Universal Ampitheatre, Los Angeles, March 12 2005
OK, thank you, settle down now. Is everyone here? Good. I'd like to introduce myself. My name is Ben Hales, Mr; I am a 31 year old English musician with poor eyesight. I work with my brother Matthew who performs under the name of "Aqualung". We have come to the United States to perform various promotional activities in support of an album entitled "Strange and Beautiful" which is to be released on Slightly Bigger records via Red Ink via Columbia Records (part of the SonyBMG behemoth) on 22 March 2005.
This record consists of songs taken from Aqualung's previous two albums "Aqualung" and "Still Life" that were released in the UK in September 2002 and October 2003 respectively. These records have been available in varied territories with varying success, but due to a decision not to include North America in the original UK deal, no Aqualung product (aside from the recent "Still Life 1" EP now available at iTunes) has been issued in the US.
Ironically, despite negotiations with numerous American labels since 2002, it is only now that Aqualung has been dropped by its earstwhile UK label, Warners (the act having been 'sold' to Warners by its subsidary B-Unique Records to whom it was orginally signed, prior to the release of "Still Life") that the US deal has been signed. This means that Aqualung is effectively a new American artist.
So hello America. We're very pleased to meet you. Does anyone have any questions? Ah yes, you, California... That's a very good question. I believe he brings me along because he doesn't know any other guitarists. That's fine by me. I feel I have a stake in the whole thing with very little of the responsibility. No, Maryland, I don't feel it demeans me. I feel that I can express myself through my solos. And besides, in England I am locked into a rigid class system that means I must only aspire to high culture and social work. Here in America I feel that even I, a humble immigrant from the Old World, can follow my dream. Well, Georgia, my dream is much the same as everyone else's; to be left alone in a bath of money.
Tonight we're playing a benefit for the excellent KCRW radio station. The sandwiches they have backstage are beyond compare.
Oh, and I met Alison.
Day Off, Los Angeles, 13 March 2005
I thought Coldplay sounded best when they didn't have the backing track going.
Hotel Café, Los Angeles, 14 March 2005
It turns out we're here to work. Luckily my confused body clock doesn't mind it if I get up early, but I do wonder if it let me stay up late.
First stop is a session for the hallowed "Morning becomes eclectic" show on KRCW. I didn't realise, but the station is on the campus of the University. On our way in we got lost and found ourselves in the 'Trainee Broadcaster' studio where ranks of students were learning to say "Cum'n up after the news we've got some more of that smoooth jazz you love to love" and "It's five after nine, you're tuned to KSOK at 98.46 on your FM dial, and boy have we got a show for you today".
After the KCRW session (look - you can watch it here) we stay in the studio and record another session for a station in Philadelphia. After that we go somewhere else and record a session you can hear on an aeroplane if you are very lucky.
Now it's time to return to the tiny Hotel Café with its funny little piano, which is a lot more out of tune than last time. The gig feels much more friendly than last time, which was a very Industry-heavy audience, and it's nice to play for an hour. We haven't really rehearsed, and although we have played everything hundreds of times, you're never quite sure what's going to come out if you haven't run through it first. Matt's wife and collaborator Kim is with us for a few days, and she joins us for Another little hole, If I fall and Brighter than sunshine, so they become big and fat with harmony, which is how I like it.
Travel Day, LA - Austin, Texas, 15 March 2005
Hello. My name is Ben. I play guitar for Aqualung, who is also my brother. His name is Matt. But you can call him 'Aqualung' if you wish. Or 'Mr Aqualung'.
Aside from playing the guitar and helping Matt to negotiate the giddy highs and crushing lows that are endemic to Genius at his level (he's a green-belt), I like to keep a tour diary* which normally lives at aqualung.net, but since we have to try to be nice to our new record company, I have agreed to let it take a short holiday here. Nice view.
The problem with tour diaries is that they tend to be an outlet for expressing the tedium that characterises a good tour. It's hard to explain how it actually feels to perform, it's too risky to say what you actually think of the people you meet and the conversations you have with them, and it's too dull to tell you exactly what we did, so you end up with what's left over. And that is an odd assortment of sweepings and leavings that often make no sense whatsoever.
