Every time the wind blew I almost threw up. I specifically said I didn't want the pigs' heads near me, but my instructions were completely ignored...
We'd been touring since the beginning of February: 60 shows straight. I come from Atlanta, Georgia, but parents are Anglophiles and they made me visit your country at a young age. Now I feel like we almost live here. But we like to work. We don't like to bullshit around, or waste time. We're a young band and in good physical health so that helps. It would be hard to maintain this sort of lifestyle if I were my dad's age.
We got to Glastonbury an hour before our set on the John Peel Stage on Saturday evening. We'd been playing in Scandinavia and travelling since 2am. I'd never been to a festival before and when we arrived, it looked like a massive refugee camp that people had paid to get into. We were staying in a tipi. I was up for bedding down in the dirt, but naturally, I'm really glad that I had the luxury of amenities backstage that ordinary campers didn't have access to. Still, I respect everything those people do to their bodies.
I'd also been to told except to expect the rain - and I have an aversion to bad weather generally. I didn't know whether I could handle it all. God - if he's out there - cleared the clouds for us and our set was great. But for the time, we'd augmented the stage with a set of pigs' heads on spikes; they smelt really bad and made me want to vomit. I was trying to be a trouper and not get mad, but the smell lingered on my stomach.
Before then, I hadn't ventured out of the backstage gates but, later, I went to see Amy Winehouse - I don't usually get excited about seeing bands but Amy makes me giddy - then to hang out and drop acid. I didn't have anything to do the next day, just jump on a plane and go home.
