{"id":3984,"date":"2015-04-29T07:15:31","date_gmt":"2015-04-29T06:15:31","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/fivethousand.co.uk\/?p=3984"},"modified":"2021-01-09T12:26:31","modified_gmt":"2021-01-09T12:26:31","slug":"the-great-north-american-a-diary-from-the-road","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/5000mgmt.com\/the-great-north-american-a-diary-from-the-road\/","title":{"rendered":"THE GREAT NORTH AMERICAN: A DIARY FROM THE ROAD"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"Dawn,<\/a><\/p>\n

I toured through North America with the artist I manage and tour manage – East India Youth (William Doyle) – and our sound engineer George Hider. This\u00a0is what happened<\/p>\n

Hold cursor over photo for description, click photo to enlarge<\/p>\n

<\/h2>\n

Tuesday 28 April 2015
\nLONDON > LOS ANGELES<\/strong><\/h2>\n

\"\"\u00a0\"British<\/a>
\nIt’s a beautiful day; the kind you want to wake to as you embark on a long journey. In our case, a seven-week tour of North America, mainland Europe and the UK. I take a taxi to our storage space near Angel, try to decide which merch to take that might begin to get us out of the $13,000 hole we’re in on this run. The lure of North America is strong and we go whether we can afford it or not. We’ve hired an eight-seater provided by British Airport Transfers (a misnomer, given they only serve London’s airports) after sacking off Hummingbird Cars for being absolutely fucking useless<\/strong><\/a>. We arrive at London Heathrow’s Terminal 5, three and a half hours before we fly. I tend to build in lots of time in case of traffic, queues at security, and whatever other bullshit international travel can bring to bear on an itinerary. We drop four equipment cases, one merch case, clear security, get some dollars from one of the currency exchange companies that make their living absolutely screwing people like me who didn’t have time to go to the Post Office and sit down at a restaurant to eat salads. We’re all hopelessly addicted to the high fructose corn syrup<\/strong><\/a> the Americans like to pump their food full of, and this meal is a futile attempt at kidding ourselves that we’ll eat healthy for the days ahead. George will succumb to milkshakes, Will will plough into burgers and fries and I’ll bypass my digestive tract altogether and intravenously ingest a cocktail of Dr. Pepper, pizza and Junior Mints<\/strong><\/a>. George and Will wander off\u00a0to pick up supplies, I sit and work, and run my phone data down to zero trying to upload North American maps to our Garmin satnav.<\/p>\n

Great.<\/p>\n

The plane’s a new Airbus 380, and looks and feels like every jet-plane in service since the 1950s, only with mood lighting and a TV screen. As soon as he can, the guy in front of me reclines his seat back and my screen’s about six inches from my face. I recline my seat into the face of the guy behind me, he reclines his, and so it dominos toward the back row. There’s a metaphor for the human condition there somewhere. We settle in for eleven hours. I eat my Asian Vegetarian meal, gift the bread and dessert to George, watch an episode of The Newsroom<\/strong><\/a>, start to watch The Gambler<\/strong><\/a> with Mark Wahlberg – am pleased to observe\u00a0it has Richard Schiff<\/strong><\/a> in it – but can’t keep my eyes open, sleep on and off for three hours.<\/p>\n

“Are you excited?” asked a friend yesterday.\u00a0I tell her that experience has taught me to exercise caution. Plus\u00a0I’m not going on holiday. Sure, it’s going to be fun, but it’s going to be tough sometimes, mentally and physically gruelling, with every problem – and there will be many problems – mine to fix. No-one wants to hear that though. You’re touring\u00a0North America in an SUV. You’ve to be excited.<\/p>\n

Sure, okay.<\/p>\n

I read a piece about Drake on\u00a0Four Pins<\/a>,<\/strong> ahead of his Coachella show this year. The journalist gets high on mushrooms. It passes the time. I finish The Gambler (some of the most pointlessly ponderous dialogue I’ve heard in many years, and Richard Schiff’s part was risible), watch some of Moneyball with Brad Pitt, but I pass out again, which is welcome, since being awake on this flight really isn’t working out for me. We deplane, clear security, customs, baggage claim, take the shuttle bus to car hire, get the car, load the gear. Two and a half hours have passed and we’re still in the perimeter of the airport. We’re given a colossal GMC SUV<\/strong><\/a>. I can’t work out how they get away with these things here. The vehicle is enormous but the legroom is average at best, visibility is terrible over your shoulder and there are more controls on the dash than in the cockpit of the plane you just stepped off. We sit for five minutes trying to figure out how to put into gear.<\/p>\n

It’s late, I’m tired, I’ve been moving for almost 24 hours and I’m driving a colossal SUV with poor visibility. LA’s eight-lane highways aren’t the friendliest places when it’s late, you’re tired, and driving a colossal SUV with poor visibility. We make it safely to our Airbnb just off Sunset Strip in West Hollywood (real close to The Viper Room<\/strong><\/a>, for all you River Phoenix fans out there). Two double bedrooms and a pretty sorry-looking sofa bed. I volunteer for the sofa bed because Will never will and George always will and anyway, it’s my job to make sure artist and crew are rested. Such graciousness won’t last long. After a week of this shit they can sleep on the floor for all I care.<\/p>\n

I get some work done, try and upload the maps to the satnav again, fail, brush my teeth and see about getting some sleep. It’s almost midnight here as the UK awakes eight hours ahead. I dream of Mexican food.<\/p>\n\"Facebook\"<\/a>\"twitter\"<\/a>\"instagram\"<\/a>\"Facebook\"<\/a>\"twitter\"<\/a>\"instagram\"<\/a>\n

