Tankus the Henge, France and Nashville!

Once again, the Tankus the Henge van is reduced to looking as if Jake stole the keys off George while he was asleep and drove it sideways through a landfill with the side door open. A festival weary guitar with five strings, an inflatable bed footpump, numerous hats, french bread and a copy of "Zen and the art of motorcycle maintenance" stray across just one seat.


We're driving through France. We've been driving for about three hours since disembarking from the ship and resolving to eat our way across the land of the garlic bicycle, we've stocked up on fresh chickens, french sticks (naturally), houmus and cookies. There's about five hundred miles to go and every time we pass a truck with spray flying out of the wheels, my life flashes before me as sometimes it feels like we're flying a plane far too close to the sea, even though we're in a big red transit van.

The inside of our van is quite colourful. We had a drawing competition a few weeks ago on our way to Kendal Calling festival, and I think Kerry won, being a girl, obviously she's better at drawing while the men seem to handle driving a van a lot more naturally. Here's a picture of the entries adorning the wall.


We are holing up in France to get away from various people, ie, our local councils, the electricity board, the neighbour whose garden I had to clamber through the other day when I locked myself out of my house, but mainly we're getting away from distractions to write some new music and test it out at four shows over here. I'm sure many of you reading this will have seen us perform sometime this summer, and the music we have been playing ranges one to five years old, and some of our songs we've performed at every show for about five years. Needless to say, we've been extremely busy and there's a backlog of ideas that need to be tried and tested. Hopefully when we come back to London in October we'll open another door into a different part of the twisted world we inhabit.

"October?" I hear you cry...
Yes, that's because after we've returned from France, we'll be heading to Bestival to perform there on the Saturday, and then to Weston Super Mare to close the festival on the beach lawns.

"but that only takes up one weekend!"

Oh, of course it does. The reason for the October return, then, is because we're all going to Nashville, Tennesee to record a brand spanking new album. Nashville is in the United States of America. Long live the king!
We're not abandoning you in the slightest; never fear, we will be stopping for a tea-break at 4pm on the dot each afternoon. We'll be writing and filming bits for this blog most days and will be keeping in touch with all of you, as always!

As for now, I will stop writing because otherwise I'll see my breakfast and lunch get to know Jake's hairdryer which is in front of me.
More tomorrow.
Jaz

The Mysterious Metamorphosis of Dan Mason.

Vlore, Albania, 13/08/10 - This chilling factual account was told by Michael Charles, Tour Manager

Something strange happened in Vlore.

If my memory serves me correctly this was the first time Dan Mason had seemed different. It is only now when I look back at that evening, on the second date of the Tankus the Henge Tour of Albania, August 2010, that I realise it occurred at dusk. Like a vampire, thirsty for the night and it's cloak of darkness, the ordinarily mild mannered Dan Mason turned into the now legendary and less than considerate 'Danny Mason' ....Rockstar!




I met him at the hotel lift, after he'd had a shower, and he looked straight through me. I turned to Jaz and said, 'What's up with him?' ...and Jaz told me the news. 'This is Danny Mason', he said. And that's when I realised things had changed. The air of indifference within that lift as we descended the three short floors to the lobby will haunt me for the rest of this week. 'What a load of bollocks', I said, as the doors opened and I walked over to one of the leather settees to wait for the rest of the band to arrive, picking up a lost earplug en route. Danny just frowned and looked me over like a stinky tramp that just asked him for the last drag of his cigarette. And so the evening continued.

Initially I thought it was just an act and it would pass after a short time when both Dan and everyone around him got tired of the joke. So I laughed to myself as I watched his overexaggerated attempt at 'elegantly wasted', sauntering around reception, giving the odd wave, and finally swanning out of the hotel to the awaiting bus. ...But it didn't pass ....And it wasn't till I saw him at breakfast the next morning that he'd obviously reverted to the lazy, good for nothing Dan Mason of old, in search of beer and a comfortable seat.

