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Gigwise meets Jamie T in an impossibly local and unfeasibly cheap pub. ‘Scenes’ are at once disembodied, pretensions stripped back to nothing. He’s open, friendly, and above all, content. He has all the reason to be. Jamie T is making the kind of music and is part of a gloriously inclusive and exciting time that doesn’t come around very often. It’s all too easy to imagine youth lost from shattered Albion dreams, milling around in an urchin-strewn wasteland. Bollocks. Kids like Jamie T are taking the quintessentially Lahndan baton and sprinting triumphantly across Wimbledon with it. His music doesn’t fill any sort of void, however.
He tells gorgeously plaintive yet defiantly uplifting tales of lives and loves. Stories are told so eloquently and sung so intermittently tenderly and passionately. It’s impossible not to dance, though, and equally impossible to pigeonhole. This is undoubtedly due to his eclectic taste in music, and embracing, open-minded attitude: “I try and just mix everything I like together and just see how it goes: get as much of it, grab all the best parts and everything else, who gives a shit. I listen to a lot of like old school 70s bands like The Clash and The Stranglers and also like old school Jamaican ska and reggae and a bit of old school jungle and shit like that. But I only started listening to the Beatles the other day.”
Shunning Wimbledon’s Wombling tradition of collecting a shitty sonic pile of rubbish and rehashing it, there’s undoubtedly something very exciting and original spilling it’s oddball limbs and haircuts out of West London. And for once, it’s a million times more lucid than the flimsy and disposable pages of the NME, riddled with their scene-by-numbers ‘Thamesbeat’ proclamations. “I wouldn’t say there’s any coat tail riding, we all did it at the same time. It’s just like, people I know who are safe really. I’m very lucky with the amount of good bands I know. I’d go out any night of the week and I can see a good band. That’s sick,” Jamie enthuses: it’s unbelievably refreshing to hear genuine enthusiasm from London acts that all too often rest their shaky status on nonchalance and skinny-drainpipes clad laps. Larrikin Love recorded their b-side in his bedroom: “That was a messy time, I’ve got the whole of Larrkin Love on my bedroom floor barking . It really freaked me out, I had a cold sweat.”
The enormous social aspect and affably laid back feel has had a profound impact, whether consciously or not, on the skilfully genuine feel of his music. “I got that Dictaphone the other day; I’ve been out on the street recording skits for my album. Just getting fucking drunk. I'd been recording in my bedroom for about 2 months, it starts to get a bit like cabin feverish.” Gestures implying growing fears of inanimate technical objects (computers, fridges and the like) ensue. Humour is in no short supply, and it’s no surprise to hear the influences behind his songs. “My daily events, going out in London inspire my music, just chatting about funny shit that’s happened with your friends, it’s like, ‘haha it’s about you, you’re a dick.'” With a sudden ear-irritation influx of indie-in-a-blender bands (you know who you are, Boy Kill Boy), was this a conscious decision to shun predictable beats and follow a storytelling tradition? “It’s a case of just not being able to write a real song. Well yeah, do you know how hard it is to write a song with like, an intro, a verse, a chorus, a verse? It’s fuckin hard, well I think it is anyway. Its just kind of letting it ramble, that 'sthe way I do it”
Whether he can’t write a real song is highly debateable. With an album hopefully coming out by the end of this year, Gigwise is certain he will be proved otherwise. “I thought about writing loads of shit for the new album but I thought it was best to put some of the old tunes on coz people kind of liked them. I’m not really thinking of it as an album, I’m thinking of it as more of an introduction.” Although the album is recorded alone, he has progressed from his original stripped down live set up with a sole acoustic bass. He has secured a five-piece band for the tour, “coz I want to make people dance a bit more”. When you know even Londoners will dance, you’re definitely on to a good thing.
As for the personal aspect of the album lyrics, Jamie explains: “Usually I don’t necessarily tell people very much, but when it comes to writing songs I never think ‘oh I can’t say that’, I don’t know why.” Through sweet and cheeky smiles and infectious laughter, Jamie hints at a wiseness beyond his fledging 20 years. His more vulnerable side peeks through in his explanation of the title behind his ‘Panic Prevention’ mixtapes. These were frantically showered to rabid fans after early gigs, featuring everything from Rancid to Beastie Boys. “I used to have panic attacks. My mum bought me one CD. I didn’t listen to it, I sampled it and used it for mixtapes, it was wicked. Panic attacks are one of those things that people just don’t understand if they don’t have them, they just think you’re being an idiot, but they can freak you out, you think you’re, like, dying. I just thought it was quite a cool thing coz whenever I listen to music it kind of calms me down.”
In between lambasting the new frosties advert, mulling over Patti Smith and discussing why the bloody-hell we don’t bring back fighting between bears and dwarves, Jamie T talks a hell of a lot of sense. Life is simple: you’re a cahnt, or you’re not. If not, stay and have a drink. He’s not looking for perfectly coiffed Razorlight world domination: his aims for the future are to “Generally be happy, fuck around and that’s it.” Welcome to the wonderful world of Jamie T. “Do you want another drink?”
