Mogwai

Australian Dates - March 09

We're pleased to announce the following Australian dates for March next year. Perth tickets are already on sale other dates should be on sale November 21st;

March
03 - Brisbane, Tivoli
04 - Sydney, Enmore Theatre
05 - Melbourne, Forum
07 - Meredith, Golden Plains Festival
08 - Perth, International Arts Festival

 Zidane screening - Brooklyn, NY

The BAM cinema in Brooklyn, NY is screening Douglas Gordon's 'Zidane' for which we did the music over the next week that's from October 24th to October 30th. More details listed below:

Zidane: A 21st Century Portrait (2006) 90min
Fri, Oct 24—Thu, Oct 30
Featuring Original Music by Mogwai
Directed by Douglas Gordon and Philippe Parreno
BAMcinématek and Anthology Film Archives co-present the New York Theatrical Premiere of Zidane: A 21st Century Portrait, directed by acclaimed visual artists Douglas Gordon and Philippe Parreno and featuring a melancholic score by Mogwai. Spectacular footage of French soccer star Zinédine Zidane is transformed into an innovative film closer to visual art than sports documentary. For more information and to buy tickets, click the links below:
www.bam.org

We're Back

So we had our first rehearsal today since our dramatically ended US tour. All went fine i can happily report and we are in pretty good shape for the European tour tour starting next week. A big thanks to all who came to the American shows and we promise to play the cities we canceled as well as some other places next year. That is unless Sarah Palin gets elected which will result in an anti redneck boycott. SB

US/Canada dates cancelled

We are sad to announce that we have had to cancel our remaining American and Canadian shows due to ill health. Our other dates in Europe and Japan will be going ahead as planned. We will re-schedule the shows in 2009.

 Martin explains what happened

 I was taken into hospital last night almost immediately after the show at ATP. I've been having some problems with my pacemaker for the duration of the tour and it unfortunately culminated in me being sent to the emergency room. The doctors there initially thought i would have to have corrective surgery at a larger hospital nearer NYC but i have been given the all clear to travel home on the understanding that i go straight to my cardiologist on arrival back in Scotland.

Tbh, i'm really bummed about having to go home and feel for the folk who had bought tickets for our upcoming shows but i can honestly say it would be almost impossible for me to carry on at this point as my pacemaker has broken skin and the surrounding area has become infected.

Mogwai 

Tour Diary Part 7

Washington D.C. SHOWTIME!

Here we are in what is hopefully not going to become Sarah Palin’s new hometown. I suppose there’s a real chance of her becoming VP seeing as the Americans had a cocaine and alcohol cowboy in the whitehouse for the last 8 years. But enough of my amateur political commentary already. I’ve just noticed that the tour blog has an extreme lack of paragraph breaks and probably too many comma splices so I’ll just keep running with that particular ball for now.  The 9:30 is quite a good place to play, maybe the only place to play here because we always do this gig. There is lovely soup ready for us which means a great day will be had by all. Barry ‘non-sequiturs’ Burns here.  I see Esteban (our merch man) perform an uncanny imitation of a gorilla. We meet some baby cats outside the venue which alerts Martin to his stray cat surrogate father role. I’m not sure they enjoyed the Pepperoni pizza but beggars can’t be foodies. Clock goes forward and FB’s play an extremely loud set as John Cummings turns the PA speakers into weapons-grade flamethrowers for an hour. People scream. People scream for Mogwai actually. They can’t handle anymore “music” from two guys checking their emails live on stage. Psyche. I am referring to FB’s as FB’s from now on because I know that my internet savvy grandmother-in-law has been reading this very blog and it may have looked like I was cursing for the sake of it (hi Elizabeth!). It used to be the case that I could write anything online before I got married because my own grandmother has no idea what an internet is. Indeed, the last time I showed her photos on my laptop she kept saying in an annoyed manner, “What’s that wee fly on the screen?” referring to the mouse pointer. (Hi Gran! You won’t read this). Anyway, the show we played was really good and the longest show we’ve ever done, clocking in at 2 hours. Our fingers bleed, our ears ring and our now very tired and old bodies feel like it’s time to get the slippers on and the coal fire burning so that we can quickly fall asleep before the hell journey to NYC begins. And it’s just as we expected. Driving into New York from any direction is a terrifying and uncomfortable odyssey that no person should have to endure more than once. We are nearly thrown from our bunks on a few occasions due to the moon-like road surface and at one point it sounds like the trailer containing all the gear has broken off the back of the bus and gifted us a fantastic opportunity to finally do that Mogwai Unplugged record we’ve been dying to do for many years.  But all is good and we wake up most thankful, in the functioning city of New York……..midtown…..Oh well, you can’t win them all.  Midtown is not a great deal of fun. Nevertheless, we will seek and find a breakfast diner and have the first person we talk to say he has family in Glasgow, near the art school where my wife graduated from.  We go back to check that the sounds are ok at soundcheck and the sounds are just fine. Check. Matador takes a few of us  out for dinner. Only the most important ones of course, Me, Stuart, Dominic and even Simon Smith (Tour Manager) who always enjoys a free meal on the pretense that he is there on business to usher us around, making sure we are not late for the all important show. The Matador staff people are three sheets to the wind by the time we leave for the venue and the meal was very nice, thanks. I had lobster because when someone else rich is paying, you’ve GOT TO.  So to the gig. Quite good I thought, though it sounded as if there were 300 people there due to my in-ear monitor system blocking out most of the crowd noise. They are useful pieces of equipment and they often block out crowd talking during songs but they can also make it feel like a quarter empty cricket ground has just applauded you. I was informed after the show that the people were really into it after all.  I didn’t feel like socializing after the show much but I heard later that everyone in our band and crew that went to the afterparty at some bar called Darkroom arrived there and no one was there. So they went to Max Fish, which had been a Mogwai NYC local for 10 years and quickly things became drunky.  It’s the first time Ozzy (tech) and Foxy (Lights) have been to NYC and it sounds like they had a lot of fun and possibly too many drinks. They don’t look well in the morning but more of that in the next super exciting installment of Mogwai In America : The Quickening.

