chumbawamba uk tour diary - march 2008

8/14/2019 Chumbawamba UK tour diary - March 2008

1/28

Chumbawamba UK tour diary - March 2008

Hebden Bridge

Well if you're going to debut half a dozen tracks from your

new album all at once, then Hebden Bridge Trades Club

isn't a bad place to do it. The audience in the Totnes of the

North were a) numerous b) in a good mood and c) on our

side. Together we rode the emotional rollercoaster of the

new songs, the (fewer than expected) lyrical cock-ups and

the first night unintentional vibrato. So, to all of you who

were there, thank you!

St Albans, Norwich...(Jude)

Norwich - not the saucy acronym, the town. Arts Centre tobe precise. Onstage in 45 minutes. Probably ought to be

mentally preparing for tonight's onsluaght. St Albans was

fabulous - a lovely gig. About as different from Hebden

Bridge as it gets. Offstage before our onstage Hebden

Bridge time. Stayed in a lovely ramashckle old pub with

serious Real Ale people much in evidence. We had a jar ortwo for politeness' sake. A morning's pottering, managed

to take in the cathedral and buy a pair of funky ankle

boots, then onto Norwich where we were met by a brief

flurry of snowfall. It's wiild out east, you know. Tonight we

are in a converted church with beautiful swooshy

acoustics to cover the words we still haven't learnt. Okay,

time to apply eyeshadow now. Will try and persuade Boff


2/28


to write something later.

St Albans, Norwich...(Boff)

St Albans... again, sort of. So anyway we get there and me

and Phil spend twenty minutes looking for the Arts Centre.

Phil insists on asking directions from every second person,

bounding up to them like an over-enthusiastic kangarooand licking their faces. It's in the second floor of the

shopping centre, of course. Just past the TK Max. Cosy as

your grandma's armchair, too, it is. Proper theatre set-up:

backstage mirrors and ironing board (rocknroll venues

don't have ironing boards), "just set up your merchandise

stall on top of the grand piano love."

And a very good gig it is too, though in these surroundings

I should call it a show rather than a gig. "Two minutes Mr

Smith!" There's some incredibly polite heckling from the

lone scientist in the audience he musters up a grunt

when we roll into a version of the Charles Darwinsingalong 'Charlie' and a smattering of forgotten lyrics

along the way, before we head to the Lower Red Lion,

where the bar stays open long enough for it to resemble

the scene in 'Withnail and I' where our heroes attempt to

buy a dead fish from the poacher. We're not from London,

indeed. St Albans is revealed next morning to be quainter

than quaint, huge church full of stone martyrs and a


3/28


demonstration of original Roman under-floor heating in the

park. Jude ignores this and runs off to buy some crazy

weird shoes (yes, she's already told you about the crazy

shoes) that clatter along corridors and announce her

arrival. And so to Norwich!

Frome

When in Frome what at first appears quaint and

picturesque turns out to be the setting for a low-budget

village melodrama, with a cast of idiots running rings

around the funny outsiders from the North. Cobbled

streets, model shops and one caf (shut), gangs of well-

brought-up youths wheeling around on bmx andskateboards, filling up every corner of the big car park

which acts as the town's centre.

The show is in a barn of a place which somehow is

warmed up and cosied by the time we play. People don't

heckle, they just talk loudly and cackle at mobile phonegames. Strange gig, really. We're getting the hang of all

the new songs and most of us can now play without a

paper pyramid of lyrics and notes at our feet, and Jude's

new trumpet looks set to weather the storm, beautiful as it

is. Myself, I'm enjoying singing 'I Wish That They'd Sack

Me', it's better live than on the album and has more

poignancy what with realizing that yes, this is what we do


4/28


for a living, and on a cold Tuesday in Frome you can't help

acknowledging that everyone in the audience will be up at

7 or 8 on Wednesday to go to work. 'Charlie' is a bit of a

rouser live, too; who imagined you could sing a little

stomper about a scientist with a big beard.

