Friday 6 September 2019

Column: Katie MF Scottish Tour Diary


Prologue/Preamble

It’s hard to write on a train. Because of the vibration, yes, but also because Yorkshire looks ridiculous in the late afternoon August sunshine.

Ben, Tobias and I have all ended up on different trains – a feat of logistical ineptitude that I’m sure will pale in comparison to the next few days. Trying to get a drunk, culture-loving bassist to a gig at the official campsite tomorrow (a mere 30 minute tram ride out of town) is going to be… challenging.

I’m writing this in the company of a can of Stella and a Kit Kat, by way of a small, private, celebration. Earlier today the lovely people at Banquet Records confirmed me as support for Frank Turner’s album release show (Friday 23rd August) and I’m giggling to/shitting myself in equal measure. For better or worse, his music and live shows are pretty much the reason I started trying to do my own – I have literally dreamed about this.

Anyway, back to now. Tobias, on his train, has found himself with nowhere to store the 25kgs of hardware he’s lugging to Scotland for us, and is therefore spending the journey camped in the vestibule:


And there was me thinking that taking a couple of days off work was commitment. Edinburgh, here we come.


Thursday evening

We arrive at Cowshed (tonight’s venue) a full 17 minutes before our scheduled soundcheck, which makes me feel slightly better about the different train debacle and, more importantly, gives me time to try and find my favourite ever piece of graffiti which I know is on the back of one of these toilet doors:

“Fuck off, Margaret”.

The band on before us are pumping out The Beatles and White Stripes covers to a group of drunk students – I almost want to apologise to them for what’s coming next.

(They left, pretty sharpish.)

We’re frantically setting up when Ben says, “It’s going to be one of those nights, isn’t it?”. “What do you mean?”, I ask, as I trip over my pedals, tip my mic stand onto my head and kick over a pint of water.

“Messy”.

We play a surprisingly tight set to a pre-raucous crowd and receive mutually sweaty hugs afterwards from the lady in sunglasses (it’s 11pm) who did her best to be our hype-person. She eventually succeeded in cajoling the crowd to dance when we broke out the Green Light cover, and none of us are sure how to feel about that.

I get excited that someone thought we were good enough to put a whole ten pound note in the tip jar, until Lindsey (Ben’s girlfriend) informs us that it was, in fact, her. And that said tenner came from Ben’s pocket.

Total haul minus that? £12.66.

We head over the road to see if we can redistribute our wealth via some late night comedy, and instead end up being weirdly hypnotised by a man spending 10 minutes trying to throw slices of Warburton’s at a toaster. Ben is devastated when he gets a chance to step up and misses by the finest of margins.


Friday

COFFEE. Little Fitzroy on Easter Road, you have my heart. Tobias is still in bed, recovering from genuine extreme dehydration from lugging all that kit around. Remember to drink water, kids!

Four ibuprofen, one Berocca and several litres of the good stuff later, we head out to catch a lunchtime show and spend at least an hour debating the best busking pitch, next to a guy enthusiastically flyering for ‘Scooby Doo for adults’. We go get our gear and end up somewhere else entirely.

Busking is… less successful than we’d hoped. An untested rig plus hastily re-written lyrics (so many swears in my songs) mean that the confused side-eye stares outnumber the coins by at least 3:1. But Ben gets a compliment on his bass, so he’s happy.

We jump in a taxi and head to the official campsite for our second official show. We’re all a bit apprehensive about trekking to a field next to the airport in the rain… but are made to feel wanted and welcome as soon as we step through the door/flap.

It turns out that a wood-smoke filled triple tepee is an excellent venue for a punk-rock show. We play a blinder and are all pretty grateful to Tobias for bringing his makeshift kit all this way (no shells at the venue, unsurprisingly). A big finish on Lucky MF and I absolutely stack it, but everyone seems to think I made my way to the floor on purpose and I am A-OK with that.

Afterwards I accuse Ben of playing the wrong chords during Green Light. We investigate and realise that, actually, it was me. Sorry bud. To be fair, he could do with a bit of a grounding as tonight is the 3rd (15th) show in a row where he’s attracted a slew of bass (Ben) fans. It’s getting a bit ridiculous, but how do you argue with that hair:


Everything starts to descend into mania around 1am as I overhear Ben inform Tobias that “you’re sharp, you’re not big”. Context evades me. We rush to a well-reviewed late night satirical panel show but go through the wrong door and end up at something called A.C.I.D. (in Wonderland?). A comedian gets up, tells a few one liners which all bomb, so dislocates both his shoulders to get the crowd back on side.

Time to call it a night, probably.


Saturday (how is it only Saturday?)

Coffee and some much needed fruit help to dispel the A.C.I.D. haze. Today we split, as Tobias and I continue on to Dundee – sadly Ben isn’t able to join us for this part of the trip. We haven’t played a full throttle duo show before, so we make some tweaks to the setlist and laugh about how each gig so far has involved a different setup.

We say our goodbyes and head, slowly, for the station. It’s been a pretty intense couple of days so we take the opportunity to recharge with some quality headphone time on the train (Press Club’s new album and a bit of Ani DiFranco, for me).

As I watch the Scottish landscape roll past the window, I realise that in an hours time I have to do it all again. Be bigger than myself. Be happy and friendly when in reality I’m tired and grumpy. Be enthused. Energetic. Effervescent? Most of all, I have to be GOOD. I’m not worried about Tobias – he’s always good.

We arrive at Conroy’s and are made to feel SO welcome by Derrick, Hazel and the rest of the MTAT crew. Tobias is giddy at the sight of a full set of drum shells with actual microphones, and I’m excited to use my Orange micro-terror to power the 4 x 12 Marshall cab on stage. Mostly because it looks ridiculous:


It turns out I’ve brought the wrong power supply and so electrocute myself when my lips touch the mic. Several times, as we troubleshoot through trial and error. Thankfully Michael from Tragical History Tour a) knows more about currents than I do and b) has brought a proper head, so there’s no need for the improvised loo roll bandage we were all looking forward to using.

Doors open and Tobias and I are both shocked and stoked to see people actually walk through them. It’s a show headlined (for want of a better word) by an English band no-one’s heard of, put together at 10 days notice on a summer Saturday and there are people here. Testament to Derrick and the MTAT collective. Incredible.

Of course, no-one is here to see us, they’re here to get happy-sad to the excellent Buffalo Heart, lose themselves in the beauty and power of Nicola Madill’s exquisite gothic folk and to kick off the revolution with THT leading the way. And rightly so – I’d 100% rather see them than us!


Then it’s our turn. We have a quick conflab and decide to give it fucking everything and hope that makes up for the lack of low end (we can’t do anything about the lack of lustrous mane, sadly).

I wake up the next morning with bruises on both knees, half a fingernail missing and no voice. So I think we succeeded.

I can’t say thank you enough to Derrick and Hazel for putting us up, feeding us, driving us to the station and educating us with some Scottish history facts. I hope we make it back soon, full band, if only so I can be reunited with the broccoli pillow.



Last bit:

All that remains now is for us to get our gear and selves back home then get to planning the next one. I can’t quite believe that we played our first 4 shows outside London and not one to an empty room – still not sold on busking though if I’m honest.

Now there’s just the small matter of Frank Turner on Friday. Let’s fucking go.

THANK YOU Derrick, Hazel, Michael, Calum and the rest of the Dundee crew. Ben and Lindsey for letting us ruin their Fringe. Tobias and Emily for getting 25kgs of kit from South London to Dundee and back. Alex and all at EFC. Anyone who bought a t-shirt – only 38 more sales needed to break even.

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