Way Out West Coast

Bitter exes, desperate housewives and dead dog’s ashes won’t stop LA troubadours The Airborne Toxic Event spreading their love. Martin Robinson joins their crazy Californian road trip.

January 24, 2009

Photo Credit: Andy Willsher

Bill Hicks called it “turd city”, Woody Allen said its only cultural advantage is “being able to turn right at a red light”, and Larry David fans will know Los Angeles as plastic and preening to the point of insanity. Imagine our surprise, then, to find in the suburb of Silver Lake, a warm-blooded indie scene bubbling dirtily underneath the shiny Hollywood machine. The Spaceland club is the meeting point for the city’s struggling artists, writers and especially musicians; its tin foil-clad stage has raised the likes of Cold War Kids and Silversun Pickups, but tonight NME has come to meet its most promising band yet—The Airborne Toxic Event.

Named after a section of Don DeLillo’s masterpiece novel White Noise, the band are centred around Mikel Jollett, a man very much in the Springsteen mould of raw feeling, anthems ...
[Read More...]]]>

Way Out West Coast

Bitter exes, desperate housewives and dead dog’s ashes won’t stop LA troubadours The Airborne Toxic Event spreading their love. Martin Robinson joins their crazy Californian road trip.

January 24, 2009

Photo Credit: Andy Willsher

Bill Hicks called it “turd city”, Woody Allen said its only cultural advantage is “being able to turn right at a red light”, and Larry David fans will know Los Angeles as plastic and preening to the point of insanity. Imagine our surprise, then, to find in the suburb of Silver Lake, a warm-blooded indie scene bubbling dirtily underneath the shiny Hollywood machine. The Spaceland club is the meeting point for the city’s struggling artists, writers and especially musicians; its tin foil-clad stage has raised the likes of Cold War Kids and Silversun Pickups, but tonight NME has come to meet its most promising band yet—The Airborne Toxic Event.

Named after a section of Don DeLillo’s masterpiece novel White Noise, the band are centred around Mikel Jollett, a man very much in the Springsteen mould of raw feeling, anthems and charismatic showmanship. Well, when his ex-girlfriends aren’t in the room, that is. Mikel looks panicked when we meet, and whispers, “The album was written about two girls, and they’re both here.” Yeah, as a former Philip Roth-obsessed fiction writer, he’s got a tendency to not hold back his songs, so his current girlfriend watches out for flying glasses while Mikel introduces us to TATE’s moustachioed, Naboo-ish drummer Daren and golden girl (not as in old, just, y’know, golden) violinist Anna. They’ve recently got back from a frankly mental 30 Shows in 30 Days UK tour, which proved to be a lesson in how classy Britain is. Highlights included playing on AstroTurf in a marquee in Hayle, being paid in food in Fife (Daren: “Dude, weird Scottish pies!”) and playing to one shaven-headed man with his trousers undone in Hull (Mikel: “He was staring at Anna. I was figuring out how to aim my guitar at his head if he touched her”).

Mikel remembers how the US election changed how they were welcomed around the country. “I was walking in Camden the morning after and people were high-fiving me. Like, ‘You finally did something right!’” You could say (if you wanted) that Obama’s transforming of America’s image is being reflected in the way Mikel is trying to change the image of LA. As he introduces us to local legends The Movies, he insists, “Where we live has nothing to do with the Hollywood industry.” Certainly, in contrast to most hipster scenes, everyone is incredibly friendly.

So why in fuck’s name, the following night are we—NME!—not watching the band in Spaceland, but instead sat cross-legged on the living room floor of a family home as TATE play acoustically to a crowd of 40-something suburbanites? Well, despite turning down major label deals in favour of tiny indie Majordomo, the band still have to occasionally suck the hugely powerful cocks of US radio stations, and as they’re currently going crazy for aching single ‘Sometime Around Midnight’, the band are returning a favour by playing a competition winner’s house. Trouble is, the winner is slightly older than anticipated. On the plus side, he’s got in about $80,000-worth of booze, which helps the bewildered band immeasurably. As they play next to ashes of the old family dog on the hearth (the winner earlier explained “he’s with us still”), Mikel diffuses the awkwardness of the situation by telling the stories behind the songs, chatting to the little kids and even stroking the new dog. The band pull it off because: 1) They can really play and 2) They look hot. Imagine The Strokes sexing up Arcade Fire and you’ve got TATE.

