(Brendan Kelly is an international sensation and all around hot-cock. This week, we’re bringing you first person accounts of his recent tour of the UK and Europe with his friend Daniel Andriano. Today finds our heroes snuggled together on their friend Steve’s bed in London)
We woke up at Steve’s house and motherfuckers were still watching Friends. One guy was doing that thing that British people call breakfast but which really just looks like haphazardly cooking a little bit of garbage on the stove. Dan reported that he had been blown away by the blustery magnificence of my snoring. “You make Matt Skiba sound like Sophie Moon” he opined, in reference to a famously loud snorer and a sweet five year old girl respectively. I had some Yerba Mate so I decided to show the UK what the Americas brought to the table, teawise. I passed out some teabags and settled into watching Friends and observing these fine folks eat their ‘breakfast’ which consisted of beans, cooked tomatoes and other variables of which consistency and chemical makeup I dare not hazard any guesses.
Steve had the day off and decided to come with us to Kingston. We set off on the trains, and Steve told us all about how the next day he was to audition for an extremely exclusive acting conservatory and how it was generally a big deal and how he was gonna take it super easy today because the last thing he needed to be was hung over while he was in there in front of the powder-wigged judges singing “You’ve Got to Pick a Pocket or Two” in his tights and buckle shoes (note: these details are probably not correct). We got off the train by the Thames and marveled at the Eye, Parliament and Big Ben before we decided, “man, we gotta eat some fucking foods” so we headed to the train station. Dan, it should be noted, complained relentlessly about how heavy his bag was and how much of a pain in the ass this entire tour was gonna be. And, technically, he was correct. His bag WAS really heavy and the tour WOULD end up being a giant pain in the ass, but while his bag would eventually get even heavier than it was on that first day, and the tour would become vastly more of a pain in the ass as the train system ultimately betrayed us time and time again, the complaining hit its zenith right there outside a dumpy looking pub underneath a train bridge called ‘The Hole In The Wall.” Dan had the chicken burger and I had the regular burger. We both washed them down with Guinness. The whole experience was really lovely, even though there was still a little bit of national hangover from the Euro cup elimination the night before, and Dan and I, looking vaguely Italian as we both do, were met with the chilliest version of English hospitality available, which is still rather courteous, truth be told.
The three of us boarded the train to Kingston and then walked the two blocks to the venue once we arrived. Some guy who was sitting there told me that “I don’t know you Mr. Kelly, but trust me, this is the place you’d hang out if you were from here.” Cheeky!
We picked up our t shirts, checked out the room we’d be playing in (awesome, windowless, zebra striped) and decided to head out to the record store around the way to see if the records that Mike Park had sent to Dan had arrived.
The record store was super cool, and Dan’s record was playing over the speakers when we walked in. We discovered that my records were much harder to get in the UK than I had previously known (the reasons are boring, so I’m not gonna go into it, but you blokes and birds can order from redscare.net [which is linked as ‘merch store’ at the top of this page] or interpunk). Dan’s records had gone to the wrong place, so I stood around with my thumb up my dickhole, wishing I was back at the bar while Dan talked on his phone for a while.
We eventually headed back to the club and I did a quick interview while Dan soundchecked. I walked in to soundcheck and was introduced to a giant, translucent eel of a man named Sam. I said “hey dude” and breezed past him like the self-important dick I am, only to realize about five minutes later that he was that Sam Russo dude who was gonna be on the tour with us. I went back and apologized, re-introduced myself and then I soundchecked. I had a quick Guinness and then we went out to check out what Kingston had to offer.
Well, we walked about two blocks to a pretty standard pub where we were served Guinness and burgers by a scorching hot girl who obviously disliked us and then we headed back to the show. The place was starting to fill up and Sam was on stage. HOLY SHIT, he’s awesome. My little mind was blown. He had a great show, then I went up there. I launched into my first song and realized, real quickly, that I’d underestimated the verve and passion of UK Alkaline Trio fans. These motherfuckers didn’t know my songs. These were all Trio mega enthusiasts who snatched up all the tickets before my lazy fans could be bothered to put their dick collections down long enough to get online and get a ticket. At first I was like “ah, shit. This is gonna be rough.” But then I realized that being relatively unknown was very freeing, because I could play whatever the fuck I wanted with no expectations. Also, I could tell jokes. So I did. And you guys know what? I’m fucking hilarious! Who knew?
My show ended up being great and then Dan came up and really killed (this template pretty much extends to every show that we played on this tour: Sam killed, I came up there and told some jokes and then Dan got up and killed).
Steve, who was manning the table and watching our shirts and records, told us that his agent had recently called and specified that he had to bring tap shoes to his audition, which presumably meant that he was gonna have to tap dance, which meant ‘fuck it. I’m not going to that shit, lets do some shots.’ He informed us he’d be in Brighton the next night as well, as there was a bird he fancied out that way.
That night, Dan and I hung out at the Fighting Cocks (the club) after hours and drank whiskey until the wee hours before heading back to our hotel, which was right up the road. We, once again slept in the same bed, but not before I grabbed a bunch of wonderful candid shots of the two of us brushing our teeth, and at least one great one of me on Dan while he slept. Heh. Good times.
Tomorrow, the lovely beaches of Brighton!
See you there!