The Hardest Day's Night: Musical (Mis)Adventures in London

This is my submission for a creative writing contest on my college campus. It's a rewrite of one of my first posts ever here, about an ill-fated yet wonderful Pete Doherty gig.


It starts like all the best concerts do: watching an enraged man buy takeout chicken. My friend Andrew and I are nearly dying from excitement when we score tickets to a tiny, last-minute London gig with erstwhile British rocker Pete Doherty. By the end of the evening, we’re just dying.
Let’s talk about Pete for a second. The epitome of the junkie-musician stereotype, he was once a member of beloved and shambolic British punk band The Libertines. He now spends his time dating improbably attractive models, creating Youtube videos with Amy Winehouse, feeding pot to London Zoo penguins, and making a mockery of rehab facilities from Teignmouth to Thailand. With these factors in mind, Andrew and I know there might be some hitches (Pete might be late/not appear/have trouble remaining upright/throw things at us from the stage resulting in grievous head injuries). However, things go downhill with the speed of an Olympic skier from the moment we attempt to pick up our tickets before grabbing some pre-concert food. A dramatic rendition follows:

Andrew and Caroline enter the upstairs of indie mecca Rhythm Factory. It vaguely resembles a bar. Random employees and patrons mill around. Some of them appear to be rearranging the furniture. We spot a man with creatively large hair and an officious-looking clipboard.
Caroline: Hi, can we pick up tickets for the gig tonight?
Man: In a tone suggesting that Caroline and Andrew are egregious simpletons and possibly criminals No! There will be a list at the door. He turns away, glaring at his clipboard.
Caroline and Andrew retreat in confusion, dodging two men who are inexplicably shuffling all the chairs in the room to one side.

Thus rebuffed, Andrew and I wander around Whitechapel and decide that our best option, considering the temperature (just above “Arctic tundra” but significantly below “locked in a walk-in freezer”), is hot corporate beverages. We repair to the Starbucks across the street from Rhythm Factory, where we can watch the queue and decide when to brave the frozen wastelands to secure a good place at the gig. As we sip our mochas, we see the furious man burst outside. After a short and heated interaction with an ATM, he stops at one of Whitechapel’s myriad and inexplicable fried chicken stands then storms back in, tub of chicken in hand. Confusion ensues. Why does this unusually coifed man want chicken? Why is he so unhappy about it? (Warning: these questions will never be answered.)

Time passes. Frigid queuing occurs and we cram into the basement venue space, which is not significantly warmer than outside and has the distinct disadvantage of ceiling pipes that drip icy water over the crowd. Fortuitously, we manage to get front and center spots. Less fortuitously, the barrier before the stage is made of splintery old boards and comes up to my neck. My nearest neighbor is a middle-aged woman in a leopard print headband, holding a massive handbag and a glass of wine. I realize she is going to slap me in the face with her stupid handbag whenever she takes a sip from her stupid wineglass. It is the first but not the last time during the evening that I feel the urge to punch someone in the head.

Onward to the pinnacle of our saga: the opening bands. Andrew and I expect two, maybe three. There. Are. Eight. One less than the circles of hell, but close enough.

One: Nondescript. The crowd, lulled into a false sense of security by the timely start of the gig, applauds politely for them. Birds sing, the sun shines. It’s a more innocent age.

Two: Their logo is a creepy Masonic eye symbol. They’re called “Mad Staring Eyes.” At least they’re straightforward.

Three: This band could be good; they have an array of catchy three minute songs. Unfortunately they’re buried inside six minute songs. I start to waver toward a coma near the end of their set, but Andrew and I console ourselves because this must be the last opener. Pete will appear soon in all his crack-addled splendor. Everyone else seems to agree; they have been steadily pressing toward the stage between sets. The barrier and I have some close, personal bonding time.