Helping in the hot stakes are handsome devil lead guitarist Steven and jazz degree-owning former construction worker Noah, who looks similar enough to Russell Brand that all he did in the UK was disappoint people. “They were like, ‘Hey, Russell, how’s… oh.’” After the show, they’re at the bar on the back porch fielding the questions of ‘cougars’, US slang for desperate housewives. Being a literary type and a rock star, Mikel is prime cougar prey, but he escapes to grab NME and explain his ability to tell how many drinks his bandmates have had by the way they start a sentence: “Like: ‘OK, this is what it’s about…’ is two drinks. ‘You know what your problems is…’ is four and later there’s, “You’re the type of guy who…’” He then insists NME try on one of his “badass” rings, but since we’re a puny Englisihman only his little-finger ring will fit any of ours. Mikel thinks we look like “the type of guy who carries a switchblade”. In fact we look like ET on a darts team.

Anna tells us that being a classically trained violinist meant she’d barely heard any popular music until two years ago, and has had to toughen up being on the road with a bunch of rock boys. “I find I now make unhealthily close friendships with girls who I meet in bars. Like, ‘Nice to meet you, shall we get our nails done?’”

Daren then drags NME off for a smoke behind the winner’s garage. Daren talks with the hip oldies until a smirking French painter comes over and asks if he can paint the band naked. He goes into detail over the poses. Word gets back to the rest of the band about this, then one of them spots a hot tub and everyone gets The Fear: maybe these people are swingers! Time to leave.

The next day, NME joins the band in their van for a six-hour drive across California from LA to San Jose. Since America is really big, the task of alerting the country to their presence is a daunting one. Still, TATE have a secret weapon: a cowboy. Yes, their guitar tech and driver is a proper cowboy. As in, comes from Texas, is built like Jack Palance, wears boots, leather and a Stetson all in brown (Steven: “So you don’t know if he’s a good cowboy or a bad cowboy”). Mikel hints that with this many big mouths in the group—and they are loud—the cowboy is a useful guy when they get in trouble.

Mikel sits in the back with us as we drive across the California farmlands, passing through both driving snow and beating sun. He tells us his theory that Elliott Smith’s 2003 death in LA caused Silver Lake to bond so closely.

“Everyone knew him, or knew someone who did. It was such a terrible tragedy and somehow it created this sense of community in his wake.” Death, as both a bitch and a great motivator, is the key to understanding where TATE are coming from. A couple of years ago, Mikel managed to win a place at the revered literary retreat Yaddo (previous attendees include Philip Roth and Truman Capote), but then received news which made him stop his fiction and begin writing songs. Inside of a week he learned his mother had cancer and that he had an autoimmune disease which led to chronic skin problems, Mikel recalls the pull towards forming a band in the wake of this.

“My mom getting sick, me getting sick and my dad was already sick, there was a sense that there was only so much time. There’s always things you want to do, but suddenly, it was, ‘Fuck, I really don’t have long to do it.’ I suddenly felt motivated to go, ‘You know what I’m going to do? I’m going to write songs, drink whisky with my friends, play some shows, sing these songs and I’m going to talk to people and engage them, and I want us all to be there, and I don’t want anyone to die…’ it was that kind of feeling: let’s just bring everyone close.”

At the show in San Jose that night, Mikel’s need for connectivity shines through. With his sleeves rolled up, he tells his stories, gees up the crowd and really is uncannily like The Boss. Behind him, Anna looks like she should be in MGMT, Daren in 13th Floor Elevators, Steven in Muse and Noah in Motörhead. They’re a weird mix, but you can’t take your eyes off them, and songs such as the punky ‘Gasoline’ and the Pogues-ish ‘Missy’ provoke the nerds of Silicon Valley into crazed human contact.

The US is sure to fall for their rabble-rousing anthems and, appealingly for us Brits, they love Pulp and are silly pissheads. Much later that night, Mikel decides to play a few songs on the hotel piano at his whiskey’s suggestion. When the bar manager asks him to stop, Mikel says, “Do you really want to be the type of guy that stops the piano player?” Ten minutes later, five police cars arrive. Surrounded by officers, Mikel defends himself by saying, “I was just playing C. Who doesn’t like C? C. (ding) C. (ding) C. (ding)…”

The Airborne Toxic Event, then: loveable life-savers who are not quite succeeding in showing LA to be sane.

As we close in on our last few shows here in the UK, we’re struck by the sheer volume of bands we’ve played with this month (around 80). The new friends we’ve kidnapped in a whiskey-fueled haze and brought to our next gig in the van. The omnipresent line-drawings of dicks on the wall of every green room at every club. The ubiquitous light rain. The superiority of English bacon… and footwear.