Tour Diary Part 6

We arrive in Dallas to the natural symphony of hot storm rain on our pale island skin. The hurricane is flirting with us but isn’t really up for going all the way. We find out that one of the guys who works here as crew was there when Dimebag Darrell from Pantera was shot dead at a concert in Ohio. Indeed this guy we met was shot 4 times in the leg too but survived. A legend no less. The theatre we play is old and has just been bought over a year ago by new folk who are extremely nice, good luck to them. I hear it was a porn cinema for 3 months too, by the way. We go and get some breakfast at what is supposed to be a legendary burger joint where I opt for coffee (which comes tepid) instead of the “cheeseburger salad” (???) and the rest of the boys get stuff they don’t like either, all served lukewarm. So I get dropped off at the hotel and I’m told I can go for a swim there so I get my trunks on and walk down to the “pool”. It’s shaped like a brand new avant garde letter of the alphabet and is thus completely useless for swimming in so I mope back up to the room, get washed and wait until I can get a lift back to the venue. We soundcheck and do the usual stroke inducing boring wait for the show to begin. I am having trouble remembering if this was a good gig or not…..did someone stagedive? I think they might have (I write this stuff a good few days after the event and my memory has more holes in it than Cummings’ and Braithwaite’s jeans combined).  So, the wind picks up a little and we get on our merry way to the wonderment of Atlanta, Georgia. It’s a long drive but Patrick Bane, our super-driver will get us into Atlanta by 2 or 3 pm tomorrow.

Atlanta = My good friend Henry from Chunklet and therefore Whirlyball, the sport of champions. Henry comes over to the hotel to say hi and to organise dinner at the Dreamland BBQ and then we'll go onto the Whirlyball game straight afterwards. Instead of staying in the hotel (where the receptionist looked puzzled when I said that Glasgow is in Scotland and he said “we don’t get many Scottish people here”) Henry kindly offers me a room at Chez Chunklet and I snap up the offer. It gets to 6 o’clock and we head over to Roswell, home of Georgia’s Whirlyball arena. Deerhunter offered us their van to take some of us over so a big thankyou to them. We arrive at the BBQ place to hungry Team Chunklet who have already ordered some of the tastiest food ever cooked. We quickly sit down and stuff our faces. I am not drinking any alcohol tonight because I want to beat Team Chunklet for once at Whirlyball.  This will not transpire in the end but I did score 7 goals out of all the games I played which is 7 more than last time yet still not good enough to get out of a 32-6 humping by Henry and his good for nothing cohorts. Ozzie is quite a sight to see playing Whirlyball. He doesn’t look where he is going and just smiles and laughs and crashes a lot much to the amusement of Ally and I.  John looks in extreme pain at one point and in the next few days we will witness a bruise on his leg that increasingly looks like a failed molestation by one angry Bruce Banner.  Anyway, a great night was had by all and it was time for me to go home and meet Henry’s amazing Labradoodle dogs, David Lee Roth (a mere puppy really) and Bun E. Carlos , watch them be total spongos for an hour and watch some more Metalocalypse. Then it’s off to bed bud Dave Lee Roth is constipated and keeps Henry, his wife Sarah and myself up to the wee hours so it’s time for the anti-dog earplugs to go in.  Next morning Henry goes to the gym and I go for a 30 minute super-swim which will completely ruin my legs for the next 5 days I reckon.  Afterwards we meet Fuck Buttons and Dominic for a fantastic breakfast that Henry insisted on having in his favourite place. It didn’t disappoint.  Before soundcheck, FB’s, Dominic and I are lucky enough to be taken to the Adult Swim HQ in downtown Atlanta where we meet Terry (a Whirlyball sage) who works there. We are shown an un-aired and rough episode of Aqua Teen Force which is a small coup and then given a tour and some goodies from the station. The owner comes out and meets us and says he is a fan of the band which is pretty cool really. After this it’s time to soundcheck. Yip. Sounds just fine. I find some rather large dead cockroaches in the dressing room which give me the fear and I even see a little baby one crawling up the fridge which is AWESOME.  So tonight, Henry is going to (as usual) introduce us and this time it’s as a German journalist traveling around the USA with Mogvai. It’s very funny and should be up on YouTube soon enough. The concert didn’t go as well however. The computers had a bit of a fit due to the heat and went all dizzy on us so we couldn’t play some songs. No matter though, there’s always the next album to tour.  After the show it’s a small soire with Henry et al and then a bus ride to Richmond, Virginia.

Here we are, never been here before. We are all extremely excited by the venue, which is an old theatre but has a great backstage area with a massive Jacuzzi and sauna that I pretty much go straight into in order to take the burning fire out of my legs from yesterdays exercise. I could hardly get into my bunk last night from the terrible pains.  Not much to tell until after the show (not a great one from my point of view) where FB’s and our goodly selves got almost naked and jumped back into the Jacuzzi. There were beers and pizza slices making it look like some sort of Chicago frat boy party from the early to mid 1980’s.  Back to the bus and onwards to D.C. for a show at our now very familiar 9:30 club.

Album exclusive

You can listen to our album 'The Hawk Is Howling' on our Myspace player right now. On you go then...
www.myspace.com/mogwai

Batcat Video

Tour Diary Part 5

Next day: Tuscon, Arizona showday. We’ve played here before. It’s a big walk-up-ticket town because if it’s not then there are going to be 210 people at the show. I went to the hotel which had its charms, namely the towels with fabric conditioner on them which daintily spread the water over my big frame instead of making me actually dry. I quite enjoyed how the shower curtain and the extra shower curtain that stopped the window blinds from being soaked caressed my skin every time I moved a limb. Disgusting. We would go and eat there later just to see how quirky the food was…….turns out that they put a mashed hundredweight of raw garlic into Dom’s pasta thus rendering him unsociable for the rest of the night. We watched an incessant lightning storm roll in with Fuck Buttons and saw some crickets. After FB’s played, Ben was presented with his birthday cake and we gave him a nice bottle of Patron Tequila.  Quite an uneventful desert sojourn in the day-time but the show was actually really good, loads of people turned up in the end and afterwards we went to the same place where showers and dinner was served to watch FB’s do a DJ set. It turned out that I ended up doing it instead, I’m such a decks-hog, it’s embarrassing. About 1 people danced. Result. The night was long and arduous and tomorrow we would drive to the hellhole that is El Paso for a terrible day off which was completely depressing. My eggs benedict saved the day really. I’ll say this for the Americans, they are pretty good at the food, even the really crappy stuff is usually ok. The service is about 30 or 40 times better than in the UK and possibly 100 times better than in Scotland itself. Always a tapwater when you sit down, nice touch but very hard to find the same garnish in the restaurants and cafes on our horrible little island. Now it's off to Austin to play at Stubb’s BBQ joint.

