As we journey into the heart of the city, I sit beside
bass-player and fellow German, Andreas ‘Andi’ Schmid. I take the opportunity to
chat with him in our native language, though heralding as I do from the civilised
and sophisticated industrial north of our great country, I find it hard to
understand his peculiar, gutteral Schwabian accent which, frankly, sounds like
a drunken Tibetan throat singer with a cold. Embarrassed at my inability to
understand his answers to my probing questions, I switch to English.
Immediately, the tone of Schmid’s voice changes to the boyish melodic tones
with which the world is familiar.
Taking me into his confidence, I learn – amongst other
things – of Schmid’s jealousy over the role of drummer in the band. Schmid, it
seems, is an accomplished drummer himself and ever since he has known the band
he has wanted to drum for them. Indeed, Schmid did so for a brief tour of
Europe when Daren ‘Wildman’ Garrett suddenly and dramatically left the band
citing musical differences, and before Kitson could be recruited. Schmid
clearly thinks of this short tour as one of the highlights of his young life,
and his eyes glisten as he recounts, in considerable detail on a song-by-song,
night-by-night basis, the detailed beats and rythmns, the paradiddles, flams,
shuffles and linear rolls, with which he drove the Nightingales’ music forward.
Like Schmid’s account of the tour, the journey into the heart of the nation’s
capital seems to be taking a very long time indeed.
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