You'd be forgiven for thinking that Peter Bruntnell is American. For a start, although he isn't too keen on the expression, the songs and structures on his most recent CD, the best-selling "Normal For Bridgwater" fit firmly into the "alt-country" bracket, and he acknowledges the effect that Neil Young's "After The Goldrush" has had on his work.

Further, all three of Peter's albums have been issued on US labels. The more rock-orientated, yet still mercilessly melodic "Cannibal" and "Camelot In Smithereens" both appeared on Almo Sounds, a label set up by the indefatigable Herb Alpert, a man who knows his way round a good tune. And the career-defining "Normal For Bridgwater" is released by the American label Slow River.

Yet Peter is as un-American as can be. Still living in outer London, though in the process of relocating with his family to deepest Devon, he considers himself to be a native of the suburban town of Kingston on Thames, although he was actually born in New Zealand, of Welsh parentage. In actual fact, the album reflects several lengthy periods spent in Vancouver, so the feel is more Canadian than anything else.

Peter's natural environment is playing in crowded bars, either with his four-piece band or with his guitarist sidekick and brilliant instrumentalist James Walbourne. Ten years on the dole and playing throughout the UK and Europe, plus six or seven Stateside visits, have turned Peter into a consummate live performer, to the extent that he thinks (possibly correctly, although to the non-hyper critical ear, the album sounds just magnificent) that "Normal For Bridgwater" is best experienced live:

"I suppose I do feel happy with it, although I did get quite a shock when I listened to it about two months ago, because we play the songs live now with a lot more dynamics and in a more relaxed way. But I do still like the record and I like the songs on it."

It sounds very much as though Peter, after casting around for a musical modus operandi, has experienced the serendipity of choosing a style which also happens to be truly commercially accessible.

"Well, I don't set out to write for anybody other than myself, so I don't really consider it commercial, even though it might be. It's not something I'm conscious of."

Are the songs on the forthcoming album in the same style?

"Yes, they're a continuation of the last record. With my first two albums, I was confused, whereas with 'Normal For Bridgwater', I decided I was going to do exactly what I wanted to do, and if people like it, great, and if they don't, tough. That's why I'm quite pleased that the one I consider much more honest is the one that people like more."
What on earth can be the significance of that odd album title, and indeed the languid "NFB", its accompanying song?

"A couple who are friends of mine ran a particularly rough pub in Bridgwater (a small town in the UK West Country), and the landlady was telling me one day that the doctors in Bridgwater use the abbreviation NFB (= Normal For Bridgwater) when describing their test results for slightly disturbed local patients."

If you think that's eccentric, it's not half as charming as the album's undoubted highlight (and live tour de force) "By The Time My Head Gets To Phoenix".

"That was an item on a news programme one evening, where there was a group of people in England who wanted their bodies sent to Phoenix, Arizona for preservation in some cryogenic tanks, to be frozen and then revived in the future. But the weight of a human body made it too expensive to ship in an aeroplane, so they're going to cut the head off the first one that dies and freeze that."

A new album from Peter is eagerly awaited, but it seems the wait will have to be a little longer:

"I've got twelve songs written and my management company is in the process of talking to a couple of labels, so the record will be recorded before the end of this year and released early next year."

Does this mean that the association with Slow River is no more? Suddenly, the normally intensely communicative singer finds himself totally speechless. After a long pause, all Peter will offer is:

"Umm ... I don't think we're gonna do another record with Slow River."

Would you care to elaborate?

"No."

So that's that. But the moment the conversation returns to music, Peter is back on top form:

"There's a song on the new album called 'Tabloid Reporter'. It's about a journalist from the News Of The World who posed as a potential business partner, lured the Radio 1 DJ Johnnie Walker into a meeting and asked him to score him some coke. Consequently, Johnnie got thrown off the BBC for a while, so I wrote this angry song which attacks that journalist and others like him."

It's going to be another classic.