At that gig in Vlore he played fine, had his photo taken with 'the fans', said 'I've got time'. when he was greeted by this dignitary or that record company executive ...but I never saw him smile once. This was Danny Mason and they were lucky! A few words here, a handshake there, ...what could anyone expect but a cursory acknowledgement that they were in the presence of Royalty? When I passed him a beer he drank it in one. When I offered him a cigarette he took the pack ....and the piss! At the end of the show having strutted his stuff, signed autographs and had his picture taken hanging off innumerable, excited young women, he boarded the bus with such a look of disdain that everyone fell silent. There was an ominous air aboard that vehicle. Who knows where this is going to end?

Beware the twilight.

From dusk till dawn .......it's Danny Mason!

This morning I woke up with the sun streaming on to my face

Jaz: When we arrived in Durres, as usual something had happened, I think this time Dan had taken his usual relaxed amount of time in the toilet while everyone else on the bus digested their lunch like normal people. Lunch is a very important meal in Albania, and we took it very seriously while we were there. Anyway, we were running slightly late, and to make matters more interesting, the road running along the promenade next to the sea was jammed, bumper to bumper with the normal selection of mostly battered Mercedes, motorbikes with three riders and a couple of times I saw contraptions with engines that, if in England, probably wouldn't have made it out of the inventing shed. Still, fair play to them, if building what appears to be a wheelbarrow with half a motorbike welded to the back, and no visible brakes, then maybe they can get to places no cars can go and get the job done.
So Edmund, our driver is cursing at the traffic and calling whoever is closest to his bus the equivalent of a pikey, while attempting to cross a roundabout where everyone wants to go first, and if that isn't good enough for the bikers, they'll go around it the wrong way. Add this to the seemingly unwritten rule in Albania that if a pedestrian walks out into the road, they have right of way and the cars stop for you, and bingo, utter chaos ensues.
Gradually we wove our way through the car tetris and ended up at the hotel. A rather lovely place called "Hotel Ani", It was refreshingly cool in the balmy air of Durres beach. On discovering our rooms for the night, Chris, Dan and myself foolishly shotgunned the first one we saw, which looked spacious, having two beds and a double pull out in a large room. Our spirits sank when we realised we'd been too hasty as George and Jake found the room next door, with two single beds, and through a door, a double bed with ensuite and balcony looking out over the beach.
We laughed when we found out that they would be having to share this luxury with DJ Piko, who has been spinning music in between ours and the MHBs sets. Piko is a nutter (what are you, what are you?!) and great fun; In the end, he didn't even come back to the hotel, and I'm not sure if we saw him since.

Here's a picture of Piko at work:




During our soundcheck, I looked out over the area the stage was built in. I could see several dilapidated but working fairground rides, with customers, several Korçë beer stalls had popped up, and the sun was setting over an empty, abandoned apartment block. I felt as if I didn't know what time we were in, whenever it was, it wasn't 2010. Not an entirely unpleasant feeling, but one that happens to me on a regular basis here. The area we had for audience was pretty big, and I had completely underestimated the enthusiasm of the wonderful Durres locals, because when we returned to the stage from cleaning up and getting changed in the hotel, the few strolling couples and groups of interested kids had turned into several hundred mainly young people, dancing to whatever record Piko was playing. I think it was the one that goes "I've got a feeling... daa daaaa, that tonight's gonna be a good night, etc", you know, that one.


Martin, Jay and Pete, went on first and it was the first time I had had the opportunity to see their entire set due to things like snakes and and in one instance, a man with no legs who could walk on his hands. Here's a photo of the MHB in action.




Now I will pass over to Daniel because he wrote something about this and I'm confused enough already what with remembering everything in the right order. To be honest I'm not entirely sure that everything I've related to you happened in the order it did. Nevermind, it'll probably end up on facebook, then wikipedia, then in the press, which makes it fact. Winston Smith eat your heart out.

