10 days until we ship out for our summer on the road. I think I have enough suitcases to bring everything I want (except the dog which I'm told he has to stay D::::)

This weekend was spent basically ignoring everyone and lazing around the flat with Joe, who is both back from Oz and so adorable when jetlagged and sleepy it makes my chest hurt. Nice bit of change from the few days prior.

I had been tapped to be on the cover of African Woman magazine. An honour, seeing as I used to sneak them from my Nan when I was a kid. I grew up wanting to be the women in that magazine with their (mysteriously, especially to 11 year old me) styled hair and gorgeous printed clothing...I used to pour over them.

To say that I was disillusioned after my meeting with one of their feature writers is putting it lightly. She completely ignored the questions Seb had approved last week, and charmingly decided to push me about answering questions about my family, including some case my (estranged) father is currently presiding over that I have less than no interest/information about, but then pulled out the big guns when I firmly refused to answer them. She launched into a tirade about black women "succumbing" to marrying white men. She accused me of forgetting my heritage by taking his last name (because Martin screamed 'I'm Zimbabwean') and asked me how I could refuse this claim when I "married an Australian and your brother would be married to a 'white European' if he was more willing to be open about his 'alternate lifestyle.' I pointed out to her that his long-term partner (a lawyer) handled the papers to have me legally emancipated from my parents at 11, to have himself and my brother named as my legal guardians, I felt, was being rather open. Her facial expression told me exactly how she felt about this new nugget of information.

That was the point where I walked out, and let Seb stay behind to tell her to fuck herself. I know there are stigmas in the white community surrounding interracial marriages, relationships (and homosexuality, another can of worms entirely) that I could never hope to completely understand, but the pressure put on black men as husbands is something I am so glad mine will never have to ever attempt to adhere to. This interview was an appalling affront to the people I hold most dear in my life. This woman who did nothing more than a fucking cursory wikipedia search on me and my family thinks just because we share the same heritage (her grandmother, I learned before this explosion of vitriol, was from the same village as my grandparents before they emigrated to England, so who the fuck is she?) that she has the birthright to question my choices? My family, who has NOTHING to do with the album I am supposed to be promoting and everything with the topics that are off-limits in interviews, is not subject for public opinion.

I routinely wear, support and promote small-name African designers to give them a voice, I refuse to give into our label's repeated attempts to tart me up with breast implants and shorter skirts and ABSOLUTELY refuse to let them relax my hair like a white girl before nearly every photoshoot we have. Marc and Del have been listening to me bang on about the trip Win and I took to our grandparent's village when I was in uni for like a million years and they have LEARNED things from those stories and have passed them on to other (white, might I add) people. If these things aren't being true to the person I'm apparently "supposed" to be then everyone can fuck themselves and I'll trade in my fame for a life where everyone minds their own fucking business.

Needless to say, I won't be gracing this mag next month.

Back from Australia, solo living for the next week or so. The festival went really well, and the amount of fans we've amassed down under is a bit hilarious and really exciting - even if a fair number of them were giving my better half a bit of eying up.

Splitting time between finishing up principal recording for the album, practicing for the road coming up, and starting to ramp up press junkets before heading out. We've got a feature in NME coming up and I just got an email off Seb asking me to make some decisions on the modeling shoot I did for Glamour about a month back (in the time we will call pre-Hairpocalypse 2013) that's going to be in their upcoming issue - in case any of you were worried about not seeing enough of my face. Rather pleased with the way (some!) of them turned out:
( sneak peakCollapse )

Just about 5 weeks until we set out for our summer circuit. After getting a taste of the stuff last week in Oz, I can't wait for more. Could do with less windowless rooms playing the same song over and over and more open-air stages with thousands of people singing along with us.

That was not exactly the relaxing trip I'd had in mind to see Mrs. M and have some time to play in Australia. I don't wish I hadn't asked Seb to book the gig, but a small part of me wishes I could have taken the good (A night off with Joe in a gorgeous hotel, baby koalas) and left the bad (everything else). I wanted the floor to swallow me whole the entire two days with Mrs. M with her banging on and on about babies and all the items in the rags about Dajve and her being pregnant and oh aren't you friendly with her and oh aren't you jealous and dear, doesn't that make your biological clock tick a bit louder?

