Thurs., May 14, Haberkasten, Muhldorf, Germany-- The two days we had off at the Village were wasted in cloudy, rainy days. Seems the days we play, it's great weather, and the days we don't, it's shitty. We need to have this reversed--at least for the club owners' sakes. We headed out for the small berg of Muhldorf, a bit east of Munich. It took some doing because the town is not on the autobahn, accessible only by winding country roads--beautiful winding country roads, mind you, but even semi-trucks used these narrow throughways at full-speed ahead, so it was heads-up driving by Petra.  Once again the weather was perfect, and as we meandered into Muhldorf, it was like entering a kind of garden paradise.  Everywhere were flowers and greenery and parks, intricately landscaped and perfectly placed. Every residence and store had its individual charm and horticultural plan. Our destination was at a reconstructed building that was a monastary turned prison over the last three hundred years. It had been partially torn down or bombed until fairly recently when a modern superstructure was placed throughout to hold together five-feet thick stone walls, using the old structure as an arty decor for the interior.  It was then opened as a cultural center for the town, featuring ethnic music, arts, theater, rock and pop bands and classes for kids and adults. The soundcheck was in a big room with a huge PA and full-strength lighting. As we set up, I met Mike, whom I guessed correctly from his accent was from London. He was fluent in German, however, and I wondered if he had a British accent in German. He was a familiar sort of fellow, nice looking and in his 40s. Turns out he was a member of some famous UK band (dang, I can't remember which one), with his brothers. Now he was in charge of the rock and pop music acts at the Haberkasten Kultural Centre. He seemed to be an able soundman at sound check, which we breezed through, and then headed to the hotel situated right outside the city limits a couple of meters from a freshly plowed and planted corn field. The temperature was exhilarating, and Dede and I just couldn't waste a perfect opportunity to walk for an hour, so we took off through a lush neighborhood of upper middle-class homes. About a mile along a creek,  we spied a well-worn stone path leading down to a recently mowed hay field. The path faded out into a shallow gully a couple of meters below the field level, making a perfect walking area on bouncy grass. We followed it along for another half-mile before deciding to turn back leaving enough time to meet up at the van to go to dinner. The heady smell of fresh-cut hay, lilacs, and earth was invigorating and highly endorphin producing. As we prepared to leave for the gig, we decided to try to call Randy in Portland after the gig to get a reading on him joining the band to replace the now barely tolerable Vic. Mike met us at the venue and led us to a charming--you guessed it--Italian restaurant. Dede and I had some good conversation with Mike and his friend Wilhite (sic), who looked like a California surfer dood, but was a German native fluent in English and Spanish. They both had interesting travel stories and we had some good laughs. Joanna was outside after dinner being interviewed by a small bevy of girls who were obviously journalism students. They were very serious and cute, asking the simplest of questions in halting English. Although we hadn't been concerned about Mike as a soundman at soundcheck, the gig ended up being far from ideal soundwise. There was a persistent feedback tone the entire night, despite Joanna's complaints, and the room was very boomy. There were about 200 people in the audience, but they were being overly attentive, and didn't seem to be enjoying themselves very much...
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