Tashi Delay is just me, Emily Seabroke—guitar, vocals, sound, and video controller. This has been a solo project since 2023. Although I had many lovely band members before then, traveling alone is easier in this economy! I perform post-punk electronica backed by projected motion graphic videos I’ve made and collaborated on that visualize the songs’ narratives. In September 2024, I did a short one-week European-Baltic tour which included a show and a family visit to the U.K., where I’m originally from. I booked this tour myself. Some advice to anyone hoping to do this: Book six months ahead. I’m a last-minute Larry who still managed to get some shows, but I could have been out longer if I’d started sooner. This tour diary uses half-British, half-American words because that’s what I am. Thanks for reading!
Brighton, U.K.
Every trip home is always interesting: It’s a track of your development. This time, especially since I turned 40 two weeks before I left, I am approaching this tour with introspection. The big news in the U.K. is that Oasis is getting back together. I loved them from ages 11 to 13, but then I thought they did too much coke, and their songs were so dull and inflated by the third album. I still stand by those two first albums; they had a rawness. Anyway, I digress. I’m on a bus going into the deep East Sussex countryside to have a belated birthday dinner at my friend Lindy’s house, where I’m meeting our friend B. I’d been staying in Brighton with my friend Eva, who had just had a baby. She and I played in an electro-punk duo together, Das Fenster, when we were 19. Eva sings the operatic parts in “Blue” and “F U” on my album. She’s a musical genius. I hope we can play a show together in Brighton when I return. She has impressive songs, and it would be cool to have her sing her Tashi Delay parts live, especially as she’s currently condensed in the loop pedal that I sing along to.
I always get emotional on public transport—it’s the motion! I tend to feel a little sad when I’m back in the U.K. as it makes me think of the friends and family that have passed. The landscape brings back memories: I lost my best friend to suicide when I was 16, and then my godmother, grandmother, mother, and aunt all died in a short space of time a few years later in my late teens and early 20s. I was so unhappy, sad, and self-destructive when I lived here around that time. I was too young to understand that I was grieving and blamed myself for how I was feeling. How I ended up in the States is a story for another day, but moving there felt like a breath of fresh air. I haven’t played in London since I left 13 years ago, and have never played any of my original music in the U.K. It’s exciting, but I feel a lot of pressure to be perfect as it’s in front of my old friends and brother, so I’m nervous about my homecoming show.
London
I’m traveling to London from East Sussex on a train with my best friend B. We went to a music school called BIMM Music Institute together; we were the only two female bass players in our year, so we became close. I spent the morning at her house in admin purgatory trying to get a card reader I’d bought to work so I could sell merch at these upcoming gigs. There’s no universal cash app here like Venmo, which doesn’t work in Europe. I was using SumUp, but they didn’t like me and blocked me from using it. B lent me her Zettle card reader, and the money will go to her account first. It’s all irritating and tedious.
We’re staying at B’s friend’s house in Hackney Central. I can walk to the venue in 10 minutes, which is novel. I’m also just a lady with a guitar and suitcase, which helps too. I wear white as my stage color to reflect the projections off of me. Because of the space taken up by merch in my suitcase, I only have one stage outfit, a white jumpsuit. It’s a hat nod to Elvis. Walking to the venue, I feel like a magician heading to a children’s party.
I get to the venue, Biddle Bros, and it’s completely rammed. I tell the barman I’m here to play a gig, and he’s short with me. He tells me I’ve missed it, they’re already playing. I’m baffled as it’s only 7 p.m., my call time. In the first room of the pub are blokes watching football. In the second room, a man screams into a microphone, dressed as a clown and wearing melted Insane Clown Posse makeup. It’s a crowded room, and everyone is pissed up! It smells like a wet dog (I saw a wet Labrador hours later, so my nose is correct). I ask one of the drunk dancers what’s going on, and they say there are two more acts. I feel I’ve somehow messed up. The promoter suddenly spots me and comes over. He apologizes as he didn’t realize an open mic was happening before the gig. I feel more at ease and get into the next act, who’s in drag and playing a sampler in a business suit.
