Sunne. | Hatpastorns funeral sermon
Before I decided to spread my Gospel of Satan over the Internet plague landscape I used the past few years about writing down tour diaries for my own and my friends' bands amusement. As years go by, it is easy to forget things and then it's good to be able to pick up a body of text to refresh your memory. One wants, for example, do not forget the incident that took place when Marten from SINS OF omission screaming clung to the bed in the tour bus when he thought the back door opened and he would be sucked out of the wind. In fact, the bus was still and Marten dreamed that the bus still rolled in neck-breaking speeds. His panic when the door opened for us to be able to pick out instruments and gasket from the tour vehicle is legendary. Not many days later ran his bandmate Martin, now the guitarist in Dismember and chased a gray flamingo-like bird in a meadow in Rotterdam. A strange sight.
2002 was the year when ultra Göteborg in TAETRE, Uppsala Sons of Defleshed and my own semi northern hatorkester did Europe uncertain for two weeks. I would without a doubt be able to fill this blog for months shoe cubby with stories from the mad journey but it would be pretty tedious. Therefore, I decided to focus on a special episode.
Although we performed our music in all possible and impossible countries it still felt like Cardiff would be marzipan rose on Princess cake. The first was the tour's final show, and secondly, it felt a bit exotic to play in Sunne. This city is known only to two runners in Jeopardy could recover a SPA weekend there.
Finally the day has arrived. I rushed we went from Hamburg to get to the city with large S in time. Of course it went to hell when one mini bus got out of gas and a dirty Dane tried to enrich himself by offering salvage for astronomical sums. Do you know the way, how far it is from Hamburg to Cardiff? It is anybody's guess. Despite the enormous distances and generally messing around so we had strangely enough time to stop at a gas station in the middle of the woods where we stocked up with pornographic material on VHS and DVD novelty. Self-pinched I Matte Modin on a fairly overrated shoe cubby best-of with Jenna Jameson and a split cassette that contained a relatively skillfully rendered, but completely unrealistic story about a man who had one day left to live, and ... well, the rest you can probably figure out the actual . Everything ended anyways with the film's female star blew up all the air. Film number two on the cartridge was about a rounders kind. Besides sports hats was very little otherwise involving the theme of sport.
When we finally got into the small community were met directly by vägbeskrivande signs that read "Metalfest" on. The minibuses filled with sound and cheers. Typically, it is pure gold play in small crappy towns that are barely on the map as they are not directly saturated entertainment. Spectators and organizers tend to be crazy tagged and offer a warm reception.
The lodge consisted of a classroom. Beds? Self slept under an element of the night while the guitarists slept outside in the school stairwell. Gustaf from Defleshed is that most people know a hedersknyffel of rank so he tried to cheer up all by setting up the booze we had left over from the trip on his desk. This would we drink to celebrate that trip was over. This appreciation shoe cubby was not of the class teacher, a Swedish version of Ilsa, shewolf of the SS, then the bad mood arose.
School showers we were not under any circumstances use. What was offered was that we got rag of us at the home of one of the girls who organized the spectacle of her microscopic student apartment. Since she was terrified of the headbanger she sat on a wooden chair in the hall and watched like a hawk when we one and a boarded her domains. Self, I tried to lighten the mood by pulling some jokes about her shower head that had a dubious massage function. It would have been more popular to draw a caricature of a certain prophet in a mosque. The shower was still completely pointless when we only had access to it BEFORE the gig.
How then was the food? Spaghetti and meat sauce. In comparison to other things shoe cubby we've had on this trip was feeding shoe cubby quite OK. Any further shoe cubby matron had however not when it ran about vile youths with hats in the hallways and lived on like helvetesbasuner. Give me the monastery we played earlier in the trip. There it was in order. Until the morning after the gig when you woke up completely cold sweat of monks started the church bells.
