Having engrained themselves into the binary coding of Scottish nationalism and pieced together more than their fair share of greatest hits compiled of ridiculously memorable singles, you’d be forgiven for thinking that brothers Charles and Craig Reid would be old hands at the promo rounds that pre-empt every record. Yet their ‘appetite to get out there and to make records’ is as fervent as it ever was. This week sees the release of their seventh (yes, seventh) original recording Notes & Rhythms and their enthusiasm hasn’t been curbed one bit.
Of course, given the fragility of a troubled record industry more and more artists are releasing works in order to get back on the road, rather than the traditional touring of the record yet for The Proclaimers, the Reid siblings view every gig as the home leg, as if playing to seventy-thousand at Murrayfield. They’re ‘desperate’ to tour, as ever and where twenty-odd years ago they were willing to walk five hundred miles to wind up at our door, these days they’re ‘covering as many miles as possible.’ And their timing’s down to a tee, what with the festivals lurching around the corner; ‘the trump card’ that wins hoards of intergenerational masses year in, year out is certainly in their pack. Lounging in a North London whisky bar, the duo deal with musing journalists like waitresses accommodating for pancake orders in Tennessee diners. Resoundingly optimistic, they’re wise old hawks carrying pearls of wisdom in their resplendent beaks, offering resolution to the credit crunch, fear of ‘selling out’ and the opera of Glasvegas…
Josh Holliday: Where you two certainly maintain a cult following in your homeland up north, the success brought about by involvement with Hollywood soundtracks and songs in stadiums hasn’t quite transferred across to the English market. On a personal level, has the recession had any harrowing effect on The Proclaimers?
Craig Reid: We remember the last one and we survived! My feeling is that it won’t sink in until the end of this year/ beginning of next and then we’ll be hit with a wave of unemployment and we’ll see what happens. At the moment, it’s not too bad but I have a feeling that’s not going to last. I think some artists have taken the piss a bit over the past few years in terms of what they’re charging for gig tickets and they may well have to change their tune on that one. We like to think that we play for everybody and I think a performer would be a fool not to recognise the impending storm.
JH: How vital has it been to straddle the generation gap, uniting families, friends and fans?
Charles Reid: It’s an incredible scenario but it’s something that just happened. We’ve always had little kids and people older than us who were infatuated with what we were doing and I believe that we’ve maintained that power. There’s never a gender imbalance either at our gigs. And given our involvement with festivals, we seem to replenish our following year after year. Having I’m On My Way on Shrek was an absolute godsend so these days you see these tiny wee kids down the front, always. It’s a great thing to see, particularly in rural town halls up in Scotland with toddlers at the front and seventy year-olds at the back!
JH: With royalties and film involvement, most artists in your position would hum and haw over selling out. With such decisions, did such a thought ever cross your minds?
CR: Absolutely not. There’s only ever been any debate over a few advertising things. Not necessarily because of the product but Americans have asked for the rights to a few songs and we’ve simply said no, just because it didn’t feel right. But, generally speaking we’ve taken the money and said thank you very much. If you’re not getting massive amounts of radio play, it’s fundamental in keeping us on the road and expanding our fan base. We’ve financed ourselves since around ’99 and our crew aren’t really anywhere near minimum wage so it costs a fair bit to keep this show on the road.
JH: From the outset, it seems bizarre to see Sunshine on Leith selling around a quarter of a million copies annually. While writing down those songs on napkins or what have you, would you ever have seen such unfathomable success on the horizons?
CR: Absolutely never. When we started out, we envisaged ourselves playing pubs like this [Pentonville Road’s Lexington], targeting the Billy Bragg leftfield market. Which would have been fine, as we’d have got off the dole having been on it for so long. We’d only been off six or nine months when we signed a deal. And we never want to go back on.
JH: Given the sibling dynamic that’s supposedly ideal coursing through the veins of The Proclaimers, what’s it like being on the road with your brother, endlessly in each other’s back pockets?
CR: We’ve played in bands since we were about fourteen or fifteen and we’ve always wanted to play our own music. We get on reasonably well and I know there’s plenty of tensions that have given birth to some impressive art forms and music but personally, I’d rather be on the road with someone I can get along with. It’s in the interests of the band too; we’ve had a fairly consistent band over the past few years and it’s not just the ability of the musician but also the social aspect of being able to get along with people. If it’s been a long day, you’re knackered and getting back on the bus, you have to be able to hack it.
JH: Modern Scottish music: do you have a lot of faith in it?
CR: I have a lot of faith in individual bands but I don’t know if I have a faith in any single industry. It’s the individuals and individual groups within that I believe in. There seems to be a resurgence in new Scottish talent, particularly Glasvegas. That record is stunning, it’s almost like an opera. I like to see great talent from anywhere but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t give me an extra bit of satisfaction knowing that it’s from a very small country. It does make me proud that these people are doing very well and good luck to them.
JH: Without blowing your own trumpet, do you see echoes of your own music in these bands?
CR: I see more of Alex Harvey in Glasvegas and I’d never claim to have influenced anyone at all but what’s important is that they keep churning out credible, inspirational sounds from our tiny little part of the world.
JH: Not singing in an American accent helps…
CR: I’ve noticed that there’s definitely been a move away from it. I don’t see anything wrong with it; you can sound like you’re from New York when you’re from Paisley; it doesn’t make any odds to me if you’re from Atlanta or Aberdeen but maybe it’s a sign of something changing in a culture. Rather than it being negative, I’d see it as a personal trait of change. I’d never recommend what we did to anybody else but when we started it seemed like a fairly lonely field. Now it doesn’t feel quite so lonely…
JH: Google maps informs us that from Fife to this exact whisky bar is around 447 miles. Does 500 miles still seem as far twenty years down the line?
CR: It still seems like a long distance yet in America in the back of a tour bus, you shut your eyes for an hour or two and that’s it. I’m not saying that I don’t mentally subdivide distances into chunks of 500 miles because I probably do but the four hundred and something miles between Edinburgh and London’s always distinctly noticeable.
JH: Finally, on the 4 Music stage at this year’s V Festival, it’s renowned for booking the odd nostalgia act. Are you prepared for tartan flags and further English conversion to the kilt?
CR: I feel that if you start playing music in your twenties, you’re young. And then if you keep playing you’re not as young and then you’re middle-aged and then you’re fucking decrepit. I hope we can carry on ‘til we’re decrepit. What we never did was a rock’n’roll act so I don’t worry about the ageing thing as an act but more as a personal thing, getting older and not being able to do stuff. But I believe that what we do doesn’t really age as it’s more about the spirit. We’ve done the V Festival twice previously and both times have been fantastic. It’s a great festival to play and having two sites, you can see every single band on that line up if you stick at one for a day but whether you play a pub or a festival, whether you’re twenty-one or seventy-one, it’s a gig. You come on and enjoy it. I don’t think all that much as to whether we’re a nostalgia act or not and I think the way you stay relevant is inside your own head. Keeping four or five crazed individuals together is not easy but it’s easier because we’re brothers.
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