Brakes' Summer Fest Round Up

After the adventures of Istanbul I was granted a couple of weeks off, not expecting to regroup with the band until the wonderful truck fest on the 21st July. Id arranged to meet a Canadian friend in London who, travelling in Europe for the first time, was keen to see what musical delights the nation had to offer, and where better than truck? So on the 20th of July we were sat poised in a house in Hackney, ready to leave for Paddington and get the train to Didcot Parkway from where a bus would take us to the site. As many of you will know it wasn't to be. We were halfway out the door when I got a text from my manager. The site was flooded and several phone calls later it was confirmed: - Truck was cancelled! I had to sit back down and rationalise this information. The festival had become such a part of normal life over the last 5 years, a seasonal certainty. I felt mostly bad for my friend, I'd built it up so much and he'd heard a lot about it from a mutual friend of ours who id taken there many times before. The other sting in this situation was that another friend was planning to have his stag do at truck. Something had to be re-scheduled, so the next day we set off for a weekend at a country retreat just north of Monmouth and forgot all about it. I know what you're thinking. Isn't that where the floods were? Well yes but it turned out we were just west enough and up a hill enough to be out of the danger zone. The river Wye did look dangerously full though.

     A week later we were booked to play the awfully nice Ben and Jerry's festival on Clapham common. It was a familiar line-up. Not at all dissimilar from the Kent festival we'd played just before Turkey. Not sure if I mentioned that one, it was fairly uneventful. We pulled up as the first band was on. A few thousand adults and children were spread out liberally in the sun eating ice cream. I spent most of the day looking at the planes flying low overhead and drinking cider. We had a good one despite having not played together for at least 3 weeks. The Feeling headlined and blew the power twice. You'd expect a band of their demure to not take a power failure too well but they battled through and kept their chins up.

     Just under a week later Eamon and I took an early flight to Germany and met up with the others in Cologne. ESP had been doing some French and Swiss festivals in the time between and tonight both bands were booked to play the Blue Shell club. The stage was small, it was hot and obviously smoking was still permitted indoors in this part of Germany. First band on were The Nightingales, a Fall-esque art punk Brummy band whose first single had come out on Rough Trade over 20 years ago. Singer Robert was a stocky drunk in a black suit, his words slurred brilliantly as he talked to us backstage. "It's so refreshing to meet a young pop band who aren't cunts" he said. We took that as a compliment of the highest form. The gig was good despite not having room to swing a cat, and it sounded pretty tight too. Sometimes not playing together for a really long time makes you enjoy it more and try harder.

     That night we slept in a really creepy hotel. The staircase seemed to go on upwards forever and when we got to the top we found our room was a four-bed dorm with no TV and just a sink in the corner. It was quaint but the beds were comfy and the breakfast in the morning was a typically satisfying German affair of bread, ham, cheese and coffee.

     The next morning we set off for Haldern where again both bands were booked to perform. Our ex-pat chums from Incendiary magazine had told us many great things about this festival on a pig farm. Mostly that it's muddy and everyone gets horrifically drunk. Luckily for us it was a glorious day, not a splash of mud in sight. I was pleased to find that we were playing in the famous Spiegel tent, a regular feature at the Brighton festival but surprisingly somewhere that I'd never had the chance to play in before. We were on relatively early but there was still a good crowd gathered to watch us. We had a great show, it was stiflingly hot but it sounded good for us and the audience were moshing enthusiastically. We'd been given a caravan as our dressing room complete with a couple of bunks so after the show (and a spot of Frisbee) I took the opportunity to have a nap.

I awoke to the sound of The View finishing their set and then headed out to see what was going on around the site. Caught a bit of The Magic Numbers then got down the front to see Spiritualized Acoustic Mainlines. The band fronted by Jason Pierce with a string section, keyboardist and trio of gospel singers had blown me away a few weeks back in Glasgow but somehow it didn't work here. It was dark, everyone was talking and there were a few sound troubles. It was a shame.

     ESP weren't on till the early hours so there was a lot of time to kill. I watched some of The Maccabees drank some more beer and then eventually watched ESP who were great. After the show we gathered around a campfire with those Magic Numbers and got merrily sozzled. I managed to insult some French Canadians by assuming they were German but in my defence their English speaking accent wasn't an accent I'd ever heard before. They were nice guys though and I think they forgave me.

     The next morning I was up and in the hotel restaurant just in time to catch breakfast. There was no rest for the ESP gang who had to drive off for another gig in Berlin. They still had work to do promoting the new album across Europe. I realised that the mass of water I'd noticed as I drunkenly fell into the hotel the previous night was actually the Rhine. German and Dutch cargo barges chugged slowly up the water whilst the occasional weekend speed boater whizzed past. It was another hot day and unfortunately Eamon and I had nothing to do until our 8pm flight. I went back up to the room where Eamon was slumbering. Eventually he woke up and we pondered upon what the hell we should do with all this time. Go to Düsseldorf? No, too far. Go to the cinema? What cinema? We were stranded, we didn't really know where we were and we had a lot of time to kill. Eamon was hungry so we found a restaurant a short walk down the river that soon filled with upper middle class Germans on weekend family outings. Eamon had a steak and I had mineral water. The meal seemed to waste quite a bit of time. After that we went back to the hotel and drank a few beers. The runner turned up a few hours later and we bought him a coffee. These people deserve a medal, they spend their entire weekend driving back and forth from airports, hotels and the festival site and usually don't get paid or get to see any music. On the way to the airport he told us how Mike Scott of the Waterboys had spat phlegm onto his dashboard. Charming!

     After another two weeks that included going to a wedding, rehearsing with my other band and generally bumbling around Brighton, Brakes hit London town. Beatific Visions was released as a download single and to celebrate/warm up for Reading we did two gigs in the capital. First show was at Ginglik; an old underground toilet on Sheppard's Bush Green and the first event for club night East London is a Vampire. It was Eamon's birthday so after sound-check we went for a curry. Fellow Brightonian support band Doll and the Kicks got proceedings going back at the club and we returned halfway through their set. It was a Monday night and the crowd were subdued. We took the stage and it started well despite sounding horrific on stage. I'd noticed during the support band that the lighting engineer was being somewhat overly creative with his tools and was making the stage look more like a giant fruit machine. I asked our tour manager to politely ask him to calm it down a bit but he was having none of it. Not only that but he was dropping all lights at the end of every song leaving us blind and unable to ready ourselves for the next song. This was incredibly annoying and after a while we all started shouting at him. The gig sort of fell apart from there onwards. We struggled through it. Afterwards we all quickly went our separate ways and tried to forget about it.

     The next day we were booked to play the legendary Water Rats in Kings Cross. Brakes hadn't played here before and I was thoroughly looking forward to it. After sound-check I went for dinner and then returned to find the venue filling up fast. By the time we were due to take the stage it was rammed and I had to push my way through the audience to get up there. The gig went brilliantly; we blasted through the set, sweating profusely all the way. We totally redeemed ourselves from the night before. Eventually we left the stage but the audience weren't going to let us get away without doing an encore. We went back on and did Spring Chicken and then Jackson. About a third of the way through the song the large wine stained Scottish BSP fan better known as Bill decided he wanted his time in the limelight and began to climb up on stage on Tom's side. He'd been down my side for most of the gig and had been bashing my pedals with his crutches. He was on crutches because he was 3 weeks away from a hip replacement, which made what happened next even worse. As he heaved himself up he started carelessly treading all over Tom's pedal board. Tom put an arm out to stop him from damaging his gear any more. Unfortunately this just made Bill spring back in the opposite direction, he tripped over the monitor and went headfirst off the stage and eventually landed in a quivering lump on the floor. We stopped the song, Eamon jumped down to make sure he was ok and luckily he was still alive and conscious. A few minutes later we got the song back up and all was forgotten. It was a tense moment for a minute there, I sort of expected everyone to walk out in disgust but talking to people afterwards it turned out everyone thought it was hilarious. Tom apologised to Bill and it seemed like he didn't even remember. He'd had a good night and that was the main thing.

     Later that week we did a few radio sessions to promote the single. Edith Bowman had been kind enough to give us her support again and had made us single of the week on her daytime Radio 1 show. As a show of thanks we all went to the Reading festival a day earlier to broadcast a live acoustic rendition of the song on her show. There were lots of people back there in the 'VIP' area, I'm not sure how many of them actually deserved to be there but with Reading being so close to London it was like an industry cattle market. One good thing about these enormous festivals is that you bump into people who you wouldn't necessarily see in day-to-day life. Especially other bands, it's hard to maintain a social life when you're always on tour. So none of us needed any encouragement to celebrate and the cider flowed liberally as the night drew in.

     The next day I felt terrible and we had a gig to do. We had the second slot on the Radio 1 stage after Dogs and before The Noisettes. It was a scorching day and I took refuge from the heat in the shade of Dinosaur Jr's massive tour bus. Dogs had a faithful audience who bounced and sang along faithfully despite it being so early in the day. We took the stage and the sound was all over the shop. Maybe I was hung-over but it never quite sounded right for me. I was distracted and made loads of mistakes but apparently it sounded good and the crowd enjoyed it.