© Oliver Gray

Peter Bruntnell was one of few British musicians to be signed to Almo where he produced two albums of quiet meditative rock with a slight country edge. The second of which "Camelot in Smithereens" features a lot of gentle tentative meditations. In 1999 his album "Normal for Bridgwater" was released and saw a distinct change in direction with a greater emphasis on the classic country-rock. The last 18 months have been spent touring, either with his band, or acoustic with his lead guitarist James Walbourne.

You've lived in various countries (NZ, Canada, UK) where do you consider your roots to lie?

I consider myself from Kingston on Thames, which is South West of London, that's what I consider myself as I was a year old when I left NZ. When it's a rugby game I'm Welsh, as my parents are Welsh. If I consider anything I'm Welsh, but from South West London. There's no big story really. I just lived in Vancouver for three month periods - four times - just because I like it so much and I've got a friend out there that I write songs with. I wrote most of this new album in Canada and a lot of the subjects are Canadian.

Is that Bill Ritchie?

Yeh.

What kind of music wre you into as a kid when you were growing up in London? Cos you weren't into Gram Parsons when you were 12 or something were you?

No. I was playing football. I think I bought Slade's "Slayed" album first and I was into T Rex and things when I was a kid. And then I got into Neil Young when I was about 20.

You were probably a bit young for punk weren't you?

No, I was into a bit of the punk. We were in the 5th form or might have been the 4th form when Anarchy In The UK came out. But I didn't really like it to be honest. I was into Yes and Genesis. I just didn't think it was very musical, although I sort of liked it, I like it more now. It was all the rage but I didn't really like it.

I was into Led Zeppelin. Clash not then but now.

I liked Thin Lizzy.

You say you were playing football as a kid, but when did you become more of a player of music rather than a listener?

I'd learned to play guitar at school but it was just a minor hobby. So I could play chords and stuff. I suppose it was when I heard Neil Young's record, because all the music before then didn't translate onto acoustic guitar and all that stufff did with Neil Young.

Were you about 20 when this..?

No, I think I was bit older actually. Maybe about 21 or 22 I can't really remember. A friend of mine in Guildford gave me "After The Goldrush" which she found on a tip.

The difference between Neil Young and Yes is that you can play his songs with chords like E minor, G and D whereas with Yes you've got extended chords and bizarre changes. You can "strumalong with Neil".

Yeh. That's what kind of did it.

So you're strumming along with Neil Young or whoever in your bedroom, what made you make the step between being a bedroom strummer and being a performer.

When I was 21 I'd left BT cos I'd done an apprenticeship and I left that because I didn't get on and didn't finish the apprenticeship. I basically didn't like work much. I just started travelling to the South of France and Greece and places like that. It was a way of remaining in the South of France for 3 months playing guitar and busking. That's why I did it to earn money.

So the first time you played in front of people was on the streets of France to earn money. That's quite a baptism of fire.

No I did a few gigs at a few little bars that we used to go to at that time. I played for like £30 on a Monday night at a little bar near where I lived. I knew about half an hour's worth of songs, which I sort of did. I got really nervous and got really pissed before I did it. That started it off, I just went nuts. I learned loads and loads of songs. In the space of two months I knew like two hours worth of songs. That's all I did. I didn't want to work - that was my way out of working and I did that for years. I was on the dole for 10 years and playing in bars and getting various bands together as well and writing songs. It wasn't until '96, I think, I had a friend who was a record producer, who kept saying if you want to do something just give us a call. I didn't and my girlfriend got pregnant and that made me give him a call, cos all of a sudden I thought "fuck!". That was the reason.

So there was no real ambition before then to record. You were quite happy playing in bars and that was the height of ambition?

Yes. I didn't really have a driving ambition.

This was South London where you played?

Yeh. Kingston, Surbiton.

It must have been competitive though. If you weren't pushy enough I'm sure there would be someone who'd come along and try and take your place and get the decent gigs.

