It all began with a misunderstanding. After a long flight from Montreal to Madrid, followed by a four hour ride to Valencia, I found myself live on Spanish national radio, over-exaggerating a Castillian lisp and searching for words I would never find. The DJ across from me began to sweat profusely, realizing that my Spanish was not buoyant enough to keep this ship from going down...fast. Here is a random sample of our conversation (as translated to me by an amused Spaniard after the interview)
DJ "Have you ever been to Spain before?"
Me "Tennessee"
DJ (stares blankly and then repeats the question faster than a M16 can spit out bullets)
Me "Ha, ha...Tennessee"
(both of us are starting to sweat, so I decide to take the lead)
Me"We are here on a tournament of rock n roll - un torneo de rock"
DJ "Ah! do you hope to win the Gold Medal...."
(o.k. he didn't really say that, what he did do was to cut the interview off then and there)
I used the phrase Torneo de Rock for the next three days before someone politely corrected me - the term for tour is "Gira" (pronounced "hear-a" with a throat-clearing sound).
At our first show in Valencia, we met the gang from Bittersweet Recordings, our Spanish label. They had worked extremely hard to set up the release of Chemical City in Spain, and to organize this tour, so we really wanted that night to go well. Not knowing what to expect from the crowds over there, we took to the stage and opened the set with the Gate. People started moving, singing, responding as enthusiastically as any audience we'd played for. The next day our soundman, Marty, said it had been "Fantastico," and then went back to working on his tan.
After stuffing ourselves full of Valencian Paella, it was off to Zaragoza with our trusty tour manager Christian at the wheel. We ate cherries from a tree growing out of the asphalt at a gas-station. Christian shook his head, warned us of possible diarrhea and then decided that if we were to truly understand the Spanish way of life, we had to stop in Teruel to taste it's world famous Jamon (pronounced "ham-on" with throat-clearing sound, be sure to add appropriate solemnity and reverence when uttering the word). And so, with that first taste of what was undoubtedly the best ham we had ever tasted, we embarked on a journey to the deepest, darkest meaning of a diet based exclusively on the bounty provided by our porcine friends. From then on, we had ham for breakfast, lunch and dinner - in sandwiches, omelettes, on its own. Order a beer at the bar and a plate of jamon would miraculously appear in front of your eyes. We began to refer to the tour as the Torneo de Jamon (the "Tournament of Ham").
With further shows in Madrid and Bilbao, as well as an acoustic gig in Barcelona, we covered a lot of ground during our brief stay. In Madrid, we stayed on Calle Montera - Christian said it was the "transvestite street, oh no, wait a minute, I am mistaken, it's the prostitute street...and watch your wallet." In Bilbao, we were introduced to the Basques, their language and their hospitality. We played with a great band called Thee Quibbles. Nuge and I played "Bridge to Nowhere" on Spanish daytime television, the equivalent of a Regis and Kathy Lee or a Canada AM - see photo gallery on the SRB main site for fetching portrait of us "on set." The dots seemed to be connecting.... And for that we have to thank Tomas, David, Rams and Marisa at Bittersweet, Christian, TwoFer (Good Fer and Evil Fer), Yvan and Maya (our Spanish-Canadian friends and night-life coordinators), and all the people who came out and made the shows as memorable for us as they were...are. And to think that it all began with a misunderstanding.
Viva Jamon!!!