     I spent the rest of the day basking in the heat of the sun and drinking more cider. Caught a bit of Metronomy, saw some of The Shins and of course rocked out to Dinosaur Jr who were a delight. We were staying in Wakefiled that night to make sure we were near the Leeds site for the next day so at about 10pm we set off into the night and up the M1. We pulled into the Wakefield M1 Travelodge sometime in the wee hours and got out heads down.

     I was glad I hadn't got stinking drunk the night before when I woke and I actually felt pretty good for day two of the Carling weekender. We pulled onto the Leeds site just after 10am and got familiarised with the area. The Leeds site is a lot more interesting than the Reading site. It has hills and a lake. It was another nice day but thankfully not as hot as down in the Thames valley. The gig that day was much better than the day before and we left the stage feeling good. We grabbed some delicious lunch in the artist catering tent and then got back on the road for the long drive down to Brighton.

     Come the next Saturday we were hurtling down the M4 on route for the Macs festival near Carmarthen south Wales. I didn't know what to expect from this event but when we got there it soon transpired that we were playing in a large cow shed with a half pipe erected at one end. Yes, this was a skateboarding event and we were the entertainment. To make matters worse the headliner of our stage was none other than that feisty young pup Plan B. There was hardly anyone at this festival but at least the PA and stage setup was fairly high end. The band before us, The Guns, played their brand of emo rawk to about 50 people and a few skateboarders. Things didn't look great but by the time we got on a few more people had gathered and we got stuck into our set. It started well; we played cautiously but solidly and started to have some fun. We had a few fans there and a couple of mash heads were dancing along. Somewhere towards the end Eamon had a lapse of sanity and made a derogatory remark towards Plan B. He would later regret this and as we left the stage Mr B was waiting side stage with a big fucking buzzy bee in his bonnet. They didn't exactly have a fight but an incident did occur involving Eamon being air born for a few seconds and the perpetrator being dragged off kicking and screaming in the opposite direction by security guards who had been waiting all day for something like that to happen. We got packed up and left as soon as we could. Some said Plan B deserved it, others said that breeding hate and negativity is useless. Either way, Eamon regretted his words and hopefully no further animosity will come of it. We drove to a Travelodge just outside Cardiff and got some sleep for a few hours.

     In the morning we left the hotel at 6am and drove to Cardiff airport where we were booked onto a flight for Jersey. We were headed for the Jersey Live festival, which was now in its 5^th year. Jersey looked beautiful from the air as we came in to land, all dramatic cliffs and sandy beaches. We were driven from the airport to our hotel: - The Metropolis Hotel that seemed to cater mainly for the later in life. It wasn't dissimilar from Fawlty Towers.

    After a few hours of doing nothing we got driven up into the countryside in the middle of the island to the festival site. We were on quite early so there was only a scattering of people in the audience. Most people were lounging in the sunshine drinking beer which is probably what I'd have been doing had I been attending.

We had a good gig and afterwards we hung about for a bit and watched a few of the other bands. Had to check out SFA who delivered their usual ultra relaxed performance of hits from their almost 12 year career. At the end of Receptacle for the Respectable the three members of the band with guitars did their usual party trick of crossing necks to form some sort of triumphant rock trident. Then the P.A went down and their show was temporarily halted. I went backstage to shelter form the sun and by the time I'd got back the problem had been solved and they were back on stage.

     The next morning the local radio reported that it was the guitar neck crossing that had blown the P.A. The same station also told us that the festival (which featured musical genres such as funk rock, punk rock and pop funk) had gone ahead smoothly and there had only been 12 arrests. There seemed to be this attitude on the island that a music festival would breed violence and disorder. Plus the local police were really taking the piss and had made the organisers pay an astronomical fee for their protection; otherwise they wouldn't have let it gone ahead. There were police and security everywhere at this thing. I think I only saw 2 coppers at Glastonbury. Luckily for us one of the backstage guards kindly kept us well informed any time he saw the sniffer dogs come by.

     I made a quick exit and went back to the hotel to slumber in front of the telly. The next morning I woke early, unable to lie in from going to bed too early. Around lunch time Joe and I went to the airport to get our flight to Gatwick. The others were getting a later flight to Cardiff to pick up the van and seeing as I was going back to Glasgow I was let off this task. Unfortunately the process of connecting at Gatwick was eventually to go against my favour and when I reached Glasgow I found that British Airways had lost my bass. It's still lost and apparently no-one knows where it is. I'm assuming it's been sent to the wrong airport, probably in another country. If anyone sees it please let me know.

icecreams and sunshine

The last couple of weeks have seen torrential rain turn to bright sunshine. Long live the sun, we say. The Ben and Jerry's festival on Clapham common was an ice cream dream, with a great view from the stage of the happy cone and tub scoffing thousands, and the clouds held back their tears. We went on after the brightly coloured Kate Nash- we asked her to sing Jackson, but she turned us down- and had a blast. I watched the Bees after us- a friend of my brother's was watching The Bees at Glastonbury when a real bee landed on his hand. That didn't happen to me, and I felt disappointed. I think the band should bring on a monstrous bee hive and start whacking it at the start of their gig, to guarantee some real bee landing in the audience.
The following week we flew to Dusseldorf to catch a bus to Cologne, to play with 80s legends http://www.thenightingales.org.uk at the equally legendary Blue Shell club. The Nightingales were amazing, so good that I bought their first and latest albums and have been spitting with enthusiasm since.
We drove to the Haldern festival next to play in the ornate Spiegel tent (http://www.spiegeltent.net) and had a brilliant gig. Hot sweat. We met up with some friends from Holland who run the online Incendiary magazine, drank some fine German beers and generally basked in the sunshine, the first we'd seen for weeks. We played frisbee, watched bands, and sat around a fire swapping gig tales late into the night with The Magic Numbers.
The next day, marc and I got a lift to the airport with a festival driver. "Oh, you are much nicer than The Waterboys," he said. "The singer man is an arsehole." He had phlegmed up and gobbed it onto the dashboard of the car, then berated the driver for not cleaning it up, apparently. Even from a four year old, that's reprehensible behaviour, but from a granddad singer with only one song? Deary me.
We've got a couple of small London club shows- in revamped old public toilet in Sheperd's Bush on 20th August, and at The Waterrats the next night, before we pile in the van for the Reading and Leeds festivals. Right now, the sun is shining and it feels like summer has finally arrived.
Yours,
Eamon

Brakes in Turkey

Brakes in Turkey

On the eve of the national smoking ban Brakes headed up to Luton airport on the train to stay one night at the Ibis hotel. The following morning we were up damn early and checking in for our 06:50AM flight to Istanbul, the capital of Turkey. Some 3 hours of air-born dozing later we were speeding across the western edge of the Bosphurus Sea and heading into the european side of the city. I hadn't realised how dramatic the landscape here was, nor how green and lush it was. I was expecting a flat and arid place, so i was surprised by the green and rolling hills, dotted with dusty houses and high rise flats. Large Turkish flags stood tall everywhere you looked, flapping proudly in the light breeze beside great shimmering Mosques.

As we came closer into the hustle and bustle the cultural standpoint revealed itself. This was truly where east meets west, you could see it in peoples faces. It felt good to be on the edge of the west, mingling with the unfamiliar. A refreshing antidote to the giant film set that is America, our last foreign destination.
We pulled up at the Dedeman Hotel. The Magic Numbers were just leaving so we had a beer with them. Our representative Nazli said we could go to the festival if we wanted. Tom and Alex took up the offer whilst the rest of us opted for a trip into town and a meal. Just before we left the hotel an arrogant english man decided to talk down rather disrespectfully to one of the bar waiters. It was embarrassing to watch. He was complaining about the price of beer which to be fair was quite expensive but then we were in a 5 star hotel. Eamon, Joe, Andy and myself took a cab that winded bumpily up and down the back streets of the city until it dropped us at the busy Taksim square. Andy and Eamon bought rather chewy corn on the cob and then we nudged through the crowds, avoiding trams, looking for somewhere to have a meal.

We found a place on a steep side street. It was the first place we saw but we were all so hungry and tired that we didn't care. A large table of American travelers sat behind us, they were loud and whiny. The meal wasn't spectacular, best part was the beer, the bread and the simple dips. Joe managed to order fish covered in melted cheese while i had a bowl of lamb submerged in oily fried nettles. Once we'd eaten we trotted down the hill only to find a whole bunch of other restaurants that smelt and looked much nicer.
We were walking into the unknown, down into a residential area where kids played football in the shady streets and groups of young men stood suspiciously, staring wildly at us with their large eyes. Assuming that we were on a valley's decline to the water, we carried on down until all of a sudden we were slap bang in the middle of a bustling street market. It wasn't the busiest market id ever seen but we were soon swept up in its flow, moving along with the throng of shoppers. There were no other tourists to be seen and I was easily the tallest man around by a good couple of feet.

