Stretched across the couch in the dressing room, Chris Cester, drummer for Jet, is lying on top of his girlfriend, Alexi, lips locked. Jet's bass player, Mark Wilson, lead singer, Nic Cester, and lead guitarist Cameron Muncey stand around cracking themselves up with the same old running joke (pretending to be Chewbacca form 'Star Wars'). They're well into demolishing their slab of beer. And the Vines' slab. Chris disappears with Alexi and the three remaining Jets huddle around the one lighter, sparking up more cigarettes.

Chris Cheney, lead singer and guitarist of the Living End, is outside pacing. He's hurling his voice through some vigorous vocal exercises, deep in thought. The Vines are nowhere to be seen. They haven't left their tour bus all day and they've even recently stopped sound-checking, presumably to avoid further scrutiny.

"Man, I feel so bad when I hear Chris outside warming up before each show," says Nic. "I'm always somewhere nearby with a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other not giving a shit."

"But you're lucky, Nic," Muncey smiles reassuringly. "You don't have to warm up. Nic is always the last one up, the one who's drunk the most the night before and who always sounds so great onstage the next night. It's amazing, I don't know how he does it."

If Chris Cheney wasn't the singer for the Living End, he'd be in there with Jet boys, partying it up. "But at the end of the tour," says Cheney, "we want to go home saying we had a really good tour, not that we had a good time. You can get pissed and stoned every night of the week when we get home, but on tour, it's like we are here to work, we are here to fucking kick arse."

It's 6pm in Boston and the all-ages show starts early tonight at the Avalon Ballroom. Melbourne band, Neon, who have just joined the tour, open up with a 20-minute set. By the time the Living End hit the stage, the room is packed. Vines bass player, Patrick Matthews, and guitarist, Ryan Griffiths, have made their way backstage, salvaging themselves a couple of beers, while one by one, Jet – with the exception of Chris, who is busy at the back of the tour bus with his girlfriend – watch from the side stage.

As Cheney and co deliver a blistering finale of 'Second Solution,' Nic heads back to the dressing room, shaking his head, muttering: "They're so good. They make it so hard for us to follow them." He grabs another beer and meanders over to a sweat-soaked Cheney for a debrief.

Wilson echoes the same sentiments. "The Living End put on such a good show every night, despite how they feel, they always put on a fucking great show," he says. "They always play great, and they're just fucking brilliant musicians. I loved them when I was young, but I never had the respect for them until now. I've seen them play every night with us on tour. And especially in a place where we're taking off, and I mean they're very popular here…but the fucking passion that they have and just the way they play every night is how a band should play before a band like us and the Vines."

"It's what we try to do for the Vines. We try to blow the Vines off stage and [The Living End]'s job it to try and blow us and the Vines off stage. That's your job. That is our fucking job – to try and fuck the band up," he smiles. "That's always been our ethos when we're touring. When we were touring with the Rolling Stones, we talked about it. Our job is to try and blow them off stage every night. You can't! You can't do it! But you can in your own head. You can pretend you did."

In the American context, this little scene in Boston tonight says a lot about this collective of bands – who they are, where they're at, and where they're all going. Despite being overawed by the Living End, and headlined by the Vines – who, mind you, are playing the best shows of their lives – this tour belongs to Jet. But as fate would have it, this Australian juggernaut through North America and Canada couldn't happen at a more pivotal time for them all. Each impelled with momentum and a friendly rivalry.

Jet, clearly a band on the brink of cracking the American market (they're only weeks away from selling a million albums there), are wholly living in the moment. The Living End, who were so close to seeing their live efforts rewarded in America before Cheney's near-fatal road accident more than two years ago, are digging their heels in; serious and determined to re-gather some of that lost momentum. And the Vines are more inexplicable than ever. Having found themselves at the other extreme end of the press' pen – this time the pointy, poisonous end – Craig Nicholls' evasive, wacked-out, hibernating ways aren't as romantic as they once were. Now, the music really is doing the talking.

***

It's snowing in New York City. Standing on a not-so-secret landing where guests and crew of 'Late Night with Conan O'Brien' sneak out to add to the thousands of stomped out cigarette butts, the show's producer seems pleased with herself that, once the Living End perform on that show tonight, all the bands from the Aussie Invasion tour will have appeared on the popular late-night program.

