A Quietus Interview: Jamie McDermott of the Irrepressibles, Alexander Geist, Ebe Oke and MJ Woodbridge (March 18th, 2015)

It’s been a busy couple of years for The Irrepressibles’ Jamie McDermott. The critical and commercial success of the band’s second album, Nude, a celebration of and reflection on male homosexual love, has shot the singer to new heights of recognition, resulting in a series of well-received tours that have taken him and his bandmates around the world, from the United States to Russia and beyond. Last year saw a series of EPs expand on the premise and aesthetic of Nude, often stripping away the album’s lavish electronics and symphonic textures to reveal the heartfelt lyrical honesty underneath. Now residing in Berlin, McDermott will be back on UK shores on March 20 for a one-off spectacle at Islington Assembly Hall, London, which will see The Irrepressibles recreate Nude in all its glory, bolstered by support from genre-pushing queer acts Ebe Oke, Alexander Geist and MJ Woodbridge. The Quietus caught up with Jamie, Ebe, Alexander and MJ in September to discuss what audiences can expect from the show and what it means to be a gender- and sexuality-bending musician in the 21st century.

How are plans for the show coming along?

Jamie McDermott: Speaking for myself, we’re just doing the elements that will make up the main show, because at the moment we’re touring Nude: Viscera, which is more rock-focused with strings, but also doing some Nude: Landscapes. Hopefully, there might be some more videos, so that’s something else I’ve been doing, but I know that Ebe has also been rehearsing for the show.

Without giving away too much, what can people expect from the Nude spectacle?

JM: It’s going to be a full event. We have music that’s kind of part of the arts and culture aspect of music, more acoustic, more symphonic at the beginning. We’ve got Ebe’s music, which he’ll explain himself, but which has elements of classical music and queer avant-garde tradition. And The Irrepressibles’ set will move from moments that are with just piano and guitar and other stuff that’s more rock, more visceral and more sexual, with electronics. It will be audiovisual, so something that’s not only explained through sound, but also through video work and movement. It all helps express the message of Nude, which is my story as a homosexual guy growing up, a discourse on sexuality and art.

It sounds like it’s going to be a ‘big’ show. Is it the most ambitious one you’ve done?

JM: It will be the biggest one since we played Mirror Mirror [The Irrepressibles’ first album] at the Barbican, so this is us bringing the big spectacle of the second record to London, and after that show’s finished, we’re going to the Hoxton Square Bar & Kitchen for MJ Woodbridge and Alexander’s performances. So we’ve got a lot of different artists who are part of the new movement of LGBT artists in music, or at least artists who happen to be LGBT.

I was going to ask – is there a new movement of LGBT artists in music, or are you all artists who happen to be part of the LGBT community?

JM: For me, with Nude, it was necessary to say something very clear and confident about being gay and working in art, and, with the event, it’s become a beacon for a little moment of artists who are so different, but are able to be honest about their sexuality. There are so many artists around, from Owen Pallett to Antony to Grizzly Bear, and it’s all happening now. It’s a movement, I think, and we’re just one part of that movement.

Alexander Geist: I think, in the queer community, there are people who don’t necessarily have homosexual sexual identities but are still part of that community, and it will be great to have people like that involved.

Ebe Oke: I personally don’t feel as though I’ve fully found my tribe yet. Although I relate to the LGBT community I don’t feel adequately represented by it. My sense of gender and sexuality is mutable. I’m a sky person and lean toward sapiosexual tendencies.

It sounds like it’s going to be quite different to shows you’ve been doing of late, Jamie, with much more stripped down shows…

JM: I think it was really important for me to do that, because a lot of people thought Mirror Mirror was all about flamboyance and things being decadent, which it wasn’t, it was about the European tradition and flamboyance, but more in terms of art’s connection with fashion and how there’s a connection between the visual and sound. With Nude, it was interesting to strip it back and focus on the elements to make it more visceral. When I look at the spectacle, it’s not coming back to something that’s grand, it’s more hearing all of it and it may be one the last concerts of Nude, so it’s a bit like, ‘Here is all of it, and this is what this work was about’.

That suggests you might be working on new material. Is there anything you can tell at this point about that?

JM: I am working on new music, but I don’t know if I want to talk about it yet, because I don’t want to jinx it! I’m not in any way precious or arrogant in any way, but it’s always such a strange process for me, making music…

How many musicians are currently in The Irrepressibles?

JM: It varies. Sometimes there’ll be three, sometimes there’ll be five, sometimes there’ll be eight. When we started doing Nude, we didn’t work with a woodwind section anymore, but it will still be a large ensemble.

How did you all end up crossing paths with Jamie and getting onboard? Who wants to go first?

AG: I’ve known Jamie for a long time, we have mutual friends, and I saw The Irrepressibles when they were a four-piece before the first record came out seven or eight years ago. I opened for The Irrepressibles last summer, and we’ve worked together for some time.

EO: I first discovered Jamie’s music at the Bethnal Green Working Men’s club years ago. He’s become a trusted friend and confidante. His empathy and capacity for feeling is astounding.

I’ve listened to all your musics, but what will your performance involve on the night?

