This article is from Chart magazine, yep, and here it is, i wasted my time, typing it, so appreciate my dedication pretty please?? hehe...this article's funny...

Chart, April 1999

Three lads in the fishbowl

Story by Sarah Chauncey

"It's Daniel's mother!" I'm walking from the "Live in Toronto" mobile studio to a van, through a throng of screaming kids. They're here to see silverchair, who've just done a radio appearence on 102.1 The Edge to promote their latest album, Neon Ballroom. A half-dozen burly security guards are holding back the crowd. I'm thinking, "Stop shrieking, I'm nobody," when a girl screams, "It's Daniel's mother!" I look up and start laughing, until I realize that the crowd appears to have taken her seriously, and now they're all trying to grab me and get pictures of me.

I scramble into the van and collapse into the back seat, wondering what the hell just happened. Australian teen sensations Daniel Johns, Chris Joannou and Ben Gilles follow, trailed by their tour manager and the Sony publicist. As a security guard shuts the door, there's an odd moment of relative peace. We made it.

Not 10 seconds later, the tour manager remarks, "Someone's got in the back."

A young girl, clad in bellbottoms and a blue plaid top, cluching a tiny teddy bear, is standing inside the space behind the last seat. Like the proverbial deer caught in the headlights, she's just staring at Daniel - or rather the back of Daniel's head.

Because I'm the closest to her, I step over the seat and usher her towards the door. She resists a little, and I wonder, "If she gets hurt, am I liable?" As I lean out and try to grab the door handle, a cacophony of voices plead me; "Please give Daniel this!" "Tell Daniel I love him!" and other such desperate appeals.

I finally get a grip on the door handle, but the girl from the van pushed her teddy bear towards me. "Please," she implores, "Just give Daniel this?!" In the moment I pause to look at her, the crowd surges towards me. In a panic, I slam the door shut, knocking the teddy bear to the pavement. I feel like a jerk.

How each of the trio reacts to the scene encapsulates their personalities; drummber Ben, who looks like a punked-out Donny Osmond in an argyle sweater, seems amused as he scans the crowd for cute girls. Bass player Chris is wide-eyed, his cheeks flushed, appearing alternately embarrassed and pleased. And Daniel, the blond object of all these fans' affection, is staring straight ahead, willing it all to go away. In this moment, they seem every bit the 19-year olds that they are.

The driver takes off without running anyone over - an impressive feat in itself - and the van goes around several blocks, moving quickly so as to "lose" any fans who might be trying to follow the band. I feel like I'm in a slightly surreal cop show. We pull up at the restaurant, Superior, and within two minutes the van is surrounded by screaming girls. "Aw, fuck," says Daniel.

We pile out, and for the first time, I understand the "heads down" stance I always see celebrites take while walking through crowds. It's like walking through shoulder-high underbrush, except that it's underbrush that moves and screams and grabs. As we enter the restaurant, the other patrons stare. Superior is an upscale restaurant; most of the folks here look like they came from Bay Street or perhaps former Maple Leafs in town for the official closing of the Gardens. Three scruffy teenage boys with an entourage look out of place.

We sit down in a booth upholstered with muted Southwestern greens, reds and browns. The band seems relieved that the screaming fans are safely controlled outside the restaurant, pounding on the window.

"I feel uncomfortable in these crowds; I hate it," Daniel admits. "I don't hate the crowds; I just feel uncomfortable."

Chris chimes in. "It's great to have such fantical fans, because you know they'll pretty much be there the whole of your careers." Choosing his words carefully, he adds, "You kind of feel bad if you're negative towards him, but it's a hard situation sometimes."

Do they fear for their safety?

"Hanging around with a guy that pulls in that many chicks," Ben quipes, nodding at Daniel, "It does get scary after awhile." He smiles, indicating it's a kind of terror he can live with.

"You're the troublemaker aren't you?" I ask, noting his tendancy to call every female "bay-bee."

"Nah." Ben mocks a frown and nods at Chris. "He's the instigator."

"Piss off!" replies Chris. "I'm - no way!" He looks at me, both eyebrows raised. "I'm the good one."

"Good?! You're far from good!"

"Fuck off!"

NEWSFLASH! CHRIS AND BEN BUNK TOGETHER!

It's the fantasy of most 19-year-boys to be the object of millions of adoring fans and screaming girls, throwing themselves at you wherever you go. When it becomes reality, though, day-in and day-out, even adoration can take its toll.

"It's pretty over-whelming," admits Ben. "But it makes you think we must be doing something right."

"It is what it is," shrugs Chris. Getting back at Ben for the "instigator" comment, he grabs his bandmate in a headlock. Is this a wrestling hold?

"Nah, it's an embrace," says Ben, his features scrunched under Chris' arm.

Because you love each other so much? "We've become much closer, and we sleep together sometimes," he deadpans.

Chris smirks. "He comes and gets in my bed."

"Shut up!" retorts Ben. "You come and get in mine!"

Leaning forward, Chris explains in a confessional tone, "I'm on the way back from the toilet in the middle of the night, he peels back my covers..." He sits back.

And?

Ben shrugs. "Sometimes, I'll just muck around and go over to his bed and pretend I'm starting to get in...It's all funny." He seems embarrassed.

Despite the fact that, at this point in their careers, each band member could have his own hotel room, if not an entire suite, Chris and Ben enjoy rooming together.

"It's just good to be in someone's room, like," explains Ben. "I'd be bored by myself." At the other side of the table, Daniel pipes up again. "I'm by myself, and I'm not very bored." He smiles wryly.

