Would you work with him again or was it just that period of your life?
He came along at that period in my life where we had similar things; our different relationships were breaking up. But unlike Sting or Phil Collins we didn’t go into therapy, we just got on with the job. He’s a good West Country lad and I’m East Anglian so it was ‘Well, we’ve got an album to do.’ We were in a lot of pain in our personal lives but never talked about that. We just made filthy jokes and made the record in his shed. It was a pleasure to do, six months with huge laughs and amazing thrills. Two men in a shed. [laughs]
Would I work with him again? That’s really difficult because he did me the favour of what a lot of my listeners and so-called fans would like, of me being produced properly. But I don’t want to be produced properly. I did it twice, I did another album as well with Louis Philippe. However I kind of like things that sound like they were produced in an old radio shack or something.
But I probably would work with him again, yeah. I wouldn’t push it. I’d like to see him again. I’d like to sit down and have a bloody good yarn with him. He’s certainly a more tidy musician than me and certainly a better and more versatile guitarist. But I don’t think he is as free as me. That happens with a lot of virtuoso musicians. Their cleverness and their ability imprisons them. I am the eternal amateur. I have the idea that I can do anything that I want. I’ve retained a naivety thinking ‘What if we did this’ and if it doesn’t go right make it into something else.
Was ‘The Greatest Living Englishman’ your title?
I think it used to be about Nigel Dempster, the gossip columnist. They called him ‘The Greatest Living Englishman’. There’s various people they give the title to at one point. The song came first as I wanted about someone like Justin de Villeneuve, Terry Stamp or Mick Jagger or Keith Richards even. At some point it’s like their English and the whole world knows them. They’ve come up from nearly nothing, from barrow boy to icon. Someone who could become a rogue but eventually something comes to bring them down. They tumble. Someone like John Bloom of the washing machine empire and was eventually brought down. Some people thought I’d adopted the title for myself and that I was calling myself ‘The Greatest Living Englishman’ which wasn’t the case. But I thought that if it’s got annoyance value I’ll admit to it. [laughs] It’s a good title.
‘Your Winter Garden’ from your album ‘The Spirit Cage’ then seemed to mark a change in approach in your songwriting.
It was the very late ‘90s. I’d been mucking about with jazz chords and my piano playing had got better. I concentrated to see if I could write something I suppose getting in my 40s I thought ‘If I had to write proper songs for grown-up singers like Tony Bennett, how would I go about doing that?’ That was really my first stab at writing something jazz, or torch at least. Then I wrote ‘Grenadine and Blue’ and other stuff. And I haven’t stopped writing since.
So some of that older songwriting like The Great American Songbook is influential?
I think it must have leaked into me. The Americans do very good, goodtime music. Jazz musicians are virtuosos but don’t often write songs they do show tunes. You can put quite a lot into one song. That was my striving to write grown up songs I can’t keep writing about girls and chocolate and how politicians are. But songs are in short supply every time I listen to new music I’m being significantly underwhelmed so I want to write some more coverable songs before I die.
‘The Days of May’ from your new album, ‘Return to Bohemia’ also feels like one of those tracks that will live on.
I hope so. That was one of the ones I wrote after I came back from the dead. But don’t worry I’m not going anywhere, not immediately anyway!
There’s more great songs on your new record like ‘The Royal Bank of Love’. That’s a great concept.
Ah, well. That’s the one I think should be a Eurovision song contest entry. Except the BBC won’t let good songs into the Eurovision; they have what’s called an internal selection process and they’ve done that for a number of years. It was just after my mate Kimberley Rew won. Since then the BBC has been picking the songs and we’ve had nothing but dross, nothing has worked. I think they’re doing it because if we win the Eurovision song contest, we’ll have to hold it and someone will have to cough up. So it’s their job to make sure a shit song gets in every time. So I’m not going to get a song in, and if I don’t I’m going to have to hold my own Eurovision Song Contest on MuleTV.
That’s one of your new projects where you’ve got sketches and vignettes on YouTube.
Yes. Johnny from Soft Bodies records has also got me to do some videos as well. They’re quite good, one is animated ‘Imaginary Seas’ and the other is ‘He’s Going Out with Marilyn’.
That’s a good song.
[laughs] That could probably get airplay if I was a nicer boy.
What’s next?
I’m doing a lot more stuff with Captured Tracks – past, present and future. As well as more things are likely with Soft Bodies as well. I’ve got big plans. I just want to spend the autumn and winter doing a new album. I’ve got the songs.
It’s been a privilege to spend some time with you. You’ve produced some of my favourite records so thank you.
Thank you very much.
For more information on Martin’s projects please go to:
http://www.martinnewell.co.uk/