McGinn Matt - Roadie: my life on the road with Coldplay

To Mags, my true love, the best girlfriend and mummy alive. And our gorgeous Mary, who might hopefully read this one day and finally understand where her Silly Old Daddy Donut kept disappearing.

A lot of people say a lot of different things about Matt McGinn:
Brilliant axe-man of mythical origins more egg than man,
Notorious joke-recycler,
Outrageous flirt,
Dedicated cider enthusiast.

But this much is certain:
Hes been part of the Coldplay family since day one,
We love him dearly,
And at least half of this book is probably true.

Coldplay
The Bakery, November 2009

Its hard to believe in these days of ghost-written memoirs, but I actually wrote this book myself. Still, no roadie is an island especially this one so before we start here are some shouts of thanks and respect.

First of all, its fair to say that Roadie just wouldnt have got done without the help of my nagging, cajoling, organising, editing and generally bothersome mate Greg Parmley. Right from the off, this incomparable geezer totally took the long view and made me feel that if I didnt write this book Id be a complete twat, so Id better just get on with it. Thanks pal. Cheques in the post.

Cheers also to my roadie chums past and present who feature in the text and photos here, along with those who dont. No ones been left out on purpose, Ive just gone where things took me. (Also, despite the sterling efforts of the fantastic snappers whose work Ive gratefully and proudly included, there were almost no useable quality photos of Coldplays vast girl-roadie team available when we went to press. Hope the snap of Vicki Taylor makes up for it, ladies.)

Much gratitude in particular goes to Jeff Dray, for taking a risk and hiring this complete rookie back in 96. Also to Nige, Kev, Kent and all at Matt Snowball Music for taking me under their esteemed, experienced wings when I first started and ever since. The whole gang at John Henry Enterprises across the street deserve a mention too, as do Mike Hill (effects and amp work), Graham Noden (guitar repairs), Joe and Flea at Vintage & Rare Guitars and anyone else that ever fixed something, sold me a plectrum or rented us a van.

Which reminds me, thanks to Ballroom, Cuba, JJ72 and any of the other bands that employed my learning-as-I-go arse back in the pre-Coldplay days, not to mention everyone thats withstood the rigours of actually being in a group with me over the years. This book might not have you lot in it but youre all part of the tale. We had some great times and no one is forgotten.

A big shout also to all those people never seen; the bloke double-driving the bus from Barcelona to Manchester; the girl who sits for eight hours guarding the back stairwell at Wembley Arena; the roadie who stops what he or shes doing to let us into the equipment lock-up... ta for being there, having a giggle now and then and being a vital part of it all.

Thanks to everybody at Portico, especially Malcolm Croft, for loving this idea and being a beacon of enthusiasm. Jo at Russells gets giant respect too for steering the creaking ship through the fog, as does Phil Harvey for crucial support and encouragement at the last. And much gratitude is due to Caroline Michel wherever she is for telling me to quit being all flowery and write like I speak. Hope you enjoy it.

To the road veterans that so kindly gave Greg and me the time to interview them: Bob Young, Scratchy Myers, Tim Butcher and Robbie Wilson, all of whom have added colour and perspective in the short bursts Ive ended up quoting. Nice one lads.

Thanks also to Debs Wild and Chris Salmon at the Coldplay website, for giving me and this book a break when Greg and I both really needed it. And a big hi to Roadie 42, who for the last time definitely isnt me, alright?!

Thank you Rolling Stones, Clash, Stray Cats, Jam, Ash, Stranglers, Foals, Kylie, Pixies... the list is endless but you all made me feel like the world made sense for three and a half minutes at one time or another. Still do, cheers.

And finally, a massive, huge group hug to Jonny and the lads for giving me the best job I ever had. Well, its a tie actually... working for Steve and Wendy behind the Village Inn bar at age fifteen-and-a-half is still the only thing that ever came close.

It was tough to write this book without worrying Id look a bit of a prize tit, especially in front of other roadies. Nothing new there, perhaps, its been happening for years. But still, you might well ask who the hell I must think I am, exactly? And what makes me think Im worth reading about? OK, so I got lucky, bagged one of the best gigs in the business and have managed to keep it for a long time, but really, so what? Who cares?

Well, me, for a start, and maybe even a few other people if Im lucky. I mean, it is a pretty cool story gluey little village punk from South Devon accidentally gets a top job in the music industry and ends up trotting the globe making a loud racket and drinking beer with his rock star and roadie mates... hang about, its starting to sound like a good yarn already. And its not just about me hopping aboard the ride either; in this tale the whole cast and core crew go from nowhere to the real, proper-sized big time and beyond, all at once and all together. Bung in a few A list celebrities, an ocean of Becks lager and enough air miles to bankrupt Branson and were away.

I would love this mad trip to be as cool to read about for roadies or civilians as it has been to live through, jot down and write about. Though this book is neither a band biography (theyre working on it) nor a rock n roll trail of filth (go read The Dirt if thats what youre after) everyone musical or not that fancies a look inside our daft, distorted roadie world ought to enjoy the journey. Itll also probably work for anyone whose luck ever changed one day, sending them down a brand-new road to redemption, ruin or anywhere else. And theres a fair bit about Coldplay in here, as well.

OK, so maybe I need to calm down a bit. Roadie-ings just a job, it pays the mortgage, same as anything else, right?

Well, yes and no. Every new day that I find myself out here getting paid to mess about with guitars and hear a crowd roar its approval is an absolute gift and, frankly, I cant wait to finish yacking to you lot and get back to bloody work.

My story and, handily, Coldplays too is a shining example of something most folks really like to hear about. Not quite rags to riches but just the right-sized helping of fairy tale to be healthy, heartwarming and glass-slipper-fittingly unbelievable.

Its probably best summed up in as glib a fashion as possible, really. Whats the word sexy old Laura San Giacomo says to Julia Roberts towards the end of Pretty Woman?

Cinderfuckinrella!

Well, how about Cinderfuckinroadie instead?