Get up, go to work, come home, sleep. Ever felt like you're in automatic mode? Five young rarebits from Wales have and to them the only means of escape was rock 'n' roll.
Iwan, Frost, Pennie and Robin, more commonly known as the Automatic - so-called because of their rejection of the menial strifestyle - defined more by Sunday night sickness, than Friday night feeling - have been causing something of a stir on the emo-pop rock scene of late.
The Automatic's guitar and cow bell, yep cow bell, fuelled debut album chats about the usual sandwich-making man's healing qualities (Raoul), townie takeovers in Cardiff (Monster) and Hunter S Thompson novels (On the Campaign Trail) in an energetic and over-the-top shouty manner, making them a Hard Fi (for the everyday suburban life tales) meets the Darkness (for the inexcusable backing vocals) combo.
Members of the band have been pursuing a pop career since the playground and you'd be forgiven for thinking they've come straight from there. The baby-faced band has brought a bright and youthful energy to the top end of the charts and have picked up every attitude-laden teenybopper along the way.
If they seem to have come from nowhere, that's because they have.
Management have been keeping the boys in the studio until the marketing, sorry I mean songs, were ready to be unleashed. Frontman
Robin explains: "We didn't play many gigs before we were signed. I think we are so energetic on stage because management kept us in the studio, as they didn't want to over-expose us before the songs were ready. So whenever we did have a gig we just used to go at it full on and that sort of carried on really."
The live performances are what have created the most buzz about The
Automatic. A devoted, although pre-pubescent following, have been
mesmerised by the ballad-free sets and crazed antics of unrestrainable band member Pennie. He's not only responsible for hanging from many-a-venue's ceilings but also for the barked screeching - apparently backing vocals - on the album.
Despite this ear-bashing excuse for vocal accompaniment, Robin is still relatively pleased with the band's debut. "I'd of given our album seven out of ten but it's been given more consistently eight out of ten," he guffaws, in a modest not-as-Welsh-as-I'd-expected accent.
Seven out of ten? Rock star egotism requires an artist to believe their music to be the best thing ever recorded since novels became available on tape. What's wrong? "You have to be objective about it and part of our work ethic is to be very self-critical. Personally I'd give it seven out of ten. I know things I would now do better. Not that I think there were any weak points, but I think we could have been better in other areas.
"The album is our first ever big experience of the proper recording
process. I like the overall energy of it and that it captures our live sound, which is something we were aiming to do. Despite it never slowing down, there's a lot of variety on it, I think.
We're hoping to achieve a lasting career out of this, so we're going to keep experimenting with music. Everyone writes the music they want to hear I suppose and that's what we're doing. Our tastes will develop and progress and so will our music hopefully."
He may be being a bit fluffy when it comes to bigging the band up, but given the chance Robin is willing to do some Johnny Borrell-like rival bashing - in a nice Welsh way. "We did Jools Holland's show which was very cool. He was very appreciative that we'd jumped in at the last minute to replace Keane, who'd come down with some kind of illness after eating BBC canteen food. If there was one band on the show, based in the music, who I'd of been most keen to replace it would have been Keane. Definitely not my thing."
Since 'Management' has let the Automatic out of their cage, the boys
have been doing more PR than a Big Brother evictee, they've been on
loads of late night TV shows and have done untold touring and although Robin loves it, it's taking its toll. "I beg for time off sometimes, because being the lead singer my throat gets worn out. I've got quite a full-on vocal style. I don't know how to do anything but ten, hur hur. I just can't relax. When I do go home watching a DVD or whatever, I always feel like I should be doing something more productive or creative. It's a combination of figitiness and desperation, you know like when you have an essay to hand in the next day and you haven't done it yet. That kind of feeling."
Awwwww, essay analogies. Now he really is showing his (tender) age.
Talking to Robin, the main thing which comes across, aside from his
adorable innocence and muted enthusiasm, is that all this hype hasn't
quite sunk in yet. It's clear when I ask him what it's like to be
living the teen dream. "It's really weird. You're so busy most of the time, that you don't get chance to let it sink in. When you stop it all kind of hits at once. Families, friends and girlfriends get used to what we're doing but it took a while for me to think. 'Wow, I'm actually doing this. I've actually achieved something I've wanted for ages.' It's one of the only times I've thought 'fuck yeah'. It's a big adjustment to go through but it's worth it. On the road I've heard stories that people go through two years and then realise they don't want it. But I feel happy.
The thing I've realised is there are no famous people, there are just
people that are famous. D oing this distils the illusion of anyone being better or superior. If they're being rude it could just be tiredness, they just want to chill out or they're just a twat. It's not because they are different or better than the rest of us. It's just a different job, rather than a different state of being."
Will someone tell that to the nutter in the background with the cow
bell?
Words: Kerry Eustice