"If I could eat records, I would."
There are diverse artists, and there is Gruff Rhys. Emerging in the late ‘80s with the Welsh language band Ffa Coffi Pawb, (translation: Everybody’s Coffee Beans), he became frontman for sonic adventurers Super Furry Animals, whose psychedelic pop, glam folk cocktail propelled them to the left of the Britpop vanguard, and beyond. Since then, his idiosyncratic journey has encompassed a string of acclaimed solo releases, concept albums as one half of Neon Neon, running a label releasing the likes of Cate Le Bon, film scores, theatre adaptations, a music festival. You get the picture. Allusive, thoughtful, playful, Gruff kindly chatted to us for 5 Good Things.
With a career as long and varied as yours, maybe it’s best to start at the beginning. You grew up in a mostly Welsh speaking village, right? Can you tell us about that? How did it nurture your creative impulses?
Musically speaking the 1970’s and ‘80s, when I was a child, meant going to a Welsh language, non-conformist chapel on Sunday evenings, and Sunday School in the mornings (which was partly how the Welsh language survived its exclusion from official education for so long) so I grew up with a lot of intense hymn singing and figuring out harmonies: song construction by osmosis. It seemed intense to me at the time but it got me singing whether I liked it or not.
The house style at my chapel was to repeat the final chorus, and today I see those fingerprints all over my songs. There was also Top of the Pops on TV, Irish pop radio (RTÉ 2fm from Dublin (we couldn’t pick up BBC Radio 1 on FM because of the mountains)) then NME, Melody Maker and Sounds magazines in the newsagents, and Sgrech magazine in the Welsh language book shop. There was also an explosion of Welsh language guitar bands in the valley in the mid-80s which inspired me to start a band called Ffa Coffi Pawb with friends. This coincided with the arrival of the Welsh language TV channel S4C in 1983, which came along after the politician Gwynfor Evans threatened to fast himself to death! S4C came about after decades of protest pushing for Welsh language TV, people occupying transmitters and direct, non-violent action. It was feared Welsh wouldn’t survive without its own robust media, which benefited my band because S4C was desperate to feature artists for its new alternative music programmes. So we were recording and playing TV shows from a really young age.
All of this is to say that as a musician I was very much a beneficiary of other people’s political activism.
You then found success pretty quickly with the Super Furry Animals. What was it like being signed to a legendary label like Creation Records? What do you think made you guys stand out?
We’d been playing in bands for over a decade by that point, so we had no fear and saw the London music industry circus as a bit of a joke. Creation were great as they could match us for any lunacy. Also, they were completely artist-led. Creation only focused on recording, not anyone’s image or anything invasive like that (although they did have a full-time party organiser by that point). They were happy for their artists to make uncompromising records but they were nurturing too. They wanted to sell our records and tried their best to get us to format singles to get higher chart positions and all that (we refused). Their (great) A&R strategy was to give us a continuous supply of the latest underground American art rock and hip hop records to keep us aware of what other artists were up to.
You made the biggest selling Welsh language album of all time, played beside 40-foot inflatable bears, filled shows with yetis and milk floats, worked with Howard Marks. What was the maddest thing the Super Furry Animals ever did, and how did you pull it off?
People saw our behaviour as mad but it didn’t seem mad to us - there were just some really dull lanes that bands were expected to stay in, and we decided to steer well clear of them. We were trying out everything we’d ever hoped to do if we were signed by a record label and had the kind of support to make things happen.
Our take was that it could all end tomorrow so we should make the most of it. It lasted longer than we expected at that level. On our last major label album, we ended up getting Sony to finance mixing an album in Brasil, for example, and paying for daily Portuguese lessons — we wanted to understand Brazilian psychedelic records a bit more. Life was pretty unreal and we really appreciated every single moment.
You’ve been a solo artist for some time now. How was it transitioning to going it alone? How has your songwriting evolved over time?
I put my first solo album out in 2005. I was 35 by that point so it didn’t seem overblown (to me) to record my own thing; I’d basically recorded it anyway for my own enjoyment. It was an excuse to play everything and make something uncompromising.