AG: I’m going to have two backing singers and one musician. It’ll be mostly electronic music, inspired by late-70s and early-80s synth music. The lyrical output is inspired by someone like Morrissey, sort of wry and somewhat political and somewhat obnoxious, but sort of cinematic in scope. And you’re going to have a great time!

EO: I discovered The Irrepressibles because an ex-boyfriend took one of their early shows at Bethnal Green Working Men’s Club. Jamie and I became friends and I worked with two of his former band members on my first record. You could definitely say that some of my music is quite minimal, but I think it’s actually quite varied. I don’t think I have one specific style. For the show, I’m going to work with a string trio and some electronics. I’m going to be presenting some music that I’ve written for my next record, which is going to be an electronic record.

MJ Woodbridge: I’m the new girl! A good friend of mine/manager got in touch with Jamie and he invited me for the night. My live show for this is going to be stripped back, possibly acoustic guitar and me on vocals, playing my original songs and some covers of big gay anthems that I turn into my style.

EO: ‘Big gay anthems’?

MJW: I do Kelis’ ‘Milkshake’ and a Britney Spears song and a Mariah cover, which I kind of mash up into one of my original songs.

How do you three feel about this notion of an LGBT musical community? Is that something that was high up on your mind when you got involved with the Nude spectacle?

EO: I’m always excited to discover new queer artists. My understanding of being queer is that it deviates from the traditional stereotypes we’ve been conditioned with. I feel this queerness carries with it a sense of freedom from conformity but not necessarily. I look back at writers like Walt Whitman, Oscar Wilde, Arthur Rimbaud, William S. Burroughs and artists like Claude Cahun and applaud them for their bravery in paving the way through such nebulous territory. I like to believe that the queer spirit is at an advantage for being somewhat ill at ease in the world and for often having a broad range of gender identities to perceive from. For me being queer is not limited to homosexual or bisexual people. Heterosexual people can also be queer. Although queerness is becoming more widely integrated into the fabric of our society, let’s not forget Alan Turing and Wilde who were prosecuted for being true to themselves less than a century ago. Let us also be fully aware that queer people are being hunted down and brutally executed in Africa and the Middle East. I want the scope of my conscience to include everyone.

One of the things I find really beautiful about Jamie’s work is how honest and upfront it is. Do you think it’s easier now to be that honest about one’s sexuality?

AG: I don’t feel like I have much choice about being upfront about my sexuality or gender identity. A lot of people decide it for you, but I’m certainly not going to beat around the bush. Things are different from one day to the next, and from one place to the next, you can be hassled or you can be adored, but all that matters is to hold on to who it is you are. Maybe culturally things are opening up, which is great, but you have to be aware of how culture works, and how it always finds something subversive and then gives it a marketing angle. We can be grateful for culture opening up, but be careful because you don’t want to be used to promote nachos or Burger King or something.

JM: I think it’s great, though, when a massive company makes a stand [for equality]. I think a lot of people have big issues with what they call the normalisation of LGBT society, but I think homosexuality is always going to be an anomaly, because we are by default one in ten. But homosexuality is about love, so it’s not unusual. You can be heterosexual and unusual.

When we spoke last, Jamie, you told me about how difficult it was to perform in Russia. Do you still get different reactions from crowds from place to place?

JM: I think now that heterosexual men are more comfortable with themselves and therefore comfortable with there being gay men who fall in love with other men. Things have changed vastly throughout the world but there obviously still are many places where it’s difficult. I just performed recently in Rome and I was concerned because they have recently tried to put a stop on gay marriages being recognised in Italy, which we think of as being a very modern country. So the concert became a bit more political, even somewhere like Italy.

Jamie’s music is very autobiographical. Do you three have a similar approach?

EO: My music is often autobiographical even if it’s not directly about experiences from my life. I incorporate various ways of writing that can include the induction of trance-like states often leading to lyrics reflecting the inner world. It gets fun when you find creative ways to weave the outer and inner worlds together. I’ve written a few character studies of people in my life. For instance, my song ‘Nissa’ is about a very dear friend whose work as a dancer and performance artist has had a significant influence on me as an artist.

MJW: My music used to be based on the whole LGBT thing but now it’s more personal and helps me discover who I am. It’s the journey rather than the end product. I don’t necessarily set out to write about specific issues – although I have – and I think my work is more conceptual.

JM: I think we now have the ability to be more graphic, be it in music or on television or whatever, and the great thing is this reaches a heterosexual audience and not just a gay one. It’s like when Jim Carrey was in I Love You Phillip Morris and he was getting ripped to pieces in interviews [for the graphic content] and he was like: ‘Is this still an issue? How is it still an issue?’

Finally – are you looking forward to the show? Nervous at all?

EO: Yes, I’m nervous. I’ve got some new songs that I am still working out parts for. If they aren’t ready we will perform them anyway and play with the uncertainty. I often throw improvised passages into my set. The setlist has changed a few times but we will perform some piano-led songs along with electronic works that are a nod to my next record. I work with an incredible ensemble. I’m very lucky!

JM: I’m always nervous before every gig! But for me, it’s such an important, cathartic process, so it’s a bit like a séance or therapy between me and the audience. You’re exploring things, some of which may be quite dark, through performance. It helps me find peace.

