Radio 4 - London, UK, Summer 2004
By: Tim Dellow
I'm sitting in the lobby of the Columbia hotel, possibly named after the substance usually consumed within its walls, and certainly the most rock 'n' roll establishment in West London. I'm early for my meet with the band, so snuggle down in an armchair, and pretend to read 'The Place of Dead Roads', and instead watch Nick Zimmer, sidle out, escaping his PR for a blast of cold British sleet.
'Shit, man...' bellows the affable stickman and one-third founding-member Greg Collins of Radio 4. 'When's the next bad-ass due?'
'Um...' I stutter, my inherited UK politeness drawing me towards him, 'I'm here, but I'm no bad ass.' Nice intro. Now for the handshake. Shit, what's this? A f**king Greenwich Village eight-position ghetto grab. Now the palms are sweating.
My motive for being here. To question a political US band about their relationship with us here in the UK. We are the ambassadors for rock.
Wimbledon plays in the background. Come on Tiger Tim. Marlboro Country fills the room, a billowing Wild West sandstorm.
'People always say we've taken from a lot of British bands, but there were a lot of American bands doing the same sort of thing, bands like Mission of Burma, we took from them as much as we took from Gang of Four...' smiles enthusiastic new keys man, Gerard Garone; 'I think in terms of countries, it's more of a collaboration as opposed to just a British thing.'
Certainly, their new record 'Stealing Of A Nation' shifts from the post-punk musings of 'Gotham!' to an even more danceable, near-party album. But, although seeming a commercial move, it is, in fact, more insubordinate. 'Gotham City, Part II' would have sold by the shed-load with the market's desire for all things angular; their new record shows dance as rebellion.
Mayor Giuliani had outlawed everything in Manhattan, from late nightclubs, to drinking and smoking in town, in short having fun.
Locked up in a freezing art space, Radio 4 transmitted from planet boogie, sticking it to the man with their beat happening.
'It certainly wasn't a party atmosphere - it was too cold to be a party.' goes on PJ, percussionist extraordinaire. 'Unbelievably cold.'
'It was this basement of this building that was being renovated...' pitches in a fellow voice of compassion. 'There was no heat at all.'
'It was January, the coldest month of the year; it was frigid, below zero - I mean, I remember sitting in the room, working on stuff with a wool hat and a scarf.'
'Yeah - try playing drums in a scarf...'
The chilly climate echoed the atmosphere in the city, dropping well below Fahrenheit 9/11. Indeed, for one of the bands at the centre of the New York scene, releasing political dance music in Bush's police state isn't the main thing standing in their way. Indeed, the anti-American feelings that the last war generated have seen resurgence in blind patriotism and Euro-riot flag-waving from supporters of 'our own' grassroots bands. Indeed, bands like Franz Ferdinand (although Scottish) are given the (press) run of the UK, and arseholes like The Ordinary Boys are described as saviours and granted, not only a stage, but carte blanche. Equally the backlash towards pioneers such as the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, and retro funksters The Strokes must be due. Moving away from the utopian notion of a global identity, the majority of the music press would have you revert to a separatist 'us and them' viewpoint, dismissing the second wave of the American dream, quicker than you can say, 'Let's lynch 'em lads.'
Music should be universal, we suggest, breaking boundaries as opposed to setting them up.
'Yeah, I totally agree it should be like that,' the band enthuses. 'Music can really make a big change, I think it really can, it's one of the few mediums that people can kind of come together...'
'... And have a dance,' we finish his sentence. The straight-faced conviction of the group is heartening. No fakers here. No hidden agenda, simply standing up in the face of their opponents and being themselves.
'Previously, it's been the other way round, like the US press support the British stuff...' they continue; 'I heard about a lot of US bands from the UK press too,' but, sadly, their tales of buying the 'NME' for the latest on their local bands are a thing of the past.
The group remains philosophical, though. They've been at the top of their game and at last year's festivals they even headlined above super-group and Led Zep copyists Audioslave.
'Yeah, Audioslave opened up for us...'
'What happened was, there was a downpour at our scheduled slot, thunder, lightning it just pissed it down with rain. So they cancelled our set. But instead of just not having us playing they moved us to after the headliners.' Their affable, burley drummer throws in his two cents, pulling his best Bon Jovi impression;
'I don't like their music, but those kids are going places.'
As the room erupts in genuine laughter, it's clear that our talk has been a success. There are no boundaries in music, we are all linked and, unlike our political leaders, our coalition has the potential to change things for the better.