We’re immune to the beauty of English landscape—the sheep, the hedges, the stone and brick houses in quaint constellations. Our conversation has devolved into endless jokes about crying, punching, freaking out, screaming.

But we still look forward to the point each night when the sound has been checked, the tuning pedals clicked off, and we start the set. There’s really nothing like it.

And every night, the faint blue glow of the Travelodge sign…

Our last night at Dublin Castle in London was a rollicking, boozy and crowded finale to the residency. Mikel jumped off the stage and Anna’s viola got a new scar. We drank, sweated, swore and danced.

We think we may miss this place of numberless buildings and unnamed streets that lead nowhere…

Nottingham, Barrow in Furness, Stoke on Trent, Cardiff, Bristol, London (again), Sheffield, and Preston — all behind us, and so now we’re officially in the home stretch. Admittedly, we’ve fallen off in posting these things, as we’ve grown more and more exhausted and unable to do much else besides eat, drink, play shows. Leading up to our last London show, we’ve had particularly memorable nights in Nottingham, Barrow in Furness, and Cardiff.

Everyone kept scratching their heads at us whenever we mentioned we’d be playing Barrow in Furness, but we had an excellent show and met some really interesting people. Cardiff was fucking crazy, for no real reason except that we felt especially loopy and decided to play an entire song in the audience. It turned out to be our most ambitious post-show night outside of London so far, stumbling down cobblestone roads until four in the morning. That one pretty much set the tone for this next slew of shows.

It’s been a while since our last posting, and since then, we’ve been coping better than expected. Call it a higher plane, or some kind of controlled insanity, but it works somehow. The last London show was sufficiently ...
[Read More...]]]>
From NME.com.

Nottingham, Barrow in Furness, Stoke on Trent, Cardiff, Bristol, London (again), Sheffield, and Preston — all behind us, and so now we’re officially in the home stretch. Admittedly, we’ve fallen off in posting these things, as we’ve grown more and more exhausted and unable to do much else besides eat, drink, play shows. Leading up to our last London show, we’ve had particularly memorable nights in Nottingham, Barrow in Furness, and Cardiff.

Everyone kept scratching their heads at us whenever we mentioned we’d be playing Barrow in Furness, but we had an excellent show and met some really interesting people. Cardiff was fucking crazy, for no real reason except that we felt especially loopy and decided to play an entire song in the audience. It turned out to be our most ambitious post-show night outside of London so far, stumbling down cobblestone roads until four in the morning. That one pretty much set the tone for this next slew of shows.

It’s been a while since our last posting, and since then, we’ve been coping better than expected. Call it a higher plane, or some kind of controlled insanity, but it works somehow. The last London show was sufficiently berserk in all ways, fueled by exhaustion and drunkenness. We tried to make an epic night of it to mark the occasion. The next night, we headed to Sheffield, home of Pulp. In fact, we learned we’d just missed a Jarvis Cocker show the night before. Oh well…

Maybe we really are losing it. We’re trying not to make too big a deal out of it.

After London, we headed into Brighton and played a rowdy gig at a place called The Hope just up from the pier. Now officially in the last third of our tour and 19 days in without any real rest, we’ve all gone a bit wonky and recorded said wonkiness for your viewing pleasure. Noah howls occasionally while loading equipment, and Mikel has taken to playing gospel songs on the street. We drink more than we should, anytime there’s sitting and/or waiting involved.

That said, we love Brighton. We were here last summer for the Great Escape Festival, for which we played Komedia with the Annuals. Afterward, we wandered the lanes and ended up at a house party until late into the night. This time, we ran into a group of girls singing on the street calling themselves the Half Sisters. They really were sisters and had just played their own gig up the street. One had a flute and another had a ukulele. We thought they were gypsies at first.

Too bad we didn’t get to stay longer, as has been the case with a lot of the towns we’ve passed through. It sucked to leave Brighton so soon, ...
[Read More...]]]>
From NME.com.

After London, we headed into Brighton and played a rowdy gig at a place called The Hope just up from the pier. Now officially in the last third of our tour and 19 days in without any real rest, we’ve all gone a bit wonky and recorded said wonkiness for your viewing pleasure. Noah howls occasionally while loading equipment, and Mikel has taken to playing gospel songs on the street. We drink more than we should, anytime there’s sitting and/or waiting involved.

That said, we love Brighton. We were here last summer for the Great Escape Festival, for which we played Komedia with the Annuals. Afterward, we wandered the lanes and ended up at a house party until late into the night. This time, we ran into a group of girls singing on the street calling themselves the Half Sisters. They really were sisters and had just played their own gig up the street. One had a flute and another had a ukulele. We thought they were gypsies at first.

