“Luminessence/Essence of the will/Time and fire/Turning burning still/Upon the hour table /Dreams of light are laid/But I’m not sleeping.”
- ‘Light’, Meat Puppets
I know a guy who loves Electrelane. That's understandable. I mean, what’s not to love? Thing is, the guy’s a misanthrope. He seems to have little faith in human nature, or the concept of love, or the redemptive quality of random acts of kindness. He is ‘into Crowleyian magick’ yet fails to divine the magical properties in a smile or a kiss, or even sex. All the world is merely grist to his dark Satanic mill. So here’s what I don’t understand: he dwells in darkness, whereas Electrelane largely trade in...
LIGHT! The same light eulogised by the Meat Puppets on their neglected 1989 classic, Monsters. The blinding flash, the eternal flame of illumination, the white-out, the O-mind. Sunshine through stormclouds, the silvery glint of a Greyhound bus, the shimmer of the sea in mid-July. Y’know, that kind of thing. How, then, can a misanthrope love Electrelane? Their music may have undercurrents of darkness, of mystery, but it’s so alive, so free and so fucking optimistic. It travels. It gets out a bit. It makes new friends. It feels a tug of remorse when it has, inevitably, to leave town. But it stays in touch.
Electrelane’s new record, Axes, is for me characterised by the sheer joy it radiates. Not dumb joy, if there is such a thing, but joy at being alive and able to feel not only happiness but pain, loss, absence, fear and all the rest. And sadness doesn’t equate with darkness, by the way. It’s just a different kind of light, like the stroboscopic light that dapples your face on a long train journey in summer. I put it to Verity Susman, Mia Clarke, Emma Gaze and Ros Murray that the sheer amount of travel involved in being part of this band (originating in East Sussex, they now live, variously, in Berlin, Prague, London and Brighton) must contribute to the feeling of perpetual motion that characterises much of their music.
“I don’t think it’s a conscious idea,” replies Mia (guitar). “But I mean, we were travelling a hell of a lot last year. We were away a lot.”
Verity (vocals, guitar, keyboards) elaborates. “When you’re just sitting there staring out the window, with things going past... it probably stuck, it got lodged in our heads somewhere.”
There’s the sound of the train on ‘Gone Darker’, too, which you join in with as the song builds at the beginning. Do you enjoy all the travelling you do?
“I love it,” claims Emma (drums). “It’s my favourite thing.”
I mumble absently about the melancholy nature of travel, the feeling that you’re constantly leaving something or someone behind. This strikes a chord with Ros, the band’s new bassist .
“I was talking to someone the other day and they were saying that the saddest object is a suitcase,” she relates. “Which I thought was really funny, because I saw it a different way. Whenever I think of a suitcase I think of being really excited and happy. Then they said that, and...”
They ruined it for you.
(Laughs) “It depends on what colour it is.”
I wonder if I’m wrong to hear so much exuberance and delight in Axes. Perhaps I’m hearing what I want to hear, screening out the parts I’d rather not confront, like I know I often do in the ‘real’ world outside of music. Is mine a wilfully inaccurate impression, then? Could it be the side effects of the Cipralex? Or perhaps it’s the upside of all this motion: constantly in the process of getting somewhere and thrilled by the prospect of never actually arriving. I used to want to live on a train. I was only put off by the fact that even trains have to stop sometimes.
“It’s like you were saying about travelling, that it’s where sadness and happiness kind of cross, and yeah, I totally agree with that, ‘cause it can still be sad and celebratory at the same time,” says Verity. “I think we get a kick out of when it’s quite sad, and then making it really happy; like, how can you get out of that minor bit into the happy part again.”
Axes was recorded largely live, in one room, the band able to look each other in the eye as they played. If Electrelane weren’t so active in rewriting rock, this would come across as somewhat clichéd, the kind of thing tired old hippies, punks and vinyl obsessives love to harp on about. But Electrelane make it all seem so new and inviting, and no, not because they’re female but because they’re still growing as a band. They’re still seeking and striving on their third album, the point at which most bands find themselves apologising for their recent past and going back to basics in an altogether less becoming fashion.
“Because we were all recording in one room, it was impossible sometimes to replace one part, so most of the time we kept the basic tracks, the live take of everybody playing together even if there were mistakes here and there. In the past we’ve been more neurotic about ironing any little inaccuracies out. This time we didn’t really think about that and I think the freedom in the songs is much stronger than on the last album.”
This may have something to do with Verity coming into her own as a lead vocalist. On ‘Two For Joy’ she conveys pure emotion so forcefully and unaffectedly, you’re knocked back for a moment; you don’t quite know how to react. Her delivery is blissfully uninhibited, flawed and unaffected in its soulfulness. When the song reaches its peak and Susman’s excitable whoop (possibly the most rock ‘n’ roll thing you’ll hear this year) gives way to a final, valedictory burst of Farfisa organ, you’re finished. There’s a new confidence there, but also something greater, an open-heartedness that transcends the vagaries of that most elusive yet overrated of commodities, ‘cool’. Which means that while Axes will kick your arse no problem, it’ll kick you even harder in the heart.
