Razor Head

It’s five o’clock on day one of Oxygen. Razorlight have just left the main stage to pockets of ecstatic applause tucked amid varying degrees of indifference. It’s the sort of response typical of a mid-afternoon slot – the converted littered amongst the curious and those simply hopeful to attain a good position for the next act.
Regardless, twelve months on from a well received debut, Razorlight are a band in transition. No longer charged with burgeoning promise, they are an indie group comfortably awaiting a move to a bigger office. Stadium shows beckon, and Johnny Borrell is using the festivals as pre-season training.
Thoroughly single minded, Borrell is a character driven by striking ambition. Unlike the Pete Dohertys and Keanes of this world, he displays little hankering for NME adoration or teen icon status. Nor does he exhibit any interest in the drug addled rock ‘n roll lifestyle. You’re more likely to find Borrell boxing or playing cricket then engaging in any activity which may block his way to the top.
Yet despite (and perhaps in light of this), he remains one of the few genuinely interesting, gifted and enigmatic rock stars of the current generation. On stage he delivers his tales of urban bohemia with gutsy invigorated passion whilst oozing charisma in a manner reminiscent of Mick Jagger.
Off stage though, many have railed against his opinionated reputation. When I announce to friends that I am to meet him, words such as ‘prick’, ‘arrogant’ and ‘egotistic’ inform their views. The media have also shown him to be difficult. Borrell has refused to “play the game” and as a result his public persona has been painted as that of a prima donna. It’s an image Borrell has frequently fuelled. In an early interview he brashly announced, “If you’re comparing our debuts, Bob Dylan’s making chips and I’m drinking champagne.”
Borrell too seemingly sees himself as Mr Razorlight, elevated to a status above his bandmates. As the sole songwriter, he is the only one who is not on a wage meaning as the band's rise continues, he will earn significantly more than the other three members. He is also openly critical of his collegues' shortcomings. Arguments within the camp have been rife, and Borrell often travels separately to gigs. Last year he declared that “bits of our album aren’t what I want because the band weren’t capable of making it that way.” During our interview, he will again make reference to this, though, in context, he has a point.
Indeed, throughout our meeting Borrell seems grossly misrepresented by his public persona. Warm and friendly, he is anything but arrogant. Often, his body language reveals him to be ill at ease under the spotlight. When the attention is firmly on him, he is impish and playful in response. There’s a lot of thought strewn through his softly spoken replies and any confidence, is one in his own views.
“Bands are not perfect things,” he says when I ask him about the friction within the group, a friction which prompted split rumours earlier in the year.
“They’re not perfect. This is.