Tour Diary

In The Lightyears, we like to eat.

15 October 2008

George on stage in Union SquarePart Two of my American Tour Blog…

SUNDAY 14 SEPTEMBER, 3.30pm (Union Square, New York, USA):
Let me bring you up-to-speed.

Less than twenty hours ago we were playing a gig in Southampton, England.

Now we are standing onstage in the sweltering Manhattan heat performing to a crowd of thousands at Union Square in New York, USA. I am sweating like a TROOPER. I may never have been this hot.

My internal clock has given up the ghost and checked out. It simply has no idea what time it’s supposed to be. I resolve to give the gig everything I’ve got and to hell with the consequences. Heck, if this really is the city that never sleeps then I guess I won’t have to worry. Just push through the burn.

As we sing the closing note to Gimme Some and segue into the opening chords of She’s The One, I look out across the square and spot some fans from England in the crowd. Across the other side of the plaza I can see our Philadelphia faithful gathering near the stage. They are out in force and have even brought a rather splendid Lightyears banner with them.

Somehow, we’ve made it. Against all the odds, we are here in one piece, with all our instruments (most of which work), beaming at each other across the stage and knocking out a spirited rendition of Beat Alive. This is surreal. When the song finishes I tell the crowd that, when I say we’re happy to be here, I really mean it.

The Lightyears with Melissa BakerToday’s show also represents the launch of our new EP, At Midnight, and so we play the rest of the songs from the record in the set – This House Will Burn, Brightest Star and Run. After we finish, a big crowd of newly-converted fans converge on the stage to buy CDs and we’re kept busy signing autographs for nearly 45 minutes. I apologise profusely for my sweaty demeanour, for I am soggy like a flannel. I personally don’t consider this to be especially attractive although that doesn’t stop me having my picture taken (along with the rest of the LYs) with a Sports Illustrated model called Melissa. This sort of thing only happens in New York.

Presently we’re escorted off to The Revival Bar, round the corner from Union Square, where the after-party is in full-swing. We’ve barely stepped through the door before we’re introduced to a English chap named Neil Thomas, who we’re playing a gig with in Brooklyn on Thursday. Two minutes of chatting leads to the discovery that Neil specialises in beat-boxing and that, by sheer coincidence, we saw him perform onstage with Shlomo & The Vocal Orchestra at Glastonbury Festival back in June (and here’s the proof – check out #33 in George’s Glastonbury Top 50). So there you are. Plus he lives about half an hour away from us in London. Check him out at Neil Thomas’ Myspace Page.

Tony orders a Manhattan cocktail, for no other reason than a stubborn desire to sample all locally-named delicacies wherever we tour, and declares it to be quite disgusting. Truth is, Tony’s allegiances in America lie firmly with Dr Pepper and you’d have a fight on your hands persuading him that anything else is worth drinking Stateside.

The night descends into a montage of singing, drinking and debating and we end up back at Ashley’s apartment at around 2am, leaning out of the window watching the Manhattan traffic zoom by. Bizarrely, I don’t feel tired. I think my brain has forgotten how to. Best get some sleep though. We’ve got a whole week ahead of us…

MONDAY 15 SEPTEMBER, 10.30am (Upper East Side, Manhattan, New York):
Monday brings an equally stunning New York morning into our lives. Groggy and jet-lagged, we drag our sorry asses out of bed and stumble blinking out onto the street. 

It’s time for breakfast.

With all that gigging nonsense out the way, we can get down to focussing on what this tour is really about – eating. It’s no secret that, in The Lightyears, we like to eat. Even Tony, who’s a vegetarian and therefore not technically a human being, can Eat for England. ‘Course, being eligible to Eat For England doesn’t necessarily mean you’re ready for American food. I mean, I can over-indulge with the best of them but we’re in the States now. The goalposts have most definitely shifted.

Tony has eaten all he can..!Ashley takes us to her local diner, “3-Decker”, and we order pancakes, maple syrup, scrambled eggs, a veggie burger (for Tony), two omelettes, a beef and pastrami wrap, coffees, Pepsi and two sides of fries. Disgracefully, I make it but halfway through my “All-American Wrap”, so-called because it has ALL THE MEAT IN AMERICA inside it. Or at least that’s the only plausible explanation I can find. I am surprised at myself but refuse to feel ashamed. It was like trying to eat a baby’s head! Just, you know, a really delicious baby’s head with crunchy salad and a gherkin.

Somehow, barely four hours later, we find ourselves uptown in the Brooklyn Diner, settling down to another massive feast. The Brooklyn Diner famously serves the best burgers in New York, a claim that George heartily substantiates. I won’t go into the gory details but I mention this because, when we stepped into the doorway of the restaurant, we bumped into an old friend of ours from London. Apparently this happens all the time in Manhattan. I guess on an island, there are only so many places to go…

TUESDAY 16 SEPTEMBER, 9.30pm (Pianos, Lower East Side, Manhattan, New York):
The second gig of the tour is at Pianos, a venue we played for the first time last summer. The night is called “Cross-Pollination”, a format which can perhaps best be described as the musical equivalent of swinging – you play, then the other guys play, and at the end you all get onstage and play together. If you see what I mean. Chaos inevitably ensues due to the fact that there’s rarely an opportunity to rehearse beforehand (since in most cases the two acts have never met). In this instance we are at least fortunate that we know the other guys on the bill – Seth Kallen & The Reaction, a band with whom we have shared stages on both sides of the Atlantic.

George tries it on with Chris. Chris isn't amused.The set-up lends itself to acoustic performances but the crowd tonight are relatively raucous so, having kicked off with Fine (our staple acoustic opener), we head straight into a slew of more upbeat pop numbers such as Sleepless, This House Will Burn and Beat Alive. The crowd is a combination of familiar faces from last year and the Union Square gig on Sunday along with fans of Seth’s, some unknowns and a contingent of Cross-Poll regulars. It’s a good mix of people. We end on Brightest Star and Emily to appreciative applause and ready ourselves for the unpredictable act of musical pollination about to take place on the Pianos stage.

In the 45 seconds that we have in which to decide what to do, we elect to treat the audience to a Britpop double-bill – Parklife followed by Don’t Look Back In Anger. Both inspire mass singalongs and a general appreciation for all things British. Which works out rather well for us.

It’s a unique event and definitely worth a look if you ever find yourself in the area – check it out online at the Cross-Pollination website.

