Caught in the Carousel

Statuesque

By Alex Green

Statuesque

"The insurgency began and you missed it," Michael Stipe sang on R.E.M.'s "Begin The Begin," the blistering opening track of Life's Rich Pageant. If this line were to be rewritten by Statuesque's Stephen Manning, it might read something like this: the insurgency began and you're in the middle of it. The braintrust of the London outfit, Manning seems acutely aware on his band's new long player Reader, I Curried Him that time isn't so much as running out as it's blazing away into oblivion right before our very eyes.

"I was gonna give myself good time to jump clear/I was gonna tell myself good luck but it's here," Manning sings over jittery, lacerating guitars on "Like A Statue" the album's searing opening track. A lashing ten song dispatch delivered from the stormy midst of the great rush of time and history and life itself, Reader, I Curried Him is sizzling with a rare brand of pressing poetic urgency.

Falling somewhere between The Wedding Present's David Gedge and Morrissey, Manning is a man on fire, belting out numbers like the swooningly melodic "Low Expectations" or the Smiths-like "Oranges And Leathers" with literate potency. Elsewhere, there's the waltzing post-punk of "Jagged Spires," the wisely observed "The Jaws Of Ill Refute," (which, incidentally, contains the album's finest couplet: "Promises are air and goals are canyons/And liberty and faith are strained companions") and the impossibly punchy and brief "Somebody Down There Likes Me."

From his home in London, Manning sat down with CITC to talk about his new album, Jane Eyre and Woody Allen:

Caught In The Carousel: Can you talk about the gestation period of this album? How long were these songs germinating?

Stephen Manning: All the music was knocked together over a few weeks August-September last year, then (as per usual) there was a pause for the lyrics to percolate—i.e. I was thinking about it but not getting anything done. Then I got the lyrics and vocals finished up quite quickly in November. Unusually for a Statuesque work, all the music was newly written—as ever, I had reams of mini-tunes and guitar lines stored up awaiting a home in song, but in this case the only pre-existing element that made it was the chorus tune of "Like A Statue." All the drum tracks (plus a bit of guitar) were recorded in a couple of rehearsal room sessions and then I did all the overdubs at home on my digital 16-track.

CITC: Can you elaborate on the significance of the album's title?

SM: I thought one day, if anyone ever writes a book on cannibalism in literature, the title should be Reader, I Curried Him. I can't remember why I thought there would, or should, be such a book, but things very often start with titles. I'm sure most wittily-named non-fiction books start with the title rather than the subject. Then I thought, maybe I'm the one to write that book. Then I thought, obviously not, I don't write books, I come up with songs and album titles. Initially I wondered if it was too jokey for an album title, but the lyrics, which flowed forth afterwards, were all preoccupied with violence and savagery and physical punishment and teethmarks, so it seemed apt. Throughout the album people are being chopped up and put in pots or hanging themselves or struck by lightning or executed for desertion from the army...It's no fun being in a Statuesque song. I haven't read Jane Eyre ("reader, I married him") but I thought perhaps her descendants living today might apply a more brutish, short-tempered solution to emotional dilemmas. The title also neatly fitted the flag-style colour scheme I have going on for the album covers. I don't know if anyone notices, but they all depict the titles (white for the choir above, red for the fire below, etc). So on this one it's teeth on flesh. Or it could be a hatching egg. Etc. etc. etc. you get the idea.

CITC: Speaking of being chopped up or struck by lightning, nobody mixes humor and pain better than you—is it hard to strike a balance between the two?

SM: Not at all, that kind of balance is hard-wired into the British character. I just stick guitars on it. The laughter and the slaughter—it's a shame they don't rhyme out loud. It's just a written and sung version of what I am. The more I write, the more I'm trying to get at the core of what I should be doing. Which, at this point, would seem to be projecting a knowing, withering glance while my legs are being sawn off. I suppose the people / artists I most admire—e.g. Woody Allen, or Stephin Merritt, to name two Americans—are working towards that same goal of blending the two, or in their cases have achieved and perfected it many times over. Sometimes I feel like that's the only thing worth trying to achieve.

CITC: In which of your songs do you feel you've come closest to perfecting that?

SM: Maybe "Oranges And Leathers," which is based in part on a British Conservative politician of about 15 years ago who perished in an auto-asphyxiation accident. It was terrible, really, but people saw it as either comical (the Conservatives at that time were insufferably pious on issues of personal morality) or, if you were a Conservative, to be treated as worse than murder, something to be obliterated from memory. I imagined the character being posthumously relieved that the manner of his death was perceived as so extreme and ridiculous that he didn't have to worry anymore about keeping up appearances. Politicians are so concerned with how others see them, but in the end death is no respecter of things like that. We're all going to go with awkward things shoved up us or dangled from unlikely landmarks, so we might as well get used to the idea.

CITC: Lyrically, you remind me of everyone from Morrissey to Mark E. Smith—were those two any influence on you growing up?

