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Interview : Internal Democracy (2006)

UT gained notoriety for its markedly democratic approach to making music, having no lead singer per se and making a point of switching off on instruments. Was this non-hierarchical approach difficult to maintain? (We’re so used to fixed focal points in bands, even ones with avant-gardist tendencies, that any other arrangement automatically seems potentially fraught.)

Jacqui: We came to it because we were all musical that way. We wanted to subvert the hierarchical thing but we were mainly into the heightened perspective you get playing from every vantage point. We were into how it expanded the sound and the character of the songs —it was thrilling for us to have all these different combinations beside the fact that we were conceptually into shaking things up. But we were not strict about it.

We had different sounds and complexions on the instruments and exploring the merge and combustion was inspiring to us. We were always discovering and attempting new things —we had the sense that all was possible. We had this way of spontaneously composing and the main thing for us was to serve the music and to take everything further.

Nina: Our “democratic” thing sprung entirely from who we were as people and our natal politics as it were, and so for us it always made sense —even if at times it caused problems, like every system in fact.

We decided to change instruments as well as all other “jobs” in the band —we had a kind-of saying that we each got to be both the “controller and the dustbin collector” at different times!

We were often accused of being aggressive in both our music and our approach so I’m not sure at that time it was ever seen in any way as a “quiet radical” thing!

Sally: Our decision to switch instruments didn’t come about as a dogmatic idea or conceptual plan. It was just more fun and stimulating that way, as we all enjoyed the experience of playing different instruments and exploring what we could do on them. We didn’t think our identity was limited to playing just one particular instrument (that is, none of us felt we were just a guitar player or just a singer or just a drummer, etc.) and it kept us in the mode of constantly experimenting without getting into ruts with any one instrument. Swapping instruments probably did have the innate effect of negating any potentially hierarchical developments within the band, as well as keeping audiences and the media from pigeonholing us in specific roles. The only difficulty we had in maintaining this approach was a practical one, as during performances it took a certain amount of time to move from one instrument to another and to set oneself up in a different sphere.

We tried to take this into account when deciding on the order of the set, to avoid the awkward time gaps that switching instruments could lead to. But our consideration first and foremost was the dynamic and aesthetic order of the songs —we’d take in practical considerations only as long as they didn’t jar with this. For example, if there were two or three songs in the set that Nina drummed on, we’d try to put these next to each other, unless the songs really didn’t complement each other aesthetically/dynamically in such close juxtaposition.

We always put a great deal of thought into the order of our sets for gigs and our tracks on albums to attain the strongest dynamic movement and progression, like arranging scenes in a play. As for people being used to fixed focal points in bands, I’m sure that audiences may well have found us disconcerting. But then I don’t think disconcerting is such a bad thing to be.

Have you attempted this arrangement in subsequent bands, or some variation thereof?

Jacqui: In [my current band] Dial I do the vocals but the composition is improvised together. It is the same process. Rob Smith and Dom Weeks are extraordinary musicians; we play mainly the same instruments but it is fluid.

What bands did you find the most kinship with (both in NYC and London)?

Sally: We felt a strong kinship with The Fall, as mentioned. Mark E Smith’s lyrics were something Jacqui and I in particular felt a great affinity with and his approach to singing and music made a lot of sense to us. As Jacqui and I lived in the same apartment in NYC, we would often end up listening to the same music. Jacqui listens to music a lot and picks up on things that are happening very quickly, and she had lived in NYC for a few years before I moved there, so she introduced me to lots of music. We also went out to gigs together all the time.

Mars and DNA were important bands for us. We also loved the “30 Seconds over Tokyo” era of Pere Ubu. We both related strongly to Patti Smith, Television and Richard Hell and the Voidoids, and it was really those three bands that led me into the downtown NY music scene at first.

