09Oct02 -- Bristol (The Academy)
I catch Al the Kindhearted getting out of his coffin today. It might sound like nothing to you, but you see, I've never seen Al rise or go to sleep and it's been bugging me for the entire trip. Mark refers to Al as the Undertaker, and I had been wondering if he even slept at all. Well, this morning as I as getting up I saw this black leather bag come out from his coffin (which in and of itself is strange because there's so little room in the bunks for anything but just your body), and shortly thereafter Al emerged fully dressed and looking rather refreshed. Very, very strange. I'm now convinced Al is keeping a portal to another dimension in his coffin -- a dimension where you can stand upright, put your clothes without getting knocked around from one side of the Shed to the other, and shower in a 5-star shower. I gotta see if I can borrow it from him sometime.

Today we're parked even further from the venue -- a good mile if not more. It's early and we can't unload, or even drive, to the venue for awhile so I clamber out of the Shed and just start wandering aimlessly. Funny enough, about 30 minutes later I stumble straight on to the venue where I find Mark and Dan. Weird the internal compasses that drive you. The three of us head out for the usual town exploration. We walk by a street called Lower Maudlin Street, and Mark wonders allowed, "Is it possible to get any lower than just plain maudlin?" Up near the university we stop in a skate shop (one of many we visit) and while inside I recognize a song on the stereo. It's "A Thousand Motors Pressed Upon the Heart" by friends and local Seattleites Juno. I'm floored. Thousands of miles from home in some random skate shop and they're playing Juno of all bands on their stereo. Amazing! Had I walked in five minutes earlier or five minutes later I would've missed it. Coincidence is either hit or miss... Consumed are up the street opening for The Mighty Mighty Bosstones. Will and Chris from Consumed are in Mark's other band, The Blueprint, so we taxi up there in the evening to catch their set before they later come down to watch Pitchshifter.

The dressing room for the venue here is a split level affair. Downstairs are the shower and bathrooms; upstairs a tiny, cramped lounge. Off the tiny lounge is a tiny door that goes directly out to a balcony overlooking the side of the stage. The door's about four feet high and we all have to scrunch over to get through it. Everyone, that is, except Dean the merch man, who seems to walk effortlessly through. We now start calling him Gimli Son of Gloin. There's a long hallway behind the stage area that has a door on one end with a circular window and in the middle a single red light. It's the perfect spot for a pre-show photog session, so I get the band crammed in down there before going onstage. In the pit tonight there is someone else with me also filming who's somewhat of an annoyance. There's a bit of etiquette when you're filming or taking photos. Never intentionally cock block someone's shot. Pick a spot and take some shots (or footage) then switch places with your counterpart(s), being courteous enough to not get in their shot and patient enough to let them do some work before you move into their space. Obviously this guy hasn't heard, or doesn't care, about this as he's all over the place and I'm constantly finding myself getting bumped by him, or finding him into my frame as I film. Turns out later that it's the father of Shifter's webmaster.

Outside the bootleg vendors are once again selling Shifter t-shirts and hoodies for five and ten quid apiece. It's all a mafia run thing, and you see the same four guys at different shows, always in pairs. I film them and they get nervous. One guy pulls a shirt up over face while the other tells me to fuck off before I get hurt. Whatever. I keep filming. I tell Driver Dave that when load-out comes he should pull his bus overtop the shirts -- not ruining the merch, but making it impossible for the goons to retrive it. The frustrating thing is that the quality of the shirts is really good, and they're cheap so the punters buy a lot of them. And then the kids, wearing these shirts, catch the band after the gigs and ask them for autographs... some even asking to have their bootlegged merch signed. Ugh! Think about it folks: you struggle your whole life and pour blood, sweat, tears and every dime you own into creating something you think has value, and a fan spends his money on an imitation of your art and then asks you to autograph it? Or even has the balls to approach you while wearing one in the first place. C'mon people...

Academy shower rating: 3 out of 5 stars. S'alright.