A Dusted Review: Modern Streets by Beat Spacek (February 10th, 2015)

We’re only in February, and the trend in British dance/electronic music of using beats and synths to map the psycho-geography of the country’s inner city life has been established. It’s hardly a new concept, but rather one that gathered ahead of steam as dubstep’s emerged in the early noughties. The trend culminated in 2014 with records like Islands by LV and Josh Idehen and Actress’ Ghettoville. Beat Spacek (aka Steve Spacek) has now thrown his hat into the ring with Modern Streets, its title a clear indication of the intentions on the album. But the 13 tracks that make up this particular slice of London existence are at once baffling and fractured, starting in the present before stretching back in time whilst simultaneously aiming to open a slender aperture into the distant-ish future.

From the sounds that emanate from Modern Streets, Spacek has been keeping his ear to wildly varied array of musical pulses percolating through the sound systems of the UK’s diverse and multicultural capital. He clearly has his roots in the whirlwind of colliding song forms that made up the early 1980s’ synth-pop/post-punk/neo-ska/industrial scene. If it’s hard to imagine what that would sound like, well it turns out it’s essentially pop music. Of course, I don’t mean pop in the sense of Taylor Swift or Charles and Eddie or Kylie Minogue, but by distilling his various influences past and present into crisp songs, Steve Spacek has, as Beat Spacek, come up with a rather unpredictable form of pop music.

This isn’t immediately apparent, as each one of these very individualistic tracks is defined by its difference to the others. “I Wanna Know” is driven by a minimalist drum machine beat not a million miles from Martin Rev’s similar pummeller on Suicide’s “Ghost Rider”, whilst “Tonight” is introduced by a slinky High life rhythm and jerky percussive eructations. Meanwhile, “I Want You” is coldly romantic in the manner of a Cut Copy track and Spacek ladles echo and reverb on his vocal in the manner of a Jamaican dub producer on “Stand Firm”. It all must sound garishly eclectic, but somehow he manages to keep a firm grip on the reins of these disparate sounds, something even more impressive when you learn that he worked mostly with iPad and iPhone apps, something which perhaps explains the brittle nature of some of these tracks. Spacek’s voice is a particular asset in maintaining this unexpected cohesion. He mostly employs an airy falsetto that is rich in emotion, but on the futuristic hyperactive love ballad “Inflight Wave” and the stark synth-pop of “Go Back to School”, for example, he switches to a low robotic croon that is somehow both more and less human than his more overtly emphatic vocal style elsewhere.

Coincidentally, whilst I was drinking in the heady cocktail of Modern Streets I was also delving back into early Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark, perhaps (along with Japan and Associates) the most idiosyncratic of the UK’s synth-pop pioneers. Like Beat Spacek, OMD’s Andy McCluskey lurched between lush pop romanticism and awkward, imprecise commentary on the world around him. Of course, OMD’s palette was more restricted to post-Kraftwerk synth-worship and McCluskey was more outwardly focused than Spacek’s London-centric inward gaze, but, between the hypnotic repetitiveness of the rhythms deployed and the infectiously bright simplicity of their synth lines (analogue back in 1980, produced on a phone of all things in 2014), somehow OMD and Beat Spacek share a commonality, a refusal to let the harshness of these modern streets or global insecurity detract from forging a bloody good melody and heartfelt lyric.

For all the artificiality in how Modern Streets was made, it’s a starkly personal album, with Spacek really laying his soul to bear on certain tracks, especially “I Want You”, with it’s mantra-like chorus rivalling Dylan’s “I Want You” for persistence. Only the title track and one or two other songs overtly deal with mirroring London life, but then what is life if not personal, informed by one’s own emotions and desires? Time will tell if Steve Spacek has succeeded in anticipating the future of dance music by refracting the past through the prism of the post-dubstep world, or indeed whether Modern Streets lives up to its title. But as a portrait of a man in a city sharing his thoughts and feelings, it’s strikingly effective, all the more so for being so far-reaching.

A Quietus Review: Blood for the Return by Mirage (October 16th, 2014)

The story behind this album, and how it came to light, reads like a weird piece of psychological thriller fiction. Todd Ledford, whose Olde English Spelling Bee label is being reactivated after a lasting hiatus to release Blood For The Return, tells the story in all its bizarre glory here, but, to keep it short, Mirage is the one-man project of a man claiming to be 19 years of age and going by the name of Robin Nydal (geddit?), who records from his bedroom at his parents’ place. Of course, that’s not his real name and, as Ledford quickly found out, Mirage isn’t 19. Indeed he has been claiming to be a 19-year-old recording at his parents’ place for a few years, and the artwork used onBlood For The Return has already cropped up on other projects “Nydal” has worked on. Of which there have been many. Looking past the weirdness and smoke and mirrors of Mirage’s back-story, however, and what emerges is the image of a perhaps troubled and certainly intense young man with, as the album demonstrates, a very precocious talent.

