Hardwicke Circus's Ukraine Tour Diary - Part 2: A Who’s Who of Human Excellence

So, who makes up this motley crew? Well Tex-Mex royalty Joe ‘King’ Carrasco, of course!

Jon calls Joe – no response. He leaves a text – no reply. Two days later, Joe texts back a photo of a giraffe in the Kalahari Desert saying, “I’ll be there man with my geeeetar!!”

My love for Joe is well established – getting to fan the eternal bromantic flame between us is always a pleasure. Endless inspiration, material, and musical room to manoeuvre. He drew the map to the endless night. They say don’t meet your heroes, but I’m happy I met Joe.

Old Ben Ridley Wilde is joining us too. We grew up together, learnt to play together. When I turn a corner, I usually find he’s already there and brought snacks. When he went his own way, I had to try and take up his high harmony, and I’ll tell you, I can’t wait to give it back.

The man either has special powers, or decided to give puberty a miss. Some people you just feel comfortable around without trying. So if I’m gonna be locked in a bunker, it may as well be with him.

We had been looking for a piano player to join us in Ukraine for some time. When time is tight, call Rusty Eagan. Long story short – Conor Morrissey, from Melbourne, is joining us on keys. We went for hotdogs. He told me Jon and I were much straighter than we looked. It reminded me of Robbie Robertson holding up his guitar to the camera in The Last Waltz and asking, “Does she shoot straight?”

Last night, in Room 629, we ran the set – and he plays great. Music aside, I just respected that four days in advance. Conor agreed to the following: no money, sleeping in bunkers, and quite a few bombs. All with a bunch of people he’s never met before. We talked about Australian history and swapped books. He’s got balls – big, massive, swinging balls. So far, so good!

Ukraine’s own Roman Korchevskyi asks us if it’s okay that he bring Esmeralda. Room in the van is tight, and although we’re open to compromise, we aren’t sure how we can fit in another body. Turns out Esmerelda is Roman’s sax. They’re close.

Jazzman. Vagabond. A swinger. A bopper. A song and dance man, and this tour was his drifter’s escape. He likes tartan and Byron. He’s a beautiful man, and a better sax player. He plays with heart, simultaneously sweet and fierce. There’s always a place for Roman in Hardwicke Circus if he wants it.

Devon’s Adrian Simpson: paratrooper, risk manager, security something, route planner, bar hopper, hotel-with-a-spa lover, networker, secret photographer. An all-rounder. For me, he was a presence of reassurance. I’m forever grateful he kept us safe, but more so that he made sure I lived in the fear.

Sure, you’re scared. When I heard my first siren, I was petrified. By the end, when the alarms screamed, I’d be considering whether I could order some breakfast before the Russians arrived.

Queens of Kharkiv

Anyway, I haven’t really caught a wink, but I’m living in it. And that’s down to Adrian, and the gorgeous girls, queens of Kharkiv: Okazia.

Correct me if I’m wrong, I believe it translates to something like “a strange situation.” (I did ask them, but I forgot to listen.)

Great songs and melody, darling Julles is sending me their lyrics in English. Snishka is really fucking cool on lead vocals. She’s a mystery. Maria and Alina on the rhythm section will give every Leeds College of Music wanker a run for their money, and when they eventually end up victorious in the musical duel, they’ll move on like nothing’s happened, and offer to iron your suit or present you with moisturiser for your callused hands.

Okazia

Anyway, as we ride, Adrian has his belt off, shades on, cap up, arm over the back of his chair, talking about local girls, folklore, hot dogs, and ice cream. Lots of laughing, seemingly no real recognition that Baby Blue is riding right through a battlefield. Missiles above.

It’s important to note: this is down to experience, not blasé.

Dave’s behind the wheel screaming “Yeaaah baby!” as we come around the bend and reach an adventurous speed, or as we like to minimise it, “going with the flow of traffic.” We’re thrilled we took the governor off the vehicle. No speed limit now, baby.

Adrian wasn’t impressed when we told him it was a Russian who had disabled the ECU.

And, as always, I’m with my brother and band leader Jon, and manager Dave.

The three amigos.

Morning comes. On the square. Adrian smells the coffee.

“Arabica beans. Kenya, Colombia, high altitude… mmmmm,” he says, smelling the air.

I order a round of black coffee. Joe insists on cream and sugar.

The barista shook her head, pointed to the square and said, “You wait five minutes now.”

What I was about to see hit me like a tonne of bricks.

The summer morning, the day-to-day came to a sudden stop. Like a live action movie turned into a Lowry painting in one stroke.

Silence and stillness breaks, two women fall to their knees, sobbing, men salute.

Even the skaters in ripped jeans – the type the English would identify as "greb" and vape in the Debenhams car park – paid their total respects.

A melancholy tune drifted across the square as five busloads of lads, my age, in uniform drove by, looking out the windows.

No smiling, no crying either, only grim resolution.

Right then, I realised those women on their knees were mothers. It was only later I noticed my tears.

Time didn’t exist, only the moment.

And then it was over.

Lost For Words

I turned back to the stall and the young barista gently asked, in the diction and inflections of a service industry pro: “Four black coffees, sir?”

I nodded, completely and utterly lost for words.

Looking back, it was Day 2, and the line in our upcoming single ‘Hollow’ comes to mind:

“Whom I gonna lead?
Whom I gonna follow?
Will it ring true?
Will it ring hollow?”

It had never been more clear that I had to be here.

We pull up to the show. A day early.

Graffiti-ridden, barbed-wire gate around a Soviet-esque compound.

Looks like a former municipality with a bohemian hint of Passing Clouds, just off Dalston High Street.

Oleski – the owner of the first venue – greeted us in Hawaiian swim shorts, a vest, and tattoos right down his legs.

He was on his bicycle, with a makeshift bandage and a bit of wood tied to his foot.

“How did you hurt your ankle?”

“Whilst climbing a homemade lighting rig,” he replied in broken English.

“My foot,” he added, "it’s a half blown off. Feckinngggg Russians!”

The Ukrainians project so much joy.

They’re helpful – great big sound systems with reliable sound men (some with better English than English sound men).

And they wear belts.

The main thing English sound men project is arse crack.

Most of the Ukrainian crew seem willing to actually listen to what we want.

They’ve got spirit.

They’re proud of their culture, in touch with it, and they’ll keep defending it.

They are loving, but also ferocious and relentless.

They have to be.

We asked Oleski, “What will you do with the money we raise tonight?”

In good spirits, but with absolute seriousness, he replied: “Kill more Russians, of course.”

The show was rocking.

Rough around the edges. No bass.

Ben was stuck on a bus in the Polish countryside for 19 hours next to a recently divorced man who probably needed therapy.

Ben diplomatically mentioned his neighbour should have “probably bought two seats.”

I’d known Conor for less than 24 hours and Roman for less than two, but we made it happen.

All smiles from my drum set.

The songs resonated with the crowd, and the crowd resonated with me.

Cash was paid and sent straight to the front.

It’s all go!

 

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Tomorrow: Part 3 – the Hardwicke Circus journey continues with kids’ music workshops, air-raid alerts – and a whole lot more…

Read Part 1 here.

Hardwicke Circus’s new single ‘Hollow’ is set for release on Friday, August 1.