“Synths have quite an effect on me below the waist”
John Grant on electronica, indoctrination and why we should tell our heroes what they mean to us
John Grant loves electronic music – really loves it. Yet it took a long time for analogue synths and electronic textures to find their way into his own music. After spending almost a decade with indie rock band the Czars, and then breaking through with his debut solo album The Queen of Denmark in 2010, it was on 2013’s Pale Green Ghosts where he revealed his modular moves. Since then he’s fully embraced his synthesised nature, with his most recent album The Boy From Michigan [2021] his most electronic yet.
I spoke to John on 18 May 2022, ostensibly for my Some Bizzare book, but it soon turned into an informal chat about the groundbreaking and transgressive artists from the late 70s and early 80s who we both love. John was in London to present a Visionary Award at the Ivor Novellos, although he was cagey about who he was giving it to at first. He was also very jet-lagged – in fact, I woke him up when I called – but he soon got into his stride and was an absolute gent; passionate, smart, and erudite, I could’ve talked to him for hours.
Hi, John, sorry I woke you up. What are you doing in London?
Oh, no problem. I'm here to give an award at the Ivor Novellos. I'm not sure whether I can tell you who it is or not though!
That’s OK. So, I’m just finishing a book on Some Bizzare, and I’m talking to musicians who have been influenced by the artists that were on the label and the records they put out. Your albums since Pale Green Ghosts suggested to me that might be the case for you, and Creepshow [with Stephen ‘Mal’ Mallinder of Cabaret Voltaire] kind of clinched it. What was your first experience of those British electronic bands?
Man, it would have had to have been Soft Cell’s Tainted Love. It was everywhere. I would have been 13 or 14, something like that. It just grabbed my attention immediately. I was just starting to become aware of that sort of thing. Eurythmics too – I remember hearing Sweet Dreams for the first time, and the synths having quite an effect on me, y’know, below the waist [laughs].
There was a proliferation of synth duos at that time, wasn’t there? Eurythmics, Soft Cell, Yazoo. Even Cabaret Voltaire were a duo by that point – what was your first exposure to their music?
It would have been [1984 single] Sensoria; that was everywhere in the States, it was such a huge track. Not in the mainstream but the clubs that I was going to. I first heard it there and then immediately tried to get my hands on anything that I could. It's funny because when I came to England, people would always talk about Nag Nag Nag [Cabaret Voltaire’s 1979 single for Rough Trade] and I was quite unaware of that. The Crackdown [1983] and Microphonies [1984] albums were pretty much the centre of the universe for me for quite some time. The 12” singles from that period too; specimens like James Brown [1985] with Bad Self (Part One) on the other side, and Just Fascination [1983]. God, I love that track so much, it's giving me goosebumps thinking about it. It's one of the greatest things I've ever heard and always will be, y'know. They had such a huge impact on me – when I heard Do Right for the first time I just lost my marbles.
The song Pale Green Ghosts describes you driving back home late at night. Would that have been from one of those clubs?
Well, it's me coming back from a club where I would have been listening to that stuff. I had a car that just had an AM radio on it and there was a period of several weeks, where there was this station that was playing nothing but the sound of the ocean. And I remember just coming back from clubs listening to that. And of course, the track Pale Green Ghosts definitely has its roots in that music, especially the Cabs. It's directly influenced by [1987 single] Don't Argue. The 12” of that is one of my all-time favourite things, the artwork is so incredible. I have three or four copies and framed one of them.
When you had the opportunity to work with Mal, I'm guessing that was like all of your Christmases come at once.
Oh, absolutely, It was a dream come true for me – and it's still happening. You probably know what a great guy he is, he's an absolute gem of a human being. And he's still making incredible music on his own as a solo artist. He's got one of my favourite voices in the world and I keep telling him when I hear him sing, it's like a warm blanket for me. He's hugely important, he's royalty.
When I saw the pair of you with Creepshow in Brighton [2019] you played Sensoria as an encore, and I couldn’t tell who was happier, you or the audience.
That was a high point of my entire life. It's funny, I think things always move so fast, you have to move on to the next thing and worry about what's coming up, and I sometimes forget this is all sort of like a dream for me.
For a piece in Esquire you chose Einsturzende Neubauten's Drawings of Patient OT [1983] as an album recommendation. What's your relationship with their music?
