We've got some time in the morning, so Mike, Daisy and I take a walk
around the neighborhood. We trot down West End Lane, the "Long and
Winding Road" the Beatles sang about, before it turns into Abbey Road.
We don't go quite far enough to see the most famous spot, but it's nice
enough just to take a walk. We stop in market for sandwiches on the
way back, tell Nuala thanks and goodbye, then hit the road to
Birmingham.

Guess what? When we get to Birmingham it's raining. We arrive at The
Rainbow and do the same old routine -- load in, soundcheck, eat
whatever food is provided (which in this case is mostly snacks and
junk food) and drink whatever beer we're given. Today we're given
Carling, which is a poor excuse for beer followed by the delicious
surprise of a case of Grolsch. Then we wait to play through a series
of loud, noisy bands and talk to our friends. Jonny is again looking
for a Western Union, but we convince him to wait -- after all, we're only
in the UK for two more days, then we'll be back on the Euro.

A decent crowd has turned out for the set, but it seems like a handful
up front just don't get it; they're just slamming into people and
hurting them. After a few words from Eddie and a few more songs, they
don't really want to hear, they lose interest and fade away. The power
is weird in this venue, and there's a massive noise floor, especially
since our amps are turned up so loud. I blow another fuse in my synth
and have to replace it, which sucks but is better than what would have
happened without a fuse.

After our set, the place is opened up for a dance party, indie rock
mostly in the bar area and anything goes in the show space. Of course
the crowd goes nuts when the DJ plays "Beat It."

"You can't escape him, mate. Michael Jackson's everywhere," says a
slightly swaying guy next to me, engaging in the sort of conversations
men have at urinals.

"I know," I respond, "it's like he's more alive now than ever."

After making fools of ourselves on the dance floor for a while, we load
our equipment out to a Blur song and make tracks back to London.

Pulling into West Hampsted quite late, poor Nuala wakes up to let us
in. We pile into their living room, trying not to awaken Nuala's
visiting father, asleep in the guest room. I throw my sleeping bag
onto a matress on the floor and start snoozing.

The Rainbow - http://www.myspace.com/rainbowevents
 

I wake up and pour two cups of coffee down my throat before getting
ready to go into London. Our Saturday night show in London got
canceled after how big the Thursday show became (understandable, since
the Saturday show was booked first and the Thursday show was supposed
to be secret), so we've had to find a pick-up show. Since we're already
in London, we have plenty of time to sight-see.

Nuala's father is already up, working on a laptop in the kitchen. He's
tall and intensely charming, wearing a smoking jacket and a broad
smile. He makes coffee and regales us with tales of seeing Jimi
Hendrix and visiting West Indian soul clubs in the '60s. He's like a
well-read cross between Richard Branson and Pierce Brosnan.

Mike, Steve and Daisy are ready to go, so we leave first, buying
day passes for the London transit and then taking the Jubilee line to
Westminster. Years ago when I filled a day with a solo trip through
London, I got off at the Baker Street station on this line just to see a
certain famous address before getting back on. We get off in the
middle of tourist central, the tube station right next to Big Ben.
After taking our obligatory tourist pictures we wade through the
crowds over to Parliament then Westminster Abbey and walk through St.
Margaret's Chapel. Then it's over past the War Cabinet and the Horse
Guards’ Parade where we see some Royal Guards in their legendary rigid
poses. It's pretty hot, and we just feel sorry for them.

We split up then, the others heading in the direction of Soho while I
take off for a few hours of history geek wonkery. I travel south, past
a memorial to the women of World War II, 10 Downing St. and Parliament
to Lambeth Bridge which offers a wonderfully inclusive view of the
city.

On the other side of the Thames is my goal, the Imperial War Museum.
The admission is free and the experience is priceless. The vast
central room is filled with vehicles, armor, artillery and aircraft,
mostly from World War II. Displayed in the air are Spitfires,
Luftwaffe fighters, even a V2 rocket. They have a mammoth tank from
the first World War, "Monty" Montgomery's command tank, a trusty
American Sherman and a Soviet T-34, the most important and decisive
armor of the war. A gem is the massive German Jagdpanzer, with its
massive 88mm main tank-killing cannon and armor coated with
distinctive Zimmerit to counter anti-tank mines. Throughout the museum
are displays on trench warfare, life during the Blitz, an art gallery
full of original prints and an entire upper floor entirely devoted to
a heart-rending exhibition on The Holocaust. I spend several hours
taking it all in then head back to the tube to West Hampsted, grab
some Indian food and meet up with everyone back at the house.