“I think the vocals this time were easier to do because we toured so much last year, so I just got used to singing a lot,” Verity states. “And then when I went in to record I had a much clearer idea of how I wanted the singing to sound. I tried not to do too many takes and it was normally the first one that would be the one that I’d keep. With singing, more I think than with anything else, once you start repeating it over and over again it starts to become laboured.”
From listening to the records and talking to the band, it seems that Electrelane’s methodology revolves more and more around the removal of the unnecessary, anything that could be interpreted as contrived, or as Verity puts it, “laboured”. But in paring back the components of their sound to the bare essentials, they are able to maximise the emotional impact of what’s left in. In keeping with this, all additions are made judiciously, not frivolously (like the hint of klezmer that suffuses the giddily romantic ‘Eight Steps’) In Mia’s words, Axes is “clearer” than their previous records. The sound is still dense, but it breathes. This breathing space is clearly precious to Electrelane; Verity frequently uses the word ‘freedom’ when expressing her happiness with the new material. Given that improvisation forms the basis of Electrelane’s aesthetic – all the songs on ‘Axes’ started out as jams – I ask whether the band intend to pursue this freedom even more when they play live.
“I think we’re gonna improvise a lot more on stage than we have done in the past, just because we’ve done so many tours,” she states. “I think we’re probably more confident now, playing together and playing live, to be able to risk something completely messing up (laughs).”
But would you ever consider doing something completely free?
“I think that’s what we wanna get to. Yeah.”
“But not totally improvised. I would shit myself!” laughs Mia. “Like, we played in Austria with Tony and Andy from The Ex, and obviously we hadn’t rehearsed or anything, and they were like, ‘Oh yeah, we’d really love to come on and play’ and it was like ‘OK, cool!’ [nervous laughter] I mean, I enjoyed it, but only after the fact. While they were on there, ‘cause you’re so used to just hearing three other people...”
“They have very distinctive ways of playing,” says Emma.
“...so I’m trying to listen to the band, and then Tony and Andy were like, ‘Eek! Eek! Eek! Eek! Eek!’ with screwdrivers and everything...it was like, ’What’s going on?’ [laughs] It was fun, but it was very frightening.”
That Electrelane can admit to this fear makes them even more valuable. After all, fearless people are either mad (not their fault), stupid (not their fault either, but you can blame them for the success of Razorlight) or just plain fake (unforgivable in most cases). Fearless people are also rather dull, as they have little to lose and less to talk about. Electrelane are none of these things. Their music expresses humanity, frailty and the strength that comes from clinging onto light even in the darkest times. Perhaps that’s why the misanthrope loves them. And perhaps that capacity for love will ultimately redeem him. Here’s hoping.
- ‘Light’, Meat Puppets
I know a guy who loves Electrelane. That's understandable. I mean, what’s not to love? Thing is, the guy’s a misanthrope. He seems to have little faith in human nature, or the concept of love, or the redemptive quality of random acts of kindness. He is ‘into Crowleyian magick’ yet fails to divine the magical properties in a smile or a kiss, or even sex. All the world is merely grist to his dark Satanic mill. So here’s what I don’t understand: he dwells in darkness, whereas Electrelane largely trade in...
LIGHT! The same light eulogised by the Meat Puppets on their neglected 1989 classic, Monsters. The blinding flash, the eternal flame of illumination, the white-out, the O-mind. Sunshine through stormclouds, the silvery glint of a Greyhound bus, the shimmer of the sea in mid-July. Y’know, that kind of thing. How, then, can a misanthrope love Electrelane? Their music may have undercurrents of darkness, of mystery, but it’s so alive, so free and so fucking optimistic. It travels. It gets out a bit. It makes new friends. It feels a tug of remorse when it has, inevitably, to leave town. But it stays in touch.
Electrelane’s new record, Axes, is for me characterised by the sheer joy it radiates. Not dumb joy, if there is such a thing, but joy at being alive and able to feel not only happiness but pain, loss, absence, fear and all the rest. And sadness doesn’t equate with darkness, by the way. It’s just a different kind of light, like the stroboscopic light that dapples your face on a long train journey in summer. I put it to Verity Susman, Mia Clarke, Emma Gaze and Ros Murray that the sheer amount of travel involved in being part of this band (originating in East Sussex, they now live, variously, in Berlin, Prague, London and Brighton) must contribute to the feeling of perpetual motion that characterises much of their music.
“I don’t think it’s a conscious idea,” replies Mia (guitar). “But I mean, we were travelling a hell of a lot last year. We were away a lot.”
Verity (vocals, guitar, keyboards) elaborates. “When you’re just sitting there staring out the window, with things going past... it probably stuck, it got lodged in our heads somewhere.”
There’s the sound of the train on ‘Gone Darker’, too, which you join in with as the song builds at the beginning. Do you enjoy all the travelling you do?
“I love it,” claims Emma (drums). “It’s my favourite thing.”
I mumble absently about the melancholy nature of travel, the feeling that you’re constantly leaving something or someone behind. This strikes a chord with Ros, the band’s new bassist .
“I was talking to someone the other day and they were saying that the saddest object is a suitcase,” she relates. “Which I thought was really funny, because I saw it a different way. Whenever I think of a suitcase I think of being really excited and happy. Then they said that, and...”
