We wake up in Philly. I came to this particular venue, the Union Transfer, last year, also with The Joy Formidable.
From the lot where the bus is parked, the building looks like a big, anonymous warehouse. It's in a neighbourhood you probably wouldn't want to get lost in after dark, but most things in most cities are, aren't they?
The last time I visited, it was the day after my first night on a tour bus. I hadn't slept a wink and I'd lost a fight with the bus's airdoor. The humiliation of that particular episode was almost enough to make me flee home.
Thankfully no one brings it up these days. (Oh, yes they do!)
The Joy Formidable at the Union Transfer, Philadelphia
Christian (the band's philosophical lighting engineer), Emma and I go looking for coffee. Christian knows this area of Philly.
"There's a Dunkin' Donuts two blocks down."
Sounds good to me. Another franchise ticked off the list. It's somewhat underwhelming, in all honesty. And this from a man who would happily drown himself to death in a pool filled with doughnuts.
That's 'DOUGHNUTS', my misspelling US friends: nuts made from 'dough', not nuts from from 'do'. Hopefully not, anyway.
Philly is - at least on he outskirts - somewhat rundown. It smells of faded industries. There's a dead smoke in the air and a particular desperation about the panhandlers on the sidewalk.
Once ensconced in the dressing room, Ritzy plays me a William Orbit remix of the forthcoming single Silent Treatment. It's so strange to hear a song that you've been intimate with reappraised: like finding the love of your life has been part assimilated by the Borg. Orbit's treatment is good. It brings a new rhythmic dimension to the track. The band consider it - deeply - and then sign it off with a few provisos.
They have to make a series of decisions like this every day: about artwork, festivals, studio time, equipment, promotion. There is no peace on that tourbus. This is the small cost of keeping as much autonomy as possible.
The band's first engagement of the day is a record shop in Philadelphia's bohemian quarter. This part of the city, down by the river, is pretty. Apart from the heinously gauche, gold-plated statue that flashes past our SUV.
Banter on the trip down is limited. Early in the day isn't optimum time for rock 'n' roll musicians. It takes us all a while to wake and spark. A bunch of collegiate rowers on the river elicit a few interesting observations... and by the time we pull up outside Main Street Music in Manyunk, smiles and geniality have been rediscovered.
A queue snakes outside the door of the shop - it's Record Store Day and this scene is being mirrored all over the musically gentrified universe.
Record Store Day, Philly-style
Hipster vinyl-come-latelys, portly middle aged record hounds and a whole new generation of wax lovers are queuing up outside independent record stores from Cardiff to Betelgeuse 5 - for some reason eager to be ripped off - I mean, eager to obtain - a slew of limited edition releases especially pressed for eBay... I mean, the day.
Apologies for my cynicism. Record Store Day is a good thing, no doubt, but there are 364 other days when I prefer to go into record shops - 364 other days when I don't need the lure of a re-pressed Aerosmith LP - as a call to worship.
The Joy Formidable's contribution - a limited edition 12" featuring A Minute's Silence (a haunting piano led track from the Wolf's Law sessions) - is well worth the $12.99 I pay for it. Yes, I am biased. It'd be ludicrous to pretend otherwise.
The band are here to meet fans outside - to sign their swag - to again demonstrate the great relationship they have with those who support them.
The demographic of their audience is surprising. There are college kids, late 20-something hipsters (I'm in hate with that word, but no other will suffice), middle aged music fans with more zeal than the majority of their youthful counterparts... and a nerve-wracked gaggle of 14+ year olds whose exception proves that particular rule. They clearly hear an empathy and a beauty in The Joy Formidable's music that resonates within them.
I try to scour the second hand racks in Main Street Music. It's a challenge because the store is jam-packed with customers. In retrospect, the fact that I can only get to the rack directly in front of me was probably a good thing. I haven't booked space for a case on my flights. Any records I buy will have to squeeze in next to nine days' worth of febrile underwear. Hey man, that's just the way it is, on the road!
I grab myself LPs by Dr Feelgood, Electric Flag and Big Star. They're all half the price - at least - of their equivalents in my local second hand vinyl emporium. I'm tempted to risk the wrath of US immigration and stay here... then I remember I have a daughter.
The band finish signing, being photographed, joking, hugging and shaking hands and we climb aboard the SUV, like X Factor finalists on a emotional hometown visit, and speed back to the venue for soundcheck.
Tonight's gig is due to be engineered by Andy Tonsley, the band's tour manager. This is quite a thing. For the last four years the band have worked - almost exclusively - with Ammanford-ish gent, Neak Menter. Neak is all about diligence and attention to detail. Little, from his point of view, is left to chance. He's one of the major reasons why Joy Formidable gigs are the finest I've ever heard.
It's a challenge, then, for Tinsley.
He learnt his licks teching and engineering punk bands. Andy's approach to front of house is very different to Neak's. We'll get to the details in due course.
First, though, we need to talk about the support bands on this leg of the tour. You may well be familiar with Blood Red Shoes. They're from somewhere betwixt and between Future Of The Left and The Black Keys. Well, they're from Brighton, technically.
I'm unmoved by them at the first two gigs, but something clicks in Philadelphia. They sound monstrous and minimal and clever and primal - a lot of seemingly contrasting qualities clashing together in thrilling disharmony.
The opening band, You Won't, are from Boston. And they're brilliant. So brilliant that I was aware, while watching them, that I would want to remember as much about their set as my my old fart head would allow. Of course, I then promptly forgot all of the details, like trying to remember a beautiful stranger's face.
You Won't on stage in Philadelphia
Here are the fragments that remain: they're a cold-glass-of-joy-in-the-face mixture of Jonathan Richman, Elvis Costello, Eels, Black Flag (at least for the song with the occasional bursts or hardcore screaming)... early Cars. Yep, I'm trotting out all of the contemporary reference points, here.
They manage to be unpredictable and playful without tripping over clown feet: drummer Raky... well, calling him a drummer is slightly misleading. He's like a character from the fair in Something Wicked This Way Comes... he can pull musical wonders from other dimensions out of the canvas bag at his feet: ukeleles with bass strings on, battered melodicas, tambourines that have a jangle all their own, two-finger keyboards.
Josh - on most voice and most guitar - is so grounded he could teach a post grad course in it. For example, there is no palaver about the terrorist attack in his hometown yesterday. Some songwriters would milk that moment - squeezing maximum mawkishness out of tragedy and fear. Josh just says: "This is a song for my hometown..." and the crowd bellow their support for Boston right back at him.
Check them out. They make the world a better place.
Sian and I find an optimum position in the crowd for The Joy Formidable. Then we almost get kicked out for daring to bring alcohol onto the floor of a rock 'n' roll gig. Alcohol is policed so tightly at US venues. Here at the Union Transfer you're restricted to drinking in the designated bar areas, and then only if you have an age verified wristband.
Having said that, there is something quite thrilling about being asked for ID at a bar when you're nigh on 42.
Right from the moment that Matt comes on to welly the drums into Cholla, Andy Tinsley's mix is different. It's fierce. This storm has claws. And fangs. And although some of the atmospherics are lost: 1) it's refreshing to hear a different approach to the mix and 2) this is Andy's first time doing front of house for The Joy Formidable.
It's an auspicious first gig for him.
The audience leave more than satisfied. I retire to my bunk after a couple of hours of brain warping US cartoons. Rhydian and Sian dance themselves deep into the Philly night.
Washington is tomorrow. And from now on, having visited, it's necessary - and allowable - for me to call it DC.
