Strainful Train

Here is a potentially disappointing information for all aspiring musicians: making pub music trains your liver but doesn’t pay the rent. That is why the three of us also have work lives. Benni is jet-setting between London, Singapore and Poel for an investment bank, Hendrik trains the german paralympic show jumping team and Tim sells kebab. Between all these work obligations it is hard to fit extensive tours. Still, the ears of music enthusiasts have to be massaged regularly, even outside of Gemany. So our management sent us for a long weekend to Denmark. We were about to play in the Stenbohus, a busy, rough and lovable pub where conversations are held by shouting at each other and the average blood alcohol level never drops below 1.8. Concerts there always start around midnight. Due to a horribly inefficient police control that ceased the whole motorway traffic in North Germany we even arrived too late for that. Nevertheless, the gig was good and paid and the trip was worth the stress. Because the Stenbohus is located in Ribe, a mind blowingly beautiful little city right behind the dike. Everything is so tiny and cute, you wouldn’t be suprised meeting a Hobbit there. We stayed a bit and tried our luck with guerilla gigging. We were successful, a pub called Strygejernet and shaped like an iron gave us what we were looking for. A small stage and free beer.
On our way back, we had a stopover in Kiel. Our friend Hanna and her homies run a little cinema, with a weird but funny sustainability concept.
The visitors have to generate the electricity for running the film themselves. By bikes attached to generators. Give it a try and check out the “Fahrrad Kino Kombinat”. Luckily, due to Bennis strict zero-footprint philosophy and since we kicked out the dubstep DJ, the Strainful Train runs completely without electricity. So the bikes where put away and some cosy sofas were set up for a remarkable session. Thanks, Hanna, for this brilliant evening!
Next stop: Café Miluh, Klütz. We were booked and announced as a dance-music-band. And I have to admit, it is quite a challenge to dance to a full set of roots folk-blues. Nevertheless, the night was a full success and the second occasion, where a bar ran out of beer during one of our concerts. Our special thanks goes out to the three hilarious songwriters Boris, Dirk and Roland who invited us afterwards to midnight-jam-recording for their own little pirated radiostation. I’ll find out the frequency and the airing time, stay tuned!

A cold winter night somewhere in Amsterdam. The snowy wind is blowing through the streets and everybody is snuggled in their rocking chairs, sipping hot tea and cuddling with their beloved ones. Everybody? Not everybody. The awesome trio of Strainful Train and the audio mastermind Pietro are preparing a special musical treat for you. In the RedStone Productions Studio, equipped with high end gear and genuine exaltation, they record a live session made for posterity. Lean back and enjoy the result.

“RSP Live Session”

We had an appointment in Rouen, France. Le Saxo is a pub that shares the level of coziness with many Irish pubs we’ve seen on our travels. The owner, Patrice, was eager to prove the superiority of the french art of cooking and hospitality. He did’nt fail. The whole band now officially counts as Neufchâtel-cheese-addicted. Endless wines, beers, some strange Schnaps and a concert later we left Le Saxo and headed to Elbeuf, the home town of our french patron, the initiator of the whole tour. I cannot praise this man enough: Stéphane. He has a Sean-like sense of generosity. We met Stéphane on our last tour in a rough pub somewhere in England. He barely knew us but invited us to have some gigs in France. After two days we referred to him as our tour manager. And like on a professionally organized tour, he even granted us with professionally organized concerts.  The whole thing, with a stage, technician, advertisements

throughout the city and an audience that came just to listen to our music. We even have prove, it was all recorded. And on top of all that: one of the venues was a boat. ‘Nuff said.
As a proper finale of the tour, we found ourselves on stage together with Stéphane’s Band, the High Lonesomes, and the Folk Revue at a Christmas Folk Party Concert. The venue was as good as sold out and the audience was so disciplined, you could have heard a needle pin falling. Unfortunately, we weren’t able to celebrate all this properly, since we had a 16hrs drive back home ahead of us. So we stuffed our pockets with Neufchâtel and Energy Drinks and said our farewells to this beautiful country and the musically rich year of 2017.

