The soundcheck, like many before it, is all but done. Assorted minions are scurrying around Oslo's John Doe club making sure everything is in place. Nothing must go wrong--by order of The Man Who is in charge, the same Man Who stopped a run-through of "Driftwood" no less than three times because he reckoned the drumming was slightly awry. You'd have thought Neil would know how to play one of Travis's best-loved hits by now, but no. The Man Who rules the roost decided differently. And you don't cross The Man Who pays your wages. Not if you want to keep your job.
The band are happy but tired. They haven't had a moment's rest since 1999 switched--thanks to a freak downpour at Glastonbury and Britain's sudden realization that Travis deserve total devotion--from being an amiable way to pass the time to the maddest adrenaline rush this side of bungee jumping from the London Eye. And although this European club tour is a low-key respite from the gathering madness back home and therefore something to be enjoyed rather than endured, they could still do with a night off. But there is no night off. The Man Who cracks the whip won't allow it. So they have to settle for the Tour Game instead.
"We have a sweepstakes," declares Fran, as his pals grin in recognition, "on who's going to have a nervous breakdown first. Dougie was the favorite in Japan, because he was having a nightmare, a terrible time…"
"I woke up the first morning, and my tonsils had swollen to the size of golf balls," nods the bassist, a whole day into his 27th year. "I was given pills and lotions and woke up with a little rash. I foolishly kept taking the medicine and woke up covered head to foot in spots. My mouth swelled up, my tongue swelled up, the rear of my mouth swelled up. So I had tonsillitis and an allergic reaction to the antibiotics."
"It was really horrible," confirms Fran solemnly, before cracking a telling smile. "It was like, 'Come see the spotty man, it will freak you out!' We had signs outside the shows that weren't selling too well saying, 'Freak Show!""
So which member of Travis is odds-on to have a breakdown now? You, Fran?
"Me?" asks The Man Who didn't realize how much success would change him, innocently. "Oh no. Not me. Never…"
It's a relatively quiet day in the schedule, so Travis have only one magazine interview and couple of radio things to do. No bother for The Man Who can't stop working and his beleaguered sidekicks: wheel 'em in, bring 'em on, Travis can handle anything. So the hack wants to know the most embarrassing thing they've done in bed? Fine: Neil wet himself himself six years ago. How's that? When did they lose their virginity? Oooh: Fran at 16, to a girl he fell in love with when he was 12, although he was just about to cum when her cousin barged in on them. Anything else? Yes, Andy's getting a tattoo, actually. A Japanese fish, because he's a Pisces.
Next stop, NRI Radio for a chat and a few acoustic songs from Fran and Dougie. Dougie gets behind the studio glass and starts offering out the Maker, all "Come on!" gestures and brutal grimaces. At least, that's what it looks like he's doing. Either that or…"Sorry, I've just farted," announces Fran. "It's really smelly." They play a new song called "Sing"--a thing of simple grace and beauty, based around the childlike notion that "All the love you bring won't mean a thing unless you sing"--and all of Norway sighs. And then it's "Why Does It Always Rain on Me," Fran's fragile voice heartbreakingly to the fore…but, sorry, they have to cut to the news.
The Man Who's just been made to look like a fool on air isn't happy. "Next time, tell us to play the radio edit," he informs a lackey, one of the people he's thinking of when he tellingly wails: "I can't stand myself/ I'm being held up by invisible men" on "WDIAROM?" But this isn't a rock star tantrum, just a reasonable request from a professional, a Man Who wants to get his job done, even if others are too incompetent to help.
Time for some food, so it's off to a swanky restaurant where Fran, quite possibly the sweetest and nicest boy in Britain, according to legend and the testimony of his fans, will spit in the face of Christmas and order…
"The reindeer, please," he smirks with the playful confidence of a Man Who knows he can do anything he wants at the moment. "Ah, it was dead, anyway."
"No, it wasn't," frowns Dougie, in mock horror. "It was still alive downstairs when you ordered it."
When the dish arrives, it is covered in a rich, scrumptious-looking sauce.
