More people I meet, more I like mah dawgs.

Birch rocks the Gibson Amphitheatre

Rolled into LA at 10am after a smooth night-drive. Jim, our driver, is turning out to be a welcome oasis of calm amidst our tour maelstrom. Driving tour buses for rock and roll bands is an odd choice for a man who's been seeking peace and quiet for the past 40 years.
"More people I meet, more I like mah dawgs." About sums it up Jim.
He's brought some of his Bison product with him for us on the second half of the tour. (He's got several acres in Indiana where he keeps 15 of the beasts, apparently they LOVE apples...) We've got Bison jerky and summer sausage in the fridge. It's delicious. Meaty, spicy and definitely home-grown.
Jim's not a fan of the big city, so pulling into LA is stressing him a little. Still, he's smiling.
And, it's HOT. Oh my GOD it's hot. I thought I was acclimatising, but ever new city brings another sort of heat. The smog is an unwelcome addition too. We're parked on the back lot of Universal Studios, Hollywood (there I go again, name-dropping) with nothing to do until ABC and Berlin have finished soundchecking. I'm checking out the Google maps to see if I can escape into the Hollywood hills for a run. I fancy doing Mulholland drive. It looks possible, so I plan my escape route and get the trainers on. After 5mins of sticky tarmac and searing heat, I abandon the plan and clomp around the back lot instead, imagining I'm in the opening sequence of 'The Player'.
Soundcheck rolls round and we wait. Our opening slot has been moved forward, even though we're advertised at 7.30 we're going to have to take the stage at 7.10, no doubt to an empty house with people still drifting in. Understandably, Nick's not happy about this. It's an important gig, the Gibson Amphitheatre, a place full of rock history - he's invited agents, friends and promoters. 6pm slides by and we still haven't checked. Finally, we get a line check at 6.45pm and rush back to change and get straight on stage. Ridiculous, but there's nothing to do but roll with it.
Inevitably, we performed really well, with a kind of 'oh bollocks to it' attitude and went down a storm. It filled up for our last two numbers at least.
Nothing to do now but drink beer. I had a quick pint and then ran into an old pal who moved to LA about 5 years ago (actually, he physically leapt on me, causing a moment of concern for security). MUCH more lager later, I realised I'd not eaten since 11am and was starting to slur my words. Had to put myself to bed on the bus almost immediately after pulling away, headed for Saratoga. Looking forward to the fresh mountain air.

Shag Pile City

It's like walking on marshmallow. You know that jet lag feeling? (The one that Bruce Willis cures by walking barefoot on a shag-pile rug in 'Die Hard'?) Well, I'm getting used to having it daily. Woke at 3am in Toronto, stuffed my bags with nearly dry laundry and ran for the taxi to the airport. Barely caught the flight to Salt Lake City via Denver after sweating to verify the street address of our inbound hotel for Homeland Security. (Erm, tour manager? What on earth is one of those? Frankly, not seen one for a while...) Arrived feeling other-worldly, which is actually a great way to be for Salt Lake. First impression, imagine Disney, The Stepford Wives and Westworld rolled into an uglier package. After the sullen taxi driver attempted to destroy our luggage by compressing it violently with the boot lid, we made it to The Depot, an old railway shed turned venue. Primary news was that the promoter had only sold 190 tickets by weekend, and had wanted to pull the gig. Instead, he'd opted for the 'half-payment clause', which luckily he'd just invented. Secondary news was, we had no hotel for the night. (When I opened the dressing room door, I half expected to see Bobby Ewing in the shower, 'cos this must all be a dream)
Hot tears of unbridled joy were about to seep out of me, so I had a walk outside to try and calm them and the marshmallow. I was back after 10mins, the searing heat and piped music in the streets was enough to drive a man straight into the nearest Latter Day Saints temple shouting 'bollocks'.
After a short lie down in a dark room, I decided to take some pics to remove myself from the situation. Here's my favorite useless one:

Me, in a hub cap. Genius.

Really tired, I made it through the gig on adrenaline and then collapsed in a grumpy heap on the bus. Another day without hot food. It's a glamorous life.

Toronto, soaked.

Wimbledon week. It's STEAMING in the UK. Hilarious. Here we are - Gay Pride (or just 'Pride' as I've noticed a few of the locals refer to it as, hmmm...) in the pissing rain.

The bit of the stage where I'm about to place my pedals

Not much to say about today - really tired after the bus journey across the border. An afternoon gig on a wet stage to about 30 people. It filled up later, and the sun came out for Wang Chung and ABC. I'll let the pics do the talking.

