There’s nothing quite so melancholic as having to go to a Greggs after you’ve checked out of your last hotel the morning after the night of the last gig of a tour because you’ve run out of money. The suitcase the ground is carrying for you feels heavier. The coffee is that bit shitter. You can still taste the curry from the night before. You’ve now got to drive 200 miles home. Put a note in my diary before we left the room. Simply said “Sunday 19th January: Bugger”
But what a four nights it had been. Driving this nation’s highways and byways following these four about like some obsessive stalkers has been a pleasure that would have been welcome any time of the year. But two weeks into a new year, in a cold, wet and dark January, an orange mentally incapacitated orangutan about to be sworn into the most powerful position in world politics and an imminent World War Three brewing in the Middle East, it was all the more anticipated and appreciated. People asked me, including my own wife, why would you want to listen to the same band four nights in a row? My answer was, why on Earth would you not want to listen to this band four nights in a row??? Utter unbridled genius.
The end came too thick and too fast. Manchester looks that little bit greyer in its grand majesty.
It isn’t really over anyway. The following Thursday we’re back in the room with the Despy JJs. The Garage, Highbury & Islington hosts the actual last night of the tour. But that’s four days later and you’ve decompressed by then. It’s a bonus. An encore after the last encore.
The previous Wednesday we were ensconced in Bristol at The Exchange. Each night we spoke to one of the band and we kicked off with the head honcho, the lyricist above all, the keeper of the voice, Jo Bevan. After a blistering opening night, we stood about as the roadies (the rest of the band and groupies) took the equipment out to the van to chat about it being ten years since the debut album came out and therefore a decade since I first saw them in a pub in Reading in February 2015.
What do you remember from 10 years ago and what has changed?: “We’ve gained so much more confidence in ourselves. We’ve made more interesting music since then. The feral need to prove ourselves is still there.
Ten years ago it was very scary. We hadn’t solidified into what we are now. It was very intense. That much younger, that much more unstable, more drinking. We all really care about what we do and each other.
Do you still enjoy touring?: Touring is easier now, the familial relationship, we know each other so well, everyone has had their moment of being a nob, we’re on an even keel. We can predict each other’s foibles, and there aren’t really any now. We all really like each other. It’s very chill, which isn’t very exciting.
Same Ambitions?: None of us thought we were getting to be a massive indie band, not in the 21st century. We all just wanted to write the best songs we could, play them the best we could. The impetus hasn’t changed. There’s more people that like us now and we’re better at doing it.
Another 10 years?: I think we’ll still be doing it in another ten years. They’ll have to prize this microphone out of my cold dead hand. And the delay pedal.
Services: Gloucester
Stereo/Headphones: haven’t listened to music in the van for a really long time. End of tour victory song, if I can get to the stereo is ‘The Man‘ by The Killers.
Reading: Not reading on this tour, listening to podcasts “Bananas for Bonanza”, a dissection of every ever episode of Bonanza.
Independent Venue: Buffalo Bar (RIP) in Highbury and Islington. The guy who ran it now runs Paper Dress Vintage in Hackney.
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In Nottingham, we were all having so much fun at the brilliant Bodega after what was probably my favourite gig of the week in the rammed upstairs room, that we ended up talking to Rob Hardy, guitarist extraordinaire, at midnight by the van in the middle of the road. We mainly also just talked about guitars. The twelve-string Rickenbacker on the first record, the new whammy bar on the Les Paul Goldtop he fitted himself, and the use of the white Stratocaster on ‘Cedars‘ so the solo isn’t too MOR.
Please note the tone, sarcasm and huge dollops of self-deprecation which is the Desperate Journalist default setting.
What do you remember from ten years ago?: “I remember feeling a lot of hubris as I was playing a twelve-string guitar. I remember being excited because Jo was singing and I’d constructed a conspiracy to get her to be in a band with me.
