Rock’n’roll road trip to oblivion

DAY 1

Feeder’s press officer Gillian is waiting for me at St Pancras station in London for the journey to Nottingham. She is calm, but becomes slightly agitated when Martin, our photographer, is late. He struggles, laden with equipment, on to the train with seconds to spare. We exchange glances. Or at least we would if he could see: sweat has already blinded him. “Blimey,” I think. “We’ve barely started and the panic has begun.” He just mutters: “Bloody cab drivers. They should all be shot.”

On the train I listen to the latest Feeder album, Pushing the Senses. I like Feeder, although most critics do not. They are a band who have had to slog throughout their 15-year career and, while their music has not always been hugely distinctive, their way with a melody and a crunchy guitar riff means that they’re not only big enough to support U2 but also headline the first night of the heavy rock orgy that is Download. The train is full of heavily pierced, black-clad fans.

The closest I’ve yet come to getting pierced was stabbing myself with a school compass, but at least I’m wearing a black T-shirt. Even if it does bear the slogan BigBaby. We meet the band at the hotel. As is often the way with groups that have struggled for their success, they’re charming people. No ego and no pretension. However, as we board the tour bus to head for the festival site, Martin realises that this also means no smoking.

“Don’t you dare light that bloody fag,” says Mark Richardson, the drummer as Martin lifts a roll-up to his mouth. The photographer looks sheepish. It’s a poor start.

Backstage at Download we’re pleasantly surprised that this most “rawk” of festivals is very nicely appointed. The catering is great and, yes, the beer is free. Martin and I take full advantage. I will later regret this.

Feeder go on stage at 8.30pm, just after Garbage. The crowd is suspicious. Grant Nicholas, the lead singer, is not dressed in black. Neither is Taka Hirose, the Japanese bassist. Only Mark, the drummer, really looks the part. Forty minutes later, Feeder have blown the crowd away with a muscular set. Nicholas smashes a guitar at the climax. Afterwards, the diminutive Welshman tells me that it’s the first time he’s done such a rock’n’roll thing. “It was a £2,000 guitar. I never do that usually, but it was such a rush winning that crowd over.” He pauses. “What did you think of the set list? Did we pace it right?” This will become a familiar question. Guitar-smashing rock stars can be sensitive, too.

DAY 2

We’re up very early. Grant has had some radio interviews to do. The rest of the band and crew headed down to the Isle of Wight festival on the tour bus last night, but myself, Grant, Martin and Matt, the band’s manager, will take a helicopter from the East Midlands to the Isle of Wight. I’m not a great flyer and, nursing a monumental hangover, I’m now really dreading this flight. As is my custom before a flight, I call my girlfriend to tell her I love her. Grant hears me and smiles shyly. “I do the same every time I fly. I really don’t like flying either.” I gawp at him. “But you must fly at least a hundred times a year.”

“I’m in the wrong job,” he grins.

The helicopter is a Perspex bubble with a rotor blade. A flying Tupperware box. Taking off is scary. But spending two minutes hovering over the airfield is terrifying. “Problem I’m afraid, chaps,” says the pilot, who looks as if he has just celebrated his twelfth birthday. “No thrust.” We land again and the pilot calls over a mechanic. They have a quick chat. “Shall I give it another go?” asks the pilot. Grant and I look at each other. “No way!” we both shout over the noise of the engine. After a 90- minute flight on an old replacement helicopter, we finally arrive at the Isle of Wight Festival. The place is abuzz with the news that Kate Moss has arrived with her boyfriend, Pete Doherty, the erstwhile Libertines frontman who now leads Babyshambles. There are tabloid journalists running hither and thither for a glimpse of the couple. We watch Babyshambles. Doherty, wearing a vest and pork-pie hat, closely resembles a doe-eyed Harold Steptoe, and his band are dreadful. An hour later in a sponsor’s elevated tent, drinking yet more free alcohol, we witness Feeder play a triumphant set. The man next to me, wearing a yellow dress and feather boa, is going mental, as are most of the crowd.

When we board the tour bus an hour later to catch the ferry back to the mainland, Martin places his bags in the gangway. Mark, the drummer, boards and trips over them. “Who put these in the f*****g gangway?” he growls as he kicks £3,000 worth of camera equipment. Martin starts to argue but decides against it when he sees the vein in Mark’s forehead bulge. Then Grant gets on, fretting. He looks at me. “How was the set — did we pace it right?” I pick up a can of lager, take a gulp and tell him that the set was great. We all then embark on a mission to demolish the band’s rider. Selflessly, I place myself in the vanguard.

DAY 3

We’re up at 6am to take a taxi from our Portsmouth hotel to Heathrow to fly to Dusseldorf. I feel as though my head is about to fall off. Two days of constant drinking and travelling are taking their toll. That and not going to bed until 4am two nights on the trot. I want to go home and sleep, but the biggest gig of the weekend is tonight. Feeder supporting the biggest band in the world, U2. I can’t miss that. When I step on to the stage at Schalke O4’s huge stadium in Gelsenkirchen ten hours later, I’m very glad that I ignored the rats chewing my brain. It’s a marvel. Below stage is a warren of control rooms. Onstage, standing in front of a half-full stadium of 30,000 people (Feeder aren’t due on for two hours, U2 for three), I feel the power. “Who’s that fat bloke with the glasses?” some German shouts. Or that’s what I imagine he shouts.

Later, I’m backstage with Grant, a mile away from the stage. He’s worried. “I need to get a feel of the audience, to work out the set. Come with me, Paul, the walk will do you good.” We go to see the first support band, the Thrills. We watch from the side while people watch us from the audience. The noise is immense. My brain screams for mercy.

Finally, Grant is satisfied and we retreat backstage, where he argues with technicians and members of the band about the setlist. When Feeder take the stage I’m surprised to see U2’s legendary manager, Paul McGuinness, standing on the soundstage next to me. Not only do the 55,000 crowd take to the band with enthusiasm but so does McGuinness. After the show Grant is very happy. “I think we gauged that set well. Here, Paul,” he laughs as he throws a bottle. “You must be thirsty, have a beer.” I nearly turn green but bravado gets the better of me. I take a swig. What the hell? It’s only rock’n’roll.