Hardwicke Circus's Ukraine Tour Diary - Part 5: The Ukrainians

The shows have been wild. I’m full of energy. The thought of heading west made us sick. So we didn’t.

“Fuck this, back to Kharkiv – it’s Snishka’s birthday party!!”

Here we met artists our age, living 14 miles from the Russian border, and it was sobering. The party was at a theatre that produces projects for the local kids and community. Dave hijacked the speaker, turned it beyond full. New Boots And Panties was a hit.

We talked, danced, Conner hit it off with a local director of erotic plays, and I was headhunted to be a Ukrainian theatre promoter for the Edinburgh Fringe Festival. A successful night.

On the way back from the Hemingway Bar, in Julia’s car, she invited me for breakfast.

“Sure!”

The lads couldn’t order a Bolt, so they walked and heard mopeds all the way back. The problem is when you hear mopeds but don’t see them. The sound is not a 125cc Python scooter. It’s a drone.

It’s 8am. Connor and I rise from the bunker and walk half-an-hour to meet Julls and Maria. Clinging to the hotel Wi-Fi, the girls tell us we’re going for a three-course Italian meal.

It’s 8.30am for fuck’s sake.

We walk half-an-hour to the address and discuss whether we are currently engaged in a power struggle. The answer soon becomes irrelevant. The Russians block GPS. We are at the completely wrong end of town and have to find Wi-Fi, call the girls (the breakfast dates), and like the immature, wet-blanket simps we are, ask for a lift.

Anyway, we arrive at the Italian, and the air alarms go off. “Proceed to the nearest shelter.”

The girls are tough. They’re used to it.

By the bar, Connor and I have a quick brief. The line I took was: we have time, we could still go to the bunka. I told him I was happy to be eternally worried little bitches in their eyes if he was.

I’ll be forever grateful for what Connor did in this moment. He shook me and said: “We need to order pizza, liver pâté, and tiramisu. The works, the full Monty, the whole shebang. We must re-establish the power dynamic.”

My reaction was like Jake and Elwood in The Blues Brothers when they find God and “see the light” in church.

So, there we were. Sirens going off. Dressed to the nines. 8am chatting about the ultimate viscosity of liver pâté, where my football career took a bad turn, and music, while drinking fresh orange juice with a double espresso shot in it.

Around 15 hours earlier, en route to Kharkiv, I think we may have collectively had the most human experience of our lives. We had the privilege to play at a military base rehabilitation centre.

These shows have been rough and rowdy, spiked edges, slightly on the faster side of on-tempo. We smacked the audience with energy, and they answered with uppercuts. Emotionally knocked out every night. The shows were busy, loud, manic and full of girls. A whirlwind.

All of a sudden, we’re on base, under trees and cargo nets. Everything is still. There's limited power, so it's an unplugged set.

Some of these guys are my age. Just like me, but with shaved hair. Others are older men who had served their whole lives. One guy had been at the front since 2014.

Seven of us. Ten of them. All around a table, singing songs.

I amn’t smiling because I rarely do. You know when you’re so overwhelmed with thoughts, that somewhere around the synapse gap, a decision is made to just go blank? That’s where I am, mid stare into space.

Joe saves me, like he usually does. He says: “You might think you need to be at Glastonbury today, but I know this is where you want to be.”

And he's right, some things are bigger than what’s big.

Anyway, with my allergies, this year’s pollen count, and my distaste for camping and alcohol, it takes me a lot of convincing.

I will be back to play for those lads. And next time we will bring a generator. Go electric. The pleasure was all ours. I salute the men.

Alternative Reality

When you listen to Schmalgauzen or watch some of their videos, you’d be surprised by their nature. They smile at you. They listen. Totally egoless, but their music will take you to an alternative reality if you let it.

Adrian linked us up back in Kyiv. Together with Vlad and the lads, gorgeous Anna, and Okazia, we played our final show of the Songs of Freedom tour.

Like every night on this tour, we really gave it our all. And everybody we’d met – from Oleski to Catarina, the kids at Sensie Academy Schools, Budgie, and the man who gave us free fuel in appreciation of our efforts – they were all there in spirit.

The crowd went wild for ‘Kicks On You’.

After the show, we packed and went to the after-party, an old 1930s cinema where, in the basement, Schmalgauzen have a studio. Progressively, the bar became a free one. In the studio, about 20 of us jammed.

Usually I hate a jam and avoid them at all costs. But this was special.

We sang ‘Little Ole Wine Drinker Me’, ‘Garden Party’, and ‘No Particular Place To Go’. Each song was dragged out to the nth degree, but there were no complaints.

Mid-shuffle, I looked to Dave who was sat by my hi-hat. He rolled his eyes, laughed, smiled, and said: “I’ve been here before.”

Then mega-swaggered back his tequila.

Bombing above us. The air defence system was on.

The question was whether we run for it and get back to the hotel in 12 minutes, or stay in the basement till 5am.

We dashed out, lifted up the barrier. Jon felt confident and let’s just say… he drove with it.

Adrian was on the map.

This evening, it was Dave’s turn to take on the leading role: hand out the window, screaming: “Humanitarian! Humanitarian!”

We got back to the hotel four minutes late. Business as usual.

We all chatted about nothing at all in the lobby until about 6am. Tomorrow was goodbye.

I’m sure I’ll see Roman and the girls again. Whether they believe me or not is none of my business, but I know the truth. I’ll be there, against all guidelines and advice.

Connor is coming back to London with us and has assured me he’ll join me on my hunt for maple syrup and pecan pies.

As for Ben, I’ve known him forever, but now I know we should talk more.

There is no beginning or end to Joe ‘King’ Carrasco. Only the show.

He’ll never be short of a drummer for as long as I’m here.

Tomorrow – Part 6: the final instalment of Hardwicke Circus’s extraordinary Ukrainian odyssey.

Read all the previous Ukraine tour diary entries here.

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