About

I write the Cyberclinic column in The Independent and bits and pieces for The Guardian, Time Out, The Observer, The Independent, The Independent on Sunday and various mags including Radio Times. I've got a book out imminently called FWD This Link, which is a Rough Guide to wasting time on the internet. I'm also a reliable, punctual and balding copywriter, and play keyboards with not just Keith John Adams, but also Scritti Politti. There's a more indulgent biography here.

Status

Not sure why people who eat Kellogg’s Crunchy Nut Bites for breakfast don’t stop kidding themselves and have a bloody Snickers instead.

My Links

Contact
my Twitter
my LiveJournal
my Facebook profile
my MySpace profile
my YouTube channel
The Independent
the Free French

Blogroll

Passive Aggressive Notes
The Man Who Fell Asleep
Rose George
Wardytron
Toots Bag
Richard Dedomenici
Dickon Edwards
Neil Scott
Bete De Jour
Speak You’re Branes

Help

So the thing is, I’m writing a book about the horror of being on tour with a band. The plan is for it to be the ultimate guide to being in a van on the way to Peterborough for no reason. A warning from history. Now, it would be true to say that I have enough horrendous recollections of my own to fill about 3 books without bothering other people for theirs, but in order to avoid it becoming an autobiography I’m including remeniscences from other people who have suffered, in order to lend weight to my analysis of being on the road.

No-one likes to sit down and write a long anecdote, do they, so I thought that I would try putting up a page with ticky boxes. Here it is. The plan: If you have a great story that comes under any of the topics below, just tick any of the boxes that apply, put your name and email address in at the bottom, and I’ll drop you a line. Then maybe you can even tell it to me over the phone, rather than email, to save you a bit of time. I’ve left a comments box below, too, in case you have any important points to make, but don’t feel you have to type a story in there, as it probably won’t fit.

Thank you for your help. You have my undying gratitude. All used stories will be properly credited in the book, I promise.

Rhodri

That Big List Of Topics In Full

Transport nightmares: a terrible van? A cheap van? An overloaded, tiny van with a sofa slung in the back? A dangerous driver?

Hideous journeys – long drives, getting lost, breaking down, picking up a rancid hitchhiker, being anally searched by Belgian customs officers?

The worst bands you ever had to play with? Arrogant? Useless? Violent? Sporting metal shin pads? Always asking if they could borrow your stuff?

Promotion horrors – bizarre promoters, shady promoters, no publicity, disappearing promoters, terrible combinations of acts?

Vile venues – be they dangerous, inaccessible, unusual – you know, the kind of place you say "I’m never going back there, not if you pay me, well ok, if you’re paying me.”

Personality clashes: when band members attack. Or cry. Or leave the band altogether. Teasing. Fighting. Annoying hangers-on who won’t go away.

Boredom? Boredom-relieving activities? Band games? Band sayings? Utter, utter boredom? Long periods of time doing nothing at all?

Drinking? Over-indulging? Regret? Dabbling with drugs you couldn’t afford?

Terrible food? Awful meals? Ginsters Pasties? Going down with scurvy?

Illness? Vomiting in Preston? Piles in Zürich? Eyeless In Gaza?

Sexual yearning? Failed chatups? Masturbation? Inappropriate liasons? Waking up in bed with someone you don’t recognise in a flat in Dundee? Bragging about it?

Shit equipment that keeps breaking down constantly? Amps from hell? Guitars from Dunstable? PA made out of string? Sound engineers who don’t know their arse from their fader?

Nasty gigs? Poor performances? Tiny audiences? Enormous but hostile audiences? Underrehearsedness? Heckling? Feelings of pointlessness?

Inhospitable accomodation? Rancid flats owned by heroin addicts? Stinking squats? Inappropriate flat surfaces you’re forced to sleep on, i.e. a copy of The Guardian?

Cash crises? Pay-to-play? Haemorrhaging money? Tales of poverty. £5 for a shit gig in Hastings? £0 from a promoter who never showed up? Borrowing money? Stealing money?

Crime. Having your stuff nicked? Fights? Neo-nazi skinhead nightmares? Or maybe you ended up in prison, or arrested for some reason, like impersonating a police officer?

The tiniest glimpses of why it might be worth it? Silver linings? The tiniest crumbs of comfort? Snatches of triumph amid all the horror?

Name:

Email:

Comment?

Now all you have to do is:
. Thank you.