Elbow – Guy Garvey on Their 10th Album “AUDIO VERTIGO”

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Elbow – Guy Garvey on Their 10th Album “AUDIO VERTIGO”

Their Best Selves

Mar 28, 2024 By Lee Campbell Photography by Peter Neill Web Exclusive

Elbow’s main man, Guy Garvey, has recently celebrated his 50th birthday. He marked the occasion in Manchester with his pal Peter Jobson from the band I Am Kloot and a “bunch of pirates” as he puts it. Garvey has been living in South London for the past number of years with his wife, the actress Rachael Stirling. He jokes that he is a traitor to his region, and class, marrying into acting royalty (Rachael is daughter of the late Dame Diana Rigg) and residing in the big city, miles away from his beloved Bury in greater Manchester. Garvey is speaking to me from his family home and he feels in a very good place.

Last week, the band released AUDIO VERTIGO, their 10th studio album. It was recorded throughout 2023 at the band’s individual studios, Migration Studios in Gloucestershire, and finalized at the band’s facility at Blueprint Studios in Salford. Many of the songs on AUDIO VERTIGO were born of Elbow’s members working in smaller groups, before the whole band finished the songs. The album marks a significant step change for the group following 2021’s understated and delicately personal Flying Dream 1. Potter siblings Mark and Craig as always are on guitar and keys, with Pete Turner on bass and Alex Reeves on drums driving the mercurial Elbow rhythm department.

We spoke to Garvey about the creation of the album, his hometown, and how he feels about Elbow’s biggest hit.

Lee Campbell (Under the Radar): The new album, AUDIO VERTIGO is a record of real contrasts. Any of the other guys in the band chip in with lyrics?

Guy Garvey: It’s just me. After the first album, The Guardian did a two-page spread on the record. The journalist guessed all the meanings of the songs and was deadly accurate, including one song he said that didn’t quite ring as true as the others, and he was exactly right, as I had dramatized one a bit. Craig [Potter] was reading it and he asked me, “Is that what that song is about?” I thought that the lads were just letting me get on with it, actually they didn’t know what the songs were about or even about anything in particular. So, the phrase I ask them to this day is, “What do you get off this?” If it doesn’t work or rub up, I will change it, although I do hold the casting vote as far as the lyrics are concerned.

What about production and mixing this time round?

Craig has done that since the third album [Leaders of the Free World]. He’s [going from] strength to strength as a producer. He’s a very gifted artist, very out of the box when it comes to making music. I was always trying to get him to improvise on the piano. On the previous record he did and it was really good. He said he realized what was holding him back was listening to himself play, so he muted himself while performing the solo, and it works. Who thinks like that?

Ever tempted to change it up?

Of course, it’s a long marriage. It’s his art, it’s what he wants to do. If he ever wanted to loosen his grip on the reins, then of course. I would love to work with [Nigel] Godrich, who has become a friend as well. Inflo [Dean Josiah Cover] is just fuckin’ blowing my mind at the moment. I have come across a lot of artists who have worked with him. But, this album has been so much fun that, even sooner than usual, I wanna get back in the studio with Craig.

We could write a manual on how to keep going with the same collaborative outfit, and part of it is changing the way you work, working in different combinations. Our drummer, Alex [Reeves], this is his fourth album with us in seven years, and he asked if he could be more a part of the creative side this time. That gave us a real taste of playing as a real band again. We’ve not written like that for a long time. We figured out that shouting out above your amplifiers makes your body think you’re angry, and that’s why you fall out. We’ve worked long distance, but this time we fancied being in a room together again, just pulling it through and seeing what happens.

The first step was Craig and Al in Al’s studio. Everyone was asking him for different types of beats. He’s not only a great drummer, but he’s a great producer, and he records himself beautifully, so you can ask him for something and it will be there that afternoon. What a bloody privilege! Three of them [songs] are written in that tiny, ugly little room underneath our studio in one afternoon. We then kept going with the new ideas, throwing lyrics at it on the spot, until we had around 35 [songs], and then we narrowed it down to the ones we liked. Then, I put my efforts there.

Any specific influences filter through to the making of this record?

Just everybody’s influences at their fingertips all the time. The one thing we said at the beginning was, “Let’s make a beaty record.” We also wanted shorter and punchier tunes. For no other reason than we thought it would be nice to pepper our [live] set with new stuff. It’s a big ask normally with us because we have a tendency to write seven and eight minute songs. We focused specifically on our love of the Beastie Boys, Sly & the Family Stone, and the classic blues era rock—Hendrix, Cream, stuff like that. The Meters are also a big one for all of us. Craig listens to a lot of big beats stuff. He loves to dance. In the first song [“Things I’ve Been Telling Myself for Years”], I sing in the neighboring region’s accent. It comes off quite Arctic Monkeys that one. There’s also an outlandish character that I’ve painted. Al [Alex] Turner is the master of looking like he’s showing off, but actually being quite self-deprecating.

