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groove - 09.06.2008
ANDY'S BLOG - SOUTH AMERICA TOUR
London
The trip to the U.S. and South America began for me on Saturday April 12th, leav...
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Andy - 22.04.2008
ANDY CATO's GA TOUR DIARY
March/April 2008
Letter from America
We arrived in Miami, the Friday of Winter Music...
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Tom - 13.03.2008
Tom
Tom's Blog, March 2008
It’s been some time since either of us put pen to paper, and ple...
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groove - 17.01.2008
Tom’s Blog – Australia 2007/08
When the Groove Armada annual diary comes round you can't help but keep an especially bead...
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groove - 21.12.2007
Tom & Andy's Festive Blog
2007 has been a phenomenal year for Groove Armada’s Andy Cato and Tom Findlay: a No 1 sing...
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ANDY'S BLOG - SOUTH AMERICA TOUR
London
The trip to the U.S. and South America began for me on Saturday April 12th, leaving home in Barcelona with 3 weeks worth of clobber in a hand luggage-only bag to avoid any more losses at terminal 5 (the bag that featured in the last blog still hadn't come back, though there was a rumour I might meet up with it in Miami). I'd been warned up front that our Bang the Box night at The End, London had sold out more quickly than anything in the clubs' history, but I'm never totally prepared for the intensity of nights down there. With the DJ booth in the middle of the dancefloor, there's no hiding place. It was another hi-octane session of balloons, spilt drinks, sweat and happy chaos. Around 4am I handed over to Secret Sundaze, whose number one fan gave things a nice twist by crowd surfing in tweeds and braces.
Then it was into rehearsals with the band. We'd had a session at my place in Barcelona to work on a new sound for 2008, but this was the first time we'd got all the equipment out and tried it properly. There was a lot to get through to be ready for a warm up gig in Sheffield on the Wednesday. After a long day of rehearsals near London Bridge, we ended up doing a radio show in the canteen, 'live' from Miami. No need for legal action, as it turned out it was only a test run for a series of shows in faraway places we'll be doing around the Bacardi gigs.
Sheffield
Tuesday it was up to Sheffield, for a day's rehearsals at the venue, testing the lights and visuals and tweaking the music. This session went right up until the midnight curfew. Back again after breakfast, we were working on it all day. By the time people started filing into the gig past the tour buses and lorries parked up outside, we'd only just gone out of the opposite door to get a slice of pizza. Playing a new set for the first time always requires a lot of 'nods and winks', as Martin the drummer puts it. And it doesn't matter how many times you practise, it's not until you play in front of people that you know what's working and what's not. So we had a great gig in a packed and sweaty venue, and ended up with a long list of things to change and work on. That was always the plan. The only problem was that we only had a couple of hours of soundcheck in Miami left to do it.
Miami
The scene at Heathrow was mixed. Some were smelling of Colgate and reading the paper. Others, myself included, had gone for the rollover option, arguing through dark glasses that it was just a way of resetting the clock to get onto U.S. time. After touchdown in Miami, it was straight to the soundcheck. It was the first of the shows in association with Bacardi, and the first time the live band had played in the states for 5 years. The venue was an outdoor amphitheatre, and the production looked impressive. The sun was hot, and a few cables were plugged in back to front, so there was a fair bit of moody standing around before we could finally get started. When we finally got going, we had half an hour before a bloke with big shorts and a lot of radios said "that's your lot".
Back at the hotel, MAD (MC), and Patrick (percussion) got in the lift with an American guest. Between floors 5 and 6, everything ground to a halt and the lights went out. Within minutes, the other guy had lost it, trying to bang a hole through the walls to get out. Eventually he slumped down, exhausted. But apart from a few voices drifting up from down below, there was no sign of progress in getting them out. At this point, MAD went into superhero mode. Spotting a loose panel on the roof, he climbed up on to the top of the lift, pulling Patrick and the American up behind him. When he told me this, I pointed out that had the lift started going up at this point, it could have got ugly. Anyway, there they were on top of the lift in a pitch black lift shaft, until MAD remembered he had some matches in his pocket. So as Patrick struck matches, MAD used the light to find a way to force open the doors of the 6th floor exit that were just within reach. Making their escape, they walked back downstairs, appearing behind the group of hotel staff who were still discussing how to get them out. Meanwhile, the smoke from the matches had set off the lift shaft fire alarm, so in came the local fire department, fully equipped for action.
Next day was gig day and it began with a series of interviews and a press conference. Journalists from around the world asked questions while we sat on val doonican barstools at the front. After this it was straight into the waiting car to sort the soundcheck out. The night before having been derailed, there was a lot to get through. It was also a good mile between the stage and the mixing desk, perched on a platform suspended at the top of the amphitheatre, so there was a fair amount of to-ing and fro-ing in the midday heat.