The heat here in Austin is matched probably only by waterskiing on the lake of fire that those Christian sinners are always harping on about and it’s quite difficult to understand how anyone can cope with it at all. The humidity is awful too but we’re given a reasonably A/C’d dressing room to relax in. The hotel we went to for showers was overrun with people who’d been evacuated from Houston due to Hurricane Ike Turner. They looked bored and restless and a few of their pet dogs were left in tiny cages in 98 degree heat on the back of their pick-up trucks, much to our horror.  Ally pointed out that a lot of the time they just leave their pets when they have to be evacuated so I suppose these are the lucky ones after all.  Some of the Explosions in the Sky laddies come down to the show to say hi and the night slowly but surely becomes extremely messy. Ally, Ozzy and I went to a bar and stayed right up until the moment where I saw a large cockroach that wore an iPod and I left in abject horror. To The Bus! I remember eating 2 excellent hot dogs and then bed……and eventually people coming into the bus to play AC/DC at about 7:30 in the morning. The next thing I know, somebody is trying to get into my bunk, so with the reaction of a dangerous wildcat I push as hard as I can at the flailing arms that are trying to displace me from my humble habitat. We’ll see who has bruises in the morning, chump. I hear stories the next morning of wild parties in beekeeper suits and fire jugglers of great quality. People look rough and I fear the tour has reached the point-which-has-no-name, yet people look knowingly at each other. This rite of passage is about to be conquered or lost in the next few days. Or is it just the tequila talking? Next stop: Dallas. The hurricane maybe?

Tour Diary Part 4

The show was really quite good in San Francisco apart from the usual idiots who are afraid to keep their mouth shut for 10 seconds in case they start having an introspective tour of duty into their own minds and then nervous breakdown. I wonder at what point in our career they might realise that we’re playing a concert, with musical instruments, concentrating quite hard, trying to play well and that we don’t much have anything to say to, “Woooooo Hoooooo I’m alive!” or whatever ultimately pointless B.S. they excrete from their idiotic mouths. But anyway, we met some nice folks in San Francisco tonight but I think I’m glad I don’t live here because of the omnipresent aforementioned human urine scent.

Drive to Los Angeles for a show at the Wiltern. This is a very fine looking theatre indeed and has been extremely well maintained. What a shame they let a bunch of manky Scottish Neanderthals like us in the building. Ally Christie, one of our fellow countrymen though citizen of L.A, takes Barry and Stephen (our lovely Sound Engineer) to a macro-biotic restaurant where very healthy food is consumed with gusto then it’s back off to the venue to get ready for a show. This show was a bit of a stinker we thought and the tourettes victims were out in force. One exceptionally stupid man shouted for a song he happened to like halfway through a song we were playing. I do wonder what he thought this would achieve……let’s stop playing this and start doing requests. Aye. We don’t do requests, not because we’re arrogant but because we’re literally unable to play most of the songs we haven’t practised for the tour. We’re really quite amateurish and not afraid to flaunt it. After the gig I met up with nice, drunk Jim Putnam from the Radar Bros. and also the Scottish film director David MacKenzie where we discuss making a movie about the sad and hopeless plight of Fuck Buttons. Keanu Reeves and Alex Winter will star in this tragic film. It will be called Ben and Andrew’s Bogus Journey and will go straight to DVD I hope. Seeing as it's Ben from Fuck Buttons' birthday tomorrow i feel it is time to let the less humour-savvy of you know that we actually love Fuck Buttons as people and as musicians, just in case we upset anyone. I saw someone thought it was serious on our forum and my brain did a 360 degree spin of disbelief.

Tour Diary Part 3

Ah Vancouver, there’s nothing quite as awe-inspiring and life affirming as stepping off the tour-bus and seeing 2 people emerging from a huge dustbin. We even had a special guard to look after the bus while we were away from it. So, the day consisted of being jealous of Dominic while his brother whisked him away for a lovely day while we wasted precious time by playing Guitar Hero in the dressing room. People loved Fuck Buttons’ set and it made me wonder how brutally strong the LSD must be in this city. I mean, some guy shouting into a children’s toy while another mentally ill person screams monkey noises into a cheap effects pedal really just isn’t enjoyable unless you’ve been fed an heroic dose of hallucinogenic drugs. Our show was really very good, we thought. The crowd were amazing and totally different from Vancouver audiences of the past (who SUCKED). Best show of the tour so far. And now for a great monster of a drive to San Francisco (1000 miles).

Long, boring and internet-free journey on the bus so Barry and Foxy (lighting designer) decide to buy some “40’s” at a truck stop halfway through the journey. Look it up dudes, it’s big bad bottles of booze for gangstas like us. We arrive at the hotel at about 9 pm and go out for more drinks, which turns out to be a stupid idea as usual. A crack lady kept asking us for money and when we didn’t give her any more she told us we would die tomorrow. Nice.

Next day, is show-day in San Fran. This is a day I won’t forget for two reasons. Reason 1: Simon our tour manager drags us off to a Government building so we can pick up US Social Security cards meaning we don’t have to pay a load of Tax to the US Government. However, there was no mention that a social security office in America is a terrible, depressing and possibly violence prone place to be and furthermore, no mention that a San Francisco social security office is about the most mental place you can visit outside of Basra. The place smelled of immensely potent urine (not good with hangover) and nearly everybody looked like extras from the Thriller video. I saw a woman who looked like Flava Flav’s mum. 2 ghastly hours later and the whole Shitnami is over and we receive an email from Craig at Rock Action Records with a link to The Sun newspaper which is Reason 2: They are running a story related to this very tour diary where we joked that we’d release Rangers player’s addresses if Batcat doesn’t go top 10. Apparently Rangers Football Club are “actively investigating” the matter. This perhaps explains why we’ve noticed dodgy looking folk in our audiences attending the last few shows wearing bowler hats, dignified brown brogues and orange sashes.  They didn’t look like Mogwai fans to us and we’ve just found a hidden camera in the Mogwai portable tour chapel, which we feel may be the property of a certain humourless football club in Glasgow.

