Hot Press Cover Story: James Vincent McMorrow

Having consulted musicologists, scoured the internet and read 37 years’ worth of Hot Press back issues, I think I can safely say that James Vincent McMorrow is the only Irish artist to have recorded an album on a Texan pecan farm just a burrito’s throw from the border with Mexico.

“They’ve a massive fence to keep illegal immigrants out and border patrol cars passing by every few minutes, so the crime rate on the American side is virtually zero,” says McMorrow, who’s still snuffl y following a near fatal bout of Man Flu, which means we’re meeting a week later than originally planned. “It’s like Ireland 40 years ago: no one, including the studio where I was, locks their doors. If anybody wanted to drive up, walk in and steal a million dollars’ worth of equipment they could, but they don’t because the security locally’s so tight.”

The world’s largest residential studio complex, Sonic Ranch – great name! – is located 30 miles east of El Paso in the town of Tornillo and includes the impeccably hip Yeah Yeah Yeahs, ...And You Will Know Us By The Trail Of Dead, Jenny Lewis, Conor Oberst, Animal Collective and Band Of Horses among its client list.

“When you looked out the studio window you saw this two-mile row of trees planted in a manmade basin, which once a month has water pumped into it because the ground’s like rock,” James resumes. “You go to bed and it’s a desert fi lled with trees; you wake up and you’re on an island. If that wasn’t surreal enough, the water’s milky because of the chemicals they put into it to balance the acidity out. It was like being in the middle of a soapy bath! As the day goes on it sinks down into the ground.”

The LSD trip-style recording experience aside, why did James abandon his own Dublin 2 studio? “My studio is only fi ve minutes from where I live, which was great for the initial building of the sounds on the album,” he refl ects. “Some of them are literally me plucking stuff out of thin air. It wasn’t me picking up a guitar and finding the right pedal; it was deconstruction. ‘What’s an acoustic guitar? What’s a tuba?’ It was good to do those things in a safe and familiar environment, but when it came to start the actual recording I needed to be somewhere that I couldn’t just pop out of to meet friends or go to Whelan’s. Initially it was, ‘Let’s head down the country in Ireland’ – and then we ended up in Texas because that was the studio, which ticked all the boxes. I certainly wasn’t trying to make my ‘American’ album!”

Not that McMorrow isn’t as enamoured of the US as the US clearly is of him. The Stateside reviews of Post Tropical have been universally positive, with the New York Times noting how “it takes McMorrow’s intimate lyrics and hushed vocals and soaks them in ’90s R&B and early 2000s hip hop, often with stunning results”; Spin pitching in with “ethereal Irishman turns himself into one-man alt-R&B choir” and, among a slew of regional endorsements, the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel commending its “sweet strangeness”.

“In terms of my ideas, my clichés and romantic notions of making music it’s never let me down,” he says of the country that seems intent on adopting him. “In fact, they’ve actually been exceeded in New York, Los Angeles and Chicago – the grand old dames of rock ’n’ roll – andNashville, which I was humbled to be in because of
allthe amazing records it's been the catalyst for. I can totally understand why Jack White’s based his Third Man Records in Nashville; there’s magic in the air. They’re the places you immediately think of, but my first album did incredibly well in cities like Milwaukee and Minneapolis. To be honest, they hadn’t been on my radar – but then you walk into First Avenue and they go, ‘This is where Purple Rain was filmed’ and you’re like, ‘Holy shit'!

“My favourite movie as a kid was Die Hard, so to see the Nakatomi Plaza Building in LA where John McClane takes down Hans Gruber was a real moment. You drive along and see the Scientology Center and think, ‘Fuck, it really exists!’ What you can’t do is let the place overwhelm you to the extent where you start mimicking its culture.”

A prime example of which was Ash’s “Downpatrick? No, we’re from Seattle!” Meltdown, 2004’s ill-advised attempt to outfi ght the Foos – a misstep from which their career’s never fully recovered. It was whilst touring in the States that
James learned one of his most salutary music industry lessons.

“I’ve had the chance to share stages with bands that are in staggering ascendency – no better example of that being The Civil Wars who I toured with,” he explains. “The first couple of weeks were in 400 or 500-seater rooms and then suddenly, boom, it was 2,000 people and extra shows being added left, right and centre. Joy and John Paul, who I consider to be incredibly good friends, were being asked to do all these things which instead of weighing up they automatically answered ‘Yes’ to. If Rick Rubin calls and says, ‘Come out to my house in Malibu and let’s talk about making records’ – like he did – you go, of course. But making a five-hour detour to do one of those, ‘Hi, this is The Civil Wars on KXXX’ radio IDs? Every station I went to they’d been there half-an-hour beforehand, even though their song was already on the playlist and the album fl ying off the shelves. iTunes would ring and ask, ‘Why don’t you come up to our Cupertino HQ and meet everyone?’ and, forget that day off they desperately needed, the guys were there. Their instinct – and I have that instinct too – was to say ‘Yes’ – but when it leads to the kind of burn out they suffered it’s totally counterproductive. Even at my level, there are 30 or 40 decisions you have to make every day in terms of what you will and won’t do.” Having seen Joy Williams and John Paul White get to the point where never mind tour bus, they don’t want to be in the same state together – “Internal discord and irreconcilable differences of ambition” was the phrase used when The Civil Wars imploded in November 2012 – James has developed the ability to say, 'No' and mean it!

