Friday, May 21
London
(Seger pin will
stay) Our flight left at 7 PM for a 7 AM landing with a gig
that night, so it would have quite behooved us to catch some sleep
by whatever means
possible, but it was not in the cards for the Pills. I actually dozed
off about 10 minutes before landing, but awoke with a screech of tire
on tarmac and exited the plane extremely freaked out- always a good way
to go through customs when one is without work permits and smuggling
large amounts of merchandise.. Luckily, they interpreted my red- eyed
jittery behavior as American bravado and there was no problem.
It should
be noted that Aaronoff bet me $50 that I would not wear a Bob Seger
pin for the entire tour, and Cory upped it another $50 (not in
the band anymore, still making silly bets), so I am proudly wearing a
fine portrait of the rocker I dislike the most. I will win this $100,
trust me. I’m practicing saying, “You should hear his first
album” and “I’m just keeping it real.”
Dave
Thompson flew in the night before us so Matt B, Aaronoff and I hop on the
long-ass
tube ride from Heathrow- about 45 minutes to Euston. God bless Priceline
because I have secured us two 4 star hotel rooms
for $80 each. May as well start the tour in style, right? The hotel is
one of those big corporate ones, but it’s right next to the British
Library which house the manuscript room. Matt’s never been to the
UK before, so it’s cool to show him this amazing collection: the
original handwritten version of “Alice In Wonderland”, the
Magna Carta, pages from Da Vinci’s notebooks (including a grocery
list next to what I can only assume is some heavy duty mathematical formula),
original Beatles lyrics, a ton of rare manuscripts.
 We catch a brief rest
at the hotel, hook up with Thompson and head off to our first gig: The
Dirty Water Club in Tufnell Park, North London.
Run by an absolute stellar human named PJ, this series of garage and
mod shows is held in the back room of the Boston Arms pub and is right
around the corner from where Aaronoff lived in London for about 6 months
in the early 90s. We are set to open for the Barracuda’s with special
guest Chris Wilson from the Flaming Groovies. It’s a rather large
room and we are meant to go on at 9, so I’m not expecting much,
but it turns out to be an excellent first show. We’re borrowing
gear for the whole tour and beggars can’t be choosers, but I’m
quite pleased to see a large Hiwatt bass amp on my side of the stage.
It sounds like a friggin’ Panzer division, too. Me likey loud bass.
About
300 of London’s sharpest turn up early enough to catch the
Pills. It’s a great crowd and they respond with a mighty sound
at the end of every number. Quite frankly, it’s fabulous, the night
of my life. I very humbly mention that we are sincerely excited to be
playing in London, that most of our favorite bands are from here and
that it means a lot to us and they respond graciously. After the set,
we sell just loads of merch. T-shirts, CDs, 45s, they are all flying
off of our merch table and we meet some great people. Liam from Toerag
Studios is there (he recorded the last White Stripes album) and Chris
from the Flaming Groovies is very encouraging. He is absolutely great
when he gets up with the Barracudas- playing some giant Gibson electric
guitar that sounds like a monster.
Of course, no matter where you go,
the opening band has to wait until the bitter end to get paid. We’re
all way jetlagged at this point, so Aaronoff and MattB head off to find
the night bus back to Euston and
Thompson and I stick around. Side note: on the way back, MattB was horrified
when a guy on the upper deck of the bus asked” Are you cold? I’m
so old…on the inside.” And started smoking crack next to
him. Back at the Dirty Water I was watching pretty girls dance to “Shake
Some Action” and thinking I’d found my place in the universe.
We stuck around until 2 AM and got our hundred pounds and head out.
As I stumbled drunk and exhausted back into the hotel, the Seger pin
falls
off and rolls behind a couch in the hotel lobby. Thompson heads up
to the room as I start moving furniture.
