タグ:Jamie T ( 8 ) タグの人気記事

Earth, Wind & Fire

queens in the pocket girl in a locket
say boys wanna knock it others wanna rob it
I see when ya coming oh ya look stunning
running for the friends of mine,
well it's more for the power
and the hour after hour
well he's itching for the powder one time,

well it's dear for the fire hate for the liar
living for the bass and beat,
close to the wire no one wanna hire
didn't want a working week,
well the old town crier looks for a buyer
out there finding your feet
in scenes and schemes and drug filled fiends
will be fine for the summer for me

I own earth wind and fire
it breeds then hunger that keeps me on the road again
it's earth wind and fire
I don't own thunder
it's owned by a love of mine

with a beat of the drum that made your head spun
see no hear no speak no son,
look like a gun held by the young
in a far gone land shooting everyone

fee fee fi fi fo fo fum
is the paggage in the back becoming a problem,
fee fee fi fi fo fo fum
is the habit that ya have still fun

counting on ya losses carrying crosses
looking at your face in the dirt,
travelling buses hiding from the rozzers
pretending that your extrovert,
well the girl you accosted and then took hostage
escaped while you were at work,
after three years two days
paranoid drug haze
couldn't stand to live a life of hurt

I own earth wind and fire
it breeds the hunger that keeps me on the road again
it's earth wind and fire
I don't own thunder it's owned by a love of mine,

with water blood and wine
she tempts me back time after time
but it's earth wind and fire
I don't own thunder
it's owned by a love of mine
[PR]
by scummy | 2009-11-11 22:39

If You Got The Money

If you've got the money
I think it would be funny oh oh oh
To take your girl, spend a bit of your cash for me!

I've been watching you

Cos then she might be happy
No longer lonely oh oh oh
An' I could take her out the next day for pretty much free!

An' all the boys they go
Da-dee-doo-da-da-dee-da-doo-dah
Dom-dom-de-de-dom-dom
Dom-da-dee-doo-da-da-dom
Da-dee-doo-da-dee-da-doo-dah
Dom-dom-de-de-dom-dom
Dom-da-dee-doo-da-da-dom

I spend late nights trying to pick up love off the floor where the other brothers leave it be
Though it's stuck down hard
it's like chewing gum
While a girl on the floor singing 'RIP'
Cos the songbirds don't do singing on pavements
No sweet melody the sound of spit
Spat, or bit, spoke of lost hopes
So do what you're told man choke on it

We be near heaven at a quarter to eleven
By three we are thinking of the love we lost
By four we be high, thinking of the girl lost
Second check the odds,
Was it worth the cost?

Do you give a toss?
Or are you, looking away?
Wondering why you can't eat?
Why you never sleep?
Drunk all the time?
Cold in the heat?
What you sow man is what you reap

If you've got the money money money money oh
I think it would be funny oh oh oh
To take your girl and spend a bit of your cash for me!

I've been watching you

Cos then she might be happy
No longer lonely oh oh oh
An' I could take her out the next day for pretty much free!

I've been watching you

You were always meant to walk out that job
You keep stopping
Should tell your girl more often
That lovin' is all about doors unlocking
Now you're certain ‘nuff near a man free
With a buddy holly hiccup on a karaoke
Tweedle on the needle, man you adjust the thread
Great granddaddy fought in Gallipoli
He's the only of his friends not shot down dead

Lovers all talk in the spits and tongues
Fight in the playground bully each other
Double dare kids that pollute their lungs
Threaten with the rep of their big boy brother
Some of us stay, want to run away
Momma still wants you home for supper
Work all day, little to no pay
Dance up-town right down to the gutter

Dee-dom dom-dee dahdah dee-dom-dom-dee
So move outta the way man
Dom-dee dahdah dee-dom-dee-dom-dee
So move outta the way man
Dom-dee dahdah dee-dom-dee-dom-dee
Move outta the way man
Dom-dee dahdah dee-dom-dee-dom-dee

I've been watching you

Ah, she wants money, money,
money, money, money
Yeah, she wants money, money,
money, money, money
Wah, she wants money, money,
money, money, money
Yeah, she wants money, money,
money, money, money

Ah, she wants money, money,
money, money, money
Yeah, she wants money, money,
money, money, money
Wah, she wants money, money,
money, money, money
Yeah, she wants money, money

If you've got the money
I think it would be funny oh oh oh
To take your girl and spend a bit of your cash for me!

