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« BACK | HOME » ABOUT » THE SPIRIT SPEAKS » THE TOUR WITH NO NAME - DAY 1

THE TOUR WITH NO NAME - DAY 1

The management have asked me to write another blog for our 2009 tour. They said they want me to post everyday, rather than  once a week, as I customarily fail to do. I hope you'll check out my daily reports, and witness the live deterioration of my mind and my syntax.

I'm writing this backstage at Cambridge Junction, one hour before 'doors' one hour before 'showtime'.
Larry and Segs are arguing about the set list.
Larry wants to open with our new single, Jacqueline. He wants Segsie to go on first, ' shouting at people, looking weird.' I thought that was Larry's Job.


We've been trying out new material in rehearsal and its sounding pretty fucking good, despite getting banned from the Music Bank in Bermondsey for setting off the smoke alarms.

We're evolving; we're getting smarter, darker, heavier. Morale is high, despite the fact that we've gone on tour by mistake; this outing was supposed to promote the release of our groundbreaking new album, Revolver soul. We have of course, gone off schedule; so we're promoting something that doesn't exist.

I have just ingested a small paper parcel given to me by a lively girl called Jo who is dressed like a lap-dancing FBI officer. She's says she going to handcuff my ankle to the keyboard and give me a full cavity search. It's a fair cop.  Her old man Robbie is describing a near death experience he recently had on Ketamine, during which he met his dead father.

Last night, on the tour bus, me and D.Wayne came up with a version of Dante's inferno, played as a Carry on Film. (' Ooh, mister ferryman! those aren’t me eye's!').

There's light at the end of the tunnel.
Eddie’s worried the strobes are going to trigger his epilepsy.
Our new lighting guy looks, reassuringly like a friendly wizard.

We've got more politics going on than the Royal Mail. But if I told you about it, they'd have to kill me.
We're walking the line without a net; 18 dates, 17 days.
No label, no excuses...no fear.
We're cosmic pirates and we're gonna be space-docking in your port.
Prepare to be boarded, scurvy knaves! Arrrrr. 

© Orlando Harrison 2009