Date: Undetermined
WHO SPEARMINT?
A BOY called Shirley who's talking to me now - I play the guitar and sing, and write the words. The imp of pop winking at you over Jarvis' shoulders. A bass player called James - "A bloody genius bass player". A drummer called Ronan - "He plays punk, he plays funk." And Samplin' Simon. "The fastest ears in the business. Beautiful 'la-las' and 'yeh-yehs'".
WHY SPEARMINT?
"We are a pop band. We want to uplift and connect. We will have faith and achieve something magical the way The Verve have created emotion from nothing with 'The Drugs Don't Work'. A band - there are no bands any more. The Gallaghers' and a couple of blokes! Blur? It's just us now."
TELL US MORE
"Purists can f*** off. I love Northern Soul, but I have no idea about the scene. Don't want to. Just nick whatever you like. Some people were outraged with the Dobie Gray sample on 'Sweeping the Nation'. Well. f*** 'em. They don't get it. We don't need them!"
BEST ENJOYED?
"Late at night - loud. Early morning - very loud. The first and last thing you hear"
MARK LUFFMAN
Melody Maker
#2
Date: 20/12/97
SPEARMINT BULL & GATE, LONDON
WE'RE waiting for Spearmint to play their sixth single. Many of us don't realise that it is their sixth single. The sheer gasping glory of "Sweeping the Nation" has 'debut' written all over it. But let's look back at its precursors: Martin Fry had half a dozen beauty stabs at perfection before ABC plunged "The Look Of Love" straight to our hearts. Kevin Rowland's northern soul elegy, "Show Men" bears the catalogue number "Dexys 6". So, it may have been a long time coming, but coming it is.
For some of us, the waiting isn't over until the second-to-last song, by which time Spearmint have hurtled through vaguely remembered B-sides and now-unrecognisable singles - "I Can't Sleep" didn't sound anything like the Buzzcocks on plastic. We get the broken-hearted, the cranked-up-and-partied the very soul of a perfect pop band. Then we get the absurdly elated piano sample, the unsentimental requiem for defunct dreamed-up bands monologue and the unrequited whoops, and "Sweeping the Nation" washes over us in waves of blinding faith and exhortation. By which time we've forgotten we were waiting.
MARK LUFFMAN
Melody Maker 20/12/97
#3
Date: 2/5/98
SHIRL POWER
Their new single's all about space, so we took SPEARMINT around the London Planetarium and talked about Jarvis and 14-year-old girls.
SPEARMINT'S singer Shirley Lee has been reading too many tabloids. "The Russians want to make a film about sending a pop star into space and they want to use a real pop star, not an actor." Who would you volunteer to send into space? "It would have to be Sting, wouldn't it?" Guitarist James Parsons has a better idea. "Do you think the capsule would be big enough for the whole of Chumbawamba?"
SPEARMINT'S new single "A Trip Into Space" is an innocently infectious boogie, blessed with the Travolta-bility of disco, the silky slickness of Northern Soul and, although contaminated by a shambling frailty, has a chorus larger than Stephen Hawking's bra and brighter than Betelgeuse. It's about the fear of ambition and how hard hard it is to follow your dreams and how easy it is to just to take the easy option and stay within yourself. The 'space' in question is the space outside your small range of experiences. It was initially about a relative, although it's been softened to become less personal."
This isn't the first time Spearmint have been linked with world-beating
ambition. Their single from last autumn, "Sweeping The Nation", is an
anthem for all the underdog indie groups who get overlooked by fan media
and whistling postmen.
Shirley: "It was telling bands not to take too much notice of fashion and
just do your own thing. I thought it would be nice to offer encouragement.
It's tied with our own experience, because we weren't prepared to wait
for a record company to come along and pick us up. So we set up our own label." I call him the Patron Saint of
Indie Groups and he shivers as though a tarantula had just entered his
boxer shorts.
"That sounds horrible."
"The songs a tribute," says James. "If a group namedropped us in a
similar way I'd be delighted. Indeed, somebody should"
They will.
Do you want to sweep the nation?
"No, I don't care, as long as we keep control over what we do."
But aren't you contradicting yourself here? How are you going to achieve
fame without that very insatiable drive you criticise your peers for
lacking.
"But you're assuming our ambition is fame and to get into the top 40,
where our ambition at the moment is just to make the album we want to
make. That's what we're after, not the glamour of 'Top of the Pops'."
James almost chokes on his toasted teacake. "I've always wanted to be on
'Top of the Pops'. You just grow up watching all these groups and you
think, 'Yeah, I want to appear on the show-and not just in the
audience.'" He avoids Shirley's piercing gaze and continues undaunted. "There's nothing unambitious about us at all. Not at all."
Then, after a brief sojourn during which they jovially slag off each other's lyrics, Shirley and James are laughing like re-united brothers, recognising the difference in their outlooks. In truth they're a perfect double act. Shirley, 10 years older, is cautiously realistic. James is like an impatient eaglet, ready to leave the nest and soar towards the sun. And, as has always been the case throughout pop's history, the clash makes it more interesting and promises, if not longevity, then certainly much entertainment.
