“I’m a good little American consumer“
In the second part of this exclusive interview, John Grant tell us about making peace with his past, his hoarder tendencies, and why the UK produces the best music.
Photographer Hörður Sveinsson
John Grant’s new album The Art Of The Lie (Bella Union) came out last week to almost universal acclaim (including my glowing review in this month’s Record Collector).
On the album – his sixth – John seamlessly melds 1970s AOR with cutting-edge electronica to opulent and exquisite effect. As always, his smooth and sonorous voice is front and centre, while sonically he revels in the synthetic sounds of John Carpenter, Laurie Anderson, The Art of Noise, Vangelis, and Yello. Lyrically, he doesn’t hold back dealing with themes of religious indoctrination, child-parent relationships, and the MAGA-fication of his home country. As always though, there’s an undercurrent of dark humour as well unflinching self-examination. It’s an excellent piece of work.
I spoke to John back in April from his home in Iceland via Zoom, and in this second instalment of our chat we delve into the lyrical content and the deeply personal stories behind the songs. You may want to have a hanky close to hand.
A new texture on this album is the vocoder. It quite prominent, but used in a very textured and subtle way.
I just think it’s the most beautiful thing in the world. It sounds like a robot mourning the past, yearning for its childhood, for a time before technology. There’s something so melancholy in the sound of a vocoder for me. The song ‘Laura Lou’ was birthed because of my deep love for vocoder. And then that solo in the middle sounds like those little green creatures from the 80s video game Q*Bert. So that sort of harkens back to my love of playing video games at the mall and hanging out with my dear friend Laura, who I sometimes called Laura Lou. We went to school together in Germany, and she’s been one of my closest people for many decades. When we first met she was sort of amused by me, because I was just this ignorant American kid, so immature, so unknowledgeable about the world, but I spoke incredible German. I was fascinated by German music – Nina Hagan and Einstürzende Neubauten particularly – and because I had this great aptitude for the German language, it was sort of a savior for me. So I went over to Germany, and I was not prepared for the shock of dealing with all these extremely well-educated Germans. Laura kind of kept me in check, and I just had to make a song for her because she’s such an important part of my life.
To my ears quite a lot of the songs seem lyrically of a piece, as if they were written quickly and in a short space of time.
That’s interesting but not true, though. I think my whole life has had this theme of trying to make peace with the past, trying to make sense of where I come from, and my place in the world. And on this record, some of the songs took forever to come; for example all the verses for ‘Meek AF’ took forever. But I’ve reached the point where I feel confident in the process, I know it’ll come when it’s ready. I just have to let the concept marinate a little bit until I can find the right words; sometimes they come one by one, and sometimes they come all at the same time.
‘The Child Catcher’ took me forever to get the lyrics to as well. The first part came really easily, but the second verse and chorus took forever because I just wasn’t sure what to do. The character in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang is pretty grotesque, when he shows up in this carriage adorned with all these ribbons and fake flowers and lollies and sweets, like a little candy shop on wheels. And he lures the children inside this sugar Mecca, then pulls a string, and all of those trappings and beautiful objects fall away and they’re in a metal cage. I think it’s an excellent metaphor for what happens when you aggressively market shit to young children, because they spend the rest of their lives addicted to stuff that kills them. It’s no wonder we’re all fucking batshit crazy – we live in a world where it’s okay to spend billions of dollars doing research to make sure that children become hooked to products, and that’s just seen as good business. It makes me think of words like ‘evil’, it makes me think of a fucking horror movie.
There are several songs that dwell on the parent child relationship.
‘Father’ and ‘Daddy’ are both about me. They’re the child viewing the relationship to the father through different prisms. ‘Father’ is like a little Terrence Mallick movie for me because what I describe in that first verse happened exactly like that. We were back in Michigan for my grandmother’s funeral, and when we were leaving to go to the airport, my brother Dan noticed our old family home, which was right across the street from my grandmother’s house, was sitting empty with the door open. There was this beautiful snow falling and no lights on inside the house, and it turned out the people who lived there had just moved and left everything open. So my brother and I went into this little house that my father built ground up with his own two hands, and walked through all of the rooms where I experienced things that I’m still writing about over 40 years later.
That must have been amazing. Most people would love to go back to their childhood home and reminisce.
It was overwhelming. And it’s a huge song for me, because it encompasses so many big ideas. Walking through that house and thinking about what I’ve become, and where I am out in the world now. Walking down the stairs where I sat in the ‘70s, being blown away by Captain & Tennille’s ‘Love Will Keep Us Together’ on a little transistor radio and hearing my brothers listening to The Beach Boys and playing pool down in a room at the bottom. And to the left of that was where my father’s old workshop was, and the workbench that he had built, which I never thought I’d see again. Thinking about him standing there in his workshop, and when I walked into the room, he’d turn around and hold out his arms and call me by my nickname ‘Quattro’. And thinking about the sadness of not being close to my father anymore and all the pain of him never being able to accept my sexuality, which was a big part of why I couldn’t make peace with who I am.
It seems inconceivable that a parent would do that to their child, even in a conservative Methodist household such as the one you grew up in.
