In the second and final installment of his US tour diary, Crayon Fields’ GEOFF O’CONNOR tries to order a Shirley Temple, goes museum-hopping in New York and encounters the next big thing in white boy hip-hop. Addendum by guitarist CHRIS HUNG.

Day Eight

Week two in the US began with a Free Energy and Real Estate SxSW [South by Southwest] show in yet another one of Austin’s ranch-style barn venues. I picked up a free limited-edition cassette copy of Free Energy’s debut album at the show, which I’ll try to sell when they are a bit more famous. I enjoyed watching Free Energy singer’s wink-and-point micro-flirtations with the front row of the audience.

Next up were Real Estate, who are way cool. We wound up seeing them play two very different sets during the festival and thoroughly enjoyed both. They all look like cool stoner video store employees, the kind that give you free rental because the cash register is too intense.

That night we played at the Natrix Natrix house party, which we hear has been a staple of SxSW for a few years. Natrix Natrix is a cool college share house where every room seems to have been built in a different decade, probably by a scholar with a casual interest in carpentry. It reminded me of Adelaide. We were asked to play by the lovely Herbie of Brown Recluse, who we arrived just in time to see. They were incredible. The stage had a very beautiful handmade quilt as a backdrop, and the show was one of our favourites for the entire trip.

Day Nine

At the height of an 8.30 am thunderstorm we arrived at Maggie Maes for the Popfrenzy/Stage Mothers SxSW party. We were soaked to the bone, and desperately hungry for the breakfast burritos that were to follow our 9am sound check. It was a relief to be indoors and we were quite looking forward to the show, which included Best Coast, Sally Seltmann, Love Of Diagrams, Beaches, Songs and quite a few others we wanted to see. Our set went off without a hitch, and it was comforting to have such a nice view from the stage of the little dots running for their lives in the cold and wet.

Later that night we’d play our “official” showcase at Mi Casa Cantini. The backstage area was a narrow disused kitchen that was literally overflowing with musical equipment, very East Brunswick-esque. We were each issued a set of little round pink stickers to mark which guitars were ours. The backline had suffered about six bands that evening already, and my amp sounded like Velcro in one channel and a salvation army collection tin containing only a single five-cent coin in the other. Luckily a friendly staff member found us a working amp just as the manager, “Eddy” (whose nametag read “Michael”), was getting anxious about us running late. Unfortunately by this stage our keyboard was breaking up and the sound engineer was completely immersed in whatever sport was playing on the TV above the bar. Strangely enough, the set seemed to go fairly well. Later that night we saw Real Estate and they played that Blind Melon song.

Day 10

A free day in Austin. In the morning we returned an amp we’d borrowed from our Austin friend, Mark, who plays in a band called Her Space Holiday and knows where all the good Austin thrift stores are. We then spent the afternoon trying on stupid second-hand sunglasses, before being taken out for some Tex Mex with our Austin family. I tried to order a Shirley Temple, but the waiter politely talked me into a Roy Rogers.

Day 11

We arrived in New York in the early afternoon, fought over the bedrooms in our Brooklyn apartment and found a local cafe where they serve boiled eggs for 50 cents each. The four of us then spent a romantic evening together in Manhattan, pointing at giant billboards.

Day 12

After a day of sightseeing, thrift-store hopping and aimless wandering around Central Park, it was time for our first New York show. The venue was a fantastic little bar in Brooklyn called Bruar Falls and the booker, Andy, who also books the venue’s older Manhattan sibling Cake Shop, had heroically managed to find a backline for us. We were very excited about the Chapter Music-themed lineup, which featured Kath Bloom, Richard Davies (of The Moles) and Guy Blackman, and they were all magnificent. The beautiful music, the lingering smell of weed and the bartenders’ generous pours made for a memorable, fun evening.

Day 13

In the morning, Chris and I came across an “Original Soup Man” soup bar, thinking it must have inspired the soup Nazi episode of Seinfeld. The soup was great, though we later saw a number of identical stores. Its always funny when you find a “special” place and realise it’s a chain.

We spent the afternoon at the Rockefeller center, where we gawked at the awe inspiring American Progress mural series in the lobby and bought some tickets to the “Top Of The Rock” observation deck tour. When looking out from the observation deck it is hard not to admire the Rockefellers, especially after having found your way through the maze of exhibits, all detailing their triumphant history, that leads you up there. The view was incredible.

That night we performed at a venue called The Bell House for the Stage Mothers New York showcase. We played with a bunch of Australian bands and we were treated very well. The Australian-style BBQ dished out American-sized portions of coleslaw and potato salad, and the backstage keg contained some kind of delicious fancy beer no one had heard of. I managed to pull a pot of pure froth from it before it ran out.

Day 14

In the morning we took a close look at the Statue of Liberty from the Staten Island ferry before spending the afternoon at the Guggenheim, which must be a skaters wet dream. In the evening we played an extremely intimate acoustic show at a beautiful bar/florist called The Sycamore before heading home for an early night.

Day 15

Our last full day in New York was very cold, about 1 degree Celsius. I bought myself a big puffer jacket from the thrift store and chased some pigeons around central park. In the afternoon we all went to MoMA [The Museum of Modern Art].

