing. I loved it. I love to teach. I love teaching guitar, and some day I would like to get my yoga teacher’s certification. The people who attended were super nice, and I hope they all had a good time - I had a great time. 

Jon Paul was on this trip to photo and document our adventures, and both he and I decided to hit one of the very few chain restaurants that I’ll eat at. We hit up Nando’s (a Portuguese style chicken “fast” food place in the U.K. and Australia and a few other places around the world) with some dear friends, for grilled chicken and fries - we felt we deserved it.

Next was soundcheck, warm up, then one of the best damn shows we’ve ever done supporting a band. Roughly 10,000 people when we started - it grew to about 15,000 or so during mid-set; and everyone we talked to said it was the best reaction they’d ever seen for a band opening up for Iron Maiden. It was intense - we came out all guns blazing… my voice during the whole day was completely shot (from singing, lack of sleep, flying, lack of sleep, playing, lack of sleep, flying, lack of sleep) and should have sucked - thankfully, the old-vocal-cords were running on all cylinders, and it was some of the best singing I feel I’ve pulled off in a while.

We came off stage, celebrated (before and after - rare occasion) with some shots and beers, grabbed delicious catering (Eat To The Beat is an amazing touring catering company) and watched Maiden from the standing area on the floor. Iron Maiden is without a doubt, one of the greatest live bands on the earth - they were unbelievable. 

We hung with label, agents, band, crew, friends and had a good time. We hit up this after party thing (initially, I was completely unsure if I wanted to leave immediately after the set, or stay around due to being so groggy… the show was so damn good though - I had to… plus my wife said “Hun, sleep when you’re dead - you’re going to hang out with Iron Maiden!”) Hung out a bit, then I was crashing…

A good friend of ours, Morgan (RRInternational) got me and JP into a cab and we took the 2 hour cab back to the hotel. 3-6 hours or so of sleep… woke up so tired that I had to actually pull my eye-lids open; got ready, went to lobby call - got in the vans and headed to the airport.

Long check in, nutty airport, nutty security - got to the gate - got in the plane. 

Aisle. Check.

Bags. Check.

Infant next to me? Shit…

I saw JP was initially supposed to be next to me, but was upgraded to Business First - I went up to see what happened, and ya know what the nice best pal-o-mine does? Insists I take his seat. I refused a few times… then we swapped. Thank you Jon Paul. I slept the 3-6, woke up, ate decent plane food (which I never do unless I’m in this class - which is never as well), and enjoyed the trip. 

Arriving in Newark, we cleared customs, had to re-check all the gear and stuff- get new tickets, head to the gate - did all that; then we showed up to the gate.

Granted this was only about 30-45 minutes ago - you can see why the tone of some of this chapter was a little heated… Brian Griffin tells us our bus is broken down.

Back track a touch.

We were initially flying into Kansas City to play an off-date with In Flames. In Flames had to leave the tour, so that cancels the show - Trivium Ent books non-refundable tickets, so we had to use those tickets, get picked up, drive to Oklahoma City for the next mayhem show (which is Tuesday; it’s Sunday today).

This bus company… every time something has gone wrong - the owner has actually told our tour manager things like: “light it on fire - I don’t care, I’m losing my ass on this company anyway” or “roll it off a cliff for all I care." 

So Brian gets an email that says "Bus is broken down, it won’t be picking you up, probably can’t make it to Oklahoma.” That’s it. Our driver evaded Brian’s calls; I eventually get him on my cell - we find out that the bus broke down (since it’s a cheap, unfit-to-drive bus that we’re getting at a “steal”) and it’s immobile. Then our gate starts to board.

So that’s where we are now, my friends… what is the next chapter of our fateful story? Will our heroes make it to the next show in time? Will tempers flare so bad that we actually do try to light the bus on fire? Or ourselves? Only time will tell…

Mama’s

(Home.)

My love for food is without a doubt, from my mom. From my earliest memories of food as a kid, I remember eating everything. My mom is the best Japanese cook I’ve ever met, but she can also make anything from any other culture’s food. I think the realization that I was eating something great, was when I started school.

First, obviously everything in school tasted really bad - and I wasn’t sure why (I know now it was due to the amazing care and love that my mother puts into making her food). Second, when other kids would talk about what cereal they love - I’d tell them about the heaping bowl of rice and salmon and miso soup that I just had in the morning (it would usually get them to yell “grooooosssss!” or something that still is very typical, stereotypical in the closed-off-American-palette commentary arena). 

When I’d eat at other kids’ houses and have their mother’s cooking - it wasn’t the same… it was the same feeling I had when I was eating in the cafeteria - so I definitely started realizing (or maybe I can fully realize now) that I was a lucky kid to be able to eat all the delicious things varying from all over the globe and most importantly - all the delicious things from all over the land of the rising sun.

Japanese food is something I need on a genetic level. If I go too long without Japanese food - my yellowness fades away into a pale grey and I become merely a shadow a beast only faintly resembling myself… thankfully mama lives close by. It’s insane to me that I used to eat that good everyday (and don’t get me wrong - at home nowadays - my wife makes absolutely incredible food; but it will be up to me to pull off the Japanese food - I am always pushing people to be connected with their roots) so that’s why I am always looking for something more on tour. 

I can sense good food - utilizing a variety of cross-checking resources: websites, local’s recommendations, eye-balling out the scene utilizing my Bourdain-esque mental checklist of if I am in tourist land or locals-ville; among other bits - so I always try to replicate essentially, eating at home. It doesn’t always happen… and lately it sure hasn’t on this latest tour we’re on… however - to reminisce on good eating is always the closest thing to actually eating well.

Ashley, Miyuki and I met with Michelle and her boyfriend Hunter, and my parents at their house. This is the same house I spent most of my life in - good memories here. 

We showed up (and as always) heaps and heaps of impossibly beautiful looking dishes lay out across the dinner table. My parents welcomed us, and it was time to dig in already (my dad likes to get eating ASAP… just because - ha.)

We started with Chuka Salada Chinese Noodle - a Chinese style dish that has thin slices of tamago (egg mixed with salt and sugar), varieties of meat, sprouts, carrots, other greens, and the clear noodles - all served cold with a dipping sauce not unlike soba sauce. Korokke and my mom’s legendary Harumaki spring rolls laid next to the Chuka: Korokke is a deep fried ball of mashed potato and beef (deep fried in a style completely different than tempura - this is panko crusted); the spring rolls are legendary to anyone whose ever eaten at my house - deep fried till crispy, with chicken, carrot, celery - all dipped into a spicy Japanese mustard.

Ebi Chili is shrimp in a chili sauce with green onions; fantastic. Okowa Chinese Sticky Rice is by far my favorite of the dim sum style dishes when it comes to Chinese food. It has a very sticky rice (obviously, right?) with mini-shrimp, pork, mushrooms, and is cooked in this magical sauce. I was stoked to see the two China-style dishes at the house tonight. 

