Laish - The Tribe of Dan

I couldn't find much information about the name "Laish", other than that it's the name of a biblical tribe (or country). Can you tell us something about that choice?

Yes, it's a strange name. I moved to Brighton in 2008 to start a songwriting project. I wasn't sure what it was supposed to be, but obviously it needed a name. I'd already ruled out my own. I couldn't bear the idea of dragging people along to see a Daniel Green gig. I also felt it would be harder to find people to play with if I asked them to join some vague "solo project". I guess that shows a distinct lack of confidence in my own abilities, at that point! My girlfriend told me about this word, Laish, which stands for the tribe of Dan, and also means "lion". An ancient Hebrew word. Not particularly in use these days. What can I say, I liked it. People never know how to pronounce it. I prefer it all in capitals, with the letters spaced out. L A I S H. If you search it on Google, you'll also find a novel and a Saudi radio show about hip-hop.

Music has always been an instinctive thing for me. By the age of thirteen I already had an electric guitar and a drum kit. I felt I would become a memorable guitarist because of my style, not my technical skill. I never took lessons, I just played a lot, learning to get by through listening. If I sometimes despair over my limitations, I can lean on my bandmates to make up for the gaps in my knowledge. I think hearing "Bad Timing" by Jim O'Rourke helped me get to where I am with acoustic fingerpicking.

The same goes for singing. Before adolescence I used to sing often, but that all ended when my voice broke and I ran headlong into those cruel teenage anxieties. That cast a rather long shadow over my confidence. I didn't sing again until my twenties. I found comfort in early Will Oldham/Palace Music, because his voice and the production are so far from being technically brilliant, and yet the songs are so evocative and full of emotion. As a listener, you take comfort from the mistakes.

You've been the drummer for a number of bands, and I think that, especially on "Obituaries", there's a distinct rhythmic identity to the songs. Does the rhythm section play a role in how you write your pieces, and how so?

My songs are often written late at night, while I put together, at a very low volume, some arpeggio and the vocal melody. Once again, it's an intuitive approach – I usually don't take into account whether a piece is in the simplest 4/4. I often realize afterwards that I've written something rhythmically a bit strange, but that's where I find the beauty in it. I find that the combination of words and music isn't usually so straightforward.

Putting down these first recordings of such ideas gives me the chance to experiment with rhythm, with percussion. I've always liked adding rhythmic touches to keep the listener on their toes – because, despite the apparent simplicity, we don't intend to plod predictably through the entire song. An extra beat in a bar, a pause, things like that.

Since our new drummer Dan joined us, I've certainly delegated a lot of responsibility to him, though I admit I'm quite demanding on that front, because I'm still a drummer at heart.

I'm always the first to admit how much being the drummer in Sons of Noel and Adrian has shaped my approach to songwriting and arranging.

I rarely approach a song with any real intention. The intention is simply to write, to sit at my desk and unload my whirlwind of ideas. The good stuff comes when a phrase suggests something. Sometimes you find a line that's deliciously open to interpretation. That's when I get excited. What inspires a person to write? Frustration! Sexual, political, philosophical, personal frustrations. Some of my favourite songs were written to someone. Like a gift, or a love letter. Some come out of literary curiosity – am I able to write a song like that? As I said about the music, I never studied verse writing, even though I have a degree in (English) literature, and I think I'm finally starting to understand why I did it – it wasn't just to escape the philistine pedantry of a small town in the North of England. It was about aesthetics and exploring the joy of words and stories. About eternity. Ending each day with a song feels like the most profound thing to do.

It doesn't surprise me that you mention Nick Hemming. I can see the similarity in approach. We aim to make timeless music and our lyrics reflect the conditions needed to achieve that. Nick's uncertainties, his depression, are right there in his lyrics, and yet his melodies are so sweet, his arrangements so full of joy!

How do you relate your two albums to each other? I found in "Obituaries" a new, more distinct dynamism, something that in your debut often came through more subtly.

The first record was put together in a way that brought out its acoustic spirit. Perhaps that shows Brighton's influence on my approach. My interest in folk music really took off after moving there, and meeting people who make this kind of music. Shoreline, The Miserable Rich, the early Sons of Noel and Adrian, Moonshine Moonshine, The Leisure Society, Rowan Coupland – all these people were already active. A lot happened before we got to recording "Obituaries".

