JIM KERR: SIMPLY SPEAKING

JIM KERR SIMPLY SPEAKING

FEATURES

Tim deLisle

Sting, Simon Le Bon, George Michael, Bono...somehow Jim Kerr doesn’t have quite the same ring to it. For the moment, of course, the name doesn’t have the same clout either—but not, the general feeling is, for long. The word in the music business is that Simple Minds are about to make it huge, and as their singer, lyricist and spokesman Jim Kerr is in for as much of the attention as Le Bon gets with Duran Duran.

Not that Simple Minds are another singing fashion show. They write catchy tunes and they have teenage fans but they’re a rock group, not a pop group, and certainly not a screaming-teen group, though Kerr’s offbeat good looks have occupied the centerfold calendar in Britain’s Just Seventeen. In spite of their name (taken from a line of David Bowie’s and chosen for its “willfull naivety”), Simple Minds music is complex and sophisticated, and more than with most young bands it seems to be the music that has made them, not the clothes or the videos or the tabloids. You won’t see Jim Kerr posing for photographs with Joan Collins.

In late 1985, Simple Minds released their new album, Once Upon A Time; currently it’s climbing the American charts, in full preparation of the band’s upcoming tour. Working with Jimmy lovine, who’s produced Bruce Springsteen and John Lennon, and Bob Clearmountain, who produces Hall & Oates and mixed records like Avalon and Let’s Dance, Simple Minds had just put the finishing touches to the album in New York when I spoke with them. Said Jim Kerr at the time: “Instinct is already telling me it’s the album we’ve been dreaming about for four years.”

Why do you say you’ve been dreaming about this album for four years, rather than more? You’ve been going for longer than that.

Four, I’d say, because for the first couple of years there was no targets or expectations. The very fact that we had a record deal and were playing in this band was enough, without having any other illusions. That was very much a day-to-day thing then. And then after a couple of years, as we started to grow, there became more of a...thirst for some achievement. A thirst to conquer the instruments as opposed to just playing them, to become songwriters instead of just trying to emulate other records that we were influenced by—’cause for the first few years that was all we were doing. We came so fast from being in our bedrooms listening to records to actually having a record deal that I think for the first few years we were really drowning in our influences rather than using them like we do now.

So...are there other ways in which you think this one has got it right where the others didn’t?

Yeah, I think so... It was very fragile with us, making records before. We enjoyed it and we felt satisfied. But I think in this one the music is really, really confident. I think we’ve dropped the kind of preciousness that we once had. I thinkeven more basic—we’ve better melodies now, we’re arranging the songs better. I think every song’s much more focused and tangible and...

Is it more accessible?

Yeah, I think so, ’cause it’s forceful. I just think it’s a glorious noise, and I think it really, really uplifts. That’s just the way it’s turned out, it’s not down to one or two reasons...

It seems that you’ve got nearer to the mainstream, or the mainstream’s got nearer to you.

I think a bit of both.

’Cause four or five years ago you were thought of as quite avant-garde—

Yeah—

A fringe band—

Yeah—

And so were people like U2—

Yeah...Why do I think that?

Was any of that conscious? Is any of it at all conscious, or do you just get in there and do it?

It was conscious inasmuch that we’ve worked very hard, we’ve gone out and played I don’t know how many concerts a year, but both bands have done it in a very very...very, I don’t know, traditional sense. We’ve always improved, I think, drastically with every step that we’ve taken. And we’ve always had the belief that at the end of the day, the music becomes too big where it can’t be stopped anymore, and the concert and the whole thing adds up until it can’t really be held back. It has been conscious inasmuch as we didn’t want our music to remain a secret like it was four, five years ago. ’Cause that’s—no matter how good or bad it was, it was basically a secret. And why should it be a secret? You know, if the radio’s there and you make a record then it has to go on it—and if it goes on it, it has to somehow cut through.

And that’s not just down to production—I really think some music positively shines, whereas other music is really wallpaper. I think we always had a rather nice kind of arrogance; we felt our music should be played. We felt our music should be taken home and used— as long as any other rock or pop music was being used, we felt ours should be.

You now seem to have reached a point where you might be about to make it huge. Are you conscious of that?