Wednesday 29\u00a0April 2015
\n<\/strong>LOS ANGELES
\n<\/strong>\"\"<\/a>\u00a0\u00a0<\/a>\"Sunrise<\/a>\"mZOlR\"<\/a>\u00a0\"Downtown<\/a>\u00a0\"Will,<\/a>\u00a0\"George
\n<\/strong><\/h2>\n

I wake just before 0400 and lie there, trying to calculate the weight, price and most effective way of getting some merch from New York to San Diego, and from London to LA. This kind of mind-numbingly boring exercise should be like counting sheep, but it’s what keeps me awake.<\/p>\n

I check to see if the map has downloaded. It hasn’t. It’s lucky our SUV has one built-in. I work for an hour, catching up with the UK – \u00a0a Guardian interview for Will<\/strong><\/a>, some financial matters to attend to, a remix he’s working on for Sasha Siem<\/strong><\/a>, moving merch around between offices and depots – then go out for a walk down to Sunset Strip.
\nIt’s quiet, dawn approaching. I see The Roxy<\/strong><\/a> where we’ll play on Friday, Whisky a Go Go<\/strong><\/a>, Viper Rooms. I realise I’m missing a trick, walk quickly back to the apartment, get in the car. The Griffith Observatory<\/strong><\/a> (in Griffith Park<\/strong><\/a>) is a 1935 Art Deco structure that overlooks more or less the entire Los Angeles area. It’s home to a 12″ Zeiss Refracting telescope<\/strong><\/a>, location of some of James Dean’s most iconic\u00a0scenes\u00a0in Rebel Without a Cause<\/a><\/strong>, and one of my favourite places on God’s Earth. I drive along a deserted Sunset Strip for six miles, turn in toward The Greek Theatre<\/strong><\/a>, arrive, and park up. The sun is still behind the Santa Monica Mountains<\/strong><\/a>, the sky lit\u00a0peach-orange, the air cool and still. I can’t blink without seeing a photograph, but try and keep my phone in my pocket as I walk around, more or less alone here, the sun finally cresting the mountains, my cue to head back.<\/p>\n

The house is quiet. I carry on working. We’re premiering the new single and video<\/strong><\/a> today on the website of KEXP in Seattle<\/strong><\/a>, and I need to line everything up. Will usually posts on Facebook and Instagram, I follow with Twitter and the EIY website, then his label (XL<\/strong><\/a>) in London reposts, followed by the rest of the international offices. I need to approve the press release first, upload the video to YouTube, get the credits for the production crew, write the website post, the newsletter email-out, email everyone who’s currently promoting one of our shows right now (thirty of them or so) and tell them about it, ask them to post on their social media platforms. And I need to wait for him to wake before I can press the button.<\/p>\n

He wakes, writes his post, everyone does their thing.<\/p>\n

We shower, drive to Mel’s Drive-in Diner<\/strong><\/a> for breakfast. I sit on a table opposite, continue working, order a salad. Billy Ocean comes on the radio. Today’s a day off and we head to Santa Monica Beach<\/strong><\/a> for a look around. We take some photos of Will and I looking incongruous in our suits then head into Topanga State Park<\/strong><\/a> and along Mulholland Drive<\/strong><\/a> to admire the view down into San Fernando Valley<\/strong><\/a>, the Verdugo\u00a0Mountains<\/strong><\/a> and – with my monocular<\/strong><\/a> – upon Universal and Warner Brothers studios.<\/p>\n

We’ve a meeting at 1800 with Chrissy from our publisher,\u00a0Beggars Music<\/strong><\/a>, so retun to the apartment to get cleaned up and take an Uber over to Silver Lake<\/a>. <\/strong>We sit in the garden of the office, drink local IPAs, talk about music, travelling and local IPAs. Chrissy’s great company, and extremely enthusiastic about East India Youth, which are the two most important things you want in someone you work with. Plus she likes IPAs. We head across the road to Casita Del Campo<\/strong><\/a>, a Mexican restaurant that’s been around since 1962, and gorge on way too much food. By the time the chips and salsa are gone no-one’s hungry, but sure enough more food arrives. The wastage is phenomenal. Tiredness hits us like a wave, so we and Chrissy go our separate ways and another car takes us to bed. Tomorrow’s our first day at work, in San Diego<\/strong><\/a>. I’m an optimistic person by nature, but if you put anyone on the road for 4-5 days, they’ll quickly grow a more circumspect skin, and I’ve been doing this long enough to know it’s a matter of time before I’m knee-deep in the shit of someone else’s making.<\/p>\n

Follow @5000mgmt<\/a><\/strong><\/p>\n

Thursday 30\u00a0April 2015
\nSAN DIEGO
\n\"The<\/a>\u00a0\"Andy<\/a>\"Andy,<\/a>\u00a0\"\"\"\"\u00a0\"\"<\/a>
\n<\/strong><\/h2>\n

