If you have been in a band long enough, you have likely met this breed of soundman: He is German and efficiently so. He is long-haired and yellow-toothed. He has likely never worn an item of coloured clothing since the day he was able to dress himself. He chainsmokes. He talks very little. The only band he likes from Canada is No Means No. He thinks the younger generation (presumably including you) are a bunch of “fucking imbecilic morons” who don’t appreciate good music. He is wiry but square and curt but not unkind and he has good posture though he looks like he hates life. If you have been in a band long enough, you will likely find this (un)exceptional specimen either heartwarming or annoying. We manage to feel both ways about the gentleman at Gleiss 22. We are always keen to hear about the horror stories of tour managing punk bands around Europe and interested in the histories of a home-town that generates equal pleasure and disdain. (We thought Munster was a type of cheese but now we know better and we’re sorry that the fact that your city is a skateboarding world capital causes you more frustration than amusement. We happened to like it very much and even visited some of the head office quarters foregrounded by half pipes and graffiti because we were, in fact, so smitten. Skate or Die.) And we loved the sound you gave us – we could hear everything pristinely but not without the character of your beloved monitors. But Dan felt a little icily when he was scolded about pushing his voice too hard. He told you he was “coming down with something, feeling ill, and under the weather” but you still felt the urge to grumpily impart a lecture. Certain that you were, of course, the better musician in the room. But we laughed it off. And we’ll see you again soon, with open arms and minds. As always. Because it is our job. Just as it is yours. For better and worse. But mostly better.