Too bad we didn’t get to stay longer, as has been the case with a lot of the towns we’ve passed through. It sucked to leave Brighton so soon, but we keep busy, pushing ourselves to stay out after shows and chat with complete strangers. Who knew losing your mind was so much hard work?

When we started this band, we tried not to get too excited about guitar effects and gadgetry lest we became one of those groups with huge, unwieldy pedal boards. We bought Velcro, electrical tape, power strips, and slabs of wood from our local hardware stores and constructed our own, homemade boards, a couple of pedals for each member—just enough to get by. Eventually, they began to fall apart, so we broke down and bought proper ones a few months ago.

For the most part, we’ve stuck to the same, basic philosophy of staying slim, though we’ve made additions and grown particularly proud of Anna’s viola rig, which now includes a POG, or a Polyphonic Octave Generator. It basically lets her sound like she’s playing eight violas at once.

In this installment of our blog, we talk about guitar and viola effects for those who might not know much about them. They’re fun to use. We’ll probably acquire more and end up with huge, unwieldy pedal boards.

Days 17 and 18 were our Oxford and London gigs, respectively. Oxford was charming and cute; we had dinner in a converted church called Freud.

The following night was the third week of our Dublin ...
[Read More...]]]>
From NME.com.

When we started this band, we tried not to get too excited about guitar effects and gadgetry lest we became one of those groups with huge, unwieldy pedal boards. We bought Velcro, electrical tape, power strips, and slabs of wood from our local hardware stores and constructed our own, homemade boards, a couple of pedals for each member—just enough to get by. Eventually, they began to fall apart, so we broke down and bought proper ones a few months ago.

For the most part, we’ve stuck to the same, basic philosophy of staying slim, though we’ve made additions and grown particularly proud of Anna’s viola rig, which now includes a POG, or a Polyphonic Octave Generator. It basically lets her sound like she’s playing eight violas at once.

In this installment of our blog, we talk about guitar and viola effects for those who might not know much about them. They’re fun to use. We’ll probably acquire more and end up with huge, unwieldy pedal boards.

Days 17 and 18 were our Oxford and London gigs, respectively. Oxford was charming and cute; we had dinner in a converted church called Freud.

The following night was the third week of our Dublin Castle residency. We shared the bill with an impressive band from Brooklyn called Chairlift, and the place was sold out, amazingly. This one was more unhinged than the last. We’re happy to report that we’ve begun to feel very much at home at the Castle.

We’ve been to Manchester, Hull, and Leeds now, acquiring quite the scenic tour of this country. We’re excited that we’ve passed the halfway point intact, while gaining an appreciation for the towns we’ve only heard about from Smiths songs or episodes of The Office. Just another 14 days to go before it’s officially the longest any of us have gone without taking a night off.

It’s what you would expect: fast-paced and thrilling at times, and tedious and incredibly draining at others. We’re meeting tons of people and becoming experts at roadside eating establishments like Little Chef and Welcome Break. We try for any chance to partake in “normal” activities, like shopping and strolling. We try to read books. We watch a lot of DVD’s. We decided to take this opportunity to talk about our first (or favorite) concerts. It’s not a mind-blowing topic, but an important one nonetheless that makes us marvel at our younger selves—how they might be intrigued at our current undertaking. Primus, Mike Watt, R.E.M., Sonic Youth, U2, the Sugarcubes, Public Enemy, The Cure—the range is pretty amusing.

For now, it’s starting to hit us that we might actually survive this thing, and we’d be ...
[Read More...]]]>
From NME.com.

We’ve been to Manchester, Hull, and Leeds now, acquiring quite the scenic tour of this country. We’re excited that we’ve passed the halfway point intact, while gaining an appreciation for the towns we’ve only heard about from Smiths songs or episodes of The Office. Just another 14 days to go before it’s officially the longest any of us have gone without taking a night off.

It’s what you would expect: fast-paced and thrilling at times, and tedious and incredibly draining at others. We’re meeting tons of people and becoming experts at roadside eating establishments like Little Chef and Welcome Break. We try for any chance to partake in “normal” activities, like shopping and strolling. We try to read books. We watch a lot of DVD’s. We decided to take this opportunity to talk about our first (or favorite) concerts. It’s not a mind-blowing topic, but an important one nonetheless that makes us marvel at our younger selves—how they might be intrigued at our current undertaking. Primus, Mike Watt, R.E.M., Sonic Youth, U2, the Sugarcubes, Public Enemy, The Cure—the range is pretty amusing.

