Wolfsangel hits the road. October 28-30, 2005.

Dmitri Petras

t started from the marriage. Yes, it was 10:15 AM of October 28, 2005 when I married Iana. It happened in the Palace of Wed and Ding on the Fur Chet street. There were some pretty guests who put their best dresses on. Even Max was not in pants but in a classic suit. We also wore some extraordinary clothes that were far from the regular wedding ones. We were witnessed by Sherhan and Rob McReddin, so there was no place for a bridesmaid. This fact upset McReddin since he had no one to kiss. A woman who was to bring us the rings during the ceremonial matrimony was really scared. Maybe with the rings. She carried the tray with them with such a look as if she carried a tray with two toads. Seems strange, lady, how about looking at our wedding carriage?

evertheless, the contract was signed, the rings were put on, the Champagne was drunk, and traditional bunch of flowers soared up to the sky. It was Tanya who caught it (bang bang!). She was so sorry, but it serves her right – never catch a flying target.

nd in the evening there was a concert. Our Irish friends and colleagues appeared in the make-up room just before we were to leave it for stage. It was a big mistake, since we caught John Ryan and forced him to play bodhran in our version of “Villemann”. The audience seemed to be glad. In our turn, we took some chaotic part in Cruachan’s “Some Say The Devil Is Dead” (or “Sexually Transmitted Disease” if to believe their set list), but it was a scheduled action, so everything was easy and clear. As the party was over, all of us came to the railway stations. We headed to Moskovsky one, and Cruachan – to Ladozhsky to meet in Moscow at morning.

ow we ran to the train! Time is a strange substance. Just a moment ago it was plenty, but suddenly you realize that the train will leave at 15 minutes and our carriage is at the far away edge of the platform, and we have also lost James of Seducer’s Embrace, who had the same ticket with Iana for some reason. Nevertheless, it was farer from the station closer to the train. We ran through the supermarket to buy some food, laid down our instruments and occupied our berths at last. Some girl whose berths were at our neighborhood did their best to sell their tickets and it seems that they managed to do. It was a surprise to me to feel so scary, but if we are let it be. So we sat at our berths, prepared to leave the station after all this crazy run… and sat for an hour looking at the still life by the windows. It was like in the nursery rhymes. We waited and waited for the train to depart as the conductors told us of the Great Patriotic Repair of the Railway that took place at the far station of Obukhovo. It seems like the Great Patriotic Partisans came from the stone jungles of Kupchino to struggle for the Great Future.

t seems strange but the train came to Moscow almost in time. The white bus filled with the musicians of Cruachan, their instruments and stuff, and the tour staff Maria and Sergei, was waiting for us at the Square of Three Stations. All of us except James managed to squeeze into it and the bus left for the North-Eastern ancient city of Yaroslavl.

e even did not notice how we covered 174 miles. Cruachan who were tired since came from Dublin to St. Petersburg morning before tried to sleep as Wolfsangel played a word game called “contact”. Max always tried to offer the word “lisle”, but no one managed to guess it. What’s a strange situation for the experienced players who guessed even the word “khuyambr’” (an imaginary month which name can be translated into English like Dickember) instantly! The first stop was in a small town Pushkino near Moscow (it differs from Pushkin near St. Petersburg) near a camp with a strange sign, that can be translated into English as “fuckeduphotandfervent”.

he tour managers offered everyone (in two languages) to visit the lavatory. Keith Fay was so glad that he began to cry the special mantra with his special voice to Karen: “Karen, wake up! Want some pee? Want some poo?” So we studied some new English phrases. By the way, Micro$oft Word accepted “pee”, but not a “poo”. I had to add this word into its vocabulary.

s we traveled across the Ancient Russian lands, we became folksier. We even decided to call each other with the true Slavonic nick names as we passed the true Slavonic towns and villages. Unfortunately, we knew only two of such names Mochesvyat (Holy Urine) and Spermislav (Honored Sperm), invented by Seducer and James long ago, so we had to invent other ones ourselves. These names were Nasranamir (Worldshitter), Ebipolk (Allfucker), Huekrut (Dicktwister), and finally Wolnagasyar (an abbreviation of “Wolfsangel on tour to Yaroslavl” in Russian).

ith these creative exercises we passed Rostov-the-Great (or Rostov-not-on-Don) and soon entered Yaroslavl. The first place of interest was a kind of a factory. I suppose it was a refinery, but others identified it as a “Shit Factory” since it smelled funny.

ortunately, the city of Yaroslavl appeared to be a beautiful city inhabited with perfect people. We also liked the “Partisan” club, where we were to play at the evening. The only thing that was not so perfect was the backline, but all of us remember a Russian proverb that can be translated as “You may have no good guitar to become a superstar”. The soundman is evidently a subject of the proverb, and the soundman was brilliant. So as the club staff who are kind, generous and hospitable persons. So as the audience… Sorry, but I must return to the arrival.

e had dinner and made a small trip through the city by bus. It was cold, so our foot walk was brief. We strolled at the banks of Volga a bit and bought a bottle of “Port-777” for 32 rubles, but no one was so courageous to drink it. Keith traditionally found a dead crow but did not eat it unlike another one at the bank of Smolenka river. He said that eating it is not good since it has a head and they called it Jack when it was alive. We made some photos with the bird and without it and ran back to the bus and then to the club to play at.

