Monday June 13th - Baltimore MD

Apparently James spent all of his "downtime" in the nation's capitol at the Smithsonian.  He was sporting a new NASA T-shirt today with the names of all the moon missions on the back.  Only James.

Our show at the Arcadia was...well, let's just say unusual.  I don't know who figured out this bill, but I'm guessing it went something like this.  Someone got a copy of Another Day, Another Fat Pile of Cash, put the disc in, played "Pigs Might Fly", heard a mellow guitar and keyboard line, and decided, "A-ha!  This is the perfect band to open for Sticky Wiccan!"  Which we weren't.  But the more I think about it, the more I wonder if any band is the perfect band to open for Sticky Wiccan.

I first noticed something a bit...well, off...while we setting up the gear.  I noticed a sign stating that the drink special was "Bonny Brew".  James and I laughingly wondered what was in that concoction, but didn't give it much thought otherwise.  Then once we hit the stage and began our set, I looked out into the crowd.  Let's just say there were a lot more cloaks than I'm accustomed to seeing.  Ends up Sticky Wiccan isn't just a cute 'n' clever name - they actually are, um, Wiccans.  You know, witches.  As are most of their fans.  Sticky Wiccan plays surprisingly rocking music - not folkie-Celtic, not metal, just straight-up rock - about dragons and spells and nature and all that.  And, of course, the witchy audience ate it up with a spoon.  Still, the coven was quite polite to us, they seemed to enjoy our songs, and Cheryl even sold four T-shirts.  All black ones, naturally.

Tuesday June 14th - Philadelphia PA

The mystique of a Philadelphia cheesesteak is indeed great.  Greater than even I imagined.  How great?  James actually ate one for lunch.  Admittedly, he got the Cheese Steak Supreme at Subway rather than a real one, but anything that compels him to order something other than his normal chicken sandwich is a mighty force indeed.  But as prevalent as cheesesteaks are here, we couldn't find a store that carried Peach Flavored Fresca to save our lives...or at least to quench our thirsts.  We're stuck with Original Fresca, at least until New York.  The sacrifices one makes for rock 'n' roll...

We had some spare time before the show, so at the suggestion of John Faye (from headlinin' Ike), we took in the Mutter Museum.  Sadly, they don't allow photography there, so we weren't able to get a picture of James next to the World's Largest Colon.  Very bizarre, but probably not the best place to go right after consuming Philly cheesesteaks and Fresca.

X's and O's was the name of the venue in Philadelphia, although nobody seemed to know why.  One of those mysteries that's been lost to the mists of time.  The crowd seemed to enjoy our set, and that was probably because we were finally paired with a band that sounded something like us.  Ike brought the rock in a melodic way, albeit a completely different melodic way than we did.  After they finished their set, the crowd kept cheering, so they asked us to join them onstage for their encore.

James asked, "What song?"

"Can you do 'Fat Bottomed Girls'?" asked John. 

"In my sleep," said James.

So we did.  They swapped instruments around - John was on drums, bassist Joann played guitar, drummer Dave played bass, and guitarist Cliff sang lead vocals.  James took rhythm guitar - OK, he doubled the lead guitar, mainly, but he did get to yelp out, "Get on your bikes and ride!"  I just pounded a tambourine and sang harmony.  Off key.  WAY off-key.  But everyone had a great time anyway.  Hope to work with Ike again soon.

Wednesday June 15th - New York NY

It was still quite early when we pulled up outside Raph's in New York City, but apparently, it wasn't early enough.  Any spot big enough for the Moneygrubbing Squirrel was already taken by another RV or trailer.  While Cheryl circled the block, we ran inside and found the owner, who, to my utter shock, was actually named Raph.  Raph told us that the next-closest place to park was almost a mile away.  This wasn't as horrible as it sounds - Raph's has a little golf-cart-like thingumy that they use to drive out to your far-off vehicle.  Then you load your equipment on the golf cart, hop on board, and you get driven back to the venue.  Very nice.  Too bad James missed it - he had his helmet on and was off on that bike of his without so much as a "Ta, Ian."  Cheryl and I enjoyed a Subway-free meal by hitting the Denny's next door, then I lay down in the back of the MGS for a nap.

Well, I say I enjoyed my Moons Over My Hammy, but I didn't a few hours later.  It attacked my GI like a rabid wolverine.  I lay moaning in bed right next to the bathroom for the entire afternoon.  By the time I felt good enough to sit up, it was showtime.  Luckily, Raph sent the golfcart out to pick me up, and I spent the trip zooming slowing through the streets of New York wondering if I could get through the set without having to make a mad dash off the stage.

When I entered the door to the club, I thought I had become delusional.  There, on stage, was a go-go dancer.  Or, perhaps a "gone-gone" dancer - she appeared to be several years too old for the role.  She had just finished up one number, and it was announced, as someone handed her a flaming torch, that "Fetchin' Gretchen" would now do her "fire dance".  I wasn't exactly sure what I was expecting, but whatever it was, it certainly wasn't for her to fidget around a little while holding the torch as far from her body as possible.  While this is always a good idea - she apparently had grasped the concept that "fire burns" - the performance was somewhat lacking.  It looked less like an erotic display and more like a quick lesson on fire prevention.  I do question the choice of "Once Bitten Twice Shy" as accompaniment, as well.

