TOURING FOR DUMMIES or 57 ways to lose your accordion.

So, you’ve decided to become a career musician and spend the rest of your life touring around the world. Congratulations!

Life on the road, what a rush! Exotic countries, business class travel, five star hotels, fame, glory, flowers, champagne, masseuses, limos, TV interviews and countless fans trying to nick your underwear.

Also, don’t forget the old ‘Sex, Drugs and Rock’n Roll’ routine.

If you enjoy living the lifestyle of rich and famous without actually being rich or famous – touring is for you, that’s for sure.

Am I being sarcastic?

Of course I am. Touring squeezes the life out of you, it destroys your health, your relationships and turns you into the old, grumpy and cynical git (as it did to me). Not all is doom and gloom though. Touring can be very entertaining and highly educational. Every touring musician has enough stories to write a book the size of Britannica. I am too lazy to write a book, so I write short stories instead. This one is about every musician’s nightmare, about something we all had misfortune to experience at some stage of our touring extravaganza.

Let me ask you this. When you go abroad, how big are the chances of you being robbed? If you are a regular traveller, the chances are pretty slim. You do your research, you plan your routes, mark all no-go areas and most likely will return home without being violated. What if you are a touring musician? That’s a different story altogether. You spend 8-10 months a year on the road going from one hotel to another and not all of them are called ‘Hilton’, believe me. You can’t choose your destination, you go where your management tells you to go and hope for the best. Practically every touring musician got robbed at some point of their careers and every touring musician has a dramatic story to tell. This article is aimed at young musicians who are about to enter the glorious world of touring and who still think it’s all about flowers and TV interviews.

Martin, our dear friend and an accordionist extraordinaire got robbed recently while touring in Spain. Martin was checking out of the hotel in Barcelona and getting ready to go to the airport. The lobby was filled with tourists and their fat suitcases full of holiday goodies and souvenirs. Robbers ignored suitcases and went straight for the accordion, which was a very valuable, custom made Italian instrument. It was taken in a very dramatic way. There was a boy actor who was distracting Martin with his theatrical antics, while an old Gypsy lady took the accordion and walked away unnoticed. Then two fake police arrived and tried to erase the hotel CCTV. They immediately got into a bit of scrape with the real police, who were undercover in the lobby at the time. All very entertaining and dramatic. The accordion was brought to the music shop by another Gypsy chap and in order to prove that he was the rightful owner, he had to perform something like Galliano’s ‘Concerto’ at a 280bpm, (way too fast, for those who don’t know). Eventually, Martin’s accordion was sold for 2000 euros. I don’t know the exact details, but apparently it was located and retrieved with the help of the local 007 character and safely returned to Martin. All very cinematic. Bollywood-like. Gypsy style. (If your instrument is stolen, the chances are – it was stolen by Gypsies. We are very musical people after all).

Jokes aside, imagine how Martin felt when he realised his instrument was gone. He is a touring and recording musician. His instrument is his livelihood and I am sure, like all of us he’d prefer that all his money, cards and everything else was taken instead. This is a horrible feeling and I know there’s a special place in Hell for those who steal instruments from musicians. They are forced to sit and listen to the instrument they stole. That’s a true justice for you. Imagine listening to the accordion for eternity? Suits you well, you bastard. Better steal a banjo next time!

As I said, every musician has a similar story or two. After thirty years of touring, I have dozens. Here’s some of them and before you accuse me of exaggerating…. please don’t.

I might’ve put in a few embellishments, but I am a Gypsy musician after all, so it should be expected.

Also, some of those events were quite dramatic, so I reserve my right to be politically incorrect….

Here goes.

If Martin was robbed in Vladivostok, Russia, there will be no drama. Somebody would simply put a gun to his head, take his accordion and walk away.

In Munich, Germany, it would quietly disappear from the hotel and will never be found. It will be done quietly and professionally. No fuzz, no drama.

If you bring your accordion to Moscow, a maid will take your instrument from the hotel room and replace it with the cheaper accordion. You see, Muscovites are very considerate people and they’ll never leave you stranded without an instrument. They appreciate music very much, so they will also send you a basket with fruit, flowers, champagne and a ‘Welcome to Russia’ card.