I knew what I was doing wasn't what other pub duos were doing, cos I was doing Neil Young and Nick Drake. And they were doing things like Honky Tonk Women and sing-along stuff. But I didn't do that. I was in the student pubs doing Nick Drake and John Martyn stuff. So I was different from then anyway. No-one did that then. When you're getting like £50 a week on the dole, if you do like two gigs a week you're loaded aren't you, and if you get you're getting your rent paid it's loads of money?

So you're playing John Martyn and Nick Drake tunes. It's a step up from Neil Young strumming. Those songs are more about alternate picking and weird altered tunings.

Well actually I just sort of flat-picked them. I hadn't really developed a picking technique on a guitar. In fact I've just developed one in the last year - the Steve Earle one which is really easy, or rather not the Steve Earle one, but the one Townes Van Zandt used or whoever it was before that. I just sort of strummed it and sang.

At this stage were you playing a few original songs among the covers to see how they went down?

Yeh. I'd slip a few in, but I didn't really think they were good enough. It was only when I got the idea that there was an opportunity to record some stuff with a view to having a record contract that I suddenly sat down and got serious about writing. Which were all those songs on the first record. It was only then that I was concentrating on what was happening. Before then I was too busy getting drunk and stoned and stuff. Happy, rolling along having a laugh. Why work hard? It was time to put a bit of work in.

This first album "Cannibal" was credited to The Peter Bruntnell Combination. Was that more of the band situation than now when you're billed as Peter Bruntnell - full stop?

The only reason we called it The Peter Bruntnell Combination was so that people knew there was a band playing on it. It wasn't a folk record. With the second album we got fed-up of the name Peter Bruntnell Combination, but had a picture of the band on the back to show that it was still a band record.

Were you not tempted to give the band a name such as The Whatever?

I didn't have a name at the time. I've got one now and I'm going to see about using it on the next album instead.Of course it fucks up all the press that you've got and confuses people. I think with this line-up that I've got now, I'd like to keep it for the next record too, and all these guys are into it, so it would be nice to call it that and give them some identity too, rather than just being "people who play with Peter Bruntnell". I don't know what the record company might say. I might do it.

How much contribution do they make? Is it still primarily your record and they play, or do they contribute to the writing side?

I just present them the songs and they play.

Are the songs demoed up before presenting them?

Not demoed up but rehearsed.

The sound on "Cannibal" and "Camelot In Smithereens" are different to the current record. They've got more of a lo-fi different sound to them. Was that deliberate?

The new record sounds more organic don't you think?

Yes it certainly is more timeless. Was that deliberate?

Oh yes. I wanted it to sound just like when we played it. We didn't compress too much. I think that was just the way it came out. The first two records were produced by Pete Smith, who's a friend of mine, who's a really classy producer, so they would sound more "classy"... more "produced". And I think it works great. But because I was in the States with George Howard, he basically let us do what we wanted and looked over it, and the engineer a guy called Peter Lenane said "Let's keep it as organic as possible". We couldn't have made a record like the other two as we didn't have the know how. It was a conscious decision and a necessary decision because we couldn't have made it any other way?

So when you play stuff from the early records on stage now will it sound as originally written or as the current album?

We won't be playing anything from those albums. I played a few songs from "Cannibal" in Birmingham a few days ago just on the acoustic. But we haven't rehearsed the other two records we're concentrating on this one. We will get round to learning them, but Danny Williams who's playing the bass, he's fairly new - he didn't do the record with us, so we're just getting this thing together. It's only about our eighth gig with this particular line-up and this is the record I want to promote, although naturally, I want to promote all three records, but this is the newest one and this is the freshest one.

And you've got much broader instrumentation on the early albums - strings and horns.

Like a Hovis advert?

It does sound a bit brass bandy.

It's supposed to sound like a brass band/Hovis thing.

You could do them but I suppose they would need adapting quite a bit.