Once Gretchen (Fetchin'?  Ms Gretchen?) had accepted the far-too-polite applause and wandered off, I took the stage and, in my weakened state, tried to figure out if all our instruments were in place.  Before I could even finish inventory, Raph came on stage and introduced me as, "British hit-maker, Bikini Test Failure!" There was more polite applause as I looked around frantically for James, whom I hadn't seen since he disappeared in the morning.  Not spying him, I decided I'd best stall for time.  I got a basic rhythm track going, and began playing the two chords from "Pigs Might Fly" on the keyboard.  While doing so, I tried to figure out how much of this set I could actually handle by myself...and I more or less decided, "None of it."  Sure, I can play guitar, keys, bass, drums, and pretty much whatever you throw at me.  But I can't sing.  At all.  I can't carry a tune in a bucket. 

Before I got too panicked, though, James walked on stage about thirty seconds into "Pigs" like nothing had happened.  He strapped on his guitar and joined in, and then nodded over at my other instruments.  Apparently, he wanted me to cycle through the instruments like I had back in Atlanta.  I did that, until I had gotten to my guitar, at which point James swapped the rhythm track and segued beautifully into "Fling".  After that, it was our standard set.  Well, standard considering I spent half of my time trying to mentally keep my stomach at bay, and the other half wondering what the hell had happened to James.

Once the set was over, I staggered off the stage while James said the thank yous.  The guys in Anchovy Butterscotch (who were up next) kindly helped get all my instruments off stage and onto the golf cart, and about twenty minutes later, I was in my bunk asleep, trying to forget the day even happened.

Thursday June 16th - New York NY

Because we got a two-night stand in this fine city, I got to sleep off any residual effects of the evil Moons Over My Hammy.  I finally woke up with James sitting beside me, futzing around on his guitar.  I asked him why he showed up so late to the gig last night.  He answered...well, I don't really remember what he answered.  I wasn't quite awake yet.  I do remember him mentioning coffee, Rockerfeller, Bob Dylan, the USS Intrepid, and the Reginald Perrin Memorial Foundation.  It was sort of a longish answer to a simple question. 

I finally asked, "Well, you're not going to do it again today, are you?"

"Couldn't if I wanted - we're on in thirty."

Spelunkers isn't just a clever name, as it turns out.  You actually have to ride one of those freaking dumbwaiters down to get into the place.  If I were more on my game, I'd write some sort of "underground music" joke here, but I'm still somewhat weak.  Let's just pretend I did. 

Didn't do so well at this gig, and as usual when this happens, there's plenty of blame to spread around.  I still wasn't completely on my game, although James picked up the slack admirably.  And then there was the headliner.  We opened for a New York band that's been getting some buzz - No Not Him.  Lots of extremely earnest vocals right at the top of the singer's range, and a ton of lo-fi keyboards backing up the shredding guitar.  Good if you like that sort of thing, but not exactly the perfect band for us to open for.  To make matters worse, Kevin, the lead singer of No Not Him, actually announced, "Thanks to Bikini Test Failure for putting our fans to sleep before we brought the rock," just before they launched into their signature number "Dancing Is a Health Hazard".  James sort of waved it off, which was big of him.  I wanted to go slash their tires.

We were loading our stuff out after the gig when Kevin pried himself away from his adoring fans and chased us down.  "Hey there," he said.  "Just wanted to say I loved your set."

I didn't know what to say to that.  "Um, didn't you accuse us of putting the crowd to sleep?"

Kevin kind of changed color when he heard that.  "Oh, that.  Just joshin', you know.  No hard feelings."  He turned back to James and said, "So you guys are headed up to Bangor?"  James and I exchange a look, then nodded.  "Fantastic.  Could you take one of our press packs up with you?  And if you get the opportunity...you know."

James smiled.  "I'd be happy to."

"Great!"  Kevin scurried back to the stage, grabbed a folder, and handed it to James.  "Thanks.  And I really did like your set."

"Thanks," said James.  "We liked yours too." 

We finished loading up the dumbwaiter, and as we rode up, James flipped open the folder, pulled out the expected CD-in-cardboard-sleeve, and inspected the cover.  He showed it to me with a smile - a picture of No Not Him lying on a raft, looking like shipwreck victims.  Then James pulled out the CD and read the top, just as the elevator reached the street.  James smiled, put everything down except the CD, took two steps, and flung the CD like a frisbee down the street.  Then he turned back to me and shrugged.

"I'm not much of a fan," he said.

Hiya - here is the iTunes link for the bikini test failure album

http://phobos.apple.com/WebObjects/MZStore.woa/wa/viewAlbum?playListId=58819207

Thursday June 9th - Raleigh NC

I don't pretend to know everything there is about going on tour in America.  That said, I've done it enough that I can predict certain things will happen over the course of a nationwide tour.  For example, after roughly a week on the road, you start noticing - and getting annoyed at - little things that the other people around you do.  Whether it's obsessively clearing your throat (Cheryl), muttering under your breath (James), or constantly clicking those click-stick pens on and off (me), these little things start building up.  It'll probably be another week before we start making smart-ass comments about them, and we're at least two weeks away (hopefully) from a shouting match.  But we seem to have a slightly unusual one to add to the normal things.

