The Vines: The year we all went mad

It used to be just Craig Nicholls who was a bit hatstand, but now, after the drugs, booze, groupies, house burning down, equipment destruction and smouldering pet snakes, The Vines are all bonkers - as NME witnesses first hand in Australia.

For The Vines, the madness only reached its peak when Craig Nicholls turned into a monkey. Everything up until then was just, well, high jinks: the one-man obliteration of the band's equipment live on the Late Show With David Letterman; the random kung-fu attacks on members of his own band; the time Craig greeted the head of his American record company with his fingers raised in a cross screaming, "Get that c--- off my bus!"

Never mind the 19-month diet of drink, drugs and girls which saw drummer Hamish Rosser so sated by groupies that he told NME he was "off sex for life".

No, the madness only really got out of control after Craig turned into a monkey.

"It was at the Christmas shows with Beck and The Flaming Lips, explains a tanned Hamish, looking back from his vantage point from a bar in downtown Sydney. "We went onstage for the encores all dressed in animal suits. I just remember Craig was dressed as a monkey. We threw confetti all over the stage, sang along to 'Do They Know It's Christmas', then partied until seven in the morning. Craig seemed fine. At ten the next day we had to be at The Tonight Show. It was a major deal. I was tuning the drums when I heard this massive smash and I saw Craig's guitar flying straight towards me. It hit this glass panel and shattered into a thousand pieces. Then he threw a light at me and stormed out of the studio. Everything was total chaos. The PR girl was in tears, the producer of the show went absolutely crazy. They literally threw us out of the building." 

Later that day, The Vines' manager tracked Craig down to ask him what had prompted such a huge 'spaz-out'. The answer was simple. He was hungry.

If you're in a band called The Vines, things are bound to get tangled up every once in a while. But few groups have got in such a heroic muddle as these unnervingly photogenic minstrels from Oz. Their rise has been astonishing. Propelled by the Top Three success of their debut album 'Highly Evolved' in the UK in 2002, the otherworldly foursome embarked on a cash-hoovering mission into the heart of rock n' roll darkness to give even Frodo Baggins nightmares.

The facts only tell half the story: a million and a half album sales in the US alone (the album entered the Billboard chart at 11); the first Australian band to appear on the cover of Rolling Stone for 20 years (the last one was, er, Men at Work in 1983); a performance in front of a global audience of one billion at the MTV Video Music Awards. But there is another, darker side to The Vines' success.

"They all went crazy in their own way," confesses one insider. "They're clever guys and it affects people differently. Patrick went drink crazy, Ryan went drug crazy, Hamish went pump crazy. Craig just is crazy." 

In January 2003, the band's appearance at the Big Day Out in Australia was marked by the news that Patrick and Ryan's home in Sydney (dubbed "The Fun House") had burned to the ground. The pair simply shrugged. "I couldn't take it seriously," Patrick confirms later. Ryan – who lost all his material possessions in the blaze – was just relieved that his pet snakes Sonny and Lucy had survived. Later the same day Craig destroyed NME's tape-recorder when asked if he thought the band were on the verge of splitting up.

When the band appeared on Later… With Jools Holland in May last year Craig's performance was so spectacularly unhinged – he smashed the drums, a mic stand and his guitar during their first song – a watching Lou Reed declared: "It made me feel good to see that. The spirit lives!"

The Vines legend-making didn't end there. Last time NME was scheduled to hook up with them at the tail end of a chaotic 'victory lap' tour of the UK, they failed to show up at all. Reeling from an aftershow party at the Astoria involving MDMA powder, a small reservoir of booze and, in Craig's case, some prescriptions sleeping pills, the band weren't even aware they'd missed anything. The writing wasn't so much on the wall as flashing in huge neon letters. After a crazed 18 months which had seen them go from Sydney unknowns to one of the hottest bands on the planet, The Vines were falling apart in public.

Even today, reverberations from the last tour rumble on. Manager Andy Kelly is only half-joking when he announces his one ambition left in life is to "never get on a plane with The Vines again", while the unpredictable nature of their non-drinking, fast-food loving frontman still overshadows their every move.