Prior to that I hadn’t bought a guitar until I was 19, so it took a period of playing in bands to become proficient and confident enough as a musician to even contemplate playing solo. When I had kids a few years later, it was more practical to concentrate fully on my own stuff as I couldn’t cope with everything. Before that I could juggle bands, solo records and various projects and try to keep everyone happy, but it got too much in the end, and I had to prioritise my family.
What I’m saying is the transition was difficult to navigate for both me and anyone working with me. It wasn’t a mapped master plan; life took over. Beyond that, in terms of songwriting, I try and keep myself open for new things to happen. Like anything the key to songwriting ultimately is just having the time to do it.
I guess the benefit of a long career is the potential for a range of expression. You’ve definitely pushed the boat out in those terms. From production and soundtrack work to theatre, running your own festival, working with the BBC orchestra. Is there any project or idea you’ve been particularly proud of? Why is that?
It’s inevitable that I’ll repeat myself as a songwriter so I try to give myself conditions where I can, at least sometimes, hope to come up with something different and reach different outcomes.
It’s an education for me getting to work in different mediums. And maybe I’m old enough to not get too phased by the magnitude of something. If I don’t know the medium I’m completely straight with people. I’ll ask them to guide me through it.
For example, in 2016 I was asked to write a libretto, the story and lyrics for an opera called Hedd Wyn 2117 — it’s streaming if you want to find it. The composer Stephen McNeff needed the libretto before starting to compose the music, so I asked for guidance at every step. I learned so much, I got into the medium, I figured out avenues I liked, things I wanted to avoid.
My taste in general is to subvert the medium in some way. After working with Stephen, I ended up asking him to do the orchestral arrangements for my album Babelsberg, so it had a direct impact on my own work. Even if I worry that it seems pretentious or ridiculous getting involved in new mediums, it hopefully helps improve my records all round.
I see everything as a work in progress. I hope I’m still developing what I do, so I’m wary of being overly proud of something. I think it’s healthier to stay self-critical, but I am amazed that some of the more over the top projects such as Neon Neon’s Praxis Makes Perfect ever happened. That’s mostly testament to other people’s organisational skills over any ‘vision’ of mine. I’ve plenty of ideas that have never happened too.
You recently re-released your American Interior album based on the story of 18th-century Welsh explorer John Evans. Can you tell us about some of the stuff you did for the project first time round, and why you wanted to bring the album back?
It was the most ambitious project I ever attempted. I wrote a book, recorded an album and shot a film within about 2 years. The whole thing was based around an ‘investigative concert tour’ following a 1792-1799 journey by explorer John Evans through North America, ultimately trying to find his grave. At that point I’d been touring major cities for two decades and was looking for new ways of touring and reaching different communities. First Nation reservations, for instance. For the record, I wasn’t the first Welsh person to play a Native American reservation. Bonnie Tyler had already played a lot of the casinos.
For continuity, I wore the same suit for 2 years whilst making the documentary, so it was pretty intense. That’s why I ended up in contact with Uskees. I needed a new black suit for the revival tour!
Revisiting American Interior was a practical coincidence. After a decade, all the albums I recorded for Turnstile records were out of contract, so Rough Trade offered to release them. They’re all out of print now but we thought American Interior was an obvious place to start reissuing. There’s so much material that was never streamed, it’s good to have it all out there again, and I gave a couple of months over to perform the live show. I put so much time into the project that it was a really nice thing to revisit and get my head back into. A lot has changed in a decade and the story resonates differently now.
A lot of your work has the kind of conceptual foundation seen in American Interior. Albums about John Delorean, the left-wing publisher Giangiacomo Feltrinelli, even songs about golden retrievers(!) What comes first with these projects, the concept or the music? How do they then influence one another?
Not every collection of songs needs a conceptual link. But when a conceptual idea comes along it can spark an album. When it comes to a biographical record, they write themselves in a way. It’s not hard to break someone’s life down to 10 chapters or whatever it needs.
I’m suspicious of prog rock concept records but I grew up in the age of popular conceptual hip-hop records as a teenager. Really playful albums that I love like Three Feet High and Rising by De La Soul. I think that’s why a concept seems like an instinctive way of putting an album together for me. Sometimes they spark a documentary or a concert idea, but it’s all an extension of the songs in some way.
