Attack Of The Clones

Now that there are actually four of them, Clone Quartet’s name doesn’t ring the same kind of bells it once did. Back in the days when the band extended no further than Andy Henry and his favourite keyboard, or even when they took to the stage as a trio, the smoke and mirrors connotations of their chosen moniker was an easy way to separate them from their meat-headed, join-the-dots herd of contemporaries.

What’s in a name? Normally, not an awful lot. In this case, however, the sly and playful sensibility that decided how they would face the world was reflected in the music too. And it promised a more fluid, challenging experience than that normally found in Belfast indie-land.
After all, if you couldn’t even trust the band to tell you how many crew-members were on board, how could you pin down what they sounded like?
“I’ve always loved the ambiguity of it,” Henry admits. “But it can cause a lot of problems when you’re faced with people who don’t quite get it. Some people really disliked us for it, actually. They thought that we were pretentious wankers, going out of our way to be wacky – but they’re missing the point. Alabama 3 don’t get the same stick and there are hundreds of them on stage. “
With the matter, for the time being, resolved, Clone Quartet are now relying on their music to do all the teasing and provocation. And after, according to Henry, “settling on our best ever line-up – everyone contributes, everyone is involved”, the results have been impressive. Most recent EP Archives: Session is an epileptic hive of ideas and riffs. It is, says Henry, the work of a band finally coming to terms with their potential, and a band that – since long-time musical pot-holer, Barry Cullen joined last year – has stumbled on a potent chemical balance.
“We all do our own things independently. But we really liked Barry’s solo stuff (Barry’s Electronic Workshop) and we thought he was on our wavelength.”
“It was a big compliment to be asked to join the band,” Cullen reveals. “I’d always been a massive fan and always considered them to be the most interesting band, musically speaking, in town. It’s been very natural and organic since then. We all have pretty strong opinions and views but when we work together we do come up with ideas that we just wouldn’t do on our own.”
And what do you think you have in common?
“Well,” says Henry’s band-mate and brother, Stephen , “we’re all music nuts and we’ll always be involved in some form. I mean we’re all DJs as well. It’s more than a hobby. We’re all equally obsessive.”
Cullen: “I think we all believe that you can challenge people, but also have a lot of fun.”
Henry: “I was asked to DJ at the birthday party for Liberty Blue (Belfast clothes shop). I’m not a professional DJ by any stretch, I think self-indulgent is the right phrase. Anyway, I stuck a couple of tunes on and the place cleared. Everyone disappeared. I mean, I enjoyed myself…”
Cullen: “I played a nine hour set a few years back. The owner of the venue brought his mates in and wouldn’t let me leave. If you can get over six hours, the rest is a doddle. But I think if you have enough records to go nine hours without repeating yourself, that says something.”
As for ambitions, the band are impressively unimpressed.
“If no-one wants to hear any of my songs, I’ll just take them back and keep them to myself,” Henry reveals.
Cullen, meanwhile, is keen to explore all kinds of avenues.
“There’s a hairdresser in Australia,” he says “who attaches effects pedals around his waist and, while he’s giving you a haircut, also records the noise of the scissors and razors, of the chair squeaking, everything. When he’s finished he gives you a CD where it’s all been mixed together with beats put over it. You go home with a new haircut and a recording of the haircut. He’s like a frustrated sculptor who never got a break. I think that’s kind of heroic.”
Clone Quartet then – not your average short back and sides.b