If you are touring in Italy and your instrument is called ‘Brandoni’ or ‘Scandalli’ you have nothing to worry about. They’ll never take it no matter how expensive it is. Very patriotic, those Italians are. My violin has a label saying ‘Paolo Albani 1467’, so it will never be taken in Toscana, Rome or Napoli. They will steal my car stereo instead.

It will never be stolen in Romania but for a different reason. Romania is full of experts who’ll see straight away that my violin is a fake. Romanian Gypsies will read my palm instead, tell me my future and take my wallet. The funny thing is, all of it will turn out to be true, except of the wallet part.

If you were lucky to visit Georgia in 1990, two ‘Djigits’, wearing daggers and sheepskin hats will come to your room, kick you in the ribs, drag you outside, put you and your accordion in the old ‘Lada’ and drive you to the mountain village. There will be a grandiose event happening outside one of the houses. Three or four hundred guests will be sitting at the table in the courtyard, having ‘shashlik’, drinking wine, toasting each other and giving endless speeches. Your kidnappers will bring you to the head of the table and introduce you to their father, a 275 years old man who will thank you for honouring him with your presence. He will ignore your busted lip and a black eye. He will say that he heard a lot about your music and will be honoured if you find it in your heart to play something for his guests.

You will.

I mean you will find it in your heart to play, trust me. Then you’ll be invited to sit at the table and for the rest of the night you’ll be listening to the most beautiful polyphonic Georgian singing, stories and toasts. Your kidnappers will keep filling your glass and plate, they will hug you and call you a ‘brother’, but you’d be well advised to be careful around their ladies. One frivolous remark and your new ‘brothers’ will cut your liver out.

You will spend five or six days being treated like a king. There will be a barbeque in your honour, and you will have ‘Shashlik’ (Marinated Lamb on Skewers) with fresh herbs, ‘Khinkali’ (Soup Dumplings), honey, nuts, sheep cheese and ‘Khachapuri’ (Cheese bread). Everything will be local, organic, homemade and delicious. They will sing and dance for you, they will toast your and your parents health but be prepared, every toast will be at least 40 minutes long and will have a hidden philosophical meaning. Also, there is a very strict drinking ritual which you will have to observe, learn and follow. Instead of a glass you might be given a hollow bull horn, which means you won’t be able to put it back on the table unless it is empty. And some of the horns can hold 2-3 pints of wine. It’s ok though as it will be the lightest and the most delicious wine you will taste ever. They start giving wine to kids as young as 5-6 years old and guess what? There were practically no alcoholics in Georgia in 1990. You will fall in love with the place and its people. You won’t be allowed to leave though, and if you try, they will beat you up and bring you back for more food and more stories but trust me, you will never want to leave in the first place. If you show respect to their customs and eat everything you are given, they will give you your instrument back and drive you to your hotel in the same ‘Lada’.

The hospitality of Georgians is legendary, I was once ambushed on the small mountain road near Batumi. They took my violin and brought me to the small village where a wedding was going on. I forgot all about my belongings, about the kick to my liver and fractured rib as soon as they introduced me to the father of the bride and led me to my seat. After the dinner (in a week or so), they gave me back all my belongings, presented me with the beautiful hand-made dagger and said they will be happy to see me again. They also warned me to stay away from the next village as they are all thieves, bandits and cutthroats.

If your accordion is stolen in Budapest, it’ll be found and returned by the local Gypsy community. You’ll spend next 10 days playing music and going from one house to another. You’ll be fed and watered, most likely will end up finding a partner and stay in Hungary forever. You’ll love it. ‘Goulash’ is delicious, ‘Tokai’ wine is sublime and ‘Besh O Drom’ is the fastest Gypsy band on a planet.

A friend of mine, a classical cellist played a solo concert once in Tiraspol, Moldova. Their routine is simple. They will wait for you in the dressing room after the concert. They will punch your manager in the face, wrestle you to the ground and leave with your instrument, wallet, mobile phone, coffee machine, fruit basket and a sandwich tray. If you call for help, they’ll beat you up. I mean the police will beat you up. If they don’t arrest you – count your blessings. Their brandy is great though. Mind you, there’s a stiff competition between Moldova, Armenia and Georgia and if you mention to anyone that you like brandy produced by their competitors, you are a dead meat.

