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!

This is what You Tube is for!

I have been watching bleak portrails of the modern geo-political world lately. It is great. I would urge everyone to watch this film by Adam Curtis ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Adam_Curtis ). It was shown on the BBC a few years ago under the title The Power Of Nightmares, and it's on You Tube as "The Neocons".

This is the introduction:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qk1WkmioQvA

These are episodes 1-14:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sGfa7nM9CNA

It's quite a battering experience, but well worth it for the conclusion.

After that, watch his follow up film The Trap: What Happened To Our Dreams Of Freedom? which was on BBC2 a few months ago.

Episodes 1-7:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YOEB05_3-p0

This is what you tube is for!

Whilst I'm on this recommending trip, I stumbled across a band called Human Television recently- they are good. And, twenty odd years late, I've just discovered Beat Happening. I'm glad I did. They rule.

Hopefully see some of you at some shows, come up and say hello,
Eamon

One week to go!!!

Hello Boys and Girls

Its only a week now until brakesbrakesbrakes jet out to the northern american continent and I'm pleased to announce that, as of 2:30pm this afternoon, all 4 memebers of the band have now received their visas from those lovely people at the US embassy. Those crazy dudes love letting bands into the country so much that they let us apply first at the wonderful time of 8am. Luckily i dont find getting up that early so distressing but id definitely say im a minority. Observing hardened rockers and scruffy indie chancers, zombified and confused by the cruel morning whilst trying to fill in various forms can be quite entertaining. The celebs were a bit thin on the ground during our recent visit however. Two weeks before the south by south west festival and the waiting room resembles a morgue for british bands but last wednesday it was pretty sparse. One man made up for this though. Shaun Ryder, Gorrilaz collaborator and lead singer with drug soaked Mancunian baggy legends The Happy Mondays was there in a huge green puffer jacket. He didn't look impressed and when it came to his interview there were obviously a few "issues" that needed discussing. He went from being two in front of me in the queue to five behind, his mood visably deteriorating as we shuffled along. Poor old Shaun!
Id like to take this chance to thank all the people who replied to my last blog. Quite a few of you got back to us with suggestions of places to go and things to do in your towns when we stop by and in a few cases we'll be spolit for choice. Thanks to all those who took the time to reply, much appreciated.
But about half the towns are still unspoken for and in fear of feeling isolated and leaving a town behind without it making any kind of impression, i make one final plea. If you live in San Fransisco, Portland, Salt LakeCity, Omaha, Montreal or Cambridge, MA then please get in touch with some local tips for a band who hate to sit around.
Over the last few days we've been making an extremely DIY video for Porcupine or Pineapple. Its being edited in the following 4 days and will be available to view as soon as we hit US airspace. Not only do brakesbrakesbrakes like to have an occasional shot at their own promos, but they have recently taken to producing their own tour movies. A movie documenting brakesbrakesbrakes' US and Canadian adventure will be put together after the tour but look out for exclusive snippets of said movie that will accompany our on road blogs along with photos as well .
Well, its not quite time to start packing but a brief perousal of virgin atlantic's movie schedule might be in order. No sleep till LA!!!!
Marc
BRAKESbrakesbrakes