PiL, too, were quite important, especially Keith Levine’s guitar playing. Soon after arriving in London, we saw The Birthday Party, who were a big inspiration, and we enjoyed playing some gigs with them. And yeah, we felt in good company with other Blast First bands like Sonic Youth and we got on well with The Butthole Surfers, who had a great approach to both music and humour.

Jacqui: Bands in our area around the time of Ut: Mars DNA Red Transistor Pere Ubu The Fall PiL Joy Division Television Richard Hell Voidoids Iggy Pop This Heat Birthday Party and later Neubauten, the Virgin Prunes, Sonic Youth, Bad Seeds, Swans, Big Black, My Bloody Valentine, the Dead C.

Nina: Yes, all those bands. I especially loved the Voidoids, Television, Pere Ubu, Mars, DNA, Swans, the Lounge Lizards —NYC was just saturated with great music. We were awash in it all the time, then in London we had The Birthday Party, Neubauten, PIL who were so important for their brief life, Joy Division. Of course Patti Smith for me was an enormous influence too, primarily in sense of her attitude and stance. I saw her play at the Roundhouse in London not long before going to NY and came away really inspired, ready for what happened to me when I got there —which was I got co-opted fast into The Gynaecologists because my best friend Robert Appleton (whom I knew from art school in London) had met Rhys and started a band together. They asked me to play guitar w them, which I duly did! I had never played music before except for a kind of Terry Riley-esque drumming workshop in London, I had studied mime briefly with Lindsay Kemp and was into performance art. In fact a large part of my work at art school was performance and film with my partner in crime Peri. In 1976 I chose between going to Germany to be where Joseph Beuys was teaching (except I didn’t speak German) or to NY to check it out —I went to NYC.

UT_1980.jpg
What factors led to the band’s dissolution?

Jacqui: After 11 years we wanted to do our own things. The musical bond is always present but we are onto different things now.

Sally: I think it just ran its course. We’d been through a lot together in 11 years. We’d toured in America and all over Europe (we’d even done a tour of Eastern Europe while it was still behind the iron curtain that was an incredible experience). But anyone who’s toured knows what hard work it is, especially how it puts people up close against each other in an uncomfortable way.

We’d also put out 3 studio albums, a live album and tape, and two studio EPs. The three of us were straining in different directions by the end. We had created a very fertile environment for growth, development and experimentation for a long period of time. But, in even the best groups, the time eventually comes when it’s better to go your own way. I think we managed to stay the course pretty well until then and provide a receptive and motivating vehicle for each other’s creativity.

Nina: We really gave UT our all, we truly loved creating music together. We knew that we were a match made in heaven musically, which is so rare. Also we managed not to be in competition with each other beyond small stuff. We worked hard and consistently [but] it was tough to continue after a point. There were many factors, including financial, and also although we had wonderful people helping us we never got quite as much help as we needed for the physical and organizational practicality of touring and gigging. Blast First did not organize or finance our tours, we did… I was getting itchy feet and felt a real need to get out of London. So in the end it seemed to us all the natural thing to do. I decided to go live in LA where my brother was. Amazingly I’m very glad I went, but that’s another story!

What musical projects have you been involved with since the end of UT?

Sally: I formed a band called Parachute soon afterwards, which was short-lived and only made it as far as a few gigs, as we eventually discovered as we progressed that we had different goals. I then formed a band called Quint, with a line-up of guitar and vocals, bass, drums, trumpet and violin. That lasted about five years, in which time we put out a single on vinyl (“Blueprint to a Blackout”/”Sawtooth”) and an album on CD (Time Wounds All Heals). Quint meant a great deal to me, but changes in the line-up eventually led to a band whose chemistry was askew and that wasn’t functioning properly, so it came to an end. At the moment, I’m singing with a jazz and blues band that gigs about once a month in Soho in London.

Jacqui: After Ut, I formed Dial with Robert Smith, both of us on guitar. Lou Ciccotelli was our drummer for 2 years and Dom Weeks (of Furious Pig) came in on bass and synth. In ‘93 Lou left and Rob started to play the drum machine as well as guitar.

