55 mph: The speed of life between gigs
The road trip life often starts with a bit of absurdity. Back in 1997, I remember almost successfully being kidnapped by the Charlatans and taken on tour. They brought me aboard their tour bus, and as it pulled away, I genuinely thought we were heading to a hotel. It turned out, the crew responsible for the ruse was their late drummer, Jon Brookes. At the time, I felt a surge of flattered surprise that the band I adored so much would want me joining them for the adventure.
That feeling of being swept into something bigger is the essence of chasing music. I’ve chased this band across the West Coast more than once and caught them at festivals across the continent, proving that once is never enough when it comes to the dynamic world of touring. Though I rarely plan my itinerary around their schedule anymore, when their frontperson, Tim Burgess, hints at an unannounced North American tour, the calendar immediately locks in.
Touring, as Tim puts it, is a world unto itself. “The laws of regular life and physics don’t apply,” he explains. “For a month or so, while you live on a bus, it’s about Zen and the art of a 7-foot by 3-foot by 2-foot bunk, existing in your own world while the worlds of ten other people take place around you like a symphony.” It is a fascinating paradox: the crescendo of the show is followed by a steady daytime build-up, and much of life exists at a relaxed 55 miles an hour between gigs—a true world within a world.
The Charlatans recently returned to shore in September for a month-long tour supporting their excellent 2025 album, We Are Love, which featured a deluxe version with three remixes. This group boasts more than 35 years of touring experience, mastering the art of keeping audiences happy by playing favorites from across their 14 albums.
To thrive in this nomadic existence, you need more than just great music; you need a philosophy. It’s about shedding the unnecessary and embracing simplicity. For an extended stretch away from home and comfort, the rules of packing become philosophical as much as physical. Any extra must be jettisoned before take-off to ensure a stress-free existence.
My essential kit reflects this mindset. Audio gear is crucial, and I’ve settled on the AIAIAI TMA-2 Wireless Headphones, a practical choice that also happened to be a sentimental gift from Dev Hynes. Music players should be pure escapes; I want to be deep in the zone listening to Lambchop without constant notifications about car insurance renewals. This means embracing analogue tools like my old iPod—a faithful companion nearing the end of its road—and an old-school Cafetière to face the day.
Survival on the road also demands a certain kind of minimalist comfort. I’ve found that White Long-Sleeved T-shirts are the perfect solution for ease. For memory, I rely on analogue notebooks, acting as an external hard drive for lyrics and diary entries, because sometimes you need the quiet focus of pen and paper when the world is moving fast.
Even the most basic items take on a new meaning. Photos, especially those of my son, hold a special place; they are the anchors that connect the rapidly moving reality of touring back to the world I know. And for sleeping, I’ve learned the value of practicality—folding a memory foam pillow became a flex, proving that you are no stranger to the game.
Ultimately, the touring life, whether on a bus or navigating the highways, is about finding your center. It’s about balancing the spectacular chaos of performance with the quiet, practical necessities that allow you to exist fully in the moment, wherever the next gig takes you.
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