Meeting The Feeling

Thurs 15 June, 11.50pm (The Players’ Lounge, Charing Cross, London):
The Players’ Lounge is a popular actors’ hang-out just across the road from Waterloo Station. We’re here, unsurprisingly, with a bunch of actors whose play we’ve just been to see in Paddington. This evening The Lounge is heaving with well-groomed young men (men who, let’s just say, can probably dance really well) belting out heartfelt renditions of the hits from Cats, peppered with the occasional teary tribute to Rufus Wainwright. The Lounge has an in-house piano, but it seems to be something of an unspoken law that the piano is there for earnest recitals of Can You Feel The Love Tonight and not to play host to some trumped-up rock singer in a funny hat who quite plainly hasn’t combed his hair in a good while. Of course, this doesn’t stop me getting up there and having a go anyway.

Luckily I have something outrageous up my sleeve – a wacky, jazzed-up version of The Lady Is A Tramp – and, to my surprise, it appears to win them over. When the Players’ Lounge shuts, some devious soul convinces us to trek across central London to the Café De Paris, where we’re playing tomorrow night, to sample it’s fine selection of cocktails and banging tunes.

Some time later, we get there. It’s closed. Maybe that’s because it’s 5am.

Friday 16 June, 4.30pm (Café De Paris, Leicester Square, London):
It’s less than 12 hours later and, remarkably, we seem to be back at the Café De Paris. The reality of this is making me feel a little queasy. However, there’s a show to play so I’m forced to snap out of my reverie and get to the soundcheck. When the gig arrives, all goes well – we just about manage to stay squeezed onto the tiny stage and George debuts a solo version of a new song, “In Black Eyes”. Good work all round. Tomorrow, it’s back into festival territory.

Saturday 17 June, 3pm (Grovestock Festival, Chiswick, London):
We’re opening Grovestock, a day-long festival in Chiswick. It’s very hot. Especially in our full Lightyears military regalia. Today is significant in the history of the band mainly because we can now add Bjorn Belief to the list of superbly-named tribute bands we’ve shared a stage with (in case you’re wondering, Think Floyd and Oasisn’t probably top the list at the moment). When we come offstage we get booked for a gig on a cliff-edge in North Cornwall, so it’s time well spent, I’d say. Plus the burgers are excellent.

Weds 28 June, 11.15pm (The Feeling’s aftershow party, Portsmouth):
No gigs for a couple of weeks, so we’ve been on the look-out for alternative sources of amusement. As a result we’ve ended up here, backstage at Portsmouth’s Wedgewood Rooms, at The Feeling aftershow party, chatting with lead singer Dan. Tremendous bloke. Filled my little world right up. Later on I fall into conversation with the drummer’s dad, who expresses his perturbation at The Feeling being pigeonholed as an MOR band, when in fact they’re really quite rock ‘n’ roll. “I even took him to see Deep Purple when he was a nipper,” he protests. I put forward my point of view that a pleasant quirk of the band being nudged into soft-rock territory is that they’re likely to become very, very rich, although my logic seems lost on him.

For the record, The Feeling are a superb live band – and they really are more rock ‘n’ roll than you’d think. The support band were our good friends Genius; check them out here [note from Editor – sadly, Genius split shortly after this gig. RIP the wonderful Genius band].

Friday 7 July, 9pm (Bush Hall, Shepherd’s Bush, London):
Tonight we’re supporting Livingston at London’s Bush Hall. Every member of Livingston grew up in a different country (they hail from South Africa, Italy, Germany and Norway respectively) which puts Tony’s nostalgic anecdotes about trying to procure underage pints in the Dog & Biscuit in Reigate somewhat into perspective. Bush Hall is a wonderful venue – over the years it’s hosted major groups like REM and Coldplay, and more recently acts such as Boy George and Lily Allen. We end up having a great night and, having put away a few pints, decide it’d be best to leave the car outside the venue and pick it up in the morning. 

Having had The Lightyears tourbus impounded after the last Clapham Grand gig, we’re understandably reticent about leaving it on the street overnight. These days we even joke that it’d be cheaper for us to hire a chauffeur than drive to gigs, since the average cost of releasing the car from the evil clutches of the local council is nearly £200. Still, eager not to let past experiences make us paranoid, we depart Shepherd’s Bush in high spirits, having left the car neatly tucked away at the end of a leafy cul-de-sac. I mean, what’s the worst that could happen? Really?

