STEREOPHONICS’ Tour Diary
“Helena Christensen ate our pizza!”
Loaded with leather waistcoats, an ‘80s metal collection and “the book of lies”, Stereophonics’ tour mafia rampaged across Europe, with only roadside toilet “evacuations” to spoil the party.
Day
1 | 25 February 2002, London, Dover, Calais
“The
majesty of rock, the mystery of roll.” Spinal
Tap
Welcome to the world of the Stereophonics, 14 months into our world tour.
It’s 11pm and the various members of the travelling party are converging on Bailey’s Hotel, Kensington, to await the departure of the sleeper bus for Holland.
Fridges are filled with beer (lager for the London dwellers, Boddington’s for those with a finer palette), and the 24-hour shop is emptied of Pot Noodles. It remains a mystery how dried noodles in a chemical soup, Red Bull and 2000 Regals can keep body and soul together, but it seems to do the trick nicely.
Having been “in the house” for three weeks, five minutes are spent catching up with developments on the homefront, and nightmares with dodgy builders, wedding plans, imminent births and ex-employees doing porridge are all mentioned.
Finally we’re off towards Dover, and a rough ferry crossing to Calais. In traditional fashion, individuals make the decision between going to sleep in their bunk (risking being trapped in the bowels of the ship as it founders) or visiting the bar for a depressing pint with weary holidaymakers and truck drivers. As we enter France, a member of our party carrying only a British Driving Licence is admitted in return for my signature on the back of a packet of Gitanes.
Day
2 | 26 February 2002, Amsterdam, Paradiso
Club
“The
Camberwell Carrot can utilise up to 14 papers…”
Withnail
& I
Amsterdam Paradiso is our first port of call. Boxes are loaded in, lights rigged, amps fired up, drum kits erected, a support band plays, and then we bang out a 100-minute set of finely crafted “folki-rock” (as a flyer for the show claims). No matter, the show goes well, without a fiddle or mandolin in sight, and the only person with a finger in his ear is Arturo (our lighting designer), a Scottish-Italian eccentric with the hearing of a bat. After the show a famous Dutch Dj presents us with a Gold Disc (for Just Enough Education To Perform) onstage.
On with the serious business of sampling the local wares and half-an-hour later, we’re forming an orderly queue at a unique booth in the Bulldog Café, euros at the ready. Several spliffs later, sentient conversation with any of our crew seems unlikely. Bingo (bus driver to the stars) and Rocking Nige (truck driver to Tesco’s) save the day and we trundle towards Paris and the next show.
Day
3 | 27 February 2002, Paris, La Mutualité
“Two
cannibals eating a clown. One says to the other: Does this taste
funny to you?” Tommy Cooper
Despite that fact that the itinerary (book of lies) lists D Ginola as the manager of the venue, the hairy Gallic football maestro is nowhere to be seen as we load the gear in at 11am. The venue is a new one to all of us, and very nice it is too. The day is spent doing interviews (band), working (some of the crew) and sleeping (the drivers).
If this journal is to give a glimpse of the workings of a jobbing pop band, perhaps this is an ideal point to introduce you to the members of our travelling party. Simon, Reg and Stilly are the Backline Tecs, Dave and Jon are the Sound Engineers (front and stage respectively), Arturo is here to flash the lights and provide us with entertainment, Tony and Scott are the hired guns (tinkling the ivories and tickling the axe respectively). John (management) and Neil (tour management) try their best to keep the show on the road. Worthy of a mention also is Big Al, West Country Merchandiser and man of international mystery. Softly spoken, with a dark past, this man could sell cheap underwear to Marks & Spencer’s.
Despite an unrealistic sound limit, the “turn” play a blinder, the high point of the show being Stuart’s leather waistcoat, sported minus T-shirt (or anything underneath). For those of you who saw Sting’s stomach-turning display at the Brit Awards, let me assure you that the tantric songsmith could take a few tips from the Duke of Cwmaman. After the show, stars drift in and out of the dressing room, I could have sworn that I saw Helena Christensen eating our cold pizzas.
One sombre note is sounded with news of Spike Milligan’s demise.
Day
4 | 28 February 2002, Dijon, La Vapeur
"Do-do
do do, da-da da da, is all I want to say to you" Sting
Doing this job, you have to get used to waking up in strange car parks, and today is no exception. All we are destined to see today is the bus, the car park and the venue. It resembles a Saturday night out in Cardiff, except the cars aren't quite as flash and there's less blood. Soundcheck, sleep, show, start drinking and off to the coffin with curtains for some shut-eye as the bus rolls towards Milan.
