TRAVIS
Liquid Rooms, Edinburgh
June 10, 1999
Fran Healy can well recall discovering he has a voice, a proper singer one. He was seven or so and he's even got the papers to prove it.
"I was moving out of my flat in Glasgow down to London when I found this book of Rabbie Burns poems. This book was a prize and inside it was this certificate saying, 'For Outstanding Singing Abilities: Primary 3.' I was this size (points somewhere near the ground), and as soon as I read it, I thought, 'Jesus Christ.' I can remember standing there with a girl's kilt on--it was like a miniskirt--and singing this song called 'Westering Home.' Do you know it?"
Anxious to recapture some of the glory of his boy soprano past and simultaneously broaden Q's musical horizons, he breaks into a jaunty, "Westering home with a song in the air," before hastily returning to Earth.
"After that I didn't want to sing again for about another ten years. I was too embarassed. You know adolescence and that."
Yet here he is, the centre of attention, outside the back of the Liquid Rooms, 10:30 p.m. on a cool Edinburgh evening, surrounded by family, friends, and the more determined kind of fan, all wanting to shake his hand, give him a damp peck on the cheek, and tell him how they loved the show. Between then and now, something tempted him to dust off his pipes, chuck in his studies, and put aside lingering concerns about making a prat of himself in front of others. The something goes by the name of Travis. This time it's serious.
There are defining moments in any band's life, and midway through the first short headlining tour of Britain, there's a distinct feeling in and around this particular Glaswegian camp that everything is falling neatly into place. Their second album, The Man Who, is handily poised inside the Top 10, building in on the solid spadework of the appropriately named debut, Good Feeling. But just as important, it's what's been happening out on the road that has everybody beaming like beacons. The crowds are getting enthusiastic almost beyond the call of duty, it seems.
Tonight, for instance, the youthful throng knows most of the words, snaps up every utterence from Healy, and are plainly in the mood to celebrate the very fact of just being there. And rightly so, because Travis send out some very positive signals.
There's none of that "us and them" stuff, more the tacit acknowledgement that everybody in the room is somehow in it together, whatever "it" may be. And once inside their little circle, you'd need a heart of granite to resist such beguiling entreaties such as "Writing To Reach You," "Why Does It Always Rain On Me?" and the sublime "Driftwood." Even thickening melancholia can be a surprisingly uplifting experience in their company.
"Magic," confirms Healy, of the show's party-like atmosphere. "The further you get out of London, the more crowds let go. That's what going to gigs is about: having a good time, meeting people, and forgetting about all that shit for a while.
"When you've played the songs so many times they become totally abstract, you don't even think about it as your song. The first day you wrote it, you thought it was yours, but as soon as you play it about 300 times, it's their song. They've probably got more right to sing it than you."
For supposedly just another replica guitar band, Travis must be doing something right.
"A lot of the reviews have been saying things like, Ah Radiohead, ah Oasis, which is fine. I don't even care about the music. I like words. Words are what I care about more than anything. As long as it's a good tune, I don't mind if it sounds like Boney M so long as some thought and time and craft has gone into it. I'm old-fashioned that way."
How refreshing it is, then, not having to waste time pretending that Travis are boldly going where nobody in rock has been before. As well as the smudged signatures of Messrs Gallagher and Yorke, you can easily pick up extra bonus points for spotting the positively Bono-esque intonation of "The Fear," Hunky Dory-era Bowie on "She's So Strange," and even the Beatles given a shameless glitter thumping on "Yeah Yeah Yeah Yeah." Pop has always been about recycling itself, and at the moment Travis, with their artful simplicity and sense of wonder, happen to be making a better fist of it than most of the rest.
While it may well be the lyrics where Healy concentrates his efforts, it's surely the actual tunes with their claw-like hooks that drag people along in the first place. Already he's got more than his fair share, plus a suitably plainative voice that do them justice. With its rollocking pub piano, hand clapping, and much la la la-ing, "Good Feeling" is exactly that, while "U16 Girls" struts with spangly joy, and "All I Wanna Do Is Rock" with its message to 'live the dream' is a stadium-sized anthem gone to heaven. And then there are the ballads.
Standing near centre stage, Healy sings them with a big, cheeky grin never far from his lips. Around him, bassist Dougie Payne and drummer Neil Primrose both firmly stick to the less-is-more code of rhythm keeping, and out on the left wing, guitarist Andy Dunlop's contributions are equally controlled. Occasionally though, fag in mouth and body hunched, the mad axeman bubbling away inside will suddenly explode into life. "As You Are," in particular, benefits hugely from just such a jolt of raking power.
With "Turn"'s massively swaying chorus still bouncing off the walls, the clutch of TV monitors scattered around the stage suddenly jump to follow the four of them rushing off to the dressing room. There, they pop balloons, dance around like idiots, collapse on the floor, and have to be dragged back to face their public by an irate-looking road manager sporting a quifilly outsize Elvis wig. All part of the fun; especially since that episode has been video'd earlier that evening (oh the joys of a liberal art school education). Not that anyone out front appears aware of the jape. When Healy returns alone to deliver the very cute "Molly," he's greeted like a lost brother. And they've still got "Blue Flashing Light" to deliver and an irrepressible "Happy" up their t-shirted sleeves.
Afterwards, an effusive Dougie Payne reflects on a good night's work by anyone's standards.
"You're onstage with three of your best mates. You're playing brilliant songs. And you're entertaining all these people. And we're getting better and better. In fact, if you can think of a better thing to do with your life (long pause), I'll give you a million pounds."
Damn. Blast. Couldn't think of a thing.
Q
August 199
by Peter Kane
photos by Mick Hutson
The band plays guitars. The audience sings along. Everyone is happy.
