News
- Fledglings, Yes, we've been onSeptember 6th, 2005View
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Fledglings,
Yes, we’ve been on tour in the UK, and, yes, we’ve been ignoring the website, and, yes, we’ve been representing the United States with the bearing and dignity that one would expect of a bunch of toddlers who have been armed with amplifiers and an almost unquenchable thirst for the more alcoholic of the world’s beverages. We will, of course, deliver a thoroughly saturated report on this little whirlwind tour of ours once we’ve set foot on American soil and finally stopped sobbing with relief. Because, you see: this is tiring, this swooping around England like some kind of tripartite incarnation of Santa Claus, bestowing our musical gifts ‘pon the Brits, the beautiful Brits, their eyes aglow with the sort of wonder that we, the members of We Are Scientists, haven’t known since 12th grade health class, when the anatomical differences between males and females were finally made at least moderately clear (we are burdened, still, with so, so many questions). In any case, we know it’s time to go home, because Natalie – our tour manager and overseer and best friend in all of Britain – clearly hates us now and wants to see us either shipped off to the States or investigated, cranially, with mallets.
But, yes, guys, the tour has been a startling success, and we’ve basically been wanting to kiss everybody over here full on the lips, so: thanks England. Thanks for Reading and Leeds festivals, which were the musical equivalent of a full-body massage, but, like a full-body massage that actually gets *inside* the body and flips all kinds of excruciatingly mind-blowing orgasm buttons, and also you’re drunk. And thanks for coming to the shows in numbers heretofore unseen by these here We Are Scientists, kids congregating like Romero-style zombies who have finally breached the fortified walls of the last human stronghold, pouring into every WAS-housing venue and dancing a macabre hipster zombie dance. And, especially, thanks for hooking us up with the inimitable Roland Shanks, a band for whom our love is overflowing, literally, onto our shoes. Expect a full detailed report on these fellows in the near future, when we’ll get into the gritty details regarding why, since the RS boys got on board, our tour has had to be renamed “Doggin’ ‘n’ Froggin’ in the UK”. It gets dirty. - Field mice, Last week weAugust 15th, 2005View
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Field mice,
Last week we got in there over at 770 broadway, over there in the village, we got in there and we did some work for the MTVu people, did some things that — should you expose yourself to them — will enter your mind like a semtex weevil and blow the whole fuckin nerve basket there into about ninety pieces. What we did is a taping for a show called The Freshmen. That involved us sitting on stools and watching music videos and critiquing them on-camera. Usually the program has college kids trying to drop the knowledge, but as you go to college in the first place because you don’t know shit and are trying to find out one or two or — in the best cases — three things, and but since college students feel that they must act as though sometime early in their freshman year they already learned one of those things — which act results in empty arrogance –, we’re very sure our critiques will go down in MTVu history as wise and turbulent on an almost biblical level. Don’t take that slight on college kids too personally, college kids — we were in college, too, and that’s exactly how we know about the rampant hubris. Now we’re just as sure of ourselves, but with the added ingredient of nearly always being right, we’ve gone from ‘really tired to be around’ to ‘really, really fucking fun to be around’. Hey but so we’ll be hosting The Freshmen all week August 22nd through the 28th. Monday, August 22, is an especially hot day to watch MTVu because Nobody Move, Nobody Get Hurt is going to be a “Back to School Week All-Day Premiere” that day, which means that with the exception of the Freshmen episode we host that day, literally the entire 24 hours of programming that day will be the bear video over and over again, back to back. No, just kidding, but they will play it many times throughout the day, is our understanding, that that will mark the first showing of W.A.S. video footage on home territory. Equals BIG TIME. - Well, to many of youJuly 9th, 2005View
