The following morning finds me standing outside the hotel, with Styrofoam coffee in one hand, Marlboro in the other, both jackets buttoned and eyes squinting against the glare of the snow-covered swimming pool. From the experience of the last few days it seems almost laughable to have a swimming pool here at all, save for it being used as a skating rink, but I suppose this far inland you have to take the rough with the smooth – bitter winters, roasting summers. We had nothing to do but drive today, maybe twelve hours, maybe more. Doug had provisionally called Billings, Montana as the end of the road today. That is still a good 700 miles or so from here, boosting along I-94. Hang a slight left at Fargo (the Cohen Brothers Fargo…) and continue straight on through the entire of North Dakota…

A little east of Fargo we stop for sustenance, eating potentially the most unhealthy salad known to man (extra cheese, extra chicken), at a truck stop populated entirely by stereotypes. The Formica tops are gleaming, the slightly-older-than-she-feels waitress has a glint in her eye as she wanders round topping up coffees from a bottomless round-bottomed glass jug. The truckers plough grease into their cap-and-beard obscured faces with both hands, napkins tucked into their checked shirts at the neck. An old man waves a mop at the floor ineffectually, as he had clearly been doing for many years with diminishing results. For a moment I think that I don’t ever want to go home again.

We saddled up and drove straight on to Bismarck, capital of North Dakota, passing huddled buffalo and ethereally-drifting snow. Bismarck was a quick coffee, postcard, Hershey bar and cigarette stop, primarily to fuel up but serving the additional purpose of allowing those of us in “the back” to shake out the deep-vein thromboses that were gathering in our collective calves and buttocks. The sun was already getting low, but it was early yet and Doug was in the zone for another few hundred miles driving, mainly to either reduce tomorrow’s drive or make it all the way through to Seattle by late tomorrow night (Tuesday).

We rocked up to Billings late in the day and set about finding a hotel for the night. This was harder than it needed to be as the receptionist at the first one we tried (an internationally-known chain of fairly decent hotels who will remain nameless) was unable to check us in, despite them having available rooms and us having ready cash to pay for said rooms. The computer system being “too complicated”, we offered to take the rooms and pay in the morning when someone more competent was on hand, to no avail. This was the first (and indeed, the only) time that we witnessed Doug losing his cool for a second – “OK guys, just pack up the fucking van.” We drove down to the Best Western in the centre of town, which was remarkably David Lynch, including odd receptionist who thought he was a comedian and took somewhere in the region of half an hour to find some keys. Doug was by this point clearly at his wit’s end, but we finally got some rooms and, after a couple tins of Milwaukee Best Ice (“Beast”), of which we had acquired several crates en route, everyone slept soundly.

Tuesday morning found us heading unsurprisingly westward, to Bozeman, a town in the hills with an awesome health food co-op that Doug had been extolling the virtues of the previous day. After a massive salad, coffee, all manner of juices, a few packs of multivitamins and quinoa bars, a level of chipperness had returned to all. We were going to see how the driving went (crossing the Rockies could go either way dependent on the weather – which was looking like snow) and decide on the road whether we would make it all the way to Seattle tonight. We made good time, stopping once to try and buy a replacement headlamp for the van (with no luck), have a coffee, and watch another of those mile-long freight trains wind it’s way through the hills.

As dusk was starting to fall we stopped again, I have no idea where but it could have been Missoula, to get a new lamp and perform an excellent bit of parking-lot mechanics, and we were ready to head into the mountains proper. The higher we got, the darker it got, and the snowier it got. Around Lookout Pass we saw a massive truck ploughed into the bank at the side of the road, having clearly opted for stopping by whatever means in order to avoid the next stretch, where going over the side would mean not coming back. It was impossible to see the drops in the dark, but Doug assured us they were there, and his rather tense driving style hinted at it too. It was now a blizzard. I wondered how the US Royalty boys would get through here, as they were towing a trailer as well. Not a drive I would have liked to make.

We descended cautiously and the road started to level out a touch. We stopped at Spokane, I think, for Doug to take a break and to buy some hotdogs, in case this journey became less Lewis and Clark and more Donner Party. I floated the idea of hitting a hotel rather than pushing for Seattle, which Doug saw through immediately – “Look at you, anglin’ for the free breakfast!”. However, after another hour in the van of the damned it didn’t seem like such a bad idea after all and we headed on to the inappropriately-named Ritzville, Doug booking the hotel in advance on his phone to avoid any of the previous night’s shenanigans. We took the opportunity to do some laundry, I managed to sell the receptionist a CD, then it was a couple of tins of Beast from the seemingly never-depleting supply, and bed.

