How Not To Do The Nineties - Independent On Sunday, 14 May 2000
By Nicholas Barber (Contributed by Melanie Holdroyd)

IN 1980, THEY WERE THE PERFECT BRITPOP BAND: TROUBLE WAS, XTC WERE 20 YEARS AHEAD OF TIME, THINKS NICHOLAS BARBER. HERE'S WHY THEY'RE THE BEST IN THIS

Andy Partridge, the lead singer and songwriter of XTC, was hired to produce the Blur album that became Modern Life Is Rubbish. He was sacked after completing three tracks. "The man from the record company, Dave Balfe, really wasn't happy," he admits. "I remember they got him stoned one night and he heard some rough mixes and of course he was floating around going, (hippy whine) 'Urr, you're George Martin and they're the Beatles! It's fantastic, man!' And then two days later when he heard the finished mixes he was like, (public school drawl) 'Well, this is really shit, Andy. The rhythm track just isn't sexy.' I said, 'Well, look, Dave's not sexy. He's a big lump of ginge who just hits his drums.' Blur were also having a lot of internal problems. Graham was drinking far too much, Damon was ... practising at being Damon. He'd come in a couple of hours late. (Yobbish Cockney) 'Uh, sorry lads, I've been shaggin'. Justine just wouldn't let me out of bed.' They were kind of confused at the time."

XTC weren't too sure of themselves, either. They'd released an album in 1992, but felt it had been under-promoted by their record company, Virgin. After years of labouring under a contract they considered to be one of the meanest in pop history, this was the last straw. "Lawyers just say 'XTC's deal' to each other and fall on the floor kicking their legs in the air like the Smash martians," says Partridge. The trio went on strike, refusing to record a note until Virgin agreed to drop them.

Six "incredibly frustrating" years passed. Partridge was asked to write songs for the animated movie of James And The Giant Peach - then Disney gave the job to Randy Newman instead. Dave Gregory, one third of XTC, ran out of patience and "threw himself out of the band". Partridge went through a divorce which, if the songs which came out of it are any indication, was particularly bitter.

All the while, Blur's star was rising and Britpop was blooming. It was, you may remember, a very English style of music, built on snappy, clever, observational songs - just like XTC's "Making Plans For Nigel" and "Respectable Street", in fact. The similarity hasn't escaped Partridge. "We thought, this is ironic," he says. "These bands were being lauded and it was just something we did years earlier. But I don't like musical ghettos at all. You can see it's just a bus going by. Why should we wanna jump on a bus that we built? We're busy building another one back at the depot."

To summarise: lost the Blur job, lost the Disney job, lost a spouse, lost a band member, didn't capitalise on Britpop and couldn't record his beloved pop songs. Andy Partridge had a pretty unfortunate Nineties - and that's not even counting the prostate trouble and partial deafness. As the 21st century begins, he is still living in the "real crappy town" of Swindon in the terraced house he bought in 1982 when "Senses Working Overtime" was a hit.

An intriguing house it is, too. Lloyd Grossman would have a field day in the front room, with its wooden pitch-fork and its 1950s' bagatelle game. Partridge's own animal paintings are on display between the tasteful Christmas decorations he hasn't got around to taking down. Beside the piano sits a fort of Trumptonish toy soldiers and in the brick fireplace sits a Victorian-style quoits board, also painted by Partridge. Who lives in a house like this? Surely an English pop eccentric with a taste for playfulness, history and the countryside.

Partridge, a balding, bespectacled 46-year-old, lounges in this front room on a leather couch. He wears an inside-out turquoise T-shirt and a toggled pair of tartan trousers. He drinks almond tea with soya milk; real milk is "cow phlegm". Considering the agonies of XTC, it's a relief to report what a perky, amiable fellow he is. He chatters unreservedly, digressing every 30 seconds to expound on Alexei Sayle, Paul Weller, Japanese interview technique and why Nearest And Dearest was his favourite 1970s' sitcom. He also constructs teetering metaphors worthy of his namesake, Alan Partridge. In case you've ever wondered, fans adore pop stars because "God's exocet has fired from HMS Religion, but its computer's bust and it's just looking for something to land on."

The reason for his chirpiness is that last year, having finally made their getaway from Virgin, XTC released Apple Venus, their first album since 1992. It was rapturously received - "It was like, write your own reviews," enthuses Partridge. Now the band, comprising him and Colin Moulding, have a new album ready, featuring 12 more of the songs they stockpiled during the strike. Or, to put it in Partridgese: "We've shoved that giant ball of creative earwax over the edge of the cliff, and it's about to make the second part of its splash." If there is any justice, Wasp Star will be a hit. But after all these years, would XTC actually welcome that? There is, by Partridge standards, a long pause. "You see, this is a difficult one to answer," he says. "Lack of success has been really helpful for us, damn it. We've not had the rewards of success, financially, but we've not been backed into any artistic blind alleys. We feel like we can do anything we want, because we don't have anything to live up to or any fans to feel obliged to please. We're totally fearless in musical ventures. I am a skyboarder without a parachute or a safety net! Just a big pile of hay!"

The irony is that this freedom from expectation hasn't lured XTC into jazz odysseys or concertos. For all the variety of their output, their commitment to accessible pop songs has been constant. "We love that medium," he says. "If the concerto is a canvas size 20-foot long by 10-foot high, the format we deal with is probably an A4 sheet of paper and an 'andful of crayons. But we've got really good at it. Now that's weird. Instead of getting crappier, we've actually got better." A pensive mug of almond tea hovers between the table and his mouth. "In fact, I think we're the best at what we do. How's that for being modest? I'm supposed to be Mr Modest but I'm getting a bit bored with that. It's time I came out blasting. I think Colin and I are the best pop songwriters in England."

Inspired by Brian Wilson, Ray Davies, Lennon & McCartney and Bacharach & David, Partridge sees almost nobody today who compares. He turned down the curatorship of the South Bank's Meltdown Festival last year, because he couldn't think of anyone he wanted to showcase. "They said, 'Well, make a list of 20 bands who you'd really love to see up there.' I couldn't get beyond one." His favourite music is 1920s' jazz.

You can hear these opinions from any number of out-of-touch curmudgeons, but from Partridge they're rather sweet and heartening. After 25 years in XTC, his optimism and fighting spirit are undiminished. "Just banging your head against the wall as long as we have done, I feel the wall is actually crumbling now," he says cautiously. "We may be bruised, but the wall is giving way."

Of the bands of the 1990s, only Blur are spared his scorn -"I feel a sense of 'my boys' with them" - and he doesn't rate his contemporaries any higher. "Out of our generation I think there's only Elvis Costello that's left who writes songs - when he's not dicking around with Charles Aznavour tunes. Songwriting is a Jurassic Park with three beasts in it: myself, Colin Moulding and Elvis. With Damon knocking at the door to be let in."

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