Brakes Scando Adventure

Salutations readers!
Since we last spoke Brakes have mostly been taking a breather. Alex and Tom took the time to promote themselves across the atlantic with ESP at the South by South West festival in Austin and also with a few shows on the west coast. Eamon and myself went on holiday, seperately of course, and once we were all back in the UK we re-grouped for a small tour of Scandinavia.
Unfortunately the first show of four was cancelled due to poor ticket sales. It was a shame because we'd played in Malmo before with Editors back in Feb 06, we hadn't gone down too well then and we wanted the chance to go back and try again but it wasn't to be. One plus side was that instead of a 2:45am bus call and a 7am flight we got an extra day in Brighton and flew straight to Stockholm.
Stockholm is a beautiful city. It was my third time there and second time playing the Debaser club. Named after the Pixie's song the club also has an extensive cocktail list also named in the same way as well as some killer pinball machines. It was chillier in Sweden than id expected so between sound-check and show we mainly stayed indoors, plus we'd still gotten up pretty early that morning and it was best to conserve what energy we had for the show. Support act Torpedo were really nice guys and we chatted to them about studios, how much they cost and what its like generally to be in a band in Stockholm. It's always worth knowing these things for future reference. With my dreams of european emigration continuing we took to the stage.
It was a sparse turnout, there were a couple of drunk Anglophiles bouncing around near the front but generally it was a relaxed affair, to be expected for a wednesday night. We played pretty well for our first show in about a month and came off stage happy. The guys from Pet Sounds records came back to say hi afterwards. Their shop is possibly one of the best record stores i've ever been to and they even own their own bar down the road from the shop. They took the rest of the guys out afterwards, I however decided, quite uncharacteristically, to head for the hotel and get some shut eye. It had been a long day.
Judging by everyones wobbliness the next morning i reckon they had a good time. It was another early one and we set off for the airport to fly to Oslo. There was still a scattering of snow down on the hills as we flew the 50 minutes to our destination but surprisingly Oslo was quite warm when we got there. It was still early in the day when we got to our hotel so while everyone else headed to bed Joe and I took to the streets for a bit of a wander. After a whistle-stop tour of some of the sights we met my friend Vegard who is extremely tall and works in the recently modernised old dock area of the city.



Somehow he managed to convince a bar to open so we could have a drink there. It was the only bar in the area that had any shade outside. I needed to get out of the sun as my genetically inferior skin was starting to burn. We had a beer and said our goodbyes before heading back to the hotel and then onto sound-check at the Garage club.
At sound-check our old pal from Brighton Mikey came down with his wife. He used to be involved in the band scene down there when we were all growing up until he moved to Oslo 4 years ago. We were planning the usual trip to the bowling alley but he had different plans. They took us to the Vigelandsparken, a huge park adorned with the wonderful bronze and granite sculptures of Gustav Vigeland.


The sun was just setting and the light was perfect for viewing these numerous, impressive and slightly frightening structures. We drank beer and had a smoke before getting the tram back into town once the sun had eventually set. It was a welcome change to have got so much fresh air before a show and i think it did us good.
The gig that night was great fun, not a massive crowd but you can always trust an Oslo audience to give it their all. Afterwards we had a drink upstairs with various friends. I had an interesting conversation with Vegard's friend Roar who works for the website of Norway's biggest paper. He told me the Sun newspaper had sent some representatives over to Norway to see how to do a newspaper website properly. In a country of 4 million people the paper has a subscription of 1 million to its website. Thats damn good compared to the Sun's 60'000 which is just under 1% of the population of the UK. When you consider that the government in Norway provides broadband to the entire country, its no wonder their figures out-do ours, but then i guess if people stopped buying the physical copy of the sun then chippies would go out of business.
After a while the exhaustion kicked in and two long days in a row were taking there toll on us so we headed back to our hotel. We had another long day ahead of us including another early flight and the biggest show of the 3. As we came round the corner to the front of the hotel I saw a figure I recognised having a cigarette out the front. At first my brain just casually thought "oh, there's Keith", Keith being our ex merchandise man and my flat mate in Glasgow. Then it sank in that we were in Oslo and bemusement set in. He's been doing merch for Irish rockers The Answer for the last year or so and even though i knew we were both out in europe at the same time the chances of bumping into one another were slim. As much as I would have liked to have celebrated this surreal rendezvous it was late and the hours before it was time to get up again were disappearing fast. So after a few beers and a few laughs we wished Keith all the best and took to our rooms.
The flight to Copenhagen was relatively bump free and quite comfortable. I think most of us were pretty out of it for the duration anyway. We'd been given an option regarding our accommodation for the night. Either a boutique hotel just round the corner from the venue or a cheaper option further away. If we chose the former it meant we had to share double beds, a sacrifice that often has to be made on tour. Seeing as the show was for Coca Cola and itunes we decided to milk them and go with the boutique place. The beds were pretty big anyway and there was minimal dipping in the middle so it was OK really. There were a good few hours before sound-check so we all just chilled out in our rooms for a while.
We'd played Vega before again with Editors, its one of the bigger, more plush venues we've played in europe. There's a kitchen/dining area where home cooked food seems to be in continuous supply and plenty of booze. We didn't really have the energy to do anything between sound-check and gig so we sat in our dressing room drinking and making strange noises.


