Russell Brand

By Producer Jack

Having just spent the best part of ten days in New York City between a hotel room in Soho, the surprisingly well stocked grocers across the street and the Radio City Theatre, our sudden drive through the expansive cornfields of Iowa is more eerie than it might ordinarily be.

Beautiful as it is, I look at the lonely houses scattered through the maze of maize and primarily wonder if perhaps I am metro-polised – a word I think I may have just made up for being institutionalized in cities.

The come down after a night as glittering as the VMAs is palpable. Even as a non-performing member of the team, the focus and dedication it requires means that mental readjustments are needed. I can only imagine how these are multiplied by the high of live performance and without the option of getting blind drunk after.

To be honest getting the tone of the material right this year was a little tricky. At times we were treading a comedy tightrope fit for Pink’s circus.

It’s a particularly precarious gig because of the odd atmosphere in the room and Russell’s admirable desire never to compromise. Prevalent concerns produced by these elements are these kind of questions: Which celebrities will handle a gag ok? Will the audience have the concentration to appreciate this joke? Does my bum look big in this skirt? Sorry that was just me.

Deciding what material to actually include is a bit like that moment when you have to decide what shoes to take on holiday. You know one pair will inevitably spend the entire break in the suitcase, it’s just bloody difficult to predict which ones before you go.

The dressing room prior to the show has the air that I assume is generally reserved for that of a pro boxer. By then the preparation is done, it’s just the psychological battle at this point. Russell calmly paces the room deeply inhaling as the team offer words of positivity. Finally there is a knock from the floor manager and it is time. A quick hug from the gang and he is off, wandering out into the abyss of a live nation. Rather him than me.

Backstage, in our little room we call the ‘dog basket’ the team huddle round an unnecessarily small TV with the collective nerves of a parent at the first school play. It’s odd to watch a man exit a room and immediately appear on TV, it’s especially hard to comprehend that on the other side of that grubby blue-tacked wall is the bonkers glam of the VMAs. There he is though, our very own Essex boy up on the stage effortlessly carrying some pretty weighty focus.

Meanwhile, back in the basket our odd co-operative silently lip sync his lines and cheer laughs like he’s scoring goals. Gareth and I look at one another grinning and realize he is comfortable out there – the show is in safe hands. Russell is a man uniquely at home in mind-boggling conditions, the added chaos of Kanye just made him more at home. I glance around at the traveling sitcom he has assembled as a team, there is a communal surge of relief and, might I add some really appropriate shoes.

By Producer Jack

And so our latest foray in the land of plenty came to a close, and whilst we have cherished the opportunity I have to admit there is relief with the absence of abundance. Somehow back in London I am again in the comfort of the journey rather than the confusing final destination that is Hollywood.

During our latest trip, much to the dismay of Russell I revealed my half-baked future plan for a vegetarian pie shop brilliantly (I alone think) called ‘Jack’s Meatless Pies’. Whilst this is a genuine ambition, I think the announcement came partly out of an innate resistance to our lavish surroundings. Not that this is any slight on our ambition; it’s just that Hollywood can sometimes be very blatant in its belief that happiness is financial.

Fitting then that this last trip should conclude with an Independence Day white themed party hosted by Puff Daddy at the biggest plot of real estate in Los Angeles. I wonder what our simian ancestors would have made of such a humble do? “Well I guess now we’re warm and fed, and you my missus are impregnated – why not us invest in a completely new and pointless outfit we’ll literally wear once?”

Please don’t for a minute think I am not grateful for such mind-boggling opportunities because of course I am. It’s just that I wonder if the aspiration for such riches, the drive to achieve them is actually a more solid foundation than the accomplishment.

Prior to the party there was debate in the camp over attendance, all of us nervous and excited in equal amounts. The decision was finally made when Russell arrived home with an outfit of such glory that had the suit itself not been present then gossip columns the world over would have buzzed at the no show. Also, Russell ‘Black’ Brand in all white? That’s comparable to Dylan going electric. Sort of.

Once the decision was made there was the kind of excitement you get when everyone properly commits to a fancy dress. I assume the white theme is intended to inject prestige and glamour into the event, which it certainly achieved with the ladies. For the gentlemen unfortunately it almost has a reverse affect acting as a leveller – like a compulsory hip hop school uniform.

Having mentioned the party since, it seems people are most interested in the other attendees. Understandable. But, to be quite honest I was so taken with the revolving dance floor and free Sean Combs endorsed vodka that I barely spoke to anyone. Apart from this bald guy who told me he once lived in Kent, that I later found out was Billy Zane. Lovely chap, although I still wonder about the cream cake he held throughout our chat that neither of us referenced.

I also had a brief exchange with someone I later found out to be model Amber Rose. Foolishly I thought her shaven head and alien beauty were recognisable only by me, and not her current squeeze Kanye West. Somehow when you haven’t got a clue who someone is, you unintentionally maintain a carefree attitude that you’d clumsily kick over if you were aware of their stature. Unfortunately I didn’t quite get to the meatless pie plan, which I’m sure would have been a clincher.

Back on the dance floor Puff remained on the microphone almost constantly – part rapping, part weirdly commentating on the party. At times I had flashes of street corners in Bedford Stuy with Biggie – hands in the air goose bump stuff, at other times it was like a local mobile dj rambling over a cherished wedding.

Ultimately though, you have to give it to him, he knows how to throw a party and clearly he doesn’t mind spreading his wealth. Which if you have it is surely the best thing that you can do. Now that I have commended him perhaps there will be an American franchise to ‘Jack’s Meatless Pies’ that we can call ‘Puff’s Pastries.’