ATP Excitement Fortnight # 1

ATP excitement fortnight begins with this:



Yes the worst movie ever made is being shown on ATP TV at 10 years. I'm almost excited as much by this as Yeah Yeah Yeah's playing Fever To Tell.

Articles of 2009 - #4 Animal Collective

My timing is impeccable. Animal Collective released their traditional post-album EP this week, Fall Be Kind which includes a couple of regular live favourites of mine including What Would I Want? Sky. It also turns out that Uncut and Mojo have just made their ninth studio album Merriweather Post Pavillion their best album of 2009. Deservedly so too. Showing how much foresight and modesty I have - as well as my ability to ignore naysayers who insisted the fuss about the album was merely desperation on the part of music media in the early part of the year when very little of interest is usually released - here's my March issue cover story for Playmusic Pickup with Avey Tare and Geologist. Enjoy.

Natural Selection

From unassuming noise experimentalists to media darlings and commercial success, Animal Collective’s wayward route hasn’t deviated, as Avey Tare and Geologist explain. Is their success enough to spark risk-taking by both the industry and the record buying public or will it just irritate long-term fans?

The best moments in these heady days of slippery corporate grips on music are when a fringe concern becomes a massive deal to both the press and the public. Having delivered nine albums of varied, exciting and challenging material, Animal Collective have a sudden hit on their hands; this years glorious experimental pop record, Merriweather Post Pavillion. Lesson time: Animal Collective is a fluid group that almost resemble the movement of tectonic plates in their group aesthetic. They shift around, immense pressure builds up and it is gloriously released in one awesome spray of technicolour creativity. The plates that mesh together, and how, dictate the results. Though the name Animal Collective explicitly includes Panda Bear (Noah Lennox), Avey Tare (David Portner), Deakin (Josh Dibb) and Geologist (Brian Weitz), each album has a different flavour which partly relies on who is involved.
“In terms of how we started, that was how we intended it. We focused on things more as projects. It’s not like we would be this group with a linear direction,” explains Avey/David. It wasn’t until their fifth release, Here Comes The Indian, that all four members were involved and the name Animal Collective was dreamt up, presumably for ease of marketing, as much as anything.
“It doesn’t really matter who’s around, it’s whoever wants to be a part of it. We’ve had to be more organised with what we’re doing and Animal Collective as a band, I guess, has taken more of a precedence. It seemed to become more of a full time band thing but at the same time we’re still open to people coming and going,” admits David, as the three of us, Brian/Geologist being the third, huddle around a Central London alleyway pub table.
In this case, Animal Collective circa 2009 is missing Josh who “after Strawberry Jam really, really needed a break”. The knock-on effect of this free-movement idea, is that Animal Collective rarely go out and ‘play the hits’, as it were. This isn’t out of some snobby progression ethic, but necessity. “It was a little weird because fans at this time expect us to play songs they really know and love, having worked for two years with Feels and Strawberry Jam. They want us to keep going and playing those songs but without Josh we couldn’t really do it. He’s such a crucial part to some of those songs, so still having tours to play, we had to write a bunch of new songs.”
Before we all get a hot and bothered over whether this is the ‘correct’ motive for making music – and what do we know anyway? – David’s addendum clears this up.
“We were inspired to do it anyway, we had it in our heads that we were ready to move on from Strawberry Jam which was an intense time in terms of music.”
Animal Collective’s prolific output has meant almost one album per year since 2000, all fairly unconventional. The first three were attributed to the individual musicians who worked on the songs, 2003s Campfire Songs was actually the bands name as well as the records title, while the music itself has ranged from live improvisations (Hollinndagain) and acoustic tribal-folk duos (Sung Tungs) to the streamlined, hazy-liquid pop found on more recent records, including last year’s Water Curses EP. It’s a baffling, intimidating body of work that would shock the uninitiated currently enjoying the succulence of Merriweather. This time, the loss of Deakin – the group’s most prominent guitar player – has caused another seismic shift, David, thoughtful and laid back, explains:
“You lose one set of instruments and there’s a whole new realm of space to play around with. That previous sound was very thick and wall of sound-y. For me (this time) it’s a lot of the abrasive elements coming out and making a decision to utilise a lot more acoustic and traditional sound sources, like flutes or strings, and do it our own way where it’s manipulated, sampled and played so that it suits our style. The abrasive guitar and electronics are absent and you have this symphonic glaze of sound.”
You can hear why the media and the public have finally sat up and taken notice. Merriweather, with its almost hypnotic, reverbed vocals and churning, natural sound, seems to echo through nature. Swathes of elemental, incandescent noises are melded into something celebratory and soul-warming. Feel-good music wouldn’t be far off, even though there are intense, and even scary, moments – the siren break in Brothersport for instance.
“In terms of the songwriting and the way the songs are produced there’s the emotional melodic from-the-soul kind of element and the emotions we put into it are true and honest. It comes from somewhere within us and we want it to be an honest representation of what we’re doing and the topics of the songs. There’s the other side of it which is a very visual side of music to us which comes from our tastes in music and how we listened to music growing up.”
The balance between crafting a soundscape and writing an emotionally driven song is something that concerns Animal Collective. There’s no denying the overwhelming joy spilling from Merriweather, though whether it carries you with it depends on how you listen: is it with your heart or your head?
“All the music we can agree on has a very human element, whether it’s techno or music concret or folk music. We’re touched, it doesn’t feel just like a fabrication. But we also like music that has this escapism to it and a sonic feeling to it and that seems to be how we build our sound world, and construct each song. We’ve never really studied music. We can’t talk about music in terms of complicated time structures or anything like that. We talk about things like colours or images so it becomes almost escapism. We want the audience to be in this world of sound, you know, to forget about us.”
If success is measured by anything, it should be by the creators of art explaining what they do in a way that absolutely corresponds with the listener. In this case, talking of colours, shapes and imagery in relation to their music makes utter sense to this writer. I couldn’t begin to deconstruct and describe the technical sounds that inhabit Merriweather without removing the heart of the music; a messy operation that would end up with none of us learning anything, and losing so much.
Brian takes this further, explaining that the band went through a period of telling fans what equipment and sounds they used to make their records, but that they found it counter-productive for both parties. “It’s more fun to figure it out on your own. I just tell people to find their own way. When we started getting into weirder music in high school - horror movie soundtracks, music concret records or more experimental sound-collage noise bands – we had no idea how to do it but tried to figure out a way we could make sounds the same and also figure out our own sound.”
As is expected when a band becomes a reasonable success, the uproar and disappointed tutting continues to come from those who expect a certain something from this band they’ve spent the 2000s digesting. What makes this all the more ridiculous with Animal Collective is that each record has been different – drastically so on occasion. Brian and David talk at length about this:

Brian: “I don’t think we worry about it. We’re used to it and we’ve put out a lot of records at this point and if you look at some of them compared to others, they sound like different bands. We had a lot of hardcore fans from the early 2000s with records like Danse Manatee or Here Comes The Indian that saw us play in basements and think of us as this great free noise rock thing and I don’t think they’re so interested in what we do now. Then there are fans who loved the last few records and think: ‘Man, back then they were just completely unlistenable.’ We’re kinda used to having different types of music fans attracted to different records of ours. In a way we think that’s kind of cool. We don’t just put something out for one specific genre. It’s nice to be attractive to people of widely varying tastes.”

Dave: “You have to keep in mind that you get attached to a band at a certain time period in your life and you start to forget they’re these individuals too who have their own individual trajectory and tastes but you want them to do exactly what you want them to do. Then, they do something else and you think that they’re not a good band anymore.
Certain decisions we make aren’t because we want to become mainstream heroes or anything, it’s just sounds we appreciate and stuff we’re honestly interested in”

Brian: “A fan can dislike stuff, but sometimes the accusations of motivations aren’t totally right. You can’t worry about it. You hope people will like it.”

One of my personal pet hates is the need to contrast and compare a bands records, something I’m sure I’ve nevertheless been guilty of in the past. Both Brian and David sprint to agreement when I state that each record should stand by itself. It’s natural to prefer some records to others but to say that one is better than the other is opinion and personal taste. Instead, each record should be appreciated for what it is. If it’s a bad record then that will soon be clear. To try and compare Merriweather to Danse Manatee is futile. What’s nice is Animal Collective’s acceptance and expectation of getting different reactions from whole heaps of different people. Even friends.
“We were in Detroit with the Wolf Eyes guys and they used to like our live shows that were noisier and they used to call it the Four Cavemen sort of shows,” explains Brian. “I was with Dave and Noah on the tour just hanging out and they saw me but they thought I’d be playing. When it came to the set Noah and David walked on with just two acoustic guitars and they came up and said: “What the fuck man?! Why aren’t you up there?” I said: “I’m not playing, they’re doing this now.” They were shocked: “Animal Collective are two guys with acoustic guitars? What the fuck? Aren’t you gonna do the Cavemen screaming thing?’ They were into it, though.”
Their love of what they do is clear – in fact it is part of them. A controversial statement, if you’ll indulge me: music is not strictly entertainment and anything that comes across that way should just be enjoyed for what it is, but will never be worth much of anyone’s time. Music should be something that can be personally relevant to you, even though it was made by others. As for the authors themselves, especially in this case, it’s like an autobiographical study of their lives in sound. Certain records can be painful to listen to, just like looking at old and embarrassing photographs.
Dave: “As creators of the records we get asked what our favourite one is and I think being able to recognise that it comes from such a different time period in our lives and represents something so different means we couldn’t choose.”
Brian: “They’re like: ‘how do you see the progression? How do you evaluate the different steps you’ve made.’ It’s like looking back at my twenties. It’s like asking me about how I feel about a linear progression of how I’ve grown up over the last ten years. You don’t think of it that way. It’s been a reflection of how we’ve grown up as people which isn’t a linear progression for human beings. It’s not a process where you’re striving for perfection, it’s more looking for different experiences in your life.”
Merriweather represents a new high point in their lives, a record more people are relating to than ever before. So, where does it stand in their catalogue of ever-evolving music? Have they moved on already?
Brian: “Not really. We still really like these songs. We have been working on new material but it’s been simultaneously with this record, so it’s not like we’ve put all this to bed. For the next studio record, I’m not sure what we’ll do, where we’ll go or who’ll be on it. We know it’s expected of us but we don’t think it makes any sense for us, or the music, to force it just coz people know Animal Collective work fast. We’ll wait for the inspiration to come. It’s the curse of being proud of being known as a prolific band and it IS something to be proud of. It’s what we do with our time and people recognise we put a lot of work into it.”
As a rumoured visual project begins to take shape, it goes without saying that it is records like Merriweather that kick off a new year in fine style. What comes after from other artists later may be homogenised and commercial, but if this record makes the impact it’s threatening to, the public may well be asking for far more and Animal Collective are quite willing to continue to shock and surprise all of us.

Brad Barrett


Album Discography:

Avey Tare and Panda Bear – Spirit They’ve Gone, Spirit They’ve Vanished
Avey Tare, Geologist, Panda Bear – Danse Manatee
Avey Tare, Geologist, Panda Bear – Holindagain
Campfire Songs – Campfire Songs
Animal Collective – Here Comes The Indian
Animal Collective – Sung Tungs
Animal Collective – Feels
Animal Collective – Strawberry Jam
Animal Collective – Merriweather Post Pavillion
.