"Jet were much nicer than I thought they'd be," she smiles. "But the Vines," she says, twisting the corners of her still smiling mouth, "was weird." Apparently, Nicholls "was having a day where he couldn't touch the ground." So, she says, the crew had to assemble a line of chairs near enough to the stage so he could hop from one to the other. "When we got him close enough to the stage, we just wheeled him up to it."

Scott Owen, double bass man for the Living End, laughs mildly, but none of his band's crew look surprised. On the wall above Owen's head, the Living End's name has been added to a growing list of outfits and musicians who have stepped out onto the landing during their visit to NBC. It's scrawled just beside "Neil Finn'.

Inside the Living End are anxious. Anxious about their television performance ("Who invented TV anyway," Cheney grimaces, "it's so artificial.") and anxious to explain, almost defend, their behaviour in comparison to the other bands on the Aussie Invasion bill. "The most controversial thing that that we might do," Cheney deadpans, "is change our choice of song before we do this show."

In a typical self-effacing Aussie manner, Cheney announces, completely unsolicited, that the Living End are "boring". Let there be no misunderstandings, there will be no headline-grabbing from the Living End. But fair's fair: being sandwiched between the Vines and Jet has got to be hard. Both those bands have been propelled, initially at least, by hype and managed to sustain a level of notoriety — in part — by playing it all wacky (the Vines) and zany (Jet).

You get the feeling the Living End are battling with the very thing that makes them unique: Their honest, blue-collar, working band ethic. And over here, those ethics can, and often do, mean very little. They're painfully aware that the lack of sensationalism associated with the Living End will make things harder for them in the States, but they're also equally defiant. "Playing second fiddle has just made us more hungry," Cheney says quietly, "even more determined." Rae Harvey, the Living End's manager, likes to remind herself that society usually makes the "nice guys finish last". Still, realism intact, she's adamant that when her band gets there, the fans they accumulate will last forever. "They might not have many, it's a hard slog," she says, "but the ones they have are really full-on fans."

Harvey remembers getting a phone call from a psychiatrist who was treating a young girl obsessed with the Living End. She had lost a towel that Cheney had soaked in sweat at a show, and had become so distressed, the doctor didn't know what else to do but contact the band's manager for another towel. Of course I didn't send her another towel — that's weird," she spits, "but I sent her something signed."

While the Living End don't pull the biggest or even the loudest crowd of the tour, their fans are certainly the most proactive. The Living End have street teams in most cities — groups of kids who work to promote the band at street level in exchange for Living End merchandise, albums and tickets. And the trio is equally committed to these avid fans, meeting with them before shows, signing autographs afterwards. 

The Living End prove to be the surprise favourite with crowds of this Aussie Invasion tour. At the merchandise stand, their album regularly outsells Jet's [33 to 11 on Atlanta, 44 to nine in Washington]. They're the quiet achievers, true Aussie underdogs, focused on joining the dots for potential fans. There are probably a million of them in the States, just like the stage-hand at Late Night With Conan O'Brien rehearsal. "Oh, it's you guys who do that song! I love that song," he yells at Owen after a runthrough of "Who's Gonna Save Us?". 

"We're not known for anything but playing good live shows," Cheney levels. "There's a lot of people out there who have never seen us or heard of us and I think that we are just doing that slowly with just good old rock & roll, just winning them over with just playing music. Which is kind of boring in this day in age, but it's what we do best. So we're just going to be honest about it." 

In the end, the Living End don't change their choice of song for the broadcast. The nice guys stick to "being boring".

***

It's only been 30 minutes since Craig Nicholls hit the stage floor for the last time, swooning to the final notes of what can only be described as genuinely great art rock performance. Backstage, Nicholls is sitting nimbly beside his Jet tour buddy, Mark Wilson, copping the odd slap on the back from the gentle giant. The mood is warm; bands friendly but polarised by their differences. As the doors swing open, letting in a steady stream of strangers, the atmosphere changes almost instantly. Nicholls shifts in his sent uneasily, eyes bugging boldly. Wilson beams openly, almost naively at the door as Boston media trickle past Nicholls and onto Wilson, then Muncey and Nic [Chris is again locked away with Alexi]. A group of girls saunter in next, all non-descript. Naturally, they're here to befriend anyone who stepped onstage tonight.

