Norwegian Shame

Twenty years ago this very week the Earlies had our first gig in mainland Europe, in Norway no less! I think it was a first time in the country for most of us, I don’t think I’d ever been before. There’s a lot that fades away from these gigs over time but there are a few things I remember about that first trip. I remember that we were going in and out, we had a gig at Kenwood House on the Sunday that we had to get back for. We used Mark out of Oceansize yet again. He drove our backline to Norway, slept for an hour while we played and then immediately got back in the van and drove the gear back to London. He made it to both gigs with barely half an hour to spare and was as fucked as I’d ever seen him. I remember that we had to fly from Stanstead, there were no appropriate flights from Manchester. We drove down overnight from Manchester and then just lay around on the floor of the airport sleeping until check-in opened. Then we drank a bit and got on the plane. Slept a bit, drank a bit, etc. We got to Norway and had to play almost immediately after arriving at the festival with a bright, low sun shining directly in our eyes. None of us had sunglasses because we’re not cool. Nicky is pretty cool so he sometimes has some but I have the crow’s feet of an old sea dog. Anyway, I remember doing that gig and sweating and squinting, probably burning too. Then we stuck the gear in the van, sent Mark off driving to London and got on the piss again.

This isn’t an epic story that I’m going to flesh out in grimy details like my Glastonbury post from the other week but I do have an anecdote from it that seems worth sharing. That’s what life boils down to- anecdotes, and they all have their different costs. Financial costs, reputational costs, health costs, all in the service of little tales years down the line. This anecdote is the fruit of spending a few thousand pounds sending a gang of idiots to Norway, depriving them of sleep and destroying their chances of album sales and future gigs there. It’s pretty funny though.

After our lengthy day on the piss at this Norwegian festival, where day didn’t really turn into night and we all went on longer than we were supposed to, we woke to have breakfast in the hotel. Somebody had picked up one of the day’s national newspapers and leafing through it saw that there we were, in the actual paper! It had lots of Viking looking words, lines through vowels and the like, but the word Earlies was definitely there and there was a photo of us. This was thrilling, international fucking press! We’d arrived, again!

We scoured the hotel looking for a translator and found an impeccable looking Scandinavian businessman with a briefcase and a suit on. Glorious head of hair, good tan, stylish glasses- the works. We said, “There’s a review of our band in the newspaper, could you translate it for us?” We were all smiling and shiny-eyed, like dogs waiting for a treat.

“Sure guys” he said, “no problem.”

He neatly folded his own newspaper and took ours. He looked at the photo and then looked up at us moronically nodding back at him for validation. He scanned over the article, looked up at our still grinning faces, cleaned his glasses and then went in again.

Finally he said “Guys, this is not good.”

He started picking through the big points for us, pointing vaguely at the inscrutable text and saying key words.

“Looked tired,” he said.

“Underprepared,” he said.

“A little bit arrogant, and possibly drunk,” was offered.

“Bothered by the sunlight,” was a gentle one we could all agree with.

“No real songwriting” was a kick in the balls but not entirely groundless.

“Lots of equipment,” he said. Or maybe it was “Too much equipment.”

After watching us all deflate in front of him he told us “have a good day” and we thanked him through shit-eating grins. As Nathan would say we got served harsh browns for breakfast.

I never read a negative Earlies review that I didn’t agree with.

Sabbath

I was genuinely warmed by news of what an awesome spectacle Black Sabbath’s farewell gig was last week, how metal’s heroes all came together to send off their founding fathers with a massive celebration. I’m not a heavy metal fan but I do like Black Sabbath, they’re an exciting and interesting band who invented an entire outsider genre. If you started a metal band tomorrow there’d be an entire code of conduct in place for you, you’d know what you can wear, what hairstyles pass, what instruments to use, what your lyrics should refer to and what your album covers should look like. When they started none of that was there, they were just really great musicians with some dark ideas. I like the fact that they managed to organise a send off while Ozzy still had something left to bring to it. I like the fact that their community came together around them. I like the fact that they took it home to Birmingham. Knowing when you’re done and bowing out is the rarest of attributes in the music industry, I’m a little bit awed when I see it.

Like I say, I’m not a metal fan, but this week I’ve been reminded of this old gem. introduced to me by Jimi Goodwin eleven years ago during one of his marathon DJ sets in the back of Harry’s van. Brownout are a Latin funk outfit from Austin and Brown Sabbath is their take on the Black Sabbath catalogue, there’s also a Brown Sabbath II so they obviously had some fun doing it. It’s testament to the fact that good writing, and particularly good riff writing knows no genre boundaries. This album also features JM’s MIEN bandmate Alex Maas on Hand of Doom if you’re interested in The Earlies degrees of separation.

I’ve just clocked that Brownout also released Fear of a Brown Planet in 2018, a homage to the Public Enemy album of (almost) the same name. I’m ten minutes in and I love it. Get stuck in.

Ultimate Sportsmen

My good pal Olly, guitar tech for Jake Bugg, sent this through to me last week. The Jake Bugg crew love sporting pursuits of the less athletic variety. They’ll taxi across Berlin to a pub rumoured to have a snooker table. They dragged me through the back streets of Malta to a cash only bar with a dartboard. They like to competitively flip beer mats. Anyway, Olly sends me clips of odd games that have intrigued him and I was pulled right in by this one where German contestants have to slice produce into two perfect identically weighted halves. I know you’ll think “piece of piss” when they tackle the aubergine but you’ll sweat like the contestants themselves when it’s time for a knobbly piece of ginger.

Watching this is how Bonehead and me prepared for the biggest gig of our lives last week. I think we spent our time wisely.