“Mavericks”

If you like what you hear, and want to hear more bands that work unconventionally and sound unique, check these incredible groups out:

Liars
They have produced four records since 2002, with 2007’s self titled effort being the first where frontman Angus Andrew says they’ve “tried writing actual songs”. Going from relatively tight funk-punk to fierce, disparate, percussive-driven noise experiments to industrial rock and roll, their work is thrilling and vital.

Sonic Youth
There are fifteen official Sonic Youth studio records (and a whole lot more besides) they started as free noise, tribal drumming freaks, became commericial grunge heroes in the early nineties before descending to new melodic and experimental territory. Sonic Youth never leave their improvisational history behind for long, with their own SYR label releases showing their brave, improvisational and forward thinking approach. Detunings, screwdrivers, drills, drumsticks have all been used to play guitars over their 28 years as rock pioneers.

An Experiment On A Bird In An Air Pump
Mightily young and without a full release yet, these girls certainly have the experimental side sorted. The three of them play in a line: one playing drums, one or two of them singing and one or two of them playing bass. For each song they’ll swap around and this gives each song a different feel ranging from soulful to primitive punk. Plus they cover Sonic Youth’s 100%.

Nelson
These Parisians songs aren’t especially experimental but their refusal to have a frontman leaves every member having to sing, swap instruments and, occasionally, use radio static to layer over their Factory records inspired output.

Micachu and the Shapes
If the music wasn’t unconventional enough – in its leftfield pop realm – Micachu makes her own instruments. The Chu, a resrung acoustic guitar, and a bowed instrument made from a cd rack. Having delivered a grime mix tape and scored for the London Philharmonic Orchestra, she’s perhaps one of the most unique talents in Britain.

Articles of 2009 - #5 Wild Beasts

In the spirit of rehashing old material for new eyes, as is the warrant of this business, I'm continuing my digging up of elderly pieces from earlier this year with a twist - there's two of them in this post. Ooooooooooh!
Sometimes a band is good enough to warrant two articles of differing feel and content, not just one. Being able to spread the content of an interview across two outlets takes some energy and no small amount of confidence. Below, Wild Beastts get the dual article treatment. See what you think.

There are times when you begin to wonder if the heartfelt, nerve-tingling passion you feed into your creative endeavours – or in this case, into discussing other people’s efforts, which you admire – is ever appreciated. Certainly little remuneration comes from the majority of your own exploits, whilst your emotional responses to them, and anything that affects their proliferation, is usually dismissed as fanaticism. You’re a fan. I’m a fan. We’re all fans. Damn our eyes. So let me say precisely what I mean and stop mincing these seemingly effortless words into anything remotely fanciful. Wild Beasts have crafted an incredible pop record which turns out to be one of my favourites of the year of our Lord, 2009AD.
What brings this writer to such a dramatic conclusion is not only contained within the music, but is also espoused by the very protagonists in the creation of Two Dancers.
“We still have the ideals of the first record and they’re in the second record. It’s just that we’ve got better at fufilling those ideals and fundamentally we do call ourselves pop and in a way, that’s a rock for us to cling to. It keeps us in a place and I think everyone needs that. It’s harder to simplify things. It’s actually quite a skill to make things simpler,” explains Hayden Thorpe, guitarist and possessor of a larynx capable of that resplendent falsetto. Remarkably, the attempt to rid their music of complication has rendered their second full-length album a dense, lush and decadent listen. Brooding, elegiac in places, savage yet subtle, the full-on bellowing impact of debut Limbo, Panto has been replaced by elegance and eroticism.
“I think with the first record there was a huge amount of, to put it badly, teenage angst. A lot of frustration of ‘fuck, we’re doing something different here and this should be listened to’,” says Hayden. “Everybody thinks that what they do should be listened to and we were no different. Once we made a splash, as it were, we allowed ourselves to float a little and that was enjoyable.”
Tom Flemming, the baritone yin to Hayden’s yang, has reflected upon the past year’s experiences: “I think we do try and live in the now. I think we’re aware that we have to take charge of where we are now and take ownership of what we’re doing and look within ourselves to see what we’ll do next. There are all sorts of different ways we could jump now but there’s only one way we will jump and that’ll be decided in the moment, not in the abstract. I think that’s what this album is as well. It was done in the moment, in the practice room. It’s kind of thematic but that happened naturally. It wasn’t a framework it just became that one song begat another.”
Making a tangible distinction between the processes and motives of records just a year apart is tough enough, without the musicality being so different. Two Dancers is merely an evolution and yet it’s revelatory in the weaving of vocal cadences and nuances, gentile musicianship and indelible conviction.
“We learnt a lot about ourselves on the first record and we wanted, if not to make a definitive statement this time round, to just make a record that states a certain period and what we were capable of rather than one that defined us.”
It’s brave to keep ambition at bay and simply record a set of songs that speaks volumes, but allows the artist breathing room. Their two albums are almost at opposite ends of the spectrum, but still resolutely sound like Wild Beasts. For a band to act so surreptitiously, to expand their palette for their listeners and themselves, and STILL make a record that captures your ears, and by extension your heart, is warmly welcomed.
“I’ve been surprised by how many people have actually liked it,” admits Tom, perhaps too modestly. “I think I expected a similar reaction to the first one which was some devotees and a lot of shrugging. With this it’s like ‘oh my God, something’s happening’! I have allowed myself to enjoy it as well because it’s quite rare. We’ve found out what people think of it and most people have been really positive. It’s quite humbling and quite touching because we did what we thought was right and it turns out other people think it’s right too. We didn’t try to make a shining example of who we are, we just made a record.”
Delightfully, the very reasons we love the record could well be the same ones that prevent you from listening more than once. The languishing instrumentation, the distinctive vocal timbres and ideas, the relatively sedate pace, the rampant yet somehow quaint lyricism are all key components of Two Dancers.
“I think we’re walking a very thing line with fire on either side,” expresses Tom. “That’s what it should be. It should have that kind of obscureness and elusiveness All my favourite music is elusive. All my favourite art and literature. It doesn’t tell you what to think. It refuses to judge things. If you think we’ve done something that even has a modicum of that then that’s a really nice thing of you to say.”
Should great art be elitist? Should the best pop music seem unattainable, somehow thoroughly connected to itself and no zeitgeist or trend? Should making your art simpler mean it has to sound simple? Should we even be asking questions about something that is, in the end, ethereal but derived from corporeal means?
Wild Beasts accept that there are no straight answers and that the urge to produce music that sounds like this is, really, the only true consideration. Similarly, this stream of verbosity and prose is nothing but a need to enthuse about the music being made by these four young men. Anything else is a bonus.