Daniel: We arrive in Durres mid afternoon for our third and final seaside performance. I took full advantage of our first opportunity to witness a full set of the Martin Harley Band. An interesting response by the Albanians. Albania have had the freedom to absorb western culture for as little as 18 years, since the fall of communist oppression in 1992. Then came the influx of world popular culture, most notably British and American rock bands. This era seemed to provide some form of renaissance in Albanian pop culture, hence the fact most bars, restaurants, clubs and radio stations still play Guns N' Rosesesque rock, 80's power ballads, contemporary Albanian pop music or today's music. Nothing predates 1985ish. Not once have I heard a Beatles, Rolling Stones, Led Zeppelin, Abba record being played. Nothing from the 50's, 60's or 70's it seems. Not to say nobody in Albania has ever heard of these bands, just that for commercial purposes perhaps there's been little or no opportunity to hear this music through mainstream and commercial mediums. It was in fact illegal during the communist era for anyone to show any form of artistic expression or appreciation for any outside influence, and thus owning or playing a Phil Collin's record for instance would be considered a criminal offence, imprisonable for anything up to 30 years. Perhaps certain elements of the oppressive mechanism were trying to make the world a better place? MHB most certainly rock, the musicianship and stage presence is undoubtedly accomplished, on the brink of "kickin awf!" from one second to the next. A universally acknowledged tilt of the hat is an indication that the love for both music and culture is the sole purpose for this event taking place. They are well received by the people of Durres. They seem somewhat fascinated by the music as opposed expressive bodily shapes and gestures often affiliated with rock n' roll. They simply haven't ever heard of the blues or witnessed the impact it has on western culture. I must say I lost myself somewhere between the rampant rendition of "Nobody's fault but mine" and the soul-feast of "Voodoo Chile". Much of the crowd observed in utter amazement at my disconbobulated cavorting about the place, but never any sign of dislike or hostility towards me or the music.

Then came our gig. Probably the best gig of the tour in terms of production value and sound. Without doubt the best gig of our collective careers so far. Somewhere between 1000-1500 people of all ages and gender. The reception was immense, transforming the intense expectation and adulation projected by the crowd into a sespit of good time vibrations and cultural coming together. Perhaps the people of Durres didn't fully comprehend how much the weight of their response meant to us, but I feel we did well in expressing our sentiment particularly. Jaz's somewhat patchy Albanian went down well.




Jaz: So they rocked it. Mike, Jake and myself got a preview of what the audience was like when we joined Martin, Jay and Pete onstage to play horns on "love in the afternoon" which is a jaunty number you can find on his album "Drumrolls for Somersaults", buy it now. We attempted to upstage the lovely MHB two nights in a row doing this, and they seemed to enjoy it as much as an alcohol-fuelled student who has just discovered eating his own sick cures hangovers. Expect more collaborations onstage in London and probably Bestival 2010.



When myself and the rest of the Tankus the Henge gang took to the stage for our own set, Martin had warmed up the audience so much that I could have cooked a can of beans just by holding it out towards them.
I'm not going to whine on about our set, you know what we do. If you don't and you're reading this, then you should really find out. All i'll say is that Durres, Albania, was my favourite performance in the book.

Durres

Here's three photographs from our show in Durres. More coming later, as we're on our way to the airport and most people are drunk and therefore, every possible aspect of our onward journey lies in chaos and carnage.
Love you all!

burrat i çmendur anglisht!

I have been attempting to learn Albanian. It's one of the hardest languages, apparently, there are so many tiny variations of pronunciation which change the meaning of the word. I can say useful things like "thankyou", "are you having fun?" and "we love Albania!" Hanging out with DJ Piko and Benny from Club FM, the radio station we are working with on this tour, often results in me learning new things to say like "are you ready to go crazy?!" and "that's life, buddy", which is allegedly slang and no-one i've said it too has understood it. Also there is a strange saying which translates roughly as "what are you, what are you?" - for instance, as Jake is utterly off his rocker most of the time, I'd probably say it to him.
I can see him now, he's asleep in bed with half the sheets wrapped over his head. Much amusement was had when we realised Jake has the same fringe as Clare, who makes everything happen, together with Daniella and Aida.

