Interview. Herman Dune.

It’s weird meeting people you’re already familiar with. Occupational hazard, of course, but it’s the whole ‘meeting your idols’ thing. Don’t do it, and all that. Herman Dune aren’t my idols, but I like them, a lot, and have done for a while – so I’m a little nervous at the prospect.

We meet at the Liverpool Street Travelodge. David Herman Dune and Neman Herman Dune are relaxed, relaxing people, both with excellent facial hair. David is chief song-writer, singer and guitar player. He is tall and wearing a locket around his neck. “It has a picture of my girlfriend in one half, and a picture of a teddy bear in the other,” he reveals. As will become increasingly apparent, he is a sweet, gentle man.

They have been regulars to London over the years, primarily because their highly personable version of folk music was a favourite of John Peel. They’ve never been to the east end though. “I hadn’t realised they have bagels here, have you seen that shop (on Brick Lane) where they have an ‘ei’ instead of an ‘a’ in the word Bagel?” David asked.

I tell him yes. His love of words and word play shines. His music imitates his personality – exciting, excitable, fresh and inquisitive. He continues: “Have you seen that other shop (on Cheshire Street) that sells shoes, like Keds, for five pounds? Where the guy is rude and just hands them over in a bag?” I tell him yes. His enthusiasm makes me happy. His personality sparkles. He’s a thoughtful conversationalist.

He even had nice things to say about their modest accommodation: “whenever Bob Dylan goes on tour, he stays in Travelodges. So before, I had to stay in them, financially; and now I just have too.”

He’s more forthcoming than Neman – their percussionist - a slightly shyer, handsome counterpart who bides his time. They are very much a duo having known each other for the best part of fifteen years, and they have the same adopted surname. “We weren’t born ‘Herman Dune’, but I’d say it’s our surname because we chose it a long time ago,” explains David, slightly mysteriously.

The bands nationality is, apparently, a matter of confusion. Their Wikipedia entry states that ‘the band is often mistaken for being Swedish.’ This is weird. Here are the facts: David is Swedish and Neman is French. So they’re not just Swedish, but French too. See? Neman: “we play around with the nationality thing a bit, we don’t really see it as important.” Point taken - so remember that, and shut up about it…

Herman Dune’s core membership has recently been reduced to two, since Andre, David’s (blood) brother, departed. David gave an abrupt explanation: “He’s gone solo. He won’t be on the next record, he’s gone for another project.”

Thankfully their desire to remain touring, recording musicians is unharmed by the member revolution. This time round, they’re over here for a bit of press and to record a session for Rob Da Bank’s Radio 1 show. We go to a café, have a coffee, and wait for a taxi to take us to Maida Vale studios.

En route we pick up The Wave Pictures - two dudes, Dave Tattersall (guitar) and Franic Rozycki (bass). In the Taxi we talked about Herman Dune’s new single, ‘I Wish That I Could See You Soon’ getting played by Jonathan Ross on Radio 2 – a somewhat remarkable feat for a band so firmly routed in the ‘underground’ sector of musical fandom. Dave Wave Picture explained who Ross was, describing him as “having a lisp.”

David thought about this for a second before surmising, “cool, like Tom Waits.” We explained that he was really rather different to Waits, but some influences were emerging. Waits/Dylan – romantic, chameleon-like, travelling craftsmen. What fine company to occupy your mind with.

They talk Regina Spektor too. They know her boyfriend, but Nemen didn’t know they’d hooked up: “no way!” he exclaimed, before sitting back thoughtfully in his chair. He is the reflective contradiction to David’s open amiability. I like him a lot.

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Maida Vale is a strange maze of studio’s and corridors. It’s bizarrely quiet considering everyone there is making music. It has an aura of greatness. Nemen ushered me over to look at a full orchestra playing in a studio so big you could fit a ferry in. Massive it was.

I asked him if he’d like to play with an orchestra. “Yeh, but I wouldn’t know how. I really love Joanna Newsom’s new record with the orchestra, but we’d have to get an arranger in.” Herman Dune with an orchestra, mental.

Their session, I’m told, is quick compared to other bands. Three new songs and a Bob Dylan cover. As a band they create a sort of other-worldly brand of folk. The simplicity, honesty and beauty of he whole thing is humbling. During the Peel years they obviously mastered their art.