For now, it’s starting to hit us that we might actually survive this thing, and we’d be lying if we said there wasn’t a hint of sadness at the prospect of putting this tour behind us.

Naturally, a few of us started humming and singing Beatles songs as soon as we got to Liverpool, so someone came up with the idea to do a “Day in the Life” blog about what a typical day has been like on this exhaustive (and exhausting) tour, titled after the song. We readily admit that we’d set ourselves up for a terribly boring entry, but still, thought it would help encapsulate—for anyone who cared—the simultaneous tedium and rush of a band on tour.

Like most days, we started the day off by checking out of our Travelodge. Having passed through the UK a few times before, and now well into our 30 Shows in 30 Days tour, we’ve become quite the connoisseurs of England’s various Travelodges. We give Liverpool’s a 4.5—not as nice as Leeds’, but miles beyond Birmingham’s, which seems on the verge of collapse. Depending on what time our load-in is for the next gig and how far we have to drive, we either: a) grab some food, then leave immediately; b) grab food, stick around and explore the city, and then leave; or c) hit the road as soon as possible. Luckily, England’s fairly driveable, ...
[Read More...]]]>
From NME.com.

Naturally, a few of us started humming and singing Beatles songs as soon as we got to Liverpool, so someone came up with the idea to do a “Day in the Life” blog about what a typical day has been like on this exhaustive (and exhausting) tour, titled after the song. We readily admit that we’d set ourselves up for a terribly boring entry, but still, thought it would help encapsulate—for anyone who cared—the simultaneous tedium and rush of a band on tour.

Like most days, we started the day off by checking out of our Travelodge. Having passed through the UK a few times before, and now well into our 30 Shows in 30 Days tour, we’ve become quite the connoisseurs of England’s various Travelodges. We give Liverpool’s a 4.5—not as nice as Leeds’, but miles beyond Birmingham’s, which seems on the verge of collapse. Depending on what time our load-in is for the next gig and how far we have to drive, we either: a) grab some food, then leave immediately; b) grab food, stick around and explore the city, and then leave; or c) hit the road as soon as possible. Luckily, England’s fairly driveable, unlike the States, and we can usually find time to bum around town.

In Liverpool, we had a nice English breakfast (for lunch), then took some time to visit a war memorial and an art gallery before heading off to Carlisle in our bulky, cozy van. Van life involves laptops, DVDs, books, and some music programming here and there—some of it serious, and some of it purely for our own amusement. Usually, it’s Noah huddled over his Macbook, composing classical scores or cheesy techno.

It’s amazing how early it’s been getting dark here. By 5:00, it’s pitch black outside, which was the case when we finally arrived in Carlisle and unloaded all of our gear. After sound check, a few of us sneaked out for some Italian food before returning to a good-sized crowd at the Brickyard—a nice, if chilly venue resembling an old church. The audience was great and seemed to have a fine time. After loading out—an arduous process, especially when you’re dead tired from a show and going on very little sleep—we drove to the local Travelodge and checked in. This one wasn’t bad: a 7.0, at least.

We’re now halfway through our residency—not halfway through the tour, though, mind you. It feels simultaneously disconcerting to find ourselves still so early on in this adventure and amazing that we haven’t imploded yet after 11 consecutive days of driving, performing, consuming massive quantities of alcohol, and sleeping in dodgy hotels. Normal life is forcing itself back into our wayward schedules, and so upon our return to London, we set out to do mundane things—shop, eat, call friends, sit… After so many days, you get the hang of it and learn how to mimic normal living, as much as you can.

It only lasted for a few hours, though, and then we were off to sound check at Dublin Castle in Camden. We held an impromptu drum competition (you learn to get creative with things to do while waiting for sound people to arrive) and then headed next door to Toasted, a living room of a Toastie shop co-owned by the proprietors of the Dublin Castle. In addition to toasties (which we learned are sandwich pockets that can contain anything from cheese and peanut butter to cat food), you can get custom-made t-shirts. We continued our afternoon wind-down ...
[Read More...]]]>
From NME.com.

We’re now halfway through our residency—not halfway through the tour, though, mind you. It feels simultaneously disconcerting to find ourselves still so early on in this adventure and amazing that we haven’t imploded yet after 11 consecutive days of driving, performing, consuming massive quantities of alcohol, and sleeping in dodgy hotels. Normal life is forcing itself back into our wayward schedules, and so upon our return to London, we set out to do mundane things—shop, eat, call friends, sit… After so many days, you get the hang of it and learn how to mimic normal living, as much as you can.

