(from the first Freak Press, April 05...)
24 HOURS IN THE LIFE AND NEAR DEATH OF A ROCK BAND
"HOW DOES IT FEEL TO FALL ASLEEP BEHIND THE WHEEL?"
-Cardboard Radio, 'For Everyone'
3.30 am, somewhere on the M68, somewhere between London and York.
Cardboard Radio are returning home from a triumphant debut gig in London. Singer/guitarist Andy Gaines is behind the wheel, his bandmates Chord, Simmo and Simmo's girlfriend Eleanor sleep soundly in the back. Neon lights flicker overhead, black tarmac slips away below. Huge long haul trucks rumble by. Andy's mind wanders back over the events of the last couple of weeks. Things are going well for the band. Really well. They've been gigging solidly, and loved it, shown they can do it. It's all starting to come together. He doesn't feel tired, infact he's wide awake with ideas, plans and scams… when he opens his eyes a few later, he can't remember having closed them. The car is on the embankment, screeching along the crash barriers. Panic and confusion set in. Andy struggles with the steering wheel, desperately trying to regain control of the vehicle. Everyone is awake now. Somehow he manages to get back on the road, but it's not enough. The car is careering wildly and they go into a spin, spiraling across the lanes. Faster and faster, the world begins to blur…
3.30, East London
Twelve hours earlier Andy is winding his way through the itchycoo flea markets of East London. Cardboard Radio are playing their first London gig at notorious indieratti hang-out The Rhythm Factory, and he's currently en route to some artfully distressed caff where he's meeting bassist/singer Chord and drummer Simmo, idling occasionally to admire the stalls hawking cheap retro tat and second hand records. Cardboard Radio know tonight is a BIG GIG, but feelings are mixed. Few people are more cynical about the post-Libs Others/Paddingtons scene than Cardboard Radio, and to a man regard the lazy Londoncentric gossip-rag brown nosing of the NME with utter contempt. A support-slot encounter with The Others only confirmed what they already suspected; i.e. that all this 'for the poor,' 'doing it for the kids' shtick is utter phony bullshit. The story has gone down in Cardies legend; Chord suggested that if the Other's wanted to come to an after-party at Cardboard Radio Towers, maybe he could rig up a London Underground map in his bedroom and they could re-enact their infamous Bakerloo Line guerrilla gig. Which is a funny thing to say, y'know? If you were The Others, you'd have laughed, right? Instead, having been faintly obnoxious all evening, Dominic Masters took this opportunity to play his trump humorless rock star wanker card, and responded with something along the lines of 'when you've got a six-figure advance from your record company maybe you won't have to make shit jokes like that.' So…fuck the whole thing, right? Fuck Guerrilla Gigs. Fuck the NME. Fuck junky crack head hypocrites ripping off their fans with ugly hype and lame-ass songs. Fuck lazy no-clue A&R guys who only travel as far as the end of the Northern Line to check out a new band. Fuck London. Yeah. We don't need it. Let them come to us. Yeah. YEAH! Only it ain't that simple, 'cos The Libertines have clearly had a massive influence on Cardboard Radio. Indeed, it would be fair to say that Cardboard Radio would not exist in the form they do were it not for the Libertines vital racket. Andy especially is a massive fan. The Rythym Factory is Pete 'n' Carl's ground zero, the 100 Club to their Pistols, a place of modern folk law, and consequently the hitchhike down to London has been something of a pilgrimage for him. This gig matters. Cardboard Radio desperately don't want to blow it, not here, not in front of these people.
Andy Gaines: "The Libertines were a special band, an important band, but all these shit sub-Libertines bands that have come after them are just a total waste of time. We went down to London, and all it did was make me realise that it's just like anywhere else, just like York, all the bands hang out at the same places, drink in the same local pubs, they all know and support each other, the only difference is that the NME is there to give it national exposure. And the worst thing is, away from all the irritating hype, there's no denying that in many ways the scene down there is genuinely exciting. We played with some really good bands, we went down really well, and all the dudes we spoke to from The Paddintons and Art Brut were really cool and friendly, y'know, they're just young dudes in bands trying to make it, like us, or Sixtysix, or anyone. The NME makes it hard to not want to kick against the East London thing, but I loved being at the Rhythm Factory, y'know, with all the Libertines graffiti everywhere, with all these kids who are just really into going out and watching bands and dancing and being crazy about music. That's how it should be."