I hope you enjoy it.
So, here we are at The South by SouthWest Musical Convention in Austin, Texas, USA. It's an annual 'shindig' or 'hoopla' wherein thousands of bands come to this fine University city and play and play and play. Apparently there is a complete embargo on all music in Austin for the entire rest of the year, so saturated does the city become. If you put your ear to the ground, you can hear the faint reverberrations of last years' SXSW.
I've been to the festival twice before, and it is a unique experience** - a musical theme park, if you like, though without a FastPass facility.
Right now I'm sitting in the lobby of the Convention Centre where they have the holy grail of modern touring life, a free wireless network! Hooray! Our tour manager, Roberto, has just left to collect Matt and his manager Phil from the airport. Matt was making a video yesterday in LA. I'm hoping he'll still be in his makeup. In the meantime I'm leafing through the goody-sack you get when you register and wondering how we're going to fit it in the car.
There are some great bandnames in the directory, such as 'I Love You But I Chose Darkness' and 'Whitey Houston'. You can't beat Japanese bandnames, though. As far as I can see, 'My Little Airport' haven't made it this year. A shame.
We have a busy schedule for the next few days, but tonight we're free so we should see some bands.
Or perhaps there'll be a good movie on TV.
Whatever.
*I tried keeping a tour dairy once, because it's nice to have fresh milk in your tea, but it was difficult to source a flight case suitable for livestock.
**FAO pedants: I realise you can't have a unique experience twice.
I'm sitting in the 'Artist's Lounge', upstairs at the Redbull House (7th & Congress if you're quick. What is it about the sign for Congress that makes me think 'Sexual Congress'? It's my problem, don't worry about it). The Artist's Lounge is one of the things that makes it far better to be an artist at these events than a punter. There are beanbags, laptops, a free bar, nectar and ambrosia in abundance, cherubim and seraphim, a free wireless network (hooray!), personal tarot readings and a cosmetic surgeon. I went for something they call 'the Mama Cass' and a breast reduction.
The show is running late by a few hours, so I have time to share my innermost... oh wait, Matt's just told me we've swapped with someone so that he can go off afterwards and do a TV interview. It's going to be our third performance of the day, though the first one with real people at it. Maybe there are so many people from the music industry here there's no room for real people. That would explain a few things.
So I guess I'd better go and get ready. Have a nice evening y'all.
There seems to be a culture in American hotels for setting the alarm clocks fast. I also observe that it is far far better to be a record company employee than a band in terms of accomodation at SXSW. The labels must buy up rooms years in advance. I guess they know they're going to be there...
I wonder how many bands split up between one year and the next? Is it the same number as the new bands? Perhaps there has to be a constant band population in the world, and maybe this explains why you suddenly fall out with your keyboard player after years of happy co-existence.
All American boys play guitar*.
We've just performed at the Paste Magazine party at Maggie Mae's and I'm sitting on the roof terrace in the sunshine while my neck gently burns.
As it turned out we switched our show back last night and ended up going on about three hours after our scheduled slot. But that's how it is here, and it wouldn't be the same without it - the adrenalised rush to get everything onstage; the lottery of the stage sound; the mystery of the audience; the crunching rush to get offstage; the vital power supply you leave behind.
I don't think I'd ever bring a full band to SXSW. Can you imagine how many mislaid cymbal stands and tuners are left over? They should do an annual yard sale. Maybe I'd find that jacket I lost here in 2000.
That's it, then. Time to gnaw myself out of my purple wristband and consign another Southbysouthwest to history, because they won't let me back in now. If you are local, you call the festival 'South-by'. I find that slightly unsatisfactory. Couldn't we call it 'The ol' Sou'wester'?
All American boys in bands have beards.
I saw two great bands today. One was the Ditty Bops, a mysterious throwback to the Charleston era, who made music that sounded like the songs in early Mickey Mouse cartoons. Apparently they were missing their accordionist, which would have been perfect with the brushed kit, string bass, lap steel/bottleneck guitar/fiddle, mandolin, nashville acoustic and close female harmonies we got to hear. Check them out. The other was the Neville Brothers, who made the funk and the soul like it used to be. If you seriously want a hammond sound, a rhodes sound and a clavinet sound, bring along a clavinet, a rhodes and a hammond. It's not hard.
