FOREVER CHANGES
Lauded by the press for their debut EP, "Jack," Moose are the guitar band all the other guitar bands flock to watch. So why, on the eve of releasing their second EP, aren't the major companies fighting each other to sign them? Steve Sutherland discovers a pioneer attitude amid all the noise and hangovers.
    Nothing's new. It's a theory, I guess.

    So nothing's new and Ride are, uh, The Beatles, Chapterhouse, with any luck, Pink Floyd, and Lush are, sorry, Abba. Where does that leave Moose? They've been compared to God and Spear Of Destiny, The Only Ones and -- well, yesterday, dressed as women, looking, "Too f***ing convincing, too f***ing tasty" if you ask Russell, they were the New York Dolls.
    "More like The Willesden Green Slags," he splutters. It's a sad, sad story.
    Moose were making a video to accompany their second EP, "Cool Breeze," and, for some reason now lost in the bottom of the bottle, they decided to do it in drag. So there they were, all dolled-up at a Greenwich comedy club, getting wolf-whistles from the workmen over the road, hanging out on the corner like two-bit hookers, getting an unhealthy taste for the caress of nylon on hairy thighs, getting good and wrecked because the bar had been left unattended upstairs and they felt it their bounden duty to drink it dry.
    "Watneys Pale Ale and all," admits Russell, shame-faced. "It was f***ing tragic."
    Russell's on his third pint in twenty minutes, desperately trying to drink off the hang-over that nearly made him chuck on the tube, manfully trying to pull himself together enough to face an interview. He's shaking and sweating, face crumpled like a paper bag. This is not the sort of demeanor likely to enamour Moose to Smash Hits. Nor is a video featuring a group of blokes in frocks riding on the back of mechanical pandas likely to be clasped to the bosom of "Top of the Pops" considering how Robert Smith was censored for a smudge of lipstick and Alan Pillah for some shitty stilettos.
    "F*** 'Top of the Pops'," groans Kevin (aka Moose), who is only slightly worse for wear than Russell. "I'd never go on 'Top of the Pops' anyway. I just can't see myself miming."
    "Miming," says Russell. "We don't even f***ing rehearse."
    Kevin tries to explain this away as a stand for spontanieity over calculation rather than a statement of sloth but yesterday's drinking is sapping his energy and he gives up with a shrug and explains instead how yesterday wasn't a complete write-off considering the skirt he wore was his girlfriend's and she's just had a baby and couldn't get into it but now he's worn it and stretched it a bit she can.
    Russell hauls his chin off the table and relates how he awoke to find Scab, of Colourbox and M.A.R.R.S. fame, asleep in his fireplace and, as the fourth Skol slips down nicely, talk turns to more pressing matters like the glory of Tottenham's cup win, how embarrassing it was the day the inflatable doll was slung on the pitch at White Hart Lane as a comment on David Pleat's alledged sexual peccadiloes and what a god Chris Eubank is. Russell relates how, after the recent Underworld gig, he received his first death threat. Somebody rang him on the Sunday and said, "I know where you live. I'm coming to get you." Damien is mocked for supporting Manchester United. More ale flows. We talk about the Associates' "Sulk," The Smiths' "The Queen is Dead," early Sonic Youth. More ale flows. We talk about my Mike Tyson tee-shirt and how Happy Mondays are little more than The Cockney Rejects ripping off Sly Stone. More ale flows. By the time Sheehan manages to prize them from the pub to do some photos, Moose are stuffed again. We get some carry-outs. Hair of the dog? This lot have just done a whole pack of hounds and the f***ing fox as well!
    So nothing's new.

    We're in a curry house. It's the only way I can think of sobering up Moose enough to get the interview done. The theory is that a chicken tikka masalla might just soak up enough lager to allow -- well, whatever, things are looking better than they were five minutes ago when we were marching along the street with bottles in our hands singing, "YOU'RE GONNA GET YOUR F***IN' HEAD KICKED IN!" the charming soccer chant from Keith Allen's masterpiece, "The Yob."
    Russell hadn't quite drained his bottle by the time we reached the restaurant and, considering the state we were in, I managed to persuade him it wouldn't be a good idea to try and gain admission all bottled-up. He reluctantly agreed and lovingly parked the bottle on a neighbouring doorstep. "I'll retrieve it when I leave," he said.
    The popadums arrive. Oh, and more lagers.