Birch poses like a good 'n

Jack rips it up (and he can!)

Worse than Detroit?

Lily Gonzalez (Bongobird) does her stuff

Detroit? Motortown, Motown, ROCK CITY! Erm, well, nope. Turns out we were in Meadowbrook, a leafy suburb about 30miles away. One of those open air venues that lend themselves to the steaming continental US summer. We arrived at 9am to the sound of birds tweeting and the distant thrum of lawnmowers. A definite college town. Nothing really to do all day apart from wait for the lack of soundcheck in about 9 hours, so went off for a run to try and shake off the sleepless bus ride. Found myself running around vivid green shaded streets, scenes from so many suburban US dramas and films. Stars and stripes flying over manicured lawns. A trip to the local mall for eggs and too much coffee followed by a load of waiting around and then a well attended, fun gig. Not such a bad life today.

Martin in one of his many sharp suits

It Might Get Loud

Right! For those of you who've actually been following the blog, and have been complaining because of the dead air - sorry! I had a small, but much needed break in Manhattan (yeah I know, name-dropper) which consisted of a big birthday and a big ol' booze-up (more of that later).
But, I'm back! Meantime, and while I catch up, here's a quick taster of a film us guitarists are going to be champing at the bit for: http://www.sonyclassics.com/itmightgetloud/

Steve Serrano steals the night

Chicago last night - the Rosemont Theatre. It was Terri Nunn's birthday (Berlin) and Steve (our overworked and brilliant stage-tech) decided to give her a special present. Enough said. Go Steve...

The British are coming...

Note to self. Recipes to be avoided in future:
Baltimore after show party + tequila shots (Patron silver) +
Overnight drive to Washington +
3 hours sleep +
Outdoor show in fabulous cathedral-like venue (The Wolf Trap) without soundcheck +
13 hour overnight drive to Grand Rapids+ 3 hours sleep =
Bollocks to Rock an Roll! I'd like a pillow please...

The Wolf Trap - wow, now we're talking.

Despite all that - the Wolf Trap was a fabulous place to play. Despite the slightly fascist attitude of some of the staff. (Union members and regulations, oh my god - "You can't tune your guitar here sir", "You can't take photos of yourself here sir") Luckily, there were some pleasant folks too. (Thanks Bill!)
No soundcheck, again. (Oh well, f*ck it!)


Next night in Grand Rapids was slightly overshadowed by Jacko snuffing it, but the crowd were unbelievably over-enthusiastic. Screaming women? For Cutting Crew?? Please madam, control yourself.

Downtown Grand Rapids. No rapids.

Chicago - Knackered

Christ - after all the excitement of yesterday, I'm way behind on this blogging thing. Whatever your personal feelings about Jacko, it's certainly got everyone's attention. Question - how does his dodgy personal behaviour in later life affect the music he made in the past? BTW interesting article here from back when he was accused of molesting - http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,209745,00.html. Fox news again though, suppose it's all in the detail.

Baltimore Flying Saucer

Finally made it out of Atlantic City. Never to return... Baltimore was next. It's been ROASTING here. 90 degrees by 9.30 this morning. Plan was to meet back up with Nick in Baltimore after his Spain gig. At least that was the plan. Got a text en route saying he'd missed his flight and wasn't going to arrive at the airport til 7.30pm. An early curfew that night meant we were due onstage at 7pm. ARSE.

Mikal (TM) sweating on Nick's Arrival

The tour manager (above) and other acts were, well,.. a tad unhappy, shall we say. As we had no way of knowing for sure what time he'd get to the gig, (delayed flights/immigration/baggage) it was contingency time. We settled on switching the bill around to give him the best chance of getting on stage. Wang Chung and Berlin agreed to go on first and we were going to slot in before ABC. If he wasn't here by 9, we'd all be f*cked, breach of contract etc.

However, not much we could do about it. There were a few raised voices, but he was either going to make it or not.

Birch (Keys) sweating on Nick's Arrival

He made it - with 30 mins to spare. A seat of the pants show with no soundcheck (but we're getting used to that) in front of a fairly small turnout. Not the best experience, and I fear we may have tarred ourselves for the next few dates, but the show, as they say, must go...blah blah blah....

Day, erm, Jacko's dead? What??

