The plan seemed straightforward and a good laugh to boot. A trip to the Czech Republic to watch CJ Bolland, nouveau pop star and Human Traffic soundtracker, perform in front of 10,000 screaming Czech clubbers.
As good as ligs can get, you would think. But somewhere along the way our jaunt in Eastern Europe became a lost weekend. Featuring a cast of crazy drivers, honeymoon ravers, dodgy promoters, shady security and underpaid DJs that would make even the weirdest David Lynch script seem normal by comparison, our entourage discovered a country growing up at an alarmingly fast, often unbalanced rate.
Never get into a car with a Czech. Normally, they're polite, introverted people possibly as a result of forty years of totalitarian oppression but put them in front of a steering wheel and they turn into green-eyed road rage maniacs.
When we arrive at Prague Airport a respectably dressed representative, sent by the event promoters, meets us. Brandishing a clipboard, he epitomises the notion of professionalism. Half an hour later, however, Roman, our driver, is still stumped by the ticket parking machine, and we still haven't made it out of the car park. Egged on by our sign language, our guide finally communicates with the car park attendant, who gladly lets our car through.
Unfortunately, this is an ominous portent of four-wheeled mishaps to come, and, as we cruise towards Prague, a nervous twitch is visible through the shroud of sweat on our driver's countenance. So, what part of Prague is the hotel in? I venture, as Roman disregards driving convention and hurtles across the city's haphazard traffic lanes, narrowly avoiding numerous collisions.
You no stay in Prague, you in hotel near concert, comes the taciturn reply, his broken English enhancing the uncertainties of an unexpected schedule change. Now I bring you to concert, he continues. It only 50km away.
Three-and-a-half hours later and, following numerous dices with death and an involuntary tour of every rural back road between Prague and neighbouring Slovakia, we finally reach our destination, The Summer of Love 1999 party. Roman knew as little about Czech geography as his guests, but, during the course of our journey was nonetheless miffed that we suggested he stop to ask for directions. When he finally relented, he did the logical thing and asked a group of children. Later, in the backstage area we catch a glimpse of Roman as he heads off to pick up more unsuspecting victims. We ve no need to worry, though, because at the end of the night we re given a lift to our hotel by another driver who spends most of the time on the wrong side of the road, overtaking his mates at a leisurely 120kmh.
Despite these brief near death encounters, the first night of Summer of Love 1999 went off superbly. While its hilarious Semtex Party subheading conjured up images of the Czech Republic s notorious AK-47 dealing industry, the event proved how quickly the country s youth culture has adapted to Western ways, wholeheartedly embracing dance music. Taking place in a natural amphitheatre in quite literally, the middle of nowhere, surrounded on all sides by thick foliage, Summer of Love 1999 made a refreshing change from the corporate feel of large-scale Irish dance events.
For a start, most of the fashionably Westernised crowd were camping at the location, within spitting distance of the main arena. Secondly and more importantly, there was a distinct lack of the in-yer-face multinational branding that assails the punter at our own music festivals. Sure, Levi s sponsored the event, but the promoters had done the decent thing, and allowed local businesses set up shop on site. So, armed with half litres of the local Budvar brew retailing at the pre-capitalist price of #0.30 and an array of other economically priced stimulants from our friendly backstage dealer, Big Dave , we set off to mix with the locals.
The extreme social and economic change the Czech Republic has experienced in the last decade has had an obvious trickle-down effect on its youth. Having so little for so long has meant that as soon as Western culture became available, it was adopted fervently. As dance music represents the face of modern music, it s hardly surprising that the Czechs have taken to it so readily. This is evident in the bang up to date garb of some of the clubbers and by the fact that Prague has already been cited as the new club capital of Europe, boasting two fine establishments, the Roxy and Radost.
The resident at the latter, the drop dead gorgeous DJ La-Di-Da plays at the first night of Summer of Love, whipping the trendy crowd into a fervour with a sexily segued selection of funky Detroit techno. Amidst rapturous appreciation from her not inconsiderable following as she relinquishes control of the Technics to the next DJ, La-Di-Da explains that the mass acceptance of club culture has had its downsides as well.
When I first played at Radost, it was underground, she explains. People were there for the music, but now the tourists have taken over. They want to hear commercial music, and that s not why we started the club in the first place.
Despite these words of warning, a constant flow of clubbers besiege the main arena to catch CJ Bolland. A sudden burst of sheet rain and even the curious, offputting presence of an MC reminiscent of early nineties raves does nothing to deter Bolland s fans. His DJ set, though low on subtleties, hits all the right spots.
Eschewing the more pop friendly swagger of his current hit, It Ain t Gonna Be Me , he opts for the hard n fast thrills and spills of European techno, taking in tracks from The Advent and his own hand raising anthem, The Prophet. With German trance DJ Marco Zaffarano bringing the evening to a close, Bolland comes off stage, delighted with the crowd s reaction.
Whenever I DJ, I play hard techno or drum n bass. I like creating that kind of energy on the dancefloor. Tonight, though, was especially good because the Czech Republic is an ex-Communist country, so they ve a lot of catching up to do, he explains. They re still finding out about dance music, plus they ve got the bonus of finding and enjoying all the best bits of the last fifteen years.