The evening's show is a benefit, so quite a few bands play before us,
and we won't even be able to load in until just before we play. A
small group of metalheads has shown up, very excited to see us play,
and we talk to them for a while. Nuala, Roy, Jonny and I are bored out
of our minds, so we go across the street to a restaurant. It has gotten
downright ridiculously cold outside, especially for July (everyone
tells us we just missed the big heatwave).

Just before our set a trio plays that reminds me of The Gossip -- except
they have a female drummer who lights her cymbals on fire.

Finally it's time to play. We load our things onto the tiny stage, and
one of the metalheads shoves a bottle of black absinthe in my face and
demands I have some. I don't want to be rude, so I oblige. The
bartenders thoroughly hate the set (it's not really our kind of place),
but the owner seems to enjoy it, helping Stevie climb up into an
alcove above the front door to play his snare drum up there during the
organ solo. The metalheads go crazy and almost tear Eddie apart on the
beer-slicked floor and everyone -- except the bartenders and security --
have a good time. We pack up and get the hell out of there. We're
leaving early for the Dour Festival in the morning, so the partying is
a bit more subdued this evening, and we say our goodbyes to our
gracious hosts and incredible friends Roy and Nuala in advance.

Imperial War Museum - http://www.iwm.org.uk/
 

Waking up in Glasgow, we pack up and heave our bags down the stairs and
back over to the Captain's Rest to load out. After loading, I get some
hot water from behind the bar to make coffee, and Eddie hits up a
nearby store to buy an iPod adapter for the van's radio. It's
definitely a posh van, high roof, loft with space for three, a TV with
DVD player and plenty of room -- but since most of us brought mp3
players, we don't have many CDs to listen to. On a longer drive like
today an adapter will definitely help.

We plow right back down the island through all that incredible scenery
and into the thick of London. We've played the Old Blue Last several
times before, and there are a few things that are always consistent:
the load-in up three flights of a rusty slippery fire escape is always
terrifying, the place always gets so packed you can barely move or
breathe and the shows are utterly fantastic to play! Tonight is a free
party sponsored by Vice Magazine, and it promises to be huge.

After cheating death one more time on the fire escape and a short
soundcheck, we scatter to find food. Jonny goes looking for a Western
Union (the joke of the tour is that Jonny is always looking for a
Western Union or a currency exchange), and others find food elsewhere.
I get a sandwich, some crisps, fruit and a Ginger Beer from a Tesco
market just as I start to go insane from not eating all day. As we
make our way back, rain begins to drop in buckets. Some of us make it
back in time. Some of us don't.

The second band is called Pulled Apart By Horses. I remember the name
because of the sound engineer in Brighton telling me about them. Given
that she used the word "endure," it seems I have something to look
forward to. They don't disappoint. They're loud, rude and sloppy and
spend almost as much time in the crowd as on stage. It's exactly what
I need to take my mind off the fact that there are so many people in
here I'm worried about the floor caving in.

The stage is not terribly big, but you've got a lot more breathing room
than the floor, so I'm happy when it's our turn to play. The place is
absolutely packed with people, and it is an incredible show. Eddie
spends most of his time in the crowd, jumping on the bar, hanging from
the lighting rig or wrestling with the rowdy audience. By the time
it's over, the walls are dripping with condensation and the floor is
slick with sweat and beer. We get our pictures taken with and by Vice
girls and slowly recover.

Many of our friends are here. Sufian has been braving the crowds to
take pictures. The lads from Wounds are here, the Irish band we played
with in Nottingham. Most important, our friends Nuala and Roy are here,
our longtime friends who live in a gorgeous house in West Hampsted
where they have graciously sheltered us countless times, often with
almost no notice. They're an intelligent, fascinating and warm couple
with an enduring love for loud rock music and modern art, both of
which fill their home. Nuala's grandfather was a British abstract
painter with works in the collection of the Tate, and some of his
paintings adorn the walls along with various object d'artes they've
picked up in their travels. This is the house we head to after loading
back down the treacherous fire escape in considerably less condition
to do so safely. Load-out is punctuated by a Battle Royale between the
Gieda brothers and the pack of Irish lads that first erupts in the
venue then continues out on the street, leaving the combatants
exhausted, bruised and laughing, and the onlookers thoroughly
entertained.

We sit up in Nuala and Roy's kitchen for hours, drinking and talking.
Poor Roy has to be up at 8 a.m. for work, and he's not looking forward to
it. By the time everyone gets to bed, they've drank all the liquor in
the house and started in on the vermouth.