Blood For The Return stems from the bedroom pop tradition of the mid-noughties known as “hypnagogic pop”, and whether or not such a sub-genre even realistically existed, it certainly harks back to very early Ariel Pink and acts like James Ferraro and Rangers, although more in terms of sound than content. Indeed, there is none of the video game, cartoon, Internet or TV show ephemera that popped up like half-formed memories on most “hypnagogic pop” albums of the past, with Nydal’s nostalgia steeped firmly in pop tropes of decades long revolved, from The Beach Boys to ELO via Fleetwood Mac, Van Dyke Parks and even prog acts like Genesis or Yes. You’ve got to have some ambition in you to want to emulate most of those whilst recording in your bedroom, and yet, in some ways, Nydal comes damn close. Whilst anything approaching the expanse and scope of, say, ‘Close To The Edge’ or ‘Supper’s Ready’ would be pretty much impossible, Blood For The Return nonetheless brims with intricate details and surprise shifts, all drenched with smothering layers of distortion – sometimes too many of them.

Locked inside these walls of sound are often striking melodies, especially on the loping title track, which opens the album with considerable force, or tracks like ‘Hubbard’ and ‘Do You Remember’, the latter almost single-worthy in its concise urgency and irresistible layered harmonies. Nydal’s lyrics, when audible, are oblique in the sunkissed poetic style of a David Crosby or, again, Ariel Pink, who would probably relish a line like “My Poison Oak and vine, we mate in the water/Boot thigh, lip and tongue all fit for the slaughter”, from the quasi-glam and sensual ‘Children Games’. Stripped of any real context (beyond all the above sleight of hands), however, the album as a whole often fails to match these oddball heights. Nydal’s monomaniacal drive has allowed him to transcend his production limitations in part, but at times it’s hard not to worry that all the illusions and misdirection might betray an occasional lack of focus, especially when bruising distortion is the main sonic tool used to bolster his compositions.

Having written all that, it’s hard not to be charmed by Blood For The Return. After all, Mirage may wear his influences overtly on his sleeve, but he still brings a forceful personality, even to the most undeveloped of these songs. As a figure in the shadows fleshing out his dreams of genres gone by, Mirage is a seductive presence, and his music casts a weird, occasionally uneasy spell.

A Quietus Interview: At One With Chaos & Abandonment: The Irrepressibles Interviewed (June 19th, 2014)

The first thing that hits you when listening to Nude, the superlative second album by London-based art-pop group The Irrepressibles, is the vocal power of lead singer and songwriter Jamie McDermott. McDermott’s capacity to wrench heartfelt, overwhelming emotion with every word that emerges from his mouth brings to mind Antony Hegarty, with whom he also shares a penchant for lyrics that openly and honestly explore issues surrounding homosexuality and gender. Over the past few months, The Irrepressibles have been touring incessantly, including a trip to Russia – home of some of the most homophobic laws in Europe – and have also returned to the material on Nude for three EPs that showcase the wide tapestry of the band’s sound. Nude: LandscapesNude: Viscera and Nude: Forbidden contain alternate versions of tracks from Nude as well as new material and remixes, but they differ wildly from one another, together creating an alternative vision of McDermott’s inner and outer world from the original album. The Quietus met with Jamie McDermott to discuss these three differing soundscapes, the honesty of his lyrics and that remarkable voice.

How are you? It seems like it’s been a busy year for you…

Jamie McDermott: [Laughs] Yeah, I dunno. It’s sort of like heaven and hell at the same time, it’s been pretty extreme. For a lot of musicians at the moment, it’s like you’re making music and managing to get by living on very little. I live on a council estate, which is really quite rough and harsh, and the next extreme is getting on a plane getting booked at the Academy Of Music and hearing opera being played! It’s quite extreme for musicians.

Nude, your second album, was released to considerable acclaim in 2012. Could you tell me a little bit about its creation?

JM: It was quite difficult, because we knew we needed to make the second record as soon as we could, as the first had come out in 2010 and there was quite a lot of pressure to make the second. I wanted to make a very different statement, but also to make it in a way that wasn’t contrived. The idea was to do something that was both visually and lyrically honest about my sexuality. I wanted to make something that kind of communicated the experiences I’ve had growing up as a young gay man. I took songs that I’d written from various times, when I was a lot younger, and felt I could give them an arrangement that would set them in a time. I used 80s and early 90s-style electronics and then, as with Mirror Mirror, I used orchestration, but instead of orchestrating it in a very polyphonic way, I wanted to make something that was a bit more American and filmic. A use of strings that doesn’t have a specific style, so I used the strings in a way that was a bit more about memory and time, rather than being set in time.

That’s how the record came together, but when we handed it over, we had a difficult process because the label decided they didn’t want it, so we had to find a different way of releasing it. And that was a really big challenge. We’d made this thing which, for the time, was very honestly gay in a way that many artists weren’t really doing in terms of mainstream music. Now, there have been a lot of artists that have done similar things, even people like Goldfrapp – who’s done music that deals with gender and homosexuality – which is fantastic, but at the time, it was a bit like “woahh… ok”.

So it’s been quite a difficult couple of years, but the finishing line was, for me, performing at the first ever gay wedding in the UK, singing ‘Two Men In Love’, and performing out in Russia, being part of the movement and meeting with the LGBT resistance. It was really interesting to be involved with the LGBT movement worldwide, including with our videos, which is hard to do with no budget [laughs]. People say “It doesn’t look aesthetically very good”, and it’s like “Yeah, but we don’t have any money!”

Could you please give me a bit of background on The Irrepressibles, and how the band was formed?

