The Sonic Microphone Society Rescue Mission (part three)

Recap: My mic was left behind in Malmö a coupla nights ago after our gig… the ripple effect of which adds to a chaos revved up by the following jet lag soundcheck, ‘cause that’s when I finally notice it’s missing. Welp.

There goes half my ability as a psuedo singer for the Copenhagen/København set.

Ya see, it’s a Lombardi microphone.

Made at a very small factory in Forli Italia.

They are like guitars… in that each one has a little personable nuance to it.

A nuance that I, as a traditional non singer… well, actually, as a traditional non-player of any instrument… rely on hidden nuances of the instrument to make good/better use of it.

In this case, I’m on a mission to get it back…

Let’s continue the story.

My phone doesn’t work in Denmark. Not unless it’s using Wi-Fi.

Why? Something to do with their new cell towers.

But it does work in Sweden.

So while having Wi-Fi on the train, en route to Malmö, I email the promoter, AGAIN, in hopes that someone could meet me at the station with the missing mic.

But I never get a reply from the guy.

So I exit the train, and press onward to the venue. I need to find my missing mic.

Meanwhile… I shoulda peed on the train. You know what it’s like. When ya gotta go…

So, I decide to walk around the venue’s block. This is tactical manifestation. By providing the swell of swirl to move objects at rest into compliance of manifestation.

It just works… don’t ask me how… if you get good at it.

Bring out the inner pagan in ya. Align with the moon. Make the spheres assist with their gravitational pitch and sway.

I continue walking towards the venue as the bladder inside me boils to the brim… Scouring a clue or an alternate passage or possibly running into someone who works there who might be coincidentally walking by.

Finally, I get back to the front door of the venue… which is just inside a kind of stone hallway/driveway.

And I try opening the door, even though it seems dead inside the glass. And locked, just like the last time I was here.

It opens.

Listen. I can’t explain everything to you. You don’t even manifest. Get with it man.

I walk in, and it’s pretty dark.

I spent the entire time here the other night back stage sleeping off my lag.

Except for stage time.

So none of the interior is familiar… But there’s a WC, and that’s all I need to see.

When I get outta the WC… I still see no-one in the club.

It’s very dark.

So, I head to stage area…

And the alarm fires off.

Must be a motion detector.

It’s loud. That endless swirling squeal. Not good for the tinnitus. No sir. Punishing.

I plop in my Air Pods and flick the phone light on to scour the premises as I try not to think about the moment the Swedish politi will bust in with guns drawn at the intruder stealing gear from the place.

Then my phone rings.

It’s the promoter. He can’t hear me over the alarm sirens screaming. I can barely hear him… But the ear buds do allow me to understand something he’s saying.

Johann is coming to the venue. I should wait outside. He received my email, and he went to the train station to meet me.

But nobody texted me that. And we don’t check our emails like texts when there’s no Wi-Fi.

So here I am. In this calamityville.

In the dark. Shrill alarm not stopping. Me laughing too hard at how insane it is.

I walk out that same front door to get outta the sound area.

But now there’s a metal gate pulled shut and padlocked. Who the… what the?!

When did this get locked up?

I’m now stuck between the front door and the gate to the street.

The alarm still punishing.

My jet lag is laughing at me like it’s never seen anything so funny.

Johann finally pulls up on his bike. Just came from the train station. He unlocks the gate. He looks sooooo confused. I’m numb and I look so hardened and half lidded by lag and siren.

He goes in the club and shuts off the alarm. My ears are broken.

He hands me my mic.

Said we left it on the mic stand.

He still doesn’t understand how I got in the club.

He thought he locked it.

And how did I get i set off the alarm?

He was unaware of the motion detector. And how did I get stuck on the inside of the locked front gate that wasn’t there when I arrived?

How? How? How?

Is this why they call me Howe?

They should call me manifesto

Man o man, I fest so.

But hey. I got my Lombardi back. And the next three solo shows will be all the more tickled for it… And with every clip clap of song aftermath will thank me for going the distance to the calamic Malmöing turn-a-round comic extravaganza.