Bearding Across Borders: It’s The Beards’ European Tour Diary

They’re set to celebrate the milestone with the Ten Long Years, One Long Beard anniversary tour of Australia – but first, they’ve been spreading the bearded gospel across Europe, where the beardy rockers came in contact with plenty of hirsute brethren. The Beards share with us their tour diary, starting with a particularly hairy time in Stockholm…

World Beard Day, Stockholm, Sweden

By Nathaniel Beard, bass

Sweden is one of the beardiest places in the world. For this reason, we thought it only fitting to kick off our ten-year anniversary tour with a massive show in Stockholm. To a bearded person, World Beard Day is the most important day of the calendar year, so it was with eager anticipation that we awoke in our downtown hotel room and breathed in the fresh World Beard Day air. A local beard club arranged a huge pre-gig party to mark this most sacred of beard-related public holidays, so we mobilised quickly and travelled to the event, where we were met by hordes of hirsute revellers ready for a heavily beard-themed day.

Needless to say there was much drinking and celebrating, and the event was only marred by one incident in which Facey McStubblington delivered an expertly executed roundhouse kick to my face. What happened is I had said that I liked beards, Facey had misheard me and thought I’d said that I didn’t like beards, and he just reacted as any normal beard enthusiast would – by roundhousing me in the face. Thankfully the injuries I sustained weren’t too serious, and looking back on it, I consider it an honour to have been the recipient of such a graceful and powerfully delivered martial arts manoeuvre.

The bearded Swedes were full of energy and alcohol as we took to the stage, and we played an electric set filled with our patented high-energy pro-beard propaganda rock, encoring with crowd favourite ‘There’s Just Nothing Better Than A Beard’, which saw the packed audience join together in chorus as we brought World Beard Day 2015 to a thundering close. Later in the night, as per the local World Beard Day tradition, the attendees broke off into small mobs and marauded around the city with flaming torches, looting and pillaging the town as they deemed fit.

Cologne, Munich and Berlin, Germany

By Facey McStubblington, guitar

Germany has a long and rich bearded heritage, and right now it has one of the most thriving beard scenes on the planet. Everywhere we went in this glorious bearded land, we witnessed unprecedented levels of sheer beard enthusiasm – however, even in this climate of extreme beard pride, discrimination reared its ugly head.

In Cologne, for example, the operators of this giant, inflatable trampoline refused to let me on, stating that it was for “children aged under 15 only” and that I was “too old”. But I saw this for what it really was: blatant beard discrimination.

Then in Munich, I was told that I couldn’t take part in a pony ride at the local fair. The people running the event told me that the pony ride was “only for people weighing less than 75kg” and that I was “too fat”. But I saw this for what it really was: blatant beard discrimination.

The prejudice could even be found in Berlin, where these clean-chinned bastards refused to even serve me a beer, citing “responsible service of alcohol laws” and claiming that I was “too drunk”. But I saw this for what it really was: blatant beard discrimination.

It should be mentioned that these isolated cases of pogonophobia were the exception to the rule, and that the overwhelming majority of German people are fervently enthusiastic about beards, and don’t really give a shit about the responsible service of alcohol. But nevertheless, it’s pertinent to note that even in such a beard-friendly country, in such beard-friendly times, there are still detractors out there, plotting and praying for the demise of the mighty beard. Bearded people everywhere cannot afford to become complacent, for it is only through unwavering determination that the revolution will be won.

The only other incident that occurred came down to a simple case of miscommunication. Basically, a guy at one of our gigs said, “I have a beard”, I misheard him, thinking that he had said, “I hate a beard”, so I roundhouse kicked him in the face.

United Kingdom

By Michael Helmstedt, the beardless roadie

Life’s not easy being beardless, especially when your job is to be the roadie for a beard-themed totalitarian rock band. In this capacity I’ve been booed by beard-crazed audiences around the world, I’ve been worked to the bone for very little pay, and I’ve been treated with nothing less than utter disdain by my four bearded employers. So it was with a heavy heart that I agreed to my fourth international tour with The Beards.

Most of the band members don’t even know my name. Nathaniel calls me Mark. John Beardman, Jr. calls me Morty. And Facey calls me Markel, which isn’t even a name. Johann Beardraven, the lead singer, doesn’t even seem to remember me at all, often introducing himself to me as if we’ve never met, even though I’ve worked for him for three-and-a-half years. By the time we got to England, my spirit was all but broken, and so was my nose after Facey McStubblington roundhouse kicked me in the face. This happened after I told him his beard looked great. Unfortunately he misheard me and thought I had said his beard looked fake. After that incident, the band invoked a policy whereby I was only to speak when directly spoken to. Gaffa tape was used to enforce this rule. So far, I’d sum this tour up as easily the worst experience of my life.