There’s a damn good reason I never want Japanese on tour unless I know it’s Japanese made - and it’s my mom’s impeccable cooking. Mom’s miso soup is the same as I remember from childhood - just better than the miso you’ve had anywhere else; I know right away if a Japanese place is legit from it’s miso (and let me tell you… all those high-hatted, onion flinging, blonde-kids-lighting-frozen-shrimp on fire, hot-plate-places… are not Japanese). 

Grilled Salmon and Rice is my favorite thing in the world. If I had to pick one thing to eat forever - and that was it - it would be this. Another of my favorite’s in the world, is anything in dumpling form. My mom made hand-made gyoza (well - everything was hand and homemade - but emphasis on this one) and it was as perfect as it’s always been. I’ve been eating this gyoza, like this, since I was super little. 

All the wonderfulness of sharing magical food and hanging with loved ones was all accompanied by bottles and bottles of Ginga Kogen Beer (one of the few legitimately Japanese beers you can get in Florida (I get mine through Ken from Shin Sushi (www.shinsushi.com)); most beers that are “Japanese” are actually brewed in Canada). 

In my life, family and friends come first; food comes second; music comes third - so I was with 2 of my top favorite things that day.

It was a great recharge of the soul.

Full Of Food, Hungry For Sleep

London 3:

Sleep deprivation creeps and wears hard. The initial euphoria that was the beginning of the press tour in Japan was long gone - we were tired and grumpy. Over worked and over exhausted, me and Corey were corpses by this point; the press trip had spanned around 2 weeks by this point, and we’re talking 6-8 hours of press/travel/etc. a day, then a feast - then 2-4 hours of sleep. 

We met in the lobby - my breakfast was a kashi bar (I always pack tons of Clif’s or Kashi, triscuits and nuts on a trip), Corey had nothing. London traffic was intense that day… every 15 minutes of travel took 4 times as long - at Scuzz, I broke down and ate their office cereal dry out of the box due to starvation.

We worked hard that day - busting out press obligation after press obligation, until finally it was dinner time. We didn’t want to get back in a car - the thought of cramming my 6'3-almost frame into a British people carrier sounded revolting… a close walk to Maggie Jones’s for wine and pub food again though? Fantastic.

This was our second time hitting Maggie’s in 3 days; with us we had: Paul Ryan, Kirsten, Danielle, Sami, The Trivs, Justin… Herman Li (Dragon Force) and Gus G (Firewind/ Ozzy) randomly walked passed the window of Maggie’s and came in to say hello (small world, eh?)

We were downstairs this time, the light of the day was slowly dropping down over the London skyline. 

We had the house wine that came in giant carafes, starting with the Duck Liver Pate’ and Maggie’s Tart. The pate’ was gamey and good - I am a sucker for gamey flavors, and anything that resembles and pate’ or terrine; Maggie’s tart was not unlike a quiche - a delicately flavored cheese and spinach inside with the toasted almond slivers were a treat. 

I saw Kirsten order the Wild Boar Sausages and Mash the first night - and me and Paul knew we needed to share that (we were already sharing everything by this point… me and Paul indulge properly). This was a very modern spin on a classic British staple (or perhaps an even more classical spin on a British classic). The boar meat was again gamey and just right… the char on the sausages caused that “pop” when you bit into it (like the early memories of hotdogs by the pool in summer time) - the mash was mushy in a great way: buttery and whipped up just right. 

(By now, I’m sure it’s apparent that as much as I love some seemingly intense or exotic things - I love things that are the most traditional and simplistically memorable) Another pie. Another amazing pie. Chicken and artichoke pie. That flaky, textural lid laid gently on top of the thick, soup-like concoction inside had some simple flavors - but done damn well. The artichoke, chicken, and white cream-sauce inside were heavenly. 

We finished our wine, felt the blood rush to our stomachs as we all started getting hazy - then I ordered desert (something I must always have at the end of a great meal with friends and loved ones). Chocolate pot and Bread and Butter Pudding were the closers to our night. 

The bread and butter pudding is as iconic as fish and chips, as familiar as bangers and mash, as distinctively British as black pudding and fried eggs - and this bad boy took the cake as being the best dish of the night. Decadent is the only description to this concentrated hunk of cream, eggs, milk, and bread and flour - a thing of greatness. 

We met up with our friends from RRInternational, and we bar hopped our final night away.

The Traveling Salesman

London 2:

It was another early wake up call. Today was the day that I would be making the In Waves album art/music presentation to all the heads of Roadrunner and Warner International. Jonas (the head of RR NYC) was so stoked on the NYC impromptu presentation that I put on in the midst of the NYC-promo trip, that he cleared it with all the department heads of RR/WEA to have me do another presentation in the London offices of RRUK.

We had all the countries present - mostly people I’ve met and become pals with over the years (and a lot of whom I’ve shared some impossibly great eating experiences (like Ben from RR Australia)); so I was totally comfortable on making the presentation. 

I gave everyone an improvisational rundown on the art and music (as I did in NYC (I’ve found I do things best unplanned)) and it went great - from the presentation, we went on the do heaps and heaps of press. 

Kirsten from RRUK is one of the reasons we’re big in the UK (2 gold albums and a few silver albums big) and she squared away some amazing magazine covers with lots of friends we’ve made over the years (Metal Hammer, Kerrang, Total Guitar, and many more). It was a long day… and RR International setup an amazing dinner for us to meet them up after press… and naturally - with all the press, we were running late. Rockstar timing. 

Wally from RR Netherlands squared away a place called Kensington Place - a place that seemed to do high end versions of classical British staples. It was some fancy stuff… the kind of restaurant with a menu that has no prices…. that’s how you know how expensive it is: if you care on the cost, you probably can’t afford it.

Luckily for us… we weren’t buying. 

Beautifully minimalistic design, great fonts and typography on the menu, and a great open dining room with large windows occupied the space that was Kensington Place. 

We were greeted by a massive table of all the RR International people - they had most of the countries worldwide represented; and we all dispersed in and around the fellow diners.

We drank Trapiche Melodies Pinot Noir ‘08 and Moon Harvest Shiraz '09. 

To my right, I had Ben from RRAus, my left I had Mark from RRUK, my front left Joe from Machine Head, Morgan from RRInternational in front of me, and Karine from RRFrance to my front right - all great people, all people into food. 

I was happily seated next to Ben, since we would be sharing everything (as usual). 

My starter was the Potted Trout - trout in an artistic/rustic little clasp-mason jar; it tasted like smoked salmon only completely muted of the fishy taste of smoked salmon. I’m not entirely sure what the yellow stuff on top was… it had a taste and texture like butter - and was delicious. The house-made Melba Toast on top was crispy and light as air. 

Morgan, a fellow halvsie-asian, had a killer hookup with the restaurant and got us something off the menu. Fish and Chips…. but eff-ing gourmet Fish and Chips. These were some of the best damn fish and chips I’ve ever had. There is no proper description of a perfect fish and chips - but it can be found: sometimes in a sea-side cart, sometimes in a greasy spoon, sometimes at Kensington Place thanks to Morgan. Salty, crispy, greasy and airy. Insane.

