Bevis Frond Tour Diary, Athens 1993 (by Ade Shaw) Athens, March 1993. It sounded great. A few days in Athens, play a couple of gigs, no unpleasant bending.... Nick arrived about 8 A.M. on Thursday morning. We loaded our bags and guitars into my car, and set off to pick up the others. Bari was ready, raven locks cascading behind him in the wind. Stopping just long enough to retrieve them, we carried onto Ric's. There was an ominous look to his flat. No sign of life, not even any sign of Ric. We banged on his door, increasingly aware that we had to get to the airport fairly briskly if we wanted to indulge ourselves in one of the more mundane pleasures of contemporary air travel, like parking the car and catching the scheduled flight. Eventually Ric appeared telling a completely convincing tale of how he'd been ready since 6.30, and had just shut his eyes for 5 minutes. Now some people might have thought that the fact that he was clad in just his trousers, a shirt thrown hurriedly around his shoulders and no shoes or socks on might have indicated that he'd overslept but we, knowing Ric to be the consummate professional that he is, never let that uncharitable thought enter our minds. We arrived at Heathrow via a courtesy coach, more or less on time. Right, we thought, time for the old "sneak the guitars onto the flight" trick. Whilst the others checked our luggage, such as it was, onto the flight, I stood around with Nick's and my guitars, trying to look unconcerned. This avoided the old "I'm afraid you can't bring that on board as hand-luggage" trick. For once there was no problem as the flight had plenty of spare seats. The cabin crew were soon bringing round the complimentary drinks. Unused to strong liquor, we of course declined and opted a mineral water. At least, that's what I think we did, my memory becomes a little hazy at this point. On arrival in Athens, we were met by two of the guys promoting the gigs, Thanos and Theo. I went with Thanos and Nick in one car, the others went with Theo. The Caravelle Hotel was great, 5 stars, liveried flunkies, the whole lot. "Reactionary bourgeois crap" I hear you mutter. Well, after a cold and bleak London winter it felt pretty good. As Bari and I are long term vegetarians, the band was taken out to one of Athens's few vegetarian restaurants. If the others are anything like this one, it's little wonder there are so few. The staff had obviously trained at the Martin Boorman school of charm and catering I'd have guessed, combining disdain and indifference with just a touch of antagonism. Quite splendid to behold. They even had the nerve to tell Ric to be quiet when he was demonstrating paradidyls on the table. Continuing to sample the local hospitality back at the hotel, I eventually fell into a deep, untroubled sleep. Friday morning arrived as clear and sunny as London had been grey, cold and rainy. As our sound check wasn't until late afternoon we decided to do the obligatory tourist thing and go to the Parthenon. Now for those of you who have never tried hailing a taxi in Athens, here's a tip: Don't bother. It's much quicker and less hassle to walk. We, however, didn't know that at the time and spent half an hour walking towards the Acropolis gesticulating fruitlessly at the local cabbies. Eventually one, obviously at a lose end, took pity on us and picked us up. We spent the morning wandering around the Parthenon, watching the light breeze blow the pollution back and forth across the Athens sky-line. Before heading back to the hotel, Nick and I stopped off at the local flea market. They were completely out of fleas but had a truly awesome selection of wares, from musical instruments to furniture. I even spotted several World War One vintage weapons, including a tripod-mounted machine gun. Back to the hotel, prise Ric and Bari away from the bar from where they'd set up court and then off to the Rodon club for our soundcheck. The Rodon club is like a more exotic version of the Town and Country club in Hampstead. It holds 1500 people and has a bar down one side and a balcony. The promoters had, as with everything else, got it just right. Two Marshall 100 watt stacks, a Seymour Duncan 400 watt bass rig for yours truly and a Pearl drum kit. The soundcheck was quick and painless and we were soon back at the hotel, eating and then applying the finishing touched to our extensive stage outfits that those of you fortunate enough to have seen a Frond gig will be only too familiar with. The support band on the first night were called "Blue Light" and consisted of a singer-keyboard player dressed in a natty double-breasted suit, a guitarist and a drummer. Utilising a bass sequencer, they ran through a set that consisted of mainly original songs combined with the occasional cover. Especially interesting was their version "Hey Joe". I can honestly say I've never heard anything quite like it. We went down a storm, Nick and Bari were in fine form, their guitars intertwining magically. We eventually managed to untangle them and played a fine set. We were relieved to get a great response from the audience, did three encores and then got down to the serious part of the evening, the after-gig club. It was a difficult choice for me, back to the hotel for a cup of cocoa and an early night so as to be sure to be on top form for the Saturday gig or on to the flesh pots of Athens? As we walked into the club I began to regret my decision. Loud music assailed my ear drums and the local population were dancing with wild abandon. It was hot and it was packed. Never the less we entered. Casually tossing aside my Zimmer frame I made my way with the others to the staircase and descended to the basement. It turned out to be relatively quiet there with several empty tables. We decided to set up base in the corner and proceeded to engage in social intercourse with the natives. I don't know what time Bari and Ric returned to the hotel