I've been watching you

Cos then she might be happy
No longer lonely oh oh oh
An' I could take her out the next day for pretty much free-e-e-e!!

Said, ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma
ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-money oh
Said, ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma
ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-money oh

I've been watching you

Said, ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma
ma-ma-ma-ma-money oh
Yeah, ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma
ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-money oh

I've been watching you

If you've got the money
I think it should be funny oh oh oh
To take your girl and spend a bit of your cash for me!

Cos then she might be happy
No longer lonely oh oh oh
An' I could take her out the next day for pretty much free!
[PR]
by scummy | 2009-11-07 02:11

Sheila

Sheila goes out with her mate Stella,
it gets poured all over her fella
cos she says man he ain't no better
than the next man kicking up fuss
drunk she stumbles down by a river
screams calling London, (London)
none of us heard her coming,
i guess the carpet weren't rolled out

(Oh when my love, my darling,
You've left me here alone,
I'll walk the streets of London
Which once seemed all our own.

The vast suburban churches
Together we have found:
The ones which smelt of gaslight
The ones in incense drown'd)

Her lingo went from the cockney to the gringo
Any time she sing a song the other girls sing along
And tell all the fellas that the lady is single
Fickle way to tickle on my young man's ting

She's up for doing what she like
Any day more like the night
She drowned drunk the sorrows that she stole bought borrowed
She didn't like fights but at the same time understood
Fellas will be fellas till the end of time

(Good heavens you boys, blue-blooded murder of the English tongue)

Blut!

Jack had a gang that he called "the many grams",
he was known as smack jack the cracker man
in life he was dealt some shit hands
but the boys got the back now

And Jay went the same way as Mickey and Dan
dependant mans on the heroin
And man Lisa had a baby with Sam,
and now Jack's on his own man,

Well done Jack glug down that cider
You're right she's a slut and you never fucking liked her
Not like what he stopped so shocked
Cos it turns out the last laugh dance killed the pied piper

Tough little big man friends with your daughters
Only cos they drive him to pick up on his quarters
brawler, lager lout rawlers
Fall to the floor think they're free
but they ain't near the border

Too young gunned are by your hell fire corner
Always did a favour, but never took an order
Behave young scallywag a fine young Galahad
Glad-ragged up but only ever getting fag hags

Hung on his shoulder, cheap price shop tags
Slag better understand he came for the glamour
But this sounds original superficial the issue
For one dear Jack there 35 doppelgangers

Sheila goes out with her mate Stella,
it gets poured all over her fella,
cos she says man he ain't no better
than the next man kicking up fuss
drunk she stumbles down by a river
screams calling London,
none of us heard her coming,
i guess the carpet weren't rolled out

(it's over man, it's over) (get out, get out)

So this a short story 'bout the girl Georgina
Never seen a worse, clean young mess
Under stress at best ah but she pleased to see ya
With love God bless, we lay her body to rest

Now it all dear started with Daddy's alcoholic
A lightweight chinking down numbing his brain
And the doctor said he couldn't get the heart dear started
Now beat up, drugged up she feeling the strain

She says "In a rut, what the fuck I'm supposed to do?"
Suck it out, start, stop, keep running through
True, but you try it ain't easy to do
She's been buckle belt beaten from the bat like a brat

Don't know where she going but she know where she at
So Georgey, it's time to chain react
But the truth is y'nah she'll probably fall back
Tears streamed down her face she screamed away:

When I fall, no-one catch me
alone lonely, I'll overdose slowly,
get scared, I’ll scream and shout
But you know it won't matter she'll be passing out

I say gibbity-biggity-up just another day
Another sad story, this tragedy,
paramedic announced death at 10.30
Rip it up kick it spit up the views

Sheila goes out with her mate Stella,
it gets poured all over her fella,
cos she says man he ain't no better
than the next man kicking up fuss
drunk she stumbles down by a river
screams calling London,
none of us heard her coming,
i guess the carpet weren't rolled out