What about your creative inspirations? This doesn’t have to be in terms of music, but it would be interesting to know who or what influenced you. Who you look up to and why.
I was a massive fan of the Velvet Underground as a teenager, and I still am today. Back then the Velvet’s revival was at full pelt with huge labels forcefully pushing their back catalogue as well as TV documentaries about them.
The music journalist Jon Savage wrote a great roadmap article explaining the mechanics of the Velvet Underground’s revival. It’s always sobering to think how our tastes are governed by the mechanics of publicity.
Andy Warhol, who was intrinsic to the Velvet Underground, simultaneously became a huge inspiration for me as a teenager. His work was something like populist, mass produced statement making as artistry — over craft or artisanship. I used to have laughing fits looking at his work. Just the audacity of it. Its bold, colourful, graphic nature was so attractive to me back then. I mean, he was still alive when I was sixteen. Nico died on my 18th birthday.
What I took from it (though I haven’t necessarily acted on it) is this: as an artist you can create anything in any medium without the burden of craftsmanship, or the constraints of being a note-perfect musician. Ideas are far more important. Jonathan Richman wrote in his ‘60s fan mag that the transgressive and largely unknown Velvet Underground were visionary artists who happened to be working in the medium of music. Whilst, for example, the hugely popular Eric Clapton and Cream were good musicians or artisans whose work wouldn’t be remembered.
Of course Andy Warhol did make beautiful artifacts and he was a great draughtsman, but in a way it was irrelevant whether his hand touched the work.
Later on in my life, in terms of inspiration as a songwriter, a friend bought me a book of Serge Gainsbourg’s songs. I was in my 30’s then — the book’s got like 600 songs or something in it. Gainsbourg wrote prolifically for film, other artists, adverts, whatever — and it completely changed how I saw the perimeters of songwriting. Gainsbourg wasn’t signed until he was in his thirties, so he also shows a way of existing in music and making challenging work beyond the vital creative period that’s attached to being young — or at least he presents a route out of it.
Obviously some of Gainsbourg’s work is very much of its time. You used to have to drink yourself to death as a mark of commitment too, but hopefully that’s gone now. I should mention that both Gainsbourg and Lou Reed had a great sense of melody. I can talk about big ideas all day, but mostly what I do and what makes me feel the most is writing melodies
This last part is where we ask you to send some cultural inspiration out into the world, recommending 5 Good Things and the reasons why you chose them.
A restaurant or cafe you like in your city.
In Cardiff, maybe the best place to eat is the central market. If you’re fortunate and have the means, you can eat whatever you’re hungry for — witness the heart of the city and buy some music at Kelly’s Records. If I could eat records, I would.
A film everyone should watch
A film that inspired me deeply when I was younger was Caro Diario by Nanni Moretti (1993). It influenced the documentary films I’ve been part of in that it combines reality and fiction.
A book everyone should read
YOUR LIFE IS NOT A (FUCKING) STORY by Simon Critchley. It’s a short, sweet stand against applying narrative arcs to (fucking) everything.
A musical album or artist who means something to you
I love the recent Stereolab LP Instant Holograms on Metal Film. I’ve never heard the term ‘palliative care’ in an uplifting pop song before. It’s a really moving and great sounding record.
Where you’d send someone if they were visiting your city or hometown for the first time
Bute Park Stone Circle. I always send people there to hang out.
It’s a revived bardic Druidic circle that you can find in any Welsh town — they erect them for the Eisteddfod ceremonies. It’s exotic for tourists perhaps, but you’ll mostly find people zoned-out in leisure wear on the archdruid’s plinth — that’s just as poetic for me. They have fibreglass portable stone circles available now for the ceremonies too.
Gruff's latest album Dim Probs is out now through Rock Action Records. He wore our 3006 cord blazer and 5005 cord work pants in charcoal.
Photo credits:
Ryan Eddleston @ryan_eddleston_dop
Christian David @cd.photography.schaffhausen
5 Good Things - Gruff Rhys - Cardiff, Wales
"If I could eat records, I would."
