Tibor and the Tram

Having recently been allocated this little space in the paper to talk music, I thought it was only right to share what I can only describe as the ‘PG13’ version of what life can be like on the road as the guitarist in a DIY punk band.

The good, the bad and the downright bizarre, you just never know what to expect, especially the further east you embark on mainland Europe.

When I was a wee 12-year-old cub learning how to play ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’ on the guitar, if you had have told me that in my late 20s I would be playing a gig on an abandoned tram in the city centre of Bratislava in Slovakia, I would have probably laughed and thought you weren’t wise, but it’s funny how the world works sometimes.

Allow me to elaborate…

Our band ‘No Matter’ had been invited to perform at the amazing Punk Rock Holiday festival in Slovenia for a second time in 2019.

We spent three days driving to Slovenia, so we thought it would be worth our while to book a couple of extra gigs on the week following the festival around whatever European countries would have us.

Having previously played in abandoned squat buildings and all sorts of questionable venues around the world, I arrogantly thought I had seen it all.

One of my favourite aspects about hitting the road with the band is that I have almost nothing to do with booking the gigs, so I often show up clueless as to where we are going or where we are playing. It sort of adds a hint of danger and mystery to the whole experience I suppose.

“A tram?” I thought to myself after being informed as where we would play that evening. “This should be a laugh.”

Upon arriving in beautiful Bratislava, the sun was shining as I struggled to walk following severe sunburn in Slovenia, as well as the fact I had been crammed into the back of a car all day.

We eventually found the notorious tram that would be the venue for the evening, conveniently situated right next to a Tesco Express with a well-stocked alcohol department.

With a big bag of cans in hand, we were then introduced to our host for the evening… a young man who went by the name of ‘Tibor’ who spoke broken English and seemingly hadn’t a clue what these four fast-talking Irish hooligans who stood before him were on about in general.

“You stay with me tonight and we have a party,” he informed us.

“Grand so,” says us.

Noise roared from inside the tram as the first band took to the ‘stage’ if you could call it that.

Whilst I don’t recall much about them, I do recall their singer kicking one of the windows through, smashing glass all around the designated tables and chairs that were supposed to resemble a smoking area.

The funny thing was that nobody batted so much as an eyelid. It seems such chaos was the norm amongst these anarchy-loving gig-goers.

As the evening progressed, we took to the back of the tram (that they called a stage).

With three singers in our band, the first thing we noticed was that there were only two microphones available.

“If it’s good enough for the Beatles, it’ll do for us,” I thought to myself.

The only issue is, I was sharing a microphone with our bass player who is somewhat shorter in height than I am, so we powered on through our setlist with myself hunched over like Quasimodo, whilst she was on her tip-toes like a ballerina.

Playing to a packed out tram, I’d say there must have been about 15 people who managed to squeeze into the vicinity, whilst dozens more gathered around it, clinging to their choice of beverage and smoking some peculiar smelling stuff as the sun set and the sky turned black.

It turns out playing in a tram is a lot of fun.

As tinnitus reared its ugly head, temporarily deafening me as I stood in a vile puddle of sweat following an intense evening, I was far too exhausted to even consider going to a party, but the apartment in which said party would take place would be where we would sleep that night, so there was no choice in the matter.

In my favour, the afterparty was a rather mild affair. A small gathering of three or four friends of the promoter were having a few civilised drinks whilst playing cards and listening to some rap music.

The party was off to a (sarcastically) wild start as they requested we remove our shoes upon entry and that, despite having access to a balcony, there would be no smoking allowed.

Our friendly host and his pals retired to bed at a somewhat civilised hour as we made use of his kitchen in order to concoct a questionable pasta dish suitable for both the meat-eating and vegan members of the band.

Tinnitus continued to slaughter my eardrums as the night grew more silent, and I spent a rather rough night on the kitchen floor in a sleeping bag.

The following morning we awoke early as we had to make our way north to Prague for our next gig that night.

As the baking sun of Slovakia roasted me one final time, I wished for cooler weather.

Be careful what you wish for! We arrived in Prague to cold, bitter rain.

Did we play in a small cafe with a band from Brazil and ended up unlawfully but obliviously sleeping in a nursing home that night? Well, maybe that’s a story for another time.