Much of what happened afterwards remains something of a blur – mainly thanks to several misguided rounds of black sambuca – but I do remember fragments of a conversation I attempted to conduct with an enormous beefcake of a doorman outside a nightclub at around 2am:

DOORMAN: “Can I see your ID? It’s over-21s only.”
CHRIS LY: [just a little slurred] “Ah, stout fellow… fear not. For I am a grown man – I am no whippersnapper.”
DOORMAN: “I need to see your ID.”
CHRIS LY: “D’you know, good sir, I don’t believe I have it with me. I’m British you know. I’ll just pass on through shall I?”
DOORMAN: “No ID, no entry.”
CHRIS LY: “Would you accept this shiny sixpence as a bribe?”

How I don’t get beaten up more often is truly beyond me.

Chris Lightyear

Two shows, two continents… one day.

26 September 2008

George Lightyear in New YorkA few days ago we returned from a whirlwind tour of New York. I kept a diary – and here’s Part 1…

SUNDAY 14 SEPTEMBER, 4.40am (Tony’s house, Twyford, England):
Most parts of me hurt. The sofa I slept on last night was just slightly shorter than me, and the number of hours for which I slept on it were just slightly shorter than I consider acceptable. Two, to be precise. 

Roughly four hours ago I was still onstage at a gig in Southampton, UK.

This afternoon I will be onstage at a gig in New York, USA.

Two shows, two continents, one day.

This cannot be possible.

Welcome to our world.

******

Forty minutes later we pile into a Peugeot of limited dimensions and head for the airport. We are three and a half thousand miles away from our destination and, to be perfectly honest, the suggestion that we might make it to Heathrow, through customs, across the Atlantic Ocean, through US immigration, into a cab, across Manhattan and onstage by 3.15 this afternoon currently seems nothing less than preposterous. 

Having said that, the first instalment of the journey proceeds entirely without incident. In fact, once we’ve reached the airport and are standing in line for check-in, Tony pipes up with some incredibly encouraging information regarding the remainder of our journey. “Listen boys,” he begins, in low tones, gesturing for us to move in closer as if he’s a character out of a Guy Ritchie film. “I’ve pulled some strings. I know someone on the inside. If we’re smart about it, we may just be able to blag our way into Business Class”.

My eyes light up. We’ve flown all over the world with The Lightyears but this truly would be a first. Tony reads my excitement and immediately quashes it. “Don’t get over-excited though mate. I’m not guaranteeing anything”.

I play it cool but inside I’m buzzing. Travelling in style. Chilling with the big-wigs. Pay-dirt. Retribution for that time I had to sleep on a child’s single bed under a towel on the Alps Tour listening to Tony being sick for five straight hours. Karma.

We reach the front desk. Nonchalantly, Tony whips out his passport and whispers something in the attendant’s ear.

“Well, that depends, sir,” she replies, tapping away at her computer, not looking up, “Business Class might be busy. Wait at the gate until everyone else is on the plane and then….. we’ll see.”

Oh, it’s like that is it? Hard to get? No biggie. It’s like a game of poker, this. She could be bluffing. I bet she’s bluffing.  

After checking in we head to the nearest bar and order a massive fry-up and a round of lagers. Normally I don’t drink Stella Artois at 6.30am but I’m so disorientated from lack of sleep that my brain has almost no idea what time it is. Plus the combination of beer and breakfast is really sorting me out. We bide our time in the bar until our flight is about ready to board and head over to Gate #3. It’s crunch-time.

Having waited until everybody else is on the plane, we saunter over to the counter and Tony takes the lead. 

“Hi, yes, we’re just waiting for our upgrade to business class,” he says, in a manner that suggests we do this all the time.

“Oooooh….kay….” muses the steward, scrutinising some presumably highly important information on her computer screen. I’m hoping this information doesn’t read: “These men still laugh at fart jokes – do not let them into business class”.

“There you go,” she says, finally, with a smile. She hands us our tickets. We stare down at them. Bingo! We’re in.

We thank her in the most aloof manner we can muster and stroll round the corner into the tunnel. Once we’re out of sight and earshot we begin our celebrations. These mostly involve running around, jumping up and down on the spot, high-fiving each other and whooping. Very childish, I know, but very necessary. This is the beginning of the rest of our lives.

Incidentally, when you follow the kind of career path we’ve chosen, people often ask you the question “What does success mean to you? How will you know when you’ve made it?”. Tony’s reply is always the same: “When I board a plane and the stewardess tells me to turn left, then I will know that I’ve made it”. I mention this here because it’s about to become acutely relevant. 

As I step onto the plane (and I’m the first Lightyear on) I can’t help but remain slightly sceptical that this is actually going to happen. Then I hand my boarding pass to the stewardess. “Good morning Mr Russell,” she says, looking at my ticket and gesturing into the cabin. “Straight ahead please and then – ” (my heart stops beating as I wait for the inevitable and yet, even at this stage, still strangely unattainable words that must surely be about to fall from her immaculately glossed lips)  ” – turn left”. I affect a casual demeanour. “Thank you,” I intone graciously. 

Turn. Left. TURN. BLOODY. LEFT! Oh, Sweet Moses on high. This is IT. The good life. This is what it must be like to be Sir David Frost or Richard Madeley. We’re in! We’ve penetrated the inner ring. Nothing can stop us now.

So. For those of you who haven’t experienced it, let me tell you a little bit about flying business class.

I’ve been sitting in my seat for all of three minutes before an exceptionally polite lady brings me my first taste of Charles Heidsieck champagne. And the glass is actually made out of glass. I have a little rifle through the freebies in my personal drawer to discover that, unlike in the Economy cabin, you don’t just get toothpaste and a poxy fold-away toothbrush in here. Oh no. Your personal in-flight refresher kit comes complete with eye-lid rejuvenation cream, luxury pore cleanser and triple defense anti-oxidant moisturiser.

The food, of course, is exceptional – and bountiful. In fact, uncharacteristically for me, by the time we reach the main course I’m completely stuffed. Having already consumed a full English breakfast, a pint of beer, three glasses of champagne, two quails’ eggs, most of a smoked halibut served with salmon roe, three liquid salted chocolate caramel truffles, a bowl of fruit and a fresh croissant in the last couple of hours, I’m not really that hungry. Truth is, though, when someone serves you fillet steak at 30,000 feet, you pretty much have to take it. 