It only lasted for a few hours, though, and then we were off to sound check at Dublin Castle in Camden. We held an impromptu drum competition (you learn to get creative with things to do while waiting for sound people to arrive) and then headed next door to Toasted, a living room of a Toastie shop co-owned by the proprietors of the Dublin Castle. In addition to toasties (which we learned are sandwich pockets that can contain anything from cheese and peanut butter to cat food), you can get custom-made t-shirts. We continued our afternoon wind-down there, well into the evening, then headed off for Vietnamese food with some friends living in London. Normal living never felt so good.

When we returned to the Castle, we found the place even more crowded than it was last week. Little Death, friends of ours through Los Angeles connections, shared the bill with us. They were fantastic. More friends appeared, and then, we finally took the stage for a particularly loud and sweaty set. In all, our night lasted until four in the morning, when we gradually lost track of each other. We fully expect to be raving mad by week 4.

Sunshine is rare in this benighted land. Though we do believe it invites wit. The most one can reasonably wish for is a light drizzle to accompany the ubiquitous grey skies. Instead of torrent. Though that has its advantages too, as we discovered in Hayle the other night, playing inside an enormous white tent while the wind raged against the side walls. The amps were plugged in anyway. Ale was consumed, the flash of bodies moving together in time while the storm wailed on lent a certain air to the evening — that of people huddling close against a great abyss.

As Californians we are not accustomed to the emotional influence of weather.

We have, however become quite accustomed to the emotional influences of late-night post-pub fare: kebabs, jacket potatoes, fish, chips.

We’ve also been heartened at our reception here, which has been beyond our reckoning. We went to dinner tonight with Sean and Steff who we met on our first UK tour over a year ago.. Today’s blog is about them.

The touring continues. We still have 18 shows to go. Friday night we play Manchester at Moho Live then Sunday it’s Leeds at Rocket then Oxford on Monday then ...
[Read More...]]]>
From NME.com.

Sunshine is rare in this benighted land. Though we do believe it invites wit. The most one can reasonably wish for is a light drizzle to accompany the ubiquitous grey skies. Instead of torrent. Though that has its advantages too, as we discovered in Hayle the other night, playing inside an enormous white tent while the wind raged against the side walls. The amps were plugged in anyway. Ale was consumed, the flash of bodies moving together in time while the storm wailed on lent a certain air to the evening — that of people huddling close against a great abyss.

As Californians we are not accustomed to the emotional influence of weather.

We have, however become quite accustomed to the emotional influences of late-night post-pub fare: kebabs, jacket potatoes, fish, chips.

We’ve also been heartened at our reception here, which has been beyond our reckoning. We went to dinner tonight with Sean and Steff who we met on our first UK tour over a year ago.. Today’s blog is about them.

The touring continues. We still have 18 shows to go. Friday night we play Manchester at Moho Live then Sunday it’s Leeds at Rocket then Oxford on Monday then London again on Tuesday back at the Dublin Castle.

We’ve so enjoyed meeting all of you at the shows. We’d like to thank you for your enthusiasm and propensity to clap.

So we were driving south heading towards Cornwall and casually looked out the window and saw one of the most famous sites in the entire world. From a distance, it looks like a does in the movies. Up close, it’s much windier.

So we stopped for a few minutes to take in the history, the engineering achievement, the sheep.

We don’t get to do much tourist stuff on this tour with a show to play every night, but 20 minutes in front of this stack of enormous rocks gave us our fill.

We’re starting to get adjusted to life on the road. It’s a bit like being in the army, without all the bullets and bombs and clean clothes. You spend a lot of time being cold, eating and sleeping when and where you can. There’s quite a bit of moving equipment and the food is mostly made from potatoes. At least here.

We’ve all grown quite fond of the United Kingdom. Leicester, Northampton, Darby, Hayle…all these towns half a world away from our home that are beginning to feel rather familiar with their small shops, town centres, the ever-present beat of the rain. It’s easy to see how such things contribute to a national character.

Precipitation invites wit. I think Wordsworth said that.

We’d like to thank all of you who’ve been to so kind to us at shows, with all the clapping and the handshakes, the odd signing of a copy of White Noise. We feel most welcome.

We’ll be in London again on Tuesday night at Dublin Castle. Should be quite a night. See you then. Oh, and we’re totally lying about that Wordsworth thing.

It is a good day to be an American overseas. Everywhere we go people are shaking our hands, giving the high sign, acting like our country’s wayward foreign policy didn’t just fuck up the world in the past eight years. It’s not so much that all is forgiven, more that people seem to remember why they loved America in the first place.