More than anything, I'd played several shows and had a completely new band. As a rhythm section, Dan and Patrick are unique – they approach music from seemingly opposite ends of the rock music spectrum, but somehow they find common ground. It's great working with Emma and Martha too, because they also have an intuitive understanding when it comes to creating melody and arrangement. Sometimes we end up trying a piece in all sorts of different styles, only to go back to the first version. It's exhilarating.

You're clearly a central figure in the Wilkommen Collective. Can you tell us a bit about how it all came about?

The Wilkommen Collective was started by the bands Shoreline, Miserable Rich and Sons of Noel and Adrian. I suppose the reason was that these bands' line-ups included pretty much the same people, and yet they had a very different sound, a very different aesthetic, despite the obvious connection. It's complicated to explain, but there was clearly a sense of community, of a collective at work, so why not make it official – add a name, a logo, and later a record label. I wonder how much it confuses people encountering it for the first time, but I think it's worth remembering that all the musicians involved since the collective's early days (early 2007) are still active musicians, even though some of the bands are no longer together. I consider that an achievement in itself. I think we're all inspired by each other's activity. Say, for instance, a band gets on the line-up of a good festival, you can be sure the rest of the collective will be around asking for contacts and so on. Every band pushes toward what's possible for a band to achieve. There's a healthy competitive spirit.

How does this affect your songwriting and your being a musician?

My love affair with folk music definitely began in Brighton, when I realised that truly great records could be made in a bedroom with two microphones, a few instruments and a lot of hard work on Cubase or Logic. Now I'd like to explore the possibilities of a live show. We like playing songs acoustically in our set, just as much as we like turning up the volume.

Do you see yourself as a solo singer-songwriter?

Yes and no. Yes in the sense that almost all the songs I've written were made by myself, with a laptop and a guitar. For some I recorded the entire band arrangement myself (see "Visions"), but nowadays I tend to arrive at rehearsal with the band with a new song, and start from there. It might start as a ballad and end up a rock song. That happens, when you've got four other people who want to be involved. But that's an exciting thing, for me. A song can be made with guitar and voice, or with a whole orchestra.

As a band, you've had several line-up changes. Is that down to the "collective" nature of the Brighton folk scene?

Yes, I think that's fair to say. Brighton is by nature a fairly transient place. It's by the sea, people come and go. It's actually crazy that the Wilkommen Collective has lasted this long. But then I think that, if it weren't for my two bands, I would have left Brighton by now.

I think our live sound is stronger, more expansive, but that, when it comes to studio work, I'm inclined to stick to the essence of a song. I'm still as interested in quiet textures, refined sounds and whispered lyrics as I am in making rock music.

When I was invited as a guest on the show, I felt it was my duty to introduce people to the Wilkommen Collective and all the various gems I'd come across along the way. Later I was offered my own show, which is perfect because it forces me (even when I'm very busy with the band) to go looking for great new music to fit the show. The show focuses on music that falls into the folk, country, indie, outsider, amateur, experimental, pop and all kinds of rock categories. There's a huge archive of original, exclusive sessions recorded by bands and singers over the years. That includes people like Laish, Sons of Noel and Adrian, Phosphorescent, James Yorkston, Jeffrey Lewis, David Thomas Broughton, Akron Family, Birdengine, Charlie Parr, Richard Dawson and Rozi Plain.

An easier way to find out is the archive I've just put online of all my shows, which you can listen to bit by bit (http://laishmusic.com/radio/).

You seem pretty busy with the internet and social networks. Does that help you spread your music and reach a wider audience?

Yes, I know, it's the great noose of our generation! A creative person needs time, space and mental freedom to make inspired work. And yet that time often gets swallowed up in the administration of the job. Booking shows, inviting people to events, updating websites, tweeting, writing answers to interviews... What's clearer than ever is that these things can't be ignored, not if you're pursuing something seriously. Sure, I could just write my songs and record them and put them on Bandcamp. But if I want to play a show, if I want someone to come to my Bandcamp, having a web presence matters. I feel I have to approach every aspect with the same creative mindset. Writing an email to a booking agent can be a creative act, if I want it to be.

Twitter and Facebook, right now, are giving me the chance to book a tour in Italy. Which I think is a direct result of being album of the month on your site. How did you find out about us?

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