Batcat EP out today

Hallo,

Our new single is out today. It's called Batcat. You can buy it on CD, Vinyl or download from all the usual places I'd imagine or you can just click on the link to our shop and buy it there or here

Tracklist is;

1. Bat Cat
2. Stupid Prick Gets Chased By The Police And Loses His Slut Girlfriend
3. Devil Rides

Tour Diary Part 2

Seattle Showday. The bus arrives after a drive on what seems like the close-up surface of Willem Dafoe’s face. We’re playing the bigger version of the venue we usually play called the Showbox and the lights we ordered for Portland came here by mistake so this is the first day that we’re going to look as good as Van Halen. After an eternity of waiting around and Skype-ing our beloved wives and girlfriends, it’s time to eat some weird Indian food and then play the show. The introduction of the show is Ozzy (our guitar tech and accomplished metal singer) introducing the band in a Bruce Dickinson war-cry which actually turns out to be the highlight of the concert. We played so badly and even had to just stop a song mid-flight because the power went down on one side of the stage. Technical problems were legion and it certainly wasn’t a modern day Last Waltz due to our absolutely amateurish renditions of songs we actually wrote. But it doesn’t matter because everyone is very drunk and whoops and hollers, especially during the really quiet bits and you know how much we love that shit. We have started selling pre-release versions (limited to 200) of our Tour Split Single with Fuck Buttons and the first 23 sold out in mere minutes. We’re kind of regretting we said limited to 200 now. Could have made nearly enough to hire bodyguards to keep Fuck Buttons out of our dressing room. Honestly, those dudes keep trying to steal our laptops and fruit bowls. I saw one of them admiring our full drum kit at soundcheck because they can only afford one drum for their so called “music”. John Cummings did their sound again, he put loads of Alvin and The Chipmunks style pitch-shifting on the singing and played fart noises through the PA to make them sound like a proper comedy act instead of the sub-par Bill Bailey rubbish they’re trying to emulate at the moment.

It's a trip to Victoria, British Columbia in Canada tonight. We get to the ferry port in the morning only to have missed the ferry we were booked onto so we wait for 2 hours, eat some breakfast food in a café that has a menu so un-varied that you imagine even Josef Fritzl would have been shocked at it’s parochial non-exotic nature. I wonder what he fed those poor children. Sausages? After a sort of 1960’s Scottish island holiday pastiche ferry to the place where we are playing we set up the gear on a stage, which will test our crew’s Tetris abilities TO THE MAX. Dinner tonight is average Vietnamese food for some of us and I haven’t asked the others what they had yet. God, sorry for being so boring but not much has happened today other than the fact that I (Barry) ate some sandwiches from the dressing room only for Dominic to come in and say, “Don’t touch the meat in the sandwiches, my (Canadian) brother just told me there’s been a huge recall after 12 people died from eating meat from the largest distributor of sandwich meat in Canada and the best part is that the symptoms don’t appear for 70 days”. This means I have 69 and a half days to live coupled with what feels like Shingles on my back . Waiting, waiting, waiting for the concert to begin and waiting to die in less than 3 months. Magic. Anyway, to the concert. It’s one of those venues/towns where we’ve never been before and everyone is talking really loudly so we do what we always do when this happens, we have a laugh and forget about it. I remember Stuart saying, “Could the people who are jumping about in their moshpit please stop annoying the people around you, this is not a Green Day concert”. I don’t know what his problem with Green Day is, mad weirdo.  Fuck Buttons have decided to pick on me because I showed them this tour diary and they have declared war. I can’t tell you what they did because it’s far too disgusting and my dad might see this. Maybe the video of it will show up on the FB’s website? So war it is. In revenge for tonight’s show I have instructed John to mute their instruments while they play and instead play Mulligan and O’Hare ditties through the PA. That’ll learn them up. John worked out what day I will die of time-delay food poisoning and it’s coincidentally my birthday. My birthday determines my deathday, as Metallica might say. Onto the bus and off to Vancouver.

Album pre-order offer & new store

Hiya,

We're pleased to announce we're running a special offer for those pre-ordering 'The Hawk Is Howling' from our online store. People buying the album on ANY format (take your pick of regular CD, Vinyl or the ltd. CD/DVD format) from the online shop can get hold of an exclusive t-shirt and the 'Batcat' EP at a discount.

Check out our new looking store and pre-order the album now by clicking here.

Love,

Mogwai

USA Tour Diary pt1

Hello folks, here’s a fresh new instalment of the utterly captivating story of living on the road with Mogwai in the USA. Don’t expect it to be the absolute truth but do expect some witty vignettes related to our musical and non-musical experiences in buses, hotels, venues and crack dens. Here we go with the tour.

Portland, Oregon. Day before the gig. We somehow manage to stay in a novelty/rude hotel called the Jupiter Hotel, which has barstaff that can only be described as the most discourteous and uncivil people that have ever had the pleasure of serving me 6 pints of beer. I amused Fuck Buttons (our support band for the tour) with my comment card left at reception describing how to improve the hotel experience. I remember commenting that pumping out 100dB acid jazz through the hotel PA system at 8 o’clock in the morning was not a top-notch method of enticing guests back. I also was disappointed that the lollipop at the side of my bed turned out to be a rubber sheath for acts of extreme and brutal violence. Later, we met up with some local friends and went to a great, great bar for a tumultuous and dangerous drinking spree which ended up with drunken burgers being rammed into mouths and the potential for significant vomiting the next morning. Drunkly, we ploughed back to the Hotel de Dilettante for a last minute molesting by the egregious barstaff before a night of beautiful slumber began, interrupted only by snippets of ear-splitting jazz-funk throughout the early morning.

Next Morning. Potential realised as almost everyone looked like they’d been chased relentlessly during the night by Gary Glitter down Elm Street. It was time for one of Weird Portland’s saving graces, the Stumptown Coffee house. This coffee is by far the best thing to come out of America since liquid cheese and has helped many people in Portland to enjoy their retirement at the age of 24. It’s time to say hi to our excellent road-crew as they set up our gear for the first time in this country, hoping that one of them hasn’t forgotten the Hammond Organ which will be suspended from the lighting rig for Barry to make his now trademark big entrance. We wait for many long hours until Fuck Buttons play with our very own John Cummings doing their sound engineering duties, which means that soon this band will have halved their fan-base through profound deafness. And now, we take to the stage, dressed only in vermillion, panting, eager to please this crowd of ravenous, atavistic beasts with our powerful sonic booms. The kids go wild, rioting and looting the surrounding areas following the concert. What this means in Portland is that 7 comic shops get burgled.  One last thing, if our single “Batcat” fails to reach the Top 10 in the UK, we will proceed to release one home address per week of a Glasgow Rangers football player. Nacho was the warning shot, wait till we get round to your first team players. Put a Donk on it.

Another leak....

Dear dear me, it seems that there has been a second unfortunate Mogwai related leak this week. This was forwarded to us by an anonymous source, it is the unedited Pitchfork.com review of The Hawk Is Howling.

