The Datsuns - Oxford, UK, Autumn 2002
By: Toby L
You've heard them now, you've bought the T-shirt, and you've read countless articles on The Datsuns and their somewhat rapid rise to notoriety in just a matter of months; fittingly, you also know that they are a force not worth bothering to reckon with. And, damn it, just when you were getting sick of the music-press highlighting people that'll take over your record-collection - it's happened again: front-cover spreads looming when the New Zealanders' eponymous debut-album's barely even pressed up at the factory; sell-out shows at the mere arrival at a venue; and hair-cuts that simply ooze sexual shenanigans on a yacht in the South of France... Really, for the millionth time in the past twelve months, we are spoilt.
But what is there to mark that The Datsuns are long-stayers, or simply more than the latest 'it'-craze? Well, let's not be too shy or hippy-ish about such a topic - the fact is they rock, and we don't mean 'rock' as in small, diluted, insignificant, see-through copyist trash - we mean cliff-crashing, skyscraper-bellowing, sleazy, feel-good ROCK, with both street-cred, and enough theatrics to ensure a dangerously thrilling evening's worth of top-notch entertainment.
For The Datsuns don't mark a band ambivalent about their skills; they're aware that the rawness and passion of rock 'n' roll is what lights their star, and provides that gleaming finesse in their live-arena which proves so untouchable to their rich plethora of contemporaries. Indeed, it was rather apt that the four-piece first caused interest during a rampage, first-ever London live-appearance at the miniscule premises of the London Highbury Garage's upstairs room, playing support to their fellow NZ-ers, The D4. That show, which has subsequently gone down in the Capital's folklore history as an official 'classic night', was only bettered by an A&R-ridden, packed-out take-over of the Kentish Town Verge a week or two later, where global major-labels flew into the country especially for the performance, hoping to get the guys to put pen to paper. They failed in their endeavours.
... Because The Datsuns live by their own clutch of morals, their own accord - one that's a defiant, 'our way, or no way' mantra which more artists should possess these days to save themselves becoming f**ked over by the powers that be. So, even with an eventual deal signed to V2, the agreement was still set that their precious, favourite-format of 7" vinyl would be distributed via cutting-edge indie-stalwarts Sweet Nothing, as well as the band's own Hellsquad label, which they used back home to release such modern-day collectors-items as the early versions of 'Lady', 'Fink For The Man' and 'Supergyration'. Rewardingly, by the time the band's first single-proper, 'In Love', was unleashed to unanimous, underwear-wetting praise, they were afforded their first top-30 hit-single - not to mention setting the precedent for their long-player to crash into the top-20 album-charts just a short while later. Success.
... But, ask frontman and bassist Dolf De Datsun, or drummer Matt Datsun, prior to another roaring show one evening, what the band's original expectations were when they first flew over to the UK in search of creating a name for themselves...
'Pretty much zero,' slouches Dolf, 'And to do what we always do: just play some shows, and play to a fresh audience. Luckily, the people were always great. I love trying to win people over and trying to get a reaction out of people that have never seen us before. And, I think actually that if you can win and succeed from that, then it's the best sort of feeling you can ever get from performing a show.'
Especially from that inaugural, kick-off Garage gig, were you surprised by what ensued?
Dolf reminisces in near-disbelief, and with an admirable lack of pretension. 'I didn't expect anything from that show, specifically; if people like it, then they'll go home and tell their friends, and their friends will come next time...'
When you were still travelling around the country and a buzz developed over your work, how did it feel internally to the band-camp?
'The whole thing was very surreal,' he continues. 'We'd played for a while together, and we were just used to doing that, and then - all of a sudden - you're a potential big money-earner! You're like, 'Man, we just make music!' It's really weird that people look at you in a different kind of light, but it's nice, too - though we take everything with a grain of salt.'
Immediately, it's apparent that the band bears their own reticence to absorb and indulge within the celebrity that people have pinned upon them, in preference of maintaining a focussed, close-knit group and sticking to their original intentions (more of which later). Additionally, Dolf may prove the act's natural spokesperson - assertive, informed and deeply engaging within the construction of his viewpoints - whereas his fellow rhythm-keeper is similarly thoughtful, perhaps just as contemplative in his summaries; expectedly, no wonder Matt's been deemed 'the quiet one'.
Logistically, although many factors within their present predicament have occurred swiftly, there's fortunately been enough time to evolve; so, from their perspective, how do they feel things have changed for the band in the last few months?
'Well, we made a record,' Dolf pronounces blankly. 'We wrote a whole bunch of songs...'
'I think we're pretty much doing the same thing we've always done,' intervenes Matt, 'just maybe playing every night now, instead of just once a week!'
'Yeah,' proceeds his band-mate, 'and I think we're now just refining what we do, and finding new things and new ways to get off on making music.'