On top of all this, the cutlery is chilled. Chilled! It’s also hewn from the finest stainless steel. None of your anti-terrorism knock-off plastic rubbish in here. It’s the real deal. Apparently overpaid investment bankers don’t pose a potential violent threat to their fellow passengers. Evidently whoever makes the decisions round here hasn’t seen American Psycho.

As I’m settling down in my tilted seat to my fourth glass of champagne in front of The Big Lebowski, I find myself reflecting on the unexpected nature of this situation. Ten years ago, if you’d told me that one day I’d be flying business class to New York on tour with my band, I’m not sure I’d have believed you. I feel quite tremendous.

I glance over at George and he beams back at me. “It’s like Christmas!” he says.

“I know,” I reply. “But with comfier seats.”  

******

When we touch down at Newark Airport, USA, we’re ahead of schedule. It’s extraordinary. Plus, owing to the fact that our seats folded entirely flat into fully-functioning, super-soft beds, we’re all feeling refreshed from a few hours of blissful, champagne-induced sleep. US Customs and Immigration, which is generally a real pain in the bum, is also a breeze and we find ourselves standing in the concourse waiting for Ashley (our tour manager) twenty minutes early. Even our instruments all made it here without incident. We stand staring at each other in amazement, trying to figure out how things could possibly have gone so smoothly. Could disaster be waiting just around the corner…? 

When Ashley arrives, we hail a cab, fill it with our unfeasibly huge amount of luggage (much to the chagrin of the taxi driver) and reflect on our position. It’s midday. We’re in New York. The sun is shining. We are on time. We are heading for Union Square where we are due to play to an audience of thousands. All the pieces of the puzzle are slowly coming together.

The cabbie drops us off at Union Square and I hand him a large amount of cash. Most of what I have, actually. He looks pleased and promises to look out for us on MTV. The heat is stifling. I feel like I’m inside a burrito. As we cross the road to Union Square, my jaw drops. There’s a big crowd milling around and the stage faces out onto a busy Manhattan intersection – this is gonna be like playing in the middle of Piccadilly Circus!

As Alabama five-piece The Bridges finish their set (excellent band, by the way), we clamber up onto the stage and begin unleashing our instruments from their various bags and flight cases. It’s round about now that we’ll discover whether or not we’ve forgotten anything, although by this point it’ll be too late if we have. Within around five minutes we’re ready to go, but George is looking concerned. As it transpires, the battery pack that powers all his effects pedals isn’t working. It simply won’t turn on. This is probably something to do with the difference between UK and USA voltage, which is all very interesting and everything but it ain’t helping us now.

“There’s only one way round this,” explains George, a detectable note of panic in his voice, “I’ll need to run them off batteries. Nine volt batteries. Anyone got any?”

The answer to that question is, of course, no. Which means that, in order for us to play the gig, George must run pell-mell through the streets of Manhattan in the hope that he can find a store that sells the batteries in question, make a purchase and sprint back to the stage within a period of around ninety seconds. 

I knew it. We travel all this way, execute a meticulously planned schedule, arrive on time and still end up panicking one minute before we’re due to start the gig. It’s a Lightyears thing. That’s just what we do.

Hats off to George, he made it in record time – and in light of the intense heat this can be considered an extremely valiant effort. As Tony and I stand on stage in front of the gathering crowds, I breath a sigh of relief as I see George, tiny in the distance, ducking and diving through crowds of New Yorkers on his way back to Union Square’s South Plaza. I smile. This really is about to happen. 

If you want to read about the gig, though, you’ll need to wait for Part Two.

For now, however, I will say this – two gigs, nearly four thousand miles apart, in under twenty hours. We’re like a modern day Phileas Fogg. If Phileas Fogg could rinse out a massive bass hook, that is.

Which he can’t.

Chris Lightyear

250 people squeezed into the Barfly…

27 August 2008

LYs rock out at the BarflyOn Thursday night we supported the Mystery Jets at a sold-out Camden Barfly. It was a hot August evening and the punters were packed into the Barfly’s intimate dimensions like moist sardines. The Jets had been forced to cancel a few weeks’ worth of festivals due to lead singer Blaine being in hospital and Thursday represented the band’s comeback gig, as well as a warm-up for their impending main stage performances at Reading and Leeds Festivals. Anticipation was high and Jets fans were clearly excited at the prospect of seeing their favourite band close-up. With the place also buzzing with an ample turn-out of LYs fans, the stage was set for a cracking night. 

Upstairs in the dressing room we were making our way through a bank of sandwiches and beers and listening to the Mystery Jets warming up through the wall. The incredibly well-kept appearance of our dressing room seemed suspicious until it was explained to us that the Barfly had just redecorated the place and given it a fresh lick of paint. Brilliant – we were the first band in and therefore it was our duty to trash it. This is, of course, something that we’re accustomed to doing and so I set to work straight away by putting my chewing gum in the bin even though it didn’t have a plastic bag lining. I’d like to see the staff get that out in the morning.    

Incidentally, whilst I’m on the subject of backstage antics, hats off to the Mystery Jets for their satisfyingly indulgent rider, which apparently included two bottles of Moet & Chandon, assorted crudites and a couple of roast chickens. This encouraged me to spend a little time working on my Fantasy Rider for when we reach the kind of celebrity strata normally reserved only for glamour models and Davina McColl. If you’re reading this and you promote for, I don’t know, let’s say Wembley Stadium or the Memphis Enormodome, here’s a heads-up on our backstage rider for the 2011 double-headline show with Whitesnake (T.B.C.):

– 2 eggcups of freshly distilled Peruvian mountain spring water faintly infused with the tears of a virgin
– A copy of 80s robot-comedy Short Circuit on VHS
Clippings from Des Lynam’s beard
– A bag of eels
– 1 metric ton of paprika Snack-A-Jacks
– A 10-foot high decorative tapestry depicting the Norman Invasion of Ireland in 1169 made from Faberge Eggs and snowflakes
– A box of damp otters
– Chesney Hawkes
– A speedboat

Some of these things may take a while to source so I suggest you make a start now.