Caught a bit of one of the earlier acts whose name i cant remember, they were quite amusing, all very skinny and fashionable but made an interesting racket. Main act The Fratellis weren't really around to be seen much, nor did they seem to hang about with each other. I was jealous of their huge bus outside, i could have so done with a kip.
Show time came around and the place was about half full. These corporate gigs are usually really badly advertised or full of people who've bee invited and are just there for the hell of it. We kicked in 'hi how are you' and right where the rest of the band comes in I saw Tom go flying into a heap on one side of the stage. "Gig over" I thought to myself. It looked like he'd snapped his spine for sure by the way his head had gone hurtling into Fratelli's guitar rack at about 40-mph. He was OK though and we carried on. Only outcome was that he tore the ass of his trousers much to the amusement of some English pricks down the front. One of them shouted "You can tell they're from Brighton can't you?" referring to his unfortunately located tailoring mishap. It was one of those gigs where we were all knackered and just trying our best to get through it. As usual the crowd warmed to us after a while and I think we did alright in the end. I had to puke after the gig from exhaustion, i was not feeling too smart at all. My legs weren't working properly and i was shaking all over. I took this as a sign that i should probably go and lie down so i went with all our equipment back to the hotel and had some quiet time.
Ironically our flight the next day wasn't until 9pm so we had a whole day to do whatever. I was glad because id never seen Copenhagen before other than the venue we'd played and the hotels. Joe, Eamon and myself made the most of the weather and took a really long walk around some of the greener areas of the city, stopping for a beer at every opportunity.

We went to see the Little Mermaid which was highly disappointing to be honest. I felt sorry for all the tourists who'd chosen to visit the attraction by boat. Their ferry came chugging up to the rocks and gave them about ten seconds to get a photo of the back of her head before chugging off again. We'd walked quite far and now realised that we had to walk back to meet the others and get the train to the airport. It was Saturday and hundreds and thousands of Danes were out drinking in the sunshine by the canals and in the squares. We all wanted to join them but our time was up and we had to go.
Getting the train to the station was relatively easy and before long we were back in Stanstead waiting for our ride home. The journey wasn't over for me however. For some reason id decided to get the 06:50-am plane back to Glasgow from Gatwick and had figured it wisest and easiest to sleep in the airport. I managed to get a bench which was lucky. You have to look out for number one in these situations so i wasn't giving up my bench. I sat dead in the middle with my bag on one side and my bass on another. People lurk when they cant find anywhere to sleep, i've done it myself. You find someone who looks like they might soon get up and steal their spot when they're gone. I had myself a lurker that night, he had his eye on me so i had some fun with him. Every now and then id wake up from some airport announcement or screaming child at which point id sit up straight giving him the impression i was about to leave only to return to my vertical position again. Its cruel I know but it kept me entertained. Eventually he fell asleep sat in a wheel chair.

