Im not sure whether to tell the whole story, the bulletpoints or the roundabout tale of my trip to the states but im sure it'll all meet somewhere in the middle.

The act of actually flying out to America was an experience in itself  for me as im relatively untravelled and had probably spent less than a few hours combined from assorted trips into europe. I had dreamed about making this flight a million times before, especially growing up. Its almost seen as cool to hate on the USA a little these days but if we are honest with ourselves, the very idea of america is a little like a childhood memory. From candy brought back to us from well travelled relatives, to the old school video casettes rented on saturday afternoons, america has always been a somewhat familiar daydream. The skylines, fire hydrants, big gulps and city lights would surely stretch out to greet me and it would be amazing. But i feel I might digress slightly from the reality of what I knew to expect. There would be a lot of drinking. There would be hostels in hidden corners of the city. There would be internal flights that would put the shit up most well travelled flyers (the things are like rockets with wings). On this grandest of voyage I would be accompanied by a Mr Nigel Groom, a partner in crime since as long as i could rememeber, and best friend. This would be a first for him too. Our bags were packed, organised and ready for 2 weeks of abuse.

First up was New york. Landing in JFK and getting through customs was a trip in itself. I felt like i'd smuggled in a bag of smack unknowingly to be discovered at any minute, and my feet were ticking. The hostel was fucking horrible, but what i'd expected. 12 beds to a room, full of constantly sleeping wrecks and annoying english people. It would literally be a home for our bags and 4 hours sleep a night from then on.

Manhatten looks exactly like you'd expect it to in a really good way. The buildings, the cabs, the police cars, time square and empire state are postcards spilling out before your eyes. That night and the first full day we walked. And walked. And walked. We saw so much that i felt like we'd experienced a weeks worth of New Yorks streets in a day. Times square, Broadway, everything. We'd even done the empire state building.

Getting back to the hostel early evening we found a friendly face and asked where was good to go in New York for a proper night out. We felt like we'd seen so much of manhatten that we were open to suggestion.

'Brooklyn'. Brooklyn?? I dont know why that conjured up images of drive bys and crack but it did. We were reassured that Brooklyn was in fact the coolest part of NY and where all the students partied. 'Williamsburg' he said, 'but stay away from the river.. its dangerous if you get too close'. He didnt literally mean the river of course, like we'd go swimming, just a little bit closer to what we'd imagined perhaps.

Brooklyn is incredible. It feels like the place where real New yorkers live. I felt like we'd dropped off the map and had arrived somewhere really new. Fueled by equal measures of Snapple and vodka, the best drink this side of vodka slushpuppies, we hit a couple of bars and wandered further afield. We stopped people on the street and asked about the cool bars and clubs. We invited oursleves to other peoples parties. We heckled mustache bearing hipsters, and drank more until spilling out into street the morning air let us know that a taxi home and hangover would be the next port of call, not another club. We were ok with that.

We'd pretty much spend the rest of our trip in NY in and out of Brooklyn as the first of my shows was to be there the following afternoon. It was already Sunday. Skipping through the bad omelettes, guitar shopping and buses, we were back and looking for the first of two venues that i'd get to play, badly as it turned out.

They say that every show, good or bad, is good practise/a learning experience and I really understand that now. Playing Petes Candy store under a given name of Chaz Taylor for the afternoon I managed to forget melodies, drop picks and all other manner of keys but the crowd were good and made up entirely of the thankfully forgiving other musicians. My playing wasnt the real issue though, and my lack of practise aside, I realised as soon as i hit the first badly played note of one of my songs, that i just needed to write new songs. My songs. Songs that made something and that would rise to such an occassion.

Now im not one for kissing ass when it comes to things musically, I try and call it as i see it, and there may have been one or two bad acts that whole afternoon, but there were some fucking talented people there. The bar had been raised and i payed attention. Even more so when an incredible guy called Darwin Deez stole the show effortlessly. It felt like seeing prince play in your local. Amazing. We caught wind of another show just a few blocks over at a place called Matchless so we thought why not give that a go too. It was very quiet and not quite as quaint as Petes, but I had a 15 minute set and it felt more like a proper show. I even gained a russian yoga teacher as a fan. Darwin Deez had also made the trip the few blocks over and managed to take performing his music to an unseen height at any open mic i'd ever been to. He actually demoed a new song he'd been working on, played through his Ipod and guitar amp, whilst he danced and drummed his way through it. You had to be there but theres a good reason why  Deez's  music was one of the most qouted and sang along too as we travelled accross the states.

The next day the sky opened and it pissed down for hours. This was our last day in New york, Leaving for Philadelphia that afternoon. This was the day we chose to go to the Statue of Liberty. We caught the subway to the ferrie and made the trip accross to see her. We took a few minutes on the deck to catch some air and take some snaps. I posed, then looked past Ni for a second, which is all it took. She has alot more impact then you might think, especially when you just look up and see her. We were really aware that we were being tourists doing touristy type things but in that instant there seemed to be nothing deliberate about it. In real life, she just looks different. The features seem softer and more feminine, the green is brighter, and you can see the seams of her that had been so painstakingly put together. A work of art simply.

A few hours later and we are on a Greyhound bound for Philadelphia, ahhh Rocky Country. We passed through New Jersey, The soprano's theme tune sat in the back of my mind as made our way along the east Coast. We were 20 minutes away from arriving when the bus just stops. The turning of engines. The bus had died. Where the fuck were we?