My alarm’s set for 0500 but I’ve been awake since 0300. George and I get dressed, for we have an adventure to attend to, and we’re out the door by 0530, driving the car west to the end of Sunset Strip, toward our target: Zuma Beach<\/strong><\/a>\u00a0in Malibu. It’s dawn when we arrive, and we head down to the Pacific Ocean. It’s pretty cold, as places tend to be before the sun comes up. Angelenos<\/strong><\/a> have a habit of saying they live in the desert. They don’t. They live in a large coastal basin with a Mediterranean climate, which I accept doesn’t sound as dramatic. Well anyway, wherever they live it’s pretty cold right now, so we run around in our trunks and t-shirts before racing into the surf and freezing our extremities off. Actually, it’s exhilarating, and I set aside my fear of what lurks beneath the waves, and we take it in turn to mug for the camera like a couple of eighth-rate swimwear models. At one point I get absolutely flattened by a huge wave that pulls me under and drags me back up the beach on my back. George does his best to keep taking pictures, instead of helping me, which I will forever hold against him. The sun comes up, begins to warm us, but I’ve lost the feeling in my fingers and toes and it takes an hour for it to come back. The adrenalin kept me warm when I was out of the water, and now I’m paying for it with mild hypothermia.<\/p>\n

We drive back toward LA, stopping at Malibu Beach to marvel at Grey Whales and talk to surfers, and take a slow walk along the pier to gaze out toward the horizon, and dream. It’s an amazing start to a day.<\/p>\n

Will’s up and about on our return, working on a remix, and answering some questions for a blog<\/strong><\/a>. We’re in no hurry to leave so I plough on with work. I get some great feedback from attendees at my Tour Management course last week<\/strong><\/a>, which is a relief. I rarely have any idea how my lectures are received as I stand there and deliver them. Then it’s chasing invoices, paying invoices, fielding collaboration and promo requests, trying to arrange accommodation in NY and Philly in a few days time, advancing shows in Moscow, Bratislava and Norwich, and catching up with Matt at the label who’s been in the States himself for a while. XL are a great label, and we’re happy there, but like any label – independent or major – nothing’s perfect, and I appreciate their willingness to explore different ways of working with me to better serve East India Youth. Other than this, I continue my cajoling of our promoters, a theme which will come to define this trip, and not for good reasons.<\/p>\n

We get on the road, via Ralph’s<\/strong><\/a> supermarket, and have a breakfast\/lunch picnic in the car park. The healthy eating thing is going pretty well, and even Will looks interested in the cherry tomatoes. The drive down to San Diego is bearable, traffic could have been worse, and we stop at Dana Point<\/strong><\/a> to look for whales, but they are elsewhere today, so\u00a0find a picnic spot overlooking the ocean and eat the rest of our food.
\nSan Diego is upon us soon enough and we go to the hotel, a Ramada Inn<\/strong><\/a>\u00a0a couple of miles from the airport. George goes for a swim in the pool, Will reads at the pool, I spend twenty minutes on the phone to Fedex who have failed to deliver a box of T-shirts to the venue, thinking about the pool.<\/p>\n

Heading to the venue we\u00a0notice that the airport is more or less in the city. San Diego’s a big place; 1.3 million people, the\u00a0eighth most populous city in the US after San Antonio<\/strong><\/a>. I’d never seen an international airport so close to built-up areas before. The venue staff are calm and friendly, and we set up. It reminds me of Brixton Windmill<\/strong><\/a>. The PA is pretty hefty for a room of this size, there’s plenty space for me to set up the merch in the outside patio, and the WiFi has download speeds of 25Mbps. Since this is my place of work\u00a0for the next seven hours, that’s pretty important. I don’t know that many venues fully consider the fact that artists and crew are often a long way from home, maybe can’t switch data on, and would like to stay in touch with friends and family, and work. I let George and Will take care of things on stage and get my shop set up, reply to some emails that have come in during the drive.<\/p>\n

Tonight’s show will be poorly attended. I’ve known that from the beginning and as the date\u00a0drew near, it was clear it wasn’t being promoted well, if at all, or anyway, not online that I could see. Seven tickets have been sold in advance. North America is a brand new market for EIY so we’re not expecting miracles. We’re expecting to come back here many times, and work hard, like almost every band who wishes a piece of the action. This market doesn’t really give a shit about Mercury Prize nominations<\/strong><\/a> or what the NME say, and that’s healthy. Sometimes a band just connects instantly though. I was with Savages when the US pretty much bowed down before them, when they were more or less the hottest band in the Western world. That’s incredibly rare. Most bands never connect, or connect very gradually. We hope we’re the latter. If an unknown US band came to Bristol to do a show, they’d be playing to seven people too. We know our place in the world and we’re in this for the long haul.<\/p>\n

Soundcheck over, merch set up.<\/p>\n

Kathryn Calder<\/strong><\/a> (ex-New Pornographers<\/strong><\/a>) and her band are here to support us, and they’re really nice people, evidenced by their loaning us a keyboard stand. We head out to find honey and lemon for Will’s throat, and food. The planes landing at the airport are no more than 100m above the venue, which is directly under the final approach flight path, and after twenty, thirty have passed, we’re still not used to the sight and sound of 727s screaming above our heads so close we can see people in the windows.
\nWe sit down in a Mexican place called El Cantino and eat well, still enthralled by the planes, having to pause our conversations every two minutes to let the noise dissipate. I break my no-alcohol-when-I’m-working rule and have a local IPA. The craft beer scene in San Diego has – as in many places across the world – exploded, and Will and I are geeks for it. George has been circling around it for months now, making the occasional hop foray, then retreating to more familiar turf.<\/p>\n

Back at the venue Will warms his voice up and drinks warm, honeyed tea, and I watch a little of Kathryn who plays a long set tonight. I’m smitten by ‘Take a Little Time<\/strong><\/a>‘, a killer pop song with a huge keyboard hook.<\/p>\n