Mains came up: Saddleback Pork Belly with spring greens, poached apples, and pommery mustard. The different textures included a super crunchy skin, the soft inner-meat, and the gelatinous fat layer below - all a treat. The accompaniments went fantastically. The Braised Shoulder of Lamb with cauliflower, braised celery, and mash was melt-in-your-mouth good. The meat was slow cooked for hours and could be cut with a spoon. The flavors were rich and hearty - slight game in the meat and a delicious viscous sauce below. 

Everyone was sufficiently stuffed, but having some room left over for desert. The smokers grabbed their post-dinner cigarettes, we played musical chairs a bit to say hello to the opposite ends of the table, and then ordered desert. 

KP’s Lemon Trifle came in a little mason jar; it had a layer of rice pudding that went perfectly with the different balances of lemon pudding-type layers. The sorbet was incredible - I love all the things citrus; that candy stick thing was pretty great. Apple Tart Fine’ was everything about a good apple tart - but with that fancy extra flare. The ice cream included was fantastic. 

By this point, we were all drinking left-overs of wine out of the bottle, laughing loudly and chuckling slowly. 

I think at this time we went to a bar… but I cannot remember at all? I think we went to a hotel and ran into Blasko from Rob Zombie/ Ozzy, Gus G from Ozzy/ Firewind - I spilled a bunch of Scotch on my crotch… and that was it.

Maggie Jones’s

London 1:

On the way to London in our shuttle bus to the BBC radio sessions, I typed up a bunch of food blog episodes from the previous food adventures - and next thing you knew, we were there. 

We had done the BBC radio sessions in the past, but never have been this rehearsed before. The BBC session’s studios have had everyone from The Beatles to Joy Division, Coldplay to U2 - so we were in good company - the performance went great.

It was funny; the engineers said we were their quickest session they’ve ever had. 3 of our songs were done in 1 take; 1 of them in 2 takes - done. Hungry.

We shipped off to yet another not-quite-topping-the-ridiculous-Parisian-hotel, cleaned up, and headed down to the lobby to head to dinner. 

We rendezvoused with some great friends: Paul Ryan (our international booking agent, and really good pal of ours), Kirsten Lane (our UK publicist and one of our closest buddies), Austin from RR UK (another great pal), Justin (our manager), the band, and our (at the time) Tour Manager Bozz. 

We miraculously ran into Joe (Machine Head’s manager) and Machine Head/Bring Me The Horizon’s international booking agent in the street in front of the restaurant - chatted for a bit in the street, then all headed in to Maggie Jones’s. 

This was my first time attempting to shoot at an indoor restaurant and as you’ll see… it was rather unsuccessful - but the show must go on. 

I have had many fantastic eating adventures with Paul and Kirsten - so Kirsten knew to pick something traditional and amazing. Maggie Jones’s was perfect British goodness; it was a traditional pub with the seating/setting areas not unlike a country-side home where someone’s grandmother would make old-time favorites. Paul reflected that many of his old meals with his family were in a setting exactly like Maggie’s - it was a dream for me. 

We all sat at this tremendous medieval style wooden table that had pots and pans and bushels of barley above us; it was a dark, intimate setting lit by candle and torch. We ordered a round of London Pride beer (a room temperature (the traditional temp) thick, delicious ale) and began having a good time. We all chatted about other times we ate, checking our the hand-written chalkboard menus - there were some serious choices. 

We started with one of the special’s: Venison Terrine - gamey, fresh, local, delicious. Think pate’ with more of a texture thanks to the oniony bits mixed into the venison. Stilton Mousse, a British traditional, was light and airy - carrying a subtle goat cheese-esque flavor. 

Paul and I shared the lot of appetizers and the entrees to follow: the Steak and Kidney Pie was without a doubt - the best pie I’ve ever eaten. The British style of pies is to cook the insides inside the casserole dish, then to lay the crust on top of the goods. The kidneys were like giant beans, only with a delicious game flavor; the steak was the perfect texture - not too soft/ not too hard. The Fish Pie was something new for me - it had all sorts of local seafood in a tasty broth with whipped, crisped potatoes on top. Paul told me this is also a super traditional dish, and that the one here was just like at home. 

Among the other bits we ate with the mains were: British chips, green beans, red cabbage; I tried some of Paolo’s intensely great Venison Medallions - we washed everything down with Tres Palacios ‘08 Merlot. Amazing. 

Desert was yet again, another iconic British staple of olden family times: The Sherry Trifle. Cream, sherry, the flavor of amarino cherries - this stuff was some seriously intense desert. Me and Paul were happy guys. 

Paul and I chatted about black metal; Justin hopped in with Paolo for some conversations about future tour ideas - we all laughed and joked for a while, then it was time to head back and rest up for a our massive press day ahead.

Gutes Foto? (Almost…)

Cologne Day 3:

I awoke on the third day of the Cologne visit ready to hit the Dome Church with my new Panasonic Lumix GF-2 w/20mm Lens (the recommendation of my good pal, JpD), and luckily for me - press was delayed an hour and a half. 

I’m the kind that doesn’t like to do anything until I know exactly how to do it right. When playing Final Fantasy games as a kid, I would play with the strategy guide to ensure I did it all right; when eating something traditional from any ethnicity, I like to make sure I am putting the proper condiments in the right areas - and using the right utensils. So basically… being a person with no knowledge of photography (except for the fact that all photographers are as elitist with gear as guitarists) and a person who wants to do it all correctly - I was a little terrified of looking like a noob-tourist.

Fortunately, JpD emailed me a great diagram of basically what I need to do to set the GF2; some basic settings; and reassuring words. I strapped up and headed out. 

Another funny quirk about me: I have a really bad sense of direction. Paolo has impeccable direction. Paolo was not here. I took the wrong way - and took a very long time to travel a very short distance. I snapped some bad test shots, tried some things… and eventually found the Dome. Half comfortingly/embarrassingly, I was in the company of herds of tourists happily snapping cheesy-smile-photos in front of the Dome - so I would be adequately covered up in the flock. 

It took 100’s of shots and tests - but I started to get the whole thing down a touch (in the future I’ll get better and maybe post actual photos without the verbose-blabbings that is this blog). 

Today was a busy press day including: video, audio, guitar lessons, interpretative performances of new songs on instruments we couldn’t play, and other fun bits. The final bit of press for the day was a TV show that normally wants bands doing “manly” things. I pushed very hard for the “manly” stuff to be a food show of traditional eats. 

I’ve mentioned before that Bourdain is a writing hero of mine; he also has a show I watch religiously and take notes on where to go in the world - so, being able to shoot a food episode was a mini-dream-come-true of mine. 

We hit Em Golde Kappes (I asked the TV personality girl what that meant in German… she simply said “The Gold… Bullshits!”), a traditional Koln-style German restaurant. 

TV-shot restaurant excursions are quite different than the normal… there are lots of lights. Lights that make everything pretty office-park-yellow; some staged eating; and multiple takes (not unlike recording an album, ofcourse). Being a Koln-style establishment - we knew it meant mini-beers till we dropped. 