BR xxx

So what have we been up to recently? Those who attended any of the gigs will have noted a few new tunes in the set, getting their first test-drive in a live setting, and that pretty much answers the question – we’ve been holed up in “the office”, working on new material. With a bunch of hot-off-the-hard-drive demos in hand we are currently sorting out studio time to convert them into the finished article. A collection of newly recorded tunes you say? Wouldn’t that be called an album? Well, maybe it would. Watch this space…

In the meantime, I’ll be posting the final overdue instalments of our last blog, and any new developments as they happen. Studio Diary, anyone? Time for round three…

BR xxx

My mood is following small but regular orbits around the Venn intersection of the “manic”, “depressed” and “completely bananas” spheres, which I presume is some sort of hitherto undocumented post-New York effect coupled with a generous slab of hunger. I try listening to Graceland, Tom Petty, more Pixies. They just seem to exacerbate the situation. Eating a pizza helps, but only slightly. Ironing my shirt seems productive, so I do it. By the time US Royalty arrive in the dressing room, I am passed out on the couch with a jacket over my head and a half can of warm beer in my hand. We have so little time here, and as we are a little out of the city centre to the west, it seems ultimately pointless trying to do anything else.

The dressing room is directly behind and above the stage, with a little window to look out so we can watch US Royalty as we are getting changed (having a conversation is out of the question due to the volume of sound coming off the stage). US Royalty are sounding grand tonight, and their tunes are starting to become familiar now, this being the fifth night of hearing them live. They are pulling a crazy schedule tonight, driving through the night to play a gig in Indiana the following evening. We are taking the more relaxed option of having a day off tomorrow, so after playing a fun, solid set (which seems to eradicate my temporary mentalness), we head to a bar round the corner with some friends to grab a few beers from an extensive list of European specialities (including McEwans…). Doug sensibly calls a halt to proceedings around one, (“I’m quite happy to be that guy, guys…some of us have to drive in the morning…”), to a chorus of “Awwww boooo just five minutes man”, etc. And they say that being in a band is equivalent to not growing up…

We were staying about 40 or 50 miles west of Boston, just to get a wee bit of a jump start in the morning and avoid city traffic. Although I just described it as a day off, it was still a day in which we had to get as close to Chicago as we could. The morning was overcast, with threatening clouds. This felt a lot like the start of an adventure, as we were heading straight west, with a couple of gigs in the middle of the country, then straight on to Seattle. Driving clean across a continent, finishing up at the Pacific coast. It would involve resetting our watches three more times en route, and make the drive to Birmingham on the M6 seem like just a quick trip down to the shops. Within about half an hour of setting off, the snow had started to fall. About twenty minutes after that we started to drive past cars and trucks that had careered off the road and were stricken in the central reservation. I thought they were used to snow round these parts? The Bananamobile had no such issues with traction or driver skill and sailed on through upstate New York, with some short stops for coffee and bagels, until we reached Erie, Pennsylvania, a journey of maybe nine or ten hours given the conditions. By this time it was already dark, and once again extremely cold, and we stopped at another nondescript gas station for some food, and a couple of packs of cheap smokes (apparently they get cheaper towards the middle of the country). In order to wake everyone up a bit, as this was by no means the end of the days’ driving, Doug pulled out his trusty Grateful Dead Frisbee, and we had a game in the forecourt, under fluorescent strip lights, in the snow.

Fully laden with massive coffees, frostbitten fingers, and the biggest chocolate bars Hershey had to offer, we saddled up and made for Cleveland, Ohio, which was a mere couple of hours away. We made good time to Cleveland, and carried on through to the west for another forty minutes or so, finally calling it a day somewhere near Lorain (I think). We stopped at a Red Roof Inn, some sort of chain-motel, with a highly recommended free breakfast available in the garage across the street (motel manager: “I wouldn’t recommend the free breakfast at all, but there’s a Crackerbarrel up the road…”). I found myself again sharing with T and Kas, and again on the floor, as we were booking slightly fewer beds than were actually required in order to save a few dollars. The snow was piled up outside but the rooms were warm and by this stage of the day sleeping was my main priority.

The next morning we acted on the manager’s advice and headed along to the Crackerbarrel for the biggest breakfast they had on the menu, then made for Chicago. The trip was largely uneventful, the weather held and we covered the six hour drive in, well, about six hours. At one point we were 106 miles from Chicago, with a full tank of gas and half a pack of cigarettes, it was light and Kas was wearing sunglasses with both the lenses fallen out, which I think counts as our Blues Brothers moment. Close enough for jazz, anyway.