When you were younger, did you have any aspirations to be a part of a rock-band?
Dolf is, predictably, humble. 'It was just this thing that we were doing, and that we loved to do; we got the chance to do it full-time - and who would turn down that?'
But, to be fair, as musicians, you're almost frightfully accomplished...
Dolf pauses. 'I don't think that people should sit down and be really studied about what they do. We were a band before we could even play - one day, we just said, 'Right, we're a band now!' Then we learnt our instruments. I think that anyone should be able to just pick up a guitar and play, and do it. That whole ethic of being technical - I think it's bullshit: just play, and do it because you love it; let it evolve naturally.
'There's nothing wrong with working hard or honing your skills either, but, I dunno, I just love seeing bands when they can't play! I reckon you can't reverse that - you can't go back to not being able to play, if you see what I mean... You write a song that's only three chords or something, and it's the first time you've ever got something that sounds mildly good, that's just a natural stage in a band's evolution.'
And so when you all started The Datsuns, how did it shape up originally; is it similar to now, or have you added to it in time?
'We've always been into rock-music, rock 'n' roll,' explains Dolf. 'As time's gone on, we've just discovered other records, and found different things to get influenced by. Lots of things influence you, and things tend to seep in whether you like it or not. I think our being isolated in a small town has its advantages and disadvantages - I think one of its core advantages is not worrying about what's universally cool, or what everybody else is listening to; you tend to consider more just what you're able to get for yourself.'
Relevantly, how did you find the motivation to get into it when there was so little going on in New Zealand, music-wise..?
'Well,' starts up Matt, 'I think that there's your motivation right there - the fact that it makes you work harder to achieve anything.'
'Yeah, exactly,' nods Dolf, 'especially let alone a small town (Cambridge) in the North Island...'
At this moment, the dressing-room we're located within has its doors burst open. The band's guitarist, Phil, walks in, looking puzzled. With him, he brings an entourage that drag the band out to do some filming for an upcoming TV-documentary. We agree to part momentarily and resume proceedings later on.
When we return to the scene, the band's other six-string thrasher - the already-distinctive, on-stage poseur, Christian - is walking around coughing deeply, exerting his newly-acquired flu on to the venue's floor. Drum-sticks are being tapped on the table, and Dolf is munching on a hip-expandingly large packet of potato-chips. The scene, compared to the earlier-display of reasonably tame ongoings, is distinctly more R'n'R, and the atmosphere is partially less commanding. We return to where we left off - the subject of the band's distance away from the conventional thrust of activity that major-cities usually provide.
'Yeah, the isolation is good,' reconvenes Dolf, 'because you start to only make music for yourself, because you love it - and the other side is that you have to work harder.'
Noticeably, the accomplishment and energy exhausted in your live-efforts proves that you're an act willing to outdo the competition...
Dolf is reasonable. 'We've got the chance now, so we might as well go for it. You don't get any work unless you work for it, is the way I see it...'
Matt grins in his agreement, adding in a clichéd-tone, 'Nothing in life is free...'
Taking a customary glance to the band's attire reveals traces of their inspirations - T-shirts donning the logos of The Who and Motorhead; to The Datsuns, what defines such iconic status in musical-talent?
Dolf is touchy, voicing, 'I don't think I could comment on that, because stars are not made by themselves - they are made by the media. Some of them are even made by fans. The only people that do try to create themselves in such a way are fake - they're false. That's the difference between being a rock-star and having an on-stage persona; they're just two different things entirely to me.'
Even if you ever reached a certain, near-impenetrably popular level, would you consider yourselves within a certain higher-tiered league?
'Ah, no,' repulses Dolf at the idea. 'Once again, because we're from this really small town, we're just four kids, and that's what we'll always be to each other... Maybe not to other people. I think it's dangerous to put anyone above anyone else. We're not better than anyone else out there - in fact, no musicians are better than anyone else out there. Nothing should elevate you, either - everyone's the same, in my book. When you start looking towards people as idols, you start thinking and judging them by a different standard that's perhaps not all that fair, because everyone's human. So, eventually, those people will end up totally disappointed in their idols or whatever - but everyone f**ks up, everybody makes mistakes.'
With this in mind, musically, what separates you from other bands?
'What I really get off on in bands is when you can see four or five distinctive personalities in a unit - and, if you changed just one little thing, it wouldn't be what it already is,' romanticises Dolf. 'I think that The Datsuns have that. It's not just like one person and a backing-band - everyone brings something to it.'
'Yeah, excites Matt, 'The Datsuns is the four of us - you take one of us away, and it's not The Datsuns anymore.'