Früh Kölsch was the beer of the house - light, a touch of hops, and very German tasting. Great beer. Apparently, Koln-German is a very different dialect of German, and the house specialties were all in Koln-German. We had: Himmel Un Ad (which translates to Heaven and Earth), a fantastic crisply-grilled blood sausage with fried onions, mashed potatoes, and an apple puree - This was the best dish of the night for sure. 

The next mastodonian-hunk-of-meat was the Hammche Met Suure Kappes Un Puree - a massive ham leg, sauerkraut, and whipped potatoes. A staple-classic of a Koln dish, the Hammche was a primordial beast - but a delectable one at that: all the variations of a ham-leg were in this thing - the gelatinous-fat tucked by the bone, the harder-grilled surface, the tender in-betweens. 

Sufficiently over-stuffed, we had shots of the traditional after-dinner drink (name ?? too many Fruh’s by that point) and were on our way. TV food shooting is fun, but certainly different than what I’m used to - I think that outdoor-food-shooting would be a fun idea as well; it’d break up that ultra-bright-light glow on our shiny-faces.

We hit a Mexican bar called Gonzalez and Gonzalez (a Mexican bar…. in Germany?) where I had Sion Kolsch. We all were regrouping with the RR De staff and Kai and Metal Hammer Germany and all our buddies again - all reminiscing about the day. 

The next spot was Low Budget for some Pilsner Urquell and House Tequila Gold (straight from a barrel, served with cinnamon and orange). I really dig good tequila, and the cinnamon/orange-shot-version was a great change of taste for me. Now… by this point, my sleepiness of the long day started to wear off, and in came cocky-getting-buzzed Matt. I blurted out “If you find me a karaoke bar that has any Roy Orbison… I’ll tear that shit up.” Naturally, The RR De girlsexcitedly found one and arranged the trip. Oops… spaghett.

(Another juxtaposition for ya) We made our cross-city foot-voyage to Jameson Distillery Pub, an Irish Karaoke bar in Cologne. We made the switch to Jaegermeister shots, b.s.‘ed some more, and enjoyed the company of the varying talent singing their hearts out. 

There was a table of very stylish, south east Asian boys who kept alternating songs: absolutely nailing everything; some fratty-looking kid who went up and sang some Stonesour pretty roughly; multiple embarrassed looking patrons patting their thigh, standing awkwardly doing their solo-performances, peppering the night’s soundtrack (along with many Journey songs).

My name was in the list, but there were 100’s of people here… many in line before me. Corey and I were cashed - at last, all the 2-4 hour-nights-of-sleep were starting to catch up to us in an awful way: We wanted out. We tried to pull a smooth exit - but everyone was super bummed I’d be laming-out on my Orbison promise. Larissa squared it away - they pushed me to the top of the queue, and it was your truly (in his finest Elvis range) smoothly speaking in the mic “This next one is for all you German ladies out there…" 

Me belting out "Pretty Woman” closed a great tour of Germany - and not to blow my own horn here… it went really really well. 

A confused, drunk-stumble back to the hotel followed. Some sleep. Early lobby call. Flight to Glasgow… where the food and fun stopped for a few days in a crash of reality. 

Foto

(Cologne 2)

Happily reunited with my partner in promo-crime, Mr. Beaulieu - we set off to Roadrunner before noon the next day to bust out all our press obligations. Corey and I do all the press trips together (we’ve done 3 now) and as I’ve mentioned in previous installments of (insert title of whatever I should call this food-episode-blog-thing here) this time around - the energy is a whole new animal. All the press seems really stoked on “In Waves.” Typically when we come through for a promo-tour, it’s a good energy - but not like this… so maybe I will be able to keep eating my way around the planet thanks to Trivium.

The day had all great press, and when we were nearing completion - I had Kai ask his buddy over at the local Foto Gregor to see if they carried the camera that JPD recommended to me: they did. So I had Larissa drive as I did my last few phone-interviews outside of the store; when I finished - I headed in for my new axe.

What’s funny about photographers, guitarists, foodies, chefs, music-enthusiasts, bloggers, artists, and basically anything involved a person with an opinion… every one is a frickin’ expert. I mentioned the camera to the reception man (a fit, German photog type, with a football-fashion-mullet) and he snickered something cocky about how the Panasonic Lumix GF2 with 20mm external lens was nothing special. He told me what is actually better of a camera; including what other peripherals I would need instead to pull off something better. I chuckled… because I’ve met this guy tens of thousands of times previously in my life… black metal elitists, uber-faux-hipster-wannabe’s, guitar snobs (who actually play really crappy knock-off pawn-shop-vintages), food-jerks whose tastebuds are obviously a gift from God himself… so I said “No no no. Thank you very much - but I trust the recommendation from my photographer friend - thanks for the recommendation.” He rolled his eyes again at my choice (did this guy want the commission today from the sale or not?) and went back to grab it.

Needless to say - it took a while to get what I wanted. I’ve seen what JP can do with it - and I trust JP with everything camera related. I dig his style; it influences my musical style - so there. Got the camera - and ran as fast as I could. 

I decided to wait until the next day to attempt to use the camera - JPD would later email me some settings to test out.

(forewarning - I do not know how to add umlauts or foreign lettering that makes the word correct. apologies in advance Germans…)

Haus Unkelbach was our dinner spot. A traditional Koln-style German restaurant with a biergarten outside. They served ReissdorfKolsch beer exclusively; and amazingly - in Koln (Cologne) - they keep bringing you new mini-glasses of beer. They don’t stop until you put the coaster over a glass - and naturally, we didn’t put our coasters up for a while. 

We opted to sit outside in the biergarten - Myself, Corey, Larissa, Kai, and Theresa (RR De) all sat and started being fed the endless mini-Reissdorfs. Japanese beer is my favorite beer in the world; however, German beer is a very very close second. I recently discovered that I am a quarter German - so that probably explains my preferences of beer. 

Our starters were KolscherKaviar: a delicious boiled blood sausage with salad (the Germans at the table all chuckled over the fact that the vegetables are always there - but no one eats them); Dutzend Rostbratwurstchen was too good - 6 traditionally prepared German sausages (The Koln style is mesmerizing) with lightly whipped mashed potatoes and a heap of very sour sauerkraut. The sauerkraut was as good as it gets. 

I find that I get along best with people who love food. I think people that can appreciate the down home, Grandma-style traditionals, street meats, hole-in-the-walls, and nicer places alike: are the people I can easily be with for a multi-houred food-excursion. Eating with good people is like drinking with people… you seem to mainly talk about other times you’ve gotten drunk (or in this case - gotten massively full). 

SchweineruckensteakBraumeister Art was a beastly-slab of pork steak, adorned with fried onions and (!!!) a runny fried-egg. It was accompanied by bratkartoffen (fried potatoes), which - is one of my favorite German staples. RheinisherSauerbraten was the kind of dish, I was told - that was an ultra-traditional classic german dish. This was the kind of meal you had at Mom’s, at Grandma’s, in house-holds surrounded by loved ones on cold winters. It was two big pieces of beef and those little balls of dough (not unlike spaetzel); the sauce was blackish purple: made of raisins, probably reduced beef fat, I’m assuming wine, and some other bits. Magical. It came with a mushy, fantastic apple sauce puree. 

