British Psych Rock Wouldn’t Be As Fuzzy Without The Heads

If you don’t know anything about British psych-rock, a good place to start is The Heads. That is, if you’re into music built mostly on guitar loops and filled with sadness, space and mystery. Which you should be, because sadness and mystery are the foundations for roughly 75 percent of guitar bands who’ve ever written a decent song. Take away sadness and mystery, and all you’re left with is something happy and obvious.

The Heads’ guitarist is Simon Price, who also makes his own music under the moniker Kandodo. His most recent album, k2o, features a devastating song centred around a recorded tour guide of Elvis’ Graceland, as well as a mesmerising 22-minute piece called “Swim Into The Sun”.

If you’re not prepared to let your brains get a little fried, Kandodo probably isn’t for you. But if you are, you’ll be handsomely rewarded. Simon’s work with The Heads and Kandodo is also a great reminder that music doesn’t need to be dominated by market forces; he’s never made his sole living from either band, which means that at all points he’s remained free to make stuff he actually likes.

I had a little chat with him, which is below for you to read.

VICE: I’ll start at the beginning – the name. Kandodo is a supermarket in Malawi and you grew up there and in Zambia, right? How is your childhood present in your music? It doesn’t seem like there’s any dodgy colonial appropriation going on.
Simon Price: Yeah, my parents emigrated to Zambia when I was three and I spent my childhood and teenage years there and in Malawi. There were two main supermarkets in Blantyre, Malawi – Kandodo just happened to be on my way to and from the sports club, which was where teenagers hung in Blantyre back then. It also references the mighty German band Can and an extinct bird, so it seems humanity is doomed to repeat its mistakes.

There was a lot of space in Malawi. The country has 5 million people in something like the size of Britain. I spent time during school holidays – hours, days, weeks – doing very little but watching life, people, animals, birds, fish, insects.

You use samples from nature – particularly the sound of waves – in some of your songs. Do you consciously think about evoking the feeling of a particular place when you’re making music?
Not any particular place, no. Waves are a universal experience – everyone will react to them. They’re also endless and stretch out repeatedly to the horizon. Hearing waves makes me think of a sandy beach, downtime and the sun. Kind of like a scent that you can breathe in and be there.

Okay. The Velvet Underground seem to be an influence.
The Velvets are great – so simple, yet powerful and emotionally engaging. They are one of the most influential bands. Last night I was listening to a collection of their unreleased gear, which is a non-album that’s still better than most bands could ever aspire to. There’s a laid back intensity to a lot of the Velvets’ stuff. They were so cool. They had a fuck you attitude, they wouldn’t take shit from The Man and they could play, which is a great example to many aspiring musicians. My favourite quote from Lou Reed is, “One chord is fine. Two chords is pushing it. Three chords and you’re into jazz.” The Heads had a T-shirt that read: “One chord, three pedals, six years.” Which is kind of similar in its outlook.

I’m sure Lou liked a pedal as well. On the track “Grace And”, you sample a Graceland tour guide, which mainly focuses on how to actually use the tour guide itself – what buttons to press, etc. Where did you find that? 
It’s from my pilgrimage to Graceland. I kept it as a souvenir. That day was such an emotional rollercoaster that even the ride across the boulevard and into the gates was enough. The matter-of-factness of the tour guide’s dulcet Southern tones was in direct contrast to the melting pain that was going on inside me. My day in Graceland was one I’ll never forget, like the best museum and church rolled into one. I love old buildings and history, and to be there – where he walked, ate and lived – was amazing.

It was a quiet-ish day in April, I had a whole day ticket and spent a long time alone, wandering his backyard, seeing the trees that he saw, kicking up his dirt; his squash court where he spent his last active hours and the baby grand piano where he sang for the sheer love of it. I love his music, but there, at his house, he was a human again, and yet far beyond. I find Elvis fascinating. The Graceland trip was a long time coming and it didn’t disappoint. The kitchen looked like it was seriously used.

I took the tour guide and quickly taped it before the batteries went dead. I guess I liked the contrast of the guide’s simple instructions with the complexities of Elvis’ life, the human condition and his great success and personal heartache.

How do you make your songs? Is there a set process?
Time is the pre-requisite. I might plug in and play a simple few chords or notes for a few minutes, then record them and leave it, distracted by something. Two months later I listen back and maybe add some more guitars or a drum, then leave it again. Over time, tracks evolve. Some just take a day, though that’s unusual – often tracks take a year or so. But even then I could mix forever because there’s nobody else to call a halt.

There are a lot of repeated and inter-locking phrases in your music. Is that something you feel particularly attracted to?
I do use a lot of repetition and inter-locking phrases, and I like to keep it minimal – or primal. Also, it comes out of recording alone and trying out subtle variations within a time signature or chord sequence. I’m a big fan of Spacemen 3 and Loop – two bands that utilised a lot of repetition. I like the way phrases can drift in and out of focus – liquid psych, as I like to think of it, dripping and slowly spreading. Hypnotic riffs and rhythms appeal to me, so we’re back to the Velvets again.

How did you get to love Spacemen 3?
The first time I saw them was on Snub TV with the “Revolution” clip, lined up, glowering intensity. It certainly piqued my interest. Then I got all their earlier albums and 12-inches, which were sometimes radically different versions. I saw them live at the Bristol Bierkeller and they sat on stools on stage grinding out waves of fuzz and washes of wah. Excellent. They’re one of the ultimate exponents of repetitive fuzz lines, along with Loop. 

Spiritualized were very good, but not as great. In some ways they’re a more accomplished and fully formed outfit, a psych/gospel Velvets. They could rip the roof off, too, but give me the Spacemen overall – they had a bit more edge.

You have a day job, and your main band – The Heads – have been around for over 20 years. By mainstream music industry standards, these seem like odd things. Do you feel as though there’s far too much stress put on “making it” or being able to support yourself entirely from music? 
Yes, you have to let that idea of making music for a living go, then you can create and please yourself. The Heads have never made any real money off music. We cover costs and are free to do whatever we want. I think Warhol gave that freedom to the Velvets – not that I’m comparing. It’s just a lot of fun to plug in and make righteous noise with friends. If others also enjoy what you do, then great. But relying on it to live can lead to pub rock.

Having a day job – I’m a teacher – is a pain. But when in the rehearsal room, it’s just you and the music – a pure place of worship to the gods of noise; cathartic ecstasy. Making music, as Kandodo or in The Heads, is just something that my life wouldn’t be complete without. It transports me briefly to another place. That it may do likewise for others is a double bonus, and surely that’s what it’s all about?

Too right. Thanks, Simon!

Follow Oscar on Twitter: @oscarrickettnow