In general, the main friction between a band and the label rep is over, in simplistic terms, "art vs. commerce".  The label rep will want the band to go to a radio station, say, or some big event to plug their music, and the band won't want to, either because of laziness or because it's "beneath them".  James, however, not only has no problem pushing his product, he keeps hounding Cheryl to come up with more and more ways for him to "get the word out" in each town we visit.  He and Cheryl were mixing it up early this morning as I drove into North Carolina.  James wanted to walk in to the biggest record store in Raleigh - Licorice Pizza or something - and offer to set up and play there early this afternoon.  Cheryl kept insisting that you can't do that, you can't just walk in and expect them to let you play.  James kept saying, "Well, you can't if you don't try" and Cheryl went on about how that will cause problems at the retail level, and on and on. 

If that all weren't enough, tomorrow is the first day all the BTF songs are available on iTunes, and James has been sort of dancing around the last few days with excitement.  He made some sort of passing reference to it last night on stage, but he went full force today.  He had all these little cards printed up.  They've got that damn squirrel on them, but he's wearing an iPod, and the banner "Bikini Test Failure is now on iTunes!" stretches across the front.  He wants Cheryl to pass them out at the shows, but she claims she's too busy with merch, and besides, won't this cut into CD sales at the venue?  Another argument ensues.  When I finally pulled up to the venue, James already had his helmet on, and he biked off into the city almost before I had put the brake on.

That's at least one positive thing.  He tends to vanish for long periods of time once we get to the city, so I don't OD on the tortured artist quite so much.  As an added bonus, we got to eat somewhere besides Subway for lunch.  James always wants Subway.  For the last three days, he not only has gone to Subway, but has ordered the same damn thing.  Foot-long teriyaki chicken.  Half for lunch, the other half stored in the fridge on top of the Peach Frescas until dinner.  Even at PepsiCo, where they offered us free meals, James said no and walked to Subway instead to get his damn sandwich.  I can tell you on thing - he's not eating a Subway sandwich in Boise.  Cheryl and I found a barbecue joint, and enjoyed razzing the absent James over a rack of ribs.

Major technical problems tonight at Hank's, but it was one of those "it's nobody's fault" things.  We had taken the stage, introduced ourselves, and managed to get about 30 seconds into "God Only Knows" when the power went out.  We stopped and waited as the waitresses started lighting small candles all around the joint.  After about five minutes, James said (rather loudly - no mic), "So should we just go acoustic, then?"  People seemed agreeable, so we both pulled up some stools, grabbed our acoustics, and started over.  We're about halfway through "God Only Knows" - just to where James sings, "It's all changed" - pop!  Light back on.  And of course, the mood of the audience changes again.  With the lights out, the crowd was quite mellow, and it appeared as if they were getting into our little unplugged performance.  But once the stage lights came back on, it was time to "bring the rock" again, and here we were, strumming along like a couple of folkies.  We finished the number (to mild applause), then switched back to electrics.  And of course, in the middle of "Get What's Coming", the power cut out again.  "You're in my light, I got a...."  James just stood at the mic waiting until the power came back on (about three minutes later), then continued the song precisely where it had cut out.  "...plan, you've lost the plot..."  I had to struggle to rejoin.  In retrospect, it was quite funny, but I don't think anyonegot it.  James mentioned iTunes at least three times during the set (I may be short one), but we had lost the crowd long ago.  Then cometh the headliner:  Badger Gas played some sort of earnest King Crimson-meets-hair metal, the audience ate it up, and of course they got full power for their entire set.

Some days you get the bear...

Friday June 10th - Richmond VA

James has what he calls his "book".  It's a big fat red spiral notebook, and there's a small "Great Job!" happy-face sticker on it.  (Not sure if it's just some random sticker he came across, or if he really thinks he's doing a great job.)  Whenever he gets an idea - either for music or promotion - he jots it down in that book.  Whenever James opens the book, Cheryl checks to see where he is.  If he flips to somewhere near the front of the notebook, it's music-related, and Cheryl can rest easy.  If it's near the back, she closes her eyes and shakes her head - it means James has hit upon yet another amazing way to get his CD into the grubby paws of the unwashed masses, and she'll probably end up explaining why this new scheme won't work, either.

Cheryl's been getting lucky recently.  Everything he's been writing down has been in the front of the book.  I glanced at a page as I walked by.  It was almost completely filled with black, blue, red and green scribbles.  Up and down the margins, everywhere.  The only two words I caught - "POWER! POWER!"  Written in red, circled, underlined, highlighted.  I have no idea what this means, but I love a good mystery, so it's given me something to ponder as I nod off at night.  Yeah, I could just ASK him, but where's the fun in that?

The show at the Jupiter Theater went really well.  We opened for a singer/songwriter named Jesse Garon, who plays solo.  This means, for possibly the only time on the tour, WE were the rockin' ones on the bill!  Lots of people standing up by the stage, doing that half-sway/half-dance thing people do when they don't really know the music but they're enjoying it.  I noticed one guy near the front - short, balding, thick glasses - who sang along with every word.  I tried to point him out to James, but he didn't catch it.  He's kinda pissed about that, too - watching someone sing your songs back to you is quite an experience.  Even if he is short, balding, and male.

Saturday June 11th - Washington DC

Two days in the nation's capitol.  We've got a show tonight at the Skyliner, and then we're taking part in a radio station's big all-day summer music festival tomorrow.  Even though everything's been pretty peaceful the last 24 hours, James threw his helmet on and pedalled off the second I parked the Flying Pig.  No idea where he goes or why, but as long as he's back by soundcheck (which he always is), no harm done.

