Varsity Drag UK Tour Diary 5: the road to Leamington Spa; owls gone wild; open-mic madness!

[Photo Credit: Joshua Pickering] This morning, Josh purchased one of those traditional newsboy-type "flat hats": he now looks a proper bloke. Indeed, if he takes my advice and shaves his chin, he'll be sporting the full-on Lemmy whiskers by the time we hit Leeds.

On the road again by midday, we discover an odd accessory in the van: one of the fold-up tables is equipped with an attached mirror. As in, a horizontal mirror, glued down to the table. Hmmm. The mind reels with whatever depravity the actual owners of this borrowed van must be up to... at least, that's what the owls think, as they proceed to crush up some sugar, roll up a 5-pound note, and enact a tableau of debauchery. (Josh took pictures.)

Leamington Spa's The Robins Well turns out to have a unique way to load-in: via one of those foodservice lifts that you pile up with palettes of frozen shrimp or cans of tomato sauce... or, in our case, Marshall stacks and piles of drum cases. It's all dealt with in remarkably short order: the damned thing actually works pretty well.

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TOUR GOSPEL 101: To be on the road is to live an existence punctuated by the sudden, desperate need for commonplace objects... which simply aren't there to be had. A coat hanger. A piece of scotch tape. A plastic cup. A magic marker. All of these homely items would be so EASY to lay hold of -- if you were at home. But you aren't. Instead, you're desperately canvassing your bandmates and billmates, or scouring the backroom of some dingy rock venue, thinking: There's just GOT to be small piece of wood here I could use for a shim. A matchstick? A toothpick? ANYTHING!

These moments can lead to new and exotic torrents of invective, kinda like the dad in Jean Shepherd's "A Christmas Story" with his cursing-raised-to-an-art-form. My recent favorites have encompassed a fairly wide swath of expletives -- I am, after all, a man of catholic taste -- such as the "f*cking f*ckjam!" and "f*cking C*CK!" Of course, when brevity isn't called for, there's always "MOTHERF*CKING F*CK F*CKITY-F*CK F*CK!" to fall back on. "Son of a mother-f*cking f*ck-jam" neatly sums them all up, its sweet cadences truly capturing the unique hassle that is this rock and roll thing.

It was just such an echoing symphony of curses which accompanied my realization that one of our precious coat hangers (with which we showcase the t-shirts for sale) had bit the dust, snapping off at the bend. Can I fix it with tape? Charlie from the Mags simply bends it a bit more, and manages (barely) to get it to hang from the weird netting on the wall behind the merch table. Problem solved, for the moment.

Before our set, Josh has discovered a (much more robustly attended) "open mic" night upstairs in the venue's restaurant/bar area, and proceeds to grab a guitar and throw down such classics as "Wanted Dead Or Alive," "Close To You," and Journey's "Separate Ways"... the crowd goes wild, and he gets some free drink tickets (which is more than either band has been offered, or will be offered). Alas, his exhortations to the crowd to join us downstairs are largely ignored [Where are the flipping YouTube clips of this, Deily!! -- Ed.].

The show is fun, albeit tiny (and apparently unpromoted, alas) -- we declare it an "open rehearsal," and proceed to cover off on a few songs we haven't tried yet, figuring, "who cares?" Good to get some rehearsal in. We meet a few lovely folks including the phenomenal Miss Nick (who made off with our set list!)... and sold a few CDs to boot, so who's complaining?

Evening ends up at the Best Western somewhere not too far away. Clean beds, towels, fabulously overpriced internet -- all the better things. We are contentment itself. -- Ben Deily

COMING NEXT: Cymru am byth! On to Cardiff, and a night of boogie fever...

[originally posted here]

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Varsity Drag UK Tour Diary 4: Norwich: worsening sound systems, improving sound; Maisy the dog!

The local promoter/sound guy/general welcoming committee is a fine chap named Dempsey, who ushers us into The Marquee's performance space... as close to a cavern as one could realistically expect to find above ground. Actually, it's pretty darned cool: kinda looks the generic movie set for the underground-rock-club-where-the-bad-kids/vampires/drug-lords-hang out-after-hours... Black walls of stone and brick, black ceiling somewhere above, cement floor, a ramp and balcony where the entrance is with the requisite rails made of pipe (black as well, of course). Bad ass.

