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Ash Latest

Select May 1997

Live in Japan and USA

What a bunch or countries! Ash embark on their last tourbus push of '96, crash-landing in Japan and America [via New Zealand], and showing only minor cuts and bruises. The breakdowns never happened! They've stopped eating pies! And cut out the booze! No, really...

The courtyard of an idyllic rural recording studio in South Wales, 5am. Three inches of pure unadulterated snow on the ground, distant bleating from the fields beyond and the sudden intrusive roar of an almighty belch, as four men spill out into the cold tranquillity from a side door. One of them, acclaimed producer Owen Morris, idly urinates and confirms that the tape is running.

Its January 1996. Ash are mid-way through writing and recording their debut album and Tim Wheeler and Rick McMurray are strung out on a combination of sulphate, vodka and acid. To their delight, Mark Hamilton, fired up on lager and prescribed downers, begins vomiting across the white-veiled yard. "Waaahhhh!" wails Tim excitedly, as Mark pokes at his throat in search of an encore. "That's fucking amazing."

Late April, 8am and the album '1977' complete with final hidden track 'Sick Party' - is on the verge of release. Ash are mid-way through breakfast in a hotel restaurant in Tokyo when they learn that the album has pre-sales of 122,000 and is set to chart at Number One, achieving immediate Gold status on entry. Well, smiles Tim Wheeler, crunching a mouthful of toast, "it deserves to go Number One. You wanna know what I'm going to do with my gold disc? I'm gonna have sex on it."

For most bands, the nadir of grim rock 'n' roll excess lies at the end of a long road, splattered with fame and success. Ash arrived at theirs prior to their first hit. And then it just got worse. At the start of 95, when the boys were still in uniforms and relatively unknown, Mark was lying sedated in a psychiatric ward suffering a severe mental breakdown - brought on, in part, by his partiality for increasingly hard drugs.

Rick and Tim, meanwhile, were in Hollywood fulfilling every schoolboy's fantasy: sipping cocktails and sitting in a champagne-filled jacuzzi discussing half-million-dollar record deals. After this initiation and the destructive recklessness that ensued, come 1996 and Ash were strongly tipped to totally and utterly lose it.

It's now October and Ash are back on tour in lap an. Tim and Rick are sitting in a cafe drinking milkshakes. "It was pretty fucking insane for a while," explains Tim, as Rick quietly nods in agreement. "I don't know, I've blocked a lot of it out of my head. Everything was so full on, like a crazed endurance test or something. I got so paranoid and depressed about how little control I had over my life that I thought about giving it all up."

"It was mainly trying to come to terms with being a pop star. I wondered if it was good for me or if it would just mess me up. I think in my head I thought the album was a really big deal and once I'd done it, I'd be really happy and sorted and everything would be great. But I found out it didn't really mean anything."

"Did it come to a head?" exclaims Rick McMurray. "Yeah. Tim went to the launderette one day and never came back."

"It could've been a great Syd Barrett story," says Tim, covering his grinning face. "But it wasn't. We were meant to be doing all this stuff and I just thought fuck it, and went to wash my clothes."

"But we didn't completely lose it," declares Rick, making comedy noises with his straw as he hoovers up his drink. "We've actually calmed down a lot recently. Especially Mark. Ever since he almost sliced his finger off in America when he drank a litre of gin and started doing Pete Townshend moves while holding a razor-sharp knife and pretending a banana was his dick. "

"I climbed 1,578 feet up on one of those machines in the gym this morning," gasps Mark, for the fourth time already. "Did I feel fit? No, I felt ill. I nearly collapsed. Maybe it was because I'd only eaten a bowl of cornflakes in two days."
Mark sits down in front of a mirror in the dressing room and starts hacking at his hair with a pair of small nail scissors. Tonight, Ash play the first of two sold-out shows at the 1,200-capacity Liquid Rooms, a seventh-floor venue located on one of many migraine-inducing neon side-streets and only accessible via a small goods lift. In a war of extremes, Mark has forsaken his customary litre of gin and has embarked on an insane physical- fitness regime.

"I just have to look at Rick to keep going," he says, his feet obscured by clumps of fallen hair. "Rick's fat. Tim's piling on the pounds, but we're having a competition to see who eats the most pies. I'm not fat, but I definitely have the fear."

"Have you only eaten one pie in two days?" quizzes Tim, as he walks into the room, a vision of shocking 70's non-chic in embroidered denim flares, bare feet and flowery nylon T-shirt. "Right then, I'm not eating any pies at all tomorrow. Mark thinks I'm getting fat, so we've decided to get fit on this tour. He wants to look like Henry Rollins and I'm gonna be Peter 'Six-pack' Andre.

