Telling His Own Story: David Boulter Interview

Tindersticks veteran David Boulter takes us behind the conceptual childhood seaside scenes of his debut solo album on Clay Pipe Music

David Boulter has more than made his musical marks over nearly thirty years as a co-founding member of Tindersticks. Being a multi-instrumentalist, with specialisms for piano, organs and assorted flavours of percussion, the Nottingham-bred and latterly Prague-based polymath has proved to be a steadfast master of melody, rhythm and texture alongside the soulful lugubrious Stuart Staples and other past/present bandmates. Whilst his lyrical playing has driven and underpinned many of the Tindersticks’ sublime song-based moments, Boulter has also been integral to the group’s many soundtrack works as well as branching out into his own TV and film score commissions in recent years.

Now, at long last, comes a debut solo album in the shape of Yarmouth. Brought into the vinyl world via the perfectly-fitting Clay Pipe Music, this trusty journeyman – who once penned the words to the spoken-word Tindersticks novella masterpiece “My Sister” – finally gets to tell part of his own life story. Inspired by multiannual childhood summer holiday visits to Great Yarmouth on the Norfolk coast, this wordless reminiscence affair is an ambitious but intimate personal project.

Painterly deploying a home-studio mixed palette of vibraphone, Lowrey organ, harmonium, bass, synths, antiquarian tape echo, electric piano and guitars – partially topped-up by Boryš Vladimir Secký on flute, Alexander Hledik on violin, Dan McKinna on double-bass, Earl Harvin on drums, Andy Nice on cello and some bona fide field-recorded Norfolk seagulls – Yarmouth reconfirms and expands upon Boulter’s reliable pedigree for being an Englishman enthralled by evocative European and amorphous American sounds. Blending said instrumentation into warm intimate shades redolent of the Tindersticks’ Nénette et Boni score, In a Silent Way-era Miles Davis, Ennio Morricone, Brian Eno, Augustus Pablo, John Barry and Jacques Brel, this cohesive collection feels neither cluttered nor lightweight as it invokes and recolours faded memories of seaside characters, coastal walks, vintage ballrooms, funfairs, cafés, piers and the simple pleasures of solitary sandcastle sculpting.

Conferred with from a very social distance, via email, at his current Czech Republic base, David Boulter generously answered questions on the lengthy gestation of the genuinely great Yarmouth, his other solo-trading plans and – of course – Tindersticks life.

How has this year been treating you so far? How has the current Covid-19 situation impacted on your diary with Tindersticks and other ventures?

It’s been a strange year for everyone hasn’t it? We began a tour in January. We managed to do about a third of it. The virus seemed to be one step behind us all the way. Eventually shows got cancelled in France. I had to scramble home and made it just before the Czechs closed the border. I’m not sure anything will ever be the same again. That could be good and bad. Feels like a time to rethink my way of making music to be able to survive.

How long have you been aware of Clay Pipe Music’s output and how did you hook-up with Frances Castle to release your first solo LP through the label?

I saw a review of the Plinth album, Music for Smalls Lighthouse. The artwork struck a chord in me. I knew I would like it without even reading the review. I started to follow her label from then on. I contacted Frances with an idea that wasn’t really ready. So it didn’t go anywhere. Luckily, I still pursued the idea of working with her on something else. Which is Yarmouth.

You’ve worked on various soundtrack projects of your own outside of Tindersticks, why do think it has taken you this long to put out your first solo-billed album? Was it about finding the right standalone idea?

I’ve been trying to make my own album for about fifteen years. Ideas either went into Tindersticks or got side-lined. Then I was busy making those soundtracks of my own. I’m quite slow. I had to find the right space to be inspired I guess.

Can you briefly explain the concept behind Yarmouth? The press release explains you were inspired by childhood memories you stirred-up by a trip to the seaside town of the same name during a break in touring and it also feels like you are trying to tell a story with it too, particularly with “Looking for Trudy”…

I had some pieces of music left over from the films. My head was full of them at the time I visited Great Yarmouth. I was surprised how much it affected me. That moment and the past. My memories. As I walked around, the music seemed to soundtrack my emotions perfectly. I felt there was a story to tell with the music. Trudy was the owner of the guest house we stayed in. Every year from birth to fifteen. I guess summers always seemed to mark the changing years as a child. Going back to school being a new year rather than January. I can mark the changes in my life with each summer holiday. Yarmouth was a big part of that.

