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Nick Lowe has become a cult figure on both sides of the Atlantic. The British singer/ songwriter/ producer is very much a Pied Piper character on the rock scene with fingers in many pies and success never very far away.
Lowe began his musical career playing bass with pop band Kippington Lodge in the Sixties, the nucleus of which went on to form Brinsley Schwarz in 1970. In their early days, they were best known for the hype which surrounded their debut at the Fillmore East and subsequent commercial flop. The band then went to the other extreme and were largely responsible for the growth of the "pub rock" circuit on which they became legendary performers.
It was during this period that Lowe largely formed the basis of his approach to songwriting and recording, and when the band eventually split around 1975, this was the area he moved into. Nick became one of the founders of Stiff Records, a totally independent label formed at the beginning of the punk explosion. Their first single release was in fact "Heart Of The City"/ "So It Goes" by Nick Lowe, which wasn't a hit but aroused a certain amount of interest within the business.
Nick's biggest success was to come with another Stiff artist, Elvis Costello, whose first album he produced; he also produced the very first punk album by British band The Damned. Lowe finally broke away from Stiff and went with Costello to a new label, Radar Records, where he produced Elvis' second hit album. While at Radar, Lowe finally managed to put the finishing touches to his own solo album Jesus Of Cool which proved successful and yielded the hit single, "I Love The Sound Of Breaking Glass."
His producing efforts include work with Dave Edmunds and Graham Parker — he even managed a number one hit in Japan with a song about teenybop group, the Bay City Rollers under the pseudonym of The Tartan Horde.
On the surface, Lowe would appear to scoff at attempts to intellectualise pop music and regards it all as "disposable"; however, a close look at his work would reveal his obvious musical tastes and affections.
Wasn't "So It Goes" a hit?
No, that was the first Stiff single and because it was all mail order then, we didn't have any distribution. We sold 10,000 which I was amazed at, because that's good sales for a single in England.
Was "So It Goes" consciously "Reeling in the Years"?
No it wasn't. In fact, I wrote that song when I had a job tour managing for Graham Parker and the Rumour on their tour supporting Thin Lizzy in the States. The Lizzys, well, Phil Lynott, had just written that song "The Boys are Back in Town" and I loved that song when I first heard it. So, hearing it so much, both when they played it on stage and at soundchecks and things like that, I wrote the first verse about Brian Robertson in the Lizzys. You know they called him The Kid and he had hundreds of amplifiers and he was always screaming at the roadies and everything. And I was just wandering around, doing my business, getting the group onstage, and I just started humming this thing, and it's got this descending (sings): da da da da. It wasn't until later that someone said, "Oh that's just like Steely Dan," but I do that, you know. I crib from all sorts. I used to imitate people's styles; I just steal from them nowadays.
Is Dave Edmunds on "The Tartan Horde"?
No.
He's on the Disco Bros. though?
Yeah he produced it and he played guitar on it as well. Him and me played guitar on it, I played bass. Actually Terry Williams played drums on it as well. But I didn't know Terry so well then, as he was still with Man in those days.
So the Tartan Horde is all you — or different people?
Well the first one is all me. "Bay City Rollers We Love You" was the one that was No. 1 in Japan.
The b-side of "Bay City Rollers We Love You" was the track with a stupid Moog synthesizer solo over the top of it, an instrumental version. And the b-side of "Rollers Show" was a thing called "Hello Rollers," which was like the "Hallelujah Chorus" except instead of going "Hallelujah" it went "Hello rollers, hello rollers, hello rollers." It was just a Gary Glitter sort of drum thing. But I don't know what's happened to that.
The EP with the Disco Bros. has been re-released.
Yeah from Holland. It was never released in England, they put it out in Holland. And apparently it's selling loads and loads of copies. It's amazing because it was done under a pseudonym and it was "conscious crap." I did it on purpose just to see if I could fool people. It's just to tease people. You know, I like doing that sort of thing.