Ben rolls his eyes. "Yeah, but you enyoy, like, laying there and doing nothing-"

Chris chimes in, "You enjoy your own company-"

"And watching telly," finished Ben.

DRINKS WITH DINNER?

Daniel is an introvert in the classic sense, someone who replenishes his energy by being alone, as opposed to Ben, who gathers energy from the people around him. Daniel comfirms my theory with a nod.

"Yeah. I don't like being in crowds very much. It's a little freaky."

Jumping into the role of interviewer, Ben teasingly asks, "So you don't like what happened this evening very much, then?" Daniel stares ar his serviette, his silence communicating volumes.

What goes through your mind when the doors to the back of the van open," I ask, "or the window starts to crash in?"

Chris' response is immediate: "Get in the van!"

Daniel admits, without a trace of sarcasm, "I think I'm about to get killed."

Our waiter, who seems to enjoy serving a table of musicians as opposed to well-coiffed bankers, comes to take our orders. Daniel, a vegan, isn't eating. Ben, who's finishing up one beer, orders the soup du jour, plus another beer. This seems to be a sore spot with Chris, who smirks and says, "Aw, Ben."

"Shaddup," Ben replies. "You gonna have another one?"

"I haven't finished the first one."

"Amazing how fast it goes down when you drink it in a glass," Ben tells me, for the lack of a better audience. One gets the sense that this is a conversation they've had before.

"It's not about how many you can drink, Ben," Chris says, trying to sound mocking for my benefit. The look in his eyes says he's serious.

"I know," Ben replies petulantly.

"It's not a race," Chris continues. "I'm not racing!" There's an edge of panic in Ben's voice, as opposed to mere annoyance. "I'm just having a nice drink."

DANIEL'S ANXIETY ATTACKS

Daniel is staring at the table, occasionally giving me a sideways glance or knowing smile. He's heard all these fights before. How does he cope with the huge crowds, with people constantly screaming, grabbing at him, wanting something from him?

"When we're on the road, and in crowds and things, I have to take tablets to help me keep calm, because otherwise, I have anxiety attacks."

Ben gives a sideways glance. "Not when you get on stage, do ya?"

"Yes I do." Daniel watches for my reaction. "When I'm at home, I don't have to do that, because I don't have crowds."

Chris interjects, "Sometimes it's hard for Ben and I to understand panic attacks, 'cause, I don't know, we just...We just laugh at it. My grandma, she's...She gets very panicky as well, and sometimes, I have to go pick her up in my car, it's like a four-wheel drive...It's kind of weird, it's a bit frustrating sometimes, but it's just how some people are." Trying to sound empathetic, he adds, "I'm scared of some dogs, like, that's kind of one of my fears."

Ben pipes up. "I'm scared of sharks." He pauses, then grins. "Not that I've ever come in contact with any, but still..." Daniel is staring at the table again, realizing that his mates don't get it.

DANIEL IN DENIAL

For a long time, the band says, they played ostrich with their success. They were just teenagers with a garage band, like thousands of others around the world, but they happened to be good.

"One thing that we can kind of notice now," Ben explains, "is that we didn't really realize what was happening. Like, just the idea of actually being in a band that's kind of famous and successful. Like, we kind of didn't want to face it."

Daniel, in particular, seems like he may never have wanted to be a teen idol. "We didn't ever intend it to go this far," he admits, "but we're not regretful. We expected to be a garage band forever. Even winning the competition that got our songs played on the radio, was like, a real big deal."

Chris recalls the day the then 14-year-olds learned that their song had won a local radio contest. "Daniel was over at my house - after school, we'd go past my house, and we'd always come in and have a drink, then he'd go home - and, like, Daniel's mum was at my house, and she ran out and said, "They won! They won!" We were just crazy, running around, going berserk...it was so exciting."

"We were just shocked," Daniel adds. "I couldn't really believe we were actually going to get a song played on the radio. It was like, how? We can't even get gigs! How can we get a song on the radio?"

He is referring to the not-so-long-ago days when the band was too young to play licensed venues. "It took, like, three years before the actual popularity of the band, the fame, hit all of us. For about two years, throughout the whole life of the first album, we were really just confused; we didn't know what was happening. It was when we released Freak Show that we finally realized how big 'Frogstomp' was."

When they finally realized they were famous, Daniel continues, "We were like, 'What was going on?' We didn't ever have warnings, and we were never told how to handle it." They delt with the fame by pretending it wasn't happening. "We ignored it for ages. If people asked us about it, we'd be, like, 'We're not big, we're not famous.' We totally denied it."

There came a time, he explains, where it sounded worse to deny their fame than to admit it. "It got to the point that, the fact that we were denying it [in order] to not sound conceited or arrogant, started to backfire, because we looked conceited and arrogent by denying everything. So we came to a point where we just had to say, "We have to face it, or people are just going to hate us."

Daniel slumps, exhausted from his mini-rant. The tour manager notes that he has to get the boys back to the hotel, although Ben is already making plans to go dancing. The throng of girls outside has grown. Daniel and Chris smile sweetly at the fans, but they waste no time getting inside the van. Ben chats up several lassies, nearly getting left behind.

As Ben climbs into the van, I pat him on the back and say, "Thanks." He doesn't respond. I realize that he's become so accustomed to people touching him and yelling at him that he no longet reacts.

As I walk towards the subway, I stop at a traffic light. Across the street, I notice a bunch of girls giggling, staring at me. Then there's a camera flash. They still think that I'm Daniel's mother. It's kind of amusing, this fame-by-supposed-genetic-association. But I get to go home and continue my life in anonymity. Whether they like it or not, the hysteria I've witnessed tonight is a way of life for silverchair.