Listening to ‘The Way the Wind Blows’ is like taking a meandering journey through a world of traditional music. Its strange, driving rhythms and peculiar sounds seem at first odd to the Western ear. But the music slowly wraps itself around you with swirls of hypnotic trumpets, wistful accordion breaths and melancholy vocals and you find yourself in another place entirely, a place where this Gypsy music is the most natural, moving thing in the world.

This music is itself the product of many a journey. I capture Jeremy Barnes, one half of A Hawk and A Hacksaw, the duo who created ‘The Way The Wind Blows’ as he is heading across the UK to another gig. Travelling is something Barnes is well used to, having lived and recorded everywhere from his native Albuquerque to France, New York and even a stint in Leicester, where he found work as a postman. “It was horrible,” he recalls. “But I’m still proud to have the Royal Mail uniform.”

This letter delivering was in between work as a drummer with cult acts Neutral Milk Hotel and Broadcast. In 2002 however, Barnes decided to go his own way, decamping to France to record A Hawk and A Hacksaw’s self-tilted debut. A record made up of rollicking accordion, delicate plucked strings and blustering Kazoos, recalling everything from Kurt Weil to silent movie piano compositions. Essentially a one-man band, Barnes was toe-dipping in waters that would soon run much deeper.

Follow up ‘A Darkness at Noon’ was recorded in Prague before Jeremy journeyed on, this time back to Albuquerque for the first time in ten years. He explains that his movements have always been in the search for music and new horizons: “Being a travelling musician was always intriguing for me. But it was important not to feel like a travelling salesman going bus/hotel/venue/bus. I wanted to meet and work with local musicians, make it more of an adventure.”

Once back in Albuquerque he met the person that would form the other half of A Hawk and A Hacksaw, violinist Heather Trost. Heather was a member of a local Klezmer orchestra – A group of musicians who perform a transplanted version of a traditional Jewish music native to Eastern Europe pre-WWII. Barnes and Trost were obviously made for each other.

How has becoming part of a duo changed things? “Well it’s made things a lot easier. Heather is a great musician to work with and it’s made recording and composing better. The first tour was quite lonely too and I don’t have to worry about that anymore I guess.”

In further pursuit of musical adventure, Jeremy tracked down the manger of legendary Gypsy brass band Fanfare Ciocarlia, who he’d been enamoured with since first hearing them 10 tears ago. Managing to arrange a meeting with him with their manager in Bucharest, Jeremy took out some money and headed over with no guarantees on anything.

The two met and, after discussions over drinks, the manager agreed to take Jeremy to the Romanian village of Zece Prajini where Fanfare Ciocarlia are based – a place of dirt roads and no plumbing that is so remote it appears on no official maps. He set up a studio in the front room of a local house and worked with Fanfare Ciocarlia to create the songs that make up ‘The Way the Wind Blows’. Jeremy says it was a magical experience for him: “I’d always been fascinated with Romanian music and culture and I’d always wanted to see a traditional village. They were so friendly and welcoming too. But I think it worked both ways, they were equally intrigued to have an American amongst them.”

‘A Hawk and A Hacksaw’ is an old phrase that in appears in differing forms in both Hamlet and Don Quixote. Basically you’re defined as mad if you can’t tell the difference between a Hawk and a hacksaw.  It’s a peculiar turn of phrase, but one that seems oddly appropriate for their music. “It’s a mad, ridiculous thing that we love doing,” says Jeremy. “And we hope it carries on.” Ends

By Kenn Taylor

Liverpool loves to think of itself as the capital of pop music, even though that sometimes seems to rely a little too heavily on one particular band. But as we move through our year of culture, one thing seems apparent: The local music scene is the healthiest it’s been for years, with a whole array of brilliant musicians of different stripes gigging around the city and gaining national attention. One such act is Elle S’appelle, a trio who have come a long way in a short time.