I’m the kind who always wants desert… I looked around and saw every one was far beyond their limit - so cocktails for desert it was! 

We grabbed a cab half way to the Capri Lounge, then opted to walk off some of that beer we kept drinking (we had a lot).

It was back to the impossibly fantastic Capri Lounge. I was a person who used to not get cocktails. I understood the simple 2 ingredient mixed-drink - but frankly didn’t care. Capri Lounge converted me. 

The chef/owner/mixologist recognized us all from yesterday and was pretty stoked to have us back. I asked him for anything he recommends. A Last Word was just what the doctor ordered. It was similar to the Crown of Ginger Limonade from the night previous, but it had far less ingredients. More like a gourmet Mojito or something… lots of fantastic citrus and freshness. Gin was the main component - and mixed well with all our Reissdorf Kolsches. I remember at one point just holding the lime garnish for a while and smelling it - even the rind was a treat to be near. 

The bartender brought some bar snacks - Theresa, from Eastern Germany shared that those little puff balls back home - are called “Elephant Snot.” We all got a good laugh from that one. 

A few Crown of Gingers, some tastes of everyone else’s delectable goodness - and it was time to call it a night. 

(part III.)

Margret de canard aux pistachios was a mouth-watering duck with pistachios dish. It came with an au gratin unlike anything I’ve had: a rounded cake of potato-fantasticness. Unfortunately, I wasn’t properly notating everything at this point - the Pastis, Moulin, and Chablis ran thick that night - so we were all eating in a super-stoked manner, and I am not sure which French-named dish this delicately prepared whitefish was. The fish was perfectly cooked - a slight crisp to the outer flesh, smooth and soft in between; and that little circular cake of vegetables - all great. The finale entree was Filet de boeuf au poivre (Steak au poivre!). 

I was exuberant over the prospect of being able to have au poivre in NYC, then a few days later - in the city it came from. If you look back at the NYC episode - you can see that both look pretty different; the preparations had to have been similar as well. The little au gratin cake had that cheesy-potatoy-creamy-baked greatness; the steak was nice and medium rare (medium rare seems rarer than the rare back home - which I am always happy about), the sauce was that steak/cream/cognac/pepper sauce like the the poivre from Manhattan - just lighter, different. This was the winner of the mains. 

Profiteroles maison were the French-proper versions of profiteroles. These were hunching, fist-sized mammoths of baked dough, light-as-air cream, and that viscous chocolate sauce. Amazing.

We hit Cantada for after dinner drinks: a rock/metal absinthe bar. By this point, I had never had absinthe in my life… so I knew I was in for something special. 

The absinthe menu was intimidating and pretty shocking to say the least (considering I thought there were only a few kinds - this had tons), Manon did the ordering here. I am not sure which one I drank, or the others we tasted; but I can try to describe absinthe’s flavor as accurately as I can. They did the water-drip machine thing - lightly dribbling water onto a porous spoon, adorned with a sugar cube. Black licorice was the main flavor; some menthol and citrus rind; and (the best I can do here) - a light touch of a… mouthwash flavor (!?)? It was intense. I’m a wine/beer/occasional scotch or cocktail guy - this was… something I may frequent less. 

We hit another outdoor bar for some French beer on tap (we didn’t know what it was called); chatted, laughed - and called it a night. 

My final French meal was even a good thing - just a take-away-train-station-baguette-sandwich - even that was pretty darn good. The ladies set me up on a 1st class cabin on a train (negating my silly routing of driving to the airport, flying a while, driving to Cologne city center routing) and I nodded off, full, and happily listening to Gaga and Gipsy Kings.

(fin.)

(part II.)

Heaps of great press followed throughout the day - obviously, a piece of cake thanks to the palace that surrounded me. I had to do take away for lunch - Hediard for a baguette with ham and cheese: simple, great. It’s interesting - bread in the USA doesn’t seem to have the same iconic importance in every day like it does in Europe and other places in the world. Yeah, we do have bread with most of our meals - but it’s typically some sort of pre-packaged thing, not bakery-fresh recipes of culinary deliciousness passed down through generations. Even a plain French-hunk-of-bread can be a thing of beauty.

When we finished press, it was time to grab dinner. 

We rode over to Warner France (Roadrunner France was one of the territories where most of the entire staff was cut or absorbed by Warner Records (Warner has recently purchased Roadrunner entirely, then was bought entirely by a multi-billionaire Russian man) where we picked up Manon (RR Fr - and the only other RR Fr staff person - everyone else was gone from the previous Roadrunner line-up of staff. Their office building was pretty impressive: an old French building on the outside - with a nice modern lobby, gigantic windows, and a nice, quiet vibe inside. 

A short cab ride over to Le Petit Chatelet, and it was dinner time. It’s pretty rad - this place was recommended to Karine by Randy (Lamb of God), when he randomly stumbled upon it one day and was blown away by the joint. It was a tiny little room on the inside - we sat next to the grill (which is always a good thing); got to see all the chalkboard written menus, and began to order.

Aper (as the ladies called it) came first: Ricard Pastis - an intensely almost menthol/citrus rind/absinthe flavored pre-dinner drink with olives in tomato sauce. Manon, being from the south of France, had an extensive wine knowledge (it seems all romance-country-residents are born with a knowledge of wine and art) so she did the ordering.

Château Moulin La Bergere ‘08 was our red, Chablis Domaine William Fevre '09 our white. Escargots “Petit Chatelet” was a must: escargot soufflé - magical in it’s snail and creamy sauced goodness; Salade d'ecrerrisses aux noisettes (kidneys, chopped, on a bed of greens with some pesto and dressing) was a great salad - any salad with bits of chopped, chewy, gamey-flavored kidneys is a thing that makes me happy; Fois gras maison needed to happen. I love fois. It was interesting to see that here, the fois was done more like a terrine; the foie tasted simple and right - flavors of the liver, with the delicate, buttery top; the citrusy-preserves mixed with the foie on grilled bread were impossibly great. 

(tbc…)

(paris actually comes before cologne 1. oops.)

(paris pt.I)

A Japanese/German/Irish-American in Paris.

(Mon petit chou. Day 1. Part 1.)

The trick with flying overseas is one that took me a few years to nail. Get the seat you want: I prefer an aisle that i can stretch my bad knee out on, in the middle of the plane to evade being woken from slumber; as soon as you sit on the plane, set your clock and your head to the time of where you’re going - convince yourself it’s that time. If it’s bed time, I make sure I brush and prep for bed as usual - and pop a doctor approved couple of SAFE sleeping pills (I used to take this stuff… well - let’s just say it’s illegal everywhere but Japan - and is used for some bad shit… with a side effect listed as: Death. Needless to say, I’ll never take that stuff on purpose again), and sleep how you would. I bring a lot of shit on a plane - way more than I need, and I never use it all. I guess I like to torture myself - but my sleep setup is: a McKenzie lumbar back pillow, a pillow from home (if a real long flight), bandanna across my mouth (to prevent eating too many plane-farts mid-sleep), eye-cover, ear plugs. It all does the trick. 

