An interview with Neds Atomic Dustbin
An interview with Echobelly
An interview with Jim Bob from Carter USM
An interview with Andrew 'Tiny' Wood and Vanessa Best from Ultrasound
ULTRASOUND
As you’re probably all aware by now, ‘Indie Heaven’ was set-up by myself a year-or-so ago, with a goal of reconnecting with my teenage self. I liked that guy. It’s good to reconnect. Sourcing, editing and publishing these pieces takes me somewhere ancient. My teenage bedroom, my mum bringing me through a cup of coffee, scrapbooks, making my fanzine, the excitement of the NME and Melody Maker arriving on a Wednesday morning, big dreams, walking around Doncaster with my Walkman, the world open to me.
Ultrasound were all of this to a seismic degree. Each single release was an event to me, where I would purchase the CD, and the alternative formats, insert them into my stereo, turn off the lights… and leave. Where did I go? Fuck knows. But it was a place of magic, of awe and of wonder.
Vanessa Best [bass] and Andrew ‘Tiny’ Wood [vocals and guitar] have a story to tell unlike any band of whom I can think. It’s a pleasure to dip into that story for this induction into ‘Indie Heaven’.
I’ve always considered Ultrasound a very meta band. You’ve got a tonne of songs about being in a band. I guess the obvious example is ‘Same Band’, but even your 2011 comeback ‘Welfare State’ seemed as much about the timeline of the group as much as it was you scolding the concept of poverty porn…
Tiny: “Oh, I’m loving the phrase 'poverty porn', a phrase I'm not familiar with, along with 'meta', both of which are accurate. We always believed in us and I for one always will. We may have had personal issues in the past, and communication problems, but despite all that, when we play together a spark is lit and it truly is special.”
I’m not surprised there were problems. Let’s return to them later, but Ultrasound entered the world – by which I mean the music press, really – on a tidal wave of hype. I’d heard of you long before I’d ever heard you. Did this help or hinder you, do you think?
Tiny: “It was more of a hindrance I suppose. Hyped bands tend to be viewed cynically by the public and it can take longer to bring them round and allay that mistrust - although it's nigh on impossible to develop a word of mouth buzz when you can't get anyone to come to gigs in the first place! My way of thinking is at least the hype made people curious, so it's a double edged sword. Being courted by so many record labels was fun for the first couple of months, but making a decision about who to sign to was much harder. Deciding to retain full artistic control over getting wads of money was probably the sensible thing to do.”
Hype aside, what was the reality of your relationship like with the music press? I will say until my dying day that Tiny on the cover of the NME is one of the great NME covers…
Tiny: “I had long since stopped reading the music press sometime back in the 80's, so there was a certain amount of mistrust of them, regarding them all as sensationalist druggies. We did a few more ‘in depth’ interviews but not much of the serious stuff ever got printed, especially in the cover feature, which focused primarily on sex and drugs. The NME had an attitude like they owned us. They actually threatened me over the phone when we refused to take part in their Brat Bus Tour. The person I was speaking to on the phone actually said "we made you and we can break you". I put the phone down on him.”
I think I’ll embed your performance of ‘Floodlit World’ from Later… above. Vanessa, I always thought you had the most extraordinary voice. Do you know that about yourself?
Vanessa: “That is very kind indeed! I can’t extrapolate my voice from my spirit. I’m less aware of myself as a singer but yes, I am aware of my personal power. There’s something far greater than notes and words in music. I’ve played notes and sang words with some fabulous musicians over the years and it can be great fun… but it’s not Ultrasound.”
Woah.
Vanessa: “It’s almost like the correct sequence of something aligns when we get together. As a youngster I sang along with everything from Yazoo to Frankie Goes To Hollywood. Then later Aretha [Franklin] and Janis Joplin. That seems to me to be a totally different art to realising music with Ultrasound. I’m Head Of Music in a secondary school now and I have the pleasure of introducing teenagers to amazing things. I’ve got 54 GCSE students and I’ll share with them the Binson Echorec, WEM Copycat, Daphne Oram, Carol Kaye, Pink Floyd in the studio, Kraftwerk, Sylvia Robinson and… god, how do I fit it all into two years!”
Teacher! Don’t leave those kids alone! So I saw you at Glastonbury in 1998. The weather was evil. And yet, I think for 30-minutes you were perhaps the greatest band in the world, as well as being the only group I’d be willing to get foot rot for…
Tiny: “It was a blast. I remember us coming off stage and sliding about in the mud feeling quite glorious. The following year was dry and was special for a number of reasons, not least of which was that it was our last gig. We were further up the bill and therefore had more time to flesh out the set. Performing [b-side from unreleased single ‘Aire & Calder’] ‘Goodbye 25’ for the first and only time was incredibly special.”
Because I’ve embedded the clip of you playing ‘Stay Young’ at Glastonbury above, I’ve got to ask… The lyrics of that song essentially predicted Gary Glitter’s demise. Sort of. When that ‘stuff’ came out, was it a head fuck?
Tiny: “Well, the revelations were hardly a surprise I guess, but by then he had become cabaret, musically speaking. When ‘Rock and Roll Part 2’ and ‘I’m The Leader Of The Gang (I Am)’ came out [the first in 1972, the latter in 1973] he was a hero to my 9-year-old-self, leading the way forward to a glam revolution, and inspiring a brighter future, which I still believe in.”
I guess all of this brings me to the debut album, Everything Picture, released April 13th, 1999. It’s long. Two discs long. One song is 39-minutes long. I always wondered whether that was more about you thinking, ‘this might be our only shot, load it up!’ rather than you thinking you needed your debut album to be a double album?
Tiny: “Yeah, the idea was to just put everything on it because we didn't know how long it would all last and we were surprised we even made it to the end of that. Originally we planned to make it a triple album, but Nude persuaded us to cut it. The title comes from Richard [Green, guitarist] who, as a child, used to make everything pictures.”
Tell me a bit about the evening making the album sleeve? That feels like a story lost to the sands of time.
Tiny: “Well, we had been several months planning a cover with Cally, who had designed most of our single covers. The idea was to have an architect's drawing of the kind of house that we could happily live in so it would look like the kind of thing you would get in a town planning vision of the future. It would be a bizarre shape full of weird and wonderful things, a bit like the model on the front cover of Arctic Monkeys’ Tranquillity Base [Hotel & Casio], but mixed with M.C. Escher.”
I’m into it.
Tiny: “However the day before the deadline to file it, this thing turned up that looked more like a computer graphic sci-fi nightmare. Deciding we could do a better job ourselves we bought canvasses and paints and holed up overnight in our PR company Savage & Best’s offices, frantically collaging and daubing into the night. By morning we had our cover.”
Sixth months after the record came out you broke up. You cancelled a bunch of gigs - including T In The Park – saying you were working on the second record. Was there any truth in that or was it cover? Had you made any inroads on what would have been album two?
Tiny: “There is some truth in that - just a little. There were a couple of songs knocking around. The idea was that we were going to write a bunch of songs that we would play and record live on tour and then use those recordings to release as our next album. I still think that's a great idea. Has anyone done that? I think Richard had already written the music for what became ‘Welfare State’, which was released on what did become our second album [released post-reformation, in 2012] Play For Today. I believe a couple of them also became songs on the first [The] Somatics album [Richard Green’s post-Ultrasound project].”
I loved The Somatics! That gives me an excuse to embed a song! It’s hard to explain how I felt when Ultrasound split up. You weren’t around very long, but I adored your band. You felt important and real and somewhere safe for weirdos like me at a time when music felt like it was getting blokier and straighter. I felt let down in truth. How did you feel?
Tiny: “I can't speak for the rest of the band but I sort of felt numb. I was very aware of where we fit in and what our role was within the music industry and I didn't want to let anyone down, but at the same time I didn't feel particularly aware that anyone out there even got it or would even care. It's only through meeting and talking with people subsequently that I came to realise that what we were doing was working.”
But what wasn’t working?
Tiny: “It's hard to say. A breakdown in communication led to a lot of paranoia, not helped by drugs. Vanessa has changed so much since then, but it has to be said that her volatility made for some very unproductive sessions. Richard feeling a whole weight of pressure of responsibility to keep coming up with the goods whilst not getting the credit he deserved was a problem. I had separated myself as much as possible from the rest of them, which probably wasn't the best thing to do, but I did feel there was a lot of resentment directed towards me, probably paranoia again. I would say the main thing that has changed is Vanessa. She’s now the oil in the machine, the catalyst, the mediator and the director. The band exists because of her.”
What about you Vanessa?
Vanessa: “Life is a long time and everything you are is shaped by what you have learned to that point. As I said, I’m a teacher now, Head of Music in a secondary school. I see all manor of behaviours that I have become adept at managing authentically. Emotional super powers. The fire that drives rage can also fuel your journey through life. We never place any validity on spiritual teaching or personal development. A token nod to mindfulness but every behaviour is communication. The angry boys have such weakened souls; the fiery girls don’t understand where to get their power from. If we address all of this through childhood, and ensure no adult is reacting to things because they haven’t got the tools, then the world would be a better place.”
Once again, woah.
Vanessa: “Next time you see someone, distressed or angry, ask yourself, “what can I do to help?” Or “is there something we can do collectively to meet everybody’s needs” If you are OK, then we can all be OK. With the band, clearly none of our needs were being met. Everyone behaved in a way to survive with the tools they had, that’s all. There’s a lot of deep love in the room. That’s why we’re still here!”
Did any of you see each other after the split?
Tiny: “We didn't see each other at all. We all moved away and got on with our own things I guess. It wasn't until Vanessa emailed me in 2009 about the Tim Smith tribute that we began to talk, and meet up again. We all finally met towards the back end of that year in a rehearsal room in Stoke Newington. We plugged in our gear and attempted to play ‘Same Band’ and instantly it was there, that thing that we have. In that sense nothing had changed even though everything had changed.”
Tim Smith. Cardiacs. How important was he and his music to what Ultrasound are?
Tiny: “It's impossible to know what Ultrasound would have been without him, or even if there would have been an Ultrasound, but his spirit was a constant flame in our makeup - a pilot light in our boiler. I often regret not asking him to produce Everything Picture. He was on the list.”
What was your route to the Cardiacs?
Tiny: “When we were at music college in Newcastle in the early 90's we were turned on to them by Paul Hope. Then we formed Sleepy People [eccentric Newcastle rock legends, featuring Tiny and Richard Green], which was heavily inspired by them. We met them several times when we went to see them live. Through our love of all things Cardiacs we got to know Sean [Worrall] and Marina [O] who ran a fanzine in London called Organ. When we moved down there, they helped us get gigs with various like minded bands like Monsoon Bassoon, eventually getting us a support slot with Cardiacs at The Astoria. Tim was the most generous and loving person who made unique and glorious sounds out of his mind. He continues to inspire those of us lucky enough to have been touched by him.”
I should say I lived in Newcastle for years. I’d sometimes see you in the Blue Apple Café on Heaton Road. And I think my band might have supported your post-Ultrasound band Siren.
Tiny: “The café did do a nice veggie breakfast. It was run by Paul and Rachel [Hope] of Sleepy People, who are lifelong veggies. If you want to know the secret to veggie cooking you really need to ask them. I really enjoyed Siren - it was a total blast - but it was the age old thing that as soon as people are good enough to move on to the next level they up and leave and I really couldn't face doing it all again at that point.”
After reuniting for the Tim Smith tribute, you reform in 2010, release your second album Play For Today in 2012, and then in 2016 comes the excellent Real Britannia. I believe that record was funded by some doctors who also happened to be fans? Have I made that up?
Tiny: “You haven't made it up. We became friends with a guy called Phil Peverley on Facebook, who, along with some other doctors and and their friends had set up a page to play records together. He was a big Ultrasound fan and introduced the rest of them to us. He put up some money to make a video, and the next logical step for them was to invest in a recording.”
Vanessa, I was amazed - but mainly delighted! - to learn that during the time that Ultrasound were away, you formed a band to play Northern Soul covers, with some of Dodgy! You might be the ‘Indie Heaven’ house band!
Vanessa: “Yes! The Soulwinners! I love Math [Priest, Dodgy drummer] and [guitarist, Andy] Miller! Much like Ultrasound it seemed to be about the power of three. Line-ups change, in Ultrasound, Tiny, Richard and I are the code. Math, Miller and I were the code of the Soulwinners. Such incredible connections occur with some people. The Soulwinners is never over, it just lies dormant until summoned!”
I want to see you play! I mean, because of COVID, I’d like to see anyone play, but…
Vanessa: “We played last summer at the Tunbridge Wells Forum, at a fundraiser-celebration of our good friend Pat Pope [NME and Melody Maker photographer]. Unfortunately, in 2018, he had a huge stroke and we wanted to do something lovely for him. Mark Davyd from The Music Venues Trust was the catalyst there - seems like a pattern here, when things get really awful, music is the force to attempt to repair or heal. The Soulwinners was the greatest party band, but we realised that Northern Soul fans are largely luddites and only want to hear the original 7” version. What can you do!”
Tiny, I’ve got to ask… when Minuteman – ex-keyboard player Matt Jones’ band, later of Beady Eye – released ‘Big Boy’ in 2002… well, how the did that make you feel?
Tiny: “Are you suggesting that 'Big Boy' was meant to be about me? I've never really heard any of Matt's stuff, although I always got on with him and often stayed at his house when we were rehearsing and stuff. I regarded him as a friend until a couple of years ago when he blocked us all on Facebook and stopped communicating with me. That still hurts and I miss him. Actually, I just read the lyrics to the song and it mentioned going out for drinks - so it can't be about me as I don't drink!”
Fuck it. I’ll ask this one too… You’ve got songs that are almost the length of a half of football. Is it problematic playing these songs the older you get and the more you need to wee?
Tiny: “You make a great point… only half of football! People are always complaining that music should be shorter and going on about three bloody minutes. It takes more than three minutes just to build an atmosphere! The longer a song is the more you get for your money and the more time you can spend languishing in its world. I'm all for it. And hey, I'm not that old... yet.”
Speaking of which, I think we’ve reached the end of this song. Please plug some stuff! I believe you’ve got a box set coming?
Tiny: “Yes, Everything Picture is being re-issued, and this time it's even longer, even bigger and more ridiculously over the top. It features all the hits and more besides - or b-sides - in a lavish four vinyl box set with a CD containing various sessions and live versions - and a 28-page booklet and poster. It should be available for your grubby mitts on August 27th, COVID willing.”
An interview with Katie and Sam 'Whiskas' Nicholls from iForward, Russia!
iFORWARD, RUSSIA!
Debilitating OCD aside, working at NME in the 00’s was a blast. Problem was, I didn’t like loads of the music.
But, along with The Futureheads, The Maccabees, The Bronx, The Gossip, The Long Blondes, The Hold Steady as well as some bands that weren’t called ‘The’ something, like Gallows, Nine Black Alps and Les Savy Fav, it’s little exaggeration to say that Leeds wonk rock quartet iForward, Russia!, just about kept me ticking over and stopped me listening to the Ramones on my headphones all day, every day. I saw and enjoyed few bands more.
I was obviously going to speak to Katie Nicholls [drums] and Whiskas [guitar] for ‘Indie Heaven’.
You know what? I’m not totally sure I know how iForward, Russia! came to be…
Katie: “I think I’d restarted Sixth Form after having a year off being ill with ME. I think my brother realised I’d grown up a bit and wasn’t his annoying little sister anymore, so took a chance on me to be in his new band!”
Whiskas: “I really liked The Black Helicopters, the band that Tom [Woodhead, vocals] and Rob [Canning, bass] had been in, and suggested to Rob we put a band together. Then we realised Tom and Katie were the best people to be in with once we started talking about what we wanted to sound like.”
Katie, I didn’t know you had ME?
Katie: “Yeah. So when I was 16 I left school and passed my British Army Officer selections to go to college to do my A levels alongside army training. I’ve always played hockey too... basically we think I was super run down and pushed myself a bit too much. My mum will always put it down to this one hockey match I wouldn’t pull out, but also I was going to Thailand - on a Scouts jamboree! - so I had a bunch of jabs… We don’t know what caused it. I came home from college where I was boarding at October half-term and basically never went back and was pretty much bedridden for a few months. I was put on antidepressants to give me the energy to get out of bed and do things, which I’m still on 16-years later.”
Well, I’m pleased that’s in the rear view mirror. Speaking of lost Leeds bands, whatever happened to This Et Al, who you released a split single with in 2005?
Katie: “Wu [Neil Widdop, vocals and guitar] moved to Brighton, and I think they had a messy break up with the bass player Gav [Bailey] We still see Ben [Holden, guitar and keyboard] and Steve [Wilson, drums] around at various gigs. They’ll sometimes be at the odd gig down at the Brud [Brudenell Social Club] or at arty events or around Saltaire. I think they both live there now.”
Whiskas: “Wu did a great solo project called Stalking Horse. Ben is now in a band with Owen [Brinley] from Grammatics called Too Much Future.”
Well, that’s one mystery solved. Next, on behalf of irritated music magazine sub-editors everywhere, what was the thinking styling the band name in Faux Cyrillic?
Katie: “I think this was a Whiskas thing - to make it look more Russian, I guess!”
Whiskas: “Actually, it wasn’t me. When we started I was running a venue in Leeds with my friend Andy [Roberts], who I later started Dance To The Radio with. He was the graphic/visual guy. He came up with it and it stuck! Sorry!”
Oh don’t be! I always thought that there was so much creativity around iForward, Russia!. It really was DIY done British. At the peak of the band, how much of your life was devoted to it?
Katie: “This is nice to hear! I think we were really committed to being Do It Yourself, but without cutting your nose off to spite your face, if you know what I mean. Our thinking was, if you can make enough money on merch to book a Travelodge, then that makes a lot more sense than sleeping on floors, especially when you’re touring endlessly. Also, we had to get a bus to do Europe - it wasn’t logistically possible to do it otherwise, but a tour bus really doesn’t go with a DIY aesthetic! But it never made sense for us to sign to a label who would compromise our music or ethics. iForward, Russia! was always for love, not money.”
Whiskas: “It was all encompassing for a few years. Between us we performed so many of the roles, and while we had manager and a press person, a lot of it ended up going through us. An unhealthy amount in truth, but that’s definitely what made it special and easy for fans to connect with us. We tried to play gigs in interesting places and with DIY promoters for reasonable fees and low ticket prices. Hey, look at this photo that I found!”
Bloody hell. That’s me! I sometimes wonder what it was like for you existing alongside a lot of bands from your era that had a very different ethos to you. Because of my role as New Music Editor, I was out on a bunch of those NME New Music Tour dates in 2006. What do you remember about that tour?
Katie: “I loved that tour! The Automatic boys were the same age as me so I got on great with them. They gave me a nice break from having three older brothers watch over me! We had a food fight backstage in Oxford and got told off. Also, I think the World Cup was on that year? I remember we bought a pack of flags and things for the van. Were Howling Bells on that too? We had a lot of fun touring with them.”
Whiskas: “That was a fun tour, but it was a bit stressy for me. That was when our first album was released so there was a lot of stuff going on, and we were little boxed in by the ‘bigger’ bands - the major label bands - and having to adhere to protocol, despite the fact a band like Boy Kill Boy had very little profile. We had a flaming row on the first night of the tour because they tried to insist we price match our t-shirts, meaning sell ours at the same price as theirs and not undercut them. I had to point out that people weren’t buying their merch because their’s were shit, and by making us charge more, they were just punishing the kids!”
I think a lot of people at NME during that time - myself included - felt a bit like you were our band. A lot of us were a similar age, liked similar bands, and there was a large Yorkshire contingent there at the time too! What was your relationship with the NME like your end?
Katie: “Good I think! I don’t know, I was so young and naïve! I probably said some right rubbish! I found it weird on the odd photo shoot when the photographer made me stand at the front.”
Whiskas: “I treated the industry experience as very sociable and it was always nice to see you and the NME gang. I think cos we’d grown up as a band with Tim Jonze falling around PIGS, or having Danny North do our artwork, even when we were in America speaking with KEXP or Brooklyn Vegan, it felt natural. Friendly, even. I think that it annoyed our press guy when Hamish [Macbain] would ring me for a ‘rent a quote’ instead of going through him, but when we had to do an interview with a reporter who didn’t treat us well, it often felt weird.”
How did you feel about the whole New Yorkshire thing? I thought - from the perspective of a music journo who enjoyed making up silly scene names - it was a lot of fun. But I’m sure it’s a different experience being a band involved in it. That said, there was something pretty exciting happening in Yorkshire back then, right?
Whiskas: “I didn’t mind it so much, I just thought there was a big distinction between what was happening in Leeds and some of what was happening in Sheffield where a lot of bands had a very similar sound. And Yorkshire is massive obviously, with crap transport, so it didn’t feel very joined up. It still doesn’t – though I’m a big fan of the Hull scene at the moment. Downtown Kayoto, Low Hummer and Chiedu Oraka stand out.”
Katie: “It was fun talking to Americans who thought New Yorkshire was an actual place! And it was ace being aligned with The Cribs and The Long Blondes. It stopped us being too inside our Dance The The Radio bubble.”
I’ve just spent about three hours trying to find the photoshoot online of all the bands together. Do you remember that?
Katie: “It felt like a school class photo!”
Whiskas: “If it’s the one I remember, I recall it feeling a bit disjointed with us all getting ferried in and out. Again, I remember thinking there was an odd mix of bands, because I think someone like The Research, we were really good mates with, but I don’t think we ever felt like they were part of the same thing that we were. Maybe that’s just because they were on a major label and everyone else was scrabbling around with no money. Whereas us, This Et Al, iLIKETRAINS and The Sunshine Underground were really really close. I still speak to a lot of them semi-regularly.”
I stole this setlist photo from the excellent @ForwardRussiaGigs twitter feed. I’m sure you’ve been asked this many times before, but tell me why the numbers for song titles?
Katie: “There was no deep meaning to it, they were just numbered by what order we wrote the songs. To this day I have no idea what Tom sung about!”
Whiskas: “I think for me, I kind of like that idea of cataloguing stuff. And because the songs never really had a clear hook or chorus, what else are you going to call them?”
Album two, Life Processes comes out in 2008 on Cooking Vinyl. The single ‘Don’t Be A Doctor’, from a year prior, had a ‘traditional’ song title as did everything thereafter…
Katie: “I think people just kept asking about it so much! On the second album though, I had real trouble remembering the titles, so maybe keeping the numbers would’ve been better!”
You made Life Processes with Matt Bayles in Seattle. A legendary name - what was that experience like?
Katie: “That was so ace. He is a legend. And I got to use the same snare that he’s used on most of his albums, records by Botch and Mastodon and so on. It’s just a shame the album didn’t do much! But it was great. Again, because I was so young at the time, now I’m like, “Why didn’t I do that and see that?” during the time we were in Seattle. But I was young and a bit lonely really. I didn’t have much interest in recording. I spent a fair bit of time finding my way around by bus to Hot Topic, malls and fabric and knitting shops.”
To be fair, Hot Topic is way cooler than recording.
Katie: “I do have this great memory of meeting Jill [Faure] from Drowned in Sound [more Truck Festival, to be honest! - Ed] when she was travelling. We watched This is Spinal Tap in an old car park which doubled as an outdoor cinema. People just brought camp chairs and blankets and car seats. Then there was a tiny popcorn stand and a hotdog stand. She couldn’t believe I’d never seen it, and it was the perfect scenario to see it.”
Whiskas: “Matt is brilliant, and I think you can put his influence down to the fact that me and Tom moved into production shortly after that experience. I think, despite his background of working with ‘heavier music’, he had a great knack of arranging and getting depth from the songs - which I think is why he got a lot out of those records. The experience of making that album in Seattle was incredible, being part of the bar and indie music scene there, hanging out at the record shops, going to BBQs with Minus The Bear, seeing an early Helms Alee gig. It was just a wonderful music community there.”
It wasn’t that long after that record came out that you went on hiatus. With the exception of a show at the Brundell in 2013 to celebrate it’s 100th anniversary, and Live At Leeds Festival a year later, that was it.
Whiskas: “We didn’t get the tours or the festivals we wanted to on the second album cycle, including in the US, and people moved on a little bit and we were running out of money, to an extent that we all just needed to find jobs – though me and Katie went to university at that point. I think going on hiatus was really just leaving the door open, but I don’t think we’ve ever been in a position since to pick up the instruments. I think even the two gigs we did in 2013 and 2014 were a push.”
Katie: “I think we were trying to book a tour and it just seemed a bit lacklustre, so we had to sit down and ask ourselves if we really wanted to do it any longer. It was probably the right time. I think the first album did well in part because of the momentum of 18-months of solid touring, which I don’t think the boys wanted to do again. It broke my heart a little bit. it’s all I knew how to do.”
You’re a graphic designer now, right Katie?
Katie: “Yeah. I’ve always been a maker. I did a degree and a MA in Crafts, but then, with my ME, I accidentally fell into doing graphic design. I never thought I’d enjoy a 9-5 job in an office, but I love it! Alongside employment I’ve done bits of my own stuff under the guise of Scissorsaurus.”
Oooh, I saw the Taylor Swift take on Sonic Youth’s Goo sleeve that you did!
Katie: “Yeah, that was me!”
Whiskas, you were everywhere for a time. A proper renaissance man. Then you weren’t. I did like the Honour Before Glory stuff, mind. But where did you go?
Whiskas: “Ha! Well, I’m not sure when you mean. I wasn’t everywhere, but I guess I stopped being in a cool new band. Then I just wasn’t in a band, so I stopped popping up places. I'm not sure there was much mainstream interest in what iForward, Russia! did beyond the initial excitement, so once that was over, people weren't that interested. When we stopped touring, I was quite happy doing my thing at home really. I didn’t miss touring once we stopped. It’s been a bit odd the last few years getting back involved in some ‘music industry’ things, but it’s been fun doing a few things on ‘my terms’.”
Katie, I’m nicking the weird photo above from a feature that NME did around five-years-ago about what musicians from the 00’s are up to now. Right, you are the only person on the planet who perhaps – perhaps – likes Bis as much as I do. Prove you are the biggest fan!
Katie: “Ah, I’m not the biggest fan, I’ll let you retain that title. But they are great!! Manda Rin was an inspiration to me. Leeds City Council used to run a free kids festival called Breeze. I remember asking for her autograph through a fence. And she came up to me after a gig at King Tut’s [Wah Wah Hut] and I was a bit star struck!”
Whiskas: “I’d like to point out that I did buy The Secret Vampire Soundtrack when I was 13.”
Actually, while I remember, Katie - I think I once let you stay in the spare bed in my hotel room when you got stranded after Download Festival one year. Did you ever get home?
Katie: “Ha! I remember that! Our van had broken down near Donnington on a tour, and I managed to coincide going to pick it up with going to Download to see Sam [Duckworth] from Get Cape Wear Cape Fly, who I was pretty good mates with. I remember catching up with all you guys and it got late and you needed to get to Nottingham. I had the van, so it made more sense for me to drive you there and crash, than drive back up to Leeds. I think I got a parking ticket actually. And I moved to Nottingham a few years later!”