We were getting our traditional opening-band, five-minute sound check at Skyliner this evening when we discovered that my Casio is busted.  Well, it says it's not busted - it turns on, lights up, displays everything, but no sound comes out, so no matter what it says, I say it's busted.  I tried not to obsess over whether I had slammed it around too hard yesterday after the "power-no-power" gig in Raleigh, but James sort of set me back on track by saying, "Who cares why?  What are we gonna do about it?"  And he's right.  Forget assigning blame - fix the problem.  Luckily, Morgan, who plays keys and guitar for the headliner Love of Chair, happened to see us trying to get the thing to work.  He tried a few things to see if he could fix it, but when that was no go, he offered the use of his keyboard.  "I only really need it at the end, anyway," he said.  If that weren't enough, he helped me navigate the thing, finding some excellent sounds I needed for our set.  I thanked him profusely, swore that I would be extra careful with it, and promised him a huge plug both onstage and here in the blog.

Ahem.

SWING BY LOVE OF CHAIR'S WEBSITE, AND PICK UP THEIR LATEST CD AND WHAT ABOUT NAOMI?  THE ALBUM IS GREAT, THE BAND IS AMAZING LIVE, AND THE BAND MEMBERS ARE THE COOLEST PEOPLE EVER.

All right, where was I?

Oh, right, the gig.  It went fairly well.  Playing the wrong keyboard added just enough weirdness to keep me from really getting into it, though.  I kept worrying that I'd hit the wrong button, clear the presets, and I'd be stuck with "crap piano" sound.

I figured the least I could do was stick around to catch Love of Chair.  It did take me a bit of time to get all our gear stashed away, so I missed the first half of the set, but someone told me the second half was pretty much the same as the first.  Their set was arranged as one long performance, no breaks between the songs, and it was hard to figure out really where one song ended and the next one began.  Suddenly, I'd realize the rhythm had shifted, or the lyrics had changed, or something, so I guess that indicated "new song".  I couldn't make out much of the lyrics, either because the sound was crap or because Skip liked to mumble and moan a lot.  No one in the audience seemed put out by this - apparently, they're really big here in DC, and they all loved it.  LoC closed their set - or their performance - with the title track to And What About Naomi?, which actually had lyrics that people could understand, and a bunch of people in the crowd sang along.  The song suddenly rushed to an end, as Skip shrieked, "This boy ain't sitting.  This boy is quitting!"  And Morgan ran over to the keyboard he loaned me - the one he hadn't touched until now - and played, solo, a low C.  End of song, end of show.

It may not be art, but it looked cool.

I finally managed to get the pictures onto the laptop, but now I can't open the damn files.  Soon, soon...

Sunday June 12th - Washington DC (still)

Remember yesterday, when I said we'd be playing at a radio station's "big all-day" event?  I obviously didn't think about what that meant.  This event actually does go on all day.  And because BTF is next-to-unknown here in America, we played early.  Really early.  James and Cheryl dragged my sorry butt out of bed at seven, and we were on stage to kick off the show at eight friggin' am.  We played to maybe thirty people, fifteen of which worked for Wow107 ("Where the music makes you say WOW!"), and maybe ten of the people were random folks who happened to be walking by.  Considering the crowd and the time, I think we did quite well.  Meaning James only botched the lyrics three times, and he only had to remind me twice what instrument I should be playing.

While we were breaking down our stuff, we saw the next band waiting to come on - Bonus Pretzel.  I chatted a bit with Marcus, their bass player.  I asked how they were going to do their movie thing at this outdoor event, and he sort of shrugged and said, "We...sort of gave that up."  He pointed out that they had lost a guitarist but gained a sax player, and they had taken their songs "more in a Stax/Volt direction".  I would've liked to hear that, but it wasn't meant to be.

As I finished loading up the RV, Cheryl asked if I'd mind talking with her for a bit.  Actually, I did mind - I wanted to go back to bed - but she insisted, so we trudged off to a nearby coffee shop.  I was expecting one of two things.  Either she was going to ask me how to talk to James about some business thing, or she was going to ask me if she thought it'd be OK if she asked James out.  So after making sure I had my two answers ready ("I don't know" and "hell no"), she of course asked me something completely different.

"Are you still writing that online tour diary thing for James?"  I told her I was.  "Have you been telling people the name of the tour vehicle?"  I told her I had.  She handed me a couple sheets of paper, and the caffeine attempted to aid my sleep-deprived brain in interpreting it.  Finally, Cheryl came to my rescue.  "It's a cease-and-desist order."  Cease and desist what?  "Calling your tour vehicle...what you've been calling it?"  From who?  "Pink Floyd.  They own the rights to all swine with flight capabilities."  I must have sat there staring at Cheryl for over two minutes before finally guessing that she was kidding.  "No.  They're dead serious."  So they own the rights to all swine with flight capabilities?  "Yes. As well as refracted light and men in business suits shaking hands."

Before we left town, in a subdued ceremony, the RV was rechristened the Moneygrubbing Squirrel. 

Friday, June 3rd - Manchester

Hello, cyberfolks far and near!  My name is Ian Armstrong, guitarist/keyboardist/drummer/whatever for hire.  James has asked me to accompany him on his first American tour of radio stations, festivals, corporate events, and various other venues.  We've been rehearsing for the last few weeks, and it looks like we've gotten these suckers nailed to the wall.  So look out, America - Bikini Test Failure is about to infect you with its power-pop-rock!

