Awright everyone, time for a wee blog to fill you all in on our travels and travails this past week.
Firstly, I want to clarify things a bit. To answer countless questions; although we are ostensibly a three-piece band, we like to gig with an expanded line-up. We all feel like this is the way forward for us, the best way to truly represent our songs on stage. It gives us more depth, and it's fun. From my point of view, having my brother Adam and my close childhood friend Claire onstage with us is a wonderful thing. However, only Kristoffer, Steven and I do this Edgar Prais thing full-time, we are the ones who ultimately make the decisions. In time, hopefully, Adam and Claire will be in a position to join us as full-on Sloppy Drunks, but they have lives and commitments and haven't got the same amount invested in making this thing fly. And, as I've tried to explain to a few people, when you meet a new girl who you really like and you have a great time together, you think that it may just work out for you, do you ask her to marry you immediately? No. You enjoy your time together and hope that God and Karma and whatever else allow your road to be straight and true. We don't believe in rushing into things, but hopefully we will evolve into a five-piece full-time band in due course. If not, the three of us will carry on ploughing our wee furrow.
(Hope that's clarified things a bit for all those folks who have been confused by seeing us with different line-ups of late.)
The three of us, plus Adam, Claire and our Tour Manager/Driver/Designer/all-round Godsend Andy took to the road in the highest of spirits, nowt but bright lights, heady times, gigs and a prodigious amount of booze awaiting us.
We arrived in Runcorn.
It's hard to explain the anomoly that is the Runcorn Doghouse to those who have never been met with its peculiar charm. A rock bar by nature, its walls are adorned with portraits of, amongst others, Slash, Sid Vicious, Courtney Love and Avril Lavigne. Our thoughts exactly. It has the world's smallest stage but the world's biggest drum riser (I got a fucking nosebleed, being stationed that far up in the clouds). It has the world's loudest sound engineer but the world's quiestest promoter. The place is a contradiction. But, like the Frosty Jack cider that has become a tour staple, it has a way of growing on you until you feel a bit warm and fuzzy. It is completely charming. We played after two, yes TWO, bands of local metalheads who performed sans drummer. Honest to God, I firmly believe that, in some weird Spinal Tap-esque phenomenon, all drummers in Runcorn have imploded, leaving nowt but unfulfilled rhythm sections. Might have something to do with that dizzying drum riser....
The gig was really fun. We played a new track, tentatively entitled 'New Juan' (shock), and we went down surprisingly well. The locals were a delightfully friendly bunch, and we even flogged some CDs. Due to time constraints (the sound engineer, I kid you not, had brought his kids along and promised to have them returned to mother before midnight), we had to ditch a track mid-set. No-one was going to argue with him. He was fucking NAILS.
After a few shandies and a bit of a stop-and-chat with some locals, we zipped off to Birmingham Travelodge for another game of 'see-how-many-we-can-sneak-into-one-room-before-they-get-suspicious'.
London on Wednesday. Curious place, the Notting Hill Arts Club. It reminded me of Drakes in Aberdeen...all dank and dingy, crap lager, but quite cool in its way. It had a real character, a spirit about the place. I'd love to do a headline show there one day. We had a terrible soundcheck but a great gig. The set was
Pop Song*New Juan*Bottles*Apple Trees*Sloppy Drunxxx*Cigs*On Our Way Home
Afterwards, we drank some vino, met some people, danced like fannies, had a humdinger of a time. Claire, God bless her, was a wee bit hyper and fell over several times on the bus while dancing to Ben Folds Five. I really really hope that video sees the light of day on Youtube, because it's super-funny. We slept on Jamesy's floor, got up early and headed north north north....
...to Manchester, where we were playing at the Night and Day. Despite a quite tepid crowd, we felt the gig was a winner. My dear friends Nic and Chim came across from Yorkshire to see us, which was an excuse for more drinkies. Adam celebrated a job well down with a quart of Ol' Tennis Shoes whisky, which made the trip to Carlisle fly by in pleasant drowsiness.
And just like that, we were back in Scotland! Inverness, to be precise....a place that we love, a place that always seems to welcome us with open arms (a couple of wee youthful indiscretions notwithstanding). With no support band, we decided to play two sets to keep ourselves on our toes. The first was fun, the second fucking mental. Andy has vowed to put some videos of it online, so you can all see for yourselves, but picture the scene: Kris dancing and singing on the bar; Claire dancing with her cello in the crowd, Steven and Adam on the dancefloor, me standing up on the drumkit, hammering away. Some alcohol had been consumed, it would be safe to say.
Say Goodbye (learned, heroically, in soundcheck)*New Juan*Pop Song*Shawhank Blues*Bottles*On Our Way Home*Apple Trees*Cigs*Sloppy Drunxxx
In our slightly giddy state, we befriended some locals. This kept us in tha Snecky til after three AM, meaning that we had to make the twenty-minute hop, skip and jump to Belladrum festival under the cloak of darkness. But that's for another blog!
God bless and goodnight,
Love from Christy and the Prais x