Vice Magazine Photos - http://photos.viceland.com/albums/234
Pulled Apart by Horses - http://www.myspace.com/pulledapartbyhorses
The Old Blue Last - http://www.theoldbluelast.com/
Wounds - www.myspace.com/thewoundsband
 

We all assemble and meet up in the lobby around 11a.m. Rogier has
already left, going out to a repair shop to see what can be done about
the single electronic key we have to the van that has begun to
malfunction. It's obviously disconcerting, considering the fact that
we're totally screwed if it breaks. Fancy newfangled electronic keys
are all well and good, but not getting locked out is better.

Walking back to the venue a gentle rain starts up. It seems like the
rain just never ends.

At the venue we find there was a miscommunication over breakfast, so
after loading out some guys buy food at the restaurant while three of
us stake out on our own into the city to pick up bread, hummus and
fruit from a downtown Tesco market. The rain has ended so it's
actually pretty nice for a while. Ed, Mike and I watch folks scurry
around downtown Leeds for a bit before heading back and getting some
espresso at the club.

The drive up to Scotland is one of my favorites. The North is such
gorgeous country. Rolling green hills stretch on forever, lined with
hedges and dotted with sheep. Driving up past Hadrian's Wall the sky
turns gray again but the impassable hills keep going.

Glasgow matches the sky as we pull in. Rogier pulls a series of
expertly executed wrong-way-on-a-one-way street maneuvers to pull us
up alongside The Captain's Rest, a nautical-themed bar in the
northwest of the city. The central bar features a balcony housing a
mannequin dressed as a ship's captain manning his wheel and the
windows are shaped like portals. Naval prints and seafaring slogans
line the walls. The performance space is downstairs, and there we find
our friends Titus Gein, a prog rock power trio. We played one of our
most fun shows ever with them several years ago in another Glasgow bar
called Nice N' Sleazy (really), and I still spin their 7-inch
often, so it's great to see them again.

We grab beers from the backstage area (I was sincerely hoping for
grog) and order off the band menu. Principally interesting is the
vegan version of haggis, but they’re unfortunately out of it today, so
folks order up pizzas, veggie burgers and real burgers topped with
rashers of bacon. Cut from a different part of the pig than
American-style strip bacon, it would probably just be called Big Slabs
of Ham back home. All of these are of course served up with mounds of
fries eaten with salt and vinegar or mayonnaise. To live on this
island is to keep your cardiologist on speed dial.

After eating I take a walk around the city. Most of the shops are
already closed, and the town is mostly quiet. As I walk, I think about a
friend of mine who studied here a few years ago. The people you meet
are friendly enough, but it seems like it would be a hard town to be
alone in.

Back at the club I have a few beers and a conversation with Titus Gein
about which era of Rush would be the best to start a tribute band for.
The barmaid wears a dress that makes her look as if she could be
wearing thin the planks of a Widow's Walk with her eyes fixed on the
sea -- except for the nose ring. Outside, troublesome children splash
passersby by kicking water at them from a puddle.

Downstairs the first band begins, a duo called Hyper Magic Mega
Fighting Robots. I think. They feature a guy with a devil-lock and eye
makeup on drums wearing a headset microphone and his buddy on
guitar. They introduce one of their songs by announcing, "This is
about the two best things in the whole world -- vampires and
breakfast."

Titus Gein follow them up. They seem to have grown even more technical
since we last saw them. Even though their set seemed pretty flawless
to me, they think it was sloppy. We follow them with a set that goes
off well enough -- maybe not the greatest set we've ever played, but we
definitely have a sweaty good time and knock over a few beers. Mind
the broken glass on the floor, please.

After packing up the equipment and consolidating it all on the stage,
we stay after lock-up with our host and some local friends. The owner
serves up some ales, and we hang out and talk for a while. Jonny and I
talk to the barmaid about baseball vs. cricket and football vs. real
football. I don't really care about sports, but I do like talking,
especially with Scots. The "ayes" and "shites" so grating to some
English ears are like music to mine. Eventually enough people clock
out that it's time to leave.

We're staying in a flat within walking distance of the club, so we get
our bags and hit it. Our crew fills the bedroom of our host and his
living room as well. I slip out on the balcony to call Anna while
Steve, Karen and Jay venture out to find some kebab. Mike asks the
host, who is staying at his girlfriend's tonight, if it's OK to watch
a movie.

"Aye. Don't worry aboot the noise, fuck tha'. We had a Journey
karaoke party in here the oother night, and the flatmates never woke
up, so is foyne."

Titus Gein - http://www.myspace.com/titusgein
The Captain’s Rest - http://www.myspace.com/captainsrest
Glasglow Bad Ass - http://www.crmsociety.com/
 

I wake up at the student house in Nottingham on the other side of the
River Trent in West Bridgeford and grab a shower before leaving for a
walk. On my way out the door I see Jonny curled on the floor beneath
the downstairs steps. That’s a real pity. Leaving the room upstairs I
gave that pile of blankets next to me a shove and found it to be just
that -- a pile of blankets -- meaning Jonny could have had an actual bed
to sleep on and a room that didn't get bathed in sunlight at the
crack of dawn.