I started listening to that around probably 1985. I had an interest in the German language and Einsturzende Neubauten were part of that. They were sort of scary to me. It was a strange thing, because I was this sheltered, church kid living out in the middle of nowhere, but when I discovered all these sounds, I felt like I’d died and gone to heaven. At the same time I was also developing this love of horror movies, and I remember listening to Drawings of OT as if it was a horror movie soundtrack. I hadn't discovered Halber Mensch [1985] yet, although that’s my favourite now. But Drawings of Patient OT was the one that I listened to over and over again. I was in awe of it and scared of it too. I loved telling people about it, “These guys are using industrial tools on the stage!” and getting all excited about it. It just fascinated me that a band would do what they did.
I was really into Test Dept too, still am. I had that beautiful piece of vinyl that folded out into a giant cross – The Unacceptable Face of Freedom [1986] – I can't tell you how much I love that record. It's still one of my favourites. And you know what? Totally missed Foetus until recently, I don't know why, because all of his stuff is amazing.
JG Thirlwell [AKA Foetus] is a bit of a genius.
Yeah! A good friend of mine was saying to me recently, "How much Foetus vinyl do you have?" And I'm like, “I don't have any, I don't think I ever listened to him”. And he just about lost his shit on the phone. So, I immediately went to Spotify and started listening to it. And I don't know how I missed it at the time because that guy’s mind is right up my alley. The kind of words that he uses, his sense of humour and the way he puts things together. So, that's a pretty exciting for me to have something that good to discover, right now, at this age.
Aside from what you were hearing in the clubs, how were you discovering things like this?
That's a good question. I was always looking for magazines that had alternative and college charts in them. I don't think Neubauten would have been in those because they were even more off the beaten path than that, but I discovered Nina Haagen that way. I just completely lost the plot over her [1982 album] NunSexMonkRock. I always cite that as my favourite record because it blew my mind. I also would go to record stores and search these things out. I did my research, going through the alternative music section. That’s how I found Coil, who I'm a huge fan of as well. [1986 single] Anal Staircase was something heard in the clubs too and immediately went and bought that. And I still have it, and [1986 album] Horse Rotovator at my place in Iceland. I don't have the Scatology album [1984] or the Tainted Love EP [1984] anymore, and I need to get my hands on them again. But I had all of those, and of course I'm a Chris & Cosey freak, too, I can't get enough of that. It's still a huge part of my life, all of this music. I haven't heard anything better; you know what I'm saying? I really have not – it's the stuff that really, really hits my core.
You're obviously a connoisseur, yet it wasn't really until Pale Green Ghosts that anything like the Cabs or Chris & Cosey influence could be heard in your music. When you found a way to channel those sounds, it must have been very liberating for you.
It was and I'm still in the throes of it. Working with Biggi Veira from [Icelandic electronic act] GusGus on that record was huge for me, particularly on songs like the title track, Black Belt, and SNAG. There's a song on Love is Magic [2018] called Tempest, which I've started playing live again. And some things on The Boy From Michigan that make me feel like I'm getting close to creating on the level that the people who made the music which changed my life were back then.
But with the electronic influences, it's not that I don't know how to do it. It's that I have such a huge range of influences; from the classical music that I played growing up, the syrupy ballads from the 70s, the synths – I want all of it together in my music. I feel like I'm slowly starting to find my voice by putting all this stuff together into this sort of a mutant hybrid.
Will your more extreme tastes like Neubauten and Coil eventually find their way onto a John Grant album?
I love experimental noise, it truly, truly makes sense to me. That's the sound of the world, the sound of the human experience, because it's very chaotic. When you walk through the streets, if you were to put all the sounds that you hear together – all the snippets of conversation, the different languages, radios coming out of shops, construction, cars, all the machines – it would sound like that. All the sounds, I can't get enough of it, it’s so beautiful. I don't know if I’d do it as a John Grant record, but I need to do a record of noise. Of course, because of the Queen of Denmark record, there are all these voices, people are yelling at me, "What is this fucking electronic shit again?" I just have to ignore it, because they don't realise that that's where my heart has always been.
A lot of people from the post-punk era, particularly in the UK, were either self-taught or non-musicians, so they had no restrictions imposed upon them from the start. I think sometimes musical training can inhibit experimentation and it can be difficult to throw off the rudiments and theory.
That’s so true. A lot of these guys had no fear, and they experimented because there was no wrong way of doing it. You know, I grew up playing classical piano, and there’s only wrong ways of doing everything. And it's wild when I'm giving birth to something new creatively, I have to throw all that shit off of myself every time, still. I thank God for these people who were completely unafraid.
I have so much shit to wade through to get to the point where I can even create because I was so conditioned to think that all this stuff was evil, for real. I was not to go anywhere near it or have anything to do with it, and that if I were, I would be evil myself, which would separate me from my family. I was so indoctrinated – it took lots of alcohol and drugs for me to get away from the mental cage I was living in.
