Interview taken from HermAphrodite #1.

It’d not been the best of weeks, she felt. No. Even without the coccoon of a cold which had descended on Tuesday, leaving the idea that just to live involved trying to move and breathe through thick syrup.

The mucus bubble had eased off by Saturday, though the Benylin habit was no closer to being overcome.

And even the total Eddie Izzard immersion tried over the last few days, in an attempt to replace his exuberant personality over the dominating cold, had failed.

And merely left a predisposition towards incessant contemplation of the life of Steve the Dalek. ( A friend of Kev the Dalek. )

To be snuffling towards The Bigger The God of an evening therefore was to be moving positively towards being bounced out of this mood; though they are more than a placebo.

( Or a Placebo.)

A soothing, heart-warming decongestant of a band. Heh-heh.

Who, upon my arrival, are found also to have collectively developed the vocal tendencies of Mariella Frostrup over the last week, as well as a necessary attachment to tissues.

And just when I’m thinking a group of similarly unhealthy persons exactly that which I need to settle happily into, they are then prompted to begin a conversation about farmyard animals with horse-shoes. An Izzard-concept. ( Why leave the ducks out of being shod when their involement could secure a group discount, and enable them to tap-dance? )

Perfect.

The Bigger The God. Izzard people with colds. They know why coleslaw is so called, and about ‘diphthongs’. They haven’t yet seen ‘Trainspotting’. One of them likes Shirley Bassey. They understand the pain of having your mother steal your boyfriend. They know that you can hypnotise chickens, but prefer to leave the actualities of the business with farmers. They don’t cherish comparisons to The Candyskins, though they are from Oxford. ( Which, come October & Sound City, will be declared as the ‘new Newport’ by the ever-inventive music-press. ) None of them has a moustache. Their drummer’s jumper enjoyed an evening on the merchandising stall - ‘£3 or offer’ - before its’ previous owner rescued it. They claim to make their money by doubling as a rockin’ covers band. They don’t do covers ( excepting the occasional Cast in soundchecks. And David’s John Power sounds like Orville the Duck. Who also has to ‘flyyyyyyyyy’. ) They know you shouldn’t trust wax ear-plugs, even if they do smell of sweeties. They put out their material for us on their own label - Outdigo Records. Were their lead singer to be a cartoon character, he would be ( the unspellable & here phonetically printed cos I’ve got no idea ) Ram-ma-harth - a Japanese comic strip hero. Because ‘he turns into a girl every time he gets wet. And he’s a real babe as well.’

Deep breath now. Welcome to The Bigger The God. They deserve your love.

I spend the evening with them in the bar, where time is even taken to look through my photos of their last gig before they take to the stage. David delights in the one of himself covering Steve’s eyes as he tries to play; he remembers fondly their last gig whereby he held Steve’s arms back as well, and plans someday soon to wriggle up between the guitar and Steve, so as it has to be played over his limber frame.

Once the second band are on, various persons Bigger Than God disappear, as they realise their entire evening cannot be spent down there torturing the v.nervous fanzine writer ( male - not me ) who’d accosted them for an interview, and then faced with their responses had begun to regret, well, everything ever. The band took to interviewing him instead...

This means that by the time I begin speaking with dictaphone, I know that to some people ( not The Bigger The God ), The Bigger The God sound like Carter USM. And that left to answer my questions it’s just David - in singer-spokesperson capacity. So you’ll have to excuse their fairly swiftly ceasing to be band-specific.

Though I did ask about them playing the Phoenix ( yay ).

( Not the big stone creature. Because that would be weird. )

I’m so happy for them that they’re going to be able to, um, ‘expose’ their craft to a big big field of people. David seems more cynical about it - they are only playing the Doctor Marten’s stage. But still...

I tell them people do go to the little stages. ( Particularly if artistes such as Texas are playing on the mainstage. ) That lots of people prefer doing that; the atmosphere is better, you can connect to your audience, not feel as though you’re playing to a drifting field. And that, playing in a tent, John Peel’ll probably be there.

‘He won’t like us though, will he? We’re not his kind of scene.’

( This is your first example of the melancholic creature that is ‘David with cold.’

The second follows shortly.

Right about now...)

‘And we’re only getting fifty quid for it.’ I question him on this; all music-employed persons ( ‘proper-pop-starrs’ ) have a tendency to coyly down-play their earnings.

‘Yeah it is true. We were hoping for a big price...’

But they are still only little at the moment.

I tell him he’s not allowed to become disillusioned with what he’s doing.

‘Oh, we’ve been disillusioned with it for seven years. The music business sucks. I hate it. But we are in it for the music, cliché as it is. I don’t need to be rich, it wouldn’t be much use to me. I don’t have many things, you see, I don’t like things. Everything I own I feel like I’m carrying.’

