IT'S not all sucking caviar and cocaine out of the belly buttons of naked young starlets. Being on the road looms large in the list of rock'n'roll mythologies, occupying as it does a special place in the hearts - if not minds - of the practitioners of the devil's music. Nowhere else; not in the studio, not in the record company office, not in the interview room, does the thrill of "putting the show on right here" heighten the emotions, rattle the hormones and loosen the endorphins so adequately.
But take a look at all the rock'n'roll casualties strewn by the wayside, the wrecks that were sacrificed at the altar of touring. People go mad on the road, not as in Hello Cleland Spinal Tap type mad, but more in the type of madness that even the crudest form of frontal lobotomy cannot assuage. It's something to do with the prosaic parameters of existence being twisted and warped beyond the average para psychologist's perception. The normal laws of physics that deal with time and space simply do not apply in the peculiar jurisdiction of touring - and people who, at best, only have a nodding acquaintance with reality totally lose the plot and begin improvising as they see fit.
Emotions become a tad more heightened while on the road. While something like the slight matter of confused feelings between two members of a band can be effectively contained on terra firma, once bands enter into touring orbit, they'll want to kill each other. Similarly if one, a few, or all members of a band like to indulge in the odd bit of pharmaceutical mix'n'matching, this will quickly become a vice like 24 hour a day, seven day a week habit while hurtling down the motorways. The stories are legion, most of them unprintable, but I've always liked the one about the bass player in a famous band who was so out of it when on tour, that one night on stage when the strap for his bass broke and the guitar fell to the ground during the first song, he kept on "playing" for four more songs until he realised.
Over the last few weeks, both Oasis and The Cranberries have pulled short their tours of the US. The Gallagher brothers couldn't be left in the same large room together, never mind the more confined spaces of a stage, while Dolores O'Riordan succumbed to the exhaustion of having to front a band and put on a show in front of 5,000 people every night while also coping with influenza and weight loss. It's not all fun'n'games and driving your car into swimming pools, unfortunately.
BOTH with fantabulous EPs released this year, and both shimmering examples of everything that's right with contemporary Dublin music, the Sewing Room and Jubilee Allstars lower the fidelity as only they can at a joint gig in the Mean Fiddler next Wednesday night ... One of the albums of our year last year was the second Tindersticks opus and they've just done what they were always meant to do and recorded a film soundtrack. Called Nenette Et Boni, to accompany the French film of the same name (oddly enough) it features new arrangements of My Sister and Tiny Tears as well as loads of spooky, atmospheric, instrumental stuff. Chill out music has never come as warm as this ... Also available in your local independent record shop (Comet, Borderline, Freebird etc;) is Revelino's second album, Broadcaster and a very good slice of harmonic pop/rock it is too. Speaking about films, their Don't Lead Me Down track off their debut album is featured in the upcoming British film, Hardmen ... On your radio: the awesome Radiohead are caught live in action in Galway earlier this year on Dave Fanning's show on November 5th, at about 9.15 if you want to set your tape recorders, which is probably illegal but see if I care, mister. Part two on the 12th... In the "Wow! What A Gig" folder this week we have Something Happens and The Revenants playing in Whelan's tomorrow night. Hey ho, let's go.
