OKAY, THIS IS THE STORY PAGE... AND THIS ONE WILL ALWAYS BE

I MEAN WE HOPE TO COLLECT STORIES AS WE GO ALONG... HERE'S A START:


CHARLIE'S SLIP-UP ON THE ZIP-UP ----- (a personal observation by Eric)


Where's a band without a roadie to help out on stage...? All right, Fred changes strings halfway a song (I have to check with soundman Edwin what Freds current speed record is), but all other things also inevitably break down sooner or later, on any tour, and a good roadie can help out when a shoulderstrap snaps or a when drum pedal must be replaced mid-song... (or, like I witnessed at a Headcoats show, tell the singer what the first words to a song are...) but even roadies need to take a leak sometimes.
I was eyewitness of the following incident: just as I was changeing a roll of film in the dressingroom, Charlie rushed in and hurried to the john. Some splashing sounds and very relieved sighs... and then a girl named Marieke came in: "Charlie...CHARLIE ! You here?? Toody just broke a string!! I think it's the A..." Next thing we saw was Charlie who did not even zip up properly before sprinting stagewards ("ahw-shiiiiiiiiiiit!"), giving us a quick but clear view of his private parts. A pro paparazzi had probably hadn't missed it but I was still halfway changeing that roll of film... bugger and blast! However, there are some shots of Toody singing "Down The Road" without her bass - behind her amp, Charlie was furiously putting a new string on it. No rest for the wicked...


THE TOMATO KETCHUP INCIDENT ----- (Edwin told us this one)


"You tell 'm Fred..." - "No Edwin, it's your story..." Anyway: picture a restaurant in what used to be called 'gloomy Eastern Europe' somewhere. The restaurant's not really posh, but most definitely classy. On the table is a plastic bottle of tomato ketchup, a substance that comes in handy when levelling 'foreign' food to 'decent' American standards - not necessarily a Dead Moon habit, this - and that particular bottle of tomato ketchup does not cooperate.
Fred starts squeezing it first. Nothing happens. Squeezes it with more strength and determination... nope. There is nothing obviously wrong with the darn thing, but there's no ketchup coming out either! What do you do in such cases, after having tried with all your might? Correct: you turn to your tour manager. "Edwin... here, you give it a try!"
Edwin is a very friendly guy. Not easily upset. Steady as a rock. Solves anything smoothly... but not this time: the bloody ketchup bottle doesn't give in. In a final attempt, Edwin decides to throw in all the strength he's got and - BANG!!! The whole thing just explodes and ketchup is everywhere.
On the table. On the floor. On the walls... on the ceiling...! "So, this waiter comes running... with a napkin !" - "We all started cleaning up the mess... oh man, it was fuckin' all over the place!" - "We used towels, everything..." - "...and they were so awfully nice about it!" - "Oh, yeah, but we tipped them like heavily!"


THE TRASHED HOTELROOM ----- (overheard from Ruud, Paperclip Agency)


Yeah, yeah, yeah. The "rock star smashes up hotel room" bit, you know the routine. But can you actually imagine Toody throwing a TV outta the window for kicks? Neither could we. Nevertheless, after one tour, Paperclip agency in Holland received a spicey bill from a hotel. Dead Moon, that rock band, had trashed a hotel room in true rock'n'roll style. The whole 'custard pie on the walls', 'cigarette butts leaving burning stains on the carpet' thing. Paperclip refused to believe this was done by Dead Moon, but the hotel was dead certain: it was them, no doubt in the world ! A slightly worried Ruud, from Paperclip, phoned and faxed to make sure... like, 'are you guys sure that nothing, I mean...?' Maybe some people having a drunk party at Andrew's room while he was sleeping..? The answer was loud and clear: NO WAY. Ruud phoned the hotel staff again - and this time they made a double-check that made clear that, erm, yes, well, sorry, there had been a mix-up, and errmmm... they had falsely assumed that it had been these strange rock'n'rollers... terribly sorry!


THE CLOTH-DRYER CONTEST ----- (Hans Kesteloo sent us this one by email, we only had to copy-and-paste!)


At the time Fred was in The Weeds (app.1966), this band was hanging around, bored as so many bands, waiting for the time coming to be on stage. They all went into a public washing place and Fred won the contest: "I can stay longer in a cloth-drying machine than you can." Fred: "It's absolutely incredible. It's so fucking hot in there. There is no time for sweating, it dries up immediately. You think you die.... I had to win, so I did. Glad to be alive and well."


THE SURPRISE STRIPPER ----- (I tell ya - if we hadn't seen proof of this... it's is another cool one we heard from Hans!)


When Hans wanted to release the first Dead Moon compilation, the band went out to do a photo shoot at night, and suddenly a girl discovers the camera and well... Quoting Fred (who sent the photos to Mr. Kesteloo for his birthday once...): "This is the kind of shit that happens when we try to take pictures. This is the photo session that ended up on the DEAD MOON NIGHT (MMLP022) album. We're out in the street shooting pictures when this girl comes out of nowhere and starts stripping - Jesus we couldn't believe it. I probably didn't tell you at the time, because I thought you might be offended - little did I know."
I asked the band if they would mind if we'd put these photos on the net. I'm sorry to say, but they didn't really like the idea. Ah well... it would probably get these pages banned from GeoCities anyway...



This is just five little stories in a page that must keep growing. (After sending us his story, Hans promised us at least four more stories he could tell: The Moose Story, The Airport Story, The Express Train Story and The Andrew In Jail Story... and we're just as eager to hear them as you are!) If you have reports of things you think are worth mentioning, preferably involving the strong arm of the law, stressed clubowners, drunken madness etc: don't hesitate to tell us!

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