I think we might be at the end. Regrets are pointless - but tell me some!
Katie: “I guess I regret things I said to people or the way I acted, just being a bit stupid and young! I remember having a go at the NME tour promoter because the posters weren’t on recycled paper…”
Whiskas: “Like you say, regrets are pointless - but there’s a lot I would’ve done differently, especially following the release of Give Me A Wall. That said, I’m also comfortable in knowing that there is no way I’d have known that was the thing to do at the time, so what are you going to do! I don’t regret anything, but sometimes when I’m in my current job and I’m supporting people trying to be successful in the industry, I think back to the way people with an influence over me treated me when I was in my early 20’s.”
An interview with Bis
BIS
I do this for a living. I write about things. And yet, even so, I struggle to express with words quite what Bis mean to me. Still, I’ve had a go at the end of this interview (and if you’re in the market for an introduction to my favourite band who aren’t the Ramones and you fancy spending your hard earned bucks on this, I had a go in the sleeve notes there too.) What a band. What great people. The soundtrack to my life.
In perhaps the most in-depth interview that ‘Indie Heaven’ has ever published, here’s Sci-Fi Steven (guitar and vocals), John Disco (guitar, vocals and keyboards) and Manda Rin (vocals and keyboards) to walk us through the good times, the terrible times… and the good times again.
Well, this feels overdue! So, it’s the early 90’s. You’re at school together. Tell me how you all come to meet? I mean, I get that John and Steven are brothers, but otherwise…
Sci-Fi Steven: “Me and John recorded our first demo tape in March 1991 aged 14 and 11 and would try to sell them at school, sometimes playing in the Assembly hall supporting whichever cover band that was good at playing Faith No More songs that week. We'd play half an hour of entirely original synth-pop material and Manda was the only person who seemed to be actually into it. When me and Manda became a couple and spent hours absorbing records, it was inevitable we would all end up making songs together.”
John Disco: "Manda was the number one - and only - fan of Black Iron Skyline, which became Bis. I remember her and her pal Liana coming five minutes up the road to sit on the wall at the end of our driveway and watch us playing a gig out of our garage. How we never connected before high school, living in fairly close proximity and going to the same primary, is beyond me. I guess at that age, kids even a year older or younger than you can seem somehow not your level, which is nonsense obviously.”
The concept of Teen-C. Teenagers rising up. I loved that whole polemic. It reminded me of reading the sleeves of Nation Of Ulysses records, or Huggy Bear or someone. Something to think about while you listening to the music. How was that cooked up?
Steven: “Huggy Bear were a hugely important band to us and are probably one of the main reasons we ended up hanging out together. The split album with Bikini Kill and the ‘Her Jazz’ single came out at a crucial time, post-Grunge, post-Madchester, and offered an underground we didn't know existed until then. Niki [Elliott] from Huggy Bear wearing a Nation of Ulysses t-shirt means we hunt down those records. That was when a lot of pieces began to fall into place.
Manda Rin: “It was certainly influenced by that era for sure. The love of old typewriter type, cutting things out and using photocopiers to show opinions, rants and photos. It was art, politics and music - perfect!”
Steven: “At the same time though, we were also still massively into Blur, Suede - who were the first band all three of us went to see altogether - and older stuff like XTC and Adam & The Ants. You can totally hear this weird mix of sonic influences on the first EP although the liner notes do sketch out the Teen-C manifesto - shamelessly indebted to the Nation of Ulysses admittedly, but it did truly reflect the outsiderdom we existed in. Still at school, obsessed by the weird stuff that the weird people seem to love. By the ‘Disco Nation 45’ record, we looked and sounded confident in that polemic. Something like ‘Conspiracy A-Go-Go’ sounds like the right cocktail of all those bands mentioned. Apart from Suede.”
Fanzines are super important to the Bis story. I came to them because of Bis, which I guess led to me doing what I’ve done for a living all my life. How did you come to them?
Steven: “Personally, my first exposure to fanzines were Ayr United ones in the late 80's and early 90's. They were shambolic but offered less sanitised opinions than any official programme would. I think I had a couple of goes at churning out something similar - evidence of which I sincerely hope has been destroyed. I remember a fanzine called Sun Zoom Spark that the guys that became Dawn of the Replicants ran, that was definitely inspirational and probably gave us our first demo reviews in 1994 or thereabouts.”
Fuck. They managed to get that into shops. I bought that on the way to school.
Steven: “The main credit goes to Urusei Yatsura's Kitten Frenzy fanzine. They used Manga artwork and built up a mythology around their own band while reviewing other locals. Fergus [Lawrie] of Urusei took us to a community printing centre in Drumchapel that we could use for free. Some of the original Paper Bullets fanzines [that being Steven’s zine] are actually hand-printed and not just photocopied. There’s absolutely no way I could control one of those things now. Me and Manda took our fanzines to shops in Glasgow, Edinburgh and Rough Trade in London and bought loads of other fanzines. Soon a network of likeminds emerged - the first Bis EP came out on Spanish label Acuarela because the guy who ran the label was on holiday in Edinburgh and bought a fanzine. Dee Barnfield from All About D and Sid [Steven Siddle] from Abuse fanzine put on our very first London gig in 1995. We ended up playing bigger gigs in London full of the kids who either wrote or bought these fanzines before the NME or Melody Maker had really sniffed around us.”
I’m sure I was guilty of this myself in my own zine - which I hope every single copy of has been burnt, then burnt again just to be sure. But how many times do you think you were asked what your favourite Sanrio character was?
Steven: “Poor Manda seemed to get these ones, although I suppose we asked for it by naming one of our songs ‘Keroleen’. I really don't think we ever cynically tried to make ourselves Japan-centric, but I can totally accept our cartoony style was always likely to have a chance there.”
John: “Fans quickly gathered there was no point in asking me this. I got a lot of Bruce Lee memorabilia in Japan though…”
Manda: “Thankfully I can’t remember ever being asked this…”
As I’ve told you many times before, Bis doing ‘Kandy Pop’ on Top Of The Pops is seismic for me. There’s a before and there’s an after. But I don’t really know how it happened. I’m going to presume you didn’t have a TV plugger. How did you get in front of 16-year-old me?
Manda: “All credit goes to the excellent Ric Blaxill [then TOTP Executive Producer]. If he hadn’t been a fan and asked us to appear - resulting in ‘Kandy Pop’ charting at number 25 two weeks later - goodness knows what would have happened to us. What a man. I recently sent him Slight Disconnects and he really liked it.”
John: “It was all pretty surreal, sitting in our wretched Tonka Truck of a van somewhere on the M6 - probably, midway though the tour with Super Fury Animals and getting told we would have to miss the gig in Hull to go to Elstree to play Top Of The Pops. Hard to fathom things escalating so quickly, with just our managers [John Williamson and Richie Dempsey] and [then label] Chemikal Underground holding the fort. All credit to them. The publishing deal we’d just signed with Polygram probably helped bring us to the attention of Rik.”
Steven: “We certainly didn't have a TV plugger, but it was the first time we had a PR company onboard. Poor souls weren't really prepared for that period between January and April 1996, but then nobody was prepared for the out of the blue call to do TOTP. On reflection, we were quite a last-minute call up so I wonder if someone pulled out and they had a quick scan of Radio 1's playlist and picked something up and coming at random... just being cynical. Genuinely, we took a call in the minibus while on tour with the Super Furries on the Monday telling us we were going to be recording TOTP on the Wednesday and would have to pull out of a gig at Buckley Tivoli. Madness. But at the time we just took it in our stride really - I for one was so blindly confident it would be the first of many appearances, it didn't come as any great shock to me.”
I don’t have my copy to hand, but one of your addresses is printed on the sleeve of the subsequent single, ‘This Is Fake D.I.Y.’, right? Things got so crazy so quickly. You’re way out of your lo-fi indie pop space at this point. Did that lead to any… problems?
Amanda: “I think it was John and Steven’s address. I did see a photo online once of a fan standing outside of my parents house…”
Steven: “Only a few times! We had a few Japanese visitors that our mum was very hospitable to. Amazingly, all the hate mail seemed to be directed to the NME Letters Page and not our front door…”
John: “We had a fan called Naoko who was from Japan. She turned up at our mum’s one time, who promptly sent her in the direction of either my or Steven’s flat. I clearly remember the moment when, midway through a drunken afternoon FIFA session on the PlayStation in my somewhat uncouth flat… there she was at the door! Not sure what she was expecting, but glamour she did not find. I probably didn’t even make her a cup of tea. Needless to say she didn’t visit again.”
Speaking of previously unexplored territories, Bis making the NME cover in the June of 1996 was very exciting. What do you remember about that interview and shoot… and when do you think it goes wrong with your relationship with that publication?
Steven: “Oddly, the NME cover was probably more exciting to me than Top Of The Pops. It was a really odd time, the single wasn't getting radio play and was then delayed another week after the NME cover due to a pressing fault, so our momentum was all over the place. I don't really remember the interview or shoot - other than truly wishing I'd washed my fucking hair before it. but again, I probably thought it would be the first cover of many so didn't take it overly seriously.”
I don’t really want to ask you about ‘The Sinking Of The Bis Lark’ hit piece, but…
Steven: “It's fairly well documented that later that year Steven Wells was sent on a mission to knock us down several pegs and he bullied his way to killing our credibility with the paper a full six-months before we'd even released an actual album. You can't and shouldn't expect an easy ride from the press, but we were brutally knocked down before we had even been properly built-up. Aged 20, 19 and 17, and now suspicious and cynical because of it, we learned to trust no-one. Unfortunately you have to trust some people if you don't want to marginalise your band, like we did.”
We’ll get back to the music press in a bit, but how do you feel about the debut album all these years on? The New Transistor Heroes comes out on April 7th, 1997. It’s day of release marks one of two times I ever bunked off school!
Steven: “There are things I would do differently, but only for commercial reasons, like putting some of the actual hits on there, shaving off half a dozen other tunes so that it wasn't hilariously quiet on the vinyl, maybe getting it mixed by an outside pair of ears… We stayed in Glasgow to do it which was probably the right thing to do, but essentially it meant we missed out on going to LA and doing it with the Dust Brothers, or in the Beasties studio with Mario Caldato.”
John: “It’s a fun listen. It’s confident, brazen and a bit silly in places. Knowing what we do now about making records, we’d probably have made a much more dynamic album and gone deeper with the various styles and influences on there, but a big part of its charm its lack of ‘production’.”
Steven: “We thought of it as 4 EP’s stuck together, but a lot of the songs were actually written in the studio which we hadn't done before. A few of them miss that ‘live’ feel and it's littered with mistakes. It’s just a bit undercooked in general. Still, we were on fire songwriting-wise and the songs definitely still stand up.”
Perhaps more importantly, if you buy a guitar for over £40, are you really mad?
Steven: “Ha! Sadly, over time I've got slightly more slick at the old banjo, but at the time we had a weird mix of John's Coxon-like skills and my basic punk barre chords. I've always been more of a creator than a musician really but I'm at least competent on the thing these days.”
John: “If Tam says so, it must be so.”
Going back to the music press, I can think of few acts who were treated as appallingly as Bis were in the ‘90’s. The way Manda – a teenage girl – was talked about in the supposedly alt. press… well, you were there.
Manda: “I can’t say it didn’t affect me, despite me attempting to look strong and unaffected by it at the time. To get such volumes of personal abuse is very upsetting, especially for a teenager who didn’t have a lot of confidence as it was. When I started Bis I wouldn’t say that I was overweight, but the excitement of being away from my parent’s home and eating anything I wanted all the time did influence that. It’s awful that you can get the same amount of abuse in the press for being overweight as you can for being an absolute prick. Did it affect me? Yes, really badly - but I’m OK now.”
Something I didn’t know until a lot later was that you had an MS diagnosis during this time…
Manda: “I started getting symptoms like numb hands and so I went to the hospital. It was kinda shrugged off as I wasn’t haven’t many other ones but on the Foo Fighters tour I developed atrocious fatigue and was sleeping every minute I could in the van. I also got another MS symptom of Optic Neuritis which made my eyesight really dodgy for a while and has never fully went away. I didn’t get diagnosed with Relapsing Remitting MS until 2005 and was later given DMDs to inject weekly, but they only slow the rate of relapses by 30%. Not the best but better than nothing. I’ve had some awful relapses where I can’t stand up or walk, and my whole body has been numb from the neck down several times. It’s a horrible illness. You don’t know when a relapse may occur so I just try to push myself while I still can as it will only get worse. I was recently told my illness has developed into Secondary Progressive MS which means things like my numbness and other relapses may never get better when they occur in the future. Scary stuff, but hey.”
Tell me about signing to Grand Royal Records. That really was the absolute fucking shit, wasn’t it? Oh yeah, I’m not sure I’ve ever told you this, but I went to see the Beastie Boys in Manchester on the Hello Nasty tour. Literally bumped into MCA the moment I walked out of the bus station. He saw the Bis logo I’d drawn on my satchel and wanted to talk to me about my favourite Bis songs. What was your experience of him?
Steven: “Again, it was another unreal scenario that somehow seemed perfectly natural at the time to me, being utterly full of myself as I was! That's amazing that he did that. He was a truly inspiring character who always had time for us. It was heartbreaking when Grand Royal dropped us and I couldn't listen to the Beasties for years afterwards. Thankfully, I have gotten over it and rediscovered those magical records since.”
John: “Grand Royal were the last label we met on our courting trip to the States. We got taken out by Mike D and MCA for cheap Mexican grub then went to hang out at Mike’s house. I had a brief jam with MCA - me on guitar, him on drums - in the living room. We went for a swim in the pool, where parts of the ‘Sabotage’ video were filmed. We got a tour of the Grand Royal recording studio. We played basketball with our heroes. We could have not signed that contract and still have felt that in many ways we had completed our mission. MCA was an absolute gentleman. A genuine, caring and remarkable dude. He’ll forever be missed.”
Can you tell me a bit about the Bis G-Shock watch was released in Japan? Aka the must have accessory for any 90’s fanzine kid, though finding one - pre-internet - was an adventure! I’ve had two. Lost one, the other one is kept for special occasions!
Manda: “That was just another crazy idea proposed via our Japanese label. I thought it was a fantastic offer to get! We were individually given one of each colour. I kept most of mine as they were really cool but in recent years I have sold a couple as the demand for them was so huge. It felt nice to help out and give them to a welcoming home!”
Steven: “Christ, I have none now. I genuinely traded one for FIFA: Road to World Cup 98 on the PS1 at the time. My main memory is of selecting which extremely basic beep version of ‘Kandy Pop’ would be the alarm sound. Oh yeah, and ‘Young Alien Types’ first actual release was as a beep alarm on the watch too - we hadn't even recorded it at that point.”
John: “I have none either. I have no idea where they all went! The whole thing was a hoot. Our Japanese experience was otherworldly anyway, but sitting in a meeting with the Casio team and getting a first listen at the watch beep approximations of the tunes was mental. I do wish I’d kept one or two.”
So obviously Social Dancing, from 1999, is the greatest album ever made. Did the success of ‘Eurodisco’ feel like a second bite? Or did it not achieve as much as you’d like it to? And what happened to the guy on the Bis messageboard - which I frequented at lunchtime in my school library! - who’d bought thousands of copies to tile his bathroom with?
Steven: “Well thank you. Making it was the polar opposite of The New Transistor Heroes. It cost a fortune! We had a producer - Andy Gill of Gang of Four - and a mixer - Bob Kraushaar of Pet Shop Boys mixing fame - and even had videos made by people who had done big things. I guess, and apologies again for my revisionism, we thought ‘Eurodisco’ would be a massive massive hit but it wasn't really. It did put us in a better position, but the rest of the album wasn't really the record that ‘Eurodisco’ suggested it would be so it didn't review that well. For me, ‘Theme From Tokyo’ should've been a single but we just couldn't get the arrangement and production right so we fucked it. I hated ‘Action and Drama’ for a long time, but think I just blamed it for not being a hit after ‘Eurodisc’o. For me, it's almost a dead good record. I don't think either ‘Shopaholic’ or ‘Sale Or Return’ are particularly our best work, and had we done ‘Kiss and Tell’ earlier it would've been on there and might've been a better follow up single to ‘Eurodisco’. Still, it's stood the test of time surprisingly well and I think ‘Eurodisco’ itself is still my second favourite Bis song ever.”
Oooh. What’s number one?
Steven: “It changes, but ‘Eurodisco’ is always number 2. Today it’s ‘The Sound of Sleet’.”
John: “‘Eurodisco’s success was a glorious ‘get it up ye’ moment in the UK where we’d been all but written off. In fact, it was arguably a far sweeter moment than anything preceding it. We never experienced much in the way of failure pre-The New Transistor Heroes, but from an industry perspective we were pretty much done for by 1998. A totally different story from a fan perspective though, and we had amazing bases of support all around the world - a pretty big win when, in a pre-social media age, the music press were still perceived as the makers and breakers.”
What about the guy who tiled his bathroom?
Manda: “Aw, that’s the lovely Kevin Kuras who also has tattoos of our faces and images on his arms. He bought so many copies of the ‘Eurodisco’ 7” to wallpaper a room in his house that Wiiija got pulled-up about it thinking we were rigging the chart position! He’s been an excellent fan for us, even travelling to places like Australia. He moved abroad - South Africa I think - but recently returned and I saw him at our latest Lexington gig which was nice to see.”
Jumping ahead, your last album, 2001’s Return To Central, is for me, Bis deciding they do not give a fuck. It’s an incredible album. Where are your heads at when you make that record?
Steven: “Trying to piece it together, we came off the Social Dancing tours and went straight back into the studio to record. In my head, I thought we should quickly do another album to keep the progress in America going, but I'm not sure how that developed into a mini-album instead [2001’s Music For A Stranger World]. The mini-album itself is a bizarre concept that rarely works so perhaps a couple of non-album singles would've worked better than Music For A Stranger World did. It came out by such a time that we'd already done 50% of the work on Return To Central as well. We were extremely productive then and there are countless tapes of unfinished or unused songs from 2000/2001. The touring had died down and we had bought into the studio so it really was our day-job at that time.”
This is a tangent. But a good tangent!
Steven: “Basically, we were still on Wiiija all the way through the recording but the labels founder, Gary Walker, left right at the end. We actually mastered the album in October 2000, and the new broom clearly didn't like or understand what we were doing. I went into a meeting at Beggars Banquet talking about all the remixers we had in mind - anyone to do with Gigolo Records/Ghostly/Ersatz Audio basically - as well as press campaign ideas and was met with a sea of blank faces. The game was up. To his eternal credit, Martin Mills let us keep our album. It had cost him 50k or thereabouts and he could've released it without support, but he dropped us and set us free with our record in hand. It took absolutely ages to get released and essentially all of our momentum was gone. It would be interesting to see how it might have been taken with proper label support.”
John: “It being our last chance to do something truly ambitious and memorable was probably the thinking, although it’s hard to remember. I think we felt really free at that point, even though the labels involved were losing patience. Maybe we figured it was ‘over’ in that respect anyway, so why not let them pay for an album they might ultimately reject? It seemed like such a collaborative and healthy experience, but on reflection we were maybe a bit too reliant on the services of Rab Ha’s, the pub next door to the studio. I’ll always remember Gary from Wiiija saying “I don’t get it” when we played him ‘We’re Complicated’. I can kind of understand this. He later admitted that he ‘got it’, however by this point, we may have cemented his decision to move on from Wiiija! Sorry and/or you’re welcome Gary!”
Steven: “For me, Return To Central is by far the most complete album we made and sometimes it breaks my heart that it was ignored.”
We’re at the sad bit. Walk me through the decision to split in 2003. Who instigates that?
Steven: “Sad times, but it was probably the right decision for our mental wellbeing.”
John: “It’s hard to remember exactly, but deep down we knew we were just putting Bis to bed to give ourselves some headspace for other things. Steven and I owned the studio, Seven-A in Glasgow, which was both a - failing - commercial studio and a base for Bis related music activities. There was no breaking the creative connection between the three of us, and no reason to in any case. Bis as a concept just felt worn out, exhausted, downtrodden and in need of a long rest. Ridiculously, I remember feeling that, at age 24, I was now a bit past it! That just shows you that we had too narrow a view of the world of music at the time. Idiots!”
Steven: “After Return To Central, we kept recording and the songs were heading back into more dancefloor territory. Suddenly we had publishers sniffing around again and most excitingly, Ministry of Sound were interested in ‘Cubis (I Love You)’ which we had introduced into our now mostly electronic live shows. The deal fell through because of the Bis ‘brand’ and all the baggage that entailed. We weren't ready to ditch the band we'd built over the previous 8-years quite yet but quickly realised that perhaps it was time. Nobody was interested again shortly after. Return To Central had done nothing and we were starting to play to much smaller crowds so we made the decision to stop. Not a split really, just stopping doing the band.”
You go and do Data Panik then, which really were Bis-adjace. It felt at the time like you were trying to escape the preconception of what Bis were. Am I off base there?
Steven: “Well, the rebranding notion was eventually accepted. We had done a BBC cartoon soundtrack and really expected more work in that field but it didn't really go that way. Personally, I had fallen out of love with music - well, guitar music mostly - but after a couple of years out, bands like The Futureheads and Maximo Park turned my head again. There were definite glimpses of some of the same influences that had inspired us in the first place. We reconfigured ‘Cubis’ as a guitar tune and it gained enough attention for us to cautiously head back out as a live band entity. Sadly, it was difficult to get past the industry filters as we were quite clearly Bis under a new name. The songs are really good but essentially not a million miles away from where Bis might have gone anyway.”
It didn’t last long, really.
Steven: “We had built up a wee bit of a following again, but I promised we would give it a year and if we weren't signed we would chuck it, so we disbanded again in August 2006 - actually cancelling future gigs which is something we'd never ever normally do. Not entirely sure of the rationale on reflection but maybe we realised that rebranding was pointless and we should simply embrace Bis again. Going back to doing it was like taking off the disguise. The 10-year anniversary shows were the biggest we'd done and it felt like a validation, but enough was stirred and we started saying yes instead of no over the next few years.”
John: “Data Panik was tremendously good fun, albeit a slightly misguided concept. The tunes were great. ‘Cubis (I Love You)’ felt like the new ‘Eurodisco’. We felt creatively strong and sure footed for a good while as Bis mk2, the as yet unnamed Data Panik. Unfortunately the gigs ruined it for us. Our identity was exposed and the momentum disappeared. Should we have held on to this new material and come back as Bis a couple of years later? Perhaps, aye. Should I have splintered off and formed the ambient disco band of my dreams, John Disco & Zest? Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps...”
I remember talking to John outside The Buffalo Bar (RIP) one night. You’ve reformed a few times prior, but not really for a run at it. He says to me that you’re going to reform with more permanence, because there’s ‘unfinished business’. What indent do you feel like you’ve made on said ‘business’ having now been back for a while?
Steven: “Well, still very very little impact but we're in a comfortable place again musically and personally. It's actually fun to make records. There's no real commercial pressure. I mean, it's great when you make something back but it's hardly a profitable business these days. We should really have had a new record out this year and obviously COVID has got in the way of that, but we’ve got actual irons in actual fires and much more is to come. I really fancy being one of those comeback bands who actually release more music in its second run - records that bring in new fans and re-invigorate old fans alike. We always resisted the temptation as it was rare that a band coming back released anything new that was good, but frankly, the stigma has been removed now and it's perfectly commonplace. Mixed results admittedly, but at least now it doesn't feel desperate to keep going...”
Manda: “I love that ‘unfinished business’ description!”
There were so many projects, solo albums, collabs and remixes in-between Bis mk1 and mk2. Is there anything that with hindsight you’ve thought, ‘I wish I’d saved that for Bis…’
John: “Over to Steven… Mind you, a few Debukas tunes could have worked pretty well!”
Steven: “Batteries-wise, ‘The Fall-In-Love Club’ and ‘Mutual Enemies’ would've perhaps gained a wider audience as Bis tunes. I love ‘DNA’ from Manda's solo record, so much so that we put it on our Anthology album a few years ago. We did a remix for Elbow way back in 2001 that went unreleased that I'm pulling apart again, taking out all the Elbow bits and keeping our bits, for a possible new tune.”
Right. Let’s go off piste. John, famously, you tore your scrotum when you crashed your go-kart before a Bis appearance at Benicàssim Festival in Spain. What does tearing your scrotum feel like? I’ve been to that go-kart track. I’ve always vowed that if I ever go back, I’ll get a blue plaque with your name made on.
John: “Tearing your scrotum, James, has no feeling whatsoever when you’re somersaulting out of the go-kart you’ve just crashed into tyres and bending it’s steering column 90 degrees forwards. On the dazed walk - yes, walk - back from the crash site, I noticed a bit of a sting happening downstairs. It was only after returning to the site and watching Les Rhythm Digitales side of stage for a bit that I realised that said scrotum was a tad upset. Let’s leave it there. I arrived back at the festival the next day to a standing ovation. At least that’s how I remember it...
Steven: “I'm sure bands the next year held a go-kart tournament to win the John Disco Memorial Cup.”
There’s a ‘nice’ segue there, John, into talking about your kids. “The purveyors of the finest in Teen-C power” have kids, which makes me feel about a million years old. Also, it gives me an opportunity to embed a tune from The Powerpuff Girls. Do your kids like Bis?
Manda: “Neither of my kids have seen Bis live, but they have seen videos, magazines and many photos. My son is now 7 so I would love him to see us play. I don’t know if he’d even like it but he is a fan of ‘Kandy Pop’.”
Steven: “Mine prefer Batteries I think, although they ask for Slight Disconnects in the car quite often. Only if Charli XCX is unavailable, though.”
John: “My eldest, Dylan, out of nowhere started singing ‘Sound of a Heartbreak’ to me after it came out. “Daddy, you’re a YouTuber!” he said. My heart melted.”
This is one for the Clark boys. Favourite ever Ayr United player, match and season. And why!
Steven: “That’s a tough one! The 87/88 season when we won the 2nd Division was so exciting for a wee guy to experience but my favourite ever game is a 4-3 win at Motherwell in the Scottish Cup in 2000. An amazing rollercoaster ride of a game with some of the best goal celebrations I’ve ever been involved in. Our 5-0 win away to Dundee United a couple of years ago is up there too. Actual tears of joy that night. My favourite player is probably Glynn Hurst from the late 90's/early 2000's - electric pace and immortalised on a Belle and Sebastian album sleeve!”
John: “My fondest memories are as a kid watching John Sludden and Henry Templeton around about 86-87 time. Like Steven says, beating Hibs in the League Cup semi-final at Hampden in 2002 was an absolutely joyous moment though.”
Want to plug some stuff?
Steven: “I fully intend to make another Batteries record at some point, but the priority just now is the next Bis one. I also run two pubs in Glasgow - The Bell Jar and The Sparkle Horse - that were doing absolutely fine until the last year so please seek us out if ever allowed back into Glasgow...”
John: “I’m back to making videos of studio synthy jams. Subscribe today! Also, buy my Debukas music! And while you’re at it, buy the music on 2Sox Records - the label run by the other Clark brother, Aldo!