In order to justify the huge quantity of cash James has promised to pay me, he has asked me to keep a journal during this tour, so we can inform you, the great masses, how the tour is progressing.  All the ups, downs, and sidesteps will be duly reported by me here.  In a couple hours, we're headed to the airport to catch a flight to Florida, and the Bikini Test Failure - Hidden Knives Tour will begin.  Prepare to have you and your loved ones rocked in a melodic way!  I swear on my stack of Beatles original Capitol pressings to post here every day, even if nothing happens at all.  Hope you find this tour blog of interest, and we'll see you on the road!

Saturday, June 4th - Orlando FL

I'm not a superstitous guy.  I don't read the horoscopes in the papers, I don't consult the oracles before embarking on a trip, and I've never slashed open a chicken to see if its entrails suggest that this would be a good day to buy a lottery ticket.

That said, this is not an auspicious start to the tour.

We're in Orlando, Florida - James (who idiotically insists on wearing his black leather jacket even in this heat - always the rock star!), our label-rep-turned-tour-manager Cheryl Stroup, and myself.  There is so much we could be doing here.  We could be swimming with the dolphins.  We could be cavorting in an orange grove.  Or we could be living it up with a seven-foot mouse in red shorts.  Instead, we're stuck in a RV lot, underneath the 100-degree sun, trying to find out what happened to our tour vehicle.

A little back story.  The deal had been set up in early May by a woman at Blague Records named Petula "Just Call Me Pet" DeShayes.  She had insisted that since her brother-in-law worked at Harvey's RV Haven in Orlando, we could have the top-of-the-line Zoom model for the price of the smallest one.  Naturally, James was thrilled - crossing the US in style! - and agreed at once.  But a lot can change in a month.  Since then, both Pet and her brother-in-law have "moved on to other things" - Pet taking a gig at OffWhite Records in London, and her brother-in-law...well, nobody seems to know what happened to him, but he certainly doesn't work at Harvey's RV Haven any more.

Despite a bunch of phone calls, pleas, and forlorn looks (mostly from James, although Cheryl gave one or two as well), it seems the deal is off.  And as Cheryl has pointed out, the budget is pretty well set in stone.  Therefore, say "so long" to the top-of-the-line Zoom model, and "hello there" Econoclass.

It could be worse.  The Econoclass at least has room for all three of us to sleep somewhat comfortably without feeling crowded.  There's a small table in back where we can get some stuff done, the air conditioning actually works, and there's a fairly large refrigerator.  After agreeing at last to the terms, we filled the fridge up with Peach Flavor Fresca, loaded all of crap aboard, then stepped outside once more to christen the vehicle before we sailed off.  It took a few whacks before James was able to break the bottle of sparkling cider across the bumper (and the RV guy looked horrified), but a few seconds later, the Flying Pig with its crew of three was on its way to Gig Number One.  Downtown Disney, here we come!

I have some photos of the "christening ceremony" - I'll post them as soon as I get a second.

Sunday June 5th - Orlando FL (still)

We're in the happiest place on earth, and I sort of thought I'd be happier.

The first stop on the Bikini Test Failure - Hidden Knives US Tour 2005 isn't just in Orlando.  Oh, no.  We're actually in Downtown Disney, a very strange collection of shops, bars, shops, restaurants, and...oh, yes, more shops where apparently vacationing adults go when they're sick of Mickey Mouse and children.  We were slated to play at a place called Club HiFi.  It looks the same as 95f all nightclubs, with two main differences.  First off, in keeping with the rather silly name, they have the walls lined with old stereos and speakers, which makes it confusing when you try to figure out where exactly the sound is going to come from.  Secondly, the entire place is clean clean clean.  The couches backstage are nice and comfy, and no band has yet dared scrawled their name or slapped one of their stickers on the walls.  Such is the power of one mouse.

We had the opening slot, which we're more or less resigned to having throughout this tour.  The headliner is a four-piece from San Francisco that calls themselves Champagne Peanut Butter Explosion.  Really quiet guys, but they seemed nice enough.  About an hour before we went on, we were backstage trying to figure out our playlist for the night.  Bruce, the singer/bassist for CPBE walked over and looked over our shoulder.  "What's your cover?" he asked.  We told him we didn't have a cover in our set, although we had Teenage Fanclub's "The Concept" if we needed an encore. 

Bruce shook his head.  "Didn't you know? You've got to cover a Disney song if you play at Disney properties.  It's in the contract."  We all laughed, "Ha-ha, good one, Bruce", but he said he was serious.  James got that "oh no" look on his face, and leapt up to find Cheryl.  Cheryl made a couple calls, dug up some old papers, and found out that Bruce was right.  We either had to play a Disney song or forfeit our pay.  Frantically, James and I started wracking our brains, trying to think of a Disney song that we both knew - one that wasn't, as James said, "utter shite".  Finally, in desperation, we started working up a dual-electric-guitar version of "Chim Chim Cheree" from Mary Poppins.  On our second time through, James sang it in a horrible American accent, which cracked me up.  "James, you've got to do that on stage," I told him.  James said no, he couldn't, but I finally convinced him otherwise.