So we played in Sarande by the sea, there was a promenade which had a few locals and tourists strolling along it. Sarande is very much the Albanian seaside resort, and holidayers from Corfu (just across the water) and all over Albania come here to relax. By the time we came back from the hotel to the stage, realising we'd missed our tourmates the Martin Harley Band by mistake, there were hundreds of people all over the place. Families with young children all come out at night to socialise, and it appears that snake owners come out, too, as a gentleman with a massive green snake wrapped around his neck was parading around.

It's strange how some tunes go down really well and some don't. Orange is the new black, for example, prompts a similar reaction as me presenting a thirty year old sock to my girlfriend on valentines day after we mutually agreed we wouldn't do presents and then for some reason I panicked and thought that giving her the archaic gift of threadbare wool, saying it had been worn by Jack 'Pomegranate" Geoffreys, the infamous fireman of the 1970's who saved his ladyfriend from a burning building, was actually a hugely romantic gesture. Fail.

Still, we've played Orange every night. I like the jumpy bit at the end. Tunes that DO go down well include Mirror on the wall, with it's manic dance medley at the end, Life is a grimm tale (if I teach the lyrics as it only makes sense if you can speak english), the Asylum dance and Recurring dream. I put forward the idea to the British Embassy that we should release Recurring Dream as a single here.

More blog later!

Day 3 - Serande

A 3 hour road trip to Vlore ensues. The birthplace of Albanian independence in 1912. Our driver and comrade Edmund at the wheel as we retrace our descent through the Albanian mountain range overlooking the coastline. Words cannot describe the beauty of this vast scenery, so figure it out yourself.

Last night's gig was yet another raucous rowdy affair. A more than healthy serving of sweat and drool to help relinquish the feast of Albanian cuisine and alcohol intake/misuse. Weight gain is an increasing inevitability. A nice late night dip in the hotel pool helped the guys fight some flab. It also presented a rare chance for Jake to perfect his swimming skills. We can report his ability to doggy paddle is coming to fruition.

"It seems pointless going to bed now if I've spent all this time getting pissed" George exclaimed shortly after our meal on the way to the hotel. Chris, George and I decide to stay up a while longer to check out some Sarande nightlife. Naturally, the nearest and most seedy nightclub to the hotel was our port of call. 500 Leke each to gain entry, and with that a drink at the bar. Seemed fairly reasonable we thought. So the kid who looked about 12 on the door took our money and we went in. So in we go, unperturbed by the booming Albanian techno and the dingy cave like lighting. Ready to boogie. Lets get the drinks in then. Oh what"s this? A young bulimic Albanian girl wants to try my hat on her peroxide head. No probs. Yes those are my festival wristbands. Anything else? No, she just gawps for a few seconds and responds to my perhaps overly refined English like a dog who's just been shown a card trick. "Is she a ho or a hooker?" I ask George. Who knows. Anyway she's cavorting on the podium with another girl now as everybody looks on. Soon we lose interest as there's virtually no interaction taking, just an assortment of prick tease for entertainment. We drink up and head back.

The rest of the Albanian vibe is great. Lots of happy faces, lots of kind words. Great to be hanging with The Martin Harley Band, despite their collective sexual dysfunction becoming ever more concerning. Nearly made it to Vlore now, slight delay due to a Mafia shooting taking place last night on the mountain side between the Greeks and Albanians. Sounds like handbags to me. Stopping for some food to let the procession pass by.