Dial has released three CDs, Infraction, Distance Runner and 168K, all on our label Cede.

Do you listen to your own music with a critical ear, or is it possible to lose yourself in it?

Jacqui: You always get lost in music to some extent —I can be swept away while having a critical ear. A bad movie can be engrossing. Film and music operate as hypnotics.

With my own music I know the flaws and sometimes this messes up the experience but it’s a mood thing —everything we’ve released has some dynamic that outweighs the problems.

Sally: I have to admit that I find it particularly difficult to listen to my own music without a critical ear. But sometimes I manage to shake off the critic and find myself surprisingly moved by music I’ve made in the past. We’re working on re-releasing Ut material, so I’ve been listening to a lot of Ut’s music lately. Some songs feel shockingly close to home and have even moved me to tears, while others feel strangely alien. It’s a great experience to hear things you’ve done in the past when you haven’t listened to them for awhile, as time provides a distance and objectivity that allows you to hear and discover things in the music that you may not have tuned into before. Other times, you recognize the same old problems you remembered having with the music at the time. But it can potentially refresh one’s perspective.

Is it disheartening to you that women in mainstream pop are still —by and large— airbrushed and cookie-cutter, not to mention fairly problematic as role models? It’s true that the males are too, but that’s hardly moving in the right direction as far as enlightened equality is concerned. Is there anything inspiring going on in mainstream pop right now?

Jacqui: The doll-like diva thing pollutes every part of the music scene, the mainstream just flaunts the essence more, everybody is complicit. Creative role models inspire you to create —it is irrelevant if they are male or female. Every woman can be a role model for other women no matter what she does. What matters is how she handles herself.

Sally: I agree that sometimes it seems as if women haven’t come very far. But there are some exceptions. There’s a lot more women picking up instruments and playing them focusing on the music rather than how they look or whether their gender is an issue.

The drummer in my band Quint (Stephen Gilchrist, aka Stuffy) has since formed a band called The Fuses in which there’s a girl guitarist named Jen Macro who is how I’d imagined girls to be in bands by the 21st century. She’s a fantastic guitar player, completely natural (dresses like she’s hanging out in her living room), yet has a great presence and exudes both toughness and vulnerability. You can just tell she’s up there thinking about the music and her singing and guitar playing and making it happen. There’s no other agenda. It’s pure substance rather than appearance. She’s definitely the kind of girl who should be a role model for other girls who want to be in bands. Every time I see her, I find her an inspiration.

There are others like her, just not enough. A lot of girls either vie for center of attention as the diva, so to speak, or take a meek decorative background role. It’s inspiring to see a band where it feels like the gender doesn’t matter. CONTINUE TO PART THREE >>

Reposted from WARPED REALITY

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Press

Feral Epiphanies (from Plan B #13)

Ut, In Gut’s House
Griller (Blast First/Mute)

Ut: music: the syllable used in the fixed system of solmization for the note C.

White Columns Noise Fest Flyer, 1981
Noise Fest Flyer, 1981

This is where music ended.

Every gig these three New York ladies played between migrating to London in 1981 and splitting in 1990 felt like it could be their last, such was the force of their emotion, their unwillingness to compromise. Guitar strings were coerced, battered, detuned, retuned – and maybe only then returned, bruised and bewildered, to their original state. Vocals were spat out, mumbled, suddenly roared: Jacqui Ham and Nina Canal and Sally Young taking an eternity to switch between instruments (the band was truly democratic) and mic duties, seemingly unaware of the restrictions usually placed upon a band by its attendant audience (ie, to actually perform).