There are diverse artists, and there is Gruff Rhys. Emerging in the late ‘80s with the Welsh language band Ffa Coffi Pawb, (translation: Everybody’s Coffee Beans), he became frontman for sonic adventurers Super Furry Animals, whose psychedelic pop, glam folk cocktail propelled them to the left of the Britpop vanguard, and beyond. Since then, his idiosyncratic journey has encompassed a string of acclaimed solo releases, concept albums as one half of Neon Neon, running a label releasing the likes of Cate Le Bon, film scores, theatre adaptations, a music festival. You get the picture. Allusive, thoughtful, playful, Gruff kindly chatted to us for 5 Good Things.
With a career as long and varied as yours, maybe it’s best to start at the beginning. You grew up in a mostly Welsh speaking village, right? Can you tell us about that? How did it nurture your creative impulses?
Musically speaking the 1970’s and ‘80s, when I was a child, meant going to a Welsh language, non-conformist chapel on Sunday evenings, and Sunday School in the mornings (which was partly how the Welsh language survived its exclusion from official education for so long) so I grew up with a lot of intense hymn singing and figuring out harmonies: song construction by osmosis. It seemed intense to me at the time but it got me singing whether I liked it or not.
The house style at my chapel was to repeat the final chorus, and today I see those fingerprints all over my songs. There was also Top of the Pops on TV, Irish pop radio (RTÉ 2fm from Dublin (we couldn’t pick up BBC Radio 1 on FM because of the mountains)) then NME, Melody Maker and Sounds magazines in the newsagents, and Sgrech magazine in the Welsh language book shop. There was also an explosion of Welsh language guitar bands in the valley in the mid-80s which inspired me to start a band called Ffa Coffi Pawb with friends. This coincided with the arrival of the Welsh language TV channel S4C in 1983, which came along after the politician Gwynfor Evans threatened to fast himself to death! S4C came about after decades of protest pushing for Welsh language TV, people occupying transmitters and direct, non-violent action. It was feared Welsh wouldn’t survive without its own robust media, which benefited my band because S4C was desperate to feature artists for its new alternative music programmes. So we were recording and playing TV shows from a really young age.
All of this is to say that as a musician I was very much a beneficiary of other people’s political activism.
You then found success pretty quickly with the Super Furry Animals. What was it like being signed to a legendary label like Creation Records? What do you think made you guys stand out?
We’d been playing in bands for over a decade by that point, so we had no fear and saw the London music industry circus as a bit of a joke. Creation were great as they could match us for any lunacy. Also, they were completely artist-led. Creation only focused on recording, not anyone’s image or anything invasive like that (although they did have a full-time party organiser by that point). They were happy for their artists to make uncompromising records but they were nurturing too. They wanted to sell our records and tried their best to get us to format singles to get higher chart positions and all that (we refused). Their (great) A&R strategy was to give us a continuous supply of the latest underground American art rock and hip hop records to keep us aware of what other artists were up to.
You made the biggest selling Welsh language album of all time, played beside 40-foot inflatable bears, filled shows with yetis and milk floats, worked with Howard Marks. What was the maddest thing the Super Furry Animals ever did, and how did you pull it off?
People saw our behaviour as mad but it didn’t seem mad to us - there were just some really dull lanes that bands were expected to stay in, and we decided to steer well clear of them. We were trying out everything we’d ever hoped to do if we were signed by a record label and had the kind of support to make things happen.
Our take was that it could all end tomorrow so we should make the most of it. It lasted longer than we expected at that level. On our last major label album, we ended up getting Sony to finance mixing an album in Brasil, for example, and paying for daily Portuguese lessons — we wanted to understand Brazilian psychedelic records a bit more. Life was pretty unreal and we really appreciated every single moment.
You’ve been a solo artist for some time now. How was it transitioning to going it alone? How has your songwriting evolved over time?
I put my first solo album out in 2005. I was 35 by that point so it didn’t seem overblown (to me) to record my own thing; I’d basically recorded it anyway for my own enjoyment. It was an excuse to play everything and make something uncompromising.