Saturday 8 July, 9.30am (Outside the Bush Hall, Shepherd’s Bush):
Yep. Somebody smashed up the car and broke in. Apparently that’s the worst that could happen. Which, considering it’s Shepherd’s Bush, can probably be considered fortunate. I mean, we could have turned up to find our trusty Vauxhall engulfed in a raging ball of flames.

Chauffeur anyone…?

Chris Lightyear

“Ambassador, you are spoiling us…”

Saturday 3 June, 10.30am (Regency Ballroom, Grand Hyatt Hotel, Seoul):
Well, here we are. The day of the gig. In about 11 hours we’ll be playing to a crowd of over 500 people, including the British Ambassador, here in the Regency Ballroom at the Grand Hyatt Hotel in Seoul, South Korea. How did we get here?!

The theme of the evening is the Chelsea Flower Show, and the ballroom is looking really quite magnificent. A frenetic team of event organisers are bombing about, assembling lighting rigs and tinkering with elaborate floral arrangements. The décor for the evening includes a gigantic working water-mill, a specially-erected thatched cottage complete with lawn and garden path and a 30-foot tall cascading waterfall. The acronym “QBB” (“Queen’s Birthday Ball”) hangs majestically above the main entrance to the ballroom, spelled out in enormous 3D letters made entirely of moss. Oh, and each dinner table is sporting its own fully-functional miniature water-feature, of a complexity and aesthetic finesse that would make Alan Titchmarsh weep. Basically, the place is pimped.

We have arrived early in order to ensure a smooth sound-check. However, the sound crew are yet to turn up and apparently they may not be here until lunchtime, which leaves us twiddling our thumbs somewhat. During the intervening hours I while away my time contemplating whether I could get away with re-arranging the table-top model giraffes into lewd kama-sutras. I also spot that QBB is BBQ backwards. Coincidence? I think not.

Saturday 3 June, 2.30pm (On stage, Regency Ballroom, Hyatt Hotel):
The sound crew have arrived, and there are hundreds of them. They are currently in the process of unveiling legions of drum-kits, keyboards, amps etc for our approval, and so a great deal of thumbs-upping is going on. Tony has been entertaining the Korean technicians for some time now by gadding about in a sort of complex silent pantomime which, roughly translated, means “Yes, playing the drums standing up is odd and, yes, a singing drummer is also odd but it’s very important to me that I get my own way”. This is most entertaining.

Half an hour later we’re all standing behind our instruments checking the sound. It’ s sounding great but, according to Tony, there’s something not quite right. This’ll be something technical and in these situations we always leave it to him to negotiate with the soundman. Today, of course, the soundman is Korean, which is likely to complicate matters. Tony treks the seven miles from the stage to the sound-desk and returns a few minutes later with a triumphant smile on his face. Miraculously, he seems to have solved the problem by convincing the guy to “heighten the threshold and resolve the compression ratio to below 3.5” and “set the near-field proximity with a slightly slimmer EQ setting”. Based on what I know to be his scant grasp of the Korean language, Tony must have achieved this via some clever combination of the phrases “Hello”, “Thank you” and “Does this dish contain meat?”.

The sound is sorted, the stage is set. Just a few hours to go…

Sat 3 June, 8.30pm (Lightyears Dressing Room, Backstage, Hyatt Hotel):
We are sitting backstage eating mini snickers bars and rehearsing “God Save The Queen” in our heads. Warwick Morris, the British Ambassador to South Korea, is out there with 499 other guests, eager to salute Her Majesty on this momentous day, her 80^th birthday, via a heartfelt rendition of the National Anthem. Let’s hope we get it right.

Our nerves are hardly settled by the worry that, in the event that we do get to meet the Ambassador, the temptation to crack Ferrero Rocher jokes may prove too overwhelming to resist. In an effort to combat this, we have spent much of our time backstage racking our brains for erudite and pithy phrases we can keep up our sleeves should the occasion arise. So far, the best we’ve come up with is “Pull my finger”.

Sat 3 June, 11.45pm (Dancefloor, Regency Ballroom, Grand Hyatt Hotel):
To our delight, the gig went down a treat. Small tears of patriotic joy were shed at our interpretation of “God Save The Queen” and the place was rocking when we took to the stage after dinner. At one point, I even spotted some dude playing air guitar on his best mate’s leg. Despite George’s amp and guitar breaking down at the beginning of our second set – you try saying “My Fender Twin is buggered”, in Korean, whilst also singing and playing guitar in front of hundreds of people – we pulled through and everyone at the ball seemed to have, well, a ball.

