America is Big. It is full of people called Americans who are notable for having more money than taste. Since they are likely to spend this on Records it is a valuable place for the young English Musician to visit.

Contrary to popular opinion Americans are not entirely awful — after you've lived with one or two of them they hardly seem like foreigners at all; so it will be useful to identify some of the types you'll meet there.

Since the media and record companies are all based in NYC it's the most important town in which to make an appearance — New Yorkers themselves scarcely acknowledge the existence of the rest of the States — so unless it's your ambition to join the ranks of British 'Heavy' bands who still make a living in the Mid-West despite having been unheard of in England since 1968, then NYC is the place to go.

New York is seized with a sort of collective neurosis which the inhabitants mistake for 'Energy' - a key word there along with one or two others; 'Fierce' meaning anything fast or busy, 'Psychosis' which can mean anything from Acute schizophrenia to a mild headache, and 'Fabulous' which means anything that your particular record company is subsidising, so avoid these words.

If your record co. has arranged the trip then you'll probably be met at Kennedy or Newark by a limousine full of A&R persons. After 16 hours flying (Skydive Airways always run late) the last thing you'll feel like doing is snorting coke; nonetheless your A&R team will press it upon you, to establish their 'Hip' credentials, and show they're 'Party People' — another key sub-group in local sociology.

Avoid this at all costs as it will most probably be Elephant Tranquilliser; A&R men can't tell the difference, so enjoy the spectacular view as you approach the Manhattan skyline, and try to ignore the traditional A&R jokes, designed to 'loosen you up' after your gruelling flight.

"What does it take to reunite The Beatles?" "Three Bullets."

This gives some idea of the standard of humour to be expected. If you're lucky they'll have booked you into The Gramercy Park Hotel; far more likely is the Hotel Arbuckle on E125th St. The lift won't work so they put you on the 47th floor, none of the staff have English, even as a third language. This will make little difference, for as soon as it's established that you wish neither to buy any little packets, or meet Jose's charming sister you won't see them again.

Soon 'the team' (matching Satin Bomber jackets) will want to 'Show you around' - a process which involves an infinite amount of getting stuck in traffic, puzzling over indecipherable menus, (amuse yourself at dinner by smiling at all the wrong people) and which culminates in a tour of 'The Clubs'.

Area, Danceteria, Limelight, Palladium, it'll be thirty minutes at each, while the $25 an hour, rent-a-limo double parks outside, and your host further demonstrates his Hipness by steering you straight through the mob outside the club, with a casual, "Hi Haoui, party of twelve... cool?.... Faaabulous."

New York clubs have a form of institutionalised rudeness known as 'Door Policy'. This consists of making everybody wait while the Door People (Stars in their own right) decide who is sufficiently 'Fabulous' to be let in.

The 'Haoui's' and 'Sally's' at the door will scrutinise the eager mob for 'Fashion Violations', reserving special contempt for 'Bridge & Tunnel' people — ordinary humans guilty of little more than having the misfortune to live in New Jersey — a crime comparable by English standards to Bestiality.

Americans, lacking any Class structure in the European sense have make a cult out of Celebrity. Once inside any of these clubs at all costs avoid the VIP lounge, unless your idea of Fun is being jostled by staggeringly ill-mannered, over-dressed teenagers smacked into a trance on 'Ecstasy'.

This is currently the vogue drug — an unpleasant mixture combining the worst aspects of Amphetamine and Mescaline, which causes people to imagine that they like one another for periods of up to eight hours. The floor will be writhing with these unfortunates, while any real VIP's will be safely hidden away in the managers office.

It's here, in one of the clubs, that you're most likely to be accosted by another clearly recognisable type, 'The Female Music-Biz Journalist'.

She'll address you by your Christian name, despite the fact you've never met, and reply to absolutely anything you may say with "Oh Wow".

"Oh Wow, Hi John — loved the single."

"Who are you?"

"Oh I'm Candy Hershey — New York Rush"

"What's that?"

"Oh Wow you never heard of Rush magazine?"

"Can't say I have... still.... do sit down."

"Oh Wow"

Five years ago she'd have worn leather trousers and a Gucci jacket, carried a notepad and told you your record was 'significant': this year she's dressing down — designer shredded 501's and a baggy Bon Jovi T-shirt (I'm so street). She'll stick a Walkman under your nose and say "Oh Wow... Fellini is gonna do your new video?..... Fierce."

"Oh Wow I mean you are getting real, real Heavy Rotation right now."

Desperately confusing... what can she mean?

Heavy Rotation whilst sounding like something out of the Kama Sutra in fact translates 'You're on Telly a lot'.

The American music press exists solely to assist the major labels, it has no critical faculties and will print whatever you tell it verbatim. Amuse yourself by saying that Hendrix is gonna produce your album, and see it appear in print a week later.

Remember most Americans have never even heard of irony; the concept is so alien to them that you can play it on them all day without one of them twigging.

Thats New York — and if you think that's bad just: wait till you get to Hollywood!

Have a nice day!