Sisters are doing it for themselves
CLASSIC ROCK - Summer 2009
-
No singles. No albums. No videos. No record company obligations - and no press. In his first interview for 12 years, The Sisters Of Mercy's frontman Andrew Eldritch lets us inside that rarest of phenomena, a cult band
who refuse to play the industry game and still pack out gigs.
Words: Joel McIver
Photography: Mark Somay
We are in a bar in Budapest with the members of a certain rock band, clustered around a group of shot glasses, waiting for the barman to apply a lighter to some lethally inflammable booze. "Don't, whatever you do, drop your glass", warns the barman.
It's a trial by fire (literally), which we'd better pass if we're to impress the man who has agreed to give us his first press interview since 1997. Whatever is in thos shot glasses burns like rocket fuel - and as we're fully intoxicated after too many post-gig
sherries, wwe knock ours over. A sheet of blue fire instantly envelops the table; people dive for cover. It's an epic failure on our part.
In the background, chuckling malevolently into his drink, stands Andrew Eldritch, a shaven-headed cove who doesn't say much at this point, letting his troops do most of the talking for him. The Sisters Of Mercy are one of the most influential alternative rock bands ever to
walk the earth, with their dramatic, dark sound heard echoing in a dozen modern rock and metal acts from Evanescence to Rammstein. And there have been rumours about the unforgiving character of Eldrtich for almost three decades. Tomorrow morning (hangovers permitting) he's
going to allow Classic Rock to see if the rumours are true. If we get out of here alive, that is.
"The world is still pissing on my lawn and parking its tanks on it," Eldritch remarks the next morning, when we ask him how the 10-plus years since his last interview - basically the New Labour era - have treated him. "I'm not looking forward to seeing David Cameron as Prime Minister.
The Tories are the same bunch of spivs that they were last time, and they're going to carry on exactly where they left off. The Lib Dems obviously couldn't run a piss-up in a brewery, although on paper their last manifesto was much more in line with what I would go for, being Old Labour."
Eldritch's left-wing background won't be a surprise to anyone who recalls the grim days of the early 80s when the Sisters Of Mercy formed in Leeds in 1980, the punk movement was an influence on their early sound. The charts were obsesed with the New Romantics and their idiotic nightclub fripperies,
but Eldritch went in a much darker, less digestible direction, writing songs about obsession an addiction in a sparse, guitardriven style. A debut album, First And Last And Always was released in 1985 before the band split. Eldritch re-formed it for 1987's Floodland, a mesmeric blend of
epic orchestration and monochrome introspection that led the media to come up with the wholly regrettable 'goth' tag.
"I've got a dictionary with a whole chunk ripped out around the letter G," Eldritch sighs. "I don't like being a poster boy for something I wholeheartedly disagree with - and, frankly, something that we did for one week. We got co-opted into it. It was probably responsible for a great deal of
financial independence - and thanks for that, people - but on the other hand it is a bit of an albatross."
He won't be drawn into bad-mouthing previous members of the band. When asked about Patricia Morrison, who performed on Floodland before leaving in acrimonious circumstances, he says diplomatically: "I had expected her to be more involved than it turned out she was. Let's leave it at that."
Meanwhile, when the subject of a potential renunion with First And Last And Always guitarist Wayne Hussey comes up, he shrugs: "I don't see the point in those scenarios. They never seems to amount to anything more then one last payday."
This is where the Sisters' story deviates from the norm. Although Eldritch re-formed the band for one more album, 1990's Vision Thing - its anthemic rock sound he explains by saying: "My head was obviously in Def Leppard mode to some extent... not that there's anything wrong with that"
there have since been no more official releases. The Sisters Of Mercy simply didn't feel the desire to churn out more product, he says.
"We've been free from obligations and ties for some time now, and we don't need to make records," says Eldritch. "We certainly haven't had any record company involvement - apart form just greif - since 1991, which is a long time now. A release would be nice as long as it didn't break the bank,
but it could lose us a lot, depending on how we made it. Right now nothing ins particualarly broke, so we're not looking to fix it."
Warming to his theme, he explains: "We've been selling pretty much the same amount of tickets since we stopped making records. Whatever the paradigm is, we do seem to be defeating it. I think it's probably up to you to figure out how and why that is."
Their stance outside the record industry is the end result of many years of deadlock between the Sisters and their last record company, WEA. Refusing to co-operate with their paymaster (of whom Eldritch says: "The reason I got pissed off with the record company was because they ceased to exploit me competently..
not because they ceased to exploit me") but unable to record anywhere else, the band simply stuck to playing the live circuit until the situation was finally resolved, "some time in the mid-90's".
The band, now comprising Eldritch plus guitarists Chris Catalyst and Ben Christo and computer tech Simon Denbigh, continue to tour the world to this day, playing mid-sized venues such as London's Forum and the 800-capacity A38 club in Budapest. The Sisters' website is the only official source of information on the band.
