Zero Again Italian Tour Report

Well, ‘tour’ is stronging it a bit, but ‘Italian long weekender’ doesn’t have quite the same ring to it, does it? But whatever you call it, Zero Again went to Italy for the first time in April, and played three gigs… and can now lay claim to being the only UK punk band to play Rome on the day of a Pope’s funeral. But fuck him and the abuse-allowing unicorn he rode in – and out – on.

Zero Again, Adelina and Shaun - Menoppello

When you’re a DIY punk band, seeing a tour itinerary really warms the cockles of the heart. It’s a simple pleasure, to be sure, but knowing that someone has actually considered where you’re going to sleep, how long it will take to get from one gig to the next, and when they’re picking the van up, gives you a reassured fuzzy feeling inside. Our itinerary arrived a few days before we were heading off, and we breathed a collective sigh of relief. We were in good hands.

We were booked to fly out of Heathrow on British Airways, which may sound a bit la-de-da, but flying on budget airlines is false economy when you have flight cases for your guitars and cymbals (and who would dare fly without them?) BA’s luggage allowance is 23 kilos in the hold and 10 kilos in the cabin, and they don’t mind if your hold luggage is oversized (within reason)… last time, we flew with Ryan Air, it cost more to fly our guitars than it did us, and they were still looking for any excuse to slap a surcharge on us, the cheapskate cunts. Anyway, if anyone from BA is reading this, we are prepared to consider an endorsement… free flights for life, for your logo on the flipside of our picks or summat?

When we have a red eye flight to catch, we usually travel down the night before, and grab a few hours sleep near the airport. Well, that’s the plan, but last time, Dean booked us a room above a ropey pub and they were fighting in the streets until 2 am, and we saw every hour on the clock. Again, cheapest is not always best. But, lesson learnt, the boy did good this time, and we grabbed some half-decent shut-eye in a passable Air B ‘n’ B, before dragging our bemused butts into Terminal 5 at 4 am. Not even the hardened drinkers were tempted by an airport pint at that time, despite good punk rock precedent, and we were ‘soon’ (although it never seems that way) being processed like cattle and herded into our flying death tube, headed for Rome’s Fiumicino airport.

Happy campers - on the plane to Rome, Boo hiss, and Ian and a friend.

The gigs were organised by our good friend Adelina, who had seen us a few times in Derby and for whatever reason known only to herself thought her friends back home in Italy might enjoy our moribund noises too, for which we are eternally grateful. Not only did she offer to book us some gigs, but also to drive and tour manage us, so how could we refuse such a kind offer? Her partner Shaun, from Poundaflesh, would even accompany us, to test our food and rider for any poisons. You can never be too careful.

Back on terra firma, of the Italian persuasion, Adelina and Shaun, who flew out the night before, collected us from the airport in our ride for the weekend, a swanky black van with sexy blacked-out windows (so you couldn’t see Dean drooling against them inside), and more importantly plenty of space to stretch out. This was traveling in style after all of us jamming ourselves (not to mention our guitars, amps, drum breakables and kipping bags) into Glasper’s little Audi to creep round Ireland last month.

The first gig was in Pescara, three hours to the east of Rome, but we stopped off in Manoppello en route, to visit Adelina’s mum and dad, two lovely human beings who had kindly prepared a slap-up vegan spread, which we demolished, of course (well, it would be rude not to), before we took Zero Threat pictures on their imposing porch steps and oohed and aahed over the vintage Alfa Romeo in their garage. We were also given the once-over by Matisse the cat, who has decided to move in with them, whether they like it or not.

Pescara is a picturesque town nestling on the coast of the Adriatic, but we were playing the ‘Cave Room’ of the delightfully-named Scumm bar, which is actually a charming place in a vibrant part of town ran by some thoroughly decent folk. Well, it gets vibrant about 10 pm, which was when the gig started, or thereabouts, our feeble Brit brains blown by the fact weren’t on until gone midnight, and we’d been up since 3 am, haha! Never mind, because worse things happen at sea, and a decent crowd had turned out by the time opening band Rosso Nervoso hit the stage. It was only their first gig, but clearly not the band members’ first rodeo, as they really brought it with an intense Helmet/Unsane vibe going on. Up next were the faster, thrashier Antidigos, who added some higher pitched vocals and even some smatterings of grindcore into the mix, setting the bar nice and high for us to follow. And we thoroughly enjoyed the challenge, going down pretty great for our first time in town.