So, you’re presenting an award at the Ivor Novellos tomorrow – smart or casual?
I was thinking of wearing my Fairlight CMI T-shirt! Have I ever owned an actual Fairlight? No, and I've only ever seen one once. But the way Peter Gabriel and Kate Bush used the Fairlight in the ’80s changed my life as well. And Thomas Dolby – I think he’s a bit of a genius too and doesn’t get celebrated enough. I've gone back to listen to his stuff – I just got the reissue of Hyperactive and the b-side Dissidents is incredible.
When I go to things like the Ivor Novellos, I'm surrounded by the people that changed my life. And it's overwhelming to me, and I feel like a kid in a candy shop. I sort of feel like I'm gonna fall apart sometimes because I can't believe that it's happening to me. I met Andy Partridge at the Q Awards and almost lost my shit. I met Green Gartside and it was like a dream come true for me. I’ll never get over it.
Actually, I'll tell you what I'm doing at Ivor Novellos, just keep it to yourself. I'm giving Cocteau Twins an award. I mean they changed my life when I was growing up, and then they changed my life, again, professionally [John is signed to Simon Raymonde’s Bella Union record label]. And now I get to go up on that stage and give them this Lifetime Achievement award. It's going to be emotional for me and I'm going to have to really pull myself together, because Robert Smith is going to be in the audience too and The Cure absolutely looms large in my life. So for this little boy from Michigan, it's going to be quite a day.
It's fantastic to see artists like the Cocteau Twins getting this kind of award. I’m sure they don’t need the validation, but it must be very satisfying for them have the industry finally recognise their achievements.
Oh gosh, it makes me feel emotional, because these people are worth their weight in gold. The fearlessness. I never could have done what they did, I was scared of my own shadow. But there are these individuals who were able to question things at a very early age and set off on their own. I mean, Cosey Fanni Tutti is another huge hero of mine, and she basically lost her family doing what she wanted to do. But it didn't ruin her, she knew her own mind and she just blazed forward. I have such incredible respect for that – deep, deep respect. What fascinates me is that the abuse that was directed at them, they didn't allow it to affect them adversely. It didn't make them bitter or angry or turn them into assholes. When I'm around Cosey or around Mal, there's such deep passion and love coming from these people. Even though they had to harden themselves to this sort of crushing oppression of society. But they didn't succumb to it and they didn't go under, they flourished in spite of it. I'm in awe, totally in awe.
I know what you mean. Working on the Some Bizzare book, I've spoken to people who I've admired for the best part of 40 years. And I always think I'm not going to tell them how much their music means to me, because that's unprofessional, but five minutes in and I just can't help myself.
It's not unprofessional, Wesley, it's the right thing to do. There is a weird thing that I haven't quite put my finger on, but you're not supposed to express those things in the UK, you're supposed to just get on with it. People call it sentimental, but it's when it's sincere, like it is in your case and my case, I feel like it's really good to tell these people how important they are to you, because I think it really means a lot to them. I mean, they literally changed our lives.
#nowplaying
I’m a big fan of Keeley Forsyth’s first two albums Debris and Limbs, so I was very excited to hear that her third, The Hollow, is to be released on 10 May 2024.
Hopefully, she’ll do some shows in support of the album. Back in November 2022, I was lucky enough to catch her at the Attenborough Centre in Brighton for a truly extraordinary evening. The live presentation took her music to another level. Not so much a gig, more a piece of performance art. Because in their corporeal form Forsyth’s songs became a single piece, as they segued into each other, linked by whispers and unearthly utterances. She moved around the stage wraithlike, her face obscured by hair, her jerky movements resembled Sadako from the Ringu films. It was both incredibly engaging and, at times, slightly terrifying. A psychodrama unfolding in real time, utterly compelling and quite extraordinary. It was one of the best things I saw that year, and I think of it often.
The first music from The Hollow was unveiled this week, and if it’s anything to go by, I reckon we could be in album-of-the-year territory. The video is incredibly powerful too.
For those who read to the very end…
… thank you for doing so and I hope you enjoyed the second Dancing Architect missive. I’m aiming to get one of these out every week – probably around this time – and will keep it free for now. Please spread the word, tell your friends, stick it on your socials, shout it from the rooftops etc. Every subscriber is valued.
Following on from last week’s #nowplaying recommendation, Cardiacs have reinstated their back catalogue on Spotify. All of it is well worth investigation, but a good starting point is 1988’s A Little Man and a House and the Whole World Window, which you can listen to right now. If you’ve not heard it before, I’m envious – it contains worlds of music.