Across the room, Rick is eyeing Mark with an expression of deep concern. "What exactly are you doing to your hair? You look like Forrest Gump."

"I wanted a Forrest Gump haircut," Mark exclaims. "Actually I wanted a 'Romanian orphan' haircut, but I still like it."

This is Ash's third visit to Japan. They've gradually stopped attracting mannerly admirers and ended up luring the nutter market. Now they can even boast their own stalker.

"It's not that she ever says or does anything weird to us, ruminates Tim, squinting at his reflection in the full wall mirror. "She's just everywhere we go, she's even booked into all the same hotels, but she won't speak to us. That's what's f**king weird about it. She's just ... there. "

As popular supposition goes, you're nobody in showbusiness until you've been stalked - unless it's in Japan, where band obsession is cheap an stalking fairly straightforward. "You don't take very seriously here," shrugs Tim. "You just expect it. These people are just a bit deranged really. It was worse when we arrived in Singapore last week, we felt like the fucking Beatles. He turns back to his reflection and frowns. "Do I really look that shit?"

Ash are due on stage at 8pm. That's after support band Les Kapitan, featuring members of the crew and 'Fuckin' Eddie Dingle' - alias Rick - on vocals, have mangled songs by Ween, Nirvana, plus the theme tune to Emmerdale Farm. Tim watches from the side of the stage like a proud parent. "Wonderful," he gasps. "He's so f**king cool."

Les Kapitan only feature as support in Japan, the only country which could offer adoration for their wild incompetence. Not surprisingly, the reception for the headliners, as they stumble out on stage minutes later, is practically obscene. There are relentless squeals of "Teeeema, Reeeek and Maaaaar" and a flow of bodies passed overhead for medical help.

An hour and a half later, they reach the final encore of 'Kung Fu', greeted here as an alternative national anthem. Halfway in, Tim and Mark fire themselves into the mass. Tim disappears, swallowed whole. Mark, still tied to his guitar, ends up sprawled across a carpet of black hair struggling to maintain the bass line. Two minutes later, they're fished out and put back on stage for the finale.

"That was insane," groans Tim, sitting in the dressing room. Rick scowls at him, waving his arms around to combat the cramp caused by 'Kung Fu''s extended drum solo. Mark is lying under a table. "The Japanese are so polite when you meet them," continues Tim, searching his chest for signs of injury. "But I was seriously groped tonight. Everyone was grabbing my balls."
"Did you like it?" asks Rick. Tim shakes his head. "No, I was too busy thinking about the potential fatalities beneath me. Of course some people might find it arousing. Like you, Rick."

A busy Tokyo high street, 10.30AM. A trail of 75 people are walking in an erratic line behind three Western males. "I think we're being followed," whispers Tim, glancing behind him. The others casually look around as they turn to cross the street. "You can play the rock god so easily," laughs Tim, as we dive into the restaurant for dinner. "It's too much here. It's a pop star's paradise."

The band file in around the table, between representatives from their record company. "I'll have a strawberry lassi," says Tim, shrugging at the fact that it contains not a trace of alcohol. "We haven't been drinking much recently," offers Rick by way of explanation. "There's no reason. I've developed an onion-ring addiction instead."

If it wasn't for those accents and the odd blackhead, you may not believe this is Ash: those fiends famed for ripping off hotel room doors, vomiting in swimming pools, being forcibly gagged by airline stewardesses and joyriding their manager's car around the studio grounds while on ecstasy...

"We have moments of madness now," muses Tim, picking at a slab of garlic naan bread. "Instead of moments of seriousness."

Where did it all go right?

"I think it was around June," says Tim, refusing dessert with a pat of his belly. "We had a meeting and sorted it out. We basically hadn't stopped: we went straight from touring to doing the album to back to touring again. The schedule was mental and we just cracked up. The thing is, we volunteered for it all. We're the band who can't say no."

It's lights out at midnight in Tokyo: the waiters are waiting to go home. Mark, who by now has become a wee bit drunk, is shouting and flapping his arms. "I suppose if Ash had started today instead of two years ago," observes Tim rather obviously, "we'd be a lot more together now."

"I've worked it out. We've done 53 hours' travelling." It's now late October, three weeks since lap an - and Ash, via England and a few dates with Garbage in New Zealand, have arrived in New Jersey for the start of their American tour. It's 20 minutes before showtime and Mark is the only one awake. He's been watching Muppet Treasure Island on the tour bus and is insisting it was "really good". The door through to the bunks slowly opens and Tim saunters in. "Hello," he groans. "How long before we go on? Oh God. Really?"
"Twenty minutes is ages," assures Mark. "I've gone from sleep to stage in less than two."
Rick appears at the door. His face is creased, and he's sporting a newly shaven head. "I had to shave it all off after Mark cut it in Japan. I had bald patches and step marks all over my head. How long have we got? Fuck! I feel shit."