Manda: “If anyone needs button badges for schools, bands, parties, politics or anything else, please go to Wee Badgers. We’re the best and the quickest in the UK!”
Hey! I used Wee Badgers for my wedding! You don’t have to tell me! So listen. Bis changed my life. They turned me onto a new cosmos of music – underground indie rock, dance, post-punk, eighties pop - fanzines, politics, DIY, a different way of thinking. They are as important to who I am – for better or for worse – as anything, ever. I know I’m not the only one who feels like that. When you’re told that, how the fuck does that make you feel?
Manda: “It genuinely gives me goosebumps. When fans write and tell stories of things that happened to them at school and how our music helped them through tough periods it’s beautiful and I don’t know what to say. It’s quite hard to take it in, similar to what you’ve just told us above. It’s rewarding to hear.”
Steven: “It's an amazing feeling when you're reminded of how much you meant to people's lives, especially those that felt we gave a voice to their alienation. If we shone a light into anyone's dark corners and set them free then I am eternally happy. Musically speaking, I love that we were a gateway band for a generation that was in danger of becoming placid bystanders. We were a punk band, a dance band, an 80's revival band, a techno band, a post-rock hip-hop band, whatever - and we still are all of these things.”
John: “This was the whole point of it all. Once we got over the whole notion of ‘being pop stars’ we realised that we were nothing if not for the people who supported us, and who we supported through our tunes, lyrics and message. We learned as much, if not more, from them as they did from us. We always said we’d only be doing this if it’s fun and gives joy to people. We’ve stuck to those values, I think. We are massively grateful to those who have supported us for years - and those just discovering us.”
An interview with Martin Carr of The Boo Radleys
THE BOO RADLEYS
I knew I was a fan of Merseyside’s The Boo Radleys as a kid, but after sorting through a photo dump of images from my mum of myself as a teenager recently, I think I might have liked them even more than that. I appear to be wearing a Boo Radleys t-shirt in almost all of them! I think I’m 15-years-old here.
The songwriter in that band, Martin Carr, was, is and I imagine always will be, one of my favourite songwriters. I am thrilled to learn he’s working on a new record under his own name. I am disappointed that he currently has no label. Can we fix that please? Here’s a chat I had with him recently.
Hey Martin. The beginning seems like a good place to start. The Boo Radleys’ debut album Ichabod and I comes out in 1990, on Action Records. I can’t find much about Action Records on the internet - can you tell me more?
“Action Records is in Preston, it's a record shop that started putting out records. We met them through an amazing band called the Dandelion Adventure who we had befriended at a gig. They took us on tour with them and all of a sudden we were in the middle of the noisenik scene that John Robb describes in his Death To Trad Rock book. We played and hung out with bands like Archbishop Kebab, Dawson, AC Temple and the like. They were nothing like us but then again they were nothing like each other. We didn't play with a band like us until we supported Slowdive in Hampstead, 1990.”
Oh wow.
“The Dandelion Adventure gave our demo to Gordon [Gibson] at Action who agreed to put it out. We ended up recording it in Manchester for some reason. The engineer had never recorded a band like us before so it's a weird sounding record, and not good weird either. We played everything much too fast and I couldn't get my feedback parts to work. There was something about the live room that stopped it coming through - it squeaked and parped but no feedback. I was gutted but we only had a couple of days so I had to get on with it. We had done some recording and I know Gordon thought the demos were better than the LP and he's probably right. He wanted to re-release it after we started selling records but, as much as I wanted to help him out, I think it's a pile of shit.”
The songs are great though. I think that’s unarguable. In fact, I think you have a knack with melody which is quite unlike anyone of your era. What do you attribute that to?
“I've always loved melody. I think ‘Greensleeves’ was my first jam. It's simple, but filled with romance and melancholia - later, when I first heard The Beatles, I was well primed! The Beatles added excitement, a formative buzz for me. Sometimes I'm sick of myself and I'll try and write something angular but it doesn't happen. Musically it can, but not vocally. I've concentrated more on melody than on lyrics over the years and I think that was a mistake. The words are what counts, melody is dressing.”
That’s an interesting take. Still, despite being disappointed with the first record, you quite quickly sign to Rough Trade, release a handful of EP’s - and then the label goes bust…
“Rough Trade had heard us on John Peel and came down to a couple of shows. I remember walking down Kentish Town Road before a gig in 1990. I was looking for somewhere to buy fags and Geoff Travis came wobbling by on a bicycle. “The revolution is mobile!” he yelled before wobbling off into the back of a bus. We made an album for them but then they went bust again. Creation picked it up because our manager [Richard Hermitage] also managed Slowdive.”
That record is Everything’s Alright Forever, which I love. But I’ve always considered your true Creation debut to be your masterpiece, 1993’s Giant Steps.
“I’m not sure I can think of anything new to say about Giant Steps. I’ve talked about it so much. We recorded at Protocol Studios, behind Holloway Road, off Benwell Road. We spent an awful lot of time laughing. There were hardly any drugs around then - we were skint. We were stuck with 2D vision and our main vice was a couple of pints of Dog Bolter in the Firkin pub on Holloway Road or a Massala in the Standard curry house opposite. We used to have sausage butties from Bert's Cafe on the corner of Holloway Road and Drayton Park. Bert used to drop sausages then pick them up and put them in your buttie. Every night we would stop for Coronation Street and have a Kung Po and then get stuck into Pot Noodles, Pop Tarts and Crunchie Bars, Marlboro reds, strong, sweet coffee, Dog Bolter and Stella. We were going through a healthy phase. Sice gave up smoking. The music? I don't remember much to be honest, I thought we were doing something really good but I wasn't sure anybody would notice.”
I’m jumping forward a bit, but it’s 1995. I am 15-years-old and having the summer of my life, thanks in part to the release of ‘Wake Up Boo!’ in February and Wake Up! in March…
“I can't think about those times properly. I really needed help mentally but I was too drunk and stubborn to ask for it and nobody else seemed to notice. I felt like I had been possessed by this fucking idiot, constantly making a fool of himself. I was stuck in Preston while all my mates were in London but I was paralysed. I couldn't make decisions, couldn't leave, didn't see anyone for weeks. I kept dying my hair and buying stupid clothes. I was listening to Wu-Tang Clan a lot. I didn't have much interest in Britpop. I didn't realise it was a thing until Facebook and Twitter years later. I had thought it was a London thing. I dunno, I was 27, I'm not sure it was aimed at me. I became a teenager in 1981, that was my era.”
Did you enjoy anything about that time?
“I did enjoy it up to an extent. We were very busy with promo and gigs but the drink and drugs started to get out of hand. I wasn't sleeping much. We did Top of the Pops which was a real dream come true, even though the actual recording was long and boring. First time we did it our plugger arrived in a car with Stevie Wonder. He told us that Stevie had been singing ‘Wake Up Boo!’ on the way in. I choose to believe him.”
What does having a Number One album feel like?
“I think the problem, for me anyway, is that in that instant, nothing changes. I was always looking for the thing that would change me, a new friend or a drug or booze. Once I was in the NME I thought anyone can do this, same with Top Of The Pops and having a Number One. If I could do it, it wasn't worth anything. I had a lot of problems then, actually just one, undiagnosed, problem.”
You know I have OCD. I think ADHD and OCD, while on different lines, are certainly part of the same neurodiverse transport system. Hey, what's your principal memory of Creation?
“We joined when they were still in Hackney, above a sweat shop. It was a dream for me, I loved Creation Records. The problem started when they moved to Primrose Hill which wasn't far from where I lived. I went in nearly every day and nobody could understand why. I was just getting in the way. Truth is I was desperately lonely and miserable. I just wanted to get drunk and forget everything. I would go from desk to desk trying to cajole someone into going to the pub. I was a bloody nuisance.”
Label boss Alan McGee called 'Wake Up Boo!' an 'atrocity exhibition' and that you'd lost the label 'about a million pounds'. A strange way to talk about a band who delivered a Number One album…
“‘Wake Up Boo!’ is OK. The lyrics are awful but I'm always surprised by how muscular it sounds. That song stops me from having to go back to an office. I'm very lucky. McGee liked it at first but changed his mind. I don't really care what he thinks.”
Sticking with the madness/unrestrained optimism of the era, in September 1995, you - Blur, Oasis, Radiohead, Portishead, every name that meant anything in the mid-1990’s - unite for a completion album called The Help Album, which will raise money for the charity War Child…
“We got the call and we did it. I remember turning up at the studio and I had an awful hangover. I was in the pub toilets next door when the film crew arrived. I had only just written the song so I had to show it to the others before we started. I don't think we had finished when the cameras left so we're miming our video along to a half-finished track.”
You follow your Britpop record with a strange art.rock one, in 1996, with C’mon Kids. It’s probably my favourite Boo Radleys record. Was it a conscious attempt to surgically remove yourselves from the former?
“The main thing I wanted to do was have just the four of us playing. No string or horn sections. I don't think we were trying to get away from Wake Up! for the reason you say, we were getting away from it because that's what we did. We mixed it in Boston, at Fort Apache. We rang around bars in the area trying to find somewhere to watch football and ended up in an irish bar watching that Liverpool v Newcastle game at Anfield!”
You make your final album in 1998. It’s called Kingsize. It’s great. Then you split.
“I was fed up. I knew Sice had been fed up for a while too. I had decided to quit halfway through recording Kingsize while on holiday in Morocco. I don't remember when it was that we finally said it out loud but Sice picked me up and we drove down to Liverpool for a band meeting. We stopped off at Sice's mum's house and sat in the kitchen where we had sat plotting our future years before. We were so nervous we couldn't stop laughing. We had the meeting, told the band and it was as miserable as you can imagine. I wasn't thinking about how they were going to fare or what they would do for money. I feel guilty about that now but I just wanted to leave and do something else.”
This is sad. But wait… there’s more?
“We drove home to London and as we turned onto my road John Peel played ‘The Old Newsstand At Hamilton Square’. Sice pulled over and we listened in silence. There was another dimension to it for me. I had written that song because I had read a review of an Elvis album by Peel where he mentioned the newsstand and how he used to buy his NME there. I worked just off Hamilton Square and used to buy NME from the same newsstand. That gave me the idea for the song.”
You kept making music, which I’ll get to imminently. But Sice dropped almost completely off the radar.
“He wrote a few books. The best one, Thimblerigger, is out there somewhere. It's very good. He's made an album as Paperlung and he's got a record coming out soon. He went back to his studies and is now a psychiatrist.”
You did the Bravecaptain stuff. I thought those songs were typically great. I also thought that you deserved more industry support than you got. Was it difficult to keep that going?
“Yeah. The first records weren't very good. I had wanted to do something completely different but I was a complete state at this point so I ended up drifting into doing what I had already been doing but without a good band and singer. I started to get into it and made 2 or 3 albums that I really like. The last one, Distractions, was in 2005. I had to give it away for nothing. The last album I did, [2017’s third solo album] New Shapes of Life, is the best record I've made since the band split. I think it's better than Kingsize but that's me.”
I’m so pleased you’re still making music. I don't feel like I know many people so obviously consumed by music as you. Do you still love it as much as you did at the beginning?
“I do love music but I don't like more stuff than I do like. I like to listen to Tom Ravenscroft, [Stuart] Maconie's Freak Zone show, Gilles Peterson and Gideon Coe. Whatever my taste in music is, I can usually find it there. I stopped going to gigs in the early 1990’s. If I did go it was to stand at the bar. I don't like to be around that many people. I find it confusing. I don't consider myself to be part of any industry. I'm an artist. If I need to use it I will but I don't feel like I'm part of something bigger.”
So, I saw recently that Sice the other guys in the band [bassist Timothy Brown and drummer Rob Cieka] were going to be doing some shows under the name Sice Boo & The Radleys…
“Have they announced anything? Anyway, they did it, they didn’t ask me to be involved and I’m fine with that.”
Okay, but what’s next for Martin Carr?
“I'm writing songs at the minute. I've gone back to the old ways, a guitar and a bit of paper. My ADHD meds are helping me focus for longer so I'm spending more time on them and they're sounding great. I don't have a label at the minute so I don't know when I'll have stuff coming out next. I don't know why I do it - the last one did nothing and I had a breakdown doing it. I know, let’s do another!”
An interview with Louise Wener of Sleeper
SLEEPER
Truth be told, I started this website because of Sleeper.
It’s a fair few years ago now, but I got thinking - in the midst of a pretty bad OCD flare up - that there was something pretty special in a website, that being ‘Indie Heaven’, that collated interviews with the bands and the musicians that mattered so much to me when I was a teenager. I think the essence of that - teenagers, bands, crushes, posters, first this and first that - is the essence of everything glorious about pop music. The harder I found the world, the more I retreated to the stuff that alway made me so happy. The stuff that existed before OCD. Before adulthood. Before complexity. It just took me a while to get this done. Firstly because singer Louise Wener is a busy woman. And also because I was nervous. Really nervous. I loved Sleeper as a teenager as much as I’ve ever loved a band.
But we got there and I’m really happy with what came out of it. I hope you like it too.
Hello Louise! Your excellent 2011 Britpop memoir Just For One Day covers so much of the Sleeper story. But this Q&A has to start somewhere. Tell me about the beginning.
“I’m not sure where to date that from! The band went through so many incarnations. But there was an early gig at Bath Moles I remember, because it felt like something was about to change for us. We’d been doing these toilet gigs to a handful of people for so long. That show was the first time I remember the crowd knowing the words to a song. It was full and sweaty and people were singing along to an early song, ‘One Girl Dreaming’. I remember thinking, ‘this is real. It’s going to work. We can do this…’”
There’s loads of lovely stuff in the book about how appearing on Top Of The Pops was your childhood dream. When I got to go, years ago with The Futureheads, I couldn’t believe how small the studio was! Did it live up to expectations?
“It’s brilliantly ordinary. Breeze block corridors, tiny dressing rooms. You half expect Mrs Doyle from Father Ted to appear rattling an ancient tea trolly. TV studios often feel unremarkable, once you’ve seen their bones, the ‘workings out’. But it was exhilarating, still. The idea I might appear on Top of The Pops was so far away from my reality, growing up. So to actually get there, to watch it back on TV later, felt immense. The history of the show creates its own unique glamour.”
A few days ago, ‘Inbetweener’ turned twenty-six years old. It would have been one of the very first singles I ever bought. Dale Winton is in the video. Do you have any good stories?
“Only that he was exactly as lovely as you’d expect. Very funny. Generous. I do have a brilliant Dale story, yes… but I’m sworn to secrecy. Sorry.”
Drat. Okay, so Sleeper existed in tandem with riot grrrl. Nobody would label Sleeper riot grrrl, but do you have any thoughts on that scene? I always thought ‘Alice In Vain’ was, to a degree, a nod to that stuff…
“It absolutely was. L7 on The Word was a seminal moment for me - but my aim wasn’t to make music that was explicitly a ‘statement’. That felt like its own set of restrictions. I was influenced by Hole and Courtney Love. I loved her ambition. I wanted to blow things up. To stand centre stage with my guitar and rock it to as many people as possible. I was less keen on discussing the merits of intersectionality via the power of song.”
There’s old footage on YouTube where you’re being interviewed by Ralf Little. He basically says he used think of you and wank. And there’s a clip of Chris Evans interviewing you on TFI Friday where he basically says he’d like to shag you. I’m not naïve enough to be surprised by any of this, but I am interested to know what you felt like during these incidents, and if you ever felt you could complain to anyone afterwards or even during?
“I know you raise this question with the best of intentions, but I get asked this often and, in some ways, answering it feels like continuing a narrative. Women in music reflecting on how they were patronized and objectified. I mean how does anyone think it felt? I could write chapters on it. Or nothing at all. The pressure was immense. You did the shows with the bullshit presenters. The cover shoots where the ignorant photographer would try, and fail, to get you to undo an extra button. You accepted the indie press would call for you to be burnt as a witch and that ‘right-on’ dicks in Dr Martens would write articles calling you a ‘madam’ or a ‘tart’. Or the engine stalled. You were difficult, mouthy and outspoken. Women were breaking new boundaries in the 90s. Staking our claim to an industry that didn’t belong to us. It was compromise. A complex navigation that we were making up as we went along. And no one had our back.”
Okay, well I have a theory, so indulge me! The men of Britpop carried on making music when that scene fell apart. You, Miki from Lush, Elastica, later bands like Kenickie… you all took decades out. Did that have anything to do with your experiences? Or is my OCD addled mind overthinking things like they always do?
“Well like I say, women were breaking ground in the Britpop era. Fronting bands. Growing as writers and performers. Creating new role models. It’s hard to be what you can’t see, and there were few female rock idols growing up. We tried to bridge that gap but were held to impossible standards. Belittled. Put back in our boxes. The environment felt foreign to me. The gatekeepers - all men - operated a nauseating points system of record-collector coolness that many women didn’t fit into. I came to music via a different route. It felt like you were marked down for not worshiping at the altar of indie. It was almost ideological. I don’t know. Perhaps those women would have flourished if they hadn’t had to fight so hard for every inch. I’m a songwriter. I’m a musician. It’s taken me years to be able to say it. That it took so long is a direct consequence of those times.”
The narrative was ‘in the day’ that you were ‘opinionated’. Nobody said this about Damon Albarn or Noel Gallagher and they said some WILD SHIT. But imagine, if you will… how would the Louise Wener of 1995 fare within the zealous, social media frenzy of 2021?
“Frenzy is right. People’s willingness to destroy others for breaking whatever Twitter orthodoxy they’re into that day is depressing. So much of cancel culture is about power and control. So often the opposite of the virtue it considers itself to be.”
No doubt. But I’ve had deep respect for you calling antisemitism out on Twitter these last few years – though I imagine it has been horrendous. What does Jewishness mean to you?
“I’m conflicted about Twitter. I don’t engage that much. You can end up simply speaking to your own tribe or incurring the unhinged wrath of someone else’s. People get caught up in their own narcissism too, so it’s all pretty fraught. But some - women in particular - have been incredibly brave on calling out antisemitism online. The abuse they’ve received is unconscionable. I tweeted during the last election because I was genuinely appalled - and scared - by what was happening. I’m not religious but Jewishness is a part of my family heritage that I treasure. I’ve never felt more aware of it than I have these last few years. Sadly, not for positive reasons.”
On the subject of family, your sister - the writer Sue Margolis - passed away in 2017. Sleeper reactivated the same year. Was Sue’s passing important to your decision to do the band again after so long away?
“Yes, it absolutely was. Jon [Stewart, guitar] and I were approaching 50 and we’d talked about doing a gig to celebrate, then promptly forgot all about it. The following year my sister was diagnosed with stage four cancer. I fast-forwarded into a period of depression at that point and it felt pretty bleak. We were offered a tour in the middle of it all and I would never have said yes normally. I had no idea whether we could carry it off. If I could. Twenty-years is so long, it was another lifetime. I think that goal of re-forming was my way of coping with 2017. I had to jump off that cliff in the face of something crushing. It scared me to do it. Which was the point.”
I’m so pleased you did - and that you brought new songs with you. Historically, some of your best songs are character pieces. But it feels like on new, fourth album The Modern Age you’re writing more about yourself and actual experiences. Again, am I over thinking it?
“No, you’re right. I would largely hide my own feelings behind characters in the early days. I’d give my failings, success or sadness to them. Growing older, having children, I’m less afraid of that openness. I felt so flawed and insecure when I was younger. It’s contradictory, but I think you need a certain level of security in yourself, in your position, to speak directly and honestly.”
I think the album closer, ‘Big Black Sun’ is one of the best songs you’ve ever written. You sound like Marianne Faithfull! Can you tell me everything about that song? Thanks.
“I’d love to sound like Marianne! I was obsessed with her album, Broken English when I was a teenager. ‘Black Sun’ is the only one on Modern Age that dates back to our lost demo recordings from around 2000. The plan was to re-record it, but the original worked so well that Stephen Street simply re-mixed it with a couple of small embellishments. Andy put the entire backing track together post Sleeper split and I think much of that vocal was improvised. Just singing in our attic. Lyrics made up on the spot. It was a real…. mood.”
Despite Sleeper being one of my favourite bands, until I saw you play in Islington last year – man, I miss the old world – I only ever saw you once, with The Wannadies and 60 Ft. Dolls, in Sheffield. Thanks to this very authoritative website, I now know that was October 15th, 1995. I was a teenager and I drank too much and smoked a whole pack of Camels and was sick. But do you remember anything from that night?
“I miss the old world. Like everyone, I want it back very, very badly. But that was a pretty full on tour. Wannadies and Dolls were not known for their understated behaviour.”
Okay, there’s no narrative to this interview now. It’s just shit I want to know. Um… don’t hate me. You had a thing of blinking a lot when you sang. Have you ever had conjunctivitis?
“I have crappy eyesight. Basically a mole! If there’s a bright light shining on me, a video shoot, I… blink.”
That’s that cleared up. I always loved that old photo aesthetic you had on your album sleeves. Where did that come from? Also, who drew the logo that I drew on my school jotter over and over again? Do you remember?
“I don’t. Andy [Maclure, drums, and Mr. Louse Wener] chose that first SMART cover, the Mercury astronauts. He chose them because they were a gang. A band. Reaching out to the most amazing adventure of their lives. And they had cool boots!”
I’ve read you say that Britpop - for want of a better word - was hyper competitive. Did you make any lasting friendships from that world during that time? The older I get the more I realise that your weren’t all hanging out in a treehouse being best mates.
“Not really! I was too busy plotting how to take them down or worrying they were trying to take us down. It was a druggy, paranoid time, but also immense fun. We’ve crossed paths with a lot of people from that era since our comeback. They are all, without exception, fantastically decent.”
Sleeper’s old bassist, Diid [Osman]. Do you ever cross paths? What’s he doing now?
“Andy and Jon caught up with him recently. He’s still working in music. He became a father for the first time last year, which is a fabulous thing. We may yet be able to sort something where he plays a gig with us. If gigs are ever…”
Oh don’t. Can you tell me a bit about the recent Wedding Present team-up. How did that come about? I presume via Jon playing guitar for them these last few years?
“Jon’s been moonlighting. He’s been a huge fan for decades so it’s an absolute thrill for him. Jon played the demo of ‘We Should Be Together’ to David [Gedge], and it happened from there.”
What are the chances I might someday get to hear the unreleased solo album that you made after Sleeper split? The story about George Michael guesting on it is pretty well told. I’m trying to think of something that you haven’t said before. Um… what did he smell like?
“There are four tracks on This Time Tomorrow, our ‘long lost’ album that was just released. Twenty-years in the making. Ten unreleased songs that we’ve lived with and loved all this time. Those four songs were meant to be part of my solo album. George Michael sings a small backing vocal on one of the tracks. What did he smell like? Very sharp and clean. Always wearing the good cologne.”
I’m pleased to hear that. Are you writing any more novels? Please write some more novels.
“I’d love to. I’m going to.”
Good. Before they went into administration, The Modern Age was supposed to be released on the crowdfunding site PledgeMusic. Discuss!
“It was theft. They knew the company was going under but were still taking on more bands and more campaigns with the direct knowledge they were stealing from people. It was a gorgeous thing for fans to trust and invest in us after all that time. Pledge ripped the contract between band and fan apart. The corruption spanned the company. They know who they are. And they are wretched.”
I don’t really want this interview to end. It’s really been quite the thrill. But I guess I’ll leave you with this. Do you think The Modern Age is the Sleeper record you would have made if you’d never split up?
“I don’t. We’d never have made it without the intervening years. It’s entirely a product of that gap.”
An interview with Miki Berenyi of Lush
LUSH
Lush were one of the first bands that I ever truly loved - thanks, The Chart Show - so it was essential that I inducted them into ‘Indie Heaven’ as soon as I possibly could. I came in on album three, 1994’s Split, and distinctly remember insisting that the clerk in Doncaster’s branch of Our Price take-off a Sting Best Of so I could hear it. A great band, Lush. In truth, they were three great bands, in three different eras.
Brilliantly, singer Miki Berenyi was both willing and able to chat. What follows is the conversation that ensued.
Hello Miki. Let’s start at the beginning. What are your memories of meeting Emma [Anderson, guitar and vocals] for the first time? You were 14, right?
“Emma arrived in my class on the same day as a vivacious, self-confident Californian girl who became immensely popular within 10 seconds. America was seen as super glamorous at the time. This left me free and unchallenged to bond with Emma over our both wearing the exact same Dolcis black and gold-weave ballet pumps.”
You end up doing a fanzine together, Alphabet Soup…
“Our first ever interview was with a band called Geschlecht Akt. We came to their soundcheck armed with a tape recorder the size of a bread bin, but were too self-conscious to take it out of the plastic bag we’d carried it in, so only realised afterwards that the Pause button was on throughout the interview. I therefore had to piece the entire conversation together from memory, which a few ciders down didn’t work out too well. There was an anecdote about a sax player whose name I couldn’t recall, so I just put “let’s call him John”, and then failed to refer to him again in the interview, thus rendering the reference pointless.”
Do you know the band Cay? I really want to do them for ‘Indie Heaven’, though sadly their singer Anet Mook passed away a few years ago. They were one of my first interviews. I forgot to press the record button.
“To be honest, we were hopeless at interviews and only did them because we thought that’s what you’re meant to do if you write a fanzine. The fanzine bits we enjoyed the most was making up a top 20 chart with all the names changed to rude words. Durex Durex – Shave a Hair; Pimpled Behinds – Glistening Thighs; Crapan – Tin Bum… you get the gist, which we thought was beyond hilarious. I mean, it really was quite terrible.”
So the group forms in 1987, as the Baby Machines. Meriel Barham is the singer. She leaves a year later and joins the Pale Saints. The end of the band, or a new beginning?
“It was nearly the end since we couldn’t find anyone to replace her. After yet another unsuccessful singer audition, I very reluctantly agreed to take on the job, and then things developed quite quickly so it was too late to step down.”
Now called Lush, it’s not long before the band signs to 4AD. Ivo [Watts-Russell, label co-founder] sends you to the acclaimed singing teacher Tona de Brett. Were you insulted? Or do you think it was needed?
“God no, I was delighted to be hooked up with her. She put me at ease and made me laugh – trilling away on the piano and operatically accompanying me singing ‘Leaves Me Cold’: “Dreams deep sleep teasing my mind… Night’s bright lights dim in the day”. She thought that was great for vowel-sound vocal exercises!”
We’re rattling through, but there’s plenty I’d like us to cover. Off the top of your head, what’s your principal memory of Lollapalooza in 1992?
“Off the top of my head, it was an insane amount of fun, if somewhat terrifying. Oh, the Ice Cube incident… We had a dressing room with an adjoining door one gig and their entourage hadn’t arrived yet so I wrote in lipstick on their mirror something like “Hey Cube, come and say hi and have a drink with us next door”. It was a simple invitation to a friendly beer but I was told that when they turned up there was a lot of muttering about ‘disrespect’, so I guess it didn’t go down well.”
Around about that time, riot grrrl happens, did you feel any affinity with that scene?
