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Fran Van 2000 | |
Late last year, Adam Buxton of Adam & Joe trailed around Europe with Travis, forlornly trying to make a pop documentary. All he ended up with was a playful guy-on-the-wall tour diary. And here it is...
My introduction to the happy Travisphere came when Joe and I had our spots covered by Fran's girlfriend Nora at a photoshoot for The Adam & Joe Show. It turned out Nora was a fan of the "broken" comedy show Big Train to which we contributed a couple of ideas. She said we had to meet her boyfriend who was also a Big Train obsessive.
Fran and Dougie then came to a party we had when we finished The Adam & Joe Show, and after more lies we became friends. Obviously, my main agenda was to get invited to some rock-star parties, snort coke off Britney's titneys, and generally help them spend their money, but it soon became clear that all the fuckers do is give interviews and play gigs in a continuing campaign to ensure every person in the world buys a copy of their frigging album.
Wednesday 24 November 1999
Around 11 p.m., my phone goes. It's Fran saying they've just arrived having broken down en route from Spain. His room is across the corridor, so I go over. We get to work on Fran's minibar and watch the Pamela Anderson/Tommy Lee porn DVD I borrowed off Jonathan Ross (that's my one and only name-dropping gambit, I'm afraid).
Fran & Dougie, who are already very stoned from a 24-hour bus trip, watch open-mouthed as Pammy gets to work, also open-mouthed on the donkey-like Tommy. Feeling my trip has got off to a rather sleazy start, I take the DVD out and Fran puts on the Clint Boon Experience album which is altogether more edifying. We consider joining Neil and Andy in the bar but hit the sack in preparation for Travis's first German gig tomorrow night, in the Frankfurt suburb of Offenbach.
So far, so good.
Thursday 25
Dougie, Neil, Fran, and Andy spend the next two hours being interviewed. Later, onboard the bus, I begin to get alarmed. It is not a luxury bus. Downstairs there is a fridge, a couple of seats, and a lav for use "only in emergencies." Upstairs are about 16 bunks and, at the rear, a "lounge" featuring a tiny table, a telly, and a PlayStation. Perhaps this is the Krankies' old tour bus.
The thought of spending several days living on this bus is making me frightened. I am used to a double bed, a capacious bath, and frequent non-emergency lavvy trips. Suddenly they have all been denied. Before I have a chance to get too badly depressed, the bus pulls up at the venue. One minute later, I am stood next to Fran on stage, filming as they soundcheck.
Suddenly I am INSIDE "All I Want To Do Is Rock." Fran's neck goes all tendony as he closes his eyes and screams his "HeeeEEEEEYYYYY!!!" in my ear while Dougie grins his louche grin. Neil pounds, businesslike atop his drum rise. Andy leans, fag in mouth, into his feedback solo. I want to drop the camera and have a wank, but I decide to carry on filming and wait 'til later. "As You Are" starts up and I wonder if I will make it 'til later. I've never been so happy. Then, suddenly it's over and everyone buggers off. It's 3 p.m.
Now there is nothing to do until 10:30 p.m. when Travis comes on after Ben Folds Five who, along with Gay Dad, form the rest of bill for this Rolling Stone-sponsored tour. My soundcheck euphoria gets me through till about 6 p.m. when, like everyone else, I start to get quite bored. Fran and Dougie go off to some radio station to refuse to play Britney Spears, and I walk the unwelcoming streets of Offenbach with the crew trying to find a pub. They assure me that none of the band or crew really drinks before a gig. I'm relieved as I'd been nervous about my booze intake. Luckily, it seems I am on tour with ponces.
Back at the venue, I find Andy reading Kurt Vonnegut and smoking more fags. Dougie comes in and starts to sing "Bring Back Leeroy Brown" by Queen. My ponce theory appears totally correct. With each new Queen song, more band members arrive and the level of nervous excitement climbs as 10:30 draws nearer.
