Keneally was doing a series of Los Angeles shows at The Mint in the summer of that year, and two of them ended up being double-bills with Kramer. In an ironic twist, Wayne's bassist of choice was none other than Doug Lunn, Keneally's bassist before me. His material was sledgehammer power-trio rock, but decidedly anti-muzo; it had an angrier, more "street" edge to it. Wayne was older than us-in the neighborhood of 50, I believe-and carried himself on stage like he'd seen it all and was fervently reporting for the benefit of the rest of us.

I actually had to read up on him to find out how he'd arrived at such a place. It was a musical world well-traveled by those who wrote for The Village Voice and the L.A. Weekly, as well as the "hip underground" of both New York and Los Angeles, but not by your typical graduate of Berklee College of Music. The MC5, along with Iggy Pop and The Stooges, The Velvet Underground, and the New York Dolls, to name a few, were considered punk royalty of the highest order. The MC5 also had the distinction of being on the scene when, during the 1968 Democratic National Convention, Chicago's police department violently broke up demonstrations with billy clubs and tear gas live on national television. Wayne himself survived the '60s and early '70s only to end up in a federal prison for 26 months a few years later-the charge was drug trafficking. (Talk about a rap sheet.) After he got out it would be several years before he got clean for good. He was, in two words, legitimately subversive.

It wasn't too long after the '98 Keneally/Kramer double-bills that Doug Lunn

For Wayne, the answer to the question on the poster has been no for a while.

got extremely busy and Wayne called me to fill in. The large majority of my work with him came in 1999, in two phases. The first was an American tour that never happened, a spectacular failure described in detail in Act 30 of The Life Of Bryan. The second was a five-week European tour, my only true tour of the continent, in April and May. Though I never wrote a Life Of Bryan piece about it, several fragmented "road reports" were up on the front page of the Keneally site for a while, and you can read the only one I managed to save (@!%$&#) by clicking here. In summation, it was a wild ride in a beat-up Mercedes van throughout most of Western Europe. Stops included London, several cities in France, Sweden, Denmark, Norway, Germany, Spain and The Netherlands. There is photographic evidence of this tour a-plenty.

The shows were attended by a different kind of person that your typical Mike Keneally or Steve Vai fan. These people were a little closer to the fringe, if you know what I mean. As was Wayne, though you'd never know it by talking to him; he's just the most mild-mannered guy you've ever met. I especially liked the way he stated proposals for upcoming work: "Bryan, this is Wayne. I'd like to speak to you about a professional music engagement."

One of the more interesting things about working with him was the way he wanted his rhythm section to play behind his solos. He wasn't into peaks and valleys so much as a constant, churning groove, without fills or drastic changes to move things forward. He wanted a powerful, inevitable framework in which to crank his Gibson Firebird-no frills, just heavy groove and keep it steady, please. It was a difficult adjustment for me at first, having come from the world of orgasmic solo sections, but it was a good learning experience.

After the '99 EuroTour, I did do a couple of shows in L.A. with him, but not as many as I would have liked. He ended up using labelmates The Streetwalkin' Cheetahs as a backup band, and then settled into a new project called Mad For The Racket. On the rare occasions he did call me for a gig, the timing has been annoyingly bad, always seeming to fall exactly on a crucial day on which I'm previously booked (NAMM shows, Keneally release parties, etc.). I never did get to record with him, something that will hopefully be rectified in the future.

Wayne and manager Margaret Saadi, backstage in London in 1999

I have Wayne to thank for the largest crowd I've ever played for-10,000 drunken French men and women at the 24 Hours of Le Mans motorcycle race and festival. I also have him to thank for broadening my musical horizons and introducing me into a different scene. It's the one gig I can point to that clearly defies the pigeonholing of my resumè.

And now that Rage Against The Machine have covered the landmark MC5 single "Kick Out The Jams" on their final album Renegades, maybe some members of younger generations so enamored of "marketable anger" as peddled by Limp Bizkit and Linkin Park will find out more about some really revolutionary music, uncompromisingly crafted by a legitimately angry man.

Onstage at Le Mans in 1999, playing a midnight show for 10,000 drunken screaming Frenchmen.

 

And now, a bonus: the only remaining remnant of my five Wayne Kramer EuroTour Road Reports. This was me in 1999, just returning from a cross-Atlantic flight. Bon appetit.

