TALES FROM THE CHATROOM

Oh yes, it’s good to talk.

Your correspondent files this dispatch fresh (or rather, not so fresh) off the Electric Picnic bus after a weekend of abstaining from guzzling substances and rolling in the Stradbally mud. I didn’t even get to see a whole hell of a lot of acts – apart from the divine Neko Case, who can expect my proposal of marriage in the post any minute now. So what was I doing? Yakking. And listening. Yep, most of the festival was spent within a 100 yard radius of the HP chatroom, either chairing interviews with prominent artistes, or watching my colleagues do the same.
Dunno bout you, but I’m a sucker for the public interview format. Granted, it’s less confidential than the behind-closed-doors one-on-one model, which can sometimes take on the dynamic of a recorded shrink/patient session (although sometimes it’s the subject who assumes the psychotherapist’s role). But at its best, it’s a more immediate and unpredictable version of Inside The Actor’s Studio or the Charlie Rose Show – with guitars. There’s something very charged and compelling about the intense silence generated by a room full of people listening hard.
This year in the line of duty I had the pleasure of talking to Richmond Fontaine members Sean Oldham and Willy Vlautin (also a hugely accomplished novelist) about the importance of storytelling in songwriting, the glory of Green On Red, and how sometimes it’s the scuff-marks and missing bits that render a record irresistible (especially one like We Used To Think The Freeway Sounded Like A River). Billy Bragg kept us transfixed with salty dog tales of solo touring with a practice amp in the early ‘80s, buying his way out of the army, setting music to unpublished Woody Guthrie lyrics and recording them with Wilco, and singing Joe Strummer songs with The Levellers. Mundy gave one of his more thoughtful interviews, probably because he was in his comfort zone, interspersing the jawing with songs like ‘Strawberry Blood’ and ‘Gin And Tonic Sky’. Damien Dempsey belted out a set of trad classics, including ‘The Twang Man’, ‘Rocky Road To Dublin’ and his own ‘Celtic Tiger’, that rendered your correspondent’s role happily redundant. And to cap it all, Wayne Coyne transfixed us with a cosmic monologue that veered between the personal (the deaths of his parents) and the public (why he won’t run for the Senate, but doesn’t necessarily rule out local council). Then there were my fellow HP operatives’ encounters with Bell X1, The Sugarhill Gang, Mick Flannery, Alabama 3, Laura Izibor, Seasick Steve and others.
Listening may be a fine art, but it’s also a privilege. The interviewer’s chair in the Electric Picnic HP chatroom is the best seat in the house.