Feb-March tour diary part 3

Monday 13th March - Glasgow
The rest of our shows in the UK went very well. The gig in Sheffield was moved from a flatteringly hopeful thousand capacity venue to a more modest 400 and the audience that night were particularly spirited. It almost went horribly wrong when we came on stage to play and realised all on stage power had gone down. I wasn’t too concerned as some well-paced drinking beforehand made it seem quite funny (thanks to Paul for the wine). Gigs in Sheffield always seem to be disastrously over staffed, too many cooks etc. Some sweaty and hairy men in shorts with torches scrabbled about for a while and eventually came up with a temporary solution and luckily the show went on trouble free.
Playing the Leicester Charlotte again brought back some old memories, as I don’t think we’d done it since our first tour in September 2004. Actually to be honest I couldn’t recall playing there with Brakes before but I know it’s the kind of place where you always have a good show, and that’s exactly what we did. Our manager had come up to see us so we went to a nice curry house on the way to our hotel afterwards and had a big feast. Whilst taking a trip to the toilet Alex had to help a guy who’d fallen out of the cubicle after vomiting, tried to stop himself going down by putting his hands in the urinal before finally slipping on some urine and falling on his ass. Another normal night in Market Harborough I presume.
Our hotel that night was half hotel, half old people’s home. I only found this out the next day but I had wondered why two Filipino ladies in nurse’s uniforms had handed our keys to us. I did not sleep well that night. Around 8am I was woken by the slamming of doors followed by the sound of a small child running and screaming into the hallway before slumping down whilst a man screamed “SHUT THE FUCK UP!” repetitively at the child in an insanely manic voice. It seems every tour we do we’re subjected to people going mental in hotel corridors in the wee hours. It makes me glad I’m not a psycho or know anyone who is and also rather depressed that a lot of people have to suffer daily from someone else’s incapability to control their temper. This put me in a rather odd mood so I was glad to get out of there when we left.
We took the long straight road out of the Midlands and into Norfolk towards our final show of the UK tour in Norwich. An ex girlfriend’s cousin had told me good things about the Arts Centre and he wasn’t wrong. Housed in an old church this place had that swirly colossal effect on the live sound that would probably make a good place to see Spiritualized or Sunn 0))). Norwich was a bit of a ghost town on a Sunday and given the dire weather we were wondering whether anyone was going to come, but they did. Both Bobby Cook and Absentee sounded fresh that night and once the room was filled up the sound in there was pretty good. We had a good one and the audience were really appreciative despite a few confused faces I glimpsed, but that’s fairly normal for a Brakes show. It was a shame to part from our support bands, especially Absentee who we were getting to know pretty well. John and Melinda from the band had added their voices on ‘The Most Fun’ and ‘Jackson’ respectively for a bit of end of tour camaraderie, and very good they were too.
After the show we drove back to London where Eamon and I stayed at the Channel 4 health correspondent’s house again, whilst Tom and Alex stayed in Camden. They had to get up mighty early to get down the U.S embassy and apply for visas to go to South-by-Southwest in a week’s time. I slept a bit better that night despite going to bed close to 4am but the bed was damn comfy and the next day was the first day in 12 without a gig. Eamon and I met up with Tom in the morning and drove back to Brighton.
The plan was to re-group the day after next and set off for a little Euro jaunt, but until then I had nowhere to go and just wandered the streets with a bag of sweat riddled clothing feeling like a total bum. I even avoided bumping into people I knew through fear of them thinking I’d gone a bit wrong. After feeling sorry for myself for too long I decided to sort myself out so I went to an internet shop and tied up some loose ends, then headed to a launderette and washed my stinking clothes. I find launderettes strangely calming; perhaps it’s the wafts of soapy heat emanating from the machines or the gentle whirring sound they make. It certainly gave me a bit of time to re-align my brain and calm down a bit from the debauched horror that is touring. I eventually went round to my brother’s place and stayed there for a couple of nights and watched lots of TV.
Unfortunately there had been a mix up concerning the White brothers retrieval of their passports from the U.S embassy. This meant that instead of leaving the day before our show in Groningen, driving halfway and staying the night in Amsterdam (and probably having a bit of fun while we were there), we had to drive all the way from Brighton to Groningen in one day and then do the show. This was going to be pure torture and to make matters worse we missed the 9:15 ferry by 8 minutes, setting us back over an hour.

Once onto the mainland Andy drove for his life across the flatlands and got us there at about 6:30. My bum and my brain didn’t feel very nice but the venue was awesome. Apparently J. Mascis is a shareholder in Groningen’s Vera club, it figures too. The walls are adorned with thousands of old posters, band photos and flyers from the club’s 25-year history and it just reeks of geek rock. The place even has in house accommodation for bands, which makes so much sense and made our lives that extra bit easier. There wasn’t a particularly large turn out and it seemed that most people weren’t too familiar with our more recent material, which was a shame but we enjoyed it nonetheless.

