London-Newark, 22 January 2005
I like computer games. My preferred genre is the one where you're just a hand with a big gun in it, and you have to wander around mysterious (usually dystopian and/or post-apocalyptic) locations finding buttons to press and people/monsters to shoot. An abandoned airport populated by shuffling zombies would be an extremely suitable scenario for a game - you have the endless corridors, the striplights, the familiar surroundings made strange by disaster. If you really made up your mind, you could probably find a vent to crawl through. (Look out for the giant choppy-uppy fans though). Sadly, I suspect that "Snowbound 3: Trapped in Newark" would not be too thrilling.
You play as Ben 'Jack' Hales, a retired Special Ops Commando who is making ends meet playing guitar for pampered rock star Aqualor (to play as Aqualor, press V). Accompanied by manager Phil Nelson (special moves telephony, drink procurement) and TM Roberto Pieroni (TM) (explosives. This guy can get you through the toughest walls and doors - select him using the targeting reticle and press your secondary fire button), they're taking a routine connecting flight from New York to Chicago when something goes wrong... very wrong. With snow blocking all routes in and out of the airport it's an exciting race against time, hunger and boredom for the boys in Lung Squad in 20 hours of intense one-player action featuring some of the least advanced AI ever seen in airport ground staff...
Level 1: Immigration. Find a way past the border guards (you may have to procure a disguise and some papers). Next you must fight your way to Customs to receive a stamp to allow you to use your guitars (note: your equipment is mission critical and must be protected at all costs. For your safety, unattended baggage will be removed without warning and may be destroyed). After customs there is a portal which will take you through to the next level.
Level 2: Arrivals. Phil Nelson is missing! First find him and then use your interrogation and queuing powers to discover if there's a way to get to Chicago tonight. Remember! Not everyone you meet will tell you the truth! (You can replenish your life force by visiting one of the coffee stands - but how long will they stay open???)
Level 3: Terminal Velocity. Here's the skinny: there's no way in hell you're leaving this airport tonight. With the shops closing down your only hope is to find a way out of Terminal C. Using the arrow buttons, negotiate the snowdrifts with your trolleyfull of guitars and bags. Look out for the snowploughs! You must reach Terminal B before the temperature indicator reaches zero or you will lose a life.
Level 4: Tried at the Food Court. Restore any damage you took in level three by visiting the restaurants in Terminal B. Bonus points are available for finding the bar.
Level 5: Sleeping on the floor. Using the arrow buttons, try to find a way to get comfortable on those departure lounge seats. Sawing off the armrests is not allowed! Points are deducted for looking at your watch every five minutes. [Tactical note: You can try sleeping on a carpeted area but beware: you might be able to stretch out, but will this compensate for the low temperature and the incredible snoring sound??]. To add a little spice the same announcement about hand luggage will be played EVERY FIVE MINUTES. Bonuses are awarded for every hour completed without crying.
Level 6: The Escape. Minigame: Can you wake up Roberto? Using words, physical violence, psychological torture or a combination of all three, can you overcome your envy and wake up Roberto before he is run over by a trolley OR soils himself?
Now you must find your way to Terminal A. Will you wait an eternity for a shuttle bus or once again risk the elements and skate your trolley across the frozen wastes?
If you make it to Terminal A alive you will be rewarded with a flight to Chicago and a few merciful hours of sleep. But the game's not over yet! You've still got a gig to do, and where is all that equipment they said had been delivered to the hotel?...
Shuba's, Chicago, 23 January 2005
Isn't there a film that's set in Chicago? Oh yes, that's it, "Chicago". I haven't seen it. Apparently Catherine Zeta-Jones, who is hardly hefty, "looks like a heifer" next to Renee Zellweger.
The descent into Chicago ("Ladies and Gentlemen, we have begun our descent into madness") was incredible. The frozen lake, the sun glinting from the snow-covered buildings. It was like the world's largest wedding cake.
But once on the ground it's so cold your tears freeze in your eyes.
