2.50pm, 12 August. Sheraton Hotel, Amsterdam Airport Schiphol. Netherlands.
Hello. My name is Henry Rollins. I am 55.5 years of age, from the USA and on my way to Edinburgh for four nights at the fringe. I have a show tonight, about 90 minutes from here in Eindhoven. Post show, I am back and then off, bright and early in the morning, to Sweden for a festival date and then on to Edinburgh. It will be my sixth time at the fringe – the first was 2007. The last time was in 2012, when I was basically told I was appearing too often and to give it a rest. What I do really doesn’t seem to fit at the fringe. I am very happy but quite surprised to be back.
This is a run of shows I look forward to from the time they are booked to when I am walking onstage. When the shows are done and I am heading back to the airport, I become depressed and only wish I could have somehow been able to perform every single night of the festival.
One of the things I like most about the fringe is walking around post-show among all the people. The quality of air reminds me of autumn in Washington, DC, where I come from. At night, Edinburgh lights up beautifully. Everyone passing by me seems so happy. I don’t understand it. Somehow, a little of it seems to rub off on me. It belongs to someone else, but for a little while, it’s mine too.
11.38pm, 12 August. Landvetter Airport Hotel. Gothenburg, Sweden.
It has been raining almost nonstop since I arrived 11 hours ago. It’s Friday and a night off, strange on my schedule. I am 46 shows and 15 countries into a 160-some show/19-country run that started in early January and will end in early 2017. It’s about 40 shows fewer than I wanted but I’m grateful for what I got.
On my way out of the airport, I was met by a few people who wanted me to sign things and take photos with them. I always forget that most of the time, no matter where I land, they will be there. I comply with their requests but for some reason, I become almost unable to speak. I think it’s the strangeness of it that causes me to become so wooden. They must think I am trying to affect some kind of distant cool. It’s social paralysis. I’ve had it all my life.
On tour, I am allowed the chance to go on a stage – almost completely grotesque when you think about it – and try to make what I say mean as much to the audience as it does to me. Every performance is an effort to fend off tragedy, to obliterate despair. I go to it with grim seriousness. The objective is the same but every night is different. It is only when I am out here in the world that I feel alive. When I am off the road in Los Angeles, I feel like I’m in storage, a piece of fruit, inert, suspended in a can of syrup in complete darkness.
There is something completely unique about going to the same stage every night. Not repetition – ritual. That is the most appealing part of the fringe for me.
9.05pm, 13 August. Gothenburg, Sweden.
In a small house behind the stage at the Way Out West festival. I will be on at 10pm. It has been raining all day but people are hanging in there.
Festivals are much more than just a bunch of people showing up to see some acts. The festival is a chance for people to be “culturalised”, to be among others who they might have something in common with. Every festival is a blow to brutality, ignorance and mediocrity. I know that sounds a bit high-minded but I truly believe this. Every now and then, people should be in situations where they have the opportunity to hit their distortion pedal among others who are doing the same. Festivals are perfect for this. Humans celebrating humanity is us at our best.
Simply put, music, art, going to the theatre, galleries and museums makes you a better person. Years ago, I saw a play at the fringe about the Truth and Reconciliation hearings in South Africa. It was incredible. I don’t think any one of us in the audience left without an upgrade.
Festivals are much more than mere entertainment, which of course has its place, but for me at least, the festival environment is where moments become memories, seared into the brain and repeated for the rest of your life.
I am on in 28 minutes. Very happy about this.
10.46am, 14 August. Copenhagen Airport. Kastrup, Denmark.
A three hour layover. Last night’s show at the Way Out West festival was good. Part way through, I was interrupted by a man who reminded me that I had punched him in Liverpool in 2003. I reminded him that he started it. So great to occasionally cross paths with old colleagues as we lurch down the halls of hard-knocks academia.
The airport is quiet. It is warm and the sky is full of clouds. Ever spent much time in Scandinavia? I love it up here. There was a solid moment of truth on the walk from the hotel to the airport in Gothenburg earlier. I am alone with my gear, on my way to the next festival date. There is no one onstage but me. I pass or fail with the audience on the merit of what I bring to bear. This is my life out here. I will never have a straight job. One of the bullets I’ve dodged. In a few hours, I’ll be in Edinburgh. Return, return, festival.
9.35pm, 14 August. Edinburgh, Scotland.
In my very small room. I like knowing where I am in a place I don’t come from. I was walking around a little while ago, enjoying the weather and the familiarity of the area. I feel more “at home” on the streets here than I do in my own house. I wish I was onstage right now. On nights off, it feels like some of my guts are missing. Glad to be back. Can’t wait for tomorrow.
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Henry Rollins – Charmingly Obstinate is at Assembly George Square Gardens, Edinburgh, until 18 August.