Nicholls lasts five minutes before he high-tails it out of there, incessantly scrunching his hair up with nervous energy. I'm told by one of his managers, Andy Kelly, that Nicholls doesn't deal well with strangers. It's a shame. Tonight, Nicholls in good spirits, might have been the only opportunity over the two days I spend with the bands to see the enigmatic frontman in a social environment with his peers. But with the room now full of nobodies, all wanting a piece of the bands, he heads back to the tour bus to play around on his 4-track recorder until the bus makes a start for Philadelphia at 2am.

Meanwhile, the loudest, crassest blonde of all – a Mississippi girl named Rachael – declares to a small group that includes Matthews and Wilson that she's friends with the Kings of Leon and tries to remind Wilson that they've met before. They had a 'really long, really great' conversation one time. Wilson ain't no dummy but he's guilty of being a little too kind, humoring her for most of the night. But as the half-dozed bottles of vodka dwindle away, Rachael becomes more forward and vocal. Wilson gets fed up.

After politely trying to avoid Rachael's propositions, Wilson finally picks up a broom from the corner of the room and uses it to secure some personal space. It's no more Mr. Nice Guy. "I don't want to fuck you, OK!" he screams at her, pushing the straw of the broom into her advances. "I don't want to fuck you either," she retorts vaguely, "but why wouldn't you want to fuck me? What's wrong with me?"

Wilson doesn't see the irony in literally beating off the ladies with a stick, but the Jet road crew certainly do. They agree to get rid of the over-zealous Rachael only if she shows them her 'tits.' She now has Wilson wedged between the wall and a couch, he's still holding the broom to her stomach to stop her moving any closer and he's clearly agitated. "I don't get it," he squints at her. "Why? Why the fuck are you like this? What, just because I'm in a band? Can't you see how pathetic you are?" Rachael considers showing the road crew her bare chest, but thinks better of it and is then escorted out the door.

A bizarre scene, but it fits perfectly with the mounting celebration of Jet in the US. Surely this happens all the time these days? "No way," Wilson says sternly. "[Groupies are] around, I suppose, but it's never been like this before." Wilson has had enough. Fearful there'll be no more beer left on the bus, he raids the stock fridges at the venue and packs up a box of drinks. The bus is tight with bodies and completely dry. Wilson shares his box of goodies around, and Muncey turns up the volume on an already blaring Faces record, with a sharp nod to the beat.

Nic has a group of friends on board, one of whom is a long lost cousin that's presented herself at the Boston show unannounced. The Living End have returned from their post-show dinner, but Owen is the only one well enough – the trio have been suffering from the flu – to weather a thick cloud of cigarette smoke.

The Vines are all tucked away quietly on their own bus, but the only ones resting on the Jet ride are Chris and Alexi. The extras are cleared, Wilson hits the sack and Owen returns to his own wheels, as the busses move on. Next stop: Philadelphia's Electric Factory. Muncey, in his signature brown singlet, and Nic in his biker jacket, sit opposite one another at the small dining room table at the front of the bus, dissecting and hitting repeat on a riff blasting out from the stereo.

The members of Jet share an intriguing dynamic. Earlier in the day, during an MT'V interview, the four sat side by side on a couch barely acknowledging the task at hand, cracking themselves up with ‘in’ jokes and falling all over each other in hysterics. References to the ‘Fab Four’ have been bandied about pretty liberally in relation to Jet, but the most striking similarity — and arguably the most significant — is that they’re a band’s band, the sum being much greater than the individuals. Like the Beatles, Jet fans have their own ‘favourite’ member. And like the Beatles’ first tour of America in 1964, Jet are full of energy, goofball laughs, good times and devotion to each other. It is what makes Jet special.

***

Nic is by far the most intense character in Jet. He appears, even after hours of drinking at five in the morning, to be perpetually deep in thought and sensitive to his environment. The sun is peeking out from the horizon and he’s discussing the impact of social conditioning, referencing one of his favourite books, Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad. He believes his ingrained scepticism comes from trying to be aware of social conditioning. “I like to think about things before I make my mind up.”