Saturday, May 22
Coggeshall, Essex
(Hold A Live Owl)
After the traditional GIANT ENGLISH BREAKFAST with beans
and sausages and stewed tomatoes and mushrooms and eggs and 7 piece of
toast, we head
off to Abbey Rd.
for the obligatory photo (well, you have to, don’t you?) and for a good
stare at the studio, and then it’s on the train to Coggeshall in Essex
. This is a whole other kettle of wax- the archetypical green, leafy small English
village with narrow lanes. We get picked up by Russell, Aaronoff’s old
partner in rockabilly, and pile into his plumbing van (MattB has wandering hands).
He drives us past the duck pond and through the cobbled lanes to the local parish
hall, which they’ve rented out for tonight. It’s a completely D.I.Y.
affair- they’ve rented the hall, printed tickets, set up a PA and put posters
on every flat surface in the village. In fact, we see our faces staring out from
all the shop windows next to a poster for a village fete’ the following
weekend promising “Hold a Live Owl.”- Kind of puts things in perspective,
doesn’t it?
The gig was absolute magic. The Q plates are the band that Aaronoff used to play
with about 10 years ago and they are definitely the most popular band in this
village. About 250 people show up- families! I’m talking the Mom, the Dad,
Auntie Betty and the kids piling in with bags of chips and cans of beer. There
were tons of kids up front dancing during the Q Plates set and Russell was giving
it loads- standing on his double bass, spinning it, playing it behind his head
(no, really). It was obvious from the crowd that this would not be the time for
indie credibility. The scene was set for Pills’ cabaret.
Russell highly
advised us to do some covers and we pulled a fine selection straight out of
our asses- Suffragette City, Paperback Writer, Twist & Shout, American
Girl, I Saw Her Standing There. A little 8-year-old girl came up and asked
for some Clash so we unleashed Aaronoff on “Train In Vain”.
We played “Just
My Imagination” so some of the older people could get a slow dance in.
Also, there was a beautiful Pills backdrop that a guy called “Dave The
Mod” had made for us, so we played “The Kids Are Alright” for
him. We also did 6 or 7 originals and after the set we sold almost all the
merch we had left. There are goats walking around Coggeshall with Pills T-Shirts.
It
was a great show; everybody danced and had a good time. Let’s see that
owl top that!
We went back to Russell and Jacqui’s place with some of
his friends and had a great time chatting and drinking. I crawled off to
sleep in his “sun
room” – so named because the sun itself inhabits that space at
about 5: 30 every morning. I dragged my moaning, Brundel-fly self into the
living room
where MattB stopped snoring long enough to yell at me for doing the same.
Very soon after, Russell and Jacqui’s kids: Laura (10) and Aaron (6
and deadly with an inflatable hammer) woke up and came in to play. MattB
gave Aaron a
dollar bill and he pointed at George Washington and asked, “Is that
your king?” MattB
was highly amused and said “We don’t have a king” and Aaron
said “Is that your vicar, then?” “That’s my vicar,” said
MattB- and that became the phrase of the tour. We used it as an interjection
at the end of a story, like "Bob's yer uncle" or bada bing".
Again,
the giant breakfast and we had a lovely morning watching the Scooby Doo
video with the kids. We all agreed that Buffy did a great job and that
we like
Shaggy the best. After lunch, we hopped a train back to London, took the
tube from Euston to Paddington and then jumped another train to Swindon.
Sunday,
May 23
Swindon
(Holly Partridge in a Pills Tree)
People do ask you about touring. There’s
usually a guy in the men’s
room (um, that’s dressing room, ok?) who sees you balanced with
one foot on the dry spot next to the puddle of piss, trying to change
your
pants, who
says “So, what? You guys just ride around and play shows?” and
you can tell that he thinks it sounds great so you don’t want to
depress him with talk of day jobs and just about breaking even, so you
let him think it’s
amazing.
Swindon, by the way, was amazing. Our hosts were legendary
Boston music fans David and Rachel. They’ve been over 7 times
to see their favorite Boston bands: the Gravel Pit, Gigolo Aunts, Gentlemen
-- the
whole Q Division
scene, really.
David even has a Gravel Pit tattoo. They totally hooked us up -- renting
a pub, hiring a PA, printing up tickets and posters -- what have you
done for Boston rock
lately?
