British band finds following in the desert

Courtesy Virgin Records The Sneaker Pimps

TEMPE - It's hot outside the Electric Ballroom today. Real hot. Which is too bad for Sneaker Pimps' Liam Howe, who isn't exactly dressed for the weather. We're sitting on a low wall outside the Tempe venue, along with the band's bassist, Joe Wilson.

Howe is frowning at his long-sleeve shirt, contemplating whether to take it off. This isn't the sort of climate folks are used to in the north of England, the band's point of origin, and a place that is starting to seem a long way off after six weeks on the road.

"There is actually a slight displacement problem. It feels like a very long time now. It's a bit like, 'What happened to the rest of the world?'" says Liam. This may be a familiar sentiment to many weary travelers. At least Sneaker Pimps are enjoying an excellent reception in the States. The packed house at the May concert attests to their welcome, while many other acts from overseas are struggling to gain an audience here.

"It's the simple fact of calling ourselves an American name," jokes Liam, which is, of course, a prompt for the story behind the band's unusual moniker.

"One of Mike D.'s unmusical friends is employed by them (the Beastie Boys) to go around finding old sneakers. He's their sneaker pimp. True story." And while the name may sound a bit strange over here, in England, sneakers aren't even sneakers - they're "trainers." So imagine them trying to figure it out.

As for the story behind the band itself, Joe sheds some light. "Chris (Corner, guitarist) and Liam were making dance music in the north of England, and me and Liam were D.J.s. Dave (Westlake, drummer) would occasionally help out, and we saw Kelli (Dayton, vocalist) in a punk band in Birmingham, and it was kind of like, 'There it is! That's the voice!'"

"We never auditioned, though" adds Liam. "We never thought, 'Let's go find a singer.' The whole thing was stumbled upon."

Initially, the bands's official line-up was the trio of Howe, Corner and Dayton, the only people pictured on the sleeve of the debut album, Becoming X. However, even though the others appear to be new additions when one sees the group live, Liam points out that "old-timer" Wilson has been there all along, even playing uncredited on the album.

"The three was never a fixed number," Liam points out. "It's collaborative stuff."

Howe and Corner also continue to work under the name of Line Of Flight, although it's mostly for production on Sneaker Pimps work these days.

"We were bored of purist dance music and wanted to be in a pop band," says Liam. "We wanted to do all the funny, silly things that pop bands do."

They certainly aren't wasting much time on that front. Just a few days into the tour, a tipsy Liam fell out of a window at a party. He had to limp around the stage for a while, but was pleased with his antics. Needless to say, the band is quite perplexed by the "No Alcohol On Stage" signs they found inside today.

Liam seems to be the unlucky member of the band on the road. In addition to his little fall, he also developed a case of conjunctivitis so bad that he had to wear dark glasses and couldn't really even see.

"I had to guide him around and stand behind him during the show to shout the songs into his ear, because he couldn't see the set list," laughs Joe. Today, for a change, he appears to be in good health, though a little worn out from the tour.

While we're talking, a kid walks over, autographed album in hand, asks if we mind if he sits in on the interview. If the band has such a high profile over here, then surely it must be difficult for them to walk down the street back home.

"Not really," says Liam. "We didn't have our pictures on posters or anything like that for a while. We're just starting to now. Besides, the English are kind of grumpy. They're too reserved to approach us on the street. But every now and then there'll be a Japanese tourist or something who will recognize Kelli and come up and say, 'Who's this guy with you?'"

Still, success has its benefits. The guys cheerfully inform me that the tattoo parlor next door to the club has graciously offered free tattoos to any Sneaker Pimp. While they seem doubtful about the prospect (Joe points out that he much prefers the temporary sort, rolling up his sleeve to reveal a very large example), at least one member of the group does take advantage of the opportunity. During the band's set that night, the stage is unsurprisingly dominated by the diva-like presence of vocalist Dayton, who makes sure to dedicate a song to Club Tattoo, before happily showing off her new piece to the crowd.

So, Kelli's got her souvenir to remember our desert state by, but what about the rest of them? Liam, for one, isn't leaving empty-handed either. In fact, he's acquired something from a Phoenix radio station that's more amazing to him than anything else he's seen in this strange country of ours. It's a CD by Jack Kevorkian, the one and only Dr. Death, performing a number of selections on the flute and other instruments of the musical, rather than medical, sort. Liam shakes his head in wonder as he describes the oddity.

"Only in America," he says, finally.

Indeed.