Brad Barrett

There aren’t many bands who make a thundering impression on your grey matter so deep that you question your very taste in music. There are even fewer who abandon the crater they’ve made and spend time weaving their obvious strengths into something even more insidious and unshakable.
Wild Beasts could easily fit this description though. Last year’s debut Limbo, Panto introduced careful listeners to the extraordinary and ferocious, screaming falsetto of Hayden Thorpe. It seems Hayden and co-vocalist Tom Flemming didn’t realise how divisive it might be.
“We thought people would be like ‘oh, that’s a nice record, I’ll come and see you’. Instead it became this debate going on: is it shit? Is it great?” says Tom, perhaps overestimating the public’s exposure to wildly different styles of music.
“It’s an empowering situation because so much music passes over you,“ points out Hadyen. Still, it could be concluded that the arrival of their second record, Two Dancers, and its more subtle, far denser sound so soon after Limbo, Panto was a rush to get away from what caused such a fuss. Then again, that conclusion is almost definitely wrong.
“There was never any doubt that we were gonna release an album a year after,” confirms Hayden. “There was, and still is, a sense of urgency about trying to capture something right now. It’s a personal complex that we probably share together, that we’re missing the point right now. Yesterday was a day we could’ve used to do something better than what we did.”
“You have to be able to capture a period in time and just get something down. There’s the importance of work, we’ve always had that in the recording process. Whatever you’re going to do you kinda have to by art and by labour. You put the work in and the art will follow,” explains Tom.
“It’s a worry. It’s something we lose sleep over,” confesses Hayden rather candidly. “In that sense we take it seriously. It’s a sense of knowing what we can achieve and you’ve got to worry to achieve that. If you put the hours in you increase your chances of it happening. There is this ruthless level of possibility and the beauty of being a band is that there are no limits.”
This bubbling cauldron of pressure and lust for life is not only to be admired but is reflected in Two Dancers; specifically the eerie contrast of textures against the gentle, almost quaint, eroticism of the lyrics. It’s a record that lures you in, almost lazily, or as Haydn puts it: “I think of it a bit like a Trojan horse where we built a good facade to let people in and once people are in, or once we’re in, we stick the knife in.” Because once you’re hooked you’re sifting through the sophisticated sounds, eager to try and get to the heart of what’s here, what makes this four piece really tick and their music work so deftly. You may be searching for some time.
“It’s a complete balancing act. A lot of the songs on the album had four or five versions because it took that level of control to make it work. A lot of the time we are singing about quite ugly things and to doll them up and make them pretty is the ultimate goal but it’s a difficult thing to do and sometimes we do fall flat on our faces but that’s part of the fun of it,” Hayden says.
Most revelatory though, bearing in mind the intensity, intelligence and ambition on offer here, is the experimentation going on, and finding sounds which are far bigger than the modest means they come from.
My example to Hayden and Tom, the three of us sitting in the lovely Shoreditch bar, The Reliance, is on When I’m Sleepy – a brooding, shimmering track that features the line ‘You’re the lips for me to pucker’. At the climax of the track, three chords are slashed out and one note swells into an aching, yearning feedback note. Not what you’d put on a normal pop song really.
“What is a normal pop song?” Hayden asks.
“Don’t forget, Purple Haze did that,” retorts Tom before turning to his bandmate. “You did that and I thought at the time ‘ah I wish I was playing that!’. Everyone who’s ever picked up a guitar wants to do that.”
“I personally find it very difficult to capture what goes on because that minute moment was simply because of a split second decision in a guitar shop a few years earlier: should I get the safe guitar or get the daft big hollow body one? Every day split second moments go into it and that’s the human side to it.”
Having already discussed the importance of the human side of their music – the fact that Two Dancers consists of songs finished in a maximum of 10 takes each rather than the 50 or 60 for some of Limbo, Panto, all played pretty much live in a room together - they also worked on finding yet another contrast in a record full of them: “We got more interested in sound and production so it was fun to try and find some alien sounds. We talked about how we wanted more of that coldness against that human warmth.”
“The cheapness of When I’m Sleepy… is incredible. There’s a synth sound in it that is literally my 5 year old laptop straight into a mixing desk. It’s not a luxury sound. We worked within our limitations,” says Tom.
“I’ve got to admit, I was listening to our album on the plane the other day and on Hooting and Howling, listening to it with fresh ears because I’ve been on holiday, I didn’t have a clue what that piano sound is!”
Tom steps in: “I know we used a £50 keyboard on the harp setting. That keyboard is all over the record. It does all the really big stuff, even the darker songs. It’s just what you have to hand. I read an interview with Madlib recently and he was talking about how he never uses more than $250 of equipment. It’s just like: how do you make THAT out of only that? Again, it’s the human element. It’s what you do with your hands.”
“The Hooting and Howling piano noise is the stage piano put into a tape echo, through a driven amp in a toilet with a condenser mic on it, just for the record.”
Essentially though, Two Dancers – a record that will be dismissed by some no doubt as too slow, not musically diverse enough or even boring musically, and to those people we say ‘you really aren’t listening are you?’ – is the sound and result of a band living life, grasping the moment while its here and doing whatever they can to make a record and not some far flung statement.
“I think honestly we had nothing to lose,” concludes Tom. “We had lots of ideas fermenting and we were saving them and this is our chance. That sounds like it was a big decision but it’s not. It was very easy and very natural in a lot of ways. By which I mean it was a lot of work and hours but it wasn’t some existential crisis.”
“I think what most art, novels and painting involves is that just doing it is enough. You don’t need anymore than that. You don’t think about the result of it. You just do it. Everyone needs a purpose don’t they and that became our purpose,” finishes Hayden. “Oh, and we were being paid for it,” he adds with a smirk. With a sense of humour topping off an irresistible sense of adventure and desire to grasp life by the throat, Wild Beasts are far more than you expected them to be.