Biddle Bros is a legendary dive bar for music. The vibe is like Poor Boys, but they play sports in the front. It’s the weirdo art house scene I played in circa 2008, so it feels like a time warp. Soundchecking in front of an anticipating crowd is always awkward. Everyone has stuck around from the open mic and is looking at me to do something. I’m using the venue’s Marshall guitar amp, which is extremely loud, even at setting 2. Their equipment sounds bad, and I’m sorting this out in front of 50 people. They have a projector, so the visuals—usually the most challenging to set up—are done immediately. I feel rushed because they’re running an hour late. I find a somewhat OK level that is good enough, leaving the rest up to chance.
A guy called Happy Hooves is playing first. He’s a man with an acoustic guitar, a little awkward but sweet. I become nervous and pace around like a polar bear in a cage. Old friends are beginning to arrive. I invited my bandmates from a punk band where I played bass in the late 2000s called Oink. We used to do a cover of “Old MacDonald Had a Farm” that went on for 15 minutes, and I would have to act out the various noises, never quite knowing what they’d be. “Old MacDonald had a brick!” I hadn’t seen these guys in 14 years; they haven’t changed. My brother arrives. He’d pretty much been to every gig I’d played in England, so it is exciting to finally show him my music. He lent me his guitar for the tour, a white Epiphone Les Paul that had been living under my bed at my dad’s house for 20 years and hadn’t been played on a stage since 1998 (by my brother at a summer camp). I learned to play this guitar using my thumb at age 13. It’s a beautiful instrument that I’m glad I can give life to again, and it saved me the hassle of having to fly over with my guitar from the U.S. It plays great and also goes well with my outfit! I also meet Joe Cribbin for the first time, a friend of my New Orleans friend Josh Benitez. He had sent me a list of venues to hit up. I’m so out of the loop in the U.K. as I left such a long time ago. All my musician friends are parents now, or they play function gigs. Joe was a big help, and I couldn’t have done it without him.
When I start my set, the bar is packed, and I have a lot of support from old friends, so that’s a confidence boost. My guitar settings change during the second song and all I can hear is distortion, and I hope I’m playing the right notes and not complete garbage! My friend Johnny keeps heckling me, but with support, yelling, “Great stuff, play another.” It’s funny, and it makes me feel less nervous about not being able to hear shit. I often lose some of the audience when I play the slower, more intense songs in my set, but I lose no one this time. I’ve learned that when you perform by yourself, you have no idea how it’s going. When you have bandmates, you get a vibe. But alone, you have to cling on for dear life. I get through it. I finally played my music in London and feel that I gave it my all despite the sound problems. The headliners are a punk jazz band called Dan Spanner Trio. I should have checked them out, but I have too many people to catch up with. It’s always that way after you play, it’s tough to catch the next act. They sound great, though.
The day after the gig, I chill in London and hang out with my family. My dad came up to my brother’s for the night. He didn’t make it to the show. COVID has been making a resurgence, but he’ll make it if I play closer to where he lives next time.
Travel to Helsinki, Finland
I’m flying from London to Helsinki with Ryanair. European airlines are unlike the U.S.; you can’t carry your guitar as hand luggage, so they make you check it. I don’t trust airlines to look after an instrument, and I walk a lot with my luggage, so I wanted to avoid taking a hard case. I did some research because Ryanair is a budget airline; if you do it enough in advance, you can buy a seat for your guitar and have it next to you. It’s the same cost as if they make you check it, and you can then keep an eye on it. The lady next to me asks if she can sit by the window. I say no, the guitar has to sit there. She looks at me like I’m entirely selfish. I explain that the airline makes you do it so the guitar doesn’t get in the way if there’s an emergency. She seems somewhat convinced by my answer. The steward gives me an extra seat belt for the guitar. I wish I’d dressed my guitar in a little jacket and hat. The guitar feels like my traveling companion as I’m doing this trip alone!
The Helsinki airport is clean and dazzling. From now on, I’ll be in completely uncharted territories. I need to get a bus to my hostel, but I can’t get the bus app to work on my phone, probably because I have an international card. I struggle to get change from any airport store, but I finally get the correct fare. The air is warmer than in England, despite being so much further north. Its latitude to the U.K. is the top of Scotland.
I obsessively track my bus journey on Google Maps, as it’s dark and I don’t understand any of the pronunciations of the overhead bus speaker. Before the bus stops, I see my hostel across the street. The traffic is back to being on the right and, despite growing up in the U.K., it feels like home to be back on the right side of the street again. The hostel is in a tower block, where I settle in and find the community kitchen. There are lots of people hanging out and talking about their travels. I thought I’d bought a halloumi wrap from the airport, but instead I accidentally warm up hummus and salad in the microwave, creating a big, sloppy mess. I am too tired to care.
