Girl On The Radio

(Russell, Owens)

Dark night, driving home
I see silhouettes on the dash, in my eyes
And the lights in the rain come lashing

Singing just to me, the girl
Wonder what she’d make of all this…?

Sing out
The voice on the radio over again
And show me
The voice that I know, sing to me

Spotlight, riding on
seem to wait till I’m almost asleep at the wheel
And then call me back soundly

Laughing and shivering�
As I drive through
Cities and villages touched by you

Chorus

The things we do in the name of rock and roll…

Thursday 21 June, 11.50pm (Hugh’s recording studio, West London):
We have spent the last week and a half in the studio recording an EP with our new producer, Hugh Padgham. In the past, Hugh has worked with Sting & The Police, Genesis, Paul McCartney, David Bowie and so on, and the various albums he has worked on over his career have sold over 250 million records and won him 4 Grammys. Which, I think we can all agree, ain’t half bad.

Hugh is currently producing 3 tracks for us – Emily, Sleepless and Don’t Want You. Today is the last day of the session, partly because Hugh has other commitments over the next few weeks and partly because we’re playing Glastonbury Festival tomorrow. In fact, we are due to go onstage in just over twelve hours. In Somerset. And at some point between then and now we need to get at least a modicum of sleep.

Anyhow, the session’s gone really well and we’re all pleased with how the tracks are sounding. Tony has invested in a new Black Beauty snare drum, which he assures us is the world’s most expensive model at roughly £700 a pop (apparently he has “worked his contacts” to get one at a discounted rate). I have been enjoying the privilege of recording on a rich-sounding, freshly-tuned upright piano and a vintage Wurlitzer, which Hugh’s engineer Cesar picked up at a flea market for about 30 quid. Believe me, that is a bargain. It’s a little bit like turning up to a village jumble sale and finding an autographed copy of the Magna Carta sitting underneath the Victoria Sponge cakes priced 75p.

At this very moment, Hugh is running off an initial rough mix of Sleepless. It’s now 2 in the morning and we are being lit by sensitively-placed halogen spotlights, a blue wash from the moon outside and Hugh’s trusty lava lamp, which always comes on at around 9 o’clock (and which, judging by his dedication to switching it on at this hour, I think has magic powers of some description). We are almost at the close of a 14-hour day. I am buzzing from too many black coffees, but my body is exhausted. George is napping quietly in the corner, in anticipation of the 4-hour drive ahead of him. We have no choice but to travel to Glastonbury during the night because our stage time is midday, and if you arrive anytime after 7 in the morning there’s no telling how long it’ll take you to get on site.

Hugh swings round in his chair to face us. “I think that’s it,” he says. We agree. Cesar burns off 3 copies for us and we all step out onto the street, yawning and rubbing our eyes. Hugh and Cesar are going home to bed. We, on the other hand, are driving to a glorified farm in the middle of nowhere in a car which, to be frank, has seen better days. The things we do in the name of rock and roll. Honestly.
Chris Lightyear

Banana Republic

(Lyons)

I once met a girl from a Banana Republic
Who drove her Ford Capri with hanging dice to Dubrovnik

She flies in on the red-eye and she smuggles contraband
And she helps the pilot join the Mile-High Club before he lands

Banana Republic
Ba-Na-Na-Na-Na Republic

She parties in Ibiza, Magaluf, Biarritz and Spain,
I’ve never seen her sober – all she drinks is fine champagne

She says it is a cover for a mission she is on…
To find a greedy dot-com and then have it overthrown.

Chorus

The last time that I saw her was in South Afghanistan
She was firing a machine gun and it really turned me on.

She gave me a small suitcase and she turned to me to say
“Give this to my father, he is El Presidente”

Chorus

You’re my Banana Republic, yeah

Banana Republic

Filmstar

(Russell, Owens)

You stay in shade when you step in the light
You’re like a Manga wannabe
Curl your lip like you’re picking a fight
I’m gonna make you so sorry

I’m gonna make you feel like a filmstar
I’m gonna make you feel

I never lied to a lover before
Don’t ever think you beat me
You look at me like a toreador
Flashing red eyes right through me

I’m gonna make you feel like a filmstar
I’m gonna make you feel

And now you claim that you’re moving away
You never really wanted me
You think it’s change that is keeping you sane
I’m gonna make you so sorry

I’m gonna make you feel like a filmstar

I’m gonna make you feel

Never Coming Back

(Russell, Owens)

They found another undercover on train today
He’s never ever coming back or so the papers say

Never, you’re never coming back, you’re never coming back

They’ve been evicted and collected over land and sea
We came to liberate and educate the refugees

Never, you’re never coming back, you’re never coming back

Nothing to give her but a river of dirty lies
We found an unofficial way to keep her mesmerised

Never, you’re never coming back, you’re never coming back

This band will play and play for
The people that it’s made for
But will the future wait for me?

