MDC: Memoir From a Damaged Civilization: Stories of Punk, Fear, and Redemption by Dave Dictor

Author:Dave Dictor [Dictor, Dave]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Biography & Autobiography, Entertainment & Performing Arts
ISBN: 9781933149998
Google: W8zTDgAAQBAJ
Publisher: Manic D Press
Published: 2016-05-22T23:21:43.246953+00:00

We drove forty miles to Barcelona, quite the historic city, for our gig in old downtown. Street paths were thin as three or four feet wide in the barrio. We played about a 300-person place that probably had 500 folks crammed in. People were so hungry to feel it, dance to it, shout, and scream. With Franco and Ron, we could converse in Spanish to the crowd, and people loved that, but they were frozen in place trying to make sense of a style of music they weren’t used to. It was an old school, no stage, in-their-face gig. Still, people were unsure. Nobody left, but a lot of puzzled looks filled the room. A few people talked to us, but people weren’t sure how they ultimately felt. The next night we played again; it looked like the same exact crowd. Everyone was in place, standing, waiting, but this time from the very first note to the last they went absolutely apeshit bonkers, like we were returning conquerors.

The next night we played Zaragoza, a hip, working class town, and everyone loved it from the start. The night after that, we appeared on National Television in Madrid with a multi-thousand person crowd. We lip-synched part of our set for the cameras. Despite such fakery, I was glad to see this country growing up and growing out from under Franco’s fascist rule. Check out the Museo Nacional Del Prado. That is the Metropolitan Museum of Art of Spain and it has much to offer, such as visiting Picasso’s house and Dali’s castle over towards Barcelona. Enjoy it and leave the running of the bulls to the idiots.

Our stay in Spain lasted only four crazily intense days before gigs in Germany, Denmark, and Holland. We stopped back at the well-known Korn-Strasse squat, then headed back into Berlin for a couple of shows, one at the KuKuk, where we ran into our old-time Berlin punk friend, Schnoorer, and one at the Front Kino. At the KuKuk, we played on the second floor at the end of a long narrow gangway. Eight cops came walking up on this ramp to tell me the gig was over. When the first one came near enough to me, because I was up above him, I swiped out and snatched the hat off his head, and the crowd went wild. I passed the hat around, and it was a comical scene to see the police retreat. It was almost like the Keystone Cops, and I got to be Charlie Chaplin.

After the Front Kino show, a place we’ve played many times through the years, we spent three days back in Copenhagen playing the now-torn down Ungdomshuset (“Youth House”), and we played Christiania and hung at their radio station as well.

Finally, we made it to our European home, Holland, and played a few shows with Crucifix and our buddies, No Pigs, from Amsterdam. Some Dutch skins tried to fuck with me in Lelystad, and it didn’t go over well with my No Pigs, so the skins got straightened out.

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