The four of them play like hard-touring veterans rather than two separate groups that come together occasionally. Neman is hilariously energetic – always keen to increase the percussive input, whether with maracas, bongos, or a frog with a serrated back to run a wooden baton along.

Whilst listening to a run-through of a song David asked me how I was feeling. I assured him I was fine and returned the question. He looked me in the eye and smiled: “I love recording here”.

Maida Vale sessions have been important for them – they’re a more accomplished outfit because of them. According to Nemen “they taught us how to record. It used to be stressful, but now we’re good”. David: “we’re much happier in the studio now, we have more fun”.

Maybe that’s why the new record, Giant, sounds chirpier than older stuff then. It’s not because you found love? David: “I don’t think so. No. I just uh…” He trailed off. Love and spoken word often don’t work so well together. “We’re just more relaxed.”

Have the Peel tributes contributed to their seemingly rising star? Or maybe their major label deal has helped? David pleads ignorance: “I don’t know what it is. I don’t think (Peel) has much to do with it. I’m pleased that more people are hearing us though. I like my songs, I want as many people to hear them as possible.”

Their tour with the Kooks probably helped too. David reveals that they were told the crowd wouldn’t like them, “but they were great.” I suggest that the Kooks perhaps have a slightly shallow, ‘less-than-cool’ reputation over here and that your average Herman Dune fan probably ain’t your average Kooks fan. Nemen: “they’re really good musicians, and nice guys.” David: “they didn’t get drunk every night or anything, they watched us play. I like them, they have good songs.”

Un-corrupted by ideals of ‘cool’, they smartly and casually do their own thing without getting bogged down in music industry bullshit. They can appreciate anyone trying to make it with song. They are decent, unblemished people, immune to the poison of the snide press, there aren’t too many others like that out there - and I respect them utterly.

Live Review. Murder By Death - Bush Hall - 11/4/07

Murder By Death hail from Bloomington, Indiana, United States; and they look amazing. Frontman Adam Turla is sporting the best sideburns in rock whilst wearing a jacketless, pin-striped three-piece suit. Cool as fuck. Drummer, Dagan Thogerson, looks like Steveo from Jackass in a flat hat, and bassist Matt Armstrong is wearing black, and chain smoking, in a strictly non-smoking venue. Awesome. There’s also a funky female on cello – more about her later.

Sound-wise, they’ve two things that set them apart from others of their ilk: said cello, and Turla’s doom riddled and heart wrenching story-telling – vaguely reminiscent of Waits and Dylan at their image invoking best thy are. This being so, you’d think they’d make an effort to highlight them both. You’d think.

No problems with the cello, played like a weapon by Sarah Balliet, the dainty counterpart to the three burly dudes aside her. The vocals though, jeez. Tonight, it’s as if any old clumsy wordsmith is up there, not the imaginative, world-weary, whiskey soaked troubadour/rocker that Turla normally is.

They’re solid without the lyrics for sure, and their more chorus-laden rocky numbers, ‘Boy Decide’ par example, kick ass. But solidity is bullshit, anyone can do solid and these hard drinkin’, tough talkin’ scrappers know it. It’s left to the one-man-and-his-guitar showstopper ‘Shiola’ to do the man justice: “She sleeps in comfort in my arms/she is plain but she is mine… Is it wrong to love a family of ghosts?” he croons in the best Johnny Cash impression that exists right now.

Album highlights ‘Brother’ and ‘Sometimes The Line Walks You’ (more Cash homage) are cascading, rollicking, demonised rock ‘n’ roll tunes played right, but you need the words to fully engage.

Thank God for Balliet then, yielding her cello as if she means to do harm. So jagged are her movements that she appears like a puppet on a string, a mechanised doll or a dark angel. She’s a beautiful torturess playing with your heart strings whilst the rest of the band beats the living shit out of you and spits Budweiser in your face. She’s so damn entrancing that you don’t even realise your own misfortune until your bleeding and stinking of piss; and even then, you just don’t care. You just feel kinda warm and stupid.

Murder By Death, when (not if) they get the sound right, will soon be ripping up a saloon near you… I suggest you get involved.