Mogwai: The Hawk Is Howling (Matador/Wall Of Sound) rating 4.9

I’m Jim Morrison, I’m Dead
   It’s telling that the Glaswegians in Mogwai titled this, the first track
from the band’s new LP The Hawk Is Howling, after poet and filmmaker James
Douglas Morrison.
   There is a yearning and loneliness in the track, which builds slowly and
deliberately (albeit with more than an obvious nod in its introduction
toward The Cure’s 1980 single “A Forest”; this is most notable at 00:34,
00:51, 1:17 and 1:34 into the piece). It seems a sure bet that this
generally happy-go-lucky Scottish combo had to engage some serious soul
searching in order to come up with a title for the track that reflected the
heaviness and overall mood they were attempting to put forth. And, yes, they
almost succeed.
   The problem is, of course, that Mogwai, while attempting to parlay an
admiration of the most significant American artist of the 20th century into
a values-based cauldron of shared association, has succeeded in only playing
dress-up. Further, it’s exceedingly culturally harmful to left-handedly
besmirch the legacy of persons such as Morrison. When one speaks his name or
thoughtfully considers him, the effect is one of a total reaction. That is,
Jim Morrison is a complete and fully realized concept. Were someone to come
across this track who is, perhaps because lacking in years, education and
(admittedly) taste, not accustomed to or fully informed of Morrison’s
legacy, then the word-association experienced by said person is one wherein
Mogwai enters the consciousness before, or instead of, images of Morrison
himself.
   It’s a clever attempt at piggybacking which, were it not for the
gatekeepers of the flow of information, has all the potential of a
subversive political campaign but, like all campaigns of such a nature, is
ultimately a case of the emperor wearing no clothes. This is a clever game
to play by this group of roustabouts who hail from a land that never had an
emperor in the first place. (Note: While Scotland had no emperor it enjoyed
several centuries of rule by kings and queens, the most recent of which was
James VI, who acceded to the throne in 1567 — a mere 400 years before James
Douglas Morrison (AKA “Jim Morrison”) released a pair of best selling LPs
(The Doors and Strange Days) with his own short-lived pop combo.)
   All of which is to say:  look Mogwai, we accept that you love America
and her cultural heroes (a passion of yours that we have diligently noted
over the years, beginning with the fact that your band name was chosen from
what is probably our most beloved children’s film, the Joe Dante/Steven
Spielberg epic from 1984, Gremlins). But it is intolerable what you have
done with this track. It’s admirable that you have dedicated your adult
lives to musically exploring the metaphysical proposition of the meaning of
life (as evidenced by the slow-paced and, honestly, creepy and navel-gazing
music showcased here), but it’s another thing entirely to attempt to behead
the memory of a people’s most galvanizing artist and to place your personal
apprehensions within his skin. This activity is more than the aforementioned
window dressing:  it is barbaric.
Gordon Lamb

Batcat
   “This music is so good, I want to piss in its mouth.”
   Really, that’s what it’s all about. You can bop us over our heads with
your rolled-up MFA, or debate whether a “song” is really a “song” if there
isn’t any “singing” involved. But sometimes you find a five-second passage
of music that’s so damned good, you want to turn it into a person, pry that
person’s jaws open, and take a nice, long piss into its mouth out of love.
What makes Mogwai such a powerhouse is that it can take those five seconds
and stretch them out for however long it pleases. To keep pissing for that
long, you need to drink a lot of watery domestic. But it’s worth it.
   “Batcat” clocks in at a modest 5:25, abbreviated by Mogwai standards.
Like a drunken, awkward sexual exploit in the back of Weekend Dad’s Corolla,
it packs a lot of rage and misery into those five minutes. The guitar stings
and squawks like some sort of poisonous bird. The drums pound as though
they’re beating someone. The bass is both monolithic and serpentine, like an
ancient Grecian pyramid slithering through an exurban daffodil garden. Even
by workout standards, these workouts are pretty intense. The beat stops. The
bass rumbles. We take a quick break for some kind of sports drink, and then
it’s back into the deeply erotic fray. This music squishes traitors like
millipedes. Then it pisses in their little mouths, so that the circle of
piss can continue.
   Sometimes it sounds like Van Halen. Sometimes it sounds like jazz or
Rhys Chatham or Branca. Actually, it sounds like all of those things at
once, recorded onto a cassette tape that’s been dropped in a toilet, dragged
around by a motorcycle, set on fire, and taught a lesson in “rock dynamics”
by a college sophomore who never takes off his shirt because he has
embarrassing tattoos.
   When I was a kid, my brother and I had a boom box with high-speed
tape-to-tape dubbing. The idea was that you could make a quick copy of a
tape at twice the speed if both of the tapes went really fast. We would get
one of those adapters that allowed you to play your CD player through the
tape deck in your car, stick it in the boom box, and record CD’s onto a tape
that was running at double speed. The resulting tape of the CD would be
really slow — that’s what someone must have done to make the tape mentioned
above.
   Really, words don’t do this shit justice. You can talk about music all
you want, but I think it’s because you’re a fucking loser who doesn’t have
what it takes to find a really good piece of music and piss in its mouth.
“Batcat” will put you in your place.
Emerson Dameron


Danphe And The Brain
   The likelihood of serious dental work increases when you blow off (or,
in the indie world, can’t afford) yearly cleanings. There is talk of
advances in modern dental practices — lasers, space age polymers, whatever —
but at the end of the day, the process and end result are the same: you get
a cavity and the dentist fills it.
   Dental schools offer cheap work, but everyone with half a brain knows
that the risk of some hideous fuckup increases exponentially with such
visits. Medical tourism, too, is a shady alternate option — go to Thailand,
this one cabbie always tells me, and get cheap bridgework and hookers. Two
great tastes!
   Most everyone I know chooses to stay close to home, endure the pain, and
get the shit over with. See, that’s the thing — pain. It’s never about the
craftsmanship behind the work, which, if you think about it, is pretty
mind-boggling. I mean, these tiny spots of enamel are rotted out, and your
dentist, bless him, gets in there with a spinning diamond-tipped drill and
doesn’t fuck you up. All that precision is lost in the Vicodin aftermath.
   Yet, in the event of a body being identified by dental records, the
process is about particulars. Plastic filling compounds will signify a more
modern era than gold, you know?
   So the bleeps and bloops that festoon “Danphe And The Brain” serve to
pull me away from Mogwai’s prescription craftsmanship. Those little skitters
sprinkled atop the majestic post-whatever instru-guitar drone would have
made me think my CD was skipping if this was five years ago. (Okay, okay, if
it was last Monday, and my friends and I were sitting on my smoky Allston
back porch listening to a copy of the song, followed by some of Neil
Hamburger’s prank phone calls and Roadsteamer’s newest — y’know,
theoretically.) They draw attention away from the song itself, which would
be just fine (say that as morosely as you can: just fine) without the
distraction in the first place. It’s like they make me wonder if this
filling is a temp that’s gonna fall out and be replaced with whatever future
hip signifiers the next time there’s a checkup.
Michael T. Fournier


