Tuesday, Jan 31, 2006

We've dropped into Week Two here on the NME Tour, and we are gathering speed. Shit is starting to get real, we assure you. Take a look at this photo, for example. Ah, but that's the absolute least of the excess. Never will we forget Michael's mad mad costuming of two nights past, and neither will you once you gaze upon it. It hasn't all been fun'n'games, of course. Look what happened when our green tour manager Adam tried to fix the garbage disposal on the bus by himself and without any protective gear for his hands: yikes! And even the most jaded among you, even those who spent weekends as a youth rewinding and pausing (and rewinding and pausing and rewinding and pausing) Faces of Death, will doubtless experience nausea when you see the grisly results of this teenage fan (her entire future ahead of her!) getting caught between the giant nubby wheels of our faithful transport, The Mineshaft Canary. Yes, but everything was back to normal as of last night, when the whole gang -- Maxïmo, Monkeys, Jets & Scientists -- got together for an improvised, multi-instrument rendition of Achy Breaky Heart on the Mystery Jets' tour bus. We don't go anywhere without our MBox, thanks to which you can take a listen here.

Thursday, Jan 26, 2006

Let's take a moment to examine two things:

(1) Our gorgeous new tour bus, The Mineshaft Canary
(2) Michael Tapper's breadth as an actor

Visible here is the Mineshaft Canary's fine yellow plumage, whence, along with her shaft-like shape, she gets her name. In the first shot, Michael gives us Thunderous Pensiveness; in the second, Amused Indignation.

Michael wears a look of Gobsmacked Astonishment on entering the Canary and encountering the bunk room.

He chooses a bunk and instantly assumes a look of Near-Parental Pride

Paralyzing Fatigue overcomes him as he tests his new pyre's character.

Next it's off to the Command Centre, where collecting his daily per diem brings Michael to The Verge of Rapture.

It'll take many several cold beers to calm him back down, so when Michael reaches into the fridge and finds the chopped up parts of a dead tramp instead, he registers Cataclysmic Disappointment.

Last stop: the entertainment room. Here, after a few tries, Michael is able to hold all the remote controls at the same time, which results in A Frantic, Breathless Sense of Accomplishment.

On the way back across the street to the venue, Michael encounters a couple of Belfast fans and agrees to pose for a pic; in it, he's able to express A Mustache.

Tuesday, Jan 24, 2006

First night of the NME Shockwaves Tour, and shock indeed rippled through the Irish cityside. Dublin, our first visit, though two of us (Murray and Cain) bear heritage. Mystery Jets, 7:30. W.A.S., 8:20. Arctic Monkeys, 9:10. Maxïmo Park, 10:10. A tour of goliaths.

Chris, frayed by overnight travel, neglected to bring his goggles onstage, thus tethering himself, a rottweiler nuzzling his muzzle excitedly into sixpack packaging. Keith and Michael proceeded apace, aware too well that disaster wasn't an option, that a tour of this size demands at least partial penitence to form; that, jet lag or no, we couldn't blow this one. Tomorrow night we'll blow it though, big.

We're supposed to be shooting footage for MTV2 US and UK, but the camera battery gave out just as we unholstered it to record the inaugural post-show champagne decapitation. We were a painter unrolling his brushes just as the sun goes down. The loss, ultimately, will be born by television audiences the world over.

On a positive tip, the April UK tour has expanded like a tomcat who reverts from his mouse diet to milk. Bristol, Glasgow, and Birmingham have upgraded, and a show at the Empire has been added in London town. Be there or be square. Or be from outside the U.K.