Will’s show is fantastic. It’s been a long time since I stood in the audience and watched an entire set. Usually I’m at side of stage keeping an eye out for anything going wrong, or communicating with the monitor engineer. But tonight it’s me, 5,478 miles from home, and seven others. There’s no such thing as a show without value, and we’re not easily dispirited. \u00a0It’s a useful rehearsal, a good test of our ability to cobble together stands when a venue hasn’t provided them, and there’s time and space to get my merch shop in order for the days ahead.<\/p>\n

We speak to a woman who’s driven 1.5 hours from Orange Country, who’ll also drive to LA to see us tomorrow. Sometimes my peers look upon those like her as being a little crazy. I never understood that. I followed The Walkmen around on their first album tour, same with Interpol, seeing them in London, Brighton, Cambridge, Oxford, local shows within striking distance of my base. I love those bands and their music means the world to me. Nothing I could do with my time was more rewarding than watching them play, throwing myself around at the front, playing the album on my headphones on the way home. We take bands for granted, assume they’ll always be there. But bands stop playing their early stuff and move on, or they break up, or stop touring, or don’t play near you. Or the driver falls asleep at the wheel on the way to the next show, killing everyone.<\/p>\n

We pack up, drive back to our hotel, sleep.<\/p>\n

I’m hoping for more than four hours.<\/p>\n

I’m not going to get it.<\/p>\n

Follow @5000mgmt<\/a><\/strong><\/p>\n

Friday 01 May\u00a02015
\nLOS ANGELES<\/strong><\/h2>\n

\"\"\u00a0<\/a>\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Five hours sleep! An improvement. It’s not that I’m not tired: I’m a light sleeper, wake up three to four times a night and invariably start thinking about what the day will bring, can’t switch it off, have to get up. I sneak out, head down to breakfast, get on with work. It’s a typical American budget hotel breakfast, which is to say largely inedible. I have half a bagel with cream cheese. I’m going to need more than that for the drive back to LA, but we’ve still got a load of good stuff in the ‘larder’ that we’ve bought from Ralph’s. I’m optimistic about the day, but the day has other plans for me.<\/p>\n

Every morning\u00a0I post on EIY’s social media platforms to say thanks to venue\/promoter\/staff for previous show (unless I’ve nothing to thank them for, in which case I keep quiet) and generally spend an hour or so thinking about how the shows are being promoted. We’ve around thirty on sale across North America, UK and the European mainland. I’ve been debating how much to say about this publicly, certainly when the tour is still on, and because I need to meet some of these people in the days ahead, but here’s what I’ll say for now, and keep the rest for post-tour, at which point I’ll eviscerate those who did next-to-nothing to help the show they’d been contracted to promote:<\/p>\n

I’ve been very heavily involved in promoting the shows and it’s been causing me anxiety and consternation, on account of many – not all – of the promoters we’re working with being utterly inept. For one reason or another my thoughts turned to a particular promoter, and I check their FB and TW pages and see that, despite my supplying them with a whole raft of useful tools over the past weeks, they’ve done nothing to promote the show online. Nothing. Not one thing. My method for dealing with it has been to let our two booking agents light fires underneath those who’re not pulling their weight. Part of the reason is that I don’t like to lose my temper. It’s one thing getting myself into trouble, but when you represent someone \u00a0– as I do Will – I can’t risk his career suffering because I lost my shit with someone.<\/p>\n

I’m furious. I write an email but know I can’t send it. I try to contact Andy (our London-based booking agent at Primary Talent<\/strong><\/a> who handles the World excluding the US and Canada). I reach him at home and as soon as I start speaking I’m close to tears. Sure I’m tired, and emotions rise easier then, but the only thing I care more about than my family is my work, and those I work with. I would take a bullet for Will and George, and other than my immediate family I can say that about four other people. And I’m trying to run a small business here. Two<\/em> small business. Mine and Will’s. And George is financially dependent on us too. And it’s a struggle every day. Mercury Prize nominations do absolutely nothing for your bank balance. These people, this promoter… he’s fucking with our livelihoods. Every time he promotes the show he increases the chances of a bigger audience, which increases the chances of us selling merch, which increases the chances of us breaking even on the tour. Not making money; I’m talking about not losing<\/em> money.<\/p>\n

I’m seething, and the other guests at breakfast don’t need to hear this so I go outside. Andy, as ever, listens patiently, talks evenly,\u00a0and I calm down. He’ll speak to the boss on Monday, see what’s going on. I’m ready to sack them and move the show somewhere else, give it to someone who actually gives a fuck.<\/p>\n

We’ll reconvene on Monday.<\/p>\n

I go back to the email, tone it right down, send it. You can read it here<\/strong><\/a>. When the tour’s over I’ll say who it was addressed to.<\/p>\n

I go back inside and call FedEx to see about getting this box of T-shirts before we head to LA. After twenty minutes trying to work it out, I can’t; I’ve now to speak to the Portland promoter, confirm they can accept it, then call FedEx back and arrange it. Ah Christ. Today isn’t getting any easier. All right, fine. I’ll do it from the car. I head upstairs to shower and pack. And notice my UK phone is missing. I’m up and down the stairs and elevator, retracing my steps. I can see by using the Find My iPhone<\/em> app that it’s still in the building. George joins the search and after about twenty minutes of turning the room upside down I find it on the housekeeping cart in the hallway. I’d dropped it, they’d picked it up. I thank them profusely in my basic Spanish, tell George and Will I need to go for a swim, that I need to do something that doesn’t involve a laptop, else I’ll just get in the car angry.<\/p>\n