Sheila goes out with her mate Stella,
it gets poured all over her fella,
cos she says man he ain't no better
than the next man kicking up fuss
drunk she stumbles down by a river
screams calling London, (London)
none of us heard her coming,
i guess the carpet weren't rolled out
[PR]
by scummy | 2009-11-07 02:10

British Intelligence

british intelligence they're on your back and they won't catch,
no one so they won't catch me,
three fours and it's right up your back and ya just got sacked now your moneys not free,
ticker time man it's never wild enough and three to the four when you're really wired,
too much is never enough now you're fired

this is for the cold concrete sold by defeat
taxed by a man that I'm yet to meet pay an army
I'm hardly ready to speak memories start in 93 and roxy came round last week
and told me she sick and tired of women,
well I'm still travelling trains delayed in the rain on a monday morning,
watches by surveillance teams business men live out their dreams
and sleep with secretaries in stock rooms over photocopying machines,
while we're still riding trying to find a place where they're not watching
called her up in the end to apologise for being so drunk and stubborn

british intelligence they're on your back and they won't catch,
no one so they won't catch me,
three fours and it's right up your back and ya just got sacked now your moneys not free,
ticker time man it's never wild enough and three to the four when you're really wired,
too much is never enough now you're fired

in 501's a selfish son travelled out the inner to the suburban
he's lurking burning cigarettes on a wall behind a bar that his lover works in a illegal alien
jesse from the west said marry her quick
get her lost in the system with a bcg and a fingerprint scan
while the boys from old poland work they're fingers to the bone for the minimum
I was outside calling a friend trying to stake claim on the money
I lent while we're still riding trying to find a place where they're not watching
called up again identity cards and cameramen

british intelligence they're on your back and they won't catch,
no one so they won't catch me,
three fours and it's right up your back and ya just got sacked now your moneys not free,
ticker time man it's never wild enough and three to the four when you're really wired,
too much is never enough now you're fired

he said suzi, would you lose me in trouble
he said let's move on the double,
would we please get him in trouble,
he said could we we get him in trouble
so would ya should we get him in trouble,
it's three weeks down and now they burst your

british intelligence they're on your back and they won't catch,
no one so they won't catch me,
three fours and it's right up your back and ya just got sacked now your moneys not free,
ticker time man it's never wild enough and three to the four when you're really wired,
too much is never enough now you're fired
[PR]
by scummy | 2009-11-03 18:39

Sticks 'n' Stones

When there's no one left to fight
boys like him don't shine so bright,
Soon as I see the dust settle
he's out on the town tryin' to find trouble.
When there's no one left to fight
boys like him don't shine so bright,
Soon as I see the dust settle
he's out on the town tryin' to find trouble.

I take a train again away from shame
And blame a city pained to see
a friend I hadn't seen since I was drinking underage.
I was a ten a day, how'd you say, little shit
White lightning, heightening all my courage, quick wit.
We wore checkered season wallabies
buttoned shirts and whiskey
mutton dressed as lamb a fan of bands
like The Jam Jam Jam Jam,
I don't know who I am, he said I dunno if I can
I said yeah man, you can can.

When there's no one left to fight
boys like him don't shine so bright,
Soon as I see the dust settle
he's out on the town tryin' to find trouble.
When there's no one left to fight
boys like him don't shine so bright,
Soon as I see the dust settle
he's out on the town tryin' to find trouble.

Drunk and being sick, I feel like shit
I gotta quit I hope I haven't missed the last train
Gonna be stuck in Hampton Wick,
With the boys across the platform
Shouting \"lightweight prick!\"
I'm a featherweight champion, cheap to get pissed
wish Candy were here with me, she'd defer deal with it
tell 'em all to shut their mouths and go suck their mommas dicks
coz she ain't no she ain't that low, 3 fingers down
or the other 2 up, and I'll sing this proud.

Runnin' with believers, no time for fever
and I haven't got time for you either
with your sticks n' stones, sticks n' stones
I take 'em home on my own.
Runnin' with believers, no time for fever
and I haven't got time for you either
with your sticks n' stones, sticks n' stones
I take 'em home on my own.

As I travel down the track all my memories flood back.
We were runnin' at ease from enemies
and rushed back to your momma's flat
it's the only place but home I feel relaxed enough to crap
I know it sounds crude, but there's something in that.
How's danny doin'? Hear he's high flyin' and that
stockbroker in the city with a lady and a baby.
And Fee, is she free from the demons she had
Was it two months clean, routine to relapse.

