FOLLOWING A DECADENT night, no sleep, and an earthquake thrown into the mix, we headed off to just outside of Almaty to an annual bikers’ festival. We’d heard the legendary Russian rock band Aria (aka the ‘Russian Iron Maiden’) were playing, but we’d no idea we’d be main support.
Hair metal was the order of the day, complete with scantily clad dancers provided by the festival organisers. That is, until we came along with our brand of punk. The dancers mysteriously disappeared when they caught a load of me.
Back in Almaty, away from the big stage, we did what we do best — guerilla gigs. Setting up on a popular pedestrian road we attracted quite a crowd, including some local kids who taught us a popular Kazakh song. Apparently it’s quite rare to see Kazakh and Russian kids mix that freely.
A couple of side notes — the small red mark underneath my right eye you see during the street gig was from me accidentally bashing myself in the face with the bass the night before, and Andonik managed to pull out that terrible drumstick/chopstick gag in every single country we visited.