Prior to that I hadn’t bought a guitar until I was 19, so it took a period of playing in bands to become proficient and confident enough as a musician to even contemplate playing solo. When I had kids a few years later, it was more practical to concentrate fully on my own stuff as I couldn’t cope with everything. Before that I could juggle bands, solo records and various projects and try to keep everyone happy, but it got too much in the end, and I had to prioritise my family.
What I’m saying is the transition was difficult to navigate for both me and anyone working with me. It wasn’t a mapped master plan; life took over. Beyond that, in terms of songwriting, I try and keep myself open for new things to happen. Like anything the key to songwriting ultimately is just having the time to do it.
I guess the benefit of a long career is the potential for a range of expression. You’ve definitely pushed the boat out in those terms. From production and soundtrack work to theatre, running your own festival, working with the BBC orchestra. Is there any project or idea you’ve been particularly proud of? Why is that?
It’s inevitable that I’ll repeat myself as a songwriter so I try to give myself conditions where I can, at least sometimes, hope to come up with something different and reach different outcomes.
It’s an education for me getting to work in different mediums. And maybe I’m old enough to not get too phased by the magnitude of something. If I don’t know the medium I’m completely straight with people. I’ll ask them to guide me through it.
For example, in 2016 I was asked to write a libretto, the story and lyrics for an opera called Hedd Wyn 2117 — it’s streaming if you want to find it. The composer Stephen McNeff needed the libretto before starting to compose the music, so I asked for guidance at every step. I learned so much, I got into the medium, I figured out avenues I liked, things I wanted to avoid.
My taste in general is to subvert the medium in some way. After working with Stephen, I ended up asking him to do the orchestral arrangements for my album Babelsberg, so it had a direct impact on my own work. Even if I worry that it seems pretentious or ridiculous getting involved in new mediums, it hopefully helps improve my records all round.
I see everything as a work in progress. I hope I’m still developing what I do, so I’m wary of being overly proud of something. I think it’s healthier to stay self-critical, but I am amazed that some of the more over the top projects such as Neon Neon’s Praxis Makes Perfect ever happened. That’s mostly testament to other people’s organisational skills over any ‘vision’ of mine. I’ve plenty of ideas that have never happened too.
You recently re-released your American Interior album based on the story of 18th-century Welsh explorer John Evans. Can you tell us about some of the stuff you did for the project first time round, and why you wanted to bring the album back?
It was the most ambitious project I ever attempted. I wrote a book, recorded an album and shot a film within about 2 years. The whole thing was based around an ‘investigative concert tour’ following a 1792-1799 journey by explorer John Evans through North America, ultimately trying to find his grave. At that point I’d been touring major cities for two decades and was looking for new ways of touring and reaching different communities. First Nation reservations, for instance. For the record, I wasn’t the first Welsh person to play a Native American reservation. Bonnie Tyler had already played a lot of the casinos.
For continuity, I wore the same suit for 2 years whilst making the documentary, so it was pretty intense. That’s why I ended up in contact with Uskees. I needed a new black suit for the revival tour!
Revisiting American Interior was a practical coincidence. After a decade, all the albums I recorded for Turnstile records were out of contract, so Rough Trade offered to release them. They’re all out of print now but we thought American Interior was an obvious place to start reissuing. There’s so much material that was never streamed, it’s good to have it all out there again, and I gave a couple of months over to perform the live show. I put so much time into the project that it was a really nice thing to revisit and get my head back into. A lot has changed in a decade and the story resonates differently now.
A lot of your work has the kind of conceptual foundation seen in American Interior. Albums about John Delorean, the left-wing publisher Giangiacomo Feltrinelli, even songs about golden retrievers(!) What comes first with these projects, the concept or the music? How do they then influence one another?
Not every collection of songs needs a conceptual link. But when a conceptual idea comes along it can spark an album. When it comes to a biographical record, they write themselves in a way. It’s not hard to break someone’s life down to 10 chapters or whatever it needs.