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Well, to many of you this is going to come as a real mallet blow to the skull, and not in the good way that sometimes when you snort a line of crazy fluorescent pink powder it can feel like a mallet blow to the skull. No, this is the bad kind of braining, the kind where we have to tell you that we need to postpone most of the dates that compose the imminent NATIONAL TOUR OF AMERICA OF ALL TIME. We’ll still be playing out to Chicago, and the L.A., North Carolina, and D.C. dates remain secure. See the revised schedule here. We’re piercingly aware that we are dropping a Suck Bomb on people, not our usual Thrill Bomb or Lust Bomb. But scheduling the next couple of months in such a way that we can do all the touring we want to do and also get the 256,455 elements of the album ready in time for various releases — well, it’s gotten tight, is the point. Something had to go. How else can we finish all the videos? And go to all the parties? And do the vamping that we need to do? And snort the full course of fluorescent pink powders? No but seriously, we are doing all kinds of stuff these days, and you have our word it’s all going to make you proud. For example, here’s a couple of shots of us on set at the video shoot for The Great Escape:
And here we are at a shoot for L’Uomo Vogue:
And hey! Hey! Here’s us getting ready to tape a piece for MTV2 UK:
And yeah, we’ve been playing our hearts out:
And signing the autographs:
And we’ve been getting the tanks into position:
And Chris brought this dead squirrel back to life:
And, and…
Fuck, guys… sorry about postponing these dates.- We are in the U.K.,June 16th, 2005View
We are in the U.K., we are playing the songs, we are wowing the listeners, minds are being shattered, and so are lives. Keep your eye on the Past Shows page (linked at the bottom of the Shows page) for debriefings on the shows after they’ve been played. Why? Because you’ve got to know in case you’re at a cocktail party and somebody says, “Can you believe the events that occurred at the Huddersfield show last week? Have you heard about this?” You want to be able to say, “Have I heard? Have I heard? Maybe, what part are you talking about?”
Have we officially announced that the ‘Nobody Move, Nobody Get Hurt’ single is coming out in the U.K. on June 27? Please believe that it is. Already it can be heard on British radio and the video viewed on MTV2 and the lyrics read on the lips of the nation’s youth whenever it’s played within earshot. This morning we were interviewed for an MTV2 show called ‘Gonzo’; the episode will air near the release date. We’re a bit worried because the 15 minute interview is going to be cut down to a two minute segment, and we might have accidentally given a minute and a half or two minutes total worth of straight answers. So it’s possible some asshole editor is going to get ahold of the footage and cut out the 13 solid minutes of raving, asinine ego-tripping, and that would really be too bad.
Here’s a short film from the van:
- It is noontime, it isMay 15th, 2005View
It is noontime, it is evening, it is late at night. Always there is one question: What is We Are Scientists doing in Los Angeles all this time, playing no shows, answering no phone calls, issuing no bold pronouncements to the media?
And always one question: WHAT ARE THEY RUNNING FROM?
We daren’t speak the video’s awful secret.
The Nobody Move, Nobody Get Hurt single is parachuted in to UK radio today. The video rests latched to the single’s utility belt, at the ready should Britain’s music television require it as proof.- Dear membership – We haveMay 11th, 2005View
Dear membership -
We have been negligent in our updating duties, it is true. Excuses? Yes, we’ve got a few, and they are rich – tales of intrigue so scandalous and soaked with alcohol that to relate them here would be to betray the very innocence of our readership. Please trust us when we say, though, that there is good reason for the lapse in reportage, and that, were you in our shoes, you’d have failed to update, too, as you’d be dead.
But the point is that now, today, we’re way behind on our updates, and so we’re going to have to condense the events of the past two months or so, which is a real shame, as they’ve been packed. Let’s roll up our sleeves, though, and get to work:
The UK.