Local Authority
   Mogwai wisely plays to their strengths on the pensively evocative “Local
Authority.” Vibrato guitar sets sail upon a languid shoal of electric piano
and brushed drums, painting a picture in the listener’s mind as vivid and
stark as any ECM album cover from the mid-seventies. Eschewing the
cataclysmic blasts favored by Mono, who would have gone nuclear three
minutes in, Mogwai doggedly maintains the supple flow, gently piling upon
simple melodies, creating a heaving lattice of sadness and regret. A searing
Fripp-like strain lurking just beneath the water’s edge threatens to erupt,
but it remains held in check, like a monster from childhood teasing from the
ebbing darkness of memory. Mogwai proves yet again that minimalism need not
be chained to the rock of simplicity. (Maserati, take note.)
   Despite its austere and understated trappings, “Local Authority” hints
at a profound complexity by constructing a seemingly placid environment that
nonetheless compels listeners to confront their demons. This is a dark cool
place unknown. We float upon the reeds, a hand skimming the water, our minds
ruing our absolute insignificance. With a sputtering torch and sheer will,
Mogwai deftly guides us through this murky place. At journey’s end, we are
renewed.
Chris Arrison   


The Sun Smells Too Loud
   Then we come to “The Sun Smells Too Loud.” Allow me to write that again,
more slowly, with plenty of space between the words.
   “The   Sun   Smells   Too   Loud.”
   Does Mogwai try to annoy me? Are they making a concerted effort to get
on my nerves? If it’s not the world’s longest running track record for
god-awful cover art (sorry, assuredly huge name in the field), it’s song
handles like this. Just when I thought the septic tank had run dry with the
likes of “Glasgow Mega-Snake” and “Folk Death 95” from 2006’s Mr. Beast (and
don’t get me started on that album title, oy vey!), the post-rock poets
pinch out this turd.
   Onto the tune itself … it is fantastic! Beginning with the lifted intro
— the synth beat to the 1981 new wave hit “Kids In America” by Kim Wilde —
the song quickly sways into an almost gentle circular pattern with a
speaking guitar line that has generous amounts of Verlaine-ish sheen. There
is no quiet/loud/quiet dynamic to speak of, and I think it no accident that
this particular track lays at the middle of the album. What we have here is
the gyroscopic center, twirling with confidence, never reaching beyond its
grasp, and keeping all in its orbit precisely in place.
   When deconstructing the piece and paying close attention to the spacing,
the layers, and the notes, one can’t help but agree with all the
long-running rumors, gossip, and innuendo that certain members of Mogwai, if
not all, are affiliated with the occult and/or worship Satan directly. And I
don’t mean that silly American Midwest teenage Goth kind of stuff. We’re
talking the ancient European creepiness that can only be found in the likes
of Scotland.
   Like any brainwashing organization worth its salt, Mogwai has employed
“love bombing.” They coat the intended victim — I mean, listener — with
waves of glorious adoration to weaken him, leaving him defenseless and
accessible to any and all manner of sick intentions. Then, bamn!, before you
know it, you’re on the street earning money for the kings any way you can.
   So there you have it:  “The Sun Smells Too Loud” is a pleasant, yet not
revolutionary addition to the Mogwai cannon. And I didn’t even mention how
horribly racist the lyrics are.
Billy Carter


King’s Meadow
   By the time The Hawk Is Howling finally meanders on to track six, the
listener is made to feel like a victimized alter boy suffering under the
eager, moistened hands of a serial pedophile priest:  “Oh wonderful. This
again?” Once more, Mogwai doesn’t miss a trick, since, it would seem, they
only have one: squeezing every last drop out of long, laboriously tortured
under-chords and notes even Codeine was wise enough to avoid.
   “King’s Meadow” (a Dev Hynes cover, by the way) is yet another reliably
slow, trudging and labored patience-tester; in other words, this Scottish
band’s stock and trade. It’s amazing, however, the lengths Mogwai will go to
bore the living shit out of you. For instance, nine minutes of this
14-minute song is the sound of a feather duster being brushed across a
Formica table ... slowly. Oh yes, that sound in the lower register is a
lifelike 12” dildo being hit against a snare. Genius, to be sure.
But did this charisma-killing track really warrant the royal clusterfuck of
interloping guest musicians and soundboard gimmicks? Is “King’s Meadow” any
better with Conor Oberst on the lute-o-phone, Ryan Adams molesting a
Theremin, or that one chick from Tilly and the Wall tapping-dancing Morse
code on the hood of an Aston Martin Vanquish? And seriously, comedian
Michael Ian Black (!) on dog whistle??? I know these Mogwai scamps enjoy
wasting precious studio time and stacks of Matador’s money, but c’mon! This
is the kind of decadence even Kevin Shields would find shameful.
   Ultimately, “King’s Meadow”, like most Mogwai songs, is best listened to
while sleeping, with the volume turned all the way down, and the stereo as
far away from you as humanly possible — perhaps in the back of a flatbed
pick-up truck speeding west into the night (as long as you’re safely in the
east).
Tony King


I Love You, I’m Going To Blow Up Your School
   The seventh track, “I Love You, I’m Going to Blow Up Your School” makes
two promises. The first is that Mogwai has fallen deeply in love with you.
The second is that it will prove this love by destroying your school.
   The first promise is trite — we’ve all heard, “I love you,” any number
of times. But only my girlfriend has heard those words combined with a
pledge to bomb a high school full of guidance counselors hell-bent on
convincing their students that it’s somehow taboo to date a 38-year-old man.
   Like all Mogwai tracks, the song has no lyrics to express the exquisite
sorrow of forbidden love, but the sentiment is clear. Through its
seven-and-a-half minute length, a slow dirge of persecution — a love
oppressed by society’s cruel overlords — gives way to an explosive triumph —
the victory of a man who was once a target of derision by ageist tormentors.
This is storytelling. And one could not find a story of this gravity outside
the bloodstained pages of my personal notebook (which I carry with me at all
times). Thus, I decided to overlook the song’s myriad flaws and mark this as
my favorite.
Brendon Lloyd