From here, it was time to meet the director who's going to be filming us during the worldwide Bacardi parties. Me, Tom, tour manager Jamie and the video team were sat around a table outside one of the beachfront Miami hotels when suddenly Jamie was on the floor and covered in blood. An entire window had fallen several floors and landed on his head. The situation was clearly serious - onlookers gathered and an ambulance was called. As the paramedics took him away, his last words were to tell his wife, and assistant, Jo not to come and see him at the hospital as she had "work to do". We ignored that, but took on the spirit of trying to keep the show on the road. After a couple of very anxious hours, news came through that his spine was fractured but not broken, and that with the help of a large neck brace and a lot of time, he would recover.
We found this out just as we were about to walk down the media red carpet into the gig. I've never smiled so much for the cameras in my life. The relief, and the reality of what had happened, came in a wave which made the media circus even more surreal than normal. So we said our piece, then had a look at Dave Navarro's winnebagos. He had so many of them. As headliners, we were left wondering how we'd missed out. Then it was back in the big black car and off to record a radio show, a TV show, and sit through a photo shoot.
Jamie and Jo were inspirational in how they were dealing with the day's events. In fact, he was talking about catching up with us in Sao Paolo in a few days time. But to anyone not sharing his painkillers, it was clear he wasn't going anywhere for a while. We got the band and crew together, and worked out ways in which we could all help to fill the enormous hole that Jamie and Jo's absence would mean. It was a strange day to return to the stage in the U.S. but the show did go on, and the new GA live sound made it's debut loud and proud, right in the heart of downtown Miami. Half an hour after coming offstage we were DJing in a club where the big thing was extra large chandeliers. Fine as far as it goes, but not the X factor in nightclub terms. It attracted a nice mix of dancing girls and suited men.
Mexico
After emotional farewells to Jamie and Jo, we made our way to Monterrey, Mexico. This was the beginning of the 'virtual Jamie' era. Using skype and the built-in camera on his and our computers, he'd sit there on the bar, or at the side of the stage during gigs, across the whole of South America. We had to have him there. There were two days off in Monterrey. By day, Tom and I would work on the live stuff in the hotel. That's after he'd found his way out of the shopping mall. After DJing in the world's biggest mall in Edmonton only two weeks beforehand (see previous blog), you'd think lessons would have been learnt. Instead, he 'popped' out to get a cable we needed mid morning, and found his way home mid afternoon. By night, we went in search of some nightlife. Given it was Monday and Tuesday night, this was a bit thin on the ground, though in the old town we did discover Monterrey's answer to Robson and Jerome, in a bar serving pint-sized cocktails of warm red wine and ginger.
When we arrived at the gig, it was a bit of shock. It was the first of what became a run of 'enormo domes'. It was HUGE. The kind of venue that the delivery lorries actually drive into. Eight thousand capacity, which for Monterrey on a Wednesday seemed optimistic. Pictures of the Backstreet Boys and Abba hung on the dressing room walls. We tried to work on some of the tunes, but it was like
doing a soundcheck in St Paul's cathedral. But the people of Monterrey came, and went mental. Keen to keep the party going afterwards, a couple of locals invited us back to their house. But when the conversation turned to the upsides of televised paintball, I knew it was time to leave.
Next was Mexico City, a place where speed seems to be measured in hours per mile. So after a hot couple of hours in a transit van, we ended up by a modernist church that looked like a giant shark fin. Next to this, in a dusty field, the crew had already turned the stage into an exact replica of the night before. This was particularly incredible given that the lorry that carried half the gear from Monterey had blown a tire on a mountain road and turned up 4 hours late. After using every available second of soundcheck to do more work on the improvements, we went off to the press gallery. As we did so, a thunderstorm came in from the hills and the wind blew over the photographers lighting rigs, tables, drinks, the whole lot. One interviewer, who presumably has pictures of Jeremy Clarkson by his bed, stuck relentlessly to one line of questioning: "if you were a car, what sort of car would you be", "if you hire a car, what sort do you get", and, best of all, "do you see yourself as a long car or a short car". By the time we took to the stage, the storm had blown itself out and we played outdoors, above Mexico City, under a nearly full moon.
By lunchtime the following day we were in Guadalajara, again in a couple of transit vans, neither of which knew where the hotel was but which were following each other. As the temperature rose and the opportunity for getting an hour's sleep dwindled, temper's frayed. I carried on straight to the gig site, to continue the ongoing programming work. Because it was a festival and you set your gear up behind the band that's on before, this involved sitting in 33 degree heat, 4 feet from a metal band's drummer, with a pair of headphones on trying to work out what was what. It all came together though and the gig was the best so far. From front to back it was jumping. The new sound had bedded in and we were off! The same transit drivers struck again afterwards, turning the short drive to the "official" afterparty into an hour long marathon. After all that, we ended up in a white washed unit on an industrial park, with a dining room table for a bar and a pair of speakers. The unexpected upside of the party was that I complained about the huge rip in my jeans within earshot of one of the locals. Ten minutes later, they were sewn up with matching thread.