I know she means well. I know Joe loves kids. But, I can't even begin to imagine wanting them - not right now and maybe not ever - and he's so good with them and I just feel like... I'm holding him back from having this massive family he might want to have because I'm selfish and want my career and him all to myself. We've talked about it and he says it's fine but I can't stop the guilt from clawing at me whenever babies come up... which is all the bloody time now.

His biological mum rescheduled their visit to a day after I'd already left. I was going to pop along with him just to say hello (and again, selfishly, so I could just wax poetic in her face a bit about how amazing Joe is and imply what a dick she is for letting him go.) Maybe it's for the best that I'm not there. If it goes the way it went last time around, I don't know how long I'd be able to keep my big gob shut if I thought she was upsetting him. Only I'm allowed to do that. 

Oh cunting christ. I got an absolutely tragic hair cut yesterday and now cannot even think about wearing my hair down/uncovered for maybe the next 6 months. Joe didn't even attempt to convince me it wasn't as bad as the hysterical warning-text I sent on the cab ride home (spent mostly crying/freaking out). And then fucking Turk came round this afternoon and very delicately asked if I was going for the 'Skillrex look' and...I hate everything. Only silver lining is the amount of obnoxious hats I own/can wear to distract from this train wreck. Better thing that we're doing loads of press for the new album in the upcoming weeks. Delightful.

Leaving for Australia tonight. Can't say that I'm excited for the 29349287 plane journey (or the inevitable seating arrangement in which I always end up next to Seb and am read aloud to from Popular Science magazine until I rupture my eardrums.) Though at least the bright light at the end of the tunnel is a wee break from London, a large outdoor festival, (hopefully) nice weather, and a chance to catch up with Mrs. Mum for a spell.

Recording is pootling along slowly but it's going to be so nice to have a wee break and a change of scenery. And to play out with the lads and stretch our legs a bit, never thought I'd miss touring as much as I have.

Oh hello again. I would say the only thing I've been up to in the last few weeks is eating, sleeping and recording, but really two of those things haven't had much time on the docket since we've been in the studio. I think I called Joe 'Marc' last night before I passed out. Whoops.

Worked our way through laying down skeletons/first takes for (mostly) everything last week and scored ourselves a day "off" today that only includes a meeting for our Aussie show in a few weeks and traumatising Wigs by giving him a bath. Glamourous, hey? Having thoughts about skivving off this meeting (and fuck, the bath-giving as well) cause am feeling a bit run down-ish after two weeks of non-stop recording/meetings/photoshoots/bullshit, and I really don't want to start the tour ill. Also, being unwell on the 23749 hour flight to Oz will make for some very miserable people. And I'm not just talking about myself. :)

Haven't seen much of anyone as of late, including aforementioned misnamed husband and dog, which is starting to drag on me. There are only so many hours of my life I can spend looking at Marc and Del's mugs before I go a bit more mental than usual. Figuring since it's Friday and nearly lunchtime, if I can drag my arse out of bed, I can catch my life-wife round the regular. See if I can manage such a feat - wish me luck.

It's that time again. We've moved into the studio. We've got our label reps breathing down our neck to "merge, creatively" (aka: where the fuck is this album, we know you haven't actually recorded a single track yet, but when can we have it?) and today we had our weekly AA meeting Management meeting to finalise our summer festival schedule. It's exciting, going back on the road and recording an album. How we'll do at the same time... let's just say I'm already jotting down notes for inter-band pep talks.

Since we've got more notoriety under our belts this time around, we've been offered our fair share of headlining showcases which I have denoted for you with a special * on the date. Come to these gigs so we can show off for you. Yee-haw, Strays!

( goodbye, summer holiday!Collapse )

So...somewhere in there, we're going to have to find the time to record, mix, and deliver a new album. No problem, right?

ETA: Seb just called to let us know (since we may or may not have asked for him to contact them and ask for an invite) one more date to add: April 28 - Rockin' the Moo Festival (Canberra, Australia)

How convenient. :)

Ryan Adams this week was absolutely glorious, even if he is a complete weirdo in person (he congratulated me on my bone structure? Thanks? And felt Marc's guitarist calluses. I don't know) and it was nice to have a bit of a field trip with Marcus before we are lovingly threatening to kill one another for the next 8 weeks. Wig's ears are mostly cleared as well, which is a welcome relief to everyone not to watch him shake his head over and over and over. Plus, God damn, they smell when they're infected (spew) and he doesn't get to sleep on the bed because of it, poor sausage.