Strange pockets of audience aside, the battle is eventually

won and it's great to think that sometimes we have to

work hard to make this Chumbawamba thing work, it's not

just going through the motions. So back to the Travelodge

for the daily routine of orgy/drunkenness/room-trashing,

before collapsing in a heap in a pool of my own vomit. Or,

in fact, back to the Travelodge for a good night's sleep.

Norwich (again)

Did we miss out Norwich? Oh how rude. Proper arts centre,

there seems to be a rule of thumb which says that Arts

centres must be situated in converted churches. This is

not a bad use of old churches that nobody goes to

anymore, if you ask me. You get all the architecturalbeauty, the cascading light and lovely weathered stone,

without the drafty old pews and a balding bloke at the

front droning on about Psalms and Good Works.

This particular arts centre ex-church has a gravestone slab

making up part of the floor in the concert room. Let's hope

we woke the bugger up. Great audience, great gig, we


5/28


have a good chat with everybody from the stage (and

throw a few songs in too). I kick over Jude's new trumpet

by mistake and dip my own tie in my drink by accident.

Rock n Roll! Chat with some local music students before

the gig, realising that we've been going as a band since

before they were born. Eek. Since we're obviously old and

wise they bring us a bottle of wine and some biscuits,

fantastic, if everyone in the audience brought us wine and

biscuits we'd be as drunk and fat as all those old gits in

the House of Lords by the end of this tour. As I say, great

audience and great gig. And an ensemble mass singsong

of eBay which was almost entirely in tune; with harmony

parts too... what else can I add other than Nickers Off

Ready When I Come Home?

Winchester

An argument that pops up with increasing regularity in this

band is about our contribution to global warming. There

are different opinions about what we can or should do

about it, flying around to play gigs and driving up anddown motorways Lou's pretty strict on when and where

we should play concerts which involve taking planes, I'm

of the opinion that what we do (especially since what

we're trying to do contributes to an understanding of

politics/war/inequality etc) warrants us gathering up our

stuff and jetting off to Canada/Russia/Germany or

wherever.


6/28


I'm saying this because we were reading in the paper this

morning about Prince Charles' current 11-day cruise which

will apparently leave a carbon footprint equivalent to 260

Transatlantic flights. I reckon that in a sense we 're being

duped, 'we' being this loose but massive community of

people who want to do something about war, inequality,

ecology etc. duped into thinking that the focus of the

global warming problem is ourselves, not the

multinationals and governments and armies. I say duped

because I reckon the Prince Charles cruise farce is

replayed around the country (and the world) all the time

without us recognising it why do I make the effort to

switch off the water tap while brushing my teeth when I

know that the British Army is flying bombers, jets and

helicopters around the world in order to continue the

charade of a 'war against terrorism'? What's the point of

Chumbawamba discussing the additional carbon footprint

of using a separate vehicle for a gig when government

ministers, rock stars and other assorted wealthy idiots live

lifestyles of absolute waste? And why is the focus on

working class people going on holiday to Spain as opposed

to the American Air Force flying prisoners around the

world to interrogate and torture them?and this is what

I'm thinking as we pull up in the quaint and bustling

cathedral city of Winchester.


7/28


The main shopping centre is much the same as shopping

centres across the country. On the look-out for blank CD's

to make a compilation of music for the gigs (that's our

selection you listen to when you get to the gig) I head to

HMV and end up with DVD's of West Side Story and the Joe

Strummer film, Series 2 of Whatever Happened to the

Likely Lads, Lindsay Anderson's 'If', and a pack of blank

CD's which my laptop refuses to recognize. Ha! Serves me

right. The gig is in a place called The Tower, which, despite

a campaign to keep it open, is closing down soon. Pity.

Because it's a lovely place where the workers are brilliant,

the gig room is great and the audience friendly and warm.

I don't mean warm to the touch; I don't touch them. That

would be going too far. Well, Jude says it is anyway.*

But after the strangeness of the Frome show this is just

what we wanted. So we stick a couple more songs in, not

least because the bloke with the Mohican and the New

Model Army shirt was there at Frome and we don't want

him getting bored, poor lad. See, if you get to more than

one show we'll crank out all the songs we don't really

know how to play so as not to appear repetitive. Finishing

with 'Her Majesty' is apt right now, not only because of the

Charles stuff mentioned above but also because of Prince

Harry's sudden (yet so-well prepared and PR'd) deification.