The small crowd is initially underwhelmed or perhaps just very polite. Flustered at walking onstage to almost complete silence, Fran's usual patter abandons him and he comes out with a weedy, "Hello, we're called Travis" before launching into "All I Want To Do Is Rock" (or "Rock" as we call it in the band). With "Rock" over, the audience begin to warm to the idea and the evening ends in triumph. I feel rough, though. Holding up the video camera is the most exercise I've had in months, and my tour-bus depression is setting in.
Fran has sneaked off to the two seats at the front of the bus like the sensitive lady-man he is. I find him rolling a gigantic bifter and listening to Moby. In order to get some incisive interview material for my film, I ask him provocatively how he reacts to the people who think Travis are a boring band with nothing to say and who symbolise everything shit about modern music. I feel a beautifully measured Franalogy coming on when Andy appears with a plastic bag on his head. "You guys are BORING, man! Your band is STUPID! You SUCK, man!" My devastating interview will have to wait.
The evening ends with booze and music in the "lounge." The Clash, Madness, XTC then...more Queen. Neil and Fran have retired in disguest, but Andy, Doug, and keyboard player Jeremy remain, transformed into May, Taylor, and Mercury. I'm Deacon, I think. Andy (who, as the old-school metal fiend, is mainly to blame) is playing impressive air guitar to "Tenement Funster" from Sheer Heart Attack as Jeremy and Doug interpret the track with mime.
Sat there, all pissed up in the smokey lounge, speeding toward Munich on the Travismobile at 4 a.m., I suddenly become convinced that "Tenement Funster" is the best song I have ever heard in my life and I have to buy it as soon as I got home. (I have now bought it and "Tenement Funster" is NOT the best song I have ever heard. Not by some margin.)
Friday 26
The gig, when it eventually takes place, seems to go well with the crowd efficiently warmed by Gay Dad and Ben Folds. There is not much interband activity during the day, and this evening is unusual in that Gay Dad's Cliff Jones accompanies Fran, Jeremy, and me for a drink after the gig. We spot a poster for a forthcoming attraction. It shows an old man with an electric guitar and red boots and bears the legend "Helge & the Firefuckers." I think it makes Fran realize that Travis is a dull name for a band.
We have a few beers in the Titty Twister, presumably named after the bar in the Robert Rodriguez film From Dusk Till Dawn. There are a couple of ladies pole-dancing. Cliff chats to Fran in a rather exclusive "lead singers only" way. Doesn't he realize I'm on TV?! Luckily, like most people, he does not.
After moving on for some disco dancing at Mr Bongo's Bongo Bar, it's time to get back on the bus and head for a day off in Stuttgart. Doug and Andy are being visited by their girlfriends tonight so they get to stay in Munich for totty privileges.
Select
Eventually, in a desperate attempt to get a free holiday, I suggested joining them on their German tour to shoot some video for an "inevitable Travis documentary." Amazingly, they agreed. Soon I was heading to Heathrow...
I am supposed to meet the band at the Hotel Kempinski but when I check in there is no sign of them. The place is extremely flash and I would be happy to live in my room for the rest of my life (complimentary truffles, well-stocked minibar, hard-core porn channel). Presumably these are some of the rewards for recording ten short songs (and one hidden track), then selling over a million copies.
We convene in the lobby at midday to pay our bar and porn bills. Band and crew compare notes on the quality of the filthy films, which on long girlfriend-less tours keep them from straying, physically if not morally. What's my excuse though?
We head to Munich. The boozing has now begun in earnest as champagne and tequila emerges and everyone does a slammer. Keen to be thought of as "cool," I oblige. Mental note for future: tequila and chmpagne slammer, GOOD.
Sunny morning in Munich. With soundcheck over, the rest of the day stretches ahead like a boring threat. The venues Travis are playing on this tour all seem to be suburban industrial areas with no shops, cinemas, or millennium domes to help kill time. Dougie reads his Bowie biog, Fran types filthy sentences into his laptop and gets the computer to speak them, like a raunchy version of that awful track on OK Computer. Neil and Andy are on the PlayStation. It is not a healthy or stimulating atmosphere.
March 2000
Text: Adam Buxton
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