30Sept02 - 01Oct02 -- Nottingham (Day off / Rock City)
Day off followed by the big homecoming gig. The bus is parked behind Rock City, which we'll be our Motel 6 for the next two days. Jon and Mark are childhood friends of the owner, George, and most of the day is spent in the venue's production office checking e-mail and playing with George's bat-dog, Ozzie. Ozzie's just a pup, and a loveable one at that, but he looks like some demon bat-dog and jumps around like a cat. Plus, he bites everything he can get his hands on. Dan and I fire up a mini-soccer game in the office and later that night he, Jim, Jon and I go out around the corner for some curry. Mmm... proper curry. The next day I spend time wandering around the downtown area of Nottingham -- record shopping at Select-a-Disc and Fopp, and the guilty gluttony of a coffee from Starbucks. Maybe it's a Seattle thing. More realistically, it's because of brand recognition. You can walk into any Starbucks anywhere in the world and say "tall Americano with room" and they'll know exactly what you want. Plus, as I discovered, the bathroom in this particular Starbucks has a back rest on the toilet -- a plush, massive leather backrest so when you're on the pot you can sit completely back in comfort and enjoy high style. It's the Lazy Boy of toilets, ladies and gentlemen. Why the fascination? You see, decent showers and toilets in venues are an anomaly. Either there's no water pressure, or there's no hot water, or there's just scalding water, or you watch things scurry by as you're taking a shower/using the toilet/etc. So you start paying attention to places you shop, eat at, etc., and when you come across a decent bathroom you make a mental note to do a bit of extra business there, if you know what I mean.

I started rating them. This particular Starbucks' bathroom was definitely a 5-star suite. Leeds Uni: 3 stars. Nottingham Rock City: 1 star. Rock City is a great club and George is super-friendly, but the showers are shit. As it would turn out, I will visit this particular Starbucks' toilet several times during my stay(s) in Nottingham.

Monday the 1st is the big homecoming show. The place is swimming with friends and friends-of-friends of the band. Shifter's old tour manager, Gary Weight, is on hand and it's good to see him. As well, the band's manager Elizabeth has also arrived. There's an in-store signing in the afternoon with a massive turnout. Someone brings their guitar to be signed and there's a crazy girl who shows up wearing handcuffs, lifting them up ecstatically for all to see. What's she trying to say: I'm a slave to Pitchshifter? Dunno. During Taproot's set I'm wandering through the crowd when someone grabs my arm. "Craig... from Seattle?" I turn around to see Matt Grundy, former Shifter guitarist, who currently has a great emo-punk project going on with Mark called The Blueprint. It's great to see him and we spend some time shouting over the crowd and catching up. The band come onstage and both they and the crowd are obviously hyper to be there tonight. I spend the set up in the balcony taking shots of the band. Next to me are some biker types who look like the local Nottingham chapter of the Hell's Angels. The whole set they scream at the band, "Fuck you! You suck!" But after it's over they turn to each other and say, "They rocked!" All so very punk. After the set it's more introductions to friends and friends-of-friends, drinking occurs... the usual.

02Oct02 -- Cambridge (The Junction)
I wake up today to witness Darryl the merch guy stretched out between four coffins doing pushups. Darryl's a genuine, certified freak -- "a nasty piece of work, Chief" -- and an intense one at that. He dresses like an extra out of Road Warrior and has a look in his eye like a rabid dog. Jackboots, sleeveless black vest (with no shirt underneath), piercings in every possible place, and a large Pitchshifter eye tattoo on the back of his neck. Someone, Mark I think, mentioned that he had always wanted to be a Special Forces soldier. Makes sense. He has no credit cards or savings accounts, instead dealing in nothing but cash, and as merch guy he's also got the cash from venue sales. Supposedly he carries a rather large knife with him. Wouldn't surprise me... fits his personality perfectly. A nice guy, but one intense mofo. The first night I met him was in Leeds. I was in the upstairs of the Shed stowing some stuff in my coffin when Darryl came up to square some money away. He must not have initially seen me because as I made my way towards the stairs he jumped, glowered at me and said, "You suppos'd to be 'ere?" "Sir, yes sir." I like Darryl because he is exactly who he is. The only thing I don't like about Darryl is the fact that when you have a conversation with him he spits in your face when he talks and you need a towel when you're done. But the funny thing about Darryl, as we would come to find out, is that during the winter he works at a holiday carnival in Scotland selling homemade court jester hats. Never found out if he made them, but the image of the Road Warrior wearing some multi-colored jester hat made me crack up every time I saw him.