Last night we played our big south-by show at Stubbs', incongrous first on a bill that climaxed with the New York Dolls. Of course, we were in bed by the time they played, but it's one for the resume. This afternoon we played our final gig at Antone's, a gig that can convince you it's the dead of night in the middle of the day. As we came off stage the rains came, as if Austin were washing itself clean.
Luckily we can breathe underwater.
Travel Day, Austin-Dallas-New York, 20 March 2005
I went to Starbucks today and asked for a mocha-choco-latte-dada.
Bowery Ballroom, New York, 21 March 2005
Our hotel room features a small kitchen in which you can boil water in a saucepan and make fine English tea if you have bought some teabags and I have bought some teabags so we don't have to use the Liptons Yellow Label which is called Yellow Label because of its affinity with urine.
Today is a busy day, and tonight is exciting because we have sold out the Bowery ("You guys have sold out the Bowery? That's great!"). This is not technically true, because the label has bought a lot of tickets. But no one needs to know that.
First we're doing a session at Music Choice, a cable music channel, then we are taping a performance for 'Last Call with Carson Daly' for NBC. I fucked it up right at the end, although Phil said you could barely hear the guitar. It worries me that when I see bands play I hear a lot fewer mistakes than when I play. Perhaps you really don't notice the mistakes when you're not making tham. Perhaps I should practise more.
I didn't make any serious mistakes at the Bowery, aside from starting early on the whiskey. It was definitely one of the good ones, possibly making it into the top three along with St James' and Vienna.
It seemed to go on for a long time. One more song and Roberto, trapped behind the desk, would definitely have wet himself.
Promo/Laundry day, New York, 22 March 2005
The US album was released today.
The Rams Head, Annapolis, 23 March 2005
It is raining today. Abundant and belligerent; grey, determined and wet. It's 7.30am.
We are travelling as light as we possibly can given that we have a large keyboard case and a months' worth of luggage, but it has proved impossible to rent a large vehicle for it to fit into. What we really need is, say, a 12-seater minibus. Roberto has procured the largest thing he can find, which is a blindingly white SUV thing with a huge engine and a little folding-down seat in the middle through which we plan to poke the keyboard.
We rush into the rain to pack everything into the car for the first time, which is very nearly possible, until Danny Buch arrives (it's pronounced 'Bush'). Danny Buch is a veteran of many years service as a Radio Promotions Executive, and, despite many warnings to the contrary, is planning to travel with us up and down the east coast and take us to many radio stations. Those who have met Danny Buch may wish to add their own descriptions of the man here: . For myself I would like to say he is tall, wiry with a swept-back face. He occasionally gets mistaken for Eric Clapton.
Danny Buch has also brought some luggage, which we can cram into the back of car if we all help with slamming the back door. However, when we try to fit ourselves in the back, it is only possible if one of us agrees to have their bones removed. It's a four-hour journey to Annapolis. The inside of the car is now as wet as the outside. The backs of our knees are moist. Danny Buch decides to take a train to Annapolis. There he will rent a car and meet us at the radio station, at which we are now going to arrive late.
We drive out of New York and down the New Jersey Turnpike. There is nothing but grey rain and spray. There is no room in the car. I just want to make it clear that it's raining very hard and there is no room in the car.
When we see Danny Buch again, many hours later, in Annapolis, he will be very wet.
When Danny Buch arrives at Annapolis Station, he has no choice but to take a cab to the airport. At the airport none of the rental companies have any cars. Eventually Danny Buch finds one company with one remaining vehicle.
[I'd just like to point out once again that there is no room in our car].
It is a 12-seater minibus. Danny Buch demurs and pleads for another choice.
[I'd just like to point out once again that it is very very wet].
The only other option is a convertible with the roof stuck in the down position.
Roberto's Fact of the Day: Annapolis was once the capital of the USA.
