Interview: Holy Ghost Revival

Twelve cans of lager and a knock on the door of a flat on a Vauxhall estate. Nothing. It’s 3.30pm. Some moments later, a man introduces himself as Justin and lets us in, full of apologises. He’s more than Holy Ghost Revival’s manager; he’s their friend and flatmate, and a couple of weeks later he’ll pull singer Conor Kiley onto his shoulders at the Camden Barfly, then violently throw him around a sluggish Monday night audience. “Please,” Conor says, returned to the stage, “you needn’t go crazy if you don’t feel like it, but move the fuck around just a little bit to this next song.” He’s bombarded with beer and water, the keyboard shorts, and by the time Holy Ghost Revival are back up and running, their time is almost over. “I think it went okay,” says Conor afterwards.

This afternoon, Conor is still asleep and so are the rest of the band who aren’t out working. Drummer Mikko Freeman emerges first, refuses a beer, then instantly changes his mind. Shakey Jakes Bayley, bass, surfaces next, but there’s still no sign of Conor. On the floor there’s a copy of the NME complete with a ‘We Love USA: Top 25 Bands Making America Cool Again’ cover story; something so inane it makes you want to shit in your own mouth then sneeze, unless of course you’re actually on that list and Holy Ghost Revival have made it to an impressive number 10.
“Above Fleet Foxes!” says Mikko.

Are you rivals with them?

“No, but they’re from Seattle too. Or from the mountains nearby or something.”

After much coaxing, Conor materializes, says hello, snaps open a beer and takes a seat. An obvious question first: “You’re from Seattle, but you’re living in flat in south London. Whose ideas was that?”

“Kind of both the label and us,” says Conor. “The record’s coming out and so we wanted to get things rolling here, then go back home.”

So it’s a big experiment?

“Totally.”

Holy Ghost Revival, who are originally from Bainbridge Island, half an hour ferry ride from downtown Seattle, are a rock band – a part-glam, part-cock, part-psych, part-theatrical, part-operatic, part-good-ole-fashioned-burn-your-house-down rock band, and a really good one at that. They’re signed to 1965 Records and their new album, Twilight Exit, has just been released. It’s a real gem – a taut and clever journey of a record that has a similar feel to their explosive gigs, and that’s something they were specifically aiming for.

“We kind of took a different approach this time round – didn’t use so much studio trickery and tried to do something more representative of our live show,” says Conor.

“There’s a pretty good consistency throughout it, we hope,” adds Mikko, “especially with the production: it’s tight and crisp and it has ups and downs like a good performance should. I guess we’ve always kind of looked at albums like that; like they’re one big thing and not just a bunch of songs stuck together.”

There’s more. They don’t think of themselves as a political band, but they did once say they seek to reproduce the turmoil of our times in their music. Is that something they stand by?

“Definitely,” says Conor, “and that’s something you see in a lot of eras. The Stooges were not a political band necessarily but they reflected the chaos of their age, and music should always do that if it wants to be vital. There’s so much going on in America, and it seems like no one’s doing anything more than soft college rock. We don’t feel like we have to take on politics specifically, but we do feel we have to be confrontational and energetic.”

It’s inspiring talk, and you sense the philosophy best in Conor when he performs. He’s antagonistic, and furious, and deliberately so.

“Those are the shows I like to see,” he says. “I like artists, whatever they’re doing, to do it full on. I want to be engaged and I don’t want to be bored, so I try and do the same when we play. I’ve been fucked with when we played in Seattle a few times – had pint glasses thrown at my head – and that’s a good thing. Any kind of reaction is a good thing.”

And so what about London, famed the world over for its stoic, crossed-armed audiences, exactly like the one at the Barfly that Monday night? A simple question asked – “How’s it going here?” – sadly receives an ominous answer. “I think we’re gaining momentum,” says Mikko.

That’s not enough for a band as good as Holy Ghost Revival, and you understand from them that London certainly isn’t the pearl they expected it be. “There doesn’t seem to be very much to get excited about here, musically,” Conor had said at the beginning of the interview. “We were kind of hoping to come here and, even if there wasn’t a scene, find something happening. But it doesn’t seem like that. We’ve played a lot and been out a lot and not come across too much.”

And then, a couple of weeks later, a message gets posted on their MySpace:

“In London, people love to dance to pre-recorded music, but seem to be vehemently opposed to any sort of physical movement while live music is preformed. London kids are cynical and unfeeling and no one wears their heart on their sleeves anymore.

“We encourage the crowd to throw objects, hurtle verbal abuse, move their bodies, or leave, and usually the audience does neither of the above. They merely stand with mouths agape afraid to make any conclusions on hating or loving our music even after getting verbally or physically berated by the band.

“We are here for the apocalypse, we are here for a movement, and we are here for the order of the left hand.

Please throw stuff.”

For fuck’s sake people, allow the revival to begin.

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