To get into the Bumbershoot we had to report to a car park about ten minutes walk from the stage. We unloaded the guitars, the Roland XP Doorbell Simulator and all the other junk - effects pedals, computer, leads etc. Then because we hadn't got the relevant documents to facilitate festival site parking, we had to move the van out of the car park, which was huge and empty aside from Tim Finn's tour bus. I'm giving you all these tedious details so that you'll feel as though you're really there. And anyway I'm sitting in Starbucks in a mall near Los Angeles airport at the moment - Amy's doing an interview with someone who doesn't want to talk to me so I've got time on my hands.
Everyone was very nice to us at the Bumbershoot. Amy arrived back with the van because the car park building place where we were told we could park was charging us $12 and we didn't have any money. So they waived the formalities and let us park some distance away from the Finn bus.
Then we were delivered to our stage along with the equipment in a chauffer driven golf cart. We had our own dressing tent which you couldn't actually have got dressed in because the front of it didn't close so there was no privacy. But we were dressed already so it didn't matter. And it was a couple of steps nearer to the stage than Tim Finn's dressing tent. He may have been topping the bill over us but his tent was next to the chemical toilet. I notice these sort of things.
Amy wouldn't let anyone touch the rider until she'd taken a photo of it because there was a sign stuck to the front of the table that said Wreckless Eric & Amy Rigby. And behind it were all the tortilla chips and dips and apples and sandwiches and whatever.
We'd been fairly nervous about the show what with it being quite large and important but everyone was so easy going and our friends in The Tripwires were there - John Ramberg, Johnny and Jim Sangster and Mark Pickerell. By the time we hit the stage we were up for a laugh. It's the only way to do it. I've seen so many bands do these kind of shows as though they were a career move. They might well be but the job is really to entertain a large crowd, not prove to the important few just how worthwhile you are. We were like a Saturday night in a beer garden. We had a great time even though I had another 65 re-issue Fender Twin - that's another of those fucking things rendered next to useless.
Amy had trouble with the piano stool which she just described in her blog as a cross between a sex throne and a tractor seat. I successfully re-tuned my guitar during Another Drive-in Saturday, and when the beatbox started up on Here Comes My Ship two old gits on the front row looked at each other, shook their heads, got up and left. I referred to them as the fanny-arsed cunts who leave saying that's not music. Well, we never said it was. You can read a review by clicking here.
We played for exactly the allotted one hour, down to the minute. We finished with Dancing With Joey Ramone, Whole Wide World and Take The Cash and got a standing ovation.
Men In Sandals from the new album was a highlight. Actually it was all highlights because there weren't any low lights. But the Seattle crowd impressed me - I scanned the crowd toting my bass like a machine gun while Amy sang the first verse and I was able to report back that there wasn't a single offender.

Jesus did it so I guess it's alright
But no matter how hard I try I can't get used to it
And who am I to deny them their right
But if you ask me there's really no excuse for it -

And when we got to Men In Sandals there was big applause. Seattle has got style!



Or at least more style than Portland and just about any plane load of people flying across the United States. We had breakfast in the Hawaiian Dining Experience or whatever it's called, next to the Red Lion Hotel near the airport. The Red Lion is my favourite Portland hotel at the moment - it might be stodgy but it's a lot more restful than the trendy Jupiter Hotel in the heart of Portland's Hipster District.
Anyway, back there in the Hawaiian Dining Experience we were just about to tuck into our granola (with assorted yoghurts) when an old man walked past wearing skimpy baby-blue shorts pulled up over a middle-aged spread the size of a Texas ranch. He had a pale blue T shirt tucked into the shorts and the whole ensemble was topped off or perhaps bottomed out would be more apposite with white calf length socks and those horrible deck shoes that middle-aged Americans wear. It was a fleeting moment - he walked past the table and was gone and I was left with an impression of liver spots, blotchiness and cellulite. And quite possibly death and flatulance too. I exclaimed, 'Good God - that man's wearing his underclothes!' Everyone turned round and stared at me.
Why do men my age slob around dressed as teenagers? Baggy checked shorts and loose fitting XXL T shirts. There's no class, no dignity in it. It might be alright in the privacy of their own back garden but on an aeroplane??!!? It shows a lack of self respect and respect for other people. Men who dress like that are depressing to look at. Here's a good look for the airport:



Amy took the photo. Notice the contrast with the shorts wearing waddler on the right. I'm going to have to start The Campaign For Better Dressed Men. It's too depressing to see grown men dressed like eleven year olds at summer camp.

I'm still sitting in the Starbucks near the LAX. Amy's in the Nordstrom department store trying to buy a sweater though I don't know why because the sun's shining and it's quite hot. After this we've got to find a place with wireless access so that I can upload this twaddle and you can look at the pictures and marvel at the cinematicalness of it all...

See you soon.

I don’t want to hear that stuff - a band should always strive to give the impression that they arrived in a space craft. Unless they’re a blues band, and then I want to know that they arrived in a Bedford van having spent the night in a lay-by, sleeping in ex-army sleeping bags on top of the amplifiers. The only band I've ever witnessed transgressing rule number three was a Brighton band called The Electric Soft Parade. Their frontman said yeah cheers so often I lost count. The Electric Soft Parade weren't very good. The Dykeenies were but the singer said cheers after the first three numbers so I gave up. Actually that’s not quite true - I was getting cold and I had to go and get organised for my cameo appearance.

I don't know what to say about The Proclaimers shows without sounding corny, trite or bland. Someone who isn't reading this carefully might leave under the impression that I'm using those adjectives to describe The Proclaimers but I'm not - they could never be any of those. So I have to resort to fabulous, fantastic, they went out with a bang etc...
I've probably said it all already anyway. Erika Nockalls played the violin on Sunshine On Leith wearing a green satin frock. I played my green Microfret guitar on Whole Wide World. So there was a bit of colour co-ordination - a matching his 'n' hers Eric section.
Anyway, they were talking about getting together to record a new album beginning next March. I can hardly wait.

There's loads more to talk about but if I start on that I'll get bogged down in it so I think I'll stop now and put this on the site without finishing it off...