It was unreal, folks. None of us had ever been before, and so we essentially stumbled about, gaping like lunatics at that which we did not understand, including this sign, which warned us not to do something, or else warned us not to do nothing. We can’t be sure:
Sadly, such legal ambiguity was no stranger to us over there. An example: several Brits advised us that the consumption of alcohol on public property was not only legal in the UK, but was practically encouraged, which was good news for us, as it meant no longer having to carry our spirits in soda cans or zip-lock bags while on city streets. We were later informed that this was a damned lie, and that we could be fined or imprisoned in the famously Thai-grade prisons there. Already used to the privilege, though, we continued to indulge.
One thing we did learn about the UK that came as a delightful surprise was that, contrary to rumor, their food is not at all awful. Even their pizza is a cut above New York’s celebrated slices, frequently featuring such pie-friendly toppings as motherfucking kernels of corn, for christ’s sake. Here, Michael does himself in by actually eating some British pizza:
Luckily, we had our extraordinary tour manager, Natalie, around to show us the ropes.
More competent than We Are Scientists’ members put together and then multiplied by 40, Natalie essentially kept us alive over there, and we vow to never tour with any other in the UK. She routinely carried our equipment when we feigned weakness, and occasionally carried Michael when the evil drink overcame him. She protected us on the dangerous streets of Glasgow, which are rumored to be veritable battlegrounds, but which seemed perfectly safe to us, especially compared to the clubs in that town, where Keith fell victim to a conspiracy perpetrated by Natalie and Chris, wherein they contrived to put a vibrating cock ring into his beverage, which beverage he, in his usual stupor, continued to happily consume, blissfully unaware that every lady and gentleman and constable with whom he conversed was being treated to an unobstructed view of his idiocy.
But and also we played some shows over there, and were amazed by the friendliness of the British people, who were warm and accommodating and refused to snicker at the weakness of American electronics after Keith’s amp had the everloving shit blown out of it by their insanely powerful voltage. My god, they know how to run electricity over there – it runs as mightily as the river Thames, and it will wreak havoc on a shitty little Fender amp like Keith’s [Keith - Hey!]. Luckily, the bands we played with were absolute dolls, and were universally willing to loan us their more hearty amplifiers.
No British band, however, lodged itself as firmly into our hearts as our beloved Editors:
My god, folks. We will never complain about our current employment, as it beats our day jobs and yours, too, but the level of our good fortune only truly became apparent to us when we realized that we were going to get to see Editors for nine straight nights. We knew that the current British rock scene was a force to be reckoned with, but we had no idea that they were keeping their best band to themselves. We’ll say it again – Editors are the greatest band in England. Our European booking agent, the gifted and profoundly lovable Steve Zapp, is constantly reminding us that we must network with as many bands as possible, an assertion to which we respond by forbidding him to ever couple us with a band other than Editors. They played nine hit songs every night, and we stood, rapt, in the front row for every one of them. They fed us British obscenities and introduced us to the finest of all beverages, the precious Lambrini. They taught us to love.
Editors, Editors, Editors, Editors, Editors, Editors, Editors, Editors, Editors, Editors, Editors, Editors.
There. That should about do it.
Coming soon: some reports about all the crazy shit that’s been going down in Los Angeles.- Note to readers: We've decidedMarch 30th, 2005View
Note to readers: We’ve decided to subtly change our approach to the News page. We’re going to try giving (even) less coverage to shows here and focus more on non-show related information such as lies and fanciful tales. If you want to hear how shows went, you’ll now have to visit the Past Shows page (linked at the bottom of the Shows page), where we’re going to start logging such comments. We hope the change doesn’t bother you. We expect it will allow us to focus more heavily on the manufacture of bullshit here on the News page. Of course, we’ll still have to deal with the occasional piece of information here — album updates, recording coverage, etc. — but we’ll do our best to minimize truth’s intrusion.
Starting line: ?
Finish line: ???
Total mileage: ??!?%!?!?!??
It’s been several days since we last reported in, and during the intervening period Life On The Road has claimed our minds, claimed them for his own. What will Life On The Road do with our minds now that he’s got them? Throw them against a brick wall? Burn them? Marry them off to his daughters, Tragedy, Vice, and Pain? That’s up to Life On The Road. We’re no longer able to muster concern for our own fates.