Same ambitions?: I think we have been continually hampered by our own lack of ambition. Our only ambition has been to get through the next show and not make colossal dickheads of ourselves. To be honest the ambition was for it to pay for itself, so we didn’t have to put any money in, and we’ve achieved that. And it’s been very difficult at times. We’ve never been stupid enough to think we’d make enough money out of it. We didn’t need to step up as we were just doing what we wanted to do. We’re known to not give a shit; we don’t give a shit about the industry and the industry doesn’t give a shit about us.
Do you still enjoy touring?: It’s really hard as we have to do it all ourselves. Bands that don’t have to set everything up themselves, that’s not the same. They can show up, play the gig and fuck off. That’s not what we have to do. When you have full-time jobs, you can have a lack of energy.
Services: Tebay. The original Gloucester.
Stereo/Headphones: a history podcast about the rise and fall of the Mongolian Empire.
Reading: never read as it makes me feel sick in the van
Independent venue: Bodega is up there. And Lexington. Night and Day in Manchester.
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Revisiting the eponymous debut (yeah, like you don’t listen to that enough, Ed) it’s apparent as to the progression of them as a recording band. The writing, you could argue, hasn’t changed all that much. The ridiculous ability to create the base melody, the hooks, the vocal cadence, they’re all there across five records. But on the first LP, the guitars are a wall of twelve-string, almost shoegaze volume and intensity. They’re fast, they’re often furious, they’re incredible pop songs that still slip effortlessly into the set a decade later. Gone is the twelve-string Rickenbacker, everything has been adapted for six-stringers. Along with the synth-based tracks from the latest LP.
In Leeds, the wind chill bit hard. But you don’t wear a big winter coat to a gig, do you?! If it wasn’t for chip fat we’d be frozen. And beer. And Indian Street Food.
Mr S Drowner, he of the bass and ready quips, was next in the firing line.
What do you remember from 10 years ago?: “It all felt very natural, we weren’t thinking about things in much detail, just going with the flow and seeing what happened. The album launch at the Lexington sold out which felt like a bit of a landmark. I’d been in bands, we’d all been in bands, especially me and Rob and never really gotten anywhere or caught people’s imaginations. From day one we knew people liked this band. From the first gig, it felt special and different. The reaction. It felt like we were on to something.
Same ambitions?: I never had the dream to make it big with this band or anything, we all just wanted to do it for fun, it wasn’t about ambition. I always wish we are just one little step ahead of where we are, but if I look at what we’ve done, I’m very happy with it.
Another 10 years?: I’ve no idea if we’ll still be doing it in another ten years. If there’s still interest.
Do you still enjoy touring?: I love it touring. We don’t tour as much as other bands but you only have to be on the road for a few days until you start feeling like you’re living this completely different life. I enjoy it because I’d rather be doing it than anything else.
Has the industry changed?: Whenever I’m asked about the industry I don’t really feel like I’m a part of it. I’m separate from it. Nothing we’ve released has any input from the industry. We play gigs that we want to play, we aren’t told what to do by anyone. Being on Fierce Panda, they’re pretty hands-off, and I’m happy with that. Is there an argument to say if we’d signed for a different label, a bigger label, would we be bigger? I think maybe we could have been but what would we have to have compromised along the way? Would we have done things we would have regretted? Had disagreements with each other? Maybe half of us would have wanted to do something and the other didn’t. As it is, we’ve decided everything amongst ourselves.
Services: Gloucester and Tebay are the elite services. But I’m happy with any services where me and Caz can get some vegan stuff. And today we went to the worst services we’ve ever been to in Tibshelf and it was a shit hole but we had a nice McPlant.
Stereo/Headphones: Me and Jo used to be in charge of the stereo but over time we’ve retreated from that and now we tend to put nothing on and people put their headphones on. So whilst Rob was listening to his history podcast the other night I was listening to a podcast called ‘Two Promoters, One Pod’, the promoter from 2000 Trees and one from a metal festival called Damnation, and it’s really interesting; I recommend it. It’s about booking bands, the fees, the industry.
Reading: to be honest, in my bag, I’ve got Alex James’s newest book, but I’ve not read it. I’m more of a listener or a scroller but I will read it at some point.
