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Web Exclusive: Enter Shikari Tour Diary (Part 1)

Posted by Steven Robertshaw on 10-Dec-07 @ 11:19 AM

U.K. invaders Enter Shikari have been tearing up the U.S., spreading their fabulous accents, uh, music, to the lucky masses. We're so stoked about the tour, we asked the band to keep track of their experiences--just for you! Enter Shikari - North America, Dec 07. A Tour Diary. Part 1 Thursday, Nov. 29: travel day Worrying sight greets us at the departure gate at London Heathrow. Firstly, it appears we'll be sharing the flight to Seattle with Aiden. Then there's a guy in a leather cowboy hat and a nun. Oh, and babies. People, we have all the makings of a disaster movie: Two rock bands, a nun, a flamboyantly dressed he-man type and a bunch of screaming rugrats. The odds on this plane never reaching its intended destination are high. As it goes though, the nine hours or so pass uneventfully aside from a little turbulence and our slightly odd flight attendant guy. As Aiden are sat quite near us, this dude assumes we're all together and starts cracking jokes about us all going to Seattle for a 'goth convention'. Which is all well and good, but does he aim these comments at the guys with eyeliner, neck tattoos and dyed black hair? No, its Rob who bears the brunt of it (yeah, Rob... in his pastel sportswear, tidy haircut and all 'round healthy glow. How very goth). Not content with this gaff, he then embarks upon a misguided attempt at male bonding by showering us with lewd comments about his female co-workers and their underwear. Weirdo. Anyway, eventually we get to Seattle and begin the long slow process of actually getting outside the airport. Immigration, baggage, customs (Gav got pulled in for anal probing. Or something), more baggage... until eventually we're greeted by our U.S. tour manager Jim The Spiz. We're staying in Seattle for this first night, so we head to the hotel (thanks to the crumbling American economy, our British money can get us something way nicer than we could afford at home, so the hotel's pretty nice), dump our stuff and hit the Cheescake Factory for stupid-sized portions of delicious food and then it's off to bed to prepare for tomorrow's early start. Friday, Nov. 30: show day; Portland, Satyricon We leave for Portland at 8 a.m. because despite it not being too far a drive, we've got a load of shit we have to deal with before the show (picking up merch and a bass amp--or so we think--and heading out to see the Truth Drum folks to get Rob's snare fixed). We get to the hotel and, of course, neither the merch or bass amp have turned up. Fed Ex can go fuck themselves. The woman on reception seems to be labouring under the misapprehension that we're Van Halen (who're playing in town the day after us). We don't bother correcting her. As we're in a state with no sales tax and a country in financial freefall, we take the only course of action available to us... Shopping. We descend upon the Apple store and pretty much strip it clean. Kneel before us, puny U.S. dollar! iPods pocketed, its time to head to the venue. Of course, we get there and as now become ritual on the first night of American tours, we spend most of soundcheck figuring out what important stuff we're missing from last time around (swear to God, somewhere out there, there's a big hole where all our transformers and power supplies disappear into at the end of each trip). We end up with pretty much no soundcheck (Gav has to stand in for Chris who goes off with The Spiz in search of electrical whatnots). Some of the merch eventually turns up, too. Todd from our US label turns up and takes us for food at some grill/bar place at the top of Portland's tallest building. It's like some Ally McBeal/Frasier type bar thing--all Friday night, post-work girls in strappy dresses and heels out for party and older dudes out to get lecherous. A pianist is belting out muzak maulings of 'the classics' (Ronan Keating, 'Sweet Child O' Mine') and the food and the view are pretty awesome. They also do a cocktail called a 'Champagne Supernova' which Rou feels he has to have (this is how we roll when its someone else's coin. If we're paying, its Subway and KFC all the way baby). Back to the club, and the opening band, Almost Is Nothing, have loaned us their bass cab (thanks guys). Some nice folks that we met last time we were in Portland have come out. It's nice to see friendly faces so far from home. As usual with first of the tour shows we kick