In Tallinn, Estonia, police will find your accordion in a day or two, but in order for you to get it back you’ll have to wait for seven months. Someone I used to know, a trio from Karelia came to Tallinn to play at the folk festival, got their balalaikas taken (why would you want to steal a balalaika is beyond me) and got stranded there for a long time. If your touring schedule brings you to Estonia – get ready. It is a very bureaucratic country, so prepare for seventy nine appointments with fifty two officials and start practicing your handwriting skills. The amount of paperwork you’ll have to produce will equal the ‘War and Peace’ in triplicate. Get used to the local colour as you’ll be there for a while. The street crime levels are generally low, so you’d be able to enjoy yourself while waiting for your instrument to be returned. Avoid Estonian folk music and concentrate on eating out. The most popular drink ‘Kali’ is made from the fermented bread, ‘Sprat sandwich’ is an acquired taste, but if you’re lucky you might meet in person Arvo Pärt who is a genius, so it will all balance out in the end. There will be no Gypsies visible as the Estonian Roma community is tiny, they are not treated well by the locals and chances of them nicking your accordion are very small.

Vyborg, near the Russian-Finnish border. What a place!!! Unless you have connections to the ‘Bratva’ – a criminal brotherhood, you can say goodbye to your instrument. In the year 2000, I was going through Vyborg with my mother’s band. My violin was taken from the train while I had a smoke outside at 3am. I spent more than a week trying to communicate with the ‘Militsia’ – a corrupt bunch of clowns, thieves and degenerates. They had a good laugh and told me to get lost if I don’t want to be arrested. I was hoping to get some help from the local musicians but all I got was a cheap violin from one of the orchestra players. She agreed to give it to me for the duration of the tour for mere hundred dollars a day. What a sweetheart!

After the first concert we got a visitor. He looked like Dolf Lundgren on steroids. He walked into our dressing room wearing a red Armani suit, a ‘357 Magnum’ and a gold chain. He didn’t talk much. He gave my mother a card. It was an invitation from one of my mother’s fans who also happened to be a local ‘Father’. ‘We have a pleasure of requesting your presence at our residence…..etc.’. Something like this. It was written in old Russian style by hand. Wow!!! The next day we were collected from the hotel by the same character with the same semi-automatic. We were driven in a limo to the ‘Residence’ and were met by our dinner-jacketed host. Armani again, but black. During a guided tour I saw a map on one of the walls. This map was displaying oil wells, fields, factories, farms and airfields owned by our host. For dinner we had lobster from Australia, crab from Florida, Caspian caviar, ‘Grey Goose’ vodka and God knows what else. Everything was flown in one of his private jets the day before. Our host and my mom obviously had some history, so they were happily chatting away. I was a bit grumpy and didn’t talk much. I was busy with my coffee and mini Cubans. Suddenly our host said, ‘By the way Oleg, what’s the story with your violin? I was told there were issues…?’. “Yep, some’, I said. ‘But on the concert yesterday you did have a violin’. ‘Yes, cheap rubbish for a hundred bucks a day’. Our host raised one brow, ‘No, we can’t have this, absolutely not. Tell me what happened’.

After I finished my story, he excused himself and went out to make a phone call. ‘I happen to know someone who might be able to help’, he said. ‘An old friend who owes me a favour or two. He can be quite… convincing, if needed. Enjoy your cigar and worry not’.

The next morning something incredible happened. My old friend, a police major who promised to put crocodile clips on my genitalia, appeared near our table during the breakfast. He didn’t look well. He was sweating a lot. He brought my violin, a bottle of brandy and a bouquet of red roses for my mother.

What can I say. Don’t bring your accordion to Vyborg unless you know someone who owns twenty oil wells.