The following morning, we were a man down. One of the crew, who'll remain anonymous under the code name "Kenna", hadn't turned up downstairs, long after we were supposed to have left. Search parties were sent up to his room. Nothing. Everyone else’s room was checked. Still nothing. Finally, they went round the rooms of other bands from the festival. Not a word. His phone was off. We had to go. Just before we boarded the flight to Brazil, he appeared. The story involved a conspiracy by the hotel to confuse him by moving all his things to a different room, and placing them exactly as he'd left them, even down to the toothbrush. Seems possible...
Santiago, sat in a large basin in the Andes, felt a world away from the South America of Mexico City. Much more European, straight laced and restrained. After checking in, half went to get breakfast, the other half straight to the bar. It was then that we realised the place was absolutely crawling with policemen. By a happy coincidence, our hotel was also hosting the South American Police Convention.
Santiago took the 'Enormo Dome' to new heights. Literally in fact, as the massive domed roof meant that when you hit a drum, it would carry on ringing for 9 seconds. So soundcheck was a write-off and we could only hope that the crowd would absorb some of the echo. On the positive side, the dressing rooms were the size of a small town and featured a walk-in Jacuzzi. Hundreds of workmen were building a VIP section from scratch, complete with it's own bar and seating areas. Once again, the scale of the gig for our first time in town felt a bit optimistic. Wrong again though, as the place was packed, and the noise deafening as the lights were lowered and we took to the stage. DJ Cicada, an old friend, took to the turntables afterwards and kept the party rolling nicely. The main arena operated as room 1, and our dressing room had become a free-for-all room 2.
Brazil
On all these shows, there was never more than an hour or two between getting back to the hotel and leaving to go to the airport. Nevertheless, nine times out of ten, people got themselves in and out of the shower and drew a line between night and day. But as we checked out alongside the combined South American police forces to head off to Sao Paolo, there were a couple on the team who came down with large glasses of red wine (a drink which at that time of day has got 'last thing left in the minibar' written all over it). The upshot of this was some eccentric behaviour at the airport and me being taken aside at the gate as we boarded and being asked if these lads were friends of mine, and if they were drunk? I replied that they'd had a couple of drinks for sure, but were just tired and needed to get on the plane and have a lie down. At this point, one of them came over and attempted a reassuring smile. With red wine blackened lips, tongue and teeth, he looked like a character from a Marilyn Manson fancy dress party. I grabbed him and set off down the jetty, waiting for the heavy hand of security. I think fear got the better of them and they let us leave.
Argentina
By the time we landed in Buenos Aires, we were on 5 hours sleep in as many days. For the crew, always on the flight before us, you could halve that number. Things got off to a bad start when we were dropped off at yet another huge industrial building, so close to the airport that the plane's wheels were within touching distance. So it was in the deafening roar of a 747 coming into land that I tucked into the cheese and tomatoes. I was halfway through my second mouthful when I realised I was sharing the plate with a cockroach. We had work to do in the venue, insisting that they found curtains the size of football pitches to drape around the place and help with the sound. It was hard giving the locals a tough time. It had been all go for them recently. First of all the farmers, at war with the government, had set fire to an area 5 times the size of the city, just when the wind was set fair to blow the smoke over the town. You couldn't see your hand in front of your face, sleep, or breath, for a week. As soon as that cleared, the rains came and the streets were 4 metres deep in water. But we needed big curtains, and to their credit, they found them from somewhere. Then there were 8 thousand people there, including one corner just for Israeli models (I'm not sure what the connection there was). It was a big gig, after which a good chunk of the audience found their way into our tented dressing rooms round the back.
As fresh faced Argentineans gathered at the airport the next day to set off on their holidays, there was one group in the corner, short on clean clothes and fully kitted out with sunglasses…
Spain/Ibiza
When I got home to Barcelona, I was greeted by a text message from a friend in the UK talking about a news article he'd seen in which Barca was running out of water and boats were coming in from France. But it seems the government here looked into all kinds of ways of solving the water problem except for taking a look at the weather forecast. From the moment this boat turned up, it has rained every day since.
So it was a very green Ibiza that I saw from the plane as I touched down last weekend for the opening at Space. Whilst we've played Sundays at Space for 5 years, this was the first time we'd done the opening of the club itself. A lot of friends were down there, and it was an evening of jostling, and conversations you can't hear. Once we got on the turntables, it was time to unleash a new tune, working title "Kubrik". I've not seen a response like that since we road tested Superstylin’ at Norman Cook's Brighton beach party. It's a big one. Quote of the night went to a young French lad who came up to me wearing only Speedos and holding a small waterproof jacket. He was very polite. "Good evening" he said, "tonight is the first time I have taken ecstasy" |
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