JM: We’ve had about two or three incarnations of the band. The first one was back in 2002, and we were a band for about three years until two of them got married and decided to move away. It had been so intense, trying to make a budget work, but we had a great time, running nights such as at Candid and putting on interesting artists. I then went on to do a site-specific performance choir, but someone was trying to do something similar to the Irrepressibles and put an advert on Drowned In Sound, so I got a bit angry and decided to put a band together again. I put an advert out, and ended up with more orchestral instruments. As someone who isn’t trained as a composer, I didn’t really know what they were, so would just have a listen and then, once they were in my head, I could just sing parts and figure out what to do. That band started in 2005, and we eventually got signed in 2010.

You’ve recently released three EPs, also called Nude, that sort of reimagine and transform the songs from the Nude album, whilst also combining them with unreleased tracks. What made you decide to return to the Nude recordings?

JM: Well, Nude originally was a record that I’d made by myself as a solo artist, just with guitar and voice, and it was very similar to Nude: Viscera, the second EP. So, when I came to do Nudeas a studio album with The Irrepressibles, it was more focused on telling my story as a gay man growing up, so sonically I wanted to bring in elements of electronica as well as carry on the lineage of Mirror Mirror. So, it became a very different record and some tracks didn’t fit. It wasn’t that they were outtakes, they just didn’t fit. There was also a kind of time limit, we needed to get the album finished. But tracks like ‘Not Mine’ and ‘Forbidden’ were part of the same message, and I’ve always wanted to make statement albums and not just the same album over and over again. I want to make different sound worlds with specific messages. So, I felt these songs needed to be released in some way, but they didn’t combine into one second record, like a Nude Two.

The stuff that was more rock and more visceral came from a time when I used to be an indie-rock kind of singer. Then there was the stuff that I’d performed solo, versions of ‘Arrow’ and so on, that were very different versions that I was actually quite nervous of performing without the other musicians. But I did it in Paris, and people were actually quite moved by it and said I should perform that way. It ended up online and people were asking where they could hear these versions, and so there was a reason to release them as well. And then there were the electronic tracks, like ‘Forbidden’ and ‘Edge Of Now’ that needed to be put out somehow, especially as we’d had these remixes done. For example, Ghosting Season, the Mancunian duo, did remixes of ‘Arrow’ and ‘Forbidden’, and I really love their work, as well as iamamiwhoami, who remixed ‘New World’. It seemed like the right thing to do, to create these three EPs, kind of like a band doing a live album, a kind of add-on.

It also allowed us to perform in different ways. A lot of people expect to hear a replication of the album [when it’s performed] live, and Nude is symphonic and electronic, with quite medium-scale production values. So, it’s quite difficult to replicate onstage. I don’t want people to come expecting one thing from the album and then hearing something else, so the idea is that if we release these EPs, people will get an idea of what to expect on tour. So we toured Nude: Landscapes in the UK and the US and then took Nude: Viscera on a more extended tour in the UK. And we’re about to do a more expansive tour in the USA. It’s kind of blown up a little bit, so we’re going out to Tel Aviv and Greece… Eventually, we’ll come back and do the full Nudespectacle, so we can do the more visual side of my work as well. It’s really nice, though, to play onstage and just be in the moment, rather than as part of something that’s very choreographed and set. That’s very tight, whereas with just piano and strings, using loop pedals, and with the “rock” EP, there’s a chance to be in the moment, which is just great. And I can sing more! Because I fucking love singing [laughs].

You’ve kind of touched on this, but does each EP represent a different facet of The Irrepressibles, in some way?

JM: It’s interesting, because some bands set out with a very specific idea of what they want to do, with a clear mission, but I never did that with The Irrepressibles. The mission statement was always to be like the name is: unrestricted. It can be quite confusing to people, because we’ve kind of moved from what was a rock-pop style into something that’s more electronic or whatever. There isn’t a sound of The Irrepressibles. Somebody mentioned that there is a sound that you can hear throughout everything that “says” The Irrepressibles, but in terms of style, I’m completely at one with chaos and abandonment.

Also, I think I’ve been very much a control freak with The Irrepressibles, but I’m still very interested in collaboration and it’s been very interesting to have people remix stuff. I just gave them free reign, and it’s the same when we do music videos. We’ve just done some music for a Shelly Love film. She’s making a trilogy of films based on the Forgotten Circus, and I’ve just written some music for the first short film, which was, in a way, more in the style of Mirror Mirror. It’s nice to suddenly be in a room full of orchestral instruments and write just by singing parts while I’m in the room, before going into the studio working with electronics. Maybe it’s because I’m gay, but I’m very open! [laughs]

What made you decide on which songs should be performed in a certain way?

JM: Mainly, it was just informed by what they were. On the first EP, people wanted the orchestral version of ‘Arrow’, before I’d built it up with electronics, so that was already there, same with the live version of ‘New World’. Then I was asked to do a cover by an American film company, and I’d never wanted to do covers, so it had to be something that meant something emotionally to me in this time, and ‘Always In My Mind’ seemed right. I love that song, the sentiment is so powerful.

What is the meaning of each EP’s title?