“Had this been a year ago, I wouldn’t have said to my Irish PR person, Lindsey, ‘You’ll have to postpone these interviews'. I’d have gone ahead with them and been running to the toilets every half-hour to throw up. There was a gig at the start of 2013 in Galway when I was ten times worse than I was last week. I couldn’t physically stand because I was so sick, but instead of cancelling I crawled into the back of a car; went to the doctor who pumped me full of God know’s what; slept all the way to the gig; was practically wheeled to the stage and somehow managed to do a 90-minute show without passing out. In doing what I felt was expected of me, I managed to make myself even more ill.

“I’m aware of the fact there are ten people directly working with and for me – whether they be bandmates, crew, managers or lawyers – and 40 record company employees each with their own agenda that needs to be fi lled. I do my best to accommodate them all, but at the end of the day I’m the benign dictator who says, ‘Yes’ or ‘No’.” Lest we start to think he’s turned into a moaning muso of Thom Yorke-ian proportions, James quickly adds: “I dreamt of doing this when I was a kid. I closed my eyes and pictured myself on stage at these places like the Olympia where I’d seen Smashing Pumpkins, The National and Dave Grohl who blew my mind by climbing across the balcony. All these incredible bands and then I get to play two nights there. I’m on Jools Holland thinking, ‘This is fucked up, what am I doing here?’ I’m very comfortable in myself as a musician – for the fi rst time in my life I actually know what I’m doing – but I don’t ever want not to be excited about sellingout The Barbican, which is a huge building.” I’ve always felt that the day you stop being a fan, you might as well throw the towel in. “I think that’s true,” James nods. “If you don’t feel giddy with excitement when you get your hands on the new Drake or St. Vincent record you’re obviously in the wrong game.”

What have been his most wanton acts of fandom?
“How do you mean?”
Any mild stalking or having his favourite artist tattooed onto his bottom?
“I’ve always respected people’s space. I’ll be in the dressing-room next to someone I really admire at a festival and not go, ‘Hi!’ because I feel I’m intruding. Which is odd because I don’t feel they’re intruding when they say ‘Hi!’ to me. As a kid I got backstage passes to Metallica in The Point and was close to meeting them and I was like, ‘No, no, it’s not cool'. I was the same recently when we ended up at this thumping party at the Montreux Jazz Festival which one of my heroes, Quincy Jones, was at. I mean, I’m obsessive! A guy who played with me at the time said, ‘Do you want me to introduce you to him?’ At fi rst I was like, ‘Yes!’ and then it was, ‘No, I don’t want to meet the 85-year-old Quincy Jones. I want to meet the 55-year-old Quincy Jones who wants to yell at me and tell me to fi nd a new range in my register'. I’m sure he’s still really cool, but I didn’t want anything to alter this romanticised notion I have of him.”

Those who had him pegged as a weird beard alt. folker would have been surprised last year when McMorrow revealed his twin hip hop and speed metal obsessions. What was his punk rock moment?

“Doggystyle by Snoop Dogg is still a touchstone record for me, as are the Chilis’ Blood Sugar Sex Magick and Live’s Throwing Copper,” he confides. “Up till then my favourites would have been Michael Jackson’s Bad and Queen’s Live Magic, which quickly fell by the wayside! Our babysitter brought us to the shopping centre – I was still in Fifth Class at the time – and I snuck off and bought all three of them. Then, and I’d never done this before, I went home and hid them from my parents.”

Was he one of those teenage “I didn’t ask to be born!” brats who made his Ma and Da’s life a misery?

“No more or less than other people. I probably came across as being a bit solemn, but I had friends, I was happy and when I discovered drinking at 15/16 I came out of my shell a lot more. I wasn’t playing or sitting with my ear to the needle then. Music existed in my house, but it was very much in the periphery of my understanding. That changed, though, when I met these guys who were all in bands and started playing drums because no one else did. The shed in my back garden was commandeered and there was no looking back.

“I don’t think I’d have been cut out for much else,” he ventures. “I’m not socially... I can navigate the waters, but my instinct is to stay indoors.” Chatting to Conor J. Brien from the Villagers a year ago when he was almost at exactly the same point as James is today – fanbase established, eagerly-anticipated second album about to drop – he was horrifi ed when I suggested that his anonymity and right to a private life was about to go out the window. How much of himself is McMorrow prepared to reveal to the media?

