Larissa to Athens - Crutches - Gig 3

One last gig before home. I was sat in my grotty hotel room in Larisa, frantically refreshing the Wi-Fi, trying to figure out where tonight’s secret squat show in Athens was happening, how I was going to get there — and where the hell I’d sleep once I arrived.

I ended up booking a really basic hotel just off Syntagma Square, close to the Metro, which made for an easy getaway to the airport in the morning. Then I jumped on a train and, 3.5 hours later, arrived in the organised chaos of Athens.

I’m truly useless with offline Google Maps (no roaming), so what followed was a long, sweaty odyssey — hours of walking, asking punks for directions in mangled Greek, and chasing vague leads. At one point, I wandered through a massive street market snaking up a hill, full of people shouting over fruit stands and fake designer handbags. Classic Athens — loud, beautiful, a little overwhelming.

Somewhere during that chaos, I helped pull people off an escalator pile-up. An older man fell, and before anyone could react, a slow-motion comedy of errors unfolded as others stacked up behind him. No one was seriously hurt, but for a few seconds it felt like a punk gig version of human Tetris.

Eventually, and somehow, I found the venue. I got there around 8pm during soundchecks, but the organisers immediately clocked my camera and gave me a stern warning: “No photos of the crowd. Bands only — and only if they agree.” Fair enough.

By 9, the place was heaving. Rammed, buzzing, and honestly a bit too packed for comfort. The first band was a local black metal outfit — very theatrical. Then came Bloodtrace, who delivered a tightly wound, fast-and-heavy set. I’d never heard of them before, but they clearly had a following and I found them surprisingly fresh—mid-tempo hardcore punk built on strong guitar lines and dual vocals.

Finally, Crutches took the stage and just ripped the place apart — a total blur of limbs, screams, riffs, and sweat.

Beer was cheap and paid for by donation, and no one took the piss — just gave what they could. That small gesture of collective respect felt emblematic of the entire tour.

Around 1 a.m., I said my goodbyes — hugs all round — and told the band I’d hopefully see them again in Japan this September (yes, I’m fully embracing my role as groupie at this point).

My hotel was meant to be a 30-minute walk away. I got lost, took a few wrong turns, and 90 minutes later I stumbled into Omonia Square — a place I instantly recognised from when I lived and worked in Greece back in 1990. It felt surreal, like my past had stepped quietly into the present, just for a moment.

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Thessaloniki to Larissa - Crutches - Gig 2

 Friday, October 18th, 2024 – Larissa, Greece

pre-gig Crutches

After a couple of hours' sleep at my apartment in Thessaloniki (in a super comfy bed), I caught the 12:25 p.m. train to Larissa. It was a smooth 90-minute ride through open countryside and distant mountain backdrops — quiet and scenic, a welcome pause after two chaotic nights.

Larissa itself turned out to be a bit of a surprise. A beautiful city, full of Roman ruins and hidden archaeological sites scattered across parks, sidewalks, and plazas. You don’t need to search for history here — it’s literally built into the modern-day streets. The vibe was laid-back, a touch stylish even. A slower pace that didn’t feel sleepy, just settled.

I checked into Hotel Acropol, tucked away on 142 Eleftheriou Venizelou — €25 for the night. It was hot and a little grotty, the kind of place that might once have been described as ‘classic’ but now mostly felt forgotten. It wasn’t glamorous, but it did the job. After dropping my gear and rinsing off the last two days of sweat and smoke, I went out for food.

Found an upmarket restaurant nearby and devoured a huge Greek salad with chips and cold beer — all for the same price as the room (not cheap by any stretch, but absolutely delicious). My waiter and I got chatting. He clocked my accent and asked where I was from. One thing led to another, and soon we were swapping stories about Kythera, the island I’d lived and worked on back in 1990. I left a good tip. He’d earned it.