We arrived in Chicago in crawling traffic and thick fog, with the Sears Tower (or Willis Tower or whatever it’s called now) vanishing up into the clouds along with most of the buildings downtown. Tonight was Schubas, in Lakeview. We got loaded in and settled down for a beer before heading for an in-store session at Reckless Records, which was a stripped down semi-acoustic affair, then back for tea, and a sold-out gig. Good times all round!

The next day (Sunday) saw us head on to Minneapolis. This was essentially the midway point of the tour, both in terms of days on the road and geographically. Indeed, Minneapolis sits pretty much bang in the middle of the entire continent of North America, around fifteen hundred miles from the sea in any direction. We arrived at the venue to find it obscured by snowdrifts, and with a sign on the door which read “NO FIREARMS ALLOWED ANYWHERE ON THE PREMISES!”. Well, that was one thing less to worry about. We ventured into the interior, which was populated by men in checked shirts and caps sitting at the bar, being served by a woman with an almost completely tattooed face, with some generic metal music playing at high volume through the corner speakers. We asked Doug to double check the day sheets, and yes, this was the right place.

So, feeling a bit like that scene in the Blues Brothers where they have to play behind the chicken wire (“Chicken wire?!”), we proclaimed ourselves to be the band for the night, and were led through the back to an unexpectedly large and awesome venue. Books should not be judged by their covers, as they say. Loading in was a doddle with a ramp from the rear parking lot directly onto the stage, and very helpful and friendly crew on hand. After soundcheck we popped out the back door for a smoke and a chat with the venue manager, who was in a good mood as it was, seemingly, springtime. “You shoulda been here a fortnight ago, it was minus 26! I’ll be getting the shorts out if it stays like this for another week.” Looking at the surrounds, with snow piled five or six feet deep at the back of the venue, and the temperature rapidly plummeting towards the night’s expected 18 below, I feared for the man’s sanity. But I guess everything is relative.

The gig was sparsely populated, but to be expected on a Sunday night, with the snow starting again. Those that were there had a good time, as did both ourselves and US Royalty. The local support played some crazy psychedelic type tunes, and asked us what the ocean was like, having never been to the coast. We all had a few beers and a laugh then made our way outside to load the van, which we ended up doing in shifts as it was much too cold to hang about out there for very long, inappropriately dressed as we were. Then it was back to the hotel to sleep and consider “part two” of the tour, making the long journey for the west coast and the Pacific…

The North Star had an interesting stage set up, with monitors suspended from a balcony which extended to about two metres in front of the stage. They also had cheap wings, and good pasta on the go, which was welcomed by everyone. We were informed by an old friend that this part of town was a little off the beaten track, and with the recent snows threatening to return later in the evening we weren’t expecting much by way of turnout – as mentioned previously, this tour was going to run much like our first time round England, or anywhere else for that matter: some highs, some lows, and some in between. It was really up to us to maintain the momentum for the next three weeks, and be able to pick it up every night, no excuses. We had two opening bands tonight, the first Gunfight!, followed by US Royalty, both of whom played good solid sets. I watched US Royalty from the balcony who were pulling all kinds of shapes up on the stage, and throwing in a bit of timpani as well. The crowd was small but enthusiastic, and there were more people here than I expected given the fact that it was now a certifiable blizzard outside. Indeed, at the end of the gig everyone left within about two minutes, and on opening the back door it became obvious why they were in such a hurry – a good five inches of snow had fallen whilst we had been playing, making loading out a bit more fun than really necessary…

We made our way at a snail’s pace, passing the “Rocky steps” at the Philadelphia Museum of Art, and on out of town in a single-file queue of traffic which was sticking to the middle lane of the snowbound freeway. It was at this point that our parting gift (“Take them away. Please…”) from Lauren and Susannah came into use – four “snuggies”, which for the uninitiated are essentially fleece blankets with sleeves attached, designed for people who spend way to much time in front of the television, the sleeves allowing sufficient mobility to pick up a remote control or handful of nachos. It was both freezing and uncomfortable in the van, as we had yet to work out the best seating arrangements in the back, and it didn’t bode well for the sixteen-hundred mile drive between Minneapolis and Seattle. However, tonight was just a short run to New York, and we arrived to the sight of the Manhattan skyline at about three in the morning. I was a little too hypothermic to fully appreciate the view, looking forward at this stage more to a warm bed than anything else. We finally got to our hotel in Brooklyn sometime after three.

