Former Monarchs’ UK Tour Diary II: Part 2

Posted on 20th Feb 12 by Mike McGrath Bryan | 1

How’s it going? I’m in a lovely French café in Glasgow with a coffee so now’s a good time to jot down the next installment. I am pretty much certain that this will be stranger post than the last.

Newcastle

Right, so we left with us driving to Newcastle through Sherwood Forest. We arrived and met the promoter, an absolute gentleman called Lee, who was running the show. The venue was gritty and small and in a basement, which is great. We loaded in, soundchecked and had a bit of a wander around the city. It seems like a lovely place. It has a very nice city centre in any case. I got a cheap pizza and watched a replay of the African Cup of Nations penalty shoot-out, which was a tasty and exciting way to start our Northern sojourn.

We were headlining a five-band bill. We did all we could to go on 4^th, because we have never played there before and were worried the place would empty. As it was a Monday evening, we weren’t expecting much of a crowd anyway. We were pleasantly surprised though, as there was a good vibe and a good crowd. We played a really good gig in the end, sold a lot of merch, and met some really really nice people. I can’t get over how nice everyone was. We finished the gig and went back to our mate Donogh’s gaf in Sunderland, which is only 20 mins away, and told tasteless jokes and talked about the different methods of eating toast until we fell asleep.

We had a long kip and didn’t leave Sunderland until 3pm-ish. We were on our way to Carlisle. This is one that we had been unsure about for a long time, as the promoter hadn’t replied in weeks, and we had heard strange things about the place. Still though, we thought we’d head and see what the story is. It ended up being the strangest night we’ve ever experienced as a band. Hands down. It’s all still a bit fresh as I sit here in lovely Glasgow, but here’s what happened. In bullet-point form. I have no interest in embellishing this with prose. Writing this in text form really doesn’t do it justice.

Carlisle

• We arrived. The venue was a pizza place with a venue underneath.

• The owner seemed nice enough (if a little strange) but said he had forgotten about the gig, but he said he’d give us a munch and our own space to crash in, so we thought we’d treat it as a day off.

• He had a canary jumper and a porn-star moustache.

• We hung out, and he fed us pizza. The pizza was nice.

• There was a very weird vibe in the place. The clientele were a bit odd.

• He said we would still play, because a few would turn up.

• But we couldn’t go down to the basement venue immediately as there were burlesque dancers doing their thang down there. Odd.

• Barry and I went for a walk. The town was DEAD.

• Our name was called out over the intercom at half time in the Carlisle FC vs Tranmere Rovers FC match up the road.

• We loaded the gear in, because we were told to by the owner, for ‘the gig’ that he forgot about.

• Then, the owner showed us where we were staying. It was not an apartment at all. It was the upstairs bar of the place, but we couldn’t go in there for a few hours also, as one of his bar staff (who was exceptionally strange) wanted Valentine’s alone time up there with his beore. Strange enough, but still grand like.

• We started jamming downstairs. It was pretty obvious that this wouldn’t be a gig, but we said we’d jam. The owner told us to go on at about ten past ten. It was a manky freaky old basement, with a distinct dungeon vibe to it. All cobwebs and muck all over the gaf like.

• After a while, the bar staff member and his old doll came down and started shifting the faces off each other and drinking a bottle of rosé. He kept trying to put vodka into her rosé and she was having none of it. It was all very weird. I kept my eyes closed and sang a few songs. So it was us and the two of them in the dungeon cave basement.

• By this stage it was 10 o’clock and there was no way people were coming in, but we kept jamming out different ideas with our existing songs, treating it as a practice.

• Next thing, the owner comes down, and closes the basement door behind him. All very weird.

• It was ten past ten at this stage, which was when the gig was supposed to start.

• He sparks a huge joint and turns off all the lights in the venue. So, we’re now playing in next to darkness, except for one revolving lamp from the roof.

• I asked him to turn back on the lights because this was clearly not a show and it was just him and us in this freaky dungeon-room.

• He ignored me.

• At this stage we’re starting to think this is very strange. He just sits there smoking and rolling one after the other and it’s incredibly weird and awkward.

• We finish a song, and then your man tells us that he’s locked up the entire restaurant and bar and it’s just us and him in the basement for the night. He seems delighted.

• I was thinking “THIS IS SUPPOSED TO BE A GIG?! Why are we playing in the basement of a rundown bar/pizzeria that is closed and all shut up with no fecking lights on in a fogged out room to this weird guy we don’t know”.

• I just said to your man that seeing as the bar was closed there’s no point in playing. I told him I’d be going upstairs to the bar to grab a pint somewhere because this situation was odd. At this stage the room was still dark like. Odd shite.

• He said he’d be coming with us if we left.

• I went upstairs and left the boys with your man downstairs.

• The bar was completely locked up, in darkness. Barry noticed that the ‘bar’ where we were supposed to be staying in upstairs was blaring dub-step and there wasn’t anyone up there. The main bar was blaring reggae. Again, in darkness, and to nobody. It was at that stage I got a horror film vibe and decided I was getting out of there.

• We insisted that we load the gear out and when we were out by the van we decided to leave. We didn’t know where we’d go but we needed to leave this place. There was no way we’d get a kip in here like.

• I went in afterwards and made our excuses. It was just a strange situation like. He even paid us.

• We drove to Glasgow. Damien drove the van like a champion and let me go for two wee breaks. What a top-notch young fella.

• We stopped at a Travelodge outside Glasgow.

• The four boys booked into a family room that holds four people, and I waited in the van until the guy at the counter was away so I could sneak up.

• He didn’t leave, so I decided to just risk it.

• I was caught. OH DEAR!

• We ended up booking another room. Your man behind the desk was really nice and I had the chats with him for a while, chewing the proverbial cud.

• He told me we were probably going to get him in trouble. I apologized for trying to sneak in but told him we were in an odd situation.

• He then gave me tips on how to sneak into Travelodges in future. What an A-OK manbro.

• I went to the new room with the best boy Dave Murphy, and although there was a double bed, I slept on a mattress wrapped in a sofa covering.

• In the middle of the night, I realized that sleeping on the floor in a sofa covering was a stupid idea, so I hopped into bed with Dave.

• At least Valentine’s day ended on a somewhat romantic note.

I’m aware this description will even begin to describe the vibes of that night. Believe me though, surreal doesn’t cover it. What surprises me is that your man knew too well that this wouldn’t be going ahead, but instead of just saying that to us, he made us load in all of our gear and play to him in his tiny dank basement in darkness. I met another band on tour who said that the same thing happened to them. Maybe he intentionally doesn’t want anyone watching bands in his basement other than him. I dunno.

And here we are, in lovely lovely Glasgow. We were due a weird band moment such as this, so we’ll chalk it down to experience. All in all, I never want to return to Carlisle again.

Go in peace,

Jon

Tags: Former Monarchs, Unreal

About Mike McGrath Bryan

Drop-d's editor and news slave since November 2010, and a full-time freelance contributing journalist. Multimedia student, retro gamer and general speccy-four-eyes.

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