Later, I tracked down Crutches, already mid-meal with their tour hosts: Kristo (tonight’s promoter) and Nik Godgrinder. Nik plays guitar for Greek d-beat legends Dishonor and stands at least 6'4". When I attempted some pidgin Greek, he replied in full throttle. I didn’t catch a single word — thankfully his English is excellent. We laughed it off over beers, swapped border-crossing horror stories, and hung out while the band prepped for the show.

Since these gigs are held in squatted venues, they’re only advertised by word of mouth or encrypted text — too much exposure and the authorities come crashing down. Kristo drove me to the venue, a squat hidden beneath a canteen on the university campus on the outskirts of town. It felt secretive but welcoming — the kind of place where the smell of beer and cigarettes signal you’re in the right spot.

I was with the band long before the show started, caught the soundcheck, and stayed through the entire evening. We shared beers and jokes as the place began to fill with sweaty punks, wandering dogs, and local misfits.

πάνω από πτώμα μου

The night kicked off with a return set from πάνω από πτώμα μου (Over My Dead Body), who were just as impressive as the night before. Their dense, dual-vocal hardcore sounded even heavier inside the squat’s concrete walls. There’s no performance flair — just grit, sincerity, and seismic noise.

In between, a band called Never Trust from Athens played a fairly generic thrash metal set. Technically fine, but energy-wise, things dipped a little. The crowd drifted to the grassy exterior, conversations started to drown out the riffs — the vibe just didn’t land.

Then Crutches hit the stage. Tighter than ever, absolutely feral. Their 25-minute set was pure controlled chaos — Oskar in full attack mode, Tom and Andreas’ guitars slicing the air, and Dan pounding the drums like a war machine. It was hot, packed, loud, euphoric — the sound bouncing off every graffitied wall. I was grinning like a lunatic from the first chord to the last feedback squeal.

After the gig, we swapped stories, laughed about border dramas, and someone passed around a bag of crisps like it was sacred. At some point around 3am, Kristo gave me a lift back to my hotel hovel, ears ringing, face aching from smiling.

Tomorrow: the final show in Athens. I’ll try to rest… but probably won’t.

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Sofia to Thessaloniki- Crutches - Gig 1

 

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Thursday, October 17th, 2024 – Thessaloniki, Greece

Tom, me, Andreas, Oskar, Daniel - Crutches

This day felt like a long week rolled into one. I woke up feeling a little melancholy — missing Charlie. I texted to say I was in Sofia and his reply was,
"How is she?" — totally summed up his sense of humour (and he’s only 11!).

By chance more than anything, I successfully navigated the Sofia metro and walked to Serdika bus station, where I grabbed a FlixBus for a bargain €8.50. A five-hour journey later and I was back in Thessaloniki — this time staying in an apartment about 5 miles out of the city centre, close to tonight’s venue. It cost €45 and even had a washing machine, which I took full advantage of. I must be becoming civilised in my advancing years.

On a less punk note, I stupidly forgot to pack the charging cable for my (now antique) iPod, and I’ve just finished my book (too good to put down for long). So, for Sunday’s flight home, I’ll either need to find another form of entertainment… or just sleep.

Before heading to the gig, I took a walk to soak up the buzzing, semi-urban area — full of life, a bit chaotic, but in the best way. I arrived at the venue early and met up with Crutches — it was good to see Tom, Andreas, Daniel, and Oskar again. They even gave me a little present: a miniature but mighty potent bottle of Underberg comes in tiny 20ml brown bottles, each wrapped in distinctive tan paper. The idea is to drink it all in one go, like a shot. Absolute legends.

I first came across Crutches at Manchester Punk Festival last year. To be honest, they scared the shit out of me — full-on, feral Swedish d-beat that came at you like a freight train. I watched from a safe distance. But then I got to know them properly at Levy Punk Weekender and saw the other side — humble, funny, principled, brilliant people. After that, I decided to self-appoint myself as Chief Groupie and Hanger-On for this short Greek tour.