People were always talking about how homosexuality is an abomination, and I was being judged through the prism of the Bible, which meant that I was one of the worst things I could become. I’ve said this in so many interviews – so maybe you can watch this later if you’re having trouble with insomnia [laughs] – but I think it’s important for people out there who are going through this. The disconnect that happens when the people you love can’t accept you as you are, is a horrible and terrifying betrayal. And in my case, I was willing to do anything to change and not be the thing I was becoming. It was like a body horror movie and those themes are always in my music. Other people seemed to know what I was and told me about it before I could deal with it myself. So I also have this rage inside of me, because of the disgusting arrogance of people screaming something so personal about who you are. And then you have to turn around in shame and say, “Yeah, I guess they’re right, it’s true what they’re saying, how does how does everyone fucking know this?” Perhaps I was a particularly sensitive child or something because who knows. A lot of gays – especially in England it seems – if their families didn’t accept them, they’re just like, “Cool! Later! Fuck off!” That doesn’t seem to happen in America.
I don’t think Christianity is so tied up with national identity over here as it is in the US.
If you believe in God and have been taught that God is the same as the American flag, then you’re betraying not only your family and God, but also your country. So you’re being told – very kindly and with love – that there isn’t a place in society for people like you, because it’s wrong and it’s bad and it’s disgusting and it’s an abomination. And I’m telling you, this shit sort of broke my mind. I wasn’t able to function under the burden of all that knowledge, and all that supposed truth. Although that’s not really the point of the song, I mention it when I say, “Now the people who sang Jesus loves me, this I know / Have chosen someone else because of the Bible told them so / The laws of men aren’t good enough for them, they want their book to be / The only one allowed, but not all of it, just the OT [Old Testament].” I’m particularly proud of that line because I’ve been trying to write it my whole fucking life.
But despite all of that pain, at the end of it all, sometimes all I truly yearn for is to be held by my father again because I still love him. It’s really heavy that song.
And ‘Daddy’ is almost even heavier because it’s more from the perspective of a child. I talk in the song about, “I know that it’s inevitable that you must deliver me to them”, to my detractors or whatever. I must be handed over and taken to the gallows because I’m an abomination. It’s quite layered because it’s also about how I relate to men out in the world, and am I searching for my father in the men that I love? Everybody – gay, straight, trans, whatever – we’re all affected by our relationships with our parents, and how we go out into the world and interact with the people who we choose for our lovers and spouses. Those things are sort of inextricably linked, wouldn’t you say?
For sure. Whether you accept them or reject them.
Absolutely. So ‘Daddy’ is a really powerful one for me and it’s almost too much, because it’s saying, “You love me, don’t you? You wouldn’t give me up to them, would you?” And the answer is, "Yes, I would because even though you’re my son and I love you this cannot be.” Anyway, sorry for the babble!
I’m all about the babble! And the back stories really enhance the understanding of those songs. You’ve definitely captured something on those tracks – to take something so intensely personal and yet make the emotional resonance is so universal, that’s quite the trick.
You couldn’t really plan it, that’s something that just had to happen on its own. It shows what happens when you persevere with an idea and don’t give up just because it took a really long time for all of the pieces to fall into place. It took 10 months to finally put all the pieces together for those songs. It was a very difficult birth if you will.
Is such tenaciousness something that comes naturally to you?
No, it doesn’t come naturally to me at all. I’m not a patient fellow, I’m very American in that sense. It’s one of our most annoying qualities, that we want everything right now. Of course, there are many very, very disciplined Americans as well – I mean, we do send a team to the Olympics! But another part of what this album is about is that I am a perfect product of the American system, and the brokenness of that system. This album is me pointing the finger and being angry and enraged by all this religiosity and piety, through which I’ve been judged and condemned my whole life. And then also realising that to a great extent, I’m folded in on myself like the house at the end of Poltergeist because I can’t deal with the weight of it all.
You’ve lived in Iceland for 12 years now, what perspective does that give you on what is happening in the US? Do you do you still feel American?
Well, another part of this record is that I am inescapably and completely saturated with everything that is happening over there. I’m a good little American consumer, and if I weren’t careful, I’d become a hoarder. Have you ever watched the show Hoarders? Let me tell you something, it is emotional. Because these people are literally willing to never see their children again, as long as they don’t have to throw away a bag of rotting meat that nobody can use. They are literally willing to never see their children again, and not see their grandchildren in order to have their stuff. Sure, it sounds absurd but it’s real and it’s happening all over the place, this beast that we’ve created in the form of unadulterated, unbridled, free-market capitalism or whatever the fuck it’s called. People are like, “Oh, so I guess, you won’t be enjoying any of the things that this country has afforded you?” And I’m like, Well, no, but neither do I think Hitler was good because he made the Autobahn! Maybe it’s like the relationship of a mother to their child who’s a heroin addict. I have a deep, deep love for the States, and I am unmistakably American, even though I’ve spent a large portion of my life learning foreign languages, living in foreign cultures, and trying to get away from it to a great extent. But then the older you get, the more you realise that a lot of what makes you who you are is the place you come from, so it’s not something that you can get away from ever really.
How are you planning on presenting the album when you take it out on the road in October?
