JOYS
FROM THE BLACK DUFF
... Well, OK, not exactly joys, but at least STRANGELOVE's tormented mainman PATRICK DUFF is willing to chat to Stephen Dalton about various, erm, 'happy' subjects. 'Love spread: Steve Double.
Wagnerian thunder clouds hover menacingly over Bristol as Patrick Duff emerges, blinking, into the drizzly daylight. A hollow-cheeked cadaver with a robust line in doomy self-obsession and a startling resemblance to a consumptive 19th century poet, Patrick fronts Strangelove, dark horses of British rock and, quite possibly, the goth Suede.
But Patrick isn't wearing the usual Cloak of Doom this morning, in fact, setting into a Bristol cafe with affable Strangelove guitarist and former Blue Aeroplane Alex Lee, the singer is basking in his new role as Brett Anderson's Top Rock Mate. Straight after our meeting, Strangelove will kick off a nationwide tour as Suede's special guests. Their flirtation began on a shared European tour last year, when the band covered each other's songs. But this holiday romance was only fully consummated four months ago when Brett and Richard Oakes popped up on Strangelove's majestic second album, 'Love And Other Demons'.
"Getting another gang involved was good," nods Patrick. "In this situation it's kind of abnormal to get on. It's usually scowls and feuds - you try and be civil but you often get a rebuff. With Suede it just wasn't like that."
And what can Suede fans expect when they catch Strangelove?
"Passion," booms Patrick, his trademark laser-beam eyes on full intensity. "One hundred percent passion."
He's right too. Passion has always been both Stangelove's overriding strength and fatal flaw. With windswept, operatically vast ballads such as new single 'Sway' and recent Top 40 guest 'Beautiful Alone', the band has never been afraid to walk the weed-choked path of High Seriousness long neglected by most British bands. However gothically overblown they might become, Patrick's burning conviction has always provided Strangelove with electrifying melodrama.
Which makes them, like most powerful rock groups, an easy target for piss-taking.
Patrick and Alex number the recordings of Nick Cave, Nick Drake, Julian Cope and Syd Barret among their favourites: obsessive extremists all. Patrick also rates the Ian Gillan version of 'Jesus Christ Superstar'. "I love sitting at home and deciding whether I want to play the role of Jesus or Judas when I actually get to it," he says magnificently. "That can take up whole afternoons."
Like Suede, Stranglove are the kind of band who attract ferociously devoted disciples, black-clad obsessives who recognise in Patrick a kindred spirit. Indeed, during our interview, a teenage girl stops by our table for autographs. This is abnormal, Patrick claims it's usually long letters full of terrible goth poetry and lurid sexual propositions.
"It's always enjoyable when people embarrass themselves so enormously over us," grins Alex. "Whether it's poetry or whatever, it's nice to know you evoke such a strong reaction that people feel they have to do something like that. Even if the result is hideously embarrassing, it's genuinely touching. Like there's this Japanese girl who flies over to see one-off gigs by us..."
Crikey, She must be a nutter.
"She's just got her priorities right," snaps Patrick sharply.
He's not joking. That's the sort of band Strangelove are.
The last NME interview with Strangelove had to be aborted when Patrick nodded off. Quite a hoot, until you realise the singer was laid out by heavy drug and alcohol habits which almost killed him. Addicted to drink and class-A chemicals for most of his life, even before forming Strangelove five years ago, Patrick finally checked into a rehab clinic for ten weeks back in spring.
It's a pretty serious business which he's wary of discussing. But the crisis seems to have re-energised Strangelove, writing much of their third album in a recent creative spurt down in Devon. Anyone who met the introverted, fucked-up Patrick a year ago would hardly recognise this bullish new version.
He talks about reacquainting himself with reality and finding solace in spirituality. In the Guardian last June, he ended a long confession of his drug traumas with the words, "Thank God." Is this all connected to the legendary 12-step withdrawal programme with its vaguely Christian undertones?
"Er, I don't wanna talk about it," he frowns. "It's nobody's business apart from mine..."
But you wrote about it in the Guardian!
"I know, but I don't wanna say any more about it."
Cheers. Doesn't the singer ever worry about his obnoxious, permanently blitzed self was the one with all the talent and charisma?
"Not at all. That side of me didn't do anything, wasn't involved in writing anything I've ever done. No way, it completely got in the way."
