Tour Postcard 6: Tokyo Summersonic
Sat 12th August, 2006
I've missed out on one day, I'm afraid, but it was a day off with very little going for it other than a scene in a Japanese restaurant when no-one knew what was going on as plates of food arrived that were never ordered, leading to a 20-minute standoff with much gesturing, shrugging of shoulders, accusation and counter-accusation. An international incident was avoided, just, and we all went to bed breathing sighs of relief, or just breathing, depending on who you ask. Some of the tour party are more anxious than others.
So today we made our way to the Summersonic Festival, which consists of several stages in an enormous aircraft hangar-type structure in Chiba, which I presume is a suburb of Tokyo but I'm not sure. I've not looked at a map since I got here, preferring to rely on people to just ferry me to and fro on air-conditioned coaches, I mean for goodness sake, I'm a rock star, aren't I? Anyway, the journey was blighted by grey skies, thick cloud and heavy rain, reducing the Tokyo cityscape to a grim but not totally unpleasant monochrome. We took with us new friends Mitsuo + 3 (I'm sorry, I'm terrible with names) who were the ones holding up the "GREEN" signs at Club Quattro. In fact, the signs are made out of fans. We laid them out on the floor of the coach for a special snap for the archive:
On arrival, we ambled into a strip-lit dressing room which was separated from the Charlatans' dressing room by a thin partition. We conducted a quick poll to make sure that no-one in the tour party had anything bad to say about the Charlatans, as one indiscreet word overheard through a thin partition and everything could have kicked off. No-one had a bad word to say about the Charlatans. Good. I gingerly made my way to the side of the stage while The Rapture were playing, to see what I can only describe as an almighty f*ckload of people watching them.
It came to our turn at 5.20pm, and as we were about to start one of the items in my terrifyingly Heath Robinson-esque setup began to malfunction. Crowds of helpful Japanese crew attempted to help, but with limited success. About 20 fraught, sweat-drenched minutes later, we finally got everything going again, and Summersonic – bless them – allowed us to play our full set, despite over-running. 50 minutes later we scurried offstage, quickly broke down the gear, ate a swift meal in the catering room while watching Metallica play on a TV in the corner, which was being broadcast from a few hundred yards away. They were a load of old nonsense, and we felt safe in saying so as our dressing room wasn't separated from theirs by a thin partition. Then off to the airport for a late flight to Osaka. I'd been looking forward to taking the bullet train, a) just for the treat of having been on a train called a bullet train, and b) to see whether Japan actually has any countryside. I suspect it does, but you wouldn't know from the unrelenting concrete I've seen from the air-conditioned coaches. But sadly we were booked on another bloody flight, which was, predictably, delayed. As the boredom levels rose to Critical in the airport lounge, a game of football began with the top of a bottle of cola. Ralph split his trousers, which, as usual, signalled the end of the game.
We shared the flight with The Editors, The Deftones and Phoenix. My extreme airborne anxiety led me to imagine headlines in newspapers reporting the inevitable plane crash, and the tragedy of how the cream of pop musicianship had been wiped out, and that The Editors, The Deftones and Phoenix had also been killed. Joke. Of course, we landed fine. My spirits soared, and in the bus on the way to the hotel here in Osaka we mused at length about pyjamas. No-one in the band was prepared to admit to wearing pyjamas while on tour. It was suggested that for the imminent US tour, which includes this splendiferous show in case I hadn't already told you, we should get specially monogrammed pyjamas made up, saying "Scritti Politti US Tour 2006" on the breast. We considered this for a moment. It was then pointed out that pyjama bottoms are particularly annoying, because they tend to swivel around in the middle of the night and go all askew. Possible solution: Pyjama Glue (rather like Sock Glue, used here by Japanese girls keen to maintain the perfect knee-sock look all day.) Just apply Pyjama Glue to the thighs and waist before putting on the pyjamas, for hours of swivel-free slumber. Of course, it would end up being an irritating routine, wouldn't it, and you'd end up being chastised by your partner who shouted at you from the bathroom – "have you applied your Pyjama Glue, dear?" Strewth. "Yes, darling!" you'd shout back, before mumbling in a slightly smug fashion to yourself: "I haven't, of course. I can't be bothered."