Helsinki
I’m knackered from traveling and, even though I want to explore, I get up late. I ensure that all my gear survived the flight and re-tighten the strings I slackened for flying. I end up leaving the hostel around noon and only have about four hours to explore before I have to come back to get ready for the show. A tram close by takes me to the center of Helsinki, where I can check out the main sights. The streets are enormous to cross, and I run in a tizzy to get across before the light changes. As I ride the tram, I take in all the buildings. This isn’t my first time in Scandinavia; the countries feel modern and slick with a hint of the past. I get off at Senate Square, which has a massive cathedral. It’s cool, but I’m hungry so I walk to a market by the docks. It’s exceptionally windy. I find a covered market and try a Finnish soup called lohikeitto made of salmon, carrots, and potatoes in a creamy sauce; it’s delicious. I also try a tiny bit of reindeer on a cracker because when do you get to do that? It’s horrible and tastes like the smell of manure. With the rest of my free time, I visit Suomenlinna, a sea fortress on an island. My travel day pass includes a ferry ride, so I take the 15-minute ride to the island and walk around for an hour, enjoying the views out to sea, imagining what the North Pole looks like (it’s about 12 hours away), and climbing on ruins.
I take the bus to my show. It’s at Kalasataman Vapaakaupunki, a community art space that hosts guest speakers, film showings, and music. My friend Bryan Bielanski (with whom I’m next playing a show in New Orleans at the Howlin’ Wolf in November), had played there and recommended it as a good venue. It’s on the second floor of a modern shopping mall and train station, which is an odd location. I see my name on a chalkboard outside as I approach and feel a mixture of nerves and excitement as this is my first show outside the U.K. and the States. The space has a massive 20-foot ceiling, and it feels like we’re in a warehouse from the future. I meet Roosa, who booked me. She’s charming and helpful. I’m entirely doing my own sound and visuals, using their PA as my guitar amp with my pedals. It actually sounds better than it did in London with a guitar amp. There’s a massive stage in this space, but I decide to perform on the ground as it feels like the stage might swallow me up. It’s a Tuesday night, and people are chilling on couches, drinking tea, studying, reading, and looking at art. Because of the day of the week, I am the only performer and must finish by 9 p.m. I am a little loud for the vibe, but people stick around to watch. I think it helps to have a visual show, too. That was the whole point of expanding my set to offer an immersive experience: to help you understand the songs more in-depth. It’s interesting to present my work in this early evening sober environment instead of a late-night dive bar with people drinking. It gives me confidence that my set can work in different spaces.
My set is done by 8:30. It’s all very civilized and efficient, which is an odd feeling. I’m back at the hostel by 9:30, which is also weird. I’m staying above a supermarket, so I grab food and try to buy beer. You can’t buy beer in Finland after 9 p.m. I don’t necessarily drink before a show as I have many moving parts to think about, but it feels weird to pour my heart out and not be able to celebrate afterward. A drink, to me, calms nerves and puts a line under a performance. The hostel has a bar, though, and I watch football, coincidentally England vs. Finland, and realize that I might be addicted to chaotic environments.
Tallinn, Estonia
The next day, I travel by ferry to Tallinn, the capital of Estonia. I take the tram to the ferry port, passing through parts of Helsinki that I didn’t get to see. The Finnish National Gallery has a banner advertising an exhibition of a man in full frontal nudity. It’s interesting as it’s a reserved city, but they’re not afraid of nudity! I wish I’d had time to see more art and play with another band. It was incredible to be the guest artist, but I would have loved to hear what music is being created in Helsinki. I’ve never been on a cruise ship, and this ferry is massive. It takes two hours to cross the Baltic Sea; I’ve never been this far east in Europe before. I spend the trip drinking cheap beer and writing in my journal.
Tallinn couldn’t be more different from Helsinki. Where Helsinki is modern, Tallinn is a preserved medieval town amongst a fortress. Unfortunately, although I tried hard, I don’t have a gig here. I’m here to break up the journey from Helsinki to Riga, the capital of Latvia, and explore. The pictures of the city looked incredible when I researched them. I have a full day of exploration, so I walk around cobbled streets, wind around alleyways, and climb the hill of the city fortress to the highest point that looks out over the city. All the roofs are clay, adding a fantastic red tinge to the view.
