Mojo (UK) - - What Goes On! -

The dou­ble-mel­low melon twister in his own words and by his own hand.

I’d de­scribe my­self as… a big-nosed geezer with pointed ears. I try to stay away from re­flec­tion and that sort of shit. I avoided it for, what, 30-odd fuck­ing years by tak­ing drugs, so I’m not go­ing to start do­ing it now. I’ve only just learned to like my­self.

Mu­sic changed me… com­pletely. Mu­sic, and LSD, re­ally opened my mind, and luck­ily we got a band to­gether. It sounds clichéd but I’d have prob­a­bly ended up do­ing a long stretch some­where, or dead. I cer­tainly wouldn’t have been able to do a job. When I was 15, I was a ju­nior post­man/mes­sen­ger boy de­liv­er­ing tele­grams and that was great. Be­ing in the cen­tre of Manchester in the late ’70s was like an episode of The Sweeney. You’d be hav­ing a drink and watch­ing strip­pers and dirty co­me­di­ans do­ing din­ner­time shows. But as soon as you hit 18 you had to go and be a real post­man and it was fuck­ing dread­ful.

When I’m not mak­ing mu­sic… I’m be­ing a dad, prop­erly. The first time round I was shit – now, when I’m not work­ing I’m with my two girls, cycling, go­ing to parks, I love it.

My big­gest vice is… e-cigs, and I’ve dis­cov­ered gin. I don’t go to clubs any more, I don’t go to the pub, and we don’t have booze in the house, but be­fore I go on stage I’ll have a few gins. I can’t get pissed up, though, my mis­sus is too on top of it.

The last time I was em­bar­rassed was… not long ago. I’ve got a thy­roid prob­lem and it af­fects your me­mory re­ally re­ally bad. Ev­ery now and then it goes up the wall, I’m go­ing through it at the mo­ment, and my me­mory is just shit. I’ll stop talk­ing be­cause I can’t re­mem­ber what I’m say­ing, so yeah, it’s embarrassing. Oth­er­wise, fuck me, I’ve spent my life be­ing em­bar­rassed I sup­pose about one thing or a-fuck­ing-nother, that’s why drugs are great – cuts all that shit out, doesn’t it? My for­mal qual­i­fi­ca­tions are… what’s the low­est one you can get? A CSE, like a ‘D’, in art.

The last time I cried was… not long ago, with the frus­tra­tion of this thy­roid thing. I don’t do de­pressed, but the thy­roid con­di­tion brings on de­pres­sion, ago­ra­pho­bia, all kinds of shit.

Vinyl, CD or MP3? What­ever’s eas­i­est.

My most trea­sured pos­ses­sion is… I’m not that sort of dude. But my Ivor Novello award, I love that.

The best book I’ve read is… well, I’ve not re­ally read that many, but one I’m read­ing at the mo­ment is Your Thy­roid And How To Keep It Healthy by Barry Dur­rant-Peat­field. He’s the ex­pert. Oth­er­wise, Bea­tles and Stones bi­ogra­phies.

Is the glass half-full or half-empty? Half-full, now. Lis­ten, you don’t get through 12 years of re­ceiver­ship, where 100 per cent of your fuck­ing money’s took off you, without hav­ing a sense of hu­mour. Oth­er­wise I’d have hung my­self. My life’s fuck­ing great, apart from the thy­roid thing.

My great­est re­gret is… I sup­pose spend­ing so many years on fuck­ing drugs. I can’t even re­ally fuck­ing re­mem­ber it now.

When we die… well, en­ergy can nei­ther be cre­ated or de­stroyed. So who the fuck knows? I used to think when you’re dead you’re dead, but then I thought, No, I’m not lucky enough for that, so you go on some fuck­ing mad mys­ti­cal trip as en­ergy.

I would like to be re­mem­bered… fondly. Heh!

Black Grape’s Pop Voodoo is out on Au­gust 4 on UMC.


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