もうけっこう前になりますが、1stシングルリリース直前の3/11にUKのGuardian Unlimited（たぶんアート系の毎日発行のフリーペーパー）でのインタビュー記事。
英語に自信持てなくなってきたので、読める方はぜひ。
1stシングルでたっきり音沙汰無しですが、どうなってるんでしょうね？？（笑）
Paws and rewind
Take 1990s chart kitten Betty Boo, add suave Blur bassist Alex James, and you have a recipe for pop mayhem. It's a mix of sugar, cheese, fireworks and cats, hears Sylvia Patterson
Saturday March 11, 2006
The Guardian
'Endearingly shy' ... Alison Clarkson. Photograph: Frank Baron
In a photo studio in Chalk Farm, north London, Alex James and Alison Clarkson are cackling through an old issue of Smash Hits, dated January 1991, the first time the pair ever collided, albeit unwittingly, through the pages of the doomed pop bugle. That week, EMF were cover stars while Alison was the triumphant poster girl, as Betty Boo, pouting saucily from the coveted centre spread while Alex's tiny, disembodied head appeared alongside the other members of Blur in a feature called "Will Any Of These People Become Famous Pop Stars?" - also "starring" Perfect Gentlemen, Ralph Tresvant, Freedom, Nelson and Lisa M. Flicking between the two images, they note the curious vision of two black, shoulder-length, shimmering silken bobs.
Together: "We've got the same hair!"
Fifteen years later and Alex and Alison are a group, WigWam, a wilful collision of "kindred spirits" whose debut single, WigWam, is a stellar reminder of how deliriously idiotic guitar-pop bedlam can be. "Checkin' out my wigwam," purrs Alison, irresistibly. Its video - "a guerilla video," smiles Alex - featuring enormous dancing cats, was shot on the roof opposite the private-members' Groucho Club (Alex's sometime metaphorical living room) and directed by their chum and country-dwelling neighbour Dom Joly, which partly explains the cats (inspired, in fact, by "the coolest magic cat in literature", from one of Alex's favourite books, Mikhail Bulgakov's Russian classic The Master And Margarita). Alex and Alison first collided in reality through Alison's husband Paul Toogood ("an indie manager"), instantaneous friends who began writing two years ago down on Alex's Cotswolds farm.
"Alison represents everything that's great about pop music," announces Alex, puffing through a pack of Marlboro non-Lights, "with an amazing voice, cool bones and a magic touch."
Alison: "And Alex has a kinky way."
Alex: "With the low notes. The recipe for WigWam is 90 parts sugar, seven parts cheese and three parts fireworks. And it makes this mixture which is pop music, which is the lightest substance in the universe, this strange catalyst which has weird, chaotic effects on everything and is brilliant, brilliant stuff. Even though people think, 'Is this Fat Les again?'"
In a pizza parlour across the road, it becomes clear that Alex James, 37 - Blur bass player, incorrigible pop prankster, outer-space enthusiast and gifted raconteur - could talk solely and effortlessly into infinity and the endearingly shy Alison, 36, would let him, as most people would, captivated by his tales of dandiest derring-do - someone who wished to spend his twenties as "an alcoholic genius in Soho" and did so, now a married, farm-dwelling father of two-year-old Geronimo, with twins on the way this June, who's given up booze altogether, "although I got very drunk in Paris last year with Marianne Faithfull". Alison, meanwhile, is WigWam's unknown quantity, the one who was Betty Boo, who disappeared and resurfaced in 2001 to become a back-room songwriting popsmith and slowly emerges today as a fearless pop renegade with an infectiously filthy giggle. A half-Scottish, half-Malaysian Londoner, she was the teenage prodigy who studied sound engineering while still at school and created petulant teenage rap troupe the She-Rockers as America saw the rise of Salt'n'Pepa. A savvy, ambitious, 16-year-old force field, it was Alison alone who secured an impressive Jive Records deal.