I love the new track, “Balu.” It’s rich, intriguing and funky. Who or what is Balu?

It’s my nephew’s nickname. “Baloo” after the bear in The Jungle Book. I changed the spelling. I borrowed his nickname because it tells you all you need to know about the character—a big male, lovely fucker. I’ve mixed up four or five of my very favorite friends, some of them no longer with us I’m afraid to say. I picked up my big-hearted, poetic mates and rolled them into one character. I had the character banging around Manhattan on acid. I picked at different experiences I’ve had down the years.

For the second verse, I thought about a couple of mates who couldn’t get along with what happened to me. I’m from a working-class, Northern background. Not success per se, but where it took me. If all of your anecdotes start with, “When I was in Japan…” it doesn’t take long for someone that’s not comfortable with that to tell you. Worse than that in my experience is when they don’t tell you that you’re rubbing them up the wrong way, and then one day they just stop calling. I can’t apologize for being in my favorite band, sharing an amazing experience, but I don’t think less of them for not being able to get along with it. It’s just one of those things. The character sees a past hedonistic, wreckhead friend on the street, and he doesn’t wind the window down, but claims in the final line, “If you can’t reach for the next branch up, I’ll sing to you about the view, Balu.” I want that to be a shout to them wherever they are, I think they know who they are. It’s telling them that I still love them.

On “Her to the Earth,” there is something magical about it. Tell me about that one Guy.

Craig and Pete presented me with that bargain basement Stevie Wonder organ. I was completely bewildered the first time I heard it. Al was drumming along, but he didn’t look sure either. This doesn’t sound like the very serious, self-regarding deeply artistic band that we are. [Laughs] What the fuck is this? Craig and Pete were skipping around the room saying, “It’s fun!” Alright okay, I won’t be the “not-fun” guy, I’ll get onboard with this. Then we wrote the foil to it. Where we would normally say, let’s try something like “Happiness is Easy” by Talk Talk, we said, “The drumbeat from ‘Happiness is Easy,’ let’s just have that,” so the people who know it will go, “That’s that.” Let’s wear it on our sleeve.

I’d made a deliberate decision not to reflect all the stuff that’s on our minds on this record, because I don’t want to listen to music about it. It’s on my mind all the time anyway. I wanted to write something that would distract from it, reminding people what happens when people get together, but it surfaced. I think it’s the only time on the album that it does actually. [The lyric] “we live in a troubling age” is quite the understatement. But it’s not a feeling I haven’t had before. I remember the threat of nuclear war in the 1980s when I was a kid. I remember the inevitability of that, the certainty of that I probably wouldn’t have seen my 20s on account of nuclear war. It’s good to remind yourself that I did see my 20s.

That very melancholy part of that song became something else with just that phrase, and then I started writing something romantic to my wife and it got a bit a longer. I found myself repeating, “Stay my bonnie girl, stay.” My wife is half-Scottish. I have never put the word “bonnie” in a song before. It’s not top-deck parlance for a Manchester man. I don’t have to beg my wife to stay, she’s into me [laughs], I’m happy to say.

Then when I put in these amazing women [Eliza Oakes, Ella Hohnen-Ford, and Kianja Harvey-Elliot] who did the backing vocals, when they started singing it, I said, “We need a few more of these [songs], this is just so beautiful.” Individually they are brilliant, but the power of them singing together is incredible.

“Good Blood Mexico City”—even just the title evokes so much feeling.

I wanted to write one of those classical let’s run away together songs. Mark [Potter] put the guitars together. It reminded me of early Foo Fighters, and we supported Foo Fighters in Mexico City to 90,000 people about six or seven years ago. When our first drummer left the band, before we met Al, we toyed with this idea of doing one album with all of these famous drummers. We were looking for Roger Taylor, Sheila E, Dave Grohl, people like that. Roger Taylor and Dave Grohl both said yes, but then we met Alex. In Mexico, it was the first time I had met Dave, and he was just so friendly, he was just so cool. I said, “Alex is going to go mental when he meets Taylor [Hawkins] because he absolutely loves him.” Dave said, “Right, what does Alex look like?” I described him and Dave said, “Right, I’m on it.” We were backstage and Taylor saw Alex and went, “Alex Reeves!” They were gentlemanly and lovely.