After the gig we had a few drinks in the downstairs bar and I discussed immigration policies with a friend of Richard’s called Richard too. Then Chris and I went to FEBO, the self-serving, money slot fast food vending machine for drunk people. Whilst I waited in line for some chips someone threw half a deep fried breaded snack (also known as a bammy hap) at my back and then ran off before I had a chance to see whom the culprit was. I then realised that the centre of Groningen was overrun with extremely drunk and brutish young men who (as well as wrestling each other to the ground in the middle of the road) were shouting what could only have been the rudest of comments at any woman who walked by, in unison.
The next day we were booked to play a place I didn’t even know existed called Hertogenbosch. Despite being unknown to us all, this city was rather sizeable and quite pretty from what I saw. We turned up at about ten to 5 and were told by the mechanically anal sound crew that we had until 5:30 to sound-check. I asked one of them why this was (assuming that there was a cut-off point due to sound restrictions) and he said “because you are an hour late” which I found rather hostile. In our defence there had been bad traffic on the way but it seems to upset these people if you stray from the schedule. We managed to squeeze an extra half hour out of the blighters anyway. There was a very popular coffee shop near by where the city’s smokers formed an almost constant queue to buy goods.
Unfortunately the turnout was sparse again that night. There was a curtain across the stage between bands and seeing as I hadn’t been out front I had no idea what the audience looked like. The curtain was raised when we were all in position to reveal a scattering of people in the venue; most of them huddled up the back by the bar. We got stuck in and played pretty well. There was a lanky and excitable young man with a bowl haircut who was steaming drunk and was flinging himself across all the space in front of the stage while his girlfriend looked on slightly embarrassed. We were just about to play ‘The Most Fun’ when he suddenly appeared right in front of us offering his services as spoon player if we gave him a t-shirt in return. So up he got and joined Tom and Eamon round a mic like a young, Dutch, spoon playing Bez. It was hilarious and did well to soften off the severity of playing a town you’ve never heard of to not many people.
We came off stage, all a bit bemused, and then ten minutes later a man came in with a DVD of our entire show, mixed with edits and everything. And as if this wasn’t amazing enough, we watched it and we were bloody good. With faith in ourselves renewed we headed to our hotel, which was a folk pub with a medieval looking barmaid wearing a velour cape adorned with butterflies. Some of us stayed down in the bar where the Trappist beer on sale made us chat rowdily about music.
After Chris and I watched a couple of episodes of Michael Palin’s Himalaya series, the next morning we set off for Antwerp. I had been looking forward to this our only Belgian show on the tour, partly because the venue is so good but also because I love Antwerp. My friend Jon had moved to the city to be with his Belgian girlfriend Inge 8 months ago and I was finally going to get to visit having been promising for months. I’d walked around Antwerp a bit when we played there almost 2 years ago with Admiral Freebie at the same venue. It was only now that I realised I’d only walked around a very dull area of the city populated mainly by very well off media types. There was a whole other side to this place that I was soon to discover. Jon took me up to the cathedral, showed me a few nice bars and let me in on some local quirks before I had to dash back for sound-check.