This was a different kind of press tour for me, because I was doing it solo (Corey was being flown to Stockholm at the same time to cover multiple places simultaneously) - I missed my band guys - that’s for sure. 

Waking 1 hour before the plane lands rules. I got about 6.5 hours of sleep - which is exactly what I needed to do since I had to hit press as soon as I arrived and got settled. 

My bag was a few late - no problem - I was in Paris; nothing could ruin my vibe. Karine from RR/Warner France picked me up, and we took a traffic-choked-highway-ride to the hotel. 

I was stoked to hang with Karine - we’ve never really been able to hang too much in the past, and I warned her that I wanted to get as much Parisian stuff in to any free minute possible: she was down. We had a real good ride back in to town, spoke on the music industry; food and art culture; had a real good catch-up. 

I know this is a food blog… but I think it’s going to be shifting into a multi-platform site: it’ll have - well - basically whatever. 

Now - when you’re in a band that has the ability to do some places where you’re put up in hotels - it is pretty sweet… but sometimes you have some scary hole-in-the-basement-windowless-prison-cells… and sometimes you have the best hotel of your life.

(Some day… i’ll have an editor maybe… someone who can properly spell the French words as they ought to be with the proper punctuations… till then:)

L'Hotel de Sers. They put me in either the Suite Panoramique or L'Appartment. It was a 3900E a night hotel that they apparently get at massive discount. I’m talking same price as a Holiday Inn in Paris kind of discount (literally that - last time we were here on promo, we were at the Holiday Inn Paris.) I dropped my bags and my jaw upon giddily skipping into my room - nay - my palace. I looked at Karine, who was also laughing in awe at the impossibly beautiful 3-roomed kingdom, and said “Umm… you guys may be spoiling me terribly.”

It was a smart move - my own throne of a bathroom and bedroom, separate room for interviews (with a bathroom for the interviewers), an office area for Karine to work at (which I said she ought to, since the room was so ridiculously large that I’d be pretty selfish to just use it for myself), and two outdoor tables. It was a good idea since we could conduct all the press of the day in the suite; and I could easily escape off into my private giant-bathroom if need be to change for photos or anything. 

I quickly snapped some pics (on my iPhone… ugh… it gets fixed in Germany - promise), unpacked, and did my hotel ritual: I move every single pamphlet - every notice, every thing that I won’t be using in the room - and pack it away somewhere I will never have to see any of it again. I lined my stuff across the sink and closet quickly and said “Food time!”

From the drive in, I saw Joel Rubuchon’s L'Atelier (which Bourdain mentioned on multiple occasions that, first of all: Rubuchon is the greatest chef on earth, and that L'Atelier does Rubuchon-food in a casual diner atmosphere), I really wanted to go - but it’s a little up there in the price range. I asked Karine “If we go gold here… can we go there?” She replied “It’s a deal." 

I love Paris… have I said that already? I love it. Everything about it. Paris is the leader in food culture, art, fashion - it’s influence IS the cuisine of pretty much all places on earth; most traditional American food is French-inspired. Art thrived in Paris and spread it’s creative-wings across the globe, infecting the planet with some of the greatest styles of art in existence. Paris wrote the book on traditional classical art… then broke the rules with modern art; it’s food set the rules of classical greatness… then they broke it with a new set of rules. Paris is always reinventing itself; creating itself, and then denying itself - and recreating again. 

If I look back into my interests - really trace them back to the roots - it’s from here as much as it is Japan. "In Waves” is all about destroying the old format of itself, within itself and outside of itself - and making something new. I look at my ever-growing interest in what I eat around the planet - it traces back here.

There wasn’t a massive amount of time to grab a bite - but I needed something Parisian. We decided to walk and find whatever looked appealing. The first spot that grabbed our attention was 46 Avenue; I had Cafe au lait (the French coffee drink - espresso and milk - but different ratios than the cappuccino), and Croq'genie, which even with using simple ingredients I’ve had elsewhere on the globe was fantastic: turkey, cheese, bread, tomato, mayonnaise. It sounds easy and simple - but this thing was better than any sandwich I’ve had with those ingredients in years.

(tbc…)

El Chango and Crown of Ginger Limonade, Deutsch-style. 

(Cologne 1)

The Dome Church in Cologne, Germany is my favorite church in the world. Each time I see it in person, it’s like the very first time all over again - a goliath, sinister-looking, black church that seems like it’s swallowing the architecture all around it. It looks like a black version of the Alexandr summon-spell from Final Fantasy VI (you know, the one with Terra and Sabin’s cabin and all that), so that probably adds to my excitement and fear each time I see it. 

As soon as you pop out of the Koln train station, you are immediately greeted by the Dome to your left - there’s flocks of seagulls of tourists snapping smiling pictures in front of it - but I really feel like it’s more a frightening than pretty thing. 

Larissa was there to pick me up upon arrival at the train station - again, another real cool person I was very happy to be able to hang with (normally our main Roadrunner De promo person is Anna; but she was off covering Machine Head in San Fran - so I figured it a great chance to hang and eat and all that). We stopped in to drop my bags at the hotel, then headed to RR De (a place that I have been to a ton) where I was able to say my hallo’s and wie gehtz’s to the staff. RR De is one of the places that hasn’t been massively overhauled by the Warner purchase - so it was nice to see so many familiar faces. 

After a chat about the record with Henk - the head of RR De- it was time to head out to grab food with Larissa and Kai (her boyfriend). The restaurant of the night (since we would be getting a lot of German food in the next few days) was El Chango - an Argentinian steakhouse.

Like I’ve said in the past - my favorite way to eat is to share as much as possible; so I was really stoked when Kai was up to share a main with me (a person who he’d just met a few minutes ago); Larissa is a pesca-tarian (not sure on the spelling here - but the vegetarian-kind who will dine on fish), so when Kai was up for the sharing of the meat-feast to come… I was a happy boy. 

I had the house red wine, Larissa the white, Kai had some German beer. We started with bread and dips (one garlic butter type, and one tomato kind); plato de jamon, queso y olives (a selection of Argentine salted cured meats, cheeses, and olives) was a great start to the feast - salty, textural meats, and nice cheeses; parrillada mixta  was the main Kai and I split - an overly-generous plate of beef, lamb, sausages, and other meaty-bits - all grilled and piled on top of each other. Our waiter told us that the traditional style in Argentina would actually be about 4 times the size of this one. 

Sides included the lovely cebolla frita (fried onions) and papa asada (baked potato with a shot-amount of liquid butter inside). Painfully full from a meat-coma: Kai suggested a Grappa after-dinner drink. It was very reminiscent of the black licorice notes found in Pastiss. 

