In Brussels, having just played the Werchter festival with Roxy Music. It’s the third date of the tour and I’m having a great time, revelling in the intricacies of the songs and my science–experiment setup. There were only 2 proper rehearsal days with the whole band. Previous to that everyone had been rehearsed separately. That was very strange, and the only analogy I can think of is an omlette. Imagine cooking all the ingredients on their own – frying the eggs, melting the cheese, boiling the milk – then throwing it all on a plate. I don’t know what you’d call it but it wouldn’t be an omlette. Getting a band together is a bit like that, but by now things have congealed properly. Sometimes Bryan will suggest a few refinements after the show (he gives incredible attention to detail) and that is always helpful. I’ve never really toured at this level before, where it?s flights every day instead of the tourbus and my stage clothes go in a flightcased wardrobe to be ironed and presented to me minutes before stagetime. It feels grown–up. On bass is Guy Pratt, a great player and very funny man (he has his own stand–up show). In catering the other day the waitress asked to see his meal ticket. He pointed to Bryan and said, ’There he is!’

One thing I’ve noticed recently is that the more I lose myself in the music onstage, the less happy I look! I think this is because when I’m truly concentrating there isn’t room to consider any kind of rock and roll fakery. To me, all the great performers evolve their own styles instead of subscribing to what a musician ’should’ do (Bryan is a great example of this with his joyous tango poses), or chasing applause, and my style just happens to be… non-existent! If I sense that I am giving even one per cent of my attention to the audience, or how I look, I feel like a shallow, pathetic arsehole. I remember my composition teacher at music college saying to me once, ’Leo do you think you could try and look less like you’re having a shit?’ and that’s the only time I decided to make a permanent change to my demeanor. Being onstage can be a constant battle to be true to what is important – music, emotion – waged against smoke machines and one’s own ego.

Of all the people I play with, I find that battle easiest to win with Iarla O’Lionaird, with whom I had a lovely concert in Prague a couple of weeks ago. A very hippyish atmosphere on an island in the middle of the river. But my camera got stolen out of my luggage on the way back. Lucky, in a way, that they didn’t take any of my effects pedals that were in the same case. There were also some European gigs with Ronan which were utterly drunken (after, not during) and rather good fun.

I much prefer being in the studio to playing live. It really feels like a good, worthwhile days work (compared to being on tour where you spend a whole day waiting for an hour or so of effort) and the buzz from creation is much greater for me than that of applause. Luckily this month I’ve had some very rewarding sessions. One was with Bryan Ferry, adding swathes of texture and melody to some great band tracks that had been recorded in the 90s. One of them he was dissatisfied with because it sounded a bit ’pub rock’; I asked him to remove all the instruments leaving just the vocal, under which I made a new backdrop of sinister static loops. He seemed to love it, so hopefully that will see the light of day. I also had a week in Belfast with David Holmes working on his new record after a long break. It’s really coming together now and features some beautiful emotional things alongside the more driving stuff. As with Eno, the relationship with David as a collaborator gets better and better, as a little code of communication develops and understanding deepens. And I certainly don’t have to worry about whether I’m throwing enough shapes.