The gig was supposedly a double headline although we were on first and hilariously titled Belgians Absinthe Minded were on afterwards. They had these weird robot lights that swivelled and arched like giant desk lamps. Our sound-check was unusually difficult that day for some reason. We were all a bit knackered and were just messing around much to the annoyance of Chris.
Our ex-pats in Amsterdam chums Richard and Damien came over and I spent the rest of the time between sound-check and gig drinking extra strong import Guinness with them backstage. Stage time came around and we went on to an enthusiastic and young audience. It was a bit ramshackle in places, both Tom and I managed to rip our pedals apart with our feet causing temporary loss of signal and Alex was suffering from a moving kick drum. Reports were good afterwards though. They’d sounded pretty good in sound-check but Absinthe Minded bored me senseless after the first two songs. Then to introduce the third song the singer said “Now its time for some funky shit” which really you shouldn’t say unless you’re Isaac Hayes or Samuel L. Jackson, and proceeded to get fresh with a wah pedal. It wasn’t until the bassist swapped electric for double bass that their true abilities were revealed but I was more interested in going out.
Richard insisted we go to a place called Café Beveren by the river. He’d described it to me earlier but nothing had prepared me for the reality of what would follow. To be fair the café had a sound jukebox and good beer but it was the clientele that provided the most entertainment. Definitely popular with the older demographic, all were dancing sleazily and singing loudly to popular oompahpah-esque Dutch and Flemish sung hits of yesteryear. There seemed to be one lady of about 70 years old who was the ringleader, she had insisted on kissing us all upon entry to the bar. Drunken bald men would take it in turns to dance with her and at one point she was tightly sandwiched between two of these men, all three bodies gyrating perversely as the euro ballads barked loudly from the speakers. I was in shock, Richard and Damien looked worryingly comfortable in his place and Jon just didn’t know what to think. He’d lived here for 8 months but had never seen anything like this before, and furthermore when Inge and the rest of their friends came to meet us most of them didn’t want to come in because it was too embarrassing.
There was one other feature of this place that I actually found quite interesting. At the far end of the room taking up about a quarter of the bar was a huge, self-playing organ music machine thing. It worked much the same way as a player piano or an organ on a merry go round with an enormous wheel of slotted cards relaying the information to all the instruments. This thing had it all, accordion, piano, saxophone. It even played its own drum kit. I was astounded. It seemed to have a mind of its own too and would pipe up every ten minutes or so at which point the jukebox would be shut off and everyone would go mental. It was like an Idol to these people and they were here to worship it. We left café Beveren at about half 3 and I felt as if id come a little further into understanding Belgian consciousness.
My evening was far from over if Jon had anything to do with it. At his instance we went to another bar a bit further north, as to what it was called I haven’t the foggiest as I’d consumed enough beer by then to stock a small pub on a Friday night.

The good thing about drinking on the continent is you don’t get a hangover. In Britain tax is paid on beer when its brewed, therefore the breweries want it to last longer so that they don’t have to keep paying tax again and again so they add chemicals to preserve it which make you puke. In France, Belgium and other beer loving countries tax is paid when the beer is poured, no need for nasty chemicals, no hangover, everyone drinks more beer and the bars and breweries make more money. It’s just another sickening fact that makes me want to emigrate. Anyway, it seems Belgians generally like to sing loudly in bars as everyone in this bar displayed the same high spirits as the last but with a little more decorum. Ween’s Voodoo Lady was played which made me extremely happy. A friend of Inge’s called Merel accused me of having hatred in my eyes to which I protested, “how do you know what my hatred looks like? We only just met”. It’s been said before that my normal facial expression does look like I’m incredibly pissed off but this girl was convinced I was made of pure evil. The truth was that she looked identical to a girl who used to live down the road from my parents and that freaked me out a little but it was still a bit full on.
After a couple of beers I was cajoled into going to a club even further north in the eastern European quarter of the city. We had to cycle through some pretty rough areas and at one point were surrounded by pimps and drug dealers, whooping at us as we cycled through. Eventually we got to our destination, an abandoned warehouse with a sound-system and some mirror balls. It was purely functional, no décor whatsoever and due to a leaky roof, the floor was black slimy and people were getting shit all over their white shoes. The place was filled with stylish Europeans all dancing to the kind of euro beat and novelty tunes that would be deemed as ironic in some circles back home.

