Robyn Hitchcock - The bard of surreality

Napoleone/ He was captured by the English

Imprisoned on the island of Elba/ he died on the phone

("Cynthia Mask", from the album "Eye")

Without fear of exaggeration, Mr. Robyn Hitchcock represents, for the 1980s, what British folk-rock legends such as Roy Harper and Richard Thompson represented for the '70s: that is, he stands as the unpredictable maverick capable of influencing subsequent generations while never giving up his status as a cult artist, a voice apart who would rather make great albums than great numbers.

Italian audiences will have the chance to see him live on July 12th in Rome (Industrie Fluviali), as part of the Unplugged in Monti series, on the 13th at Parco Mediceo di Pratolino (Florence), and on the 14th in Gabicce Mare (Pesaro/Urbino) for the Sottomonte Fest.

I pretty much have to get out of bed, if only to get to the bathroom. Existence can sometimes feel unbearable, but not quite unbearable enough.

Your love of cats is well known to most people. What have they taught you?

First of all, they taught me to love them, and then that it's possible to love someone without understanding their motives.

Among your lesser-known influences is that genius Captain Beefheart. What did you take from his modus operandi?

Let's start with what I didn't take: he tormented his musicians, and I hope I've never done that, that much at least. What I love about his music are the kaleidoscopic patterns he managed to pull out of his guitarists, even though he himself knew nothing about guitar. In the early Soft Boys I tried to get that particular interlocking guitar sound; but unlike Beefheart, I was actually a guitarist, so the result was, obviously, different. And then there are his fabulous lyrics, as menacing and absurd as life itself can be.

When you think of the Soft Boys reunion in 2001, what's the first image that comes to mind?

The four of us dozing off one afternoon in the recording studio. We were all around forty at the time, but we already felt so worn out!

Speaking of memories: what are the secret ingredients behind the Soft Boys' second album, the masterpiece "Underwater Moonlight"?

Bassist Matthew Seligman joining the band full-time brought a breath of fresh air, making the whole production process more enjoyable. He was a sunny, optimistic person. We recorded the album in a very bare-bones way, but despite that we reached an important milestone: our first show in New York. Another ingredient was simply the fact that I was able to write better songs than on the previous "A Can Of Bees". But among ourselves, we were a group of people who didn't communicate much with each other. What characterized us were long silences.

Shortly after, in 1980, the band split up. What were the real reasons?

We broke up because everyone had other things in mind. Kimberley Rew, the guitarist, had a stack of songs that wouldn't have suited that project; to give you an idea, he's the one who wrote the hit "Walking On Sunshine" for Katrina & The Waves. Matthew, on the other hand, wanted to test himself in other bands. And I was itching to start my solo career, so as not to remain just a Soft Boy forever. Although, in the end, we stayed Soft anyway.

After the excellent solo debut "Black Snake Dîamond Röle", you released the album "Groovy Decay", but something didn't quite work. What were your intentions at the time?

It's not that I had an actual plan; I just knew I wasn't interested in repeating what I'd already done with the Soft Boys. So I let myself drift in the waters of 1981, only to end up run aground in 1982. And I had to wait two years before relaunching myself, in 1984.

Your discography is scattered with compilations of unreleased tracks and demos of such quality that they could compete with the songs on your proper albums. How do you know when a demo is ready to be arranged?

It's as if I'm always in a hurry, because one song leads to the next, you know? Honestly, I don't know why some songs need more arrangements than others. Anyway, every recording I make ends up just being a project. Looking back, I've never really understood how the production process of an album actually happens.

Listening again to tracks like "Arms Of Love", "The Moon Inside" or "Serpent At The Gates Of Wisdom" from "Respect", you find yourself facing another small great classic. You, on the other hand, have said you were unhappy with it.

The songs themselves are fine enough. Personally, though, I think I sound too distant on those recordings, and maybe I was: while they were mixing it in London I stayed in the States for almost the whole time. I imagined it more organic, you know, whereas to my ears the result sounds very synthetic. But then again, I was at the end of an era, and endings aren't always pleasant, are they?

The stylistic refinement you achieved with the Egyptians line-up makes me ask: what's the secret to crafting great pop-rock?

I have no idea. My songs have pop as their starting point, exactly as in the Beatles days, but, I'd like to add, there's really nothing about them that makes them a popular product.

Picking out one of your more eccentric tracks: the instrumental "Celestial Transgression" from 2023's "Life After The Infinity" blends the delicacy of Bert Jansch with the oblique taste of John Fahey.

Jansch? Well, thank you. I'm always flattered to be compared to him. "Celestial Transgression" is a piece that hasn't stopped evolving in quite a while. And it might change a bit more yet... we'll see.

Solo Barrett isn't even psychedelia anymore; a track like "Opel", for instance, is a universe that few dare to explore all the way through. What are the reasons behind Barrett's greatness?

Eh, I really wish I had something new to say about Barrett. Let's put it this way: he compressed a lifetime of extreme creativity into just 2-3 years, squeezed it to the limit and then left. He was original in a way that none of his disciples, myself included, could ever have been or will ever be. He was inexplicable, just like the cats we mentioned earlier.