Runnin' with believers, no time for fever
and I haven't got time for you either
with your sticks n' stones, sticks n' stones
I take 'em home on my own.
Runnin' with believers, no time for fever
and I haven't got time for you either
with your sticks n' stones, sticks n' stones
I take 'em home on my own.

She smoked all of your weed
that's why the loved ones out to leave,
Why when you take the lead they stab you in the back
'till you can't breathe, When you're bleeding on the floor
and no one hears your call at all
she screamed out to the party
you are sheep and cattle

I was hanging out with Louie in the shooting gallery
when the news got through to me about you and Jeremy.
Pat on my back, and a swig on my brew
you're still my friend, it's impossible to hate you.
Cradle to the grave, I know we always misbehave
people latch down and then they rain on our parade.
Girls we love leave when we want them to stay
like today, remember, what Joey say?

When there's no one left to fight
boys like us don't shine so bright,
Soon as I see the dust settle
let's go out and find some trouble!

Runnin' with believers, no time for fever
and I haven't got time for you either
with your sticks n' stones, sticks n' stones
I take 'em home on my own

Runnin' with believers, no time for fever
and I haven't got time for you either
with your sticks n' stones, sticks n' stones
I take 'em home on my own

Runnin' with believers, no time for fever
and I haven't got time for you either
with your sticks n' stones, sticks n' stones
I take 'em home on my own

Runnin' with believers, no time for fever
and I haven't got time for you either
with your sticks n' stones, sticks n' stones
I take 'em home on my own
[PR]
by scummy | 2009-11-03 18:37

Chaka Demus

a lot of people around here, have lost the whites in their eyes,
I see the lust inside ya heart,
so why don't you go and touch the sky

think with the head argue with the gut,
draft through leave the door open it might encourage customers in
I wish the bar made shut look like shit down on my luck,
2 world wars and 1 world cup,
screamed by the desperate divided crutch,
used to have an empire then we grew up,
lost every thing who gives a fuck,
money in the jukebox rots all night same shit bands too much hype,
everyone knows everyone sees fights,
everyone drinks on the corner right,
everyone knows as I see blood type same we match,
and we match up to like I love her she loves me too that's why we get together

a lot of people around here, have lost the whites in their eyes,
I see the lust inside ya heart,
don't you go and touch the sky

he's dizzy for lizzy I'm dizzy generally scapegoated by a girl befriending me,
not that I care its the only use for me she bounce of walls through doors,
I tend to be everything I wanna be
and everything less I stress this guess ta front the mistress
heavy and a heavy on your lungs down your spine shit I got pleurisy

ya leaving alone but you came together who made the sun turn stormy weather
ya leaving alone but you came together who made the sun turn stormy weather

a lot of people around here, have lost the whites in their eyes,
I see the lust inside ya heart,
don't you go and touch the sky

she said tonight jay I'm gonna teach them a ballad an englishman in every coward
I was kinda impressed by the way she dressed
I've scoured this land to find a girl empowered
asked her again why her heart turned out sour one of the ones that the boys devoured
if you gonna learn a song gotta sing along there's an englishman in every coward
money in the jukebox rots all night same shit bands,
with too much hype everyone knows everyone see fights,
everyone drinks on the corner right,
everyone knows as I see blood type same we match,
and we match up to like I love her she loves me too that's why we get together

a lot of people around here, have lost the whites in their eyes,
I see the lust inside ya heart,
don't you go and touch the sky

a lot of people around here, have lost the whites in their eyes,
I see the lust inside ya heart,
don't you go and touch the sky
[PR]
by scummy | 2009-11-01 05:56

Telegraph

Is Jamie T pop's answer to Jamie O?

Rising punk-pop singer Jamie T is polite, talented and hugely enthusiastic. But can he conquer America? He talks to Helen Brown

He'll probably hate me for saying it, but rising punk-pop star Jamie T is the Jamie Oliver of the new Thamesbeat scene, bursting out all over with infectious nice-guy-getting-stuck-in, estuary-English enthusiasms. I'm not sure Oliver would approve of his diet though, which, in the four hours we spent together on Treays's (his full name) US tour consisted of a steady stream of lager and Camel Lights.