Four: A woman in a tunic adorned with a bedazzled tiger appears. She’s holding a guitar made of at least 75% duct tape. A drummer and a man with a trumpet follow. She shrieks something incomprehensible about how the trumpeter's name is Foxy Horns then announces the band’s name: DADDY AND THE GOOD GIRLS. Words that will haunt my dreams eternally. Tiger Tunic makes sounds with her guitar, perhaps impersonating the slow, painful death of a water buffalo, then starts “singing.” By “singing,” I mean “shrieking in the worst way at the highest volume imaginable, like a fighter jet taking off inside a closet.” The words of the “song” are: “deliver me to Christ, please forgive me.” I refuse to believe that there’s a deity benevolent enough to forgive this. Mercifully, the “singing” stops as she tunes her guitar. I am tempted to point out that it’s poorly tuned because it’s made of 0% guitar and 100% materials available at Home Depot. Eventually the “music” resumes. I text Andrew because we can’t speak over the din:
Caroline: Kill me.
Andrew: ME FIRST.
After several centuries, DADDY AND THE GOOD GIRLS depart, having broken the spirits of everyone in the audience. Near the end of their set, the furious man, who we’ve determined is the venue manager, appears at the edge of the stage. Furious Manager’s eyes expand to the size of the Milky Way Galaxy, then he disappears at a speed rarely seen outside documentaries about cheetahs.

Five: I barely listen to this band because I’m busy suppressing the homicidal urge to find DADDY AND THE GOOD GIRLS and bludgeon them with the duct tape guitar. Band five is a duo dressed like gypsies. One has a guitar. I don’t think they’re aware that all band members usually play the same song, because they aren’t. At some point a tambourine appears, coinciding with the disappearance of my will to live.

Six: They’re like The Libertines, except Swedish. The woman next to me has somehow procured another glass of wine. She drinks it and elbows me in the neck with gleeful abandon. I wonder exactly how much force it would take to snap off someone’s arm.

Seven: By this point the crowd is all but piled in front of the barrier. It’s 12:30. Furious Manager is stage-side, gripping his clipboard with one white-knuckled hand and his phone with the other. He’s screaming into it. Andrew and I determine that he’s calling last-minute filler bands because Pete is late. In spite of everything, the current band thinks we actually want to see them. Their singer flails grandly like Ian Curtis/Jesus and taunts the woman next to me by reaching out his hand to her then pulling it back. She retaliates by grabbing his mic stand. The resulting struggle snaps it, a dangerously pointy end arcing millimeters from my face. I consider wresting it from her, skewering her giant handbag, then flinging it into the increasingly manic crowd. Lucky for her, I’m distracted when the audience starts throwing bottles so furiously that the drum kit is destroyed and the band retreats.

Eight: They distinguish themselves when the lead singer cuts his hand as the set begins, then bleeds profusely onto his guitar for its remainder. This occurs inches from my face, to my horror/disgust/fear of bloodborne illness. Mid-set, Pete finally appears. He shuffles around the edge of the stage before being corralled by furious manager and dragged off. Andrew and I notice that Pete’s wearing a barrette underneath his trilby. His outfit is also charmingly accessorized with white, lens-less women’s sunglasses. The crowd goes ballistic, shoving me further into the barrier’s splintery embrace. Band eight departs, leaving the stage like a leftover Dexter set.

Pete staggers forth around two, egging on the already violent crowd with his incendiary anthem “Fuck Forever.” He accepts a copy of his album and a Sharpie offered by a kid a few feet from me, throws the CD back, then draws all over the stage with the Sharpie, cackling delightedly. Halfway through the set, my wino neighbor decides she’ll climb the barrier to attract Pete’s attention, slapping me with her bag once more. Seeing my golden opportunity, I return one of her many elbows and she topples over. I cackle like Pete stealing from a fan, but display remarkable restraint and don’t stomp her handbag.

...I see you judging me there. I stopped caring around the time I learned that DADDY AND THE GOOD GIRLS exist.

Given a new foot of space, Andrew and I do a celebratory dance. Pete plays on. His guitarist mysteriously procures the bloody guitar from band eight. I would be concerned for his health, but he seems to have blood poisoning already. Or he’s a zombie. The set concludes with the lovely song “Albion” and we burst forth into the icy Whitechapel night, coated in sweat and sticky beer from endless thrown drinks. Our last sight of the evening is Furious Manager slumped against a wall, hair significantly deflated, clipboard gone.