LYs soundman Danny wants to crowd-surf...Once fed and watered we made our way downstairs to the main room which, by this point, was heaving with people. The gig had got coverage on Radio NME as well as on the front-page of the NME website and tickets had sold out over a week in advance. If you’ve never been there, you can take my word for it that 250 people squeezed into the Barfly made for quite an atmosphere. It was starting to heat up as well under the glare of the lights and the steady pulse of the August sun and so the circumstances were primed for a pretty intense show.   

We’d decided to mix things up a bit for this gig and so set aside our usual opening numbers for This House Will Burn and Sleepless. The gig really got going for me, however, during Beat Alive, which we played third. Normally I use this song as an opportunity to run around and jump off things but unfortunately, in this case, I didn’t have a lot of room for maneouvre onstage, given that I was hemmed in amongst the Jets’ extensive bank of vintage keyboards. Despite having reached the easy conclusion that knocking one of these over would not be a good move, I must admit to having accidentally given the lead singer’s synthesizer a little kick during the Beat Alive solo. Blaine, if you’re reading this, I’m sorry. I don’t think I caused any permanent damage. Which is good news, because I met your roadie and he looked like he could open up a serious can of whoop-ass.

We played Run next, which I think represented the song’s debut for many of our London fans. This was followed by She’s The One, a song actually based in Chalk Farm, home to the Barfly. Our cheeky cover of Lovecats went down pretty well, I thought, and we followed it up with high-energy performances of Banana Republic and Emily, ending on new song Brightest Star. Cheers were forthcoming from both the home fans and the away fans and we left the stage buzzing. By the time the gig had finished I think I’d sweated out around a stone in body weight, which actually doesn’t leave me with a lot in reserve. I’ll have to keep an eye on that. Wouldn’t want to evaporate one night during a gig. Could be embarrassing.

The Mystery Jets at the BarflyThe Mystery Jets put on a great show, knocking out a mix of material from their first and second albums including new single Two Doors Down, which I happen to believe is quite genius, if almost eye-wateringly kitsch. They’re a really unique band – check out the Mystery Jets website if you’re not familiar.

We took the party back to our house in South London afterwards and began the warm-up to a blistering Bank Holiday weekend that involved playing to a packed lock-in crowd at our local pub, champagne arm-wrestling and a mustard-drinking competition. But that’s another story.

Chris Lightyear

It’s not often that our stage has turf…

14 August 2008

The Lightyears play London Road StadiumOn Monday evening we played at London Road Football Stadium in front of Manchester United and around 12,000 people. 

For George and I this was a chance to perform to our biggest ever crowd, to mingle with some of the most famous sporting celebrities in the world and take a few more steps on the path to becoming a fully-fledged stadium rock band.

For Tony, however, it was an unrivalled opportunity to pick up some handy gardening tips from the groundsman concerning how one can most effectively prevent clover from colonising one’s lawn.

Each to their own, I suppose.

***************************

So, the stage was set, we’d assembled all our gear on the centre-circle and kick-off was due in just under two hours. The match was a pre-season friendly between the newly promoted Peterborough United and European Champions Manchester United.

We were keeping our instrument cases in the bowels of the stadium and, as we carried them through the labyrinthine corridors beneath the terraces, we passed a familiar-looking figure deep in conversation on his mobile.

It was Man United boss Alex Ferguson, the most successful manager in English football history. Alex Ferguson! Using a mobile phone! Like a normal person! Unbelievable. I wonder who he was on the phone to? Probably the Queen, or Steven Spielberg. People often claim that well-known celebrities look smaller when you meet them in real life, although in this case I felt the opposite was true. He’s a big man, is Fergie. Quite an imposing presence. I briefly considered trying to engage him in conversation about St Mirren (St Mirren are the football team I support – a not-particularly-successful Scottish outfit with the dubious claim-to-fame of being the only club ever to have sacked Ferguson) but, as he seemed busy, I decided against it.

In the Peterborough FC office we checked the stadium’s computer system, which keeps a running count of exactly how many people have come through the turnstiles. The gates had only been open a few minutes but there was already a steady trickle of fans starting to fill the terraces. The tally was growing speedily and during the latter part of our set we would be playing to a near sell-out crowd.

Tony in the centre circleWhen it hit 6.30 and the place was starting to fill up a bit, we took to the stage (well, I say “stage” – it’s not often that our stage has turf) and busted out She’s The One, This House Will Burn and Beat Alive. The set seemed to be going down really well and the stadium was getting busier by the minute. We were playing Sleepless as the Peterborough team emerged from the tunnel and we followed this with a couple of stirring, high-energy covers Queen’s Don’t Stop Me Now and Jerry Lee’s Great Balls Of Fire

Man Utd appeared next and, I have to say, I found it a bit depressing that the cheer they elicited from the crowd entirely dwarfed the one we’d just heard for the home side. Such is the nature of United’s monopoly over world football, they can visit pretty much any town in the UK and outnumber the home fans. Rooney was ill and Ronaldo injured (for “injured” read “sunning himself up in St Tropez in a pair of tiny silver pants”) but otherwise Fergie was fielding virtually his first team. So, as we unleashed a hearty rendition of our penultimate song, Emily, the world’s most famous football team trained beside us. Rio Ferdinand was on the pitch, along with Carlos Tevez, and Dutch keeper Van Der Saar was waiting on the sidelines. Funnily enough this was not the first time we had crossed paths with Van Der Saar, as around this time last year we found ourselves eating breakfast next to him and the rest of the Dutch international team when we shared a hotel with them during the Korean tour [n.b. one day I hope to be able to name-drop people who aren’t football players – you know, Sting perhaps, or Alice Cooper – but, until then, Van Der Saar will have to do].

We finished on a cover of The Fratellis’ Chelsea Dagger, which got everyone going, and left the pitch to resounding applause from a 12,000-strong crowd. This, let me tell you, is quite a feeling. Backstage we were paid a quick visit by Barry Fry, Director Of Football at Peterborough FC and one of Tony’s personal heroes. The kick-off had been delayed by quarter of an hour and Barry explained that this was due to a few thousand fans who were still piling over the bridge on their way into the stadium. “They heard you boys playing and ran like billy-o to get inside and ‘ave a listen” he chuckled. Good old Bazza. 

Anyway, despite putting up an admirable fight, underdogs Peterborough eventually lost 2-0 to the Reds. Not too shabby, since many people were expecting a thrashing. 

So, with stadiums out the way, there’s only one direction to go in – amphitheatres. I’m thinking the Colesseum, perhaps, or the Hollywood Bowl. No point in doing things by halves.   

