Tagebuch

Bernie Collins, hier rechts im Bild, das 'B' von BP Zoom, hat uns allen, den Künstlern, den Technikern, den Produktionsverantwortlichen, den Tourbegleitern etc. ein Fernweh-Mail geschrieben, das wir so schön finden, dass wir es (mit seiner Erlaubnis) hier online stellen.
Es gibt ziemlich genau das Gefühl wieder, das einen eine Woche nach einer grossen Tournee mit vielen Perlen und ein paar Freaks überkommen kann, das Gefühl, wenn man nach 33 berauschenden Shows mit 15 Leuten und viel Rummel plötzlich wieder irgendwo auf dem Land zu zweit auf einer Bühne steht und dieselbe Nummer zum Besten gibt und sich für einen Moment lang irgendwie seltsam leer fühlt...


"One week later…
Philippe and I are here in the flatlands of southwestern France, the anti-Switzerland.
No mountains, no hills, no rises, no slopes, bumps or lumps.
The sky is flat grey, full of flat clouds, it’s raining, and we both have colds and fever.

Where is everyone?
We tossed an airplane and rushed out on stage and Urs and Nadja weren’t there anymore.
We were all alone on stage.
We looked around and there was nobody in the wings.
The audience was full and everybody laughed.
I looked, but Xenia wasn’t there anymore doing flutes and whistles.
Jin and Yu weren’t there waving goodbye as I ran past, about to crash in my box.
Sarah’s beautiful smile was no longer tucked just behind the upstage curtain.
Kristina wasn’t taking pictures and Sasha wasn’t somewhere trying to make me miss my entrance.
Anna wasn’t in the way, lying on the floor, drawing, laughing and pounding on the stage.
Slava wasn’t there, just behind the curtain, his patient face distorted with the weight of his brother hand-standing on his head.
When I ran off stage I automatically jumped over the spot where Jin and Yu put talc on their shoes so I wouldn’t slip and fall, but it wasn’t there anymore.
Valérie wasn’t there to fall in love with, or to save us at the end and repair the machine, we had to do it ourselves.
There was no catering, no intermission, no African rhythms, no funk, no check-in at 4 or dinner at 5, no meeting at 6:30 for Philippe to be late for, no Charleston, no Matrix, no smoke machine, no robotics, no “toi-toi-toi”, no Morgan dressed as Urs, no more long talks with Nadja in the wings, no zugaba, no saunas, pools, or massages, no internet anywhere.
Dänu’s “ET YA!” “ET CHA!” “ET YA!” “ET CHA!” wasn’t there during the sound check. (I never thought I would miss that.)
All the other dressing rooms are empty and silent; no cello improvisations, no “Blackbird”, no opera divas, no i-pod nano Michael Jackson, no Ukrainian, Canadian, American, Americanadian, Swiss German, German, or Japanese spoken anywhere.
We danced the same dance at the end of the show, just the two of us, but to recorded music, without Reentko, Anna or Stephan.
When we were lowered down on the elastics at the end, no one was there to welcome us back, no one came up on stage to say goodbye or thank you; I didn’t meet anyone from the public.
Chläusu wasn’t there at breakfast, early as usual.
Neither Kej or Sämi or The Red Hot Chilli Peppers were in the truck when we left this morning.

Our show was a huge success.
The audience loved it.
But they don’t know what they missed, just last week.
We do.

We have another show tonight.
Another show without you…

I knew that I would miss you all, but I didn’t think it would be so bad.
I am haunted by your absence.

All my love,
Bernie"