Killing Joke’s Youth on touring and “reading like a bastard”

Killing Joke’s bass player Youth has been going for it – nearly 3,000 words in his most recent blog entry – with some juicy insight into touring, and a revelation at the end. Let’s all go…

Can’t pretend that this tour has been easy, it has at times been the most challenging yet. I’ve taken David Bowies advice on touring, “Read like a Bastard” and I am ploughing through some great books including some Dylan Thomas short stories. Lots of Eastern esoterica including Osho and some Buddhist meditation techniques by Thich Nhat Hanh all keep my batteries topped up and also a new translation of some very old Sanskrit erotic poetry.

Jaz is wading through various UFO cover ups and conspiracy books and Mishima is never far away. Paul has opted for some sword and sorcery fantasy epic called “Fire and Ice” and was a little embarrassed about it but explained it enabled him some pure escape-ism without having think very much, I can understand that the tour bus grinds you down very quickly and any kind of escape is swiftly grasped with both hands. I can totally see why bands often fall into drink/drug/addictive dependancy on the road.

It’s like being in a traveling zoo, locked up in widow less boxes all day and night then paraded out to perform for a couple of hours.The cure for me is to stay healthy and be as creative as possible, even though your physically and mentally exhausted.

Don’t get me wrong i love the gig’s but touring is always a bitter sweet experience for me, on the one hand you get to meet some amazing people and the rolling wagon of the tour bus, a nomadic tribe of adventurers , a family circus, and the band and crew bonding is all great. Sailing into the unknown like some majestic metallic pirate ship.Fearless Odysseys into the abyss.

Although that soon gets claustrophobic and your bunk starts to feel like a coffin pretty quick . Then again i sleep really deep on the bus, nestled and rocked in the arms of our metal momma. bang on some  ambient epic on the headphones and drift off into clouds. Occasionally I peek through my tiny porthole and glimpse the rolling hills whistle by under the cold tango orange, motorway light glare and pale moonlight. There was an incredible half waning moon hanging low and large on the horizon as  we left wolverhampton, bright as a button through the low lying fog.  Stunning cold beauty.

read MUCH, MUCH more at FEARLESS ODYSSEYS INTO THE ABYSS. « cultofyouth.

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