It’s less damaging but much more entertaining to get robbed in Ireland. Your 12 years old visitors and music lovers from Ballymun will be a bunch of ‘down to earth’ personalities. They’ll break into your room at 5am, armed with screwdrivers. They will curse a lot. They’ll be wearing plastic sunglasses which you find inside a box of ‘Rice Crispies’. Also they will be on drugs. Super glue, most likely. They will use your bathroom, urinate on the floor, steal your shampoo and one of them will fall asleep in the bathtub. His compatriot will go downstairs and will try to sell your instrument to the receptionist. Eventually they will forget why they came to your room in the first place and leave. One of them will drop his phone on the floor. It will have contacts of all drug dealers in Ballymun. Don’t get any ideas and don’t call the police! An average Garda response time in Ballymun is seven days and three hours. When they come, they will arrest you for causing severe anxiety and distress to your guests. In Ireland, if you are under 16, you are untouchable, so don’t bring your accordion to Ballymun. I recommend a portable flamethrower instead.

If you are robbed In Galway, the thieves will try to sell your accordion for 20 euro to the local Polish mechanic. He will know immediately it was stolen. He will confiscate and return it to you personally. He will have a PhD in quantum mechanics and will be a virtuoso accordionist with a degree from the Warsaw conservatoire. He will introduce you to his partner, a petrol station attendant. She will speak seven languages and have a PhD in advanced calculus. They’ll stay in you B&B room till 7am. You’ll learn to play Polish folk songs and drink ‘Zubrovka’ neat. You’ll discover fermented cabbage, salted herring, smoked Polish sausage and experience Galway ‘Multiculturalism’ in full. Not the worst place to be robbed, to be honest.

Belfast used to be an interesting place in the 90th. In some areas your car would be automatically burned if you had number plates from the South, other areas had to be avoided if you had British plates. You could get your teeth kicked in if you had a wrong accent in a Unionist or Loyalist area etc. Our manager was British and he was hiding in the car every time we played at the ‘Rotterdam Bar’ in the docks. Apparently it was one the IRA drinking spots, so it wasn’t a good idea to show up there and order a pint with your Cockney slang. We were perfectly safe though. If you are a musician, especially a foreign musician in Belfast – you had nothing to worry about. Your accordion? They love music so it will never be taken. You can get beaten up in the Shankill chipper at 5am, but your instrument will be safe. By the way, don’t go to any takeaway places at night. Getting beaten up is the least of your worries. The damage to your liver from the cooking oil will be irreversible. The same goes for Glasgow in Scotland. They won’t take your instrument, but one deep-fried ‘Mars’ bar at 5am will destroy your innocence and change your life forever.

In Athlone….. unless you got lost, took a wrong turn or ran out of petrol as I did, why would you want to go there in the first place is beyond me. If you bring your instrument to Athlone, you deserve to be robbed. If you bring your Stradivari, they will take it. If you don’t bring your Stradivari they will take your shoes instead. You will be robbed regardless. And when you do, don’t run complaining to Garda. They have a monumental problem in dealing with the local crime family. You see, due to genetics and certain life choices, or rather ‘romantic habits’, all local mafiosi look exactly the same, regardless of age or gender. The only difference between males and females is that females have orange skin. Males are grey. They all have little round heads and cute round ears. This situation has its strong and weak points. Imagine talking to someone without knowing if this is your mother or sister? Or a nephew. Or a dog? Using the same passport for every member of the family works well but imagine trying to collect your unemployed benefits ‘en masse’. They’ll think you already got your money five minutes ago and will kick you out. Travelling is not an issue as they never leave Athlone anyway. Going on holiday means crossing the street and visiting your mother/nephew for a bit of cider and super glue. On the other side, it can be hugely beneficial. Imagine that one of your relatives just robbed someone’s accordion and was seen carrying it away. Not a problem. If another member of your family was drinking in a local pub at same time, you have a solid alibi. Actually, I think it’s a clever strategy on their part. That’s how the local criminals keep Garda confused and keep their trade secrets hidden from the outsiders. Also it’s a perfect technique if you decide to start dealing in stolen accordions.