"Mmmm," grins Fran, tucking in. "Mmmm, mmmmmm. It's fantastic. Very meaty."
Dougie has had enough.
"Well," he huffs, "if Santa doesn't bring me any presents this year, it's your fault."
Fran has a million "Franalogies" to describe Travis's success. Its like riding a bike with no hands, blindfolded. Or being in an aeroplane, flying at 600 miles per hour, and looking out the window to see clouds drifting slowly past. Or catapulting a rock into outer space and then staying in its slipstream, because a human catapulted into space would freeze then burn up. It's scary and exhilarating and scary all over again.
He also reckons the triple-platinum breakthrough achieved by The Man Who, an album that has charmed its way into the heart of a million admirers for being "nice and gentle," is the start of the journey, rather than the final goal. The aim now, therefore, is not to be distracted by the "whirlwind of confetti" and concentrate instead on growing as people.
"We've opened up more," explains Fran, munching merrily away on Rudolph. "I'm not afraid to smile onstage anymore, because I've realized that none of it matters. Be as open as you can, because if you're open, everything becomes easier."
Has fame affected the way people deal with you?
"Fuck yeah," grimaces the singer. "You say something that's barely funny, and someone always goes, "Ah-hahahahaha.' But it's nerves. You're a 2D person, and they see you in 3D and get freaked out by it."
"If someone wants a photo taken with you and you put your arm around them, you can feel them shaking," nods Dougie. "You just go, 'It's all right,' and then they're fine. But if you acted another way, they'd shake even more."
"You can defuse a situation," agrees Fran. "If I had a wish, it's that people would be reasonable. If you're reasonable, then everything's cool. And reasonable's a really nice word. We're normal, decent folk who are aware we're doing something cool. But it's apart from us as people. If you treat it as being apart from you, it won't change your. Or your attitude."
Fran stops to think for a second, chasing an idea.
"The thing is, though, I'm not as tolerant as I used to be. If I'm 150 percent committed to something and some joker doesn't take pride in what I do, it annoys me. Pull your weight or fuck off. I'm beginning to notice it more and more. I don't suffer laziness. Even though I can be lazy myself."
It's interesting that you think you're apart from what you do.
"Well, it's like when I see Liam Gallagher. I was freaked out, the guy was like an angel. But as you become more exposed to Oasis, you realize they're just people, as well. There's nothing particularly special about them. What they do is special. Not them. Not us. During this year, I've realized that the thing you're carrying is the most important thing."
"If you drop it or leave it somewhere, that's you fucked," adds Dougie.
"But it will bounce and land in someone else's lap," continues Fran. "You can drop your gift. So you've got to keep your eye on the important issue. When you play gigs and you see people smiling, then you've passed on something good. And that's the thing you carry. It's not you doing it."
So if you allow yourself to be taken in by Travis's fame, you're more likely to drop your gift.
"Yeah. A person just happens to be a channel, and you have to keep your channel clear. Because if you let any gack or fucking fame in, it'll block up. It's like having a cold. You'll never ever write another song again. I live in fear of being blocked. Because once you're blocked, you'll never unblock it. You'll never have the same honesty. You'll never be quite the same again."
By the time we get to the venue, Fran's words have had a profound effect on the way he acts. He's nervy with Neil in soundcheck and then fidgety when he takes the Maker up to the dressing room to continue talking. He smokes almost constantly, much more than when we first me two years ago in San Francisco--mostly, he admits, "because it kills the time."
"I'm really happy," Fran begins, cautiously, "but I'm also really itchy. Music is like an invisible pill that makes you feel nine pounds lighter--you feel as though you must get that across to as many people as possible, and you have a certain amount of time to do it. I can feel the clock ticking. I don't know when it's going to tick out, but it'll stop ticking eventually. We've finally got into the party now, only to realize, fuck, there's 200 rooms, it's not just one room. So you want to go into this room, and say hi and leave your energy and then move around in this one, trying to spread it around as much as possible. We've got to just write and write and write and write."
 |
|
So your time running out is your songwriting running out?