Had a nice quiet evening with Joe last night, no mobiles or band talk or anything. And! there were puppies involved down round the shelter, followed by a bit of proper old school romanticism that my husband should have a PhD in. Not a bad way to top off the week. Just finishing up the last demo we have to send to Paul before we move into the studio next weekend. Deep breath and a pause to remember what it's like to have a life for a bit before recording and promos and festival season starts.

Joe told me about this folk singer, Michelle Shocked, who's been around since the 80's but this past week has basically committed career suicide by going on this out of nowhere on-stage (in San Fransisco no less!) rant about homosexuality being a sin, and (she says jokingly, the audience has mixed opinions) telling them to go on Twitter and say that 'Michelle Shocked says god hates fags.' Well, I agree. God probably wouldn't be big on smoking, but I also have a feeling he wouldn't give a toss about who was loving who as long as they weren't spewing vitriol like that. What a cunt.

She then went on to have all but two of her gigs for the entire year canceled. Including some large-scale festival appearances, and an international leg of her tour, including a gig in Kings Cross, which is how this whole mess got on the radar over here. I'm all for artistic expression. Fucking hell, look at our tour wardrobe (or my actual wardrobe I have been told on more than one occasion...) and I know that The Strays have had a few soapbox-y moments in our run. I've been told ad nauseam what Mozzer has to say about the smell of cooking meat to the royal family, and seen enough Ted Nugent interviews to last me a lifetime, but just...what the fuck do you get out of that? At best, you have the crowd agreeing with you - making you all ignorant wankstains, and at worst, you have... well, this, really. Blacklisted and banned for life at venues across the globe; fans who have abandoned you after 20 years of faithful following; and newbs like me, writing about what a dick you are in my little blog.

In the word of my favourite author: Rise of the Idiots.

We're just finishing up writing this weekend for the next album (title suggestions in the comments, have at it) and are going to move into the studio probably the tail end of next week. We're using a new place from our last album, which is both a perk of having some noteriety under our belts as well as working with Paul again, who has blow up like a brilliant genius balloon since we worked together last. We have a few other people who have gotten in touch with us about collaborating, so things might be looking quite sunny for Le Strays. Who'd have thought? Seb has a meeting for us to start finalising our summer tour schedule as well. Not nearly as intense as last year for, well, all the reasons, but mostly that we're going to be knackered from putting this album together on the rush since Capitol wants us to capitolise (see what I did there?) on Howl's success and the NME Award to boost album sales after road testing the new material this summer. Looking at another fall release most likely, if we can get it together in time. Unending delight.

Other than that, it's been another quiet week for the most part. Had dinner with Nate the other night which was a welcome little break from 'work' which is I feel like all I have to talk about at the moment. Managed to snag VIP tickets to see Ryan Adams on Tuesday at the Royal Albert Hall for Marc and me, so definitely looking forward to making a damn fool of myself backstage.

And speaking of unending delights, this wee face (and tail *___*) who has started shedding his winter coat something fierce:

The most handsome and perfect dog in all the land, even with his ear infection from hell atm. Poor sausage.

And in final narcissism news: If you've got no social life and are going to be in front of your telly this evening watching the Comic Relief/Red Nose Day extravaganza check out my yet-to-be-announced (I think it's supposed to be a surprise so - surprise!) appearance with Dizzee Rascal. We're doing a two song medley, so..yeah. Bet you didn't see that one coming?

Not been that great of a week really, not that I have any ground to complain. Been pretty busy wrapping up writing so we can go into the studio in about two weeks, which is going to make us even more busy. A bit torn between excited and anxiety ridden about it and everything that goes with it if I'm honest.

I've been exhausted lately. With writing and having to put the inside of my head down on paper, it's like opening up a flood-gate that I wish could have stayed shut on some scores. I feel like it's bringing me down more than boosting me up at the moment, and the result is a lot of late nights sitting on the couch without sleep. I know (hope desperately) that things will get better, but the when is undetermined and lately all I can do is lay low and attempt to not self destruct.

Saw Lin for a spell yesterday which was a nice afternoon out, and cheers, June, for the late wedding gift, very nice of you.

This is why I can't be trusted with anything good. Jesus fucking christ, I hate myself so much right now.

Can't be faced with going to Dan's in the wake of being asked not to come home for the afternoon. Hopefully none of the lads are using our room at the Soundry while I go think about vomiting up my intestines.