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I was sixteen years old when I saw Turbonegro for the first time. With the zillion dollar bills flying around, fake blood all over the place, and fireworks shooting out of Hank's ass(!), it was one of the most memorable shows I have witnessed up to date. Turbonegro had my attention, and wasn't planning on letting it go any time soon. Needless to say, I was beyond excited when the they made it back to Amsterdam this week, with a new record ('Party Animals'), and a new dress code. No more Denim Demons this time, TRBNGR have new identities as a war lord from the deep forests (Hank), a rollerskating gangsta (Chris), a totalitarian guitar hero (Euroboy), a professional best man at weddings (Rune), a disco sailor (Tom) and a human dildo/Michael Hutchence-from-INXS-lookalike-wearing-a-German-helmet (Pål)!
Two hours before showtime, I enter the dressing room that's occupied by the disco sailor, the rollerskating gangsta, and Tony Slug (that's my dad for you who have been living under a rock for the past 18 years). Tom offers me a glass of wine which will be soon replaced by champagne(!). After having caught up on the past two years with Tom, the war lord (wearing a Jackass T-shirt) shows up with the remaining Apocalypse Dudes. We are immersed in some godawful noise, Peter Pan Speedrock must be starting their set. Who cares. Hank hands me his digital camera and asks me if I'll be his personal photographer for the night. HELL YES! It's time for them to get dressed up and get pretty so I join the denim-wearing masses (Turbojugends EVERYWHERE) upstairs. A huge backdrop displaying a war scene adorns the stage of Paradiso. The six men that looked like mere mortals half an hour ago, now appear as their bizarre gods-like alter-egos.
Since I'm supposed to take pictures, I get to stand on the other side of the barrier, so I don't only have a fucking great view, no one's spilling beer on me either. Hank especially, wearing not much more than jeans, a fur cape and black eye make-up, demands full attention from the crowd. Ready as I am to capture this surreal sight, Hank's camera is clearly not: BATTERY EMPTY, the red letters blink at me... Either way, I don't enjoy the show any less because of it, and sing along to songs like "All My Friends Are Dead", "Fuck the World", and "I Got Erection". Turbonegro do not disappoint by any means, but do not quite upstage that first time seeing them either. And apparently they're not out of zillion dollar bills yet! The set is over but the party sure as hell isn't. Returning as Denim Demons, classic songs such as "The Age of Pamparius" (one of my favorites - best song ever written about pizza) and "Prince of the Rodeo" are played. After a second encore, Turbonegro has to finally say goodbye to their minions from the Netherlands.
Backstage the Norwegians have transformed back to normal again, but traces of make-up and glitter remain. There's a couple of dozen people around, one more drunk than the other, and the party goes on until about 1:30, when it's time for Turbonegro and their crew to leave for England. Chris says he hates England. He doesn't like Amsterdam, either. Or Denmark. The only place he really likes is Norway. But Sweden is alright, too. The best show they played this tour was in Stockholm. Tonight comes in second place. We say our goodbyes and I think I know what band I want to manage when I grow up...
For pictures, view folder Turbonegro!
Two hours before showtime, I enter the dressing room that's occupied by the disco sailor, the rollerskating gangsta, and Tony Slug (that's my dad for you who have been living under a rock for the past 18 years). Tom offers me a glass of wine which will be soon replaced by champagne(!). After having caught up on the past two years with Tom, the war lord (wearing a Jackass T-shirt) shows up with the remaining Apocalypse Dudes. We are immersed in some godawful noise, Peter Pan Speedrock must be starting their set. Who cares. Hank hands me his digital camera and asks me if I'll be his personal photographer for the night. HELL YES! It's time for them to get dressed up and get pretty so I join the denim-wearing masses (Turbojugends EVERYWHERE) upstairs. A huge backdrop displaying a war scene adorns the stage of Paradiso. The six men that looked like mere mortals half an hour ago, now appear as their bizarre gods-like alter-egos.
Since I'm supposed to take pictures, I get to stand on the other side of the barrier, so I don't only have a fucking great view, no one's spilling beer on me either. Hank especially, wearing not much more than jeans, a fur cape and black eye make-up, demands full attention from the crowd. Ready as I am to capture this surreal sight, Hank's camera is clearly not: BATTERY EMPTY, the red letters blink at me... Either way, I don't enjoy the show any less because of it, and sing along to songs like "All My Friends Are Dead", "Fuck the World", and "I Got Erection". Turbonegro do not disappoint by any means, but do not quite upstage that first time seeing them either. And apparently they're not out of zillion dollar bills yet! The set is over but the party sure as hell isn't. Returning as Denim Demons, classic songs such as "The Age of Pamparius" (one of my favorites - best song ever written about pizza) and "Prince of the Rodeo" are played. After a second encore, Turbonegro has to finally say goodbye to their minions from the Netherlands.
Backstage the Norwegians have transformed back to normal again, but traces of make-up and glitter remain. There's a couple of dozen people around, one more drunk than the other, and the party goes on until about 1:30, when it's time for Turbonegro and their crew to leave for England. Chris says he hates England. He doesn't like Amsterdam, either. Or Denmark. The only place he really likes is Norway. But Sweden is alright, too. The best show they played this tour was in Stockholm. Tonight comes in second place. We say our goodbyes and I think I know what band I want to manage when I grow up...
For pictures, view folder Turbonegro!