but Nick and I turned in about half past four feeling just a little groggy. I couldn't understand it. I'd only had two and a half pints all evening. Mind you, it has to be said, that ouzo is the strongest beer I've ever drunk. I sprang to me feet at first light, did fifty press-ups, jogged around the roof garden and then swam forty lengths of the hotel pool. "Time for breakfast" I thought. In the hotel restaurant I bumped into Nick who had just run to the Acropolis and back in a highly creditable twelve minutes including the grueling seven hundred meter uphill section up to the Parthenon. We had a light breakfast of orange juice and houmasalatera, a local dish of whole grain fila pastry encasing some sort of fermented sheep's cheese. The day ahead looked interesting. It started with several interviews with the local music press. We didn't disturb the other two members of the band who were still sleeping off the previous night's excesses. The interviews were unusual inasmuch as the usual questions like "what do you think of the current psychedelic music scene" were interspersed with cryptic questions like "what do you think of the situation in Mesopotamia relating to the break-up of the Yugoslav republics"? "I'd shoot the bastards" was my considered opinion. The two journalists interviewing us grew quiet for a while, obviously intimidated by my considerable political acumen. After the lunch we didn't have, Thanos, who by now had proven himself to be a geezer of the first order, took us to see his beloved club, AEK. Athens play a top of the table clash away to local rivals Appolonia. It was warm and sunny and munching on the local equivalent of Percy Daltons, an interesting delicacy which required you to nibble away at the husk of a strange seed only to find it to be devoid of anything at all inside, we settled down to watch the match. Unfortunately we arrived a little late, missing the first goal, then had to leave a little early to do a radio interview, thereby missing the second goal. It was still a worthwhile experience however, if not for the football itself (one of AEK's rare off days, we were informed), as for the amusing local custom of throwing bottles at the opposing players. Back into town for an interview with Rock FM's very own Christoph. It was short and unremarkable apart from an incident when Nick was under the impression that Christoph was still talking Greek when he was in fact speaking English. We got back to the Rodon club in time to hear the other local band, LPB (and the Rock Horns) play their set. They were a basic Rock band with a female bassist, playing a sort of heavy, jazz-influenced psyche rock thrash bluesy type of sound. The Rock Horns were dressed a little like a cross between Sgt. Pepper and the third battalion of the Coldstream guards. The place was even fuller the second night than it had been on the first. We started with our customary jam made somewhat more interesting by my use of an unusual tuning, whereby you cleverly knock the e string machine head of your bass on the spiral staircase leading from the dressing room to the stage. If you do it properly you can detune your instrument just enough to give everything you play a delightful atonal effect. As the other band members didn't seem overly impressed by my experiment I quickly reverted to a more conventional tuning. We played for two and a half hours, including several old favourites like "Gloria" and "You Really Got Me". After the obligatory hob-nobbing we returned to the hotel for a relatively early night, thereby hoping to make the airport in time for our flight home later that morning. There were several teenage girls hammering frantically on Ric and Bari's hotel room door. We persuaded Bari to let them out and settled down for some serious liver damage. Not good enough for our dynamic duo however, so off they went looking for action. After breakfast and my usual "morning after" concoction of multi-vits and ginseng washed down with three maximum strength Aspro Clears (don't knock it until you've tried it) we met Thanos in the lobby, loaded our bags, instruments and Ric into the minibus and proceeded to the airport. Nick and I repeated our "sneak the axes onto the flight as hand-luggage" trick whilst Bari once more opted to entrust his Strat to the Olympic Airways baggage handlers. We bade a fond farewell to Thanos who insisted, poor fellow, that we would come back in the summer and play a local amphitheatre located on a hill overlooking Athens. No problem there, we thought. On the flight home a combination of weariness and free booze overcame Ric who made the fateful mistake of falling asleep wedged between Bari and myself. He awoke to find himself covered in ice cubes, with two cigarettes poking provocatively through his string vest looking for all the world like two small but perfectly formed breasts. Cursing loudly he tried to take solace in a Marlboro only to find some rotten bastard had poked toothpicks down every one of his cigarettes. Well, you have to make your own amusement on these long, boring flights. When we finally passed through customs Bari learnt why we went through our cunning "sneak our guitars onto the flight as hand-luggage" routine. We sat watching the last piece of luggage being retrieved without any sign of Bari's guitar. Inquiries didn't help ascertain it's whereabouts. A feeling of gloom descended on the party. Then Bari spotted it going around on an adjacent carousel. Apparently, as it was marked "fragile" it had been loaded differently. A shame no one had thought to mention this to us. We managed to find the only Sunday traffic jam in London as we headed homeward. Now all we had to do was make a slight detour to one of the few off-licenses in north west London that would serve Ric liquor out of hours, his blood-alcohol level having dropped dangerously low in the half hour since his last drink. Back to the Articles Page.