"I was the motivator," she nods, through graceful sips of water. "You're just so fearless when you're young and I was a bit of a Scrappy Doo. I fell out with the record label, said, 'You're a bunch of wankers'. It was like being at school and I didn't like being treated like a child so they said, 'We can't deal with you any more, you're too difficult'. So I said, 'OK, if you pay for a return ticket to New York so we can work with Public Enemy, let's just quit it'. And they said, 'Fine'. And they had the ownership of the record which was so shit nobody would've bought it anyway."
Professor Griff was a She-Rockers fan, who went on to produce their singles while the then 17-year-olds supported Public Enemy across America. "I remember one performance in Queens," giggles Alison. "Run DMC were there, Eric B and Rakim were there and I couldn't believe it. Eric B, he had his big jeep with the spare tyre on the back that had Louis Vuitton round the cover. I just thought, 'I've made it! I'm with these dudes'."
The She-Rockers returned to Britain, temperamental teenagers who naturally imploded, and Alison re-emerged in 1989 as Betty Boo, self-stylised cartoon caper and vocalist with the Beatmasters, before writing and producing her debut solo album, Boomania, in 1990, now a sex siren in hotpants, wigs and platform heels. Two colossal pop classics ensued, Where Are You Baby? and Doin' The Do, while the indie boys adored her. "There were a few indie boys who were ... after me," she demurs. "But I was very good, y'know, I didn't drink or anything when I was young. But the Booettes [effervescent bob-haired dancers] used to get absolutely pissed. They'd go missing in New York and there was me, the goody-goody who only had hotels with gyms, I was a right prude! They used to talk about sex all the time and I was ... [wrinkles nose, appalled]."
After her second album, 1992's GRRR! It's Betty Boo, Alison's mum fell ill and Alison, who'd already lost her father, retired from the industry to nurse her. "Until the end, she needed me, I didn't do anything else and I didn't want to." Five years passed as she nursed her mum, then her grandma. "I was 30 and I was still nursing people," says Alison. "And I remember feeling a little bit like a 55-year-old. I'd had success. I became established. Home-owner, nice cars, I was all right for money. But nursing an elderly person. And she passed away. And then I started getting my life back together again. Because this is what I do."
Alison's kind of pop is "larger than life" and Alex, naturally, agrees. "You used to see these massive personalities from a great distance," he ponders, "and now you see quite ordinary people so close you can see up their bums. No wonder they're all in the Priory. You can't just have success, you've got to succeed at being something. But they're our neighbours now."
In 2000, Alison began writing again, finding a new pop home among her 21st century neighbours, a song called Pure & Simple plucked from the pool by ITV's Popstars producers for the Hear'Say calamity, which sold over one million copies in 2001, still the fastest-selling debut single of all time. Alison, surely, made a million?
"Um, yeah," she says, mortified. "It just shows you the power of telly. The boys I wrote it with were like a couple of pop plumbers, nice boys from Guildford I was put together with. It took half an hour and sold 350,000 copies in the first day. It was so funny hearing these people I'd never met before sing my song, Danny, the funny one that couldn't sing at all. [Tune-free comedy bellowing] 'You'll always beee there! Oh yeeeeaaah!' It was appalling."
She also wrote for Girls Aloud's debut album, tots' TV gonks the Tweenies and today lives 40 minutes away from Alex, two more British pop winners turned field-dwelling country squires.
"The trout farm phase is unavoidable," nods Alex, "all part of the trajectory. It is a very big house in the country. And it's fine."
Who, we'd wondered earlier, were the greatest cartoons in pop today? Alex: "Nothing springs to mind." This year, Damon Albarn releases his debut solo album and Blur, eventually, will release a new one. Alex declares Damon "a twat" and then marvels, genuinely, over his Gorillaz achievements. "Damon needs," he adds, "the acclaim." With WigWam, does Alex? "Well, the most important thing is we think it's brilliant, and we do," he decides. "Pop music is fab. We've given our lives to it. Everything in pop, now, is like the best-behaved teacher's pet but we've got big furry six-foot cats jumping up and down. In a confused world, you need cats, a big furry cat with a relentless grin. And that's what pop music is, really, a big relentless grin. That your brain just finds irresistible."