They would dearly love to be making enough by their being the band to be able to just concentrate on being the band - The Bigger The God are set to ‘prostitute ourselves’ shortly by playing a college ball, the proceeds from which will finance the costs of this recent tour. And, obviously, they would like to be successful.

‘I think about it a lot. I’m selling fruit and vedge at the moment and I don’t like it very much. I hate it actually. And yet it’s the best job I’ve ever had. Cos it’s easy, and low hassle. So it’d be nice to make some sort of living out of this. But very few people actually get to...’

David is sufficiently self-aware, after being in this band for seven years, that world domination might not happen. But is sufficiently self-confident to believe in the possibilities. Since the band began pressing records themselves, at the end of ‘95, and have been venturing out of Oxford, things have been picking up. But slowly. The music press love them - I’ve only ever read one bad review ( and that was by a picky journalist in the NME ) out of considerable coverage - but without airplay, it’s difficult to make headway out of the London area.

At the moment, TBTG are, I feel, at the stage where everyone who hears them likes them, it’s just not enough people have heard them. Though that might just be the like-minded fellows I’ve found, as David disagrees. ‘No, not everybody, a lot of people don’t like us. But that’s okay. It is an old cliché but it is good to be loved or hated, mediocre opinions aren’t much use to anybody.’ I don’t know if it would be a good thing to want to appeal to everybody - it’s an extremely difficult end to achieve. There is never going to be a band whole-heartedly adored by the world as long as humans remain able to determine their own identities and control their external influences. Particularly as there still exists those who wish to stay deliberately dry of the mainstream. Mass-market appeal comes with the perfect pop song, but within those confines there is little room for depth. Are the nation’s happy shoppers really ready for a song about a boy and girl, who meet and fall in love, gradually come to realise that they’re brother and sister, but decide not to tell anyone...?

( This song’s called When Martin Met Martine... ) Yes, they probably are, as the tune and the words to the chorus will prove enough to hold their attention. I personally would prefer the world to find and adore TBTG for what they’re doing, but only if they understand it. For whilst you can appreciate good music for whatever element you choose of it; if you’re set to mass-market- embrace a record, there needs to be understanding of its whole. Else the point to ( the lyrics of ) songs like the Manics’ ‘Kevin Carter’ - and even Babybird’s ‘You’re Gorgeous’ - is happily neglected by the many who bought it.

At the moment though, TBTG do not appear afeard of their pointed points being lost on their listeners, or playing wildly oversized venues.

‘I’m not really that bothered either way. I’d like to be able to make a living out of it, as I’m not very good at doing proper jobs. So in that respect it would be nice if the masses liked it; but my enjoyment of the band is not really dependent on how many people like it.’

…which is lovely

He pauses. ‘It’s entirely dependent on what I think of my performance.’

…which is a little harsh

He pauses. ‘I’m probably a bit too hard on myself.’

…which is about right.

I try explaining that to me it’s enough that it’s them - him- there, playing those songs, being The Bigger The God. That they’re playing and my being able to watch is what matters to me, rather than how they’re playing. That I love them for being, and then for being TBTG. And then my thoughts tangle together...

I’ve been trying to take the time to find my ‘happy thoughts’ ( so’s I can then fly with them ). And I’ve come to realise TBTG as one of them. Only fair then, to ask David of his.

‘My happy thought ? It’s a place. It’s near the sea - imagine where the desert meets the sea; it’s there. I’m sitting there all alone, totally at peace. ( he looks up at me ) But there are lots of places - being held by somebody, the right person holding you. That’s a special place. So there - I’ve got two. One involves other people and one doesn’t.’

The Bigger The God. They make music that you want to hug as well.

Relaxing into psycho-analysis of the self before me, rather than the music he makes, I then asked David whether he’s happy ‘being you ? Is it the bestest thing that you can do?’

‘I’m getting better at being me.’

‘Had a lot of practice in by now...?’

‘Yeah. But then, I’m not sure anybody really knows who they are. So it’s hard to answer the question. You have to find out who you are first.’

‘You’re still looking ?’

‘Mmm - learning to be myself and accepting the fact that I can’t be; that’s a long complicated thing. ( he grins ) Stop asking me profound questions.’

Okay.

‘D’you pluck your eyebrows?’

‘Mmmyeah!

David declares it a neccesity.

‘I’ve got eyebrows like Jono, our guitar tech...’

To which I raise mine; I wouldn’t have believed it of him. When Jono raises his eyebrows it looks like two caterpillars dancing.

‘...I’m a werewolf, me.’

Last revised: 26/07/01