In Tallaght, they’ll smash your car windows, rip your seats off, take your accordion, GPS, tools, your wife, a spare tyre and will try to sell the whole lot back to you for 200 euros. If you agree, your accordion will be broken, your tyre will be slashed and your wife will be drunk. Tools and GPS you’ll never see again. How do I know? Our PA was stolen in Tallaght 20 years ago, and we went through the whole exchange process at 4am in a field nearby. Our mike stands were never returned and someone put a foot through our double bass.

If you get robbed in Holyhead, Wales, the local cops will tell you that they have ‘no manpower’ to deal with someone from outside their cute little town. Your instrument will be exchanged for drugs and a Westlife cd. You’ll never see it again. That’s exactly how it happened when I was driving through the UK to get home after the tour. My violin was taken from the car when I stopped to rest for thirty minutes. Police had a clear picture of the car used in the robbery from the CCTV footage. It was a white Ford and they even had a partial picture of the number plate. They also told me to stop bothering them, to go home as they have enough problems to deal with and that I should not leave my car unattended the next time I drive through Holyhead. To be fair, they had a point there.

I have another dozen of those, but I don’t want to tire you too much so I’ll give you one more. A friend of mine went to Odessa with the orchestra to perform ‘Aida’ with the local soprano talent. One of their trucks was stolen from the concert hall parking. The thieves drove outside the city limits and stopped to check what’s inside. They opened the door and saw four double basses. They drove back, reversed into the car park, unloaded the cases near the stage entrance and drove away again without being caught.

I love Odessa. I used to busk near the ‘Duke’ statue with our Rhythm and Blues band from St. Petersburg. The area around the ‘Duke’ was occupied by artists and photographers preying on tourists. Locals would come to listen and bring food for the whole band. Once, a Komsomol ‘Patrol’ came to ‘restore order’ (it was illegal to busk in the Soviet Union) and the whole crowd raised hell in our defence. Our trumpet player went for the fight, but one of the photographers stopped her and said, ‘Madam, it’s not proper for a lady to fight. You play, we’ll take take of those midgets’. With those words he let his dog, a huge German Shepperd to have a go at the Komsomol group. Dog had a time of his life. Me too. The crowd started to cheer. The Komsomol dudes? They never came back. Odessa is beautiful. It’s a birthplace of Jewish mafia and a cultural hub of the region. It’s called a ‘Pearl near the sea’.

Now there are missiles being shot into this amazing city and ‘Duke’ is covered with the sand bags. Conservatoire students come there to play music, missiles or not. They perform every day to show that they will not be broken The whole country might fall. Odessa will never be taken.

What’s left? Sligo. Don’t worry, nobody will rob you here. Come to Sligo to play, it’ll be a best gig you’ll ever have.

So, if you still want to go touring, here is a few touring tips for you.

Never ever get physically separated from your instrument.

When you go to bed, tie it to your foot with the string.

Invest in a high tech instrument case with the cipher lock.

Place a GPS tracking microdot inside your instrument.

Always have cash handy. Let them have your money, watch, shoes and underwear but hold on to your instrument. Unless it’s a banjo.

If you have a choice between Ryanair and a dog sled, take a sled.

Carry a portable flamethrower.

Never go to Athlone.

Good night everyone and see you on the road.

 

P.S. Here is another little story for dessert. It doesn’t involve musical instruments though. We used to rent an old Georgian house in Dun Laoghaire area. One day we invited a bunch of musicians to come for a little house concert.  The space was an issue so we started to clean the house. We had an old table for which we had no use whatsoever, so Nick, our compatriot took this table and brought it out. Our garden was quite big and we soon forgot about the table altogether. One day we had a barbeque. We didn’t have enough coal, so we went to our shed looking for wood. Then we saw our table and Nick had a brilliant idea. Guess what he did? He took a saw and cut the table by little pieces. We had enough wood then and were able to finish cooking. Many months later we started to move to different house. We cleaned everything, emptied the whole place and Nick went to collect our deposit. Quite sizeable this deposit was. Three or four thousand, I think. Our landlady was very happy with the state of the house. She said, ‘It was so good to have you here. Everything is perfect! There’s just one thing. We had a Lui Fourteen antique table in one of the rooms. Do you have any idea where it might be? It’s very valuable, you know’.

Good night!!