Muncey notes with a smile that Nic and Chris are so similar, “both sceptical of almost everything.”

“I would agree that I am,” Nic nods, “but Chris just makes his mind up about things depending on what mood he’s in.”

“You're more similar than you think you are,” Muncey smiles. “From an outsider’s perspective, you can definitely see the similarities. Brothers don’t want to think they’re alike, they want to believe they're opposites, but I can see how you're alike.”

The hum of the moving bus cuts the brief pause in conversation and I ask Muncey if he’s cold in that singlet. After all, it is snowing outside. “Cam never sweats,” Nic deadpans, amazed. “We all come off stage dripping in sweat and he walks off with barely anything. His hair is still perfect.” He looks at his best friend for a moment, adding: “It’s weird man.”

“I don’t know why,” Muncey says defensively, “I just never sweat. I don’t feel the weather or something.”

Muncey leans forward feeling awkward. He finally looks up; his big, brown eyes still clear and soft in spite of the night’s abuse. “I need my mummy,” he confesses with boyish charm, smiling, as the band’s guitar tech points out that it’s now almost 8AM.

Chris and Alexi finally emerge from the depths of the Jet bus and proclaim that they’re both sore from having too much sex. “That’s what you get when you don’t see your girlfriend for six weeks,” Chris grins.

Alexi is a beautiful, elfin-looking young woman from Hollywood. She’s tall and lanky with incredibly large, blue eyes that sweep across her face. The budding actress is happy that her features are “all swollen” this morning because she was worried she'd look like crap without make-up. While she complains that the audition process in Hollywood strips you of any self-confidence, Chris looks at her adoringly. Even when the couple aren’t in their tiny bunk-bed, they're inseparable. They lean all over each other all the time, pin each other against walls backstage at each venue and generally exist quite comfortably inside their private little universe, oblivious to any other living soul.

***

This afternoon, while the rest of the bands are sound-checking, the Vines head out for an acoustic radio performance, in front of a room full of competition winners at a Philadelphia alternative rock station, WPLY. It's a rare daylight excursion off the bus for Nicholls.

Along with Griffiths and Matthews, the awkward frontman scuffles up the guts of the hall to the stage like a naughty schoolboy. They're barely finished sitting down when the first notes of 'Winning Days' float out across the cavernous room. They're only halfway through their second song, 'Ride,' when Nicholls starts manipulating his voice to suit his mood. In an acoustic setting like this, with a small audience, Nicholls is confronting. The audience squirm in their seats as the singer yelps; a few heads even turn.

Two songs later ('Autumn Shade' and 'Autumn Shade 2'), a piggy snort, a 'thank you very much' (said in a Muppet voice) and the Vines are on their way to the dressing room at the back of the hall.

Nicholls is bouncing around the small room like a crab. He's taken the pop screen off the front of one of the spare microphones and is using it to 'look for gold.' The producer of the radio station has come into the room to thank the band and let them know that the recording went well. Nicholls responds by asking him if there's any gold in the room. He jumps across seats and squats close to the ground. Griffiths stands, moving out of Nicholls' way and Matthews just slouches on a couch with that perennial look of nervous discomfort on his face.

I ask Craig what else he's been up to today. "Just hanging and chilling. Mainly hanging, then we got bored of that and just chilled."

Yesterday, Nicholls was uncomfortable with the Rolling Stone photographer, feeling that he took too many shots. But today, he's happy to pull some faces. "I don't mind the pictures," he stammers, "I just don't like the writing-down." And with that, a Vines tour manager jumps to his defense and tells me, Miami Vice-style, to put the pen down.

Everyone who surrounds the Vines – their management, road crew, tour manager – is particularly sensitive to Nicholls and his frame of mind. Their tour manager apologizes a little later for pouncing on me and my pen, explaining that "its hasn't been a good day today." It's a phrase that's heard quite often in the Vines camp. It's also the most regular excuse used to explain the lack of access to Nicholls. "He just wants to write music," says Andy Kelly. "He never wanted to have to talk about it. He's got nothing to say about it."