There's an in-store this afternoon and the venue (The Junction) is out aways from the center of town, so the band hops in a taxi and heads in. Next door to the record shop is a sports store and I stop in. I'm both bored and pent up about having no kind of physical release on the bus so I buy a frisbee and a soccer ball. Obviously, the bus is a bit small to be a proper pitch, but I want to have something to do outside of it besides milling about the venue, picking over the finger sandwiches on the rider, and drinking beer and/or other alcohol because there's absolutely nothing else to do. I'm starting to get seriously bored with alcohol... and sandwiches. After the signing, Jase runs off to the local drum shop to sell his wares. We wait in the taxi forever, and the Jamaican driver finally gets so upset that he asks, "Is your friend handicapped or sumthin'?" We burst out laughing. "Yes, oh yes. He's a drummer, don'tcha know?" Post soundcheck Dan and I head to a nearby Pub to meet his brother and some friends.

Tonight's the first night that I start filming with the DV camera. Pitchshifter's tour manager, nicknamed The Hobbit, has also been doing lights and tonight he discovered the strobe button on the console. He still has yet to figure out that there's a split-second delay between pushing the button for a light bank and having that particular light bank fire. Even some twit like me who did sound and lights way back in high school knows that much. However, the strobe makes for some great video footage, especially with Jon jumping around the way he does. As always, the crowd is roaring alongside the band. It's so strange but so cool to be able to witness Pitchshifter play in front of huge, adoring crowds. In the States, with the exception of one gig at CBGB, I've always seen the band opening up for others... never the center of attention. Here, the sweaty punters hang on every word, at times even screaming the lyrics so loud that you can't hear Jon singing them. It's beautiful to watch... but it also makes it difficult to keep the camera steady, so I focus on my task and film away.

The Junction shower rating: 2.5 out of 5 stars. Adequate.

03Oct02 -- Nottingham (Day off)
Houston, we have a problem. Looks like Shifter's TM, the Hobbit, will in short order be packed off back to the Shire. As a person, the Hobbit is okay -- nice, kinda meek, with a self-pity quality that almost makes you want to refer to him as Gollum instead of Hobbit. However, as TM the Hobbit bites ass... and mightily. I might soon have to change his name to Assclown. As TM your job is simple: intuit the needs of your band and crew before they ask; know where they are at all times; and never say "I don't know." It's a tough, thankless task, but it's gotta be done and done well -- something the Hobbit has not been doing at all. When every member of the tour family -- from the band, to Dave the bus driver, to Chris, Stilly and Al the techs, to Darryl the merch man -- complains about the Hobbit's abysmal job performance, you know something is definitely not right. Every person has a job to do here and everyone is looked at with respect and treated equally, regardless of if their band or crew. There are no egos with anyone here. But when you stop performing your job, can't be found, don't follow up on tasks, sorta shrug your shoulders I say "I dunno" when asked a question, or just plain lie about things, you're not tour managing -- you're dead weight. And there's zero room for dead weight on tour. So the Hobbit is packed off back to the Shire and Elizabeth, who has stayed on since the Nottingham gig, has taking over TM duties -- something she'll handle quite admirably. In fact, she gets bonus points for not even flinching about getting on a bus with a dozen freako men and putting up with our adolescent behavior.

Second problem is it looks like Jon's come down with the flu -- something that has been going around and around on the bus, and something I fear might soon head my way. He hides out at George's place to try to sweat it out, while Mark invites me back to his and Emma's casa for a proper shower and the opportunity to stand upright (something you can't do in the Shed). I enjoy what feels like the best shower of my life and curl up with some quality coffee. Mark pulls out the giant archive box of all things Pitchshifter and let's me dig through it. Amazing! I spend a good two hours pouring over old photos, flyers, and newspaper clippings. Mark has done a fantastic job of keeping copies of every mention of Pitchshifter he can find. I'm opening a time capsule and stepping back through the entire lifespan of the band. A very humbling and immensely gratifying few hours. I tell Mark that if he ever runs out of room to store this, or ever even gets the tiniest inkling about getting rid of it, to let me know. I will pay for shipping, have it insured, and put everything in a hermetically-sealed lead-lined box not to be touched. No gloating, no sneaking stuff onto eBay for some quid -- this is important history and it should be preserved with mass respect.