We were pretty fatigued (from all the train shenanigans)
and poor veggie Aaronoff was on the verge of scurvy. We’ve been eating these
giant breakfasts and it seems like every 10 minutes someone suggests
we “nip down the chippy” for
enormous, greasy fish and chips. We asked the barman if he had any vegetables
and he quickly brought us a plate of deep-fried mushrooms and….wait
for it…chips!
The first amazing thing is that Colin Moulding of
XTC has sent us a note at the bar. We did an interview with the local
Swindon paper wherein
I gushed quite
enthusiastically about our love of XTC and mentioned that the first song
we
ever played together was "Vanishing Girl". When we got to Swindon
to play at the Broadwalk, the barman said "there's a letter for
you" and handed
us an envelope. I practically swooned when I opened it. It just said
'thanks for the kind words in the local paper, sorry I can’t make
it, but good luck with the tour'. A scuffle ensued over who got to keep
the letter
but I invoked
bass player’s privilege.
Then, this very pretty blonde girl, walks
up to me and says, "Are
you the Pills? You're my favorite band, I play your CD all the time and
I cannot believe
you've come to Swindon. I never thought I'd get to see you live." I
was thinking how lucky we were to have at least one fan for the show
when she continued: "And
you like XTC? That's my dad's band." Holly Partridge, for it was
she. Turns out she stole our CD that I gave to Andy at a record signing
in Boston a few
years ago.I was stunned, I told her it was like meeting Alice In Wonderland
or something (“Holly Up On Poppy” being one of my favorite
songs). She wasn't jiving us, either, as she stood right up front and
sang along
to all our
songs and took photos.
 David got up to introduce us (great crowd for a
Sunday night) and asked me if we could start with “Halifax”.
Then he got down on one knee and proposed to Rachel. Uh, yeah, man, we’ll
play anything you want! It was hard to follow that, but we did our usual
assortment of sonic treats, plus a hastily
cobbled together version of “Earn Enough” by XTC. We got
an encore and Holly requested “Nicola” or “Butternut”.
We hadn’t
ever played either with Matt and Dave, but they both seemed to know ”Butternut” so
we got through it.
 We had a great time hanging out with Holly after the
show, she's super-duper nice, and she went out to the payphone to call
her Dad so we could say
hello. I'm afraid we got him out of bed, so I was expecting a quick hello
but he
had us on the phone for almost 40 minutes. We talked about the Dukes,
recording, songwriting, etc. He offered us some encouragement for our
show in Liverpool
the following week, talked about when XTC used to play at Eric's in Liverpool.
Finally, he asked me to do him two favors:
a) Send him some music since Holly keeps raving about us and he’s
starting a label.
b) Keep my band off his daughter.
After selling the rest of our Merch, We signed a poster for Holly, promised
to remain lifelong friends and headed back to David’s place- which
is a complete shrine to Boston rock. Old setlists, posters of Ed Valazquez
on the wall, scrapbooks
with ticket stubs, etc. With the pay for tonight’s gig, we would
have broken even on the tour costs, but we broke a cymbal and had to
forfeit the 120 pounds.
Classic Pills. Mattb says it was when I kicked it, but I contend that
he had much more opportunity to break it.
Mon/Tues
London
Two days off for tourism and relaxation (and spending dough left
and right). I totally lucked out and ended up with a room to myself
(the
other three
were offered a triple and eagerly took it so as to avoid my snoring).
I
just missed my Mom at her hotel and went over to Hyde Park to see if
I could find her (see, it’s a rather large park). I was only there
for a few minutes, but long enough to drop my passport in the grass.
Luckily, a policeman found
it and saw me. That could have been a total nightmare. It is vital that
Mom is here because she has brought more merch for us (we’re out).
Aaronoff
scored us great seats for “The Black Rider”, Tom Waits’ collaboration
with William Boroughs, staged by Robert Wilson and starring Marianne
Faithful as the Devil (typecasting). It was an absolutely astounding
production: surreal,
absurdist cabaret -- like a 3-hour version of the old Monty Python “Confuse-A
Cat” sketch. Bob Seger did not get it at all.
