Once you pop, you can't stop

They haven’t got warts, personal hygiene issues or chemical paste for blood, but otherwise The Chalets have been doing a pretty decent Motorhead impression of late.
On the road non-stop since the release last October of their Check-In album, the Dubliners have steamrollered their way through Spain, Russia, Holland, Germany, Belgium, France, Austria, Italy, Slovenia, Switzerland, Sweden, the UK and America – either on their own or in the nefarious company of The Subways, The Cribs, Art Brut, Arctic Monkeys and Kaiser Chiefs, who irked a lot of other bands by asking The Chalets to support them on their recent European tour.
Now it’s no sleep ‘til Mullingar as they show the folks back home just how fearsome a perfect pop machine they’ve become. God only knows what sort of mindless hedonism will accompany the trek.
“Our heroin phase was last year, so, hardcore drinking,” deadpans Caoimhe “Pony” Derwin. “Most of it done by Paula who’s definitely our Lemmy.”
“In every interview we’ve done recently there’s been at least one mention of me being pissed every night,” rues Ms. Cullen or “Peepee” as she’s known to her chums. “Which I am, but only after we’ve played and there’s free beer begging to be drunk.”
A suite in the Betty Ford Clinic awaits. Despite being self-managed and on the prestigious but not exactly cash-rich Setanta label, The Chalets have played gigs and been places that other bands can only dream of. How come?
“When we gave up our day jobs we made the decision to grab whatever opportunities came along, even if they didn’t make immediate financial sense,” proffers their impressively bearded drummer Dylan. “What’s kept us afloat is the film and TV placement company we deal with in LA getting ‘Nightrocker’ and ‘Sexy Mistake’ on to Grey’s Anatomy. The sum involved isn’t huge, but it means we’ve been able to say ‘yes’ to all the various gigs we’ve been offered.’”
Including that seven-country romp with the Kaiser Chiefs who, it has to be said, went right down in my estimation when they grizzled about being pipped to the Mercury Music Prize by Antony & The Johnsons. Add in Ricky Wilson’s recent “We’re the best band in the world” comment and, well, I’m severely tempted to run amok at their upcoming Dublin Castle gig with an assault rifle.
“We’re playing at that too, so can you leave it ‘til later on in the evening?” Caoimhe pleads. “They’re actually very nice people who made sure we had everything we wanted. You could tell that they’ve been touring a long time, though, and have switched to professional mode rather than being the cheeky chappies they were a year ago. I think they’re bored of playing the same songs over and over and want to start work on the next record.”
“They’re at a level now where things are becoming intrusive,” proffers Dylan. “Ricky, in particular, can’t go anywhere without people reaching for their camera phones, which would get to you after a while.”
“Peanut, their keyboard-player, is a sweetheart,” Paula coos. “He told us that he listens to our album all the time in the car.”
So is that what booked them their place on the tour?
“No, what happened is that their manager really enjoyed a gig we did with The Cribs – who he also looks after – and recommended us to the Kaiser Chiefs,” Dylan divulges. “The first time we got to meet them was after the Meteors when they were in serious party mood and we ended up in Eamonn Doran’s dancing ‘til six o’clock in the morning.
“They also had We Are Scientists supporting them, who have to be the nicest people in rock ‘n’ roll. There was a great chemistry on that tour, which was down to none of the bands taking themselves too seriously.”
As heartwarming as these tales of inter-band bonhomie are, I’m contractually obliged to ask The Chalets about the people who won’t be receiving cards from them this Christmas.
“Kele from Bloc Party,” Paula volunteers.
Why?
“Because he’s an asshole! He’d been having some sort of spat with my boyfriend (Art Brut singer Eddie Argos) via-the television and the music press, which escalated one night when he came up to us in a bar and had a right go at Eddie. It ended with their manager, who used to be in Menswear, holding everybody apart.”
Oh to have been a fly on that particular pub wall. The last time hotpress hooked up with The Chalets, we were terribly jealous because they were about to nip over to Moscow for a show. How did they get on?
“Everybody was so enthusiastic,” Caoimhe gushes. “We had big men with beards moshing to us, which hadn’t happened before…”
“…or since,” says Dylan finishing off his bandmate’s sentence. “Enda, our guitarist, got it spot on when he said it looked as if the crowd had been shown an instructional ‘How To Behave At A Rock Gig’ video on the way in.
“We did a bizarre three-hour radio interview while we were there. They wanted to know all sorts of different things about Ireland, and then played us these Russian records that we had to comment on via-an interpreter. The show’s audience is mainly made up of 50-year-old housewives, so god knows how it went down.”
“Caoimhe made a new friend,” Paula giggles.
“Oh yeah, the guy with the big moustache who runs the station,” she shudders. “He sang me a Ukrainian love song and then, to make sure I got the meaning, pointed at his crotch.”
An even stranger sight awaited them when they went for a stroll around Red Square.
“We saw a monkey in a track-suit trying to take a Mars Bar out of a draw with mittens on,” Paula reveals. “Actually, there were two monkeys – one big, one small – and a hawk.”
Her drinking’s obviously worse than we thought. More monkey business will doubtless ensue in July when The Chalets return to the Russian capital.
“The plan really is that there’s no plan,” Dylan concludes. “We’re going to see where things take us, and have as much fun as possible along the way.”
Photos: Graham Keogh