James [Walbourne]the guitar player can play the fiddle. But he's only had it since Christmas. But he can do it really good. We've got one song, which we're not doing tonight, called "How You Are" which is off the new album, but we haven't got it down yet.

Does the lack of fiddle or pedal steel make a big difference? On the last record the guy from Son Volt plays a lot.

It would be nice to have Eric Heywood playing with us and David Boquist.

Or somebody else. Somebody who could play mandolin, fiddle and pedal steel and do a few backing vocals would be perfect.

It would be nice, but there just aren't that many pedal steel players around. A friend of mine, who lives up the road from me, plays and he did a tour when we played with Son Volt about two years ago. But he's so busy, because he's one of the best in the country; he's always in demand and I can't afford him. We might play with Eric when we get to the states. And I play pedal steel. but I can't play pedal steel and sing at the same time, so it's not really viable.

On the tour where you're supporting Son Volt in the States I believe you're justgoing out as a duo.

Yes. Just me and James - two acoustics. The record's not out yet, so they wouldn't pay for the whole band.

Do you feel any pressure from the record company to fit into a niche and be marketed a certain way?

I don't feel any pressure at all. I've only written one new song in the last year similar to the ones on the new record. I don't feel any pressure to even write songs, I don't feel in the mood. When it comes to write the next album I will. I don't know when and I don't know what it'll be like. It'll be countryish because that's where my heart is.

Slow River picked you up - and you're a rare English talent on a roster of American acts. How did that feel?

They were all right. They were more concerned with us just touring and building up a following for this record. As far as being on an American label and being the only English person, it doesn't really affect me as I'm over here. I like it really. What it means is that all the bands that are signed to Slow River, when they come over here, they can either play with me or I can play with them. It's nice to hang out. There's a band called Fan Modine who came across to London and I ended up playing pedal steel with them and hanging out with them drinking whisky with them until five in the morning at my house - it's great. They're all really friendly and it's the same with The Willard Grant Conspiracy - they're a good bunch of guys. I don't really feel any pressure. I feel I'm on a really good label with like-minded people who are not competitive. It's like being in a good boxing camp with that feeling of camaraderie. All the bands are different and there aren't that many that are country.

Going back to the country thing. Do you not feel a bit let down by English audiences. When you get some semi-decent American comes across with a band - the audience think he's brilliant. You play a set at least as good, if not better, but because you're English you don't get the respect acclaimyou're due. You're not from Ohio - you're from South London. So you tend to be a second class citizen English guy because you're playing country music.

I do. When we were touring in June I almost didn't want to speak, so that people wouldn't know I wasn't American. I felt like people might not be taking this as seriously as they should do as we're English. I did feel that. It did cross my mind. But I thought when I get across to America it might be the opposite.. or it might not. But there's not a lot I can do about that. It doesn't keep me up at night. Most people when they listen to the record think its an American singer anyway, even though I tried to sing it in a kind of non-American way - I haven't gone down south with my accent. A lot of English people end up sounding quite American, unless it's a punk band. I was quite conscious of that. In fact the first album sounds more American with the accent than this one just because I wasn't thinking about it.

How far back go your influences - A generation ago? 60's? 70's? Or as far back as the Carter Family?

Yeh they do. I prefer the Hank Williams sound. I've been listening a lot to him over the last couple of years and James has got a really good collection of Louvin Brothers. I really like listening to Gram Parsons stuff still. I haven't got bored with it yet, but I'm sure I will do eventually. I like listening to film music. I can't listen to too much music it sort of exhausts me.

The song "Vera" reminds me of the doo-wop influenced sections on the later Velvets albums ["Velvet Underground" and "Loaded"]. Were they an influence?