Shoes were hanging from poles and lines of clothes dangled over head, or in my case around my head. The tradesmen were proudly announcing their produce to the masses with loud tuneful cries. Some of them were just young boys but clearly had the experience and more vim than any of their elder counterparts. Great slabs of white whey cheese were being sliced and bagged as huge vats of olives sat in the sun emanating a powerful, salty stench. Eamon bought some. They were the best olives ever. I felt immensely lucky that we'd just stumbled upon this by chance. So far Istanbul was amazing.


Eventually we found the sea although it wasn't where we expected it. we came out of the bustling market up to a main road where an awe inspiring view hit us just as the sun was disappearing below the watery horizon. Venturing further down the hill towards the waters edge we past some government buildings and a park but the water shore was Navy property.

Unless we wanted to pay to sit in one of the cafes there we couldn't get next to the sea. We walked up a busy and steep road until we realised we were going to have to dash across 6 lanes of speedy traffic to get to the other side. Once across we headed up a road to an area where someone had recommended we go. I had only just commented how even though my father had said Istanbul had made him feel like he was being ripped off all the time, we had encountered no such trouble. I should have kept my mouth shut. As we came to a roundabout I noticed a shoe-shiner walking towards us. I thought he was going to offer his services but he carried on walking past until, just as he was passing my side, a brush fell out of his box onto the floor. I tapped him on the shoulder to alert him of his mislaid tool and before I knew it, I was having my shoes shined, fully aware that he'd dropped that brush on purpose to take advantage of my good nature. 'Shit!' I thought to myself. His colleagues quickly pounced on the rest of us and within minutes we were all about £10 down with no option of getting some change as promised. Feeling slightly deflated and stupid we headed back to our hotel.


The next morning I sleepily went down for a very odd breakfast. Feeling a little sick I headed back up to my room and snoozed away the rest of the time before heading to the site. I lay there feeling like i should get out and go and see more of the city but I didn't want to get scammed again. We'd got off lightly by comparison I bet. At least we weren't trying to buy a rug or anything like that. When the time came I went down to the lobby where Tom and Alex were sat with our rep Nazli. We all had stories to share. Apparently back stage at the festival a ruckus had occurred when Plan B and Kelis's drummer had a disagreement. We'd first encountered Plan B when he supported us at the Brixton Windmill. In between songs he screamed "Listen to me you cunts!" to the 50 odd people in attendance. Im not sure if he sold any merchandise that night. Needless to say, the boy's got issues. Anyway, I think possibly what happened was that Kelis's guys had never come across a white south Londoner such as him and probably gave him some shit for talking the talk and for using certain words that they wouldn't expect someone like him to use. He kicked off, smashing chairs, offering to fight anyone in the vicinity. He even started on The Rakes. It certainly soured the idyllic atmosphere of the festival and its tranquil back stage area, which i was soon to be melting at.
We were picked up from the hotel and driven for about 45 minutes east out of the city. Soon we were in the countryside, avoiding cattle on the road and heading towards the black sea coast. The festival was being held at a beach resort, on a ledge looking down over the sea.

The back stage area was made up of a large dining table with several chairs around it, a bar and then 5 adjoining marquees partitioned with tarpaulin for each band. It was unfathomably hot and i was pleased that our marquee had a large air conditioner as big as an American fridge in it. Lunch was served and it was all delicious. We were provided with plenty of beers and other drinks and everyone was very helpful and nice.

The Horrors turned up and after a while someone had the idea to rip down the partition between our two dressing rooms and turn it into one large dressing room for us both to share. They had an Ipod and we had a fridge so it was a fair trade. We all made friends and chatted happily like all brits abroad do.
The time came around for us to play and it was still baking. It was OK in the shade with a bit of breeze, ideal in the dressing room with the air con, but on stage in the full glare of the sun it was most uncomfortable. Somehow I got through it, we all did. Eamon had a bit of a frog in his throat for the first tune and Tom began to resemble a beet-root towards the end but overall it was good. It was only dampened by the fact that the first several rows of people at the barrier were decked out in black waiting patiently for the anti-christ himself, Marilyn Manson who was head lining. After the show Eamon and I did a string of interviews, some of which contained some well informed and interesting questions. Unfortunately I missed The Horrors who were playing during this time but I can imagine that their brand of freak-show halloween noise punk went down pretty well with the majority audience.
Because Manson's stage show was so elaborate, his crew were taking every possible moment they could to prep stuff and set things up. In between bands it wasn't just the next band playing who had carte blanche to be on stage, but all Manson's crew around them too. Subsequently The Long Blondes ended up playing on a carpeted stage and as soon as they'd finished, those of us who'd been watching from the side were swiftly removed. By now the back stage area had been split into Manson's area and an area roughly the same size for everyone else. It was cordoned off with black sheets adorning the playboy bunny and guarded by a few big fat dudes. Eamon, being the tireless trouble maker that he is, drunkenly decided to invite himself through the black sheet only to be quickly asked to leave. He protested that he wasn't man handled enough and then tried to bribe his way in the other side with an out of circulation 250,000 lira note. Surprisingly that didn't work either.
There was an aggressive sense of hierarchy brewing back there, an 'us and them' complex that i didn't like. Other than the free booze (which was quickly running out) there wasn't much else to stick around for. I watched a few songs of Manson. He looked jaded, parading around the stage like a caricature of himself. Fair enough his voice is one of a kind when he gets it right but too many of his lines were just dribbling out in a loss of breath. He looked like a suffocating fish, gasping for air on the deck having just been hooked out of the sea. For all the military operation bollocks and other bullshit everyone had to endure because of him, it was quite under-whelming. We took our leave not long after he finished and drove back to the hotel where we had a wee party in The Horrors sound guy's room. After a while i had the sense to go to bed.
We left early the next morning and headed to the airport. Istanbul airport is small and easy. I wanted to buy some cheap booze but as i was getting a connecting flight back to Glasgow from Luton I wouldn't have been allowed to take the glass bottles. Eamon and I got drunk on the plane on red wine. 3 hours and 40 minutes isn't short enough for you not to care and it isn't long enough for you to get comfortable. So boozing ourselves into a drunken slumber and talking shite was the only way. I said goodbye to all at Luton and checked into my next flight, by now hung-over and exhausted. It suddenly dawned on me that I was going home for the first time in 36 days. I let out a little whimper. I was sure something was going to stop me from getting there and it almost did when someone drove a burning car into the front of Glasgow airport. Luckily for me Scottish resilience kicks arse and the airport was open despite smelling like a barbecue and having a charred facade. Every second I got nearer to home was excruciating. Every person dilly-dallying with their luggage on the bus was winding me up. I finally got back and it was pure bliss.

Brakes at Glasto

Brakes at Concorde/Glastonbury

After a couple of days resting Brakes descended on Brighton's Concorde for a benefit show for Unison. It was slightly strange playing in Brighton again. Hundreds of familiar faces, friends and family who it seemed like we hadn't seen for ages. Still a little jetlagged, we got up and played. It was hot and tiring. Sounded a little weird playing on such a big stage, as we'd become accustomed to the cosy proximities of the 200-300 capacity venues we'd mainly played over the last month. Good fun was had and soon after the end of our set we took off in the van headed west.
Some time in the early light, I woke to see misty hills whizzing past outside. I realised we were in Somerset and nearing Glastonbury. By the time we rolled up to the correct entrance to the site it was 6:30am. Unfortunately the route was closed and we weren't let in no matter how much pleading we did with the stony faced Geordie warden. Having been asked to wait until 8 we parked up and played Frisbee in a nearby car park. We eventually trundled into the site, found what seemed to be the last spot to camp in hospitality and pitched our tents. It was raining, not too bad but enough to force me to retreat inside my tent and get some kip until it got brighter.
The Cribs, loudly making their presence felt on the other stage just behind us, woke me a few hours later. We had a bit of a wander round, got muddy, drank some cider and went to see SFA who were brilliant. I wanted to stick around and watch The Coral but the cider got to me and I needed some shelter. Opted to go and see mates Thirty Pounds of Bone with Matt Eaton on geetaw in the late and live tent. Very good they were too. Ate some horrible and overpriced food and then caught a bit of Arcade Fire who were impressively anthemic. Then it was time to see Bjork. I'm a big fan of Bjork and she was fresh. Only downside was that being forced to listen to drunken people singing along to Bjork is pure torture and should be banned. The evening eventually blurred into nothingness. I have to admit that I spent most of my time at the festival in the backstage bar. It was convenient, like having a pub in your back garden and I swear I bumped into more people in there than I would walking around Brighton.

The next morning we were all up early and had to check in at the other stage and load our gear up for our 12:40pm performance. I'd been nervous all of Friday. Watching all those bands play on the same stage the day before made me feel like I was trespassing on hallowed ground. I wasn't so nervous come stage time though. Looking out into the audience I spotted people with pineapples on sticks and Brakes flags and banners. This was heartening. We went on in good time and got stuck in. It sounded reasonably good on stage and we had an amazing show. It was possibly the most thrilling experience I'd had with the band yet. The numbers rose as we played until I could see people all the way back past the control tower and fading into the distance. We had the weather on our side too and the sun shone for all our set. Kate Jackson of The Long Blondes joined us for a rendition of her namesake, 'Jackson' and before we knew it, it was all over.