WAYNE KRAMER EURO-TOUR EPILOGUE:

FROM EUROPE WITH LOVE

(written 5/16/99)

Ah, Casa Beller. Home at last.

It wasn't easy getting here. I had to sit in an airport in Munich for eight hours-on my birthday, no less-and then take a 2 ½-hour flight to London before waiting another 7 hours in London's Gatwick airport before finally boarding US Airways' 7 ½-hour flight #99 to Philadelphia, where my father picked me up and drove me the two hours to Casa Beller. In retrospect, I have the funny feeling that my oily, matted hair, hollowed eyes and randomly stubbly face contributed to my mother not hugging me as tightly as she usually does.

Of course, now I'm fully recovered, and I'm ready to return to Los Angeles for gigs with Mike Keneally (how about all these gigs coming up? Yahoo!), Wayne Kramer in NYC on 5/19 (stay tuned for details), Janet Robin, and The Steely Damned.all in May! Plus, my first column for Bass Player Magazine is due by 6/1, and let's not forget that your humble narrator-also known as Export Manager for SWR-just wrapped up a series of business meetings with the company's European distributors, and the home office beckons. So it'll be a busy month.

But first, a wrap-up of Bassboy's European Adventure.

Tribute To The Crew.One of the reasons I enjoyed myself so much on this trip was due to the excellent tour manager and road crew (all British) Wayne employed for the trip. They were:

Tony Brookes, Backline Technician/Driver. A robust 6'2" touring veteran, Tony took the awards in several categories. First was "shagging", as they say in England. That would be "getting laid" over here; Tony was "sorted" (taken care of) in several cities along the way. Second Tony award would be for stamina, as he did the majority of the driving no matter how much "shagging" he'd done the night before, even if he'd spent several hours "in straight up to the buffers" (you can figure that one out). The third and final Tony award was for intense and constant in-van flatulence, which you'd think would be in direct conflict with Tony Award #1, but hey, things are different in Europe.

Rowland Jones, Merchandise/Driver/Security. How can I put this tactfully.Rowland is the most charming menace to society I've ever met. At 5'11", with short brown hair, a body hard as a rock, and always dressed in t-shirts and camouflage pants, Rowland could take you apart limb from limb if he so chose to do so. He honed his fighting chops for over ten years as a "cooler" (doorman/security) in some of Northern England's roughest pubs. But just in case his bare hands weren't enough to do the trick-or maybe just for some extra kicks-Mr. Jones carried around on his person a Crocodile Dundee-sized blade, a small canister of CS gas, and most notably, a tazer capable of delivering a jolt of 350,000 Volts. My nickname for him was "Tackleberry." It wasn't until he began reeling off stories of scams, assaults, jail time and unserved warrants for his arrest that I truly began to get a sense of how dangerous he was. But despite all that he was a delightful chap to hang around with, and I always felt safe standing next to him.

Mick Webster, Tour Manager. I called him "The Little Assassin". And at 5'6" and thin as English toast, invariably dressed in all black and constantly carrying his silver briefcase, that was exactly what he looked like. What a professional. I thought tour managing was tough in America. Ever try sorting out daily per diems and weekly salaries in six different currencies? Plus negotiating with hotel front desk operators and promoters in equally as many languages? Thanks to the efforts of Mr. Webster, I was able to think about other things, like how astoundingly gorgeous Norway is. But he's not a man to be trifled with, as I discovered upon giving him some shit for getting us lost in a city I can't remember. He turned around to me and snapped in the way that only Brits can, "You mind your tongue, else I'll make your life a misery." Thankfully, he didn't.

These guys, combined with British expatriate drummer Ric Parnell and, of course, Wayne himself, formed a group I'd be happy to travel with again. It was entirely comfortable for me to be the youngest member of the entourage by a good ten years. In fact, I rather enjoyed it, now that I just turned 28.

And we certainly rocked as a band. There are times when I miss the freedom of the Keneally trio format, and this was a perfect opportunity to get my rocks off without getting in the way of other band members. I also sung a great deal more, and just being outside the world of Keneally enriched me in the same way moving away from home does for a young adult. That, combined with the European phenomenon, made this one big learning experience for an unworldly Bassboy. Unworldly until now, that is.

 

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So, without further adieu, let's get back to our familiar format. Some observations.