Here we are again. The folk squad assembled anew and threw their instruments into their allegiant, yet rusty, ride. Strainful Train was heading for the Netherlands, Belgium and France to massage the ears of music lovers and roots fans. Seven days of touring, but this time, much to Bennys dismay, without the chaotic/freestyle guerilla gigging here and there like during our last tour. Every day is strictly, germanly planned, structured and prepared by our organizational talent Hendrik. And there is another difference to the last tour. The new album is freshly delivered from the CD factory and ready to be spread amongst all those who care for handmade music or simply need an awesome christmas present. Unfortunately, after three hours on the motorway, we noticed that we forgot the CD’s at home. So we were out of merchandise even before the first concert, which also sounds cool.
Nevertheless, we arrived in Amsterdam. It has changed alot since the last time we were here. Temperature-wise. Equipped with long-johns and old men blankets we made it to the freshly refurbished studio of our dear friend Pietro Rossi. With a little help from his pals, we recorded a fancy live session at Red Stone Productions. We will keep you posted about the final video-& audio production.

While we were in Amsterdam, we had to give our friends in Bajesdorp, the squatted jail, a
visit. It seems like the dutch people are easily intimidated by snow, schools were closed, flights cancelled and nobody left their house to see our concert. We still had a great night though, they do not care so much for closing hours. 
There was no time to lose, a week is short, so we set over to Mechelen. We’ve also been here before, Kafee Zapoi had hosted us on our last tour. We were greeted and hosted by two loveley Belgians Joko and Jeff. It was a nice Pub Session, even our dear friend Steven Troch jumped in and performed some magic tricks on his harmonica. Also the Zapoi is not too strict about its closing hours. The next morning we left Mechelen hungover and tired but pleased and with a trunk full of Chocolate Milk (thanks for the supplies Joko&Jeff). Next stop: France!

It is done! Litres of tears, sweat and alcohol have been molded into a masterpiece of 1.5 mm thickness. Hendrik and Pietro sacrificed weeks of their very limited lifetime to assemble the recorded sounds of our tour into an album. The result is a folk adventure including the contributions of all the inspiring musicians we met on tour. All recorded at several different places between the Baltic coastline of germany and the harsh west coast of Ireland. Get one of those beauties (yes, also the cover design was created by our media mastermind Hendrik) at one of the two upcoming record release parties:
03.11.17 – Tiko, Wismar
04.11.17 – UnterRock, Berlin
For everybody, who cannot be around, check the album here:
https://strainfultrain.bandcamp.com/

Under influence of heavy intoxication, back at the wonderful Westcoast of Ireland, we made a deal with Brian. That he would have to visit us in Germany to play some concerts with us. Usually I do not trust such deals (in German we call them “Schnapsideen”). But there he was, with his beautiful bodhrán. We played two concerts in Berlin, those themselves were nice and well perceived, but the highlight was Brian himself, the one man show, entertainer and womanizer. He left a heartwarming farewell message (yes, our paths will cross again) and went back to the wild west.

And there still was one unsettled circumstance, that kept Strainful Train awake in the nights: we did not get our second gig in the cultural epicentre of Europe – France. Luckily, our friend Alex wanted to spice up a concert and movie night he was organizing with some neat folk tunes. So we threw the upright bass in our allegiant ride, burned some gasoline for 14 hours straight. Destination: Paris. A tire broke and the french motorway toll drained our budget – it was totally worth it. Alex and his friends set up a stage in a movie theater. The people were watching us like a film, seated and with snacks on their laps. On top of all that, Mathias, an ingenious drummer joined in spontaneously at the end of the gig. There was a drum kit on stage anyway, so he threw in a perfect drum solo to one of our gypsie tunes. Weird but nice, perfect for Benni, who seems to be looking for new sensations lately.

His demand was pleased even more in the following evening. Somehow we ended up on a tiny DIY festival somewhere in the undeveloped outskirt area of Paris. Much to Tims dismay, there were only Architects around. Those people are the natural nemesis of every clear minded engineer, like Tim calls himself. Nevertheless the night became unforgetable. We played in a camper, that was turned to a stage. Later that evening, a crazy inflatable installation was built up around this camper/stage and Strainful Train was superseded by Techno music. So we raved hard until dawn. Due to our brilliant powernapping-while-driving-abilities, we were back in Berlin just 24 hours later. Thanks, Alex and the leFlot homies for this great weekend!