It’s going to be stripped down, with be some good old acoustic instrument playing, but there’s also going to be beautiful rendering of samples and stuff. It’s going to be interesting. For years, I’ve watched Roisin Murphy and Moloko and just marvelled at her live band. I was always like, Who the fuck is the MD of this band? And it turns out, it’s this guy named Eddie Stevens. One day, I was talking about it in the studio and bassist Robin Malarkey said, “Oh, I played with Roisin for 10 years, I know Eddie, I can introduce you to him.” So I texted Eddie and I was like, Hey man, I feel I have to work with you because I need somebody to help me get my show to where it needs to be. So we’re now working together. But this Eddie guy, man, he is he’s incredible. He came in, listened to the record and was totally into it, and said that he would love to help me. I’m really excited about it, not just for the new material but the older songs too. I want him to get a hold of ‘Disappointing’ because I know that he can give it the superstar treatment. I never really liked the way that song was done, which is why I never play it live, because I didn’t think it was I was doing it justice. So hopefully with Eddie I’ll revisit that.
I love ‘Disappointing’ – it’s the best Associates record that the Associates never wrote.
Wow, that’s a beautiful, beautiful compliment, man. Thank you.
So here’s one of my pet questions: B-sides don’t really exist anymore, but I always think they were a very important part of an artist’s development, where they could experiment and try things out. If B-sides were to make a comeback, what kind of B-sides do you think you would make?
Well, they would be incredible! I have always felt quite ashamed that I’ll never be able to release a B-sides and rarities record. When I’m making an album I have a vision for a theme and I make exactly the number of songs that I need for that vision, and if one or two don’t get used, I use them on the next record. I’m just not very prolific. I’m not like Prince – in many ways – but I watch a lot of stuff about him, and man, that dude blows me away. He was crazier than a shithouse rat but...
Anyway, there’re so many bands that have all their rarities and their B-sides and everything, and good for them. But if I were to have them, I would want them to be as good as Cocteau Twins B-sides were. There was never any crap, you know, those Lullabies to Violaine compilations, practically every track on there is a gem. For example, ‘Watchlar’ which was the B-side to ‘Iceblink Luck’, that’s what my B-sides would be like. That album Heaven to Las Vegas is so incredible, there’s nothing like it in the whole world. And you can say that about a lot of things that come out of your country music wise. Every time I talk to somebody like you, I just feel so grateful to be able to be considered somebody who’s a part of the whole thing. Because the UK is where the lion’s share of the music that I love has come from, and it’s incredible, this vast catalogue of indispensable music that has come out of one tiny country.
The Art of the Lie is out now on Bella Union, and you can buy the double pink vinyl version here.
#Nowwatching
I watch Breaking Glass every couple of years and I honestly feel that, as a time capsule for the early 80s, it’s a bit of lost classic.
It captures a London I remember but one that doesn’t exist anymore. Dingy (and dangerous) music venues, old tube trains, a skyscraper-free skyline, run-down Peabody estates, tatty recording studios; all things that have been gentrified out of existence.
As well as capturing the capital during the period, it also shows the clashes between the different musical tribes and - in an admittedly heavy handed way - the political divisions of the time.
And it’s grimy AF too: it doesn’t hold back on the desperation and squalor of being in a band trying to make a career out of music. Living hand-to-mouth in squats and being ripped off by venues and promotors alike.
I also love how the characters are constantly telling each to “piss off”. It’s the perfect rejoinder - I think I might resurrect it.
This time around I watched it with my 14-year-old son who has musical aspirations, and it struck me how archaic the model of the music industry it portrays must seem to him. It would’ve been like me watching Expresso Bongo or some such back in 1981. Hazel O’Connor’s character’s assertion that, “She doesn’t want a record contract” seems faintly ridiculous in the context of the film, but for those starting out now it’s a viable career path. All the notions of artistic control and avoiding the industry espoused by Breaking Glass have come to pass.
Plus, like all early 80s UK films about youth culture, it has an admirably down beat ending that still packs a punch. I look forward to watching it again in another few years.
Further reading
Just a quick plug for a piece I wrote for The Quietus to commemorate the 40th anniversary of Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds debut album From Her To Eternity. It’s one of my favourite records, so it was an absolute joy to get stuck into the making of it and how it has endured over the past four decades.
The piece been really well received too, with former NME journalists James Brown and Mat Snow – who both knew Cave and wrote about him back in the day – being very complimentary. Very humbling.
I’m really proud of it, so if you’ve not had a chance to read it, you can find it here.
For those who read to the end…
Thanks as always for reading and, hopefully, subscribing.
Thanks to those who have opted for a paid subscription – it really helps with covering the costs of putting this all together. If you’ve enjoyed the Dancing Architect so far you may want to consider making a donation. There are various options available, but even a couple of quid would be most welcome.
The next post will be along in a couple of weeks, and will feature a full transcript from the archives with an artist who’ll be familiar to anyone who’s picked up a copy of my Some Bizzare book, Conform to Deform (Jawbone Press).
But that’s for the future. It’s great to get feedback so please feel free to leave a comment, and do tell your friends about what I’m doing here. Cheers!