The next day, MattB
and I collected two broads from Pennsylvania (my Mom and Aunt Joan) for
a double-decker bus tour. They went off to see
Westminster
Abbey
and I struck off for Denmark Street to look at guitars. Usually it’s
Thompson’s
job to get sick on tour, but all the smoke of London is really bringing
me down. I’m sneezing and weezing and coughing like a freak. I’m
also having trouble getting any details about our Manchester gig and
I’m tense and
annoyed that I can’t get in touch with Jay from the club. There’s
also a growing concern about how we’re going to get to Aberdeen.
Our train passes don’t cover it and, being a bank holiday, all
the train rates shoot through the roof.
No matter, Dave “Zagat” Thompson
expertly guides us to a nice restaurant in Notting Hill for a Pills dinner.
We ended up with
the worst
waitress in the
world (she just completely disappeared for 40 minutes) so MattB got the
complete history of the Pills -- the good, the bad and the stupid.
Thompson
and I remember a few things differently (which makes sense, they are
all things we didn’t agree on in 1999 either), but it
was a good band moment. Dave is moving to Seattle after this tour, and
we’re going on indefinite
hiatus, but we all agree that this tour has been fabulous and that it’s
something we’d like to do again. We’re all proud of the things
we’ve
done as a band over the years and hopeful that we’ll play together
in the future. It must have been the wine, but it was a nice night.
Wednesday,
May 26
Manchester
(Not exactly mad fer it)
We all got relatively together
early and hopped on a Northbound train from Paddington heading towards
Liverpool. Ideally, the entire journey
would
have been in B&W
and one of us would have met Patti Boyd along the way. Still, it was
pretty great to be heading to Liverpool with my very own rock and roll
band. Devout
Muslims
return to Mecca, devout rockers return to Macca, you dig?
Liverpool looks
incredibly built-up compared to my last visit 10 years ago. I found myself
a bit confused leaving Lime Street station and we
ended up
hopping I a couple of taxis to get to our non- descript corporate hotel.
UNIVERSAL
ROCK
RULE #3,265: If you book a show at the Cavern in Liverpool, your Mom
will fly in to see it. It’s not very Motorhead, but both My Mom
and Dave Thompson’s
are in Liverpool to see us play. I’m quite pleased that my Mom
rounded up her oldest friend, Joanie (who’s known me since I thought
a cat’s
fart was a cloud) and actually crossed the ocean. It’s the sort
of thing she’d want to do, but normally not actually do.
After checking in (Matt B losing the argument and being sequestered with
me and my snoring in this instance), we have to get back to Lime Street
for our
show
in Manchester. It’s only 26 miles away but we’ve got the
slowest commuter train in the world, stopping every 35 feet, and it takes
an hour to
get there. It all looked a bit gray and we ended up walking to the club
and it didn’t get any brighter. The actual club, the Night & Day,
is on a street filled with record shops and there’s a poster for
Mick Jones (of the Clash, not Foreigner) playing there in a few weeks
so we’re a bit encouraged.
The club booker, Jay, seems like a lovely guy, but there is a slight
dilemma. This is the only gig on the tour where we hadn’t arranged
for gear (the promoter put the kibosh on it -- not Jay, some big event
company that is renting
the room) so we had agreed to do an acoustic set. Arriving at the club,
it was immediately obvious that we were in a rock establishment and playing
with two
heavy bands and shouldn’t go on and do our Hollies covers. A quick
song and dance and a bit of “East Coast, man” and the Brooklyn
headliners very graciously agree to lend us some amps and a drum set.
In short: that
will be all your gear, please.