I was probably listening to the V-Roys and I really liked their record. I don't know what inspired that. I know the production was quite Sparklehorse but that actual song was just like a 50's rock and roll song. In fact that's probably my favourite song on the first two albums and I said to the chaps yesterday that I'd love to re-record that song with double bass and make it 50's, but in a different key and maybe perhaps Hammond organ on it and I could add pedal steel to it.

Talking about songwriting, you mentioned you'd written one song in the last year or so. Can you force a song into existence?

When it comes to the point where I think we've exhausted this record, I'll get into a different head space and I'll write a batch of songs and that's how it works. If any songs come along in the meantime then...

Do any songs come from jams with the band members or do you tend to write alone.

Sometimes I write the songs lyrically when I'm in bed and still sleepy. I write them in the night when I'm trying to sleep, but I keep getting up and turning on the light and adding to it.

What about melodies? What do you do when a tune comes into your head when you're walking down the street?

I normally carry a dictaphone. But I've forgotten it tonight. Tandy do really good ones.

Have you ever resorted to ringing your own answerphone, so that you don't forget a melody line?

I've done that.

On stage are you a comfortable performer?

I like doing it as long as I can hear. It's uncomfortable when you can't hear through the monitors.

How do you respond to heckles?

I've got nothing prepared. It's usually "Fuck off!". Or just ignore them. I haven't been heckled for a while.

Back in early days how difficult was it when you were playing to very few people?

Depends on how you look at it. When you're in a pub like that you're not the main attraction, you're just providing background music and anybody who's listening is a bonus. You're getting paid £50 or £60 at the end of the night for sitting there playing your songs and getting drunk. And that's the way you have to look at it. If you're doing a tour and people are talking through it, well, that's happened on this tour a couple of times. There are lots of people out wanting to have a good time and chatting to their friends, but they're still listening. I don't demand people listen to me. If they want to great, if they don't fine. It's not much fun playing to half empty rooms, but we're not well-enough known, at the moment, to do anything else. Unless we play in London. It's just something we've got to do. There have been enough people on this tour there to make it worth us playing but there haven't been the audiences like we had when suppporting Son Volt. It's just something you have to expect when you're doing your first tour. We're not getting massive radio play.

The reviews are good in all the papers. I haven't seen a bad one.

But that's not enough. The only we're going to get through and sell this record is by touring and building audiences. I didn't really expect to turn up and have loads of people all jumping up and down about this record. How can they know us? There's not enough awareness at this point of time. We like touring.

How big of a market is there in this country for this kind of music? Isn't part of the problem the way the press compartmentalise people and classify music within certian boundaries?

It depends whether you call it alternative country or songwriting. If you talk about good songwriting - the Waterboys were huge. All the people into, say, Neil Young and The Waterboys appreciate subtle things and not just big sing along anthem choruses. I think the market is definitely there, it's just a question of awareness. But with radio, as a format, being so bland, you don't really get many favours from that, so the only way you get anywhere is by playing and by word of mouth. I like the way it's going. It's the only way to do it I think. There's only one way and that's like the hard way. It's the best way because you build up to it. If you suddenly get on Top Of The Pops it's such a shock and then of course 3 months later where are you?

On one of your singles you covered Nick Drake's "Black Eyed Dog". It's a bleak, doom-laden song. Why did you do it?

I just liked it basically. I've liked everything that Nick Drake has ever done. We were going for a slightly overdriven sound and I thought that song translated well. I looked at all of them and that's the one I felt I could do most justice to it.

What about guitars you're using? The basic guitars are the Epiphone semi-acoustic and the Takamine. Are they your workhorses?

I've also got a Les Paul Special as a back-up in case I break a string with the same P90 pick-ups. I've got a Strat and a Jazzmaster too. For this particular line-up the Epiphone works the best.

How does James Walbourne fit in with the rest of your band? He seems much younger than the rest of you.

It's amazing how he fits in with the rest of us. He's incredibly mature - if he wasn't, he'd get the piss taken out of him all the time. Age isn't an issue. we get on really well.

He's certainly talented.