The bar served beer, wine or bottles of cava and apparently the place was littered with Antwerp’s young, rich and famous. Jon introduced me to a few people and bizarrely they all knew who I was and what I was doing in town, some people even recognised me from the gig. Antwerp is quite a small place like that, very similar to Brighton, not much happens without everyone knowing about it. I was starting to wilt with exhaustion after a while so I convinced Jon and Inge (whose place I was staying at) that it was time to leave. As we were leaving on our bikes some idiot did a running mount onto the back of my bike almost veering me into a car. A few nudges in his ribs and he fell off screaming “EAT MY SHIT!” as I cycled away from him. I felt guilty for staying up all night but it was nice to be basking, drunk and exhausted in the morning light. Jon still didn’t want me to go to sleep but I had to get a few hours kip and at around 8am I finally got my head down.
It was a beautiful morning when I woke and a brisk stroll in the right direction later and I was back with the van. It was the last day of the tour and we were all on our last legs. Having not really slept the night before I was feeling a bit odd when we got to Amsterdam. I decided to check in to the hotel and have a bit of alone time whilst the others went into town and enjoyed all the Dutch town has to offer. I was slipping in and out of consciousness and kept forgetting where I was. I wanted to go out and explore but remembering some good advice I decided that it was wisest just to do nothing and conserve my energy for later. We were playing the small room at Paradiso whilst heavy rock legends Saxon did the main room. There was a small crowd of odd-looking rock fans hanging around the venue, to chance upon a glimpse of a member of Saxon whilst we loaded in. It was disconcerting to say the least.
We played relatively early to a good-sized crowd. Our old pal big Nige was there and had brought a few of his long-term employers The Arctic Monkeys along. In between songs you could still hear that Saxon were rocking out downstairs. It was a little distracting. It was probably the best show of the 4 in Europe, we played well and the crowd were appreciative. Afterwards we decamped to the local jazz bar for an end of tour toast featuring a lengthy and varied rendition of ‘The Girl from Ipanema’ complete with some cheesy guy scatting. I could have stayed there for hours but tomorrow was an early start partly due to my travel plans back to Glasgow.
It was another beautiful morning the next day and I think we all would have liked to have hired bicycles and got stoned but it wasn’t to be. Tour was over and it was time to go home. The ferry from Calais was overrun with euro teens, all spotty and not knowing where they could and couldn’t smoke. Other than that it was a happy journey and I got dropped off at Gatwick with more than enough time to catch my flight.