It must be a lot of fun to have those outlets for whatever crazy ideas you have.
Yeah it is. It's great fun. But I'd have never put that out in England under my own name because I would've got so much stick. But over here people understand the spirit in which it was intended much more than English people. I'm really surprised — everybody has talked about that. In fact, I've met a lot of people who say they really like it, as well.
Your set is much more rock 'n' roll than the album.
Yeah it was that way because I know from my years with the Brinsleys, that when you're a support group you very rarely get a soundcheck. We didn't get a soundcheck last night; we've only had two or three this whole tour.
But it's very hard to fuck up the sound of a classic rock 'n' roll group: just three guitars and drums. That's the classic lineup of a rock 'n' roll band. It's very hard to fuck it up, so I on purpose decided to play the tracks from the album which are the most rock 'n' rolly, and the ones that are easiest to do, just to cut down on the risks I had to take.
Somebody who likes a song like "Tonight" on the album, which has a lot of acoustics, is going to be disappointed because I ain't going to play it. If I did play it, they'd probably think, "Oh, that's really rough."
If it isn't spot on, it's going to sound really duff. I thought it best just to play it real safe and just do those ones. Because Elvis is top of the bill, the people coming along to the shows are a very Anglophile audience. They know who I am. It's much better supporting Elvis than if I was supporting Kiss or someone like that.
They also know who Edmunds is so I can do "I Knew the Bride" and things like that and people are more likely to know them. By the mere fact that they're into Elvis, they generally know something about me and Edmunds, as well.
Don't you get tired of those songs?
No, I love them, I really love them. And it's not so much each song, it's the whole thing that I get off on. There's a sort of a shape to it so it becomes sort of one song almost. I like sets that aren't interrupted too much, so it's almost one long noise. Even though it's different songs. The English groups started this banging into numbers, you finish one and go — blam! — straight into the next one. It started in England because it doesn't give people a chance to boo. That's why English groups started that style of banging straight into the next one. It's no good, not for rock 'n' roll, not for two-minute numbers. You've got to whack, whack, whack, whack, whack, you've got to keep on churning them out, that's the thing to do. You know all that (imitates guitar tuning): dee-uhn, dee-uhn, tuning up shit, that's just not on at all. You've got to get all of that stuff out of the way and get on with it.
If it wasn't "Halfway to Paradise" that made you leave Stiff, what was it?
Well it was me and Elvis and Jake (Riviera) who left Stiff and me and Jake started Stiff. In order for me to explain why I left, I have to tell you about why we started it really. Jake and I started Stiff because there wasn't anything else around we thought, any other record companies around that knew what was going on. There were all these talented people around who couldn't get deals who are now starting to get really popular. You know people like (Ian) Dury and Elvis and Graham Parker as well. And we figured that all these A&R guys, these record companies all had cloth ears, because they were signing up these dreadful groups who were just reincarnations of Led Zeppelin, reincarnations of Queen, or Yes, or all those groups which I don't like.
They were just signing up all those groups, not noticing that what was under their noses was something completely new. You know, like my stuff — I'm really into rock 'n' roll as a basis, rock 'n' roll, and pop music. It's all been done before, the chords have been played before, but it's the attitude with which you play it.
I thought that all these people had cloth ears. Me and Jake thought, "God they can't see these people with a whole new attitude and style." Rather than sign with a major record company, we thought we'd try it ourselves. Everybody said it couldn't be done, in terms of hit records; the majors have it sewn up, an independent label would never do it. But, the records that were made by the people we signed to Stiff records were good records. They were exciting records the way that pop music should be. That, and also Jake's talent for creating a sort of style and demand. He's very clever at that; it's a media thing.
By that combination Stiff became very big. And like all big things that start from nothing and then become big news, you start attracting hangers-on and people like that.
