Question: How is it being away from home and on tour?
Answer: I love it. I’m doing what I want to be doing, I play music for a living. My friends back home are all in college, which I hear can be a good time, but I’m pretty sure that whatever elements of college people look fondly on I have in bushels and barrels on the road. And there’s not a single day I study or feel like I’m working.
Q: What do you do to stay grounded?
A: I write about things that are important to me, about my dreams and my point of view on what’s intriguing about human behavior, and then I sing those songs every night. I mean every word that comes out, so every stop on the tour is a reminder of what’s good and just and right about the world and what the opposite looks like.
Q: How often do you get to talk to your friends and family?
A: I talk to my friends every once in a while, I see them if I play a city near where they live. It’s nice to have their support and hear what they’re doing, it makes me feel like I made the right decision. And I had my brother travel with me for a couple weeks while he was on Spring Break, I convinced my parents to let him take an extra week off and join me for stops out West. I love the West Coast, it’s a little like paradise out there between the weather and the water. We spent one day in between shows wandering around the redwood forest. It was good to see my brother again, and catch up with him.
The questions went on to cover topics such as: the artist he looked up to the most; the best crowd he’d played to; his dream car.
I shook my head in disbelief as I flipped to the next article, amazed at what was deemed worthy of publication. The second piece mentioning Donald was much longer, seven pages, a feature on Darin when he was about to start an eighteen-month tour after the release of “Muscle Memory.”
What was newsworthy at the time wasn’t so much the duration of the tour, since other bands had been on the road for that long, it was the repetition of the stops and the way Darin handled the tour. His music had connected with so many people that a six-month run through the States, Europe, Asia and Australia wouldn’t suffice. Every stop of his so-called 360 Tour had sold out within twenty-four hours, with many fans unable to get tickets. As a result, he signed on for three international loops and made a public appeal to his fans that if they saw him on the 360 Tour or the 720 Tour (his second time around), they’d refrain from purchasing a ticket for the next one. It was a genuine desire on the part of the artist to satisfy the fans, knowing full well that by telling people not to buy up the tickets he could be left playing half-full venues on the last pass through. He didn’t care, and in the end the tour manager did have to step in and issue a statement on behalf of Darin that there were still tickets available for the 1080 Tour and repeats were welcome. His fans had actually listened to their idol’s initial plea and obeyed.
Not only was Darin able to cash in on eighteen months of high-demand touring, but he found a way to make each ticket holder feel special about the specific version he or she saw. Fans went online looking to trade in their 360 tickets for ones for the 720 or 1080 leg, since Darin had inadvertently (or so it was believed) created the belief that each tour would be slightly different, and twenty years from then people would want to brag about which leg they’d attended; many believed the last leg would be the best, others the unexpected middle. Before he’d even stepped on stage for the 360 Tour, he had created a buzz that marketing companies dream of.
I knew the author of the piece and during my research had contacted him to ask if I could see the unedited version of the article, with the full quotes left in. From experience I knew that what gets published is never the whole story, it’s what the interviewer, or the piece’s editor, or the periodical’s Editor in Chief who’s friendly with the interviewee’s PR agent, wants to let out the door. That kind of sharing wasn’t normal, but I had a history with the journalist, we’d met at various events and later recommended each other for work when one of us was too busy to take an assignment. Over time we’d developed a mutual trust.
Three pages in I found the section mentioning Donald.
Edited parts are in ellipses.
When asked how he felt about being on the road for a year and a half, Darin didn’t seem to find daunting the prospect of relentless months in hotels.
“I wouldn’t be doing it if I didn’t like it. That would be a shit decision on my part, wouldn’t it? Why would I sign up for a long tour if I didn’t enjoy it.”
“Do you like traveling?”
“Yeah, of course. I’ve been doing this for four years now, playing shows, going around to different cities and playing songs. It’s a way for me to test new material and connect with the fans, and I hope to not leave anyone out this time.”
“Is this leading up to a hiatus? You seem to care a lot about your fans, evident from the way you’ve handled the sale of tickets for the three circles of the globe. Are you trying to appease everyone now so you can take time off and feel that you’ve satisfied the people who support you?”
“Look, you have to be aware of the fans and you have to try to make that relationship work. It is a relationship, any musician who says they don’t need the fans is a (fucking) idiot. I exist because people like what I do. (I don’t mean I wouldn’t be on this planet without them, I’d still be living and breathing and getting up each day and writing songs, but) it’s a symbiotic relationship. They support me, they pay for my house and my car and my collection of guitars and part of the agreement is that, if they continue to like the songs I write, I’ll continue to go on stage and play. I’m not fooling myself that I could exist the way I do without them.”
When pushed as to whether or not he’d look to take time off after the tour, he told me that it was inevitable. “You have to recharge sometimes. But right now I have a long battery life, so I’m going to use it.”
I asked what he does to relax, but Darin told me he doesn’t. “I enjoy what I do,” he said with a smile. “There’s no down time from something you love if you have a life that allows you to continuously do it.”
