EC Rocker
February 12, 1992
Interview: Robyn Hitchcock
by Rob O'Connor
Always a cult artist about to make the breakthrough, Robyn Hitchcock -- with his knack for absurd-yet-insightful lyrics; catchy, hook-filled melodies; and unpretentious arrangements -- is touring with his band The Egyptians, in support of his (depending on how you count it) 12th solo album, Perspex Island. Since leaving The Soft Boys at the onset of the '80s, Robyn has written more should-be hits than any songwriter left of Elvis Costello.
Though in the past his interviews were marked by long soliloquies regarding flesh and fish, nowadays Robyn's trying to set the record straight with thoughtful replies that pertain to the questions at hand. Then again, maybe I just happened to call at the right time.
Let's start back in 1986 with Element Of Light. Every interview I've read with you skips that record as if it didn't happen.
Element Of Light, hmmm. Well, after Fegmania!, I remember we were sticking it together and the songs didn't seem as strong. I thought, "This isn't any good." I think we threw all the songs out from that. All the songs ended up on the CD. In those days we put extra tracks on the CD. But the real thing was the vinyl album. In the end, some of it was very good, but a couple of tracks didn't work -- like "The President" and "Lady Waters". "Lady Waters" was good live, but boring on record. I think the last song on each side lets it down. Although there are things I really like -- "Airscape" and "Raymond Chandler Evening" and "Somewhere Apart". We still play them.
What happened with "The President"?
"The President" was great when I first wrote it. It was meant to sound very fragile -- like Tom Petty trying to sound like McGuinn -- but it came off sounding like something thumpy and just, sort of, clumped. It lost the vulnerability it was supposed to have, and I don't know if that was the band (or what).
After Element was Globe Of Frogs. Did going to a major label affect the outcome?
It didn't make any difference initially. What it was was, kind of, midway through Element, I had trouble writing. After writing "Airscape", I just had trouble. Nothing new was coming in. Globe Of Frogs was a writer's block: me, kind of, recycling things. Making things up, and being pumped up by Andy [Metcalfe, bass] and Morris [Windsor, drums]. "Chinese Bones" is a good song. I feel the songwriting got worse from Fegmania! to Element to Frogs. In '88 things picked up for various reasons. Songs on the last three [Queen Elvis, Eye, Perspex Island] have been good. Frogs was really the nadir. But that doesn't really matter, because people liked "Balloon Man". And the hard-core fans disapproved because it was on a major label. But they disapproved anyway, so at least we gave them something worth disapproving of.
Queen Elvis you approve of?
I listened to it a few months ago, and I thought it sounded good. Maybe it could've been better mixed. We didn't know how. If [Perspex Island producer] Paul Fox had mixed it, he might've known where to put it all. It sounds a bit cluttered. I like it. It's a shocked record. I was in a state of extreme shock when I made it. I don't know if that comes through. Then I settled down gradually with Eye and Perspex Island.
Why were you in shock during Queen Elvis?
Just various personal reasons. Things gradually settled down by Perspex Island. There were lots of aftershocks. The land slipped.
When did Cynthia [Current friend-girl] enter the picture (whom you dedicated Perspex to)?
When did Cynthia enter the picture? Well, when do you think Cynthia entered the picture?
From what you're saying, I would say Queen Elvis. But from the records, I'd say it's Eye.
You're right. Cynthia was wondering. No, Queen Elvis was shock, but she wasn't actually there. She turns up around Eye.
You didn't write "Raining Twilight Coast" for her?
No, I wrote that years ago. It should have gone on I Often Dream Of Trains. I wrote that for Van Morrison. It was meant to sound like Veedon Fleece. There's something really boring about it when I play it live. (Not Veedon Fleece, I mean. The song.) It's, kind of, irretrievably dull. It shouldn't be, since it has a lot of good bits in it. Maybe I'll try it with me playing piano (or something).
Is everything in standard tuning?
Yeah. Once in a while I'll drop to a D, or tune one of the bottom two strings down. If I play it live I have to tune differently. But I don't play it live.