For the first show of the tour, we actually did pretty good.  I remembered which instrument went with which song, and James only flubbed the lyrics to two of his songs, which is actually not bad for him.  The crowd was pretty modest - about a hundred or so quite folks - bu they appeared happy to be hearing something that wasn't aimed at the over-ten set.  You could almost hear the audience roll their eyes when we launched into "Chim Chim Cheree", but they started laughing once James started singing in what sounded like a cross between a Southern drawl and a major speech impediment.  He only knew that one verse, so he sang it three friggin' times, but nobody seemed to mind.  After closing with "Are We Having", James mumbled his "Cheers - thanks a lot", then we staggered backstage.  The first gig of the tour is always the toughest, and we sort of collapsed on the couch.  James seemed pleased, although he said he was sure that someone had recorded "Chim Chim Cheree" and it'd end up as a B-side before the year was out.  James - always the optimist.  Cheryl joined us briefly and told us that she sold six CDs and one "Squirrel Nutkin" T-shirt, so that was encouraging. 

I managed to catch the tail end of CPBE's set, but I wish I'd seen more.  Some sort of swirling psychedelic pop.  Bruce announced at the end of the set that they were about to play their Disney song.  "This isn't the most popular Disney song, but it means a lot to me," he said, then launched into what he said was the theme song from something called Rose Fox.  I didn't catch much of the lyrics - "Rose Fox, Rose Fox, you're for me" was repeated a lot.  I think there was something about "a skunk in love" in there, too, but I might have missed that.  It was a pretty awful song, and while I was standing there wondering why they had chose this piece of drivel to cover, a couple Disney folks came on stage and began yelling at Bruce.  Bruce kept waving them away and warbling, "Rose Fox, Rose Fox, you're for me" until the Disney folks pulled the plug on their equipment, and physically dragged Bruce off the stage.  As one of the Disney guys walked by, I asked, "What was that all about?"  The guy turned beet red and said, "That was...not...a Disney song" and hurried off.  Moral of the story - make sure your Disney song is, in fact, a Disney song.

Despite the low turnout, Cheryl says we got paid more for this gig than we'll probably make for the rest of the tour.  Again, such is the power of one mouse.

Monday, June 6th - Jacksonville FL

Things Ian Doesn't Get Number 5782.  Everyone in "the biz" will tell you that the best way to promote a gig in any town is to go on the radio.  Not just anytime, though - you need to go on the morning programs.  Why?  Who the hell is listening to the radio at 6am, hears a band, and thinks, "Yes, they sound like fun.  I'll go see them live at 10pm - eighteen hours from now"?  Nobody, that's who.  But Ian isn't in charge of things, and so we have to drag our tired posteriors into the studios of Whee93 at Butt-Crack:30.  I bring along my autoharp, since James has determined that we'll be playing "Fling" (and that's what I play for that one).  You ever wander lost through a huge office building early in the morning carrying an autoharp?  No?  Really?

We finally found the right place (on the twelfth floor at the end of the hall), and we're met by Kris-With-a-K, the producer of Whee 93's morning show.  She's very nice, but immediately laid down the main rule:  we are not to talk to "the talent" unless asked to.  During the commercial breaks and song selections, "the talent" will be hard at work brainstorming, and we are not to "disturb their creative process".  James and I shared a look before giving our assent.  Only then are we led down the hall into the studio.  Kris-With-a-K took her seat behind the massive board, and indicated for us to set up along the side of it.  Sitting across from her, and off to our side, was "the talent":  a twosome bearing the moniker "Skyler and the Weasel".  (This is the first, and hopefully only, time I've heard anyone named "Weasel" referred to as "talent".)  I never did find out which one is Skyler and which one is the Weasel, by the way. 

James and I watch in stunned silence for about half an hour as Skyler and the Weasel work their magic.  When the microphones are off, they're either staring up at the ceiling or down at their large mugs of coffee.  Their creative process during these times consisted of muttering things in a voice too low for me to hear.  I never did catch whether or not they were actually conversing, or just making random noises out loud.  I'm assuming the latter, since they never took their headphones off, and I doubt they could have heard each other.  They looked like two random lost souls on an inner city bus.  But every time Kris-With-a-K would say, "Ten seconds, guys", they'd perk up, lean forward, and begin chatting away in this overly happy tone.  Well, one of them - Skyler? - would chat away.  The other guy - the Weasel? - seemed to be in charge of making occasional comments - "You know that hurt!", "Busted!" - and playing goofy sound effects by hitting buttons off a small keypad.  The topic of the morning appeared to be "Sex in public restrooms - a good idea?"  We couldn't hear the phone calls they took - they never gave us headphones - but if you're wondering, the people of Jacksonville...at least, the ones tuning in...appear to feel that yes, it's a good idea, but only in the women's room. 

After about half an hour of this, James started getting fidgety.  I could see him start to form chords on his guitar, and just barely stop short before strumming them.  Finally, with no warning, Skyler (or the Weasel) said, "And speaking of hot girls in bathing suits, we have here in the studio - ALL THE WAY FROM ENGLAND! - the band Bikini Test Failure!  Welcome to Morning Mayhem, guys!"  James gave a half-smile and said, predictably, "Cheers - thanks a lot."  After determining that yes, James was the person he would want to talk to rather than me, Skyler/Weasel says, "So, James, ever done it in a public bathroom?"  James puts on his mock-serious-slightly-offended look and answered, "I'm sorry - are you propositionsing me?"  Kris-With-a-K laughed hysterically as Weasel/Skyler pressed a button and a snippet of "It's Raining Men" began playing   "Hey, now, I don't know what you heard, but we don't swing that way!" said Skyler/Weasel with a Santa-Claus-laugh, but looking like he wanted to ram James's guitar down his throat.