Wrote our obituary
Back in late January
There’s just so much that’s scaring me
We’re running out of time

LYs to play Glastonbury Festival

The Lightyears’ slot at Glastonbury Festival 2007 has been confirmed as Friday 22 June @ 12pm midday on the Small World Stage.

Jingle Improvisation at the BBC

Thursday 7 June, 6.30pm (BBC Studios, Caversham, Berkshire):
We only landed at Heathrow yesterday and we’re still pretty much on Korean time. Which means for us it’s about 2.30 in the morning. An ideal time to be recording a live session and interview for BBC Radio, then.

We are the featured band on Linda Serck’s show The Session on BBC Radio Berkshire. A couple of minutes before Linda presses the record button, she reminds us of the Radio Berkshire jingle that all featured bands are asked to write in preparation for appearing on The Session. An alarm-bell rings in my head. George and Tony turn to me, slowly, each of their faces a matching cocktail of panic and befuddlement. Yes, I have whole-heartedly and unequivocally forgotten to tell anyone about this. How long do we have to write this jingle now exactly? Erm, about 45 seconds. No probs. Lennon and McCartney wrote From Me To You in 25 minutes, and that was in the Sixties when everything took much longer.

Whilst Linda is rifling through CDs, we have a hushed, and somewhat frantic, confab. We resolve to pinch the chorus from Emily and change the lyrics to “BBC Radio Berkshire, The Se-ssion, with Linda Serck…”. One quick rehearsal and, thanks to our formative years in a barbershop quartet in New Orleans back in the early 1920s, it actually sounds alright. Linda swings round in her chair and we beam at her. “Ready!”, we say in unison.

You can check out our jingle, along with the rest of the interview, on the BBC Radio Berkshire website.

Chris Lightyear

“Oi – you with the enormous scimitar!”

Saturday 2 June, 5pm (Grand Ballroom, Grand Hyatt Hotel, Seoul):
In a couple of hours, 500 esteemed guests are arriving at the Grand Ballroom for the annual Queen’s Birthday Ball. This afternoon the ballroom has been used for an alternative function, and the organisers now have just two hours to turn the place into Hogwarts (the theme this year is Harry Potter). It’s a bit like Challenge Anneka. I am looking round the enormous ballroom, wondering how on earth they’re going to do it. And then I see.

The Event Co-ordinator clicks his fingers and a vast army of identically-clad hotel workers pours into the room as if from nowhere. I am half–expecting a moralistic chorus of “We’ve got ano-ther puzzle for you” but, clearly, there’s no time. Within minutes, fifty immaculate dining tables dot the room, meticulously spread with fine china and cutlery. It’s terrifying.

In contrast, we are feeling smug and well-prepared. We sound-checked yesterday and everything is ready to go. We watch the ant-like battalion of workers arranging the Quidditch pitch, setting up banners, suspending huge papier mache owls from the ceiling and tinkering with the table-top dry-ice machines. Lucky old us. Nothing left to do until we start our set but chill out backstage with a doughnut and a G&T.

Danny pokes his head through the dressing room door. “Which one of you guys has the jack adaptor for playing the iPod through the PA?” (we have agreed to organise the entrance music tonight – a pretty vital job because the committee have an elaborate Harry Potter-inspired opening ceremony planned). “We don’t have it, Dan,” Tony replies. “You do.”

“No way man. I’ve never had it. Chris has got it.”

“Yeah, whatever Dan. I don’t even know what it is. George must have it.”

This tomfoolery goes on for a few minutes until we realise that, genuinely, we really don’t have it. This is bad. This is very, verybad. 500 tarted-up ballroom guests sweeping into the Hogwarts ballroom in a swirling mist of dry ice to the heart-rending strains of John Williams’ Harry Potter Theme will lose a certain amount of its impact without the heart-rending strains of John Williams’ Harry Potter Theme.