Chris Lightyear

One of the highlights of my summer…

14 August 2008

The Lightyears play Brightlingsea FestivalI am writing this from an idyllic rural paradise in the South of France. Herman & The Hermits are on the stereo, the sun is beating down from high in the blue sky and I am sipping from a glistening, chilled bottle of The Greatest Beer On The Planet – Desperados, a terrific French lager flavoured with tequila. Things are, I think it is safe to say, going pretty well.

However, I digress. I’m not just writing to you to show off about how sweet my holiday is. I did actually have a purpose in mind…

Last Saturday we played a tremendous little festival near Colchester called the Brightlingsea Festival. Brightlingsea’s only a small town but they throw a heck of a party every August – and everybody in the local area comes along. The organisers book a line-up of local and national acts and if the weather’s good, which is usually is, it goes down a storm.

We played for the first time in 2006 and this year we’d been placed near the top of the bill (the only out-of-town band amongst the four final acts), due to hit the stage at 5.30pm. George and I turned up at around 4pm, about twenty minutes after Danny, who is always early. We’d brought Emily with us too, as she’s recently started selling her line of hand-made dresses at LYs gigs and was manning the merch table for us that day. No sign of Tony though. I called him, out of curiosity, just to find out where he was.

“Hello mate. Just thought I’d give you a quick buzz to check everything’s OK. Weather’s looking beautiful – should be a good one…”

The level of concern in his reply was not particularly encouraging.

“Umm… yeah. Look, erm, we are on at 6 o’clock right? Might be just a tad on the late side.”

“No mate – 5.30. Why? Where are you?”

“Well… it’s just I may have very slightly underestimated how long it’s gonna take me to get to Brightlingsea. Where are you now?”

“Brightlingsea. Where are you?”

“Wales.”

Ah. 

“I’ll put my foot down.”

I’ll be honest, at that point it wasn’t looking good. George and I sat down to write the set-list and had to come up with a back-up plan to cover the very likely eventuality that Tony didn’t make it in time i.e. vamping on acoustic tunes until the drummer put in an appearance. 

When we filtered onstage at around 5.25 for sound-check, there was still no sign of him. The bill was running about 10 minutes late so we still had some leeway – but not much. Danny set up the drum-kit and then dashed out to the sound-desk to start setting the levels. 

Would we have to start the show with twenty minutes of acoustic numbers? Would Tony cause a massive traffic pile-up on the B1029 to Brightlingsea? Would The Lightyears give the people the show they deserved?

Fortunately, the answer was yes.

George signing CDs at Brightlingsea FestivalAt 5.37, three minutes before we were to due to play our first number, the T-Boss turned up. He was immaculately dressed in black shirt, black tie, black jacket and black shades – but if you knew him well enough, you could detect an air of mania beneath the cool exterior. This man had just pushed through the burn and come out the other side barely intact.

It’s perhaps not appropriate to fully outline some of the sacrifices Tony made in order to reach Brightlingsea in time, but let’s just say that his bladder was tested to its very limits. When you’re as late as he was and you’re doing 90 down the motorway, you can’t really stop for leisurely toilet breaks. That’s just not cricket.

Anyhow, enough of the drama. With The Lightyears’ line-up complete, we were ready to rock. And, I have to say, I thought we played a pretty killer festival set. We opened with She’s The One, Beat Alive and Sleepless to set the tone, and then started knocking out our more anthemic numbers like Run and Brightest Star. The moment when we hit the Brightest Star coda (“You’re the brightest star in the morning light”) and the sun came out – and I could see people in the crowd singing along to a song they’d never heard before – was one of the highlights of my summer. 

Having said that, the thing I loved most about playing this gig was discovering that Brightlingsea has its very own LYs fan club – a group of teenagers who obviously saw us here in 2006 and seemed to know the words to almost every song. They were requesting Banana Republic from the very beginning and so, a few numbers from the end, we gave them what they wanted. A triumphant moment.

If you’re ever in the Colchester area during the first weekend of August, check out the Brightlingsea Fest. It’s a cracking event and a shining example of how British festivals should be.

And now, if you don’t mind, I’m off to the fridge for another bottle of Desperados.

Chris Lightyear

Legendary people, legendary night…

14 July 2008

The view from the stageI woke up this morning to a scene of quite riveting oddness.

First of all, I was slumped unceremoniously on a couch upon which I had never slept before. Secondly, the person curled up next to me was not the person who had been curled up next to me when I cascaded inevitably into slumber at (I can only guess) around 8am this morning. Thirdly, I could see a miniature motorbike and sidecar in the adjoining room. There were dogs everywhere. Finally though, and perhaps most importantly, John was sitting in the middle of the room, in front of an Xbox, playing Pro Evolution Soccer on a tiny electronic drum-kit.

Many people waking up to a scenario of this description could be forgiven for concluding they had accidentally stumbled into some kind of postmodern circus. I, however, knew better.

This was the morning after a party at Neil’s House.

************************

Let me bring you up-to-speed. Last night we headlined the Woodcote Rally. This was our second year playing the Rally and the crowd were as up for it as ever. 

When we arrived for soundcheck, the sun was shining and a decent crowd was forming. I was relieved because the sky had been looking a little macabre up until that point and the weather can pretty much make or break an event like this. I was therefore pretty dismayed when, 15 minutes before we were due to hit the stage, the sun disappeared and a cavalcade of enormous, brooding grey clouds swept in and squatted directly over the festival site. Then, ineluctably, came the rain. To their credit, a decent contingent of loyal LYs fans remained camped out in front of the stage underneath umbrellas, but things were nevertheless looking a bit grim.

Still, somebody was evidently smiling on us because when we hit the stage, out came the sun. Or maybe we just have that effect these days. Whatever the explanation, it turned into a really quite splendid evening and the crowd was swelling by the minute. We opted for a high energy, upbeat start, opening with She’s The One, Beat Alive, Good Time Back and Sleepless. A significant portion of the crowd were fans who’ve been following our music for a couple of years so we were careful to chuck in lots of LYs classics – Miles Away, Filmstar, Gimme Some, Banana Republic and Emily. We mixed in some newer songs too for good measure, playing Put The Gun Down, Brightest Star and Run.

