Page 119 - BFM F/W 2024

questions, first of all. I’ve got to think about it. I don’t just find a question and bash out a letter. They’re really carefully considered. I go through a back and forward exchange with my assistant, who’s turned out to be an amazing editor. And I try to craft something that feels like it might be helpful.
You recorded Wild God in London, then went to a studio in France, where I understand you hit a roadblock. What happened?
I think we were aware that we were making a big record. We recorded all the songs in London, and as is often the case, we thought we’d go and do it properly somewhere else — go and rerecord all of this stuff. Then when we tried to do that, we just listened more and more to the stuff we already had, and we liked it more and more. I tried different vocals, different versions of things. But the originals, just me playing the songs and singing without really knowing too much about what I was doing at all, there was an adventuring spirit that couldn’t be recaptured. Doing it properly, you lose something.
How did you feel about it once it was complete?
Well, once a record is mastered, you can’t do anything else, right? It’s over, and you have to step away, for better and for worse. I usually wait a bit of time because I don’t have the stomach to actually listen to any given record, and then a month later I’ll sit down and listen to it. Normally, I’m happy with it, but I’m also already thinking ‘God, I wish I had done that in this way, or this would have been better had that had happened.’ Already I’m looking at it critically. With Wild God, I put it on, and I was more excited to listen to it for some reason. I found myself with a big fucking smile on my face the whole way through it. It’s a big, beautiful,
joyful thing. It sort of leap-frogs over all the nagging.
And that’s unique to this record? Or have you felt that way before?
I suppose Grinderman was like that. But this record is principally, as we’ve been saying, about talking into the present moment in a joyful way. You can’t argue with that, really. Although, of course, many people will.
Do you actually pay attention to what people say about the albums?
I do. I read some reviews and then stop, just to get a basic idea of how the record is going over, I guess. I don’t spend a lot of time on them, but I am interested to see what people think of the record. There are all sorts of places these days where you get reviewed, not just in the press. People will write in and tell me what they think. They already are, about the songs that I’ve already put out. They’ve been overwhelmingly positive. Occasionally, someone will write in and just say, ‘What the fuck happened to you? This just sucked on every level, blah, blah, blah.’ That’s kind of like, ‘Oh. I wish you hadn’t said that.’ But you move on.
I can’t imagine anyone who writes that thinks you’ll actually read it. I mean, no one would say that to your face.
Well, isn’t that the very nature of these things? Especially social media. These remarks are largely anonymous, so people are emboldened to display the very worst aspects of their character, knowing that no one will ever know who they are. They do it with impunity. The thing about The Red Hand Files is that the kind of performative outrage that you get on the social media platforms doesn’t work, because no one can see what’s being written. The only person who can see it is me. And so mostly it’s people who genuinely want to know something — who
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