I felt that Stiff records was becoming very cultish and elitist. You know, it was becoming a very snobby sort of in-crowd club, which I don't like. It's a very fine line that I myself feel I have to walk between wanting to keep ahead all the time — to set fashions instead of following fashions, or set styles and trends — but also making sure you don't leave your audience behind, that you don't look down on your audience.
It's a very fine line, because you can turn into a musical snob very easily, you know by thinking, "Oh that was last year's thing, now I'm onto this year's thing," and I don't want to do that. I don't feel like a hermit or you know, genius is pain or anything like that. I don't feel at all like that. So I just thought we proved our point. Everyone said we couldn't get hit records and we did. It just wasn't fun anymore.
In order for me to stay in this business (there's much easier ways to make a living you know), it's got to be fun. That's the major thing I think about. I've got to enjoy it and if I didn't enjoy it, I'd get out straight away. You know I don't aim to stay in this business for very much longer.
I just want to make my pile and get out because I think there's nothing more pitiful than someone who's just lost their grip. At the moment I've got my finger on the pulse of what's going on. But it doesn't last forever, there's kids all the time that are coming up who will do it much better than me.
As soon as that happens, I'm going to get right out of the way, because I think it's pathetic when people slide downhill when they haven't got it anymore. They're just in the way, so I'll get out of it.
You've progressed and you've changed over the years. Don't you think you can keep adapting?
While I can, I will. But what I'm saying is that, as soon as I feel that I'm losing my grip on it, either through boredom or through loss of enthusiasm for it or something and I'm just sort of sitting back and picking up royalty checks for "So It Goes" or something — I'll get out of the business.
At the moment, as I say, I think I know what's going on in the music business.
I mean there's millions out there who disagree with me, but I couldn't care less about that. All I can do is what I think is a good idea at the time. And it seems to me that the public's tastes are changing, not mine. I've always done what I thought was good. I've made a lot of crap records as well, but at the time I believed in it, and that's all I can continue to do.
Are there specific releases on Stiff now that you don't endorse, or was the problem strictly behind the scenes?
Obviously there's some records they put out that I didn't like that much, but generally the ones that I had something to do with I thought were great (laughs).
You said that you think you're doing nothing new.
Not in terms of C, Am, F and G.
But the words are new.
Yeah, the attitude and the style is new I think. That's the thing that links me with Elvis and Ian Dury and even Graham Parker. Even though the actual music may be different, we meet at a certain point. All of that stuff is linked to the same thing; an attitude and a style. And the words, I suppose ... well, for instance, my words are much more fatuous than Elvis' are. You know Elvis does write extremely good lyrics. He'd hate it if he heard me say this, but he is a poet; you could read his lyrics as poetry, some of them especially. But my things are much more light-hearted and tongue in cheek than Elvis' are. Much more throwaway stuff.
So would you say that all of you are doing Pure Pop for Now People?
It does seem to be a sort of pop — yeah, pure pop for now people approach. But I guess it is, because it's easy to understand. It's not an effort to get behind it. If you don't like it, fair enough — try something else.
It's no work of art or anything like that. It's trash music; it's garbage music. But if you treat it with the attitude that it's garbage music, trash music, you're much more likely to come up with something lasting I think.
When Elvis Presley made some of his early recordings, he wasn't labouring over it like it was art, and they'll be playing those records in 100 years, probably. Admittedly, they'll be very cranky, but I don't think they'll be playing Moody Blues albums in 100 years.
Do you prefer producing to making your own records?
No, I think of the three main aspects that I'm involved with in the music business — producing other people, performing and making my own records, and songwriting — exactly the same because I have such a low boredom tolerance.
I have to be very involved in whatever it is I do, so I get just as excited with an Elvis album going in the charts as I do if one of my records goes into the charts. They're exactly the same to me because I feel proud of it, I feel proud of my contribution to that, just the same as if it was my song — it doesn't make any difference.
What is your contribution to Elvis' records?