The mercurial talent of Craig Nicholls, it seems, brings with it all manner of complications. On the itinerary for NME's trip to Sydney are the words 'Monday: Interview (permitting)', which in the wake of Craig's previous NME record (one four-hour stint in a toilet; one smashed tape recorder; one no-show) is some going. Time then for NME to discover the current state of Nicholls' mind, examine the latest developments in Vines-world and find out if the rumours that second album 'Winning Days' is even better than their debut are really true. And where better, than at an Oz-fest?

Thursday at the Annandale Hotel, Sydney, 9pm

Sydney's Annandale Hotel is the sort of spit'n'sawdust dive-bar which will one day be twinned with Camden's Barfly. This being Australia, a booming Chinese restaurant runs in the back yard and Sundays are given over to 'striptease'. Tonight, however, the Annandale is host to a secret warm-up show by Foregone Conclusion. As massive fans of The Office, The Vines have taken the name of David Brent's ill-fated band in, you detect, a sly dig at the Sydney rock cognoscenti. Despite healthy sales of 150,000 at home (in a climate dominated by Delta Goodrem), the Aussie press – resentful of The Vines' international profile – refuse to take the band as seriously as their dues-paying heroes Silverchair and The Superjesus.

Accordingly, none of the local media have been invited. Not, you suspect, that this matters to Craig Nicholls. First sighted eagerly watching support band Youth Group from side of stage, Nicholls looks, if anything, even younger than he did when NME first clapped eyes on him two years ago. He nods hello and disappears to the dressing room citing an urgent appointment with the latest Suede CD. Which leaves Patrick to push his memory back through the fug of the last few months and fill us in on The Vines' current mental state.

How does he look back on the year just passed?

"Well, by the last night of the tour in Ireland things were getting difficult," he concedes. "Craig was just being mental. It was one of the worst shows we ever played. Mayhem. I spun my bass over my head which I should never do. It was just another stupid thing in a long line of them."

Does he think they've changed in the wake of it?

"Real changes are hard to see. Everyone got older, but it's half our luck Craig looks, if anything, younger than he did. The thing with Craig is there's so much potential. He can sing brilliantly, but he's up and down. Some nights he can sing beautifully, and others you just don't know what you're gonna get."

NME gets talking to the band's guitar tech, Tony. A veteran to the whims of guitar virtuosos (he once roadied for Brian May), Tony's been known to patch different guitars together mid-gig during Craig's smashing frenzies. Having already trashed 150 guitars in as many gigs, he's been kept busy. Most prized of all Craig's current guitars, it transpires, is a newly acquired model from the States with customised pick-ups.

"I give him the right guitar at the right time," he says sagely. "I don't like seeming them totalled but I know why he does it."

Onstage, 9:45pm

The gig is a cracker. With Ryan Griffiths newly upgrades to full-time rhythm guitarist and Craig centre-stage. The Vines at last look like the classic rock band they've always been on record. If the old songs have acquired hard hitting extra muscles then the new songs are more complex beasts, drawn from some deeper reserves within the Nicholls psyche. A dreamlike 'Amnesia' ("I cannot remember/My own sanity") is a sublime cousin to 'Mary Jane' while a murderous 'Animal Machine' achieves the until-now impossible synthesis of Suede and Nirvana. Guitars go un-totalled. Afterwards, all are agreed it is one of the best gigs The Vines have ever played. Later, three-quarters of the band apply maximum concentration to the art of getting drunk. In the small hours Ryan discloses that the band have turned over a new leaf and have been rehearsing three times a week solidly for the last two months. The chaotic gigs of the past, he implies, may at last be behind them.

Saturday at the Homebake Festival, Royal Botanic Gardens, Sydney, 5pm

Patrick Matthews gave up medical school to become a Vine two years ago. Even today he still retains the air of a young doctor puzzling over the diagnosis of a troublesome patient (Nicholls, perhaps). However, backstage at Homebake – the Oz equivalent of Reading – he is gripped by a more easily defined medical condition: nerves.