Scotland’s Shame
   There are two reasons why I like this song.
   The first reason grows straight out of a worsening problem in the music
with which we are assaulted with on a daily basis. (I should note here that
I will simply use the term “music” in this review … no time for useless
genre struggles.) Plagiarism is the largest, slowest moving fish in a tiny
critical barrel. Even so, the mileage will never top out for this venerable
punching bag. Ripping off other artists can be conflicting — I have no bones
about it if the artist does something catchy or well written with the source
material. But I get pissed off when the offending party appears to boast a
presumptuousness of delusional, wholly inaccurate ingenuity. As I type these
words, there are plenty of these assholes wasting our air.
   Not only have Mogwai ripped off no one but themselves, but they’ve
managed to once again adjust the formula one-eighth of a centimeter in the
right direction so that The Hawk is Howling could elicit the tiniest bit of
melancholy from an asshole’s asshole. If you’ve had a very, very fucking bad
afternoon — nerves worn totally raw, confusion, regret, stress, and all of
that crap — it’s the perfect alternative to a REAL emotional holocaust,
like, say, Tim Hardin’s “It’ll Never Happen Again.”
   So while I can veil the first reason I like this song in the pleasure
derived from NOT hearing another group of disrespectful fucknuts in their
early-20’s unknowingly raping the worth out of someone else’s previous
brilliance (or mediocrity) and calling it their own, the truth lies
elsewhere.
   “Scotland’s Shame” will save lives.
   How? Well, because the song is a Mogwai 101 concoction —devoid of
vocals, building on accomplished, minor-key retread repetition until the
volume and density reach one of the band’s trademark stopping points between
“not-too-much-going-on” and “balls-out-bulldozing-almost-metal.” Thus, the
pleasantly inoffensive, just-sad-enough simplicity of the song will never
encourage an unstable nut job to grab the nearest high-powered rifle and
scale a water tower … like an copy of Tim Hardin 2 might.
   And so, we come to the second reason I like this song, for which I’ve
decided employ a touch of my soon-to-be-murmured-about Mogwai Fan Fiction!
So, what’s up with the title of the album, The Hawk is Howling? Is this the
next instance of a band strapping a saddle onto the dead horse (pun
intended!) of zoological/biological source material for the creative
process? Guess again, assholes! For that easy fix, you’ll have to wait two
minutes for Kristen Schaal to form a band (or walk into any local club
tonight).
   Don’t get me wrong. I am a fervent animal lover, and I regard nature as
something useful for certain forms of creativity. But for fuck’s sake, can
we give the shit a goddamned rest when it comes to music? That’s exactly
what the members of Mogwai were thinking when they cooked up the concept
behind these four words! Momentarily forgetting that they themselves are
named after a fake animal, the Scots devised a subtly satirical attack upon
this insufferably irritating trend.
   When compared to a grackle or a female cardinal, a hawk might be
considered dignified and beautiful. But when placed among its predatory
contemporaries, this raptor becomes the Wal-Mart of Order Falconiformes. One
doesn’t have to look far to witness the opportunistic and lazy practices of
a red-tailed hawk as it circles above a city park or a Food Not Bombs co-op.
Go back to the country!
   Mogwai have devalued the faux-naturalist naming process by utilizing
what is essentially a glorified crow. On top of that, they have punished the
animal and further deconstructed the trend by suggesting an unnatural and
demeaning sound. Hawks don’t howl! You know what howls? Dirty feral dogs,
Diamanda Galas, cats on the way to the vet, Bigfoot and most whores.
   We can only hope that Mogwai’s pointed spoof discourages a few
“creative” types from naming a band, song or album title after something
that shits outdoors.
Andrew Earles


Thank You Space Expert
   The penultimate track, “Thank You Space Expert,” begs the question:
Thanks for what? Precise coordinates to the Listless Nebula?
   In this seven-and-a-half minute collect call from Glasgow, you can
practically hear Mogwai absently strike their guitars, glockenspiels and
who-diddly-dang-bangles with one hand, while gathering coats and galoshes
for the hard slog home with the other. It is this lack of focus and exigency
that constrains what could have been another triumph for the lads. Instead,
“Thank You Space Expert” casts the listener adrift in an aimless orbit,
leaving him anticipating a thunderous clang that never comes.
   That’s a shame. Because three minutes in, had Mogwai brought the noise,
I would have high-fived everyone in the room and phoned my father for the
first time in six years. Alas, the band squanders the opportunity for Sturm
und Drang grandeur, opting for a threadbare melody that my asthmatic niece
could have conceived on recorder (and she’s missing an index finger!) “Thank
You Space Expert” probably should have spent more time in the practice space
asserting itself — demanding a tempo shift, electric saw solo, or something
else to distinguish it in the musical cosmos. Because in space, everyone can
hear you yawn.
Christopher Arrison


The Precipice
   Life is a highway, and Mogwai will ride you all night long.
   The journey, though, is one that some of us may find all too familiar.
In their quest to show us the epic, the immortal and the undeniably
timeless, they show us only the death already pulling at their macerated,
scrawny frames, their vision failing, testicles sagging in underwear washed
a few too many times, a thin feculent dribble sliding down their quavering
assflesh — a lifetime spent in pursuit of mediocrity.
   As the guitars curlicue around the pounding of mannish tom-toms like the
garland of graying pubic hair around your uncle’s boner, Mogwai offer you a
lollipop and the promise of videogames, the ghost of Slint dulling your
senses into a glassy-eyed hypnosis, until you realize that Mogwai are
fucking you, fucking you, fucking you. You look behind you, and there they
are, laughing and pushing, delighting in ravaging your hitherto exit-only
shitpipe with what you realize is essentially just the Cliff’s Notes to an
Ash Ra Tempel track, only without the transcendence, the magic, or even the
ability to distract you from the dull thud, thud, thud, that is steadily
building, until you yawn and mention to said uncle, “Who the fuck listens to
‘Foreplay’ without ‘Long Time’? Can I go home now? I want to go play some
video games.”
   And in that moment, their lusty conquest loses its drive, and it’s just
another joyless hump on a Friday night with Mogwai desperately pushing its
fading erection, hoping you won’t notice it’s got all the consistency of
rotting tapioca, until they just decide to pull their pants up and go home,
wiping their spent privates sheepishly and grumbling, “Let’s not tell
anybody about this, okay?”
   The track is called “The Precipice.” Don’t forget to take a running
start, Mogwai.
Eran Greenberg

Jetlag and Japan

 I woke up on the tour bus in Holland this morning at the thoroughly ungodly hour of 6am thanks to the battering my body clock took on Barry and i's 3 day trip to Japan to do press for our soon to be released album "The Hawk Is Howling". Much thanks to the lovely people at Hostess Records who are putting the record out there for looking after us really well. The most memorable moment was probably our tv appearance where Barry and me had a competition with a guy in a wrestling mask and a Rangers top dribbling a football round some cones. Hopefully it will end up on youtube as it was very amusing. Maybe not as amusing as Easy Lionel (search it on youtube NOW) but pretty good nonetheless. Tonight we're playing a festival in Utrecht. We're on stage at 10pm. I hope i am awake. Stuart B

Radio 1 session and interview

Late last night Radio 1 broadcast our new session alongside the interview Dominic and me did with Rob Da Bank. You can listen to it here http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/console/b00czt88 . It starts after the Daniel Johnston live set around 36 mins. SB

August 15th.