You say in the ‘About me’ section of your website that “I have always believed a great soundtrack or theme becomes another character. Having its own identity, not just a way to enhance emotion or action.” Is Yarmouth a personalised expression of this for you?

Yes, I guess if I was a writer, it’d be a book. The music is a way of releasing those personal feelings. Acknowledging them, but also trying to release them and move on.

How, when and where did the recordings come together from the ‘drawing board’ to the finished product?

I had a few pieces that had been written for films that had a certain mood. The rest grew from that point. Even Frances’ comments about the first version I sent helped me write some pieces that had a specific connection to certain memories. Like the rollercoaster. I think it took about three or four years to all come together.

Can you tell me about the guest players that you assembled for the album and how they helped shape the finished recordings? Were things tackled as ensemble pieces or were they more layered-up around your core playing?

Dan and Earl are from Tindersticks, so I naturally asked them. I tried to be as independent as possible. I played the electric bass myself and asked Dan to add double-bass to some pieces. Most of the rhythm comes from the Lowrey organ I have. I asked Earl as one track needed a different energy for the rhythm. Earl is actually really great at humanising old drum machine rhythms. He is a true human drum machine. And a great musician. The flute was also very important. I met Boryš Secký working on music for a Czech TV series. He’s a jazz saxophonist really. But he played a bit of flute too. Very beautifully. His playing shaped a lot of ideas, or gave me inspiration to pursue them. It’s all recorded at my home studio. Except Dan and Earl.

Musically, how much did you seek to extend upon what you’ve explored within Tindersticks and how much did you seek to break such continuity to explore different things?

I guess with Tindersticks, I’m either responding to someone’s ideas, or fitting my ideas to a bigger picture. Sometimes my ideas became interludes. I listen to a lot of instrumental music and soundtracks. I wanted to make something fully formed in that way. Something that tells my own story.

“Rollerskates – The Tower Ballroom” and “Knickerbocker Glory” both feel like close cousins to parts of Tindersticks’ Nénette et Boni soundtrack. Would you agree?

That was our first soundtrack. I guess mentally I was in the same space making this. I guess there’s also a connection to childhood as with Nénette et Boni. My personal memories of Yarmouth are very dreamy. I think that’s something I wanted to feel in the music.

 “Across the Sea to Sand”, “Marine Parade” and “Rust Old Pedal Car” are notable for sounding like missing links between Ennio Morricone’s most desert-dry cowboy film scores and the post-rock minimalism of Labradford and early-Brokeback. Where do you those pieces came from musically? And is that you playing guitar on those tracks and elsewhere on the album, something that you’re not really known for?

I guess, with “Across the Sea to Sand”, I was imagining a sailor, returning from a long voyage, on some old, dirty steamer. And walking around Yarmouth in November. A very grey day, was such a contrast to my sunny summer memories. I think those pieces have a lot of heartache in them. My first instrument was a guitar. I didn’t have the patience to learn the three chords required in those days. So I bought a synth. It was monophonic. So I could look cool, smoking my cigarettes, playing along with one finger. I’ve never considered myself much of a musician. It’s all about finding a way to express myself. I started to play bits of guitar or bass on some Tindersticks records. I even play bass on a track from the first album. It’s just about keeping yourself excited about making music. I’m always looking for new sounds or ways to do that.

One of my favourites is “The Milk Bar” which sounds like two entirely separate but complementing pieces being played side-by-side – one a twinkling late-night barroom piece and another with a dub-meets-jazz infused dimension – how did that come together?

There was place I remember from my holidays. We’d go there for banana milkshakes. Mum would have what she’d call a posh coffee, with frothy milk. They always had the radio on. It’d be a local, Norfolk station. Or Radio 2. I was trying to evoke that kind of sound and emotion.

Another of the highlights for me is “The Flower Clock”, which makes me think of Cluster or Tangerine Dream deploying vintage fairground or ballroom organs. What do you think influenced you there?

