Ellen Campesinos! Tour Diary, Part 2

Bros, brohos, and hos: It’s the second week of the tour and the Los Campesinos! bassist discovers America’s seedier side

By Ellen Campesinos
Published: February 1st, 2009 | 4:45am

I am the bassist for the seven-member Cardiff, United Kingdom, band Los Campesinos! and we are on a four-month excursion around North America starting with a 24-date tour around the East Coast. We will be performing in various college towns — supported by the mighty Titus Andronicus — as well as eating lots of Twinkies, waffles, and pickles in bags.

Tuesday January 20, 2009 — Tampa

We’re in Tampa and it looks like a film set with just a hint of Disneyland: morality and fakeness wrapped up in a sunny day.

The sausage-fest theme continues when Gareth says something about the “bromances” that are forming between the bands. Alek and I protest that we are excluded out of this word, and I come up with “homance.” That isn’t much better. Damn.

Post-show, I sign a lot of things and have photos taken with lots of lovely people, relying on my stock sentences of “Thanks for coming” and “I enjoyed this show” to get me through the pressure of people hoping that I might be interesting.

We are given free tequila, and there is some more arm wrestling. I don’t have my arms insured, and I value using them too much to attempt to join in. Plus, whom am I kidding?

Wednesday January 21, 2009 — Tallahassee

Myself and Alek wander off to a winery to be sophisticated, rather then hang around backstage for two hours waiting for our brains to melt. This is a good decision, as the only alcohol we can get at the venue is beer. Plus some times you need female conversational interludes. I am neither a girl’s girl nor a tomboy. I could give you a run for your money at Mario Kart on the N64, but I also want to see He’s Just Not That Into You, fully aware of its inevitable badness.

Friday January 23, 2009 — Birmingham

I feel like a hollowed-out husk all day, with nausea crippling me at regular intervals. Damn you 7 & 7!

We are playing at the Bottle Tree Café and Bar. It looks like the ironic junk shop of a middle-aged spinster who is married to her cat. Cheesy vinyl covers are all over the walls, art homages to Star Trek hang by pictures of Richard Nixon, and the Rosie O’Donnell autobiography lies by massage chairs. That’s right: Massage chairs.

I don’t drink today. Instead, I spend the gig tired and bored, hassling to leave whilst everyone sings Pavement songs. I can’t take the campfire jam when my insides are so dirty.

Saturday January 24, 2009 — Nashville

I seem to have a problem. My usual nerves, which have threatened to ruin my onstage confidence in the past, have disappeared to be replaced by apathy. This would be good but they also give me the adrenaline to be excited.

I look like a moody bitch on stage and I can’t seem to get in or near “the zone.” For example, in tonight’s show I jumped up on the drum riser, which normally means that I am really excited, but I was faking it like one fakes an orgasm with an inexperienced lover. I always hated my oversensitive side, now I wish it would come and visit more often.

The boys realized that they could get into the men’s toilets from the stage. Near the end of the set, they congregate in there, and Tom comes out with toilet paper to throw at the audience.

Post-gig, the boys all compare stories of a middle-aged woman who seems intent on sleeping or seducing someone — anyone — in one of the bands. She tells Ian Titus he is pretty, tries to block Gareth in the male toilets, and informs Gareth of her links to David Gray and Bob Dylan, hoping this is sensual information to him. She also tries to kiss Gareth’s nipple. It turns out Ian Titus is staying at her house. We wish them luck and hope he doesn’t get snuggled/raped without consent.

That night, I dreamt about fighting with wizards whilst covered in cake frosting.

Sunday January 25, 2009 — Memphis

This was the best gig of the tour so far. Thank you Memphis! You made me feel rejuvenated again. Neil was crowd-surfed, the audience was animated, I actually began to feel less robotic, and the backstage salsa was beautiful. I also popped into the Peabody Hotel to look at the ducks in the fountain. Apparently, they are world-famous.

Monday January 26, 2009 — Mississippi

We lost Neil this morning to Titus Andronicus, who are playing a house party in Mississippi and wanted the member who is most likely to have “party” as a prefix to his name.

He misses out on the group-bonding trip to two strip bars in New Orleans. The first one we enter, Big Daddy’s, has more of a downscale class of strippers, who don’t even bother politely hiding the deadness in their eyes. We then go to Barely Legal, which I think has false advertising.

We are incredibly British in our attitudes to strip bars and keep bursting into polite applause every time a stripper does an impressive trick. The seedy men there give us funny looks. I get boobs in my face, and we treat Gareth to a lap dance. He doesn’t appreciate our gift because stripper “Kerry” doesn’t laugh at his jokes and asks if he wants to spank her bottom. He replies he would rather give her a dead arm.

I spend most of the evening admiring the acrobatics of the dancers, and even ask one about her exercise routine — weights and cardio if you are interested.

I leave after I realize that I spent all my money.

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For more information about Los Campesinos!, check out their MySpace.

Los Campesinos! will be on tour throughout winter 2009. For a handy-dandy list of dates, check their tour calendar.

Their new album, We Are Beautiful, We Are Doomed (Arts & Crafts), can be found at fine music retailers near you.