Bus thoughts

I woke up from a slumber by the bus lurching violently to the side, I looked out of the window and saw a car careening the wrong way down the motorway, traffic rippling out of the way like it was being repelled from a magnet. I had the distinct uneasy feeling that it was going to end up totalling a car travelling the right way. Before I could regain my thoughts, I saw another car attempting to do a three point turn in the fast lane of the road. I told George to concentrate and just keep driving past all these lunatics. There was snow falling lightly, and we were still about three hours away from our destination. I don't remember where we were coming from, can't recall that at all.
The snow was worrying me, because twilight had taken a hold on the day and the snow was reflecting all the headlights creating a strange glow, making it very difficult to tell our proximity from other objects. As we started to go up a huge hill, the bus started to struggle and the I could feel the wheels spinning under us. The satnav still had the direction pointing the way, and we were valiantly trying to follow it, but before we turned over or got stuck in the snow, I asked George to turn off, into a side road. This road had less snow because of the trees, and was single track. I was sure I'd seen some sort of farm or lights when I had the idea that we probably shouldn't try and finish the journey in these sort of conditions, as there'd be no band otherwise. We confused the satnav, and it's pathetic voice rang out with complaints about turning around, when we came across a big farmhouse with a spacious courtyard. I leaned into the snow and wind as I battled my way over to the door, and the occupants must have seen us coming as the door opened and I was let in to a warm kitchen. After explaining our plight, we were offered the living room floor to sleep on, and thanking the host, I went outside to tell everyone the news. The snow had stopped, and I realised I was wearing a long wig. Two of our friends from another band were standing with my lot, and they took a while to recognise me, as the wig was hiding my identity. I pulled the wig off, and then I woke up, as I'm still really on a bus in Albania, in the heat of the day, and we've just stopped at a petrol station for everyone to get off and go for a piss.
Better go then. Never know what's going to happen on the road.

Albanian bars and cable cars

Cows in road. Traffic. Eight hours to go.

Two bands in a bus. One of them is Tankus the Henge; trumpeter Jake Stoddart came out with this gem just now:

"I might fart with such ferocity that I blow my own insides out my arsehole"

Woke up yesterday and completely failed to understand the breakfast table. Mainly the idea of 'choose what sort of breakfast you want and eat it'. Bearing in mind there was olives, cheese, yoghurt, nesquik, melon, toast, egg, croissant, mousse and countless more ingredients. Instead of choosing a particular style of nourishment, there could be seen examples such as olives, egg, honey, toast and avocado, or nesquik and cheese and ham. Also, the waiters seem to play a version of roulette with tea. ie, if one asks for tea, one might recieve anything in a range from strawberry and vanilla to rosehip and camomile. After we discovered for some reason Cappuccino gets added to the bill as an extra, George swore blind that no-one in our party had had indulged in one, when in fact, it was him.

So we went up a mountain. In a glass box on a string. I didn't think I was afraid of heights until the last section of this cable car, (built by austrians) went over a ridge, then a lake, then after a bit of rock, proceeded to change direction, and almost go vertically up the cliff face. No one had clean pants I tell thee.

On our way up we saw a few concrete bunkers scattered around, on asking Clare what these were, we found out that in the 1970s, the dictator was so paranoid about everyone attacking Albania, that he built 700,000 of them all over the country for gunmen to sit in. No-one attacked it. I don't think many people even knew it was there.

After George, Mason and myself did a rather deep interview with a TV station in which I told Simon Cowell I didn't like him, and we rued the amount of crap there is in the British music scene, we played a show in the garden of the Rogner Hotel. This was the launch party of the tour we're doing with the Martin Harley band opening for us. As we were playing a few feet from a swimming pool I accidentally jumped into it at the end of Recurring Dream... Hang on, I have to interrupt my train of thought. The radio in the bus just played an advert for our gigs this week, I'll try and get a copy of it. It has a bit of Orange is the new black and lots of Albanian over the top. It's pretty funny. Apparently it's broadcast four times an hour.