JM: With each title, it kind of has a double concept, it some ways. Nude: Landscapes is to do with expanding the landscapes with loop pedals. All the arrangements are being built on top of each other, so there’s a sense, for me – and I know this sounds kind of spiritual! – of there being a line put into the loop that is then a memory that you then build upon, and it becomes a reflection of the memory. I actually really enjoy that way of arranging. I’ve always done it, really, but the loop has allowed me to really expand that. In ‘Arrow’, for example, the ending is massively orchestrated: it’s got loads of different lines that are to do with emotions. When it’s the electronic version, it’s quite difficult to hear that, unless it’s through a really big speaker system at a concert. So, it’s nice to release it in this way. All the arrangements on Nude: Landscapes are to do with expanding landscapes, taking something from minimalism and expanding it into a landscape to do with time and memory.

With Nude: Viscera, it’s kind of two things. One, catharsis, so on a track like ‘Not Mine’, it’s something that’s very in the stomach and emotionally there, but also in the same sort of place there’s sex. So the song is all to do with sex and the visceral, really. They were all written at a time when I was discovering my sexuality, or that were about the end of something. ‘Now That My Lover Is Dead’ and ‘Not Mine’ are about the end of a relationship, and they’re quite bitter and visceral. It’s exploring sex and sexuality, and it’s interesting to perform that way, viscerally, onstage, and it just be about not being restrictive, which electronic music can be. I always find electronic music to be like orchestral, because in a way it’s quite mystical and magical, but it’s also more elemental, like furniture or glass orbs: it’s got a shape to it. Working with orchestration is often more linear, where rock music comes from there [points to his stomach].

On the electronic record, Nude: Forbidden, the electronic tracks are all focused on time and memory, and their connections with sexuality. It’s darker, and [tied in with] the videos. So, the video for ‘Forbidden’ is about a boy discovering at a very young age that he’s in love with his best friend, whilst ‘Edge of Now’ is a fucking dance of defiance, with lots of different people from the LGBT community dancing completely naked, so it’s not about lifestyle, y’know, putting clothes on to say, like, “I’m a lesbian, this is how I dress, because that’s my choice”. No, it’s stripped bare, completely naked, “this is physically who I am, but this is my sexuality depicted in the video”. It was interesting. We had straight guys in the video as well. It’s also one of the earliest songs, I wrote it when I was about eighteen, and it’s about the bullying I’d experienced. I was bullied viciously, and so it’s about trying to break free from the restrictions and constraints people try to put on you. So it’s connected to ‘Arrow’, and to the album.

I have to ask you about your voice. I saw you at Snape Maltings two years back (singing in David Toop’s opera Star-Shaped Biscuit), and I found it to be extraordinary, and it’s the same on record. How do you achieve such an amazing vocal prowess?

JM: There are a couple of ways of approaching the voice, I think. The way I approach my voice is very Afro-American in its technique. I was trained in rock, soul, gospel and jazz, and was originally a rock singer, and I learned what’s called “head-voicing” in Afro-American style, which is just the voice that resonates in the head. In classical music, it’s called the countertenor, but it’s slightly different in its technique. I was never classically trained. In classical training, a lot of it is to do with control, physically, and it’s a very different approach. In Afro-American styles of singing, it’s more about letting the diaphragm or the body release, so it allows me to move from head resonance into something that’s within a larynx mix, more like a jazz crooner. I never use baritone, I don’t really know how to do it. As I used to be a rock singer, I sometimes push my chest forward to use to full voice.

It’s all bits that are to do with Afro-American styles of singing, but I think in the context of working with string instruments, it’s become a little bit more like a classical countertenor, even if it isn’t one. I could never achieve the control, I don’t think, in terms of singing so many notes per second. I tried to learn some Schörnberg. Lore Luxembourg, who was also at Snape, tried to get me to sing some Schörnberg, and I was like “Ummmm, I can’t read music!” [laughs]. It was very difficult, but she was very adamant I should try. I’ve always sung, since I was a child, and a lot of singers tend to develop a thing called “singing Tourette’s” – we basically can’t stop singing, all the time! [laughs] It’s obsessive, you’re always in your voice, always exploring what it can do, and exploring emotions with it.

You’ve mentioned your sexuality. Do you feel LGBT artists have a duty, of sorts, to speak out about LGBT issues in their art?

JM: I don’t think they have a duty. There’s a lot of amazingly talented gay artists, but, I dunno… I can’t really say what other people should do, but, for me, it’s really upsetting to hear that kids have killed themselves because they were being bullied for being gay. I was viciously bullied, and still do get it – I got hit not long ago on tour, in the street. I get heckled all the time. In this country, we’re very lucky, but there’s still a lot to do and say. For me it’s like, why not express your experience fully through art and music? ‘New World’, the video and song, are what I experienced. To say that message clearly was important. It’s fun to just make music, but I think it’s important for LGBT people to make work that communicates their life expressively. I’ve always thought of pop music as being about communicating something.

Has the reaction to your lyrics been a mostly positive one?

JM: We’ve had messages from the National Front, we’ve had Christian groups, and all kinds of things said online. But we’ve never experienced anything in a big way. When we went to Moscow, it took the technicians eight hours to deal with things technically, we nearly couldn’t go onstage. When we did, they refused to turn the sound on, one of the drummers had to throw his sticks to get them to turn on the video for ‘Arrow’. I dunno… I’m just kind of in it, I can’t really intellectualise it. I’ve always made music that is honest, I think it’s part of my personality. It gets me in trouble sometimes, but I’ve kind of left behind the emotional worry about what I’m saying, because I get so involved in the creative process.

