Who’s There?

Being the new bands editor, you get to see all the new trends come in and out. A lot of the bands that I’m rather keen on at the moment seem to have a leaning towards anonymity. Bands seem to enjoy a process of leading the music industry on, tantalising us with intriguing sounds but not allowing us to invision the faces of the people involved making the curious resonance. And it works! It makes us all the more interested in them, and allows our imagination to race, dreaming of the potentially sexy/famous/alien characters who might be part of the process.

When people first started talking about Summer Camp, there were rumours going around that their mystical, romantic sounds were performed by a gaggle of Swedish beauties. That’s one way to get A&R heads turning. But actually it was singer Jeremy Warmsly and his girlfriend Elizabeth Sankey. Silver Columns initially refused to say who they were, and people went crazy forming conspiracy theories about who could possibly be making this fantastic music, yet wanting to keep their names so hushed. Turns out it was The Pictish Trail’s Johnny Lynch and Adem. When the synth laden sounds of Monarchy swanned into our lives, children in playgrounds and mums in supermarkets were whispering furiously that it was really Paul Epworth and Fred Falke. But nope, just two chaps called Andrew and Ra. When we first started writing about Delphic, it was virtually impossible to obtain an image of the band without it being some mirrored representation of the backs of their heads or just a close up of one of their toenails or something. “WHO ARE THEY!” we at The Fly would all wail passionately, into each other’s mouths, like we were resuscitating each other (that never happened).

It’s a bit like in horror films when all you can see is a darting shadow, or scurrying feet. And at about 45 minutes in, the beast is revealed and somehow it’s just not all that scary anymore, “OHHH that’s what he looks like. Meh, he’s not that bad”, one might think.

The unknown is kind of sexy. Using your brain to imagine is really fun. especially now you can literally Google your favourite star and find them on Facebook and find out they’re a fan of ‘The Day That Brian Harvey Ate 47 Baked Potatoes Then Ran Himself Over’, in between following them on Twitter to discover that they think everyone else should become a fan of ‘The Day That Brian Harvey Ate 47 Baked Potatoes Then Ran Himself Over’ on Facebook. I was disappointed when Slipknot revealed their identities. I thought they were the children of Satan, but it turns out they’re just some dudes. And I’m glad Daft Punk aren’t fans of showing their clammy anaemic faces to the world. “WHO ARE THEY!” I sometimes wail, into a Dictaphone, playing it back obsessively in order to give me the illusion that I have company on a Saturday night.

I like these secrets, and I think more labels should let bands get on with being hidden, especially if you’re making either dreamy, ethereal stuff, or electronic, clinical sounds. It’s just quite apt, and it’s not always so necessary to know the ins and outs of who’s behind the music. To me, it’s a refreshing break from the overwhelming information overload we’re bombarded with every day.