“I don’t care how much they offer, I’m not posing for Playgirl,” he deadpans. “Leaving Villagers’ show last night in Vicar St., there was a girl from downstairs who, having spotted me on the balcony, waited outside for 90 minutes to say ‘Hi’ and talk about one of the shows I’m doing in Dublin. She was lovely and wanted a photo taken, so I was happy to stop and chat. How would I feel if it was a dozen paparazzi stationed outside my house with telephoto lenses? I don’t think it’s going to happen, but if it did? Pissed off!”

Is James not appearing in his own videos an attempt to cut down on being recognised? “No, once you go on The Colbert Report, Later... With Jools Holland or The Late Late Show, which has more viewers per capita than the other two combined, you’re going to be recognised from time to time. Everyone I respect as a musician – Conor, Lisa Hannigan, Glen Hansard, Paul Noonan – they don’t seek that stuff out. They’re not in clubs or ligging every night, which means they’re less likely to have their faces splashed across the front-page. I'm a stay-at-home sort of guy, so there's no sacrifice involved.

“As for the video thing,” he continues, “I don’t yearn to be an actor. If you can fi nd somebody who tells a great story, I don’t need to be in it. There are amazing videos out there that do involve the act – if you’re built for it and can pull it off like Arcade Fire, then more power to you. I just don’t think that me prancing around in a Hawaiian shirt is going to add anything to my music.”

Oh, there are plenty of people who’d pay good money to see Mr. McMorrow do the hula! I don’t think we’re being too tabloid-y in saying that James has been happily boyfriended for the past six years to Emma J. Doyle, a photographer and illustrator who initially pissed him off by dropping his favourite guitar – but is now both his partner and collaborator.

“Emma’s heavily involved in aspects of what I do,” he smiles. “She’s taken photos, painted the new album cover and travels with us quite a bit. We have a lovely balanced touring party where we all like to eat nice food and see things. But on the occasions it does get stressful and I’m cranky, Emma knows I’m genuinely exhausted as opposed to just being an asshole!”

Younger readers won’t have a clue what the fuck I’m talking about, but with its pastel-hued pelican, is Emma’s Post Tropical cover a nod to soft rock god Christopher Cross who adorned all of his sleeves with the aforementioned generously beaked water bird?

“Neither myself nor Emma had seen a Christopher Cross record until the day we released the artwork and an element of the internet was like, ‘Look at this!’ It’s interesting ‘cause obviously the aesthetic running through Post Tropical comes from that sort of ‘80s nostalgia place. The fl ip of the cover’s the exact same too, which is completely bizarre. As it happens, I have a keen appreciation for AM drive-time songs – sonically and structurally they were quite intuitive and had 75 choruses! ‘Ride Like The Wind’ defi nitely ticks all those boxes. People think I talk about them in an ironic sense, but you can learn a lot about songwriting from the likes of Boston, Asia, Journey, Steely Dan and Michael McDonald. They're all masters of their particular craft.”

I had the privilege of being side-of-stage three years ago in The Button Factory when James and Lisa Hannigan jammed out some of their favourite songs together. I wasn’t alone in (1) being totally blown away by the chemistry between them and (2) thinking that respective solo careers established, they should collaborate on an album.

“Yeah, maybe at some point we will. After being in New York and Paris, Lisa’s now happy out in London, working away on her new record. She’s got such a good voice that everybody wants to sing with her, myself included. She defi nitely brings the best out in me musically, but she’s too good to be in anybody’s shadow.” It’s possible that as we speak The Script are sticking pins into effi gies of Kodaline – “So you think you can be a bigger hit with the ladies than us, eh? Take that!” – but publicly anyway things between Irish artists appear to be most comradely at the moment.

“‘Comradely’ is a good word,” he nods approvingly. “You’re out there in the world and it’s nice to see friendly faces and friendly names as you tour around the place. On the fi rst record, we were either one step ahead or one step behind Villagers and Lisa Hannigan, whose tour started the day ours fi nished up in LA. I remember thinking, ‘She’s playing this beautiful venue, we just played this beautiful venue; this is crazy, what nice lives we lead'.”

Is it still the done thing to leave graffi ti messages for each other on the dressingroom wall?

“I think you have to ask permission first!” James chuckles. “I play a lot of concert halls – places with names like ‘Opera House’ and in the UK with ‘Royal’ in front of them – so I don’t know if they’d appreciate me writing my name badly across their pristine paintwork.”

While others loudly sound its death knell – we’re back to Radiohead again – James Vincent McMorrow appears for the large part appreciative of what the music industry’s given him.

“People are selling less records these days because of illegal downloading and streaming and whatever but, y’know, the Wild West aspect of it is quite exciting,” he concludes. “The rules about how you make and market records have gone out the window. It gives me great hope to see bands like Grizzly Bear going platinum and The National and Arcade Fire at No.1 in the US. There’s room for artists to grow and find their audience again, which is definitely a cause for celebration.”