Bell X1 tour diary: Southern Bellies

So we're driving from Lake City, Florida to Athens, Georgia and we've just heard that Munster have beaten Toulouse 16-13 to win the Heineken Cup. Phil sound engineer has been receiving text message updates during the game. This would be rugby (the oval ball), and yes, it's kind of a big deal.

The road is bedecked with massive advertising hoardings - pecans and all manner of related baked goods seem to be widely available. Lots of law firms advertising their services in the event of "accidents or wrongful deaths", with accompanying photo of ambulance-chasing asshole. The hard shoulders are littered with shreds of truck tyres from blow-outs. Must be the heat. Just passed a sign for an erotic goods store - "Love Stuff wants to thank our troops!", with a big lipstick kiss on the stars and stripes. God Bless America.

We started this tour last wednesday in New York, playing at a Rolling Stone/Men's Journal presented event to celebrate Bushmill's 600th birthday. Lesson learned - never compete with a free bar. On my way through customs at the airport, the officer went though my bags and guitar cases, asking all manner of questions as to the purpose of my visit. He seemed unconvinced, and asked me to sing him a song. I took his hand and sang the opening bars of "Carrickfergus". He, being Greek (name ended in "...opolis") blinked in bemusement and told me to go on through.

The next morning Dave and I played some songs on the CW11 morning news. There was a segment on before us by this doctor dude taking about some remedy for a yeast infection... straight out of Dr Steve Brule. I didn't like how my hair looked on TV. Kinda dirty. On the drive to Boston we stopped for a sandwich from Anthony's in Providence, Rhode Island. It was like being in Satriale's Pork Store in The Sopranos. I believe somebody actually shrugged their shoulders and said "What you gonna do?" while we were there.

We had been to Annapolis before, to visit the radio station WRNR there, and it's truly like something from Pleasantville or The Truman Show. There's a big naval academy here, and on this saturday night with the navy boys out on the town in their fine whites, ladies on their arms, it brings to mind An Officer and a Gentleman. As the Teenage Mutant Hero Turtles spring forth in New York...

The gig is a dinner-and-cabaret-show kind of vibe, and very pleasant it is too.

Onward to West Virginia (have to stop singing "Take me home, country road..."), and to Charleston, where we take part in a broadcast of a radio show called Mountain Stage. It's very like a show called A Prairie Home Companion, which Robert Altman made his last movie about, a wonderful old time variety show that tours the country, broadcasting on the wireless. Paddy Casey is on the bill today, as is an amazing math-folk outfit called The Punch Brothers featuring Chris Thile. It's a good time. Chuck Yeager, who flew the Bell X1, is from Charleston, and we make hay with this fact. Though apparently, he's an asshole.

Chapel Hill, North Carolina, is where our American record label, Yep Roc, is based and it's good to play a stinky rock show in their home town. Good peoples.

We have an evening off in Atlanta, and head for Fatt Matt's Ribshack. Most excellent. Ribs, pork sandwiches, spicy beans, brunswick stew... meal of the tour. Afterwards we head for Midtown Bowl, and get ourselves a lane. It's got those diamond shaped light features on the outside, like the place in Lebowski. Yes!!

We are out of our element. With no frame of reference. Pretty brutal. The occasional flash of knocking-down-all-the-pins, but wildly inconsistent. We've all got these distinctive ticks, too. Like Brian looks like he's curling, gently sending the ball slowly down the lane, finishing up kneeling, with floppy hand. Dom is a farmer, making the most noise, throwing the ball up before it clatters onto the lane. Very uncharacteristically inelegant. I have this kind of mincing shimmy going on, before releasing the ball feebly, to watch it worry a couple pins into maybe falling. Very frustrating. Tim has an occasionally good gait and style, finishing nicely with right leg swung back behind left. But gutters quite a few. Only Tony, who's keeping it all together on stage on this tour (and a native), has got it going on - always scoring well on his first throw, and trying some fancy shit to make the split on his second. An All American evening.

Elton John lives in Atlanta. Dom wants to be his pool boy for a day. After his success as Cher's pool boy in Hollywood, why not??

On the drive to Florida, we see some great signs outside churches - "Under the same Management for over 2000 Years!", "Going in the Wrong Direction? Jesus allows U-Turns!"
It's mental hot down here. Opening the van at yet another poor roadside eatery, the blast of heat is quite something. The gig in Orlando is in the hot nitespot part of town, afterwards it's Krazy with a K. We had coffee in a Cuban cigar place earlier. They specialised in prohibition era whiskies and other booze. I should have tried a Seagrams from the 20s, but they were stupid money, so maybe not. We get to the motel at 4.30am and have a meaningful silent cigarette in the car park before retiring.