Alex Kapranos - Sound Bites: Eating on Tour with Franz Ferdinand

PENGUIN BOOKS

SOUND BITES

Alex Kapranos is a singer and guitarist. Before Franz Ferdinand, he spent over a decade jumping between stints as a chef, wine-waiter, kitchen porter, delivery driver, welder, promoter, doley layabout and college lecturer none of which he was particularly good at. He also played with several bands none of which were particularly good.

Andrew Knowles, the illustrator, is a touring drummer and keyboards player with the band, and a graduate of the Glasgow School of Art.

Eating on Tour with Franz Ferdinand

Alex Kapranos

Illustrations by

Andrew Knowles

PENGUIN BOOKS

For Eleanor

PENGUIN BOOKS

Published by the Penguin Group

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First published by Fig Tree 2006
Published in Penguin Books 2007
1

Copyright Alex Kapranos, 2006
Illustrations copyright Andrew Knowles, 2006
All rights reserved

The moral right of the author has been asserted

Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject
to the condition that is shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent,
re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publishers
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condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser

EISBN: 9780141912301

Sound Bites

Its late summer 1973, Washington new town, Tyne and Wear. Ive been walking for a while now. Our new house smells amazing because the carpets have just been laid. This is our familys first house weve been living with my grandparents until now and its still exciting to explore. Ive been playing my new game: climbing to the top of the stairs and throwing myself back down. My chest and belly are scabby with carpet burns and Im trembling with adrenalin. I push my face into the pile once more. It smells good. I need to explore. Its all so huge. There are no doors downstairs, so you can run in a big circle between the rooms. The kitchen is bright and unfriendly, but I can see Mam in the back garden talking to her new neighbour about the house-warming party shes having this evening. The best thing in the kitchen is the washing machine. It has big orange buttons and a purple plastic door, which turns the world purple when you squash your face against it and look through. I cant see much from that angle, just the cupboard door and a bit of lino, so I try to get inside. It looks good in there anyway shiny like a spaceship with a million little holes to put your finger in. I put my head in and try to force the rest, but my shoulders are too big and the catch is hurting my arm, so I give up.

I wander back into the front room where there is a coffee table my granddad made. He smells of Woodbines and can make anything. It is covered in pretty-coloured glass bowls filled with snacks for the party, some of which I recognize, some I dont. More exploring. Im curious to find out what tastes good. Crisps do I know that already, so I eat them, enjoying the salt and the crunchy bites. A very different bite goes with the pink and white marshmallows. Theyre soft and you can put more in your mouth than youd think. Ive learned a good trick with them if you do a sort of sicky burp move with your stomach, you can bring them back into your mouth and chew them a second time. I like doing this because they taste different second time around. Then there are orange squares on a stick with yellow squares. The yellow squares are pineapple chunks and are tasty, a bit like sweets, but not quite as good. Mam lets me drink the juice from the tin when we have them for tea. The orange squares are cheese. I suck on one, even though I know it wont be good. It isnt, so I put it back in the bowl. Grown-ups food. Horrible. On another square, theres a little onion. Thats good crunchy and squirty-tasting. I eat more, making sure I leave the orange squares behind. Tomatoes. Theyre disgusting. Theres a bowl of slices. Its the slimy green pips that are worst. Still, Im feeling curious. I want to know if I can ever like this stuff. No way. I cant even swallow it. I spit it out and hide it under a cushion. There is no way I will like that taste. Ever. Im feeling full, but its fun.

Theres a bowl of things Ive not seen before. Theyre almost the colour of crisps and have a weird smell that makes the back of my tongue clench against the opening of my throat. I pick one up. Its hard, so I roll it between my palms before putting it in my mouth. Its salty and crunchy and No. Somethings wrong. My mouth itches. Its tingling and itchy and my throat feels like a cactus. I stagger away from the table. I spit the last bit from my mouth. Im starting to drool. I cant stop the slobber. Its pouring from the corners of my mouth like a left-on tap. Now my stomach is doing a weird thing. Its wobbling like Im on my swing, but in a bad way. Its a bit scary. No its really scary. Something bad is happening and I have no idea what it is. I start moaning. Mam! Where is she? Mam! Shell help. My stomach clamps, like a strangling fist. I throw my stomach contents in an arc across the carpet. Mam! I start to run. Another arc. Mam! I slip in the sludge of half-digested nibbles. Mam! I run between every room, tramping secondhand crisps, pickled onions, marshmallows and pineapple into the new carpet. My beautiful twenty-four-year-old mother appears like an angel. I run with arms stretching out for comfort. Im scooped into the air. Everythings all right. She holds me under the armpits with her left arm. My trousers are down. She swings. I rock from the first blow. My tiny arse stings. I puke down her arm. Shes shouting something about carpets, parties and a little shit.

Later I sit at the foot of the stairs, too exhausted to sob any more than an odd hiccup of sorrow. My mother is still angry, scrubbing the last traces before her guests arrive. The smell of sick cant hide behind this new smell called Dettol and decorates the air like sorrow. I dont know the word, but I know Im allergic to peanuts. I know I dont like tomatoes or cheese. I know I like crisps and marshmallows. The sobbing subsides to exhausted calm. I feel empty and good, everything seems clear and easy to understand. I think about the food its flavours and how it felt in my mouth, how different each thing was, how it could taste of joy, revulsion or painful destruction. I dont think of it as a thing that stops me from being hungry. I know it is much more than that. Food is an adventure.