He has a bottle and a cigarette on the go when we meet at 1pm outside his suburban Texan motel, beneath a Scalextric-swirl of flyovers. Pasty-faced Jamie gazes up at the cars from beneath the peak of his baseball cap. The smell of spilt beer steams steadily from his jeans.

The man recently described as "the bastard lovechild of Billy Bragg and Mike Skinner doing his best Joe Strummer impression" is a London boy, used to the hustle of a city, and the lack of pedestrians is freaking him out. As is the absence of his bass player, whose very minor criminal record saw him barred from the US. A roadie will pluck the big strings in his absence.

Treays actually plays bass himself. The first track on his critically acclaimed debut album, Panic Prevention, is all about his battered acoustic bass guitar. So as we settle at the bar of a scuzzy downtown saloon, I ask Treays why he doesn't play the thing himself instead of drafting in the untried roadie.

"Oh," he grins, "I can't, y'know, bah bah, bah-dee-da-dee dah [he mimes playing bass] and sing. It's too much. I could if I practised, but I like running around and strumming. The bass is meant to stand still. Plus I don't like the idea of looking like Sting. That's uncool. He's like a pure alpha male, man."

Treays pulls a face, and then veers off into a rave about how much he loves the Police - "They're wicked" - but not Sting's solo work: "Jeez! It makes me wanna be sick, but hey he's good, he's good..."

For a 21-year-old lad, proudly waving his passport at our fender-moustached bartender, Treays knows an awful lot about music that was made decades before he was born. He talks about Squeeze, Bob Dylan, the Pogues, Tina Turner and Tom Waits, spilling over with passions, opinions, obscure anecdotes.

He's continually excited by the idea that all the musicians he admires "wrote those songs in their bedrooms, just like me!" He high fives me each time we find a band or song in common.

He's totally uninhibited and yet incredibly polite; sings phrases; theorises; gesticulates emphatically. He's nostalgic for the days when he was just beginning, dragging his guitar from pub to pub and shouting down a hostile crowd. I suggest that this must be a fun time to be his age, because music is all cross-fertilised and kids aren't expected to adhere exclusively to any one scene.

"Yeah," he nods. He likes the fact he can "wear a hoodie and Reebok classics and still play acoustic nights". He hates music snobbery: "I can't stand it when you go to some little club and some DJ behind the decks thinks he's more musically aware than you - he's just looking down on the crowd thinking he knows best.

It's a beautiful breath of fresh air when somebody puts a bit of Kylie on and you think: 'I know this!' But things are more randomly interconnected these days. I feel I missed out on the fun of scenes, y'know?"

When Treays was growing up, his friends were always a little bit older than him, "and everyone I know has always been into music and searching for new things.

One of the most enjoyable things for me is to go back home with one or two mates and put records on and listen!" He widens his eyes, stretches his palms apart, cat's cradle-style. "And if they talk over things, then I just put on the headphones."

I ask if his parents, with whom he was photographed in the family's nice Wimbledon lounge on the sleeve of his second single, are into music. "No," he says, slightly bewildered, "it doesn't really compute. They had a few Pretenders records and my dad has a great Elvis box set - if you pull all the records out it makes a big picture of the King!"

Treays refers to the "pelvis white boy" on Dry Off Your Cheeks, a typically brawl-voiced cheeky-tuned track on Panic Prevention. These are songs of alcohol-doused, wild-youthed nights on the city streets.

The neon dazzle of all that "tip-toe dancing" and "pressure prancing" is reflected in a gutter grimy with tears and physical fear. His top 10 hit Calm Down Dearest has a protagonist who sings of having "sedated hatred" with whisky and sitting in corners sulking his socks off. For a while, Treays suffered from anxiety attacks.

He admits to a fascination with the seamy side of British nightlife. "I went through a long phase where I took photographs of the graffiti in toilets," he says. "I got obsessed. In Soho some of it's weird.

Next to the usual dull stuff you'll see something that says 'My girlfriend's outside getting on really well with my best mate, and I know they're shagging and I hate it.' And you're just trying to take a piss. Just expecting to be humiliated by a wall and some guy's poured his heart out."