  So what's new?
    "I guess we are," says Kevin.
    This is true. Moose are the latest guitar sensation. Their first EP, "Jack," was lauded everywhere that counted. Their gigs are packed to the knackers with other bands who leave with their senses blasted. Their second EP is already being hailed as a classic. This has happened in a few short weeks. Are they surprised?
    "Not really," says Kevin. "If a band's good, it doesn't matter if it's their first or their hundredth gig, it shows."
    "I'm surprised," says Russell, "because we're not playing the game. We're not playing the right beats, the right sounds. We've been compared to Ride a lot and that's probably fair enough because they're a good, young guitar band. I've got a couple of their records and I think two tracks out of the eight are actually brilliant. Live they're probably excellent too. But there's all these other people who follow on the tail end, people like Catherine Wheel--they're just music by numbers. They supported us and got picked upon really quickly because they're just derivative of everything that's contemporary. They've got their Stone Roses drumbeat, they've got Ride's vocal and guitar --
    "It's the same with Curve, it's like join-the-dots. They've got this formula and they've got Dave Stewart buncing it up to the hilt. They really aren't worthy of respect."
    "I think our ambitions are less to do with the scheme of things and more to do with the music," says Kevin. "Like, my personal influences range from Tim Buckley, Nick Drake, Scott Walker, Arthur Lee -- I just want to make really brilliant music and I don't whether one person thinks it's godhead or a million people do. If it's the latter then I'm financially really happy but that's not the motivation. At the end of the day, I want to make really good records."
    "We've got a background, we know our musical history and we look back and search out absolutely classic songs," says Russell. "But a lot of bands now are derivative of themselves and the scene. They're copyists. We're not. We're derivative of something that's everlasting."
    "Let's not f*** about," says Kevin. "'Pet Sounds,' 'Forever Changes,' Neil Young in general, also Cocteau Twins in general -- In 20 years, the Cocteau Twins will be legendary and people will still wank over them because they're brilliant. Nick Cave, Pixies -- there are great bands now who are doing something that is everlasting.
    "Love are timeless. You can't argue with that. They influenced that new Primal Scene single, it's in Bobby Gillespie's psyche -- it'll never leave him. It's part of his life. And the next Primal Scream album, which will be their third, will be their 'Pet Sounds,' it'll be the album they make that will make everybody go, 'What?!' and set them apart from all their contemporaries. And they'll make an album that I hope and pray in 20 years time will still be great."

    So what's new? Moose are and they aren't. They're attempting the impossible but they have no choice. They're determined to live up to the past they so cherish, determined to give it a crack even though it's all been done before, even though innocence is impossible at 28 years old.
    I have a theory that other bands come to see Moose to salve their consciences. I think their contemporaries--the ones with more money, the ones with major company backing--envy the purity of Moose's ambition. This is the one band that hasn't or won't stray from the path of true believing. Moose like this theory a lot.
    Is this why other bands have got the money and Moose are brassic, because compromise would kill them?
    "I don't know," says drummer Damien, sucking another lager. "Perhaps it's because they're prettier."
    "You wouldn't believe how much we've been ignored by the majors," says Kevin. "I think we must scare them. Bands like Lush and Chapterhouse have got a really contemporary sound, they've got the Cocteaus-meets something-slightly-harsher whole big sound and their good songs are brilliant. But we're slightly different than that. We've got these strong songs that are written on 12 string and then taken to a studio and we're shown all these effects that can make it bigger. That's all it is really."
    Moose say they're really naive in the studio. An engineer might suggest something and they go for it and that's it--whether it works or not it has to come out. Moose were given the same amount of time to record the four songs on the "Cool Breeze" EP as The Telescopes had to do one vocal. Moose say they know that for a fact. When they supported Chapterhouse, they had to borrow their amps. They're always scrounging this and that. But Moose make a virtue of such necessity.
    "If we were surrounded by a hundred thousand quid's worth of equipment," says Kevin, "it might be our downfall in a way. It seems really cheap to say it but we're skint. I haven't got a guitar amp anymore--mine's f***ed. So we don't have the equipment to do live what we do in the studio. Also, to be brutally frank, I donít give a f***. Itís a totally different attitude live to being in the studio."
    "When we're in the studio, we're given four days to write four songs and we utilise whatever they've got going there and try and make the songs as good as possible," says Russell. "We find all this equipment and use it to enhance the record but live we haven't got all the technology, we haven't got the financial back-up that Chapterhouse and Lush have to make a massive sound. We're a lot rawer."
    Certainly the wall-of-sound strobe-out finale to their recent Underworld gig was more intense than any of their contemporaries bar Levitation have yet managed. Kevin calls it, "Our 'Like a Hurricane' thing. There's a whole side of Cocteaus ambience and a beautiful wall-of-sound going on but also, at the same time, there's this Buttholes thing that makes it a little bit nasty."
    "It's a please yourself track. One lyric, two chords and 10 minutes of wank off. We could have got canned but, if we had, we'd have played it for 20 minutes!"
    Russell says he cherishes the memory of AR Kane clearing the Clarendon with a wipe-out and says he wouldn't be surprised if Moose have a similar effect in the future. At present, Tim, ex-McCarthy, now Stereolab, is adding to the guitar holocaust. He only joined to help out while Kevin was at home with his girlfriend and their new baby but, when Kevin returned, no-one wanted him to leave. Moose are fluid like that. Their bassist has just left and someone from Modern English is filling in. Nothing matters bar the songs and that beautiful wall of sound.