I understand the way he likes to work, musically, probably better than anybody else. So I can translate what he is trying to get across. I can make it actually sound like that, the way he wants it, which probably another producer wouldn't. He'd probably be too hung up on, "Aw, the kids aren't buying this sort of sound nowadays, Elvis. I think you'd better do this."
I translate what he wants. It so happens that we both have a modern outlook on it as well and we want to make modern records. His stuff is very modern in its approach. I can translate that. My talent is in translating what the artist or the singer wants to get across so the butcher, the baker or the candlestick maker can understand it. You don't have to be a musician to understand it.
It's a modern outlook. I mean if you're talking in actual examples: I help him arrange the tunes, but his group the Attractions do that as well — they're very good too. I do a lot of singing on his records, harmony singing, things like that. I play a bit of acoustic guitar, odds and sods. But basically it's to get his impression down on vinyl.
Was it your idea or his idea or a shared idea not to put credits on the records?
I think that's something we all felt. All those reams of "Thanks to my Auntie Doris for making the boys a cup of tea" or "Thanks to the postman's brother for buying this record" ... it's so fucking boring. Again, it leads up to that very in-crowdsy thing which I don't like at all. Also, the funny thing is, it works the other way: the less you tell people about things, the more they want to know.
Probably if you did put reams of credits down, people would just go, "Oh, yes ...", but if there aren't any, people go out of their way to find out what they are.
Who is on Elvis' first album?
An American group called Clover. They played on "Rollers Show" as well. They were in England a lot. Their guitarist, John McFee is quite well known, he plays on a lot of Van Morrison stuff and Steve Miller stuff. He did the pedal steel on two of Van Morrison's albums, I think, and he plays a lot with Steve Miller. He's a fabulous guitarist. They're from San Francisco. We couldn't announce them because the musicians' union in England would've jumped on them while they were over there for doing it. You know, Americans playing, taking jobs away from English guys.
How about your record?
Oh it's all sorts of people. Whoever was available at the time. The Rumour played on two tracks.
"Breaking Glass"?
Well, that's Steve Goulding, the drummer from the Rumour — he plays on nearly all the stuff I've done since I left the Brinsleys. "Breaking Glass" was the drummer and the bassist from the Rumour. I played guitar, Bob Andrews, keyboard player from the Rumour, played that great piano stuff. So it's individual members of different groups. Ian Dury's group played on one track as well. Ian Dury played the drums for Wreckless Eric and he's great as well, because you know he's got polio, he's a cripple. But he's dynamite, he's really good.
Are all those guitars on the album cover yours?
No. I borrowed them off various people. I borrowed most of the clothes off various people as well. I do have quite a lot of guitars. I really like collecting those strange looking guitars, but a lot of them I borrowed off Edmunds or whoever was around.
That's one good thing about knowing all those guys from the pub rock days: if you want to get your hands on a Rickenbacker 12-string and you know somebody who's got one, you just give him a ring and you can borrow it.
In your band, you all use just one guitar each?
Yeah, they all sound the bloody same, you know.
I've always wondered about that.
That's bullshit. Of course they all sound the same. You can plug into anything. Rockpile especially, we have a real good thing going for us because we can go to Holland and Germany and places like that, as we have done in the past, and we just take our guitars on the plane with us and turn up and there are amps there.
It doesn't matter — all those amps all sound the bloody same. It's all horseshit, that stuff: "I must have my amp and my guitars ... oh no, the action's not quite right ... no, I just can't play this." Bollocks, that's rubbish. This way there's no embarrassing road managers, no unpleasant blowouts on the motorway so your equipment gets there late — you just turn up, where's the amp, show me a hole to stick the plug in. You make far more money doing that than if you're lugging all your gear all over the place. So, I couldn't give a shit. I'm more interested in what they look like, really. If they look good, then it's a good enough guitar. They all sound the same.
What about playing all the instruments on a record. Isn't it harder to do it that way?