Even though he's "all peace'n'love now", there's also something in Treays that loves the after-hours scuffle too. "Although I haven't been in a fight myself for two years," he says, "the last was when some guy said something rude about a girl I was with. I criticised his Ugg boots. We both insulted each other. I apologised and he hit me! Then he went to shake my hand and I spat in his face.

Then I got the shit kicked out of me. I woke up in the middle of the road. The other guy was on the pavement with a perforated ear drum. He couldn't walk straight for three weeks. When you're young, you're testing the waters. I kinda realised quite quickly I can't fight - I shouldn't say that in the papers should I? I'll get the shit kicked out of me now."

He hands me a half-smoked cigarette. "Finish this," he instructs his interviewer, "I'm having a wee." He pauses. This is America. He puts on an accent. "Sorry, I mean I'm going to use the washroom." Treays has no idea what America will make of him.

He worries that his humour might not cross the Atlantic. "But what do I know," he ups palms, "I've only been here five hours." He's more worried that America won't live up to his fantasy. "The New York I'm thinking of probably isn't there any more - I'm hoping its going to be like Tom Waits, Nighthawks at the Diner. Ha."

He's off again. Quoting Waits. He likes songs to tell stories. "People always take me so literally," he says, "but the stories are about playing with reality, amusing yourself, thinking about stuff. I wrote a song pretending to be an old woman," he says. "Its not on Panic Prevention but I've got, like, five albums' worth of material.

Anyway, the chorus was: 'If I had a penny for every young man who'd left me on the sidelines I'd be a rich woman.' She'd been young at the time of the Second World War. Anyway, I pitched my vocal up until I sounded like a granny, until my gobby voice has got that vulnerable quaver in it."

We gaze out across the bar. I think Treays is experiencing a rare moment of reflection. But he's actually caught up in the hip-hop tune that's playing on the bar's jukebox. "I love this song!" he says.
[PR]
by scummy | 2007-04-14 22:32

Time Out London (22/01/2007)

Jamie T interview
Chris Parkin, Mon Jan 22

Bass-slinging patois punk Jamie T samples Betjeman and turns his panic attacks into a positive. Time Out raises a glass

‘This is like being at school or something,’ yawns Jamie Treays, pen and paper in hand. Oh dear. It would appear that our plan to sit the 20-year-old bass-slinger through John Betjeman’s ode to suburbia, ‘Metro Land’, has backfired. Fresh from an early morning session for Radio 4’s ‘Loose Ends’, he arrives at the Sir John Soane's Museum for a photoshoot, pours a pre-noon beer down the drain and whispers his way around the resplendent Victorian building (‘If I had my bag on me, I’d nab half of this stuff,’ he cackles). Then it’s off to a basement to watch the DVD, part of a recent Betjeman exhibition that the people at Sir John Soane's have kindly unearthed for us. Sadly, a restless Treays grumbles that ‘it’s one of the most boring things I’ve ever seen.’

It’s a surprise because Treays is a Betjeman fan (‘I’m interested in the way he talks about things. It’s quite different to what I’m used to. He talks about countryside tea parties and shit’). His great-aunt left him the famous Betjeman record ‘Banana Blush’ in her will, from which he sampled ‘The Cockney Amorist’ for his booze anthem ‘Sheila’. Then, after Time Out included that song in our ‘50 London Songs’ issue a fan sent him a Betjeman book. Still, turning off the DVD, it’s off to the cramped Seven Stars boozer – pubs, of course, being Treays’ leisure-time venues of choice – to talk about some of the similarities between him and Betjeman that people have been noticing, even if Treays himself hasn’t.

Far from suggesting that Jamie T is the next poet laureate, his poignant tales of modern suburbia do point to a shared worldview with Betjeman that belies Treays’ guffaws at the late poet’s more sentimental work. One of the poet’s great achievements was to celebrate the old, obscure and overlooked London – something that Treays himself is fond of doing. From the suburbs (Northolt and Wimbledon) and the scrapes he and his bored friends get into, to London’s forgotten buildings, it’s all there in his life-affirming debut, which paints a vibrant, Stella-lubed picture of the capital.

‘I complain about London sometimes, but at the same time I love the place, man. I like old listed buildings and shit. If you stop looking at some of the stuff in the sense of, “Oh, it’s old,” and start thinking: Why the fuck would you ever spend the time to do something up in that manner, it really gets you going. It’s crazy, over-the-top shit, man. It annoys me when they get rid of stuff. I heard they’re knocking down Elephant & Castle and that kind of made me sad. It’s proper old, ’70s London.’

