Ad Code

Do Nothing’s new album is Chris Bailey’s ultimate act of service: “A song will tell you what it wants to be, and it’s not your place to get in the way of that”

Do Nothing

“In some ways, I’m not the guy to talk about it,” laughs Chris Bailey, semi-seriously, warning NME how he struggles to analyse Do Nothing’s music. The vocalist has welcomed us into Chaucer Court Workshops, the band’s de facto Nottingham HQ – although they suspect its new owners will kick them out soon. “Do you want a cup of tea?” he offers as we settle in, unselfishly ensuring the plug-in heater is blowing hot air in our direction as he perches on his swivel chair.

Despite the playful post-punk that places Do Nothing on the same sardonic map as Sports Team and Yard Act (who they will support this month), in conversation, Bailey is far more enigmatic and contemplative. The four-piece rode the crest of Britain’s left-field, wonkier wave thanks to Talking Heads-esque breakout single ‘LeBron James’, before landing a spot on the NME 100 of 2020. Three years later, debut LP ‘Snake Sideways’ showcased flashes of artful indie (‘Sunshine State’) and humming lo-fi (‘Moving Target’, ‘Snake Sideways’).

Angular, precise vocal performances from Bailey and guitarist Kasper Sandstrom’s (who, until May 2026, also drummed for Divorce) unpredictable riff-work helped the band carve out their identity, with their long-time-coming debut landing 11 years after they initially formed in school. “Christ!” remarks Bailey, now 31. Compared to five albums in seven years from their late-2010s post-punk classmates Fontaines D.C., Do Nothing’s career trajectory feels a little staggered. They candidly admitted a “creative stutter” preceded their debut.

“When you’re writing, you subconsciously need to be ingesting things and giving yourself ammunition,” explains Bailey, retrospectively acknowledging the impact of the COVID-19 pandemic. “These things [also] coincide with bits of mental health. Not in ways that I can particularly point to, but I always did what I thought was best at the time. If we’d rocketed to fucking global success at the beginning, I would be a different person now, and with this second one, I’m just happy to be in the position I am now. You’ve got to let go of control.”

That album, ‘Friend World’ (due November 6), re-establishes the thrilling force of Do Nothing in UK guitar music. Recorded in Nottingham at former fruit and veg warehouse JT Soar, a homemade approach appealed to the band, completed by Charlie Howarth (bass) and Andrew Harrison (drums). Bailey has lived here all his life, cutting his teeth at now-defunct venue The Maze before working at live music hub The Bodega (where he still DJs) with Howarth and Sandstrom. On paper, he’s a popular guy in this city’s compact music scene.

In reality, though, he’s “pretty solo, in a lot of ways. Some people are good in a group, and I’m not so good”. As such, Do Nothing’s four-way collaboration only comes after Bailey lays down his initial demos. “That requires me to be alone in a room, and I don’t write very quickly. Add those two things together… [but] once the [first album pressure] was all over, I could cauterise it, and I didn’t have to become comfortable with writing again. It happened straight away, easy breezy.”

Evolution in Bailey’s songwriting undergoes subtle tweaks over long periods of time. That’s reflected in his performance style, but the constraints of 30-minute festival sets don’t give you that option to find your own pace. When NME first met Bailey, his character-led stagecraft stemmed from a desire to entertain, but not “for the sake of it”. “I feel really comfortable on stage nowadays,” he reflects. “I’m probably more myself.” He’s ditched his suit for everyday clothes; perhaps the knitted woolly jumper he’s wearing today could one day make an appearance at a gig.

Characters retain their role on ‘Friend World’. ‘Dog 2’ explores dread through the lens of two lost dogs trapped inside a party. The Red Hot Chili Peppers-tinged ‘Smile’ might sound upbeat, but it was inspired by a schizophrenic cartoonist who took his own life and left a death note in a comic (“How good it is to be alone at last”). ‘Misery’ is textbook post-punk, as Bailey begs for “one good night / To put me out of misery”. Inspired by comedian Andy Kaufman’s cover of 1959 Fabian track ‘This Friendly World’, the album title unites its protagonists in their collective search for a friend.

“If we’d rocketed to global success at the beginning, I would be a different person now. I’m just happy to be in the position I am” – Chris Bailey

“The songs all fit into this ‘loner vibe’,” Bailey tells NME, circling back to watching YouTube clips of Kaufman. “His on-stage persona was being the loser on purpose, and finding humour in that. In [professional] wrestling, the heel is the bad guy you’re supposed to root against, and Kaufman did that in various ways. It’s interesting to want to make everyone not like you. I find those kinds of stories moving and ended up writing songs about them. Those [songs] are about connection.”

Life-affirming track ‘The Nail’ imagines how boring being a deity would be (“I’ve got this perfect life / That I don’t really like”). From higher powers to common people, loneliness is a universal experience. In a climate where we ‘connect’ vicariously through social media, the actual lack of connection in the modern age holds up a number of mirrors to ‘Friend World’. Are Do Nothing on this quest to restore some togetherness in society at large?

“That all feeds into your subconscious anyway, even if you’re not specifically calling things out in the songs,” Bailey answers. “I’m not sitting down to write a song about the specific news I just ingested. Whatever instincts I happen to have are the ones I then follow, and it should be all in service of the thing, [not hoping] people get this certain thing out of it. A song will tell you what it wants to be, and it’s not your place to be getting in the way of that.”

While Bailey wrote ‘Friend World’, dog walks provided an unlikely source of solidarity. “I’m very much in a fucking hipster bubble of people in bands and venues, but if your dog picks another dog it likes, you have to hang out with the owner,” he points out. “It’s very easy, nowadays, to live in your own little chamber at all times. It meant I formed a connection with new people.” When he penned ‘This Friendly World’, perhaps Fabian was exploring the unconditional love we get from man’s best friend: “Why should any heart be lonely?”

Do Nothing
Do Nothing. Credit: Jack Stoddart

Sonically, ‘Friend World’ sure sounds like Do Nothing, shining in its funk-tastic edge and the 1975-esque guitar-pop of ‘Paris Jesus’. When we quiz Bailey on the band’s sonic evolution, he returns to his fundamental artistic morals. “It’s determinism,” he explains, mentioning he doesn’t have a music theory background to lean on. “You happen to be the person you are, and that will make you write the thing you write.” For someone drawn to writing about solitude, it takes courage to embrace the individuality of his songwriting with open arms and submit, wholeheartedly, to the craft itself.

“Things are much easier / Now that I am incommunicado”, he sings on ‘Incommunicado’, the album’s no-contact closer. Fundamentally, ‘Friend World’ bookmarks a period in Bailey’s life. “There are plenty of bands I have used in the past to help me figure things [out],” he elaborates, naming Conor Oberst, The Roches and The National. “You want to recreate that experience, be in charge of it, and make something that would move somebody else. I haven’t used it [to] help me fix my own life. I’m just trying to express what it felt to be alive at that time.

“If the third album [ideas] are anything to go by, I’m digging down further in a more personal way,” he reveals. But inevitably, his mind refocuses to that core principle. “I’m grateful for enjoying everything that came with this record, and I’m trying to not get in the way of it, allowing us to move on to the next thing. Don’t fucking mess with something that’s working.”

Do Nothing’s ‘Friend World’ is released November 6 via Submarine Cat Records

The post Do Nothing’s new album is Chris Bailey’s ultimate act of service: “A song will tell you what it wants to be, and it’s not your place to get in the way of that” appeared first on NME.



from NME https://ift.tt/nCVsHe9

Post a Comment

0 Comments