“I didn’t really get a chance because the main champions and cheerleaders of the UK scene instantly marked us out as the enemy. They slagged us off in the press and I had a very odd encounter with a couple of Huggy Bear at a Thee Headcoats gig where they told me ‘my sort’ didn’t belong there. Wrong kind of grrrl, I guess!”
Your manager, Howard Gough. The best man for the job, or just a man in the job? Also, I heard he really didn't like the band before he worked with you?
“Howard was the plugger at 4AD and he tried to dissuade Ivo from signing us because we were ‘the worst band he’d ever seen’. But once we were on the label, he got on especially well with Chris - I mean, who didn’t?. The can-do bombastic side of him was a tonic at first – he shook us out of our shells and bullied us out of self-doubt. But he could be oafish and rude, and he had no capacity for taking responsibility. When our star slipped with [3rd album, 1994’s] Split, his attention shifted to Menswe@r. By then he’d left 4AD to set up his own label and management company, and we were no longer of interest to him. In the end, he became a liability and I was glad to see the back of him.”
Do you ever hear from Steve Rippon, the band’s original bassist? What's he doing now? And did you ever read his book Cold Turkey Sandwich?
“Steve is alive and well and living in Ireland, doing one of those IT jobs that I can’t accurately describe. I see him every five years or so, when he makes it over to London, and it’s always great fun and reassuringly familiar to reconnect - he never changes at all!. Thanks for reminding me of his book, I just found it in an email attachment and I really should read it one day.”
Going back to Split. You worked with Mike Hedges. What was that like?
“Most of the problems were external and circumstantial. The actual recording of the music was great – we were excited and happy with the songs we had written, and worked well with Mike in developing them. Rockfield was fun for a while but, to be honest, we’d been talked by Howard into a residential set-up and it didn’t suit us. I got bored and homesick, missing the distractions and friends in London, and then Mike insisted we go to rural France to mix in his own studio. The isolation just became depressing. All this coincided with the three main supports for the band – Howard, the manager, Ivo, the label head and Tim Carr, our A&R at Warners – going through their own personal issues, which left us feeling abandoned. By the time we were remixing with Alan Moulder, morale was low – although he was wonderful! When the album finally came out, I struggled to find the energy and self-belief to withstand the mostly negative reviews.”
See, that blows my mind. Split features some of the most skeletal, revealing and honest songs you ever wrote. Why do you think it was so misunderstood?
“I think Split was the opposite of what the music press expected – they wanted a trajectory from ‘Sweetness and Light’, ‘For Love’ and ‘De-Luxe’ toward ever more polished, shimmery pop songs. And we gave them ‘Hypocrite’, ‘Desire Lines’ and ‘When I Die’! A fragile, downbeat, introverted album was about as out of step as you could get in 1994, when the vibe was all about being big and brash and having it large.”
You approached Bob Mould to produce Split. That never happened. Why?
“This feels like it should be a landmark memory, but I honestly have barely any recollection. At the time, there were so many names being bandied about and suggestions were flying in from all sides. Steve Albini came up, as did Bob Rock – definitely one of Howard’s! - and a lot of that stuff ends up depending on practicalities, like people’s schedules and how much they want paying. So yes, I remember Bob Mould being mentioned as an idea and then it suddenly wasn’t, but I genuinely can’t remember why.”
What are your memories of your A&R, Tim Carr?
“I loved Tim - he was into the bands he represented heart and soul, was great company - very funny and brilliant at taking the piss – especially out of himself!, and had vast enthusiasm and knowledge of music, plus a heap of entertaining anecdotes. I was particularly impressed that he had once dated the actress Teri Garr – so cool! But he struggled with his own particular darkness and died several years ago. I really miss him.”
Lush were in America all the time. Did you like it?
“I mostly loved playing America – it’s well suited to the transience of touring. Even a cheap roadside motel has a kind of faded glamour, and driving through the Utah salt flats or up the Pacific coast would prompt frequent cries of “scenic wonder!” as a cue for everyone to rush to the windows and take in the scenery. Also, our US audiences always seemed to be up for a good time – welcoming and enthusiastic – which is great energy when you’re performing. But it’s also vast, it takes weeks and weeks to cover all that ground, and as someone who needs home and close friends to keep me grounded and happy, that amount of touring wasn’t great for my mental health. I’d get pretty out of control, seeking distractions.”
That ‘breaking America’ thing was talked about all the time in the 90’s, but was that important to you?
“I just found you could never ever do enough to satisfy the itch that you are so, so close to ‘breaking’ America, so the US record company and every manager I’ve ever worked with becomes obsessed with this goal. Every spare minute of the day was packed with radio station interviews, sessions, post-soundcheck meet and greets, pre-gig dinners with local reps and post-gig late-night record store signing sessions. And every event demanded high-octane “this is so much fun, you guys!” always-on enthusiasm. It was often very enjoyable - but it took its toll.”
What was your experience of the 90's music press? From the outside looking in, it seemed that they could not get over the fact you all really liked to go to the pub.
“I suppose it seemed like an interesting angle – 4AD arty label artists contrasted with potty-mouth, cider-swilling Spurs supporter. But once that’d been established, it became a caricature. Bands are as trapped in the PR/interview/review cycle as journalists, so it felt like an ambush to open up and talk, then have everything you say twisted and made to look like you’re a bunch of inarticulate thickos or up-their-own-arse divas. Part of our problem was that we knew a lot of the journalists socially - and we still do! We’d become mates with people like James Brown, John Robb and Everett True from years earlier in the fanzine scene, and Emma had worked with Jeff Barratt doing PR for Creation and Factory. At the time of Split, I was in a relationship with the PR John Best and Emma was with Ted Kessler, then, Features Editor at NME. Phil [King, bass] actually worked at the NME as a picture researcher, so he knew loads of them really well!”
Did you ever get accused of nepotism?
“It put us in a tricky position because if a writer we knew gave us a good review or a positive interview, it was perceived to be because they were doing us a chummy favour, not because our music had any merit. So I heard that there were occasions when editors would specifically assign us writers who had already made up their minds that we were shit, to provide ‘balance’…”
It's hard to deny that Lovelife in 1996 is a different beast to all that came before. I don't think people create art by sitting around and thinking, 'hmmm, that Britpop thing is happening, let's have a go at that!' But do you think you were conscious of what was happening around you and that fed into the songwriting?
“My memory is that Split had been slagged off, it sold half of what [1992’s 2nd album] Spooky had, we were struggling to find a manager and we were written off as has-beens, so if we were going to survive we had to plot a different course. Yes, I do think we opted for a more uptempo vibe that was a better fit with the zeitgeist at the time, but the more in-your-face lyrics were less to do with trying to be Britpop and more about recognising that Split was not well received. Writing about childhood experiences of neglect and abuse, your parent’s death, heartbreak and infidelity, and having it scornfully dismissed as a load of nonsense, makes you somewhat reluctant to expose your vulnerabilities again. So this time around it was less confessional.”
That’s, not necessarily me, but someone told!
“And it’s not like we decided to hunt down a known Britpop producer to work with – we just made a record with our long-time live soundman Pete Bartlett, so we could make an album that more closely reflected how we actually sounded when we played live. So no, we didn’t sit around cribbing notes from Oasis records and trying to come up with a formula for success, but we recognised that if we delivered another Split, we shouldn’t be surprised if no one wanted to listen.”
Anthony Kedis, Matt Sharp... I think those are two of the blokes in 'Ladykillers'. Who am I missing? G'wan, tell us...
“No, because social media spread makes these things spin out of proportion and the lyric is just meant to be an observation, not a crucifiction.”
Do you remember how you felt when Emma called saying she wanted to leave?
“I hadn’t seen Emma for a few weeks after the last US tour and then she repeatedly blanked me at a Suede gig at the Kilburn National every time I went up to say ‘hello’. So I kind of figured something was up. We had a band meeting a while later, and she said she was done with it all. A lot of it centred on the relentless US touring and our management at the time – all fixable, as far as I was concerned. I recall saying that we were lucky to have Lush, and wouldn’t be so lucky again – so if she wanted to record an album of Gregorian chants I’d be up for giving it a go, whatever it took to keep Lush going. I think she was genuinely surprised that I felt that way, but it ended up being a moot point after Chris [Acland, drums] died.”
That happens on October 17th, 1996. Just how important was Chris to what Lush was?
“Hugely important. Central. If you never met him, it’s difficult to convey his effect, but it was exceptional. He was like a charm for the band – we wouldn’t have survived as long as we did without him – and I personally would not have coped with being in Lush if I hadn’t had him by my side. Plus, of course, he was a great drummer with a unique style.”
You went almost completely dark after Chris died and barely made any music for years. Was that grief, do you think?
“The grief was overwhelming. I’d never had anyone close die, so I was completely unprepared. And I loved him so much, never imagined a future without him, so I was totally unable to rationalise it. I just couldn’t accept that that was it – he’s gone and he’ll never be here again. I’d dream about him and cry when I woke up, because I’d had a chance to be in his company and how do you make yourself dream about that person again so you can relive some time with them? Various people very kindly suggested new music ventures – I remember Tim Carr trying to set me up with Kat Bjelland for a collaboration – but everything about music reminded me of Chris’s absence. I went to a few gigs thinking it would do me good but it would just take a couple of drinks and I’d be sobbing. So I realised I just needed to get away from all the triggers. I needed to start a different path.”
Emma went off and did Sing-Sing in the interim. I liked them. I believe Lush first toyed with reforming in 2007 when they disbanded. Why didn't that happen?
“At the time, my children were still very young and I was neck-deep in motherhood, plus I wasn’t into social media and took some convincing that there was an audience for a Lush reunion. Also, without Chris it just didn’t feel like something I’d enjoy. However, Emma and Phil’s keenness was infectious and I hate to pass on an opportunity. The ball started rolling with an offer to do Spooky live for All Tomorrow’s Parties, so I agreed. And then I got told the organiser had changed their mind because they listened to the album and on second thoughts they didn’t really like it, so ‘No’…”
Whaaaaaaaaat?
“I’ve since heard noises that this wasn’t quite true, and it was down to an agent we were working with that they didn’t like, but in either case it just reminded me of the worst aspects of the music industry, so I felt justified to walk away. I think at the time I referred to it as ‘flaky cuntishness’.”
When you do make the decision to reform, in 2015, how exactly did that happen? Who made the first call?
“Emma had met a manager who was disarmingly enthusiastic - if naively and, I would say, wilfully unrealistic - and it rolled on from there. I’m going to tread carefully here because it ended up being a fucking nightmare, but I’ll hand it to the guy that the reunion was sparked by him. For that, at least, I thank him.”
When the first Roundhouse show sold out in six hours, were you surprised?
“I was blown away! There were people travelling from far-flung nations to attend – I just couldn’t believe it! TWO NIGHTS AT THE FUCKING ROUNDHOUSE. I mean, WTF?! It was a great experience and I will go to my grave treasuring the memory."
The reunion was brief though.
“The negatives overwhelmed the positives in the end, and all the old baggage resurfaced. But it was personal, rather than musical. I feel like it’s possibly something that a good therapist could have fixed, but that would have entailed a level of emotional commitment I don’t think any of us were capable of.
As far as I'm aware, Lush's creative outlet was made up of you and your songs and Emma and her songs. Did you ever collaborate? Did you ever get close to? Did you ever want to?
“At first we did, and I sometimes wrote the lyrics for her songs. But Emma and I became polarised in so many ways that eventually I felt any input I offered on her songs was unwelcome. And my songs were of little interest to her, so she had no enthusiasm for investing any time or energy in embellishing them. This may be harsh – sadly, we never thrashed this out so it just became the accepted norm, and we reframed it as a positive. Virtue from necessity. But it’s why the producers we worked with were so key, because they were the only point of collaboration.”
I’ve always wanted to be more collaborative in my creative ventures, but I think I might just be a fucking nightmare.
“Piroshka’s music is much more collaborative, and that’s not to say it’s always a smooth ride but I do prefer it. This is going to sound really sappy but when Mick [Conroy] came up with a bass part for one of my tunes on the new album, it was so moving and lovely it brought tears to my eyes!”
There's a brilliant line in a piece Dorian Lynskey did for The Guardian in 2015 where he says that Lush were a band who always looked like they were having fun, even when they weren't. Is that true do you think? How much of being in Lush did you not enjoy?
“Well, if you get invited to a party, you have to make the effort. It would be rude not to, and if you go with the flow, there’s always the chance that you might genuinely enjoy it. And I really did enjoy most of it. I felt incredibly lucky to be in Lush and on 4AD, being afforded so many opportunities and experiences. But I am not a confident musician or singer, and feel equally insecure about my songwriting abilities, so I didn’t have the resilience to cope with the criticisms. On one level, I felt unfairly picked on; but on another, I thought they probably had a point!”
Brains. Brains are bonkers.
"I think one of the hardest parts was balancing the public and the personal. I recall doing an interview with The Stud Brothers for the Melody Maker where Emma and I were complaining about the press not getting “who we really are” and Dom [Wills] pointing out that he couldn’t think of anything more terrifying than having “who you really are” out in the public domain. It was a good point, and it made me accept the ‘Miki from Lush’ public persona more. I decided that it’s better to be misunderstood if it’s an image you’re actively participating in constructing as armour to protect your ‘real’ self. But the flipside is that you’re then trapped into being someone other people expect you to be, which is hard to maintain when you eventually aren’t even sure if you even like that person!”
I swear I’ve had this exact same conversation with my therapist.
“Ultimately, though, the hardest part was the conflict with Emma. It made me miserable and anxious being around someone who actively disliked me. I’m sure it was no picnic for her, either – I can be really fucking annoying to be around, demanding and needy, and I take up a lot of space – but tiptoeing around her moods and incessantly being on the receiving end of her hostility really fucked with my head.”
Well, I’m just a fan. And I loved the music you both made. So thank you. Tell me more about your new band, Piroshka!
“We have a new album out in 2021. It’s quite a deliberate change from the first album, Brickbat, which was more about capturing the immediacy of a nascent band, running with ideas and riding on enthusiasm. The new album is more thoughtful and developed and explorative. All of which sounds like waffle, but here’s a shortcut. Ivo found Brickbat unlistenable, but this one he says ‘you sound like a completely different band…’”
An interview with Richard Parfitt of 60 Ft. Dolls
60 FT. DOLLS
Even within the context of a website conceived with the very purpose of digging into the stories of forgotten bands - the bands I loved as a teenager and whose names should live on forever - special dispensation needs to be made for 60 Ft. Dolls. Catch me on the right day and I can make a claim for their debut album, The Big 3, being one of the most perfect first records ever made. Beloved by the music press that would in adulthood pay me a wage, forever shackled with the curse of being ‘the next big thing’, even now, after all these years, I’ve seen few bands more live and like few bands’ songs more. A bunch of those shows actually occurred when I was a teenager, in my hometown of Doncaster. You never forget your first love. And you never forget the bands who made the effort to come to a town that few came to, now or then.
Singer and guitarist Richard Parfitt’s story extends far beyond the band I came to induct into ‘Indie Heaven’. It takes in Dido, Duffy and 2000’s most notorious. Terris. But let’s start at the pearly gates, shall we…
Hello Richard. I was obsessed with 60 Ft. Dolls when I was a kid. I thought you were the absolute bollocks. How do you feel when you think about the band now?
“We’re all still good friends. It was a fastmoving time. I’m proud of the album, The Big 3. It was re-released with some John Peel sessions in 2015 on 3 Loop Music and garnered some great reviews. The band had an alchemy, in that I don’t think any of the players could be interchanged. When Mike [Cole, bassist] fell ill Japan and needed a lot of time off, me and Carl [Bevan, drums] briefly discussed the possibility of a stand-in bass player, but just as quickly discounted it. The Dolls was a short lived and brightly lit experience. A candle that burns at both ends produces a beautiful light, as they say. We were at our best when on full on rock n’ roll mode. We didn’t have any pretensions musically. Well a few, maybe.”
There was always this expectation in the nineties music press that 60 Ft. Dolls were the next big thing, certainly as far as indie bands went. Was that expectation difficult?
“We never thought we were going to be the next big thing. I would even go as far as to say we didn’t really have any expectations. But when things started happening we went with it. In those days, if the press took an interest in you, the record labels took an interest you. The only expectation we found difficult was to produce a record that would get on the radio playlists, which is something we were never able to do. Most of our plays were evening, Jo Whiley and Steve Lamacq, and John Peel, Adam Walton and Mary Ann Hobbs. BBC Radio 6 still fly the flag. And very grateful we remain to them!”
I finished Louise Wener’s book recently, Just For One Day, the one about her time in Sleeper. She’s pretty critical of Indolent in there. What are your memories of being on that label?
“I haven’t read Louise’s book, but Indolent were a major RCA ‘indie’ label run by Ben Wardle and Steve Lowes. We were signed to Indolent in the UK and Geffen in the USA, so our experience was slightly different to Sleeper’s, in that we had two label bosses. I’ve had the experience of being signed to small and big labels, and it’s true that an independent label feels much better in terms of personal relationships. They can cut their cloth to suit each act. Major labels can be brutal if you’re not bringing the moolah in. Indie labels are usually willing to talk about what they can do to make the next record work.”
You were managed by Huw Williams, from The Pooh Sticks. What are your memories of him?
“Still friends with Huw. He lives down the road. He was a good manager - in the early days especially - and being from south Wales understood us as a band. Huw is from Swansea, we were from Newport. Very smart but very tight. Tightest man in rock. Second only to Rod Stewart on a budget.”
Legend has it that you found Mike via Donna Matthews from Elastica. I was amazed to hear she played in the band for a bit. She slipped off the map when Britpop went down. Do you ever cross paths still?
“I’m still good friends with Donna. I usually see her at Christmas when she comes home to visit her mother. She’s a special person who’s had an extraordinary life. I remember her as a teenager busking in Newport town centre with her sister dressed like The Bangles. She lived above TJ’s and sold dope to the stoners and art students on the weekends. Last time I spoke to her she had just graduated with an MA from Goldsmiths and was enrolling on a PhD at Glasgow University.”
Some of the chaos 60 Ft. Dolls were ‘famed’ for, I always thought you seemed a bit irritated by. I know you were that bit older than the others, but am I off base there?
“I had 4-years on Mike and nearly 10 on Carl, who was only 18 when we started. They were also big drinkers. At that time, I was married and had a small baby, so yes. That part of the band’s story both worked for and against us. The music papers always needed a story. Who wants to read about music? I mean what can you say, except, ‘put the record on and have a listen’. Otherwise you just end up with the writers describing the drums like ‘thunder’, or the guitars like ‘screeching owls’, or something, if you get my drift. Story is good.”
The band ends in 1999, fairly unceremoniously. It was a big shock to me. What happened?
“Mike had a breakdown in Japan. Carl got married. I had my own problems. Our relationship with Indolent was not going well. It wasn’t really planned. We just stopped. Needed a break. Through it all we remained friends.”
How is Mike doing now?
“I speak to Mike a lot. A couple of times a week at least. He’s a special boy. Had his struggles but is doing well and has come through the other side. He was an alcoholic at 15 but he’s just done 6-months without touching a drop and he’s like another man. He’s 54 now.”
That’s great to hear. What about Carl? Last I heard he was painting dogs, with a twist!
“Carl was always drawing and painting, doing cartoons of us - usually pornographic - and pinning them up in the van. He’s a talented lad. He’s moved on from dogs to buildings and people. Buy his work. His paintings are selling for over a grand now.”
I always found it a real shame that that the second album, 1998’s Joya Magica, was kinda buried by the split. It was a good album with some great songs. How do you view it?
“I think you said it. A good album with some great songs, but inconsistent and with no collective sound. Do you want to hear a story about that album that I’ve never told before?”
Absolutely!
“We recorded Joya Magica in New York. Carl thought of the album title. It means ‘magic jewel’, and I think he took it from the back of a videogame he was playing in the studio. Anyway, after Carl flew back home, I stayed in New York to mix the record. We would finish at 9 because the producer had a newborn and he, quite reasonably, wanted to get home to see his family. I would spend the evening bar-hopping and usually ended up in Max Fish or the Lunar Lounge…”
I know them well.
“One night someone came in and sat down next to me. From the corner of my eye I recognized the Ferdinand the Bull tattoo from Elliot Smith’s Either/ Or, which had just come out - I already had the Kill Rock Stars album, the blue one. It was Elliott Smith. He had a Walkman and said he had that night finished mixing this new track for a Gus Van Sant movie [1997’s Good Will Hunting]. He played it to me and it was Miss Misery. I think I may have been the first person to hear the track outside of the studio. Anyway, this became a routine. Each night at 9 we would meet up at Max Fish and then hop over to Alphabet City. He always started full of cheer, but would gradually withdraw and then at some point later in the evening he’d disappear. A few nights into doing this he showed up covered in big purple bruises and proudly showed them off as souvenirs from the previous night. Said he got into a fight at a pool table. There was something very obviously self destructive about him. One night he came into the Lunar Lounge and just started sobbing like a child.”
That’s some sad shit.
“Anyway, just before we flew back to the UK, me, Mike and Elliott went out and got smashed. They both got into a big row over Mike being rude to one of Elliott’s friends. The last time I saw Elliott was at Dingwalls in 1998. The last of the great singer songwriters.”
That’s a great story. What did your life look like after the band ended? I believe you became a university lecturer?
“I went to university to study for a degree in English & Writing. I just needed a break. It ended up being the best three years of my life. I was 40 when I went. I recommend mature study to anyone. When I was there someone recognised me from the band and asked if I’d do some teaching on the music course. After I graduated I got lucky and manged to get a senior lectureship at Bath Spa before moving onto the University of South Wales. I’m currently at Hereford College of Arts.”
That’s very cool. You did release a solo album though, didn’t you?
“Yeah, it was called Highlights in Slow Motion and was released on Rough Trade in 2002. It did all right and was received well by the critics. You can get it on Amazon for a couple of quid if you like that sort of thing. It started as a bunch of home demos that I sent to Rough Trade and they just kept encouraging me. I think it’s got some of my best songs on there.”
What music excites you now?
“I listen to what I loved as a teenager. Hard rock. I also listen to a lot of jazz and folk. John Renbourn, Townes Van Zandt and always The Beatles. I try to listen to new stuff and students are constantly playing new bands in class, so that keeps me up to date. I usually check out what the music websites are calling The Best Of The Year and stream it. I can’t pretend to be cooler than I am because nobody would believe me and I don’t care.”
It’s an accidental segue, but… What do you remember about playing guitar on the second Dido album, 2003’s Life For Rent?
Bernard Butler’s drummer, Mako Sakamoto - a brilliant and generous man who has since sadly died - suggested to that records’ producer, Mike Hedges, that they bring me in to work on the Dido sessions. I wrote the guitar parts, arranged and played on some of the tracks and one of them was a single. It didn’t quite pay the rent for life but it got me through a financial crisis.”
Can you tell me about discovering Duffy? Which gives me a reason to embed the link to the song ‘Oh Boy’, which is beautiful and which you wrote…
“When Aimee sang it was like little birdies came out to sing. It was obvious that something had to happen, so me and Owen Powell from Catatonia did some demos and hooked her up with Rough Trade Management. She covered a few of our songs that ended up on the deluxe edition of [2008’s] Rockferry, one was the title track of a movie, and I wrote some of her b-sides. For that, my ex-wife will be forever grateful.”
You managed Terris too! Good band - and in this, a band with a genuinely great song - but for a long time, almost a allegory for music weekly folly…
“The singer Gavin [Goodwin] was from Newport and went on to do a BA, MA and a PhD in Poetry and now lectures at Aberystwyth University. He was always very philosophically sharp and intellectual in his outlook. Looking back now it seems he was well suited to academia. The rest of the band were from the valleys. Haven’t seen them since but wish them well. My feeling is that it happened too fast. There was a vacuum before The Libertines and The Strokes and the music papers were looking for a band. Terris had an intensity and a peculiar edge that divided opinion. But all the best bands divide opinion, don’t they?”
I’m going to end this with your song ‘British Racing Green’ which I’ve been obsessed with for a quarter of a century now. But also the question, is there any scenario where you could see 60 Ft. Dolls playing together again?
“No. Well, only for a laugh at somebody’s wedding or something. Some things are better left to the imagination. For a short while we were the greatest. I’d hate to spoil that fantasy. We were great and we will remain great.”
An interview with Dana Colley of Morphine
MORPHINE
When Mark Sandman died of a heart attack, onstage in Italy, in 1999, while performing with his band Morphine, one of the greatest and most unique bands of their era died too. Mark Sandman was 46. The Massachusetts born band were just 4 albums in, with a 5th following after Mark’s death. Mark - his baritone voice as low hung as a snake’s belly; his bass parts, normally played on one string, slinky and strange. Morphine - their songs simultaneously sexy and sad; Dana Colley’s soaring sax as smokey as any backroom blues hall. Morphine died the day Mark Sandman did. But Vapors Of Morphine rose from the tragedy.
It was an honour to speak to Dana for ‘Indie Heaven’, and to share that conversation with you…
Well, this is a thrill. Dana, growing up as a fan of Morphine, I would seek out every Morphine interview I could. Most were with Mark. Could you tell me about your route into music?
“My earliest memory is sitting at the piano at about 3-years-old and being fascinated with the sound. Growing up, the family of my best friend - Dave Blauss - became my extended family. They had many instruments in the house and they all played. I would sometimes go to their house and just sit on the couch and play their guitars. Sometimes none of the kids were home. Just me and their mom Edna, who I credit for recognising that I had an ear for music. Amazing woman. Single mother to 7 children. My school had a very strong music program so I got the opportunity to learn clarinet which later moved to tenor in the 7th grade of Middle School. I played tenor all through High School in the marching, concert and jazz bands.”
Children having access to music lessons at school is such a gift. It’s something being ripped from our education system here in the UK.
“After I graduated I went to Mass College of Art in Boston in 1980. This is where I met Chris Harford. We were both in a department called SIM Studio for Interrelated Media. Chris was in a band called Three Colors and they had all come up to Boston to take advantage of the city’s fertile music and art scene. Chris invited me to sit in when Three Colors were playing at a SiM performance - SIM being a performance art program. I jumped up, did some strangled goose sax ala James Chance, then sat down to let them finish their very together and well constructed set. I continued to bug them to find out when they were planning on rehearsing. They put me off for as long as they could until they finally relented and told me they had a rehearsal scheduled in the next week and I could come down. I jumped at that and made myself indispensable as best I could. Playing in a band with 3 songwriters, in Chris [vocals and guitar], Hub Moore [bass] and Max Moore [keyboards], it helped me develop my own understanding of songwriting as well as how best to accompaniment a singer.”
This would be around the time that Mark was playing in Treat Her Right… um… right? How did you come to meet him?
“Actually, the first time I saw Mark it was at The Rat in Kenmore Square. Three Colors and Treat Her Right were on the same bill. He made a big impression on me because he was playing more of a roots blues sound, which was really counter to the post-punk new wave sound of the time. We talked at the gig and sometime after that Mark invited me to come by his apartment in Cambridge with my sax. I did and we jammed a little - at the time he was working on his one string bass which really blended with my baritone. Around this time Treat Her Right were working and I was a huge fan of Billy [Conway, drums, later of Morphine], Jimmy [Fitting, harmonica] and Dave [Champagne, guitarist]. That band were one of the greatest live sounding bar bands in the world. They needed some help on the road and I convinced them to let me go and drive, load gear and tune guitars. They will tell you that I am a better sax player than I am a guitar tech, which led them to inviting me up on stage for a number or two.”
