A little respect
During the 80s, they were the toast of the UK pop scene, with their high-camp, high-energy songs. Now, buoyed by a nostalgic fanbase, the two are certain their time is going to come again, writes Louise Rimmer.
GOLLY gosh, this is a posh hotel. I’ve already made a fool of myself by thinking the cloakroom was the reception, and now I’m wading through an atrium with real life palm trees that tower over suits having afternoon tea. Erasure’s PR girl waves me over, handing salmon sandwiches to the photographer. "I’ve done these guys before," he tells me between fishy mouthfuls. "Dressed ’em as ABBA 10 years ago." Bet you had to twist their arms to make them do that, I say. "Yeah right," he replies, before we set off, tripods aloft. "They hated every minute of it."
He’s lying of course. If there’s one thing the Erasure boys like doing, it’s squeezing into rubber or admiring their reflections in sequins. Actually, to be fair, the driving force behind the dressing-up box is very much Andy Bell. Vince Clarke, it would seem, just wants to concentrate on twiddling knobs and programming baroque melodies into his precious synthesiser. But you get the feeling he’ll do anything for a quiet life.
I have a vaguely surreal recollection of Andy Bell once performing dressed as a map of the world while riding on a swan. When the cuttings confirm the hazy memory, you’ll understand why I expected to find the boys knee-high in false eyelashes and reeking of gladioli. How wrong.
In contrast to the glamour of downstairs, the Erasure suite is beige and dull, overlooking the zigzag roof of Marylebone Station. London is cloaked in fog. Inside, there’s a different type of fog, as the boys cheerfully puff their way through duty-free fags. Andy Bell, meanwhile, looks as if he’s been dressed by Littlewood’s catalogue, sporting a dangerous cross-breed of golfing trousers and pyjama bottoms. Despite the flurry of action as we hijack the room, he continues to thumb out a furious text message and refuses to say hello. How rude. Still only 38, he looks ridiculously young. I check out the facilities, bumping into Vince Clarke on the way out. He says hello as he zips up his fly. That’s better.
Not the most enthusiastic of interviewees, Erasure are here to promote their new album, a collection of covers. Straightforwardly entitled Other People’s Songs, it features karaoke favourites such as ‘You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feeling’ and ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love’, alongside retro trendies like ‘Video Killed the Radio Star’. It’s the group’s 10th studio album, following on from a gaggle of top 10 hits, 20 million record sales and five number one albums.
Despite their obvious talent for penning euphoric singalongs such as ‘A Little Respect’, ‘Sometimes’ and ‘Stop!’, the pair are not strangers to the art of the cover version. In 1992, the duo released their Abba-esque EP (hence the costumes), which featured a sublimely camp version of ‘Gimme Gimme Gimme (A Man After Midnight)’. Since then, however, they have been distinctly less prolific, and one must wonder if they are to be condemned to the vaults of nostalgia hereafter.
I decide to mention this in the subtlest of ways. "I see you’re very big at School Disco," I say, referring to the zillions of posters advertising the weekly event in London. (School Disco, for the non-cognoscenti, is like a cross between Friends Reunited and I love the 1980s. Every Friday, thirtysomethings pining for their lost youths flock to the club to rekindle old flames to the sounds of Duran Duran, Spandau Ballet, Frankie goes to Hollywood et al. Erasure, too, are touted high on the playlist.)
"I’ve never been to one," says Vince. "I thought it was a joke. It all sounded a bit pervy."
"All those girls in short skirts," offers Andy by way of explanation. "They asked us to play their New Year’s Eve gig." And? "I’m in Spain and Vince is in New York. But we would have done it otherwise."
So they’re not too sensitive about jogging the memories of those old enough to know better, then. But Erasure have always been at the fun end of the pop spectrum, not the tortured artist end. For example, you couldn’t imagine the Pet Shop Boys doing the nostalgia circuit. Which brings us on to Erasure’s image as a gay band.