He's an awesome guitar player. I don't want him to get any more technical. The nice thing is he can be technical, but he prefers to thrash it - he's got a punk attitude. It would take a long time to find anyone like him again.

You played "Handful of Stars" on the last tour. What was that about?

We wrote that in Canada in a cabin and we were alcoholically poisoned and feeling depressed basically. Not terribly depressed, just low and it's a native American story. It's just about feeling low.

What about "You Won't Find Me"?

It's a suicide song. Full stop.

NFB. I know what the phrase "Normal For Bridgwater" means but a friend of mine, who lived near there, wondered how you knew about this local saying?

A friend of mine lived in Bridgwater and she told me. She was telling me how she didn't like it there and even the doctors diagnose the odd in-bred person as NFB (Normal For Bridgwater) and I just thought what a good little title. My best friend killed himself so a lot of this record is influenced by it and that's another suicide song basically. Or there's three on there which had my friend in mind. It's about disappearing.

When you sing about the world being "flat" you mean not seen as being round, as opposed to "down" in an emotional sense?

It's a Leonardo da Vinci quote. This person was very special. When everyone else was thinking of one thing he was thinking of something else.

In the song "By The Time My Head Gets To Phoenix" there's a semi-quote from the Jimmy Webb song of similar title. Did this influence the song?

Phoenix is where the cryogenic tanks are - the body freezing things. The people in England who want to subscribe to that can't afford to send their bodies, so they cut their heads off.

So, it's a literal statement then?

Yes, it's fact.

What about "Jurassic Parking Lot"?

Jurassic Park is about the Bomax sign in Vancouver it's the biggest neon sign in North America. When I was there they were just about to dismantle it and that was a big landmark and not many people were happy about losing the big signs. I try and write about what I find interesting.

The last song on the album is like a benediction. Was that a deliberate way to end the album?

I wrote that with Randy Bachman from Bachman Turner Overdrive and I made it specific to a friend of mine who got busted for growing his own pot. I know Randy might not be too happy about that as he doesn't smoke pot or drink no more, but I really like the song. He came up with the line may the sun always shine which is the pivot of the song. It's like with Bill Ritchie if you find the right person to write with it can be a great help.

Finally, what are your plans for the future?

I want to play in America. I don't think about it that much as long as something's happening. I'd love to continue touring, but my immediate plans are to make another record.