Eldritch dismisses the entire tocuhy-feely web 2.0 concept with the words: "We don't have a Myspace page and we're not on Facebook. We're perfectly capable of running a website, thank you very much, and we don't cherish that mock-interaction with the fans. We're not at pains to explain ourselves."
Despite being in this enviably independent position, the band can't quite escape their old adversaries in the industry: "They re-released our albums a few years ago and they spelled the title of 'Vision Thing' wrong on the spine of the CD," Eldritch sighs, "I would never have let that pass. I was also told
that there's a version of one song which never existed until they started fucking with the masters, which really annoys me. It was made up of out-takes and other bits and pieces!"
Still, the Sisters position is one that many other band can only dream of. The A38 was so stuffed with fans the previous night that the actual floor was juddering, causing CR to edge nervously towards the exist. Most of the fans were teenagers, and many of them were singing the Sisters' lyrics back at them word for word - not
bad for a band whose commercial profile supposedly peaked two decades ago.
"That was very gratifying," Eldritch agrees. "Especially as fo ages now, pretty much hal of our lives set has been made up of unreleased songs - and generally it's different unreleased stuff to last year's unreleased stuff."
Having such a rabid fan base has its downaide, of course, and Eldritch has met some rather extreme diciples in his time, perhaps drawn to the persona awarded to him as the Darth Vader of rock.
"I live very quitely, as reclusively as I can, so I don't get stalked," he says. "But if I did get stalked, I'm in a position where, frankly, I could move countries tomorrow. I have a world view that enables me to do that. I moved to the Netherlands in two days once. I had a business meeting in London and was told: 'You've
got to move somewhere, and you've got until Tuesday.' By Tuesday I had a flat in Amsterdam. Getting stalked is very annoying. We used to have an office in London. Everyone knew where it was, so we'd have Japanese girls crying there all day."
Eldritch is always come across in print as a somewhat dark character ("I always tried to descourage it, but people hear what they expect to hear a lot of the time. I can be pretty moody, I suppose, and I'm not generally the most talkative person"), but face-to-face he doesn't seem that way at all. Ask him about his love of football
and he'll happily tell you, with evident glee: "I went to see Barcelona play Lyon - it was 5-2, after 4-1 at half-time! Top match. Normally I'll be standing in the terrace at St.Pauli, smoking heavily and singing loudly." Ask him why he sports a shaved bonce and he'll explain: "I shaved my head because I wanted to do it before I started
balding. I could feel it coming on. it's low maintenance. I think some of the fans got a bit upset about it, but they're over it now." You can even ask him if he spends any quality time with groupies: "I run away from them, myself. If you go to a bar after the gig, you can end up talking about your lyrics all night." He also confides that
he's partial to a bit of backstage nudity, saying of the two guitarist: "I don't really notice much of a generation difference between us - I think the only thing that bothers them about the generation gap is that I tend to march around the dressing room without any clothes on."
Despite all these details, revealed over almost two hours of conversation, you can't hep but acknowledge that there is indeed a mystique about Andrew Eldritch. There's a lot we don't know about him - and, what's more, we probably never will. He won't do an autobiography. "I can't remember half of it," he shrugs, "and I'm not Dirk Bogarde or
Spike Milligan or any of these people who have written beautiful memoirs, and then you just get people in trouble. I can't count the number of times I've been bad-mouthed in other peoples's books for no good reason."
It's a shame we won't know, because Eldritch has lived a fascinating life. He recalls being asked to interview David Bowie and Leonard Cohen for a US magazine, saying of the latter: "That really was fun, because the man is effortlessly better than you at everything. Everything!" A 1991 tour in the USA with Public Enemy was fraught with bureaucratic idiocy,
he remembers: "The city of Detroit wouldn't let us play anywhere within the city limits. They said: 'We see white people and black people, and that's a recipe for trouble!' We were like: 'Hold on, I think you've got this the wrong way around'. But they weren't having it."
It hasn't all been fun, though. Eldritch is evidently saddened by the death of Israeli singer Ofra Haza, with whom the Sisters recorded a version of Temple Of Love. And touring remains exhausting: "You can have gastroenteritis three times in a month and it will beat the hell out of you - and it has beaten the hell out of me." He still gets stage fright,
saying he gets "terrified, for no reason. It's because I'm not really and extrovert."
Eldritch turns 50 as you read this. Is it a milestone of any importance? "Not particularly. I haven't made any plans, but I might have to think about having sex with somebody," he remarks with an impenetrable grin.
Our interview is over. How has it been, after 12 years of self-imposed silence? "Thank you for a paoinless experience," he replies. And coming from a man who has been the Daniel to the record industry's Goliath for so many years, that's a major compliment.