The band played their first gig at the Liverpool Barfly on 1^st June last year, and, just one week later, they found themselves named ‘unsigned band of the week’ on Steve Lamacq’s influential BBC 6 Music show. They quickly recorded their debut single, the stunning ‘Little Flame’, and were picked up by Moshi Moshi records, responsible for releasing early efforts by Bloc Party and Kate Nash. Since then, their surreal, speedy pop has been gaining them the attentions of fans and critics all over. That’s an awful lot to cope with for a band less than a year old, but drummer Owen Cox thinks they can cope with it:

“It’s been hard work, but we’ve all been prepared for it. With our old bands we knew what it was going to be like. I think we’d rather have it this way than not have any chance.”

Elle S’appelle, like many of the city’s current crop of acts, are a mixture of locals and students. Andy Donavan, bass player, singer and principal lyricist is “born and bred Liverpool”, Lucy Blakely, singer and keyboardist, is originally from Greasby, Wirral, but moved to the city to study music, as did Norwich-born drummer Owen. They’ve all been involved in making music in the city for a couple of years, but it seems as if it all came together will Elle S’appelle, which is French, by the way, for ‘She is called.’

“I think the three of us, it was just the right time and the right band,” says Andy.

“I think at the time all of our acts were coming to an end and I think we were all looking for the same thing at the same time,” adds Owen.

Their mixing of dynamic rhythms with dirty, carousel keyboards has proved to be a winner, but what really sets Elle S’appelle apart are their lyrics. Dreamy stories that create a depth that keeps you listening once the melody and beat has got hold of you. Principal lyricist Andy puts it down to his chosen reading material:

“I only really read kids books, because I like the fact that they’re aimed at kids. I find a lot of adult literature self-indulgent. I think also, I’ve never been a fan of singing about really current things. I more in my own little world, daydreaming. I don’t like singing about bouncers and clubs and girls on dancefloors. I just like, it sounds dead corny, but people finding their own meaning, just creating imagery and take or leave what it means to me. If you’re too specific, it’s just for you then.”

Despite their success, the trio are not about to rest in their laurels, they’re now undertaking the recording of another EP, and are now about to embark on ‘Bosspop’, a national tour with goFaster >> another great Liverpool act.

Andy elaborates:“I think that the tour is Elle S’appelle and goFaster >> taking Liverpool on the road. Without being cheesy, it’s about showing people what’s happening here. Everyone’s having such a great time and none more so than ourselves and goFaster >>, we share a rehearsal room, play a lot of gigs together and we just have such a laugh with them. It will be like a big holiday.”

Some are viewing Bosspop as more than a tour, rather an example of a contemporary musical movement in Liverpool that includes to varying degrees bands such as Hot Club de Paris, The Wombats, Arms At Last, 28 Costumes, Voo and National School. Lucy explains: “Bosspop is what it is as well. I think a lot of people are scared of pop music because they think it makes them less credible, but I think ‘It’s pop, it’s great, you’ve got to embrace it.’ And I think the phrase Bosspop is great, boss is such a Liverpool word and I think if we didn’t coin it ourselves, the NME, or someone just as cool, would have come up with a more shit word.”

Andy adds: “I just think we’re beating everyone to it, because it’s going to get a name.”

And, unlike many bands, are they not afraid of being pigeonholed into a ‘scene’:

“I think scene is a grossly misunderstood word,” says Lucy, “to us, it’s not really like about being part of a scene, it’s about being mates, helping each other out, having a great time, going to each others gigs and lending each other your van when it breaks down. That’s what a scene means to us, and sort of borrowing musical ideas of each other as well, and being fine with it. It’s just all about being mates really.”

Whatever it is, and whatever you call it, music is good in Liverpool at the moment and Elle S’appelle are a shining example of that. Maybe we are the capital of pop after all.

By Kenn Taylor

“For fuck’s sake” Matthew Smith intercepts yet another phone call during the course of our interview. Not only is he Hot Club de Paris’s guitarist, but at the moment he is also in effect their manager and the band are in big demand.

The Liverpool-based trio released their debut album ‘Drop Till It Pops’ late last year and have been swept up in popularity from fans and critics alike. The band’s original take on quality guitar pop, a combination of off-beat time-signatures, songs structures, and lyrics, has garnered them the attention of everyone from hardened musos to tune-loving teens.