Journalists across hemispheres have reported – often with frustration – of not being able to figure Nicholls out. Is he really as mad as he makes out? Is it all a clever spin to make the band seem more interesting? A few days in this environment, there's little or no doubt that the frontman is for real. He's barely able to cope with socializing and, when he does, it's usually when he knows there'll only be familiar faces around. No one is allowed on the Vines bus, which is fine, because the only action on board is via video games and 4-track recording. Nicholls has too much noise going on in his head to conform to the usual way of life. More importantly, he could care less for it. He's much rather live for and by his music.

Perhaps that is what Courtney Love sees in Nicholls. Her obsession with the Vines – despite being dogged by bad reviews in the US – is only getting more intense. She tracked down (rumor has it she is constantly hiring private detectives) the location of the 'Ride' video shoot, showed up and demanded to spend time with Nicholls. When Love was turned away, she simply showed up at the Aussie Invasion's Irving Plaza show in New York.

It happened to be the second New York show which fell on the same day that Love went a little madder than usual: Wednesday, March 17. That afternoon, she pre-recorded her already-infamous appearance on the 'Late Show with David Letterman' – where she jumped on his desk and ripped off her shirt. Then, somewhere between performing her own show that night and being arrested throwing a mic stand at someone in the audience, she caught the Vines live onstage.

According to Kelly, she demanded to be allowed onstage and perform with the band. She wouldn't take no for an answer either. She stood right by the mixing desk and insisted that an announcement be made informing the crowd that she would be playing with the Vines. Of course, it never happened and Love moved on to create more chaos.

Whatever chaos it might seem that the Vines create themselves, the other bands on the tour are relaxed and accepting of Nicholls. "I think it's just that they [the Americans] don't get Craig," offers Jet's Chris. "They see him as just uncooperative, and obviously weird. They love it in the UK, but over here it's like he doesn't do them any favors and they just shut the door on him. It's like 'If you don't want to make time for us, then fuck you.'"

***

At the side of every stage in every city you'll find various Living End, Jet, Vines members watching each other's set. Back in Philadelphia, Nicholls watches Jet. Wilson – having had a good night sleep – has been drinking since the late afternoon. Before he stepped onstage, after watching the Living End, he confessed to Owen that he didn't know how he was going to perform tonight. "I'm wasted," he drawls. "I don't know how you guys play sober," Owen quips, laughing.

Wilson gets through most of the set without a hitch until he goes to walk off stage and trips, smacking his knee, falling flat on his face. That the whole audience saw him fall wasn't a concern. What Wilson cared about was that Nicholls saw it.

The respect the three bands have for another is endearing. All totally different people, all on different paths, their attitude in the middle of America is very Australian. Fans Cathy and Amanda (both in their mid-twenties) are waiting out the back of the venue to see Jet, are into Australian bands right now because of their authenticity.

"They're definitely more real," Amanda agrees. "American bands, the majority are cookie-cutter; it's not like that with Australian bands, they are what they are."

Chris and Alexi stroll off; "Chris Martin and Gwenyth Paltrow have left the building," jokes Chris. Nicholls and Matthews sit down for a cigarette with Nic and Muncey. Wilson wheels around pretending to be a nana (with his busted knee) in a wheelchair he found out back. Owen watches on laughing, beer in hand. Cheney and drummer Andy Strachan finish their meat and three veg and join the fracas in the hallway.

They're preparing to shove off to Montreal tonight. Another gig, another night of drinking, of sleeping in small bunk-beds, and yet another day without showers. Yep, this is pretty real.

Details, Details, Details

Where the Australian troops have been and how they do it...

Engine Room, Houston, TX 

House of Blues, New Orleans, LA 

Roxy, Atlanta, GA

9.30 Club, Washington DC

Irving Plaza, New York, NY

Avalon Ballroom, Boston, MA

Electric Factory, Philadelphia, PA 

Metropolis, Montreal, QUE

Kool Haus, Toronto, ONT

Clutch Cargo, Detroit, MI

Vic Theatre, Chicago, IL

The Rave, Milwaukee, WI

The Quest, Minnesota, MN

Liberty Hall, Lawrence, KS

Sokol Auditorium, Omaha, NE

Ogden Theatre, Denver, CO

Marquee Theatre, Pheonix, AZ

The Joint, Las Vegas, NV

Wiltern Theatre, Los Angeles, CA 

Soma Live, San Diego, CA

Warfiel, San Francisco, CA

Moore Theatre, Seattle, WA

Roseland Theatre, Portland, OR

Commodore Ballroom, Vancouver, BC

• The Living End share their bus with Neon, while Jet and the Vines travel on their own busses

• Each bus has a stereo, DVD and PlayStation facilities. The bands can watch DVDs from their bunks, which all contain individual screens.