After the show we took to the dancefloor, and we now seem to have attracted the attention of a group of young English teachers sitting by the enormous moss wilderbeast display. I remember these guys from our set because one of them was dancing like the ghost of Cosmo Brown, if Cosmo Brown had smoked a whole bunch of crack (seriously, look out for him when the tour video comes out). We fall into conversation with them and they make a promise to take us out on the town after the ball and show us a good time, Seoul-style.

Sunday 3 June, 3.30am in the morning (A nightclub, Hongik, Seoul):
We have been taken out to what has been billed as “the seediest night-club in Seoul” – apparently 95% of the girls in this place are Korean or Russian prostitutes. It’s very much like walking onto the set of a 50 Cent music video, except that the soundtrack in here doesn’t make me want to shoot myself and everyone I’ve ever met. The place is thronging with people, the tunes are banging, and the vodka shots are forthcoming. We stick around for an hour or so, before the temptation to go for a big Norebang session proves too strong to resist…

Sunday 3 June, 8.30am in the morning (Norebang house, Hongik, Seoul):
We step blinking into the sunlight, rubbing our eyes and trying to work out how we managed to spend four hours singing karaoke in a tiny room with a bunch of people we hardly know. It’s 8.30 on Sunday morning and the people of Seoul are beginning to stir. Time for us to hit the sack, I think. We’ve had an awesome night with our new buddies, from whom we must now sadly part as we’re flying back tomorrow. If you’re reading this, guys, thanks for a killer night out. 

Sunday 3 June, 9pm (Korean restaurant, Insadong, Seoul):
Tonight we had a band photo shoot to commemorate our last night in Korea, and have since moved on to a Korean restaurant round the corner from Somerset Palace. The entertainment afforded by the charming English translations on the menu this evening is second-to-none – George has ordered the “chicken gamble”, which is a particularly brave move, given the name, and I opt for the “chicken glutinous rice cracker frizzled in oil”, because I have always held the belief that frizzling is the best way to cook anything, especially if it’s glutinous. Items we would have liked to have ordered through curiosity, but for which appetite didn’t allow, include “kimchi spawnfood”, “a chicken boom”, “old kimchi slices of boiled pig meat”, “egg scroll”, “live kiwi juice” and an after-dinner liquor mysteriously translated as “rubus schizostylus”. Man, I love this place.

Monday 4 June, 3pm (32,000 feet above sea level, Moscow):
George is making a call from his personal in-flight telephone, leading with the line “Yeah, hi…. yeah, I’m in a jumbo jet…. What? Yes, that’s right, I’m just cruising over Russia…”. What a ponce. Blighty, here we come.

Monday 4 June, 10.30pm (Lightyears HQ, Chiswick, London, UK):
London, England. Home. Here it’s 10.30pm; to us it feels like 7.30 in the morning. And so we take refuge in the local pub, buy a round of beers, and proceed to reminisce heartily about our adventures in Korea, long into the night……

Chris Lightyear

North Korea… South-east Asia’s premier tourist trap

Thursday 1 June, 11am (Buddhist temple, Insadong, Seoul):
We stepped out of Somerset Palace this morning into the warm sun with the objective of getting to grips with our new surroundings. Our first port-of-call was the local temple, which is located immediately adjacent to our Korean crib. And, well, let’s just say, Church Of England it ain’t. The temple is painted in spectacular colours and the whole place is incredibly upbeat and festive. I’ve never seen anything quite like it. Naturally, we take a moment to remark upon the fact that Seoul suffers a little when held up in comparison to Reading – it lacks a healthy smattering of TK Maxx outlets, a Reading Bedding, and of course pet wholesale warehouse Paws & Claws – but nevertheless we can’t help but be impressed.

Thursday 1 June, 3pm (Somerset Palace, Seoul):
Our jet-lag is steadily wearing off and being replaced by blind hunger. Ever the pragmatist, and keen to uphold the reputation of Brits abroad, Tony left breakfast this morning with a couple of boiled egg sandwiches stowed in his shorts. The rest of us missed that particular trick, however, so we drop in to the local 7/11 and pick up a few cartons of dried Korean noodles – they cost about 30p, they’re absolutely delicious, and unlike British Pot Noodles they don’t leave you feeling like you’ve french-kissed a turd. Afterwards we head back to the hotel to freshen up for a rooftop barbeque that our ex-pat hosts are holding in our honour. It’s a tough life.