You mention Mark’s one string bass. I always thought that Morphine used ‘space’ brilliantly. What you’re not saying is as important as what you are. Did you ever think about adding an extra string, or a drum, or even a member and a new instrument?
“Well, with recording we’ve always been able to add the instrumentation that we weren’t able to have on stage. We’ve had a musician sit in with us but we’ve always kept to the most stripped down instrumentation because it works best for the music. Space was always very accessible due to the instrumentation. Especially in comparison with a lot of multi-guitar band on a bill. The space becomes another member of the band.”
Your 1992 debut, Good, was an amazing opening statement. It summarised exactly who Morphine were. What are your memories of making that record?
“Good was a collection of songs we had been playing live and decided to put into a recording. We released it independently on Russ Gershon’s Accurate-Distortion label. It initially only came out on cassette - it wasn’t picked up until after Cure For Pain came out on Ryko in 1993…”
I loved the art too.
“That was a clipping Mark had of a Dutch Master. Sandman loved doing collages with cut-out paper to make gig posters, and that was initially a xerox copy. Maybe even an early scan.”
What was the experience of signing with Rykodisc like?
“Signing with Ryko worked in our favour because they had a large distribution and were releasing a lot of re-issue catalogue. We were the only live group that were out on the road performing. Cure for Pain got to a lot of people due to Ryko's great distribution, combined with the appetite at the time for this new, mind-blowing format called the compact disc! The sound of Cure for Pain was a beautiful merger of analogue and digital. Recorded by the incomparable Paul Q. Kolderie on 2" tape, then mastered onto a digital platform, really perked the ears up when hearing it for the first time.”
Man… Pixies, Buffalo Tom, Lemonheads, Dinosaur Jr., even the first Radiohead album. Paul Q. Kolderie has worked with so many bands and on so many records I love…
“Paul is a genius producer musician and just a hell of a nice guy to hang out with. Fort Apache was a great place to hang out too, with great music coming in and out of there at all hours of the day. Paul really worked hard to get our sound as pristine as could be. He’s a master at editing and constructing solos by virtue of multiple punch-ins. And he’s a true master at getting drum sounds. He’s got an overall understanding of what is necessary to make the mix work. You can't say enough great things about Paul.”
Around this time you got the Beavis and Butt-head treatment! There’s so many Morphine songs on cool movie soundtracks from that time too!
“It was great! I loved it. We loved Jon Stewart so the fact that they compared Mark to Jon was pretty cool. We did have a brilliant music supervisor with Ryko who really got the music. And around that time, filmmakers were looking to the culture for music for their films. The timing was really good.”
I wasn’t cool enough to come to Morphine until Like Swimming in 1997 - I was sixteen-years-old. I’d never heard anything like it! Then I worked backwards. Again, I love the cover art…
“For the cover we went out to Mark’s parents house with a photographer and a underwater camera. Then we took over their pool by jumping in with all our clothes on. They were very supportive of the artistic endeavor.”
It was also your first record for DreamWorks Records, the label set up by David Geffen, Steven Spielberg and former Disney chairman Jeffrey Katzenberg…
“DreamWorks was a blessing and a curse. It allowed us some financial freedoms, but it also put a lot of stress on our process. Previous to signing with DreamWorks we were left to put out what we wanted without having to undergo any type of critique from the label. Mark was under a lot of stress to produce a record that was going to put us into the next league. The label wanted us among Beck and that sort of crowd. Mark felt responsible for producing a big hit for them. It lead to a lot of fractious feelings between Mark, Billy and myself. We never were sure if we were going to be in the band. When push came to shove Mark succeeded in producing the basic tracks that he was ultimately pleased with. And we succeeded in having both Billy Conway and Jerome Deupree both playing drums at the same time.”
Speaking of Jerome Deupree; he was in and out of Morphine - and indeed, Vapours of Morphine. Was that because of the pain in his hands? Has he recovered now?
“Jerome has always had issues with his hearing. He’s got tinnitus in his ears and tendonitis in his arms. He’s always played in some discomfort. Playing larger stages night after night in Europe with Vapors Of Morphine on our last tour took its toll. The shear volume of a rock production with low frequency subwoofers, combined with loud electric sax and guitar was a lot. As critical as Jerome is to the sound we want him to take care of his well-being. He stepped down to allow the amazing Tom Arey to join in. We’re releasing a vinyl recording on Schnitzel Records in 2021. Both Jerome and Tom are featured, one each on either side.”
It always sucks when illness stops someone doing something they love, especially when they’re so good at that thing…
“Prior to the pandemic, Jerome had been taking his pick of gigs and playing close to home and hosting drum sessions at his house. In the warmer months he hosted outdoor socially distanced jams in his back garden. They can be found on his Facebook page. He is a true master of the drums.”
The documentary Cure For Pain: The Mark Sandman Story was released in 2011. I really liked it. Do you like it?
“There are actually two documentaries. Cure for Pain, made by Mark’s cousin Jeff Broadway along with Robert Bralver. The other was made by a good friend and was called Journey of Dreams. The first centred around Mark’s family story - understandably because his family were making the film - and I think it was good. Journey of Dreams is far more extensive in terms of the story of the band. The production that went into it was far more professional. It was directed, shot, compiled and edited over 5-years by the very talented Mark Shuman.”
What kind of relationship do you have with Mark’s family? I keep meaning to read his mother’s book, Four Minus Three: A Mother’s Story…
“I made a point to try to maintain a good relationship with Mark’s family. They’ve been incredibly generous and willing in working with whatever release or project we might have in the works.”
Can we talk a bit more about Mark? So much has been made of Mark’s secrecy - his desire to keep his life private. Do you think that was mythos making? Or insecurity? I believe you only found out about the - pretty fucking tragic - passing of his brothers after some years?
“Mark was a private person who was a public persona so it was important for him to protect himself, protect his family and protect his friends by keeping much of his life private. Mark told me about his brothers pretty early on but he didn’t really go into much detail regarding how they died. I always respected his privacy and figured he would tell us what he wanted us to know when the time was right. I never really inquired about lyrics or anything like that. I was interested in producing a unified sound and whatever Mark wanted to sing about was fine with me. I think that stuff is best left to the imagination in most cases. What’s the genesis of any song idea could be different for everybody - that’s a beauty of it.”
Tell me about Twinemen, both the band and the comic?
“After Mark passed away, Billy and I were working on a Laurie Sargent [from Face To Face] solo record, and the more we did the more we realised that it was actually a project onto itself. It was turning into a band effort more than a solo project. In truth, Laurie saved us, because both Billy and I needed to be busy playing. She really nurtured us through a tough time. We named the band after Mark’s cartoon called Twinemen. Which is a ball of twine with 3 heads sticking out of it. To signify what it’s like to be in a band with lives intertwined.”
I won’t ask you revisit the night that Mark died. It’s covered extensively elsewhere. I would be interested however in knowing what the experience of putting together the 5th and final album, The Night. It was released after Mark had passed.
“The record had been recorded and mixed, so all we needed to do was master it, produce the artwork and work out the sequencing. Billy and I had a lot to work with. It was just a matter of bringing it in to the finish. Mark died on July 3rd, 1999. The record came out in February the following year. Dreamworks didn't really want anything to do with it or what we brought to the table. Fair enough. We weren’t Beck. But Orchestra Morphine toured that year and returned to Palestrina, Italy to play Nel Nome del Rock on July 3rd, 2000. A year to the day on the spot where Mark played and died. The town is like extended family. We’ve returned many times since.”
Orchestra Morphine, Member of Morphine, Vapors of Morphine; I’m so pleased you did all those bands that kept the songs alive. It put some light where so much sadness was. When Mark died, did you feel a duty to create a legacy for Morphine?
“Initially after Mark died I felt a responsibility to keep the music going. It was the thing we created together and poured our life into. I wanted to make sure that The Night was heard by a live audience too. The show must go on! With the help of 8 other musicians we put together Orchestra Morphine and toured the U.S., before getting back to Palestrina. That was our main goal - getting the music heard. Vapors of Morphine came out of an invitation to go back and play in Palestrina. We decided to go as a trio and invited my good friend Jeremy Lyons to learn some Morphine songs. He did and we’re still at it. We’ve got the aforementioned record coming out and we hope to be back out on the road once this pandemic is under control.”
I will catch one of those shows. Thank you Dana, this has been a pleasure. What do you think Mark Sandman’s legacy is?
“if you have enough passion for the things that you love, then there’s nothing to get in your way. Make something happen. Do it yourself.”
An interview with Johnny Dean of Menswe@r
MENSWE@R
It was some kind of magic to be young in 1995. I was fifteen. I was a few years into an obsession with indie rock. Now the music I liked was in the charts, on the telly, on the radio… and I was old enough - with just about enough facial hair - to see it live. This was an age where the most pressing worry in my life was who was better, Blur or Oasis. The answer is of course, Pulp. Somewhere in and around all this was Menswe@r.
Out at the front was singer Johnny Dean, the focal point of a band who were as notorious as they were tuneful. They came, they blagged, they wrote more good songs than they were ever given credit for. Now they’re arrived at the pearly gates of ‘Indie Heaven’. There’s is a helluva story. Who better to tell it than Johnny…
If you enjoy this interview, please consider a donation to the National Autistic Society. And why not check out Johnny’s interview with me for The OCD Chronicles?
I won’t go over the band’s origins in too much detail - Dave Simpson did that really well in The Guardian recently - but I’ve always wanted to know more about Smashing, the club night Menswe@r frequented. I never attended - I was fourteen and living in Yorkshire - but I read about it and it sounded like the most exciting place in the world. What was it actually like?
“Clubs were Menswe@r’s launch pad. We were born in clubs. I think a lot of bands are. Blitz was responsible for a fair few bands in the 80’s wasn’t it? I’d say Smashing was the Blitz Club of the nineties. I’ll always remember it as this very glamorous, very leftfield space where you could be who you wanted to be. The music was very eclectic, you could hear anything at Smashing, anything that had been recorded in the previous four decades. All genres. No rules. It was quite an inspirational place. It was exciting. And for me it was the clientele who made it really special. I met so many amazing people there, from Leigh Bowery to Todd Haynes. And of course anyone who was anyone in what became Britpop went there at some point. I have very fond memories of Smashing. I’m honoured to have been a part of it all.”
Something I didn't realise for years and years is that you and Chris [Gentry, guitar] are in Pulp's 'Do You Remember The First Time?' video. What do you remember about that?
“A few things have stuck in my mind from that day. It was filmed on the Thamesmead estate, and the residents were fiercely protective of it. Clockwork Orange was filmed there, and because of that it had attained a certain reputation, unfairly. So every now and then the film crew would be approached by concerned residents asking what they were up to. “Don’t you make our home look bad…” That kind of thing. The other thing I remember really clearly is Jarvis [Cocker, Pulp singer] showing me how to mend a snapped cigarette so it could be smoked. That’s years on the dole for you. Oh, and for the whole day people kept telling me and Chris to form a band. Careful what you wish for folks...”
Where did Menswe@r get their suits tailored? They were sharp!
“We each had a suit tailored by Mark Powell as part of our record deal. If you type ‘Mod Taylor London’ into Google his name comes up first. The other guys stopped wearing suits fairly quickly, which I always thought was a shame. I had a few suits made but not for touring. Suits get ruined on tour really quickly, so I would just wear off the peg stuff from one-stop-Mod-shop Merc. You wouldn’t feel so guilty about them getting ruined.”
What do you remember about the first Top Of The Tops appearance in early 1995?
“It was very exciting. It was a personal ambition to be on Top Of The Pops, so to be on it - and make history as the first band to appear without having released a note - was a real bucket list thing with bells on. Gay Dad have tried to steal this honour, but it was Menswe@r that did it first! I just remember that I was keen to make an impression and this might be my only chance, so at the end of one of the takes I threw my mic stand into the audience. That was the one they used. The BBC received something like 1500 complaints over it, the most that week. Mission accomplished. And I also remember Courtney Love turning the air blue after Ant and Dec introduced her as Kurt Cobain’s widow. That actually happened. They had to rewrite that bit. They shit themselves.”
Perhaps more importantly, where did you get that jacket from?
“The guardsmans jacket was from Camden. This guy used to sell them just outside where the old MTV building was. He gave me a discount. Not long after he was stabbed to death. I still have it actually. I won’t part with it. No, it doesn’t fit anymore.”
There was, to use a cliche, a signing frenzy to obtain Menswe@rs signature. Why did you end up with London Records?
“We had whittled our suitors down to two companies. Blanco Y Negro, who were part of Warners, and Laurel who were part of London. They flew us to New York for a weekend, one paying for flights and the other taking care of hotel bills. We met with Danny Goldberg who was head of Warner’s at the time and he did the whole “call me anytime” routine. Afterwards we went to a pizzeria with Geoff Travis, who ran Blanco. Basically he didn’t pay for the bill, and we were a little put out. Then later we tried to call Goldberg and his secretary wouldn’t put us through. I was leaning towards Blanco up to that point. It’s silly really, and actually something I regret. Also the guy from Laurel literally begged us. It was not pretty. I caved in to stop him. If I could do it again I’d go with Blanco. Nothing against London, but they were very much a pop label at that point. Our relationship became strained quite quickly.”
How important was Graham Coxon to the Menswe@r story? I spent my entire teenage years pretending to be Graham Coxon. Or, is the idea he was romantic Britpop folly?
“Well, we knew him. He was a mate. And I think he was vaguely aware of what we were doing band wise? But I don’t think he expected it to come to anything? I think Blur were quite important, as an influence, and Graham is very important in that respect. But we weren’t asking him to get us a deal. We all moved in the same circles.”
What do you remember about being profiled early on by Caitlin Moran in the Melody Maker? I'm always interested in how something my end - as a teenage reader - which felt so exciting and anathema to the humdrum of my then life, played out in actuality for the subject matter...
“Is this the infamous centre spread in the infamous New Mod issue? Yeah, it was exciting because it was our first major piece, but also we were very wary of being lumped into this thing we didn’t feel part of. That I wasn’t convinced was an actual thing. Yes we went to Blow Up. Yeah, we wore suits. But that’s as far as it went, Mod wise. This is when the press were still trying to find something that they’d eventually consolidate under the Britpop banner. Actually, real Mods were horrified by us. Paul Weller was very disparaging about Simon [White, guitarist]’s shoes.”
I think Menswe@r are a) a classic rock 'n roll caper, b) a cautionary tale, c) a missed opportunity - lots of things. And it was brief; album one, Nuisance, came out 1995. Two years later you’d split up. Can you recognise the high point within it all?
“For me the high point was the first couple of UK tours we did. I’d been to quite a number of gigs as a punter but none of them felt like these gigs. It really was something else. Menswe@rmania! I’d never been to a gig where there was just this constant wall of screaming throughout. And the venues were rammed. We always sold out, but those gigs seemed dangerously packed. Just a screeching mass of limbs and eyeliner and Adidas. Nothing compares to that. And we were so up for it. Tremendous.”
What about the low point?
“After that it was just a slow decline, not in audience numbers, but in our attitude and decision making. The bigger the venues got the less it made sense. To me anyway. I think as a band we began to fall apart as soon as we signed a contract. The lowest point would be the sacking of our drummer Matt [Everitt]. I love Matt. But it felt like the decision had been made before I was even aware of a problem. It seems so unnecessary now. That was definitely the point where the wheels fell off.”
The Select cover in late 1996 - the 'indie Take That' thing. Having been a music journalist so long, I get the spin. Did you feel like that's how you'd been marketed though?
“Thing is, I’d been pushing the Take That angle before that Select article. Not as a marketing thing. It was a reaction towards many of my contemporaries harping on about “proper music”, thinking they were more than just pop bands. You know, bands that got in the music charts? I’m really sorry guys, but The Beatles were a pop band. There is nothing wrong with being pop. Pop is what it’s all about. Pop is exciting and vital and important. I’m not someone who judges people because of their musical tastes. I think it’s ridiculous. And immature. And entirely pointless.”
So, album two. For years, the only way a Brit could hear ¡Hay Tiempo! - which was only released in Japan and until recently not in the UK - was on the jukebox of The Good Mixer in Camden. Did you know this?
“I did know this. Simon gave it to them.”
That album marked the end of the band. What's more important to the creation of it? Cocaine, the U.S. tour with The Charlatans - there's a lot of organ going on there! - or a subconscious desire to destroy everything and get the hell out of dodge?
“All of those things. But I think also that Simon had this great desire to be accepted by his contemporaries? I think he’d agree with that now. That album is very much his baby. There was this strong desire to distance ourselves from Nuisance. By this time I had withdrawn. I wrote some lyrics, some melodies, came up with the album title but I was on autopilot. Just waiting for the inevitable. There was no way London was going to go along with it. It was a slow and painful exercise in shooting yourself in the foot. It’s not a bad album, I just think we had other stuff at that point that would have made it better, and more palatable. But at this point we weren’t really a band anymore.”
I always thought that the band's songwriting was at its best when it was at its most soppy and introverted. I'm thinking 'Being Brave' and 'The One', but also the unreleased stuff like 'Is This the Way?' I'm presuming the way the band came to be, the hype, the packaging, meant that this stuff wasn't allowed to be explored as much as you might have liked?
“Hold tight people! I’m not keen on ‘Being Brave’. I know! Madness! It’s one of the songs I least enjoy when playing live. Don’t tell the rest of the band. ‘The One’ though, yeah that’s a good one. I don’t think this is something I’ve thought about to be honest? I’m more concerned about whether the song is just… good? No one really told us what kind of songs we should be writing. Other than the one time the record company told us to ‘write some singles’. That went down well.”
Okay, hot-take - the songs on the rarities section of the new box set - specifically the ¡Hay Tiempo! sessions stuff - could have easily have been fashioned into a second album that was a bridge from Nuisance to where you might have wanted to go next, and thus not as much as a sharp right turn from where you'd been. Hindsight is a wonderful thing, eh?
“I absolutely agree. But as I’ve covered here, there were factors at play that prevented that from happening. As a band we were treading water and nobody wanted to rock the boat in case it sank. It had already sunk. I knew that. I’m sure the others knew as well on some level.”
When the band ends, you vanish from the public eye for years. Where’d you go?
“I tried to be ‘normal’, but it didn’t work out too well. There are lots of rumours about what I did. Because I did disappear completely for a bit, I no longer dictated the dialogue and it was left to other people to spin tales about me. I’m okay with that though. But just because you’ve heard something about me doesn’t make it the truth. Mmmkay?”
Okay. But what is the truth?
“What really happened is that at some point I was diagnosed as being on the autistic spectrum, and as having OCD, as well as a pretty serious dose of depression. The autism diagnosis actually helped enormously because it helped me to understand myself a bit more. Most people spend most of their lives not knowing who they are. So I’m grateful. I’ve done some music things, bits and bobs. But not all of it was positive, so I’m really careful now. People have motives, y’know? And being autistic I need transparency. It’s funny how people don’t get that. It’s also funny that no matter how many people I tell, some people still don’t want to give me a break. But I guess that’s their baggage, innit?”
As an OCD sufferer myself, I can relate. OCD and Autism are often bedfellows. People never really forgot about you though. The Art Brut song about you, the late, great Nuisance club night in Camden - when you're away there's a groundswell of love for you and Menswe@r. How did that feel? Flattering? Strange? All of the above?
“I’m pretty much unaffected by it to be totally honest. I’m not ungrateful. It just isn’t something I really think about? I really don’t think of myself as a pop star. Or an ex-pop star. I try to be present in the moment, if that makes sense? What people think about me is none of my business.”
Can you tell me more about your Autism diagnosis? I read you say that for many years you ‘didn't feel like you belonged on the planet...' I've often, through the filter of OCD, felt similar. It helps knowing what's wrong, right? Having the language to use?
“It’s something I had suspected for a long while, that I was autistic, but I didn’t know what to do. At this time it was still something that wasn’t really fully understood within the medical community, let alone Joe Public. The short story is that after years of forcing myself to fit in, or ‘masking’, I finally just cracked. Much worse than just a meltdown, I was practically comatose and I ended up in a psych ward. That is when I made the decision to do something about it, even if it killed me. And I did. I think it was well worth it. I now have far more awareness in regards to how my circuitry works, how I’m wired. I’d recommend seeking a diagnosis if you’re an adult who suspects you are autistic. I understand not everyone wants to. I guess the fear is ‘what if I’m not actually autistic?’. But at least you’ll maybe find out what is going on? And that’s comforting in my opinion. Also getting a diagnosis helps with statistics, which ultimately helps with funding. So my advice is take courage, sometimes being brave is exactly what’s needed.”
One of the things that doing 'Indie Heaven' has taught me, is that few made it out of Britpop without that time really, really messing with their heads. I'm sure the answer is 'drugs', but why do you think that is? I should say that I know Britpop was a very silly, reductive term, but to me, living in the middle of nowhere, pre-internet, it was an absolute lifeline...
“Britpop happened because the record labels were loaded in the 90’s. There was so much money being made from CD remasters and so on. When what used to be called indie, or alternative, started to make waves in the charts, all these small labels got swallowed up by the majors. Nothing corrupts quite like money. So you had all these kids in little bands suddenly being chauffeured around like U2 and existing on the Rick James diet, with absolutely no safety net. When the labels realised they had spent too much on something that ultimately didn’t even outsell dance records at the time they pulled the plug and walked away. There’s no duty of care in the music business, so all these kids were left to figure stuff out for themselves. It was like the hangover from hell for a lot of people. I’m sure The Priory did very well out of Britpop…”
Here’s some random questions. In 2012, cheeky Chris Gentry pranks the world in announcing that Nuisance has gone platinum. How was that for you?
“I thought it was funny at first. But then it became unfunny because some people used it as an opportunity to attack me. Which says more about them than it does about me.”
Stuart [Black, bassist]. Where is he now?
“I'm not totally sure what Stuart's doing now. I think he took over his dad's building business and moved out of London. He's happily married with a little boy, so he's settled. And he's returned to his first love, the trumpet. Playing in a brass band. I think that's how he met his wife.”
I'm not sure I've ever heard anything more mid-nineties than that Student Union remix of 'Daydreamer' that’s in the new boxset! Tell me everything you can about that!
“It was the brainchild of Martin Green and Michael Murphy, the DJ’s at Smashing. They wanted to remix ‘Daydreamer’ but pretty much reworked it into something else. They asked me if I’d be up for recording new vocals that would fit. And I was. I’m quite fond of it. It’s more Numanesque than our Wire version. It was put out as a white label. There aren’t many out there, so if you love Menswe@r you need to get on eBay!”
I’m gonna be honest, even as a fan, I never thought I'd hear the phrase 'Menswe@r box set'!
“You and me both pal! Like most things when it comes to Menswe@r, it was down to chance I guess. A nice man called Ben Stanley from Demon Records contacted me as he had licensed Nuisance with a view to releasing a special 25th anniversary edition for Record Store Day. He wanted to get my blessing I think. So we set up a meeting and I mentioned the second album, how it was only ever released in Japan, and also all that other stuff we recorded during this period. I wondered if he was interested. Ben will admit he is a big ‘Swe@r fanboy, and I’m fairly sure he had to contain himself at that point. He kept his cool admirably though... And that’s how the ball started rolling. Chris was able to contact London and miraculously they had kept everything. All this stuff I thought was lost forever. There was so much material it just made sense to do a boxset. On the whole people have been very generous about it. It’s not Smile or Sgt. Peppers but I think it’s worth your time if you like 90’s indie. Even if you claim to hate us. Some of it is pretty good, I think.”
Tell me what the future for Johnny Dean looks like from where you’re standing…
“So with Menswe@r there's the boxset, which contains pretty much everything we did over four CD’s, including the second album. There's also now a vinyl edition of ¡Hay Tiempo! out there. I still make music but it's about feeding a compulsion I have to do so rather than going out and touring it or hoping people dig it. As for the future, my health has not been good for the past decade or so. Right now I'm concentrating on getting well and I have about 18 months left on a medical trial I'm taking part in. Once that's done, touch wood, I'll be well enough to get on with some more stuff. By that point I'll be 50-years young, so let's see? I have a lot of ideas. I always have ideas. But one step at a time…”
An interview with Cormac Battle from Kerbdog
KERBDOG
Kerbdog were a big vibe in my teenage years. Not too heavy metal, not too indie rock, what grunge might have sounded like if it emerged from Ireland and not Seattle. For a while there, they were pretty much the summary of my music taste, distilled.
As with all the bands on this website, their time in the spotlight was all too brief. And yet it brings me much joy to say that since 2005 they’ve been a semi-active concern. What I’d really like - and I know I’m not alone - is a new album. I live in hope. Here’s singer, guitarist and icon to short-sighted types everywhere, Cormac Battle…
Hey Cormac. Kerbdog formed in Kilkenny, Ireland, in 1991. This being pre-internet and Kilkenny not being the centre of the universe, what was your route to music?
“It was the movie Back to the Future that first inspired me. It made me realise that a guitar was a way to a woman's heart and also a way to impress people if you were shit at sport. So I got a guitar and eventually put a band together with a bunch of other non-sporty types. That's how Kerbdog was born. I was big on BMX back then. My worst injury? I chipped my front tooth going over a ramp and while I was on the ground another rider landed on my head. It's still chipped…”
Bloody hell. A brief aside. Away from ‘Indie Heaven’, I also run a weekly newsletter called Spoook. It’s about the paranormal, cryptids, true crime, folklore and other weird stuff. People can sign up for it here. What can you tell me about the Kilkenny cats?
“I think it's something to do with a witch who lived in Kilkenny hundreds of years ago who had a bunch of cats and wasn't the nicest person in town. I think I may have met her a few times late at night after a few beers.”
Okay, now that’s out of the way, tell me about your pre-Kerbdog band, Rollercoaster…
“Well, we were only a school band who never left the confines of Kilkenny, but they were magical times, just trying to be cool playing feedback to a bunch of people who were too cool to even watch us. That's the way it was back then. You had to pretend you didn't care about anything when in fact you were desperate for approval and love just like everybody else.”
Okay, VH1 Behind The Music time. Billy Dalton [guitar] joins the band - who are now Kerbdog - in 1992. He brings a metal influence to the band, who are otherwise in thrall to Sonic Youth and Spacemen 3…
“Big time. He was all about Metallica and a load of shite hair bands. He had an amazing guitar sound though, and we loved him as a human being. When Billy joined the band we went from indie shoegazers to grunge-metal titans.”
Also that year, you support Therapy? at Kilkenny's New Park Inn. With hindsight, just how important were Therapy? to your career?