Bumped into all the Editors dudes afterwards. Good to see them. We drank and toasted a fine gig and then all went off. Tom and Alex dashed over to the Guardian tent for their performance. It was hot and busy in there and the boys played well despite some string breaking action. Bumped into most of the Pipettes as well as various other Brighton faces. The mud outside in punter land was the mercilessly thick, boot-sucking type and was hard on the old thighs. It was safest just to head back to the bar where we spotted both Will Young and Mark Owen looking chic-ishly tramp like.

Didn't manage to catch anything else that day. There wasn't really anything I wanted to see and anything that was vaguely worth checking out was across a sea of bodies and sticky mud. The only thing worth the mission was the cider bus. It was well worth it and me and the lady drank both cold and hot cider before returning to the backstage area to drink more and smoke weed with Monster Bobby. Eamon and Tom did an acoustic performance in the leftfield tent at 2:30am however I was safely tucked up by then. Id managed to arrange a lift back on Sunday morning so needed the kip. The rain came again the next morning and taking the tent down was a depressing and messy task. We hiked through various muddy fields to get to our mates car, which refused to move in the mud. With a bit of pushing and shoving we were soon off and on our way out of Glasto 07.
Next up, Kent festival this Friday and then Brakes add another country to their international tally sheet with their first ever performance in Turkey at the Radar festival on the 2nd. Effectively we're supporting Marilyn Manson. Brilliant!

North American tour diary part 3

A whole day was spent driving east away from Chicago and towards the Canadian border at Lake Huron. Immigration was relatively painless compared to the atrocities of last week. We had intended to get all the way to Niagara Falls that day and have the next morning to experience the natural wonder. The land had its weary way with us though and the journey was just too long. We opted instead to stay in a town called London. We'd already stayed in Brighton, now it was London for Andy, all we needed to complete the theme was a Birmingham for Priesty. London didn't look like much. Our Econo-Lodge was next to a titty bar named Beef Baron, on a desolate road occupied mainly by auto shops and used car lots. It was midnight and we were all famished. A short, brisk walk later and we'd found a Pizza joint called Stobie's and proceeded to stuff big, doughy slices of pizza down our gullets. Minutes later we were fed and felt like capable humans again. We took a couple of cabs back to the hotel and some of us (I wont say who) ventured into the titty bar, purely to drink the beer of course.
Tuesday morning came round and, after a sweaty sleep on the bus, we set off for Niagara Falls. We cut across the eastern tip of Lake Ontario, water as far as the eye could see, still and flat like a big mirror. Then, as we drew nearer to Niagara Falls, the cheap motels and billboards started popping up. A little drive later and we were parked and walking towards the falls. It was baking hot and if it hadn't have been the case that going for a swim would have resulted in almost certain death, I would have considered it. The water did look good. I was surprised the waters edge wasn't fenced off, as a few hundred meters further in the direction we were walking was the colossal Horseshoe Falls. Three quarters of a million tonnes of water pass over the falls every second. It was truly spectacular. A dense mist floated eerily up from the 180ft drop, giving all us tourists some slight relief from the burning sun. It would have been good to do one of the under falls trails or even go on the boat trip but we didn't have the time. Actually, those boats looked a little precarious as they struggled against the immense current to get a closer look.

After a beer we got back on the bus and just as we were about to leave for Toronto, I saw something move over on the grass. Id noticed the small brown lump earlier but assumed it was a rock. On closer inspection we discovered that it was a groundhog, at least that's what we think it was. We crept towards it to get footage on our cameras until it scampered, scared into the woods. Our visit to Niagara Falls had turned out to be a bit of a nature stop seeing as I'd also seen a couple of black squirrels and a blue jay earlier on. We then found out from our Agent that the Montreal show was off. The promoter hadn't secured the booking and it turned out the venue was booked for that whole week for a local festival. This perturbed Eamon especially who had been looking forward to seeing the family he has in Montreal. We later decided to drive there the next day anyway.
I dozed off, slightly sun stricken during the short drive from Niagara Falls and when I woke up we were coming into Toronto with the CN tower piercing the wide blue sky above. Lee's Palace was a big, old venue. There were some real characters working there, including Gordy, a seasoned rocker and ex hockey player whose actual job there was quite vague. Basically he sorted us out for whatever we needed and told us jokes and surreal stories. Met some cool folk doing the merchandise and sold quite a lot from early doors. I ate sushi and drank beer behind the stall for my dinner. Pela sounded good again, they always do. Singer Billy had a tough one, breaking 3 strings and falling off the stage. It was quite a high stage too and unfortunately he ended up with a sprained ankle.
Brakes went on and for me it was the third gig in a row that felt way above average. We even got an encore, enthusiastically introduced by uber-fan Kevon: a young looking, eloquently spoken, moustached fellow with an encyclopaedic knowledge of British music and band trivia. He's something of a local character it would seem and even has his own Internet TV channel. We went to the bar down the road for drinks afterwards. We were all drinking merrily, sharing beverages with the guys from the venue who it seemed like we'd known forever. The DJ was playing lots of obvious British Indie so Alex rifled through his CD collection and picked out some better tunes. I was talking to a lady who'd fallen off her bike and was covered in cuts and bruises when suddenly an intense looking guy came over and said something in her ear. She literally stopped mid sentence and went to talk with him at another table. He looked angry and was making dirty glances at us. Something was definitely up. I looked around. Lots of people had sinister stares, agendas in their eyes. I was off my face and started feeling like I was being hustled for something in some way so I went outside. Gordy brought me back down to earth and introduced me to a likeable guitarist called Jim who'd just bought a lovely new Gretsch. He told me about his experiences travelling Europe when he was younger and I listened with fascination.
That night we stayed at Tom Mckay's house. Tom is a songwriter and producer that Tom and Alex know. In the morning he charbroiled us a breakfast of sausages, bacon and eggs. It was the first wholesome food we'd had for a long time and set us up good for a long drive up to Montreal. We got to Eamon's cousin's place at around 9pm. Her name is Megan, she was a delightful hostess and she cooked us our second wholesome meal for a long time. She took Eamon, Alex, Matt and Andy out to a bar while the rest of us stayed in. I wrote some emails and then got my head down on the bus. Apparently the promoter of the cancelled show was in the same bar that night and was too embarrassed to say hi. He's telling everyone that we're coming back in October but that's news to us.

We left early the next day and made our way south back into America. The border was a breeze. Crossing it has just got easier each time we've done it. I dozed a little and read my book as we crossed through Vermont, New Hampshire and eventually drove into Massachusetts. Boston looked like a very proper city, all good masonry, schools and neat parks.

We pulled up to a radio station on the first floor a central office block. People were walking by, looking in as we played. The presenter was typically under researched and got all her facts mixed up. I guess the whole two bands scenario is a bit confusing. We played 3 songs and then left for the venue. TT and the Bears was a nice sized little club. We abstained from a sound-check and after setting up the merchandise I went to get some food at the middle-eastern restaurant on the corner. The tuna steak was delicious but inevitably it reminded my body of how tired I was. I seemed to go into a downward spiral of nausea and exhaustion whilst sat back on the merchandise stall. A Russian girl tried to buy a $10 CD with a $100 bill and I received more criticism for not taking plastic.
Our set that night was a real struggle. Eamon bust 3 strings and the onstage sound was possibly the worst I'd ever encountered. At least there were a few eager fans present to egg us on. I had to watch the drum kit like a hawk just to stay in time. We battled through it and soon enough it was over and we were packing down. Luckily I got to spend the four hours in between getting to the hotel and leaving the hotel in a comfy bed. My shower the next morning felt like the tears of God themselves raining down from above and cleansing my wretchedly dirty body. I stood there dumbfounded by the sensation. The past two and a half weeks were really catching up on all of us. It would take a city like New York to inject a bit of vitality back into the party. I found an old bus with its door open in the car park of the hotel and decided to sit in there for a bit for a little variety.

We headed south out of Massachusetts, reluctantly stopping at McDonalds on the way for breakfast. I made the mistake of ordering a McGriddle, which consists of your regular breakfast sandwich fillings but is flanked by what I can only describe as two Eccles cakes. Utterly foul! Before long we were in New York state and making our way into the city. Before heading to Hoboken, New Jersey, we were due to perform acoustically for the people at CMJ. We were going to go to the venue first and then get taxis to it but there wasn't time. So we drove the RV straight into midtown Manhattan and got dropped off. There was a gaggle of people waiting for us on the 12th floor of an office block. A man called Paul gave me a book called 'I like food, food tastes good', which features recipes that have been submitted by bands. Turned to page 30 and there was my recipe for vegetable soup that I'd sent about a year ago. I was officially a published chef. We played 4 or 5 songs and then got on our way.
It was amazing to be back in New York. The fast pace, and brash unpredictability of it made a refreshing change to the rest of America. We took the tunnel under the river to New Jersey and found Maxwell's, our venue for the night. I hadn't realised how close Hoboken was to Manhattan. Just down the road from the venue was a breathtaking view of the island across the Hudson.