· The single WigWam is out on April 3
オリジナルはこちら↓
http://
英語に自信持てなくなってきたので、読める方はぜひ。
1stシングルでたっきり音沙汰無しですが、どうなってるんでしょうね？？（笑）
Paws and rewind
Take 1990s chart kitten Betty Boo, add suave Blur bassist Alex James, and you have a recipe for pop mayhem. It's a mix of sugar, cheese, fireworks and cats, hears Sylvia Patterson
Saturday March 11, 2006
The Guardian
'Endearingly shy' ... Alison Clarkson. Photograph: Frank Baron
In a photo studio in Chalk Farm, north London, Alex James and Alison Clarkson are cackling through an old issue of Smash Hits, dated January 1991, the first time the pair ever collided, albeit unwittingly, through the pages of the doomed pop bugle. That week, EMF were cover stars while Alison was the triumphant poster girl, as Betty Boo, pouting saucily from the coveted centre spread while Alex's tiny, disembodied head appeared alongside the other members of Blur in a feature called "Will Any Of These People Become Famous Pop Stars?" - also "starring" Perfect Gentlemen, Ralph Tresvant, Freedom, Nelson and Lisa M. Flicking between the two images, they note the curious vision of two black, shoulder-length, shimmering silken bobs.
Together: "We've got the same hair!"
Fifteen years later and Alex and Alison are a group, WigWam, a wilful collision of "kindred spirits" whose debut single, WigWam, is a stellar reminder of how deliriously idiotic guitar-pop bedlam can be. "Checkin' out my wigwam," purrs Alison, irresistibly. Its video - "a guerilla video," smiles Alex - featuring enormous dancing cats, was shot on the roof opposite the private-members' Groucho Club (Alex's sometime metaphorical living room) and directed by their chum and country-dwelling neighbour Dom Joly, which partly explains the cats (inspired, in fact, by "the coolest magic cat in literature", from one of Alex's favourite books, Mikhail Bulgakov's Russian classic The Master And Margarita). Alex and Alison first collided in reality through Alison's husband Paul Toogood ("an indie manager"), instantaneous friends who began writing two years ago down on Alex's Cotswolds farm.
"Alison represents everything that's great about pop music," announces Alex, puffing through a pack of Marlboro non-Lights, "with an amazing voice, cool bones and a magic touch."
Alison: "And Alex has a kinky way."
Alex: "With the low notes. The recipe for WigWam is 90 parts sugar, seven parts cheese and three parts fireworks. And it makes this mixture which is pop music, which is the lightest substance in the universe, this strange catalyst which has weird, chaotic effects on everything and is brilliant, brilliant stuff. Even though people think, 'Is this Fat Les again?'"
In a pizza parlour across the road, it becomes clear that Alex James, 37 - Blur bass player, incorrigible pop prankster, outer-space enthusiast and gifted raconteur - could talk solely and effortlessly into infinity and the endearingly shy Alison, 36, would let him, as most people would, captivated by his tales of dandiest derring-do - someone who wished to spend his twenties as "an alcoholic genius in Soho" and did so, now a married, farm-dwelling father of two-year-old Geronimo, with twins on the way this June, who's given up booze altogether, "although I got very drunk in Paris last year with Marianne Faithfull". Alison, meanwhile, is WigWam's unknown quantity, the one who was Betty Boo, who disappeared and resurfaced in 2001 to become a back-room songwriting popsmith and slowly emerges today as a fearless pop renegade with an infectiously filthy giggle. A half-Scottish, half-Malaysian Londoner, she was the teenage prodigy who studied sound engineering while still at school and created petulant teenage rap troupe the She-Rockers as America saw the rise of Salt'n'Pepa. A savvy, ambitious, 16-year-old force field, it was Alison alone who secured an impressive Jive Records deal.
