쿨라의 밀스가 홈페이지에 직접쓴 투어다이어리인데요~^^;;

[마츠다]

Band of Bloggers
Part Three - The Nightmare
- from Mr Mills' Tour Diary

Four hours of broken sleep later and we’re on our way to TOKYO airport.

We bid farewell to the delightful Kage and get stuck into doing what we are all
experts at, which is loafing around in airports.

Alonza and Harry have no money for breakfast. Debit cards not accepted, they’ve
spent all their per diems on exotic herbs at Fuji.

Scrounging off Simon, Alonza slopes off to the smoking room to light more imaginary
cigarettes, and as he does so, leaves his ticket and passport on a seat in
the lounge. Luckily Harry scoops them up.

An hour later and we’re boarding the plane, only to realise that Paul has gone
missing. Lonz, who’s not yet stepped through the barrier, is dispatched on the
rescue mission. He soon returns having found Paul out cold, asleep beneath a row of
chairs outside Duty Free.

Nothing changes.

In Korea, we are picked up by a bus, the interior of which resembles a Moroccan
bordello. It’s hot and humid, and we are driven to Pentaport Rock Festival,
Korea’s first of its kind.

It’s day 3.

Day 1 and 2 brought Placebo, Black Eyed Peas and a typhoon.

When we reach the site it is a war zone. Imagine the Glastonbury mud baths but with
tropical humidity. Dazed punters wander about like refugees beneath the shadow of
the most enormous stage I have ever seen in my life. It towers above the site like
a frickin NASA launch pad.

The crew stay at the site, whilst Harry, Alonza and myself drive to the hotel to try
and get some sleep before the show.

As soon as I lay my head on the pillow the phone rings. It’s Simon. “There’s
technical problems”; he sounds concerned.

On returning, Simon is so stressed he’s going pale in the heat.

“It's a cluster fuck”, says Graham, brandishing a screwdriver at me before sticking it into Harry’s Wurlitzer.

The equipment we asked the Korean promoter to provide is crap. Paul’s kit sounds and looks nasty, the amplifiers they have supplied us with are not what we asked for, the Wurlitzer is broken, and the vintage Leslie Speaker is so crusty it has mice living
in it.

Like consummate pros we quickly panic and break down in tears.

Eventually, after much frantic discussion we cook up a plan to survive this gig; a
subtle blend of British ingenuity, smoke and mirrors - deafen the audience with
maximum PA volume, blind them with spotlights and hope to God they're stoned.

7.30 pm. The humidity begins to lift and a cool ocean breeze rolls in.

We ascend the stage.

Out at the sound desk, the eerie twilight is not visible to Graham, who later tells
me that, from the front of house, the entire sky was blotted out, length ways and
side ways, by the gargantuan Korean stage.

We launch off well enough but cracks quickly begin to appear in the thin ice.
Equipment is going down left, right and centre and we’re loosing our grip on this
gig.

My telecaster sounds like crap played through these weird amplifiers, disappearing
into a thin mesh of distortion. All my MXR effect pedals expire due to the intense
humidity. Franz Ferdinand’s guitar technicians look at my pedals, wipe their sweaty
brows and shake their heads.

I can guess what they’re saying to Simon. I’m screwed.

I’m just hoping Graham is salvaging our sound from out front.

My eyes search about for Jamie, doing on-stage sound. He later tells me that he
couldn’t tell where the stage was either, as the monitor desk was hidden behind
eight tons of sound equipment.

In between songs, Harry calls to Simon for help, unwittingly announcing to the crowd
that his ‘organ is dying’.

My attempts at pidgin Korean are well received by an amused and forgiving audience,
but it's not enough to save us.

Harry is reduced to hammering two fingers on a synthesiser keyboard.

Imagine a HUGE, huge stage, with a tiny little man playing a tiny little keyboard.

The only person having a good gig is Paul, who’s grinning away. NEVER a good sign.

Then there’s a miracle. I can’t really explain it. Out of chaos and desperation,
we seem to break through the pain barrier and reach a state of carefree, joyful
abandon. The audience lifts us up with great cheers and, as if responding to
the applause, Harry’s organ wheezes back into action. We’re soon tearing through
the remainder of our set and all are happy.

After the show, Graham (who is never one to pamper us) tells us it was okay, almost
good in fact, and we breathe a huge sigh of relief.

The baton is passed to Franz Ferdinand, and all can relax.

As we are leaving I am approached by a company called ‘Moolon’ who, ironically,
give me some retro guitar effect pedals to try out, all hand engraved with lotuses
and angel wings. Incredible looking.

“Shame they didn’t come two hours ago.” remarks Paul.

Returning to the hotel, I traipse through the lobby, passing a large television
screen tuned to CNN.

And everything stops.

Back in my room, and I’m still being haunted by those images.

It must be at least the second week of the Israeli/Lebanon conflict. This evening we
are treated to the sight of children’s crumbled bodies being lifted out from under
tons of bombed wreckage.

“More than 50 dead, at least 37 of them children.”

When the United Nations Security Council voted on a ceasefire, there were only two
countries who blocked it.

America and Britain.

I switch off the TV and sit there in the silence.

Bloody murderers.

We’re no better than the people we claim to defend ourselves from. We are one and
the same, sharing a diseased condition. Spreading our plagues of ignorance,
oppression and death.

That’s why Gandhi was so powerful. He understood the law of Karma. Violence breeds
violence. He brought the British Empire to its knees without firing a single shot.
The biggest, most brutal Imperial force the world had ever seen.