There's a record shop in Nottingham called Robert's Records, or Rob's Records, or Bob's records, or Someone Whose Name I Forget Records tucked into an alleyway near the city center. The place is a war zone of all things music. Stacked, literally, from floor to ceiling are piles and piles and piles of albums, CDs, tapes, videos. There's a small pathway between it all into the back area where Bob/Rob/Robert the owner has somewhat organized his inventory. You can tell this guy is a music freak who just can't say "no" to anything music related, so he collects it and tries to find room to stack it. The place is humbling, if a bit difficult to dig through to find stuff, but I love it. I come across an old Killing Joke 7-inch and happily toss out the mere 50 pence the owner wants for it. Score! Not too far away from the record store is a jeweler's. When Mark was showing me around town earlier in the week we stopped into the shop to pick up the engagement ring he had made for Emma. He plans on proposing to her during the band's show at the London Astoria, but shhhh! It's supposed to be a super secret surprise for his lady. We're all excited about it... Emma has no idea what's coming, so don't tell her.

We catch up with Elizabeth, who's now properly squared away as both band manager and tour manager, and Mark takes us to the castle for a quick tour accompanied by an oral history. Everyone should have a tour guide as cool as Mark. "So the history behind the way the English flip off people is like this..." Tres cool. Then it's a rendezvous with Al the Kindhearted at the Trip to Jerusalem for a coupla pints. Apparently, the pub is the oldest (or used to be until the one across the street contested it) and much of it is built into caves that are dug into the hillside surrounding the castle. The pub has a model galleon hanging near the front that, according to rumor, hasn't been dusted for quite some time due to a curse. Supposedly, the last two employees who cleaned it had some evil nasties befall them. Someone asks me if I would like to try my luck, and I'm almost halfway tempted as I inform everybody that as all things on the bus are shared by proxy, so the curse would be as well. After some muttering, the idea quickly vanishes.

Mark and Emma's shower rating: 6 out of 5 stars. Fabulous and highly recommended. And always ask for more coffee.

04Oct02 -- Manchester (MDH)
I accompany Mark and a friend for a walk to check out record stores. In one I find two Heatmiser CDs. They're out of print and impossible to find in the U.S., and here I am in a foreign country several thousand miles away from where Heatmiser are originally from looking at two different CDs of theirs. I snatch both of 'em up, of course. Back at the venue Jon has the flu full-on. No good. He pops pills, pulls his winter coat on tighter and hopes for the best. A bunch of the band's street teamers are brought inside the dressing room before Shifter's set for a meet and great. Nice kids all around, but you can see it's tough for Jon to put his happy face on when he feels like such shit. The crowd barrier is too close to the stage tonight so I don't know if I'll be able to get up close for some good footage. The pit boss looks like an extra from Clan of the Cave Bear and when I tell him I'd like to squeeze in to do some shooting he growls at me, saying, "This is my personal killing zone!" Your personal killing zone? Uh, right... okay. Duly noted, mutant freak. Be nice to the punters, okay? By the way, did you notice that your knuckles are scraping on the ground? Unable to get any kind of decent shot lines, I give up a few songs into the set and stow the recording gear. This is the first night I've been able to just watch the band play. No one has been forcing me to photograph or video full-time. In fact, on more than one occasion I've been told to not film and enjoy myself, but I feel obligated to do what I can to at least partially offset the fact that everyone on the tour is working while I'm just along for the ride, so to speak. So tonight I heed the advice and just watch... and listen... and comment to myself about how amazed I am at the band's prowess in a live setting. They are so in tune with each other and the music that it's like watching one large organic entity, not five people. Everything is seamless, everyone's playing is impeccably tight. I remember two years ago at CBGB when Mark flubbed a pair of notes on the intro to "W.Y.S.I.W.Y.G." and afterwards beat himself senseless over it. Two notes. No one even noticed.

After the show a few of us head downstairs below the venue to the bar and play some pool. Two kids, both fans, take on Dan and Jase. At one point one of them claps his hands loudly next to Dan's ear as he's lining up a shot. I dunno, maybe the kid thought it was funny. Maybe he was nervous with hanging out with his idols. Maybe he was just an assclown. Whatever the case, Dan politely explained to him that if he did it again he'd get the cue wrapped around his head. Personally, I just would've eyed the kid until he got so freaked that he walked away.

This is the part where I tell the kids how to act around the band they admire. They respect and appreciate you all very much, and they're more than happy to sign stuff and chat briefly with you. Treat them as you would anyone else. You don't have to act goofy around them, you don't have to try to impress them, and you certainly don't have to be scared to approach them. Applying your intelligence is the sure way to earn their respect and attention. But at the same time, don't overstay your welcome, let them have some personal space, and be polite by knowing when to leave. Simple enough.

MDH shower rating: 2 out of 5 stars. Questionable water pressure, and the shower room looks like construction site with debris everywhere.