When one is on tour, one must occasionally take a chance on a gig. Every
gig is a bit of a gamble at this level, but the bottom line is that the
band has
to be somewhere on a Wednesday -- either out spending money or playing
somewhere and trying to make some. Manchester is obviously a big city
for rock and
roll and we were on with a buzz band (TV On The Radio) with a blurb in
the paper,
so it all sounded like a good idea. As it turned out, the buzz was more
of a fizzle and we ended up playing for about 20 people, didn’t
sell any merch and didn’t get paid. That’s called being on
tour, kids. At least it was in Manchester UK instead of Manchester, NH,
so it was a much more exotic
blend of dejection and there wasn’t the usual chorus of moaning
that would accompany a crap gig back home. Don’t think for a second
that just because I do all the booking for the band that there isn't
much wailing and gnashing of teeth if the gig turns out to be a stinker,
so I don't take it for granted that everyone remains in a relatively
good cheer.
Anyway, zoom back to Liddypool where we meet a bunch
of drunken maniacs hanging out at Lime St. getting wrinkled. They somehow
figure
out that
we’re the
Pills and make a huge scene, yelling “piiiiiiills” and taking
photos with us and stuff. It’s just a bunch of kids messing around,
but my Mom is convinced that we’re big stars and I just let her
think it. Lord knows she hasn’t had too much to be proud of with
this “career” of
mine.
Thursday, May 27
Liverpool
La, innit?
I just adore Liverpool, what can I say? The people are
cool, the musical history is fabulous, the river is brown (turns out
you can
develop film
in the Mersey).
We got up and set out to take the Magical Mystery Tour. We got a bit
of a late start and it got even later when I walked us right past the
spot
on
the Albert
Docks where it starts (and I had been there before so everyone just
followed me). We eventually would our way back there and had a bit of
time to
kill so we took a look at the Beatles’ museum there. It was pretty
great: emotional, like. It finishes up in a room with Lennon’s
white piano and a tape of “Imagine” --
and then they dump you out into the souvenir shop.
In classic Thompson fashion, he went for a sandwich a few minutes before
the bus came (not in the two hours we had to wait, mind you) and caused
us consternation.
At least his Mom was there to confirm that Dave is not so good with
time (9 years of waiting for him at rehearsal and gigs being my prime
hint).
Anyway, we all
got on the replica of the Magical Mystery Tour bus and set off. I had
done the tour before, but back then it was just in a van with a lady
whose sister
had
once served Lennon an ice cream or something. This was much better.
Our guide, Neil, was an actor who had played Pete Shotten in an NBC
made
for TV film.
He was just great. I’ll admit, it was moving to be visiting all
these spots with my band. Aaronoff and I were practically spooning
(despite not sitting together)
and we all got out for George’s house and Paul’s house
(which you can visit for a bit more crinkle). We had a good photo session
at Strawberry
Fields (including some little school kids completely mocking my Mom “Oh
geez, guys, they’re from Philadelphia. Isn’t that great,
guys?” --
she was oblivious, thought they were very nice.)
The tour (and a lot of other Beatle related stuff in Liverpool) is
run by Cavern enterprises, so the tour guide (who is also the DJ at
the Cavern)
was clued
in that we were playing and made it seem like we were a famous band
and all
that.
It was just basic PR, but it was still cool. The club is built on the
original spot (though I believe it’s at a slightly different
angle) and looks exactly like all the photos you’ve seen- with
the three archways and the tiny stage. They even replicated the graffiti
on the backdrop. McCartney played there a few
years ago (albeit in the bigger room) and gave it the thumbs up (as
he does), so that’s good enough for me. I've actually been doing
most of the tour in Paul McCartney's voice to amuse Mattb, speaking
all in
clichés, but I'm not
pulling that in Liverpool.
 Essentially, we’re jaded fuckers who have played a gazillion gigs,
but the Cavern did our heads in. It was a thrill to be on that little
stage and there
was a decent sized crowd when we played. We meant to keep it kind of
quiet, but I think in our enthusiasm some knobs got twisted clockwise.
Anyway, we were very
well received with one scouser jumping up to teach us how to say “thank
yoo very mooch, las” -- as if we didn’t know. We couldn’t
resist one fabs song so we did “Paperback Writer” -- which
the Beatles cover band that followed us didn’t completely appreciate.