Don't you think that in the '90s rock got outdone by electronic music when it came to claiming the mantle of psychedelia? I mean stuff like Orb or Future Sound Of London.

You're probably right; there was certainly no visionary quality on the menu with Nirvana and Oasis. In the Nineties, offering "oblique" insight was no longer part of a rockstar's job; and anyway, let's remember that Bob Dylan and Jim Morrison also loved to party and keep things light, like anyone else. I'm afraid I never listened to Orb and the like, though: they simply weren't part of my ambient.

Your guitar playing often combines simplicity with unexpected harmonic solutions.

After 57 years I'm still evolving; I'm becoming more fluid, more self-assured, finding my own way of moving between rhythmic and lead demands. I consider myself much better on acoustic, more skilled. On electric I need another guitarist alongside me, like Kimberley or Davey Lane. But it's fun that way too.

An image to describe Robyn Hitchcock's music.

Bad feelings in flashy costumes.

What aspects of your personality influence Robyn the songwriter?

I'm impulsive, impatient, I hate clichés, I love distances, water and twilight. I'm not a realist, but at the same time I respect things as they are. I cling to life, even while despairing. Above all, I'm compulsive. And there you have the fertilizer that makes my songwriting grow.

On the EP "Planet England" (2009) you team up with Andy Partridge; I was thinking about how, especially in Italy, his genius remains largely unknown.

Andy is a very smart guy, a great guitarist, someone who wrote wonderful songs for his band Xtc. He and I are parallel creatures, each feeding off our own individual anxieties. It's always a pleasure to meet him. Actually, I think I should see him again, while we're both still here.

What do you think made "I Often Dream Of Trains" your most acclaimed album? I mean, records like "Moss Elixir", for instance, have nothing to envy it for.

Some records are worlds unto themselves. You can't produce them intentionally: they just happen. "Berlin" by Lou Reed, "On The Beach" by Neil Young, "Time (The Revelator)" by Gillian Welch, "Astral Weeks" by Van Morrison. Mine was "I Often Dream Of Trains". These albums aren't necessarily the best collection of songs their makers ever recorded: they simply capture a certain atmosphere with precision. The one thing that set "I Often Dream Of Trains" apart from my other albums is that, at the time, I was fairly isolated from other people.

Dylan is perhaps your most openly acknowledged influence: what's his last album worth mentioning?

"Rough And Rowdy Ways" from 2020 is truly incredible. Before that, among his more recent output, "Time Out Of Mind" was my favorite. Although, come to think of it, "Time Out Of Mind" is already 27 years old, so it's old enough to sound like an authoritative therapist. As for Dylan specifically, I don't think you should look at it in terms of what he is or isn't trying to do. For a long time, let's say from the 80s through to 2010, he seemed mostly occupied with not giving a damn about anything. Over roughly the last decade, he seems to have found the urge to engage again, and right now he's telling us he's nearing the end of his long run.

A target you've failed to hit in your career?

These days I consider myself a good songwriter, but I don't think I've ever actually recorded an album that sounded technically as good as I wanted it to.

Social media: tools that have put everyone on the same level, or improper weapons?

Social media keep us tethered to a screen, just like emails and texts, but I'd also include the films we watch on streaming platforms, and most jobs nowadays, with the exception of manual labor or caregiving. I think all of this is part of a push toward artificial intelligence and toward our impending fusion with phones and objects of that kind.

Frank Zappa: "(…) stupidity is the true substance the universe is made of, not hydrogen". What do you say to that?

I don't know exactly in what context Frank said that, but I'd say stupidity is a constitutive element of humanity, rather than of the universe. The universe is too big to be stupid. If the universe is stupid, then you'd have to take it up with God, assuming anyone could ever track him down. That would be such an immense problem it would make my brain explode just thinking about it. Yours too, and Frank's; it's simply too much, my friend. So let's move on to the real issue: human beings. We're smart enough to sense our own stupidity; we're dumbed-down beasts who wandered into the cave of the Divine and drank the golden elixir, and now we're gods who know of their own diabolical nature. Long story short, we're screwed, and we always have been. The one certainty is that we'll all kick the bucket, whether or not the world ends; life passes through us and comes out the other side, ready to enter another being.

Besides creativity, what else did you inherit from the character of your father, the artist Raymond Hitchcock?

Besides his relentless creativity, my dad passed on to me his solipsism, low self-esteem, anger, fears, his obsessive nature, but also his love of melody.

Many years ago I remember reading in a fanzine devoted to psychedelic music that as a kid you supposedly jumped off the terrace of your house wearing a lobster costume. I wonder if there was any truth to that.

Ha, I wish... but no: I never jumped out of a window dressed as a lobster. Not even as a kid!

"Madness." Can you come up with a more fitting definition than the one the dictionary gives me?

"The way men damn themselves back and forth across the world."

What's the most extraordinary aspect of being an artist?

Art – the good kind – draws the essence of magic out of the sad rocks of human life. Artists are there to sing existence and, in doing so, echo the blazing beauty of Nature, in miniature form.

Ride the wave of great music

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