“In the initial stages, seeing them playing in Kilkenny in a sweaty, oversold pub was one of the most exciting things we'd ever experienced. It definitely pushed us further into wanting to do the band thing full time. That lead to us sending a demo out, which led to a day at The Pumphouse in Kilkenny where we met 11 of the 22 labels that had got back to us. It was crazy. All these record execs flying in from around the world to see us playing in our local pub. It was the stuff dreams are made of, really. It was utter chaos. I remember an air conditioning unit being knocked off the ceiling by crowd surfers. We signed with Mercury because they were the first ones to offer us a deal - the next day - and we were nervous that they might be the only ones to do that so we wanted to get it done before they could change their minds.”
A year later you record your self-titled debut at Rockfield Studios in Wales. You made that with Jack Endino, a legendary name in grunge circles. He says you were writing lyrics right until the point you came to recording?
“He's right. I found writing lyrics difficult. In retrospect I should have put more effort into the lyrics. I saw my voice more or less as just another instrument at the time, so a lot of lyrics were stream of consciousness type stuff. That said, that approach didn't hurt Michael Stipe…”
Soon after you went on tour with The Almighty. Now, and then, that feels like fairly bizarre booking!
“Well, at the time The Almighty had a brief flirtation with the whole grunge thing. They were playing big venues and a lot of people who saw us on that tour became lifelong fans of the band. We became pretty good friends with them as well. We went on to share the same management actually.”
Then you make the second album, On The Turn, in LA, with GGGarth in 1995. I sat in on a Biffy Clyro session when they were working with him. He watched an awful lot of ice-hockey…
“He was an amazing person to work with and be around. I absolutely love that man. He is so kind and so patient, especially as we weren't exactly pro-musicians. He makes fantastic sounding records. He's a very big sports fan though. No question about that. Funny as fuck too.”
Sadly, Billy leaves Kerbdog a few months after you return from Los Angeles. Then, in early 1996, the Mercury Music Group is bought by PolyGram, and Kerbdog shift over to Fontana Records, Vertigo's sister label at PolyGram…
“With Billy, we all lost perspective out there for various reasons. Billy ended up parting with us when we got back home. It was all a big mistake and it shouldn't have happened. Friendship comes first. It was great to have him back again [as of 2014]. He's a great guy! With the label… Ah look, we had spent vast amounts of record company money and they had to make a decision to double down and spend tons more on promoting On The Turn or cutting their loses. They chose the latter option and we got dropped and broke up as a result pretty soon after.”
It still hurts Cormac, it still hurts. I read somewhere that Kerbdog actually considered relocating to the States at some point. How close did you come to that?
“Not close at all. But it's something I think we should have done right from the beginning. We were a band at odds with what was happening in the UK so that would have been the logical thing to do. But logic is hard to come by in a bunch of 20-year-olds trying to find their way.”
Wilt, the band you did next, formed in 1998, with Darragh [Butler, drums] and your friend Mick Murphy on bass. What are your thoughts on Wilt, looking back all these years later?
“I am very fond of what we did with Wilt. A lot of the songs are just Kerbdog tunes with the drive on the guitar amps turned down a bit. If Kerbdog had gone on I think we would have made heavier sounding Wilt albums.”
And then you went to work in radio, at RTÉ 2fm. How did that come about? And how long did it take you to come up with the name of your show, The Battle Axe?
“I got to know a producer there from doing sessions for them, and he told me that they were looking for an indie/alternative DJ. I had been dabbling in radio and had always had an interest since I was a child. I met the boss and he gave me a show. I couldn't believe that I had struck gold again. And oh yeah, literally ten seconds to come up with the name of the show!”
Kerbdog reformed in 2005, and you’ve sporadically done shows since. Was the plan to make the band your living again, or was it more about reconnecting with the music?
“The latter. There was no desire to get back into it full time. All of our lives had moved on and although we had a lot of good times on the road and so on, there can be a lot of darkness, pressure and insecurity being in a proper band. None of us are natural rockstars, anyway. None of us believe in hype. We’re friends first and bandmates second. We just happen to make a decent noise when we get together.”
Okay, here come the quick-fire questions… The Pledge: A Tribute To Kerbdog album, that came out in 2010. What's your favourite cover on it, and why?
“Frank Turner doing ‘Sally’. Simply because it's Frank Turner and he is an authentic person that we all admire.”
Next. You have the best taste in glasses of any rockstar I know. How many pairs do you own and just how bad is your eyesight?
“It's shit. I've had about 20 pairs. I was always inspired by Michael Douglas's character in Falling Down.”
Regrets are pointless - but tell me some anyway!
“That I didn't take it just a bit more seriously at the time. If I’m being totally honest, we barely had any work ethic never mind a strong one.”
Do you think there'll ever be a third Kerbdog album? It seems cruel and unjust that there's just two.
“I doubt it. I'd love to do it, but I'd have to be able to be financially secure for my family which is very unlikely unless I have a huge lottery win.”
Boo. What are the chances I'll get to see Kerbdog live again?
“Highly likely. Right now our two albums have been reissued on vinyl. Wez from Hassle Records was the label manager for Wilt, and recognised a desire for our albums out there again. I had my doubts but he was right. In a very big way. Life is full of surprises isn't it?”
An interview with Daniel Laidler of Tiger
TIGER
Regular readers of this website will be aware that I consider the late nineties the worst period for popular music at any point within the history of the human race. And yet, within the inescapable dross, there was tonnes of good music to be found. Strange music. Unsettling music. Unique music. Tiger were all of these things. I wish they’d stuck around longer.
Here’s singer Daniel Laidler to explain why that was never going to be possible…
Hey Dan. Fancy telling the readers of ‘Indie Heaven’ a little bit about how Tiger came together? It felt like a lot of eyes were on you very quickly...
“So, the Sims twins' - Julie [guitar and vocals] and David - moved to Princes Risborough when we were all about 16. I was friends with Dave, who was cool and handsome. Dave quickly moved from a crap job at a commercial photographers on an industrial estate in Aylesbury, to being a star fashion photographer by the early nineties. Around that time I was doing odd jobs in Buckinghamshire and in London. I was aimless after being chucked out of art school. I’d go and see Dave and experience his glamorous lifestyle. I had borrowed a friend's electric guitar and found that it sounded great with the three remaining strings tuned to the same key and then distorted through an old Sanyo - I think - tape deck from my parents' tower hi-fi system; the same tape deck was used for the first Tiger album and many live gigs until it eventually gave out. I was then writing songs with this and the drum patterns on a Yamaha keyboard - also used by Tiger - and making tapes of these songs which I played to friends.”
How did the rest of the band come on board?
“One day, in 1993 I think, I was walking near The British Museum when I saw all of Blur sitting drinking at a table outside The Plough pub. This sight generated a strong emotional reaction in me – in fact, memories of this experience were later instrumental in developing my hagioptasia theory, but I’ll come to that later. I wasn't a fan of Blur, but because they were the same age as me and had similar backgrounds and interests, I saw them as contemporaries – only they were very successful, while I was certainly not.”
Hey, we’ve all been there.
“So around this time, Julie was living in north London with her boyfriend Louis Jones. He was in the band the Warm Jets and they were playing gigs, doing session work and making demos of their songs. Early 1995, at a club night in Camden organised by Dave and Julie - I think - Julie told me that she had heard my tapes and thought it would be a great idea to form a band together. I agreed. Louis [vocals and guitar], Ed Grimshaw [drums and keyboards] and Paul Noble [guitar and keyboards] from the Warm Jets were very helpful, and by the summer we did our first gig at a pub in Stoke Newington. I was on vocals, Julie played guitar and sang, Dido [Hallett] - not a musician, but Julie's ex-next door neighbour - played bass Moog, with Louis on keyboards and Ed playing drums.”
I’ve just remembered that I liked a Warm Jets song. Going to post that below…
Actually, I think it was this one I liked…
“The third gig we did was supporting a couple of other bands at The Bull & Gate in Kentish Town. This would be late 1995. Tina [Whitlow] - not a musician, but Julie's schoolfriend from Bedfordshire - had replaced Louis on keyboard, but Ed was still drumming for us. I still hadn't written any proper lyrics by this point, so just made it sound like I had. Jeannette Lee from Rough Trade and Mike Smith - then EMI Publishing - were there to see the other bands, but really liked Tiger. Things developed from there.”
I’m just going to get it out of the way. The haircuts. Obviously they were brilliant and as jarring to the era as the music. But did it surprise you the fuss they made?
”By the time we did our first gig I had let my hair grow quite long and it had become a bit mullet-y – a shape which Julie enhanced with some scissors. Julie and I decided we liked this as it was going against fashion. I was very anti-fashion for many reasons, but found it difficult to work out why or to articulate what all these reasons were, or whether even they were justified. We were well aware how hated mullets were at the time, but we liked being rebellious. In my view it was always about rebelling against fashion and convention, and not about being arty – this wasn't shared by all of Tiger, but I really didn't want to be 'arty'. Once I went to a hairdresser in Crystal Palace to get my mullet trimmed. The hairdresser asked me if what I meant was a sort of Nick Cave hair style. When I insisted I wanted a mullet she refused and I had to leave and go elsewhere.”
What was your experience of the music press at the time?
”I think the music press was okay with us, all things considered. I was useless at doing interviews as I didn't feel I had anything worth saying, so Julie did most of the talking. I was very easily confused and very naïve, and we did often behave like idiots. It must have been pretty frustrating for people.”
Oooh, I found a page from Select on the internet. I’ll post that below…
Can you tell me about the artwork of the debut album, We Are Puppets? I always thought that was the most amazing image. I loved all your art.
“Thanks! I remember I had done a painting for the album cover but it hadn't gone down too well with the band. After a gig in Norwich a young lad asked me to do a drawing for him. Julie saw the drawing and offered to swap it for a t-shirt and he agreed. A few days later I painted the album cover from the drawing in the dressing room of a venue in Bedford, while the rest of the band went to the cinema.”
What do you remember about signing to Island Records? I thought - and what did I know, I was a teenager - from the off that they would have no idea what to do with you…
“Well yes. I remember a meeting at Island HQ around a big table. It felt quite bizarre at the time with the type of old fashioned music industry men and the language they used. It often seemed like the Island workers who dealt with us had drawn the short straw. But really, we saw it as that we had signed with Geoff [Travis] and Jeannette, who were running Trade 2 at the time. There was a point when we had two offers to sign with Trade 2 or Alan McGee and Creation. We had met Alan. He was with a couple of heavies in leather jackets. Geoff and Jeanette seemed a better bet after that.”
So I saw Tiger twice, at V96 - my first festival! - and supporting Pulp in 1998. If you could tell me anything about those shows then that would be smashing!
“That was our first experience of playing a festival. It was a bit disappointing really as I don't think our performance was that great and the audience seemed a bit thin on the ground. It was early afternoon too, so not the glorious romantic, smoky sunset festival experience that would have been lovely. There was a great food tent though, with lovely grub.”
I’ve always wanted to ask, how did you get up that tree in the 'My Puppet Pal' video? And did you have to fill out a risk assessment form?
”That video was mainly the idea of Dave Sims. He directed it. It was just a branch in a studio bolted to a bit of scaffolding. That would still count as 'working from height' but no PPE! I think we were supposed to be like cuckoos.”
Your second album, Rosaria - released in 1999 and sadly your last record - shared production credits with Stephen Street and Donald Ross Skinner. What do you remember?
“Stephen Street was very easy to work with as he is very patient and easy going. His nature is very generous. I think he actually enjoyed working with us too. We first met Donald when he was asked to produce 'On the Rose'. Though the resulting version was rejected - I can't remember why - we worked with him on a few b-sides and demos. Eventually Donald almost became part of the band, filling in on the bits that the real band members couldn't do. Donald played with us on the Pulp tour in 1998, which were Tiger's last shows. He’s on the Peel session we did that autumn too. It was always good to have Donald around as everyone likes him and he's very funny.”
Can you walk me through the decision to split up? I thought Rosaria was such a strong record, and there was obviously gas left in the tank, creatively, at least...
“It seems to me that being in a band makes you focus on the negative aspects of things. At the end of 1998 we had just done a successful Peel Session and were supporting Pulp on their UK tour – Eels had dropped out, so for most of it we were the only support band - and the Rosaria album was ready for release. Despite all this there was a lot of doom and gloom in the band. I think Island had dropped us around this time. I was still confused about things - what we were trying to achieve with the music, what I was supposed to be - because I had this daft notion that a performer had to be 'authentic' I was restricting myself from having fun with the whole thing… and consequently was not really giving much of a performance. Plus we weren't all getting on that well.”
I feel like this is a recurring theme with the interviews on this site.
“The final show we did with Pulp was in Bournemouth and we we playing to a big crowd, for us. It was near Christmas I think, so I thought it would only be downhill for Tiger from here. Best end it. At the aftershow party I was chatting to Geoff Travis and told him I was giving up Tiger. As he didn't seem to have any problem with that idea, it seemed to me that I'd made the right choice. As I say, I was very naïve all through my Tiger experience. I actually thought that the band splitting up wouldn't affect the release of the album…”
Do you keep in touch with any of the other members?
“I probably see Dido most, but not very often. She has four girls and runs venues in Peckham. Her girls are in a band called Honey Hahs and are are signed to Rough Trade. Julie moved to Cornwall in the early 2000’s and has two boys. Tina lives in France and runs a bar with her boyfriend. I never knew what happened to Seamus [Feeney] after he left the band in 1997. Geoff Travis decided that we needed a better drummer and we felt compelled to go along with this. Gavin Skinner - Donald's brother - played drums for us after that, though was never officially a band member. Donald played drums on some demos. He's very good at it.”
Your creativity didn’t end with Tiger, though. Tell me about that…
“After the split in early 1999 I recorded around 14 new songs with Donald and Gavin Skinner, and about six with Dido and Ben Wallers from the Country Teasers as Westminster Abbey. None of these were ever released. I continued to write songs and sometimes do rough recordings at home. Then around 2007 I did a couple of live gigs with Dido, Donald and others. My The Magic Wizard songs started in 2016, and I've now done a few of them, often with Donald playing guitar or bass or both.”
Right, Dan, it’s time for you to tell us about hagioptasia…
“After many years of pondering, my thoughts and ideas about fashion and glamour, status, envy, romanticism, art, spirituality and so on, were eventually consolidated into my theory of hagioptasia. This happened after an incident with an idiot landowner gave me a flash of inspiration in 2014. My theory - in video form - was seen by a U.S. professor of psychology, who was keen to test it out. This culminated in us having a scientific paper published - John Johnson the psychologist did most of the work on that - which shows hagioptasia to exist and presents good evidence that it exists much as described in my original thesis. If I want to plug anything it's an understanding of hagioptasia, as I strongly believe that there is a huge potential in this to make a better world for everyone. Unfortunately though the theory sort of predicts its own unpopularity – so many people aren't going to like it.”
An interview with Sam Forrest of Nine Black Alps
NINE BLACK ALPS
Sam Forrest - he of Nine Black Alps and about a zillion other things - is one of my favourite living songwriters. During my time on staff at NME, there were few bands I liked more than his, and as the years have passed, so has my appreciation for the evolving craft of his songwriting. I think he’s writing better songs than ever, which, by-and-large, isn’t something I think is the way it goes with most musicians.
Nine Black Alps’ inclusion in ‘Indie Heaven’ is a bit of a cheat. The band still exists, though it’s been six-years now since fifth album Candy for the Clowns. Still, I wanted to know more about the window in which so many thought Nine Black Alps would be the biggest band in the world, and shine whatever light this website is capable of shining upon a good man and a great songwriter…
Hey Sam. I grew up in Doncaster. You grew up, a train stop away, in York. How did you find your way to grunge, indie rock, punk and ultimately writing and performing songs?
“Most of my time growing up in York was spent either climbing trees or pretending to be in The Beatles. Then my older brother introduced me to the world of metal. This meant that I spent my early adolescence with a mullet while wearing a denim jacket with lots of Metallica and Iron Maiden patches. From there I slowly realised that most metal music was slightly bro-heavy, so I ended up getting into ‘weirder’ bands like the Pixies and Sonic Youth. Most people in my school liked Nirvana, but I preferred bands like Hole and Babes In Toyland. I never considered myself a punker. The closest thing was probably buying a few records by Huggy Bear and Slant 6. Seeing Babes In Toyland live in Bradford when I was 16 gave me the first real desire to be a performing musician. I ended up learning to play bass because my brother chose electric guitar first.”
This is all well and good, but more importantly, did you ever go to Jorvik Viking Centre?
“I don’t think I’ve been to Jorvik Viking Centre since I was about seven-years old. I was probably underwhelmed as it didn’t have any battles. But I have nothing against the Viking culture in general.”
Too many peasants and chickens, not enough bloody battles. Tell me how you came to Manchester and ultimately forming Nine Black Alps…
“I left York because the band that I was in - The Halcyon Band - split up. This meant that I decided to go to a bigger city where there might be more ‘alternative’ music. I couldn’t afford London, didn’t want to go to Leeds, so I went to Manchester. I arrived in the middle of winter and lived in a tiny flat by myself with no job and no money. But I had an eight-track cassette tape machine, so I made up lots of songs. One day I went to a Yeah Yeah Yeahs show at Manchester Academy and was asked by an old friend - Gaz - from York to join his and his friend Ilana’s ‘punk band’ as a guitar player. It turned out that the band didn’t have any songs so I volunteered some of mine. This band fell apart, but the people that were left ended up forming the group that became Nine Black Alps. We all used to go to the Star & Garter in Manchester which was the indie place to go if you wanted to hear Cat Power or The Flaming Lips rather than Oasis or The Stone Roses.”
As someone who has been to Manchester plenty, that’s not always the easiest thing to do.
“We didn’t have any definite ideas of what music we wanted to make. Later on we were given the Nirvana tag, but in the early days we’d be using more contemporary bands like Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, At the Drive-In, Queens of the Stone Age, Dandy Warhols and even Interpol as reference points.”
From the outside looking in, the Akoustik Anarkhy stuff seemed so exciting. You had a close association with those dudes. What was working with them like?
“We used to practice in a room next to some of the people from Akoustik Anarkhy and they promoted gigs around Manchester. They heard us through the wall, liked what they heard, and gave us our first show. We’d only been together a couple of months. Akoustik Anarkhy held lots of parties at their house in south Manchester. The first time I went round, the house was full of people sat cross-legged, smoking weed, listening to Neil Young’s [1978 classic] Comes A Time very loud through a knackered record player. They were very supportive of Nine Black Alps, and I don’t think that we would have had any of our early success without their support. While many ‘scene’ people can be creepy, Akoustik Anarkhy were always hyper-friendly, fun and totally about the music.”
Nine Black Alps had a lot of critical attention pretty much from the off. I can say this as someone who worked for the big music magazine of the age - we thought you were going to be an extremely big and popular band. Why do you think people took to you so quickly?
“I think the support that we had in Manchester was a big factor in how we got signed. Everybody from Akoustik Anarkhy to Dave Cooper at Melodic really championed us. This meant that we didn’t have to do anything ‘uncool’ like sending out demo tapes. Plus we were doing something different from most UK bands at the time. It felt like bands were either doing the la-di-da Libertines thing or the pseudo-angular Franz Ferdinand thing. But our music was more influenced by less perky bands that fit in anywhere between Black Sabbath and Teenage Fanclub. There was still a bit of a post-Radiohead hangover at the time, and I think that a lot of bands were guilty of over-thinking things. The fact that we were all pasty, ill-looking young men with alternative haircuts also fit in with a ready demographic of certain music publications too.”
Speaking of which, what are your memories of dealing with the music press at that time?
“It was mostly embarrassing when music journalists started saying nice things about us. I never felt comfortable doing interviews. I was a very unconfident person, and I got defensive talking about myself. I quickly learned that sarcasm never works in print. Our reviews went from cautiously favourable to witheringly negative quite fast and I tried to avoid reading them. I remember an album review that focused more on our Facebook page than the record. This made me realise that I’d been doing the whole music thing completely wrong. But I’m being a hypocrite here as I spend 99% of my time slagging off other bands, so I shouldn’t be too harsh about those lovely music journalists.”
Can you talk about 'Cosmopolitan', your first single after signing to Island in 2004? I love that song, but it also felt like an extremely introspective, thoughtful song within an era where men weren't always willing to expose themselves like that.
“Thanks! I came up with the guitar idea when I was trying to write a Sleater-Kinney song. The lyrics were written after flipping through a copy of Cosmopolitan magazine. The magazine seemed to make endless demands of its readers about how they should lose weight, look prettier, earn more and be healthier. I tried writing a song that included these themes and brought them to a nice suicidal conclusion in the chorus.”
Rob Schnapf recorded your debut album, 2005’s Everything Is, out in LA. How was that? And did he tell you any good Elliott Smith stories?
“I was a massive fan of records that Rob had recorded, like Elliott Smith’s Figure 8 and Beck’s Mellow Gold. We had the freedom to pick which producer to make our first record with. I spent a day listening to all the recent modern rock records, and Rob’s production of the first Vines record sounded rich and heavy without being glossy. He was great fun to work with, and he was very protective of us all too. I didn’t ask him about Elliott Smith. Our recording session was so soon after Elliott’s death [on October 21st, 2003] that I didn’t want to create any more pain by being too much of a fanboy. I met up with Rob recently and he’s still a lovely man. Not only is he recording lots of cool stuff like Dilly Dally and Kurt Vile, but he also has an automated fart machine in his studio.”
A band I must get onto ‘Indie Heaven’ are your old mates The Longcut. Do you know what they’re up to these days?
“I recently emailed Lee [Gale] from The Longcut to see whether my record label, Desert Mine, could digitally release the band’s recent rarities album. Still not sure if this is happening. But they are all doing well I think. Mine and Hayley Hutchinson’s band The Sorry Kisses were lucky enough to have The Longcut being our backing band for a Marc Riley 6Music session a few years ago. Plus both Nine Black Alps and The Longcut were slagged off by that div from The Courteeners, so we are clearly doing something right.”
Oh man, I love Hayley Hutchinson's art. Can you tell her for me? Thanks.
“I did and she said thanks. I’ve known Hayley from when we were both ‘on the scene’ in York thousands of years ago. We’ve got two bands together - The Sorry Kisses and Howling Sludge. I would be extremely grateful if you could inform your readership about this fact.”
Getting back to NBA, with the hindsight of age, how do you view signing with Island?
“Going with Island Records gave us the freedom to work with excellent producers like Rob Schnapf, plus I’ve now got a house full of broken guitars that I wouldn’t have been able to afford otherwise. By the time that our second album came around [2007’s Love/Hate], everything got very complicated. It seemed to require at least 20 people to make a simple decision, and I ended up feeling very alienated from our music as a result. To be honest, I think our experience at Island would have been similar if we had gone to any of the other big record labels. Plus we weren’t cool enough to be on any of the independent labels.”
You made Love/Hate with Dave Sardy. What was that like?
“I wanted to work with Dave as I liked his band, Barkmarket, and we had a good conversation about The Beatles’ White Album before we started recording. But we started working with Dave at the point where things started going against us. I was also feeling fairly jaded after two years of touring. Some of the tracks on the Love/Hate album like ‘Heavier Than Water’ turned out great, but others, like ‘Happiness & Satisfaction’ for example, strayed from what I had imagined. I’ll take most of the blame for what ended up being a fairly divisive album. At that time, I was mostly listening to Judee Sill and didn’t want to make another straight-ahead rock record. It’s a shame as Dave was great at getting the sonics right, but I wasn’t in the right headspace by the time that the album’s sessions were over.”
When you left Island, did you ever consider calling NBA a day? I know the answer already, obviously. I know few people who are as consumed by music as you are, but try answering the question anyway…
“If anything, I felt better about doing music after leaving Island. I’d felt so alienated and embarrassed by the whole experience of being a ‘rockstar’ that I wanted to be able to create music in freedom. This obviously came at the cost of having no kind of promotional power. But all that big record deals really get you are slightly larger dressing rooms and marginally more polished records, so it’s not that much of a loss. I’ll keep doing music whether I want to or not as it’s free, invisible, environmentally-friendly and you can do it in your sleep.”
Which leads nicely onto… You're in so many bands and have had so many projects. NBA have always been the fulcrum of it all. How do you decide what's a Nine Black Alps song and what isn't it?
“If it’s loud, simple and direct, then it’s usually a Nine Black Alps song. This was the original idea of the band, as I just wanted to have a powerful 30 minute live set. Plus any song that is slightly out of my vocal range and gives me a headache to sing is also a Nine Black Alps song.”
Do you keep in touch with Martin [Cohen, bass]? He left the band in 2011. What's he up to these days?
“I saw Martin last year at an Amusement Parks on Fire show. He’s now a nutritional therapist or something like that. He lives in Manchester, while I live over in north Yorkshire, so we don’t really get to hang out or anything. It’s the same with the rest of the men from Nine Black Alps. James [Galley, drums] lives in south Manchester and I email him about once every two months to ask for the Nine Black Alps Twitter password. David [Jones, guitar] lives on the edge of Manchester and we have regular WhatsApp messaging sessions where we discuss bands like Maximo Park and The Pigeon Detectives. Karl [Astbury], our new-ish bass player, never responds to my messages. I should note at this juncture that we’re not a ‘defunct indie band’, as we’re actively at work on our hugely anticipated next album - tentatively due for release in spring 2047.”
Oh yes. Not quite in ‘Indie Heaven’ yet, but I don’t have the time to run a website called ‘Indie Limbo’ as well. Okay, real talk. You love the Beatles. What are the ten best Beatles songs, according to Sam?
“‘I Want You (She’s So Heavy)’ - My preferred song to play when soundchecking guitar."
‘All My Loving’ - 100% proof that Paul McCartney was last century’s Mozart.
‘Girl’ - Squashed Lennon breathing anti-chorus sigh.
‘And Your Bird Can Sing’ - A nightmare to play on bass and sing at the same time.
‘I Need You’ - Hyper-sad George song that still has the perky Beatles swing-thing.
‘Sexy Sadie’ - John’s spiralling piano chords.
‘Strawberry Fields Forever’ - Fairly sure that I don’t need to say anything about this.
‘Anytime At All’ - What the bass does in the verse against the guitar chords.
‘For No One’ - My preferred song to play on piano.
‘I Feel Fine’ - Makes me feel like I’m five-years old.”
A great selection. Before we return to our tedious lives, tell me about After Tomorrow, the home recorded album you released this year. There's some lovely songs on there…
“I recorded the album as soon as lockdown came into effect. I’d been playing in a band called Sewage Farm with some handsome men called Danny [Trew Barton, bass] and Danny [Hirst, drums]. As such things are no longer allowed, I decided to record some of the old songs I’d never recorded. I have thousands of songs that have to be recorded before I die, otherwise future generations will never know my true genius. I recorded, mixed and even mastered the whole of After Tomorrow in about 20 days. That’s the extent of my sales pitch.”
An interview with James Broad of Silver Sun
SILVER SUN
London powerpop geeks Silver Sun might only have had the spotlight on them for a brief number of years, but the impact they made within that time has certainly been long lasting. Now 23 years on from their self-titled treasure trove of a debut, since I started ‘Indie Heaven’ I’ve been besieged with emails saying variants on, “do Silver Sun!” Hey guys, I didn’t need any encouragement. They were a band who were amongst the very first names on the list from the very moment I decided to do this website.