First time we saw Ut at a Birthday Party gig, me and my mate Geoff sat studiously on the edge of the stage with our backs towards the trio, such was our hatred for their lack of presence and seeming reliance on crap guitar tuners. A few years later, we had bottles thrown at us by Fall fans – Fall fans, for fuck’s sake – for dancing to Ut’s jagged, post-No Wave rhythms. We went on to see Ut about 45 times: sure, we were aware of Sonic Youth’s turbulent guitar-storms, of Live Skull’s almost narcoleptic haze, of the Butthole Surfers’ depraved pyrotechnics and The Membranes’ shimmering fury – but no one could touch these women for sheer intransigence and confrontation.

The deeper into themselves Ut dug, the more the audiences seemed to hate them: the gaps between songs would often became longer than the songs themselves as bickering took hold, but still they persisted, heedless yet acutely focused.

It was hard to tell where the roots of this music lay – perhaps in Nina’s previous band, Robin Crutchfield’s rackety Dark Day, or in the relentless surge of Lydia Lunch’s Teenage Jesus, or in John Cale’s howling viola – but Ut were always something separate, something apart. When I first experienced Babes In Toyland, I tried to explain their dissonant surge in terms of Ut – but soon realised that beyond the two bands’ beautiful, scaly noise there really weren’t that many parallels to be drawn.

Ut, Griller
Griller, 1989

Ut’s reluctance to pander was matched only by their hatred of the studio – or so it seemed. A cassette, Ut Live, was released on Out in 1981, and a 12-inch followed, both of which captured Ut in their brutal, uncompromising rawness. But it took eight years after their conception in December 1978 for the band to be accorded a full-length release, 1986’s Conviction wherein the band finally documented some of their torturous unease, their fractured individuality shaped through bloody-mindedness into a coherent whole. It was excellent, as was 1987’s long overdue retrospective Early Live Life, both records as dense and emotional and fragile as you’d expect from a band who’d made a career out of onstage deliberation. It wasn’t until Ut released their final brace of records, however – the double 12-inch In Gut’s House (1988) and Griller (1989) – that they managed to truly capture the intensity of their live shows on vinyl.

Even 18 years on, In Gut’s House is astonishing: 10 songs that scrape and scour away until they reach that elusive core at the very heart of music, the core so very few bands reach (maybe The Velvet Underground on ‘Venus On Furs,’ perhaps Sonic Youth on ‘Death Valley ‘69’).

On In Gut’s House, Ut transcended their origins, their surroundings – everything and anything – most especially on the two middle songs, the violin-scarred ‘Shut Fog’ and ‘Homebled.’ The entire album is a series of epiphanies and denouements, bursts of impassioned vocals offset by clattering drumbeats and needling guitar. Lyrics were dark utterances, part Patti Smith, part something altogether more feral and vulnerable.

Griller is damn fine, too, but it pales in comparison. Maybe Ut realised they couldn’t hope to repeat the moment. The 11 songs present still shredded; deep, malicious, urgent and intricately layered. (You can tell now where its producer Steve Albini discovered the sound he later used to such devastating effect on PJ Harvey’s Rid Of Me.) Brief guest member Charlie D pounded up a welter of intent on the drums: relentless, heavy, frantic and … just … blam blam blam blam blam blam blam

Everett True interviews Ut
Motivation: “Compulsion.”
Inspiration: “Contempt.”
Confrontation: “Revelation.”
Realisation: “The goalie’s anxiety at the penalty kick.

— Everett True

Reposted from the Plan B Archives, Issue 13.

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Press

Theoretical Music

On Site
Theoretical Music: Ut + Talk Normal
Issue Project Room
New York, USA

During a panel discussion on the No Wave era, part of the three-night multimedia survey Theoretical Music, Thurston Moore shared an amusing downtown-NYC yarn. In the early ’90s, he met six-string wizard Robert Quine in a studio, and the latter attempted to initiate a blues jam. It was a futile gesture; the Sonic Youth guitarist was clueless when it came to such conventional modes. Relating the tale, Moore seemed humiliated, but also proud to have invented musical vocabularies rather than simply built on old ones. His stance echoed the remarks of bandmate Kim Gordon—a participant in another No Wave panel earlier the same evening—who spoke about how the unmooring of punk performance practices from rock & roll orthodoxy was the era’s key innovation. More specifically, it was the revolution that gave her, a self-described non-musician, tacit permission to try her hand at music.