Independent Venue: I have to say that Lexington is one of my favourite venues. I work there, DJ sometimes but I’m just really pleased places like that exist, it’s always rammed on Friday and Saturday night. Paper Dress Vintage is great. Bodega in Nottingham, Deaf Institute in Manchester, The Exchange in Bristol, Hare and Hounds and The Night Owl in Birmingham. There are loads.
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We arrive in Manchester to semi-arctic conditions, but warm hostelries and good beer. Yes is now a staple and legendary venue in Manchester, close to Oxford Road and the centre. The Pink Room is exactly that, with a roof terrace that is full despite the chill in the air.
It’s a sell-out and a triumphant return to what is arguably the epicentre of British music. They have good taste in the North West, and they pack out their venues with enthusiasm and verve.
We speak to Caz, the metronomic lynchpin of Desperate Journalist, when very full of curry in Rusholme. She is naturally warm and engaging.
What can you remember from 10 years ago?: “It’s a bit of a blur because we were all so nervous with a lot of it. I had only really just started playing drums. It was super exciting but also nerve-racking. We went to London Calling in the Netherlands around that time which was the biggest thing we’d done, it was on TV, it was amazing. I’d been in bands before but it felt right. It felt like it was going somewhere. We’d had a really good response quite quickly. It was the band we’d all really wanted to be in. I remember people hating the name. Someone refused to come and see us to review us as they were so offended by the name.
Same ambitions?: I don’t think my ambitions have changed that much. I think at the beginning I wanted us to be really big as it was something I’d always dreamed of, but you realise that playing the sort of music we do we aren’t going to be playing huge stadiums, you become realistic. There comes a point when you realise, actually, this is just really nice, we play the gigs we want to play, we do the things we want to do, no one tells us. It pays for itself. We just enjoy it. We have fun doing it. We have a nice following. It would be nice if we didn’t need to have a day job but that’s not realistic, unfortunately. I’ve just become happy with what we do, and grateful we can.
Another 10 years?: I can’t see why not. If we keep being inspired to write more music then it’ll continue. I can’t see us falling out, we’ve been together so long.
With the new record, it wasn’t about being closed-minded but it was about the confidence to know I could do this, play a particular drum beat or a type of music, I was scared of trying something new on No Hero, but once I tried it, I really liked it. I struggle with pushing myself, but with something like ‘Underwater‘, I was nervous about it, but it’s now one of my favourite songs. When recording it, I made a conscious effort not to write every beat and I enjoyed it being more natural. It increased my confidence to be more instinctive.
Do you still enjoy touring?: It’s never a chore, it’s fun. It’s hard, but fun. Getting older, and working full time, it can be tiring, but once you get on that stage you think, this is what I want to do, this is great, I want it to last forever.
Has the industry changed?: I think when we first started, the press and the radio were more important than they are now; we needed it and to have a record label, and it’s brilliant to have a record label, I’m incredibly grateful to be on Fierce Panda, they let us do what we want to do, but it’s moved away from a lot of mediums like the regular press that you used to have.
Services: How can you say anything other than Gloucester on this tour? But Tebay is better than Gloucester. It feels like you’re not next to a motorway.
Stereo/headphones: a French comedy podcast, making myself laugh.
Reading: I have a book but I’ve not started it because I can’t read in the van.
Independent Venue: I’m only thinking about The Garage as we’re playing there next week. I really liked The Exchange in Bristol. The Bodega too. The sound was amazing. A guy called Guy.
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I read someone say the other day that no one ever has a faultless run of albums more than two or three. Well, Desperate Journalist are on five not out. Trying to pick one or two average songs from the 50+ songs on those is nigh on impossible. When you’ve got the cross between Kate Bush, Bjork and Liz Fraser writing lyrics and singing, a guitarist and songwriter, who, on ‘7′ makes Johnny Marr look like a kid fumbling for their first chord, the bastard son of Nicky Wire, Alex James and Tina Weymouth on bass, and a drummer who is the spawn of Lol Tolhurst and Karen Carpenter, you’ve got the best damn band that fuses everything from the best damn bands from the last 60 years of pop music. Oh listen, you eclipse them.