Then of course, during the making of this record, Taylor died. I mean, to lose a bandmate twice, I can’t fuckin imagine that. So, it’s a little uplifting homage to him, but also, as the lyrics say, I was so impressed with the young people I met there. They are so straightforward, passionate, honest and political. They do an awful lot with a little, and they were madly welcoming. I’ve never seen a crowd like it. It’s a cynical ploy to be invited back there. [Laughs]

Is the record as autobiographical as your previous project, Flying Dream 1?

Flying Dream 1 was our [sighs] “lockdown” record. It’s so autobiographical, it’s so honest. We’re massively proud of it, it’s a really, beautiful, simple record. But now, as the music was becoming more fun, I felt like I wanted fun as well. I’m very happy. You’ve got the world that’s bearing down on all of us at the moment, but in my relationship I am very happy. I love being a dad, but I don’t think anyone wants to hear me go on about that for a whole record—I’ve got one at the end for that [“From the River”]. Luckily, I’ve had lots and lots of damaging, hedonistic [laughs], terrible relationships to draw on, and also to exploit, amplify and to exaggerate. I thought it was darkly funny, but it might just be dark. I can’t shy away from anything I want to say, but I can do it with a rye smile.

You are playing the hallowed turf of Trinity College in Dublin this summer. Have you played there before? I saw Crowded House, The War on Drugs, and New Order play there in the past few years.

No, first time. Amazing. Can I tell you my Crowded House story? We were knocked out, first time in Auckland, playing at The Power Station [in 2012]. Neil Finn came into the dressing room and he said, “Hi guys, I’m Neil and I’ve been a big fan of your music forever. Do you guys bring your family on the road? Don’t! It split my fuckin’band up!” [Laughs] And then he carried on. It was like he had to tell us, in case he forgot to tell us.

The next time he invited us round to their place. They live in an old masonic lodge. It’s beautiful, vaulted ceilings, gorgeous apartment. We had played Sydney Opera House the night before… [Guy interludes, “this is my agent,” as his young son Jack appears on screen. Guy jokingly says to him, “Go fix yourself a Martini.”] We played two nights in Sydney [in 2014], so after the first night the crew just switched everything off and we got hammered. We wandered down to Sydney Harbour and it was a beautiful, blustery day with little clouds, blue skies. The walk to work that day was one of the most spectacular feelings I’ve ever had. Auckland the following day, and the Finns invited us round. They were just sitting down to fish and chips. Tim and Neil were there and Neil said, “You played the Opera House yesterday, eh?” Him and his brother looked at us with a knowing smile and we all burst out laughing as they knew exactly how it feels to play that building. It was really special.

You have been playing together as friends and bandmates for over 30 years now. What would the 2024 Guy Garvey tell the younger version of you?

Enjoy it a bit more. I was a very serious young man. There was always an argument and I would always storm out of the rehearsal room. The arguments would all start creatively and then slide into, you know what 17 year old boys are like when they are talking to people they really love, they’re like, “Shut up you fuckin’ dick!!” You’re just agro. We never traded blows, I’m happy to say, never once. It was because we were all serious about it. We weren’t good, we thought we were but we weren’t. We decided not to go to university—we all had to have that conversation with our respective families. It was seen as a betrayal if you got a job that interfered with rehearsal time.

From day one, if you were 15 minutes late there would be an explosion. The playing, the writing, the exploring was always great fun, but everything else around it was always extremely serious. It only really loosened up after we got the first album away. Then we didn’t do anything for six months, so for the second album coming back and having to relearn everything about how to write together was a life lesson, and we haven’t stopped since.

With my hand on my heart, we’ve never been happier as a group. The other thing is some men hit middle age and become morose, grumpy or mean. All the boys have mellowed into their best selves.

For our American audience, how would you sell a visit to your beloved Bury in the UK?

Come to Bury when there’s a great festival on—there’s some good, local festivals. Make sure you visit the Peel Monument at the top of Holcombe Hill. If you want to retrace our hallowed steps, go into a place that’s now called Automatic, which was called Bury Met back in the day. My very good friend Steve Maguire, who’s now long gone, encouraged me to write poetry when I was a kid. He was a chronic alcoholic but a really functional family man. He would come into Bury Met and shout at the top of his voice—“I come to Bury Caesar!” [Laughs]

What’s your relationship like with your [biggest] song “One Day Like This” these days?

Rehearsing it is a drag, but you play it at the end of our concert, and we don’t even see it as a song, we see it as a ritual. You see people taking their jackets off, limbering up and getting ready for their part. I used to dismiss the encore, but I was told that no, you are taking it off the audience—that’s their bit when you can give something back. “One Day” has become this one big celebration of the moment. It’s about the audience singing to us. Last time we played the O2 in London, 15 minutes after the show had ended, we were shown a video on social media of people singing it on both sides of the tube [London Underground] platforms across the tracks to each other. You can’t get bored of things like that.

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