Months later, we Google DADDY AND THE GOOD GIRLS. The Rhythm Factory gig is one of only two times they’ve ever played. Were they a joke? A mass hallucination? Our prevailing theory is that the crowd at their next gig mutinied and exiled them to Antarctica. It’s a comforting thought.

Interview: The Drums

It’s been an exceptionally frigid winter here in the US, but I chatted this week with the singer behind some of the warmest, sunniest pop of the year, The Drums’ Jonathan Pierce. After a stratospheric rise through the blogs on the strength of single “Let’s Go Surfing” and the infectious Summertime! EP, The Drums have landed a spot on the NME Awards tour that kicks off in February. Pierce gave me the rundown on the band’s album plans, upcoming UK gigs, and surprising lack of surfing experience.

Caroline: It’s been a crazy year for you guys with all the blog buzz and now a new tour. What was the biggest moment for you?
Jonathan: We started this whole thing in Florida almost as a studio project or some sort of selfish endeavor, just Jacob [Drums cofounder and guitarist Graham] and I. A year and a month ago, we were in Florida writing songs. We seemed to be getting excited about it; we would post them online and we started getting contacted by managers and agents and all this stuff. And we realized we already had some fans. That was really a weird thing and we were taken by surprise. So six months went by, we wrote about 25 songs, and we decided we should probably move to New York. We did our first show [at] the end of May. It’s been incredibly fast, and I was really worried for a while because it seemed to be moving faster than we were. We’ve always had a strong vision of who we are and the type of music we want to write, but we’re trying to catch up with ourselves in a way.

C: So the band is headed off to England soon. Are you looking forward to touring Europe for the first time on a major scale?
J: Oh yeah, yes. We were over there a couple of months ago but we only played a few shows. We’re really flattered and excited to be part of the NME tour. We’re in disbelief that all of this is actually happening. Last time we were there we played a couple of places in London, Manchester, and that was it, but those were really special shows to us because other than me, none of the guys had ever been out of the United States. So to not only leave the country but to go to the places where all the bands that changed our lives are from--you know, going to Manchester, walking the same streets that Joy Division did and all that... And we’re really excited to go back over.

C: How was the crowd response last time you were there?
J: Crowd response was really overwhelming. We played Iceland just before [going to England]. Iceland, and then England, were the first times we realized the scope of the whole thing. It was the first time we saw a bunch of kids singing the lyrics to our songs. It was really exciting because we had never played anywhere except New York at that point. We had no idea what was in store, or if anyone cared at all. It happens a lot where critics can be excited about something but people don't really care, and it can be the other way as well.

C: Do you think it will be different now that you’ve done the NME cover and you’re touring with bands like The Maccabees who have a pretty established UK fanbase?
J: I have to be honest, we’re so cut off from that whole thing, kind of on purpose. We try to not listen to any kind of modern music. We try to stay out of any sort of scene, so I haven’t heard-- I think I’ve heard a song, but I don’t really know if I have [by] any of the bands we’re touring with. I know they’re kind of popular and cool, and we’re really excited to go on tour with them, and it’ll be nice to make some new friends on the road.

C: If you could go on tour with anyone, who would be your ideal tour mates?
J: Well, if they were still going, I think my favorite band to tour with would be Orange Juice. [pauses] Morrissey, but he might be a little dramatic to be on the road with.

C: I was surprised when I got Summertime! and found out that it was only seven songs. Are you planning another short album or a longer one next time? Will you keep writing and recording while you’re on the road?
J: Well, Summertime! is technically an EP. In the States they called it an EP, in England they were calling it a mini-album. The full length is actually completed. We wrote most of the songs at the same time we wrote songs for the EP. Without sounding dramatic, it’s a little more personal and a little more brooding; it’s not all handclaps and whistles. We wrote a big batch of songs in Florida, and we noticed that we had a lot of summery-sounding, feel-good songs. The subject matter was still sad, but they had this sort of summery, 1960’s thing about them, so we decided to put them all together and call the EP Summertime! and be as blatant as we could. It kind of stays in form with our biggest obsession, which is pop music. I think every great pop song has to be simple and straightforward. Naturally, what was left was a little bit darker, more serious, more brooding. But Jacob still says this one song called ‘Book of Stories,’ which I think is pretty sad, could play at a 1950’s prom, so I don’t know.

