The Whiskey Daredevils just returned from a road trip in Europe. Frontman Greg Miller fills us in on what happened.
It’s a long drive to St Etienne France, a town no one seems to know about. We drive basically across Switzerland, and the landscape is always impressive. At a truck stop we buy an epoisses cheese and some other really stinky cheese from a cheese shop located in the complex. There’s something you don’t see at the Flying J at Breezewood! A friggin’ gourmet cheese shop! Fuck yes! With the aid of The Squirrel’s secret bread cache, we feast on the cheese while a Swiss Air Force jet steaks across the clear blue sky. (I didn’t even know Switzerland had an Air Force. As far as I knew, they just made those Swiss Army knives with spoons and toothpicks in ‘em.)
St Etienne is kind of a dirty little town located within rolling hills of Southern France. It feels like the whole place could use a good spray with a hose. The Thunderbird Café is located on a tiny rue that is more like an alley. It is owned by an American expat named James that tells me he’s from Corpus Cristi, Texas. And St Louis. And San Francisco. And Indiana. He’s drifted around a lot, then hooked up with a French girl in San Francisco, and then moved here. He’s a good guy that combines the frankness of a New Yorker with the shrug of the shoulders of a French peasant.
The club itself has the worst load in I have ever seen or heard about. Let me repeat this… This is the worst load-in in the entire history of rock. The small upstairs bar is a wooden room with a small circular bar. A few wooden benches are placed around for some seating away from the 10 or so stools at the bar. The performance space is downstairs in a space that feels like a basement in a 1970’s suburb house. It’s really tiny.