Yeah. I think for the moment this record and the attention on the band and the timing and everything else around, I think we’re definitely coming out of the underground. And I think it’s time. Five, six or seven years ago there were bands—no, 10 years ago, there were bands doing a lot of talking, and all they did was talk, make a few records and die.

The new wave bands?

Yeah—talk and talk, make a few records and die. Bands like you mentioned, we’re the first bands since then that really have a chance of probably becoming as big as those dinosaurs that we wanted to destroy. Now I guess the question is do we become new dinosaurs, or do we use it well? And we’re very conscious of that.

“I think we always had a rather nice kind of arrogance. ”

You know, six or seven years ago people said to me, “Playing in stadiums and things like that, that’s not what it’s about.” But it is about that if your music’s big enough—and stadiums and all that, all those kinds of trappings, I think you can turn them around. I think they can be used. I think playing to a huge audience depends on who the band is; if it’s a crap band, it doesn’t work, if it’s a great band with music big enough to fill a stadium, then I think it’s perhaps the best place to see them.

But for quite a while your music has sounded stadium-sized.

Yeah, I remember three or four years ago reading a review when we played this—or even more, maybe five years ago—we played one of these Futurama festivals they used to have, and it was in Ringley Hall, Stafford. And a lot of bands playing—Joy Division and Psychedelic Furs, I guess it was more than five years ago—and the review in a derogatory sense said this band is—this is where they belong, in a pointless cavern like this. Their sound has the dynamics of Pink Floyd, it has the size of Pink Floyd. And all those things which were really meant in a derogatory sense I counted as a great compliment, ’cause I’m not afraid of size, I’m not afraid of big places. I think our music has a huge heart to it, and it has a huge size. And to try and suppress that would be a lie.

Yes....but then what’s the key difference between you and the dinosaurs?

I don’t know. I don’t know, I didn’t know those guys, I didn’t read reviews of them,

I can’t remember reading...

Did you used to listen to them?

Oh sure, I was brought up on music like that. I mean, who else was around then? You only had Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, Genesis and Yes. But I don’t remember reading interviews with them, I don’t know what their ideals were, I don’t know what their beliefs were, I don’t know how they conduct their lives. I do know how I conduct mine—and I think if there’s any difference it could be there. I do think as well that a lot of those bands were making a much more escapist music probably at that time. It was the 70s, and still pretty much the boom years. A lot has come and gone since then. I think if you listen to the new records you yourself would hopefully find a difference between— Oh yes, I would—

Those dinosaurs and—

I just wondered how you would put it—

Basically we’re aware of the power and the chance you get when you become a certain success, and we hopefully use that with a certain graciousness that I think was lacking in the dinosaur era. Y’know, basically that’s the best way I can put it: I would hope that there’s a certain graciousness and dignity that wasn’t there before, but...what do I know?

What did you think of suddenly doing so well here with ‘‘Don’t You (Forget About Me), ” a song that wasn’t yours? What did you think of that song?

It was very, very ironic that it should happen that way—but also exciting, because when that song was climbing up the charts, here we were back in Britain writing these new songs. And we knew that that song was a gift, it just came as a gift. If we had been a lesser band, that song could have made us and destroyed us—because perhaps we wouldn’t have anything to follow it up with, or perhaps we couldn’t continue it on from there. Y’know, like it would be just a flash-in-thepan, as so often that’s the case. We can outlive that—for instance the song’s not gonna be on an album or nothing, which to the record company reps is like “Whaaat?” It must be the first time a number one song’s never been on an album—you know, “You must be crazy.” But it’s not on the album because it’s not good enough, basically.

So you don’t really like it?

I think it’s a good stylish pop song, but I think there’s a bigger heartbeat to the songs, our own songs, than we had in that one. Lyrically—what could I say without—no, people liked that song, and I think it was quite a nice light moment. But I don’t think there was much soul being bared in that song. When they asked us to do it, they found us at a moment when we were probably feeling the least precious in our careers. They got us when we were just starting to—we’d had a long break, we were just starting to think about working again. And their sheer enthusiasm for the band was very flattering. Y’know, the fact that they wanted us to be involved in this movie. And when we heard about the movie we said no—we thought, “An American teenage movie; God, no way.” ’Cause these things come out every week, and they’re inevitably just exploit jobs. But we saw the movie, and although we didn’t exactly think it was The Godfather, we felt that it, y’know, pointed in the right direction. It was a vehicle to use. Since then, a lot of people want us to do songs for films—and we’ve always wanted to do that, but before we didn’t exactly have a foot in the door in Hollywood or anything. And I think Simple Minds’ music could be great soundtrack music.