Harry For King! Screams the Mail. Hmmm. Instead of

writing this I should be trying to write a new verse for the


8/28


song to give the tough, heroic and tousle-haired Harry a

moment in the spotlight. As if 17 pages in one edition of

The Sun wasn't enough.

Another Travelodge tonight, this time on a dual

carriageway. Shouldn't we be in Winchester partying the

night away with fellow rock stars and a gang of people

we've picked up along the way? That must have been a

previous life. Instead I finish the book (I say 'the book'

because it's a book we're all reading and passing on) and

fall asleep listening to Rachel Unthank on an iPod.

*After the show tonight, me and Jude are interviewed for

Rock n Reel magazine. The interviewer politely adds at the

end of our talk that "well, that was a nice chat, and Jude

you're not as scary as I thought you might be after all."

It's the new boots, obviously.

Swansea

Pick me up and transport me back in time to a good old-

fashioned rock venue, where everything is painted black

and is covered in a thin patina of stickiness. We have to

take care not to stand still for too long in one spot. Luckily,

it's cold enough to see your breath so we're all doing a

sort of weird hopping dance with our coats on. Touring is

nothing if not diverse - one night you're in an Arts Centre


9/28


with an audience so well-behaved you can hear a pin drop,

and the next you're in rock'n'roll land battling against the

chat from the bar. Tonight's is a one-set affair so

everything's in a different order, which keeps us on our

toes. As does the temperature. Lou keeps trying to leave

the heater on in the dressing room, but self-appointed

Safety Officer Phil is having none of it.

It's not the first dressing room of the tour with drawings of

male genitalia on the walls (that was Frome) but it is an

increasingly rare occurence on our travels these days. The

people from the venue are all lovely and obligingly put

tables and chairs out for us and remove the barriers at the

front of the stage that keep the mosh pit at arm's length.

The audience are all pretty friendly too - although you do

start to wonder when someone says "Are you Alice?" and

then tells you about spending 6 months up a tree in

Romford. When we play Her Majesty at the end of the

night, we're delighted to find out that Her Majesty is in

fact coming to Swansea the very next day - to open a

Leisure Centre. So very serendipitous! We're out of our

B&B by nine as the van's on a meter and head off back

across the border to Warwick, of which more later ....

Warwick Arts Centre

Warwick Arts Centre is the much-needed antidote to the

Swansea show. It's a very plush theatre, everything


10/28


sounds wonderful, there's free internet access and

unlimited Fairtrade tea and coffee. And we're not afraid of

sticking to any surfaces. It's also sunny, and we've been

booked into the plushest hotel so far on the tour. So

where's the catch ... maybe nobody will turn up and we'll

be playing in a lovely plush theatre where everything

sounds wonderful to an audience of twenty-five. This did

happen to us not so long ago in Dublin, and it was

excrutiating.

Universities have changed a lot since my day, I can tell

you - there are mere children driving posh cars as far as

the eye can see and not a sit-down protest in sight. The

Arts Centre is the part of Warwick University that is open

to the public - and it is quite amazing: two theatres, a

gallery, a restaurant, and a fantastic cd and dvd shop

where we all spend a fortune on stuff that'll take up more

precious space in the van. What with that and Alaric's

Avengers Dolls, not to mention Phil's portable bar and my

extra trumpet we've barely room to squeeze ourselves in.

Anyway, the gig was great - plenty of people came, and

clapped politely at all the right points and generally did

what was expected of them in a civilised fashion. We were

finished early enough to be back in our hotel in time for

last orders at the bar before retiring to bed at a

reasonable hour. It does get a bit bubble-like being on tour


11/28


despite our best efforts to keep abreast of world events. I

listen to Radio 4 as much as possible (and not just for the

Archers, although Friday's episode was a humdinger - Phi

land I listened on his mobile phone in the dressing room.