New Yorker's do take great pride in distinguishing the differences between all these relatively close towns and boroughs. They are subtle differences to an outsider like me but huge to a native New Yorker. Sadly it was time to say goodbye to the RV, which Andy had to drive to Pennsylvania where it would be picked up and taken back to LA. We emptied it all out and cleaned it as much as we could. It had served us well despite being a little impractical and making people laugh and point at us almost everywhere we went.
I was excited to play Maxwell's; it's where Yo La Tengo have their yearly Hanukah gig as well as being the venue for many great shows in the past. I had a burrito (again) for dinner, something I've got to stop doing, and then waited wearily for show time. ESP had a good one, as did Pela. It was a homecoming gig for Pela drummer Tom, who is a Jersey boy and he had a few mates in the audience. It was good to meet some of those guys' families now we were in their neck of the woods. We had a fun show that night; there weren't all that many people there but they all seemed to be drunk and bouncing around so it was ok. For Porcupine or Pineapple Tom donned a blonde wig and I a balaclava, I couldn't tell you why exactly. Gig done and we were all going our separate ways staying at various friends' places. Priesty, Matt and myself were staying at Dawn's and Tom and Alex at Dawn's friend John's place. Dawn is the cousin of Dodgy guitarist Andy Miller. She had a very nice ground floor flat in a nice part of Brooklyn.
After a disturbed nights sleep due to Priesty's cataclysmic snoring, we went for some lunch at a nice gaff round the corner. Brooklyn looked like an alright place, reminded me of Stoke Newington quite a bit. We'd slept in late so the day was slowly getting away from us. Once back at Dawns we ordered some cabs and went to the Mercury Lounge on the lower east side where we'd play the first of a two night residency. A thunderstorm was brewing and I was feeling extremely odd, aching all over with excruciating stomach pains, barely able to stand. It was either from too much sleep or not enough. After sound checks Euvin from our label Worlds Fair took us for some grub at Katz's Diner, the place made famous by that awful film, When Harry Met Sally. We had giant pastrami sandwiches with huge, juicy dill pickles. It made me feel better. The venue started to fill up, we'd sold it out, probably with the help of a really good piece in Time Out magazine, headlined by the genius pun; "RV there yet". It was good to see some familiar New York faces, people we'd met from our previous visits to the city. I didn't catch any of ESP's set as I was on the merchandise at the other end of the club but plenty of people swarmed to buy stuff once they'd finished. As it was the end of the tour we were selling everything dirt-cheap. Some people were buying 4 t-shirts and 4 albums in one go and the dollars were rolling in.

Pela had a good show and then Brakes got up to play. It was pretty much the first time on this tour that there was a noticeable sense of anticipation in the audience. We played a blinder, a full pelter of a set, hitting them with every last scrap of energy we had. After the show we went to Dawn's northern soul night at a club up the road. It was like being at any mod club back home, small, crowded and dark. I had a few drinks and then started to wilt with exhaustion so at about 3am Matt and I took a cab back to Brooklyn.
After being back at Dawn's for about half an hour, Priesty, Alex and John turned up wondering where Tom was. He'd done a disappearing act and no one knew where he was. It turned out he went looking for some food and on trying to find his way back had gotten completely lost. Eventually, after wandering around Manhattan on his own, he found the club just as they were closing up. One of the barmen rang the manager, who gave him Dawn's number and then Dawn relayed directions for Tom back to Brooklyn.
I slept brilliantly that night, partly because Priesty had moved his mattress into the corridor so Matt and I could sleep soundly without disruption. Unluckily for him Dawn's cat decided to sprint up and down the corridor all night keeping him awake.

It was another slow start to the day come the morning and my plans for a bit of Manhattan bound shopping went completely out the window, as did arrangements for us all meeting for lunch. We met eventually, about an hour and a half later than arranged, and had lunch at Schillers on Rivington and Norfolk. One extremely large burger and a Bloody Mary later and we went back to the Mercury Lounge to set up for our second night there. Pela were headlining the show with ESP on first and Brakes in the middle. For Tom and Alex, this final hurdle was to be the hardest to jump with two shows back to back. Even though the show hadn't sold out on ticket sales, with a good walk up it packed out and we'd gained full capacity two nights in a row. ESP played well then we squeezed the last morsel of strength into the final Brakes show of the tour. It was another great gig, not quite as well played as the night before but then Tom and Alex were delirious with fatigue, probably losing more and more sense with every note played. We all ploughed through it, the finish line in our sights. It was an emotional finale to what had been probably the greatest achievement of any of our touring careers. Pela took the stage and whipped up the sweaty crowd into frenzy. Being the end of their first cross- country tour, the show had even more poignancy for them, especially as they were playing in the bosom of a home crowd. The moment had to be marked in some way so during their anthemic encore 'Cavalry' the rest of us got up there to bash various instruments, dance and sing. It was a joyous celebration of a fantastic tour. I was sad that I wasn't going to be seeing those guys' faces every day no more, but also glad that we'd made some amazing friends along the way. It was so lucky that we all got on and understood each other. As I said before being on tour with a band that are unwilling to be friends is a nightmare. Some people have an agenda, or an elevated opinion of themselves when really all musicians and all bands everywhere are in the same boat and you scrape all that ego shit away, you can actually learn from each other.
Another after-show had been arranged at Piano's, the place where Brakes first ever played in NYC. Embarrassingly the management had put a poster outside stating 'Brakes official after-show' with a picture below of the other band The Brakes from Philadelphia, those same cretins who forced us to change our name. I didn't let it dampen my mood and got some booze down my neck. We were supposed to be 'partying' upstairs but the air con was too high, it was dark and the music was shit so we went back down stairs again. Tom got barred somehow. The DJ took a disliking to him for reasons unknown to myself. Matt and I propped the bar and proceeded to pour alcoholic beverages down our throats with abandon. Eventually the money ran out and it was time to be leaving. Getting back to Dawn's was a bit of a struggle. Once we'd dropped Tom at John's Matt and I were unsure how to direct the cab to our destination. After going in several circles around Brooklyn we eventually got there and got our drunken heads down.

In the morning we all had to get up and out as ESP had a TV show to record. Tom from Pela was kind enough to drive us to the Mercury in his van so we could pick up our gear. From there I took the final opportunity I had to go uptown and make the most of our favoured exchange rate. I'd been to this store Dave's before. It sells rugged work wear, jeans and plaid shirts for dirt-cheap prices. I met Eamon at 6th and 23rd where I'd been told it was and we scoured the vicinity for the shop. An hour went by, we couldn't find it. I was getting pissed off. It was hot and the traffic was pumping out noxious, stifling fumes. I found another clothes store where the first two pairs of Levis I tried were perfect and a steal so I had to buy them, but I was still miffed at not finding Dave's. Where could it be? We had some lunch and it was still bugging me so once we'd eaten I found a wi-fi hot spot and looked it up. It turned out it was on 6th and 17th, not 6th and 23rd. We got there eventually and I worked out I could have saved about 20 bucks on what id bought in the other shop but what the hell, it was still two pairs of jeans for less than the price of one back home. I bought a shirt at Dave's then we had to get to the airport to meet the others.
Now that both bands were travelling together we had a mountain of equipment to check in at the airport. But by shoving bags in other bags and having two items of hand luggage each we managed to get away with not having to pay too much in excess. I hate airports so I got through security as quick as I could to just sit and ready myself for the flight. It amazed me how slack security was for people leaving the states compared to airports in the UK. There was none of that having to carry your cosmetics in separate bags and even though I clearly had lots of cables, wires and electronic equipment on me, they didn't feel the need to look through my stuff. In fact none of us got searched which is a rarity. Ironic that a year ago it was the thoroughness of Heathrow's security measures that stopped 3 American planes being blown up. They could at least return the favour. I suppose their way around it is just to not let anyone they don't trust into the country in the first place.
The flight was good despite being a little uncomfortable for my long legs and me but it was over soon enough and we were back in Britain. Matt Eaton was there to pick us up and before long we were back in Brighton. Almost as soon as I'd got to Brighton I got out again, to a countryside pub to eat and drink Harvey's merrily with family and loved ones alike. It was a scenario I'd been craving for quite some time now and it didn't disappoint. I fell asleep some time in the afternoon, waking later in confusion thinking I was in America and I had a show to do. The experience had obviously conditioned my brain into a routine. I knew it would take a while to shake the wretched tour fever. We had driven 7200 miles in 3 weeks, spending most of that time on the road. We'd crossed 4 time zones and seen snow, sun, rain, lots of dust and some big fucking trees. We met some amazing friendly people, some freaks and some weirdoes, all combining to paint a picture of this country's unique consciousness, and I'm not even going to mention Canada. For all the bad press the country gets, its still a truly spectacular place full of brilliance and potential. It's the country's potential that has lead it to make so many political mistakes, its wealth and unfathomable resources have given it more power than (really, as just a big kid) it knows what to do with. I hope it figures out all its problems within my lifetime because all those people (the non deluded ones that is) deserve to be proud of their nation, and I personally can't wait to go back and explore it some more.
Thanks to everyone along the way. Big respect to Andrew Winters who deserves a fucking medal.