Did you know that electricity is not the same flavour all over the world? As an Englishman I think nothing of hefting our giant three-pronged plugs around, or running my equipment on 240 volts sterling. But this is not how it is in Foreign (apart from Hong Kong, actually). In Foreign they use all kinds of spindly un-earthed plug ends that go into laughable prong-holes which deliver mysterious voltages that can upset and malnourish an Englishman’s amplifier or pianogram or effects unit.
Did you also know also that travelling by plane with a piano is impractical and expensive? To ameliorate both problems we had arranged to buy a tiny american amplifier and a featherweight keyboard which were to be delivered to the hotel in time for our planned arrival a day ago. Had we arrived a day ago, there would have been time to locate all of the bits we ordered rather than just the amp and the empty keyboard case before rushing madly off to the soundcheck.
Everything seems a lot harder when you're cold, tired and confused. It's like your brain is wearing gloves. By blackmailing the support act with our frozen tears, we obtain some inappropriate keyboard replacements. For a short while we're considering doing the gig using a thunky synth sound which would have made us sound like A-Ha before the hotel calls to say they've found a big white box with "Matt Hales" written on it.
Sadly, although we get it in time and finally everything works, while we're putting it into position we manage to break the sustain pedal which means that the opening song, Nowhere, sounds more like it's being played on a banjo.
On the plus side, there are a lot of people there, which is very gratifying. How could we come to Chicago on a Sunday night and find a hundred people to play to? It doesn't make sense.
Eventually we make one of the replacement keyboards work and struggle through the gig, reliant more on the audience's goodwill than anything else. But sometimes that's all you need.
Fader Lounge, Levi's Lodge, Park City, 24 January 2005
I had a great idea for a hairdressing detective show. It could be called "The Adventures of Hoxton Finn and his sidekick Asymmetric Bob".
Perhaps I could pitch it as a movie as we are hanging around at the Sundance Film Festival which reminds me of the Edinburgh Fringe crossed with South by Southwest but without any of the action.
It was nice to lie down in a bed, even if it was only for a short while. We were up again at 6.30 to check in all our extra baggage, which we achieved with seconds to spare. The woman at the check in desk was not happy with us.
The flight to Salt Lake City was again stunning. Flying above the clouds in the sparkling blue sky and then seeing the summits of mountains like islands in a fluffy white ocean. I guess it's a regular sight for regular mountain-travellers, but it was the first time I had ever seen it and it was wonderful.
Underneath the clouds Salt Lake City was grey and cold, but as we drove into the mountains towards Park City the skies cleared and everything went all winter-wonderland. I was under the impression that Utah was mostly desert, so that shows what I know.
Before we could finally sleep we were performing a short set at the Fader Magazine party at the Levi's Lodge, which is too-cool-for-you times 2. It was almost exactly like I thought it would be.
Day Off, Park City, 25 January 2005
Here at Sundance, you wander around thinking that everyone you see might be famous. And you hope that everyone will think that you are a famous as well.
Matt spots Steve Buscemi. And Alan Cummings. Remember him?
This could have been the most unexciting day off ever until Matt runs into some people who were at the Fader gig, who invite us to go and see a movie, which is what you do when you're at a film festival. Unfortunately I had already seen it so I bailed out and went to sit in a saloon with Phil and Rob and share a table with someone who was probably famous. For being an axe murderer. Or an ass murderer.
Speaking of which, the nice people helped us get to see the Scissor Sisters in the evening, which was great. Apparently you can do a lot of things with a roll of quarters and Jake Shears' ass.
Day off, Park City, 26 January 2005
Heh heh heh. Heh heh heh... Heh heh heh.
We went snowmobiling today. At last the snow is doing something for us.
Suede, Park City, 27 January 2005
There's something that impresses me about Americans, which is the sheer speed of their politeness. When I walk into someone all I can manage is a surprised "muh?" and perhaps a "sorry". But these people can go "excuse me" or even "oh I'm so sorry" in the microseconds after the collision. It's extraordinary. Perhaps they're timed on it at school like we were with multiplication tables. The other thing I quite like about Americans is the way they say "actually" which gets rolled around the mouth for a good long while, giving all the syllables equal merit. In slow motion it would look like they were eating steak (but then pushing it out of their mouths with their tongue at the end). It's a lot more melodic than your southern-English-style "atchlee". I can't get used to the way they say "Arqualung", though.