After dinner, we all thought it a good idea to walk off some of the meat: we passed the Rhine river; lots of outdoor restaurants with people eating and drinking and having a good time; and then the tremendous Dome. Upon taking some sorry iPhone photos of the Dome, I said to Kai and Larissa - I’m getting a real camera to photo this thing. I quickly texted my photog-maestro buddy JP back home for him to email me what to get… and I listed it down to grab it in the following day. 

Kai mentioned an amazing cocktail bar he knew of in town - one where, the main mixologist had won awards of being one of the best mixologists in Germany and Europe… so it sounded like a hell of a plan. 

Capri Lounge led us down a flight of stairs into a swanky place that looked like an old bunker that had been done up completely contemporarily. It was a really rad interior (one that was impossible to photo) - the dome-overhead-ceiling, painted rock-walls, marble countertops, and good lounge/jazz playing set the stage for a good night. 

I find good food, good drinks, and good people the best thing to be around; the three of us were all pleasantly stuffed, buzzed, and happy. We talked of other good food we’ve eaten, passed around each others’ drinks, and shared that hazy night together (smokily hazed - Germany still has a lot of indoor smoking bars; I didn’t mind though - I was full - nothing could stop my good vibes). 

I went with Kai’s recommendation of the Crown of Ginger Limonade. I kid you not when I say this… this was the best cocktail of my life. I tried to snap a shot of the menu with my phone (I later have a better shot with a real camera) to get the ingredients - to no avail. Apparently this thing has everything from the usual suspects: lime, ginger, mint, beefeater; but then it goes into ingredients like a very specific locally-crafted-British-style root beer, and seasonally selective other mysterious things. It had more ingredients than the other drinks there- but mixed so perfectly. It had all the flavors popping nicely - the citrus, ginger, mint - even the root beer could be tasted slightly in there. It was served real cold, in a medieval silver goblet. Damn good.

During this great night - poor Corey was on the way to meet us… but had a ton of connections to get from Stockholm to Cologne - so we did feel a little bad about what a great time we were having… a little. 

Some sips of Caol Ila 18 year old single malt… which was amazing… then it was bed time. 

NYC: Shut-down.

(Ballad of Manhattan. Day 1, Night 2.)

Honestly, there wasn’t too much press to do in NYC. In Japan, we plugged out 15-20 publications a day. Here? 3-5 or 6 things tops. No sweat. Right? Nah…

I’m no city boy. I can probably handle Chicago (having lived there on-and-off a lot back in the day), Manhattan? She’s a rougher lover. It was scorching on our first press day; which, is no problem for a Florida-heat-trained-veteran… but what does that mean for grabbing a cab anywhere, especially when you’re booked way too far to walk, too far to grab a train, and all that?

It was a good press day when we actually arrived to the press we tried to make - when it’s hot in NYC - it gets a little insane. 

I really wanted to do a full-on meeting with our NYC Roadrunner label; I brought my laptop with all art presentational materials (including the outstanding works of: Jon Paul Douglass, Danny Jones, Ramon Boutviseth, Megan Giese, and Wes Sumner), all early demos, final mixed and mastered copies, and my brain - ready to show NYC that Trivium has stepped it up… didn’t make the time. Work day was over. People went home. No cab to get us there on time.

We met up with our drinking pals from the label (one of which, when I was 18, helped us completely vandalize a Catskills Mountains resort RR-X-mas-party at one time… at another time drank an entire bars stash of Jaeger with us) so we knew it’d be good times.

Then it started raining. Just like the heat… the rain makes NY-ers crazed. 

We played the cab shuffle for a while… me lugging my school-kid-looking backpack and laptop case (for the presentation that I rock-starred-out of) through monsoon-rain. 

We first hit Von for our drink-up-meet-up. We all looked like wet pirates. Everyone’s shoes soaked - I borrowed a pair of Harlan’s white tube 

socks (which, Harlan: I haven’t seen tube socks in years) and ordered Red Wagon IPA’s on draft. We all b.s.-ed, laughed, and had a good chat on life. There were a bunch of us: mgmt, label, agents… we’re friends with all of em. I talked about the wonders of Ashtanga Yoga with Darren (one of the best guys on the planet - he works for our 5B management group: this man is one of the few super-good dudes in the music industry out there), and we talked of food. Darren apparently makes some of the sickest macaroni and gravy out there - gotta get some of that next time I’m in his Long Island stomping grounds. 

It’s great - every record we do, the label seems standard stoked; but with “In Waves,” it’s been an almost electric buzz… I can see Corey’s tell (it’s subtle… you have to have known him for a while to see it- it’s a half flared nostril/ dimples making a quick appearance kinda-thing), we’re finally having conversations like “which song to go to radio with,” (conversations we’ve always wanted to have - but couldn’t), and what kind of insane arena-production I have in mind (all inspired by Megan (friend/costumer/ex-roommate) and her amazing ballet/playset visions). 

Pulino’s was dinner. It’s hard to grab a rez in NYC during rain… on a Friday (I think it was Friday at least) nonetheless. Ommegang Saison Draft in hand, we all crowded around the bar and ordered. 

(Please, excuse the picture tint… pictures of pizza in a cool pizza joint in NYC are like painting with charcoal underwater)

Margherita, Tirolese, Funghi, Prosciutto and arugula, and Vongole were our Pizzas. All fantastic. We had the chefs selection of antipasti, and I needed the house-made sardines. The restaurant was real cool; it’s the kind of vibe that sort of makes me have a love for this city I usually have such a hard time surviving in (it feels like each time I get over to NYC, I am a little better at it). The vibe was great… all sorts of people - all just eating, drinking, and having a good time. 

We hit a closet-sized-version of CBGB’s in a bar called Mars Bar. A place Justin assures me, will be gone soon (like all the rad little punk-nyc places of the golden days) - so a shot of Patron was a necessity. Next was the Three Of Cups (a metal bar at the bottom of an Italian restaurant) where I had Blue Moon draft (craft draft is a rarity in metal and rock bars) - we were all getting louder and rowdier… the early night crowd was gone by this point - it was the party-boys’ time. I think I started going off about how Lady Gaga should like our band, since she digs metal - and I was so influenced by her visuals and do-whatever-I-like-attitude; that I claimed my own house-of-Gaga-creative team, and changed our videos to a far more artistic-than-the-standard level. Thanks for the inspiration, Gaga (who I am listening to right now on the typing of episode 2 of NYC - her new record is amazing). 

The last spot was Idle Hands (a bar owned by ex-label guys and a buddy Dave who manages Shadows Fall). By this point… we were all loud… disorderly… but thankfully the owners purely know the industry for working with bands. We popped the new record on the P.A., got loud, broke some glasses (me. accidentaRRy), talked some shit, laughed it up… Corey and I in the kind of drunken-amazingness that inspires the close half-hug-loud-yell-talk about how awesome things are right now. 

Sleep. Few hours of sleep. Some Ashtanga and a Kashi bar… rescheduled “In Waves” presentation.

