How to get a Whale out of a pigeon-hole
Noah and the Whale. They’re a folk band, right? All tweed and fiddles with twee little fiddly bits. “We want to get to a point where people are so confused about what we are that we can’t be pigeon-holed,” claims Charlie Fink, leader of this bespoke, ramshackle contradiction of a group. “I don’t know what kind of band we are, so how does anybody else?” Ah. Well, they’re Laura Marling’s side project then. No? “Earlier, a journalist said to me: ‘You’re album Alas, I Cannot Swim just came out, how does it feel?’ Sorry, that’s Laura’s album. We’re a separate band. Obviously that annoyed me.”
Right, let’s start with what we do know then. Noah and the Whale are a London collective who sing songs about death and love and time and just when you think they’re taking themselves far too seriously, they throw in a Temptations cover. Charlie, fresh from a UK headline tour, explains their sound. “It’s strange. I feel like our sets should be split in half sometimes,” he murmurs, eloquent but understated. “People latch on to the upbeat parts, but there’s lots more to us than that. Sometimes we’re a party for the uninvited, a celebration of loneliness.”
Charlie revels in these oppositions, happy to teeter on the peripherals of pop but still cite Bonnie 'Prince' Billy as a major reference point. “I think where we take our influences from gives us more options and more depth,” he asserts. “Now is the best time ever to be making music. As an industry now, because of the internet, Myspace, blah blah blah. But, creatively, the main thing is the hindsight we have now. All these incredible artists to influence us, all the things you can do with sound now, it’s quicker and better.
This is not a modern band, yet they could only exist in the current musical climate, breathing in contemporary issues but telling tales of old-fashioned romanticism and hazy detachment. “A lot of this social commentary stuff doesn’t appeal to me, but I understand where it comes from. For example, I think Jamie T is a brilliant lyricist. What we do is different though. I don’t think either has more relevance than the other, but I could never imagine myself writing songs like that, or wanting to.”
Regardless, an ability to connect with a modern audience is definitely present. “Half the energy is from the band, half is from the crowd, one doesn’t come without the other,” he explains. “If we’re ever feeling dead, sometimes the crowd will get energy from nowhere and lift us.” Live listeners range from ragged old men shuffling in the corners to starry-eyed girls and boys staring at Charlie’s vulnerable virtuosity. He’s all eye contact, a shy, secret showman quietly itching for attention.
The same stumbling articulacy of tracks like ‘Mary’ and ‘Rocks and Daggers’ is present in each stammered, considered answer. He’s keen to stress Noah and the Whale are a band not a vehicle for his own ambitions. “I don’t know if I’d go solo. The best thing about the band is I feel we could take it wherever we want, and they share my vision. I don’t think we ever want to tie ourselves down to any direction or decision.”
An ambiguity to concrete resolutions surfaces again when Laura Marling’s departure from the band inevitably crops up. “I think she’s played her last show with us, but I don’t want to make it too formal.” Slow Club singer Rebecca and Soko have been filling in, but there are no plans to replace Marling, who is achieving considerable praise as a solo artist. “I’m very proud of her; it gives me great joy to see how well she’s doing. As long as people understand that what each of us do are different and valuable things.”
Charlie and Laura seem inextricably linked, the former even producing the latter’s album. “Obviously we’re both heavily involved in each others projects, but it’s important for both of us that they’re kept separate. The album is finished now with Laura on it. I feel that chapter is done, we’ve achieved what we’ve wanted from that,” he states, with finality. “The next move for us might not even require her. I want to let things evolve naturally, see what happens.”
Yes, but most singers say that and are actually plotting a Borrell-esque attempt to become Sting before they hit 30. Charlie disagrees. “It honestly doesn’t bother me how well our songs do. Our ambitions are artistic, not commercial; every band needs to evolve constantly.” Considering they recorded a punk album recently for no particular reason, his declaration is probably sincere. “We always try new arrangements; otherwise you’ll lose the passion or the drive. If you want to be an artist you have to challenge yourself and your audience.
But with people used to the likes of next single ‘Five Years Time’, a flowery pop gem as joyous as it is throwaway, how can all this talk of artistic merit be justified? “That’s just one side of us that people pick up on. But it’s so refreshing to do things differently, when nobody expects it.”
Let’s face it though, Noah and the Whale aren’t Radiohead, if they withdraw into obscure genres and experimentation, the fans won’t follow. “Sure, if we change too much, it’s a risk we will lose what people like about us now. But it’s very weak to pander to anyone.” The irony of this admirable statement isn’t lost as he’s ordered by to run off to soundcheck.
However, the unique position of the band is clear. “This summer, we’re doing Lollapalooza, then heading straight to Cambridge Folk Festival. To have that range, it’s a brilliant and rare position to be in.” They’re just big enough to grasp such opportunities, eclectic and talented enough to pull them off and still small enough to do what the hell they like. It’s very difficult to pigeon-hole that.