Brad Barrett

Articles of 2009 - #6 Biffy Clyro

As I continue to trudge through the crispy underfoot crunch of articles past, I'm bringing us bang up to date with the most recent cover story I've done for Playmusic Pickup on the Scottish trio Biffy Clyro. As this article was altered, and this issue about to expire, I thought I'd bring it out into the relative open environment of the internet, just in time for the week of their UK tour and release of fifth full-length, Only Revolutions. By all means check out the last three Articles of 2009: Micachu, John Leckie & India Soundpad and 100% Genki. They're all great.

Is there anything more satisfying than seeing people who deserve success finally reap their rewards? Having fought, struggled and kept on and on, sometimes dispiritingly ignored or surviving on nothing, suddenly things bloom unexpectedly and beyond their control. Whether it comes from their fighting spirit, a growing belief from others or plain grim determination, the end result is always the same – congratulations from some, resentment from others. Success can come in many different forms. When in relation to music, we always think Top 10 chart placings and selling out venues. However, unlike a lot of possible careers, there’s a multi-tiered achievement scale. Biffy Clyro have always been a success artistically and remained true to themselves. While fans of Blackened Sky, The Vertigo of Bliss or Infinityland might shout you down, both Puzzle and the new album Only Revolutions are huge successes musically too. Puzzle brought the pain and hard times of the band into brittle focus, while Only Revolutions emerges triumphant, joyous and accomplished.

Squeezing upwards, climbing a tight spiralling staircase towards the room at the top of 14th Floor Records’ building, James Johnston and I sit upon separate burgundy sofas. The open space is a little disconcerting, especially as the camera crew, having already filmed the band here, pack up and leave. It’s like a huge breathing space has been left which can only be either the vacuum of silence or the dense catalogue of conversation. Niceties dealt with, my thumb, so used to pushing the notched, scarlet record button on my dictaphone, resumes its regular duty. The noticeable break between chat and interview is hastily plastered over with a question.

“We kinda made a joke that the last album sounded like a band going to war and this one sounds like a band coming back having won the war. That’s kinda why we started with the footsteps on the record coz we just thought that song (The Captain) with the brass and the rhythm of it would just make it sound like us getting into position,” explains James Johnston, the bass half of Biffy’s storming rhythm section.

Certainly The Captain is an unexpected introduction to the record, with its sea-shanty lullaby riot being pounded through layers of brass. To then be crushed by the weight of one of Biffy’s heaviest riffs with That Golden Rule, which resolves into a huge string arrangement, before the tickling melody line of Bubbles, well just the first three song run is enough to have your head spin.

“It feels great,” admits James when confronted with the reality of making their most positive album so far. “I think we’ve always been in the position where we could make whatever record we wanted to. We’ve always been quite a determined band and have a certain amount of self belief. We’ve all tried to make music that we enjoyed so never at any point did we feel constricted by what people expected us to do. In fact, in some way, what we enjoy doing is doing exactly what people wouldn’t expect us to do. Catch them off guard a little bit.”

All around us, beneath us, outside on the streets, life carries on, oblivious. It’s only when a hand dryer splits the air asunder, or the movement blurs the corner of our eyes, that it intrudes on us. As with any interview worth its salt, this is the result of pure engagement. Every member of Biffy are so committed to what they do that they hold your attention with their conviction. They are very clear to make sure answer remain well-considered and in line with their creative endeavours, or it’s all for nought.

“I don’t think any of us feel different as guys. We don’t interact with our family any differently and the good thing is we still love where we grew up. We still work as a band the same. We still practice on a little farm in a little village. There’s nobody around, just literally cows in a field next door, and nobody bothers us. I think that’s fundamental to our music making process. We’re not in a practice room in London where there’s lots of bands coming in and out and we’re not out on the town every night with everybody telling us how fucking great we are. Of course, there are more people listening to our music now which has always been an ambition of ours. When we all become arseholes you’ll be the first to find out,” James says, grinning.

When I bump into Simon Neil later, he’s smiling, more than happy to ask how I’m doing and genuinely pleased I may be able to come to their show in a few weeks time. James’ twin brother Ben is also accommodating and friendly. Nick the tour manager is balancing ten thousand things at once, but has time to smile shake my hand and ask after my wellbeing. Caroline, their press officer, has had an equally hectic schedule to keep up – and a Gregg’s run to complete for lunch - but is bright and chipper as ever. What’s important about this you may ask? Well, it’s another sliver in the giant prism that is success. The band and the small team assembled around them are all delightful people, deservedly part of this amazing success story unfolding, almost unbelievably, before our eyes.

