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.