Later on, once the crowd were well-oiled with local ales and/or cherry coke, we hit the stage again with Johnny on bass guitar and bashed out an hour of kicking covers. Moshing a-plenty, I’m telling you. Everyone danced like lunatics as the sun went down and I think it’s fairly safe to say a good time was had by all.

The reverberating calls for an encore brought us back onstage and, as we were about to launch into an Elvis number, a lady at the side of the stage yelled for my attention. I knelt down to hear what she was saying and discovered she was making a request for something by Queen. We’d played Don’t Stop Me Now earlier in the set but she was pretty insistent and, well, we don’t like to disappoint. I racked my brains and suddenly remembered that we once played We Will Rock You at a festival with Drum Club and, whilst expecting George to just conjure up the lyrics on a whim without any preparation might have been a bit rich, I figured it would go down really well. And it did. George remembered every word (of course he did – he has a talent for that) and Tony got all the kids in the crowd to come forward and drum the iconic We Will Rock You rhythm on the stage. A cheeky bit of improvisation there.  

With the gig done and all our gear packed down it was time to begin the post-show revelry – which brings me neatly on to the party at Neil’s House. In case you’ve never met Neil, here’s a quick summary – Neil is a front-runner for The Greatest Person Who Has Ever Lived. He and Vron throw legendary shin-digs and last night they very kindly offered up their house as the venue for the after-party. 

I’ll spare you the gory details but, suffice it to say, the night involved a lot of singing, a fair amount of people falling asleep in flower beds, a crack team of undercover agents mercilessly raiding Vron’s boutique wine collection (sorry Vron!) and Neil cooking a seemingly endless stream of delicious food. 

Legendary people, legendary night.

Think I might have to go for a sly nap. 

Catch ya later pop fans.

Chris Lightyear

LYs on the Beeb

11 July 2008

Chris and Tony playing DJWe just got back from an interview and live session on BBC Radio Cambridgeshire. The station picked up on us a couple of months ago, around the time of the release of the Peterborough United song, and asked us into the studio to see if we had anything up our sleeves other than football songs. Which, thankfully, we do. 

The Audio Files is BBC Radio Cambridgeshire’s weekly live music show. It’s hosted by Jeremy Sallis who, as it turns out, is a bit of a legend. You can call Jeremy “Jezza” if you like. Which we did. Jeremy had Jason Mraz on his show last week, so we had some fairly big shoes to fill, but I think we did a pretty decent job. During the off-air soundcheck, as we were bashing through a test-run of Emily, Jez had an enormous smile on his face. I haven’t seen a man that happy in ages. I figured at that stage we must have been doing something right.

After the sound-check we were given fifteen minutes of free time, which we decided to spend in The Flying Pig, the local pub. Following a sly half of London Pride and a quick pre-broadcast confab, we bombed it back round the corner to BBC studios for the start of the interview. 

Chris and JezDuring the show we played three live tunes (Emily, Sleepless and one of our new songs, Run) as well as chucking in a soupçon of delicious banter with Jeremy. Prior to the show we’d had a fairly in-depth debate on the perennial Mars Vs Snickers debate – Jeremy and George championing the notion that, by virtue of its classic status, the Mars Bar is the superior snack; Tony and myself coming down on the side of the peanut chief and former Marathon bar, Snickers. I pointed out that Mars Vs Snickers was a simple parody of your basic Beatles/Stones face-off, at which point George was audacious enough to suggest that a Snickers bar was basically the equivalent of trying to add an extra member to The Beatles – which would of course be pointless. Unless, as Tony pointed out, that extra member was Eric Clapton (Clapton being the peanut of the vintage rock world). If you see what I mean. I was actually mildly disappointed that the debate didn’t get more airtime on the show itself, although I suppose it’s not directly related to the Cambridge music scene.

Tony's car troubles...Anyhow, I digress. We finished our last song, plugged our upcoming gig at London Road Stadium for the Man Utd Vs Peterborough match and, as The Audio Files drew to a close, packed our instruments away. Tony took this opportunity to jump on Jez’s computer and check the status on his latest eBay bid – for a fully pimped-out motor home intended to double as the next Lightyears tour-bus. Meanwhile, as I was wrestling my keyboard back into its case, Jeremy asked me where the bass was coming from during our performances. “Oh,” I replied, “I play it live”. He was shocked. “I assumed it was programmed!”, he replied. I pointed out that most people assume our bass-lines are programmed and that, more importantly, the fact that I play them live whilst simultaneously bashing out complicated piano and vocal lines didn’t necessarily seem to impress the girls in the way that I originally hoped it might. This provided a natural segue into the story of how I once told a girl in a bar that “playing the piano is very much like making love to a beautiful woman”, with little to no apparent irony. 

It’s true. I really did do that.

But that’s another story.

Chris Lightyear

ps. click to listen to The Lightyears BBC Cambridge interview.

Life should always be exactly like this

3 July 2008

George & Chris in the Green FieldsLast night at 4.30am we arrived back in London at the end of a serious contender for the best weekend of our lives.

Glastonbury Festival 2008.

Two Lightyears gigs, glorious sunshine, a shedload of bands, more strawberry cider than you can shake a stick at and a breathtaking sunset over the Stone Circle.

What a weekend. Here are my June 2008 Glastonbury Memoirs…

THURSDAY
The sun is shining. I am at Glastonbury Festival, the greatest musical extravaganza in the world. I am drinking hot spiced cider. George is strumming a guitar next to me. I have literally never been this content.

Slightly taken aback by the unexpectedly clement weather, we have assembled with some mates and a couple of guitars just down the hill from Glasto’s legendary cider bus and are singing songs in the sunshine. The main music programme doesn’t start until later tonight so people are hungry for entertainment. Groups of festival-goers stop intermittently as they pass, sit down next to us, listen to a couple of tunes, share some hot cider and then go on their merry way. Life should always be exactly like this.

Our first gig is tonight at 9pm, which leaves us a couple of hours to kill. We head up to the Stone Circle, the oldest and most spiritual corner of the festival, and watch an 8 year-old kid back-flipping off the 10-foot stones. Incredible. The entertainment doesn’t stop there though. Shortly afterwards, the “Green Police” appear dressed in comical green pantomime outfits and chase some dude all the way round the field for peeing in a bush (bad for the environment, you see), blowing whistles and caterwauling. After this, the actual police turn up and arrest somebody for dealing narcotics. This isn’t quite as funny but nevertheless it attracts a lot of attention and, as you can imagine, a huge amount of booing from the assembled crowds. 

