Supersweet

Interview

The People's Revolutionary Choir

The term People’s Revolutionary Choir resonates through history as a profound reminder of those brave few who stood up against corrupt and repressive regimes the world over. Used notably in The Russian Revolution and Algiers, the name became an ideological symbol of antidisestablishmentarianism in the face of oppression, subjugation and tyranny…”
 
Sitting upstairs in The World’s End, Camden, I am entirely unaware of these absorbing historical facts. I’m surrounded by - among others - the twenty-first-century’s own People’s Revolutionary Choir. Everyone’s talking, laughing, drinking, screaming. Guitars are getting passed about. It’s shambolic, confusing. It’s hot and I’m getting strung out. We’re swaying from the rigours of excess that is the Camden Crawl. In my state it’s hard to know what’s going on and in an attempt to establish some sense of decorum I challenge the London six piece to tell me about their name. They are, it seems, as ‘confused’ as me…
 
“There is no reason for the name,” slurs lead singer, Lal Townsend, as he wipes post-gig sweat from his eyes and necks a can of Red Stripe. “We tried to come out with a band about eight years ago, so we came out with this spoof name called People’s Revolutionary Choir, and it just kinda stuck.

“It’s the coolest name in the history of rock and roll. It’s not meant to be a statement though. It’s just a name.”
 
Okay… we’re pissed. Everyone is. A stranger - presumably part of another band (this is, after all, ’backstage’) - stumbles past our table. “Are you being interviewed?”, he shouts. I know because I hear it when I listen to the tape back (I don‘t remember it happening). And when I hear PRC guitarist, Sweet Willy, shout back, “I think so, I dunno what the f**ks going on?” I know things are going down hill.
 
From this point on, things take a less highbrow turn. It gets ridiculous. Willy begins passing around a two litre bottle of whisky (this I remember) and the dictaphone moves from hand to hand like a crack pipe at a Babyshambles party.
 
“Who shags the most birds?” Screams SUPERSWEET side-kick, Matt Jones, as he grabs the mike and shoves it in the face of singer, Lal, again.
 
“Right,” he says, laughing, “if you look at it as how many instruments we’ve got… I’ve got a microphone and a tambourine. I’ve shagged that many.
 
“He’s got a floor drum, (pointing at drummer, John Brandam) a snare, three symbols, one high hat, one bass drum and a snare drum, so yeah… he’s on about four times the amount that I’m on. He’s got a bit a bigger kit hasn’t he!”
 
After this bombshell the point of the meeting is temporarily forgotten and conversation takes on an obscure turn. Pot noodle preferences, a string of random sexual statistics and Russian history are all on the agenda as the interview descends into a general narcotic haze of guitar and tambourine. After some time I come to… My Jones falls off his chair. No one seems to notice but I remember my mission. I put down the tambourine and grab the dictaphone. I’ve got a job to do.
 
“Who’s the best member?” I demand, with all the intensity of a drunken man who’s just remembered he’s supposed to be conducting an interview.
 
“The best member is probably John Brandam, the drummer”, explains Lal, an ironically serious expression on his face. “We met him on the streets one day - me and Jim (guitarist and brother Jim Townsend) - he was homeless at the time and me and Jim met him and we took him back to ours and we made friends and we got him all sorted out.”
 
“And is there a weaker member that you sort of want to get rid of?” Matt Jones has woken up. He’s off the floor and on the mic again. He’s holding a guitar and looking serious. He’s gonna get involved.
 
“Probably myself,” laughs Lal. “No… There’s no week member. We’re all great. We’re all about love. We are into anything that comes our way.”
 
PRC have been on the road with The Brian Jones Town Massacre, and I can see how the two bands would get on. There’s a certain drunken ethos. An endearing non-serious quality. Lal tells me how the two bands get on.
 
“They are gonna record us in the Summer. He’s a really lovely guy. Ricky the guitar player is gonna come over in a couple of days time and we are gonna meet up with him and go out with him and he’s gonna stay at ours”
 
I’m imagining how cool this collaboration would be - in terms of music and drinking - when Matt Jones pipes up again. He’s noticed the Germanic beauty of keyboard player, Kris Feldman, and pursues another line of questioning.
 
“Has anyone in the band shagged the keyboard player?” He says, pointing.
 
“No… We’re all just great friends.” Explains Lal.
 
Kris butts in, “I knew them from hanging out. I played the keyboard when I was really little, and then I stopped. I play the double bass as well.”
 
“And what do you do socially?” I ask, also intoxicated by her statuesque beauty.
 
“Get drunk.” She replies.
 
As I ponder Kris’ beguiling charms I notice that a whole other conversation is going on to my left. Matt Jones and Sweet Willy are passing whisky and Dictaphone between them and discussing influences. I was later to ask her out… unsuccessfully.
 
“I listened to Suicide, Spacemenb3 when I was fifteen and MC5 - the greatest rock and roll band of all time.” Explains Willy.
 
“I joined the band by seeing them play in the Water Rats and they were lacking a guitarist so over a period of five months I sidled in. I bring the element of rock to it single-handedly. I confronted them one night when I was drunk and I asked them if I could join.”
 
Matt Jones is drunk now. Really drunk. He’s becoming lucid as he offers Willy some heart felt advice. “You’re a beautiful man Willy. You go home tonight and listen to Dylan. You wanna go for Highway, you wanna go for Blonde on Blonde. Everybody’s gotta get stoned. I need a drink.”
 
I grab back the mic. I ask Lal why he sings.
 
“Because I’m doing something I love,” he explains. “Otherwise I’m gonna own a pub? In ten years time I’ll be owning a pub on the outskirts of London and dealing cocaine and drugs and selling stolen cars on the side.”
 
I’m laughing. I’ve come to love this man. “Do you have a personal, individual philosophy that no one has?” I slur.
 
“No, he says. “That’s all I have to give.”

Words: Michael Wylie-Harris
Photography: Burak Cingi