World Café Live, Philadelphia, 24 March 2005
Today we take a diversion into DC to record a session at the sumptuous NPR studio. On the way in I see in the distance the dome of the White House. This floods me with a peculiar warmth, tinged with homesickness. Not because I am a member of the Bush dynasty, but because I have recently discovered 'The West Wing', TV's most pornographically liberal, self-consciously articulate show, in which the hot-to-some Martin Sheen plays an eccentric, intellectual but profoundly good-hearted Democratic President who rules his great nation by the guiding principles of humanity, honour and humility while his oh-so-fallible staff seek to follow his example while spewing reams of snappy dialogue and occasionally falling over. I recommend it, with a warning that it does contain a lot of slow-motion flag action.
Matt makes me start the gig wearing Phil's bodywarmer jacket thing. Since Phil is a very tall man and I am merely of average height, it looks very stupid, but not quite so stupid that it's immediately obvious that it's a joke. It's funny to us, though. Quite possibly only to us. Still, I got to hear what it sounds like when you laugh through a melodica.
Roberto's Fact of the Day: Philadelphia was once the capital of the USA.
Paradise Lounge, Boston, 25 March 2005
Driving, driving. It's been snowing around here. On the way to Boston we lock the keys in the car and have to be rescued by a guy who looks like Willie Nelson. Do you know, it's been over a year since I saw the back of Willie Nelson's head. Time flies, don't it?
Roberto's Fact of the Day: Boston was once the capital of the USA.
Promotion/TV/Beach, San Francisco/Los Angeles 26-31 March 2005
I bet you wish you were living my life.
Sloss Furnaces, Birmingham Alabama, 1 April 2005
"We were just wondering, are y'all in a band, or are you here for the Hair Show?". This will happen a lot in Birmingham. Although it appeared they were all just taking the piss, it turns out that the Hair Show 'takes over' for the weekend. Didn't see any hair, though, apart from a four year-old with a Mohican.
Tonight we're starting a short support tour with Jason Mraz at a place called the Sloss Furnaces. We speculated as to what sloss might be, and what happened when you burnt it, but when got there, it was self-explanatory.
This the first place on the tour where I actually felt foreign. Not because everything was outlandish and strange - quite the opposite - but because I felt out of place with my posh English accent and unruly hair.
I assume they thought I was a fucking limey faggot hairdresser.
Tour Diary Burnout, Birmingham, Atlanta, Athens, Asheville, Knoxville, April 2-6 2005
Nothing amusing or interesting has happened to me for some time.
Alternative entry:"It's finally happened: you can now buy caffeinated beer. Sober up while you get drunk!"
House of Blues, Myrtle Beach, 7 April 2005
See above.
Washington College, Chestertown, 8 April 2005
A thousand miles later... Tonight we're playing in a huge gymnasium in which a delay with four genuine repeats is created by the sound from the PA bouncing off the back wall.
Excellently, the dressing rooms are squash courts. Matt travels with a tennis ball in his bag for occasions such as these, and we spend most of an hour trying to throw the ball into a bin from the other end of the court. I did it once, Matt did it twice, though that was on the rebound both times and carries slightly less prestige. It was harder than it sounds.
Jason Mraz and his band invaded our set and played 'In the air tonight' while Jason threw pencils into the crowd.
I'm thinking I should get a hat.
Red Devil Lounge, San Francisco, 9 April 2005
Actually I'm at gate 93, San Francisco airport waiting for boarding to begin on flight UA930 to London on Sunday 10th. If you really have to know, yesterday we flew back across the country (selected for a fifth time for 'random security screening', which is what you get if you travel with Roberto), drove to the hotel, went to the gig, went back to the hotel, went to eat fine Mexican food, went to do the gig, came back, congratulated each other and went to bed. My bed was a four-poster. It was that kind of hotel. (Actually, I was kept awake all night by a strange discomfort that I later found was caused by a secret pea).
It hasn't really been a tour, more like a series of musical activities. I don't want to think about the number of repetitions of Brighter than sunshine we've performed. There are a lot more to come.
So, I shall leave you for a short time. We're back in two weeks to start a tour in a tour bus in Indianapolis. Perhaps I'll join you again then. Or perhaps I won't. Perhaps I'll think of a revolutionary new form of expression that will revolutionise the very concept of 'blogging' for all time. Perhaps I will forgo it altogether, get comfortable in the back lounge and watch the road passing by.