© Steve Wilcox

"The Peter Bruntnell Combination,"claims the blackboard, wonkily. "Free entry before 9.30." You check the clock. Why not? After all, nothing to lose. Down in the gloom the band appear. The man with the un-rock name has an acoustic guitar and a large beard, over which his eyes peer inquiringly. He doesn't say much, just leans into the microphone and produces a string of staggering songs while the three-piece Combination do Crazy Horse off on the side. It's just one of those nights. You're in a strange town and some no-name band you've never heard of pins you up against the back wall and puts the prickles in your eyes.
The amazing thing is that if you're quick you can still catch Peter Bruntnell in surroundings that intimate as that night more than four years ago in Exeter. That night, I later found out, was a date on a tour designed to promote the band's makeshift but highly promising first album, 'Cannibal', with a band including Matt Backer on guitar and Felix, son-of-Roy, Harper on bass. As tours go, it was extremely low key, taking in only selected venues of South-West England, and typically Bruntnell in that the rest days were cunningly designed to take full advantage of the North Cornwall coast's very passable surfing.
Eighteen months later came the second album, 1996's 'Camelot In Smithereens', the title nicked from aline in OliverStone's JFK. This one blended artfully-crafted radio-friendly rockers ('Saturday Sam', 'Bewitched') and aching country-noir ('Ellison', 25 Reasons'), the latter two as close and intimate and claustrophobic as a short wave radio jammed to your ear under the bedclothes. Finest, perhaps, was the slow-burning 'Panelbeater', close cousin to Cannibal's devastating opener 'I Want You', and as brutal a song about creative desperation as you'll find: Locked in a room / For fourteen years / Is this enough? / Shooting at the moon / Jumping through hoops / Is this enough? / Panelbeater, sick of trying - "Left to my own devices, I'd play nothing but country music" explained Peter Bruntnell at the time, "but you can't do that in this country. No-one'll listen."
Thankfully, he's changed his mind. 'Normal For Bridgwater', Bruntnell's third and his first on Slow River Records, is the sound of a man free to play what he wants - and his current band is his best ever, chiefly thanks to James Walbourne, a terrifyingly well versed guitarist who looks like the young Robbie Robertson and seems capable of playing like anybody. Sure, there are still the tougher power pop songs - 'Forgiven', 'By The Time My Head Gets To Phoenix', 'Lay Down This Curse' - but even these, like the rest, seem more serenly placed. 'Cosmea' and the banjo driven 'How You Are' are positively down-home. 'NFB' is a sweet gentle lament: (the title claims to refer to doctor's code, shorthand for Normal For Bridgwater, occasionally jotted down on medical reports in the cider-crazed Somerset town of the same name) 'Handful Of Stars' is an aching admission of irreconciliation, 'Shot From A Spring' a stunning widescreen travelogue topped with blinding pedal steel from Son Volt's Eric Heywood (Son Volt's Dave Boquist also shows up to play fiddle. Peter agreed to meet BoB to cover the story so far, and selected the venue himself; a fine little Wandsworth restaurant called The Fish In A Tie, an eatery almost too good and cheap to mention in print.

Let's begin with the first record, 'Cannibal'. Is it true that the whole thing was a demo?

That's right. We knocked those songs out just to get the deal (with Almo Sounds) but as it ended up, they just stuck them all on the album and released it.

Before 'Cannibal', you'd taken time away from London and gone to Canada. Did thathave a big effect on you?

Yeah, absolutely. My band of the time, Milkwood, had just split up and I went to Canada twice and ended up living in Vancouver for about three months. There's a friend of mine there, Bill Ritchie, a very bright guy, very well read, he knows just about everything and has all these wonderful Eskimo stories and stuff. We started writing songs together just for the craic - nothing in mind, no ambitions for the songs at all, but I learnt something. He showed me that songs can be tangential. You don't have to state everything to get your picture across: sometimes you can bring in a completely different subject, that, in a wierd way, throws more light on what you're really trying to talk about. Plus it's good to bounce off someone else. They can sometimes make sense of what you're mumling about.

Which 'Cannibal' songs do you like best now?

There's only a handful of those we still play and really like. 'IWant You' is still one of my favourites. That first line (There was a Mexican wave on the TV / I was flying over the moon) just came from watching the world cup. I still like the song 'Cannibal', which was all about a pub I used to drink in - the kind of place where you can go at any time and be sure to meet someone you know. Trouble was, I was spending far too much time in there and, you know, you suddenly see your whole life stretching out in front of you - that's what it's about. And I like 'Bent Out Of Shape', which I wrote really depressed, coming back from Amsterdam.

What about 'I Want You' - the one with Frank 'Poncho' Sampedro on guitar?

I never even met him. I only went for it for that, but they took the tapes to LA and when it came back I didn't even like what he'd done. - I could have done better myself. What a waste of ten grand. But I still like the song, I was humming it for ages with those words thinking, hmmm, I must make up some proper lyrics for this, but then I realised it actually made perfect sense as it was. It turned out to be a song about not knowing what I was doing - which was perfect, really.

Why did the Peter Bruntnell Combination disband?

It just happened naturally. Well, of course, it was partly financial as well. Unless a whole band signs a deal then you just can't support them, and the record company won't keep paying out. But also, coming into the second album, I wanted things to be more song oriented - less muso, perhaps. I'd been listening to The Pixies and I wanted to play electric myself and make the whole thing much rawer.