The Irrepressibles’ album Nude and the three Nude EPs are all out now

A Dusted Review: Persistence of Vision (April 21st, 2014)

VHS Head is the pseudonym of the enigmatic Adrian Blacow, and he uses it as a vessel for some of the most bizarre, unfathomable electronic dance music you will find. Blacow uses old, library-sourced VHS tapes (hence the name), in this case apparently horror films, and then dissects them and splices them back together into high-octane dance floor pounders, of a weird sort.

Demdike Stare mines similar territory to VHS Head, but uses it to conjure up subliminal vignettes mirroring nightmare visions of collective unease, as if the ghosts of the Pendle or Salem witches and the Witchfinder General could be recreated as music. Blacow’s music is wrenched from any clear context, a sort of flipside on the coin of hauntology. There are none of the wispy drone textures, bursts of noise and muted vocal samples that dominate the works of other horror plunderers, replaced instead by jerking break beats, unsettled synth melodies and ever-shifting tempos.

This frenetic energy makes for an often thrilling, but equally distracting, listen. Some songs bristle with melodic hooks and rhythmic propulsion, especially the exciting opener “Enter The Devil,” where pounding techno beats collide with swooping synth lines. “Frozen,” meanwhile, is dominated by seductive, see-sawing synth lines that sound like a madly entwined Vangelis and Jean-Michel Jarre reimagined for a 21st-century dance floor.

In this context, however, the fact that these tracks started out as spools of horror film VHS tape is somewhat immaterial. Blacow makes seductive, hyperactive dance music that feels as far from a video nasty as the latest Burial EP. Snippets of mutated dialogue (“Don’t look in the closet!” intones a grim voice on the track of the same name), and track titles such as “Mutant Nights” and “Tracking the Moon Beast” hint at the nightmarish and phantasmagorical, but the brightness of the synths and booty-shaking beats render such references bewildering rather than unsettling.

As such, Persistence of Vision is an exhausting listen. The VHS extracts are so distorted, I assume for copyright reasons, that there is no sense of the music’s place outside of Blacow’s head, and, to an extent, the dance floor, although you’d be hard-pressed to keep up the album’s pace all night. When Blacow’s blender approach clicks, the results are a kaleidoscope of weirdness and sensation, but at other times one is left reeling in a sonic environment without a structural anchor.

A Dusted Review: Unfidelity by Ekoplekz (March 14th, 2014)

Ekoplekz’s music is the equivalent of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, a weird and quintessentially Limey concoction that could have only been spawned on these islands of tea and crumpets. This isn’t to say a non-Brit wouldn’t find anything to enjoy on Unfidelity, far from it, especially with clear Kraftwerk and Brian Eno influences bubbling under the surface, but it’s fair to say that a few signposts are liable to get lost in musical translation.

Mentioning Kraftwerk and Eno is a good place to start, though, because essentially Ekoplekz’s music boils down to a subtle melding of old and new. Nick Edwards’ analog set-up has a warm and seductive feel to it, with swirling drones and driving synth “riffs” that could have been samples taken from On Land or Düsseldorf’s finest’s “Neon Lights” popping up across the album. Equally, Edwards’ use of terse, minimalist beats hark back to the early days of British synth-pop, notably Mix-Up-era Cabaret Voltaire and The Human League of Reproduction. A heady mix, I’m sure all will agree.

Ekoplekz is never content to explore accepted and successful formulas. Instead,Unfidelity overflows with bleeps, bloops and gargles that throw up a multi-directional signpost, with arrows pointing towards, amongst others, oddball UK children’s TV shows from the 70s such as Children of the Stones and The Owl Service, the seminal sci-fi textures of vintage Doctor Who (the one with the icy synth lines and arcane sound effects, not the modern version driven by orchestrally lush scores that has belatedly made its way across the Atlantic), the BBC Radiophonic Workshop, the dream-like sounds of Warp Records weirdos Aphex Twin and Broadcast, and the more subdued synth music of minimal waver Robert Rental, immortalised here in the title of one of the tracks. For all that, Unfidelity never feels derivative or retro, Edwards displaying an alchemist’s touch as he drags all these influences into a potent melting pot. In Planet Mu, it looks like he may have found a natural home, where he has honed his ectoplasmic touch into something that feels modern and perhaps even geared for the club scene.

Nick Edwards is unbelievably prolific, with a number of projects to his name (his alliance with Baron Mordant as eMMplekz was a recent triumph, and showed how well vocals — especially ones as deadpan as Mordant’s — could work with Edwards’ music), but with Unfidelity he has delivered his most assertive statement as Ekoplekz to date.

