Travis - Melody Maker, 9 August 1997

Plastered in Paris!

And you thought our budget would only extend to Blighty's seaside trips and fun parks, eh? Well, as a treat, pop chums, we took TRAVIS--ex-art students--to wonderful Paris--home of culture, apartment of art--and ended up in a, er, boozer...

"Hey! They've got Hoegaarden!" Dougie Payne, bassist from rock saviour types Travis is in Paris and he's excited. For he and his buddies have just got off the Eurostar and are safely huddled inside the nearest brasserie. "Ooh, and a nice beaujolais..."
Fran Healy, sparkly-eyed vocalist is also feeling fairly chipper, perusing the menu.
"C'est bon! C'est bon!"
And now he's eyeing the women passing by. "Don't you think they're all much better looking in Europe than in Britain?" he says, earnestly. Neil and Andy (drums and guitar respectively) look up and nod. Travis are kids in a sweetshop. And they've just been given their pocket money.

Ah, Paree. Land of men ogling women all day and supping fine wines as they do it. Land of women walking by very quickly. Travis are here on a sunny Monday to see the sights. The world of art is at our doorstep, our Glaswegian chums are Art School graduates so they're chuffed. There's all the other malarkey: Eiffel Tower, Champs-Elysees, Notre Dame and the Pere Lachaise cemetery (Jim Morrison and Oscar Wilde's one).
However, the world of drinking-beer-very-slowly and it-taking-one-hour for a Croque Monsieur to arrive may scupper our plans to see all of this gay city by 8pm. The bar is playing Tina Turner very loudly and has pictures of Paris drawn by an 11-year-old round the room. Mr Waiter is having none of our British urgency and blatantly ignores the gang. Fran tries to call him "Garcon," but this doesn't work. Amused by the lack of waiterly manners, he sits apondering why the French and the British hate each other.
"Probably because they're similar--insular, cynical, miserable. Not like Italians or Spanish. The French like the Scottish, though." He looks serious for a moment, and glances down at his half-eaten Croque Monsieur.
Have you been to Paris before?
"Oh aye," says Fran.
Dougie chirps up. "We played with Sheryl Crow last year. She's beautiful, amazing! So small! She's like a scaled-down version of a big person, very petite."
That sounds horrible.
"Ah, but she's not Kylie." Dougie looks confused.
"Ah, but we love Kylie."
They all nod with the boundless energy of dogs who have just stuck their head out of a moving car window. The conversation then moves on to breast implants and the moral questions therein. Welcome, Paris, to Travis.

The Eiffel Tower. Swarming with tourists, who, like flies, eat ice cream and appear quite horrible when they're in a big bunch. The queue takes 40 minutes to get through, and once we've got our tickets in one hand, Andy, the wee one with dyed hair, goes green.
"We've got to go up that?" he squeals, the sound of a man who has just seen Death buying an ice cream nearby. Andy is afraid of heights and doesn't want to go. The others rush up ahead in front of him. He turns greener as he walks up the steps to the first level. He stops for a breath at every flight. He is not a happy man. Meanwhile, Dougie is happy because he's already at the first level and has just found the bar. He has a frothing beaker of lager in front of him. He's talking about bottoms and "having a farty day."
Dougie, needless to say, once got lost on the Eiffel Tower when he was a kid and his teacher had to rescue him. Dougie is dying to go to the top of the Tower. However, everyone loses one another before reaching the pinnacle. It takes hours. Once at the top, all they can proclaim is, "It's so exciting!" (and then look slightly worried). Back down at the first level, Andy is nonchalant. "Ah, it's not so high here. I can get used to this." And he's in a rock'n'roll band. Phhft.
Next up, Travis went to test their sea-faring legs on a boat trip. Lured by the prospect that there is a bar on board, they jump into the boat by the Eiffel Tower only to realise they sell Diet Coke and Twixes.
"We really wanted to go to the Musee D'Orsay," says Fran, our art-loving frontman. "But it's closed. It's got this painting in it called Raft Of The Medusa by Jericault and it's huge, enormous."
Dougie: "It's painted realistically, but in very dark colours and because of its size the figures are like statues." They collectively sigh into a mirage of The Painting We Shall Never See...only to spot a couple on the banks of the Seine becoming rather over-familiar with each other. Uh-oh.
"Go on my son!" shouts Dougie.
"Feel her arse!" shouts Neil. The Twixes are forgotten. As we pass Notre Dame, the Louvre and the Pont Neuf, the fineries of the higher life are forgotten and the baser instincts of the rock band emerge. They try and spot as many courting couples and start shouting at passers-by who refuse to wave at us. Dougie has now decided he wants their next video filmed on a boat, like Duran Duran's "Rio"--i.e., he wants lots of saucy laydees to be in it. Of course.
"Aye, of course, but in a non-ironic way," says Dougie. "We're a non-ironic band."

They all nod, once again, like excited pups. The woman tour guide invites us to wish under the Pont Neuf, for whatever excuse Tradition is giving this time. Andy wishes for "Peace around the world," but this isn't "peace" it turns out, it's about "piece," which is nigh-on slang of the crudest sort which gives rise to such utterances as "piece of cheese" and "piece of giblets," all of which makes our scamps giggle with girlish delight. By the end of the journey it's all "dobbers", "double dobbers" and endless more dobber-madness what with the fancy young women passing these children by. Travis--need one ask--is Paris a romantic city then?
"Oh, it's a sexy city," says Fran.
Dougie: "It's more sexy than any other. It's a truck horn, a big truck horn. That's how horny we've been today."
Oh, and indeed, dear. And now it's 8pm and Travis have to go to lunch with some Paris bigwig or the other. Dougie spots a young girl running about and sighs.
Dougie! That is disgraceful!!!
"Oh no," he says, shocked. "I just thought 'what a cute wee girl'--I didn't mean anything else..."
And with that they slope off to the Metro station. Girls, meet Travis. With any hope, they'll be famous soon so you'll recognise them in time to run to the hills. They're coming to a town near you in the near future. Blimey.
Melody Maker
Aug. 9, 1997
Mais Oui Madame: Sian Pattenden
Oui, Garcon: Piers Allardyce

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