Kafka had a strict father

Then there was that time Johan had a little fun with some black duct tape. Or maybe it was gaffer tape. Black electrical tape? I’d say it’s not that important, but it kind of is.

Johan was our TM. That’s Tour Manager to you. We were always side by side up in the front cab as we motored up and down the highways and byways of Europe. We’d sit up there and shoot the breeze. And on those, ah… let’s just say creatively routed tours, we had plenty of time–stories would get stretched out. I’d say it was like we were taping a podcast if there’d been such a thing. This was more like campfire stuff.

Exploits. Adventures. Stories about other ridiculous tours. Gigs gone wrong stories. Which bands insisted on eating at McDonalds. Johan took requests, too. Among my favorites were his reserve of top shelf Andre Williams stories that usually involved stacks of foreign currency with the currencies from different countries all mixed up together with prostitutes, cognac and hotel rooms.

We’d go on about our childhoods, too. Like Kafka and all those bad boys of European literature, Johan had a strict father. Unlike my dad who was like, “Who are you, again?” Strict dads were always good story fodder. (Kafka had a strict father. Franz wanted to be a writer, but Father insisted he go into the family business. So Franz destroyed his manuscripts for fear Father might discover them.) Johan had a great story about a pet chicken he had as a child and how he’d walk him around on a leash made of yarn. Not as weird as Kafka’s stories, but close.

Now, I wasn’t there for this particular incident. But by the end of the story I sure felt like I had been. For the sake of the song, here’s something to keep in mind: the Dutch are not particularly warm toward the Germans. Some will tell you it’s because of the World Cup in 1974. Something I can’t quite get my head around. Then, of course, there’s always World War II. I don’t know how deep the anti-German sentiment in Holland goes, but it’s one of Western Europe's most enduring prejudices. I really don’t know what it means today. It’s a rivalry, I guess. You can laugh or be appalled, I won’t argue either way.

Johan was working on a local crew. For some Dutch venue or another. And there was a German techno band on the gig who had a massive record at the time and they were throwing their weight around and generally being rude and bossy toward the local crew.

Johan said he just kept his head down and did his work. But he was getting increasingly annoyed by these guys and their demands. I don’t know what exactly brought him to the tipping point. But after the show, after the crowd had filed out, the Dutch crew including Johan were working side by side with the German crew, wrapping cables and putting the mic stands away and just generally tidying up.

Meanwhile Johan placed a small rectangular piece of black duct tape on his upper lip. And continued to go about his business. And when any of the German crew had a question or request, he’d just look at them.

He gave me a look that said, “Get it?”

And I was like, “Yeah… I get it. Obviously you were going for the Charlie Chaplin look.” (Chaplin, incidentally, had his signature ’stash long before the other guy, who was played so well by Bruno Ganz in Downfall.)

And then, he told me, “I didn’t say a thing.”

And I said “No, of course not. You didn’t have to!”

Here’s a picture of Johan and Stephanie and, by the looks of it, the merchandise inventory at a gig.