Around 3 pm we set out with our mini disc recorder, a handheld voice recorder, microphones, clip boards and questions. Most importantly, the questions. During our research we realized there is a certain unrest coming from the band about lame questioning such as “What does KMFDM mean?” And can you blame them? “Sit down you little gothic freak,” I thought “we have real questions to ask these guys” Our questions were so much more relevant, so much more interesting. Mike was very well versed in the line up and their current/past affiliations to other bands like Ministry, REVCO, etc. He was ready to talk tech with these guys on their equipment. I was well prepared with questions about influences and the next evolution of the electronic music scene, blah, blah, blah. So we’re not just coming in to this because we’re star struck, die hard loyal KMFDM fans with black “tears” sweating down our suburban faces. We’re here because they’re interesting to us and we think it might be interesting to you—or something to that effect.

“Does anyone know where Chris is?” I ask a group at the bar. We’re surrounded by the chaos of load in and prep for the sound check, now only 2 1/2 hours away. This very euro looking, skinny dude points to the back stage area yelling ”...production office!” Mike and I stealth around through the black, wheeled cargo shipping cases and two little gothic freaks to get to a dark little green room area off the stage where I hear someone say “... my name is Chris.”

“Hey Chris, I’m Bill and this Mike, Maria from the label sent us down for a 3:30 INTRVU?”

“Oh yeah, right, uh... I knew that. Look, he’s not here (Sascha), it was his birthday last night and he’s, well, uh, still asleep at the hotel.”

“Oh,” we said, weighing the situation for rock-show bullshit, “Well, no problem, should we come back?”

“Well he likes to do things all at once, sort of a round table thing. We get so many kids coming in with their zines and he can only answer lame questions like,” are you ready, “what does KMFDM mean before he gets sick of it.”

We laugh.

After our chuckle and our bullshit meter went down, we said, “Well no problem, we’ll just come back when he’s ‘awake’ and see if we can do it then. Do you know what other people (media) are coming?”

"Yes, those kids and their zine. I can tell you guys are mature, you know the deal. I mean...”

At this point a very tall, thin rocker makes it into the room in full rocker persona. He grabs the loaf of bread on the green room table and shouts, “Are you guys from around here? Do you know where there’s a restaurant or something? I CAN'T EAT THIS SHIT(E)!” (he's English.)

We laugh. “Well, sure, there’s a place around the corner. Mexican.”

“Is it far? Can I walk there? I haven’t fucking eaten in a day and a half.”

We stare at him trying not to laugh.

Spare me the histrionics, Cookie Monster. You’re dressed head to toe in black heavy stuff and to top it all off you have on a fuzzy, black fur, bolero jacket. No wonder you’re uncomfortable. Oh, and I forgot to mention, it’s freakin’ 93 degrees out on day 17 of your 34 day tour. 32 dates in 34 days, do the math. Although, I guess I’d be bitchy too.

After a brief silence from us, his smirky glance indicated that he knew we weren’t really buying the show, so he bagged the bitchy rock star thing and headed out the door repeating my brief directions to himself. He seemed grateful. Later, we debated whether it was Tim Skold or Raymond "PIG" Watts.

“So Chris, what’s the deal? Can we come back or what?”

“Sure, come back at 6. That’s the sound check, maybe he’ll talk to you then. I can tell you guys are mature, you understand, the heat.” Our key word here is: maybe.

I hand him a card and Mike and I head for the door satisfied that we at least got that far.

By six, we arrived just in time to catch the sound check. Nobody hassled us because we weren’t, ya know, gothic or 16. There’s a bunch of kids singing along with torn looks on their faces out side and we’re in here focused on the task at hand. Not bad. And not a bad sound check either. We were getting psyched about the show.

After the sound check there’s not much to report other than, “Look you guys, I’m really sorry, he’s hungry now and went to get a bite to eat. Can you talk to him after the show tonight?”

'Sure, no problem, but we still need two more tickets. Can you can point us in the right direction to buy them?"

"I know Bill's name is on the list, but I'm not sure if mine is. Can you verify that for us?” Mike cleverly adds.

“Yes. Let me go and check it and I’ll take care of it” A minute later, Chris comes back and says, “You’re all set. I’ll see you later, sorry for the hassle I've put you on plus one.”

“Thanks man, we’ll see you tonight.”

At this point you have to realize my bullshit meter has turned itself back on. We wonder on our second rejection-ride in the car back home if we should believe any of it, but then, 32 dates in 34 days comes to mind. Thank god we’re pretty clear on “What KMFDM means.”

After a brief hassle at the door when Mike’s name was NOT on the list, we settled in for the evening in the excruciating heat. Our buddy Al is spinning next door at a killer drum and bass night, why are we here? Well, Metropolis was kind enough to get us this far, Chris was pretty cool and we really want to talk to Sascha. After all, our research indicated that he’s definitely pop-engine material. He’s an artist, musician, producer and visionary. We want to know what he thinks about.

Needless to say, after the show we did not get to talk to Sascha but Mike did, however, get to talk to Chris. Here’s what went down: They talked about being a manager who also runs a sound board, the bitch at the front door and that we still want our INTRVU. We worked pretty hard researching our questions, the least they could do is give us a shot. Right? So we’re going to e-mail our questions to both the label and to Chris. We have full confidence that Sascha will answer the questions because, you know, ‘we’re mature and we know the deal about heat.’

So check back, we’ll let you know when we get some answers. In the mean time, put yourself in their shoes. 32 dates in 34 days is a lotta’ black eye pencil in the bucket!