SHIRLEY looks like a Jarvis Cocker who has spent every night of the last
15 years going to bed at 1Opm cradling a mug of Horlicks, rather than
stalking suburban streets until dawn. He's 36, but looks 10 years
younger. He smiles wryly when I mention Jarvis.
"On a professional level it does piss: me off," he complains."But on a
personal level ... well it's better than being compared to Chris Rea."
It's better to be chased around by 14-year-old girls than middle-aged
women." adds James, a lecherous gleam in his eye.
"Although in the absence of 14-year-old girls, middle-aged women will
do," laughs Shirley.
But why did you wait for so long? What happened during your 20s?
"Nothing. Thats exactly my problem! I've always been into music and
written songs, but its only been the last five years that I've thought
'right, here we go...'I've just done odd jobs since leaving college. I
don't have years of regret behind me. You can't think that 10 years ago this could've happened. You can't contrive a group in that way. It's all about getting the right chemistry, and now that there's a great deal of anticipation surrounding the group, It's a thrill."
"That's totally true," says drummer Ronan. "I remember driving on the
North Circular, taking extra special care not to crash because things
were really beginning to take off. I'm not missing it for anything. Even
death!"
Daniel Booth
Melody Maker 02/05/98
#4
Date: 6/12/97
CLAIRE'S SINGLE OF THE WEEK
SWEEPING THE NATION
Hitback
DEDICATED to bands that never quite made it, this energetic Northern Soul-y number is impossible to resist. Good thing, too, as you're probably going to hear it just about everywhere.
Claire: "This is such a feel-good record!"
Gary "It's not often that I dance, but I'd be up jigging around at the
Christmas party to this one.
Actually, I used to dance a bit years ago. People used to laugh at me
rather than with me, though - that was the problem."
Claire "This track is so good. It makes me want to learn all about
Northern Soul. I love it! I could really get into this stuff. This is
their third or fourth single, isn't it, but it's easily the best so far."
Date: 8/8/98
Spearmint CAMDEN PALACE, LONDON
WE'LL gloss over the fact that Shirley, their brazenly male lead singer, looks and sounds like an adolescent Frank Skinner, because if you close your eyes tightly enough, then this band are damned near perfect.
From the Club Tropicana groove of "A Trip Into Space" to the honey-drenched Northern Soul-isms of "Sweeping The Nation", Spearmint are pop with large pop scrawled in 30-foot iridescent swirls across an overcast sky. Eschewing all of the hairy-arsed protentousness that lesser talents attempt to pass off as "depth", Spearmint prefer to articulate the unbridled rush brought on by too much fizzy wine or the befuddled delirium that dogs your first teenage crush. They make you smile.
Think Dexy's Midnight Runners or ABC. Think those shiny, cute Wham! boys with shuttlecocks thrust down their tennis shorts or "Babies"-era Pulp, before Jarvis got spooked by the tabloids. Think especially of those throwaway pop groups that burned so brightly in the early Eighties - bands like Roman Holliday, who had the sense to go away before they became fat or tedious.
It's time to ignore those cretins who constantly chime, "rock good; pop bad". Such drivel has always been feeble-minded shit and tonight Spearmint flush it swiftly down the pan. If this were 1983, they would be feted already, their lyrics inked onto a million denim pencil cases, their very name carved onto a trillion schoolgirl hearts. There is still time. The future is Pop. The future is Spearmint.
SEAN PRICE
Melody Maker 8/8/98
Date: 13/12/97
This time last year, Spearmint decided to take a crucial step In their career. They got a piece of paper and noted down a list of 'Pop Wishes' they hoped would come true during 1997. Then they put the list in a sealed envelope and secreted the package within the bowels of a Burt Bacharach album.
Some of their mad desires? To release three (cracking) singles; to gain much airplay from both Xfm and daytime Fab FM; and -crucially - to play a gig outside London. The latter was achieved at the last minute by a booking in Newport next week. The first wish was realised by the recent release of 'Sweeping The Nation'. And the airtime despatch? Check this...
"I nearly died!" sighs singing guitarist Shirley, referring to the first time he heard 'Sweeping The Nation', uh, sweeping the nation. "It was such a shock! The sun was coming up over London and then our bloody record came on the radio! I know you're supposed to be cool about it, but... it was fantastic!"
And so it should have been. Because Spearmint are four chaps (yes, that's chaps) namely Shirley, bassist James, keyboardist Simon and drummer Ronan. Over the past two-ish years they have released a stream of singular pop niblets ('Somebody','Goldmine', A Week Away', I Can't Sleep'), all on their own strangely-syntaxed hitBACK records, and each one a small step up rock's rickety' old ladder.
Suitably, 'Sweeping The Nation' is their boldest stride upwards thus far: an exuberant hoedown of northern soul stompings and Brit-tastic tunefulness which makes you think, 'Yikes! This is what Pulp were like when they were really good type stuff. More than that, the single represents a defiant call to bands, as Shirley half-speaks, half-sings a pagan to every band that ever played a crap gig in a crap venue in a crap town on a crap night. And the moral of the story? Don't give up, sweet peas.