Afternoon gives way to evening and we decamp to the Green Futures Field for our gig. The Green Fuse Stage is windmill-powered and run by the wonderful folks who gave us our first ever slot at Glastonbury back in 2005. Predictably, just after we arrive at the stage, the heavens open.

Whilst we’re setting up the rain is getting heavier and heavier to the point at which it actually begins leaking through the tent. A miniature torrent is cascading downwards onto the stage. Dave (who runs Green Fuse) appears with a washing-up bowl and positions it cunningly underneath the gradually-increasing waterfall. Crisis averted. Until the bowl fills up, of course. Perhaps we’ll just have to play our last few songs really really quickly to avoid being engulfed by the tsunami.

The tent isn’t exactly heaving when we start playing but it fills up pretty swiftly during our opening numbers The Last Night and Fine, the latter of which we turn into a dark, extended jam. We’ve all had a fair amount of whisky by this stage of the evening and that always puts you in the mood for dark, extended jams. It was pretty rocking actually, judging from the video footage we got back from the gig. After Fine we ratchet things up a couple of notches with Beat Alive, This House and one of the new songs, Good Time Back, which I’m pleased to say gets a great reaction from the crowd.

After chucking in another couple of downbeat numbers, Miles Away and Home For The Weekend, as well as venturing out into the audience for an unplugged performance of Gimme Some, we finish up-tempo on Banana Republic and Emily. We are called back on for an encore and, as we’re about to launch into a song, requests start coming in from the audience for You Are Wrong. I think these are coming from people who saw us at the festival back in 2005, because we pretty much haven’t played the song since then! Anyhow, being game for anything, we knock out a hearty rendition of You Are Wrong and end with a frenzied Blue Suede Shoes, which has the whole tent up and dancing. George bounds off the stage and joins the dancers, strumming his guitar and pogoing about like a loon. 

Muddy GeorgeMost of what happened after the gig remains a blur. We ventured out in the lashing rain in the direction of the Left Field tent, where the Levellers were playing. On the way I seem to remember stopping at a Mexican food stall and serenading the workers as they assembled our burritos. Then, at some indeterminate point on the way to the gig, I became separated from the crowd and my phone completely packed up. I was lost. Like a soggy child. Fortunately there’s always something happening at Glastonbury and so, whilst the others were enthusiastically moshing in front of the Levellers, I was soaking up some sumptious jazz in the Jazz Lounge. Nice.

The most significant implication of having been split up from the guys was that I missed George falling over in the mud. Twice. Which I think is a terrible shame.

FRIDAY
Friday begins with our friends Royworld (who we played with last year at the Clapham Grand) opening the John Peel Stage. Purveyors of Keane-esque, radio-friendly rock and rather fine waistcoats, their latest single Dust is currently all over the radio. Canadian Patrick Watson is up next and absolutely blows my mind. Well worth checking out.

We catch the bulk of Vampire Weekend‘s set before the tremendous Ben Folds, one of my idols, hits the Other Stage. We’re all in massively high spirits by this point and it’s starting to look like it’s not gonna rain again, which is tremendous news. Ben plays a combination of stuff from his last few solo albums and even chucks in Kate, a glorious slice of summer pop from the Ben Folds Five days.

Satisfied that we’ve had enough main stage action for the day, we head off in the direction of Shangri-La for some alternative sources of fun. Now. Here’s the thing about Glastonbury that, if you’ve never been before, is quite important to grasp – this isn’t just a music festival. It’s a lifestyle. You could go the entire weekend without seeing a single second of live music and still have the time of your life. Every last corner of the creative spectrum is represented somewhere on site. Circus, cabaret, club culture, theatre, comedy, crafts, spiritual healing – you name it, it’s here. In Shangri-La we grab a round of ciders and hit the Tilted Disco, a night-club on a 25 degree slant with upside-down furniture on the ceiling. We spend some time hanging out in a 50s diner made from the fusilage of an old plane and then head over to the Left Field to meet our new friends from Youth Music.

Youth Music, which supports music-making projects for young people across the UK, has been running a competition called Build A Band, giving five teenagers from various parts of the country the opportunity to form a band and perform on the Left Field Stage on Sunday in front of an audience of thousands. Here’s the catch though – they met for the first time yesterday and have to write, arrange and rehearse the song in less than 72 hours. Rock and roll. Youth Music have asked us to come and meet the competition winners and bestow our worldly wisdom upon them – although, to be honest, they seem pretty sorted about the whole thing. We chat to them about stage performance, overcoming nerves, working together as a team, that sort of thing. The interview is filmed for the Orange Festival website – watch this space for a link to the footage.

Next stop – the Green Futures Field for our second gig of the festival. The Small World Stage is as eco-friendly as Green Fuse, being solar-powered and run by a mysterious chap named Pony, a man with the dream of living life as “a permanent festival”. Small World has been a well-loved fixture at Glastonbury for as long as anyone can remember and this is our second appearance here.

A Capella on the Small World StageIf last night was your whisky-fuelled, dancing in the crowd, pounding the piano keys kind of experience, this evening’s show is more of a apple and cinnamon tea-fuelled, serenading the audience, tinkling the ivories kind of gig. It’s nearly 11pm and everybody seems pretty chilled out. In answer to this we keep things on the down-low at first, playing (if I remember correctly) Home For The Weekend, Fine and Miles Away in the early part of the set. New tune Put The Gun Down makes its debut appearance (heavily improvised!) along with Good Time Back. I’m pretty sure we played Lovecats as well, although it’s difficult to say for sure – we were making things up as we went along. Sleepless, This House Will Burn and Emily all made it into the final half of the show and we left the stage to appreciative applause. Make sure you check out the video footage from both our Glasto gigs, featured as part of our Glastonbury Video Blog (coming soon).

After the show, Friday turns into a bit of an all-nighter. Quick stop for a round of Chai tea, a couple of shots of Black Sambuca from a generous stranger, then up to the Stone Circle for bongos, didgeridoos and fire jugglers until 6am.