Alaric came in and thought we were excited about stuff

that was happening to real people) and the quality dailies

are not in short supply in the van. We even read bits out to

each other sometimes. But even so, our general

awareness of life outside the immediate concerns of ticket

sales, hotels, distance to the next venue and the next

motorway services stop just tends to shrink and that's why

I've run out of stuff to say ... and it's teatime.

Bury - the dilemma of the gig in striking distance of

home

It all goes swimmingly - lovely venue, lovely audience,

including some friends to catch up with afterwards (and

some people who think theyre our best mates but are

actually just a little bit the worse for wear), and lovely

giant-killing FA cup triumph by Barnsley before the show.What could possibly go wrong?

We had discussed the issue of whether to stay in Bury or

go home after the show before the tour started and opted

to stay away. Its tricky - the pull of your own bed (not to

mention wives, girlfriends and children) is a strong one but

sometimes is more disruptive than relaxing and breaks the


12/28


momentum of being on tour however rocknroll and

clichd that may sound. So we set off for our Travelodge

secure in the knowledge wed made a decision we were all

happy with.

It all started to unravel when we discovered that our

rooms were actually booked for the following night at the

Travelodge. Undaunted, and relieved to only be an hour

away from home, we re-packed the van and set off for

Leeds. Just after wed negotiated the ridiculous slew of

speed bumps that run through Tong village, the exhaust

fell off. Cue Alaric heroically tying the whole thing back up

with some string magically produced by Phil (hes that sort

of boy) and the van limping rather noisily home. Never a

dull moment!

Barnsley

Playing in Barnsley the day after the football team's giant-

killing exploits is like entering the Little Big Horn after

Custer had been roundly thrashed. Well, sort of. All thelocal talk is of hangovers and sleep-ins... but not up at the

gig, where the organisers make a real effort to make us

welcome and Alaric can't understand a word they're

saying. Thatcher is out of hospital and given the all-clear

this morning, which dampens the party a little. We get

letters you know when we say things like that.


13/28


There are some around who still refuse to listen to us on

principle - the principle being that the bucket of water

thrown over the Deputy Prime Minister was an act of

violence. Which argument doesn't sit too well with

Prescott's enthusiastic support of the murderous and

bloody stupid war we're involved in right now. See,

Thatcher doesn't exist as a person anymore, and to a

certain extent she barely ever did since the mid-eighties.

She became an icon and a symbol for ruthless dealings

with working communities, pig-headed ignorance of

poverty, a slavish support of the rich and a cruel war-

monger. (Just a few of her qualities). And it's the icon that

is ready to pop its clogs, not the person - the person is a

frail old woman, sick and powerless. The icon however can

be a very powerful thing - look at the iconic (and dead)

Elvis, Jim Morrison, Princess Di etc. As Colonel Tom Parker

said about Elvis after his death - "He's worth more to me

now than he was when he was alive."

Oh I know, we're heartless. But really, I can't stand this

sanctimonious reverence for a woman who filled a decade

of my life with images of war, violent coppers and

unemployment. I mean, I could have spent my time

listening to Wham! and Spandau Ballet! So yes, Barnsley.

See, there wouldn't be any mourning going on around

these parts. Lovely little theatre, great audience, Ray

Hearne supported and was fantastic. Lovely bloke with


14/28


great songs and a real way with words. Check him out if

you haven't already. Home to Leeds for a brief dip into

reality before we set off again in a day or two...

Leeds, Two Days off

On a tour theres an effortless routine which sets in, a

pattern of how things work, a humdrum regularity whichyou fill up with writing and reading and eating, but which

always fits in with the prescribed daily system breakfast,

leave, drive, motorway, arrive, soundcheck, eat, gig. And

inbetween, theres all the books and laptops and dashes

to the chemist and worrying about the guestlist and

meeting friends and losing your scarf and re-setting theSat Nav and dashes to the pub and watching the football

and re-writing lyrics and changing the strings on your

guitar and buying new boots and dashes to the fruit

shop

So being at home in Leeds for a couple of days is strangeand disorientating. Oh yes, back to the real world. Taking

my daughter to school, watching CBBC in the morning.