"I don't know. It could be anything. Because time, in music terms, doesn't exist. Because music just fucks with time. A year to me, just now, feels like a minute, two minutes. So it's not a time thing, it's a sense that something's urgent--you've got a job to do, and you have to do it. Being in a band is like being possessed. It takes you over. It's a weird thing."
Are you aware of growing older?
"Yeah, definitely. Twenty-six now. I wrote '20' when I was 20, and 20 was not that long ago. I was looking at my hands and thinking, 'I've changed. I've got little lines now.' I'm getting a wee belly. I've always wanted to be older, and I still want to be older, strangely enough. I want to be in my 40s now, or my 50s. I also think, 'I'm dying.' There's a ticker going now, and I'm hearing it louder than I did before."
You sound as though you're under a lot of stress.
"Yeah," Fran shrugs, voice trailing off. "Sometimes I don't get anything out of this. At all. Absolutely nothing. The best bit is the moment when the song's written, and it's just you and this new thing. After that, it's just stress. Because you've got to take it through to different stages and make sure no one fucks it up. And then take it on the road, which is stressful, as well. It's a contradiction because it's also brilliant. You're with your friends and meeting people and spreading this good vibe. So every day, you're going, 'It's brilliant, and it's shite.' It's the most meaningful thing in my life, yet it's absolutely nothing. I'm in love with this. I hate it."
So how are you going to sort that out? You can't carry on like this.
"I don't know," says Fran, looking pained and a little lost. "We'll see how it goes. I wake up in the morning, and the first thing I think about is the band. I go to bed thinking about the band. And it's not even the band, it's this thing, this 'it.' You go to sleep and you're riding through a forest on a white horse, and you wake up on it, and you can't get off it. And I defy any one of us who's touched it or got on it to try and get off it. It moves too quickly. It's too scary to jump off, and it's too magnetic to fall off."
And The Man Who is determined to stay on that horse, even if it kills him, lights another cigarette, and gets ready to play the gig of his life.
Fast-forward 24 hours and you find us in Stockholm's KTH club, which provides a sedated student hall respite, after the raw emotional mayhem of the John Doe. If last night was moshpit magnificence, then tonight is a cuddle extravaganza, couples snuggling up and listening like their lives depended on it. Backstage before the show, though, Fran's more concerned with their dressing room sauna and the neatness of the cloakroom.
"Look at this organization!" he beams, waving at rows and rows of coats and scarves. "We'll get out there and the crowd will be naked, probably. They'll start getting it on during the romantic songs." Fran grins, warming to this theme as he and the band make their way calmly toward the stage. "There'll be a bloke with a handlebar walrus moustache, giving it some of that." He gives a little impish pelvic wiggle. "And we'll have to join in."
Trust the boy who wrote an album about the vagaries of the human heart to bring everything back to the bump and grind of love--even if he is being a wee bit mischievous. He says at one point that everything revolves around relationships, that it's the common denominator between people, ants, birds, the lot. So maybe this is a good time for us to meet…Nora.
"Our backgrounds are similar to a frightening degree," says Fran of his German girlfriend, who, at 33, is seven years his senior. "Both have single parents. Both fathers are wayward, off the tracks. Both have one auntie and one cousin. Both have tortured their hamsters, but in a very childish, unknowing way. It's mad. And both of us have a massive fear of losing each other, and I think that has something to do with being an only child."
Do you think the ticking clock we talked about before is connected to Nora's biological clock ticking away?
"Oh no, no. If you're going to have kids at all, we'll do it in two years. A lot of people say to me, 'You'll be a great dad.' But I'm not so sure. I've always based everything I've done on instinct, and my instinct is that I wouldn't be a good parent. I’m caring and gentle, but the little voice I listen to is saying 'no.' Maybe it's because all of this is going on. If I was going to have children, I'd want to be there."
| The Secret Diary of Fran Healy, Aged 26 1/2 |
Meeting Paul McCartney
"It was at Later with Jools Holland. He took a real shine to us. Kept doing the wink and the thumbs aloft. And there was this pause and Macca just started playing 'Turn' on his bass and singing it. It was amazing. We were walking on air from that for a week after."