We're playing second in a bill of about a million bands tonight, and then we're going to flee to Salt Lake City because we're flying to LA at 6am.
Before that we get to see one of our new friends' short film (or comedy sketch) the Slamdance festival, which is like the fringy offshoot of Sundance. It was very good. His name is Michael Lucid and you can see his stuff at www.prettythingsss.com.
The gig was fine, thanks. People seem to like Left behind a lot more here.
Hotel Café, Los Angeles, 28 January 2005
"We're just totally psyched you guys could be here".
Much of what I know about LA is learnt from cop shows on TV and movies about movies. It is strange to be here in person. The first thing to notice is that there is no snow. The sky is blue beyond the palm trees. Which isn't to say it's warm. But I suppose it is January everywhere.
Well, after all that playing in the snow it's back to work. LA, being another hub of the music industry, is the place for us to do a good gig seeing as the room will be completely full of important people. (This is what I read from between the lines delivered by the charming record company people who took us out for lunch). Aside from the fact that everybody is psyched, we are also regularly being told about the Buzz that is building around us. I say “us”, I mean Matt, of course. The only buzz that surrounds me is low-level tinnitus. But it's nice to hear, even if buzz usually denotes an act that hasn't had a chance to blow it yet.
We drive along Sunset Boulevard and buy an extremely cheap keyboard stand. While we are on Sunset, the sun sets.
We're playing at the Hotel Café this evening. As we get out of the car, Gary Jules stops us and says “Hi I'm Gary Jules.” Gary Jules is partly responsible for the music at the hotel café (which doesn't appear to be part of a hotel or a café) and has come along to welcome us, which is nice of him. We did play with him in London a year ago, so I suppose it wasn't entirely random, but I'm left with the feeling that that's the kind of thing that happens in LA.
The venue is small, narrow and dingy but has a beautiful corner stage draped in red velvet and a mini upright piano which Matt is delighted by. The only problem is that it faces the wall rather than the audience. Matt gets round this problem by standing up for the in-between bits and using my mic. You'd think this would give him precious seconds to figure out what he's going to say, but no. Same old rubbish. They seem to like it though. As someone said the other night, “you're already adorable. The accent is just a bonus”. It is a bonus. America loves British boys.
After the gig we are rushed over the road to a cantina which is decorated like a ghost train but is far far scarier. We are pushed into a throng of 'people' and Matt is quickly devoured. I hide by one of the mirrored coke-tables in the upstairs room (the Addams Family Dentist) and Roberto silently eats a giant burrito in the green half-light. The buzz is audible.
Swedish American Hall, San Francisco, 29 January 2005
We're developing a bit of a routine: get up, “meet in the lobby”, drive to airport, get lost, check in luggage while Rob drops off the car, take off all our clothes and go through security, enjoy a beverage and perhaps a pastry before boarding a tiny plane and being forced to sit on my amplifier because it won't fit in the overhead locker, listen to some music while watching America glide by far below, land, wait in the baggage claim area while Rob picks up the rental car, get lost on the way to the hotel.
Today Roberto's mysteriously heavy bag has failed to arrive. We will later discover that it is so heavy because he has absent-mindedly packed twenty-five t-shirts.
The venue is strangely ecclesiastical. The seats look like they ought to have kneelers underneath them. It's once again hard to believe that the two hundred seats will all be filled, but they are.
It shouldn't be, but this is growing tiring. Matt seems to have developed a cough. Often, when we are fighting adversity, things become foolish. I think this is because you spend a few idle hours backstage getting bored and wondering how it's going to go, so when you actually get on stage and find out, you experience a strange lift in your spirits, and foolishness ensues. Tonight it's partly because someone makes a request for 'When I finally get my own place', a song we have never performed live before, in which we have to include huge pauses while we remember the words. Then Matt decides we should make up a song in honour of the area we are in, Castro, which goes down very well. These things are often better received than the actual songs, and I'm afraid this only encourages us.