Russia has occupied, at one time, all of the countries that I’m visiting. I want to understand the history more, so I head to the KGB museum, a former art nouveau apartment building prison. Each cell was left as it was, and there are people’s stories of why they were captured and the torture they received while in captivity. It’s a heavy experience, but it is essential to understand what can happen when extremist, repressive rule occurs. Outside, there’s a prominent memorial to Ukrainians who have died during the current war in Ukraine. While traveling, I’m constantly aware that Russia borders all the countries I visit. There’s a tremendous amount of support for Ukraine. There are Ukrainian flags in nearly every building and anti-Russian sentiment is common. It’s been 33 years since the Soviet Union broke down and, with the invasion of Ukraine, it must be unnerving to see history repeat itself.
I walk from the fortress to the arts district, which is in a former industrial factory area with murals on broken-down walls. There’s an outdoor photo exhibition of a peaceful protest in the summer of 1989, where two million people held hands in a line stretching 430 miles from Tallinn to Vilnius across all the Baltic states. It was a protest of independence and unity against Soviet Russian occupation. I had no idea this had happened, so seeing that people can change things was uplifting. Especially with what’s happening in Palestine, when it feels like your voice is being lost within the U.S. support of Israel.
I end the day in a Depeche Mode-themed bar with memorabilia and TV screens playing their concerts, rounding off a full, interesting day.
Travel to Riga, Latvia
I leave Tallinn early on a wet morning. It was an incredible experience to visit, but I’m excited to get to Riga and play a show with my internet band friends Dani Ryan, who I have been friends with since 2021 after I sent my music to Riga’s student radio station, Radio NABA, on a whim. They played my single “F U,” and I gained some Latvian fans, including Dani Ryan. Their sound is synth-glam-disco rock. I had wanted to come out here to play a show for years, so it is cool that it is finally happening. The show I booked with them galvanized traveling to the Baltic States.
The coach ride from Tallinn to Riga is four hours and costs €20, putting the Greyhound to shame. There’s free coffee and tea, a nice toilet, and free movies on a screen in the seat. I use the time to write and stare out the window. We’re going through miles of forests, which could be the Pacific Northwest. There’s a significant population of brown bears in the woods, and if you don’t mind spending €68, you can buy bear steaks. I was curious but didn’t want to blow a couple of days per diem on a bear!
When we enter Latvia, we drive through an abandoned passport control that could have been a set from The Walking Dead. There have been open borders since the formation of the EU, so there’s no need for them anymore. We get to the outskirts of Riga, where there are former Soviet blocks of apartments for miles and I walk from the coach station to my hostel, The Naughty Squirrel. It’s the shabbiest place I’ve stayed in so far. My room smells like pee, but they do give me a shot when I arrive, a Latvian liqueur called Riga Black Balsam that tastes like herbal cough syrup. I spend the rest of the day walking around the old town, looking at impressive buildings and sitting in lovely parks. I didn’t expect Riga to be so green. Every once in a while, I hear a yell of “oiii, aaah.” It’s funny because I never see them, just the distant call of pissed-up men. Riga is a big location for English men’s stag do’s (bachelor parties) as it’s cheap to visit and drink a lot. In a way, Riga is similar to New Orleans.
I end up eating at a local chain called LIDO, which is cafeteria-style, super cheap, and tasty. I have borscht and little dumplings called pelmeni (mine are filled with mushrooms), pickled herring, and pelēkie zirņi, Latvian peas that are brown, shaped like chickpeas, and smothered in bacon. I go to a gig that night at a venue that had offered me a show. I’d already accepted the other gig, but I wanted to check the space out. The venue is called Republika and is in an underground cellar. I see a punk band called O’Morales. They’re fun—I’ve never seen a stand-up bass player play the instrument behind their head like Jimi Hendrix.
Riga Day 2
Show day: I half want to sleep in, but I don’t know if I’ll make it back here again, so I get up and explore before the show. I have a 3 p.m. soundcheck, so I only have a little time, but I go to the Latvian National Museum of Art. It has some of the best modern art I’ve ever seen. It’s political, beautiful, violent, and unique. Much of the art was made during the Soviet Russian occupation.