Whats up on the agenda?
Strainful train is working on the new album. It is going to be a kaleidoscope of roots, folk and gypsie sounds. And there is a concert in the UnterRock bar in Berlin, tonight. Come around an stay tuned!

We made it across the border and came back to that place on earth, where people talk our weird language. Our liver values were bad and Bennis hair has turned a little bit greyer but we were alive and nobody has lost any limbs. A better turnout than after the Strainful Train Tour 1995 in Bosnia, were the band had to learn the hard way, how complicated it is to find a new band member who is not mentally ill but still willing to play the double bass.
Being back in Germany did not mean to leave ourselves to the social system of our homeland; there was still some productivity to bring to a result. And there were a few concerts to perform. For example in Lübeck. In the “Moment Kulturbar”, the place we chose for our first homecoming concert, we got invited by a nice elderly man to a few rounds of Kümmelschnaps, a cruel German invention, that should be banned from the shelves of every pub that cares for humanity. We still had a nice evening, fell in love with the barkeeper (I drowned in your eyes, Anusha!) and were finally able to give German moderations again. The elderly man stuck to the Kümmel until the end of the concert and took a nap on stage afterwards.
We headed even further home, to the Island Poel, where everything started a long time ago. We made ourselves comfortable in the creative hideout of the generous Ulli (and Carsten).

There we invested three full days to work on and record new masterpieces, like the ode to King Shawn and the highly sophisticated psychedelic composition called “Lucy’s Harvest”. Also, it was time to prepare the three final concerts of the tour 2017. The biggest local venues had to be booked, not for the sheer mass of fans that Strainful Train has gained during this tour, but for the many friends and family members that were around anyway and wanted to listen to the stories about whacky Irish people.
The first concert was going to take place in the Schlauch, a well-known place to get drunk in Wismar. The Schlauch is an Irish pub, where every one of us already played with former constellations back in the days. We were able to get Heiner to support us again. Thanks Heiner and thanks “Schlauch”, we had a damn good night.

The second concert took place in Gadebusch. The “KuT”, a Punk club, cultural centrum and place to burn your couches, hosted a Rockabilly-Folk-Night and Strainful Train was invited. This concert was so awesome, that some girls in the audience even tried to initiate the first mosh pit of our band history. The attempt failed, but made us proud anyway. On top of all of that, we shared the stage with the awesome rockabilly dudes, we met two months ago in Rostock and that performed the little living room concert for us. And even on the top of that, the lyrical poets of Lappalie, the band we played with at the same night in Rostock also made their way to Gadebusch. What a fateful night, were the destinies of so many outstanding people entwined again. We got pretty drunk.

For the third and last concert we mobilized all our resources we had left. The prestigious and “Lisa vom Laurin”, the place where the rich and famous people of Poel meet, opened its doors for us. I want to explain my gratitude to all the good looking and generous people that came that night. The hat we passed around was so filled, that all the doubts about the financial feasability of such a tour were forgotten.

And then there it was, the day were everything ended. The three bon vivants firmly shook each others hands and said their farewells. We had new contracts to fulfill, Tim had to attain to some shady businesses and Hendrik wanted to follow his dreams as a professional retired-people-entertainer. Confronted with so much passion for hard work, Benni shrugged and strolled away into the festival summer.

The end?
No. Somebody was coming for us. And we had some new glorious plans. Stay tuned!

Better late than never. Some of you may have noticed, that this blog has become quite inactive. Why didn’t anybody inform us about the wild adventures of the three bon vivants? Did Hendrik get lost in the green hills of some beautiful islands in western Europe? Did Tim loose his fingers while manically playing a sick bass solo, so he cannot type anymore? Whatever could have happened to Benni is not of any importance here, since he wouldn’t care about this present-day blogging internet stuff anyway.
The answer is as simple as it is shocking. The Strainful Train tour 2017 is over. The last song was sung, the last beer was emptied and the last kilometres were driven. The bus, our allegiant ride and home, brought us safely back to Germany.

