The last time
"Tom and me rented a theme park," Bill sighed. "It wasn't normal, but ... it was just our friends and family for our birthday and that was very nice."
And ever since then, they've existed almost exclusively under the microscope, eternally followed by screaming fans and pushy paparazzi. It's a life spent under near-constant surveillance — the life of a celebrity and, despite what you might think, it's about the loneliest existence imaginable. And though the guys in the band swear they're looking for even more fame with their new album, the just-released Humanoid, they'll freely admit that it comes with a price: their freedom.
"I think I miss just being able to go out on the street and have fun ... [to be] spontaneous. You have to plan every single step," Bill said. "When I want to go in a shop or somewhere, I have to call the people [and say], 'OK, I want to go into the shop,' and then maybe I can do it next week. I miss being able to just hang out with people and friends and grab ice cream or go to the cinema ... the normal stuff."
It seems the more famous they get, the more Tokio Hotel crave the trappings of normality — the daily, seemingly insignificant stuff that you or I take for granted. There's word they keep using to describe it: "spontaneity." They miss that more than anything, it would seem, because on the heels of Humanoid, nothing in their lives is spur-of-the-moment. It's all planned and carefully mapped, because it has to be: after all, even the most minute details of their lives have become public record, right down to their dogs.
"I miss just being able to go out with my dog, in nature and being spontaneous," Bill's brother Tom said. "Our dogs are famous now."