It’s extremely unjust that not enough people know that the London band never really went away. Now on their sixth album, their last - Switzerland - was released just last April. I’m extremely grateful to singer and songwriter James Broad for finding time to speak to me, especially since he’s currently very ill.
If you can afford it, please please please put some money the way of Macmillan.
NB: Since conducting this interview, I’ve since learned that James has sadly passed away. I wrote some words about him for The Guardian, here. May his music live on forever.
Hey James. You would not believe how many people have asked me to get you on this website. Let’s start right at the beginning. What do you remember about the band forming - then getting signed. That happened pretty quickly, right?
“It was all a bit lucky to be honest. Alastair [Cunningham], who became our manager, was scouting around looking for bands for some film or other that he was involved with and was just phoning ads from either Melody Maker or Loot - I can’t remember. So i drove over to his house and dropped a demo we had just done through his letter box - I think it had ‘Last Day’ and ‘High Times’ on it - and then buggered off. He then called me raving about it and wondering why I hadn’t rung his doorbell and spoken to him. I’m way too shy to have done that. When Richard [Buckton, bass] and I put together another tape with ‘Lava’ and some other stuff on it he said he’d become our manager.”
I mean, it seems like the songs were there right from the off. How did the other boys come into the fold?
“We auditioned Paul [Smith, guitar] and Richard [Sayce] and us being us, I think they were probably pretty much the first people we saw. Then [manager] Al started shipping the demo around to record companies and we did a load of terrible gigs in shitty dives in Camden where you could never hear anything you were playing and eventually for some reason Polydor, London Records and a couple of others came knocking. The London Records boss took us to the River Cafe in Hammersmith in his Merc playing our tape at top volume on the way - it was fantastic. I think we should have gone with them but for some reason Polydor - who took us to a burger place somewhere - won out. I guess from getting Paul and Richard into the band and getting signed probably took months. But my memory is a bit vague on that. It’s bloody ages ago!”
It certainly is. Sob. The first record was co-produced by Nigel Godrich, which I believe was his first ever job. Was it apparent he would go onto such big things?
“He was very good at trying to recreate the sound of the demos and he didn’t try to embellish stuff too much. He pushed me very hard on the vocals - they’re all double tracked and so matching them all up perfectly took ages. I think it took about an hour to do the first line of ‘Golden Skin’. He wasn’t at all showy. When we had to take a trip up to London from the studio in Farnham we all went in the back of his ancient red ex-Post Office Sherpa Van. Think he’s probably upgraded from that now.”
So I absolutely love Jeff Cummins illustrations, who did the majority of your record sleeves, but I don’t know all that much about him. Tell me more?
“He’s a balding man who is simply a fantastic chap and is an amazing illustrator. I think he could have been much - much - more successful if he’d maybe had a better agent or had more confidence in himself. But he’s great. Haven’t seen him for ages though. Lives in the countryside in Wales now I think.”
The shirt you're wearing in the 'Last Day' video. Where did you get that and/or can I have it please? Thanks.
“I have no idea what that is. Let me check… Oh, the Chinese dragon one! I think I would have bought it in Camden or Portobello. Can’t remember if we had stylists forced on us at that point. I don’t think so. It was probably me just trying to find something that would stand out a bit. Ain’t got it any more.”
It’s okay. It wouldn’t fit me anyway. So the first record comes out in 1997. Did you ever feel part of the Britpop thing?
“We were part of the second wave - where the record companies were trying to find the next load of bands and were just signing all sorts of random stuff that didn’t really sound anything like the first wave. So no, I didn’t feel part of it at all. I think we would have been better being part of the American indie powerpop scene. Probably would have done much more on the college charts over there than the normal charts here.”
Jumping forward a bit, your second album, Neo Wave, is the only record not to feature a sleeve by Jeff Cummins. What’s that about?
“At that time everything was apparently needed almost immediately. I have no fucking idea why everything was always so last minute and i’m sure it didn’t need to be. I think our manager was a bit more friendly with Polydor than he should have been. He should have been telling them what to do rather than telling us what they wanted us to do. Therefore when the cover was needed I suppose part of it might have been me feeling we needed to make a change of some kind, because my head was so messed up by being in this constant whirlwind of decisions - which I regret now - and partly the stress of needing the cover quickly. I think we had the photo and then spent a late evening at the design company putting it all together. I really really wished we had used both Nigel [Godrich, the record was produced by Al Clay] and Jeff for Neo Wave.”
So here’s a question I’ve waited over 20 years to ask. What was a band who had as many brilliant original compositions as Silver Sun doing covering a Johnny Mathis song?
“I can’t really remember. I think we did it for fun as a b-side and then some fuckwit said, ‘Why don’t you do a covers EP!’ Not really my favourite thing we ever did. Although playing ‘Xanadu’ all the way through live in the studio was really good fun. And the Lincolnshire studio we recorded it at had excellent doughnuts.”
Also, on that very EP, you covered a song by one of my favourite bands, The Muffs…
“Excellent powerpop sung by a fantastic singer [Kim Shattuck], who will be sadly missed as she passed away this time last year of a horrid illness. She can scream as well as Ian Gillan. I have to thank my best friend Paul for introducing them to me back in the early nineties. They kind of sound like early Beatles being played by a female fronted Green Day.”
I’ve always wanted to ask, how much time did Silver Sun spend practicing harmonies? Dude, that shit was sweet!
“We all knew which harmony level we should be at. I was always singing the main line, Richard [Sayce] would sing the next one up and Richard [Buckton] did the high shit. It looks us ages to work out the arrangements. The ‘we built a fountain / it’s to wash our children in’ bit on ‘Service’. That took forever. Richard [Sayce] and I worked out most of the first album harmonies in my bedroom at home in Kingston. Used to drive my mum mad as she couldn’t hear the music we were trying to sing along to...”
Let’s get real for a second. All these years on, what do you think ‘Julia’ is doing?
“I don’t know if I have any idea about who she actually was. It was a collection of thoughts I had about holiday romances I think. She probably lives in Liverpool and has coronavirus.”
I thought it was extremely harsh when you got dropped by Polydor in 1999. What went on there?
“Money! We never made any for them.”
Fair, but it feels like you weren’t given much of an opportunity to really. How do you feel about Neo Wave with hindsight?
“Like I say, I wish we’d had Nigel [Godrich] produce it and Jeff [Cummins] do the artwork. I can’t really listen to any of our albums now so don’t really know how I feel about it apart from that. The songs are all pretty much as good as the first album I think. There’s a few changes I’d have made to ‘Sharks’. But everything else I’m proud of, in terms of the actual songs.”
This is another thing I’ve always wanted to ask. There’s a Lee Collard listed on a load of your songwriting credits. Who’s Lee Collard?
“He’s a friend from university who used to give me lyrics and I started using them for songs. He wrote most of the basic lyrics for the first album - apart from ‘Julia’ and ‘Far Out’ - although I did completely mangle them. Some are two songs joined together and some I added too. Same with Neo Wave, although I wrote more songs on that. Most of the stuff after that was all me.”
I guess that leads on to my next question. After the first two, some of the albums are all you. Some of them the band play on them. What informs that decision?
“Whether there’s any chance of them being able to. [2005’s] Disappear Here and onwards is all programmed drums as I didn’t really have the money or the time to go into a studio and record them. Plus we all started living miles away from each other so it was much harder to get together.”
Something that people might not know about you is that you sold bikes for a time. I think you sell t-shirts too…
“I imported some and sold them online for a time, but logistically it was a pain so I stuck with the t-shirts. It’s much more creative and a lot less hassle. The company is called Old Skool Hooligans.”
James, I was really sad to hear that you’re currently going through treatment for cancer. Firstly, sending you all the good health in the world. Secondly, how is it going?
“I have terminal cancer, unfortunately, so I probably have about four-years max left - unless someone comes up with something pretty impressive soon to fix me up. I am learning to live with that fact. It’s not easy. I don’t really worry about myself as such. It’s hard to worry about something you really don’t have any control over. I worry more about my wife, daughter and my mum who all kind of rely on me for various stuff. I’m doing all I can to try and sort all my shit out so they don’t have too much crap to do when I’m not around any more. Sorry to end this chat on a down note. I’m not walking around in a gloom all the time. I try and stay pretty positive. I haven’t done much recording as singing loud is quite hard, but I’m sure I’ll get around to some new stuff soon.”
An interview with 1/2 of The Lucksmiths
THE LUCKSMITHS
What a group The Lucksmiths were… but first a bit about me me me.
I was in a band once. When I tell people about that band, I tell them three things. John Peel liked us. Frankie Stubbs from Leatherface liked us. And we once supported The Lucksmiths at a gig in a room above a pub in Newcastle (and whilst nobody came - which was hugely frustrating to me and my then flatmate and promotion whizz Paul Reed - the night felt a little bit like having one of my favourite bands all to myself).
The band - their band, The Lucksmiths, not mine - entered ‘Indie Heaven’ in 2009, though their legacy hasn’t faded, nor has my love for their songs. I had to speak to Marty Donald [guitar] and Mark Monnone [bass] for this website…
Let’s start at the beginning. It’s Melbourne. It’s 1993. There’s a new band on the scene. They’re called The Buzzards!
Marty: “The Buzzards wasn’t an actual band in any real sense! It grew out of a final-year high school project, where we were basically given the opportunity to do whatever we liked. I chose to write and record - straight to cassette! - a bunch of fairly execrable songs, enlisting a couple of much more talented friends to help me out — including Mark, who I’d become friends with, despite him being much cooler than me when he arrived at our school a year or two earlier. Ignoring the quality of the results, the whole thing was obviously enough fun for me to spend the next 30 years doing more or less the same thing…”
Mark, I believe you went to Finland and that band broke up…
Mark: “As Marty says, The Buzzards wasn’t really anything that could ‘break up’ as such, more just evolve into something more substantial, which could mean anything really – a camping trip, a tennis match… As it turns out, Tali [White, drums and vocals] - who was a year below us in school - had just completed his Year-12 and we all spent the summer making some songs together. In February 1993, I left the heat of Melbourne and flew to Finland with my mum to say farewell to her mum – my mummu – who passed away while we were still in the air, on the way over. We spent the month trudging through the snow and catching up with our Finnish family, people I hadn’t seen since I was a toddler. It was a profound time, a pivotal moment in my life. I knew when I got home I wanted to chase up Tali and Marty to turn our little project into a pop group that would endure for sixteen years… and continue to do interviews well after we’d broken up.”
Happy to oblige. Your first gig was supporting The Sugargliders, a band I really liked. What do you remember about that?
Marty: “Definitely a cool first show! The Sugargliders were Tali’s cousins, and I’m eternally grateful that they gave us that opportunity. It was at The Evelyn Hotel on Brunswick St, in Fitzroy — the epicentre of Melbourne’s inner-north music scene back then. I don’t remember too much about the show itself, aside from Mark playing what I think was a bongo - singular - on one song that we hadn’t come up with a bassline for. My clearest memories are of how nervous I was in the days leading up to it, and of getting the train into the city a couple of days afterwards and meeting Joel [Meadows] at Flinders Street Station so he could give us some money. I don’t know that it had occurred to me that we might get paid.”
I'm always impressed when I learn about indie pop bands from your part of the world, who existed prior to the ubiquity of the internet. How did these sounds make their way to you?
Marty: “When I was younger, I pored over mainstream music magazines and listened to commercial radio. As I got older and more discerning, these gave way to the overseas music press like the NME and community radio. Friends shared tapes, too; I remember an American exchange student at high school lending me a copy of the Pixies’ Doolittle, which I loved. I would also spend hours browsing in a few now-defunct Melbourne record stores, occasionally taking a punt on something that looked promising, and buying plenty of secondhand vinyl and cassettes at markets. When we started making music ourselves, and touring, the fanzine scene became particularly important in spreading the word; I remember being amazed when we first made it to the US at how extensive those indie networks were — and that there were people on the other side of the world who could sing along at our shows!”
Man, I’m a bit younger than you guys, but I’m so pleased I got to experience that world…
Marty: “It’s impossible to tell how much of this is simply nostalgia, but I do feel as though all the obstacles made moments of musical discovery a little more meaningful, somehow, than they might be today, when pretty much everything is a couple of clicks away, or served up to you by an algorithm. Of course, the massive flip side to this is that you can record a song in your bedroom that’s immediately heard around the world, so I don’t want to get too misty-eyed about it. We had a great perspective on this, as The Lucksmiths’ career basically coincided with the development of the internet, and the positives definitely outweigh the negatives. I do miss those record stores, though.”
Can you tell me a little bit about Candle Records? That label had such an impressive roster. There isn't a minute that's gone by in the last hour where I haven't wished I was there to see the roster perform 'We Are The World' by Michael Jackson at those shows they put on to mark the closure of the label…
Mark: “Sounds like a very slow hour! In all honesty though, that’s still one of my all-time stage highlights… and I’ve performed with bearded cage dancers, dressed as flamingos. It’s really not possible to overstate the significance of Candle Records in The Lucksmiths’ life – as DiY as we were, having the support and resources to back up our – often commercially unviable – ideas, was kind of unbelievable. Chris Crouch was endlessly open to some pretty loose ideas and very trusting in the face of imminent bankruptcy.”
Marty: “Candle Records was hugely important to me. As strong as the Melbourne music scene was back then, there weren’t too many bands making the sort of music we were, so it was invaluable to form such a close connection with like-minded comrades — many of whom remain among my closest friends. Beyond all the practical work that Crouchy did on our behalf, it felt pretty awesome to be part of something bigger than just our band.”
Where was your head at during The Lucksmiths run? Did you dream of pop stardom, or was being a modestly beloved DIY indie pop act enough?
Marty: “The latter. It was always nice to feel as though more people were hearing our music when we put a new record out, and to play some bigger shows or tour somewhere we’d never been before. But we were never particularly careerist in how we went about things. The focus was always simply on making the music we wanted to, which I think we knew wasn’t a recipe for commercial success — but that didn’t really worry me. None of the bands I loved were very successful either, so I felt as though we were in good company.”
Mark, can you talk a bit about your label, Lost & Lonesome? Tough gig running an indie label and only getting tougher I imagine…
“Thanks for asking. Yeah, it’s become a bit confusing of late but I’m still persevering like a masochist. When I started the label up in 1998, it was pretty low key – my friend Jane McCracken and I would go on surfing trips and scheme ways to release music by our friends’ bands, and our own. Jane was in The Foots whose self-titled debut CD was L&L001. We followed that with releases from some bands who The Lucksmiths had met on our first overseas tour – The Aislers Set from San Francisco and The Salteens from Vancouver, BC. Jane was smart and skipped out early but we still remain close friends. I guess my main aim initially was to connect all these awesome overseas bands with great indie pop bands from Australia like The Zebras and The Bank Holidays and open up touring possibilities for everyone. L&L has since put out about 120 releases, held a lot of fun shows, toured some Australian bands overseas and invited some amazing ones to Australia including Je Suis Animal, The Wedding Present, Still Flyin’, Yellow Fever and Sonny & The Sunsets. No-one’s made a stack of cash but I also haven’t lost any friends in the process… so what the hell, I’m gonna call that a success!”
Loads of your songs reference Australian Rules Football. I used to sometimes watch it when it was broadcast on Channel 4 in the UK, but I never really understood it and was a bit scared by the violence. I'll stick with our football, I think - but sell it to me!
Marty: “Greatest game in the world! I genuinely love it. It’s not quite as violent as it used to be, either. I especially love the opportunity - in ordinary times, at least - to take international visitors along to a game, as it’s a great spectacle even for a novice, despite the myriad bewildering rules. I think that experience encapsulates so much of what is great about Melbourne. I’m sure it exhausts non-fans endlessly, but the sport holds an incredibly prominent position in the day-to-day life of the city, blurring all sorts of other social boundaries. Its egalitarianism goes right back through the game’s history. If you look at photos from 100 years ago — when most sport was very much a male domain — Australian Rules crowds feature a remarkable number of women and children. Although it’s more of a national competition now, with teams based around the country, the AFL grew out of the Melbourne suburban league, and traces of that old geographical tribalism remain etched across the city. As much as the game itself, it’s these cultural aspects that I love…”
I think I might be close to at least investigating more…
Marty: “The mighty St Kilda Saints - beloved by both Mark and me, but by almost any historical measure the least successful club in the competition - have just bowed out of our first finals series for nine years and so, as another season passes by, we won’t be adding to our solitary premiership from around 123 years ago.”
So, a lot of the bands I talk to for this site were favourites of mine as a teenager, but I came to The Lucksmiths via the 2002 compilation Where Were We. I think I reviewed it for NME and there was certainly a little buzz in the UK about your band at that point. Did it feel like that from where you were standing?
Mark: “Yeah! It was always a blast visiting the UK with The Lucksmiths. Our first ever show there in 1998 was at the tiny Poetry Café and our last show was ten-years-later at the considerably larger Scala, so we certainly have a buzz to thank for that. Thanks for reviewing our album and contributing to the buzz! We were pretty lucky to have had Fortuna Pop! take us under their wing – between releasing our records, booking our tours and letting us crash on his floor for weeks on end, Sean Price really went out of his way for us. He even managed to do some fancy wangling, and get us on the opening slot for Jonathan Richman’s 2001 UK tour for which I’ll forever be indebted to him.”
Me and my friend Ross saw you! And now? You’re all in touch still?
Marty: “I can say we are still in contact. Me, Louis [Richter, guitar] and Mark still play together variously in numerous bands… Last Leaves, Monnone Alone and Mid-State Orange to name but a few. Tali is on extended hiatus whilst teaching school children how to learn school stuff.”
Well, thanks for doing this! Want to plug anything?
Mark: “The Lucksmiths' 1997 album A Good Kind of Nervous just came out on vinyl for the first time! Available from Lost And Lonesome and ace US label Matinée Recordings!”
An interview with Amelia Fletcher of Talulah Gosh, Heavenly and about a zillion other amazing bands
AMELIA FLETCHER
Amelia Fletcher needs no introduction to fans of indie music. Born January 1st, 1966 in London town, its fitting that she came into the world at the very moment that The Beatles’ ‘Day Tripper/We Can Work It Out’ sat at number one in the UK pop charts. What has followed has been almost four decades of innovation, soppiness, sass and, crucially, brain burrowing melody. The history of British independent rock music is impossible to tell without her influence looming large.
One of my favourite musicians from close to the moment I first heard a recorded note, here’s Amelia to talk ‘Indie Heaven’ through Talulah Gosh, Heavenly, Marine Research and beyond…
Well, this is a thrill. Let’s start at the very beginning. Little Amelia Fletcher. What's she like and what does she want to do with her life?
“It kind of depends what age, but basically – like many kids – I just wanted to be famous. I remember wandering around the garden when I was about 13 singing songs from Annie at the top of my voice, just in case a talent scout happened to walk past. We lived in the middle of the countryside, so only the occasional hiker would walk past, but I felt sure one of them could be the person to make me famous! That said, I was always a bit indie too. When I was 10, I got the lead role in a school musical of Samson and Delilah. All was fine until the dress rehearsal when I found out I was supposed to wear a sexy bikini-based outfit. I freaked out and couldn’t do it. Unfortunately, my understudy – who was happy with the outfit – hadn’t actually learnt the songs. So in the end it had to be performed as ‘Samson and the two Delilahs’. She flounced and pouted while I kept all my clothes on and sang the songs.”
You form Talulah Gosh in 1986. Can you tell me a bit about meeting Elizabeth [Price, vocals], because if there’s a better band origin story, I’ve never heard it…
“Ha ha! Well, I’d just started university [studying Economics at St Edmund Hall, Oxford], and was feeling mildly depressed because there seemed to be no other students who liked the same obscure indie music as me. But then I went to a gig, and saw this cool-looking girl who was wearing a Pastels badge. I was so relieved that I marched straight up to her and asked her if she wanted to be in a band. She said she had no idea how to play guitar or write songs, but she was up for trying. And Talulah Gosh was born!”
Something that surprised me was that I read Talulah Gosh had meetings with major labels. Obviously you went a different route. A disaster diverted, or a chance to be on Top Of The Pops scuppered?
“It was only really one major label, Magnet, who at that point were most famous for having Darts and Chris Rea. I went to see them, but they were very clear that I would need to give up university and take it seriously. At that stage, Talulah Gosh had no idea what we were doing. We’d written a bunch of songs but we didn’t even know if we could write any more. Our shows were totally crazy. So I boringly decided that sticking with university was the safer option. It probably was the right call, though. We really weren’t ready. It is less likely that we’d have got onto Top Of The Pops - much as this was a long-held dream of mine - and more likely that we’d have ended up being dropped by the label, hacked off with the whole music business, and not have been inspired to start Heavenly.”
I totally associate Talulah Gosh with that whole C86 scene - and yet you weren't even on the NME compilation that bore the name. Were you asked? It’s just bloody rude Amelia!
“I suspect it was mostly just timing. Our first gig was in March 1986, and the cassette came out in June. I’m not sure we’d even recorded anything by June!”
Can you walk me through the decision to call time on Talulah Gosh? Did you know you were going to do Heavenly next - or was music for you coming to an end? I think I'm correct in saying that at a few junctures you've given up music, only to be pulled back in...
“I still feel a bit bad about the decision to end Talulah Gosh, because I – erm – failed to tell the rest of the band. So they only found out that our show at the LSE [London School of Economics] was going to be the last one pretty late on. That was bad of me. There were quite a few factors behind the decision though. The fact that we all wrote songs, and I didn’t really like singing other people’s songs - great as they were! The fact that all the indie folks I knew were getting into house music, and I figured our brand of punkish pop might suddenly seem a whole lot less cool. The fact that I had my final university exams coming up, and needed to focus on revising. At that point, no I didn’t think I would carry on doing music. In fact, I wanted to work in the music industry. I even had a job interview with Rob Dickins, who was head of Warners. I failed to get the job – he said I was too nice!”
So what changed?
“Well, I decided that I did want to make music, but I wanted to be disco diva, in the Yazz or Lisa Stansfield mould. So I used £1500 that my Grandpa had left me to record a disco single, called ‘Can You Keep A Secret?’. I proudly sent it off to a few labels, but only got rejection letters or – worse – a letter saying the label liked it but that I should get in touch again when I’d recorded it more professionally. Which was impossible because that £1500 was all the money I had! In the end my disco single came out, after we’d restarted Heavenly, on Fierce Records. But it was by then intended as an interesting curio, rather than a route to stardom!”
That’s amazing. I never knew that! So how does Heavenly come to be?
“Heavenly ended up really being born out of jealousy. My boyfriend Pete [Momtchiloff, guitar], who had been in Talulah Gosh with me, started a band called The Umbrella Birds with our friend Rob [Pursey, bass], who had also been in Talulah Gosh at the very start. They had another female singer, and I found myself feeling very left out! So I competitively wrote a bunch of my own songs and persuaded them both to restart a band with me too! That was Heavenly.”
Is it true that your pet cat scuppered Heavenly signing to Island Records, thereby opening the door for Pulp to do so instead?
“The facts are true, although I suspect Pulp were always going to win that particular label race. But yes. When I was growing up we had a cat called Jesse, and by the time Heavenly used to practice in my parents’ house, she was pretty old and grumpy. So at the end of each song, we would hear her meowing like crazy outside the door. This was unfortunate, because the only major label A&R guy who was ever interested in signing Heavenly happened to also be called Jesse. He would come along to our shows and try and engage me in sensible discussion, and all I could ever hear was the rest of the band behind me, going, ‘meow, meow, meow, meow’ and laughing. It was doomed.”
Amazing. Heavenly’s keyboard player Cathy Rogers went on to have a successful career making and presenting television. She made Full Metal Challenge! Can you ask her to bring that show back, and did she ever introduce you to co-host Henry Rollins?
“Ha ha! Cathy isn’t making TV anymore. In fact, she is doing a PhD in neuroscience! But those shows are great, aren’t they? Nope, the rest of us never got to meet Henry Rollins. It was an inspired choice though.”
I was always a confused kid who liked indie pop and the harder stuff like punk and hardcore. The first Heavenly record is great, but it's the P.U.N.K. Girl EP in 1995 where I really got on board. I've always thought that's Heavenly 'doing' riot grrrl. Am I right?
“Yes, totally. Although we felt we were riot grrrl, not just ‘doing’ it. In the US, Heavenly were on K Records, based in Olympia, WA. We used to tour over there every summer and ended up being friends with all the people that basically started riot grrrl, and especially Molly Neuman, Alison Wolfe and Erin Smith from Bratmobile. In fact, we arranged for Bratmobile to come to the UK and played with them on tour. We were also very good friends with Huggy Bear, and my brother Mathew [Fletcher] even played drums for them right at the very start, before anything was released. I also drove the equipment to their infamous appearance on The Word, and they got me onstage as well! Later, we were also good friends with Sleater-Kinney. We felt very much part of the whole riot grrrl movement, and it was clearly reflected in our music. But weirdly no one else really saw us as that way. I guess it hard to rebrand yourself as angry young punks when you’ve been singing sweet jangly pop for so long!”
At the same time, on Talulah Gosh's Backwash compilation in 1996, the sleeve notes describe you as 'the big shebang', the implication being that you kickstarted all that stuff. I'm confused. Are you confused?
“Ha ha! Well, that is Candice Pedersen’s theory, and she co-ran K Records. But there does seem to have been a lineage from Talulah Gosh through the Olympia scene, via Calvin Johnson of Beat Happening and Lois Maffeo of Courtney Love - the band, not the person - into those riot grrrl bands. Of course, Talulah Gosh had no idea that time that anyone in the US even had a clue who they were!”
The P.U.N.K. Girl EP is also, in my opinion, the moment the politics in your music - which I do think were an element to your songwriting long before - became direct and less oblique. If I'm right about that, what influenced the shift in tonality?
“What was amazing about riot grrrl is that it made feminism relevant to a new generation. I remember being quite alienated by the concepts of feminism I was confronted with when I was growing up. It all seemed to be about having hairy armpits, and blaming men for pretty much everything. I realise this is a stereotype, but it was the stereotype I had been fed. Of course, Talulah Gosh and Heavenly were definitely feminist in attitude. We would just never have used the F word. In Heavenly, way before riot grrrl started, I got so cross with one journalist for referring to Sarah Records in a derogatory way or putting out ‘effeminate’ music, that I sent him a used tampon in the post. I also sent an aggressive letter to Steven Wells, telling him he was sexist because he only valued masculine traits in music, even music done by women. I obviously touched a nerve, because he sent me a 10-page hand-written attempt at self-justification. I had lots of anger stored up that was basically feminist, but no language to use around it. Riot grrrl gave me that language, and also provided a community of other angry girls to discuss things with.”
Speaking of Sarah… Obviously, Sarah is the greatest record label that isn't Motown and I won't hear a word otherwise. What was it like being on that label? It - from the outside, of course - felt so boundlessly creative, provocative and cool...
