Ten Things I Learnt On Tour

I played in Northampton with Napoleon IIIrd in 2007, and afterwards was hanging around optimistically holding a box of The Independent Scrutineer. A guy came up to me and said “What have you got in the box?”, and I explained that I’d just played a set and was selling CDs. He said “Oh, I thought it might be... those things you get... in gents toilets...”. I thought for a moment before asking him “Urinal cakes?” “That’s it!” the chap replied. “Why would I be holding a box of urinal cakes?” I asked. “Oh,” continued the guy “I just thought it might be the latest craze”.

I was informed of this on my first visit to Leicester. When I replied that I actually quite liked the sea, the person who told me said “Exactly”

I returned to Aberystwyth in 2006 to play an under-new-management live music venue. On arrival, I asked where the mixing desk was and was met with a baffled look by the bar staff – who’d never heard of such a thing. The ‘sound guy’ duly arrived and showed me where the mixing would be done. It was a DJ booth. I then tried to explain to him what a mixing desk was – and how, as an electronic artist, I basically couldn’t play without one. A moment of understanding dawned upon him and he said that he might have such a thing. Off he went and returned with a serviceable (albeit quite small) mixing desk. “That’s perfect!” I said, preparing myself mentally for how the soundcheck was going to go. “Oh, but we can’t use this,” said the ‘sound guy’ “It cost me five hundred pounds…”

I’ve played a few gigs where there were kids around, and one where kids made up the entire crowd; they were all odd in different ways. The first was in Wigan where I played an enormous room full of young teenagers who seemed baffled and disinterested, but also strangely receptive, forming large, swaying circles for one of my ‘slowies’. My favourite memory of this was the girl who snuck to the front of the stage and very subtly raised her middle finger at me, only to quickly hide it and run away as soon as I looked at her. So cute.

Then there was an outdoor gig I did once on a sunny day. There were some very middle-class families there with frolicking Jakes and Desdemonas, and I can recall my feelings of unease at having to holler ‘Fuck my apples’ repeatedly in front of them. I still did it, though.

I also played at the ICA one time for Huw Stephens, and there was a group of children and young adults with learning difficulties there at the front, and whilst everyone else was still warming up and getting drunk they were dancing and doing air guitar with great abandon. It was great! Made the early slot feel like a late slot.

I think children are more honest critics than people who’ve seen a million bands before. So in some ways it feels even better to win them over, because their engagement with the music is more natural and not so bound-up with what’s cool, or what meets some nebulous quality criteria.

I was convinced of this after touring with Applicants.

I genuinely believe that even the most disinterested crowd can be won over if you reach out a bit. I played a horrible gig last year where I was on early before some bands I’d never heard of and who’d never heard of me. No one came with me, and the place was full of quite old men who really hated that I was using backing tracks, and really young girls who clearly didn’t get what the hell I was trying to do. But with a little bit of “Come on, help me out here!” humility I managed to get a few of them dancing. I’ve got a slightly wry onstage style which I think occasionally gets mistaken for aloofness, so I try and make what I say in-between songs interesting or funny too – rather than waffling on about MySpace links, as if anyone’s sitting there writing them down.

Honestly, if you push to the front and then just have a chat throughout the entire set you shouldn’t be allowed go to gigs. It pisses off the bands and it pisses off the person behind you. I’m not saying people should remain utterly silent throughout – I’m talking about rah-rah student types who spend entire sets talking about how pissed they were last night, and how amazing some banal episode in their insignificant life was, before whooping ostentatiously to show their appreciation for the song they just completely ignored.

If you can persuade your audience to do ‘roly polies’ during your set you will feel like a god. This happened to me once in Nottingham.

I’ve heard a saying that “all comedians want to be rock stars”; well, in my experience it works both ways. I find that people whose music has a real creative spark to it tend to also be very quick-witted and funny – usually in completely inappropriate or surreal ways. On the flipside, people who make generic, dull music, and who come across as being really ‘career-driven’ are usually boring to talk to. So I’m starting to think that maybe music and comedy come from the same part of the brain.

Going on tour on your own is pretty not good. The journeys are boring. Hanging around beforehand is boring. You get sick of your own company: it’s depressing. Usually I manage to meet someone before the gig and have a chat – either the promoter or the band. But the bits in-between just draaaaaaag. Both times I’ve formed a band recently it’s been 50/50 about getting the sound right and not wanting to tour on my own anymore. Most recently this was inspired by touring with The School and realising how nice it is to see the same people for gig after gig. Thankfully this Brainlove tour is going to be more like that, because I get to hang out with Napoleon IIIrd, whom I’ve known for years and is great company (see above re good musicians/funny people), Stairs To Korea, who knows an amazing joke about beekeepers, and Mat Riviere, whom I’ve only met a few times, but based on his incredible music, I expect he'll be hilarious.