A Quietus Feature – 30 Years On: Soul Mining By The The Revisited (October 23rd, 2013)

One of the most charming quirks of the very early eighties was the unexpected popularity and commercial success of the most enigmatic of pop music. In 1982, impressively-coiffed British quartet Japan were rewarded after years of near-misses when their positively minimalist single ‘Ghosts’ climbed to number five in the UK charts. A year earlier, New York avant-gardist Laurie Anderson performed even better, as her eight-minute mini-suite mixture of pop and spoken word, ‘O Superman’ hit number two. When you think of it, even the likes of Soft Cell or Orchestral Manoeuvres In The Dark seem quite unlikely as stars, with their peculiar dancing, affected vocals and dry, skittish percussion on singles like ‘Tainted Love’ and ‘Enola Gay’. But, aside from The Fall and the Associates, few “bands” of the early post-punk years were as popular despite being positively eccentric as Matt Johnson’s The The.

I’ve seen The The described as both synth-pop and post-punk, but neither term really seems to fit. In fact, for their first releases, including this debut album proper, they weren’t even an actual band. Only the enigmatic Matt Johnson features on all seven tracks, often playing multiple instruments in a kind of megalomaniacal desire to keep absolute control over his creation. But, given how long it appears to have taken him to make his mark (a first album, Burning Blue Soul, was released in 1981, but under his own name, and he found getting an actual band up and running more than a little difficult), it’s hard not to find some sympathy with Johnson’s determination. In this context, it’s no wonder that Soul Mining is no joyful debut from a confident young whippersnapper, but rather a claustrophobic and cynical slab of self-loathing and barely-restrained fury.

Much has been made of the current generation of synth-wielding artists who appear to have elevated bedroom-composed music to an art form. Well, Soul Mining may have been recorded in a couple of studios, but it crystallises the inner world of the bedroom-based singer-songwriter to perfection. Its opening salvo, ‘I’ve Been Waitin’ For Tomorrow (All Of My Life)’ and ‘This Is The Day’ are two sides of the same isolated coin, the former a despondent musing on inertia, the latter a more upbeat look at potential futures. ‘I’ve Been Waitin’ For Tomorrow (All Of My Life)’ features pounding, almost metallic rhythm stabs, almost of the sort you’d get on a same-period Einstürzende Neubauten or Test Dept. album, aligned with see-sawing bass lines, snippets of radio static and fuzz-laden guitar. Johnson practically eviscerates himself emotionally in lyrics such as “All my childhood dreams/ Are bursting at the seams/ And dangling around my knees” and, in the chorus, “Another year older and what have I done/ My aspirations have shriveled in the sun”. Anyone who has ever felt that their life failed to live up to expectations will instantly connect to such self-laceration, which reaches fever pitch as he closes on a repeated mantra of “My mind has been polluted/ And my energy diluted”, over and over again. It’s quite ironic that Johnson manages to conjure up such a potent and determined piece of deformed pop whilst simultaneously lamenting his own lack of focus.

The response to this attack of self-doubt comes, after a fashion, on ‘This Is The Day’, although it starts out with a bleary-eyed “day after the night before” vibe. Johnson quickly decides, though, that things can only get better from here, as he loudly proclaims, “This is the day your life will surely change/ This is the day when things fall into place.” Accordion and fiddle lend the track a more pastoral vibe that contrasts nicely with its predecessor’s moody rock sound, whilst its catchy melody was surely deserving of better than its eventual chart position of number 71. These two tracks set out the spirit of Soul Mining, which vacillates between a certain forlorn romanticism (‘Uncertain Smile’) and fierce cynicism (the slow-burning faux-soul of ‘The Sinking Feeling’). At a time when pop was aiming for short, sharp bursts of infectious musicality, Matt Johnson’s melodies must have seemed quite alien, with frequent temporal shifts, such as on the loping, hazy ‘The Twilight Hour’ or the multi-faceted title track. There are hints of progressive rock at some points, whilst elsewhere the album nods towards where Mark Hollis would take Talk Talk later in the decade.

It all culminates fantastically with the unfathomable and unexpected dance epic ‘GIANT’, a track that coalesces Johnson’s pop sensibilities with his innate sense of disillusion into nearly ten minutes of p-funk bliss. In his best mix of croon and snarl, Johnson declares “I am a stranger to myself” before going on to lament his fear of both God and Hell, sounding like a man torn up by his terror. Zeke Manyika provides funky African rhythms whilst synthesizers zip and fly in all directions, guided by supple bass and snaking guitar licks. The percussions builds into a storm of pounding beats (courtesy not just of Manyika but also Foetus’ JG Thirlwell) as Johnson wails out “How could anyone know me/ If I don’t even know myself”, his voice seeming to give out through exhaustion to be repeated by a multi-voiced chant. ‘GIANT’ is a weird closer that really shouldn’t be. It’s fun and irresistibly groovy, but this simple pleasure is subtly tainted by the raw angst of the lyrics, and the increasingly claustrophobic repetition of rhythms and voices. It’s Soul Mining and The The in one track: catchy, musical, but also strangely obtuse and unfathomable.

After Soul Mining, The The would grow in strength as Matt Johnson brought an overt political angle to his lyrics, heightening the universality of albums like Infected and Mind Bomb by turning ever-so-slightly away from his debut’s moody introspection. He even allowed The The to become a proper band after 1986 or so, and forged a singular career, often at the same skewed angle away, but never disconnected, from pop music that he started with in 1983. Soul Mining is in every way a perfect starting point, and one of the best albums of the eighties to boot.