Matthew, like the rest of the band, is surprised at their rapid rise to popularity: “It bowls you over. We did our biggest show in London and there was like 700 there and it literally just blew our minds. We’d just come off stage and 700 kids were going, ‘Hot Club! Hot Club!’. It’s just not what we expected really. It’s essentially just a really humbling experience.”

Far from being the ‘wacky Scousers’ they have been portrayed in some quarters, the band are eloquent, considered and sharp. Despite having a pop sensibility, there’s plenty running underneath their music and they’re keen to talk about it.

Things began for them when Matthew met bass player and lead singer Paul Rafferty on a temporary job serving “Pimms and Smirnoff Ice” at Chester racecourse.

“It was a job that lasted three days or something,” says Paul. “And we spent the whole three days trying to figure out how we’d steal all the money.”

Failing this, forming a band seemed like a good alternative.

“We bonded over the punk stuff that we were both into,” Matthew explains. “Then we sort of went into a thing were we started listening to records and swapping records and started out going down a bit if a different route together and wanting to do different music.”

The trio was completed when Matthew brought his brother Alistair on board as drummer. “I just got used to Paul over time,” he says. “I like him more than I like Matthew now.”

Both brothers are dry as you like and conversation frequently goes off on a strange tangent as they feed off each other’s banter. The holes in my research are revealed when I ask how they first met:

“We met at the old birth race,” remarks Matthew. “Right their in the ‘ozzie I just popped out into his arms. I just shredded the umbilical chord,” returns Alistair.

What set Hot Club apart from the beginning was their desire to do things differently.

They were all out of practice as musicians when they started and so it seems they were more open to going outside tried-and-tested methods.

“That’s how we learned how to be completely democratic,” says Paul. “Because when we started we were all totally shit and I think that’s the best way to do it. I think that why we got good was because we tried, we had to try and do it properly.”

Perhaps what makes their music so enthralling, beyond the fun of their shows and the dynamic excitement of their unusual arrangements, is their lyrics. Everyday situations told in an off-the-wall kind of way, the words of ‘Drop Till It Pops’ add a richness to the record that grows with every listen.  Paul elaborates on his inspiration: “I think the important thing is that real life has got value in songs. There are so many great songwriters that have hit upon describing what happens in real life. There’s kind of like Billy Bragg who can talk his way through the day-to-day workings of a relationship, but then there’s other stuff that doesn’t make sense and you have to get more abstract and metaphorical. I don’t know, real life’s dead good, but you kind of need to make it slightly more interesting.”

Hot Club have created a very unique sound, but how will they push this on for the next record?

“It’s being scaled back more than anything else,” muses Matthew, “we’ve taken it back rather than forward. I use a lot of drone tunings and I used to play like four sweet chords across the drone and stuff on top and I’m still doing that but I’m now just playing one or two notes five times as fast as I used to.”

He quips in: “So many second records are about money or fame.” and Alistair follows up once more: “But ours won’t be because we haven’t got either”

If they carry on at this trajectory, neither is likely to be in short supply in the future.

By Kenn Taylor

There are many bands which claim to have loyal followings, but The Fly questions just how many acts would be able to get paying punters to wait for a boat on a cold, deserted waterfront in the dead of night.

But then British Sea Power are very different. Not for them the seediness of Shoreditch or New Jersey, Jack Daniels and leather-clad groupies, but Scapa Flow and Wiltshire, old sea forts and country inns.

And it is in this spirit that we shiver under the stark orange lights of the Liverpool docks waiting to take a trip on one of the famous Mersey Ferries. But for a blessed change, instead of having to listen to that song while we cruise along, onboard entertainment will be provided by Yan, Noble, Hamilton and Wood – collectively known as British Sea Power – in another of their legendary alternative gigs.

If it’s an unusual gig venue, it’s even more of an unusual interview venue. We meet in a makeshift dressing room below decks. In a big reversal of this show, the following week will see BSP play a gig at the highest pub in Britain. “It’s 1,872ft above sea level,” guitarist Noble informs us. So why there and why here and why can’t they just stick to Barflys and Carlings when touring like everyone else?