The real stuff of life. Not the wary, pensive theatre of

showtime but the reality of queuing up at Whingate Stores

with a two-litre bottle of milk and a pack of four toilet rolls.

I dont yearn for life on the road. I love it, but I dont miss

it when its not there. Ouch, Im so lucky. Two days at


15/28


home, and then to Wolverhampton. Hey!

Wolverhampton

Weve played in Wolverhampton a million times. We love it

here. The people are lovely and the gigs are always great.

What can I say? My team Burnley FC had an ongoing duel

with Wolverhampton Wanderers about fifteen years ago.

We seemed to play each other every other week. And wemet in a Wembley final, which was famously attended by

about 35,000 people from Burnley and 45,000 from

Wolverhampton Wembleys biggest attendance for some

time, including international matches. And on the

motorway on the way down to London, stuck in traffic, the

Wolves fans and the Burnley fans mingled and laughedand joked and hugged and cemented my belief that

football could be about love and peace and harmony and

lots of other words not normally associated with football.

So tonight in Wolverhampton its great to play to an

audience that sings along and laughs and understandswhat were on about. And being the home of Noddy Holder

and Roy Wood its only fitting that Jude is required to show

off her new (very retro-seventies) boots on stage. Phil is a

little perplexed ("as it were" - thats an in-joke) but

perfectly able to adapt. Lou is happy that Azzy and Pete

turned up from Wales (darlings), and Neil feels ecstatic

that his new (smooth) transition from Unpindownable


16/28


into On eBay works perfectly.

OK, time for bed. Whatever time it is. See, were not on

proper peoples time, were on Tour Time now. And Tour

Time says night night xPs for any British TV watchers - I

forgot to mention has anyone been watching the white

working class series on BBC? Weve been talking about it

in the van. Well I heard that the Bradford Working Mens

Club documentary was grim, overly-grim, and made by an

American outsider. But we were on tour, so we dont know.

The drama on Tuesday about the white family living in the

Asian street I thought was absolute crap, the most clichd

version of working class stereotypes you could find on

telly. (Youre welcome to disagree). But the documentary

The Poles Are Coming - we all loved that one. Brilliant.

Must go to bed now. Id have been fast asleep by now if it

wasnt for having to write this thing. Is that good, or bad?

Lets call it good and hope there are free gifts to all

subscribers.

Cardiff

A turn-up for the books. Lovely venue and a brilliant

audience undampened by the grotty weather. The first

major talking point of the day is The Daily Sports

coverage of Prince Charles visit to one of Bob Marleys old

homes. The report is discovered in some faceless,

nameless service station and its guts unraveled in the


17/28


back of the van. Basically the report consists of changing

the words to some of Bobs songs to fit Prince Charles

visit. "I shot the grouse but I didnt shoot Diana," begins

one. Someone gets paid good money for writing this stuff.

And for photoshopping a picture of Charles wearing a

rasta hat, accompanied by a smiling Camilla with huge

bifter in her gob. This keeps us amused for practically the

rest of the day. Really, we can be that shallow. The venue

is an old converted church (weve played two or three

already on this tour. Someone is trying to tell us

something), huge wooden-beamed ceiling and cavernous

acoustics. Tracey Curtis is the support tonight and she

charms the audience with a mixture of lovely songs and

loveable dizziness. Look, poor girl, sings like an angel but

cant stop apologizing for forgetting the words. Aah.

Tracey just recorded an album with me and Neil, a

collection of songs from her first two albums. Ive no idea

if itll be released properly, but I hope so - so simple and

beautiful. Even if I do say so myself. Actually Tracey was in

the recording booth singing away for two weeks while Neil

and me bobbed around the control room playing bows and

arrows.

The lively audience tonight in Cardiff are parts hush-quiet

and parts rowdy, and the whole room feels like it gets

swept up during the 85 minutes of our set swept up into


18/28


some sort of very Welsh communal celebration. Very

enjoyable. The people we talk to afterwards are just lovely.