So he never believed in that romantic artist as-casualty bullshit?
"When I started out, yeah, probably. But I never obsessed about it. It had an impact on my music, but the thing itself wasn't important - maybe it threw up a bit of subject matter, but that's about all."
What was the worst thing you ever did when intoxicated?
"Lost my self-respect," he shoots back instantly.
You never shat yourself then?
"That's none of your business, mate. But no, I didn't"
Great rock bands know there is a fine line between skyscraping majesty and bombastic, self-important bluster. Not so great bands know this too, they just cross the line more often. Cynics might argue that Strangelove's velvet-lined epics go way past that line, don the top hat of pretension and prance around in robes of humourless pomposity.
"That isn't true," Patrick protests. "I take myself seriously because it's a privilege to be able to make records, but I can laugh at myself like the best of them. That is in there if you want to see it."
Tell us a joke then.
"I don't make jokes just like that," he scowls. "You have to get to know me before I tell you a joke. But I do make people laugh, all the time. People who know me think that I'm hilarious... but that sounds a bit arrogant."
Would you describe any of your songs as 'happy'?
Long pause.
"I don't know what happy means," he stammers. "They make me feel happy, and they make other people happy as well, so I suppose in a glib way I'd say yes."
Have you ever eaten a McDonald's Happy Meal?
"No, I don't really go to McDonald's. Funny question..."
Were you a Happy Days fan?
"Erm, yeah, I had a 'Fonz is Cool' badge which my cousin gave me. I was a bit of a confused child."
Do you like happy hardcore?
"I don't know what this is."
Insanely fast and upbeat rave music.
"It doesn't sound that good to me. But I'd give it a chance, I approach everything with an open mind."
Hmmm. It's worth remarking that Alanis Morrisette's 'Ironic' is playing on the jukebox at this point. Ever had dinner at a Happy Eater?
"No."
Alex begs to differ. "We probably have somewhere along the line, but they've really expensive for what you get. I prefer Little Chef myself."
Phew! Controversial stuff. Perhaps it's time for a new approach. Is Patrick distraught that brown is replacing black in the fashion world?
"Anybody who that means anything to is in deep fucking trouble," he sneers.
So will the singer wear black forever?
"I probably will, yeah. Until somebody invents a new colour that's cool."
Who's better - Nick Cave or the Spice Girls?
"Nick Cave," he sighs, eyes rolling.
Have you ever worn mascara?
"Yeah. I've been grabbed by women and they've put mascara on me, and when that happens I don't do anything to stop it."
Would you rather live in a huge gloomy castle or a lovely Tudor-Style suburban semi?
"I think I'd like to live in a castle, but I don't think that is gloomy. If I could get it sorted the way I wanted..."
Do a bit of DIY on the castle at weekends? Get it nice and cosy?
"I suppose so, yeah. I'd have to go back and draw plans up for that."
Are you a morning person or a night person?
"Morning person, definitely."
Have you ever drunk human blood?
"No."
Damn. Patrick doesn't make a very good goth, does he?
"No, I am not a goth," he says emphatically. "We actually laugh about that because we're the furthest you can get away from goth. But I have some good friends who are goths... erm, no I don't actually."
The greatness of a rock group can generally be gauged by how simple it is to take the piss out of them. the easier the mockery, the more fearlessly extreme the artist tends to be. By that token, Strangelove descend from a long line of world-beating talents from The Doors to Joy Division, Bowie to Brett, The Smiths to The Bad Seeds. They inhabit that fevered realm where intensity shakes hands with insanity, where elegance shares a cramped bedsit with excess, where poetry sniffs at the ripe hind-quarters of pomposity. In these ties of drab lad-rock and arched-eyebrow pop, we need the none-more-black histrionics of bands like Strangelove and their natural born star of a singer.
So then, Patrick. Fancy a pint?
"NO," glowers the Emperor Of Darkness, death ray eyes blazing as he dons his Cloak Of Doom and heads out into the Wagnerian storm.
Ah yes, it's easy to take the piss out of Strangelove. They are, in all senses, a highly precious bunch. For this reason, and for the storm-lashed grandeur of their music, they are one of the very few British rock bands worth taking seriously.
Just not quite as seriously as they take themselves.
Used without kind permission from NME, October 12, 1996 Author Stephen Dalton.