10Oct02 -- Norwich (UEA)
The venue is next to a canal, and tied up directly behind it is a boat that has a black Mini Cooper built onto its deck with a big skull and crossbones emblazoned across the top. It looks like a high speed pirate ship. Love it. Dan and I head out into town and come across a small alternative theater that's showing Z-Town and the Dog Boys, a documentary about the origins of skateboarding and the originals like Tony Alvin that made it what it is today. Great film and a nice break from the daily grind. Dan's been creative today. In the various venues' dressing rooms on this tour he's been signing Jase's name everywhere -- desks, mirrors, tables... you name it. Today Jase finally notices the graffiti and says aloud proudly, "Hey, here's where I signed my name last time we played here. I'd forgotten about it." Jase is totally convinced that it was he who penned his name there at some previous stopover. The freak! There's a poster of Linkin Park on the wall and Dan starts going at it with a white marker. Within a few minutes he's completely made over the poster and instead of the band members is an astronaut, a gangster, some freak with elephant ears, a guy in lingerie with an afro, a homie, and someone who looks like a baseball gang member from the movie The Warriors with "assclown" written across the bill of his baseball cap and a banana in his hand. Genius. "And accepting the award for best tour graffiti: Danbot 2000 (Drinking Edition)."

The venue's smaller than the rest the band have played thus far. It feels more like a club. The punters show up and the band give it their all. This is the third show that the audio is being recorded besides the usual photog and video work I've been doing. Steve Gurney, trusted Shifter soundman, has only recently (since Truro) been able to come on the tour due to other commitments, so the band have only been recording the shows he's been twiddling knobs on. The difference in the sound from pre-Steve to having him here is amazing. The guy knows his stuff, and he knows Pitchshifter. It's interesting how much difference a trusted tech makes. They rarely get the public credit they deserve. Steve, Stilly, Chris and Al are all consummate professionals and the band know they're very lucky to have 'em along. The band certainly recognize their value, but I'm not sure if fans even realize the difference they make.

UEA venue shower rating: 4 out of 5 stars. No complaints, really.

11Oct02 -- London (Astoria)
Late last night while Jase was asleep we put 30 pieces of "angry fruit" in his bunk. Apparently, it's been something of a tradition since Ozzfest 2000. Mark has been saving all the fruit (apples, oranges, pears) from the venue riders and last night stayed up with Liz, Al and others drawing angry faces on them with markers. They all get slipped in his bunk and when Jase wakes up in the morning he's absolutely furious, angrily throwing the fruit out of his bunk with a very vocal tirade I dare not repeat. The thing I don't get is how, 1) he didn't notice us putting them in the first place, as we were really drunk (again) and rather loud, and 2) how he slept all night with 30 pieces of fruit lodged into his coffin alongside him. The guy must sleep like a rock! Or maybe he'd borrowed Al's portal. With every corner the Shed turns, the fruit go rolling from one side of the bus to the other. There's a comic value in it all that just can't be properly explained.

At the venue we unload all our gear as the bus won't be coming back until much later, and for many of us this is the end of the line. The last night, the big gig... one last hurrah. The guest list is massive and Elizabeth is busy most of the afternoon doing nothing but printing out laminates for family and friends. The venue itself is a maze to get around. The dressing rooms are four flights up from the stage, and to even get from the front door to the backstage area is a quest that involves several days rations, the hiring of a local guide, and a GPS system. Jon's fiancé Lisa has flown in from L.A. and is crashed out in the dressing room upstairs. I know exactly how she feels and can't help but go fetch her a chai when she wakes up. Lovely all around, it's nice to see Jon with his lady; it puts a warm glow on his face and erases the last few weeks of being on the road. Soon enough she'll be joined by Emma, Dan's wife Kate, Jon and Mark's parents and other relatives, Jim's folks, Matt Grundy, and about 50 other guests.... Hell, everyone is here. Like I said, this is the reallybigshow. The only people who didn't make show are This Girl, whose van broke down several hours outside of London. It's sad, they're amazingly nice lads who play some great music, and this was the show we all were looking forward to -- one that no one should be denied.

During the afternoon I sequester each band member away for a video interview. I ask a couple of particularly tough questions because I'm interested in how each person views the others, and how they think the others view them. There is a lot of professional and personal respect between the five, but I'm still blown away by how humble they all are, and just how much they really respect each other. And this isn't a band member saying something nice for the sake of saying something nice -- they all take time to ponder the questions and the context they're asked in, and their answers are both heartfelt and eloquent. "We have a rule," Mark says, "and that rule is that there's no bullshit allowed. There are no egos." So very true.