How does Perspex Island work?
I think it's pretty self-evident. It works well. The songs work well to sing. The recording sounds a bit lamer than live. I'm struggling to say something interesting about it since I've done hundreds of interviews. The record takes place. What can I really say? I think it's at least not an attempt to make the same record over and over again. I think mostly it's an uncynical record -- considering I've been alive and all the things I've done and what's happened to me. Whereas, when I was younger and less experienced, I was extremely cynical. I also think it's got some nice basslines and drum fills.
Actually, Richard C. Walls in Musician wrote that the album had the best basslines he'd heard in some time.
Well, I guess it does. But I think Andy's had a lot of good basslines. "Winchester" is practically a bass solo all the way through. There's almost a separate song on the bass, if you listen. Now, the bass is more homogenous. He's playing closer to what I'm singing. Kind of, parallel, interpreting. He blends in better.
Were you thinking of "The Bells Of Ryhmney" when you were writing "So You Think You're In Love"?
No, I was thinking of "So You Think You're In Love". The chords are very different. "So You Think You're In Love" is in E and "Rhymney" is in D. "Rhymney" is something much more plane-ing along smoothly. "So You Think You're In Love" bops up and down a lot more -- like a jalopy bouding over the hills in an old cartoon, going up and down.
Have you been writing much since Perspex Island?
Yeah, always writing stuff. It's a question of what you do with it, really. I'm about 20 songs into the next album -- but bear in mind that last time we had 40 songs. And we used 11. So it's quite possible that we won't use any of the songs I've written.
Do you bring them to rehearsals? Or do you demo them?
I give them a tape. I'm reluctant to say what we're going to do because saying is always a substitute for doing. People always rattle on about what they're going to do and it never happens. Suffice to say there are some songs around. The only thing I do on the demos is harmony. I have a bass, but I don't have a multitrack machine. It's not like with Pete Townshend, where he says, "Okay, you do this and you do that." If that were the case, I'd just use machines. I don't necessarily know what a song needs. Sometimes I like to make a record when I'm the only person on it -- and what it's like free of other people's ideas. I would never come up with ideas Andy does. Or Morris. Andy is a much more assertive player. Morris just holds it all together (and does so very well).
How did Paul Fox work out as a producer?
What he did was he was, sort of, a father-figure for us. He'd be there to complain to -- and someone we could perform to (all the things you expect from a parent).
But he understands.
Yeah. He's not going to smack you. If he was manipulating us, it was quite subtle. (Of course, good manipulation alwasy is.) He was there. He was good. He had it all numbered. It meant it wasn't just us. We didn't have to be responsible. We didn't have to keep rusing in after every take, putting our headphones on, and rusing into the studio to play it back. We could rely on someone else to say, "Do it again, that was great." All the classic stuff. "Hey, that was brilliant. Why don't you try one more?" Little things like that that put you in a good mood.
How many weeks did you spend recording this one?
We recorded it in four or five weeks, and spent quite some time mixing it. I don't know if it shows or not. We spent something frightening -- like 50 times the money we'd spent on Element Of Light. I, for one, don't like doing that. I like to spend little money and make it back. This was the one where we were offered the budget and we said, "Let's do everything as extravagantly as possible." Drive five times around the studio in a limousine before going in. That sort of thing. We didn't use a really expensive studio. Suffice to say, it was expensive.
Do you ever take vacations, or do you just keep touring?
No, we don't really take vacations. We are a vacation, basically.
Don't you ever get tired of doing what you're doing?
Sure, don't you? Does a ghost get tired of going down holes? We just do it, really. I get tired trying to explain it to people. It's just music. When we come to play, it's just a bunch of Rock songs. Then we play some acoustic songs. And Andy plays piano and acoustic bass. Things like that. Morris plays brushes and harmonies. And we have a big jam session at the end. It's basically a musical evening. That's what it's about. It's not about trying to offer some off-kilter attitude toward life. (Any more than the Grateful Dead are. Or Fairport Convention, or The Band were.) I mean, hopefully, we're not totally boring to watch. It's not like there's no personality involved. But fundamentally, it's music. That's all it's about.