Where were you when Elvis Presley died? And John Lennon? Surreal to be in the States when such a monumental story breaks. We were just about to soundcheck when Nick (Eede) came over and asked us if we could guess who'd just died - I'd been on the BBC website about 20mins before and thought I knew.
Farah Fawcett.
Yep, but who else?
Shit.
We carried on with a 10min line check and then I grabbed my laptop. The BBC was still running the line that there were unconfirmed reports of his death on some entertainment channels, but that he was definitely in UCLA hospital after suffering a heart attack. We piled into the tourbus at the first chance and turned on FOX news. There it was. Jacko dead at 50. The usual circling aerial shots of the scene that seem to accompany any LA news item these days, and the solemn anchorman reading a hastlily prepared partial obituary.
I'm surprised at my reaction - this really is a massive shock. Scandals and weirdness aside , I've grown up with his music all around me. As Dom (Finlay) pointed out, for a man to die at 50 and have had a 40 year music career is really some going. Off The Wall was one of the albums that I lifted from my sister's vinyl collection when I was 9, and everyone of that age here remembers staying up late to watch the Thiller video. No denying it, this is massive. Apparently, when the news first broke, Google feared it was under attack due to the incredible amount of search inquiries from people trying to verify the information.
We're parked up now in the lot at WGN, a local TV station in Chicago, waiting to do a couple of live slots to promote the tour (it's 5.30am). All the channels are still buzzing with it, and I'm wondering what the scene's going to be like inside. Can't imagine they're going to be very interested in talking about our merry band.
Personally, I hope he's sitting in a suite in Las Vegas right now, watching FOX and laughing his glove off.

Day Six - Not the Boardwalk AGAIN...

Well, it's kicking in now. Christ, how many more days here?? Is this the place people go to die? We're actually getting to like the staff canteen, which has GOT to be a bad sign. Nick's gone off to Spain for solo gig so we're left here trying to avoid the casino, walking up and down the boardwalk buying $50 snacks and washing our smalls. The Resorts Hotel was actually the first casino in Atlantic City (1929? Probably when it was last painted too) it has the distinct air of dead-gangsters-in-the-foundation. ("He was a rat, seeee? Thought he was a canary, he could sing to the Feds but he couldn't fly") The pattern in the carpet's enough to trigger a migraine and the air conditioning is permanently set to minus 300. Great.
Been in search of the mythical Guitar Shop on Atlantic avenue - which definitely doesn't exist by the way - and had a few meals in the brilliant Atlantic City Bar and Grill (ACBG for those in the know), New York Strip Steak cooked to perfection. The most fun we've had has been crying laughing at Birch's mix of "ShitHouse" - a house track made up entirely of beats and farts - (find it here: myspace.com/shithouseuk)

Cabin Fever Strikes - (note my ironing board in the background Mum...)

Good company to be had, but I can't wait to get out of this city! We're leaving early tomorrow for Baltimore. Thank you sweet baby jesus.

Day Five - Atlantic City

YEEEEUCH!!

Had to change rooms, couldn’t stand another 3 nights with the biggest air conditioning unit in the world thrumming away outside my window. This is it, with a 20ft fan:


Now happily on the other side of the hotel, listening to the gulls and surf.
Breakfast was a heart-stopper. I ordered what sounded like a jewish night-club promoter, an 'Open Face Reuben'. Predictably, on arrival there was enough for a family of 4. I found the recipe:

• 1 cup Thousand Island dressing
• 1 slice Marble Rye, fried; (1/4-inch thick)
• 1 cup Sauerkraut/Russian Salad
• 1lb Beef pastrami
• 1/2 lb Swiss Cheese
• 1/2 cup Pickled beets
• 1/2 cup Coleslaw
• 1 Massive Kosher dill

There was a side order of fries too. I did my best, but it beat me. I'll have to run an extra mile or two tomorrow...

Dom working on his mullet

The gig today was in the Superstar Ballroom - a proper cabaret theatre, Las Vegas style. Yet again, there were technical issues and we didn't get a soundcheck. Sat backstage for 4 hours while nothing much happened. Charlie Watts famous quote springs to mind "The first 25 years with the Rolling Stones was five years of music and twenty years of waiting around." Jack and Nick from Wang Chung had a nightmare journey from New York. Their train was pulled up in East Jesus Nowhere due to a bridge being out (terrible storms here still), so they had to taxi it the rest of the way.

Against the odds, a good enough gig - total lack of a monitor mix, crew having a nervous breakdown (an emerging theme) but overall a really friendly, enthusiatic crowd. Ended up in 'Boogie Nights' for an after show party, and the dark horses really emerged. Steve, our tech from LA was ripping up the dancefloor along with Chris (Berlin's drummer) who suddenly became some kind of Disco-Goth. Genius.
Day off tomorrow. Going to need it...