 Isn't it ridiculous that when all we are doing is practicing a few times a week we constantly update our site with trillions of random shite but when we actually are insanely busy updates are rarer than a Rangers supporter at the passport office? So anyway here's whats going on. We're just back from the latest batch of shows and recording of a radio 1 session. The session goes out in an 2 hour long special with Rob da Bank next monday at 12 am with Dominic and me choosing some good records including a world exclusive from the just completed Remember Remember album on Rock Action. For those not unemployed and/or addicted to crystal meth it'll be on the iplayer for a week afterwards. Zane Lowe will be playing a few of the session tracks at some point too. For those outside this glorious island of ours some one will doubtlessly be distributing it in torrent form within minutes of broadcast. We have a few weeks off now and then Barry and me are going to Japan for a romantic get away. Thats not true we're going to do interviews. Tomorrow night i'm dj'ing in Edinburgh at Cabaret Voltaire too! Have a nice weekend. SB

US Album Pre-order

Evening,

Matador have a pre-order deal running on The Hawk Is Howling. If you click HERE you can find out more about it. Also, there's a bundle thing going on that includes a discount if you buy all 4 catalog albums, which is nice...details of that are HERE.

Oh, and there's a poster with every order too. 

UK & Europe supports

Afternoon,

Hope you're all enjoying the Summer. It's been a while since we gave you any news, but this is some good stuff for sure, we're delighted to announce that The Twilight Sad will be joining us on our forthcoming European dates in October & November, while in the UK Errors will be joining the bill alongside ourselves and Fuck Buttons in Edinburgh, Manchester and London.

Mogwai Young Team rehearsal 1

 Barry brought his famous flute to our 1st MYT rehearsal today. He didn't get a chance to play it having spent most of the day feverishly trying to master A Cheery Wave From Stranded Youngsters. A song that would make Phillip Glass sweat. Watch out Spain. SB

 Aye, but wait till you lot hear the £8 keyboard sound on Summer (Priority Version). It made Dominic vomit and i felt a little bit like Keith Emerson when he brought home the humble Potato from the New World,

Barry

MP3

Hiya,

Hope you're all well and stuff. Just a quick note to say our US label Matador Records have a free MP3 of one of the tracks off our new album, 'The Hawk Is Howling' (out in September folks), up for a limited time for your perusal. It's called 'The Sun Smells Too Loud' have a peek here alternatively you can get hold of the track on our Myspace page.

Fuck Buttons in the UK

I can happily announce that Fuck Buttons are playing with us at our 3 shows in October (London, Edinburgh and Manchester). John will probably be doing their sound. Bring ear defenders. SB

Guadalajara Venue Change

Hiya,

Just a quick post to let you know there the show in Guadalajara, Mexico on 24th June will now be at Teatro Estudio Cavaret. You can get tickets for the show by clicking here.

The Hawk Is Howling: some facts 

Our new album The Hawk Is Howling is released by PIAS/Wall Of Sound on September 22nd and Matador in America on September 23rd. It is just over 63 minutes long. It was recorded by Andy Miller at Chem 19 in February apart from one song which was recorded by Tony Doogan at Castle Of Doom last summer. It was mixed by Gareth Jones at Castle Of Doom in March and mastered at Abbey Road by Sean Magee in April. The songs on it are:

1 I'm Jim Morrison, I'm dead                                    
2 Batcat                                                                      
3 Danphe and The Brain                                            
4 Local Authority
5 The Sun Smells Too Loud                                       
6 Kings Meadow                                                           
7 I Love you, I'm Going To Blow Up Your School           
8 Scotland’s Shame                                                
9 Thank You Space Expert                                      
10 The Precipice                                   

US Tour Dates

Dates for our US tour in September are announced and up on the Dates page, click the button from the panel above and you'll see all the shows we're doing. There are quite a few so I can't list them all here. Support on the tour is coming from Fuck Buttons.

We're also pleased to say we're heading back to Mexico at the end of the month. Information on those shows are on the Dates page as well.

By the way, there's a new video from Desalvo up on Youtube the track is from their debut album 'Mood Poisoner' coming out on our very own Rock Action label, check it out as they're AWESOME! To have a watch click here.

Ticket Update and Errors Album out tomorrow

Couple of things i should point out. 1 - we sold out of all the presale tickets for our London show through our shop yesterday. The remainder will go onsale (along with the Manchester and Edinburgh shows) tomorrow morning at 9am. Details are in the post below. 2 - Errors debut album "Its not something but it is like whatever" is out tomorrow on Rock Action Records (our label). You should check it out as it is a great record. Cheers. Stuart

October UK tour

We're excited to be able to announce we're doing some UK shows in October. Dates are below and you should be able to get hold of limited number of pre-sale tickets by clicking the following link to our online shop around noon today (Friday May 30th)

www.resonancestore.com/mogwai/index.html?c=viewtickets

The dates are:

October 21 - Corn Exchange, Edinburgh
October 23 - Manchester Academy, Manchester
October 24 - Hammersmith Apollo, London

The shows will go on general sale on Monday June 2nd at 9am. Details are below. 

Regular music and Evol present
Mogwai + special guests
The Corn Exchange
Edinburgh
Tuesday 21st october
Tickets £17.50
hotline 08448 472269
online: http://www.ticketmaster.co.uk/event/170040BED81373E6

ATP Concerts by arrangement with Asgard present
Mogwai + special guests
Manchester Academy
October 23 2008
Tickets £17.50

ATP Concerts by arrangement with Asgard present
Mogwai + special guests
Hammersmith Apollo
October 24 2008
Tickets £20

Tickets for both ATP shows available from www.seetickets.com , www.ticketmaster.co.uk , www.wegottickets.com , www.stargreen.com & www.gigantic.com

3-in-a-Row

Mogwai would like to congratulate Glasgow Celtic on winning the Scottish Premier League last night. As a sober bystander it was absolutely amazing to watch Stuart hugging unknowns in the pub we watched the game in and then managing to buy the last bottle of champagne they had left.

The screen went down a few times in the bar but we decided it would be better to just wait until it went back on instead of rampaging through Glasgow, fighting the Police. I believe they call that dignity. 

Tommy Burns Tommy Burns Tommy Burns

Barry Burns