No, it's easier. It's not as satisfying either. I started to do that because I couldn't afford to pay people to do it. My instrumental prowess is very limited, in fact. I can just strum rhythm guitar and I can play bass. I know where to move my fingers — whether to go on the thick ones or the thin ones, you know, up high or down to the bottom ... and I can tune it, and I can play in time.
But I can remember a time, almost the day, when I thought, "Right, great, that's it, that's what I need to know now," and all of a sudden I stopped learning.
I never practise or anything like that. When I get a guitar, I have a strum and see if I've got a bit of an idea for a song or something. I've learned a few chords — enough for my needs and that's it. It's what I explained to you earlier on about the accent isn't necessarily on the musical technique, even though the guys in Rockpile are very good. Billy and Dave and Terry are fantastic.
But as far as I'm concerned, I know enough for my purposes to write songs or whatever, and I've got an ear for people who are good. I've got the ability to make people who are good do things for me if I'm producing them or something like that. I can explain to them what to do even though I can't do it myself. I can say, "Hey do it like this: (sings) doo-doo-doo-doo-doo," or "Can you play that?"
So it's pretty unlikely that you'll play any more guitar on your albums?
Yeah, on my records now I generally get someone to play bass as well because I find it much easier to direct people. I do play bass on a number of tracks on my album, but I generally sit in the control room and plug it straight into the desk, and just play it straight on.
Do you do the vocals later on?
Yeah generally I do, although with the other people I produce I get them to do it all at the same time, if possible. Nearly all of Elvis' stuff is done that way; there's hardly any overdubs at all — just maybe a harmony or certain things like that. But he sings the tunes straight away and all the solos are done at the same time.
Are there any groups around now that you like?
There's a couple of people in the States I really like. I was beginning to despair about American bands — I must admit, bands in general are a bit passé to me now. A bit boring, it's all been played.
But there's a group called Cheap Trick who I really like. And there's a band called George Thorogood and the Destroyers. George Thorogood is a blues guy from the midwest somewhere. I like him a lot. And I really liked the Dictators last night. I thought they were dynamite. I went to see them at CB's last night and they were great. The drummer was a killer — I don't know who the drummer is, but he's dynamite.
Drums are the most important thing — if you've got a hot drummer, that's more than half the battle. You can get away with murder if you've got a good drummer.
You keep making jokes about Brinsley Schwarz. Do you really think you were that bad?
I look back at that time as very much a learning period for me, because I was just starting to write songs then. When I heard something I liked, like the first Crosby, Stills & Nash album — I thought that it was fantastic. I'd never heard stereo before that and I thought it was fantastic. So I went over the top imitating that style, or the Band, or Van Morrison, people I thought were really good.
Instead of just saying, "Mmmm, that was good, I wonder where he got that from," and instead of going and buying a Bobby Bland album, which is where Van got it from, I'd take Van's thing.
One day I woke up and realized that my roots were in pop music and when I found that I could admit this to myself, I found I had a huge spectrum — that I wasn't restricted to one thing. And the Brinsleys, the reason I sort of make fun of it, is because, especially towards the end, it wasn't like a rock 'n' roll band. We were real good live.
Our live gigs were dynamite, except that in the end, we seemed to be attracting these intense, bearded liberals who would sit at the front and examine each note: "A very tasteful obviously New Orleans influenced drummer there," when the drummer was pissed out of his head. You couldn't pull any chicks at a Brinsley Schwarz gig. We used to get these guys who would come up and say, "Tell me, the lyrical content of some of your songs. Is it sort of a collusion of a Japanese community up in Seattle, or is it more of a cross-collateralization of the pollutionary Chuck Berry feel of the mid-Sixties?" You know, all this garbage, I didn't know what they were talking about.
It was more like a rock 'n' roll lesson, and I thought, "This ain't a rock 'n' roll group, it's just old men." I felt myself turning into an old man before my time and I knew it was time for me to go.
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