1. Europe is still a violent place. Let's see here.while I was in the world's most "civilized" continent, three bombs went off in London (one mere yards away from a pub I visited on the first night of the trip); a football (that's soccer, fellow Americans) riot broke out in Rotterdam, The Netherlands, leaving many injured; violence broke out all over Europe (most notably in Berlin, where we were) on the evening of April 30, the night before Europe's May 1 "Worker's Day" holiday. And let's not forget about that pesky little conflict in the Balkans, which is quickly becoming NATO's favorite place to piss off other countries. Of course, whenever I mentioned this, I was reminded that European children were not in the habit of shooting other students, mainly due to the fact that guns are illegal in most European countries, and only in a country as fucked up as ours would a child be able to obtain a gun but not be able to drink a beer until the age of 21. But the Americans are just a sideshow for these folks anyway; the old inter-European tensions crackle as new everywhere you go. The British hate the Germans, the French hate everybody, the Germans are still afraid to have their own army, and everyone loves American culture but hates the American government. Over there, over there..

2. CNN Europe is far superior to CNN America, as is all English-speaking news programming in Europe. The absence of talking heads who analyze everything to death and beyond was as refreshing as snow in the desert. And the International Herald-Tribune is an amazing newspaper.

3. Don't mention the topic of the British monarchy among more than three residents of the U.K. I made this mistake one day in the van, and it set off a bitter, curse-ridden debate among the Brits as they split 2-2 into pro-and-con arguments concerning the Royal Family. Among the verbal chestnuts: "Princess Di was a fucking gold-digging, whining slag". "it's right that the traditions be kept, even by a wanker like Charles". "bunch of fucking bollocks, that's what it all is, the whole lot of them, fucking bloody fucking cunts". "you best keep your mouth shut before I turn it into your arse." Nobody steams like an angry Brit.

4. When it comes to business, Europeans care a lot more about knowing you and developing a relationship with you than they do about talking business. Sure, business was discussed during my SWR meetings [with the heads of their European distributorships], but never before at least 45 minutes of coffee, alcohol, food, cigarettes, or any combination of the previous items listed. I have to say that, after an initial adjustment period, I found it to be much more civilized than the typical "wham bam thank you ma'am" American-style business meeting.

5. I now know a new language: Broken English. You see, everyone in Europe speaks English to a certain degree, but none (save the Scandinavians) very well. So you have to speak verrrry slowly, and verrrrry simply. Example: In regular English I'd say, "It's great to see you after all this time, and I hope you can make it over to the show later tonight." But in Broken English, it's "It is.very nice.to see you now, and I hope you will.come to the show tonight." Lots of nodding and body language were involved as well. The best was when I met with the German distributors, Reinhold Koch (a German) and his companion Katherina Kozatsa (a Greek). She doesn't speak German, he doesn't speak Greek, but they both speak very Broken English. That was good, let me tell you.

OK, I'm running out of time and energy here. Thanks for reading along, as always. It's been my pleasure and privilege to be able to report to you from the road in Europe. I feel absolutely blessed that I had the chance to do the tour, no matter whether it was shortened or not. And I hope that you got a small taste of what it's like to be in a continent where a country with only 223 years of history is regarded as "young."

 

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Final random notes: The lesson of this century is not World War II, but World War I.techno is having an acute, direct effect on the live music scene in Europe, much more so than in America.the English, funnily enough, speak English the way I always wanted to.I already miss European coffee.I prefer airport signs in English, thank you very much.the single funniest moment of the tour was when rascal roadie Rowland Jones saw a gaggle of hot blonde girls exiting from a car outside our gig in Goteburg, Sweden, and said, "Oh look-somebody just opened up a can of cunt".Wayne Kramer's music hit me directly in the stomach every night, and I liked every second of the pain inflicted.

Finally, let me dedicate this entire report (or "Act", as it may become) to my late Grandmother, Fay Lasky, who passed away on April 9 just after we participated in that fateful performance on live French national TV. She was a complex, emotional woman whom I loved dearly, and with whom I identified in many unexpected ways. I can't help but think that she's headed off to a better place.

And it's my belief that, as she was leaving this earth for her final journey, she made one last stop. In Paris, just behind my bass rig, in the vicinity of the power cord (which somehow slipped out just as I was making my French television debut). You see, she was just getting my attention long enough to say goodbye.

Celebrating another year on the planet,

Broken English: The Boy That Plays Bass.Number Sixty-Nine