N. American tour diary part 2

Monday 11th June


We arrived in Seattle pretty late and for the third gig in a row Brakes passed on a sound check, as did ESP. I was just starting to count out the merchandise, which was in a dire mess after the debacle at the border, when first band, The Hands, started playing. There was something familiar about their first song, I'd never seen them before so the chances that id ever heard the song were slim. Then, with my head in a box full of ladies fit ESP shirts, it hit me. They'd taken the lyrics of bohemian rhapsody and worked it into a new song. Bit weird.
Chop Suey was a good-sized venue, Chinese lanterns and a ceremonial dragon hanging from the ceiling to complete the theme. By the time ESP took to the stage I had organised all the merchandise and was ready to start selling. Being the third night in a row that Tom and Alex had done 2 sets a night, they were obviously fatigued. Additional sound problems didn't help and their set was a bit of a struggle. They got through it ok though. Pela did their spot and then Brakes went on. There was a bit of fine-tuning to be done due to the lack of sound-check but once we got going we gave Seattle a good show. The crowd was a bit lippy but I think they liked it. We were certainly tired though and after the show I felt utterly done in.
Plan was to drive a little way out of town before finding somewhere to stay so we loaded up quickly and set off. I must have fallen asleep but was woken by everyone drunkenly guffawing at something. A little while later we pulled up to a small town called North Bend where we found a motel and got our heads down for a bit of sleep. Morning came quickly and upon looking out of the window I realised the town was flanked by two colossal jagged mountains. It turned out that we were in Twin Peaks country, the area of Washington State where David Lynch's surreal murder mystery series was filmed. I tried not to get too excited about it because I knew we had to leave fairly soon. We did have time, however, to have breakfast in a café, advertising 'cherry pie and a damn fine cup of coffee'.

Back on the road and we had a lot of driving ahead of us. I think this was the longest drive we had on the whole tour, crossing 3 states in the process. Leaving Washington we crossed into Oregon, which has to be one of the most geographically diverse states in the country. It seemed to skip from vast mountain terrain to barren farmland in the blink of an eye. Or maybe I was just going insane by that point.

These drives can be mentally torturing so its important to keep occupied. We all have our own ways of passing the time, from reading books to playing computer games to writing this blog. After eventually leaving Oregon we crossed into Idaho and pulled in to a town called Boise. This would be our resting place for the night. We all got a cab into town and had a late dinner at a restaurant where the wine tasted funny and the food was crap. Back in the motel car park, those of us who were sleeping on the bus were having a few beers when suddenly a small moustached man in a cap that read 'SECURITY' came and thumped on the RV door. "Are you registered here sir?" he asked me once id opened the door. I explained what the situation was and he suspiciously backed down and went back to his little hut looking slightly disappointed that he didn't have to get heavy on our arses.
Tom swears a ghost visited the RV that night, Alex and I didn't hear shit but a few others have mentioned that they reckon there could be an unworldly presence on board. The vehicle's previous owners were an old couple that had died with it still in their possession so it's not all that unfeasible, if you believe in any of that stuff. We got back on the road and continued our epic drive to Salt Lake City. The Idaho landscape was more desolate than I could have imagined. I found it best just to not look out the window at some points. The enormity of this country just bewilders me. At one point we got semi lost while taking a detour. The road was empty, winding its way through endless farmland, nothing but snow-capped mountains far away on the horizon. It was quite beautiful scenery but all I could think about was what would happen if we ran out of petrol. I wasn't sure how we'd got into this situation but I got a bit nervous when I heard Andy discussing the proposed route with Alex up the front. "If we head between those two mountains we should be alright" he said. Luckily he was right and about half an hour later we were off the scary road and back on the interstate.
Other than its fame as being the Mecca of the Mormon Faith, I wasn't sure what else went on in Salt Lake City. Knowing that drinking, smoking and swearing were probably all something of a taboo in this town, we went in with a hesitant sense of trepidation. After a radio session in South Ogden we drove into the city centre towards the venue.
Kilby Court was literally a shack with a yard down a dirt track. I can imagine some bands wouldn't be too pleased to turn up and play a place like this but we were well up for it. A local band, Genre, was bringing all the people so we let them play last. They were pretty young as were their audience who mostly came in fancy dress. It sounded pretty good in there surprisingly and we all had a good evening. Most of the kids were oblivious to who we were or where we'd come from so the shack was pretty empty when we first took the stage. The Pela guys did a good thing for us and managed to convince all the kids to come in and check us out. Before long we had about 50 kids in fancy dress dancing manically to our songs. Genre played after us and were dressed as strangely as their audience, the bassist donning a big green fish's head as a hat. They were quite entertaining really. The whole thing reminded me of Brighton's Free Butt when I was about 15 and playing in bands. God that makes me sound old! We stopped off at a Mexican place for a bite to eat on our way out of town. Matt won a toy ghost from one of those drop claw games and then we got back on the road.

Predictably I nodded off again and when I woke we were up a mountain outside a Great Western hotel and it was snowing.
After a painfully short amount of sleep we were back on the bus and heading further inland and towards the Rocky Mountains. The higher we went the snowier it got until we were driving through a blizzard and the whole of Wyoming was a whitewash. The wing mirrors began to collect thick, icy lumps of compacted snow on them and the weather seemed relentless.

Strangely, as soon as we crossed the Colorado border, the weather let up and the snow dispersed. To our right the western edge of the Rockies loomed down on us as we headed south down into Denver.
The venue Hi-Dive was joined to a bar/restaurant called Sputnik. Id been recommended their Cuban Pork Sandwich and it didn't disappoint, in fact all the food there was amazing and made a welcome change to the sloppy road food we'd been subjected to so far. I take my words back about American food, after a few days it starts doing some odd things to you. We're now all eating far more cautiously. Hi-Dive was a cool place, about 300 capacity, long bar, pool table out back and a really good sound on stage. ESP had a good one that night, as did Pela. When it came to Brakes' slot quite a few of the punters had left but it was pretty late by then. It was a good show regardless.

We had a few shots with the staff afterwards and then went on our way. From the little id seen of Denver it seemed like a nice place, definitely somewhere id consider returning to. We're travelling across this country at such a pace that it's hard to get an impression of anywhere at all. I'd promised myself I was going to try and explore the cities we play as much as possible but there just hasn't been time and I don't think any of us have the energy. Luckily, just from meeting some of the people and being well looked after at the venue, I could tell Denver was a good town.
That night we stopped off for our few hours sleep in a town called Brighton thinking it would be a nice reminder of home. We're always late leaving Brighton on time back home and even though we were in another country, thousands of miles away, there was no exception this time. Sheer exhaustion had taken its toll and we all overslept putting our departure time back a couple of hours. The drive to Omaha, Nebraska was going to be one of the last long drives we had to face and our slumber had just made it harder. We were crossing a time zone too so an hour would be lost. Andy did some brilliant driving that day and by keeping our stopping time to a minimum we managed to get into Omaha just after 8pm.
The drive had left us all a bit tense but the feeling soon lifted when the gig got underway. Unfortunately the Omaha based label Saddle Creek had just opened its own club downtown and were showcasing 5 of their bands for a $2 entry. There was no way a couple of limey bands and one from Brooklyn could compete with that, and to make matters worse there was some kind of Omaha festival going on too. It was a shame because it was a nice venue with a really good sound system. We didn't let it dampen our spirits though; we were just pleased to be there and the few folk who did show up were all really nice. Pela were especially good that night and we were all won over by them. They're such a nice bunch of guys and a fucking good band. It was Nate's (Pela lead guitarist) birthday so we opened our set with a Brakes style birthday tune, written on the spot. We had a good show and got quite merry afterwards. There was coin-operated laundry at the hotel so Eamon, Matthew and myself gave our clothes a much-needed wash. Next to the laundry room was the gym so while we waited we had a drunken, late night workout.

The drive up to Minneapolis the next day was fairly uneventful. We crossed through Iowa, the pig farming state of the USA and boy did it whiff. When we turned up at the 400 Bar it was a warm, early evening and for the first time since LA, Brakes had time to sound-check.