Such terminology is, of course, slightly inaccurate. For while Andy is openly and flamboyantly gay, Vince is not. He does have lots of gay friends, however, and claims to be unperturbed by this common misconception.
Meanwhile, I quickly understand that, just like their records, Erasure are not the deepest puddle on the pavement, and only like giving answers of the yes/no variety. I announce the start of a quick-fire round to suss out where they pitch themselves in the gay music scheme of things. I will say a name, and they must answer ‘friend’ or ‘foe’, or ‘artist’ or ‘scoundrel’.
Boy George. "Friend," says Andy quickly. "Well, we’re not that close, but he’s always really nice whenever I see him. I’ve heard people say he can be really nasty, but he’s never been like that to me." Talented? "Oh yes, very. He’s important because of all the things he’s been through and survived. I was 20 when he first came out, and was mad about him, much to my girlfriend’s..."
Girlfriend? The sentence trails away, but we don’t hear of her again, and one presumes that Andy’s crush on George may have had something to do with that. "I used to go to Heaven every Wednesday and just stare at him." Is he good-looking? "Well he can be... (snorts from Vince) He’s very sweet."
OK, Pet Shop Boys. Friends or foe? "Well, they’re not friends," says Andy delicately. "I think they’re very talented..." But they’re rivals, surely? "No, they’re not. They - I mean the papers - make us out to be, but then again, it’s a two-horse race."
Morrissey? "Don’t know him," says Andy. What does he think of his sexual ambiguity then? "Well, he models himself on a dandy, and they were closeted. Maybe that’s why he was never openly out." Vince claims to not know anyone, which is odd considering he’s a former member of both Yazoo and Depeche Mode. Eventually, though, I hit upon someone he acknowledges: Jimmy Somerville. "Fantastic," they both say, in a rare moment of unison.
Of course, we are living through strange times in pop at the moment. It’s 24 hours before the winner of Fame Academy is announced, and Erasure, if not fans, show some knowledge of the dire proceedings. Do they condemn the manufactured pop star culture of today? "I think it’s damaging because it gives people the wrong idea about what you’re about," says Vince. "I mean, the whole idea behind Fame Academy is that you can win a limo and a flat for a year. It’s about people being famous for the sake of fame, rather for the sake of making music or creating something."
"I think karaoke at home is fine," says Andy, "I just hate the whole rigmarole of people doing certain things in order to be famous." But aren’t they pandering to karaoke culture themselves, by releasing an album of cover songs? "Well, we’ve got a long history of recording our own songs," points out Andy, "and, really, it’s almost a reaction to the whole Pop Stars thing.
"You get the impression they don’t really care about the songs they sing, and it’s obvious that they’ve been told to sing them. Or that they’re doing it because they think they’re going to be a big hit. But they’re not re-worked in any way. They don’t have a passion for the actual song. And I think it makes the UK look really bad - when you think of the talent that there is. I don’t think the UK’s at the forefront of pop music anymore."
Funnily enough, Erasure seemed to come on the scene at the conception of manufactured pop. Although the band’s early singles ‘Who Needs Love Like That?’ and ‘Oh, L’Amour’ reached the non-vertiginous heights of numbers 55 and 85 in the UK charts, by 1987, songs like ‘Victim of Love’, ‘Ship of Fools’ and ‘Chains of Love’ were all in the top 10. Meanwhile, a certain Stock, Aitken and Waterman were heralding the beginning of personality-driven, rather than creatively-driven, pop, which seemed to target pre-teens in particular. Is that where it all went wrong? "No, because there were some good artists amongst the production line," says Andy. "Like Kylie and Rick Astley. But I think the demise of pop music came with the death of Diana."
Really? "Well, there’s a vacuum now where we were so used to seeing her face. There’s no one there to take her place. I was totally taken in by the whole Diana thing - a big fan. We met her once, when we played at the Prince’s Trust. She didn’t say anything though. We were in our denims and everyone else was in suits."