From the beginning of the end: we were on our journey from Dover to Calais. The last time we passed the French border, we had a nice party and an awesome Reggae-Session in the Kilimandjaro Bar. Even though, we were not able to recall the whole night, we wanted to repeat it. So we braced ourselves, put our war-faces on and walked straight into the Pubs of Calais and offered them some intense hours of folk music and pure entertainment. Nobody was interested. Pfff. French People. Fed over by culture. So we retreated, licked our wounds, and turned our backs on this beautiful and discerning country. We will be back for you, France!

We found shelter and gained new courage in Mechelen, Belgium. Steven Troch, our friend and an outstanding harp player, organized one of the best concerts of the tour and even a place to sleep for us. Thanks Kafee Zapoi, for hosting us, thanks Pieter, for spontaneously supporting us live on stage and thanks sons of Steven, for giving your beds to the smelly and drunk Band. Especially the breakfast was memorable. Few people know the intense pleasure of eating full grain bread, after being on the sponge-bread-islands for so long.

Some of you may remember, at the beginning of the tour we were granted a short glimpse of the squatted wonderland, the ADM near Amsterdam. We really wanted to return to this place, absorb a bit more of the open mindedness and full time festival-feeling and maybe play for its inhabitants. So we did. Brei, a talented animal-sculptor of the ADM-community celebrated his birthday the day we arrived in Amsterdam. We took our chance and imposed a little celebration-session on him. In return we were allowed to stay for two days. Yay, ADM-adventures! We took Shi-Kung lessons, learned how to replace a front axle of a bus and smoked a hell lot of very usual cigarettes. But we were not able to stay longer, because we had a promise to keep: to make our path cross again with the beautiful little paradise called Groningen.

We wrote a song about this one special place on earth, that the people of Groningen still weren’t able to listen to. Back in the Betonbos, we teamed up again with the percussion magician and bundle of energy Jorris. He supported us for the concerts in, who would have thought, Café Kult and the Wolkenfabriek. Thanks a lot Eva and Wildrik, we should repeat that every month! Groningen will forever stay in our memories as the town that even amazes Benni. And yet again, we had to say Good Bye (My Love), because there was still so much recording to do and only so few days of the tour left. Home was calling.

Even though Hendrik nearly got shot at the border, because he wanted to have a cigarette during a usual border control, we made it safely back to Germany. But since everybody, who even read that far, has lost concentration at this point, I will describe the homecoming adventures of Strainful Train in the next blog. See you in a few months!

Some of you may remember: Strainful Train was lying in despair, looking for a meaning, like Sauron for his ring. We decided, that the best way of regaining the joy of life would be at the source of joy itself:
Egan’s Bar in Liscannor. We returned to Sean’s care to have another wonderful concert and subsequent excessive beer tasting. It worked, our journey had a meaning again. (Danke-Sean! And thanks to the landlord Patrick!) Head first we started touring again. The Roadside Tavern in Lisdoonvarna, a very original pub hosted us for the next night, we had a superb concert there. First of all because Brian, the gifted percussionist, supported us. And second because Sean was cheering from the audience.

At this point I have to mention that our beloved home and ride was left horribly deserted most of our time in Ireland. We simply never had to sleep in the van. Thanks to a remarkable Irishman called Ronan. We played in his Hotel and he provided us hostel rooms in every possible location of this world. Also in Lisdoonvarna.
The next day we also transformed Brians place to a little recording studio, to take his tight rhythm vibes with us on our album.

Unfortunately, the obligations of our real lives in Germany started to manifest at the horizon, so we sadly started our journey home. Therefore we had to cross the midlands again, the wretched place everybody at the west coast warned us about. Wrongfully, as we already had found out. We headed to Newbridge, where our irish adventures began. At the west coast we already had the luck to partake in several traditional pub sessions. The one we joined that night in Newbridge with Lucy and Niecy was somehow special, it was the most euphoric and chaotic one. You barely understood, what the musicians on the other side of the table were playing, but you jumped in anyways, to contribute your solo to the sound ball.