Tonight’s show was at Pianos in Manhattan. We played with Yawn, who were great. After our set, two young women grabbed the last two Crayon Fields T-shirts we had, and were taking photos of themselves wearing them before we could explain that they cost money. We later wound up at a bar that was full of various members of Australian bands. It wasn’t until I ordered a drink that I noticed there was an exotic dancer performing on a tiny stage beside the bar. I’m not well versed in strip club etiquette and, mostly because I didn’t know how much was expected, gave her no money. I felt particularly bad about this a few minutes later when the pinball machine stole my quarters.

Day 16

Sad to be leaving New York, we waited on the steps of our apartment block for a taxi. While waiting for the taxi we were lucky enough to meet our neighbour from downstairs, who told us about the hot young NYC “white boy hip-hop artist” he is now managing called White Out, Wite-Out, Whyteout or somesuch – there are quite a few it seems. Noticing that we were in for a long wait, and clearly oblivious to hip hop’s great white hope, our new friend grabbed his laptop and gave us an education. We gathered around him for the next hour and heard an uncensored, fans-only version of what is sure to become one of hip-hop’s great success stories. Mr Correction Fluid had done his time in a correctional facility (making up for some mistakes), written 20 future hits and was rapidly winning the acclaim and jealousy of every important figure in the world of music. It was both a well known fact, and a big gazillion dollar secret at the same time. If WO can hold an audience captive for as long as his manager does, he has a bright future.

Day 17

Safely back at the Bevonshire Lodge in LA, our trip was finally about to come to an end. We played one last show at a marvelous little all-ages venue called Echo Curio with The Finches and Guy Blackman, both of whom were fantastic. We then headed a couple of doors down to catch a few sets at the Slumberland Records anniversary show. It was hard to believe we’d only spent 17 days in the country, it certainly felt to me as if I hadn’t been home for a few months. The others left the next morning, while I would stay on for an extra week with Ben, Guy and my own private room in LA’s #2 “Hooker Hotel”.

Addendum

I'm gonna open by saying ALL Americans are awesome.

Really? All?

Well, OK, so not all of them, and maybe you've even met some of the not so nice ones before, like the slightly stocky Italian man with wiry black hair and wire frames in the New York takeaway bagel shop who seemed determined to avoid taking Neil's order, because right before, he chastised me loudly and emotionlessly when I stuffed up my scallion and cream cheese order - I didn't specify which type of bagel I wanted (seeded, plain, etc.) in the first sentence of my order.

"There's the board; order from it!"

Mental reminder next time I go there: don't punctuate your delivery with any pause, pregnant or otherwise, before you finished ordering. After take two, he begrudgingly finished serving me, throwing the bagel vaguely in my direction with the least amount of effort one can physically throw a bagel, then moved on to take other people's orders but kept ignoring Neil. It was a non-verbal ban by association, a soup Nazi scene in a bagel shop. Then to top it all off, bagel-less and despondent, Neil exited the shop failing to hold the door open for a man following him out the store, and the man, somewhat offended, and with a fresh serve of East Village sarcasm, yelled: "Thanks! Fucking douche."

Ouch.

Although, secretly, I was kinda psyched to hear someone actually say douche in its environment of origination, despite the circumstances.

But it was all outweighed by amazing hospitality and random friendliness: living with the Peoples (our homestay family in Austin); the man who helped us catch the right train in a Manhattan subway; the jazz musician on a train platform who just looked at us, laughed and proclaimed, "You guys look like you know whatchyo doin'"; and the baggage check-in clerk who despite the late hour, gave me a smile and a "you da man" for just handing my passport to him.

We weren't sure why the abundance of friendly people coming up and talking to us, maybe it had something to do with holding guitar cases and looking slightly out of place. Like the woman behind me in the queue at the airport. "Are you here for a guitar convention?" she asked with the sincerest of faces.
"Huh, guitar convention?" I replied.
She then gestured towards the guitar case in my hand, without replying.
"No, we are in a band."
"Oh really?! [Again, sincere] My husband is in a band too, they're called Dream Theater. Heard of them?"

They've only sold 10 million albums worldwide, so I was pretty sure that at that point we were talking about the same Dream Theater. I'll admit that I googled him later on to check, but he and his family were super nice. "Safe travels!" he exclaimed as he walked off.

The last act of kindness was also star-studded. For the last show of the tour, Guy was playing too and wanted to borrow a piano, but had to settle instead for a Fender Rhodes from a friend of a friend. In any normal circumstances borrowing a Rhodes from anyone is exciting enough - just listen to it twinkle in the backseat of a bumpy car ride - but we were all more instantly excited once we heard that the friend once removed was Faith No More keyboardist Roddy Bottum. This is LA after all, and you forget where you are sometimes. Having broken a guitar string earlier in the trip (thanks again Rick and City Riots for the Jazzmaster!), a backup guitar on stage is always a wise precaution. I wonder if Jim Martin's Flying V is up for grabs as well?

by Chris Hung

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PART ONE