Feb-March tour diary part two

Thursday 1st March
Nottingham


Well here we are back in England after finishing our Scottish tour on the 27th. After leaving Forres somewhat hastily, a little scared, we drove the short distance to Inverness and headed for Moray Firth radio station where we recorded a few acoustic numbers. The lady there, Marion let us run loose in their CD library room. There were piles and piles of promos, which were otherwise unwanted so we took our pick and made away with them. Titles included embarrassing indie relics like Rialto and The Supernaturals as well as the Phil Collins hip hop tribute album.
Got to our venue, The Raigmore Motel just in time to see the second half of the Carling cup final and John Terry get booted in the face. Looked painful I must say. This bar more than resembled the one from TV show Shameless and had some rowdy Sunday drinkers to go with it. They were particularly unsympathetic when the boot met the face although one of them was reading a local paper with a fucking huge picture of us on the front. Id heard it was going to be a rowdy show. Some band called The Enemy were supposed to play another Inverness club but had cancelled and their coach load of fans from Keith or somewhere were all coming to see us instead.
I was so wretchedly tired and/or hung-over between sound-check and gig that I just laid on one of the beds in our hotel room cum dressing room and tried not to fall asleep. I find when you feel like this on tour the worst thing to do is give in and sleep, it just makes you feel worse on the whole. We all wondered why we weren’t just staying here instead of the hotel down the road. Well apparently we would have been allowed but The View had been caught filming each other masturbate by a maid and subsequently bands are no longer allowed to stay there. Thanks guys!
Plenty of people recognised Alex and Tom and some couldn’t quite comprehend that this was a different band with different songs. At one point between songs in our set a rather sozzled young man got up on stage and squared up to Tom. “Are you Electric Soft Parade?” he inquired and demanded we “Play it! Play it!’ The chap was soon wrestled out of the building, not by security as there wasn’t any, but by our soundman for the evening. The evictee was one of many who were forced to leave that night. One fellow objected to his dismissal so much that he attempted to head butt his way back through the front door. Meanwhile Merch man Matt had to take his biro back off someone who’d nicked it to use as a weapon to stab another guy he was arguing with. Rowdy indeed!
The gig was a laugh all in all, a bit cold at first but All Night Disco Party got them dancing and kept them dancing right till the end.
We had a very scenic drive the next morning down the A9 to Edinburgh. Id not spent much time in Edinburgh so once id met my better half (who’d come over from Glasgow) we took a walk around. It’s quite a beautiful place although the endless parades of shops selling Scottish paraphernalia is a bit in your face but then I suppose it’s the same in any capital city.
The gig was a volatile affair that evening. The sound wasn’t great on stage so we just went for it. The crowd were a little subdued compared to Dundee and Aberdeen but we didn’t let it effect us and we had a good time. The bare-chested guy from Dundee who I’d mentioned in my previous post was there having his own personal mosh pit. He sang Jackson with us too. I spoke to him afterwards and enquired as to why he hadn’t been at the other shows like he’d promised and it turned out he’d eaten a dodgy burger from the place down the road from our Dundee venue and had been somewhat ill for the last 3 days. His symptoms didn’t sound pleasant at all and he made no exception to give me all the details.
After Edinburgh we drove back to Glasgow and I had a night at home and got to wash my clothes. The next day we had our last show in Scotland, which was in Cumnock, Ayrshire at a hotel called The Mercat. I know what you’re thinking, Cumnock isn’t on the gig circuit, what the fuck were we doing there? Well The Mercat was our chosen venue for the competition we ran with the ‘Hold me in the River’ single. Winner Jane Caruthers’ parents owned this place and had a function room upstairs which we turned into a Brakes’ club for the night. About 30 people were in attendance and apparently (according to Matt) it was the best gig ever. Those Cumnock folk sure know how to drink and before long we were knocking back vile, sugary Alco pop cocktails and singing along to Queen songs. The people in Cumnock were so friendly and accommodating that the whole experience was a joy and couldn’t have gone any better. At some point in the wee hours I got the spins and had to retire to a bed and sleep off the booze.
Come the morning and we were all a bit worse for wear but had to pack up and get away early for our first UK show in Manchester. Scotland had battered us hard but we’d all had a good time. Playing the Academy 3 (or the hop and grape as most people know it) was a bit of an upgrade for Brakes. Last time in Manchester we’d played the Academy 4 downstairs and had packed it out so we were all wondering whether it was going to feel a bit empty tonight. But before all that we had to do an in-store at the virgin mega-store. In-stores can be great but this one was presented like a gig with a stage and lights and loads of photographers and just felt a bit staged and false. We were all knackered and it all felt a bit weird especially with an audience as quiet as this one. They were utterly silent. Alex’s stool broke so he had to turn a flight case on it side and use that instead and everything very nearly went wrong but we got through it. A signing and an awkward photo shoot in front of a big virgin banner followed the performance.
Back at the venue and our new support bands Bobby Cook and Absentee were opening for us, and the venue seemed reasonably full. The gig was tainted with multiple string breaks but it was good fun, I even broke and A string whilst playing with my fingers. Luckily we’re all wise enough to carry a spare these days so any delay was minimal. Somehow we mustered the courage to perform ‘No Return’ as an encore. It was the first time we’d ever played it in front of an audience and it didn’t sound too bad. It had been a long day and we were all feeling somewhat shitty from the night before, so rather than predictably heading to big hands for post gig boozing we went to our hotel and hit our beds.
After a much-needed spot of kip we journeyed to Nottingham (gun capital UK) for our first ever show there. The hotel we booked into before getting to the venue was a bit like the Bates’ house in Psycho and it was next to a graveyard so Andy checked in while the rest of us stayed on the van in fear of being stabbed or shot. At the rescue rooms sound-check was a bit odd due to some quite old monitors and some questionable acoustics but we got there in the end. We were all glad to have our soundman Chris ‘flu jab’ Pollard with us again as we’d done the front of the tour with in-house engineers.
Despite being horrifically exhausted we played a good energetic show to as sizeably grateful audience and it brought the life back into us. Having not played in Nottingham before it was lush to see so many new faces and we’ll look forward to returning soon. The hotel turned out to be pretty nice and we got back in time to catch (and laugh at) the last hour of the NME awards on telly. Comical highlights included The Klaxons’ almost puking and over swearing as they accepted their award and Mick Jones’ embarrassingly sweaty guitar playing with Primal Scream’s show closing performance.