I swim for fifteen minutes.<\/p>\n

We start our journey via Ralph’s, to stock up on supplies. We now have a box filled with all sorts of good food and drink. Again we’re looking for a picnic spot, and find one at Del Mar<\/a><\/strong>, and park up, and after being chastised for breaking about three state parking laws by a friendly-enough policeman on a bicycle, we sit under a palm tree and eat. I have an epiphany.<\/p>\n

I’ve lived on the road for three years now, the contents of my two bags being more or less all I own save for a few winter coats and some old dance and Hip-hop 12″ records in my parents’ attic. I’m done with living in one place for the foreseeable future, and even if I wanted to settle I’ve no idea where it would be. But today I finally see it’ll be California. It’s endlessly beautiful here, with more geographical variety in one State than I’ve seen in many other countries combined. Europeans have an irritating habit of looking down their noses at those Americans who’ve never left the US. Drive around California for a while and you’ll see why some people never leave the State<\/em>.<\/p>\n

We’re back in the car and the driving is easy, though it’s just a matter of time before we get stuck in a traffic jam, because Americans drive too close to each other so have to keep braking suddenly which causes everyone to brake suddenly and stop and start needlessly. And they don’t know how to use lanes. They just sit in any one at any speed they fancy and you end up having to under-take trucks in the inside lane. It’s madness.<\/p>\n

On arrival at The Roxy<\/strong><\/a> we’re met with the parking valet. Valet parking blows my mind. It’s the automotive equivalent of waiters who ask if you want black pepper, then produce a two foot long phallus and grind the contents all over your Penne al arrabbiata<\/em>. Just put the damn thing on the table. I’ll manage.<\/p>\n

The staff are nice. Donovan, Mo, Bol\u00e9 (no chance that’s how his name’s spelled but look, I’m doing my best here), Molly and Dann. Will and George set up and soundcheck and I head upstairs and attempt to use my US phone to call FedEx. Unfortunately my network provider is AT&T, and they don’t seem to know much about cellular networks, so my thirty-five minute call – during which time FedEx refuse to ship the T-shirts that are in their depot in San Diego to the venue in Portland – is punctuated by repeating myself multiple times, and the call dropping. I argue my case (politely, but getting increasingly frustrated) but the customer service rep will not budge. They are “sorry for the inconvenience”, at which point I realise I’m about to blow my top so ask if I can have a number to make a complaint. The rep says she handles complaints, so I complain to her about the service she’s just failed to give me, and the misinformation from two of her colleagues. I email our merch company, tell them the T-shirts are dead to me and lie on the sofa for five minutes to control my breathing.<\/p>\n

Will and George go to eat. I’m in no mood to do anything in company, and snack on the contents of our larder, which we now have in a big cardboard box, plus the contents of the backstage rider. I email ahead to the venue for tomorrow and tell them not to get most of the things on our rider since we have enough. W&G return, and George and I tool along Sunset in the car to Guitar Center<\/strong><\/a> and pick up a music stand to hold the Akai APC 40 MIDI controller<\/strong><\/a>.\u00a0Some promoters can’t provide it for free so we figure it’s cheaper to buy\u00a0than hire.<\/p>\n

Back at the venue the doors are open. Both Will and I have a friend or two in LA and look forward to seeing them. The fan who came to the show in San Diego is back and she passes me a gift for Will, some Japanese herbal cough syrup. It’s really very thoughtful, and gratefully received. Dark Waves<\/strong><\/a> are the support and during their set I get a delivery of vinyl and CDs from Brien from the Beggars office out here. We stand at merch and get to know each other. He’s real easy company and tells me he’ll be in New York when we’re there so can come to the karaoke afterparty that’s planned. He’s also a huge Tom Jones fan, which makes me nervous, since one of my songs is ‘It’s Not Unusual<\/strong><\/a>‘. I’ll need to practice.<\/p>\n

We have about ninety\u00a0people in the room including guests, and I’m happy with this. Part of the reason is that a guy\u00a0called Padra<\/strong><\/a> got in touch a few weeks back and asked if he could help promote the show. He’s a fan of EIY. Long story short: he went right<\/em> out of his way to get involved in the physical promotion, and had twenty-two of his friends buy tickets, wouldn’t let me put him on the list, wouldn’t take a drink, and offered me a free haircut when next in town. That someone would go so out of their way to help us is humbling.<\/p>\n

The show is fine, if not as enjoyable for me as San Diego’s, performance-wise. When you see someone play a great many times I suppose your bar is raised and you notice imperfections more readily, but everyone enjoys themselves and the merch stand does a brisk trade, particularly since Will comes straight over to talk to everyone, and sign stuff, and thank them most sincerely for coming down and supporting us. He loves LA as I do and it feels important to both of us that we do good work here.<\/p>\n

People are slow to leave. Will spends time with his friends Matt and Coco, plus the musician SOHN<\/strong><\/a> who lives out here now. I catch up with my good friend and sound engineer Matt who I used to tour with, with Savages<\/a><\/strong>, and his partner Hayley. I’m staying with them tonight. George, Will and SOHN head home and I’m driven back to Matt and Hayley’s in Westwood. I’m shattered, but I want to sit up for a while. Matt’s someone I’ve an infinite amount of time for, and I miss him now we don’t work together. I have a little rum, just enough to knock me out, and some conversation, and I pass out in a big double bed in my own room, glad to be here, with these people, in this city.<\/p>\n