It was recommended that I get the ride-sharing app Bolt, as it’s just as cheap as the bus and more direct. My 15-minute ride only costs me €1.50. It works precisely like Lyft, and the driver is nice and helpful. I don’t understand why it is so cheap but efficient. I’m playing at The LODGE in a neighborhood called Avoti, a suburb set up for inner-city factory workers back in the day. Demi, Dani Ryan’s lead singer, booked the show as their friends created the venue. I arrive at an industrial cul-de-sac full of garages with car mechanics. At first, I’m confused about where I’m going, and then I hear music and see a ton of logs outside a venue: This is the place. It’s incredible when I walk in, lit up pink and blue, with amazing equipment everywhere. The owner, Valentin, greets me. This show was well organized; we’ve all been talking for weeks on Telegram about show details, so it’s great to put faces to names. The venue is the studio and rehearsal space for Valentin’s band, SXIMA. Valentin works in set design, which you can tell from his attention to detail. He hammered open books to the wall to help absorb sound, and the bathroom door has 10 different handles and so many mirrors. His co-owner Stephanie arrives, and we start setting up the space for the show.
Dani Ryan arrives; it’s exciting to meet them. We’re all quite shy with each other, as this has been a long time coming and we don’t know what to say! I give them some space to soundcheck and walk to find food, ending up at a Chinese hole-in-the-wall that’s great. I try to find a park to do vocal warm-ups in, but I feel self-conscious and walk back.
Because we started so early, we have plenty of time to kill, so I drink a beer with Valentin and Stephanie. They offer me a fantastic chocolate cream cheese snack called Kārums and tell me about their lives and backgrounds, explaining that Latvia doesn’t support its older generation; there’s no social safety net. Despite being a member of the EU, the country is still struggling. They say that, for younger people, it’s good to get into tech as you can make money. They both speak three languages fluently; they started learning at a young age. It makes English-speaking countries look lazy. I don’t speak any language other than English.
Dani Ryan comes back and we chat outside. It’s a lovely evening, not too cold. However, Latvia in winter gets down to -20 celsius! Demi and I are excited to be talking to each other. We chat about music, and they ask me what bands I’ve seen. I grew up outside Reading, so I attended the Reading Festival as a teenager in the late ‘90s. They’re excited that I saw System Of A Down and Red Hot Chili Peppers. It’s cute, but I also am conscious that I’m 10 years older than them, which is happening at this point in my musical life. But it is also a friendly reminder that I saw some iconic bands when I was younger; who cares if I’m old? Age in music feels irrelevant now.
Dani Ryan is fun to watch. Demi is a good front person; they engage with funny banter and dance while singing. The bass player, Valdis, looks like a glam Viking and has an impressive amount of pedals and great solos. They sing in English, which I also experienced at the gig the night before. Even the stage banter goes from English into Latvian. Demi tells me later that English is the international language of music, and you have to do that if you want your music to be played in other countries. I find it sad, but I get it in a way, as many different languages are spoken and it helps to have one universal one. It shows how dominant the U.S. and U.K. are in music, and I wonder if that’s a good thing.
I’m up next. There is a good crowd in the room and they stay engaged throughout the entire set. Because we spent a long time on details, it looks and sounds great. However, there’s this blue light underneath me, and I can’t see anything on my fretboard, which is hard since I am visual when playing instruments. It’s a silly detail you can’t prepare for, but it’s still a good show.
I sell a lot of merch. Everyone I meet after the show is lovely and interesting to talk to. Dani Ryan is excited to show me their rehearsal room, which is in the same cul-de-sac as the venue. It’s in this tower block that used to be an office building and has been used for punk shows and rehearsal rooms since the ‘80s. Their space is massive; it looks like a room at the End Of The World Naval Base in New Orleans but with better lighting. We hang out there until it’s time to end the night.
I feel satisfied and complete: We did the show that we’d wanted to do for years. I did two tours this year that I’d tried to organize several times but the pandemic had messed up, so it’s wild that it finally happened after false starts of planning. Booking shows is so much work, with endless hours of emailing and researching. It paid off, though, and the only thing left to do is go home, write more songs, return to my life, and get back out there again soon.
With Dani Ryan at the LODGE (Riga)
Tashi Delay plays the Howlin’ Wolf with Bryan Bielanski on November 19. For more info, check out tashidelaymusic.com and @tashi_delay on Instagram.
Top photo: Tashi Delay At the LODGE (Riga)
