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Music

Tour Diary: Two Gallants in Asia 001: Daegu, Korea, November 10

Two Gallants Is on tour in China, and they're keeping a tour diary for us!

Daegu, Korea…Urban Club…11.10.11

Waking mostly renewed, the morning broken, haunting at the edges of the furrowed shade of curtain at the hotel window. My belly is still digesting meat, my liver is sorely filtering the angular sweet of the soju that was kindly and ceremoniously introduced to our western pallets at 3am. I slip out to wander the streets of Cheonan, following a river that cuts through the urban landscape. Soon we’ll be trudging our baggage and skin to the train station and on to Daegu. A breaking and anonymous day outside.

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Sean is patient, helpful and educational. He is our “tour manager.” He’s American born, from Auburn, CA, but he’s been in Korea for 3 years. Sean is integral to bringing music and a DIY sensibility to this small but traditional country through his company Super Color Super, putting on and promoting shows throughout Korea for bands from over the world. He helps us with out equiptment, and we all shoulder the weight into the station and up onto the train.

Daegu seems much bigger and more modern than Cheonan. The air breathes cleaner, though the distances and buildings are more vast and dominating in their height and grandiosity. We shed our bags and meet Adam, who is part of Sean’s local team. Adam takes us for some local food and then into a part of downtown Daegu known for its vintage clothing shops. We noiselessly slip into underground shops and basement enclaves, odd storefronts amidst dark tributaries of alleys. One shop is housed in an abandoned theater, overpowered by smells of age and the remnants of bodies that once inhabited the clothes. Clothing is everywhere, crawling across the floor in huge piles, or hanging from poles on the walls—lingerie, colorful blankets, decadant grandmother sweaters, dusty sneakers, leather wingtips, Western denim, plaid, leather jackets, Buddy Holly glasses…

Take a deep breath and clear your eyes of what you think you’re seeing—the information pours in through your nostrils and pores, through your eyes and tongue. It’s not an easy thing to digest, but it’s there at every moment, asking only to be recognized.

Night falls. We are ushered through the throngs of young people in the streets towards the Urban Club. We set up our gear and search for food, deciding on a local kimchee noodle shop. We’re trolling through darkened walkways around the club on the hunt for Makali, unfiltered rice wine. Back at the club, the opening band is a crew of Canadian kids that are here teaching English. The show is well attended, but mostly by expats. They all seem to be English teachers, which is a bit of a surprise for us and, honestly, an honor.

Alcohol is everywhere here, and is a major part of the everyday process. Mouths and limbs slip through into the late hours. Whiskey and clear spirits are our reward and crutch, a part of our digestion of this vast new landscape, life, and nudging shadoes. The head eventually finds a darkened home.