“I’ll tell you what it has changed in the band,” says James, reconsidering his previously vague position on how success can affect a band like Biffy Clyro. “It’s probably given us more confidence, in a way. We’ve always been confident in our music. When things go well, and it’s because of the choices you’ve made, then it empowers you to feel strong about the choices you’re going to make in the future, I guess.” He’s quick to snap at any misconstrued accusations though. “It’s not like we can do no wrong, of course, but we’ve always made our own choices musically. You’ve alluded to the first three albums and these last two albums have been the same way. We like to think it’s people not getting the first three or that they didn’t understand the first three records. Who knows? We’ve obviously gotten better as a band as well. That has something to do with it. It’s kinda interesting. Mistakes will be round the corner and we’ve made mistakes in the past.”

It’s hard to image when these mistakes occurred and what missteps may happen in the future. It’s not unreasonable to believe Biffy are a new band, but to do so would be to miss out on their incredible album run from 2002 – 2004, an album a year, each one an entity to itself.

“There was a big change when Puzzle came out in terms of people’s perception. A lot of people now will interview us and say so this is our second record and it makes us a bit angry but at the same time that’s just the way it goes sometimes. We never try and repeat ourselves I think every album has been different. When we did Infinityland it was our very best attempt at complex pop music. Sometimes the pop bit was at the end of the song and you had to listen to some crazy shit to get there. I think the point we were going through in our lives with Puzzle, it was kind of determined by what the songs were about and having lots of different ideas in there could’ve taken away from the sentiment of the lyrics and that’s primarily why the album was simpler musically. This time around it’s been a bit different, it’s not so specific as it was on Puzzle.”

“’Softly spoken James Johnston’? Who ever said I was soft-spoken?” exclaims James when reading another publication’s cover story. Of course he isn’t softly spoken, just mild-mannered and an example where misrepresentation can end up giving readers the wrong shade or colour of a band, even if it seems inconsequential. Of course, cover stories in major UK publications were a distant goal back in the heady days of 1999 when they released their first single Iname or 2000’s thekidswhopoptodaywillrocktomorrow EP or even 2002’s debut album Blackened Sky.

“We really, really genuinely care about what we do and we don’t just say that because we’re in an interview situation. I think it’s obvious by what we’ve done for the last 10 years that we really care about what we do and I think that’s where our strength lies. That’s where we get enjoyment out of doing what we’re doing and having communication with people through our music and when you’re in a sweaty club with everyone singing along you can’t tell me that isn’t a community vibe. I think that’s where fulfilment comes, from doing it together”

A gang mentality? Maybe. James is at pains to describe it more like a family, or as he says several times, “brothers”. Clearly he and Ben feel Simon is family as much as the Johnston’s are twins. Having been together for so long, sealed within the registration county of Ayreshire, Scotland for most of their lives, that they’ve shared so much goes without saying.

“I think it’s very important to everybody really it informs everything about your life,” agrees James, when I describe my need to explore the notion of place as a key ingredient to any artist’s work. “I think it so happens that because we’re brothers coming together, who’ve had the same sort of experiences, it makes us very strong and I guess the attitude of people in our town influenced us in good ways and bad ways. It definitely informs a lot of the choices you make. We’ve all been fairly cynical guys maybe, glass half full kind of guys, we don’t get too carried away with things and I think they’re quite typical traits of a Scotsman. Some people talk of it as being dour but I think as a nation our people are warm and friendly but it’s in a different way. I think where you come from informs many things about your life not just music. Your attitude the way you dress the way you interact with different people. We don’t ever talk about it unless somebody asks but I think it’s important.”

Perhaps, and this is just conjecture, the fact that Biffy have one singular place they’ve always called home, and one quiet place to practice, they’ve given themselves foundations other bands lose when searching unknown musical territory. Biffy’s records have all been full of far-flung ideas, some even outlandish, but Biffy Clyro has been right at the centre of the storm they’ve whipped up, and it may be because they have a place to come back to.

“We’ve always felt strong as a three piece. The heart of the band lies in our relationships together and that’s what’s kept us so vital, hopefully, as a band and that’ll be what allows us to continue in ten years time. The fact that all three of us sing and we work really hard on the dynamics and, not just the dynamics of trying to go loud and quiet, but the dynamics of having a pretty song against an ugly song, and sometimes both within one song. I think that’s really important and we’ve always worked hard for that We just love the fact that it’s just the three of us up there doing it and sometimes people are like ‘this will sound shit, there’s just three people up there!’. I think the element of surprise has always been a big thing for us. We’ve always felt like underdogs.”

Sat around with Greggs wrappers on desks from a hastily devoured lunch earlier, reading their own press with good humour, watching the snooker on the plasma screen TV, organising a taxi to the airport to get back home to Scotland, they look every bit the unassuming, slightly over dressed Scottish lads. These same men have constantly re-evaluated their own take on music, redeveloped and re-shuffled everything to fit around it. So what do we think of when we think success? Unique personal expression, endurance in the face of adversity, inspiring in both achievement and humility, remaining true to your origins – whether all of these apply to a bunch of musicians really depends on how seriously you take music, but if it were applicable, then success could be described as Biffy Clyro.

Articles of 2009 - #7 100% Genki

Due to internet disruptions, I've been lax in updating which is exactly how my lethargic approach to blogs begins. Hyper enthusiasm in the beginning then disillusionment reigns. Having read through this article though, my excitement has returned.

For Notion magazine I had to break language barriers in order to interview the four touring Japanese bands on the 100% Genki parade, which saw De De Mouse, 80kidz, Riddim Saunter and Tucker wow audiences at UK festivals and one-off showcases. Catching up with them after an admittedly long and drunken morning at Brighton's Great Escape festival, they did an admirable job of putting up with me. A few additional email exchanges later and my need for exploration was engorged, resulting in this paen to my desire to wreck journalistic cliche....or something.