SATURDAY/SUNDAY
With the “working” part of the festival out of the way for us (*snigger*), we were free to really let loose. And, let me tell you, the amount of fun we had on Saturday and Sunday must surely be illegal. The weather was phenomenal and I think I hardly went longer than 7 minutes without dancing. Here are the highlights:

– belting out Weather With You at the Crowded House gig with 20,000 other people, bathed in incredible sunshine.
– playing frisbee with strangers in the Dance Village whilst Atrak dropped some horribly fat beats inside the dance tent.
– moshing to the incredible MGMT at the Park Stage… Electric Feel and Time To Pretend are without the doubt the anthems of the summer.
– getting down to Shlomo and the world’s first beatboxing choir, the Vocal Orchestra.
– headbanging to Kissmet‘s unlikely but absolutely kicking brand of Punjabi Heavy Metal.
– witnessing Jay-Z rock the Pyramid Stage on Saturday night and make music history – the first rapper ever to headline Glastonbury. Noel Gallagher has once again proved himself to be a complete arse by openly rubbishing the idea in the press and Jay responded by opening his set with Wonderwall. What a legend.
John Mayer‘s soulful Pyramid set on Saturday afternoon. After he’d finished, a guy next to me commented: “It’s a shame he didn’t play anything from the first album but, then again, I guess a man who has bedded both Cameron Diaz and Jennifer Aniston can pretty much do what he wants”.
– adding our wishes to The Wish Tree in the Greenfields. One small child had written “I wish for world peace all over the world and also no wars anywhere and also I wish for a pony”.

Seriously, I could go on and on.

Sunset over GlastonburySunday evening ended in the best way possible – with sunset over the Stone Circle, accompanied by the moving strains of the bagpipes from high up on Pennard Hill. There must have been a good few hundred people up there with us and everyone gave the sun a round of applause as it disappeared behind the Mendip Hills. Magic.

We drove through the night on Sunday and made it back to London at around 4.30am, tired but happy. I managed a few hours sleep before being woken up by my mobile phone. I answered, croakily, and was a little taken aback to discover I was live on BBC Radio Berkshire – “So Chris, tell us about The Lightyears’ Glastonbury experience…”. “Well,” I replied, “it goes a little something like this…”.

Chris Lightyear

n.b. read the BBC Berkshire article in full here

Read George’s Glastonbury Top 50

12 hours ’till Glastonbury…

25 June 2008

I am writing this on the tube, which is a first for a Lightyears blog. It’s like being a proper Londoner. Except, if I was a proper Londoner, I guess I’d be wearing a pearly suit and carrying a banana. But in lieu of those things, a MacBook and a hoodie will have to do.

Just been listening to the recordings from a rehearsal we had yesterday at Lightyears HQ in Clapham. Tony came up for the afternoon and we blitzed some new material – 11 songs between us. I had the most. The lion’s share, in fact. I’d written five, the other two had both written three. I’m not making a point. Just saying. I’d written more. Doesn’t make me a more important band member or anything.

Anyway, we bashed through all of the songs individually then picked a couple to stick in the set at the Earl’s Court gig today and ultimately at our Glastonbury shows tomorrow and Friday (incidentally, we’re leaving for Glasto in less than 12 hours. Getting pretty excited. Weather’s looking reasonable too). 

Here’s a quick rundown of the new stuff:

George’s songs:
– Attack: Foo Fighters meets the Go! Team
– Boy (working title only): Beatles-esque mid-pace number with a cracking refrain
– Unnamed: another of George’s epic ballads… this is something pretty special, heart-wrending vocal melodies, spacious arrangement

(nb. the conclusion I draw from this is that George needs to start naming his songs more efficiently.) 

Tony’s songs:
Put The Gun Down: mid-pace, bluesy number with a sort of Wild West swagger
Blue: another song with a swaggering guitar riff but pretty weighty subject matter
– Birthday: a song about turning eight and realising your world has changed forever

My songs:
Good Time Back: straight up-and-down blues song about having better parties
Bohemian Dream: stomper about life in a band
Brightest Star: George and Tony described this as “the single”
A Million Voices: still needs some work, I think… a song about realising your potential
If You’ll Have Me: possibly the only song I’ve written that could be song by Ella Fitzgerald

We rehearsed two of the tracks to performance standard – Good Time Back and Put The Gun Down – and, if you come see us at the festival, you’ll hear them in the set. Hopefully by that point we’ll have had a chance to sit down in a field and rehearse up a couple more new ones – provided, that is, that we don’t get distracted by hot pear cider and stilt-walking fire-eating uni-cycling clowns. Which is always a danger at Glastonbury.

Gotta go. This is my stop. 

See you in the Stone Circle for Glastonbury sunrise…

Chris Lightyear

Everybody. Hates. Keyboard players.

19 June 2008

So, Turnkey – London’s biggest music store and most evil all-powerful industry dominator (kinda like the IKEA of music shops) – is shutting down. It’s gone into receivership. Which means they’re selling all their gear off at ludicrously low prices. And the capital’s enormous army of musicians are flocking to Tottenham Court Road to snatch their piece of sweet Turnkey pie before the magical gate of opportunity slams shut forever.

George and John spent quite some time this morning trying to persuade me to pop into town with them and bathe in the juicy fountain of sopping wet bargains Turnkey has to offer before it finally closes tonight.

“Come on mate… it’ll be madness! They’re selling everything at HALF TRADE price! Guitars, drums, pianos – everything!”

They said.

“Think of the bargains you could pick up. I mean, you may own seven keyboards already but there’s always room for more. They might even have a rare keytar going cheap for your museum!”

They said. 

But here’s the thing. Everybody. Hates. Keyboard players. I know this. I’ve accepted it. Which makes it all the more surprising that, at 1pm this afternoon, I found myself standing forlorn inside the ravaged husk of a warehouse that was once the buzzing hub of the Turnkey empire almost ready to weep at the horrific paucity of keyboards and keyboard-related paraphernalia on offer.

Sorry. I exaggerate. There was NOTHING THERE at all. George tried to placate me by pointing out how great it would be if we bought this knock-off 16-track Behringer multi-digital desk thing, although he should know me well enough to understand that I’m unlikely to find much solace in one of those. John, meanwhile, who had picked up a £2500 bass guitar for less than 800 quid, was struggling magnanimously to cover his sheer joy at the shrewd purchase he’d made. 3 hours out of my day – and nothing to show for it.

Like I say, I’ve accepted that I’m at the bottom of the musical food chain. It was just a bit heinous to have it shoved so vaingloriously down my throat.

I will have my revenge.

Chris Lightyear

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