The next morning we awoke to bright sunshine, the freezing wind had backed off a touch, and after a hearty breakfast of bagels, waffles, coffee and the like, we re-packed the van (which had changed in appearance from bright yellow to an off-grey, caked in salt and mud from last night’s drive) and made way to WNYC’s studio on Varick Street for our one live radio session of the tour (the others being pre-recorded). We were playing three songs on the Soundcheck show, starting directly after interviews with Pitchfork editor Ryan Schreiber discussing the new Radiohead album, and Valery Sergiev, principal conductor of the LSO. We played three tracks, starting with A Darkness Rises Up, followed by I Used To Dream and finishing with You Know You’re Not Dead, which all seemed to go pretty well – although it was hard to tell as there was a sizeable extra layer of nervousness added by the fact that every noise you make in the room is simultaneously being transmitted off the top of the Empire State Building…yikes!

We made for the Mercury Lounge, situated on East Houston Street, just along from Katz’s Deli and Ray’s Pizza, both of which we were to hit pretty hard over the next day or two. After setting up and soundchecking, we took a swing round to a great coffee and cake shop, the name of which escapes me but I get a funny feeling was simply called “Cake Shop”, for some exorbitantly (yet oddly quality-appropriate) priced carrot cake and coffee. Then it was to the drugstore to load up on extra-useful stuff like little tiny packets of hair gel and lip balm, the liquor store for a bottle of gin, and Ray’s for a hefty pizza-slice dinner. Healthy living does not come better than this…

The gig was sold out, which was a good start to the night to say the least, and we had a ball. As we had several friends both old and new in attendance, afterwards we opted to leave most of the gear in the venue and make for the biggest dive of a bar that we could find, playing pinball and drinking Maker’s on the rocks into the wee small hours, in a haze of flashing lights and genuine surprise at actually being in New York. We were staying in Brooklyn with Nellie, another brave friend-of-a-friend (soon to become friend of course!), who was willing to put up all of us, although may have neglected to tell the other residents of her apartment who looked a little surprised in morning. Having woken at about nine, to hear tales of the previous night’s shenanigans, such as my blaming Kas for what transpired to be a cat pawing at my arse in the night, and our general abuse of the communal basement area, we stumbled out into the morning sunshine blinking and bleary eyed to head to the Bronx.

We were playing a session for Fordham University’s WFUV radio, which went surprisingly well given the lack of sleep involved, then it was back to the Mercury Lounge to pick up the rest of the gear. Around this point some decided that a $20 pastrami sandwich from Katz’s was an appropriate expenditure. And on viewing the many pounds of meat crammed into it, it didn’t actually seem that ridiculous an outlay. We made tracks towards the Rock Shop in Brooklyn, which was a long, narrow venue with a particularly tight stage for six. Soundcheck was an hysterical affair, with Doug walking in at one point to find all six of us on stage, and Kas at the desk, laughing so much that we couldn’t actually play. There was something odd going on at the back which seemed to be focusing Craig’s electric guitar sound directly into my left ear at an impossibly high volume – it sounded absolutely mental. We decided that things weren’t going to get much better until there were some people in the room so headed round the corner for massive bowls of ramen, which was nearly the undoing of Craig who found himself standing outside the restaurant, clutching his stomach and proclaiming that he was going to die right there on the pavement – whilst the rest of us rather callously laughed…

The gig was full again, and the sound on stage had improved considerably (Kas discovering at the beginning that the guitar was turned all the way up to 10 in my monitor for no reason whatsoever). Everyone was on top of each other and there was very little room for manoeuvre on stage, but the gig seemed to go down very well regardless. We packed up and headed back to Nellie’s apartment, where, after a couple of drinks, everyone slept with the studious focus of people that hadn’t slept yesterday.

We rose in the morning and headed out onto the beyond-repair fire escape for coffee and cigarettes, then climbed back in the kitchen window and said our goodbyes. We were making for Boston today, and we left New York happy to have had a great couple of gigs, but sad that we didn’t have enough time to explore or take in even one percent of what the city has to offer. The place is just incredible. Around this point I promised to myself that this wouldn’t be my both my first and last time here, a promise I intend to keep one way or the other. Once we had left the amazing jumble of the Manhattan skyline behind us, it was foot-to-the-floor all the way to Boston, and time to start unloading the gear all over again…

BR xxx

It was at this point that we realised we had been in Paris just five days ago, and had undertaken a 14-hour drive back to Edinburgh, when we should have just stayed and drunk cheap red wine and munched on awesome food for the duration. But there was little time for such thoughts as it was a run between gates to make our connection. The joys of discount travel. We breezed through security, although I did have to dig a tambourine out of my ready-to-rupture bag in case it was some kind of ninja weaponry. Which it could be, in the right hands.

