Tour diary: Grease is the word

James Milne takes stock of his weird life on the road in the US.

The Brunettes are in the heart of the US Bible Belt, eating a steady diet of fries and eggs, and - kind of - loving every minute of it, writes bass player James Milne

It is incredible to think that a week ago we were in New York, the birthplace of new wave iniquity, "the world's second home", as Mayor Bloomberg has attempted to coin it. Because right now, suddenly, as you could imagine, we have found ourselves in Georgia, in the heart of the Bible Belt, and all around us signs are screaming at us that Jesus died for our sins.

Churches of all denominations are whitewashed and gleaming with multilingual services at all the convenient times you could need. Jerusalem was built here on Georgia's green and pleasant lands.

However, it is gentrification, not Jesus, that is foremost in the minds of the people we have met so far in Athens, a steadfastly cool college town that has produced an inordinately large number of great bands for its size. Athens, like many cultural hubs of its kind, formerly known for cheap rent and a vibrant arts community, has attracted the kind of rich people who like living around vibrant arts communities and complaining about the noise and mess they make.

As much as we empathise with the Athenians' plight, there's not enough time to get active and play some benefit concerts while we're here. We're driving to Atlanta tomorrow, Nashville the day after that and within nine days we will be in Seattle, via Oklahoma, Omaha, Denver and Salt Lake City. A huge sweep across the continent through what I know from experience are countless miles upon miles of grassland, grain silos and water towers, prairie dogs, scarecrows and banjos.

These rural expanses are broken by the appearance of chain-store signs rising up from the horizon, announcing the strip mall and motel suburbs of the cities. This is the zone that the Brunettes inhabit, pulling into a Motel 6 or Super 8 at two or three in the morning, where we decide who will sleep in the van, who will sleep on the floor of the motel, and who will share the double beds.

This routine will be repeated for perhaps the 20th time tonight at Days Inn, Athens. From what I've read, this place is a real step up from the Motel 6s and Super 8s of this world, featuring free continental breakfast and a swimming pool. Luxury we couldn't have dreamed of when we left New Zealand.

The best thing is that when we finish this tour in Portland in two weeks' time, we are to fly to Kentucky and repeat all this chain-store motel luxury with another band called Rilo Kiley. The same motels, the same cramped van filled with dirty clothes and an accumulating record collection, the same passive aggression. The same unshakeable bronchitis. The same diners with fries and eggs over easy and grease, grease, grease. So much grease. Oh God, can I maintain this lifestyle for another two months, let alone the rest of my days? What a ridiculous vocation this is.