They ruined it for you.
(Laughs) “It depends on what colour it is.”
I wonder if I’m wrong to hear so much exuberance and delight in Axes. Perhaps I’m hearing what I want to hear, screening out the parts I’d rather not confront, like I know I often do in the ‘real’ world outside of music. Is mine a wilfully inaccurate impression, then? Could it be the side effects of the Cipralex? Or perhaps it’s the upside of all this motion: constantly in the process of getting somewhere and thrilled by the prospect of never actually arriving. I used to want to live on a train. I was only put off by the fact that even trains have to stop sometimes.
“It’s like you were saying about travelling, that it’s where sadness and happiness kind of cross, and yeah, I totally agree with that, ‘cause it can still be sad and celebratory at the same time,” says Verity. “I think we get a kick out of when it’s quite sad, and then making it really happy; like, how can you get out of that minor bit into the happy part again.”
Axes was recorded largely live, in one room, the band able to look each other in the eye as they played. If Electrelane weren’t so active in rewriting rock, this would come across as somewhat clichéd, the kind of thing tired old hippies, punks and vinyl obsessives love to harp on about. But Electrelane make it all seem so new and inviting, and no, not because they’re female but because they’re still growing as a band. They’re still seeking and striving on their third album, the point at which most bands find themselves apologising for their recent past and going back to basics in an altogether less becoming fashion.
“Because we were all recording in one room, it was impossible sometimes to replace one part, so most of the time we kept the basic tracks, the live take of everybody playing together even if there were mistakes here and there. In the past we’ve been more neurotic about ironing any little inaccuracies out. This time we didn’t really think about that and I think the freedom in the songs is much stronger than on the last album.”
This may have something to do with Verity coming into her own as a lead vocalist. On ‘Two For Joy’ she conveys pure emotion so forcefully and unaffectedly, you’re knocked back for a moment; you don’t quite know how to react. Her delivery is blissfully uninhibited, flawed and unaffected in its soulfulness. When the song reaches its peak and Susman’s excitable whoop (possibly the most rock ‘n’ roll thing you’ll hear this year) gives way to a final, valedictory burst of Farfisa organ, you’re finished. There’s a new confidence there, but also something greater, an open-heartedness that transcends the vagaries of that most elusive yet overrated of commodities, ‘cool’. Which means that while Axes will kick your arse no problem, it’ll kick you even harder in the heart.
“I think the vocals this time were easier to do because we toured so much last year, so I just got used to singing a lot,” Verity states. “And then when I went in to record I had a much clearer idea of how I wanted the singing to sound. I tried not to do too many takes and it was normally the first one that would be the one that I’d keep. With singing, more I think than with anything else, once you start repeating it over and over again it starts to become laboured.”
From listening to the records and talking to the band, it seems that Electrelane’s methodology revolves more and more around the removal of the unnecessary, anything that could be interpreted as contrived, or as Verity puts it, “laboured”. But in paring back the components of their sound to the bare essentials, they are able to maximise the emotional impact of what’s left in. In keeping with this, all additions are made judiciously, not frivolously (like the hint of klezmer that suffuses the giddily romantic ‘Eight Steps’) In Mia’s words, Axes is “clearer” than their previous records. The sound is still dense, but it breathes. This breathing space is clearly precious to Electrelane; Verity frequently uses the word ‘freedom’ when expressing her happiness with the new material. Given that improvisation forms the basis of Electrelane’s aesthetic – all the songs on ‘Axes’ started out as jams – I ask whether the band intend to pursue this freedom even more when they play live.
“I think we’re gonna improvise a lot more on stage than we have done in the past, just because we’ve done so many tours,” she states. “I think we’re probably more confident now, playing together and playing live, to be able to risk something completely messing up (laughs).”
But would you ever consider doing something completely free?
“I think that’s what we wanna get to. Yeah.”
“But not totally improvised. I would shit myself!” laughs Mia. “Like, we played in Austria with Tony and Andy from The Ex, and obviously we hadn’t rehearsed or anything, and they were like, ‘Oh yeah, we’d really love to come on and play’ and it was like ‘OK, cool!’ [nervous laughter] I mean, I enjoyed it, but only after the fact. While they were on there, ‘cause you’re so used to just hearing three other people...”
“They have very distinctive ways of playing,” says Emma.
“...so I’m trying to listen to the band, and then Tony and Andy were like, ‘Eek! Eek! Eek! Eek! Eek!’ with screwdrivers and everything...it was like, ’What’s going on?’ [laughs] It was fun, but it was very frightening.”
That Electrelane can admit to this fear makes them even more valuable. After all, fearless people are either mad (not their fault), stupid (not their fault either, but you can blame them for the success of Razorlight) or just plain fake (unforgivable in most cases). Fearless people are also rather dull, as they have little to lose and less to talk about. Electrelane are none of these things. Their music expresses humanity, frailty and the strength that comes from clinging onto light even in the darkest times. Perhaps that’s why the misanthrope loves them. And perhaps that capacity for love will ultimately redeem him. Here’s hoping.
