El Caballeros Negro aplastar Santander! – Part 2

Into Saturday then – the best/worst start to a day has to be chocolate filled pastries for breakfast – 80cents each and fucking awesome!

Nathan was up and out for 7am, despite the 5.30am bedtime – to assist Isa with the newspapers – bear in mind they are heavy as sin, and also remember Isa ruined her already injured back with the speed she swept around when she saw Kiko.

Left to our own devices for a while we er…slept.
Once up, we generally loitered and passed the time – thing is, me and Tom cannot spend a length of time in each other’s company without pissing each other off.

His insistence on bizarrely referring to me as ‘The White Pudding’ (my wrestler name apparently) was starting to grate, as was my ability to massively wind him up on tap, without even trying.

We decided to go out for a wander again – the traffic lights come complete with an animated green man AND a countdown to when you can cross – sort it out UK.
I was still amusing myself with the fact that I could light up a cigarillo inside bars & whatnot – doesn’t take much.

I got hold of some of the print press we had received – when I get it scanned in, I’ll post it.

Later on we went in search of a beer and took the inclined elevator on Rio de la Pila (The River Battery translated – fucked if I know…) that takes you up a fair distance over the town below – I didn’t have a camera on me, but the view is ridiculously good when you get up to the top. There was also a curious mural at the bottom of the lift depicting rats, squirrels and a big fuck-off pig….

So we’re sat having a beer and Nathan gets a call. And our first taste of Howard (proprietor of Planeta, the venue we will be playing later) is delivered.

‘Howard needs to see you’
‘Howard wants the band setup now’
‘Howard needs to get setup and shower’
‘Howard will see you later’

It’s then made crystal clear (as if it wasn’t already) that Howard ALWAYS talks about himself in the third person.

10 minutes later, Ral has rolled up again and we load in at Planeta.

Howard is a legend.
Howard has more than a passing resemblance to seminal actor/bodybuilder Carl Weathers. Yes, Apollo Creed is effectively running the night.
Howard is in great shape, as is Tom – and there is nothing better than the unspoken bond that bodyscuplters share coming to fruition in front of your eyes. Who gives a fuck about the language barrier; I half-expected (how do you half expect??? – I digress) a Tom & Howard posedown. Unfortunately it didn’t happen.

We get setup and soundcheck – Howard has already got the gratis calimotos out and served. The bar is decorated with scenes from famous London venues, and once again it’s the perfect size for some sleazy trash blues.

We’re done. Howard goes to shower, we go to eat. Lose track of the time, rush back to get suited and booted.

There’s people milling around Planeta – I’ve left my cigs at Nathan’s place. Nightmare.
I try the cig machine; it’s off. I speak to Howard and he tosses me some Lucky Strikes and another calimoto. I go to pay.
He looks at me incredulous and dismisses my cash with a wave of the hand.

WHERE IN THE UK DOES THE PROPRIETOR KEEP THE ENTERTAINMENT HAPPY WITH FREE CIGARILLOS?!?!?!

Howard rises to semi-deity in my eyes and within twenty minutes or so we launch into our set – and we’re better than the night before, which was fucking ace. The crowd seem to be getting bang into it – we do five songs and break halfway. I’ve never played a show where we split the set – feels odd.

The crowd has grown as we play the second half of our set – feels fucking amazing as we plough through the next five tracks – us doing a 10 song set?? Never.

We finish and the crowd are rapturous. Encore?

Sure.

We nail the fuck out of ‘Shame You Don’t Know’ and then were off again, calimotos, cigarillos, selling our albums, signing the albums.

Little break.
Howard is loving it.
Howard wants more.

For the first time in our history we go on AGAIN!
Double Encore.

We knock out three hyped up versions of ‘Midnight at The Mausoleum’, ‘I Drove A Stake Right Through Your Heart’ and ‘Cult’ it it’s game over – we sell and sign more albums and we’re buzzing our tits off.

Here’s some great pics courtesy of Silvia:


(apparently the above pose is what English girls do when faced with a camera….I apologise.)

Howard approaches Tom.
Hand to Tom’s face, massive grin, shakes his hand.

Beautiful.

We load-out still pumping and hit the bars again – it’s Halloween and suddenly I don’t look quite so out of place as usual. We hit Vitore’s bar and its fucking battered. We squeeze in a quick shot of honey rum (superb) with him before he’s lost to a torrent of peeps.

We’re out in the streets again, and it’s mobbed – not even the abandoned construction machinery is spoiling this party. I see the guy that I was trading swear words with a couple of nights ago and we do it all again, with gusto – nothing funnier than hearing a Cantabrian who speaks very little English repeating ‘Fucking shite, mate’

We end up back in the bar where Tom was ‘cheated’ out of a win at darts – local heroes Soul Gestapo are about – once again we’re having a fucking ball.

Outside we meet a local who too is suited and booted, except he’s been to a wedding. He speaks little English as is understandably wary of a 6ft 1 bald man in a purple suit and sweat-smeared eyeliner down his face.

Somebody puts a sparkly silver top hat on me. A flash of recognition and a dawning appears on the guys features. He’s trying to enunciate what he sees. His faltering English is holding him back.

There’s a pause.

Longer pause.

Then he speaks.
‘El….errr…el..er….Magic Man?’

Hilarity ensues. I’m no longer ‘The White Pudding’ I’m the fuck-ing ‘Magic Man’

We wrap it up a few hours later and off to bed, again around 5.30am.

It’s been a fucking epic night by all accounts and we have to fly back the later that day- we watch Sin City and as Isa & Nathan kindly drive us to the airport, the fucking heavens open, reminding us of what we are heading back to.

Truly stunning few days in an amazing town, in the company of great, great people – it’s the reason you start a fucking band.

We’ll be back.

Howard wants more.

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~ by tbkband on November 4, 2010.

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