The following night should become the complete opposite. Our dear friend and supporter Deidre organized a slot us at a concert series called “Ciúnas” (irish for Silence). A nice concept, where people really only come to listen. The audience was so disciplined; you could hear a needle pin falling. That puts quite a pressure on you, when you are used to hide your little technical difficulties behind the always present bar noise. Still an awesome concert, though. The next morning at seven, our ferry to Wales was going to leave from Dublin. We drove through the night, were able to get a 2 hour nap right in front of the check in lines and arrived early and sleep-deprived in Holyhead. We weren’t quite sure what to do with this full day ahead of us, so we climbed on a mountain.

It started raining on the top, we lost many good men up there. So now we were tired AND exhausted. Those were the perfect preconditions to fall into the strong arms of our friend and center of our Welsh comfort zone, Scott. Sadly we just stayed briefly, there was a concert in Bishopscastle we had to support. The venue, “the Vaults” is a prototype of a rough countryside pub, a place I wish I had in my hometown. The owner, Wayne the Viking, has an intimidating biker-appearance but a warm and soft heart for roots music. He instantly invited us to his Blues Festival next year, see you there, Wayne!
We spent the night at Rob’s farm. Rob is a brilliant harmonica player and his farm is one another little paradise we encountered during our tour. Fat wool sheep are strolling around his house in the Welsh mountains, and bred sprouts are swimming in the pond at the driveway.

He and his lovely partner Ingrid made us feel so welcome there, that we stayed for another day. Your own doing!
Heavy hearted we are now leaving these beautiful islands and head for the big mainland to master the last two weeks our tour.

The idea of a daily post in our blog was not only very ambitious it was also very naïve. First of all, I am lazy as f*** and second, there is not much to write about; the times have calmed. While there were escapades and adventures every full hour at the beginning of the tour, we settled by now for a quiet live between tea mugs and heated blankets. Most of the times it is quiet. The only disturbance of the silence if coming from Benni in his wing chair. His knees covered with a stuffy blanket, he is asking for an Austrian Canton with nine letters for his crossword puzzle without expecting an answer. Hendrik is puffing his pipe while staring in the fireplace with glassy eyes. The daily highlight is the evening tea, where we are looking at last month’s photos and indulge in reminiscences. Except Tim, his memory has faded and was washed away by one too many pints, so that he is only sitting in the corner, playing with dough and babbling something about the red power ranger. How did it get so far?
Last week’s center of our attention was county Clare at the west coast of Ireland, Homeland of the Cliffs of Moher. Not far from those, there is a little musician’s sanctuary called “Egan’s”. This pub, in my humble opinion, is the best place on earth.

When I am lying in my death bed, breathing my final breaths, somebody should drag me out of there, fly me to Clare (if I am not already there), place me at Egan’s bar and shove me a pint in my hand. I hereby kindly ask the barkeeper Sean to excuse in advance the inconvenience caused by a dead body. Speaking of Sean: this guy deserves a medal. He knew us for about twenty seconds and already offered us his place to stay at. We happily accepted his offer. And stayed for the whole week. Thanks Sean! His place became the headquarters for our new quest to play at every pub in Lahinch, the surfer’s paradise around the corner. Yes people go surfing at the Irish coast.

Even though Lahinch is just a village, the high Irish pub-per-capita ratio leads to solid three bars in the main street. And we were victorious, all of them can consider themselves as strainfully trained now.
On our thirst for success we headed to Galway to challenge ourselves with a new way of raising the band budget: busking. (Street musicians are a common view there. Which means, that there is also a hard competition for the busiest spots. All you fully amplified chart cover interpreters who defile hundreds of meters of bar street with trash pop, I hope you read this and feel ashamed.) The outcome was mediocre. The weather was unsteady, but the people generous. The local party scene proved to be too distressing for us, our worn out bodies demanded some rest. And we found it. We were invited to Denise’s place in Donegal, five hours to the north. Denise is a superb and passionate fiddle player. After we nearly killed our beloved ride on the narrow path up the hills to her house, we transformed her crib to a roots music-recording studio. Including authentic farmhouse reverb.

We recorded two full days. The fiddle amidst us was magical. We created masterpieces and listened to the recordings over and over again.

And suddenly Denise left. She left a void behind. We were paralyzed, the spirit was gone and we fell in lethargy. So here we are now, still in Denise’s house, watching our bodies decay and our memories fade. Will we ever recover from our loss? Stay tuned!