tools. For Alkan, every record has to say
something distinctive.
We ask if it’s that lack of strangeness that
makes him see a scene as played out.
Does he grow too used to a sound, and
to his ears, does what was once exciting
collapse into something formulaic?
“Sort of. The language of the music
changes, but it’s the fact there’s some
kind of message or something in there,
that kind of works for you. But it’s never
been something that’s contrived. Once
you’re surrounded by music that’s
devoid of the quality that you desire
from it, you feel like you’re at a party with
a load of strangers you can’t really get on
with. If you just want to stay at the party
then fine, it might actually be good. But
most of the time it’s my cue to leave.”
His musing is suddenly punctured by
laughter. “God, that’s such a crass thing
to say.”
Our interview’s riddled with these
moments of self-editing. Alkan’s
speech is at times ponderous, racked
with pauses as he searches for the
precise phrase, and occasionally he’ll
double back to clarify something he
said. When he’s telling stories the gaps
evaporate and he’s fluid and funny,
in a self-deprecating way. There’s the
time the Long Blondes’ Kate Jackson
couldn’t nail a vocal, “So I asked, ‘The
character in the song, where is she?’
‘She’d have got out of a taxi and she’d
be outside, and kind of had a couple of
drinks.’ ‘Ok, fine. That’s what it’ll be.’” So
Alkan poured a bottle of brandy down
Jackson’s neck, and pitched her into
the alley outside the studio where he’d
set up a mic. “Went up, nailed it in two
takes,” he says, taking a victory sip of
his tea. Or there’s the time the bootleg
of Dr Dre and Sugababes he’d knocked
together on a Monday afternoon to play
at Trash found its way onto the XFM A-list
for six weeks. “All from a little accident.”
He sighs. “I wish I could do that again
now...”
It’s when we dig into more conceptual
areas that he slows. It’s clearly not that
he’s considering the ideas for the first
time. Rather, he seems concerned with
ensuring he’s properly understood. He’s
not, he confesses, a fan of interviews.
Alkan may be approaching his fifth
decade, but there’s still something
teenage about him. His beard is flecked
with grey, but the way he plays with it
and he fidgets under questioning — at
one point he draws his feet under him
in his chair, his six-foot frame curled like
a comma — is a little like a sixth-former
being quizzed by a great aunt. Not that
he isn’t witty, erudite and forthcoming.
We just get the sense he’d rather be
doing something else.
And when we head down the garden to
his studio, it becomes clear what. Once
the speakers start humming, Alkan’s like
a kid eager to show off his toys. This is
the bit he enjoys. Not talking about the
music, not dissecting or analysing the
music. Sharing it. Giving it to others and
060 djmag.com.au
seeing how they react. That’s why each
time he finds himself at that party where
the music’s become a stranger, he wants
people to follow him somewhere new.
Somewhere exciting.
TOTAL
PSYCHE
OUT!
Erol Alkan is a psychedelic rock nut
too — as evidenced by his Beyond The
Wizard’s Sleeve project with Richard
Norris. Here are some of his favourites
from across the decades...
CALEB
‘Baby, Your Phrasing Is Bad’
“One of my favourite records of all-time. Apparently he is Finley
Quaye’s uncle, and also played guitar for Elton John in the ‘60s.
Legend also has it that Elton plays keys on this. The whole track
sounds like it’s been through a dozen phasers and vari-sped down
in tempo.”
FRED WIENBERG
‘Animosity’
“Psyche but of an electronic nature. Fred was more of a sound
architect and studio genius than a musician. Not a million
miles away from what the BBC Radiophonic Workshop were also
pioneering around the same time.”
GORKY’S ZYGOTIC MYNCI
‘Methu Aros Tan Haf’
“Gorky’s are a band I’ve loved for years. Much of their catalogue is
sung in Welsh which is good for me, as it’s my favourite accent in
the world. We had the pleasure of writing a song with the singer
Euros Childs, a really beautiful song named ‘Door To Tomorrow’
which I love. For me, one of the best bands of the UK.”
SECOND HAND
‘The World Will End Yesterday’
“Beautiful backwards, stoner rock from 1968. Sounds a bit like early
Primal Scream and almost a proto shoegaze record.”
SPACEMAN 3
‘Revolution’
“This is the point where psyche and punk collide. It’s the Sex
Pistols on acid. I’ve played this record in a set alongside many
different types of dance music and the reaction is always something
incredible.”
For Rory Phillips, it’s what makes him such
a good DJ, a talent he honed week-in,
week-out, playing alien records to kids at
Trash. “He’s very good at reading a crowd.
He’ll know exactly what to do. But at the
same time, while still staying true and not
dumbing himself down. He’s very tuned in.”
It was where he learnt to trust in his
judgment, even when a record like ‘Silver
Screen Shower Scene’ cleared the floor. At
least, it did the first time he dropped it that
night. “If you play something and think it’s
brilliant and people are nonchalant about
it, if you believe in it then you’ve got to see
it through,” he says. “I’ve always believed
that clearing a dancefloor isn’t negative.
Isn’t a bad thing. You cl