“Have you thought about ways to keep in touch with people while you’re gone? Eighteen months is a long time, lives can change. Are you worried about coming back and having some relationships altered, people you once knew as strangers?”
He immediately shook off the question as ridiculous, but after a little thought he revised his response.
“In the past I’ve brought people along with me. That can be difficult, because life on the road is so much different than normal life and it’s especially hard, for someone who’s never done it, to jump in for a short stretch. It’s something you get used to over a period of years, I think, so any time I invite a friend to travel with me for a few weeks they usually go crazy before the end and I buy them an early ticket home. (But at least for the first few days it’s good, I get to see my reflection in their face as I’m talking and find out if I’m totally different from how I used to be. If they look shocked or disgusted by the words coming out of my mouth, I know I’ve been living this lifestyle for too long and I should get back to reality. Then I take a few nights off from after-parties and read instead, or work on new material.”)
“Anyone lined up for any of these three circles?”
“Yeah, I’m bringing my brother over to Europe for a week, he’s flying in to Frankfurt and we’re going to spend a day or two in the Black Forest outside of Munich, between dates in Southern Germany.”
(“Any other family joining you?”)
(“There’s no one else I can imagine having with me out on the road, he’s the last vestige of family I have that could keep up with me out there.”)
Darin told me he hoped to spend some of his days off in Australia and Asia seeing the cities and countries he’ll be visiting, but that…
A few paragraphs down, I found:
“It seems like the third album features more songs about family. Do you find yourself writing more often about those topics now?”
; “(Well you just said I was, didn’t you? Kind of an odd fucking question then, isn’t it? I mean,) the songs are right there for you, everyone can listen to them, (so if you think that’s what they’re about I’m not going to tell you otherwise). To be honest I can’t stand talking about the song meanings, they come from a place I can’t locate, they just appear some days and maybe there’s a thread of a topic in there, or a theme that’s been on my mind, and then over time the words come out. Sometimes they start as vowel sounds and across multiple playings specific words take the place of those sounds, and usually each song has a subject I’m trying to figure out for myself, but I don’t do it consciously. (And I’m not going to sit here and dissect the songs for you, because that’s probably the most boring thing I could fucking imagine. And in a way it kills the song for everyone else who enjoys it.)”
I pointed out that if, as a listener, my assertion was correct and he was handling familial issues on Muscle Memory, then perhaps the big tour was a sort of escapism for him, a chance to get away from everything. At the suggestion he grew contemplative.
“(Very Freudian, that.) Maybe, I don’t know, I’d have to go see a shrink to find out. I’ve had difficult relationships within my family, but so has everyone. I don’t think I’m any different or special in that way. My brother and I get along quite well, even though we’ve had our rough patches, but I think anyone with a sibling could say that. (You’re looking for ways to separate me from everyone else in this thing that’s actually universal, and it doesn’t make sense. You can’t do it.)”
I scanned the rest of the article without catching any other highlights, closed the binder and noticed that both my tea and whiskey were gone, and that my appetite was making itself known. I approached the bar and asked for a menu and was handed a stained piece of paper with one side of faded options. I ordered the Shepherds Pie and a pint of Newcastle and was about to return to the table when I felt a hand on my elbow.
“Excuse me,” I turned, surprised to again find the woman from earlier. “I saw you order food. I was supposed to meet someone here for dinner but it appears I’ve been stood up. Do you mind if I join you? Just so that two perfectly nice people don’t eat alone? I’m already out and don’t feel like going back to my hotel to eat by myself.”
My response took a moment to formulate, but I managed to stutter out a response. “That’s fine with me. I was just finishing up my work. Would you like to join me at my table?”
She nodded and gave a warm smile and said she’d gather her things. I took the beer the barman put on the counter and returned to my seat. From the corner of my eye I watched her pull her purse off the back of her chair and place a quick order, without looking at the menu, before approaching.
“I’m sorry if this is awkward, I just don’t like the idea of spending the evening by myself. My friend was supposed to meet me, I’m in London for a few days, but something’s come up for her and now what was going to be a fun night is looking to be a bit lonely.”
“It’s really not a problem. I appreciate the company, I’m here for work myself. Alone as well.”
Her mannerisms were timid, and I found the way she cupped her hands together endearing. A slight blush entered her cheeks as she explained her predicament. She was an especially attractive woman, the type I thought a man like Darin would seek out. My original sense that she was out of place in the dingy pub was reinforced when I saw her up close and had the freedom, given the newfound circumstances, to study her face, her expensive clothes, the body she clearly took care of.
I packed my notebooks together and slid them into my bag, clearing the table.
“What brings you to London?” I asked.
“Business,” she said, taking a seat. “I travel often, which I really don’t mind. Gives me a chance to catch up with friends who’ve moved to the city. It usually works out.” She shrugged.