It’s odd how much the focus over here is on Obama’s race. I guess we’ve been living with the race (and gender) question in this election for so long, it’s been eclipsed by other things: leadership ability, political organization, questions about the economy and war and just how we’re going to drag ourselves out of the mess we’re in. Race seemed almost irrelevant.

Then it suddenly was again. Images of Jesse Jackson crying or Obama being hugged by his recently-deceased white grandmother crowd TV screens. It’s a feeling that he is the son of the American idea: a rare person whose life story is interwoven with the questions of immigrants, patriots, Midwestern values, Northeastern education and the uniquely American experience with race.

And now he’s going to be president. It’s almost as if we forgot all of this ...
[Read More...]]]>
From NME.com.

It is a good day to be an American overseas. Everywhere we go people are shaking our hands, giving the high sign, acting like our country’s wayward foreign policy didn’t just fuck up the world in the past eight years. It’s not so much that all is forgiven, more that people seem to remember why they loved America in the first place.

It’s odd how much the focus over here is on Obama’s race. I guess we’ve been living with the race (and gender) question in this election for so long, it’s been eclipsed by other things: leadership ability, political organization, questions about the economy and war and just how we’re going to drag ourselves out of the mess we’re in. Race seemed almost irrelevant.

Then it suddenly was again. Images of Jesse Jackson crying or Obama being hugged by his recently-deceased white grandmother crowd TV screens. It’s a feeling that he is the son of the American idea: a rare person whose life story is interwoven with the questions of immigrants, patriots, Midwestern values, Northeastern education and the uniquely American experience with race.

And now he’s going to be president. It’s almost as if we forgot all of this race business because none of it would have mattered if Obama hadn’t been such an incredibly astute politician. They’re still catching up with that idea over here, and it is true that of the two reasons to be inspired by an Obama win, it is the less interesting one.

But for those of us who are accustomed to our ideas being ignored, to watching our country deteriorate amid a mindless rush of nationalism and greed, to standing helplessly as a portion of our country embraces a willfully ignorant and morally bankrupt philosophy — after eight years of that shit, it almost doesn’t matter that Obama is black. It’s more important that he is right.

And what a great feeling to wake up in the morning, for the first time in eight years, without mixed feelings about our country.

After three days of wandering the streets of unfamiliar English towns, we finally make it into London. We were last here in July, and it feels surprisingly easy and familiar, as if we’d never left. The city’s similar to Manhattan, except it’s massive, sort of like New York, Chicago, Philadelphia, San Francisco, Boston and Los Angeles rolled into a single, circuitous mega-city with a logic-defying number of places to get drunk.

It’s the first night of our month-long residency at Dublin Castle in Camden, a perfect little place for drinking and mayhem that’s not nearly the dungeon its website suggests. We meet the other bands playing with us — all incredibly nice people: Bear Hands, from Brooklyn, the Boat People, from Melbourne, and the Race, from Reading.

At 7:00, the place is already buzzing, and everyone feels good about the night. Even so, it’s Election Day in the States, and all day we’ve been fretting about the stakes, hoping for the best (Obama), bracing for the worst (McCain). It’s Noah who keeps frightening the rest of the band, telling us: “I have a bad feeling about this.” We all try to ignore him and drink some more pints.

In any ...
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From NME.com.

After three days of wandering the streets of unfamiliar English towns, we finally make it into London. We were last here in July, and it feels surprisingly easy and familiar, as if we’d never left. The city’s similar to Manhattan, except it’s massive, sort of like New York, Chicago, Philadelphia, San Francisco, Boston and Los Angeles rolled into a single, circuitous mega-city with a logic-defying number of places to get drunk.

It’s the first night of our month-long residency at Dublin Castle in Camden, a perfect little place for drinking and mayhem that’s not nearly the dungeon its website suggests. We meet the other bands playing with us — all incredibly nice people: Bear Hands, from Brooklyn, the Boat People, from Melbourne, and the Race, from Reading.

At 7:00, the place is already buzzing, and everyone feels good about the night. Even so, it’s Election Day in the States, and all day we’ve been fretting about the stakes, hoping for the best (Obama), bracing for the worst (McCain). It’s Noah who keeps frightening the rest of the band, telling us: “I have a bad feeling about this.” We all try to ignore him and drink some more pints.

In any case, the show goes off really well, and we’re kind of amazed to find people singing along. Later, in our hotel room, we’re glued the television. Sometime after 4:00 a.m., Obama wins. Everyone’s dead tired, but ecstatic. All is well with the world. No relocating to Canada necessary.