After eating the splendid nosh laid on for us, we headed back to the rather nice apartment we’d been booked into, to get some much-needed kip. Yes, you read that right – an apartment all to ourselves. It’s the way forward, I tell ya. Dean and Payney in one room, Ian and Glenn in another, so they didn’t have to endure the snorchestra, all cooched up in double beds to better further that all-important band dynamic.

Dean doing his homework - Bari, Ian, Shaun and Glenn, outside Scumm, Pescara, and Matisse the cat keeping an eye on things.

Well-rested and generally feeling pleased with ourselves the next morning, we swigged homicidally strong coffee on the balcony overlooking the park before searching out an Aldi for cheap sandwich ingredients and snacks for the road. Next gig was in Bari, three hours to the south, at the top of the ‘heel’ of Italy (if you imagine the country as a boot, giving Sicily a kicking), so there was no rush and we settled back to enjoy the drive, which is always easier to do when someone else is driving (thanks, Adelina).

To our surprise, we found out we were staying in someone’s flat in Bari which they were handing over to us for the night, totally trusting six people they’d never met before with their home and possessions. That doesn’t happen over here, and we were blown away by their hospitality, so tried not to block their toilet up (and failed). Talking of shit, there’s dogshit literally everywhere in that area of Bari, not to mention panes of broken glass littering the pavement, which Ian managed to slip over on and into. Thankfully he survived without breaking any brittle old bones in his hips and somehow didn’t land in a pile of dogshit, which we all took as a good omen for the forthcoming gig.

Which was in the Accademia del Cinema Ragazzi, a big community complex on the edge of town. We got fed in an adjacent classroom, where Dean had chance to practice his joined-up writing. The gig was in a pretty big sports hall, and the stage was bigger than the whole of the venue from the night before, so we were a little sceptical it was going to fill up. But it did… no doubt helped by the fact that local favourites A.M.P. were opening, who played a killer blend of punk ‘n’ roll - think Motorhead crossed with the Supersuckers, and lots of double kick. Don’t miss ‘em when they head over to the UK in August for a few dates around Rebellion.

We were also concerned the sound would be bouncing all over the cavernous room, but the sound guy was an effortless young pro, and all the bands sounded killer. Antidigos were again up next, and it was good to see them a second time, and appreciate their manic crossover whilst a little less tired. Then we brought up the rear, and put in another good shift, even prompting an impromptu (!) rowboat ‘dance’ up the middle of the room. There’s a first time for everything.

Sound-checking in Bari, Vegan feast, courtesy of Adelina's parents, and the stage is set in Rome.

A three hundred mile drive the next day, so we were up in good time and mooching through Aldi yet again, looking for bargains whilst trying to read the labels to ascertain what was vegan. We knew the traffic was going to get crazy once we arrived in Rome, due to some old Catholic dude getting himself a fancy send-off, but thankfully the plush house we’d had booked for us – and it was fucking plush, believe you me – and the huge squat, Csoa le Strada, we were playing were all the right side of town for us. We still saw a few VIP convoys of sleek black motors tear-assing around though, their screaming blue lights an abject display of sensationalist paranoid narcissism.

The Rome gig was a stacked bill of eight bands, and we were on last, at 1:30 in the morning, right after local heroes Klaxon, who really should have headlined, given they had everyone in the place singing along, and played about six encores, but they wouldn’t have it, and thankfully folk stuck around for us, so they could go home depressed and contemplating their own mortality, rather than with upbeat singsongs rattling happily around their heads. Paul was on fire, not literally, spinning around like a whirling dervish until he made himself dizzy, and we got some great feedback after we’d played. One guy down the front knew all the words, which blew us away more than a little bit… that’s something even Dean struggles with!

We landed back at our rented house (did we mention how goddamn plush it was…?) in the middle of the night, with an early call for the taxi back to the airport to look forward to. Thankfully we could fortify ourselves with reheated vegan pizza, including the first pizza any of us had seen that was topped with just potato slices. Sounds decadent I know, but it hit the spot, and these are the giddy heights humanity has climbed to (what a time to be alive). I bade fond farewell to the giant bear I befriended upon arrival (what happens on tour stays on tour…), and we were once again Blighty-bound.

Look, we know we’re an acquired taste, and we don’t toe the musical line as far as UK punk goes, but the Italian audiences were open-minded and gave us a chance; we went down brilliantly every gig, made some new friends and didn’t lose too much cash, which is all you can ask for from a string of DIY dates. Huge thanks to Adelina and Shaun, and everyone who put us on, jumped around and bought a shirt, it’s much appreciated. Grazie e a presto!