The Stool Pigeon

“I’m really wary of signing to big record labels,” explains Meursault’s Neil Pennycook. “There has been interest, but we have everything we need to sustain us on an independent like Song, By Toad Records. We can afford to keep making records with the music that we want to write as opposed to keeping to other people’s standards.”

Independence has been a buzz topic north of the border for some time now, politically and musically, and Pennycook is sceptical about the industry with reason. Very little enters Edinburgh in the way of external influence. Big tours bypass the city in the hope of reaching bigger audiences in the more commercially-driven scenes of Glasgow. And as a result, the Scottish capital misses out on everything that the industry drags along with it: media coverage, money, crowds and A&R.

“I think Edinburgh has a history of losing out on publicity,” Pennycook explains. “Your expectation levels when you start out aren’t as high, and you don’t really know what you are aiming for.”

True to his word, Pennycook didn’t really know what he was aiming for when Meursault came to fruition as a solo outlet back in 2005: “It was just me playing with an acoustic guitar, a drum machine and not much else — probably for the best part of a year.” It was something of an abortive start until he drew the attention and aid of local musicians Fraser Calder, Chris Bryant and Calum MacLeod when first attempting to record. “A lot of the band’s forming came down to the fact that I had written the album and had no idea how to play it live or record it,” he explains. “So I had to get a band together to back me up.”

The EP they released around this time captures a band struggling to get a feel for what they wanted to sound like or where they were going with their music. “I think this happens with lots of Edinburgh bands,” Pennycook explains. “It’s the idea of pacing yourself — getting a good idea of what pace you work at and what you are comfortable with, and not forcing things at the expense of the music.”

But by the time they released their critically (but not commercially) acclaimed debut Pissing on Bonfires/Kissing With Tongues, first as a self-release in April 2008, then on Song, By Toad Records in December of the same year, they had developed a distinctive character based around a shifting interplay of electronics and traditional folk instruments.

“I don’t really know where the electronic elements came from,” he says with a laugh. “A lot of the instrumentation we used is just down to what was there and what was available to us — and not knowing anyone who played drums.”

Meursault’s seven-strong troupe is deeply rooted in the city’s live music scene. There is locality in its folk-inflected sound — something of a foundation for the bands to build from in terms of support — but there is also the attitude of the musicians themselves that helps to keep the scene alive.

“Our ethic is all very similar: we are all stubborn as fuck!” Pennycook offers as a collective disposition. “With the industry as it is, we’re all just looking to keep our heads above water. It’s really important in that way to be stubborn and sure of yourself, but also to be realistic and not sell yourself short by any means… It breeds a certain mentality of ‘Ah, fuck ’em [the A&R], we don’t need ’em’.”

Fuck ’em, indeed. Their DIY approach to creating music and sustaining a career thus far lends itself to this warm and fighting posture. New album All Creatures Will Make Merry acts as a bulwark to the collective’s perspective on the situation at hand, evolving their pastoral elements of folk with lo-fi electronics to create something new and enthused.

“When I talk to people about folk music, I kind of dread it,” he explains of the band’s progressive sound. “For a lot of people it’s acoustic guitars with buckets and buckets of twee, but for me folk music is just story-telling.”

So what’s your story? “I don’t really like going into that kind of stuff,” comes a coy reply. “Pissing on Bonfires/Kissing with Tongues was a break-up album — not in the romantic kind of sense, but kind of going through a period in life where everything was changing and I was pitching certain ideals that I had. This record was sort of moving on from that and getting on with things and doing things that would make me happy.”

It’s clear what makes Neil Pennycook happy: his music, which is his music on every level — from the control he has over writing, recording and direction, to the comfort he finds in his results. Insular and awkward perhaps, but there’s a sound and sentiment with Meursault that reaches far further than the borders set against them.

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