It’s almost an obligation, as someone who composes prose on music, to write something monolithic – almost unassailable in its depth and passion – with every article that gets published. You feel compelled to at least sound like the one expert on that particular subject, the go-to guy when someone needs information or inspiration. Our elders taught us this, whether it be the sadly departed fury of Swells, the punk rock authority of Nick Kent, the acidic gonzo of Lester Bangs or even the savage melding of participation and fiction ala Hunter S Thompson. Then, you hit a brick wall. In this case, it’s Julian Cope’s Japrocksampler. Standing like Mt Fuji in the way of any intention you might have had, a couple of months planning being no match for years of toothcombing and translation, you freeze. The task ahead seemingly becomes insurmountable.
Now, imagine all this strife and pressure wrapped into the psyche of four Japanese bands, visiting a foreign land for a mere month and hoping to bring their brand of music to audiences who are unlikely to be receptive to anything less than sensational. Pinned with the tag of being from the Orient – immediately the prejudices of kookiness, craziness and insanity being plastered all over them – these four artists somehow have to make their visit worth more than a thimbleful of sake in an ocean of alcohol. That’s without taking into account those who have organised such a tour. How do they react to the challenge? It puts puny writers’ block into perspective. Ahhh. Two paragraphs in and you still know very little about what you’ve come here to read. Just like the good old days.
100% Genki was a month long tour that took place back in May and saw four Japanese bands play dates at The Great Escape festival in Brighton, Futuresonic Festival in Manchester, a Strummerville showcase (more on this later), Stag and Dagger Festival in Shoreditch and Liverpool Sound City in…up north somewhere. Organised by music promoters Smash, those who book the annual Fuji Rock Festival in Japan, and supported by Strummerville, a charity organisation set up and run by friends and family of Joe Strummer after his death to promote new music, the intention was to provide festival audiences in the UK a chance to see something new and unique or at the very least, fun.
This was not left to chance. The four bands chosen seem almost specifically designed to provide the required attitude and energy expected from overseas bands. Whether this expectation is down to some form of ‘impress me’ factor or even an outdated casual prejudice is not really a discussion for this article. What it means though is that Smash had their work cut out for them. James Smith explains:
“We were aiming to give the artists on the tour a first stepping stone into the international scene, and to build a platform to promote great music from Japan in general. It was also important to show UK audiences that Japanese music isn't just tongue-in-cheek, and that it possesses its own very individual identity.” Crossing cultural, as well as international, borders in such a delicate, yet perversely impactful, way is akin to breakdancing on eggshells. It helps if the dancers act as if the eggshells aren’t there in the first place.

“Whenever I try to adjust myself to something else, it gets messy. You can pretend to be somebody else but it never works. You just can be you.” De De Mouse

De De Mouse – or as his family know him Daisuke Endo – is a one man electronic-scimitar. Slight in stature and cheerful in nature, it almost seems a crime to have him stuck behind a laptop. Still, he makes the most of his beat and electronics mash up. Driving from blitzed pop samples, to languishing ambience through to happy hardcore psychosis, he never stands still. His performance at Strummerville yard – tucked away in an anonymous car mechanic workshop with ten foot tall anime robots greeting you as you tentatively walk inside – saw him yelling enthusiastically, bounding from foot to foot and tearing the very fabric of musicality with his punk-fuelled Aphex Twin-inspired music.

“When I was younger, yes, I was influenced by so much electronica, maybe too directly. But these days, I am more focusing on how much I can get feedback from the audience of the club, rock venues, or from big festivals.” De De Mouse

Throwing caution to the wind, fighting out of a self-carved corner De De Mouse represents a titanic effort to do more than focus on the usual crowds or people used to his aesthetics and sound. It can be said that this is the essence of 100% Genki, and that Smash’s intentions were drawn from concerns about simply pandering to an obvious audience.
“There are a handful (of Japanese artists) who've found success internationally, and who tour regularly, but many remain cult artists with fanbases consisting mainly of general Japan enthusiasts. Promoting Japanese music to that audience is preaching to the converted, and we wanted to make an effort to get the bands in front of people who have no other general curiosity in Japanese culture - just normal music fans. I think this is what is needed to take Japanese bands forwards, internationally,” explains James.
How do you even approach grabbing the senses of people not particularly interested in the one USP a bunch of bands has? What’s to say anyone will want to read this article who couldn’t care less about far eastern music? How do you tackle that? Well, if you have enough faith in people – readers, music fans, listeners – bringing them a little of what they know with a tinge of intrigue will always work wonders.

“We think music cuts through language barriers. Enjoying music is the one form of communication that makes people in the world happy.” 80kidz

80kidz were perhaps the most accessible of the groups on the tour. A lively trio with a typical setup – Al& plays guitar and keyboard, Jun plays bass and Mayu plays keyboards and sings – they’ve played with the likes of Justice, Boyz Noize and Hot Chip in their homeland. Their synth-ridden, catchy dance tracks bring to mind the rise of Cut Copy and Friendly Fires and their live show is irresistible. Familiarity helps people accept that which is not necessarily derived from the same sources. 80kidz cite relatively obscure Scottish sexpots The Vaselines as an influence, for instance. That they made only 12 songs in their time, it goes to show how much of an affect Western music has on eastern groups. It must be said at this juncture that The Vaselines were lucky enough to have 20% of their entire output covered by Nirvana, but nevertheless, there can only be a handful of people from overseas who’ve heard the originals anyway. I don’t remember everyone jumping for joy when The Vaselines reunion was announced.

