Fruit Bats European Tour Diary Pt.8 Geneva
By: Eric D. Johnson
More back roads today, trying to save some dough. The venue tonight was a dusty, smoky and well-tagged art collective space in the spotlessly clean city of Geneva. Lots of drug hustlers hanging around outside - one of them said to me “Hey - Ang-Lish-Mon! Hashish?” Which is the first time anyone has confused me for an Englishman. The show was fine and fun. We were put up at artist apartments in the upstairs of the venue. What we hadn’t been warned is that an absolutely raging, high decibel dance party would carry on right below our heads until 5:00 in the morning. I laid in my graffiti covered bunk bed (punk bed?) wishing I had pills. I’m sure there were plenty to be had in this joint. Maybe not of the sleeping kind. Instead I put the headphones on and jammed to Dion McGregor. If you haven’t heard of him, check him out. He wrote a few pop songs back in the mid-sixties, but his records ain’t music. Far from it. He was the world’s most articulate sleep-talker, and his roommate was impressed enough by his secret skill that he began recording him every night. Some of his dreams are pretty dirty, some hilarious, some dark. In between each track, I could hear the throb of electro below me as clouds of smoke wafted through the cracks. Sleepless nights back, into the loving warm arms of Spain tomorrow.
Artists in this article: Fruit Bats