So we're travelling to Sarande today, if you know where that is. it involves us going over a very high mountain pass. The second highest in the country. Luckily Edmund our driver is excellent, otherwise what with yesterdays cable car exploits we'll get through our underwear a lot quicker than expected.

The state of the guys in the band is questionable this morning. After local Raki, many Korca beers and a night of Jagermeister, some of them spend minutes on end staring into the middle distance while I casually document it all.

Albania feels like home. Once we got here.

This is the smallest plane I have ever been on. It's basically a flying bus with about twenty four albanians on and us six Englishmen. Wait, there's an announcement. OK they're still trying to serve drinks while we descend in our tin can from over the Alps into Tirana. As we took off, all the lights dimmed because the engines obviously required more power to get us into the sky. I think there's only three crewmembers and one of them doesn't look like they have the willpower or ability to swim. Chris and Dan are gaily sucking down beers and we're all devouring bread with A) some sort of green playdoh on it and some seeds or B) chicken that was caught out the back of the engine with a net.







We didn't see much of Vienna, mainly the inside of a terminal where normal civilians aren't permitted to go. Just behind our cafe, which closed near the start of our three hour transfer, was a big glass pen especially enclosed just for those who enjoy breathing tobacco and tar. Seriously, if you wanted a smoke all you have to do is open the door and go in. Mind you, the airport we took off from two days ago in Germany made Stansted look like Heathrow. There was only one plane there.

Really feel like I'm flying at the moment. Hang on, we're nosediving. Oh no, it's just starting to land. Just felt the undercarriage come down, or maybe it was the baggage hold doors opening and sending our equipment sailing through the night sky into the mountains.




A bit later:

We land at Tirana airport and are greeted by the lovely Clare, soon speeding us towards the city down a motorway which i recall seeing a cow being led along the hard shoulder last time we were here. Clare also tells a story in which she was in a restaurant enjoying a meal when a cow crashes through the dining area with an irate gentleman brandishing a shovel in hot pursuit.

More tomorrow. Bed now. I think we are doing something on TV, like an interview, as well as the first show. There's also a picture of a very interesting lamppost I think you should see.

Jaz

Where are my passport. I had it this morning.

Chris just handed me a long-lost John Lee Hooker album...there are fresh bills being burned on the fire and I'm surrounded by mess. This is the aftermath of returning from Wacken festival with the Circus of Horrors this morning and having to go to Albania with Tankus the Henge tomorrow morning.

After becoming accustomed to spending what seems like every weekend for two months in a tent, which is basically a human basting-bag, and emerging dripping with sweat AGAIN after a snatched four hour sleep, with booming bass from three different stages almost on top of your head, the prospect of actually staying in a hotel for our shows in Albania is a welcoming one.



I would write about every festival we've been to but they've all been smashed together by the rolling pin of rock. One that stands out in my memory is the accordion attacking me at the end of Asylum, at Larmer Tree. I ended up falling over backwards with a bleeding mouth, it all adds to the show. The stage invasion by redheaded girls at Latitude was pretty good, and the stage invasion by anyone and everyone at Secret Garden was fantastic. Smuggling about thirty bottles of beer into SGP in an empty guitar case, watching an airship get blown skyhigh and meeting some amazing, fascinating people will not be forgotten in a long time.
We have two more festivals to go, Beautiful Days in Devon (21st of August) and Bestival (11th September).

Before then, though, we're off to Albania again.

Wednesday 11th August - TIRANA (Rogner Hotel) 8pm

Thursday 12 August - SARANDA (8pm)

Friday 13 August - VLORES (8pm)

Saturday 14 August - DURRESI (8pm)

Sunday 15 August - KORCA (8pm)



If the last excursion to Albania is anything to go by, bearing in mind most people we met go ballistic at the sound of a polka, and don't pay to get their roads fixed, ever, it's going to be fun. Albania, we love you. And your roads.

Jaz