Interview: Land Of Talk

INTERVIEWS ARE funny things. You’re hustled in to meet some disinterested musician, undergo the strained pleasantries that the situation requires and then commence a series of questions that leaves both sides unsatisfied. This is probably because a) you, the interviewer, are desperate for them to say something utterly provocative and headline-worthy and b) the musician can spot your elephant traps a mile-off and wants nothing more to than to be left alone.

Sometimes things are different. Tonight Land of Talk, a project headed by Montreal based Lizzie Powell, are playing a practically empty Night & Day. A slight figure and something of a tomboy she’s a long way from home, lonely and wanting to chat. This was supposed to be the European tour where everything went right: her group had earned a prestigious support slot with The Decemberists, booked the flights and headed over the Atlantic. So what went wrong? Her eyes roll: “I dunno. Ask The Decemberists.

“We turned up in Bristol and started unloading only to find the venue locked. We went around the front and found the whole place shut down and a notice announcing the rest of their tour was cancelled due to ‘band illness’. No one had bothered to tell us anything. The only reason we were on this fucking tour was that band. They were all amazing shows, we might have broken even, we might have got some new fans and then they come along and cancel. They’ve never bothered to contact us. They’re not that popular with us right now.”

Logistics might not be rock ‘n’ roll and it’s become commonplace in indie circles to gain some perverse enjoyment from watching the music industry implode. But it’s worth remembering how hard it is for some groups to survive. Lizzie is pretty much skint despite non-stop touring and a ‘critically acclaimed’ (translation: brilliant but poor sales) album on One Little Indian. All those downloads aren’t helping matters, especially when you’ve lost the tour income and are reduced to sleeping on your label boss’s floor. “I’m just sick of it…we put out these CDs and they sell nothing while my friend can fill her iPod with everything she’s ever wanted for free. I always used to have my favourite six CDs in my van – some Dizzee Rascal or something – and someone would always break in and steal them. That’s what it’s all about nowadays. Music’s worth nothing. I’ve given up and just go around people’s houses copying music onto my laptop.”

Freed from a rigid tour schedule the band have been idling in London, recording sessions for radio stations that they neither know nor care about and going through the motions of press interviews. They’ve also discovered the anti-protest legislation included in the Serious Organised Crime Act (2003): “We were setting up in Green Park to record a session for some website when a police officer came over and told us he was going to have to give us a warning for meeting near Buckingham Palace. At least they’re cool over here – he just stated that he’d take a very long time writing out the ticket and that we could do our thing in the meantime.”

The tape recorder is switched off. Drinks are bought. The interview is no longer but Lizzie still wants to chat. She gives us the low down on the Montreal scene, decrying those who only moved there for the press coverage and furthers her character assassination of The Decemberists. Despite the apparently negative tone she’s actually a very forward looking and friendly person, showing us her personal photo album from the tour and talking about the new material she’s been writing. Later on she takes to the stage and plays one of the best sets we’ve seen in a long time. It seems she found immense strength in such a godawful situation. This lot might just go far.

James Waterson