SM: Yes, very much so. To borrow Martin Amis's description of Saul Bellow as a formative influence, to me Morrissey is the sky. I think he brought more to the table than anyone else—in his first couple of years he introduced so many new subjects and rendered them in such an elegant, poetic way. He just outflanked everybody else on all the things that matter. There's no shame in the fact that he isn't as great as he was—that would be too much to demand and there have been many good songs since. I thought two-thirds of Years Of Refusal was pretty good. Compared to a graph of Bob Dylan's decline, well, my god! The Fall have been a steady favourite over the centuries, as much for the great riff-makers in their ranks—Steve Hanley, Craig Scanlon and their successors. Mark E. is one of the greatest and most original vocalists there ever was. I'm less sure about him as a lyricist—a lot of it is quite random barking and, whereas, say, Morrissey or Merritt stand or fall on how well they write, Mark E. stands regardless of that. I'm not sure his writing has much to do with the Fall's greatness, not since the early '80s, anyway. Others will disagree. But, yes, the Fall are permanently up there. Your Future Our Clutter is great; I have no idea what it's about and neither does anyone else.

CITC: Who else do you admire?

SM: Many folk...I'll try and be selective and succinct. If Morrissey is the sky, Stephin Merritt (Magnetic Fields) is the treetops—right now he is pop's lone genius and the greatest songwriter and lyricist of the last 20 years. He just has it all—the voice, the wit, the smarts, new and brilliant things to add to the oldest subject matter, plus a relentlessly individual approach to every aspect of record production. Partly because there is no rock in his art, he doesn't decline with age. He is still regularly adding new best-ever songs to his canon, though 69 Love Songs remains probably my favourite album ever. His solo ukulele songs are perhaps my favourite sounds in the world. Other great lyricists: David Bazan (Pedro The Lion), his absence from the general pop consciousness is bizarre. Conor Oberst (Bright Eyes), though I tire of the relentless country music backing, his best album by far was the more electronic Digital Ash In A Digital Urn. More of that, please. Going back a bit, the younger Lou Barlow, obviously Conor Oberst's biggest influence. Sebadoh are timelessly great and I even prefer the solo acoustic Sentridoh records. He was ahead of Merritt in the early '90s, joint equal with Liz Phair, remember her? Joanna Newsom seems to be the most talented person currently walking around on the planet, and the new one is early contender for album of the decade.

CITC: Do you still listen to your old heroes? Do you find they hold up after a certain amount of time passes?

SM: Yes, some do, the stuff that was obviously built to last, the Smiths, the Beatles, the Velvets, the Pixies…most of it is in orbit and returns periodically—a Guided By Voices week here, a Pavement afternoon there. It's important to clear the decks and allow new things in, though. I can categorically state that if I lived another 400 years I wouldn't find time to dig out that first Inspiral Carpets album (or remember why I had it in the first place).

CITC: What new music have you been listening to lately that's gotten you excited?

SM: "It's Working" by MGMT might be my favourite pop tune of the year. Clinic have been on a continuous drip-feed, all six or so albums. Field Music are very good, especially live. Arcade Fire and Modest Mouse continue to be favourites. They don't count as new, do they? I really like the Avi Buffalo song "What's In It For,"—very Flaming Lips, although the other tunes they have don't on first impression seem as strong. What else? Kraftwerk. They don't count as new either, do they?

CITC: If you were to play Reader, I Curried Him to your younger self—say, 15 years ago, what might that younger self be most impressed with?

SM: I was hopelessly difficult to impress 15 years ago, as indeed I am now. I would have been impressed that at last I could afford to buy a digital 16-track, and congratulating myself further that I had done so within a decade of the technology becoming commonplace. I was and am wary of upgrades and tend to stick with whatever gear I've got until it packs up completely. I'd have been pleased that I'd worked on the songwriting to the point where (I hope) each song stands on its own and could be a potential single. I'd be pleased that I hadn't run out of matter (ideas, tunes, lyrics) to turn into songs, indeed I think—I think—it's stronger than ever now. When you've written songs for a long time it's easy to become addicted to the process beyond the point where you actually have anything worthwhile to convey. I don't think—I don't think—I am at that point. Mind you, everyone says that. And finally I'd be disappointed that I couldn't buy the album on vinyl.

CITC: How would you describe the evolution of Statuesque since its inception?

SM: Hard to evaluate. It's just the ongoing quest for the next tune, a finer guitar motif, the next arch couplet. I do try and make the next thing different to and better than the last thing, but I'm not about to veer off into space jazz. The name Statuesque is meant to imply a certain immutability, that the aims and concerns don't necessarily shift over time.

CITC: Does the future fill you with hope or dread?

SM: Neither. One damn month after another, to paraphrase. A bit like going back into the past, only in the other direction, as my previous answer on new music indicates.

Internet:
www.125records.com

Statuesque

Reader, I Curried Him is out now on 125 Records.