When we eventually surface the next day it transpires our hotel, like the event, is officially in the middle of nowhere. The consensus among our group is that a weekend in the Czech Republic without a trip to Prague is akin to staying sober at the proverbial piss-up in a brewery, so we recruit the hotel owner s son into driving us there.
As we pile into the sleek Jaguar, our escort turns and enquiries which band are you in? An hour later, and having convinced our hapless chauffeur that his passengers amount to little more than a hungover bunch of Irish liggers, we are deposited at the Danube for a few hours sightseeing.
I last visited Prague in 1993, shortly before Czechoslovakia split into two separate states. In the interim, the most obvious change in the Czech capital has been the large scale injection of overseas investment. In addition to the ubiquitous bureau de change booths dotted around the city, Futon shops, Gianni Versace boutiques and locals warbling incessantly into their mobile phones on every street corner signify the capital s seamless transition from Communist backwater to new capitalist enclave. Bemoaning the fact that we didn t have more time to spend in Prague although this wish was subsequently granted, we met our driver at the chosen spot, and are delivered back to The Summer Of Love to watch CJ Bolland play live. And that s where our real troubles began.
Aided by colossal strobes, we find the site again, a straightforward exercise, which doesn t prepare us for the madness we re greeted with. On the first night, we d noticed two skinheads in suits hanging around backstage. As they made no attempt to communicate with anyone apart from Bolland and insisted on tracking his every move, they immediately aroused our curiosity.
Neil Dowling, Bolland s Irish agent spoke with them later on and they d told him they d been employed by the promoters to ensure no-one interfered with CJ s equipment, before adding that they were both carrying 9mm Beretta pistols. They looked like they d been recruited from a Balkan death squad. Clearly, they were taking their job very seriously.
To be honest, when they first came into our hotel room flashing their Berettas I was worried that they were going to shoot us in our sleep, admits Bolland. I ve never had that kind of security before, but at the same time you ve got to remember that we re in an extremely poor country, and my gear is worth a fortune here. The two security guards have stayed awake for the last 48 hours and wherever my equipment has been, they ve stayed with it.
They may have been on our side, but the two baldies reveal their true menace when we hear a rumour that Bolland hasn t been paid by the promoter, and won t be playing live. Although the promoter says he was robbed at Uzi-point by the local debt-collecting Mafia that afternoon, he nevertheless pleads with Bolland to perform gratis, as the situation descends into an East European Tarantino sketch.
Suddenly, the two skinheads have surrounded the equipment, with their pistols at the ready. The heaviness of the situation isn t alleviated by the fact that there s also a small army of heavily armed off-duty police backstage, waiting to get paid for the security nixers they ve been doing. Naturally, the innocent ligging contingent (i.e. us) is caught in the middle of the tense face-off.
Events turn even scarier when one of the promoter s security guards strides up and informs us that if DJ no play, big problem for you. Suddenly, images of being thrown off the site and having to travel the 60km back to the hotel on foot, or never leaving the Czech Republic spring to mind. There s nothing worse than being threatened in broken English, especially when in a chemically refreshed mood, by a six foot tall four foot wide security guard. Do you respond with equally simplistic responses? Would this further aggravate things, or is it preferable to merely smile and feign innocence?
In our rather altered state we all smile weakly at the man, and he eventually sidles off to threaten someone else. Meanwhile, the police have been paid, so things have lightened up a bit. The only undecided factor is whether Bolland will play. In light of the fact that his fee has been withheld he s certainly under no obligation to perform, and, if necessary, his two bodyguards could provide very convincing arguments for him to leave immediately.
With only minutes to spare, Bolland and his five piece band climb the steps at either side of the stage to meet the 10,000 strong crowd. The rationale behind the move is simple: the promoters may have ripped them off, but they still want to give the punters value for money. Following a lacklustre DJ set from Bomb The Bass Tim Simenon, the excitable Czech crowd are looking forward to some high octane thrills, which the Bolland live experience delivers. Augmented by two hyperactive MCs and a live percussionist, the performance combines hedonistic techno killers with the theatrical dynamics of the Prodigy s live blowouts. Bolland drops the Sean Connery sampling There Can Only Be One next to the Human Traffic theme, It Ain t Gonna Be Me , before his sister steps out of the shadows and into the limelight to perform 1997 s big hit, Sugar Is Sweeter .
There are also sneak previews of the forthcoming album, which, according to its originators aftershow comments will contain big beat, slammin techno, beautiful techno and my own vision of drum n bass. I find it hard to do the same thing twice, so I end up making complex music. I could have had a massive career if I d made Carmargue [his classic 1994 techno tune] one hundred times again, but I like making it difficult for myself.
Despite repeated requests for encores from the high spirited crowd, the gun toting activities have clearly drained Bolland and his entourage, so they return to the hotel to rest before driving halfway across Europe to Belgium.
While our adventures in the Czech Republic continue we miss our flight and we re forced to stay in Prague s gilded cage for another day Bolland leaves us with an accurate synopsis of our experiences.
I kind of expected it would be like this, but, to be honest, I didn t think it would be this full-on. Compared to this Ireland will be a picnic!
CJ Bolland plays 303, Lamberts, Camolin, Wexford, July 30th, Panama Jacks, Travellers Friend, Castlebar, Co. Mayo, July 31st, Evolution, Brunswick, Belfast, August 6th, Tivoli Theatre, Dublin, August 7th. Support on all dates comes from DJ Pat Cash.