The interview didn't really recover from that point.  Skyler/Weasel seemed far more interested in the band name than anything else.  "Oho!  We've known a few Bikini Test Failures ourselves, now, haven't we?"  (Cue snippet of "Who Let the Dogs Out?")  Finally, we were given permission to start the song.  James announced at the top that "Fling" was about "having a fling and it all goes wrong", which was a mistake, because that led to another round of "Oho!  We've all been there, haven't we?".  But eventually we were allowed to actually play.  The song went well, I thought, although I missed the chord going into the bridge.  James shot me a look, but nobody else seemed to notice.  James played the last chord, and as it faded out into silence, he looked up at "the talent".  Both Skyler and the Weasel sat there, looking at absolutely nothing at all.  I looked over at James, who looked back at me with this "now what?" expression.  Finally, James said, "At this point, we expect the audience to applaud.  It's kind of egotistical, but..."  This seemed to snap "the talent" back into action.  "Oho!  What band isn't egotistical?  Am I right?"  Skyler/Weasel briefly mentioned our gig that night at the Black Cube (our whole supposed reason for being there), go to commercial, and we were herded back out.  Kris-With-a-K thanked us SO much for being there, and then quickly hurried back into the studio.  James watched her go, then muttered to himself all the way back to the RV, where we slept until noon.

After such a morning, the show at the Black Cube could only be anti-climactic.  The venue was well-named, although James thought "the Void" would've been a better name.  After the Disney experience, it was almost comforting to get back to a wretched, sticker-infested, bongwater-smelling venue again.  The sound was atrocious, but we'd been forewarned by the headliner that that would be the case.  The headliner was Bonus Pretzel, who played hard-rocking versions of spy/surf instrumental music while old silent films played behind them.  I would have liked to seen their whole gig, but we had to hit the road - corporate gig in Atlanta tomorrow afternoon...

Ends up I brought along the wrong cable (what's this one for?), so I can't upload photos just yet.  I'll keep taking the pictures, and post them once I get the right one.

Tuesday, June 7th - Atlanta GA

I should be better rested than I am.  God knows I had plenty of time to sleep, but I've got trouble nodding off while Cheryl's behind the wheel of the Flying Pig.  First off, she's got lousy taste in music.  Her CD collection seems to consist mainly of also-rans from reality TV series.  Add that to her driving style, which can charitably be called "a mite aggressive".  So I tried to nod off last night to Justin Guarini's warbling, punctuated by an occasional Cheryl comment like, "Oh, nice turn signal, asshole!".  Next purchase - sound-cancelling headphones.  Or at least some "soothing sounds" for my iPod.

The PepsiCoComplex is a sprawling, two-block by two-block monstrosity in the middle of Atlanta.  Apparently, this is PepsiCo's huge yearly meeting, and they've got people here from around the world, all "strategizing" ways to get you and me to enjoy their delicious beverages more and more.  We were slated to play not one, not two, but three sets here today.  James told me the plan - both of us playing during lunch, a solo James set in the afternoon, and another duo gig at night.  He warned me that none of the gigs was going to get much reaction from the people here, and so not to expect much.  In fact, he said, "Best bet is to just pretend it's a rehearsal."  I hesitantly asked, "Well, why exactly are we here, then?"  James, who was wearing the Squirrel Nutkin t-shirt, pointed to the bag of cash clasped tightly in Nutkin's paw.

Our first set was played several floors up, at I'm assuming was a high-ranking-but-not-quite-executive dining facility.  It's also larger than any room I've ever played in before - I could hardly see the other side from our makeshift stage.  The place was bustling and somewhat crowded, although most of the people were seated on the far side of the room.  Waiters walked by, dropping off plates of coq au vin (with Pepsi to drink!) while we set up our equipment.  James gave me some last-minute instructions - keep it quiet, and don't expect any applause.  James launched into our first number ("Star") without any preamble, and we made our way through our standard set list.  Occasionally, we'd get a bit of half-hearted applause after a song, but mainly it was like...well, like James said.  It was like rehearsal.

We reached the end of our setlist, and James seemed a bit panicked.  He told me he was contracted to do two hours, and we still had just shy of half an hour to kill.  We played "The Concept", and then "Fling" again, but we were still short fifteen minutes.  Finally, in desperation, James asks if I know "Pigs Might Fly".  That's the one song on Another Day, Another Fat Pile of Cash we didn't work out live, and for good reason - it's only 45 seconds long.  I tell James of course I know it - it's two chords.  He smiles and launches into it.  Confused, I get behind my Casio and follow along.  We proceed to do a fifteen-minute version of this 45 second classic.  By the time we wrapped it up, I took a solo on keyboard, autoharp, bass, trumpet, acoustic guitar, and melodica.  We finished just in time - I was frantically trying to figure out how I was going to pull off a tambourine solo.

James had to rush somewhere else to start his next set, so it was up to Cheryl and me to move the equipment down to the first floor in preparation for our gig than night.  While we were breaking down, Cheryl asked me, "What was that song you closed with?" 

"Um, it's called 'Pigs Might Fly'," I said.

"It's nice.  He really should write some lyrics to it and record it."

I didn't bother to tell her it was on the album.