This was a legendary place, home to Husker Du and The Replacements; it certainly had some history. After some dinner I got the merchandise set up and the evening got under way with ESP's fantastic opening set. Two drunks guys came up and asked me why we weren't accepting 'plastic' on the merchandise. "You'll sell a whole lot more if you're taking plastic" said the one with the red nose in a telling off sort of tone. As much as I could appreciate his advice I'm not sure it's too easy for a British band to apply for a card swipe machine. You'd probably have to register as a business in the states and fill out endless paperwork but ultimately you'd have to be a US citizen as well. Even after he'd ranted at me he ended up paying cash anyway.
For a bit of a change Brakes decided to do the set we'd been roughly doing for the whole tour, but the other way round. It kept us on our toes and made for a great gig, definitely my favourite of the tour so far. I got drunk on Guinness and Icelandic vodka afterwards and the best part was that all the drinks were free. Somehow an inebriated, bimbo, mother of 2 who was intent on driving herself home had made her way onto our bus and some of the guys were trying to convince her to get a taxi. She could hardly stand and eventually wobbled off to the store to get some cigarettes and then hopefully take a cab to wherever she was going. We made our way out of Minneapolis unaware that we were soon to experience another shocking example of America's drink driving problems.
Again I fell asleep on the way out of town and when I woke it was later than any of us would have liked. We'd crossed into Wisconsin and had stopped somewhere down the I-94. Eamon, Priesty and myself were kipping on the bus that night. Just as we were getting the beds out and the others were gathering their bags Andy came running up to the bus in a state of mild panic. "Get rid of everything!" he said gasping for breath. "The police are coming, get the beer bottles out of sight". He then told me I had to come with him and started running towards the motel's side entrance. I followed hastily wearing no shoes and just before we got to the door Andy turned to me and said "there's probably a dead guy in here". I was so tired that the whole episode played out like some kind of surreal movie scene. We went through the door where straight ahead was a long bright, white corridor. Then on the right, a dark stairwell where, on the first landing lay a man caked in blood, out cold. On closer inspection it was quite obvious he wasn't dead because he was breathing heavily, almost snoring. I could tell that his unconsciousness was most likely caused by consuming too much alcohol rather than any injuries he'd sustained, but his nose was bashed in and he had a big cut on his hand. We alerted the guy on reception who called the police and I returned to the bus, once id taken this photo of him.

The three of us bus sleepers sat in the RV, drinking and chatting while the paramedics stretchered the guy away. The police were investigating the immediate vicinity and just as we thought they'd all cleared we got a hefty thump on the door. Priesty opened it up to find a moustached cop with a flashlight. "You boys know anything about that guy?" he said. We played down our knowledge of the incident claiming we'd heard about it but we'd only just arrived. "So what you boys been up to tonight?" he then asked, to which Priesty, drunk and mischievous, jokingly replied, "Oh we've just been doing some heroin". This probably wasn't the wisest thing to say but we all started pissing ourselves regardless, including the cop who then slammed the door in our faces as if to demonstrate his discontent at having his time wasted. Priesty stood there screaming, overjoyed with himself, ecstatic at the fact that he'd told a US cop he'd been doing hard drugs and had gotten away with it. Eamon and I couldn't quite believe what had just happened but it was certainly extremely funny if not asking for trouble somewhat. That cop must have been one of a kind, much to our favour.
It turned out that the beat up guy had crashed his car down the road, hauled himself out of the wreck and stumbled down the highway until finding his way into the motel and crashing out on the stairs where we found him. I only hope nothing similar had happened to the incapable woman we'd left in Minneapolis only a few hours ago. After 4 hours sleep we got back on the road and drove southeast through Wisconsin on our way to Chicago. Wisconsin was an attractively verdant state that wasn't dissimilar looking to our home nation. What with that and having had a detailed conversation with someone about Scotland the previous night, it was only now that the notion of homesickness had entered my mind. Not that I was feeling that way, it was just that now we were coming into our final week of the tour, the idea of leaving this mental country and returning to a UK in the waking days of summer was quite an attractive prospect.
We rolled into Chicago and loaded into the empty bottle club, all of us shockingly tired from lack of sleep the night before. I had a few beers, which almost sent me to sleep and then got to work on the merchandise. There was a house cat at this place, a 15-year-old black feline that just wandered around the venue looking for somewhere to sleep.

ESP did their set and almost instantly people started buying stuff from me. Everyone was very chatty and friendly. One guy turned up with his wife but had missed ESP because they'd been to a Fergie concert downtown. Its good to have a broad taste in music but that's just bizarre. A guy called Jamie who I know from Brixton band The Taylors turned up surprisingly. He'd moved out there a while back and I'd totally forgotten about it, always good to have familiar faces turn up randomly though. Pela had a tough one that night, a couple of them were a bit ill and their monitors weren't working or something. It was a shame but it still sounded good out front. I think they'll appreciate the day off, they need it. We all do.
I had a wee twinge of pre gig denial before we went on but just got up there and did it. It turned out to be the best show yet. Our monitors were fairly non-existent as well but we just played through it. We've hit that comfortable zone where the playing becomes second nature and we can just have fun. There were some crazy dancing people, always a nice addition, all in all, fucking good gig in Chicago. Of course we didn't get to see any of the town other than a faint skyline as we drove in but the show was splendid.
I am now sat in a hotel room resisting going to sleep. We're donning our tourist hats for the next few days and heading up to Niagara Falls for a family outing. It feels satisfying to have come across this stupidly sized continent, playing in places we've never been and come out the other side in one piece and having had a pretty damn good time. One week left now including the grand finale of three nights in NYC. Some crazy shit is going to go down, that's for sure.

BrakesBrakesBrakes N.American Blog part 1

Thursday 31st May 2007


It was two days before tour started and Brighton was wet. On the Monday it literally rained all day and having caught an early flight down from Glasgow I was tired, soaked through and really feeling quite shit. Despite knowing better I resorted to the usual hometown activity of sharing more than a few libations and laughs with friends in some old haunts. It was enough to distract me from the looming nervousness I was experiencing. It was a long time coming but we were finally setting off to tour America and Canada.
Wednesday came around and Eamon and I boarded our flight to Los Angeles where we'd rendezvous with Tom, Alex, tour manager Andrew and ESP's rhythm section Matt and Mathew. ESP had gone out a week earlier for a mini tour of the west coast playing mainly in places called San something. The flight was quite empty so all on board got to stretch their legs a bit and just under 10 hours later we began to descend into California. The city looked vast and heaving, roads longer than you could see channelling an endless stream of cars and trucks through block upon block of sprawling metropolis. We got through customs and immigration at a snail's pace as usual. Once we'd been checked, scanned and bureaucratically stamped several times we were let through with our bags and guitars to seek further transportation. We'd been instructed to meet the others at a Long Beach record store called Fingerprintz where ESP were due to play an in-store. After a shuttle bus journey that seemed to take forever, we arrived there safely.
The record store was a sweet place; they had more CD's than they knew what to do with, all genres, used and brand new. It transpired that the owner Rand was a big Tenderfoot fan, which was a nice surprise. Our colleagues were yet to arrive so we decided to go and have a paddle at the nearby beach.

It was the first time id ever seen the Pacific Ocean and it gave me a new perspective on the size of the world. After this profundity we headed back to the store, amusingly saluted by a passing hell's angel on the way. ESP arrived in true style, snapping a memorial tree in half by driving the overhang of our rented RV into it.

Rand was glad because now everyone could see his sign from the other side of the street. Oddly the Police were called in to deal with the situation who quickly cordoned off the area and hacked the ex tree into pieces ready for removal. We've now taken to calling Andrew Lumberjack or any other tree felling related nickname.
The in-store was good for ESP, a nice turnout and plenty of signing to be done afterwards. It's good to see that they have an enthusiastic following stateside. When everything was wrapped up there we all boarded our RV where I fell asleep uncontrollably. Sometime later I was woken up, we'd reached our destination, the apartment of ESP's US label boss who was kindly letting us stay there. I had no idea where I was, what day it was or what was going on. The jetlag had hit hard but Eamon and myself had done well to see the day out.
After a refreshing sleep we awoke to day one of the brakesbrakesbrakes, Pela and Electric Soft Parade tour. The apartment we were at was in an area called Sherman Oaks, just below Mullholland Drive, north of Hollywood. Around the corner was an original 50's diner called Mel's Diner where we had breakfast. It's not just the body clock that needs adjusting on such a trip. American food can take a bit of getting used to too. There's always more than you need but it doesn't really fill you up, just makes you feel a bit queasy. Their burgers are brilliant though, in moderation of course as I reckon it's probably the fat content that makes them taste good. ESP had a radio session at Indie 103.3 early in the afternoon so we drove into Hollywood and dropped them off at the station. Whilst waiting in the RV a Dodge van pulled up in front of us with 'Pela, Brooklyn, New York' written into the dirt on the back. It was our middle support band for the tour and coincidentally they were booked to do a session straight after Tom and Alex. It was a good opportunity to introduce ourselves, so out we bounded and got ourselves acquainted. They were nice guys, very New York, good sense of humour and friendly. It was a relief because there is nothing worse than having to tour with a band you don't really get on with.