We spent day three of our 30 day tour in Birmingham, looking for curry, drinking vodka in the van, and otherwise preparing for our show at Bar Academy. It was a windy and rainy night (typical, so we’re told) and the sound engineer was a woman named Becky. She was rad in all ways.

It got us thinking about what it’s like to be a girl in the rock and roll boys’ club. In the video blog Anna discusses her inside track to what guys think about, her classical background, learning to use a distortion pedal with a viola and what it’s like to be onstage with the boys…

Day two of our tour was spent driving from Derby to York where we played Fibbers. We are adjusting to the rain and meeting people along the way. We sleep off hangovers, we check amps, we dream of faraway lands…

“When you go through dark times, let them disfigure you and use it to make art.”

New Music Radar – The Airborne Toxic Event

When death haunts you, your music really starts to matter

September 13, 2008

Photo Credit: Pamela Littky

“My whole life I was invincible like everyone else,” says Mikel Jollett, singer with L.A.’s The Airborne Toxic Event, fingering the patches of his scalp. “You’re the talented one, the smart one, the cute one, and then suddenly it’s like, ‘Hey, you’re gonna lose all your hair and your face is gonna turn white and you’ll die. Oh and so’s your mom.’”

At the start of 2006 Mikel was diagnosed with a genetic over-active immune system which could cut 20 years from his life. The next day his mum rang to tell him she had cancer. The day after that he split up with his long-term girlfriend. The day after that he quit his job to dedicate his life to writing the Great American Novel.

One month later, finding his intense personal gushings better suited to rock than fiction, he picked up a guitar and poured his brittle heart and battered soul into ...
[Read More...]]]>

New Music Radar – The Airborne Toxic Event

When death haunts you, your music really starts to matter

Photo Credit: Pamela Littky

“My whole life I was invincible like everyone else,” says Mikel Jollett, singer with L.A.’s The Airborne Toxic Event, fingering the patches of his scalp. “You’re the talented one, the smart one, the cute one, and then suddenly it’s like, ‘Hey, you’re gonna lose all your hair and your face is gonna turn white and you’ll die. Oh and so’s your mom.’”

At the start of 2006 Mikel was diagnosed with a genetic over-active immune system which could cut 20 years from his life. The next day his mum rang to tell him she had cancer. The day after that he split up with his long-term girlfriend. The day after that he quit his job to dedicate his life to writing the Great American Novel.

One month later, finding his intense personal gushings better suited to rock than fiction, he picked up a guitar and poured his brittle heart and battered soul into hundreds of tracks. “All I did was make music. The feeling wasn’t that I had so much more to say but that I had so much less time to say it.”

The result, the band’s home-recorded debut, is a record where the expanse of ambition of Arcade Fire and MGMT gets a hypodermic of The Clash’s wild, gnashing stem cells. Within months their album went Top 20 in the iTunes Rock Chart on the back of their brilliantly unpredictable Silverlake scene shows.

“The idea of punk rock is that you’re gonna go to a show, and some fucking shit is gonna go down,” Mikel says. “You might get in a fight, the cops might show up, the place might get burnt down, you might meet a girl and get laid, but whatever it is, the music is visceral and engaging. You’ve only got so long to live, so it’s vital. Let’s scream and stomp our way through our worst fears and greatest desires and let’s everybody shed a tear and say, ‘Fuck man, that was amazing.’”

The Airborne Toxic Event: art for heart’s sake.

NEED TO KNOW
What: Psychamerica with a punk punch
For fans of: Modest Mouse, Arcade Fire, MGMT, Band of Horses
Live:: UK dates TBC
Download: A free Airborne Toxic Event song from NME.COM/NEWMUSIC/RADAR

Occasionally you get lucky and stumble across a band at the very moment they ignite the engines and blast off into the heavens.

Such a band right now is Los Feliz’s The Airborne Toxic Event, a wired and ballistic cross between The Arcade Fire, Coldplay, The Walkmen and a black-hearted Clash. A lanky Russell Brand-a-like plays bass (sometimes with a violin bow), a girl in a dress like a straight jacket throws padded-room shapes at the violin, tambourine and keyboard and the music just gets louder and richer until it makes Paris Hilton look like a mute wallflower and practically bursts at the seams and spills its steaming guts across the stage during the monumental set closer that hasn’t even made the finished album in the US.

TATE had clearly been building their local fanbase for some years and last night felt like the joyous culmination of all that hard work as 800 adoring Toxicites grabbed one of the ...
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