“It’s funny because, at the time, Heavenly didn’t consider ourselves a ‘typical’ Sarah band at all. We thought of ourselves as being far more punk and less introspective than the other bands on the label. But we loved Matt [Haynes] and Clare [Wadd], who ran the label, and we totally shared their grassroots ethos of doing everything yourself, running things on a shoestring, only putting out stuff you love, and not caring if the music press hated it - which they very often did! And now, looking back, the links between the bands on the label seem more obvious to me, as do the attractions of the ‘scene’ that we jointly created, without quite realising we were doing so…”
By the time of the fourth and last album, 1996’s Operation Heavenly you're almost doing a Britpop thing. Did you ever feel part of all that stuff, or do you wish you'd been more so?
“Well observed. Operation Heavenly was very much our Britpop album. It is hard in music not to get swept along by what is going on around you. One of the songs - ‘Fat Lenny’ - was even kind of about Supergrass, who remain one of my favourite bands. That said, to some extent, that album felt like returning to what we were first doing in Talulah Gosh – just trying to write great punk pop songs with attitude. It is probably my favourite of all our albums. Although it didn’t sell much, because it sadly coincided with my brother Mathew dying and the band consequently stopping.”
I was so pleased you carried on making music after Mathew died, because it felt like some light in the place of such misery and sadness. I'm so sorry you lost your brother. I thought Mathew was the most amazing drummer and utterly fucking cool. Was it difficult returning to music or is that a stupid question - I really don't mean to be insensitive…
“No, that’s fine. When Mathew died, we did decide we would just stop doing music. It just seemed wrong to go on without him, and we did nothing for a year. To be honest, I’m not sure anyone would have wanted to hear any music I’d have made during that year anyway, as I wasn’t in a great state. But after a year, Rob and Cathy decided they missed being in a band, and proposed that we start something new, but entirely without real drums. They thought that would be easier than having someone in Mathew’s place. So I wrote a few songs and we asked this guy called DJ Downfall to work with us a programmer, rather than a drummer. He listened to the songs, said he liked them, but declared they would be far better with real drums. We thought he was giving us the cold shoulder, until he added, “I happen to be a drummer too…” And that was the start of Marine Research.”
A very good band they were too. So many people who've passed in and out of your bands have gone on to achieve big and interesting things with their life - and I do of course, include yourself in that. Out of everyone you've been in a band with, including yourself, who has been the biggest swot?
“Ha ha! Well, I do admit to being quite a swot. I am pretty much always doing stuff, and very rarely manage to just relax and watch TV. But I think the biggest swot is probably Elizabeth Price, the girl with the Pastels badge in Talulah Gosh. She is a video-based fine artist, and works incredibly hard at it, which was reflected in her winning the Turner Prize in 2012. She’s still making brilliant stuff, and has a show in in Borough at the moment called Slow Dans. Although she doesn’t strictly make music now, she uses a lot of sound in her video pieces.”
As I’ve said, this interview is a pretty big deal to me. Do people in your job know you are on the Mount Rushmore of British indie pop? Have you encountered any fans in your work?
“In the Venn diagram with two large rings for ‘Indie Pop fans’ and ‘My Work’ - which is in competition and consumer policy and sector regulation - there are quite a few people in the intersection. Was that an appropriately nerdy answer? In general, though, while most people in my work world know about my musical life, most of them haven’t a clue about indie pop. So I think they would be pretty confused to references to Mount Rushmore. Nice of you to say so though!”
So, here’s a thing. It was literally a week ago that I learned that 90% of your first band went off to form Swervedriver when you did Talulah Gosh. Is there an alternative universe where Amelia Fletcher is in Swervedriver and 'Beatnik Boy' is a song drenched in fuzz?
“Well, ‘Beatnik Boy’ is actually Elizabeth’s song, but I take the point. Maybe, but there were always – ahem – ‘musical differences’ in that band. In my head, I was trying to sound like The Pale Fountains and the Marine Girls, while the rest of the band was thinking more Siouxsie and the Banshees and The Cult. It was never really going to last! I was glad Swervedriver did well though. That said, when I was living in Oxford, I did sing on one song drenched in fuzz which was written by my friend Simon Oakes. Unbeknownst to me until recently, he ended up in a band called Peach, and the song I sang on, which was called ‘You Lied’, remained part of Peach’s set, and it ended up being covered by Tool. Their version has 4.9m views on YouTube!”
There’s a great pub quiz question in there. What has been your experience of the UK music press? At various junctures I think they've been quite mean, but there's certainly an appreciation - even fandom - in some quarters now...
“It’s funny because many music journalists seemed to hate Talulah Gosh and Heavenly, but we seemed to get a fair amount of coverage nevertheless. I think there were always enough journalists who wanted to be different, and who loved indie pop, to make it alright. Plus, I always quite enjoyed the out-and-out slag-offs. Much better than a mediocre review. I’m quite proud of Heavenly’s 1 out of 10 in the NME album reviews.”
Talulah Gosh, Heavenly, Marine Research, Tender Trap. Every band you've ever been in has a good band name. What's the secret to naming a band?
“Not letting me anywhere near it! Every band name I have suggested has been out-voted. Actually, I guess the secret is democracy. Lots of ideas – as stupid as anyone wants – and then a vote. Unfortunately, this did lead to Marine Research originally being called ‘Marine Salvage and Research Limited’. But luckily the promoter of our first ever gig, Mackie at The Jericho Tavern in Oxford, told us the name was so stupid that he refused to put it on the poster. It quickly got shortened.”
You've guested on a bunch of other people's records over the years. What's that experience like, walking into someone else's set up? And do you think Calvin Johnson felt similarly the first time he sang on a Heavenly record?
“I’ve always been a bit surprised that people wanted me to sing on their records, since I am clearly not the greatest of singers. But I guess I am a safe choice if you want something indie-sounding! In retrospect, I’m kind of surprised by my confidence. I didn’t really know quite a few of the people I sang with at that time, and I was pretty shy back then. But I just rolled up and sang and it was always fine. I do remember The Wedding Present producer [Chris Allison] being especially exacting – I had to sing each bit over and over again to get it just right. With Calvin it was different, because he recorded his part for ‘C is the Heavenly Option’ in the US and sent it over on a tape. Something that is normal now but seemed very unusual back then. I still remember how hard I laughed the first time we heard his voice placed into the track. Such a brilliant performance!”
You've been in five bands with your partner Rob now. Could you ever imagine making music without him? And what are the advantages and disadvantages, positives and negatives, of being in a band with your partner?
“Well, I wasn’t actually going out with Rob until Tender Trap. Prior to that he was just a friend. But yes, he’s been involved throughout. In our latest band, The Catenary Wires, we both sing– an indie Nancy and Lee! Rob had never sung in a band before, so I guess one advantage is that it turns out Rob can sing! Who’d have thought? Another big advantage is that we are good at geeing each other on, while also being quite open about what is working and what doesn’t work. A disadvantage in The Catenary Wires is that we both write the songs and I can never remember who wrote what, so I’m always claiming to have written Rob’s bits! Another disadvantage is that the whole thing risks being a bit nauseating for other people. Like those couples on Facebook who say how much they love each other and it just makes everyone groan. We never say we love each other, and in fact we usually take the piss out of each other quite a lot onstage. So that hopefully helps.”
Okay, this might be a big ask. Can you tell me what all the other members of your bands are up to now?
“Okay, so. Elizabeth Price, Talulah Gosh, artist. Eithne Farry, Talulah Gosh, journalist. Chris Scott, Talulah Gosh, specialist travel services. Pete Momtchiloff, Talulah Gosh, Heavenly, Marine Research, still in bands including the Would-Be-Goods and Tufthunter, plus philosophy editor at Oxford University Press. Cathy Rogers, Heavenly, Marine Research, PhD student. John Stanley, Marine Research, Tender Trap, still making music as DJ Downfall. Also, editor of Bow International, and UX expert. There was also Elizabeth Morris, Emily Barwise and Katrina Dixon in Tender Trap and we are now playing in Catenary Wires with Fay Hallam, Andy Lewis and Ian Button.”
That was very impressive. Want to plug anything?
“Right. Where to start? We’ve been busy. First, there is a new retrospective Heavenly singles album - called A Bout De Heavenly - coming out on Damaged Goods in December. Second, we have a new band with Hue Williams from The Pooh Sticks called Swansea Sound. We just put out our first single, ‘Angry Girl/Corporate Indie Band’, on Lavender Sweep Records. Our second single will be out in the new year. Third, we just put out an album on WIAIWYA with a new band called European Sun, which we started with our friend Steve Miles. Fourth, we have a rather different project coming out in November. It is with a poet called Nancy Gaffield and the band is called The Drift, which is Rob and me with our friend Darren Pilcher. It is called Wealden and is coming out on Longbarrow Press as a pamphlet and CD. And finally, our main band The Catenary Wires is just finishing mixing a new album, which should also be out in the new year. We are pretty pleased with it, but there is nothing to listen to quite yet except a lockdown live version of the a couple of the songs!”
An interview with Niall Quinn of The Hitchers
THE HITCHERS
I love music, but sometimes I do wonder whether I love it as much as football. I guess the sweet spot is songs about football, a notoriously difficult art to master. I can think of about four songs about football I really like - at a push, I suppose - and yet only one I really love; ‘Strachan’ by Irish indie punks The Hitchers. It’s a song that implicitly understands all that’s special and important about football. A classic. A song immortal.
Formed in their native Limerick in the late eighties and led by ever constant singer, drummer and principal songwriter Niall Quinn, even putting tales of tiny wee Scotsmen with copper coloured hair aside, The Hitchers own story is one worth telling. It runs from childhood to adulthood, with a whole load of life in-between.
Here’s Niall to walk ‘Indie Heaven’ through it…
Hey Niall. Can you tell me a bit about how The Hitchers came together? I heard growing up you owned two records - a Madness one and a Boomtown Rats one, which explains a lot...
“Ah, we had a few more than that, but they’re the ones I used listen to the most. We had a 7” of ‘Rat Trap’ and me and my siblings used to put it on and play rockstars with pots and pans. The band came together in the late eighties initially. We were kids. 15 and 16 year olds and just a drummer, bassist and vocalist. We struggled to interest guitarists as they’d try out and I’d maybe show them one of our songs and say, “this one goes A-E-D-E, four counts of each” to which they’d say, “okay, then what happens?” and I’d have to say, “nothing. It ends”. So guitarists didn’t really feel there was a lot to get their teeth into with us. But we struggled through a few gigs with friends helping us out before the line-up settled for a while. Thereafter there’s essentially three eras - the five piece, the three piece and finally the four piece which is the one that eventually got a deal of sorts and released a couple of albums.”
You were the principal songwriter - from behind the drums. That's unusual. Did that present any problems, or am I overthinking it?
“No you’re not, and yes it did. Especially in the earlier line up it created some friction and contributed to an implosion of sorts. The friction was understandable as I was bringing in pretty much completed songs and I’m sure it’s tough for any singer to try to run with someone else’s worldview. I was reading over some things recently that took me through those early days. I can sometimes think of that time as an aeon ago when it all really played out over weeks and months. There’s stuff that happened I’m not proud of at all and the main thing that jumped out at me from it all was that the easiest solution, if we’d the time over, would’ve been to kick me out. It would’ve sorted several issues - and I’d have been fine. I’d have dusted myself off and kept going in some way or other. But, later, by the time we were making records and getting interest it’d sort of calcified that I was the main source of songs - which is a pity in many ways, as by then, while my ideas were still very scattergun and of uneven quality I think, Hoss [Carnage, bass] had emerged as a songwriter who could consistently produce absolute tunes and his talents were the lantern under the bushell as it were.”
Speaking of absolute tunes. You wrote ‘Strachan’, an ode to the then-Leeds United playmaker Gordon Strachan and probably the best football-themed pop song ever. Can you think of anyone else who is in contention?
“Of the ‘official’ songs, ‘Three Lions…’ has long been my favourite. Tremendously structured pop song, beautifully rendered. Apparently it finished behind ‘World In Motion’ in some poll of ‘Best England football songs’ thingie which is nonsense. With a non-football lyric on it ‘World In Motion’ wouldn’t have made track four on a New Order EP. Doesn’t lay a glove on ‘Three Lions’. I’ve always been a big fan of Thousand Yard Stares ‘0-0 AET’ and Billy Bragg has some beauts including ‘Upfield’, ‘God’s Footballer’ and of course ‘The Few’. We’ll be here all day if I get into Half Man Half Biscuit, of whom I’m a huge fan and have done tribute shows here in Ireland as they don’t travel far. Aside from the ones that are directly ‘set’ in a football context, their songs are littered with football references.”
More importantly, how does a band from Limerick come to support Leeds United?
“Many if not most Irish people support a UK team, which probably goes back to Match of the Day being beamed into the country back in the sixties and seventies. Popular sides include Man U, Liverpool, Celtic, Arsenal… In truth I’m the only Leeds supporter in the band, there’s a couple of Arsenal as well. When I was small I actually ‘supported’ - if I could find out much about them - QPR, as I got a school bag with their name on it when I was seven. But by the time I was a teenager I was Leeds United because my brothers supported them. I support my hometown team Limerick as well, though they’re effectively non-league at the moment which is some achievement in a country with a ten team Prem where the standard on the field is comparable to England’s League One and where the setup off the field is often several rungs lower. Even without current circumstances most of the clubs exist under permanent threat of extinction in a league that stumbles from one crisis to another. Then of course there’s the FAI who now feature prominently in a business studies module on corporate malpractice and ‘board capture’. Not sure if it’s a ‘How to Avoid’ or a ‘How to Do’.”
Do you follow the Gaelic sports?
“Well, Hoss is a huge hurling fan. I know in large parts of Britain and Ireland that rugby has ‘classist’ connotations, but not so in Limerick at all. It’s Ireland’s rugby capital and it’s always been said that doctors and dustmen play for, support and socialise around the same teams. On the subject of Leeds, I’ve not been over to Elland Road for a game in years but I hope to get back and see them in the Premier League some day. I was over just before lockdown as my teenager had an academy trial but they were away at Forest that weekend. It’s a great town too and I’ve been over to see gigs - Half Man Half Biscuit - in or near there as well.”
There’s a line in that song that goes,"Strachan is stricken…" I think it’s a work of genius. Did you knock off early the day you came up with that one?
“No, that line was in the original draft which I wrote the day after Leeds won the title in 1992. I'd been knocking a concept around for a while of a song about football that wasn't actually about football at all. But I'd made no progress really. At the time The Hitchers were in a real state of flux. We'd lost a couple of founder members and were trying to find our feet. One of the things that early Hitchers lineup - the 5-piece - was really known for was really long song titles like ‘Which Leg of a Chicken is More Tender?’ and ‘There's a Bomb in That Basket of Fruit’, so I wanted to go the other way with one. Being a big Wedding Present fan I knew they’d had a song called ‘Shatner’ and an LP called George Best, so I was appropriating those kind of concepts and iconography…”
I mean, it’s very much your song. It’s your signature song, really…
“So my favourite songwriter [Half Man Half Biscuit’s] Nigel Blackwell has always said, ‘write what you know’ and at at that point Leeds United were playing a substantial part of my life. So I liked the way the surname ‘Strachan’ sounded and as a player he had a presence and influence on things. You could make him the feature in a story. Then, of course, in April 1992, Leeds became champions of England and the next day with a blinding hangover the song spilled out onto the page. It was awful. I mean dreadful. It had a mono-pace and intensity the whole way through, and was modelled a bit on the Teenage Fanclub song ‘Star Sign’. The lads didn't even laugh it off. It was like, “Niall you're drunk, go home” and I totally got that. My thinking was that balladeers and ‘Country & Irish’ acts sing about the prowess of sporting heroes. I was trying to tap into that, but for a supposedly indie-punk band it was massively uncool.”
The song didn’t actually come out until 1997. What took so long?
“It withered on the vine for near to three-years. Much of that time I was in college in Cork and all I had with me in the flat was an acoustic guitar. Then one day it came on the news. Gordon was leaving and going to Coventry City as their new Assistant Manager. It’s not that it was a shock. It wasn't, he'd had back troubles for ages. I was amazed he played for them at all. But I was genuinely moved. It was end of an era stuff. I found myself sitting on the bed with the acoustic guitar, slowly going through the chords looking at three-year-old crap lyrics and asking myself, ‘Is this song really about Gordon Strachan or is he playing the game of his life in the background of a different tale altogether? And if so, ‘What are you trying to actually say?’”
This is really great Niall. It’s like VH1’s ‘Behind The Music’!
“So the line came, “She waited for the match to start to start a fight..." and it spilled out onto the page again. It was a completely different perspective to the boy-talking-to-girl-narrative. Kitchen sink opera, really. I honestly can’t remember playing it for the lads again. I might’ve just done it at a party and one of them heard it. What’s also possible is that within the month we had a couple of shows with a stand in bass player as Hoss had final exams, and as a way to fill out the set I was allowed do this party piece. I recently found a picture of myself playing ‘Strachan’ on my own during a set at a festival in Germany. It made its way into the set that quickly, the May of 1995. Then the lads approved. I think the Germans were a bit bemused.”
Well, that was amazing. Bands from Ireland didn't really feature all that predominantly in England at the time The Hitchers were in your first flourish. What challenges did coming from Ireland present?
“It was tough enough. If we’d been UK based we could probably have gigged non stop and maybe pushed things harder. We weren’t short of offers, but that’s a double edged sword. We’ve friends and colleagues who were in bands that moved over to London and it ultimately caused their demise. If you’re in London you need to be able to support yourself somehow. We were on a tiny label so there was no tour support or advances to live off. As it was we were broke all the time living in Limerick and hiding from welfare on FAS schemes, which enabled us to give rock ‘n’ roll the attention it needed and be available when opportunities came up. So we’d get the ferry over every now and again, do a few shows, sleep on floors of friends’ flats and then get back home to try and earn the bucks on the circuit here to get back over.”
What was your experience of the music press at the time?
“It was similarly double edged. Most media in Ireland ignored us until people started taking an interest in us in the UK. Reviews were probably more important back then too but the magazines took little interest in us until John Peel and a few others like Steve Lamacq started to play us. Then the reviews were as mixed as I’d expected and I’m fine with that. I’d rather a terrible review over no review any day. No review means or meant you don’t exist. Also while they had a lot of clout, it’s not like their word was law. Some of the poor reviews we got came from people who were tipping Kula Shaker as the future of rock ‘n’ roll, so there was a pinch of salt required. We didn’t do too bad - we just needed more of it, but again if you weren’t in their faces and you weren’t hanging round the Camden Falcon then it could be hard to get in on things.”
Can you tell me a little bit about the connection between The Hitchers and The Cranberries? It was awfully sad when Dolores passed...
“Yes it was. Too sad entirely. My eldest is the same age as her youngest I think. I can’t begin to imagine.
Early on in The Hitchers, I was writing a lot, so I joined a second band with Noel [Hogan], Mike [Hogan] and Fergal [Lawler] so I could have another songwriting outlet, and have a go at being a frontman. I’ve always been a bit of a frustrated frontman I think, but in truth it’s just not me. But I gave it a go for a few months and we did a handful of gigs. I then left and said I’d keep an eye and an ear out for prospective replacements and I got a tip-off about a girl who turned out to be Dolores [O’Riordan]. She was a nice kid. I only got to know her a little before our paths diverged, but they made some great records and reached dizzying heights. I wasn’t as impressed with her solo stuff at all in truth and I thought her involvement with stuff like The Voice was regrettable to be honest. I think it’s a bit sad when people of that stature lend credibility to that nonsense. But then she’s back with The Cranberries and it’s like someones sprinkled fairy dust. There’s just that bit of magic there again. It was tremendously sad when that ended as it did. But I dunno if you’ve heard In The End, the last Cranberries record? They gave her some send-off. That is a very fine epitaph indeed.”
This is an extremely nerdy fan question. Who made the puppets for the 'Liver' video? I love those puppets. I’m a puppet guy, y’know?
“That was me putting my art college education to use. I have them about here somewhere, actually. Must find them and take a photo. I made them from a handful of knock-off Action Men. That video is awful! We’d a huge falling out with the guy who recorded it and I eventually got him to give me the raw footage and a friend of mine who knows what he’s doing edited it down with what little usable footage there was. Most of it was garbage but he rescued enough to make a usable video.”
The Hitchers split in 2001. Can you tell me more about that?
“The thing was, by the time we did the second album [1999’s For The Want of Some Better TV] our record company - which was centered around a recording studio - was in trouble. It just wasn’t profitable. So we got the album done and a few weeks later the studio was closed. They released the second album in 1999 but there was little they could do to promote it so it didn’t get the push it needed. By the following spring, Hoss told me he was done. We’d been pulling this thing around, the idea of being in a band, since we were 14, so it was weird but I totally got it. I wanted to draw a line under it then. But Hoss didn’t mean to break the band up. He just wanted to go back to college. So I was talked into keeping going without him. Frank [Ryan, bass] replaced Hoss and we kept going for nearly another year and we had some great times - as we did throughout, by the way, just in case I’m painting all of this as a story of disappointment and failure. We had some really great times, but we were out of steam and rudderless, which new kid Frank noted most keenly.”
What do you mean?
“Well, he’d be trying to organise rehearsals and recording and someone always had something else on. We were just done. We were all in our late twenties, now watching friends getting careers and mortgages. So we were gradually taking on more commitments outside the band. Eventually Andy [Gallagher, vocals and guitar] got a great job opportunity - in France. So we called time on it.”
And yet that’s nowhere near the end of the story…
“So we did a farewell gig organised in under 48 hours that we could’ve sold out twice over. I was a month off 28 having been in this band called The Hitchers since I was 15. It was weird. I’d been used to not going away for weekends, not booking holidays and not making any major life decisions - going to college at 19 aside - without checking in with three or four other people first. I’d turned down a permanent pensionable job with the local council five years earlier because I was signing a record contract that afternoon. That broke my mum’s heart. And now it was over and I was a bit like a dog whose master had died. I was noticed more than once hanging around the hallway or checking the curtains after Final Score on a Saturday evening. Checking for a van that wasn’t coming any more.”
But you went on to make more music, as The Pennywhores or Theme Tune Boy…
“I wasn’t done. I resolved I was going to keep going. I’d been helping Frank’s band Barberskum, playing whatever needed doing, and I even got a couple of offers of drumming jobs from other bands, which was very flattering. I decided to try singing again. Even took lessons. My teacher used make me bring my electric guitar and a mic stand, set them up as if I were onstage and do my la-la-las and sing [The Temptations’] ‘Some Enchanted Evening’ that way. With Eric [Fitzgerald, Hitchers guitarist] and a couple of friends we did a couple of EPs under the name The Pennywhores, but by then we were all crossing the 30 mark. There’s three and four weddings a year to go to and babies are coming. It’s hard to build momentum.”
It’s hard to give up something so important as music…
“Later into the noughties I started recording and writing under the name Theme Tune Boy and have done so since. Sometimes Theme Tune Boy is a band and sometimes it’s just me and that gives it the versatility it needs at my time of life. We were building momentum before the COVID lockdown but over the course I had an accident where I picked up a nasty infection via a hand injury which has basically left me learning to play guitar all over again. But I’ll get there…”
Bloody hell.
”I’m still in touch with all The Hitchers guys. We never made any money so there was little to fall out over. They’re my best friends still and I feel lucky and honoured to say that because it might not have turned out that way at all. There was some crucial junctures down the years where I let them down terribly with either my own behaviour or the shabby way people exited the band and I have to own that. Sometimes when I look back at it all, it can seem like we were mad to think it could’ve worked out, and we were a million miles from anything happening. Then I remember other little bits and it seems we were possibly just a phone call or an introduction away from a bunch of pieces clicking into place. Its funny, but for a band it took seven years to get a deal I reckon we got to London a year too early. The fact is - we had a shot and I drank it.”
Can you talk a bit about that?
“By the time we made our first trip to London in the spring of 1997 I’d been burning the candle at both ends for nearly two years. We’d been picking up interest on the back of airplay from Peel and the album was out in Ireland. Some shows were booked and we went over to play in a couple of buzzy circuit venues in Islington and Camden. I actually don’t remember a lot of the trip. I remember being in what appeared to be a kegroom that served as our ‘dressing room’ with our manager begging me to stop drinking and eat some pizza. But I couldn’t stand up, much less play the drums. It’s a pity I was in such a destructive mindset. I reckon if you’re going to jump off a building the decent thing to do is check you’re not going to land on anyone. I landed on people. Good people who only wanted the best for me and had worked far harder than I had to bring the whole thing to the place it had gotten to.”
I mean, I wouldn’t beat yourself up. It happens to young people.
“But I didn’t even learn a lesson. At least I wasn’t allowed sing live anymore but I kept going like that for the rest of the year. We did our last show of 1997 on New Year’s Eve in Ennis. The following morning, in the flush of New Year’s resolutions, I said I was done drinking at gigs. I started looking after myself a bit better. Had a dry January and, doing scarcely any more than I had been before, lost 19lbs in 31 days. The Hitchers’ best live performances all came in 1998 and 1999. We were extremely tight and like a well oiled machine and some of the new songs were really good. I could still take a drink - and still do! - but not until the work was done. But it was all too late. Our chance was gone and that’s on me.”
Well, for what it’s worth, I think The Hitchers have got a decent legacy and created a load of things to be proud of…
“Not to make myself out to be a basketcase, but there probably just wasn’t a career there for me. I was just a bit of a messer and immature at that stage and I probably have the type of personality and inclinations that it’s no harm at all if there’s somewhere I need to be at 8.30 in the morning. If that’s a pity then it’d be worse if I didn’t acknowledge it. I do feel bad for the lads because there might’ve been a career there for them. I remember I used worry that Andy - who can play anything - would be seen by someone and get a transfer up a few divisions. He’d complement any band’s line-up. Similarly Eric had that too and a no nonsense pop-sensibility that was the final jigsaw piece for The Hitchers and that could’ve seen him go into production too. Hoss, as I’ve already mentioned, was the proper songwriter and deserved to have had a band focused on that. But, to wrap up on a happier note, nobody died and we all meet up and laugh about it from time to time. We get together every couple of years and do a gig or two. It’s great fun and we get to see everybody. We’ve talked about recording something again and I’d never say never but not this year and probably not next.”
Isn’t that what it’s all about? Can we end by you telling us what everyone is up to now?
“So, as to the guys who played on the albums, Andy still lives in France and plays music frequently. He’s working in the aviation business. Hoss lives in Dublin where he has a young family and works in IT. Eric lives in Limerick, works in media, is a sought after DJ and occasionally does club nights with me under the name Decks&DrumsLK where Eric spins the tunes and I whallop a drum kit and for some reason people seem to love it. It is tremendous fun. Diving deeper, Frank, who replaced Hoss, is a noted astronomer and astro-photographer. He lives just outside Limerick. Benny [McCormack, guitar] who played in the early line-up lives in County Galway and has a successful radio show. Eoin [O’Kelly, vocals], our original singer, produces documentaries for RTE’s classical station LyricFM in Limerick, and Donnacha [Twoomey, guitar] - who played at our earliest gigs and appears on our first recording - lives in Kerry and is still writing, recording and releasing new music…”