"I'm only going to have two drinks before the show," he says through gritted teeth. "But afterwards…"

Hamish is less affected by stage-fright. A Bondi Beach-dwelling surfer who as a youth would think nothing of scaling Sydney Harbour Bridge for a midnight toke, he seems immune to almost anything. With 30,000 fans out-front and the entire Australian press corps gathered in the backstage bar, however, even Hamish is a little twitchy. As if to compound the portentous mood, bats circle overhead and storm clouds gathering over the site as the afternoon creeps by. Something is about to give.

Onstage, 7:30pm

The gig is total chaos. Hidden in the depths of the dressing room since arrival, Craig strides onstage and goes completely berserk. Dressed in ripped jeans, a Jane's Addiction T-shirt and a scruffy black cardigan he does everything but self-detonate. During opener 'Highly Evolved' he screams incoherently, knocks the mic to the floor and writhes around in a tangle of cables. As Tony winces, Craig trashes his brand new customised guitar during second song, 'Ride', balances on top of a monitor and causes the gawping faces of the largely female front row to shriek in a mix of horror and delight. The 'mental' Craig of old is clearly back with a vengeance.

"You want this, are you happy?" he screams prior to a murderous 'Fuck The World', before totalling Hamish's drum kit to roars of approval. It's a stunning reminder of The Vines' ability to defy convention at every turn.

Backstage, with Hurricane Craig having passed, the rest of the band lapse into their own form of mania. Patrick disappears in search of some "serious liquor". When he returns half an hour later he is blind drunk and clutching a three-quarters empty bottle of tequila. He only calms down after a wrestling match with Ryan ends with the softly-spoken rhythm guitarist delivering a series of well-aimed rabbit punches to the kidneys. In the middle of it all Craig sits happily in the corner, demurely listening to Muse on his walkman. It's too bizarre for words. Hamish's evening will end at the aftershow where, insensible through booze, he will fall flat on his back at the feet of the sultry female singer of Oz-rock legends The Superjesus. As dawn breaks, it's clear that The Vines' reputation among their peers is intact.

Sunday in Room 305, Kirktown Hotel, Sydney

Let is be noted: The Vines have not been idle in the seven months they have been away. Having flown to Bearsville Studios, Woodstock, New York State, last May, they spent the next three months recording their second album with 'Highly Evolved' producer Rob Schnapf. Having received a copy of the album the day after Homebake it is NME's solemn duty to report that the results are truly startling. Forget any notions of a 'Room on Fire' holding pattern of, as Patrick clamed to NME, a "part metal album", it's the perfect reflection of their schizophrenic live shows. Recorded in stark, stripped down tones and – unlike their session men-heavy debut – played entirely by the four of them, 'Winning Days' is by turns heavier and more mellow than their debut, and in 'Autumn Shade II', the title track and a revamped 'Sunchild' is also home to some of the most sublime songs you'll hear this year. First single 'Ride', meanwhile, sounds like 'Get Free' recorded in a wind tunnel while live favourite 'Fuck The World' sounds like the ceiling caving in on Seattle. Puberty-addled teens and 'classic' rock-loving 30-somethings will worship here in droves.

"From the moment I saw Craig I thought he was a cross between Sid Vicious and post-Beatles Lennon and the songs, more than ever, reflect that," confesses Andy Kelly in a nearby coffee house. "The extremes are so total. I've never met anyone else like him, have you?"

Monday at Luna Park, Sydney

The next day, in front of Luna Park amusement park, The Vines are assembled for an NME photoshoot. To the relief of all concerned, the demons which afflicted Craig at Homebake appear to have evaporated. Not that this brings him any nearer to normal behaviour. Munching on a veggie pizza and performing an elaborate Morrissey-does-Tai Chi dance, he appears ever more adrift from reality. Especially when, staring up at the skies on one foot he coos, "Aaaaah, the sun, it's so great, so great," to the bewilderment of passing tourists. Judging by his unphased bandmates, however, this is as normal as Craig Nicholls gets.

Chat moves gently on to the last few nights' gigs. How does he feel about the last two shows?

