The Departure - London, UK, Autumn 2004
By: Allison Cayse
The Departure is a driven band. If he just could have a few minutes of your time, lead-singer David Jones would dispel every misconception and every negative thing said about his band - or at least that's the impression he gives. Just five minutes, and the winsome singer for The Departure would bring you around to his way of thinking. Wild optimism, or just blatant self-confidence?
In either case, the quintet has much to be confident and optimistic about looking back on this past year; it's a story that's been told to the point of the banal in music circles throughout the UK, and yet it bears repeating. Last December they were a group of friends and acquaintances playing in various bands around Northampton, but by April this year they were a proper band, having been signed to a major-label with just a handful of songs and even fewer gigs under their belt. Already, they've released two singles - the first, 'All Mapped Out', finding its way into the top-30 - and played their own headline tour, boasting a smattering of packed shows and rapt audiences. So what could the band possibly have to complain about?
'The problem we've got at the moment is that a lot of people do think that we were put together or something by some management - they as much as said that to us,' explains drummer Andy Hobson, prior to their sold-out show in London last month. 'Things have gone so quickly for us that they think we're some put-together, pretend band and we don't write our own songs. It's quite a shame really because we...'
But before he can finish, David interrupts him. 'That's such bullshit; why is that? I've known Ben (Winton, the bass-player) since school. Why is everyone so cynical?'
The conversation takes a new turn, but one can safely assume that the end of Andy's sentence would have had something to do with how the members have all busted their asses to get where they are. It's a theme that comes up often when you discuss the band's career with its members.
For The Departure, having come as far as they have in such a quick amount of time, isn't the most amazing of happenings. As David is quick to point out, the members all have been involved for the past five years with a plethora of meandering musical projects, varying from punk and hardcore bands to, scarily, experimental jazz outfits and even one group which David describes, comically, as 'Placebo meets Metallica' in sound.
'The main thing is people take it from when the band started,' says Andy. 'But as people, we've all worked really hard at what we've been doing before the band, and (yet) people say we all got out of bed and got into a band; we've all done lots of things to get where we've got.'
As the band's oldest member, Andy's also the newest, having joined the group, who modestly range in age from 21 to 23, in March. He's also the group's least conspicuous compatriot. A topic that David is quite happy to elaborate on despite his bandmate's obvious embarrassment, 'He's always pissed off because when we walk out of a gig, nobody recognizes him. He's got this mate - made him a T-shirt with 'The Departure' on the front and 'The Drummer' on the back.'
With these words a look of pure chagrin washes over Andy's face. Like a child who's just discovered that he'll have to wear that personalized 'World's Best Grandson' photo shirt to school, he's mortified.
Sheepishly, he explains, 'My mate made it for me - I didn't ask for it. My mate made it for me 'cause she felt sorry for me. See, you walk past and everyone's like, 'Oh, you're the guitarist; oh you're the singer,' and they look at you blankly and go, 'Eh, shouldn't you be packing away that gear?' They're like, who the heck is this guy?'
But it's not something the band expects to continue for long. It's Sam Harvey's 23rd birthday and the band's celebrating at an indie club in London after playing the final date of their recent tour - one complete with scalpers selling tickets outside to willing buyers for £30 a piece. Standing off to the side, in one of the bar's dark recesses, the band are talking amongst themselves, and few friends, including Gary from Snow Patrol. Looking as if the thought's just hit him, Sam somberly announces that in a few months he won't be able to continue going out to places like this without being recognized. But soon a wry smile replaces his sober look, and he begins to laugh, no doubt amused at his own irony. Regardless, it's an ambitious statement from an unabashedly ambitious band that has big plans for the five-record deal it has with Parlophone.
But for the time being, the outfit has still to record the debut album - set for Peter Gabriel's Real World Studios imminently. To hear Sam describe it, the place is the Willy Wonka Chocolate Factory of recording studios, complete with underground rooms and a glass recording studio that sits atop a sprawling lake and waterfall. So far, the group has about 15 songs. They spent this past summer writing and recording demos - a process that wasn't complete without a few minor squabbles.
Given the amount of time that the band spends together, occasional arguments are bound to happen and, according to David, they're nothing to be fazed about. 'It's cool because we always resolve it, and it's always really petty.' For instance, he cites an incident when he brought a keyboard with him to the studio in September, and 'one of the guitarists didn't think we should have a keyboard because he doesn't like keyboards.' And a quarrel ensued.
The guitarist he's referring to is Lee Irons, who, when asked about the incident, laughs it off. 'I've got nothing against keyboards. They're good for a few things. But I don't think they're good for us.' With a penchant for dark eyeliner and pastel ties, Lee is what some of the members jokingly refer to as the band's 'punk idealist.' According to Andy, he brings The Departure its character and its conscience.
'He's like the punk - he's the one who's always well pissed off at me after we do stuff like T4,' says David. 'He's all about staying true to those ethics.'
As for himself, David readily admits to being the instigator in the band. 'I'm blatantly the one that everyone hates. I'm the one pushing everyone, going, 'F**king do this or that,' and they hate it. But it all comes together.'
In order for a band to work, there has to be some compromise and sacrifice. And on this day, unbeknownst David, that sacrifice is one of his favorite scarves, cast off by the other band members into the winds of the M6 as he traveled separately with his girlfriend. According to one band member, it was the group's way of ameliorating the frustration they were having with their singer. 'And, besides, we were doing him style favor. That thing was more of a handkerchief than a scarf - it looked like it belonged to someone's granny.'
Whether or not David agrees with that observation stands to be seen. But what he would agree with is that his band operates in a multidimensional relationship that extends to the final creation. Everyone brings their individual ideas to process, he says. And in the case of Ben, the contribution includes a well-groomed mane; in addition to providing the band with its staple bass-lines, he also gives them a bit of hair aesthetic with his spiky coif - which, the band jests, is his most important contribution.
'Our bass-player looks like Rod Stewart, he does,' chuckles David.
'Minus the wrinkles and coke habit, mate,' Ben parries.
And while David insists that the band's sound is distinctive, he admits that the combo's influences are present in their sound. However, he feels that the multifarious input brought by all five members makes their compositions unique. Nevertheless, the band's been compared to groups ranging from Joy Division, Echo & the Bunnymen, and Duran Duran to The Killers and Franz Ferdinand.
According to Andy, likening the band to the very latter is 'a bit of a lazy comparison.' He insists that the latter band's version of art rock is slightly disco, while theirs is darker and defiant.
'We're being compared to Franz Ferdinand and I think that's a good thing,' David comments, once again unveiling that characteristic ambition. 'They're doing really well. It's cool man, I really like them, but I don't think we sound anything like them to be honest, but if people want to compare us...'
Although outspoken in their commitment and determination, The Departure maintain that they are a rather quiet bunch of lads who take a mild approach to their partying. During his birthday celebrations, Sam admits that the band has gone through its tour with the same five cases of beer in the back of their van; and despite the excursion's end, the alcohol is still untouched. Paradoxically, this little confession comes on the tail of three shots of Sambuca and several gin and tonics.
Already, they have come a long way, pushed by tenacity and talent. Nevertheless, The Departure still have a long journey ahead of them; however, it's a safe bet that it won't include any Keith Moon-style detours involving Rolls Royces and swimming pools.
'You don't think we'll be doing that?' David quips. 'It's all about making the best music at the moment, but I'm not ruling it out. But I don't know about a Rolls Royce. I'd prefer a personalized mini.'
Artists in this article: The Departure