And strangely enough, the aging-looking PA and the somewhat bizarrely-placed monitors (off to the side, looking as crumbling as the rest) provide the best sound we've had yet on stage. Go figure.

Along with a local punk band, we're treated once more to a set of Beverly Kills -- alas, probably the last we will witness for a while -- and the Mags throw down with their customary fury. We pull out a couple of ones we haven't played yet for the set. All in all, I feel measurable improvement each time we play: by the time the tour is over, as is customary, we'll be $#@ing tight enough to go out on tour! :-)

At evening's end, Dempsey kindly invites us to stay at his place -- just a "few minutes away" -- so, loaded with our knapsacks and rolling suitcases, out we trudge into the misting Norwich night. What seems like endless hours and a maze of nightime British streets later, we descend into a garden-level apartment of remarkable coziness to meet Maisey, the dog of the house. We get many wags of approval, and as we settle in the living room she makes the rounds of laps, patiently indulging us as we coo and squawk and make those dumb noises people make at dogs. Josh declares her to be "a perpetual motion dog" -- as a senior lady she does have a touch of palsy -- but most of the wiggling seems to be sheer enthusiasm.

There seems to be some sort of on-demand music video catalog service on the TV, so the shout-outs begin -- NWA, Elvis Costello, The Jam, and many other faves are screened... but long before that party is over, L & I have repaired to the vacant room next door to deploy our newly-bought sleeping bags.

(Only, what -- FIVE shows to go? This is gonna be over before we know it. D'OH!) -- Ben Deily

COMING NEXT: the road to Leamington Spa; owls gone wild; no stage, but one heck of a lift.

[originally posted here]

Varsity Drag: Internerds | MySpace | YouTube | Flickr

Varsity Drag UK Tour Diary 3: The Magnificent & excellent van...punk & disorderly in Peterborough

Sunday dawns to another post-rock tableau of sleeping bags, snoring folks and sun creeping into the DS/Georgie house in beautiful Cambridge. Today is the scheduled arrival of The Magnificent, the kindly benefactors who will be supporting us for the next week with van, navigation, and gear.

We meet James, Matt and Charlie, who are obviously as great a bunch of fellas as we could hope to be trapped in close quarters with. Best of all (well, for me, at least) James and Matt have contrived to supply me with a freshly set-up SG, which plays like a dream. We share a few pints and some veggie sausages and mash at the Portland Arms, to which we must now bid a fond, if temporary, farewell. Outside, we greet the touring van, which is most excellently set up -- with facing seats in back, train-car style, as well as some fold-out table sort of things.

By late afternoon, we're off to Peterborough for the all-afternoon-into-the-evening "Punk & Disorderly" extravaganza at The Park's Club Revolution, or, more properly (apparently) "Club Revolution at The Park." Whatevs. There's another slate of excellent bands, including -- once more -- Beverly Kills, Southport and Vanilla Pod! As for our hosts The Magnificent, the acquit themselves according to their name: a power-pop/punky trio, they're as good a match as we could have hoped for, and play a fantastic set -- looking forward to getting to hear it a bunch more times...

With Aston and so many of his stable of bands in attendance, it's basically Old Home Day for us 'Dragsters. Rather cavernous place, but comfy -- plenty of room for merch setup and cozy corners in which to recline, scarfing down Indian food from one of 18 joints on the same block. My tuning pedal expires on stage with some minor drama, but this is rock & roll, and you all know how THAT is. :-)

Josh drinks the blue beverage (called "WKD," I believe) behind the bar which I had dared him to do: I have a sip at his insistence, and it's not half-bad -- more like two-thirds. No injuries sustained. But I'd hate to imagine what more than one of these ghastly things would do to the human head.

Back to Cambridge at a reasonable hour, somehow. Guess we're getting in the groove. -- Ben Deily

COMING NEXT: Norwich--the madness continues...

[originally posted here]

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