A thud… metallic screams and electronic clicks, drowned in reverb. Something is coming. You know its there, but not when it will strike. The tone deepens. Another thud… then another… another… rhythm – aggressive military rhythm, angry whispers… here it comes…

I set the alarm on my phone for eight thirty to get an early start on our first day in Zagreb.

At seven forty I wake up to highly accented, belligerent arguing in English downstairs.

I guess not many of us really believed Trent Reznor when he said he was going to step back and focus on production. Well, it turns out he did and he didn’t. He, uh…

…he started a family band… of sorts.

No, really. Stick with me. Don’t panic. I’ll ease you through it.

We decide to stop in Belgrade for an evening.

We are armed with an address and a map that I drew on a piece of paper. We are not worried. This is what we do…

Down and Static-X are playing. Though there appears to be no hint of a double header, and from the look of the queue. which began to form at eleven am on Tuesday, Static-X were not the most welcome quests. Which on the whole is not too surprising, the choice as support is seen as quite unusual and its far more likely that after download in the UK this was the labels way of promoting more than one artist. And an Irish date by the ten year veterans of “Evil Disco” is overdue.

Greg had met the driver earlier that day on a trip to the bazaar, and had set the price in advance. We are to pay four hundred Egyptian pounds to Mount Sinai and back.

The driver’s name is Ahmed. He is a pleasant man in his earlier thirties with Bedouin ancestry. He wears a red and white head wrap and several layers of heavy robes and quilting to prepare for the low temperatures we would soon reach.

I was in the states on September 10th, in New Jersey planning to head to Philly the next day, and you could not avoid it. It was in every paper, from the free Metro to the best broadsheets and everything between. It had its own website for months previous and one of the biggest marketing campaigns I have ever witnessed. No I’m not referring to the anniversary of the terrorist attacks. I’m talking about my subject, my lifeblood. Music.

More specifically I’m taking about Metallica.

Okay, I’m not going to lie.

I downloaded this little gem illegally.

But..

My downloading it, has led to quite a bit of good.

Ignoring the gentle insistence of Scotty, my Glaswegian nurse, I checked myself out after suffering an allergic reaction to the painkillers they had given me. There was a plan and it had to be stuck to. Tom Waits was playing and no gods, no storm nor shotgun blasted off leg was going to prevent me from going to see the man.

I promised I’d write this. I swear. I promised! Otherwise, I’d be in bed by now. Comfortable, moist after a quick shower, warmed by the duvets, cradled by the pillows, thinking about relaxing my muscles. Still, I’m not. I’m peering at the screen in the darkness, sipping my green tea, and listening to the ringing in my ears. And thinking back on that magical time at the pub.

The problem with being handed anything to review whilst drinking in a Dublin pub, is that the chances are; you’ll stumble home, put it somewhere then promptly forget where you put it. This will undoubtedly lead to several trashings of both your home and office before you find whatever it is you were supposed to review.

This is why it has taken so very long to review this year’s new EP release by the Irish Melodic Hardcore group, 20 Bulls Each (20BE). To the 20BE member who had the faith and generosity to shove a fresh and unopened EP into my hand in the bowels of the drunken vortex that is ‘The Foggy Dew’. I apologize for the delay.

My Good Doctor – the naughtiest Panda,

Written in parts when and where I could – bare with the scrawl.

So aye…

Onward – good Christian soldier chainsaw.

So, I’m in Krakow.

Hey there…

I have something you don’t have.

I’m listening to it right now.

At this moment in time, I have ‘Care In The Community’ by Babar Luck booming through both 1000 Watt speakers as I do headphones I’m currently wearing. It’s just that good that it needs to be channeled twice, once to directly to the brain, mainlined, then again, through the collection of carefully aimed satellite speakers through the body.

On the 6th of February I arrived late to the Irish Writers Centre in the fear that I’d missed the fortune cookies. The event in question was a night of Chinese and Irish literature and traditional music from both countries. Wandering through the crowd with the only recognizable face being that of Mr. Hayden (one of the organizers), I began to pass an increasing amount of empty food plates and glasses. Worried I’d arrived too late and would now be forced to wait in a graveyard of free food and drink, my heart began to sink. That was, until a guest moved to the table and took a previously thought empty bottle and poured himself a glass.