Holmes breezily asks for the 30-second promo for the video for “Violet Hill” that MTV expects tomorrow, and Martin looks as if the teacher just dropped a pop quiz on his desk. The guys exchange Oh, shit glances, and Buckland buys time with a joke: “MTV shows videos?”

“They do show one video per day,” Champion riffs, “in between episodes of Hogan Knows Best and My Super Sweet 16.”

Martin, vamping: “I do love Hogan. If you could have Brooke Hogan watching it, then I think that would be a great idea.”

Holmes, who does not sound amused, asks what’s going on; Martin tells him the promo isn’t ready, and after a moment’s soft-shoe, speaks frankly: “It’s not going to happen, and it sounds like a crap idea. Why do they need a promo? It’s an advert for an advert.”

Phil Harvey jumps in with diplomatic polish: “I think what Chris is saying…and we are terribly grateful for your work on this…and so sorry to subject you to our spleen.…”

This is just how things are done, Holmes explains: MTV needs a promo to broadcast for a week before it premieres the video. The guys worry this could steal thunder from a viral video they’re preparing to put online, a mash-up of clips of dancing politicians—Boris Yeltsin, Tony

Blair, George Bush—and they’re not convinced the MTV premiere will do much to help the song’s success.

Questions barrel on: Should they make an announcement for their tour—beginning with some free concerts (including the most extravagant loss leader imaginable, at Madison Square Garden)—to fans via their website or with a press release? Have they approved the

new publicity photos? Then, next week’s schedule: Fly to New York and cram in some interviews around the edges of a two-day shoot for a major (and, for the moment, top-secret) ad campaign, which the four are at once excited and skeptical and surprisingly confused about.

“How does the Apple thing work, anyway?” Champion asks.

“We just sing the song [‘Viva La Vida’] in silhouette, and then colors happen, like animation,” Martin says. “It’s not an advert for Apple; it’s for us, for our song. It’s just our song playing, us dancing around, and then something like the word ‘Apple’ or ‘i Tunes,’ and ‘Viva La Vida’ at the end.”

“How does the animation work?” Berryman asks.

“It’s really complicated, but it’s simple,” Martin says, not very helpfully.

Finally, the call is over, and Martin pops up to head home to his two kids. (He estimates his commute time, by bicycle, at 33 seconds.)

“Bath time for Apple and Moses. And yes, I am going to wash my own posterior.”

The other guys pile into a taxi for the ten-minute ride to a studio where they’ll film performance footage to be shown during their concerts. At first, it’s stressfully quiet, and then they talk through the meeting just adjourned.

“There are only 24 hours in the day,” Buckland says. “How much hype do we really need?” Nobody answers, and Buckland adds, quietly but firmly, “I’ll do it all, for now. But on tour, I’m done. That’s it, I’m not doing anything.”

Berryman waits a few respectful beats. Gently, even comfortingly, he tells Buckland, “Well, that’s not true.”

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