Saturday 02\u00a0May\u00a02015
\nSAN FRANCISCO
\n<\/strong><\/h2>\n

\"IMG_8376\"<\/a> \"IMG_8390\"<\/a>\"IMG_8397\"\u00a0\u00a0\"IMG_8396\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Another short sleep but sometimes your body takes what it needs. I’m done talking about it. I open the blinds, slide back a window and a cool, smogless breeze slides in. Matt’s making a breakfast of scrambled eggs and a side of melon and strawberries. You can tell we’re in the US because I start saying “a side of” and referring to petrol as “gas”.<\/p>\n

And listen, sorry about the photos up there. I’ll do better tomorrow.<\/p>\n

The TV’s on, reporting on the death of\u00a0Freddie Gray<\/strong><\/a> in Baltimore, and the charging of six police officers by state attorney Marilyn J. Mosby<\/strong><\/a>. I try to avoid the news these days, which isn’t easy. It turned out there was a limit to how much relentless negativity I could take and I reached it in 2012. From the little I’ve observed, Mosby is one impressive individual, and I wish her luck trying to prosecute members of the biggest, most heavily-armed gang of thugs in the world.<\/p>\n

I eat my breakfast like the good guest I am, and the three of us shoot the breeze until George and Will turn up in the car. I thank Matt and Hayley for their kind hospitality, and wish I could have stayed longer. We get on the road again, stopping at Ralph’s, as is now our custom, to get breakfast\/lunch and eat it in the car park. Ralph’s is a southern Californian chain so what we’ll do when we wake up tomorrow in San Francisco I have no idea.<\/p>\n

When we were in Austin for SxSW in March, I got pulled over by the police for speeding after two hours of being in the car. My accent got me out of it. Later that week I got pulled over by the police for driving through a red light. My accent got me out of it. On the way to San Francisco this morning, George gets pulled over by the cops for doing 100mph on the freeway. He gets a ticket. And he gets it not five minutes after I’d said “Man, the merch sales were great last night!” The business pays for fines, damage to vehicles and such, since they occurred while in the service of the business. Plus we don’t pay George well enough to have him pay a speeding ticket. We don’t even know how much it’ll be. It has to go to court, which will take various factors into account, like bullshit, total bullshit, and utter waste of time. Hey America! Never heard of a fixed penalty?<\/p>\n

The drive is uneventful but starkly beautiful as we barrel north on the I-5. George and I share the driving, generally taking a couple of hours each. Whoever isn’t driving is co-pilot, and gets the driver what they need: food, drink, GPS adjustments, and generally keeps an eye on their well-being. We’ve created a Spotify playlist, aptly called The Great North American Playlist, and more or less enjoy each others’ tastes, though every now and again someone’ll throw a curveball and one of us will reach for our headphones.<\/p>\n

We’re in a hurry so stop only twice; once at a rest area for a natural break<\/em>, and have lunch from the larder, and again at a gas station where we attempt to take a group photo for our legions of fans. I get dust on my boots but decide that stoicism is called for. These moments – the inane conversations over a shared avocado, laughing at a baseball cap with MOOSE FUCKER across the front in a redneck gift shop – they are the mortar of a tour. We don’t remember them a week later, but at the time they feel significant. The people on the road with you are family. If you’re sharing a room with someone you’ll be with them for sometimes up to twenty-three hours a day. You better like them, and they you, and you better be pretty mindful of your little behavioural quirks and idiosyncrasies, lest you piss someone off because of the way you hold a fork.<\/p>\n

I was born with conductive hearing in my right ear, which means I hear sound better through the bones than through air on that side. When I was younger my left ear compensated. It doesn’t compensate now, and my hearing is generally deteriorating with age. Plus I have tinnitus (here’s a fun game: show me someone who bangs on about having “no regrets”, give them tinnitus, and we’ll see how they’re doing in a month or so), so I usually need things to be louder than others around me. George has good hearing, and like any FOH Engineer, wants to look after it. I like music loud in the car, he less so. I’m mindful of it. As we head on to the Bay Bridge – one of the world’s great city approaches<\/strong><\/a> – I think I see him turning the volume down with the steering wheel controls and he and I have our first argument which must last about six seconds. It’s enough to darken my mood. The only thing I dislike more than the British tabloid press is arguing with people I care about.<\/p>\n

We drive to our hotel, a place called The Metro Hotel San Francisco<\/strong><\/a>. I love it there. Second time. It’s a one star place, but incredibly good value ($139!), with great staff (hello Shana!) and philosophy, plus it’s really clean. They also have one of the only genuine triple rooms in North America, with three separate double beds. I don’t know what North American hotels have against triple rooms, but someone needs to get over that and start offering them. This two-room-per-night thing is tough on a tour budget. The Metro also happens to be four\u00a0minutes walk from the venue – The Independent<\/strong><\/a> – and on the same street. George goes for a walk, I lie down for half an hour, Will reads. We meet at the venue at 5pm to load in. I’ve been to this place twice before with Savages<\/strong><\/a>, and I’m a huge fan of the room, its staff, its ethos. It’s 500 capacity, which is far too big for us, but when we booked this tour many months ago, we thought we’d be able to fill it. The album only came out less than four weeks ago though, and it’s a very slow build toward the consciousness of the American public. But we have patience and we will grind them down.<\/p>\n