“It will take some time but if we keep doing this, that will bring a great impact on both countries and that’s something that government support couldn’t do. Only something like the 100% Genki tour can make it happen.” 80kidz

It’s an unfair and unbalanced exchange – the dominant harmonies of the west and the underrated innovations of the east – but one that Smash is hoping to help redress.
“Promoting foreign music in the UK is always an uphill battle - we're quite insular here, and have a fairly snobby attitude about bands who sing in another language, but English people are increasingly curious about music from Japan.”
When a lot of people’s understanding of another country’s culture is limited to quirky gameshows, martial arts movies and cartoons, it makes you wonder what the motivation of these curious punters is. Do they want to see bands setting themselves on fire and leaping into crowds of people while playing inexplicable breakcore while dressed like a contestant on Takeshi’s Castle? Well...in that case, enter Tucker.

“It’s still not sufficient. I want more of a reaction.” Tucker on limited homeland success.

More of a spectacle than the other three artists, he perhaps represents the typical Japanese exponent that most westerners expect to see. Playing and sampling all the instruments on stage – bass, organ, guitar, theremin – while doing headstands on his tabletop, setting fire to the organ and throwing in snippets of kitsch muzak’s cheerleader Tequila, Tucker is trying to flay your every sense. Musically, he’s a curio, with some interesting layering ideas, and petroleum passion, but this almost comes secondary to his stagecraft. Although without a band, he performs as if no one would ever need one.

“I want to have fun with the audience, and put on a really heavy performance! I’m performing in front of the public, so it’s really important!” Tucker

“We did want to dispel certain preconceptions of Japanese music, and also bring the tour to as wide an audience as possible, and I think we were successful in that respect,” says James. Those preconceptions are possibly represented by Tucker, yet musically he is far and away from some impenetrable or grating noise (hello Merzbow, Melt Banana, Incapacitants, Hijokaidan) or gaping J Pop (take your pick - Hiraku Utada, Morning Musume, Ayumi Hamasaki, Every Little Thing etc.) Instead it’s a variety of styles lending a schizophrenic aural intake to the similarly frenetic visual show. In this ambiguous acceptance and refusal of cliché, Tucker is a sensational talent.

“It’s simply using instruments for fun. We don’t put up any resistance to changing our instruments! Therefore, anything goes, in our performances. It’s the kind of thing where we’ll just keep going if we’re having fun!” Riddim Saunter

Finally, we have the quintet of Riddim Saunter, an eclectic carnival of ska, rock and punk, swirling around like a runaway carousel. They swing rather than stamp their feet and they also seem to joyously snatch summer vibes for their own use. They are perhaps the best example of what 100% Genki is trying to achieve: a band that could quite easily appeal to a festival audience while resolutely originating from Japan. There’s almost no chance the band could come from anywhere else. Their performance at Strummerville saw their drummer leaving his kit to bang the biggest tambourine known to man, while his fellow band members turned to trumpets and keyboards in the spirit of the moment. It’s infectious and getting swept up in it all is the whole point and if there’s anything the UK festival crowds are good at, it’s getting involved.

“It was so fun. The reaction of English people came back to us straight away, compared to the reaction in Japan. However, we think music loving people are similar throughout the world.” Riddim Saunter

“We were all bowled over by audience responses to the acts, and really happy at how many new fans the bands made while they were over here. We managed to present a snapshot of the contemporary scene - vibrant, varied and full of enthusiasm,” adds James, sounding just as enthused by audience participation as Riddim Saunter.
Having tossed Japrocksampler out the window and thoroughly enjoyed the company and performances of the ecstatic and hyperactive yet polite Japanese musicians – who really do feel honoured to visit this country and play for us – I’ve turned my attention back to the insurmountable. You know, that looming mountainous threat, self-imposed and psychological, of somehow making a difference in some 1800 words. Advice to self for the future: step back, re-examine, then put yourself back into context, just for a minute.
“Costs are the first immediate barrier,” James tells me via email, upon my asking just what obstacles need to be tackled when sending four Japanese bands over for a month. The question itself arose simply to make myself feel better, yet gives me cause for thought. “Before you've even started, you're facing airfares of around £600 per person, so working with organisations and sponsors who can support the tour was very important. It also had to be worth everyone's while, and for the bands, this means having enough shows, getting enough chance to promote themselves, and creating new opportunities for their careers. Fortunately, several showcase festivals happen within a short period, and we were able to get them all in front of young, curious audiences.” So, in comparison none of us have anything to worry about, because we’ve hardly anything to lose. For a smidgen of promotional time and exposure, these bands, the organisers and the charities, against all odds, went ahead and meticulously planned the tour to everyone’s best advantage.
So what retort is there to this? Is it inspirational? Rather humbling? Complete madness? In the end, I’ve remembered that I’m merely a passionate writer who uses his language and way of communicating to attempt to breach people’s armour and get them tingling. In a way, I can be compared to these passionate artists and their eager, willing team, because we have the same goals in mind. We want you to listen to just a fraction of the vast musical output from Japan because - and here’s the crux - we all think it’s definitely worth your time. Interrupting your daily routine to listen to the sounds and rhythms that are forged in that land, influenced by western sounds but embalmed in their own traditional musical forms and culture; is that too much to ask? You’ve read this far haven’t you? I know you all like to figure out things for yourselves now that music journalists have become borderline obsolete in your eyes. That’s why I’ve jettisoned that no huge list of excellent acts I compiled. You don’t need anymore than these four and, maybe if you’re still interested, Julian Cope’s research. That’s enough to be getting on with. Have a taste of the insurmountable, your very own mountain range. See what it feels like. Figuring your own way through that terrain is some of the best fun you’ll ever have, I guarantee it.

Brad Barrett