His panic attacks, which have inspired Treays to give both his album and his riotous club night the name ‘Panic Prevention’, have also come in for the same kind of weary optimism with which Betjeman treated his subjects. It was once said that depression was to Betjeman what daffodils were to Wordsworth.

‘I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m happy having it,’ says Treays. ‘It’s part of who I am. When I get anxious, I have problems, like thinking I’m going to bite my tongue off or finding it hard to walk. Simple things become incredibly hard. I get problems with fainting, confusion, not being able to use my hands properly. I’ve had it for the last five years, although I think I’ve had a bit of it all of my life. But, y’know, everyone’s a bit fucked up.’

With the sort of positive thinking that could seriously help out My Chemical Romance, he’s an idealist who holds little stock with the gloom mongers at the Daily Mail who say that today’s youth are coalescing, en masse, into a lawless mob fuelled by binge sex and yob drinking. Sure, drinking, drugs and pulling might be a big part of Jamie’s life, but so has it always been for a demographic that forever gets a raw deal.

Says Treays: ‘When you’re young you don’t sit around thinking: Am I worth something? You make yourself worth something. Young people are always pushing things forward. Look at the beat and hippy generations. At the time everybody thought: Look at those fuck-ups, taking drugs and all that. Now half of them are doctors, solicitors, people who actually shape what’s going on in the world. It’s easy to tag kids, but you don’t know what they’re going to become.’

Even after the ‘Big Brother’ race row, he’s refusing to believe that the wheels have fallen off the multiculturalism wagon. He acknowledges that London isn’t quite Utopia City, but, confidently states that ‘we’re still one of the most multicultural cities in the world.’ And it’s something he’s used to his advantage, exploring the spread of cultures and music that exists in the capital. Like the rest of today’s web-reared, iPod-listening youth, he’s part of a growing non-tribe into every kind of sound. He’s been into reggae and Afrobeat, the energetic bounce of drum ’n’ bass, punk’s give-a-fuck attitude, hip hop… and on it goes. It manifests itself on his debut in the skanking rhythms, scratchy, full-blooded strumming, ‘real life’ skits and, most notably, his patois-infused vocals.

‘I don’t do it on purpose, it just came with the music I listened to,’ he says. ‘It does make it easier to rhyme certain words, though. Some people say, “You can’t do that”, but I don’t give a shit. I’m not trying to be Jamaican, y’know? Some of my favourite tunes come with that patois thing, like everything on ‘The Harder They Come’. I didn’t even realise I did it until people kept bringing it up. Then I noticed on ‘So Lonely Was The Ballad’ that I go: “Girls singing on the bus/Fellas kicking up a fuss/Crying outside but they’re still looking dangRUSS.” It was like: Ah, now I understand.’

It’s not gone unnoticed by fellow reggae enthusiasts, Clash legend Paul Simonon and Damon Albarn. They invited him to support The Good, The Bad And The Queen last year, after which Albarn took Treays to Mali for what he calls a ‘real eye-opener’. Returning with plenty of
new ideas he’s itching to get writing again, but for now he’s got his debut album to tour and a sold-out gig at the Astoria on Thursday. We, here at Time Out, might prefer the unaccompanied Jamie T solo experience, which allows all his nuances and wit to breath, but this show with his full band, The Selfish Sons, still promises to be a right old knees-up – providing he contains his bowel movements.

‘To be honest, I’m shitting myself. It’s either going to feel really intimate or far too big. I know that people do like me playing solo but you get lonely, especially on bigger stages. Not long ago I was playing 800-capacity venues as a support act and I was finding it hard to shut people up. So I got a band together ’cos I want to dance and run about like an arse.’

With that, he sinks his pint and heads off to meet his bandmates for a rehearsal – he’s already an hour late. Before he goes, though, he promises to give ‘Metro Land’ another go and damns his impatience. ‘It’s been too manic of late,’ he says, ‘I can’t concentrate.’ Life for Jamie T is about to get even more manic, so it could be quite a while before he gets around to it.
[PR]
by scummy | 2007-04-13 00:46

memo


by scummy

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