The Greek DIY punk scene is the real deal. Self-run, self-funded, and beautifully organised — a total lesson in community. This three-night run across Thessaloniki, Larisa, and Athens is held in squatted venues with zero police interference — so long as they stay under the radar. Ask too openly where the venue is and you might get shut down, or at least looked at sideways.

But once you’re in, you’re in. Tonight’s gig is in a crumbling building reclaimed by people with passion. It’s heaving inside, wall-to-wall with punks, no stage lights, just raw energy. Beers for €1.50, a makeshift bar, and someone offering shots of homemade Tsipouro that tastes increasingly decent with each swig. A giant sign above the bar reads:
"You’ll Never Drink Alone."

Opening band πάνω από πτώμα μου (“Over My Dead Body”) don’t even have a digital footprint yet, but they tore the roof off. Their dual-vocal, slow-burning hardcore is dark, thoughtful, and heavy as hell. They finish abruptly, without preamble or posturing, and I liked them all the more for it.

Then it’s Crutches. And fuck me, they were unreal.

No lights, no frills — just 25 minutes of pure sonic destruction. Oskar’s screaming and climbing the walls, Andreas and Tom murder their guitars, Dan is a machine on drums. The crowd goes off. It’s sweaty, joyful, totally fucking unhinged — in the best possible way. The band nearly sold out their entire t-shirt stash tonight. Says it all.

Their message is clear: unity, resistance, fuck the fascists. Their latest album Dösreveljen carries that spirit front and centre. Their tagline is “Mangeling For Freedom”. Someone asked me what mangeling means. I wasn’t sure how to answer — not in English, let alone Greek. But I know this: after seeing Crutches, your brain feels like it’s been through a mangle. And weirdly, that’s a good thing.

Vienna to Sofia

 

16th October 2024 – From Bites to Flights

Sofia

Up at 7am, still nursing the aftermath of Monday night’s mosquito war — bites everywhere, even on my thumbprint! But there was no time to wallow; I had to make my way across sprawling Vienna to catch my flight.

With no data roaming on my phone, I was flying blind — no Google Maps, no easy route-finding. Vienna is a huge city to navigate without digital help, and disoriented as I was, the metro system seemed like a puzzle I wasn’t equipped to solve at that hour. So, I hailed a taxi to the main station and then caught the CAT train to the airport — €20 for the privilege.

I arrived 2.5 hours early but couldn’t settle. Still buzzing from last night’s gig, still itching from the bites. Then, out of nowhere, a kind soul at the Aegean desk handed me a free coffee voucher. That man is a saint.

Boarded and landed in Sofia smoothly. Before the day slipped away entirely, I wandered through central Sofia for a few hours, soaking up the architecture, energy, and clear blue skies. One of the highlights was standing in front of the Ivan Vazov National Theatre (pic above) - a spectacular neoclassical building with towering white columns, golden sculptures, and a postcard-perfect façade. It was hard not to be impressed by its elegance and grandeur — a total contrast to the DIY punk vibes of Vienna the night before.

Exhausted but content, I watched the light fade across the square, before I found a bed, regrouped and headed for some well-earned rest.

Rested (kind of), I set off on foot for the 3-mile walk back into central Sofia. On the way, I stumbled into good fortune — a bar, and inside, a Scottish drinking buddy named Archie, an ex-army vet with a thick, impenetrable accent that I had to work hard to interpret.

Over a few beers (and a whiskey for good measure), we found common ground quickly — Brexit, racist cunts, and twats in general. Archie was particularly bitter about the post-Brexit travel restrictions. “Used to be able to live here year-round,” he grumbled, “Now I’m limited to 90 days at a time.” (Or whatever the damn rules are.)

It was one of those random encounters that makes travelling so unexpectedly rewarding — politics, pints, and pure honesty from a stranger turned instant mate.

The long walk back to my hotel — which I think was one of those EasyJet-affiliated ones — helped clear my head a bit. I was tucked up in bed by 10:30pm, ready to hit reset on another wild day.

