Sticky Fingers Tour Diary: Part Three

13 June 2014 | 3:42 pm | Sticky Fingers

Travelling 'round the world with an expired passport WILL catch up with you...

Just dashing, fellas.

Just dashing, fellas.

There was nothing else I could do really. I put my headphones over his head, my phone in his hand and gave him a big hug. It's amazing he'd got this far to be honest. There were days we'd cross borders more often than eat meals. But finally his luck ran out. We're in the Middle East on our way home.  And Abu Dhabi customs aren't having a bar of it. Dylan had been travelling on an expired passport the whole tour. To our manager's surprise we'd made it to all 32 shows despite everything. But now, our kid was on his own.


I'm on the plane home with my laptop out, trying to recollect the past week. Hamburg… Berlin… um. Four valiums down and the effects are easing in. I'm also pumping Lord Of The Rings on my TV. Dope. It's that bit right at the end where the two hobbits are all fucked up on Mount Doom.

Samwise: Do you remember the Shire, Mr Frodo? It'll be spring soon…

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Me: Holy shit boys - we're gonna make it!

I look around and realise I'm the only one awake on the whole plane… let's try this again later.


A week ago and we've just arrived in Hamburg. Top show that night. An excellent German debut. “This is the most important gig since The Beatles played Star Club in '62 … P.S anyone out there know the filthiest strip joint for after we're done here?”

Bright lights, bright lights!!!


Berlin is a magical playground. Except, unlike playgrounds, there are no set boundaries for the exuberant kids to throw shape in. There was the Berlin Wall but they went and pulled it down didn't they?! … We lost Dylan. Two days deep and he's still missing. We wait for a call, a message, or a sign from the gods. But nothing. We have to start heading to the Netherlands or we're gonna miss the show. Three hours out of town and I get the call …

Strangers voice:… I can't wake him up.

Me: Well he better wake up 'cause we're on the road outta here.

Voice in background: WHAT?

Diz: Oi. it's Diz. Where are you?

Me: Mate, we had to make moves. We're halfway to Holland.

Diz: Well that's fucking stupid of you isn't it!

So... we are currently here.


It's May 24 and so much more. It's the birthday of Robert Allen Zimmerman AKA Bob Dylan, as well as our very own Dylan James Dean Frost. I'm the first up. Old mate's been stressing me out this week. I need to create a gag to lighten my mood. I quietly make my way around the ears of our crew, instructing them to pretend they've forgotten Dylan's birthday. As usual, he's the last up. He walks out into the hotel lobby chest out and a big smile on his face. We say nothing…

Jimmy: Get in the van, lets blow this joint.

Everyone slowly makes their way out the door, except Dylan, who comes and sits next to me. I quickly have to close my laptop screen being in the middle of writing him a nice birthday message on the STI FI page.

Me: Lets go bro…

Dylan's quiet the rest of the morning, but it's always hard to tell what's going on in his head. By the beautiful sunny arvo we're sitting at a big table of mates at the Buiten Beach Club. Dylan still has't broken silence.  Suddenly, the sexy waitress rocks over with big plates of food and liquor all round. We bust into a rambunctious rendition of “happy birthday to you”… and the jig is up. We skull a few pints and now Dylan is smiling in a new daze of a glimmering sea.

Me: Oi Diz, I've gotta ask… I'm really curious. Did you forget it was your birthday? Or did you just think we were a big pack of-



The next day Dylan's still having it large… During the gig, he climbs onto of this pretty dodgy structure above the stage. Half the crowd love the excitement, the other half literally leave the show. Diz is so shaky they're convinced he's going to fall and don't want to bare witness.

Crazy... or genius?


That night we're in Amsterdam and the birthday boy has finally collapsed. I go for a wonder through the Red Light District with Seamus & Jimmy to “clear my mind”. This Dutch fella comes running past and pushes some tourist into the canal. It's a cold night. The bully runs off, and a group of lads help the soggy man outta the black water. Everyone's laughing. Even the girls in the windows are laughing. This kid looks fresh out of high school. And he's stoned out of his mind. Poor fucking guy!

We'll leave you guys to it.


We kick another goal selling out the Bitterzoet in Amsterdam. The town that has become our indisputable spiritual homeland of Europe. We have made some beautiful friends and family here. Celebrations for our win goes on for a total of three days. There was an after party. An after-after party. And finally, of course, the after-after-after party. Fantastic. At one stage Seamus got ran over by a bike on a booze run and lost his pants in the process. Our Dutch booking agent heard about what we'd been up to, and came along to the next show in Alkmaar to check on us… We played dismally. “That's okay, I'm just glad you made it”.


The plane touches down in Sydney. This winter everyone's been complaining about is no colder than the Euro summer. It's good to be home. Shower. Pull a beer from the fridge. Make my way to Camperdown Park and meet friends. Hold my girlfriend Chloe. Get horribly drunk. And lay back satisfied. I check my Facebook and Dylan is online.

Me: Hey bro where are you?

Diz: Still in Abu Dhabi…