Revisiting the primal lurch and skronk of, say, DNA, it’s easy to hear exactly what Gordon was getting at. Some of the sounds that emerged from NYC’s downtown scene in the late ’70s and early ’80s did seem ahistorical. But even as Theoretical Music organizers Branden W. Joseph and David Grubbs cultivated this viewpoint and echoed a recent rash of books (by Moore and Wire contributor Byron Coley, as well as Marc Masters) in singling out No Wave as a hermetic movement, they issued a shrewd corollary by booking the reunited trio Ut as their marquee performer. The band’s enthralling set, their first in the US since 1991, exhibited a deep idiosyncrasy, yet it also thrived on time-tested rock & roll energy.

Tellingly, the most memorable moment of Ut’s performance was also the most conventional. During “Wailhouse,” from the band’s final LP, 1989’s Griller, members Sally Young, Nina Canal and Jacqui Ham —who, as in the old days, swapped instruments throughout the night— and guest drummer Tom Surgal (of White Out) locked into an insistent, slow-churning swagger. Young’s sultry, goth-chanteuse vocal drove home the notion that the band wasn’t as far removed from the blues as No Wave fetishists might assert.

Of course, the set also featured plenty of old-fashioned artiness: Young bowing her bass with a drum stick, Ham’s steel-wool guitar scribbles, drum-set rhythms from Canal that thudded in and out of meter. At times, these gestures made the trio seem more like an insular tribe than a band, enacting its own secret rituals. But overall, Ut registered as more human and less severe than listeners who had only heard them on record (me, for one) may have expected. Despite their motley appearance —the tallish, silver-haired Canal in black clogs, Young sporting a leather mini dress and Ham looking at once disheveled and ultra-stylish in a gray suit— and marathon tuning sessions, they came off as inviting, even friendly. Canal won over the crowd between songs by cueing up a surfing video (featuring the most anti-No Wave imagery one could think of) and even amid technical travails, the three band members exchanged easy smiles. Their easygoing attitudes cut right through the arty pretension that inevitably surrounds nostalgia for the downtown New York of yore.

Musically too, Ut didn’t come across as a band tied to any movement—instead these were three distinct musical personalities meshing in multiple equally effective configurations. In the strongest of these, Ham layered her weird, plaintive whine over Canal’s rough-edged yet deeply propulsive drumming, while Young’s sturdy, repetitive bass lines provided crucial melodic hooks. Ut’s instrument-switching was no gimmick; it seemed more like a logical set-pacing strategy, such that near the show’s end, when Ham (who had spent much of the show on guitar) finally sat down at the drums to play a gangly tribal groove, it felt like a triumphant payoff. Overall, Ut exemplified the freedom of No Wave while at the same time bucking the movement’s retrospectively calcified aesthetics.

Opener Talk Normal, the NYC duo of guitarist Sarah Register and drummer Andrya Ambro, summoned a more foreboding mood. Their driving yet amorphous sound fields obscured song and left the audience to puzzle out the structural elements. Ambryo acted as a both compass, directing the pieces with brisk, repetitive beats, and engine, galvanizing them with moments of explosive intensity. The set reached a gripping climax when she shoved her stool aside and jitterbugged spastically as she pounded out dense snare and tom rolls. There was a harshness in these outbursts, echoed in Register’s eerie guitar haze and alarmed wail, but as with Ut, other emotions crept in. During a break, Ambro walked over to Register’s area and borrowed her beer for a quick chug. The guitarist grinned and patted the drummer on the back, as if to acknowledge that even in the avant-garde, rock & roll’s first principles still prevail. — Hank Shteamer

This article originally appeared in The Wire issue 322, December 2010. Reproduced by permission. www.thewire.co.uk | Photo: Andrea Feldman