e played with success. The audience was very friendly to us, and even friendlier to Cruachan, so everything was perfect. After the show Cruachan cheered up. First John Ryan did his best to copy another John, Elton and sang some songs accompanying self on piano. Then Keith tried to destroy the same piano, exclaiming that it is his usual way to treat pianos and grand pianos. Fortunately, he failed since it was high time to return to Moscow by the same bus. When everyone dressed up and took his stuff Max entered the room. He had a shower so he was only in pants from Stars and Stripes, rose plimsolls, and a towel over his head. Sergei the tour manager changed countenance, and said trying at his best to control his feelings: “Max, stop shit beating!” Nevertheless, 15 minutes after we were already drinking beer “Irish Red” (the present from the club brewed in the local brewery) in the bus that returned to Moscow. Thank you, Yaroslavl!

uess if anybody slept in the bus? Obviously no! Cruachan was not so quiet like at the road to Yaroslavl. It was their turn to make merry, so Keith and two Johns were very loud. First Keith kneeled at his sit, turned to us who sat at the back sits and said something like “Ding dong I’m a sexy boy! John is a little bit gay, he’s got two kids and his husband is very handsome! Vlad, wake up, Karen wants you! Tanya, hello!” for three hours. Then the international quire sang songs by Anthrax, Metallica, Led Zeppelin, and Queen. Then Dima took his mandolin and began to play something. It seemed that Keith was waiting for it. At a moment he took his bodhran from the shelf and began to play at his best. Sergei who slept at the first sit felt nervous again and cried in treble: “Shut him up somebody!” Really it is very hard job to be tour manager. Some auto training is good for tour managers.

t was late and the road was dark, but we arrived to Moscow by 4 a.m. Cruachan came to the hotel as we left our stuff and instruments at their place and came to the inhospitable Leningradsky railway station to feel ourselves closer to home. At 6 a.m. the loud voice made a strange notice that changed life of each Wolfsangel member. It said loudly for the whole station: “Ladies and gentlemen! Beware! Never buy srooks!” (period). Who or what are these srooks and why should we buy them? We have no answer.

leepless morning at the station and sleepless day of roaming through Moscow lead us to the “B-2” club, that was the last venue of our tour. What’s now? Surprise of course! It was written “Samhain Cruachan Tintal” at the playbill. Very strange. It seems that we are not Samhain. It seems that no one was waiting for us, although Sergei repeated and repeated that everything is alright. The doubts were strengthen by someone Fedor from the Tintal band, who did his best to upset our sound check and then tried not to let us on stage at the show. As an example, here is the conversation between our bagpiper Dima with this … Fedor, who went backstage during the monstrous (in duration) set by Tintal: “Are you from Tintal? How many songs are left” – “Who the fuck is you to talk with me?!”. An intelligent person, isn’t he? When these 1.5 hours by Tintal ended (so the Cruachan’s set was truncated and our one halved), Fedor announced Cruachan. Another surprise. Thanks to Keith Fay who entered the stage and announced us. I suppose it was the reason why “the best friend of Irish musicians” Fedor called him “drunker and fool” from the stage later. So this is Fedor Voskresensky. Remember this name and never offer your hand to this person. By the way, other members of Tintal appeared to be very nice people unlike their frontman.

t was very hard to play. Unless the backline was perfect and the soundman was superb (our respect to this smart person and brilliant professional) we almost had no sound check and did not hear each other. E.g. James who sang his part of “Villemann” perfectly by he was late for four bars.

t was strange, but the audience liked us, and they bought a great amount of our CDs and DVDs after the show. Andrew and Tiamat felt themselves like C.M.O.T. Dibbler (at the best of this ambiguous Terry Pratchet’s character). But all of this was naught comparing with Iana’s problems. She lost her voice a half of hour before our set. She managed to return it with brandy and sang through the show at her best, but after the set her throat began bleeding. Fortunately, our guitarist Vlad is a doctor. He made everything possible and there was no need in ambulance. Iana even took part in Cruachan’s last song (“Some Say the Devil Is Dead”, that we sang together three times in three days).

eadly tired but very proud, we said our goodbyes to Karen, Keith and three Johns, occupied the same white bus and came to the station for the train that would return us home. If you think we took our berths and fell asleep you are wrong. Not a thing! It was a sequel of the previous night in the bus, the night when Cruachan entertained us. It is like a disease. This night it was our turn to entertain our neighbors. Till 3 a.m. we spoke in English phrases that we have studied from our Irish friends. “Ding dong, Max is gay!” Two hours after departure all the neighbors and even conductors discussed their professional questions in Pigeon English. Even Iana who was strictly forbidden to speak, added some words to the common stream of consciousness and giggled laying at her berth. Let me note that she slept.

t the morning everyone was sleeping. Andrew did his best so his snore was heard even in platform. We wanted to cure him with watering but failed. The last act of this small tour was drinking coffee at our native hospitable Moscovsky railway station in St. Petersburg and sending conceptual SMS “Max is gay” to Keith. He answered immediately – “No! He’s a sexy body!” Who knows…? And let me repeat again, never buy srooks. NEVER!

Photos by: D. Petras, S. Matveev, John Ryan, White Tiger