'We're all really different,' maintains the singer. 'I don't want to get too into it, or what we argue about, for example, because I think The Datsuns, as we said, are the sum of our parts, but it's also like a compromise between all of the varying things that we like. I remember a stage where Phil wanted to play everything in really weird timing, or wanted to do things that were really obnoxious or f**k people off - but then Christian's, like, from the opposite side, and wants to write pop-songs, and I see both of those things as important. So, it's just a kind of trade-off where you try to find something that you're all happy with.'
He then hesitates to carry on. 'But I don't really like to get too into all of that stuff.'
Why's that?
'Well,' shuffles Dolf, 'it's just that there's probably a lot of things about us that are quite interesting to talk about, but you want to keep some of that for yourself...'
We don't probe further, and allow the band to preserve some of their intrigue.
Yet, musically, let's try and cling on to the individual elements which form 'The Datsuns'; aside from the pummelling riffs, howling vocals and slash-dash bass 'n' drums, what - to the band - is the essence of their spirit?
'Aside from wanting to capture the whole energy of rock 'n' roll, we like putting choruses in our songs, hooks and stuff like that; it's not just about a sound or an aesthetic - it's also about connecting with people, connecting with the rawness,' explicates Dolf. 'A famous man once said that it's (rock 'n' roll) about f**king, you know. And it's about making people want to get f**king wild, and shake their ass, and, well, hump something. I totally enjoy other types of music, like what Brendan Benson's currently doing, but this is what we do... Aside from that, even the matter of 'will they go away humming a melody we wrote' - that's more lasting and important than many things that are associated to it all.'
If we're to quote an exact example of compositions certainly within the peaks of the 'hummability charts', then The Datsuns' fusion of pelvis-strutting suaveness as epitomised in the form of 'Harmonic Generator' - their second single to be lifted from the current record - couldn't be more rampantly infectious.
'That's a classic example,' notes Dolf. 'It's one of the older songs, and Christian had bought this drum-machine because he went on holiday for a while, so we were just left with this shitty thing while he was gone. We came up with this really weird pattern on it, added this guitar thing, and I wrote lyrics for it; when we came to play live one time, we were like, 'Oh, what are we going to do,' and Phil just said, 'Well, let's do that strange one we came up with.' Matt came up with a simple beat and we tried it out - and it actually worked! We played around with it, and then it was formed; that was a moment where everything just fitted naturally.'
If this was in a one-off instance, then what is the typical song-writing structure for the group?
Dolf: 'We just try out things, but - usually - someone will bring in a riff or whatever and the four of will hack it to pieces and, somehow, it comes out like The Datsuns, you know what I mean?'
In spite of this, all the arrangements seem very intricate; surely they take some time to produce?
Dolf appears oblivious to the presumption. 'Normally, the songs that take us more than two or three practices to get right, we never end up doing: it's always the ones that we get virtually straight away, that write themselves, they're the ones that get what we really want.'
Being associated to a swath of new acts that play a mildly analogous line of music must then prove tiring...
'What,' enquires Dolf, 'Like the 'new-garage' scene, when people say, 'Oh there's also this band out there that's similar, and this group, and them,' and people just say it to help make sense of stuff? I can't change that - it doesn't matter what I think; they'll put you in a category anyway. But if they do put us in the same league as The D4 or whatever, then that's fine by me, because I guess we are from the same place, and if there was a scene, that's probably one band that we'd be comfortable and would understand being placed next to.'
Just as we're speaking, a television-camera is affirmatively shoved in our faces for the aforementioned documentary being filmed today; the lens focussing on our every move, we ask how it feels for the guys when events such as this occur.
Dolf suddenly becomes introverted, uttering, 'I think everything is weird, and that it starts to change. But this is the one thing that matters, and the one thing that we're good at - playing live. You can talk about hype, you can talk about bullshit, anything you want - but, if you can pull it off, you can do the job, then you've proven yourselves.'
'If it all fell apart tomorrow, I'd still be happy,' states Matt. 'I'm not gonna jump off a bridge; I'd just be proud at what we'd achieved.'
'Playing live is what it pretty much all comes down to,' remarks Dolf. 'Making records, maybe...' He then pauses, and smirks to himself. 'There was a great quote once; I don't know if I should say it... Oh, f**k it - someone said that we're 'shit on record - but shit-hot live'! (Laughs) I like that quote - I reckon it's great!'
'Nah,' shakes Matt, 'that's pretty harsh!'
A performance is due in just minutes, and literally seconds are left for us to make a parting-shot.
Aside from playing live, what's the most important thing to you right now?
Dolf glares at us inquisitively. 'As a band? It's to make sure we're having fun - if this interview's not fun, if none of it's not fun - then f**k it, I wouldn't do it.'
Readers - love them; rarely in this art does such ethic and integrity shine so meticulously. And, rarely in this art, do bands sound quite so f**king awesome. Sometimes the truth need not be complicated.
Artists in this article: The Datsuns