The Stool Pigeon music newspaper

“Dye your hair black, never look back, my past is my business,” sang Art Brut’s Eddie Argos once, and we do tend to look down on bands with ‘a past’ in the music press. We expect a fresh outpouring of youthful energy, untainted by life’s experiences. But balls to the kids: whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger and Salford’s Ting Tings are in rude health. The second time’s the charm for Jules De Martino and Katie White, previously of weirdy trip pop trio Dear Eskiimo. They’ve learned their lessons well after a rough shafting at the hands of the record industry first time round.

“We had our little dream snatched away,” recalls Katie, but she’s gained much from the experience: “Not to take advice off anyone. People used to say things like, ‘You need to write 10 of those songs and wear matching pea-green outfits. We started off writing music we liked, and ended up writing music that they liked.”

There’s no suiting other people and no dubious pea-green coats for The Ting Tings now. After their old band finally split and the dark days of feeling they were “damaged goods” passed, the two Eskiimos re-emerged with a new plan of action. “We’re gonna enjoy every minute,” Katie says firmly.

It’s a determined exuberance you can hear in their new single, the sassy ‘Fruit Machine’, with its Tom Tom Club meets the Gossip alt-pop sound and Katie’s punky yelp of, “We’ve hit the bottom one hundred times before / Now, feel the fever as I leave you wanting more.”

The single was ‘released’ at only four chain-letter-art-concept gigs in Salford, Berlin, London and New York. The idea was that, at each show, the audience would paint unique sleeves, which would then be sent on the next city to be produced and handed out, until the work of the New York gig-goers ended up back in Salford.

Such whimsical antics come as second nature to a band born in an art collective - Salford’s Islington Mill, home to many of the legendary gig/house-parties that have made The Ting Tings’ reputation. The complex has also attracted some big-name industry liggers (“the head of Sony America came and he was sat on my floor”), but they’ve had enough of playing host for the time being - after all, they have to live there too. “You start to worry everyone’s gonna rob your DVDs,” laughs Katie.

Nevertheless, their determination to do things their own way has proved that buzz doesn’t always have to centre around the capital. “We found that we didn’t have to go to London,” continues Katie, “and that people will get off their backsides and come north.”

And now that we’ve found them, there’s the release of the fantastic minxy electro-kitsch of ‘That’s Not My Name’, with its get-told chorus of, “They call me ‘Stacey’ / They call me ‘her’ / They call me ‘Jane’ / That’s not my name,” to look forward to. An album will follow in the spring.

“We’ve only been playing together since about February,” marvels Katie, “and I can only play five chords.”

As everyone knows, that’s two more than you need, once you’ve got the truth. And what’s the truth? Fun.