We’re met by David, Terry, Zef and Carmen (it might be Carman, but since he’s never going to read this, I’m just going to move on). As is the custom, George and Will set up and soundcheck, I set up merch. Afterwards we head across the road to Herbivore, a vegan restaurant that’s a lot nicer-looking than their website would have you believe<\/strong><\/a>. The food’s good. We’re meant to be going for ice cream afterwards, to a place my friend Heather recommended<\/a>, <\/strong>but I have a smoothie in the restaurant and it ruins my palette for ice cream, so that’s that. George and Will go though, and report back that it is the shit<\/em>. While they’re away I return to the venue and sleep for an hour on a sofa backstage. I wake and they’re sitting there quietly, reading. A few minutes before showtime I go out front to sit at merch and talk to anyone who wants to talk. I’m pretty groggy and none of the conversations quite sink in. We’ve around forty people in the room, but what’s the point in being despondent? We don’t feel despondent. We feel lucky to be here, in my favourite venue of this size anywhere. It’s a black box, like all the best venues, with the stage against the back wall but about twelve feet of space at either side, so it appears more prominent. It’s also about four foot high. A real pedestal for an artist. The PA is powerful and articulate, the lighting rig extensive and thoughtfully laid out. We’ve got forty people in and we hope they enjoy themselves, and buy some merch, and tell their friends they had a good night, and from this foundation a career will be built in this country, by God.<\/p>\n

I speak to a couple of friends of friends, and a guy who wants to talk about Scotland. A lot of Americans want to talk about Scotland, particularly when they’re drunk. I’d say the Irish meet with the same thing, the English too. Perhaps the Welsh. Well anyway, this guy’s okay for a minute but has a bit to drink and then ends up being ‘that guy at the merch stand last night’, getting involved in everyone’s conversation and doing my head in. He doesn’t attempt a Scottish accent at least…<\/p>\n

Well the show’s good. Not as good as San Diego, but better than LA. Anyone who tours will tell you that the stage – not the rehearsal room – is where you iron things out, become stronger, discover what doesn’t work, with an audience to react to. This audience is good, as was LA’s. Our audience over here is still at the I’ve-discovered-this-band-and-they’re-amazing-and-no one-knows-about-them-yet stage. That’s a beautiful place to be for a music fan, and for me, as I turn around to look at their faces lit up, and see how much it means to have Will up there, in their town, at this moment. I remember having that with Simple Minds in the mid-late 80s, fifteen years before the internet illuminated the world around me, before they went from being a vital art-rock band to a Stadium rock behemoth.<\/p>\n

Will heads over to the merch stand after a couple of minutes backstage alone to wipe his face down and drink a cold beer. It’s hot, thirsty work, and this new set-up we have lends itself to a particularly energetic performance. We dry-clean a lot of suits. We do a decent trade tonight, $140, and there’s lots of signing and good-natured chatting. No matter how tired I am, how early lobby call is, I try to never hurry things along. It’s not that I want to sell more merch (though I do); it’s that it’s important for fan and artist to speak. Important for fan because it’s fun, important for artist because this is the only interaction that truly matters in a career, without tastemakers and gatekeepers, without radio producers and marks out of ten. It’s someone who loves music talking to someone who loves making music. If the stars align and Will’s career takes off, and we play to bigger and bigger rooms, we’ll always come back and do small shows. I hear a lot of bands say they’ll do it, but I see few do it. We’ll do it.<\/p>\n

I settle up with Geoff (Jeff?), thank him and say my goodbyes. We’d met before a couple of times when I was here. He’s an easy-going guy, as everyone is here. Last week there was a conversation about cancelling, so poor were the advance sales. We’d have been paid a 50% cancellation fee, or we could just take a 50% reduction in our guarantee. As I said to Ben, our booking agent out here, we’ve come this far, we’ve come to play, and no matter how few people have bought tickets, people have bought tickets. We’re here to lay a foundation and we’ll not do that by flinching when things don’t work out as we’d hoped.<\/p>\n

It’s an easy load out and I walk back to the hotel, stopping off to buy some beer. George goes off to find somewhere to park the car (potentially the most frustrating job of the day)\u00a0and when he’s back we sit around and talk with some music on in the background, run a post-mortem on the show, and generally reflect on how we did. I say “we”, not “Will”, because although EIY is a solo project, we more or less see it as a trio, such is the bond between us, the regard\u00a0we hold each other in, and how the performance of one is inextricably linked to the other two. The positive side effect of this is that there’s no separation of artist and crew, a dynamic I never feel is healthy on the road.<\/p>\n

Tomorrow is a day off\/travel day as we make our way toward Portland, via the mountains and lakes of Shasta County<\/strong><\/a> in northern California, our last day in the\u00a0Golden State<\/em>.<\/p>\n

It’s going to be absolutely glorious.<\/p>\n

Follow @5000mgmt<\/a><\/strong><\/p>\n

Sunday 03\u00a0May\u00a02015
\nSAN FRANCISCO>EUGENE
\n<\/strong><\/h2>\n

\"\"\u00a0\"\"\"\"\u00a0\"\"\"\"\u00a0\"\"<\/a>\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\"\"<\/a> \"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

No show today, so we drive to Eugene<\/strong><\/a>. We’re stopping at Eugene because it’s two-thirds\u00a0of the way toward Portland (where we’re playing tomorrow), and it’s called Eugene. We wanted to stop at a place called Bowie<\/strong><\/a> somewhere else on the tour but couldn’t get a hotel. Liking a town’s name is as good a reason to stop as any, plus I’ve found a highly-recommended craft beer pub called Falling Sky<\/strong><\/a>, so that’s dinner sorted. I’ve got it in my head that we need to have a sit-down dinner tonight, like civilised people. Eugene’s slogan used to be ‘World’s Greatest City for the Arts & Outdoors’ until its citizens told the council to get a grip of itself and they downgraded it to the less hyperbolic ‘A Great City for the Arts & Outdoors’.<\/p>\n