Again, I think it goes back to that dreamy feeling. The flower clock would be the first thing we saw as we drove into the town. Then the smell of the sea and the seagulls singing would hit me. I’ve spent all my life surrounded by music. The radio was always on growing up. Or my dad would be playing records. My own teenage fascinations. I guess it’s all in the music I make. The Lowrey organ I have is from the mid-seventies. It’s got a great sound and some fairly unique settings. Like an early version of the arpeggiator you’d get on synths. It’s also broken, which adds to its charm.

Was it important for you to ensure that for all the different flavours across Yarmouth that it is also cohesively contained within one overarching mood?

I originally intended it to be two pieces, one each side of a record. I did want the mood to flow through the whole. Some of my biggest memories are of being alone. Not in a sad way. But just building sand castles and pottering about as any child does. It made the music very introspective in that way for me.

Do you have ideas for another solo album now that you’ve broken the seal, as it were, with Yarmouth? If so, could you ever consider a more song-based affair given your gift for distinctive storytelling with the much-loved “My Sister” and the macabre “Chocolate”, which you penned the words for in the Tindersticks catalogue?

Yes, I think so. I already have something ready that’s spoken word. And I would also love to continue working with Frances.

Turning away from solo work if I may, Tindersticks are coming up towards a thirtieth anniversary next year. Do you have commemorations in the pipeline to tie-in with it – in terms of archival releases or special events – pandemic conditions permitting?

There are big plans. I think we are ready to celebrate where we are. I don’t want to spoil it. But it will be something big. And I may even do my own spoken word story of it.

What do you attribute to the longevity of the band especially now that you are so geographically scattered and have had several personnel changes over the years?

I think the original group breaking down, and myself, Stuart and Neil, wanting to continue was important. It was a hard, sad time. But the people we met, especially Dan McKinna, Earl Harvin and Thomas Belhom, were very invigorating. I doubt we’d be here if we’d carried on as we were.

From the original line-up obviously Dickon has gone into soundtrack work of his own, do you know what Al and Mark are up to these days? Are you still touch with any of them?

I have contact with Al. He’s teaching, still playing music. I haven’t heard from Mark in a long time. I’ve tried, but he seems to have disappeared! It’s very sad. We had such an adventure. We shared so many good times, and bad. So many firsts. Nothing really soured personally. The music just started to feel predictable. It had to stop. I do regret that our relationships had to stop along with it.

How much has living in Prague since 1998 affected the way you make music both stylistically and operationally? Is a sense of place important to how you approach your craft?

I kind of lock myself away in my little studio when I’m working. It could be anywhere really. I guess I still feel an outsider here. Being an outsider is the most important in respect of making art for me. And life in general. I never wanted to be like everyone else. Punk was very releasing. Or post-punk for me. There always seemed to be a movement that liberated its young in the past 70 years. I worry if that’s still true today.

Do you ever return to Nottingham and London outside of touring commitments? How does it feel looking in on the UK from the outside these days?

When we first started to tour, I finally understood my feelings about being British. In fact, I didn’t feel British at all. I embraced European culture from a young age. I felt truly European in my heart. It’s important to recognise the difference in each other. But unity is the only way forward. I think in twenty years’ time, I won’t recognise Nottingham. And there may be nothing left there for me. I still miss London. I doubt I would ever want to live there again. I don’t know if I can do the London walk anymore. I think we caught it when it was still possible to have an adventure there. I can’t imagine having no prospects and turning up on the streets of London these days. Praha is great because it feels like a major city. But it’s so easy and there’s space.

Do you have any other future plans or projects in the works you can tell us about yet?

I think Yarmouth could be part of a musical trilogy. That could involve St. Anns, the part of Nottingham I grew up in, and Praha. I’m also working on some spoken word ideas. And Tindersticks may have a surprise to get us through the COVID blues.

Do you have any ambitions left to fulfil?

To speak Czech fluently! I don’t think musicians ever retire. As long as there’s ideas, there’s something to do. And maybe to make a record for a full orchestra would be nice.

davidboulter.co.uk

claypipemusic.co.uk

Note: Main feature image is of latter-day David Boulter in his home-studio holding a photo of his much younger self on a Great Yarmouth holiday. Photo taken by Veronika Boulterova.