“Well maybe we can see to it that this evening isn’t a total bust.”
“I’d like that.” She smiled, looking young and fresh and vital. I wondered if this was what Darin meant when he said his sister had magnetic energy.
“What brings you here?” she asked.
“Work as well. I only have until the day after tomorrow, then I’m back to the States.”
She asked me where in the U.S. and I told her. She brightened even more.
“I’ve never been to New York City. Is it as spectacular as everyone says? I’ve heard many good things.”
“It’s okay,” I told her, noticing the barman eyeing us curiously. “Like anywhere it has its pros and cons. If you don’t take the place too seriously, or don’t take yourself too seriously for being there, it has a lot to offer. What about you, where are you originally from?”
“Essex. A suburb called Colchester.”
“Ah yeah,” I said, grinning.
“Do you know it?” She looked eager, like a child told there’s a gift awaiting her in the other room.
“It’s where Damon Albarn grew up.”
She was noticeably shocked by my knowledge of Britpop trivia. And pleased.
“I didn’t think many people outside Colchester were aware of that. Small towns make a big deal of famous claims, but usually only to the people still around to listen. That’s absolutely mad.”
It would’ve been easy to drop Darin’s name, to explain that the work that brought me to London was a high-profile interview with a famous musician who’d personally asked for me. Merely by association my worth would’ve risen, and though I didn’t need the admiration, I enjoyed it.
“I’ve been interested in music for a long time. That interest has led to a sizeable list of esoteric facts.”
The bartender dropped off my Shepherds Pie and a salad for my new friend. As the smells of the seasoned ground beef, peas, potatoes and carrots hit me I realized how long it’d been since I’d eaten. I wolfed down a few bites as quickly as I could to counter the effects of the alcohol, not caring if my behavior was rude or piggish. My companion picked at her salad with the discrimination of someone who was used to making very little food last a long time.
“I’m sorry,” I suddenly stopped, “but I don’t know your name. That’s not okay when we’re sharing a meal. I’m Chris.” I reached a hand across the table, and we shook once under an exchange of smiles.
“My name’s Heather. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Chris. Thanks again for indulging me tonight.”
“It’s absolutely no problem. Really. It’s nice to meet someone here. It’s nice to meet you.”
She grinned, almost mischievously, and the tip of her cute little nose rose when she did. It was barely perceptible, and I found it adorable.
“So what do we do now?” she asked, clearly much more relaxed than when she’d first approached.
“I don’t know that we do anything. I was planning on heading back to my hotel and getting some rest.”
“That’s a bit too boring,” she laughed, which bothered me a little. Though I enjoyed her company, I had a job to accomplish and wasn’t interested in being pressured into distractions. “You have two nights in London. That’s no time to prioritize sleep.”
“I have work,” I said, “I really should get back.”
“Okay,” she was startled by the abrupt change of course. It became clear only then that she’d been planning a different ending for the evening. “Well where are you staying, maybe we split a cab.”
“I’m at The Goring. It’s not a far walk, I’d prefer to see a bit of the city by foot.” She looked astonished, and I realized I’d denied her quite flagrantly. “But I’ll wait with you while you get cab,” I rushed to add, “by now it’s probably dark and I’d hate for you to wait alone on the street.”
“That’s sweet, Chris.
But the coincidence is unbelievable.”
“Which one?” I asked, clearly missing something.
“I’m at The Goring. I always stay there, it’s the finest hotel in London. The back terrace is splendid, I have my own ritual of spending each evening there before bed. Will you have a drink with me? Just one? Please, I don’t normally go to bed so early and now I have nothing planned for the night.”
The longer I sat with Heather, the more endearing her accent became. “I can probably do one drink,” I said, aware it was easier to give in than put up a fight in a losing battle. “But just one. I should look over a few things before tomorrow. It can’t be late.”
“If you asked any of my friends they’d tell you that’s a promise I can’t keep. I’m a bit of a night owl.”
“What is it you do again?” We stood up and I threw money onto the table, waving away her attempt to pay.
“Event planner.” She grinned. “I make sure everyone’s always having fun.”
She looped her arm into mine and pulled me toward the exit. As we crossed the room I caught the eye of the bartender, who gave a congratulatory nod, his lips pressed together in admiration.
Track 4
Four martinis in, we sat overlooking the gardens of The Goring Hotel from a table on the elevated terrace. Over the past few hours our fits of laughter had grown too loud for the dimly lit porch and elegantly attired guests, who either sent scolding glances our way or smiled at two people enjoying themselves. Heather’s face glowed in the candlelight of the table as she twirled a lock of hair around her finger, let it unravel, and spun it round again.
“This has been great,” I said, holding her eyes in mine. “Thank you for a surprisingly fun evening, but I should head in.” Heather didn’t try to conceal her disappointment. “I have to wake up early tomorrow and prepare,” I added.
“You haven’t yet told me how you earn your keep,” Heather lobbed the observation, neither a question nor statement.