Look at some of the mucked up shit we’ve seen. Look, here’s the “biggest cross in the Western hemisphere”:
Here’s a cop drifting lazily down Interstate 44 holding his gun to his own head as a means of trying to muster some concern about his fate now that LOTR has permanently subpoenaed his mind:
Here’s a Mexican restaurant in the middle of New Mexico that has somehow taken over the premises of a McDonald’s and only partially redecorated:
Probably Alfonso just found this place abandoned by the McDonald’s people, who fled into the desert after LOTR had swatted their very minds into space with a cricket bat. Alfonso, his own consciousness terrifically strained by Life On The Road, decided to paint his name on the wall and start serving burritos from the kitchen.
Here’s Keith and Michael sitting around in Claremont having a beer after a long drive in from El Paso:
They are blithely unaware of the Mexican wrestling masks that have spontaneously manifested as an outward expression of the vile irrationality that now stampedes through their minds like an army of badgers gleaming across the dark underbelly of some perverted otherworld rainbow.
After a tremendous show at The Independent in San Francisco, we joined ranks with Bishop Allen, piled into El Lobo, and undertook what would prove to be a weirdly drawn out drive to LA. Behold the matrix of dread:
Hanging out at the Prince one evening, somebody whose mind had decomposed into a cinderpot of spoil ordered silkworms for the table.
Most of us tried them. Nobody liked them. Here’s CO enjoying hers:
“Foul” was how she described the experience. Eating it seemed to actually make her angry, is how bad to the mouth these silkworms were.
Here’s something amazing:
Rule 2 needn’t be displayed, perhaps. Maybe even it can’t be displayed, can’t be put into words. It’s just a feeling you have. Also, look at the small sign at the top of the picture: “ALL PRICES OF TAXABLE ITEMS INCLUDE REIMBURSEMENT FOR SALES TAXES COMPUTED TO THE NEAREST MILL”. Why do they reimburse customers for sales tax? More crucially, what is the nearest “mill”? Million? Computed to the nearest million? You walk around the western United States right now and you’re able to watch the sanity of the world slowly evaporate like a lake in some sun-fucked desert that rain clouds recently gave up visiting.
**Next stop: The U.K.**- Point of ingress: Atkins, ARMarch 21st, 2005View
Point of ingress: Atkins, AR
Point of egress (4 days later): El Paso, TX
Total mileage: fairly serious
On Tuesday we awoke and bade our hosts at The Godbey travel well and safely till next our path crossed theirs, then got in the Lobo Argentino and sailed for Little Rock.
It was to be a joyful day in the capitol, thanks to the Rudder family of Midland Road. At around 10, El Lobo secreted through the city limits, we raised Christian R. on a non-secure PCS line and received concise and accurate directions to The Satellite, a breakfasting service in Little Rock’s Heights neighborhood that pulled no punches in dealing us a knockout meal. Next we headed to the Rudder home, where we met the lovely and graceful Penny R., the delightful firebrand Lissa R., and the warm, gentlemanly Pat R. At chez-Rudder, there can be no shortage of encounters with the animal kingdom. The Canine government is represented by Stewart, Lily and Annie. Stewart, a muscular russet chihuahua whose thirst for affection can’t be quenched, spends his time indoors, while Lily and Annie can often be found ministering to the door mice and sunflowers in the yard. The world of cats elected three fine representatives in Veronica, Roger, and Name Forgotten. There is also a bird fella whom the Rudders rescued from a dysfunctional family environment where his parents made an activity of homicidally dive-bombing him.
In the afternoon, Lissa took us to a bar on the river walk called Flying Saucer. Here we did what is in our blood: played pool and drank hand-crafted ales.