It is their territory, after all. Great set, though, and a real buzz.
Afterwards, the Mersey Beatles
took the stage and we get absolutely pie-eyed -- “absolutely
legless” says
Alan Williams in the Complete Beatles -- and we were. The Beatles cover
band were great, by the way, with a particularly friendly John (Ringo
needed a shave).
It was odd to share a dressing room with them and see all the gear
coming out. The John even had a tasty blonde girlfriend (like the real
one did in the early
days) -- all part of the gig, you see. Thompson was slaughtered and
before I could stop them, he and Aaronoff were onstage with the Beatles
band
singing drunken
backups on “You Can’t Do That” and beckoning me to
join them. Oh no, my friends, that trick never works (drunken singing)
so they
had to settle
for Matt B. The fake Beatles were so cool -- holding up our T-shirts
and telling everyone they had to buy one. We did actually sell a bunch
of
merch during their
set and I even caught one girl from Hull lifting a T-shirt. I caught
up with her on Matthew Street and turned it into a sale.
 At the end of the night, there was a bit of gap between us wanting
to get paid ‘something’ and
the management thinking more in terms of ‘nothing’. I suppose
we shouldn’t have told them how much we enjoyed playing there.
In the end, they gave us 50 pounds (about what we spent at the bar),
so
were happy.
The whole
tour was worthwhile for this gig alone. Oh yeah, and Neil and Mal lost
a guitar on the way back from the gig and Nasty gave them a good thrashing.
Friday,
May 28
Aberdeen, Scotland
(look at all the coos and sheep)
Now, this
is where it gets a bit hairy. We were initially supposed to do a Glasgow
show and this festival in Morcambe so it would have
made
a ton
of sense
to trek
all the way up to Aberdeen where we have friends and few fans of the
band. Both of those got cancelled, though, so we were left with a gig
all the
way at the
toppermost of Scotland- a very expensive 7 hour train ride not covered
by our train passes. We explored all sorts of cheaper ideas- renting
a car,
a plane
from Liverpool, etc. and nothing looked feasible, so it was off to
Lime Street for a 9:30 train. It looked set to cost us 200 pounds to
go make
200 pounds
and we were almost out of merch, but it just didn’t seem right
not to go. We’d
gotten some truly encouraging e-mails from people in Aberdeen in the
past and we really wanted to go see our pal Mark from Lithium Records.
We decided to just
hope for the best at the Britain/Scotland border. Our plan was to look
the ticket man straight in the eye, silently think “These aren’t
the droids you’re looking for” and hold our British train
passes out with complete confidence. It worked. We got to Glasgow without
having
to pay
and then a music
student we met on the train led us about a mile to the other train
station where we walked right past the guys checking tickets and got
on a train
to Aberdeen.
It was a long ride up along the coast, but the scenery was gorgeous.
They are certainly not hurting for sheep in the North of Scotland.
Our man, Mark, met us at the station and took us to the Moorings, which
is a club right down on the docks. There was a big old ship docked
right out
front and when we entered the bar at around 5 PM, it was packed with
psychedelic pirates --
friendly ones, though. We climbed up on the stage (which had a sign
on the front that said “No assholes on stage” -- that’ll
stop you in your tracks) and started to muck around on the other band’s
gear (Thompson usually waits until halfway through the third song to
tweak his amp, but in the interest
of professionalism…). As soon as we actually started playing
a song, one of the pirates flung himself onto the dancefloor and started
making
vaguely
positive motions. A minute later he dove headfirst onto the bouncer
and
got thrown out the front door. Not bad for soundcheck.
We then stopped
in at Mark’s studio to listen to what he’s been working
on -- the new Josephine CD. It sounded pretty great (I love that band)
and the studio is a cool cave. Mark shoved us into a taxi and sent
us off to his house
which is about 15 minutes outside of Aberdeen proper. The taxi driver
warned us that we were playing in a sketchy neighborhood and told us
that we’d
see a lot of ladies of the evening. I told him that we were hoping
to all chip in for one later. He deposited us at a lovely little stone
farmhouse in the woods
and we met Mark’s wonderful wife, Kirstie. She was an absolute
angel, welcoming four stinky rockers in and cooking us chicken (NOT
FRIED!!! We
were so happy).