The person you’ve often been compared with, but who you’re quite like to interview, certainly, is Bono. Do you know him, or have feelings about U2’s music? Do you feel the comparison is justified?

I think it’s very justified, to an extent. I don’t know what neck of the woods we’re from, but I know we’re from the same neck of the woods, I know that ultimately we believe in the same things. I think we share a vision that we’re both grappling to clarify. I think we both share a clumsiness as well. And I think we both—we share the same kind of blood, I think.

I saw them play on TV, it was the first time—everyone had seen them, I think I was the last man in the world to see U2 play. We always crossed paths, but they were playing the same night as us. I finally saw them on TV, and their expressions looked like the expressions I see onstage when I look around me. I felt, felt very...yeah, we’ve become friends, he came over and stayed with me in Scotland at New Year, and we keep in touch and then we didn’t keep in touch for a while...

‘Don’t You (Forget About Me)’ Is not on the album because It’s not good enough, basically.”

I think there’s also a big difference. I think their music is much more masculine than ours; I think our music has a sort of femininity that theirs doesn’t have. And personally I’m very glad about that.

I’d have thought that theirs was more likely to be picked up by the brainless macho-rock-fan.

You see, I’m not interested in starting an army...

Although they’re not remotely brainless or macho.

Not at all. I really, really admire them, and I think in Edge, for instance, they really have a genius. And I know they’re a great band. I know they’re a great band because they have that very special thing that you can’t fake, called chemistry. The chemistry in their band is incredible, their band is—like ourselves, their band is a phenomenon. I think ours is too, inasmuch as the whole thing is much, much bigger than the parts. It’s when you put them together it absolutely ignites.

The other person I thought of—though he’s definitely a masculine kind of performer—is Springsteen. There seems to be the same kind of appeal on the strength of honesty and conviction and not dressing up too much.

For me it’s absolutely brilliant that Springsteen is so huge, so absolutely huge yet with almost no sign of ego. It’s fantastic, because you know you’re brought up thinking the good guys don’t get it. They very seldom get it. It’s usually, you know, we’re talking about the way Prince acts, and Michael Jackson and all those freaks. And then I just think it’s great, it really really reinforces that the good can get through in the end.

I think that there’s some correspondence there, between the way you appeal to people and the way he appeals to people.

I would hope so. He makes a very big music as well, very big sound, he’s not afraid to tackle—y’know, ’cause there’s a beauty in size, I think there’s a beauty in that magnitude. But there’s also a fear of pomposity, and there’s a thin line, and often people go for that big thing and all they end up with is pompousness. And I think the bands we’re talking about really—they manage to hit it on the button.

I’m not afraid of size, y’know—I remember being a kid and for 18 years I lived in a high-rise block like one of those ones [points out across Central Park]. I used to stand at the bottom of it and, y’know, look up and wonder. But I never felt in awe of it or anything; I never felt inferior to this size, this building, but I felt attracted to it.

And so there’s similarly no fear of being the biggest band in the world— if that happened.

I would hope that wouldn’t happen. It’s not fear, but I would hope it doesn’t happen, ’cause I don’t think it’s necessary. And I would hate—y’know—that is not the point. I just wanna progress and progress.

I think there’s nothing like a mass coming together of people at a concert and a band getting across. I don’t think there’s anything to beat that, no matter what there is, compact disc or video or anything. I love crowds coming together. Does that make up for all the strain of touring, the living out of suitcases, stepping off planes?

Now don’t get me wrong—the strain of touring for me is very minimal, because we are—we probably are the luckiest guys on earth with what we do, our job. And when the strain is beginning to get to you, you just have to remember that. It’s easy to forget that, isn’t it?

All right, “luckiest guys on earth,” that does sound a bit gushing. But I don’t actually think far from.that. We’re so lucky in doing what we do.and the people around us and the friends we’ve made. I mean I honestly don’t think I could take it for granted. a

“Like ourselves, U2 is a phenomenon.”