Without this one tiny adaptor, smaller than my little finger, the whole shooting match will fall flat on its arse. And it will be our fault. Taking a cab across town and back to the nearest music shop (which may or may not stock the appropriate adaptor) will take about 45 minutes. The ball starts in… 45 minutes.

The race is on.

******

We are in a cab, snaking down Mount Namsan to Seoul city centre. The clock is ticking. Things are actually looking pretty good for the first ten minutes or so, until… well, until we slow to a standstill in front of a huge street parade of Hwarang (Korean Warrior Knights). They have big swords. None of us feel like being the one to poke his head out the car window and yell “Oi – you with the enormous scimitar! Move your arse!” so we figure we’ll just sit it out. 

Five minutes pass. This is a BIG parade. We’re running out of time. We have but one option – we cut our losses, pay the cab driver, bolt out of the car, navigate our way as politely as possible through the wall of heavily-armed trained killers and head pell-mell for the music shop.

In the store, we are greatly relieved to find that they do indeed sell the appropriate adaptors. They have bloody hundreds of them. We just need one, but we buy seven and distribute them amongst ourselves. You know, just in case we get attacked by an extremely fastidious mugger.

One frantic taxi ride later, we are back at the hotel – with just a couple of minutes to spare. Danny hurriedly hooks the iPod up to the PA, the guests assemble outside the main entrance and, as John Williams strikes up in the ballroom, the doors open majestically. It’s quite a moment. The party has started.

****** 

This gig is certainly unique. For example, it’s very rare for us to open our set with a rendition of the Korean National Anthem – and rarer still for us to be accompanied by a world class opera singer (Sunghee also sang the national anthem at the opening ceremony of the 2002 World Cup). As a general rule, it’s also not every day that we play in front of an Ambassador (although I should add that this isn’t the first time). 

It’s a superb night. We have a brilliant time up on stage – George is soloing like a beast, I’m pogo-ing around the enormous stage and Tony is in his element, crashing away on the drums and beaming at the 500 furiously boogying party guests on the dancefloor.  Danny does a sterling job on the desk, and seems to have formed a close – if silent – friendship with the Korean sound engineer.

The crowd are fantastic. They’re also mostly sloshed on the free bar, but then who can blame them? Certainly not me. In fact, we attack the complementary booze pretty voraciously ourselves once we’ve finished our set. When the ball finally ends, we pinch a big white owl and a 60-foot high Slytherin banner as souvenirs and crash back to our hotel rooms.

Job well done, I’d say.

Chris Lightyear

People have killed for lesser breakfasts than this

Friday 1 June, 9am (Grand Hyatt Hotel, Seoul, South Korea):
We have been in Korea for a few days and by far the distinguishing feature of the tour so far has been BREAKFAST. The breakfasts at the Grand Hyatt are world-beating. People have killed for lesser breakfasts than this. Muffins, pancakes, fresh fruit, juices, joints of meat, waffles… sometimes I could weep at the beauty, I really could.

Incidentally, we are currently eating breakfast next to the Dutch National Football Team, who are playing a friendly against Korea tomorrow night and are all staying at the Hyatt. And, may I take this opportunity to say, we are soundly whipping them in the eating stakes. Football may be the new rock ‘n’ roll but we have totally out-breakfasted these pretenders at every turn. Today, for example, I collect and devour the following sequence of dishes: Grapefruit Juice Aperitif, Fresh Fruit Course, Pastry Course, Fry-up Course comprising Eggs, Beans, Sausages, Bacon & Toast, Maple Syrup Belgian Waffle & Honey Roast Ham Course, One Glass Orange Juice, One Glass Apple Juice, Two Black Coffees, Post-entrée Fresh Fruit Course, Pastry, Coffee, End. ‘ave it, van Nistelrooy.

Later Tony confesses to me that he bumped into a guy in the lift yesterday who looked arrestingly familiar. After spending a couple of minutes trying to place him, he asked “I’m sorry… do I know you?”. The guy shook his head wearily, and that was that. It wasn’t until Tony left the elevator that it clicked – wait, I do know that guy. He’s Marco Van Basten. One of the finest footballers of the twentieth century. Ah.

Chris Lightyear

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