I’m suspicious of prog rock concept records but I grew up in the age of popular conceptual hip-hop records as a teenager. Really playful albums that I love like Three Feet High and Rising by De La Soul. I think that’s why a concept seems like an instinctive way of putting an album together for me. Sometimes they spark a documentary or a concert idea, but it’s all an extension of the songs in some way.
What about your creative inspirations? This doesn’t have to be in terms of music, but it would be interesting to know who or what influenced you. Who you look up to and why.
I was a massive fan of the Velvet Underground as a teenager, and I still am today. Back then the Velvet’s revival was at full pelt with huge labels forcefully pushing their back catalogue as well as TV documentaries about them.
The music journalist Jon Savage wrote a great roadmap article explaining the mechanics of the Velvet Underground’s revival. It’s always sobering to think how our tastes are governed by the mechanics of publicity.
Andy Warhol, who was intrinsic to the Velvet Underground, simultaneously became a huge inspiration for me as a teenager. His work was something like populist, mass produced statement making as artistry — over craft or artisanship. I used to have laughing fits looking at his work. Just the audacity of it. Its bold, colourful, graphic nature was so attractive to me back then. I mean, he was still alive when I was sixteen. Nico died on my 18th birthday.
What I took from it (though I haven’t necessarily acted on it) is this: as an artist you can create anything in any medium without the burden of craftsmanship, or the constraints of being a note-perfect musician. Ideas are far more important. Jonathan Richman wrote in his ‘60s fan mag that the transgressive and largely unknown Velvet Underground were visionary artists who happened to be working in the medium of music. Whilst, for example, the hugely popular Eric Clapton and Cream were good musicians or artisans whose work wouldn’t be remembered.
Of course Andy Warhol did make beautiful artifacts and he was a great draughtsman, but in a way it was irrelevant whether his hand touched the work.
Later on in my life, in terms of inspiration as a songwriter, a friend bought me a book of Serge Gainsbourg’s songs. I was in my 30’s then — the book’s got like 600 songs or something in it. Gainsbourg wrote prolifically for film, other artists, adverts, whatever — and it completely changed how I saw the perimeters of songwriting. Gainsbourg wasn’t signed until he was in his thirties, so he also shows a way of existing in music and making challenging work beyond the vital creative period that’s attached to being young — or at least he presents a route out of it.
Obviously some of Gainsbourg’s work is very much of its time. You used to have to drink yourself to death as a mark of commitment too, but hopefully that’s gone now. I should mention that both Gainsbourg and Lou Reed had a great sense of melody. I can talk about big ideas all day, but mostly what I do and what makes me feel the most is writing melodies
This last part is where we ask you to send some cultural inspiration out into the world, recommending 5 Good Things and the reasons why you chose them.
A restaurant or cafe you like in your city.
In Cardiff, maybe the best place to eat is the central market. If you’re fortunate and have the means, you can eat whatever you’re hungry for — witness the heart of the city and buy some music at Kelly’s Records. If I could eat records, I would.
A film everyone should watch
A film that inspired me deeply when I was younger was Caro Diario by Nanni Moretti (1993). It influenced the documentary films I’ve been part of in that it combines reality and fiction.
A book everyone should read
YOUR LIFE IS NOT A (FUCKING) STORY by Simon Critchley. It’s a short, sweet stand against applying narrative arcs to (fucking) everything.
A musical album or artist who means something to you
I love the recent Stereolab LP Instant Holograms on Metal Film. I’ve never heard the term ‘palliative care’ in an uplifting pop song before. It’s a really moving and great sounding record.
Where you’d send someone if they were visiting your city or hometown for the first time
Bute Park Stone Circle. I always send people there to hang out.
It’s a revived bardic Druidic circle that you can find in any Welsh town — they erect them for the Eisteddfod ceremonies. It’s exotic for tourists perhaps, but you’ll mostly find people zoned-out in leisure wear on the archdruid’s plinth — that’s just as poetic for me. They have fibreglass portable stone circles available now for the ceremonies too.
Gruff's latest album Dim Probs is out now through Rock Action Records. He wore our 3006 cord blazer and 5005 cord work pants in charcoal.
Photo credits:
Ryan Eddleston @ryan_eddleston_dop
Christian David @cd.photography.schaffhausen