Noah and the Whale. They’re a folk band, right? All tweed and fiddles with twee little fiddly bits. “We want to get to a point where people are so confused about what we are that we can’t be pigeon-holed,” claims Charlie Fink, leader of this bespoke, ramshackle contradiction of a group. “I don’t know what kind of band we are, so how does anybody else?” Ah. Well, they’re Laura Marling’s side project then. No? “Earlier, a journalist said to me: ‘You’re album Alas, I Cannot Swim just came out, how does it feel?’ Sorry, that’s Laura’s album. We’re a separate band. Obviously that annoyed me.”
Right, let’s start with what we do know then. Noah and the Whale are a London collective who sing songs about death and love and time and just when you think they’re taking themselves far too seriously, they throw in a Temptations cover. Charlie, fresh from a UK headline tour, explains their sound. “It’s strange. I feel like our sets should be split in half sometimes,” he murmurs, eloquent but understated. “People latch on to the upbeat parts, but there’s lots more to us than that. Sometimes we’re a party for the uninvited, a celebration of loneliness.”
Charlie revels in these oppositions, happy to teeter on the peripherals of pop but still cite Bonnie 'Prince' Billy as a major reference point. “I think where we take our influences from gives us more options and more depth,” he asserts. “Now is the best time ever to be making music. As an industry now, because of the internet, Myspace, blah blah blah. But, creatively, the main thing is the hindsight we have now. All these incredible artists to influence us, all the things you can do with sound now, it’s quicker and better.
This is not a modern band, yet they could only exist in the current musical climate, breathing in contemporary issues but telling tales of old-fashioned romanticism and hazy detachment. “A lot of this social commentary stuff doesn’t appeal to me, but I understand where it comes from. For example, I think Jamie T is a brilliant lyricist. What we do is different though. I don’t think either has more relevance than the other, but I could never imagine myself writing songs like that, or wanting to.”
Regardless, an ability to connect with a modern audience is definitely present. “Half the energy is from the band, half is from the crowd, one doesn’t come without the other,” he explains. “If we’re ever feeling dead, sometimes the crowd will get energy from nowhere and lift us.” Live listeners range from ragged old men shuffling in the corners to starry-eyed girls and boys staring at Charlie’s vulnerable virtuosity. He’s all eye contact, a shy, secret showman quietly itching for attention.
The same stumbling articulacy of tracks like ‘Mary’ and ‘Rocks and Daggers’ is present in each stammered, considered answer. He’s keen to stress Noah and the Whale are a band not a vehicle for his own ambitions. “I don’t know if I’d go solo. The best thing about the band is I feel we could take it wherever we want, and they share my vision. I don’t think we ever want to tie ourselves down to any direction or decision.”
An ambiguity to concrete resolutions surfaces again when Laura Marling’s departure from the band inevitably crops up. “I think she’s played her last show with us, but I don’t want to make it too formal.” Slow Club singer Rebecca and Soko have been filling in, but there are no plans to replace Marling, who is achieving considerable praise as a solo artist. “I’m very proud of her; it gives me great joy to see how well she’s doing. As long as people understand that what each of us do are different and valuable things.”
Charlie and Laura seem inextricably linked, the former even producing the latter’s album. “Obviously we’re both heavily involved in each others projects, but it’s important for both of us that they’re kept separate. The album is finished now with Laura on it. I feel that chapter is done, we’ve achieved what we’ve wanted from that,” he states, with finality. “The next move for us might not even require her. I want to let things evolve naturally, see what happens.”
Yes, but most singers say that and are actually plotting a Borrell-esque attempt to become Sting before they hit 30. Charlie disagrees. “It honestly doesn’t bother me how well our songs do. Our ambitions are artistic, not commercial; every band needs to evolve constantly.” Considering they recorded a punk album recently for no particular reason, his declaration is probably sincere. “We always try new arrangements; otherwise you’ll lose the passion or the drive. If you want to be an artist you have to challenge yourself and your audience.
But with people used to the likes of next single ‘Five Years Time’, a flowery pop gem as joyous as it is throwaway, how can all this talk of artistic merit be justified? “That’s just one side of us that people pick up on. But it’s so refreshing to do things differently, when nobody expects it.”
Let’s face it though, Noah and the Whale aren’t Radiohead, if they withdraw into obscure genres and experimentation, the fans won’t follow. “Sure, if we change too much, it’s a risk we will lose what people like about us now. But it’s very weak to pander to anyone.” The irony of this admirable statement isn’t lost as he’s ordered by to run off to soundcheck.
However, the unique position of the band is clear. “This summer, we’re doing Lollapalooza, then heading straight to Cambridge Folk Festival. To have that range, it’s a brilliant and rare position to be in.” They’re just big enough to grasp such opportunities, eclectic and talented enough to pull them off and still small enough to do what the hell they like. It’s very difficult to pigeon-hole that.
