Palm Desert, CA
What is it with sleeping on trips? It's 7.30 and I'm awake, having managed just over three hours. Desperate for even an hour's more rest I fitfully doze but with the zzzz's eluding me I'm out of bed far earlier than I should be. At least the hotel provide breakfast so I go to investigate.
Polystyrene bowls and plates are piled up alongside plastic cutlery, whilst rubbery omelettes oozing processed cheese congeal under stay-warm lighting. Sugary cereals and little cupcakes complete the picture. I don't care and tuck in, washed down with stewed coffee.
I'd left the car at La Quinta yesterday afternoon so Katherine and Charlie, who are having to drive back to LA today, give me a lift over to that hotel and I drive back down the manicured avenues of Palm Desert, past the sprinklers pumping precious desert water over well-tended flower beds and spotless forecourts. With the stunning mountain backdrop it's a very pretty town, with low-rise Spanish style housing and tons of hotels catering to the mature golfer and senior sun seekers.
I'm back at the Holiday Inn by midday and get up to speed with the ever-evolving travel plans. It's now looking like we'll be on a flight back on Thursday and so we have hotel rooms booked in LA from tomorrow night. However there's been some suggestions that it would be more cost-effective to drive to Las Vegas and wait there instead. Hotel rooms are at a premium in LA whilst Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday nights are dirt cheap in Vegas as they're not full, saving well over $100 dollars a night.
I manage to get hold of an EMI travel rep in New York to find out the latest on our flights and hear that the British government has called emergency meetings and test flights have taken place. The travel rep agrees that waiting for news in Vegas would probably be cheaper than LA so we get all the details together and hand it over for final decisions to the UK travel team and my boss at EMI. This US trip could well become a much bigger jaunt than I foresaw even two days ago. The New York office tell me they're looking at cruise liners as a last resort. I can just see myself departing New York on the QE2...
By the time we've worked through those options and I've done some work it's too late to get the nap I'm desperate for so I order a cab which I'm assured is on its way.
It's an hour late and I still need to swing by Duff's hotel to pick him up as earlier discussed. He's not been returning calls so I go up and bang on his door loudly. No answer. I hammer away again and a very sleepy Duff eventually appears at the door having drifted off. Lucky sod!! I've no time to wait and he's not ready to leave so I carry on to the site.
The driver, Vincent, asks why I'm in such a hurry and I explain that I have an artist about to take to the stage in less than thirty minutes. When he finds out I work for EMI/Capitol he asks who I work for and I mention a few artists to general bemusement. But when I get to Lady Antebellum Vince perks up, explaining both he and his daughter love them, she goes to their shows and plays their records all the time and that they're absolutely massive in the US.
I decide to use my new-found popularity by getting him to bend the rules and agree I can pre-book him for later to try and get me off site with minimum hassles. Result!! He tells me that there's a $1000 fine for anyone handing over their number so I promise to keep it safe and not tell anyone. Unfortunately the cabs are also all under strict orders as to where they can drop people off so Vince, despite a handsome tip, has to leave me about a twenty minute walk from the entrance. I pound along the dusty, sun-baked roads as fast as my weary state allows, having had nothing to eat since the array of e-numbers at breakfast, and a couple of glasses of water since.
I trudge past the lines of horse boxes and stables, where the polo mounts are usually housed during the year, and finally get on site at 6pm, just as Jacqui calls to say she's made it too. It's one of the only times any of the phones have worked at the festival. The gods are smiling for a moment.
I meet her in the VIP area and we trot over to the second stage. Jonsi by this point has already come on and we walk through the crowd to the mixing desk where we spy John, the manager. We hop up to join him and have a fabulous view of Jonsi's set.
The sound is impeccable and the stage is framed against a perfect blue sky with the sun just starting to get warm and golden. It's a lovely way to spend 40 minutes and Jonsi and his band pull out a fantastic performance, despite being stripped of the spectacular production that accompanies their headline shows. It's just them and their music and these new, yet already familiar, songs sound energised and powerful. 'Boy Lilikoi', 'Around Us' and 'Grow Till Tall' in particular, are immense.