• There are no showers or washing machine facilities on the busses, so the bands bathe themselves and their sweaty gear at venues. If they're doing more than one show in a city, they will stay overnight in a hotel room. (I know for a fact that the Vines rented a hotel room in each city to take showers before shows – fan's note)

• The busses travel by night while the bands are either sleeping or partying.

• At the end of the tour, they clocked up 8,640 miles and played to 42,300 people.

• There are 19 crew members who toured with the bands.

The Managers

Andy Kelly, one-third of the management company, Winterman and Goldstein, co-manages Jet and the Vines, while Rae Harvey looks after the Living End. They give us tips on cracking the U.S.

How long did this tour take to get together?

Andy Kelly: From the day of conception to the day it started, probably three months, four months.

How hard is it to break into America?

Rae Harvey: It always feels overwhelming to break America. I think you've got two types of bands. You've got a band that can deliver an amazing record and amazing song, like Jet and you've got a band like the Living End who are fucking awesome live, [and] they have to do it the hard way. But once they get a fan, they get a fan for life. It [just] takes a lot longer to get them.

Andy, does it feel like the success you've achieved with your bands — Jet and the Vines — has opened a lot more doors for Australian artists overseas?

AK: It's really hard to tell. I think you would love yourself a bit if we thought that. I think that the most essential reason that it's worked for those bands overseas is that they are unbelievably good bands. The second thing is, the reason I think it's worked for us, is that we have based ourselves overseas as well. Australia is on the other side ofthe earth as far as people in America and the U.K. are concerned. If you have management set up in America and the U.K. then I think that's a big contributing factor. So in terms of opening it up for other bands, I really, really hope so.

How important is the influence of the record company in America?

RH: Pretty important. Our label here are committed. They're committed for the next 12 or 18 months. They really believe in the Living End. They're spending the money wisely, on tour support.

How important do you reckon it is to break America?

RH: The thing is, 200,000 records over here is not very much. If you sold 200,000 of every album at home, you could survive on that and live your dreams. But that's really difficult to do, but over here that goal is a lot more achievable.

Is radio play as important here as it is at home?

RH: More, more, more!

So you can't make it just touring?

RH: Oh I think we have. We've made a lot of fans. We sold a 100,000 of the last record [Roll On] just from touring. We didn't get a lot of radio play at all. I think the tour with Green Day was really the best thing we could have done. There were so many kids saying, "I went for Green Day, but you guys blew them away". Had we come back straight after that, I think we really might have made a difference, but after the accident, it was like starting from scratch all over again.

How hard is it to get on a tour with an American band?

RH: We've never had problem getting onto an American tour because we've done so many festivals. [The Living End] are a real musician's band because of Chris' talent. We always get the good tours. It's never easy though; it's a hard slog. After the Green Day tour we were ready to go out on our own — we'd sold out 1,500 in L.A. and we were going to be able to do 500 to 2,000 seaters and then Chris had his accident.

Does it feel as though there is a change in the tide overseas in relation to our bands?

AK: Actually, no. I would say probably a year and a half ago or two years ago when the Vines thing started happening, definitely A&R people were suddenly like, "Oh shit, we better check out Australian bands". Maybe they're possibly more open to hearing it. I think people just want to hear good music.

What's our appeal overseas?

AK: I think the way that people respond to Jet or the Vines or the Living End or Neon on these shows; I think it's fair to say — I mean this may sound flag-waving — but I think Australians are much better live. It's nothing technical, it's not about technical proficiency, there is just a realness to them.

Will there ever be a point where enough is enough in pushing America?

RH: Oh, yeah.

How will you know when that time has come?

RH: When they break. Either they break in success or they break literally [laughs].