I wake, sit up in bed, catch up with the UK, eight hours ahead. It’s a real pain. I work on both UK time and Pacific Standard Time, so my days are pretty long, and when there’s business to attend to in Japan and Australia…<\/p>\n

There’s a confluence of administrative grief in my inbox; failing to convince an Australian promoter to let us do a rival promoter’s show too, sorting out a BBC6 Music Roundtable appearance, filling in the little details for the shows ahead of us, and spending too much time on social media, keeping EIY’s presence rolling along and interesting. If I didn’t need to do that, I’d consider sacking social media off all together. There are about eighteen thousand things I’d rather be doing with my time.<\/p>\n

Upon check-out, we spend a few minutes talking to Shana at the hotel reception. She’s super-cool, and we suspect she\/her family own the place. I tell her that, no matter how well things go for us in the future, we’ll come back and stay here. We know we’re not taking a chance with it, and familiarity is an important thing while touring. I like to have a reliable base in a city. We load out, eat on the kerbside and get moving toward Eugene. It’s another glorious day and we have one of my favourite drives ahead. I love driving. Tour buses aren’t for me, and onerous security protocols have sucked most of the enjoyment out of flying. Give me a wheel affixed to a cleanly-designed dashboard in an easily manoeuvrable vehicle and an open road anytime.<\/p>\n

Our drive<\/strong><\/a> avoids the coastal road and we pass through many places worth stopping in, the least worthy being Redding<\/strong><\/a> which has the highest rate of sexual offenders in the US, though someone’s taken that off the Wikipedia page since I last spent the night there in a Motel 6 in 2013. George takes the first shift and we listen to music from our Spotify playlist. I should probably link to that at some point. We motor on until lunchtime and stop in at the Black Bear Diner<\/strong><\/a>, a state-wide chain that’s actually pretty good. Will has the idea of bringing what we are by now calling The Box<\/em>, into the diner with us, so that its delicious, life-giving contents won’t\u00a0perish under the oppressive\u00a0Californian\u00a0sun inside the car. I commend him upon such thoughtfulness and he hauls it in. We eat well and healthy, my diet still very much on the rails, to my utter amazement, given the temptations that abound. I say “diet”; I don’t want anyone getting the idea I’m trying to lose weight. I’m just trying to die later than I might otherwise.<\/p>\n

Sated, we depart, and after a while stop at a California Visitors Center to try and get George a fridge magnet. He’s under orders to bring one back from every place he visits as an offering to his flatmates. He can’t see one there so runs down to another store while Will and I follow in the car. As we step out, Will stops me with a look on his face that tells me he is about to deliver devastating news, for he is wearing what I have come to know as his Devastating News Face<\/em>.”<\/p>\n

“We left The Box on the table in the diner.”<\/p>\n

Reader, I will dwell on this matter no further, except to say that telling George was the hardest thing I’d ever done, except for that time when I had to fire fifteen people, including myself, when we closed The Luminaire<\/strong><\/a>.<\/p>\n

We head north into Shasta County<\/strong><\/a>, home to Mount Shasta<\/strong><\/a>, a 14,179ft, potentially active volcano in the Cascade Range<\/strong><\/a>. The landscape changes from flat and largely featureless to lush-green, rolling, densely forested, and reminds me of my own country’s Highlands, only greener and more densely forested. I’ve driven this road before so am happy to let George enjoy it. After stopping for gas, I take the last stretch and detour to find a lake to swim in. George and I are freaks for lakes to swim in. Or rivers. Or the sea. Pools. Any substantial body of water. I’ve come to this late in life.<\/p>\n

We find a park named after Dick Bliss<\/strong><\/a>, pose for photos next to the Dick Bliss sign, then navigate toward Lake Siskiyou<\/strong><\/a>, in the shadow of Mt. Shasta. I suppose we don’t sartorially blend in with the other citizens of the area who’ve come to enjoy the scenery, but whatever. I’m stripped of my suit, into my trunks, and into the water quick-smart. George follows. Will stays on dry land and designates himself photographer. It’s cold but not as cold as The Pacific the other day. The sun is warm and… ah Jesus, it’s amazing. I live for these moments. We’re out in twenty minutes (I’m covered in sun-block but still burn easy, thanks to vitiligo<\/strong><\/a>, so don’t take risks) dried off, and away, elated. The sun is thinking about setting and the drive continues to deliver heart-stopping views, as\u00a0a huge, yellow moon rises in the east, strobing through the trees. After a pitstop at a falafel joint in Grant’s Pass<\/strong><\/a> (the absence of the The Box has hit me hard and I have resorted to fast-food pitta cafes) we arrive in Eugene and the Downtown Inn<\/strong><\/a>, a motel which gets great reviews, and houses the three of us in two rooms for $139 including tax. George wins his own room via a coin toss. We conduct some quick ablutions, head out to Falling Sky Pour House, order\u00a0some strong, hoppy IPAs, good food, watch a little basketball. We talk about what we’ve left behind,\u00a0and that which is still to come. We’re in bed by midnight. Sleep comes easy.<\/p>\n

Follow @5000mgmt<\/a><\/strong><\/p>\n

Monday 04\u00a0May\u00a02015
\nPORTLAND<\/strong><\/h2>\n