C: Do you think the summery feel was influenced by living in Florida? Since you’ve moved to New York, will the songs have a more New York feel next time you write?
J: As much as I don’t want to admit it, I am very much a product of my surroundings. [slightly ironic] I’m a very sensitive soul, so when something changes around me I’m somewhat affected by it. When I moved to Florida with Jacob it was the dead of winter in New York. We drove down and it was the endless summer, sunny and warm every day, and I think without knowing it we started writing songs with a summery flavor. Everything I’d written before had been kind of dark. I imagine if I went to Russia and wrote an album, it would come back bony and dark and somewhat obscure and strange. For writing the next record I don’t know what I’ll do, if I’ll go back to Florida-- I don’t know if I can stomach that. [laughs] But definitely, where I am does play a part-- not in who I am as a person but in the songs that I put out.

C: What’s your favorite song to play live? Besides ‘Let’s Go Surfing,’ which I’m sure crowds are always excited about-- or maybe that’s not a favorite...
J: [laughs] ‘Let’s Go Surfing’ is actually one of my least favorite songs to play live. It’s just-- I don't know. I’d rather play any other song really. I think my favorite is a new song that we haven’t played live yet called ‘Book of Stories.’ It’s a really personal song and it really means something to me. I think when you believe in what you’re singing there’s something very powerful about that.
C: Do you think you’ll stop playing ‘Let’s Go Surfing’ someday?
J: Yeah, but probably not for a very long time. But we might just not be able to take it anymore. [laughs]
C: I sense some animosity.
J: No, I mean, we love the song. But I don’t know, of all the songs--we were still figuring everything out when we wrote ‘Let’s Go Surfing.’ But I think it’s really interesting and fun, you know? And it’s done so much for us. It’s funny; when we wrote ‘Let’s Go Surfing’ I was literally like, “Should we just use the word surfing?” and [Jacob] goes, “Why? We don’t surf.” I was like “I know, I don't even know why. It might really hold us back because I don't know anybody who surfs, do you?” and he was like, “No.” I said, “So no one is going to be able to relate to this song. No one’s gonna like it.” But we decided to just do it, because our number one rule is just do whatever we want. It’s just funny that it took off, and all these people who don't surf either want to dance to a song about surfing.
C: So none of you have ever surfed?
J: No, not that I know of. That song technically--we wrote in on inauguration day, when Obama was coming into office, and it’s more a song about being carefree and being let out of prison and just running wild. Unabashed freedom, you know? It felt like all of America was being let out of jail on that day, so it was a spur of the moment thing. I think living in Florida, near the beach, surfing was in our minds subconsciously. It’s a strange thing how that song came together. If you listen to the second verse it’s all about Obama moving into the White House. We’re not a political band at all, and we’re not really political at all as people, but it was really hard to not be moved by what was happening at the time.

C: So my last question is kind of the traditional beginning of the year deal-- what are you looking forward to most for 2010?
J: I think the most exciting thing for us is to release this album-- that should be like early spring. We put a lot into it, we’re really proud. Being on the road is going to be interesting. We looked at our schedule the other day for this year. We leave in a couple of weeks and we’re not back until around September or October. And I think I’m going to try to find time to write more songs, I want to constantly be writing. I think the most exciting thing is the unknown. I was so bored with my life before this. A lot of people start a band up being really inspired, for me it was kind of the opposite, everything seemed so dull and boring and I was kind of depressed. So I’m excited for a year of being busy and excited. There are so many unknowns right now; everything is so new, and it’s exciting to ride the wave-- [laughs] no pun intended.