Do you ever find yourself -- I guess, mostly acoustic -- getting bored
No, acustically, never. You have to hold everyone's attention. You have to play the song yourself. There's no one to fall back on. It keeps you on your toes. Playing electric, it's more of an effort: you have to sway around and sweat, and rock (all that kind of thing). Electrically, it's easy to hide behind other people. Acoustically, you're right out front, no one to protect you (except, possibly, the audiences' misconceptions). I never drift off. I used to drift off in the old days. I was waiting to die. I was waiting for a hand to pull me offstage and crush me. I'm not really so bothered now. I guess because it hasn't happened. I just assumed the hand would come down. But it doesn't seem to. But maybe that's a foolish thing to tell you, because now it will.
What would you rather talk about than music?
Anything you like -- except football. Any form of sport, in fact. It doesn't matter.
How's the weather?
It's dark and cold. There was a beautiful sunset this evening. Cynthia and I went out to watch it. Flaming orange and pink. Desolate and exciting. One of those days when you're really glad you weren't dropped into the sea from one hundred feet and have to swim to the shore (because you'd surely freeze and die if it got dark).
Why don't you move to America?
We commute, really. We live here and basically work there (although we've started to work in England again). The main interest is in The States.
Why's that?
I don't know. The sun sets in the West, I suppose. You always wind up in California -- like the Eagles.
Do you have a certain time of day when you write?
Yeah. Warly in the morning. First thing in the morning is best, because I'm fresh and I have some tea. Some people are creative late at night, and I'm not. It all comes out very fast.
To me your records always sound like winter. I don't know why that is. But they sound just like they were recorded in the wintertime. Especially "Winchester". I always hear the snow falling.
That's funny. It's supposed to sound like twilight in May. It shouldn't be winter. Maybe it has something to do with sounding English -- then so you think of Old World, and therefore you think of wintertime. Monks and frozen kings (and all the rest of it).
Well, the sun doesn't shine over there, does it?
Well, not in the dark. But we get as much sunlight as you do. In fact, midwinter probably is warmer here. We actually get a lot of sunlight here. We're down on the South Coast.
A friend of mine (who's interviewed you several times) told me not to ask you anything personal because you won't answer it. Why?
It's not really relevant. Besides, you've already asked about my personal life. You already asked about Cynthia (and that's pretty personal). People used to ask me how much money my father makes (and things like that). They're out of line, basically. I mean, you obviously ask questions based on what's relevant to the work. And I've always said you shouldn't confuse an artist with their art. Picasso didn't look like his paintings. Salvador Dali did at one point, but he was a bit of a ham. My songs and paintings are extrapolated from me -- something that comes out when you cook it. It's like a toxin. But they're not me. The life that I lead and the life that Cynthia and I lead (and our friends) -- it's not really relevant. It's like when people don't have anything else to wonder about, they wonder what George Bush has for breakfast. What kind of toilet paper does Michael Jackson use? Does he have a rectum? It doesn't really matter.
You might want to look at the soil a plant is planted in to figure out why it produces. But if you dissect me, you'll find there's absolutely nothing left in the end. I'll just be a series of little pieces on a board. But you won't be able to put me back together again.
I think people who are trying to find out about your personal life are trying to find a way to prevent someone like you from happening again.
[Laughs] Good. I don't think someone like me has happened before. Everybody only happens once.
When you're on tour, is everybody nice to you?
I've often thought there should be a school of abuse for Rock stars -- but I said that before I spent a lot of time touring. Frankly, you get so pulverised. In a way, a Rock musician is a very spoiled creature. They usually degenerate (unless they develop some sort of routine to insure that they have some moral fibre -- like jogging or abstinence or The Bible (or something)). On the other hand, there are people making demands on you the whole time. In the end, you end up being not very nice to other people. Not maliciously, but because you have so many people coming up to you.
People don't come up to me very often and say, "Fuck you, you limey asshole." But they don't have to. All they have to do is say, "Robyn, what are you made of?" It's enough, really.
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