Hardwicke Circus's Ukraine Tour Diary - Part 4: Heroes of the Revolution

Picture the scene. Ben Wilde reaches a bus station in a nondescript Kyiv suburb. He hadn’t downloaded his map – because it’s Ben, and that would be far too safe and conventional. He had no way of contacting our burner phones.

Ben has a successful track record of pulling things off against self-inflicted odds. He told the taxi driver, who lived in Kyiv and didn’t speak English, to “head towards the art district, and we’ll take it from there.”

Two hours later, 20 minutes till stage time, Ben sees a rusty blue van with a hole in the door parked in a bus lane. He puts his hand up to signal a halt to the taxi driver. “Stop!” he says. “I’ve arrived.”

You see, we’d entered the “art scene.”

Imagine the Shacklewell Arms, but every band has a saxophone.

In classic Ben fashion, he walks in, sticking out like a sore thumb: pink shorts, socks up to mid-knee, running shoes. No bass. No idea what the set is. And an unusual aura that was, in fact, more punk than the self-declared anarchists lingering around, judging him.

He didn’t care.

We hugged. I said, “So what are you doing here?” We hadn’t spoken in a little while.

He told me, “Fulham is treating me fine, but I have yummy mummy malaise”.

We played well.

Things are looking up.

A British trooper, Ben “Budgie” Burgess, passed away doing what he believed in, defending Ukraine. His brother John, along with Azreal and Odin, came along to the show. We dedicated ‘Ballad Of Alexander Usyk’ to Budgie, and we played our hearts out. I was deeply moved to have played for them and I truly appreciated them coming down.

Back in Lviv, I was introduced to a prisoner of war. I never got his name, but the stories were real.

Too real to pass on.

These Russian fighters are evil.

But our man didn’t crack, he said he’d die before giving in.

 

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After hearing both of these stories, from Budgie’s mates and from a man who’d endured real horror, hopefully you understand what I mean when I say: I felt like an imposter.

They were thanking me.

And for what?

Music?

Art?

I wanted to be there.

I wanted to do the one thing I can do.

It isn’t much, but it’s what I’ve got, like the widow’s offering in the Gospel of Luke.

But it didn’t sit right with me.

I kept thanking them, for protecting me, my family and all the innocents of Europe. After a few back-and-forths, we settled on a respectful handshake.

Meeting such incredible people has reminded me why I want to be a musician.

Also, why am I so uptight in England?

A lad around my age spoke to me after the show.

We chatted about my love for Brill Building pop and how I prefer Tim Buckley to Jeff. He called me “contrarian”, I called him a “simp”.

As we hugged goodbye, I said I’d see him when I come back.

He told me they’d lowered the draft age, and they’ll be coming for him next.

Saved By The Weather

Back in the Kyiv hotel, you couldn’t access the bunker (the locals always laughed and said BUNKA in a fake Northern accent, they call it a “shelter”), until a siren went off.

I waited up for as long as I could. I was told it was going to be a heavy night but I accidentally drifted off.

It rained all night. Misty and cloudy.

We were saved by the weather.

Not a single alert. A full seven hours.

The good old shit Cumbrian weather, everywhere you go.

Christ, I love maple syrup and pecan pie.

On route to Kharkiv Ukraine, the home of Okazia, we made a pit stop at a WOG service station. I bought hot dogs, engine coolant, black coffee, nuts, water, and a maple syrup pecan pie.

Despite high-precision missiles above, every bite was heaven.

I finished every crumb and bought another, ready for what was to be my most dangerous journey since Shap’s snow blizzard of 2018.

Five hours later, I’d be in Kharkiv, drone central, 14 miles from Russia and the North Korean porno addicts.

Arguably one of the most dangerous places on Earth.

Especially if you’re a pornstar.

Fast forward to the show: Taco Loco.

A basement Mexican restaurant with two stages and a massive, fuck-off PA system.

Joe King felt at home.

“Hey you! Get off my quesadilla!”