So what were your reference points, if any, for recording Camelot In Smithereens?

Definitely the two Acetone albums - Cindy and I Guess I Would - and Being There by Wilco, just for the sounds and stuff. And maybe Sparklehorse.

Listening back, there seems to be a conflict there between the potential singles and the others - between what you wanted to do, perhaps, and what you felt you should do.

That makes sense. I probably wasn't conscious of it at the time. Looking back, the ones I feel happiest about are Ellison, Panelbeater and 25 Reasons. It's funny, 'cos when I wrote the single Saturday Sam I intended it as a sort of Velvet Underground song - slow, acoustic and folky. Somewhere along the line, though, it went punk and I think that was a mistake. I liked it better as it was.

If forced, how would you describe the new record.

I don't know! I can't say! The songs are more personal - well, more personal-based. There's one which is me and a banjo and a fiddle, there's two others with just acoustics, mandolin and banjo, sort of porch-style, and the rest of it is rock. I had this great bluegrass tape that I borrowed off a friend and that affected the record; none of it is actually bluegrass, but twoor three songs are that way inclined. The rest of it is, well, just a picture of the whole thing that I've liked for a very long time. It's difficult for me to answer when you ask about reference points, because obviously I have to say Son Volt 'cos I love them, but I'm also wary of saying it - because I love them so much! They're just the best group I've come across, and that's it. But, you know, because you're influences are X, Y and Z, it doesn't mean - well, hopefully it doesn't mean - that you're completely ripping them off or even necessarily sounding like them. I mean, I've always loved Prefab Sprout - just thought I'd mention it.

It sounds like the record you wanted to make.

Yes, I've done exactly what I wanted and it's the best collection of songs I've ever done. People's reactions to it are interesting. I don't care about what most people think - just friends, who basically like the same kind of music that I do - who I really care about, and they think it's fucking excellent. It's probably not the most commercial record I've ever made but it's definitely the best. Funnily enough, my manager doesn't like it, but how could he? He doesn't listen to that kind of music, he just works in the music industry, and that's a different thing. There are some songs he just doesn't get - and those, funnily enough, are the songs my friends really like! So, for those who don't like it, sorry, but I'm not here to please you. I didn't sell that many records the first two times around, so I haven't got anything to lose. I really haven't. Sod it, I'll sell my house and get a cheaper one.

And what are you listening to?

All kinds. Actually, I think I'm a bit OD'd on country right at this moment. But nearly all the stuff I really, really like is dark. I don't know why. It just means something to me. Everything else seems like pop crap. I'm not a big pop fan -as you probably know. There's not many happy songs I like! Well, there's I Get Around - that's happy, actually. Does Leader Of The Pack count as happy? It makes me laugh, whatever. I'm a massive Bill Hicks fan, but that's real comedy so it's different. It's really funny; I've been working part time in a record wholesalers' and you should see the stuff they get in! I put all these mad records on and the bloke at the other end is looking at me going, - what are you doing? - I'm on a mission at the moment to find the best Christmas album ever made. I've just come across a cracker - a boys choir; it's lovely, I'm keeping it.

You once told me you'd achieved everything you'd wanted to. Did you mean it?

I was trying to say I was happy with the songs I'd produced, and commercial success couldn't make me feel any better about the songs. Commercial success doesn't mean that an artist is true. An obvious thing to say. To really get that into your head isn't easy, but totally necessary. You can make a record that's great in your head. It might not sell, but it's still great.

Finally, what are your loves and hates?

Ha ha! I could go on for along time. For things I hate I'd say the music charts - I detest the charts. McDonalds. Oh, people who don't know the width of their car. Things I love - well, I havent got that many. My daughter, number one. My girlfriend. Pedal steel guitar. Gillian Welch. My house. I love this restaurant. Oh, and my porch. I built it myself and it's great! I've been hanging out there with Gram Parsons blaring out on the stereo.

© Rick Batey

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