"I was the motivator," she nods, through graceful sips of water. "You're just so fearless when you're young and I was a bit of a Scrappy Doo. I fell out with the record label, said, 'You're a bunch of wankers'. It was like being at school and I didn't like being treated like a child so they said, 'We can't deal with you any more, you're too difficult'. So I said, 'OK, if you pay for a return ticket to New York so we can work with Public Enemy, let's just quit it'. And they said, 'Fine'. And they had the ownership of the record which was so shit nobody would've bought it anyway."
Professor Griff was a She-Rockers fan, who went on to produce their singles while the then 17-year-olds supported Public Enemy across America. "I remember one performance in Queens," giggles Alison. "Run DMC were there, Eric B and Rakim were there and I couldn't believe it. Eric B, he had his big jeep with the spare tyre on the back that had Louis Vuitton round the cover. I just thought, 'I've made it! I'm with these dudes'."
The She-Rockers returned to Britain, temperamental teenagers who naturally imploded, and Alison re-emerged in 1989 as Betty Boo, self-stylised cartoon caper and vocalist with the Beatmasters, before writing and producing her debut solo album, Boomania, in 1990, now a sex siren in hotpants, wigs and platform heels. Two colossal pop classics ensued, Where Are You Baby? and Doin' The Do, while the indie boys adored her. "There were a few indie boys who were ... after me," she demurs. "But I was very good, y'know, I didn't drink or anything when I was young. But the Booettes [effervescent bob-haired dancers] used to get absolutely pissed. They'd go missing in New York and there was me, the goody-goody who only had hotels with gyms, I was a right prude! They used to talk about sex all the time and I was ... [wrinkles nose, appalled]."
After her second album, 1992's GRRR! It's Betty Boo, Alison's mum fell ill and Alison, who'd already lost her father, retired from the industry to nurse her. "Until the end, she needed me, I didn't do anything else and I didn't want to." Five years passed as she nursed her mum, then her grandma. "I was 30 and I was still nursing people," says Alison. "And I remember feeling a little bit like a 55-year-old. I'd had success. I became established. Home-owner, nice cars, I was all right for money. But nursing an elderly person. And she passed away. And then I started getting my life back together again. Because this is what I do."
Alison's kind of pop is "larger than life" and Alex, naturally, agrees. "You used to see these massive personalities from a great distance," he ponders, "and now you see quite ordinary people so close you can see up their bums. No wonder they're all in the Priory. You can't just have success, you've got to succeed at being something. But they're our neighbours now."
In 2000, Alison began writing again, finding a new pop home among her 21st century neighbours, a song called Pure & Simple plucked from the pool by ITV's Popstars producers for the Hear'Say calamity, which sold over one million copies in 2001, still the fastest-selling debut single of all time. Alison, surely, made a million?
"Um, yeah," she says, mortified. "It just shows you the power of telly. The boys I wrote it with were like a couple of pop plumbers, nice boys from Guildford I was put together with. It took half an hour and sold 350,000 copies in the first day. It was so funny hearing these people I'd never met before sing my song, Danny, the funny one that couldn't sing at all. [Tune-free comedy bellowing] 'You'll always beee there! Oh yeeeeaaah!' It was appalling."
She also wrote for Girls Aloud's debut album, tots' TV gonks the Tweenies and today lives 40 minutes away from Alex, two more British pop winners turned field-dwelling country squires.
"The trout farm phase is unavoidable," nods Alex, "all part of the trajectory. It is a very big house in the country. And it's fine."
Who, we'd wondered earlier, were the greatest cartoons in pop today? Alex: "Nothing springs to mind." This year, Damon Albarn releases his debut solo album and Blur, eventually, will release a new one. Alex declares Damon "a twat" and then marvels, genuinely, over his Gorillaz achievements. "Damon needs," he adds, "the acclaim." With WigWam, does Alex? "Well, the most important thing is we think it's brilliant, and we do," he decides. "Pop music is fab. We've given our lives to it. Everything in pop, now, is like the best-behaved teacher's pet but we've got big furry six-foot cats jumping up and down. In a confused world, you need cats, a big furry cat with a relentless grin. And that's what pop music is, really, a big relentless grin. That your brain just finds irresistible."
· The single WigWam is out on April 3
オリジナルはこちら↓
http://
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