That’s Melissa there with the cigarette, and Michael there holding the huge cigarette. Any of you who used to read The Spark web presence back in the days of its ascendency will know that Lissa was subjected to much torture and duplicity by her brother Christian in the name of entertaining the faceless masses. A couple of hours of hang time with Lissa left us really burning with the injustice of it all, such a fine and upstanding person is she, and so when we returned to the Rudder’s later in the evening, we snuck into the kitchen and removed some childhood pictures of Christian from the fridge and document-photographed them and now present them to you, the faceless masses, for your entertainment.
Jackpot.
“Why are you coming into my room while me and T.J. are working on Van Halen?”
Pictures of people when they are very young can be pretty funny.
“Here are the loaves you ordered. You should hold them like this — they warm your chest and it’s nice.”
That last one with the loaves is sort of stunning. It should be noted that the magnet fixing it to the fridge was placed directly over the loaves of bread, presumably because those loaves do make this pic sort of creepy. “Childhood photo of a serial killer” sort of thing. Also, that story about serving justice was horse hockey. We snuck these document photos before we had met Lissa that afternoon and without even thinking about Christian’s renowned commitment to disrupting privacy.
Tuesday evening we had a great show at the Whitewater Tavern, and liquidated unprecedented amounts of merch because of Lissa’s won’t-take-no approach to sales, which really struck home with the tipsy pub crowd. We formally invited her to travel with us as our merch person.
After the show we got back into the Lobo and made Texarkana, where a few hours of restless motel sleep were logged, then put van to pavement the next morning and got into Austin just before our 4 o’clock sound check time (which morphed into a 7 o’clock sound check time, then, at 7, shattered and reassembled as a sorry-there’s-no-time-for-you-to-sound-check sound check time; we didn’t really mind, though, since the only thing more boring than waiting around for a sound check is checking sound).
The show went really well that night. We got a great improvised introduction from our friend Neil Pollack, whom we haven’t seen in over a year. The Hard Rock filled to capacity for the set, possibly because we circulated a rumor that U2 was going to be playing our slot. The folks at ASCAP did a fine job with everything, and our thanks go to Jen and Jeff and Name Forgotten and Name Forgotten, as well as to Name Forgotten, who performed flawlessly at the soundboard. At this point in the story, the show behind us, you will come to understand why there are so many “Name Forgotten”s in this news piece: we spent Wednesday, 10 pm, till Saturday, 10 am, drunk. God there was so much drinking. The section of Austin that contains most of SXSW (and our hotel) was very tightly arranged, so we were able to go everywhere on foot, except when we were too drunk to walk. For a period of about a day Michael rode around in a powered wheel chair. Right now you’re saying to yourself, “Come on. This is boring. Oh boy, I can’t WAIT to hear how drunk you got, you idiots. You sound like a couple of college kids.” But seriously? At one point Keith was so drunk that he finished a beer and started eating the beer bottle; it looked like a man crunching into a delicate ice-sculpture, except with lots of blood. At one point Chris started chugging from a gallon wine bottle, declaring that he hoped to absorb some of the alcohol from his system. At one point Michael drank Jack Daniels from a plastic cup.
SXSW being a music festival, we saw a couple of great shows while we were there, but not THAT many because of how goddamn drunk we kept being. Tomorrow’s Friend, now six members strong, really killed it. Mute Math, who played the ASCAP showcase with us, did some vacuuming of our minds. Their drummer, Darren, is not only literally the nicest person we’ve ever met — just egregiously nice — but also the most beastly, terrifying drummer yet announced, and watching him is totally exhilerating. Go to a Mute Math show and stand as close to Darren as you can, then mail us five dollars for the favor of wising you up. The Immediate, a band from Dublin, spun a delightful sound. There were also a bunch of bands whom we desperately, desperately wanted to see, but missed, one after the other, because of the thing with them having alcohol available at this festival. Some of those bands were: Oxford Collapse (missed twice), Dirty on Purpose, Bloc Party, BARR, The Double (caught the end of the last song (then passed out on the floor)), Kaiser Chiefs. The list goes on, a lengthy trail of shame. So much lost. So many opportunities shot out into space from the air lock. Don’t drink, kids! It’s bad! Don’t ever ever drink! Unless what you want is to have a great, great fucking time, stay off the liquor! Unless what you care about is happiness and delight in living, steer clear of beer!