Dougie's Birthday in Amsterdam
"We drank 'coffee' in the famous Amsterdam coffee shops. And the coffee was really strong--it was really good coffee. The next day, we got hauled into Customs, and they were looking for coffee, and we didn't have any, but they took a long time looking for it. The coffee dog chased our guitar tech, who had some loose coffee grinds in his pockets, and his clothes stank of coffee. It was a good laugh. We were feeling full of joy that day. |
What have you learnt from Nora in the two years you've been together?
"I think she's learned more from me than I have from her. Nora is my best mate. She's there to hold me and be normal while all this is going on. She's not impressed by the business. I've become more confident too. Because she's very confident."
The only new song to feature in Travis's live set at the moment is "Coming Around," a gorgeous Byrdsian jangle that's bright and uplifting, but the real hit of the future is called "Flowers in the Window." Fran starts talking about it and can't contain his joy, rushing off to find an acoustic guitar to play what turns out to be a heart-swelling, hope-inducing paean to love, commitment, and well, everything we've just been talking about.
"I wrote it at four in the morning in a studio in France." Fran smiles, overtaken by happiness; now he's lost in the two things he loves: creativity and his girl. "The words are just lovely. It was written by the most eloquent, romantic fucker you've ever met. And that's not me. The last verse alludes to planting seeds before you fuck off, so you can carry on. Spreading your pollen. It was written for Nora, written for my baby."
It sounds like there's a lot of love in it.
"There's loads. Immense, immense amounts of love. You can play spoons, and it could sound like Mozart if you did it with love. There's something Nora's taught me. She was making dinner, and I said, 'What's the difference in taste?' And she said, 'I make it with love.' And I was like, 'Ah, right!'"
One million satisfied customers later and you start to realize the true significance of the moment. That Nora must be one hell of a cook.
Another show played, another after-show dealt with, greeting fans and signing posters and sharing in the elation, Fran and Dougie wave goodbye to Andy and Neil, who are traveling on to Copenhagen by bus, and then decide to have some fun. And the only place to have enjoy yourself in this town, it seems, is at the Opera House, which is hosting a party for…guess who?
"Bloody hell," yells Dougie, gripping a glass of champagne in the roped-off VIP area. "There she is! Mariah Carey! And, oh my god, she's singing!"
It's true. The queen of schmaltz has just wandered into her own album launch shindig, armed with a gang of dancing homies and a mic. And, yep, while they're playing her tunes over the PA, our Mariah is warbling along like the show-off, corporate good-time girl she is. Dougie can't believe his eyes, whooping with delight while Fran has just bumped into…who now?
"All right, kid? Wa-hay-haaay!"
Jesus Christ, that friendly, chirpy, nice bloke incarnate who keeps sticking his tongue out is Mani. From Primal Scream. And he's brought Bobby Gillespie with him. To a Mariah Carey party. This is too weird.
"This is bizarre!" grins Fran, gulping back champers and looking a lot less like a man on the verge of a nervous breakdown. "I like looking at all the society people, the celebs, all waiting for Mariah, all dancing and trying to be dead sexy and they're just rubbish. It's great fun."
It's good to see you looking happier.
"I just think we're the luckiest, luckiest band," beams Fran, The Man Who didn't think his life would end up like this but is getting used to it. "We'll always keep the faith, because we'll always have the band. And if you took one drop of this good energy and dropped it in a tanker of bad stuff, it would neutralize it instantly. Because good stuff's hard to find. That's why we've got to look after this thing and make it good."
Twelve hours later, standing in the cold wind beside the Little Mermaid in Copenhagen, having just played a hungover and tired acoustic session, on borrowed equipment, that Fran describes as "Travis at their worst," these words seems a long, long way away. But look closely and you can see the magic they contain keeping Britain's most treasured band safe from the elements, the fame and the dreaded "invisible men."
For, like Travis themselves, love conquers all.
Melody Maker
December 15, 1999
The Men Who: Ian Watson (words)
and Lucy Scott-Harris (pics)
We join band of the year TRAVIS on the road in Europe to find out how they're dealing with the pressures of newfound fame.