ALL of RR NYC was in the conference room - I hooked up my comp and showed the whole process: from early art projects with my good buddy Jon Paul (who was so integral to the way the record came out from all our early hangs and trips), to ridiculous all-midi-instrument demos from apple Logic dating back 2 years. The presentation went great - our label and us are bros… we got this shit figured out. 

Actually… tonight (almost in London now)… we have a BBC Maida Vale performance (the kind the Beatles and Joy Division used to do) followed by a night of heavy eating and drinking with our friends from this side of the pond… then a presentation for all the heads of all the international branches of Roadrunner and Warner international. Good times: I want this record heard. 

Back to NYC - it was good. Stressful at times, but nice to hang with friends.

I went home for two days to cook and make cocktails with my wife and pup.

The first night home, Jon Paul and his girlfriend Anica put together a killer viewing for our documentary that he and Wes Sumner shot. It was a great time - all the Trivs were there, friends from around town - they had a giant bag of popcorn, Trivium cupcakes, and a bunch of other awesome party favors. I drank wine from the bottle and sat cross-legged on the floor and watched the wonderful film my friends made.

Two revitalizing days at home, then it was off to one of my favorite places on earth: Paris. 

(just had this nyc episode glitch twice. UK wifi is a tricky thing for a band dude.)

Philly Pickelback

(Ballad of Manhattan. Night 1.)

I am currently typing this episode of Ocularis-Gastronum (heh…) from some kind of shuttle bus thing - we are traveling from Birmingham to London. Shoulder, back, and knee injuries (reminders of a reckless past) flaring from just being assaulted with the most punk-rock show we’ve done since we started touring. 

The show last night was an idea passed around by our U.K. Roadrunner/Warner buds: intimate; very selected few hundred kids; sweaty show. Unrehearsed for weeks - having been on a massive worldwide press trip - we sound-checked for a bit; and surprisingly had an incredible show. I know small shows are what music fans always love, and suffice it to say: that was a small, disgusting, punk-rock metal-show. More info to come from that day on the B-ham episode.

Flashback to Japan.

Everything was perfect in Japan. A hotel in an area we could sightsee as much as possible, everything running perfectly on time, Koji helping us out to rock the press properly; enter NYC: 4 hour flight delay. 

Luggage delay. Seat issues. Hotel check in issues. Located in an area that whenever mentioned to Manhattanites: they chuckle with a “WHERE???” I’ll keep it quick… There was this total jack-ass business man type hassling the one hotel worker at the desk of the random hotel we were booked in - you know the type: bluetooth headset on one ear, illuminating his greasy businessman-visage; cell phone in left hand; right hand banging on the hotel desk since his room isn’t ready. I watched the hotel attendant take it from the guy at first - pretty soon Mr. Wallstreet was raising his voice, barking in that sort of patronizing-teacher-yelling-at-the-kid-in-class - while jabbering on about how the hotel attendant needed to take care of this by calling his office (business-man’s office) to sort out the payment issue. 

The day had already been a test for me… I stood there, visualizing myself grabbing the guy by bluetooth and repeatedly bashing his head into the check-in computer; maybe telling him to “fuck off”; perhaps a quick blindside smack with my Les Paul case… I’m telling you: this guy was one of the biggest wankers I’ve ever had the privilege of checking in with in my life - total disrespect for the long line of other people obviously just showing up from massively long flights (I speak here of the now crowding Asians behind me and Corey, apparently arriving from some trans-continental voyage), berating the hotel employee for all the issues in life, pretty much. 

I got my key, went to the room - wrong room. Smoked out, smoking room. Went back down… the guy was still crying. So I then (try to channel my inner-yogi and not my inner metal-band-buy) and say: “Listen, guys - I couldn’t help but overhearing your issues… let me pay for this guy’s room (I say, pointing to Slick) and the company I work for, can just pay me back.” The hotel attendant smiles and thanks me… and my best-pal? “We got this figured out!” utters out his oily, red-faced, red-eyed disregard-for-all-other-human-beings-aside-from-himself head.

The hotel attendant skips over the guy for a minute… gets me a better room… I unpack, undress - about to finally wash the grease of a 24 hour plus travel to NYC - then the phone rings. “Sir. You need to get out of your room. RIGHT NOW.” “…what?” I reply. 

He tells me that the computer isn’t right and that I need to get out of my room immediately. (I’ll skip over the details and speed this up here) Basically: Asshole was supposed to be the in the better room that the hotel guy hooked me up with for being helpful, and they plopped him into my smoke-trap - naturally, this wasn’t ok with him - so there was a new issue.

It all got solved (this was a 1.5 hour check in process… with awaiting label, mgmt, and booking friends partying their faces off in celebration to meet me and Corey) and we headed down a crowded street in a cab and hit Milady’s. 

We met up with Justin and Darren (management), Josh and a co-worker pal of his (booking agents), Harlan (label), Jessica (J’s wife), and a few other real good buds. I quickly filled em in on the delayed night, and Josh smiled his quiet smile, and spoke of a cure. 

“It’s called a Philly Pickelback,” Josh says, “you do a shot of wild turkey, then a shot of pickle-juice… it’s a Philly thing.” A few of the frightening sounding (but I assure you - delicious) odd shots… and relief washes over me “in an awesome wave (-P. Batemen)." 

We drink some Bass on draught; my friends share to us how Milady’s is one of the last strongholds in the neighborhood-beat-up-bar-hang-vibe… Justin points to a corner table, sharing, "Springsteen still comes and hangs here… people don’t know about this place unless you live here.” It was pretty friggon rad to see that some gems of NYC aren’t punk-rock-clubs-of-legendary-turned-t-shirt-novelty-apparel-stores still. 

Raoul’s was our dinner spot. Jessica is a major food-fanatic like myself, and anything she digs - I know is good. The French-style decor, chalkboard in French, French-accented-Moroccan-waitress (with a tattooed black ear!) - it all gave me a hint that good things were to come. 

Vent d'est domaine de cabrol cabardes wine; house-made bread and butter (so crusty in their Parisian-style deliciousness); steak tartare (raw beef with (!!!) a raw quail egg gently laid on top - too good); foie gras chaud (oyster mushrooms, perfectly seared foie, some sort of demi-glace-ish sauce on top - one of my favorites of the night); pate maison. 

I wanted to go old-school French classic for my main: Steak au poivre, pommes frites. On first bite… I said to my friends at the table, “So I just took up cooking, and I love it to death - me and Ash cook together now! But - I need. Need. To make this dish completely by myself (pointing to the perfectly peppercorn-encrusted seared outside, fleshy-beautiful red-on-the-inside).”

The cognac, heavy cream, and peppercorn flavors in the sauce were thick and iconic; the frites were crunchy, salty - magical. Most of us at the table had ordered the same dish… by this point, we were all mopping up every last ounce of the sauce off our plates with anything we could find… steak, clearly absent by then. 

Delamain Cognac, profiteroles, and creme brulee were the closing act - all perfect. Bliss ran thick in our bloodstreams on that walk back to Milady’s. 

A few more Bass draughts (the only draft beer they have - hahaha), some Jaeger, some more Pickelbacks… bed time.