I cant think of a more fitting word. Like in that series,

Gavin & Stacey arent they all just so lovely? (Im

writing the word lovely in a Welsh accent there, in case

you didnt spot it). Even Timebomb is dusted down for

the encore. Given a few more minutes we may have

mustered I shot the grouse, but time ran out. Pity. I think

it could be big.

Aldershot

Not really knowing what to expect here sadly, the only

thing we think we know about Aldershot is that its a

squaddie town we arrive to find a sold out venue staffedby an enthusiastic woman who seems to do everything

from fixing up the PA to making the tea. Thus heartened

we have a look around town. Its now almost exactly five

years since the huge anti-war march in London against the

Iraq war (remember at the time it was all about the

WMDs funny how regime change has become theuppermost argument of the warmongers since then). Five

years later and what we have is an unholy mess, over a

hundred thousand deaths, soldiers coming home either in

pieces or suffering from trauma, a sectarian puppet

government backed by the US big businesses which are

creaming the profit from Iraqs oil and a legacy of hatred,

destruction and instability.


19/28


Ive been reading about the reaction of John Lennon and

Mick Jagger to the even more distant events of 1968

again, the anniversary is this weekend when an anti-

Vietnam demonstration in Grosvenor square ended in a

huge riot. In reaction to how Jagger and Lennon constantly

refuted the idea of playing real political roles at the time, I

cant find any excuse for any artist in Britain not to be

singing/painting/writing about the culture of war and fear

we live in. Its our dominant culture. Its the driving

narrative of our time. To be not talking about this stuff is

tantamount to the most snobbish form of ignorance that

where you know whats going on but choose not to do

anything about it. Lennon went on to become a full-time

activist, returning his MBE, singing explicitly about politics,

war and injustice. Jagger went on to create a billion-dollar

juggernaut trading on nostalgia and mediocre riffing and

strutting. Either way, they both had their moment in 1968

and its a painful reminder that today, in the middle of this

constant background buzz of war/terror/fear, there are still

too few public figures making peace and justice their

raison detre.

And so here we are in Aldershot, five years on, singing On

eBay and Jacobs Ladder and remembering how, when

we re-wrote Jacobs to make it an explicitly anti-Iraq war

song, we did so thinking that by the time wed worked it


20/28


out and rehearsed it the war may well have been over.

Sadly, that wasnt the case. Not that tonights show (or

any of our shows come to that) are full of the doom and

gloom of warfare. Its more de-construction than

destruction, more making the whole show something

personal and funny and poignant, more trying to change

things every night. It all depends so much now on how the

audience reacts to us. And I love that its like that do

people want to sing along? Are they warm and friendly?

Curious? Stern and unwelcoming? Off to the bar for

another pint? Its always, always an interesting encounter

for us. Walking on stage at Aldershot and not having the

faintest idea who these people are, what they know about

us and thats great because its not easy and its about

creating some hitherto-undecided middle ground between

us.

Fantastic audience tonight. All ages from ten to seventy,

we reckoned. Some rowdy, some polite, some laughing,

some just wondering. Everyone accepting of the bumbling

words-forgetting shambles of a couple of the songs! As

soon as theres an empathy there, the performance really

changes. It makes it easier to relax on stage and feel like

you can just chat with people, sing your stuff in tune

without fixedly following the melodic structures in your

head. Does that make sense? When youre talking with

your friends you dont think "what am I going to say


21/28


next?", you just talk. So there you go, Aldershot, war, and

chatting with your mates. Tomorrow, Leeds. The annual

City Varieties show. Lous nervous. Stay tuned.

Leeds

Thing is, its really not fair on everywhere else weve

played on this tour to say that Leeds was the best gig so

far. Because thats just about us being at home andknowing people and realising what we can say and how

things work. Knowing the venue, the promoter, the town

and a smattering of the audience. But really, it was good.

