Spain, the sun and a Beach Boys obsession nudge the Irish outfit to their best album so far.
Northern Ireland’s Ash make some truly catchy punk-pop, but they don’t look quite ready to conquer America this afternoon, a situation six-foot-plus bassist Mark Hamilton puts down to “jet lag and vodka.” He spends most of our interview time with his head in his hands.
Drummer Rick McMurray is similarly muted, only occasionally raising his Mohicaned head to contribute a wry quip. If guitarist Charlotte is also hungover, she’s cool with it, which leaves singer/guitarist Tim Wheeler to field most of the questions with bright-eyed enthusiasm.
The subject at hand is Ash’s Free All Angels. You don’t hear records like this any more - every song screams “hit single”. It’s a parade of hooks, marching briskly through smart tunes. Burn Baby Burn rails with the last-gasp vehemence that was the Clash’s signature. Shining Light is as supersonic as Neil Armstrong in 1969, Pacific Palisades is Pet Sounds punk, and the ballad Someday could be sung by a Sinatra in safety pins. This is an album that goes pop like Blink-182 if they had more than one song, and conflates angst and energy, like Green Day singing Neil Young’s “Only Love Can Break Your Heart”.
Where did the focus and optimism come from? Wheeler’s got an explanation: “I had just broken up with a girl and then fell in love again while we were writing the album,” he explains. “So it’s about the end of something serious and a great new beginning. That’s why songs like Burn Baby Burn have sad lyrics, but upbeat melodies. I was also listening to Bob Dylan’s “Blood on the Tracks” a lot, which had that same kind of feeling.”
Free All Angels seems to steadily reference a mythical summer where passions are fired up and hearts are thrown on the barbecue. Perhaps it’s no surprise that during its creation, the band also fell prey to the beauty and power of the Beach Boys’ music. We stop for an around-the-table confession of fave tune by Brian Wilson and associates. Charlotte says her favourite number is “In My Room”. Mark is partial to “Do You Wanna Dance?”. Rick’s is “Good Vibrations”, and Tim loves “All I Wanna Do” from the band’s often overlooked Sunflower disc.
“We had the “Pet Sounds” box set with an A cappella CD version of the album,” says Rick, “We sampled every single song for ’Pacific Palisades.’ It was weird, but great.” It’s not too bad to have the Beach Boys as your backing vocal ensemble. “But,” adds Tim with a frown, “We couldn’t clear all the samples, so we had to remove them and sing it ourselves.”
Free All Angels radiant mood also came from a decision to move from their traditional recording home in Wales to a spot just outside Malaga, Spain.
“The climate is rainy and dark in Wales,” notes Tim. “We wanted to get out of the United Kingdom and separate ourselves from the music scene. We needed some sunshine and good vibes, so we stayed in this big, beautiful mansion in Spain. You never get stressed out, because all you have to do is walk out and jump in the pool.”
“You’re not thinking in the back of your mind, I have to be done and get into a bar before 11 o’clock or I can’t have a drink,” adds Rick. “Because the bars stay open until six in the morning.”
Ash recorded Free All Angels with long time collaborator Owen Morris, producer of such Britpop classics like Oasis’ Definitely Maybe and the Verve’s A Northern Soul. Ash deny that the Morris drove the Verve mad (“I think they were cutting E’s for breakfast when they made A Northern Soul,” says Tim), but admit he’s something of a chemical Willy Wonka to their Charlie.
“He certainly introduced us to a lot of fucked up shit when we first worked with him in 1995 on our single ’Kung Fu,’” says Tim. “Mark, Rick and I formed Ash in 1992 in Downpatrick, Ireland. We got a record deal when we were all 17; we started putting out singles while still in school. In ’95, we had our first big UK hit single with ’Girl From Mars.’ The following year we had a No. 1 album!”
Ash admit that the success of their cracking debut 1977 created a case of too much, too young. Mark was hospitalized after a bad acid trip. “We were only 19” admits Tim. “We thought it would last forever. We didn’t realize that the music industry is really fickle and fame can be fleeting. Most of our contemporaries, like Elastica, have completely disappeared these days; we’re the sole survivors.”
Charlotte was added to the line-up in 1997 when the band realized they couldn’t play all their guitar overdubs onstage. 1998’s Nu-clear Sounds found them growing up faster than their audience, but with last year’s UK release of Free All Angels, it’s euphoria again. Free All Angels topped the British charts and Ash re-established itself in the hearts of young and old alike. Now they’d like to make America swoon.
“We’re going to do the Area: Two tour with Moby and David Bowie,” Tim says. Charlotte, an avid Bowie fan, is hesitant about any backstage manoeuvring to meet her hero. “I don’t know whether I want to ruin the illusion of him being God.”
“We just love being in America,” enthuses Tim. “I get a buzz from being here - I’ve got all these Jack Kerouac dreams.” That attitude helps fuel the desire to make a mark in the U.S. They’re touring with Coldplay in the autumn, and keeping enough gear in their backpacks to stay out on the road long enough to record demos for their next disc.
Maybe the third time will be the charm for Ash. It worked for U2, who converted the masses to zealots with their third album, War. Ash have played with U2, most famously at a 1998 Good Friday gig that momentarily united opposing Northern Ireland sectarian leaders David Trimble and John Hume. But advice from the elders regarding the taking of the U.S. seems more appropriate for 1983.
“Larry Mullen told me to keep targeting the college scene and college radio,” says Mark. Tim quickly reminds: “It’s a different climate now, though, isn’t it?”
Airwaves crowded with cookie-cutter pop, arenas gorged on reheated grunge - it’s a different climate indeed. But Ash and their Angels are on the wing. For those taken with punk unafraid of suntans or sorrow, it’s going to be a long, hot summer.