    Kevin says he cries every time he hears Jimmy Webb's orchestration to Glen Campbell's "By the Time I Get to Phoenix" and that's what he's trying to achieve with Moose guitars. That's paramount over success, image, livelihood, everything.
    "Our attitude's different," he says. "Like, I think it's only the last three or four gigs that I've faced the audience. Every gig we ever did, I just stared at the numbers on my amp."
    I suppose this is why Moose have a reputation for a certain reluctance, a reputation that very conveniently translates into mystique.
    Damien disagrees: "I don't think that's it. It's just that we don't wanna perform in the same sort of way. If we don't wanna face the audience, we don't. We're not ever gonna stand there with big smiles."
    Why?
    "Because we're 28 years old!" says Russell, and he necks another ale.
    If anything"s new at the moment it's that Moose remain handsome and current while carrying a geat chip on their shoulders. From the time Russell and Kevin worked together in Record and Tape Exchange, started getting drunk a lot and listening to Kris Kristofferson and Lee Hazelwood, they knew that the music they were starting to play together was different.
    "There is another side to us," Russell explains. "Most contemporary pop music is really middleclass whereas country music is basically working class and we come from that background. We've had to do shite jobs, do a lot of stuff that -- well, without mentioning any names, other bands haven't had to do. They've come from middleclass backgrounds and they've been given their guitars, they've had that advantage. They haven't had to work in a pig factory hanging meat on hooks like he did or clean the chrom on cars like I did, shit like that. We think of it as a class thing because we had to do shit jobs to get the money to buy all the records we love."
    "I remember buying 'Four Sail' which is probably Love's least available record," says Kevin. "It cost me 12 quid which was a fortune but it was worth every penny. Four or five years ago I had a Love tattoo on my arm because that's how into it I am, that's what I think of Arthur Lee and his songs. It's like, if I could have a long enough funeral procession, I'd have the whole of 'Forever Changes' played because it's just phenomenal."
    "It shits all over anything that's happened in the last 30 years," says Russell, "and maybe if we mention this in this interview, a few people might go, 'Hang on a minute, there's more to it than The Stone Roses' drumbeat, there's more to reach from, more to use.'"
    "You know as well as I do that there's a really well-designed middleclass movement of bands copying My Bloody Valentine, that's completely obvious. We're not scared of being compared to that but it's not what we're about. The reason we play guitar the way we do is that we can't play guitar that well but we can recognize really brilliant songs when we hear them."
    "We're like the sons of pioneers," says Kevin.

    So what's new? "Cool Breeze" reminds me of Leonard Cohen and that's not only because the first track's called "Suzanne." Kevin's delighted. He stole the title--"I wanted a classic rock name and Sharon didn't go."
    Ask Moose about the melancholy and again they'll say it's age: "We listen to records that are so blue they bring your right down but they make you happy," says Russell. "Tim Buckley said it, 'Happy Sad'."
    "Most of the lyrics I write, I've gotta be honest, are based on bad love affairs," says Kevin. "For example, there was somebody I was with for six years and split up with a couple of years ago and there are still songs there about it. 'I'll Take Tomorrow' is pretty much about that. 'Jack' is about the girl I live with now and we've had a baby and -- y'know, there's hope there. It's trying to put into words -- I dunno. I wrote that song within a week, literally, of meeting this girl --
    "And 'Suzanne' could be about somebody we know who's given birth to a girl that's living in one room, in a bedsit, and she's got a child and it's like, every time you see her it makes you sad but it makes you happy at the same time," says Russell. "You know what I mean. Everything can be beautiful but, at the same time, it's got to be tinged with sadness to make it real."
    "Jesus, we're living it!" says Kevin. "Nothing's totally happy. You could have a fabulous day but, at the end of that day, you go home, you've gotta sleep. No matter who you're with, you could put your arms round your girlfriend or whatever, but, when you got to sleep, you're on your Jack Jones. It's you that closes those eyes. You got those thoughts, those fears to come to terms with and there's no escape. There's no escape. There's no escape from where we are now. We're in an Indian restaurant in London but, f*** me, people die, y'know.
    "I know that sounds ludicrously cut and dried but some people sweep that under the carpet and they just go from A to Z without ever thinking about the Z. But I can't. I can't stop thinking about Z. I can't get rid of it."

    So what's new? Moose finish their drinks. Russell reckons he's just got enough dosh to make it up to Kentish Town to see Violent Femmes. Kevin's going to pick up fish 'n' chips for his girlfriend. In a few days they'll be playing in France for the first time. They soundcheck at seven in the morning, Black Francis plays solo at lunchtime, The Pixies play at six and then Moose go on at one the next morning. Russell's dead worried. How on earth are they gonna stay sober that long?

Many thanks to John Wyatt for transcription!