I can't stand the rain, on my dancefloor

The third gig of the tour is thankfully not a long drive, it is in Santo Andre and the club's name is Tupinikim. Our journey was marked by heavy rain that turned torrential whilst we were on a manic multilane road. The biggest backwash, I have ever witnessed in a vehicle, hit our car, Demente, bass player and tour organiser was driving at the time and he looked at me and said "good job I have this", which was a sort of overhang thing ourside the window, because his window had been partly open. If that had not been in place, we would have been soaked. I shook the imaginary water from my clothes and stared at fixed point in the rain ahead and tried not to think about too much. Sometimes thinking can be so worrisome.

We arrive at the venue and I dash like a lillie livered Englishman into the relative safety of the entrance and after exploring a little further found to my astonishment that there were two or three people squeegeeing gallons (imperial reference)/Litres of water off of the dance floor in front of the stage. "Hmmm", I thought, "wont be much moshing tonight more like sloshing!" There appeared to be a hole in the roof over the stage. I viewed that fact with some dark satisfaction because we have an annoying leak in our roof at home which we are having trouble getting fixed because of the availability of our roofer and when you have a leak, you feel you are the only person in the world who has one. Now I know, there is one in Brazil too! Hmmm and perhaps a lot in England also,

At this point the venue looks pretty bleak but once the audience began to turn up and the rain eased off,  it was transformed. At the entrance there is a long tunnel-like corridor with vines or something growing along the ceiling and you could hear the rain on the corrugated roofing above it. The lighting was subdued aand inviting, further in was where you paid your entrance at a little table and then the room opened up to a bar area with tables and chairs. Walk beyond that and you found the stage and the dance floor. A little beyond that was a staircase that let to a dressing room/sanctuary. Once the people were in the club it was a brilliant place to spend an evening and the owners and bar staff were so lovely to a lost Englishman. (Image here shows David our drummer in our dressing room)

There was however a serpent uncoiling in the room but more of that later.

Every gig is a late one here but in this establishment it was a pleasant place to pass the time before our performance. I spent some time watching the other bands on the bill (who were very good) and trying not to make the most of the free beer that as a performer, I am entitled to.
Finally, it is our turn to squeeze on to the small stage and we begin our set in a confident way that is the manner of a band that knows it can produce a fantastic performance given the right conditions.
I am happy in the knowledge that tonight I am playing through a Fender amp, one that I have used before and love the sound of.

Then it happens, two numbers in (or one number in, I can't remember now), as we attempt the next number,  howling screaming feedback fills the stage and it is really hurting our ears. I make frantic attempts to isolate the problem, checking if it was the mike ,my leads or the volume set too high on the amp, or my guitar feeding back but to no avail. Sometimes feedback only plague's you when you stop playing, so we attempt to start another song but it is impossible, it was screaming and howling like a bad spirit of rotten roofs and damp destruction had descending and now spun around me laughing as I despaired at having the initiative on this set blown asunder. We were now likely to drive people away rather than draw them to us.
I was also puzzled because Demente  one of our two bassists is normally in the wings waiting to
 do his bass duties and providing additional backing vocals, was not there. It was his amp and he should know it inside out, but he was not here to help and I was just left helpless. In a futile gesture, I threw my arms up in the air and announced to any that would listen, "I can't work like this". At this point a really helpful guy called Nino jumps up on stage and tries to help but the amp will not stop its incessant shrieking. Finally, help arrives in the form of a guy from one of the groups who played earlier, handing over his Peavey amp to use instead. This turns things around, now we sound like the early Who, I'm not so keen on the compressed top end but the bottom end is murderous!

We now fly at trying to regain the initiative, whilst simultaneously I was wondering where Demente was? I play a tormented and angry set, fuelled by the frustration of our earlier difficulties. My voice was holding up to our third gig in a row but was sounding like my vocal chords were a silk stocking with cigarette holes burnt in it (thanks Swells! Where ever you are in the afterlife). We have indeed lost some of the audience because it is Sunday night and many have work in the morning, but there is a good showing still here.
Demente has by this point joined us and we regain the potential of our performance even if it was too late for some.
We finish to calls for encores which we dutifully do and then once finished,relax and pat ourselves on the back for pulling through with only a bit of injured pride to show for the disruption.

Problem was, there was bad news on the way, the serpent had indeed uncoiled and had struck at Isabela's purse left unattended for just moments. She lost the evening's T-shirt money and some personal items too. Demente had been missing on stage during the amp problem because he was desperately trying to locate the money.  When I found out, I was so upset too, Isabela was the reason I was here in Brazil, and she has been so fantastic in making this happen and had worked so hard for it to be good. I had a desperate desire to make it all right for her, I was so emotional and needed, so much, to be able to magic up the lost money. But eventually, the realisation finally came to me that I have been in this situation before and when its gone, it's gone, it really has and nothings going to change that. With my feelings now dampened down with a downpour of reality, I turned to pack up my guitar.
Final memories of the gig are of trying to leave the club but being waylaid by lovely friendly bar staff, owner and other assorted people and having a real laugh together with very little language to so it with. The owner supplied me with a fresh drink and we then attempted to break the Guinness Book of records on how many people we could get into one photograph.

Their laughter was still ringing my ears as we raced through the darkened city to our homes.

Classic, I love you all!