We hung out there for a while, checking our e-mail, etc.
The gig was
great. There was a local band on and then Josephine who I just love.
They have a cool Modern Lovers/X sound with clangy guitars
and a
great front
man. The bass player, Roz, is cool as fuck, she couldn’t look
any cooler on stage. We played last and our set was very well received.
It was a great way
to end the tour, with everyone going mad for our set, and we played
really well. We were supposed to be recording a live album, but the
guy who did sound was
mixing from his laptop (something I’ve never seen before) and
none of us could even fathom how to take a line out to a recorder so
that
idea was scrapped.
Even better than the gig was the hang afterwards.
We all got way shitty and they had the coolest jukebox. I sampled some
of the fine amber
liquids indigenous
to the region” Glenfidditch, Glen Morrow, Glen Campbell, etc.
They all tasted like licking a carpet to me (I’d like to be a
Scotch drinker, and I keep trying, but I do not get it). Interesting
fact: they don’t call
it “Scotch” in Scotland, do they? I found “Massachusetts” by
the Bee Gees on the jukebox and drank several tequila shots with this
Portuguese guy. Then, I tried to convert the Scottish to bourbon, but
it didn’t
take.
We retired to Mark and Kirstie’s house with Josephine where we
played a game of “name that single”. Mark would hide a 45
and put it on his turntable and we had to name the band. We were pretty
evenly
matched
and I was
proud that I beat Josephine in calling an old Rezillos tune, but the
other guys wandered off to sleep and I lost the whole thing by not
knowing an
early Buffalo
Tom single. My shame was great.
I slept in one of their kid’s
rooms, but at some point in the morning moved out to a hammock in the
back yard. It was in this beautiful little grove of trees
and I nodded off. When I woke up there was a family of bunnies munching
on grass nearby. Kirstie and daughter Evi drove Thompson and myself
to the airport (along
the way, Evi told me my new all- time favorite joke: what’s the
difference between boogers and broccoli? You’ll never get kids
to eat broccoli. It was really cute in a Scottish accent.) Thompson
and I hopped a commuter
flight
to London and then he went off to meet up with his wife (they were
traveling on to Italy). As he turned the corner at Heathrow, I finally
took that
damn Bob Seger pin off.
Coda:
Back in London, and charmingly in synch with
the Chelsea flower show, there were simply no hotels available. I had
not foreseen this and
ended up in
what must
officially be the worst hotel room in London. It’s at “Tony’s
Hotel” in Paddington. It’s a basement room, 10x10, with
a mattress and a sink and it’s right over a train track so every
time a train leaves Paddington, the whole room shakes. The shower is
on the
5th floor
and the closest
toilet is on the 3rd. Still, 30 pounds.
I came back from Aberdeen early
to attend an event called Modstock and, more specifically, to see the
Creation play. It was like being
in Quadrophenia
for a few hours: a thousand immaculately dressed mods in a ballroom
in North London.
First there was a fashion show, which was very interesting. The Creation
was great and I noticed friend-of-a friend, and Buzzcock Tony Barber
on bass.
I
also saw the Pills’ #1 best friend in Spain, Eneida. It was fabulous
and wonderful, but a 20 pound taxi ride back to my crappy room soon
took the edge off my enthusiasm.
The next day I was off to Cardiff,
Wales to see my wonderful friends, Martin and Mary. Martin is a great
songwriter and used to be in the
band the Boo
Radleys. It was the perfect place to go to chill out after the tour.
All we did was
drink beer and watch TV and play with their cat (known at various
times as Shittyfoot,
Piddle and Jihad). Martin and I watched the Rutles and did a little
recording and he and Mary were excellent hosts. I mellowed out there
for two days.
--Corin Ashley
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