It’s a grey day in Liverpool as the Shockwaves NME Tour shrieks into existence. Glasvegas‘ soundcheck included a burst of the most maddening feedback I or anyone else have ever heard in our respective puffs.
With everyone reeling from that, its time for the super-crazy-we’re-all-best-mates group photo, which eventually takes twenty people 4 hours each to organise.
Once the four bands are amassed in some dingy flight case hanger, the atmosphere is somewhat cool. Florence arrives last and tells her keyboardist she ‘looks like a dancing skeleton’ before they both break out into giggles and dance; this kind of thing happens a lot with Florence and her band, making me worry for her longterm sanity.
Our multi-national group of samba drummers are hanging around tapping practice pads, and exchanging frighteningly complex drumming rudiments.
Their benevolent leader, Barack, has also scored some totally bad ass horn parts for a couple of our songs, only one of which we end up playing because of a heat-of-the-moment fuck up fromyour humble diarist. Aside from that our gig was good if a little rusty. We head off to our half-full DJ gig, to play disco and house and listen to the phrase “can you play Kings Of Leon?” a good thousand more times than we ever need to hear it in our lifetime. Off to the McDonalds drive-thru where Ed gets 20 (!) Chicken Nuggets and then bed.