Nerina Pallot - The Minack Theatre, Porthcurno, Cornwall.
15th May 2013.
Dear Frustrated Superstar - Press Release
In a parallel universe, Nerina Pallot would be quite content as a nun, a painter or an astronaut, but an early encounter with a piano at the age of four changed all that. A subsequent incident at the age of 11, involving a Bon Jovi record and her mum’s copy of Tapestry (plus a cheap guitar courtesy of Woolworth’s), confirmed in this geeky little anorak girl that her sole ambition in life was to be a world class songwriter and musician. Okay, so when her friend’s weren’t looking she’d spend the odd hour or three playing Bach and Mozart ‘til her fingers went numb and drove her classical-music-loathing folks crazy with her 12 year old operatic diva renditions but really her heart was sworn to classic pop.
However, growing up on an island where the most exciting gig of the year was the Nolan Sisters has its drawbacks and it wasn’t long before she got packed off to school in leafy Berkshire, going there to study on a music scholarship. This coincided directly with her latest and non-music related discovery - boys. She swapped her specs for contacts, her bunches for highlights and her braces for eyeliner and…………. it was a bit disastrous. But, broken hearts and stiff upper lip aside, it was her music that came to the rescue and around the age of 17 she started writing intensively, all pretty dirge, navel-gazing stuff, so she made her first demo tape with a fellow school friend and arty type.
It was this same demo tape that got Nerina her first manager at 19, while at art school in London. There, instead of learning to paint exquisitely, she perfect the art of blowing smoke rings, played keyboards in a south London reggae band and listened to Woodface approximately 3 times a day every day for a year. She would then go on to make the odd appearance at music college, in between singing on the occasion (and always appalling) radio jingle, a brief development deal with EMI and various little jobs along the way.
One day, Nerina was so sick so being perpetually broke that she even decided to get a proper job working in the publishing department of Mute Records. During this time, she acquired a taste for Diamanda Galas, but only in broad daylight, and a healthy disrespect for big corporations. Nevertheless, although the roster was almighty cool, it was still the Beatles that got her out of bed in the morning and Joni who got her to sleep at night. It wasn’t the style of these records, the sound or the sight of them, it was the songs.
And so, she went into the studio with some songs of her own. She doesn’t care about a particular style, or fitting a format, or being cool. If something sounds retro then that’s what it is, if it sounds hip then that’s fine. If it’s a 50-piece orchestra or a banjo playing, it doesn’t matter - it’s where the music is coming from, it’s whether it has heart. The result? Dear Frustrated Superstar, a truly outstanding debut album that positively bursts with heart. Just listen…..
57 Flavours (The Height Of Bad Behaviour) - Nerina Pallot
So come on and save me from the height of bad behaviour!
I’ve got a taste and it’s murderous sometimes,
So in the light of it, in spite of it all -
I want your 57 flavours, 57 reasons,
57 moments, 57 bad dreams of you…
And here is my Dear Frustrated Superstar (iTunes LP)
I’m fully intending on making one for Year Of The Wolf when some HQ pictures are available. (Which [by the way] is phenomenal).
I think the Fires (iTunes LP) is my proudest achievement, as it was the first one I made from scratch. Which is your favourite?
I first released an album in 2001, on a major label, just before iPod fever and at the dawn of Napster and filesharing. Album sales were only just tailing off from their 1990s peak. As a result, budgets remained robust: you could buy a modest semi in Croydon with the average video budget and I was regularly given, gratis, clothing worth more than my monthly mortgage repayment. My first album sold about two copies, and so I soon found myself on my own record label – not in the way people like Mick Hucknall do when they release albums as a pastime between taking the new Ferrari for a spin and popping to Bali for the weekend, but by default. I am in complete and utter awe of people who actually choose to start their own label, because I had no real idea how it would consume my every waking moment for a couple of years. After completing my second album, Fires, I set up Idaho records in 2005 in order to release it. I lacked manufacturing know-how, distribution clout and extra cash – remortgaging and maxing credit cards was not enough. There was no online campaign budget – it was me, on my laptop, in any spare moment I had, cold-MySpacing people I thought might be interested in my music. Tour support consisted of playing as many gigs as I could, on my own, selling my album before and after sets and praying I sold enough to buy the petrol to get me to the next gig. An early casualty of this phase in my career was my driving license, battered after a particularly busy day on the M4 when I racked up nine points, and finally surrendered in Scotland courtesy of a hidden speed camera. After selling 10,000 albums on my own, I entered into a new record deal with Warner Bros licensing the album, and I got the shot in the marketing arm that only a major label can bring. Suddenly, the same single that I had released to little fanfare (apart from Radio 2, to which I pretty much owe my career) was put on radio playlists everywhere and became a chart hit. Supermarkets started stocking my album. A major label has money, leverage and influence that is simply unavailable to most independents, and that isn’t going to change any time soon. I felt the difference between those two worlds again when Fires didn’t sell the 5m copies Warners had hoped for, and so I dusted off Idaho one more time to release my third album, The Graduate, in 2009. It was not like starting from scratch – I am incredibly lucky to have a very loyal and supportive fanbase built from previous adventures in recording – but when promotion time arrived again, I had acquired a few more credit cards. I had also, by this time, acquired a husband, who would periodically find the card statements hidden under the sofa and make me open the bloody things. We effectively became a Mom and Pop label. But, again, it was exciting. I found that breaking out of the usual major label timetable of releasing albums roughly every two years meant that I was steadily creative, and could make work and get it to an audience immediately. I also started a parallel career writing and producing for other artists. But in the four years between Fires and The Graduate, music sales had further declined, and it was hard enough selling copies to meet manufacturing and promotional costs, never mind make a little extra on top. So, in the summer of 2010, when the head of Universal called and asked me if I would like to make a record for the company, I did not agonise over my decision. I was heavily pregnant, and while I was dying to record new material, I was conscious I could not be spending cash on putting out records when I had a mouth to feed on the way. I may yet resurrect Idaho, but, for the time being, I am just incredibly grateful that I get to make music for a living. It’s getting harder than ever out there, and I am uncommonly lucky.
Year of the Wolf by Nerina Pallot is released on Geffen on 30 May.
