Photo: Tony Kroes

Liner notes:

It occurs to me that in Rock's short history, many, many a band, or performance outfit has bitten the dust, clinging insanely to their deluded attempts of big orchestral and/or opera-like productions, then finding themselves slain by the hands of critics of said productions. String tours, if not only being a bit outrageous, expensive, and possibly pompous, are INCREDIBLY HARD! There are many things that can go wrong. I.e. a band literally has to rethink and rearrange its live sound to accommodate the soft character of the strings. What hits the audience, if compromises in volume aren't made, is pure musical mud. The two volume levels do not go together inherently. Rock and roll is not quiet or subtle. Strings are not loud or thumping.

Irregardless of this, it always seemed inevitable that a string tour would be undertaken by The Walkabouts at some point. Even as we stood in the studio listening to "Train To Mercy" and then, later, grinning over "Findlay's Motel," I remember somebody saying that it would happen. 8 years, 10 tours, 15 string arrangements and 5 albums, had passed when the Walkabouts said to me, "you want to go?" I said "where?" They said, "string tour," and I said "oh yeah, of course."

An observation: The rock lifestyle does not usually lend itself to the extra-heightened organizational necessities of producing symphonic music. Sheet music, extra monitors, tons of DI's, contracting the orchestra, extra tour buses, union breaks, blah blah blah! Most bands simply would not know how to do this (or EVER know how to do it). Luckily the Walkabouts seem to have been blessed with almost miraculous organizational skills. How they anticipated so much, I'll never know. They knew how hard the tour would be, and by sheer force of will and months of preparation, did their best to make sure it wouldn't be a disaster. I'm telling you though, as we left Seattle to fly to London, nobody, not one of us, was at all sure if it was going to work.

This was a crazy time as well, in The Walkabouts history. The band had within the last year finished touring the very successful "Devil's Road" and had recorded and released "Nighttown", their second CD for Virgin. The new single hadn't done well thus far. No one was quite sure what was going on with the label. Everywhere bands were being dropped left and right and the CD industry seemed to be on the brink of a depression. Audiences were starting to turn to House music and away from live music venues, and The Walkabouts were starting to feel it. But it didn't matter as far as this tour was concerned. To see the dream realized was the most important thing. If you're going to go down, go down big and proud. This was the mood of the day as the band boarded the plane in Seattle.

On day one of rehearsal in London, Carla presented the players with beautiful bound copies of the music. The sound man, Luc, seemed to know what he was doing, and thankfully for me, as the conductor, the band was playing with the orchestra and not on top of them. Relief, relief. I remember seeing Terri Moeller as she played with her brushes looking up with a big grin on her face and thinking right then, "this is gonna work!"

I don't think I was the only one, at that point, who noticed that the orchestra seemed to be made up, almost entirely, of an army of strikingly beautiful women. Every man, woman and child knew it, and within about 4 hours of rehearsal the sexual tension was so thick you needed a chainsaw to cut it. But, as sometimes happens in these situations, the chemistry dissipated a bit once we all got to know each other and had a chance to crack a few jokes. At least it mellowed down to a smoldering blaze, as we continued on through the rehearsals, stretching, pulling and fitting the orchestra into the rock, and the rock into the hard places. As the next two days whizzed by, you could feel the performance energy building like a storm, each player scrubbing away with bow and rapier wit. Then, suddenly, the preparations were over. With merchandise in hand (including the fabulous cello shaped CD's), with the crew all arrived, with the rented gear and the 100 pieces of luggage all stowed away, we boarded the band bus and the "string" bus, (quite literally a pub on wheels), and set off down the cobbled freeways of Europe to meet our fate.

Another observation: For musicians, touring is generally very disarming and dislocating. You're always trying to remember which particular city you're in at any given time, which venue was from which city, what sort of money you're supposed to be acquiring for the next country, which language you're trying to understand--but can't--and which pair of underwear is clean and which one isn't.

From the minute the busses crossed the channel, somehow, I think everyone knew this was a different adventure. We were hearing music in our heads. Good music. It was those damn songs. They were great, and we hearing them all the time. The Nighttown tour was finally upon us. There was a feeling of celebration as we set up for the first gig. This was exactly what The Walkabouts had dreamed of giving to their audience. We rolled down the backdrop Tony Kroes had made, we got the orchestra set, I checked my 30's hat in the mirror, and I had a shot of JD. The excitement backstage and on-stage was unbelievably vivid and crackling. A pure blast of fun. Even sound check maintained this mood. I remember Dimitri, the first violin, cracking us up with his self-depreciating, clown-like sense of humor. I tried to get people in tune with tears rolling down my face.

I remember a collage of imagery: the deli trays, the rally we had before the encores, talking to Germans, "Bonnie and Clyde" (as the string players stood up and "rocked"), Greece, with our slam bang rehearsal with the Greek orchestra and the huge dinner we had where the appetizers wouldn't stop coming. And I remember beautiful concert halls, especially the all-wooden one in Berlin. I remember fantastic people there to greet us at every destination. I remember sitting out in the sun next to the bus in Berlin, wearing my stupid moon mask, everybody dressed in black, more Jack Daniels, Jana Wolff, the Walks' charismatic manager swimming wasted on top of a hotel. Nighttown. The city. The city at night. Baker's snoring. Being awake at four in the morning on the bus while everyone else was asleep, and staring out the window, watching the endless miles of road go by. Listening to the songs over and over in my head.

The fog of being a part of something, that would soon be over, and forever gone.

I wonder now, did the Walkabouts achieve some sort of immortality by taking this great risk? I hope the music did. There is something so deep and permanent about accomplishing a musical event of that scale. Was the tour successful? Well, the next year they were dropped from Virgin and took a decidedly anti-grandiose approach to the music again. Lots of money was lost, and the critics were mixed. So it seems now that the success of this music can only be decided by you, not the record label, not the critics and not the band. Personally, I'd say, it was a miracle.

Mark Nichols, Bristol, 2000

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