You’d think people would have learnt a lesson or two there.

I lie in the darkness, staring at the ceiling.

The roar of this evening’s audience seems a very long way off now, like a dream
I’ve awoken from to witness a nightmare.

Morning comes, eventually, and I am there to see it in, waiting impatiently at
the Gates of Dawn, watching the clock for breakfast.

But it’s two more hours till they serve. Not even tea, they say. Torture.

I take an insomniac’s wander through downtown Seoul, past more golf courses and what seems like a never ending maze of restaurants and noodle bars displaying hideous huge placards of slimy meat. I wonder how many animals are slaughtered each year to make
noodles here?

I pass an alleyway and see a small puppy curled up by some bins. He sees me and
waddles over, looking hopeful.

Poor flea bitten thing.

They eat dog in Korea.

But then, they eat cows in Britain.

I guess that’s the problem. People just don’t want to think. We’re so lost as a
species, we’d rather slit another living creature’s throat than consider
the alternative.

What right do we have to take another living creature’s life? They are clearly
conscious and feel pain, who are we to trample arrogantly over their bodies?
Who are we to dole out life and death?

Like those bastards raining bombs and rockets. Drunk with blood.

Let's not call it a 'moral equivalence', rather, let's consider that there's
a connection. Slaughter of any kind indicates two things, firstly a type of
arrogance, whereby a person believes the world around them is theirs to enjoy or
destroy, depending on one's preference. Eating meat is a preference,
not a necessity, as are most wars.

Secondly, slaughtering animals indicates a kind of spiritual blindness. The life
force, or soul dwells in all living creatures, and in more enlightened circles,
it is considered extremely impolite to forcibly kick someone out of their place of
residence. Animal or human, it's just bad manners and creates bad karma for all
involved. There is no such thing as peaceful society that engages in animal slaughter.

How can we call ourselves human when we're not humane?

One is rarely encouraged to genuinely question authority, but it’s even more
difficult is to question oneself. We’re all so proud and stubborn. If we’re not
willing to recognise another creature’s suffering, we close our hearts, court
genuine ignorance and face the greatest danger.

I stroll back to the hotel, kicking pebbles and grumbling to myself.

“Morning”, says Simon.

“Hmph”. I reply.

Back in my room, I get the feeling I need to read some light comedy.

I never really unpacked and yet I’ve managed to completely cover the room in clothes and mess.

How does that happen? Someone ask Stephen Hawking.

18 hours later and I’ll be back in London, crawling under the covers.

Keeping that thought at the front of my mind, I check out of the hotel.

Back in London the world seems smaller and safer.

The seven dwarves say goodbye to each other at Heathrow and we all go our separate
ways. As I drag my feet through the airport, I pass alongside the hectic crowds of
anxious travellers.

Innumerable dreamers having innumerable dreams.

CDM, August 2006
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

영어가 너무 너무 부족해서 내용이해가 잘 않되네요~~
펜타포트를 다녀간뒤에 쓴 내용인데요~
궁금한데 답답해서요~^^;;

어떤 내용인지 보시고 대략 알려주시면 너무 감사하겠네요~^^

[Jimin]

그냥 대충 보니까;; 스테이지가 커서 놀랐고.. 습기때문에 장비가 엉망이었고.. 호응이 굉장해서 무지기뻤고.. ㅎㅎ 그뒤로는 이라크/레바논 얘기인듯해요. 저도 영어가 짧아서 잘 모르겠지만

[bedscene]

펜타포트측에서 장비를 제대로 준비못해서 짜증났는데 관객의 호응이 좋아 행복했다.. 뒷부분은 그냥 레바논 사태와 육식에 대한 이런저런 생각들이네요..

[마츠다]

아하~~고맙습니다~^^

[박힘찬:밥말리]

영국에 다시 오니 세상이 더작아보였고 더안전해 보였답니다. 역시 멋져

[라디오헤드가 올줄알았엉ㅠ]

........해석해서 올려달라! 올려달라!

[Bowie]

개좀 먹으면 어때..;;

[SUNshine]

이럴때... 윤선생님;; !!

[onelovehead]

윤성아 너 찾는다?

[솔이]

음향장비때문에 무대 서기 전부터나 무대위에서까지 조마조마했나봐요. 엄청난 습기 때문인지 해리의 키보드가 문제를 일으켰었는데, 관객의 호응으로 기적같이 되돌아왔다는데요... ㅎㅎ 그리고 호텔에서 CNN 통해 레바논 사태 보고 무척 심란했나보네요. 폭력은 또다른 폭력을 낳는다고... 개고기에 대한 편견이 특별히 있는 것 같지는 않고(영국에서도 소고기를 먹으니까) 그보다는 왜 인간의 육식을 위해 또다른 생물이 잔인하게 도살당해야 할까를 전쟁(레바논 폭격)과 연관지어 고민하고 있네요. 이 친구 참 멋진 청년이잖아? ^^

[Radio Kid]

역시 글에서도 골빈다의 포스가 느껴짐.

[BBODA]

언어의 장벽이 절 힘들게 하는군요

[sliver]

그래도 관객 호응이 좋은걸로 생각됐다니 다행이네요

[John5]

모든 영어는 5형식이면 다 해결됨 후후후 -_-;;

[our kid]

윽윽 해석 올려주신 분들 감사ㄲㄲ. 일단 영어가 길면 눈이 저려와서 시도하기가 참 두려워서 말이죠..;

[punk-holic]

누군가가 번역해줄줄알았져 저는..