The Crocodile, Seattle, 30 January 2005
The cough is getting worse. Tonight's gig is a proper gig, you know, a back room, black, smelly and slightly rock. In the dressing room the walls have been given over to band graffiti, which is a special genre of modern art. There are three main schools of note; 1. The Tribalists. These write "are cunts" (or, equally valid, "are gay") after the band names. 2. The Revisionists. They like to amend the obscenities until they are something nice instead (eg. "Fuck America" becomes "Thank America"). 3. The Freudians, who like to draw penises everywhere. They are also fond of the figure known as "the shitting arse". I've never really taken part in this activity so I don't know which camp I'd fall into. I suspect it would be 3.
We go out for dinner so very late that by the time we get back to the venue, it is completely full and we have to fight our way to the dressing room. Once we get there we both discover we need to wee and have to fight our way to the far end of the venue and then all the way back, all the while listening to the audience growing increasingly impatient.
Matt is not feeling good, but despite the rock-ness of the venue and the fact it is over-full the wonderful attentiveness of the audience helps him through.
Last time I was in Seattle was the day Kofi was born.
Promo Day, Seattle, 31 January 2005
Cough cough, fucking cough. The day was so weird I can't face going into it. In the evening I wander central Seattle looking for somewhere to eat, and it is completely deserted. Eerie.
Seattle - Denver - New York, 1 February 2005
The snow has stopped falling in New York, but it’s piled three feet high at the sides of the roads.
Joe’s Pub, New York, 2 February 2005
Just once in my “career”, I’d like to do a tour and not get ill. We’ve all got it now. We’re being driven around in a van and it’s just a symphony of expectoration. Matt has King Cough, though. A whole higher order of coughing that we believe he contracted from Kofi.
Matt is regularly ill on tour too, but this is the first time it has really affected his singing. This is bad news for the radio session we are doing this afternoon at WFUV. Radio in America is a mysterious creature, far removed from cosy British radio with its national subsidy. There are actually a lot more choices in the States, (however much this is belied by the fact that whenever you turn the radio you have to listen to “Born to be wild”), and one interesting subset is the public radio station, which is funded by listener subscriptions. These seem to attract a very loyal following of people who aren’t interested in car insurance, and so I’m told, are very influential in introducing new music. We went to visit KEXP in Seattle, and we’ve been invited to play at the fundraiser for KCRW in LA in March. Along with WFUV who enjoyed a very croaky session this morning, they’ve all been playing Aqualung and all seem genuinely interested in broadcasting music they care about – it has something of the frontier spirit about it. And Height Ashbury.
That sounds like it was sponsored by the radio plugger.
Anyway, afterwards we head off to Joes Pub, which isn’t a pub but a tiny jazz bar with padded walls that is staffed by some of the most uptight people I have ever met. On the way we drop Matt off to see a doctor, who tells him he has bronchitis and that he shouldn’t fly or use his voice too much. Normally he would be delighted to have his illness vindicated so thoroughly, but unfortunately he is genuinely worried that he won’t get through the gig. Everyone has been very understanding, but it’s been gently rammed home that it’s VERY IMPORTANT TO PLAY WELL TONIGHT. We have also lost the melodica somewhere between here and Seattle. And that’s half of our act.
And did I mention that the hotel is shitty?
The gig is strange. It’s at 7pm which is alarmingly early, and there are little tables at the edge of the stage at which people are eating their dinner. The strangest thing is the absolute silence, which is broken only by the sound of people putting their cutlery down very…. carefully…
Matt’s voice is better than this morning, but it’s still noticeably ragged. Once again Foolishness rises to fill the quality gap. I can’t tell you how much we’re relying on our adorable accents.
Then our first American tour is over, and there is a giant scrum around Matt and everyone says “it’s such a shame, but you made it” and the stars dance in our eyes and I tread in a freezing puddle while I’m packing the van.
There was a review in Variety of the LA gig, which implied that Matt’s natural modesty led him to face away from the audience, and that this allowed him to overcome his mountainous inhibitions and deliver a heartrending show. Do journalists ever try to move pianos?
My contribution was described as “able”.