Friday 2 June, 4pm (Dongdaemun Baseball Stadium, Seoul):
Today has been a very good day. Last night we stayed up until 3am playing blackjack and drinking soju, an Asian vodka that is extremely popular with the locals and also ludicrously cheap. Remarkably, considering 60p buys you enough of the stuff to macerate your liver into silly putty, none of us feel particularly hungover and so we’ve been raring to go all day.

George, John & I started at Seoul Tower this morning, where we spent our time gawping at the astonishing panoramic views of the city and dodging large groups of excitable school kids. Whilst up there we located the Grand Hyatt Hotel, which is where we’re playing our gig tomorrow night. And it turns out that the place is pant-wettingly enormous. Imagine, if you will, that your kitchen table represents the city of Seoul. Scatter pieces of penne pasta around at random and you’ll have an approximate portrayal of the city’s architectural structures, living areas and transport networks. Now, in place of the Hyatt, whack a honking great anvil down in the middle of it. That’s how big it is.

Next stop for us is the Dongdaemun Flea Market, which sells all kinds of wonderful, useless crap and is for that reason highly entertaining. Beside one stall, staffed by a dozy-looking Korean chap who seems almost oblivious to the fact that he’s peddling a mountain of hardcore lesbian pornography, we find a small cardboard box occupied by two very fluffy, very sleepy, puppies. They are clearly for sale, but sadly for us the sign is written in Korean. My guess would be “Fido and Woof, Buy One Get One Free”.

Once we’ve tired of staring at the big jars full of pickled snakes and giant millipedes in the flea market, we make our way across the road and buy tickets for the all-day baseball tournament that’s being held at the Dongdaemun Sports Stadium. Whilst kicking back with a round of ice-cold beers and taking in the gorgeous weather and the good-natured baseball game being played out in front of us, we reflect on how our current situation is likely to differ from Tony’s. Tony got out of bed this morning at some unholy hour, put on a suit (don’t forget it’s 30 degrees here), handed over 40 quid to a bus driver and ventured forth with a worrying lack of trepidation into North Korea. Now, for those of you unversed in world politics, North Korea is presently at war with South Korea. The two countries are currently locked in a strange kind of stalemate – much like a huge game of human chess in which no one has moved the pieces in a long time – and so it is currently “safe” for tourists to visit the border and take pictures of the enemy soldiers, who stare at each other across the North/South divide, as if waiting for someone to squeak “Alright, I give up, I have to pop to the loo”. Oh, and when I say “safe”, I mean you have to go along accompanied by a man with a huge gun. Why we opted for the baseball, I really couldn’t say…

Friday 2 June, 11pm (Norebang house, Jongno-gu, Seoul):
Having advised us that Friday night is big business in Seoul, after dinner this evening Amy and Neil take us out to a Norebang house in the city centre. “Norebang” is Korean karaoke, and it’s a very different affair to what we have in the UK. Whilst the British obsession with karaoke is chiefly rooted in the compulsion to make a muppet of yourself in front of strangers, the Korean equivalent takes a very different form. Over here you hire a private room and sing to a small group of people you have personally invited. It actually feels kind of seedy, although I should note that’s probably not unrelated to the fact that directly above the room we’ve hired tonight is a dubious-looking club called “Bikini Girls”. In actual fact, we end up having a brilliant time, although I suspect I haven’t downed enough soju this evening to truly connect with the spirit of Norebang. Obviously, as we’re playing a big show tomorrow, we have to be careful not to wreck our voices by getting wasted and belting out big rock numbers. This is why I opt for “Killing In The Name Of” by Rage Against The Machine and a Guns ‘N’ Roses power ballad.

On the way home, Amy drops into conversation that the British Ambassador to South Korea will be amongst the 500-strong attendance at the Queen’s Birthday Ball tomorrow night at the Hyatt. And we’ve got to kick off the evening by playing the National Anthem to him. Gulp.

Find out what happens to The Lightyears at the Grand Hyatt Hotel in the third and final part of our Korean Tour Blog. Coming soon…

Chris Lightyear