So today we made our way to the Summersonic Festival, which consists of several stages in an enormous aircraft hangar-type structure in Chiba, which I presume is a suburb of Tokyo but I'm not sure. I've not looked at a map since I got here, preferring to rely on people to just ferry me to and fro on air-conditioned coaches, I mean for goodness sake, I'm a rock star, aren't I? Anyway, the journey was blighted by grey skies, thick cloud and heavy rain, reducing the Tokyo cityscape to a grim but not totally unpleasant monochrome. We took with us new friends Mitsuo + 3 (I'm sorry, I'm terrible with names) who were the ones holding up the "GREEN" signs at Club Quattro. In fact, the signs are made out of fans. We laid them out on the floor of the coach for a special snap for the archive:
On arrival, we ambled into a strip-lit dressing room which was separated from the Charlatans' dressing room by a thin partition. We conducted a quick poll to make sure that no-one in the tour party had anything bad to say about the Charlatans, as one indiscreet word overheard through a thin partition and everything could have kicked off. No-one had a bad word to say about the Charlatans. Good. I gingerly made my way to the side of the stage while The Rapture were playing, to see what I can only describe as an almighty f*ckload of people watching them.
It came to our turn at 5.20pm, and as we were about to start one of the items in my terrifyingly Heath Robinson-esque setup began to malfunction. Crowds of helpful Japanese crew attempted to help, but with limited success. About 20 fraught, sweat-drenched minutes later, we finally got everything going again, and Summersonic – bless them – allowed us to play our full set, despite over-running. 50 minutes later we scurried offstage, quickly broke down the gear, ate a swift meal in the catering room while watching Metallica play on a TV in the corner, which was being broadcast from a few hundred yards away. They were a load of old nonsense, and we felt safe in saying so as our dressing room wasn't separated from theirs by a thin partition. Then off to the airport for a late flight to Osaka. I'd been looking forward to taking the bullet train, a) just for the treat of having been on a train called a bullet train, and b) to see whether Japan actually has any countryside. I suspect it does, but you wouldn't know from the unrelenting concrete I've seen from the air-conditioned coaches. But sadly we were booked on another bloody flight, which was, predictably, delayed. As the boredom levels rose to Critical in the airport lounge, a game of football began with the top of a bottle of cola. Ralph split his trousers, which, as usual, signalled the end of the game.
We shared the flight with The Editors, The Deftones and Phoenix. My extreme airborne anxiety led me to imagine headlines in newspapers reporting the inevitable plane crash, and the tragedy of how the cream of pop musicianship had been wiped out, and that The Editors, The Deftones and Phoenix had also been killed. Joke. Of course, we landed fine. My spirits soared, and in the bus on the way to the hotel here in Osaka we mused at length about pyjamas. No-one in the band was prepared to admit to wearing pyjamas while on tour. It was suggested that for the imminent US tour, which includes this splendiferous show in case I hadn't already told you, we should get specially monogrammed pyjamas made up, saying "Scritti Politti US Tour 2006" on the breast. We considered this for a moment. It was then pointed out that pyjama bottoms are particularly annoying, because they tend to swivel around in the middle of the night and go all askew. Possible solution: Pyjama Glue (rather like Sock Glue, used here by Japanese girls keen to maintain the perfect knee-sock look all day.) Just apply Pyjama Glue to the thighs and waist before putting on the pyjamas, for hours of swivel-free slumber. Of course, it would end up being an irritating routine, wouldn't it, and you'd end up being chastised by your partner who shouted at you from the bathroom – "have you applied your Pyjama Glue, dear?" Strewth. "Yes, darling!" you'd shout back, before mumbling in a slightly smug fashion to yourself: "I haven't, of course. I can't be bothered."