Now we’re midway through the Austin-LA trek. It’s some desolate stuff, but easy on the eyes, actually, all sagebrush and pi- Hit the 'sphalt in: CarbonMarch 15th, 2005View
Hit the ‘sphalt in: Carbon City, AL
Left the ‘sphalt in: Atkins, AR
Total mileage: 357
You’re looking at The Godbey. Owned and operated by the incomparable Chris and Cassie
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with the constant assistance of Foodfight
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this venue we found to be of top calibre. It was a simple, beautiful evening, this show. We played. Local chanteur Andy Warr played:
Our Brooklyn homeboys The Oxford Collapse played:
We bought their t-shirts. Adam, Dan, and Mike… sweet Adam, Dan, and Mike, sweet Mike. Great, good guys. Here’s a picture of Keith watching them perform:
Notice anything weird? Anything having to do with a baby? There’s a baby watching the show. Look again. There’s a baby there, right there in front of one of the house speakers, being held by his assistant at the exact height he likes to watch shows from.
That’s us with Oxford Collapse. We paid them $5 to do this picture with us, which is why their level of enthusiasm is weird and possibly a little venal.
And that’s it. Cassie made us lasagna. Chris bought beer and Wild Turkey and gave us gas money even though the kids didn’t exactly come out in force. A good, simple night. Babies watching shows. Good things happening in this area of the world.
We were negligent beyond prosecution with photographing the Atlanta show at The Masquerade, but let it suffice to say that we met seminal board members Nathaniel (PWINK)and Ethan (Ethan), which was rewarding in the way that paying for sex is rewarding. Nathaniel snapped some shots: bang.
**Tonight: The Whitewater in Little Rock, AR. Tomorrow: SXSW!**- Insertion point onto national freewayMarch 12th, 2005View
Insertion point onto national freeway system: Philadelphia, PA
Withdrew from freeway system at: South of the Border, SC
Total mileage: 509.6
In the mega rest stop/community called South of the Border, South Carolina, in a restaurant called Pedro’s Taco & Hot Dog & Ice Cream Restaurant or Pedro’s Casa de Tacos y Ice Cream y Hot Dogs y Breakfast or something, the girl in the photo above came to the We Are Scientists dining booth and told us: “Has anyone ever told you guys you look like the Beatles?” She was at Pedro’s with a small pack of her friends, who hung back at their table, probably intimidated by the fact that the We Are Scientists were sitting ten feet away. We agreed to do a photo. One of the shy friends came over with two cameras and got a shot with each, then obliged us and took a shot with Chris’s camera.
Other completely fucked up shit also happened in South of the Border. For example, here’s our motel room’s bathroom:
Why do you think they made the floor the color of limes that have been soaked in LSD? Why do you think they limo-tinted the shower glass? We fought with each other like savage dogs most of the night trying to get our individual theories accepted as law.
Another good thing about South of the Border is that they have life-sized plastic animals everywhere, which good taste forced us to pose with. Try to spot the ram, bull, and wild bronco horse items:
Everything — but EVERYTHING — in South of the Border is owned by the mysterious Pedro. His name peers down from all vantages like the eye of Ra. When you enter the town you temporarily become “Pedro’s [your name]“. The benefit? There is no crime.
Holy fuck, you’ve never seen our van:
We’ve been calling it El Lobo Argentino. We don’t have a logo yet for El Lobo, so if you’ve got an idea and some time and a pack of markers, work something up and send it to us. The van even came with a driver who looks like but has a separate identity from Chris:
He is called Paquit