“We try and make it fun by doing things like this,” says Noble. “Once you get going it’s a good laugh. When you’ve got things like Tan Hill [That high pub], where you can just cuddle up with a sheep by the fire, makes it worthwhile.”

And according to frontman and principal songwriter Yan, the fans love the unusual venues, “These days’ people just suggest them to us. We used to actively seek them out but now people just say, ‘Oh it’d be brilliant if you played here.’’”

Their choice of venues seems sums up their whole ethos, doing things their own way, writing about what they like, sounding like they want, and playing no rock and roll games. For this, and of course their music, epic but sensitive, clever but heartfelt they have won a dedicated army of fans since they formed at university in Reading at the turn of the last decade. Fans that will follow them everywhere, even onto a nightime cross-river ferry in the middle of winter.

It’s a few years now since their 2003 debut ‘The Decline of British Sea Power’ first gained them attention. Then they almost went stellar with 2005’s bigger and more dynamic ‘Open Season’. But how has British Sea Power changed since their last outing? Latest album ‘Do You Like Rock Music?’ is yet another shift. Still unmistakeably BSP, lost but hopeful, openly English but alternative, epic with the odd rip-roaring chorus, but it’s darker and more experimental.

Yan feels the album is a reflection of the time that we are in:

“Yeah, it’s a bit more apocalyptic, it sounds a bit rawer. It’s just how things are isn’t it? It’s taking things with a bit of a joke as well sometimes; it isn’t doom metal or anything. There’s various stories in there, but in general, the background is the present day, that’s just how things are. At least half the time anyway.”

Despite the darkness, unlike some other artists tackling this subject, ‘Do You Like Rock Music?’ seems to maintain the quiet hope that can be heard through all BSP’s music. “Yeah, it’s because we’re looking forward to the apocalypse.” Yan deadpans. “No, we’re always fairly optimistic people.”

Perhaps this new direction has something to do with where the album was put together. For the first time BSP recorded and mixed trans-continental. In the Czech Republic where they encountered Wild Boar, in Cornwall where they encountered military helicopters landing on the roof and Canada were they encountered ice storms. Was it all as dramatic as its sounds?

“That’s pretty much my memory of it!” says Yan.

But Wild Boar wasn’t the only thing they encountered in the Czech Republic, as Noble explains: “We got some cheap bicycles over there and just cycled around the forest. We saw all sorts. There’s a lot of couples getting it on in the woods. There’s like a little valley with a stream with a load of huts where old people live and mow the lawn in their underpants.”

“Perving on bicycles basically,” adds Yan.

It all sounds very much a British Sea Power scene. But has the recording process, travelling around the world, affected their material? What influence has it had on such a defiantly ‘English’ band?

“I’d say travel broadens your appreciation of home,” says Yan. “It’s nice to get away though really. It’s just more fun than going to a modern studio in London.”

Another shift in British Sea Power has been the line-up. Eamon Hamilton, who joined in 2002, left to concentrate on his successful side project Battle. Yan explains he was sorely missed:

“The main thing I miss with his little bare feet and his big bass drum. And having a bit of fun with him”

Despite the obvious devotion of their fans, the band are not afraid to challenge them occasionally. The title of their new record is a case in point.

“On the one hand it’s kind of a joke. In terms of it’s meant to be quite stupid,” explains Yan, “we’re quite well-known for having clever titles, and we kind of got bored with that. And we like to piss off some of our more keen fans now and again, just for a laugh.”

But as ever, deep down they’re sincere: “But mostly it’s about, well, to us rock music should be something massive and moving and beautiful, and normally it isn’t. It seems to be in a bit of a bad way, it needs a bit of help. And we’re trying to expand, not in terms of the way like Radiohead would like in technology or whatever, but more in terms of subject matter, and just sort of sound in general and how it can relate to what’s going on in the song. To prop up rock music and bring it back to where it should be really.”

With British Sea Power fighting its corner, it seems English rock music may still have a chance.

By Kenn Taylor