There, I understated it on purpose. We had such a good

time. Mik Artistik (from Armley, our West Leeds home) was

as funny and strange as expected. Ian Clayton ("from offthe telly," as a young lass in the pub beforehand said) was

a great compre, funny and poignant and surely someone

well have to do something with in the future (I reckon he

can sing better than he lets on). And the incredible Roy

Bailey, softly-spoken and gentle-voiced, but so powerful

and huge in sentiment and effect. An amazing performer.Roy sang Word Bomber (from the new album) with us, as

fragile and beautiful as it should be. As I was singing along

I couldnt help thinking how proud I was that this man with

the voice weve admired for so long was singing one of our

songs.

As is often the case at the City Varieties shows (theyre an


22/28


annual fixture now) we did tend to talk a bit. But hey,

these were all my friends (mostly ones Id never met) so

that was OK. Everyone got a free CD, a song wed written

and recorded specially for the night Harry joined us on a

few songs playing his box to great effect, and the beautiful

City Varieties theatre didnt let us down with its red velvet

curtains and gold-painted archways. They reckon itll be

closed for over a year now for refurbishments well have

to plan next years Chumbas local special for somewhere

else, then. Two days off and then back to the tour. I need a

good sleep...

Days Off and Derby

After the usual two days that are supposed to be relaxingbut arent because a) youve got a hangover b) theres no

food in the house c) all your clothes are dirty and d)

theres loads of work to catch up with, its a relief to get

back in the van and set of for Derby. Boff is justifiably

appalled that Neil and I havent even managed to clear

the old banana skins out of the van in the two days athome.

Tonights gig is organised by a very nervous first-time

promoter (and fan) called Graham, who inevitably, does

everything as it should be and then some. We feel

thoroughly looked after (see the thread on mudcat.org for

discussion of the bands rider requirements) - there are


23/28


even flowers in the dressing room! The gig is good - one of

the more subdued affairs, as befits a Tuesday night. A

surprising number of people in the audience are quietly

singing along to stuff from the new album, which is

heartening. Boff forgets the words to the last verse of Buy

Nothing Day and gets Phil to bail him out by doing a

rousing song in Spanish - this may become a feature I

suspect.

Afterwards a man accosts me at the stall. His friend was at

the Bury gig and read the blog where I made mention of

some audience members acting like they were our best

mates, and has apparently been worrying ever since that

we were referring to her. We werent. She was the lovely

woman who I talked about shoes with - I thought we

bonded. Anyway I reassured him she was not the culprit

and then felt horribly guilty.

Back to our very lovely hotel where we watch Newsnight

and hear many tributes to the wonderful Anthony

Mighella. Weirdly, we are playing in the Anthony Minghella

theatre on the Isle of Wight in a few days. It was last time

we played there that we found out he was from an ice

cream family from there. So thatll be strange. The sun is

shining and were off to the seaside.


24/28


Brighton

Oh yes, a shop on the same street as the venue sellingmod suits. This is what Phil wants right now. Hes just not

spivvy enough, and needs something a little tighter (sir).

The Komedia has grown bigger since we last came here

still, its packed and friendly and full of sea-swept red-

cheeked faces like Robb Johnson, straight from a school

parents evening (hes a teacher) "Oh yes, your darlingson Donald is a perfect pupil, now Im going to do a song

called Anarchy in Hackney." Robb joins us onstage for a

version of the song Fine Career from the new album.

Perfect, corblimey guvnor.

Ive been listening to Robb for what seems like a hundredyears now. I first heard about him when he wrote a song

about the Herald of Free Enterprise, a ship that went down

off Zeebrugge harbour with big loss of life. Since then our

paths have crossed countless times as both him and us

have done different things, working with different musical

styles and retaining a healthy and solid disrespect for allthings authoritarian. Hes an incredible songwriter,

managing to be committed and radical without falling into

the trap of sounding like a protest singer. Well, at times

he does fall into this trap, actually, but its knowingly and

always counterbalanced by clever and subtle melodies. It

stems from a love of chanson, I reckon. Stops him

sounding like this generations Phil Ochs. Thing is though


25/28


(forgive me for going on about Robb Johnson), hes one of

those people whos songs are sometimes delivered better

by other singers like Leon Rosselson, for instance.