"They were cool. I think I enjoyed the festival better. It was in Sydney, there were thousands of people there."

Does something else take him over onstage?

"I dunno. I'm in control, but I'm not in control, if that makes sense. Sometimes there's great moments, confusing moments and awkward moments. I think people don't realise that it's my sense of humour.

Looking back, did 18 months on the road send him slightly insane?

"You mean the Jay Leno thing? I dunno. I've got a bad memory. You got to all those places and things get so crazy, it's hard to remember. (Pause) But I feel good at the prospect of going back out there again. I'm fine. There's no question of us splitting up or not touring."

Is his happier mood to do with the fact he's had seven months off at home?

"Yeah. It all seems easier now. I don't feel the same way about the whole process as I did when we still on tour. It was real crazy for us then. Looking back it was a great experience but it was a little confusing. But I always had in mind the fact that we had to record this album. When I recorded the vocal for 'Amnesia' it was the best thing. It was like a shot of ecstasy. I was so relieved that I'd finally captured it."

There is something both naïve and utterly focused about Nicholls. At turns hopelessly detached from reality and yet keen to address the issues which touch him, he seems to have little control over his moodswings. Is a lyric like "I speak like I'm fucking mad" from 'Autumn Shade II' a conscious attempt to communicate how he feels about the position he's in?

"I guess so. Being in the band is a way for me to say things which I can't explain through words. It's really difficult for me to do that. I've always wanted to say more. Like 'Winning Days' is about the death of Aaliyah [Note by me: It's a mistake. 'Going Gone', not 'Winning Days', is about the death of Aaliyah. Craig talked about it in several other interviews, for example this one.] I was really upset when that happened."

A lot of people might hear a song like 'Fuck the World' and think his outlook is getting even more bleak and lead to those old enquiries about suicide.

"Yeah I can see why people might think like that," he sighs. "People could take that song as sounding negative and that's not what it's about. What I'm trying to say is that's the last thing I feel. I'm being sarcastic. It's that feeling you have as a teenager which I still have, where you don't want to deal with anything. That old cliché. And at the end I say 'Fuck the World, don't' so that's the twist."

Indeed. While every great rock star from Bowie to Bono have adopted alter-egos to cope with fame's landslide, Nicholls appears to have two quite distinct personalities co-existing. These two strands (dysfunctional rocker; blissed-out stoner) are echoed in his conversation. On subjects he's comfortable with (Muse, The Kinks, Basement Jaxx) the peculiar accent drops and you find yourself in the company of an enthusiastic Aussie music fan. At others, his well-meaning psychobabble proves close to impenetrable. Bowie sang in 'Fame' that it puts you where things are hollow. Has success made him more lonely?

"No. I've always felt hollow (laughs). I think I'm bi-polar, but no-one has ever said that to me so I can't be. It's hard for me to describe what is real and what isn't. I can't tell the difference, y'know? I don't use the internet, I just sit at home on my own thinking about music and painting. That's what I do. If I wasn't in the band I'd just sit there daydreaming, and that's not good. I'm probably a compulsive liar."

When he disappears in the direction of the funfair, it's hard to imagine that Craig – now limping and with a brown shirt tied around his leg – is the same young man whose songs are of a quality none of his peers can currently touch. Even less so, when having slid down an ancient ride on an old doormat, he yodels dementedly like a farmyard cockerel. When he puts his head through a Victorian fairground attraction depicting him as the baby of a dysfunctional Vines family with Hamish [Note by me: NME mistook Patrick for Hamish] as mum, you imagine even Freud would give up on the psychoanalysis. "Eat your greens!" bellows Hamish.

Later that evening Patrick confesses that his personal highlight while recording 'Winning Days' was the time Craig drove into Woodstock in the dead of night with him and Ryan hanging off the roof-rack, drunk as lords. The only problem was, Craig had never been behind the wheel before in his life.

Wasn't that dangerous?

"Oh, Craig's mad alright," he laughs, medical prognosis complete. "But he's not insane."

Right. Now if he was dressed up as a monkey…