Day Four – Under the Boardwalk, Atlantic City. Resorts Hotel.

Woke up to a vision of the Taj Mahal. Sadly, Donald Trump’s leviathan monstrosity, and not the jewel of Agra. The giant neon sign “Taj Mahal Trump” prompted a few titters from those of us familiar with 8 pints and a Jalfrezi.


Atlantic city. Imagine Blackpool without the charm or Vegas without the class. (I’m joking) Already spoke to a couple of locals who agreed that the place was much nicer before the casinos moved in. I can imagine. Apparently, there was a time when you have to dress up smart to be on the boardwalk. Barechest and tattoos is the minimum requirement now. At least we’ve got the Atlantic with all its strongarm beauty crashing on the shore nearby. (However, the surf is drowned by the air conditioning from where I’m sitting.)
Night off tonight, so took a stroll down the Boardwalk (suitably dressed) and sampled some Salt Water Taffy. Now, I remember this from the ‘Friends’ episode – Ross really liked it? Christ, it’s like a gobful of Germolene. A half-time conference league football match in your kisser. Never again.
Stopped by an over-priced Asian restaurant and had an under-sized soft shell crab. So far, I think I’ve spent as much as I’ve earned.

Day Three - New York City, just about.

You’d think leaving at 10.30am to travel 200 miles was leaving a reasonable buffer in case of traffic problems. Oooops. this is New York City. I’ll never complain about the M6 again. Fair enough, we’re in a big old tour bus with a top speed of 60mph, but by the time we got to 110th street, we were doing an average of 1 block every 5 minutes. We were heading for 16th, and well, as they say here, you do the math. The venue tonight is The Fillmore at Irving Plaza. I thought it was Fillmore East - the iconic venue that hosted classic gigs by Zappa, Hendrix, John Mayall etc, but Live Nation (more big-business) has just rebranded what was 'Irving Plaza'. In any case, it was a fantastic, dark, sweaty NYC club. Easy to imagine the Burlesque acts of the 20s and 30s here. Stage was the size of my hotel bathroom, and the crew were having a nervous breakdown, but it was still a great vibe. The other bands were also late arriving and had overrun soundcheck so we had to make do with a line check from behind the curtain, 10 mins from showtime, while the place filled up. Had to plug straight into my amp for the show and ditch my pedals, because the 110v to 240v transformer wasn’t working. No time to investigate why, Tom was about to count us in. “…2,3, 4”.



Had a great show, everyone dug deep and it was a loud, responsive crowd. Ironically, the guitar sounded great, even without my gadgets – it does annoy me when Birch is right, he’s been saying for years – “One amp, One Guitar” I may be reconsidering my setup in the next few days…
Romantically, we had a chicken salad on Broadway and then climbed back in the bus for the trip to Atlantic City. Oh. The glamour.

DAY ONE (WELL, TWO) - BOSTON

Shouldn’t we be a little uncomfortable with the words ‘big business franchise’ and ‘the blues’ in the same sentence? Well, ‘House of Blues’ is a big business franchise that brings theme parks and music together. Don’t get me wrong, they’re great places, just a little false. You get the feeling that maybe one day they’ll do a spin-off called ‘Haunted House of Blues’. They’re now in most major cities in the US, and one has sprouted in the shadow of Fenway Park , home of the Red Sox.

It was a sweltering afternoon in Boston, a welcome heat for those of us who remember having real British summers in years past. Had the usual wait for soundcheck, and used the spare time to nip to the local Guitar Center, (another big business franchise that exists in most major cities – and yes, I know ‘Center’ irritates me too, it’s my stuffy British manner). Stocked up on picks, strings and spare leads, all for a fraction of the UK cost.

Gigtime rolled around, the stage was huge, the monitor mix was appalling, but I think we did a good job in the circumstances. One rehearsal, one gig, no major cock ups. Phew.

There was a ballgame on when we spilled out of the venue. Chaos. Fantastic family atmosphere though, people milling everywhere – a little like Sir Matt Busby way after a 7.30pm kick off, except without all the knobheads. Hailed an entertaining cabbie and had a potted history of Boston on our 3 mile, $20 ride back. He was well worth the extra cash. He explained that Berklee School Of Music (a huge icon for me as a kid) had the lowest level of graduations on account of most students getting jobs or contracts before even completing the course. "If I see a senior from there, I know they must SUCK as a player". Cab wisdom. Love it.
I’ll be sad to leave Boston, I love it here.