Thessaloniki to Vienna - make no (The) Mistakes

Handsome chap on the Thessalonian waterfront

14th October 2024 – Love Not War

Tim picked me up on his 1200cc BMW bike from Bangor to Henryd — the journey was absolutely freezing! After I warmed up and slept it off, he repaid an old favour by giving me a lift to the airport in his van. Legend.

Flew out to Thessaloniki, which is where I am now. Just showed my passport and walked straight into blazing hot sun. Not got an itinerary today, so I’m quenching a few cool beers at Sherlock’s Bar on the waterfront.

Got my bearings pretty quickly and checked into Hotel Bastardos for €37 a night. Thessaloniki is 2 hours ahead of the UK, so I had time to crash for an hour, then headed back out to find the bars, catch some football on TV, and sink a few beers. A properly chilled day — didn’t want to waste it, even though I was a bit fooked. Made the most of it, especially with Vienna on the horizon tomorrow — currently sitting at a brisk 14°C!

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15th October 2024 – Smoke, Noise & Candles: A Vienna Tuesday

I had a running battle last night between the heat, the mosquitoes, and myself — and to top it off, the hotel was on one of Thessaloniki’s busiest roads. Sleep wasn’t impossible, but definitely not restful.

After a shower and breakfast, I wandered the city one last time, then made my way to the airport for the next leg: Vienna. Currently reading The Ripple Effect by Alex Prud’homme — a fitting travel companion.

Landing in Vienna took a little recalibration — I got my bearings eventually and found my €37 room. Dropped my bag, freshened up, and headed out into the night. Destination: Club 1019.

Ross and Shane (The Mistakes) and me

Tucked (not so quietly) behind a petrol station, Club 1019 is apparently a jazz venue… though tonight felt like anything but. “We’ve never played a venue with lit candles all over the bar,” guitarist Shane Creech of The Mistakes said, as we clinked bottles and caught up. The decor may say jazz, but tonight the crowd was pure punk — Vienna’s fringe dwellers turning out in force, demanding volume.

First up were the local Bunt Cunnies, firing off a mad mix of punk-reggae-pseudo-ska. Their song What’s Your Damage? launched with the screamed line:

“You suck! Cos you never shut up, you ignorant bastard, you selfish bitch,”

A disjointed, chaotic blend — almost jazz — fitting for the venue. Later they slid into Walking on Sunshine halfway through Skateboard, just for the fun of it. Bass-heavy, full of bounce, they kicked the night off with real intent.

Then came The Mistakes — five gigs into their eleven-date European tour and sounding tighter than ever. These boys from Poole have got the punk rock engine firing on all cylinders. Kip Drewson from Bournemouth grunge act PlasticGold is standing in on drums — 20 years old, full of energy, and he didn't miss a beat.

They play punk the way it should be played: loud, fast, angry, joyful, and absolutely infectious.

Ross rasps out:
“I’m not quitting, I’m not quitting, I’m not quitting…”

That’s I, Savage — stuck in my head since they finished. It’s an anthem. Everything they played felt like one.

Drink Up, Boys! sounds like a shouty Oi! drinking tune — but it’s more layered than that. The lads — Ross, Shane, Gould, Angus and Kip (in Lewis’ absence) — serve up the reality: we’re all dying, so drink up and live it while you can.

What a set. What a performance. The perfect length — left us wanting more.

The Mistakes in full flow

And more we got, courtesy of Bloodstrings from Aachen, Germany. Blasting through tracks from their Heartache Radio album, their animated gruff vocals and wild double bassist turned the venue up another notch. Not quite psychobilly, not quite punkobilly — but definitely some kind of ‘obilly’! Brilliant energy and a fitting finale.

Apart from the eggs benedict back in Greece this morning, I hadn’t eaten all day — too much going on. Vienna was asleep as I walked back through empty streets, head buzzing. What a night.