As support to deafening noise outfit Stabbing Westward, Ash are under relatively little pressure - although being awake would be a bonus. They've yet to make much impact on America, but with MTV having picked up on 'Goldfinger', and a more appropriate US support tour with Weezer coming up, it's perfectly feasible. A sizeable proportion of tonight's audience have, in fact, turned out to see Ash - though it's depressing to witness mere mild anticipation as Tim announces 'Girl From Mars'.
Two hours later, Ash are back on the bus, sipping white wine and listening to The Beatles as the driver sets off for Rhode Island. "I don't think we should get beer on the next rider," says Tim, sniffing the contents of his glass. "Let's change it for wine. I think we should have a wine cellar on the bus. A splendid selection of Chardonnay."

It's now 3am, and, despite the jet lag, everyone is wide awake and calling for a truck stop. The driver pulls into what is possibly the worst diner in the USA. "Nobody would eat this shit!" wails Mark, dissecting his chicken burger and slinging bits of it across the restaurant. "I can't believe I ate some. I'll have to go and make myself sick."
"Where's Mark?" asks Tim, sipping Diet Pepsi.
"Being sick? Oh no, that makes him on minus pies." The following day, in the venue in Providence, Rhode Island, Ash are sitting in the dressing room while Stabbing Westward soundcheck. "Isn't that 'Goldfinger' they're playing? frowns Tim, straining to hear. "Yeah," confirms Rick. "They've watched us play every night. Maybe we should watch them one night."

Tonight's gig is a little more hysterical. In the middle of 'Jack Names The Planets', a bout of fullon moshing breaks out. Two bouncers, standing on either side at the front of the stage, glower at the crowd. "Do you like our dancers? laughs Tim, before catching their unimpressed faces. "Well, maybe not."
"This is so easy," he shrieks minutes later, pouring himself a drink and flopping onto the sofa in the back lounge of their transit home. "Forty-five minutes, no pressure and we can be in bed by ten. In fact, I think I will go to bed." By 10.30. only the driver is awake, left sitting alone in the dark, tugging on a cigarette.

The tour bus hits the outskirts of Manhattan around midday Most of the inhabitants have been awake since seven this morning, drinking coffee and watching Lolita. The driver pulls in to the first truck stop of the day for brunch and a visit to the thrift store across the street for Halloween costumes. Rick opts for a vampire kit - a black cloak with red silk lining and a pair of fangs which he wears for the remainder of the day Tim and Mark are undecided. "What do you think of the ghost outfit? Totally see-through? That's what I thought."
By late afternoon, Tim and Rick are sitting in a cafe eating apple pie and mulling over the making of '1977'. "The thing is, we were dead confident the time," grins Tim. "We knew it was really go and it'd do well, because 'Angel Interceptor' and 'Girl From Mars' sold 80,000 copies each. He fiddles with his pie and looks at Rick.

"Yeah, but Tim was under a lot of pressure says the drummer, now devoid of facial wrinkles. "He was inside writing lyrics and me and Mark were playing in the snow."
"It was a completely insane three months," mumbles Tim. "We were only fucked up a couple of nights, though. What on? Ecstasy, acid...
"It took longer than the planned six weeks because we kept extending it. We weren't gonna let it go until we were completely happy Martin Carr was with The Boo Radleys in the next studio and he couldn't believe it when we actually finished the thing."
And when it went straight in at Number One?
"Well, better than that was the fact that it stayed in the charts for ages," says Tim. "Four months or something. I think people expected it to go straight in and out. The other good part was after it came out we start getting a lot more respect, we were taken more seriously 'Goldfinger' was a big turning point as well. We proved we could do proper music as well throw-away adrenalin pop.
"And you started having a bit more fun," offers Rick, tossing the empty pie box onto the next table and belching loudly.
"I always took it far too seriously," muses Tim. "That was my problem that's why I lost it for a while, but I'm enjoying it now. I'm gonna get wrecked tonight and have a laugh.

"Basically, looking back at the St of the year, we were very confused about the future. We thought we'd be finishing the year supporting Shed Seven. Thank God that hasn't happened. We're totally rock now and next year is going to be even better.

Rick and Tim head off down the street to their hotel. In several hours' time, at around five in the morning, Rick will have disappeared, Mark will be unconscious on a stool in an all-night bar and Tim will be so utterly wasted, he'll collapse on his his bed, throw up in his sleep and not realise until morning.

But take note: Ash can now class it as one mad night. Not just another day.

Story by GINA MORRIS

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