I sit on the concrete steps leading down to the River Trent a while,
watching people walk alongside the water. The large ornate gates of
Victoria Embankment adorn the bank across the river and a suspension
bridge spans the two sides. It's serene and quiet and exactly what I
need. Walking into around the neighborhood there's a garden walk and a
playground for children.

We're near Bridgford Road, with a library as well as plenty of
bookshops and bakeries, and I probably spend around an hour and a half
walking around the neighborhood. At some point I run into Stevie and
Karen who are also up wandering. At a market I buy a baguette, a
coffee and something called a Gooseberry Fool that comes in a small
cup. I though it might be something like yogurt, but peeling of the lid
reveals a solid white mass speckled with green fruit. Walking back we
run into Eddie and I show him to the market and get a spoon off the
girl selling coffee. The Fool turns out to be pretty delicious or at
least it does until I check the ingredients and see that it's
apparently packed with Pork Gelatin -- at which point I become slightly
nauseous and throw it away.

Rogier meets up with us at the house and we go back to the venue to
pack up our things and hit the road to Leeds.

Nation of Shopkeepers is a relatively new bar at the corner of Great
George and Cookridge streets in the middle of Leeds. It sits about a
block away from the City Museum and Millennium Square on one side and
the Leeds Art Gallery on the other. Not that you asked, but “Nation of
Shopkeers” is a reference to a Napoleonic slag on England. As we have
some time before we can load in Mike, Daisy, Stevie, Karen and I take
a walk around the city. Most of the shops are closed now but the
downtown is attractive and has plenty to see like the Town Hall and
City Council.

Coming back to the club we load in and meet up with the promoter, Ash,
an enthusiastic and genuinely curious man who proves willing to bend
over backwards for us. After discovering I like Sailor Jerry's rum he
endeavors to keep me well-stocked for the night. We run through a
soundcheck and the bar serves us dinner.

Ash has set up a free night with three bands and expects it to turn
out well -- and he's right, the place gets packed. The first band Dead
Reckoning has horns and sounds a bit like Rocket from the Crypt.
Stevie really gets into them and even picks up a CD. The next band
Castrovalva features an incredibly high-pitched singer named Lee. He's
an extremely nice guy I met earlier when I got a copy of a small book
he had made full of his art. He's a big guy with curly hair, very
funny and creative. He reminds me of someone else I know back in
Scranton and it makes me miss The Sw!ms something fierce. His band is
incredibly rocking and really gets the crowd going.

Now it's our turn. It's already hot in here, and the floor is slick
with beer and sweat. We couldn't have asked for a better night -- the
crowd is raucous and crazy and every other song sends an avalanche of
people tumbling into us knocking out pedals and power cables. Eddie
jumps on and off speaker stacks and Stevie's bass drum. Other times I
raise my head up to look, and he's nowhere to be found. We end a
blazing set by passing the mic off to Lee to add some impromptu
supersonic vocals over top of all the chaos.

We pack up our equipment into a secure corner of the backstage and
finish our drinks while the DJ plays some great rock and roll and the
bar begins to fill with a post-show crowd.

Outside the city is beginning to go mad. One of the local universities
has had a commencement today, and so the streets are starting to fill
with crazy drunks. At the intersection outside a big muscular man
rounds the corner, his face and shirt covered in blood. A friend is
behind him, in similar condition. A moment later comes their attacker,
but instead of a raging mob it's just a skinny lad wearing a
determined scowl -- and the robes of a Catholic Cardinal! They all
disappear around another corner, and after a while the padre returns
alone and tends to a girl crying with her friends on a stoop. Whatever
the explanation to this series of events is, it can't be better than
what I've dreamed up for it, so I don't want to hear it!

We're leaving the unloaded van and walking to the hotel tonight, a
fact about which Jay and Jonny are not exactly stoked. After all, if
the priests around here kick so much ass, imagine what the thugs could
do!

About 15 minutes later we've reached the hotel safe and sound in
a somewhat roundabout fashion and everyone is feeling a bit better.
Rogier, Eddie and I take a room together and I go down to the lobby to
call Anna and chat for a while. Its great to hear her voice, and I'm
still working on the free minutes on the SIM card, meaning it's
already a bargain over searching for call centers.

Upstairs Eddie and Rogier are already in dreamland. I take a shower
and join them.
 

About the Author

Phillip Price is the keyboard player for Wilkes-Barre-based band An Albatross.

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