John disappears backstage and I tell him I'll hook up with them later at the signing tent. By this point I'm utterly ravenous but Jacqui has already eaten and wants to see another band so I leave her out front and head back to hospitality to devour a burger in about ten seconds flat.
With no pass to get into the artist enclosure and the usual dreadful problems with mobile technology on the festival site there's nothing for it but to sit on the grass near the usual meeting area and wait for someone I know to show up. It's a balmy evening and perfect for people watching so an hour passes relatively painlessly as I tap away on my blackberry and watch the crowd. With no sign of anyone I wander over to the signing tent.
Jonsi has a big queue of fans outside, many clutching their Sigur Ros albums and rare vinyl promos which they have brought with them specially to be autographed. I nip into the tent and Jonsi is sat there, merrily signing away - records, posters, CDs, even scrawling across the t-shirts of two very excited Japanese fans. I nip under the table and sit between him and John.
Jonsi is "super" pleased I'm there and I get the traditional kiss, hug and a big old slap on the back from him. He carries on signing, passing on copies of his Jonsi & Alex record to his boyfriend Alex to co-sign. I have a good chat with John while the queue stretches on and eventually Jonsi signs the last item for the last fan, and has yet another photo taken of him being manhandled by them, and is free to chat.
But we have only a brief chance to catch up before he's spirited away onto the tour bus for the drive back to LA that night. He's buzzing from the gig and the reactions to the US tour dates so far have been phenomenal so I leave him on a high and wander back to the VIP area as Pavement blast out some twisted indie-pop on the main stage. 'Cut Your Hair' takes me right back to being a student twenty years ago.
As I get to the VIP area I hear from two Parlophone colleagues, Jude and Holly, who have been here for a few days on holiday and at last we hook up amongst the throng. They've been having a wonderful time and tell me all about the parties they've been going to and the villa they're staying in. Their energy and enthusiasm is infectious and despite my tiredness I'm almost talked into going to a huge bash tonight in a glitzy hotel. However sense prevails and I give Vince a call instead and pre-book a cab.
By this point Duff has made it on site and Jacqui reappears, plus Elias and Miles too. Miles hears about the plan for Vegas and orders me to go there as a company duty, selflessly saving EMI money. Another road trip beckons!
We all wander out to see the final act of the weekend together, Gorillaz. Another one of our artists they're the most hotly anticipated act of the festival and the main headliners. It's the first public unveiling of Gorillaz as a real band, with Damon Albarn visibly at the helm.
The video screens burst to life and there's Snoop Dogg, guest-rapping on 'Welcome to Plastic Beach'. Stalking the front of the stage, wearing jaunty sailor's caps, are the Clash legends Paul Simonon and Mick Jones, reunited and pumping out these creations with vigour. The set is mostly the new album but oldies like 'Kids With Guns' and the superb 'Feelgood Inc' pepper the setlist. A huge cheer greets Bobby Womack who appears for 'Stylo' and the same happens for 'Superfast Jellyfish' with De La Soul.
I decide it's time to make my excuses and make the long trek back to the cab rank before the crowd all leave at once but just as I start walking it's "Thankyou very much. Good night" and Gorillaz leave the stage. Time for 60,000 people to make their way home. Suddenly I'm caught in a crazy bottleneck stampede. The next 20 minutes of jostling and barging is unpleasant but I make it through unscathed to be spat out the other side.
Like a man with a mission I surge forwards, unencumbered by the drunk mates needing holding up, the girlfriends needing a pee or the stoned boyfriends wanting to just sit and chill that seem to be slowing everyone else down. Walking at a rate of knots I overtake the crowds and make it to Vince and my waiting cab bang on 12.30.
He whisks me back to the hotel, giving me advice on the best route to Vegas, and by 1am I'm in my room, packing for the morning. Determined to get more sleep this time I pop a couple of Melatonin tablets and zonk out. At last...