Anyway, tonight in Brighton hes funny and warm and the

perfect support. He tells us the 100 Club tomorrow night

might be a strange venue for us to play. Well see.

London

The 100 Club, a place rich in history and spilt beer. Wasnt

looking forward to this one particularly, but on descending

like Duchamps nude down dark stairs and into the grey

oblong cellar that is the club I immediately fell in love. The

pictures and posters on the walls who hasnt played

there? The old bluesmen over from America, two or threegenerations of jazzers, a wave of punks and some of the

best old rocknrollers. Chuck Berry plays there three days

after us. The gig was great and reminded us how good it is

to be able to swing between all-seated arts centres and

sweaty cellar clubs. Robb Johnson is with us again tonight

followed by the inimitable Swill (ex-Men They CouldntHang).

Playing in front of posters for the club advertising

everyone from George Melly to Jeff Beck and the Sex

Pistols is a good reminder of our place in British pop

culture. Recent reviews in both the Guardian and the

Independent newspaper have mentioned some kind of


26/28


place for Chumbawamba as proto-national treasures.

That strange part of our culture which allows the

mavericks who bumble along long enough without falling

over and dying (or just quitting like Syd and Peter Green)

to gain admittance to the loony bin inhabited by people

like Robert Wyatt. And who wouldnt want to hang about

with Robert Wyatt? Or maybe were just grand old dames,

troopers treading the boards. Or maybe were just

benefiting from the cyclical nature of our countrys

political roundabout, where anti-war and anti-state

sentiments come vaguely into fashion every six or seven

years. When its not supposed to be embarrassing to think

that New Labour and the Tories are practically the same

thing and that as artists we ought to be shouting about

this. And shouting about war and immigration policies and

racism and all the rest, while were at it. Yes, thats it.

Anyway. Great club, the 100 Club. Phil with his new suit

revels in the chance to play the bouncer, gently ejecting a

bloke from the stage as were playing. Presumably the

bloke (I think he just wanted to join in) wont remember

any of this. Phil did, it was his finest hour. Hello London!

Colchester, Newport, Fareham and home

We didnt so much run out of steam or enthusiasm for the

blog - there were simply fewer wi-fi opportunities, and

none of us is sufficiently technologically advanced to go


27/28


down the Blackberry route (yet). So, with no disrespect to

anyone who either put on or attended the last three

shows, Im going to simply summarise and draw overall

conclusions as befits the end of a tour.

Three towns - three very different shows. A microcosm of

the diversity of gigs we find ourselves playing currently.

Colchester - fairly noisy, majority of the audience standing

up. A Timebomb night; Newport (IOW) - very quiet, two

sets, definitely not a Timebomb night, in the B&B in time

for most of MOTD; Fareham - a Folk Festival - mid-

afternoon set, following on the heel of such luminaries as

Roy Bailey and Spiers and Boden, playing to an audience

who were probably largely unfamiliar with what we do.

And thats us nowadays - constantly tweaking the set and

adjusting the between-songs banter to fit the situation

were in. Up and down like a wrestlers jock strap as Lou

would put it. But it keeps us on our toes and theres a

certain thrill to thinking on our feet and working out just

how to pitch it all. Goodness me, in the ADAT-driven days

of the electric band, we were stuck with the same set for

months on end. But the whole set was dictated by

costume changes then. Lou and I have considered

different outfits for different songs but frankly, the boys in

their suits are more dandyish than us currently.

Having been performing acoustically for a few years now,


28/28


we decided to take the bold step of dropping the acoustic

from our name and just go out as Chumbawamba. Hard to

tell whether the (very) few people who shouted out for

Tubthumping or Mouthful Of Shit would have still done so

had the acoustic suffix still been there. But we are what

we are, and change has always been our watchword.

To sum up then - a successful tour - on every level. The

people carrier held its own, team spirit was in evidence

throughout and the audiences were lovely. What more

could we ask?

chumbawamba uk tour diary - march 2008

Documents