1pm, Parliament Square, York Residents Festival
Baz D, Cardies fan: "When they were setting up they looked sorta subdued, withdrawn. We didn't know what had happened with the crash or anything…the compare guy from Fibbers made some reference to them 'making it here alive,' and it all started to make sense. When Andy and Chord looked at each other during the line about 'falling asleep behind the wheel,' you could see how much it meant…afterwards we spoke to Andy and he seemed almost drunk with fatigue and shock, he was all over the place…"
From the moment Cardboard Radio take the stage, it is clear something is wrong. They're trying to hide it, but friends and fans can tell. Hard to say exactly what… a sort of disconnection, like they're really somewhere else…the thousand yard stare of motor psycho nitemares. They look tired. Hell, they are tired. Your first sustained period of cross-country gigging, a late night journey back from a gig in London, a life-juddering car crash, getting back to York in the back of a pick-up truck, having three hours sleep…yeah, that'll make you tired. But jeez, this gig should be fun, right? Kicks and giggles, a knockabout, whack 'em out, entertaining the troops, playin' for the toddlers and mums and bored Saturday dads, a BIG CARDIES THANKYOU to the city and the people who have so warmly embraced the band. So they do their best, hold it together, drawing their energy from the crowd and their comradeship with the other bands, knowing they have a long way to go before the day is done.
10.00 pm, headline gig, Fibbers
Chord: "Between the gig in the afternoon and Fibbers, my main feeling was one of total white knuckle panic. People were turning up all day for the show, from all over the country, people we know from all sorts of different times in our lives. We didn't want to let anybody down. I don't think we did. Headlining Fibbers was a milestone for us. To sell the place out, a place which is so important to us, was a huge thing. Just to have all those people there, it made us realise that we really do have a big following in the city. It meant a lot."
Simmo: "Between the gig in the afternoon and Fibbers, my main feeling was of utter exhaustion. I was so tired. Once we got on stage though, I forgot about all that. I could just get into the music, just zone in and enjoy it. Having The Federals there was a big deal, they brought a lot of people. It was an important night."
Fibbers is absolutley frikkin' rammed. The place is SOLD OUT. Free Mojo and The Federals have laid down the dirty riffin' garage rock law with black hearted vengeance, the latter band apparently having brought along every sixth form indie headcase in York for support. After two weeks of gigging, the only show that really matters to Cardboard Radio is this one. The band are buzzing with adrenaline now, wired, nervous pre-gig energy racing through their systems, fatigue transformed into off-kilter jitterbugging mania. The close knit circle of friends around them remain shaken and visibly on edge, bad vibes keeping them on high alert, like maybe the universe might have one last evil ain't-that-a-kick-in-the-balls karmic bashing for Cardboard Radio still to come. When the band eventually take to the stage, all of this is forgotten. The band play a savage, life-affirming, demons-exorcising set, their usual affable knees-up shtick replaced by dark, hot blooded determination, desperation even, like they're playing for their lives, their jolly singalongs battered into violent jack-knife blasts of pure screaming-at-the-stars-delirium, daring the universe to throw any more at them, playing like a band who've suddenly realised how important this music is to them, like the games not a game anymore, like this whole ROCK BAND thing means more now than they ever thought it could, like LIFE means more now more than they thought it ever could…
11.30pm, Cardboard Radio Towers
There's a lot of people Chord doesn't know in his house. Some he knows, sure; The Federals, the Black Night Crash guys, some other dudes he's met a couple of times, but still, there's a lot of people who he doesn't know. He stumbles into what passes for Andy's bedroom, and a dozen or so wasted kids sat around on the floor drinking out of vodka bottles and passing around joints look up at him in vague recognition. 'Hey, dude. Uh, you're in a band, right?'
Outside, Andy is arguing with some weasly chav thug trying to get into the party. The thug explains that if he can't get into the party, he want's the crate of beer Andy's carrying. He goes to wrench the beer from Andy's hands, but Andy isn't having it. He's at the end of his tether; wired from the gig, battling chronic fatigue…he's not letting this stupid chav dickhead have his beer. He puts up with ignorant wankers just like this every day of his life, hurling abuse at him in the street, acting like they can't be touched, intimidating everyone they meet, blaring their terrible music out of their shitty souped up crapmobiles. He doesn't want to fight this guy, but somewhere, sometime, you gotta draw a line. Punches are thrown. 24 bottles of beer smash to the floor. Andy finds himself grappling on the wet concrete with him, lost in a Kappa nitemare. The thug breaks free, and Black Night Crash give heroic chase down the lane, sending him off with his ripped-off I-pod between his legs. The party continues until the early hours of Sunday morning, during which time Cardboard Radio do what is necessary to blitz their memories of the last 24 hours into an acceptably painless haze. It's been a very long day.