Roadie: My Life on the Road with Coldplay
Matt McGinn
Language: English
Pages: 224
ISBN: 1907554297
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Stuffed with insightful and authoritative tour stories about daily roadie duties, this is an insider's guide to what it means to live and work with global superstars in the world of rock 'n' roll. This memoir covers the job, the road, the gigs, the band, the relationships, the fame, the failing equipment, and the cold beers after a great show. As Coldplay moves from club gigs to arenas and stadiums worldwide, Matt goes with them; faking it as a band member on U.S. talk shows, flirting with Kylie, saving a life on a French motorway, and even pitching in with the odd guitar riff in the studio. Tales of hurricanes and heat waves, helicopter chases and private jets, plectrum hunters and projectiles all come together as Matt explains in his unique way—and regardless of the mountain (and gear) to move—that the show must always go on.
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Ticking along all right until Chris suggested having a stab at ‘A Whisper’, an epic, sweeping kind of a song from the (then) new record. Although the tune was perhaps better suited to the echoey environs of a packed hockey arena than a small empty disco, the lads gamely dove in, making a pretty good start. But after about half a minute, the singer gave in and threw up his hands. ‘All right, stop. Stop! It sounds fucking shit.’ A few nasty clunks followed as the song drifted up a verge towards.
Place’ for a keyboard pad and not – God forbid – suss that it’s actually some authentic, professionally conducted, prerecorded strings he’s hearing? How many rib-tickling wrongs is that in one, exactly? A crisis meeting with the band was called, options were discussed and, after much debate, a handy, presenter-placating solution was mutually agreed upon. I had to wear a hat. And hide behind the amps. But there I was in full view of North America, head sticking up in the background like a.
We’ve said – it isn’t life or death, but trust me, no one wants to feel like a fool in front of that many onlookers and it only takes one stray wire to spoil the party. The band are pretty much placing their reputations in the crew’s hands at this point and we just have to get on with it and try to get it right, whatever the circumstances. Anyone who says they’re never uptight and/or excited to be part of all this is going to have to buy me a pint and explain. OK, so we’d had fuck-all sleep, and.
Is the real one that never sleeps – or, to be more precise, doesn’t know when it’s time to pack it in. Chewing our way through late-night dives like a pair of hungry caterpillars, Jon and I once got so messed up that getting back to the hotel without a cab proved a complete physical impossibility, even though we could see at least two of it. The frolic potential seemed infinite, but as ever with fun and games of any sort, there was a price to pay. Each morning around 9 a.m., a fit, rested and.
Simply because it totally out-Taps the Tap, but honestly, he was just leaning into the opening lines of ‘Violet Hill’ right after the band’s big instrumental ‘Life in Technicolour’ overture when the ‘kabuki’ – a big, black, droppable gauzey drape that hangs on a truss and works fine when there’s no wind whatsoever – blew inwards, fell badly and went ‘plop’, all over him, the microphones and Jonny’s pedal board as well. Fucking hell, as my carpentry teacher once said when I broke the belt sander,.