The flight was long and boring, and we were in the cheapest, lamest seats possible, but at least the plane was anatomically “correct”, big wheels and everything. Wings in the right place. Nae holes. Air France went above and beyond the call of duty in messing with my body clock, slamming some form of sparkling wine down at half ten, followed by a chicken curry, gin and tonic and stiff brandy combo at 11:00, then many hours later wrapping up with orange juice, coffee and breakfast at 11:30 Washington time, or the Parisian evening time. I didn’t appreciate their ruse, their cunning attempt to trick me, (bonus prize if you get that reference…) as I rarely sleep in transit regardless of the quantity of alcohol and diddy packs of peanuts I am plied with. Although I would have welcomed another brandy following our cross-wind landing, during which I was pretty sure the plane was going to flip over. Having painstakingly researched how to survive a fall from 38,000 feet (in a bizarre and misguided attempt to allay my dislike of flying), I would have been pretty annoyed to get this far and wipeout at sea level. As the other passengers applauded the pilot, Kas proclaimed “Don’t clap that, that was pish!” to no-one in particular as almost everyone else on the plane seemed to be French, and unlikely to get the Scottish colloquial “pish”, Auld Alliance or no…

Washington Dulles International is supposed to be some sort of “model” airport, and by that I mean that it has exemplary performance for things like speed of processing arrivals, not that it is really, really small and made of balsa wood. We got “let in” with the minimum of fuss, despite my best efforts (Visa-check person: “Do you work with Simon?”, me “Duuh…who’s Simon?”, followed up with “Well, if you can call it work haha! I just bum about hitting things to be honest.” etc., etc. Full-on Mr Smooth-In-The-Face-Of-Authority mode…it’s a wonder they didn’t just send me straight back.) Mr Smith even received an extension on his visa without asking, which he shouldn’t have told us, as we then all wanted one.

We were staying with a friend of Dave’s from Back In The Day, Lauren, who had impressively and undauntedly offered to put up all seven of us at her place in Georgetown, so we headed round there first off to introduce ourselves and drop off our bags. It was a gloriously sunny, albeit massively windy, day and we blew down the street to a place called Thunder Burger, which seemed an appropriate place to sit and wait for the arrival of Doug, specialising as it did in good beer, and good burgers. May as well start the tour as it will undoubtedly continue, namely unhealthily…

Doug was to be both Tour Manager and driver for the next three weeks, and his first task of the tour proper was to find Craig at Baltimore Airport, himself having taken a slightly different route to the rest of us, and make way to Washington. He arrived in a banana-yellow Chevrolet van, which looked worryingly small for the amount of gear that was crammed into it, but after a bit of discussion it was decided we could “Tetris-pack” the gear and make a bit of room for the extra six people who were still to get in. Having at this stage been up for quite a number of hours, we also decided it would be a good time to go and grab a few beers, come back to the house and try to stay awake for as long as possible, by way of cheating any jetlag effects the next morning. This proved harder than it looked with most flaking at about nine in the evening.

I awoke the next day rather predictably at about five in the morning, partly due to feeling like it was midday, but mainly due to Ian standing on my head. It was my own fault, as in the cold morning light I realised I had mistakenly positioned my bed on the floor directly between Ian’s bed and the bathroom. This was about as advisable as getting between a mother bear and her cub, and with a similar outcome. I tried to get back to sleep, but after a few hours the smell of cooking bacon and brewing coffee started wafting down the basement steps and further repose became an impossibility. Lauren and Susannah treated us to a ridiculous breakfast, after which we all felt the need to do some walking, for the benefit of our arteries if nothing else. As this was one of the few cities in which we would actually have a day to explore, we thought we would do the whole tourist thing and head firstly to Wee Barry O’Bama’s house, then the Washington Monument and the Lincoln Memorial. They obviously knew we were coming and had emptied all the water from the Reflecting Pool, just in case any of those pesky reflections got in the way of us taking a decent photograph, replacing it with sand and rubble. Lovely!

Having hooked up with Doug again in the afternoon, we headed for the Black Cat, our venue for the evening. Load in was nice and easy and the local crew were friendly, and I got to crack out Doug’s vintage Slingerland drums which were sweeee-eeet. US Royalty (who were to be our support for the whole tour) arrived and we had a little bit of a chat with them, they seemed to be nice guys and we were sure to get to know them a bit better over the next three weeks! The gig was full, which was to be expected here as it is also US Royalty’s home town, but it was a nice way to start off with a good crowd, bearing in mind every stop on this tour would be completely uncharted waters for ourselves. We returned to Lauren’s place happy to have got the ball rolling, and looking forward to what tomorrow would bring…

Next up: Philly, New York, Boston, Chicago…

BR xxx