And then it's showtime. The band come out to a thunderous hail of cheers. You can feel the entire venue vibrate from the crush of noise. Before "MyKind" Jon stops and introduces the crowd to his father and dedicates the song to him. The house lights come up and the fans give him a welcome roar. Written for his father, who came very close to dying a year ago, the song means a lot to Jon. "He said, 'No man could ask for better sons' / And after all the things I've said and done / You know he carries us both deep within his heart." Earlier this year before P.S.I. came out Jon sent me a remix version he did of "MyKind" and asked me what I thought of the track. I told him it's one of my all time Pitchshifter faves (which it is), and I asked him if he'd played it yet for his father. He said he hadn't, and I don't know if his dad had heard it before tonight, but it was really touching to see him get the respect of the audience.

Then before the encore came Mark's surprise. (Remember, we were all keeping his proposal to Emma a big secret?) Everyone had done an amazing job of keeping things mum and Emma had absolutely no idea what was to come. She was brought out onto the stage and Mark got down onto you knee and, in a choked voice, asked her to marry him. "I would love to," she replied. Behind her Al the Kindhearted appeared with a velvet cushion that had her engagement ring on it. Beautiful. The band all gave Mark a big hug and then they launched into "Please Sir." Jon rocketed off the stage into the crowd for one last surfing safari, and then afterwards it was a very crowded dressing room as champagne was popped and congratulatory toasts were made. Finally, tour accomplished, it was the inevitable goodbyes as everyone headed off in their own direction. It was strange having things end so abruptly, but it was also easier I think. You don't have time to ponder what to say, and those are things that are sometimes best left unsaid. You hug them, tell them you'll see them soon, and feel your heart tug a little as everyone leaves. Jon and Lisa are bound for Paris for a few days before returning home to Los Angeles, and I'm heading back to Nottingham with Mark and Emma before flying home to Seattle. Before leaving I turned to Jon and said, "Thank you." "For what?" he asked. "Just... thank you." We give each other a big embrace and then it was time to go out into the London rain. Funny thing... with the exception of a brief drizzle in Truro, the weather had been absolutely beautiful for my entire stay, only beginning to rain here in London as we headed towards the car. A poignant way for things to come a close.

Astoria shower rating: 0 out of 5 stars. Christ almighty! The dressing room is on the fourth floor but the showers are on the first. Even the sherpa got lost. Bastards.

12Oct02 -- Nottingham
Drove back from the London Astoria gig last night with Mark and Emma where, before the encore, Mark got down on one knee and proposed to her in front of a packed house of fans -- all who screamed their approval. You could see his heart beating nervously against his chest from light-years away. Beautiful. It's what makes journeys like this worthwhile; those moments where we're most human, exposed and sublime in that frailty. Woke up in their guest bed to the sound of birds, realizing that I had not heard them in weeks. Birds! In the lifeless coffins of the Shed there are no natural sounds, just a heavy darkness where even the simple pleasure of fresh air is an unheard of anomaly. Pull the curtain shut, pass out in your 6x3x2 coffin and wake up sometime late morning when you discover that there is a crack in the seam between the bunk's head and sidewall where a shaft of sunlight cuts unmercifully through like a dentist's drill. The crack is too small to see daylight, or anything else resembling an outside world, and after a couple of days you can start telling time by the intensity of the shaft of light and its vertical position relative to the bunk seam it streams in through. Have to shove the pillow longways against the crack to keep the unwholesome reality out. And so it is the simple pleasures that mean the most. Being able to stretch out fully without that claustrophobic feeling like you've been interred alive; waking up in the morning to the sound of birds and the purring of cats curled up next to you in the bed; and the love, camaraderie and mutual respect of good friends -- all of which has been shown in spades by both band and crew these past few weeks. It's a long flight home and it's hard to say goodbye. I don't know if or when I'll be able to see the Pitchshifter family all together again under such circumstances as these. But the beauty of life is that it's forever becoming, so I suspect it won't be too long before our paths cross again. Time to go home.