I spent part of the afternoon shopping, looking for those sound-cancelling headphones.  No luck.  The only places I think I've ever seen them have been Sharper Image and in those magazines they have on airplanes.  Couldn't find anyone selling the cable for my camera, either.  I did stop by the PepsiCoComplex gift store, and bought a T-shirt that read "Diet Pepsi - One Small Calorie - Now You See It - Now You Don't" for just three bucks.  It appears to have been on the rack for some time.

Met back up with James right before our evening set.  He said the afternoon set was precisely as he imagined - him strumming away on an acoustic while people more or less ignored him.  The evening set was the same sort of deal as lunch, except instead of a lunchroom, we were in an atrium.  And instead of eating, everyone was drinking.  Because of that, the PepsiFolk seemed a bit more into it than they did during lunch.  Still not exactly what you might call a rowdy bunch.  We timed our set a bit better, and managed to avoid having to play "Pigs Might Fly" again (or "Chim Chim Cheree" either).

Once the gig had ended, we began loading up the Flying Pig.  It was around 9pm - I can't remember the last time I loaded up a tour vehicle with some daylight still around.  I began grumbling to James about how lousy these corporate gigs were.  James just smiled and told Cheryl, "Show him the check."  Cheryl reached into her bag, withdrew a folder, pulled out a check and held it up.  I stared at it a minute, then said, "Any chance they need us back tomorrow?"

Wednesday, June 8th - Columbia SC

Bad news - we had to do another radio show.  Good news - it wasn't a morning show.  Bad news again - it was a college station.

The only thing college radio and corporate radio appear to have in common is the word "radio" in their names.  Corporate radio is this huge multi-billion dollar super-efficient machine, and college radio is held together with duct tape and other things found around the home.  Corporate radio is an SUV, and college radio is a go-kart.

We walked into the small building on campus that houses No Hate 88.  The guy behind the front desk didn't even ask who we were - he just jerked his thumb over his shoulder, indicating where the studio was.  The studio had stacks of CDs surrounding a half-eaten pizza.  The young woman behind the mic was wearing a faded Modest Mouse t-shirt and a disaffected sulk.  She looked like she wore both of them a lot.  She saw us come in and sort of waved us in.

"Hi, welcome to No Hate 88.  I'm Jackie."  She waved us to the two seats opposite her, with two ancient mics in front of them.

James said, "Hello.  My name is James, and this is Ian.  We're Bikini Test Failure."

"Oh, right.  Bikini Test Failure.  That's the album with the squirrel on it, right?"

"That's right."

"I didn't like it.  Conventional drivel about interpersonal crap that's been done to death.  Not a single important issue.  Corporate, corporate, corporate."  She made a face, then said, "But I hear you recorded it in your bedroom, so I guess there may be some hope for you."

"Uh, thanks," said James.  "Did you want us to play a song while we're here?"

Jackie rolled her eyes.  "Well, you may as well, as long as you came all this way.  It'll give me a chance to slip out for some coffee."

"All right, then.  When do we go on?"

"What do you mean?"  Jackie pointed to her mic.  "We're on now."

I'm guessing no one listening to the station showed up to our gig that night.  Rather strange gig.  We were opening for a band called Frog And Toad Are More Than Friends.  I'm sorry.  Actually, their name is Frog And Toad Are More Than Friends.  When we pulled up to Squiddly Diddly's, there was a group of people outside pointing up to the marquee and arguing.  These people ended up being Satch, the lead singer of Frog And Toad Are More Than Friends, and the manager of ol' SDs.  Somehow, the venue had managed to squeeze their entire name onto the marquee, but that wasn't good enough for Satch.  He was pissed because the word "more" wasn't underlined.   I thought he was kidding at first, but he was apparently dead serious.  Satch felt that "not underlining the word 'more' undermines the very undercurrent of our undertakings".  And yes, he actually said that many "under" words in one sentence.  Had he started the sentence with "Don't you understand that...", he might've won a cash award of some sort.  Satch threatened to refuse to perform, feeling that since the marquee had been up for a couple days, there was no way to counteract the damage it had already inflicted.  Eventually (I'm not sure how), a compromise was reached, and Satch agreed to perform.

Caught the first three songs of their act.  They sound precisely like Nickelback.

Another decent gig - we're starting to gel on stage.  Before we went on, James was writing up the setlist when he paused and said, "You think we should try doing 'Pigs Might Fly' again?"  I laughed and told him no.

I peeked ahead at our itinerary.  We're still several weeks away from Boise, which mean several weeks away from the best pizza in the world - Truckee's Pizza.  I've promised to buy both Cheryl and James their own pie when we get there.  I've even stopped eating pizza until we get there so I can save up the pizza taste buds.

Got an iPod? Too young to know what a CD player is?

You'll be pleased to hear the Bikini Test Failure debut album "Another Day, Another Fat Pile Of Cash" is finally available on iTunes - took months!

I think it's $9.99 or £7.99 US/UK

If  you're anti-iPod, it's on all these too:

MSN Music, Sony Connect, Etherstream, Emusic, MusicMatch, MP3tunes, Rhapsody, LoudEye, MusicNow, MusicNet, NetMusic, BuyMusic, Bitmunk, PassAlong, Chondo, Ruckus, DigitalKiosk, WrapFactory, AudioLunchbox

whatever THEY are....

James

BTF

What do you mean you haven't got the album yet? There's only one, "Another Day, Another Fat Pile Of Cash"

The cheapest, safest, fastest way to buy it is at CDBaby - www.cdbaby.com/btf  - it's about $10 or £6

Get it, THEN you can moan about it.....

James

BTF