SOPRANOS SPOILER ALERT: David Chase once explained how he came up with the ending. He said he had to leave it open, it’s impossible to see Tony die.

What, was his head gonna fall into a bowl of spaghetti?

You can’t pull it off. You can’t do it justice.

Similarly, I can’t fully express how strange the feeling was: eating Mexican food with Joe ‘King’ Carrasco before we played to a hundred people, talking about the idiosyncrasies of Buddy Holly and Waylon Jennings, while bombs went off upstairs and drones hovered over the street.

Inside, it was peaceful.

The gig was literally a safe space.

It was electric.

A moment to remember, an idea to take back to England: Stop waiting around for somebody else to dance or stomp their feet or scream.

Do it like the Ukrainians, get real. If you wanna do something, do it. Just don’t be a wanker.

It was a group effort (including crowd members) to pack the van before curfew.

Suddenly another alert goes off and half the gear is still in the street.

Someone told me to leave it for a while.

But in a moment of madness, we decided the van must be packed now, or we’d miss curfew.

So, alarms blaring and all sorts looming, we packed away.

As if I was gonna leave my Ludwig Supraphonic 1965 snare drum out in the street – I’m not an idiot!

Largest Air Attack

After the show, it was straight to the bunker.

Conor, Roman, Ben, Jon and I talked for hours, with the occasional press-up competition in between.

At some ungodly hour, I wrote down these words:

"I’ve been down so many roads
How many, I don’t know
They just appear to me all the time
Why do some memories fade?
And others stick around for days?
Behind the clouds, the sun will shine
I’m still standing
Looking for a softer landing
But my feet are firmly on the ground
I’m still singing
Songs of freedom
Like they’re all I’ll ever have..."

I passed them along to Jon, and he finished the job.

So, the boys in the band, and a couple of strangers, tried to catch as much shut-eye as we could.

In the morning, we went upstairs to find out that night was the largest air attack on Ukraine since 2022.

The Romans called the Dnipro River Danapris, from the Varangians to the Greeks.

It’s enormously wide and wild.

A trading river. And the Russians want it.

So, when I found out we were playing in a theatre on the river, floating on stilts, I politely asked security extraordinaire Adrian if he’d undertaken any due diligence.

“Yes, it’s particularly bad,” he said.

I asked why. He hollered me over, knowing if the others heard, they’d freak.

He whispered in my ear: “The bunker is full to the brim with piss.”

Righteo. I’ll keep that to myself.

After soundcheck, Roman told us this town is where all the cold callers live.

Usually that would phase me, but considering the situation, cold callers weren’t really on my mind.

Only when he told us they were Russian cold callers did we all go, “BOOOOOOO!!”

The coffee was good.

Ben had a pastel de nata.

I had, yep, a maple syrup and pecan pie.

We discussed the randomness of the middle aisle in Lidl.

In total love with the taste, we broke out into a shuffling dance and that’s when today’s sirens started.

Absolute Privilege

We strolled to the bunker, discussing morality: should state-of-the-art precision missiles target a city full of cold callers?

After the show, we were presented with a flag, hand-signed by the X Battalion.

I offered it to Roman and Adrian, but they insisted it was an absolute privilege and would be disrespectful to give it to someone it wasn’t meant for.

That flag will forever be precious. An honour.

The Hardwickes and Okazia huddled right by the theatre on stilts on the Dnipro River.

We took a photo. I’ll frame it when I get home.

Back at the hotel, the BUNKAAA was declared ominously as “definitely not a strip club”.

Over the next few hours in the booth, I spoke to Adrian about Heart Of Darkness, the colour in its language, the danger in nature, the deep, winding river past the point of return, and the culture in war.

But Charlie Marlowe’s real battle is entirely in his head.

Adrian nodded pensively and sipped his drink.

Tomorrow – Part 5: An unforgettable gig at a military rehab centre.

Read the previous instalments of the Ukraine tour diary  here.

Hardwicke Circus’s new single ‘Hollow’ is set for release on Friday, August 8.