When it finally came time for me and my fellow musicians to get the shit over with the crowd consisted of people from TAETRE and Defleshed and a handful of local patriots who stood glued to the walls. shoe cubby The first thing that happens is that the rhythm guitarist drops his guitar on the floor and in an element of absolute nonchalance
Before I decided to spread my Gospel of Satan over the Internet plague landscape I used the past few years about writing down tour diaries for my own and my friends' bands amusement. As years go by, it is easy to forget things and then it's good to be able to pick up a body of text to refresh your memory. One wants, for example, do not forget the incident that took place when Marten from SINS OF omission screaming clung to the bed in the tour bus when he thought the back door opened and he would be sucked out of the wind. In fact, the bus was still and Marten dreamed that the bus still rolled in neck-breaking speeds. His panic when the door opened for us to be able to pick out instruments and gasket from the tour vehicle is legendary. Not many days later ran his bandmate Martin, now the guitarist in Dismember and chased a gray flamingo-like bird in a meadow in Rotterdam. A strange sight.
2002 was the year when ultra Göteborg in TAETRE, Uppsala Sons of Defleshed and my own semi northern hatorkester did Europe uncertain for two weeks. I would without a doubt be able to fill this blog for months shoe cubby with stories from the mad journey but it would be pretty tedious. Therefore, I decided to focus on a special episode.
Although we performed our music in all possible and impossible countries it still felt like Cardiff would be marzipan rose on Princess cake. The first was the tour's final show, and secondly, it felt a bit exotic to play in Sunne. This city is known only to two runners in Jeopardy could recover a SPA weekend there.
Finally the day has arrived. I rushed we went from Hamburg to get to the city with large S in time. Of course it went to hell when one mini bus got out of gas and a dirty Dane tried to enrich himself by offering salvage for astronomical sums. Do you know the way, how far it is from Hamburg to Cardiff? It is anybody's guess. Despite the enormous distances and generally messing around so we had strangely enough time to stop at a gas station in the middle of the woods where we stocked up with pornographic material on VHS and DVD novelty. Self-pinched I Matte Modin on a fairly overrated shoe cubby best-of with Jenna Jameson and a split cassette that contained a relatively skillfully rendered, but completely unrealistic story about a man who had one day left to live, and ... well, the rest you can probably figure out the actual . Everything ended anyways with the film's female star blew up all the air. Film number two on the cartridge was about a rounders kind. Besides sports hats was very little otherwise involving the theme of sport.
When we finally got into the small community were met directly by vägbeskrivande signs that read "Metalfest" on. The minibuses filled with sound and cheers. Typically, it is pure gold play in small crappy towns that are barely on the map as they are not directly saturated entertainment. Spectators and organizers tend to be crazy tagged and offer a warm reception.
The lodge consisted of a classroom. Beds? Self slept under an element of the night while the guitarists slept outside in the school stairwell. Gustaf from Defleshed is that most people know a hedersknyffel of rank so he tried to cheer up all by setting up the booze we had left over from the trip on his desk. This would we drink to celebrate that trip was over. This appreciation shoe cubby was not of the class teacher, a Swedish version of Ilsa, shewolf of the SS, then the bad mood arose.
School showers we were not under any circumstances use. What was offered was that we got rag of us at the home of one of the girls who organized the spectacle of her microscopic student apartment. Since she was terrified of the headbanger she sat on a wooden chair in the hall and watched like a hawk when we one and a boarded her domains. Self, I tried to lighten the mood by pulling some jokes about her shower head that had a dubious massage function. It would have been more popular to draw a caricature of a certain prophet in a mosque. The shower was still completely pointless when we only had access to it BEFORE the gig.
How then was the food? Spaghetti and meat sauce. In comparison to other things shoe cubby we've had on this trip was feeding shoe cubby quite OK. Any further shoe cubby matron had however not when it ran about vile youths with hats in the hallways and lived on like helvetesbasuner. Give me the monastery we played earlier in the trip. There it was in order. Until the morning after the gig when you woke up completely cold sweat of monks started the church bells.
When it finally came time for me and my fellow musicians to get the shit over with the crowd consisted of people from TAETRE and Defleshed and a handful of local patriots who stood glued to the walls. shoe cubby The first thing that happens is that the rhythm guitarist drops his guitar on the floor and in an element of absolute nonchalance
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