start the set with the electronics not working, start again. After that all goes well with some lame but good effort stage diving from the locals, they seemed to be enjoying themselves as did we even though for us it was 7 in the morning. A couple of drinks before bed. Saturday, Dec. 1: showday; Vancouver, Plaza Snow starts to fall as we leave Portland and gets steadily heavier as we head north. Its looks beautiful and gives much opportunity for snowball fights at every stop we make, but turns an estimated three-hour drive into a nine-hour slog. We arrive at the venue pretty late and its all hands on deck for loading in and getting us a short soundcheck. It's a pretty nice big venue, but there are problems because not only are Alexisonfire playing across town and two local hardcore bands are both playing their last-ever shows, but also it's a 19+ venue, so attendance is a little sparse. So with some extra space to use all over the venue, Rou plays most of the show on the floor bringing back the old school memories of early floor shows back home. After the show, some of us head to a nice bar where we get a little trashed and then head to an Irish pub underneath the hotel where we watch weird guys try pick up some of the ugliest women in Vancouver. Sunday Dec. 2, showday; Seattle, Chop Suey It's still snowing when we leave Vancouver and gets steadily worse as we head south. We stop at some weird little Northern Exposure-type town on the way for some average stodgy food and to pick up a couple of DVDs for the journey at Crazy Mike's video store (we ask the girl behind the counter what makes Mike so crazy, but she's not even sure if he actually exists. Crazy). Despite roads like polished glass and visibility down to about 3 inches, we manage to arrive at the venue only a little bit late. Soundcheck goes smooth enough and we head over to a bar over the road for food and to do an interview for some website or other. Unfortunately this means we miss opening band War Paint, who play a 10 minute set and apparently manage to annoy/confuse most of the people in the room (which has to be a good thing, yeh?). Kane Hodder are up next, and turns out their lineup includes a couple of guys who's band played with us at Chop Suey back in May, too. Nice guys. (During our set, a girl who's hanging out with the Kane Hodder guys has an unfortunate 'accident' involving booze. It would be un-gentlemanly of us to elaborate on that, but suffice to say she'll more than likely never drink again as long as she lives). Rory's guitar packs in for a while mid-set, but other than that it all goes swimmingly and--hopefully--everyone goes home happy. We're back in the hotel by midnight and in bed not long after. How rock and roll of us. Monday, Dec. 3, travel day A glamourous day, this. In normal conditions, the drive from Seattle to San Francisco would take around 15 hours, so it's a good job we've got a day off to do most of it in. The thing is, today's conditions are far from normal. The Pacific Northwest has declared a state of "weather emergency." Half of Oregon is flooded (in fact, the interstate we're travelling on has a section closed literally 10 minutes after we pass through it. A rare case of luck being on our side, trees are blowing down and blocking roads and it's pandemonium on the coast. Luckily we avoid the worst of it, but it still makes for very slow going. Nothing to do for hour upon hour than to sit, try to sleep, talk rubbish, eat Junior Mints and watch DVDs (Poseidon and The Green Mile are OK. Epic Movie is terrible). On a stop at a roadside diner thing, the waitress asks us what we're doing in the area. We tell her we're in a band and are travelling to San Fran. She tells us we're living "the good life." If she thinks that sitting upright for 16 hours, sleeping intermittently and staring at rain on the windscreen is a good life, then we have nothing but pity for whatever domestic terror she has to endure. Still, we shouldn't complain. Not when there are all these boxes of Junior Mints to consume later in the day, we stop at another truck stop. In the Taco Bell we spot From First To Last stocking up on burritos... first Aiden, now them. Anyone would think we were making this shit up especially for Alternative Press, but every word of it is true. We eventually stop at a motel at 3 a.m. It's supposedly only three more hours now till we reach San Fran, so we'll do that in the morning... That's the plan, anyway. The way things are going, we'll probably get there at 10 p.m.