We arrived at Spaceland, that night's venue, a bit early so we tested out our new brakesbrakesbrakes custom hacky sacks in the parking lot. A new addition to the merchandise that is both fun and good exercise. The jetlag was really messing with my brain but sheer excitement was keeping me going. The venue started to fill up and ESP played to a good crowd. Being LA there was a varied mob assembled including lesbians, transvestites, a man in a space suit and another man in a kilt. Sat on the merchandise stand I had a good view of the place filling up. Pela went down well and sounded good and then it was our turn. We played a well-stacked set and it was great fun. There were a couple of idiot hecklers but that just made us play harder. Everyone was in a great mood afterwards and we drank and chatted to many people. Id been quite nervous about coming to LA thinking that it wasn't going to be a place I could relate with but that couldn't be further from the truth. It's a city built on aspiration, a hub for dreamers where the prospect of opportunity keeps you going but if nothing happens it doesn't matter because the sun is still shining and the beach is just down the road.
Breakfast was had at Mel's again the next morning where I sampled some delicious corned beef hash. Once fully fed we hopped in the RV for the first long drive the tour had to offer. The landscape became arid and desolate except for the occasional orange farm or vineyard. It was the first time id driven from one American city to another and it was another scary example of just how humungous this country is. At one point we passed a cattle farm that looked like it was the size of the Isle of Wight. The smell was shocking. Some considerable time later and we were crossing the bay bridge into San Francisco. The searing heat of the San Joaquine valley was replaced with thick cloud and mist that seemed to completely envelope the city. We checked in at the Travelodge and then headed for the venue.
Popscene was a nice club from the looks of it and we had a good sound check. We were the support band for the evening and the local headliners were our label mates, Scissors for Lefty. After a spot of dinner we returned to the venue and took to the stage. We played ok but the audience were fairly impartial, almost disinterested. There were plenty of well wishers afterwards, lots of brits too, it just seemed like a lot of people weren't in there for the live music and we didn't exactly feel encouraged. Talking to a few locals in the smoking yard I discovered that this place was usually a dance club where posh kids went to be seen. I was struggling to stay awake by this point and had to retire to the RV to sleep. Unfortunately id left it too long to go to bed and just as I got my head down my body started thinking it was the morning, which sent me into a night of interrupted dozing with crazy dreams.
The alarm clock said 9:00am when I decided to get up. I wanted to get a bit of a walk in before we had to leave so I washed, got dressed and headed up to Haight Ashbury. It turned out that the alarm clock was actually 45 minutes fast so everything was closed. Feeling somewhat down on my luck I headed back down the hill and walked down Market Street for a bit. The city was just coming to life and I was determined not to leave it without seeing something good. San Francisco's homeless population were out in force, lots of boozers, disabled war vets and skinny drug addicts congregated on the street corners. It got busier the further down I went and after several menacing looks and requests for money I started to feel a little out of my depth. Retreating into an army surplus store the owner told me it was "pay day for the poor". All these people had just got their benefit cheques and were eager to cash in. I bought an old shoulder bag and made my way back to the hotel to meet the others and get the hell out of San Francisco.
What followed next was 2 whole days of driving up the Pacific Northwest coast. We took the scenic route and it was extremely bendy. The misty fog surrounding San Francisco seemed to completely disperse as soon as we crossed the Golden Gate Bridge and the journey north offered some of the most beautiful scenery I've ever seen. Eagles flew above as we drove past various hippy towns and surf beaches. We passed through ancient forests and saw some of the biggest and oldest trees in the world, some 3 meters thick. We had a late lunch in an overpriced golf club restaurant where the local beer they served was called Rat Bastard. I had two pints of the stuff just so I could say Rat Bastard to the waiter in as thick an English accent as I could. We journeyed on and I fell asleep at some point. When I woke it was dark and Andy was having a strange conversation with a psychotic Indian motel owner out the window. We were now in a hub town called Eureka and we were looking for somewhere to stay. It made no difference to me however as it was my turn to kip on the RV.

I actually slept pretty well in the bus that night despite some screaming drunk rednecks waking me up. We set off for another day of solid driving except this time we had a gig at the end of it. The journey was even more spectacular than the previous day, the road twisting and winding around huge ravines that dropped down to wildly rapid rivers. We stopped for some breakfast at the forest café opposite the Trees of Mystery experience. There was a cable car and a massive garish statue of mythical lumberjack Paul Bunyan with his big blue ox by his side. I was becoming more accustomed to the food by now and seized the opportunity of ordering more corned beef hash. The waitress was a character; every other word she said was a husky "Yargh". We drove out of the redwoods and into Oregon where the shade of the giant trees gradually dispersed. The RV became a moving oven and we all started losing it a bit. Neither Brakes nor ESP had ever done a journey like this before.
Some considerable time later we arrived in Portland where the centennial Rose Parade was taking place. People were everywhere and the road outside our venue was shut. Thinking that we had every right to drive down it anyway a cop marched straight over and practically punched the passenger window to get our attention. He made us drive round the corner and pull up behind a jeep. I jumped out and the owner of the jeep who was standing on the pavement said he'd move off in about 10 minutes. "I hate downtown when it's the parade," he said. "What's it in aid of?" I asked him. "Some frickin' kids shit or something, I dunno" We were a bit late so Pela had gone ahead and sound-checked anyway. Seeing as ESP's set needs a little more refining, Brakes forfeited their sound-check and opted for a last minute line check instead. Eamon had played Dante's before in BSP supporting a strip show, the place certainly had a raunchy vibe to it. It was also pretty empty and it didn't look like it was going to fill up. ESP played well and apart from some wailing feedback at the start, it sounded pretty good. Pela played and were well received and then it was Brakes' turn. We were all in fairly good spirits given the low pressure of playing to a semi empty room in a strange town so we just had fun with it. It sounded pretty good on stage too for not sound checking. There were a couple of broken strings and a few technical issues but we didn't care so much. Two girls started bopping down the front during Spring Chicken so we decided to dance up the rest of the set by playing NY Pie followed by Jackson. This had the desired effect and there were at least 20 people dancing by the end of our set. Out of a crowd of about 45-50 that was pretty good going.
We packed up leisurely and then started to load out. It was then that we all saw Portland for its true colours as large groups of drunken men and women piled into the club and crowded the streets outside. It made it a little stressful to get everything out, especially when trying to avoid the piles of vomit on the sidewalk. Some kid decided to jump on the bus with us but we soon got rid of him. We left Portland and drove slightly north to find a motel. It was my turn in a motel room and although we were only there for 5 or 6 hours it was good to have a wash and relax after the stress of two days on the road.

After a shockingly short sleep we were back on the RV and heading north. The interstate 5 went right through Seattle, which is a place I've wanted to visit for a long time. We stopped off in Seattle's northern suburbs for some food in a big, family orientated chain restaurant. It probably wasn't going to be any good but we were famished. After a while sat at our table I noticed a solitary woman on the next table drinking on her own. She was clearly drunk, possibly mentally unwell but definitely not happy. Every now and then she'd let out a sorrowful wail attracting strange glances from staff and customers alike. A man took it upon himself to ask her to leave a few times but she wouldn't budge. After the third time he tried some paramedics turned up with their rubber gloves to apprehend her properly, then some police turned up and another paramedic. Five officers in total were surrounding this poor piss head in a restaurant full of families. It was a bit over the top to say the least.
We got going with the journey and had the Canadian border in sights. Unfortunately we were told at immigration that as we had merchandise we had to through the commercial vehicles entrance. Once we'd gone back into America it took us about 30 minutes to find it and then we got really held up. We had to declare all the goods and apply for an import permit or something like that. It took quite a while and cost a wee bit but it was better that we had the merchandise and could legally sell it in Canada. Vancouver was just across the border and we were all gazing out the window like kids on a school trip as we rolled in. Found the venue quite easily and proceeded to load in. There was minimal time till doors so Brakes passed up a sound-check again and let ESP go ahead. It was a nice venue the Media Club, low ceiling and a good bar. Ex Brighton resident and general good geezer Dave Morrison came down with his wife Susan. It was good to have some friendly faces in the house. What with Eamon's family there too, the atmosphere was pretty friendly, especially for a place we'd never played before. For some reason the jetlag caught up with me that night and Brakes' set took a bit of warming into. We soon had the kids dancing though and overall it was a good one. Id managed to secure some accommodation for the night through a friend of a friend who id never met before. It was very good of them to let a load of complete strangers into their home, thanks Ben and Rachel if you're reading.
The next morning we got some breakfast and took to the road to re-enter the states and head to Seattle. Although the drive from Vancouver to Seattle is relatively short, we were held at customs again for a couple of hours due to the majority of our t-shirts originating from Haiti and therefore being classed as illegally imported merchandise. At one point we thought we were going to have to ditch them all, an act that would have seen a possible $5000 down the drain. Luckily Andy managed to find the one guy who worked there who could sympathise with our situation. He also had the authority to let us leave, so after two hours of bureaucratic nonsense, we were allowed to leave with all our shirts on board. It was a huge relief, selling merchandise is pretty much the only way you make money from a tour for bands like us, and to almost have that taken away made me want to puke.
Oh well…. Onwards to Seattle!