Day
5 |
1 March 2002, MTV
Supersonic Show, Milan
"For
God's sake get your ground lights on!" Saxon's Biff Byford
Today we're the guests on an MTV show that is broadcast across Europe, and the day passes fairly uneventfully. News comes thick and fast from UK HQ. We've won Best International Band at the Irish version of the Brits and a newspaper would like to use Mr Writer for an advertising campaign (oh the irony of it all!). We're also asked if we want to do a show in the shadow of the Great Wall of China (no, not a restaurant in Cwmaman). The photos from Stuart's forthcoming health-related TV advert exposing the virtues of play with your 'nads (to check for lumps) arrive. As if he needs an excuse.
Tonight we are staying in the Hilton Hotel in Milan, and a glance at the rooming list reveals three suspicious characters are resident: namely Derek Trotter (Welsh Independent Trader), Roger Vincent (Welsh porn magnate) and Inspector Clouseau (Welsh/French detective on the trail of the other two, no doubt). I'm sure all three will be found slumped at the bar in the early hours of the morning surrounded by lovely ladies.
Day
6 | 2 March 2002, Day Off, Milan
"He's
kicked the ball so high, it's come down with snow on it" Scottish rugby
commentator
Today is a day off for one and all. Several of us are waiting outside Pogue Mahony's at opening time. Much Guinness is downed watching the Italy vs Wales rugby match. Wales win, England then lose to France, we all get drunk (with the help of the Italian barman who insists on downing shots of whisky with us), and not even the worst pizza ever can drown the spirits.
Day
7 | 3 March 2002, Milan, Magazzini Generali
"Can
I help you at all?" League Of Gentlemen's Tubbs
This show at the Magazzini Generali (general shop) has been rescheduled three times, due to tour burn-out and plane trouble, and surprisingly 700 people turn out on a grim night. The promoter looks surprised (and relieved) to see us (as do the bootleg T-shirt sellers) and he rewards the band with a slap-up meal of gnocchi and pizza.
This venue seems to have been cunningly located in an industrial estate on the wrong side of town, and during the day a local character attempts to steal Rocking Nige's collection of '80s metal from his truck. When disturbed, the robber resorts to slashing in his general direction with a pair of scissors, no doubt distressed at his dated coiffure. We head off towards Northern Europe after the show, with an 18-hour drive in front of us.
Day
8 | 4 March 2002, Travel Day
"I
love a party with a happy atmosphere." Russ Abbot
We roll into Amsterdam at 6.30pm. This is the last day off of the tour and this is the last tour of the year, so something special is called for. The night starts well with a cracking meal in an Argentinian restaurant, hits a conversational low spot (but musical high note) with the blasting jukebox in the Hard Rock Café and continues through several unexpected twists and turns (involving a member of the crew, a bloke in a gorilla outfit, a banana and a "woman" of dubious gender) until we are all safe and sound back in Tony's room at the hotel, smashed and talking complete bollocks.
Day
9 | 5 March 2002, Groningen,
Oosterport
"I
never said I was Billy Shakespeare." Whitesnake's David Coverdale
A 10.30am bus departure for Groningen proves troublesome for two members of our party and it leaves Amsterdam without them (a not uncommon occurrence, as long as essential band members are not involved.) They are rescued, courtesy of The Guardian, who are over to frill the band on current affairs ("The euro–good or bad?" etc) and necessitate extra transport for the two-hour journey.
Shades are the order of the day as the tomfoolery of the night before is all too apparent on our faces. After a quick photo session amongst the stoned tramps and wasted holidaymakers in Dam Square, we're off to Groningen, with Ronald at the wheel, sporting diving boots and weaving across the two lanes of the motorway. A brief stop for an al fresco "evacuation" for one of our number and we are at the venue. Soundcheck, food and show follow in quick succession, and an early escape to the bus is the order of the day.
Day
10 | 6 March 2002, Rotterdam, Nighttown
"We'll
meet again, don't know where, don't know when" Dame Vera Duckworth
Rotterdam is a dump, people by tramps and heroin addicts, and an unlikely place to end over a year's touring, but such is life. The show (like all the others on the tour) is sold out and goes well, the audience drowns out the band during Have A Nice Day and, as Rooftop reaches its climax, the Fat Lady is gargling in the wings. No one is keen to hang around, it's a four-hour drive to Calais and there's no time to waste. We even forgive the (Dutch) support act for getting caught with their hands in our rider (mainly as the bus resembles a mobile Oddbins already) and as we pull off, we're sure the said plump lady is scoring some smack by the stage door. 'Til next time...
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