"There's a bit where I'm going, 'As long as you stick to what you believe in,' and I got really worried that it was getting a bit Oprah Winfrey, y'know? "YOU CAN DO IT!!!," he bellows. "But it's true - you can! And the main thing is that 'Sweeping The Nation' is a message back to us as a band, saying, 'Remember what you're doing!'"
Sounds too good to be true? Possibly, but only if your tipple tends to be two shots of cynicism mixed with a dash of belligerence. Because if Spearmint's pop instincts are indecently refreshing, then so is the concept of a singer beaming, "We don't stand a chance in America", enthusing about Dionne Warwick, or frowning and exclaiming, "What did they say? Genius is pain, but mediocrity is a bloody nightmare!"
Anyway, back to that Wish List: Shirley isn't sure that every dream has come true - they aren't allowed to retrieve the sacred envelope from Burt's bowels until Christmas. In the meantime, however, there's the small, matter of working on the new Wish List for 1998...
Simon Williams
NME 13/12/97
Date: October 98
SPEARMINT
SONGS FOR THE COLOUR YELLOW
(hitBACK)
OF SUCH STUFF ARE CULT legends made. He's nearly 40, his name is Shirley, he's been writing cracking pop records for ages and his band have only played outside London once.
While Shirley Lee and Spearmint have been slurping from the fuzzy end of pop's lolly stick for a while now, it has allowed them to assemble this compilation of 7-inch single tracks which, like the Pacer mints of youth, are chewy, refreshing and have been unavailable for years.
As 'Songs For The Colour Yellow' shows, Spearmint's is a remarkably straightforward vision which incoroprates elements of the glorious past (Scritti Politti, Orange Juice) has cross references with the present (Pulp, Kenickie) but contains a vibrancy and clarity of its own. That such glorious cinematic rushes as 'A Bench In A Park', 'The Other Seven', and 'Scared Of Everything' have been relegated to flipsides in the past is testimony to Spearmint's kaleidoscopic bursts of melodic glory.
Of course you shouldn't rest on your laurels until you've got laurels to rest on, but with their last two singles, 'A Trip Into Space' and the stunning 'Sweeping The Nation' (neither, strangely, included here) having caused encouraging flickers on the musical radar, Spearmint have earned this short brake to take stock.
Which leaves the rest of us to ponder why, with such a wealth of talents at their command, no major label has taken up their cause. They signed the Supernaturals instead. Go figure.
Jim Wirth
NME, October 98
Date: 9/5/98
SPEARMINT
BRIGHTON CYBAR
YOU COULD FORGIVE HIM FOR HATING his parents and being a rampant misanthrope. He has, after all, got a girl's name. But instead of hiding away from the world, writing letters to deed poll people, or calling himself something butch, Spearmint's singer happily takes every opportunity to remind us he's called Shirley.
In front of a groggy Sunday night audience, Spearmint are busy dragging pop away from its current obsession with the pained and surly and reintroducing it to a concept as startling as fun. Hence Shirley swivels his hips like the spirit of Elvis has been forced into a gangly body and the band make entrances like this is Las Vegas. Most importantly, they have the tunes to make you remember why you fell for pop in the first place.
At times they sound like The Style Council probably did in Paul Weller's head, effortlessly languid and stylish, while still incorporating the guitar thrills of The Jam. At others they sound like a soul-loving, pre-mid-life crisis Pulp. Whichever way they play it, they have the knack of making everything seem almost perfect, namely through handclaps, rambling monologues, piercing falsetto and spot-on four-way harmonies.
But their real moments of triumph are the singles 'Sweeping The Nation' and 'A Trip Into Space'. Both are frantically paced, steal huge dollops of northern soul, and are so infectious they make you want to don ridiculously large trousers and dance like a gibbon. And in a climate of angst-ridden emotional debris, that's top quality entertainment.
Jim Alexander
NME 9/5/98
Date: 9/5/98
SPEARMINT
WATER RATS, LONDON
IF reality bites. Spearmint gnaw, Snap, there go 112 of the most outrageously talented pop teeth you'll ever come across, gnashing their way through 1998 like it's an hors-d'oeuvre before the main course of utter stardom. Grrr, there go singer Shirley's incisors, gritted into an expression of almost impossible determination, as, behind him, three men spin out music angular enough to have someone's eye out. Chomp, there goes "A Week Away", munching its way through Northern Soul, Seventies disco and New Wave bile, before washing it down with a giddy cocktail of pop, passion and promise.
Spearmint don't write songs, they ride songs, every beaming note the clear line that emerges from a blurrily spinning wheel. And Spearmint don't play songs, they play with songs, starting "Sweeping The nation" with a tinny, taped sample before exploding joyously over the top of it.
But it's that reality which hits you square an the jaw as you dance to the sound of your brain bruising, strange way in which four men who sound like Pulp doing Bee Gees' covers somehow manage not to be a sham. And, as Shirley frantically pumps his arm like a pinball wizard on a winning streak to the sound a majestically beautiful "This Is Green This Is Grey", it's impossible to imagine any band having a *** lasting taste bite with them.
ROBIN BRESNARK
Melody Maker 9/5/98