Gigantic.45
Iron Bridge
A few days into 1999 we were back in the UK. We’d been on the cover of NME a month before and the wind was at our backs.
Touring was more-and-more like business, days filled with promotion in addition to performances. Still, there was time for sight-seeing if you made a point of it.
In Ireland I leaned over backwards on Blarney Castle to kiss the stone (a tour guide graciously held my feet so I wouldn’t plummet to my death.) There were also always various churches and cathedrals to check out along the way.
My favorite discovery was The Iron Bridge which crosses the River Severn in the Midlands in central England. When you first look at it, it looks like an old bridge. The more you contemplate it, the more it fascinates you.
Built in the 1770s, it was the first bridge built out of, uh, iron. Spanning what’s now a bucolic gorge, the location was once home to a major ironworks. The genius of daring to build the bridge with their own iron was that people soon flocked from around the world to marvel at it, and business boomed.
The builders of the bridge still had no conception of the streamlined designs that iron girders would make possible. It was constructed as if carpenters had built it from wood with techniques from the Middle Ages. The bridge spans not only the river but time periods.
Growing up, my conception of the 1770s was all about the American Revolution, powdered wigs and whatnot. Turns out the Industrial Revolution was already happening simultaneously, even back then.
Our tour bus caused a minor sensation while trying to navigate the tiny lanes in the adjoining village. Soon enough we were back on the road.
We were now playing shows to thousands of people and switching to a top-tier management company, one that handled bands that played stadiums.
At the same time, I still had my own plans, a little ambiguous, but beginning to take shape. I’d made arrangements with my friend Katie who lived in London, she’d manage my solo career, apart from all this.
On a Wednesday night off when we weren’t playing as a band, I played my first London solo show at a venue in Highbury called Upstairs at the Garage. Grasshopper lent me his Telecaster. I didn’t have an amp that night, but the sound gal made it sound lovely direct through the PA.
I think the ticket price was four pounds. Between my bandmates, London friends, and other curious folks, there was a nice little turn out, even if it wasn’t anywhere near the size the Rev shows had become.
An A&R person from a British label approached me afterwards.
“I like your guitar playing,” she said. “You should use a pick.”
So, no immediate offers flowing in. But I started using a pick.
As the tour continued and became more entrenched with business, I was determined not to give up thinking of it as some sort of heroic journey. I pictured places I’d visited, not as tourist destinations, but as archetypes, images on tarot cards, meaningful stages along the way.
What did a castle symbolize? A cathedral?
A bridge in general might be interpreted as a transition. Iron Bridge in particular sang to me. A forerunner of its own future, waiting to happen.
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I remember visiting the Iron bridge and have some photos. Caron had a huge black eye!