Vince, meanwhile, has forgotten the question, but blames television for the demise of pop music. "Listen to the radio," he says, "and its all Coldplay and Ms Dynamite." I wonder how Erasure fit in with all these bright new things. Are they, for example, the height of London street fashion? "No, we’re at the back of the queue, mate," laughs Andy. "We don’t really get hassled, unless we play a gig that night. It’s nice, though, when people chat to you. It’s very welcoming." Ever use that to your advantage? "I sometimes like to smoke a big Cuban cigar," says Andy cryptically, to more snorts of laughter from Vince.
Both boys have a reputation for the high life. Andy, in particular, was infamous during the Nineties for his excessive, cocaine-fuelled lifestyle. It all skidded to a halt two years ago, when his partner of 18 years had a stroke, causing him to fall into a coma and almost die. "Our lifestyle was wrapped up around cocaine," says Andy. "It’s a never-ending, downward spiral, and you end up caring less and less about the people around you."
"I lived in Amsterdam for three years," adds Vince. "I really thought I had the willpower, but…"
"Its all about trendiness," says Andy. "Because we’re on Mute, you know, alongside really trendy artists, you think to yourself, ‘Yeah, I want to do that, I want to be a drug addict…’ You want to live up to the whole rock star thing. But then you end up in such a big hole and think back, ‘Oh, how stupid was that? Why did I aspire to that?’" Is he clean now? "Well, I’m not a saint…"
Vince and Andy have been working together for 15 years now, describing themselves as close friends rather than best friends. It seems to work well, and you get the feeling that he wouldn’t hang around if the vibes weren’t working. He left Depeche Mode after the first two years, and his next project, Yazoo with Alison Moyet, fizzled out after another two years, although he remains on Christmas card terms with Moyet. After recording a one-off single with Feargal Sharkey, he eventually placed an advert for a singer in Melody Maker in 1985. At that point, Andy was working in the butcher’s section of a well-known supermarket ("making mince with all the mouldy meat that was going green at the gills"), but from the audition alone he knew "it was meant to be". And Andy, of course, has been responsible for some of their best incarnations; it was he who strode on stage dressed as a ringmaster in rubber, (although they both appeared on stage dressed in silver space suits, and to Vince’s eternal shame, as Frida and Agnetha from Abba.)
They are philosophical about their comparative lack of recent success, saying, "We’re just out of fashion, everything goes in cycles. You can’t do anything about it." Clearly though, their commitment to further recordings is driven by the love of creation - they are both wealthy enough not to have to work again.
After all this time, do they ‘make love not war’ and are they ‘at peace in their hearts’? "Where d’you get these questions, the internet?" sniffs Vince. "That’s one of our lyrics, Vince," warbles Andy, before adding, "I hate violence."
Meanwhile, the pair are due to tour next month. Andy promises he’ll be wearing "Edwardian" this time. "I’m going to have a skirt with a hoop and a corset. I should have been around during the time of vaudeville." Both vow to keep on recording, even if this album flops. "You can’t get rid of us. We’re like the clap."
The pair are whisked to the next room to be photographed. Vince bears it all stoically, with the scowl of a football hooligan. But though he looks like a thug, he has the heart of a rambler (he recently scaled Ben Lomond - in November, the fool). When he travels, he prefers the sophisticated culture of New York, whereas Andy embraces the plasticity of LA, and admits he’s had liposuction and Botox. "A gym would have been the easier option," he remarks.
But there’s more to Andy than hedonism and showing off. I’ll wager he’s not having the good life people imagine. Throughout the photo shoot he displays classic signs of anxiety - biting his lips, fidgeting, tapping his feet. He suddenly looks like a frightened animal. As we shake hands, I come over all Cherie Blair. You should do yoga, I say. He looks offended. Not for your body, but to help you calm down. Now he looks like he wants to kill me. Sorry, I say, but it takes one to know one. "Right," he says, unconvinced. He shrugs. "Nice to meet you."