title | Breaking Into Heaven |
---|---|
author | Emma Warren |
publication | The Face |
date | 2001/01 |
issue | Vol.03 No.48 |
pages | 94-98 |
Breaking Into Heaven is an interview by Emma Warren originally published Jan. 2001 in The Face magazine Volume 03, Number 48, pp.94-98.
This is an original text copied verbatim from the original source. Do not edit this text to correct errors or misspellings. Aside from added wikilinks, this text is exactly as it originally appeared.
Text Emma Warren
Photography Boards Of Canada
Boards Of Canada make music from the top of the world, in a twisty parallel universe where itâs 3am all day. Theyâd like to take you there.
Kings Of Quiet
Arthurâs seat is an 850ft outcrop of volcanic rock that melts into the outskirts of Edinburghâs; Scottish electronica duo Boards Of Canada are perched halfway up. Itâs not quite, as the new EP would have it A Beautiful place out in the county, but itâs near enough to the grainy, rural influences that seep through everything they create. This is as close as weâre allowed to get to their secret countryside studio. âItâs only to keep unwanted visitors away,â explains Mike Sandison. âWe receive a lot of strange mail. On guy sent us mail addressed to âJesusâ and âAlienâ. Iâm not sure which one I wasâŚâ
Myth: boards Of Canada are easy to define. They donât let other people photograph them. They conduct media relations by email. They live out in the wilds of Scotland, making distressed, nostalgic electronica and esoteric short films. Truth: Boards Of Canada are all this and more. But also: Boards Of Canada want to make parallel-universe pop records that sound like an electronic version of the beach boys ubermotional zenith, Pet sounds. Sandison and his musical partner Marcus Eoin supply artwork instead of posing fro photographs â because, they say, âwe look like potatoes.â Actually thatâs not strictly true. But this is: Boards Of Canada are the kings of quiet, grand rulers of tune-laden analogue electronica, and despite their insistence that it is not the sound of coming down, it is the sound of 3amâŚonly more so.
Their 1998 debut album Music Has the Right To Children became a word-of-mouth sensation, selling 100,000 copies worldwide. Electronic, quiet, sonorous and off kilter, every track showed that electronic experimentation could live in peace with beautiful melodies. Boards Of Canada tunes became a fixture on Chris Morrisâ Radio 1 show Blue Jam (âheâs a ten-times-more âintelligent Jeremy Paxman who woke up one day and decided not to lie anymore,â says Sandison). Doves were desperate to tour with them. Then a type of quiet (or quietist) revolution happened in music. Folksy Norwegian duo Kings Of Convenience called their album Quiet is the new loud. The most successful indie bands (Travis, Coldplay) were no longer loud and macho, but more mellow and folky. The current stream of bedroom electronica, from Melodic labels Minotaur Shock to Warpâs ambient trash-can hip-hop outfit Prefuse 73, makes calmness the new virtue in experimental music. Shh!
Boards Of Canada may be influential, but they wear it lightly. âWe just want to make something that sounds like a pop record from another dimension,â shouts Eoin over the noise of a growing downpour.â Something that everyone is listening to, but that sounds really, really strange.â Standing between the clouds and earth, looking over a busy city from an ancient explosion of rock, Boards Of Canada, with their ageless, melancholic, otherworldly music, seem uniquely placed to do just that.
Though theyâd rather die than be bombastic about it, like all great pop bands, Boards Of Canada define themselves by what they dislike as much as what they love. They stand for childlike innocence, not adult cynicism; natural awe, not chemical thrills; and above all, a rural ideal completely opposite to the fast-paced urban excitement that has powered pop music for nearly 50 years. âOur music is a negative reaction to the city,â declares Sandison in a voice that mixes well-bred Edinburgh vowels with a softer, countryside burr. âIn cites, the clubs and DJs all influence each other. Itâs like a soup,â agrees Eoin, enjoying the very non-urban view of the North Sea with a rainbow high above. âLike clothes-shop music. If I ever heard any of our music in a clothes shop, Iâd quit!â Not that theyâve anything against commerciality per se. After meeting Chris Cunningham through their label, Warp, Boards Of Canada composed music for a handful of his promos including a 1999 Nissan ad and a 30-second Telecom Italia short that featured Leonardo Di Caprio. âChris gets very excited about the music,â they smile. âHe was nearly exploding on the phone last time we sent him some tracks. He reckoned the new EP Sounded like vocoder music at a Sunday school.â
Surely drugs must have inspired such weirdness? Boards of Canada â typically â disagree. âWe want to reiterate this,â says Sandion. âThis isnât drug music. Iâve always imagined it as daytime music: itâs a beautiful day, in the middle of the afternoon, and youâre with your friends listening to twisty musicâ. Boards have, of course, done time under the influence (âmushrooms!â), but now their musical vision is unadulterated. âImagine going back in time to a point where music branched off, but it went down a slightly different alley.â Sandison sighs. âSo itâs still music, and itâs still 2000 but it sounds brilliant, fresh and strange.â In a parallel universe of their making, there would be âmore colourâ (Sandison), âmore extremity and less greyâ (Eoin), and âno Starbucks!â (both).
Eoin and Sandison grew up in Cullen, a small fishing village on the west coast of Scotland. Their fathers were both construction managers. Each family emigrated within a few months of each other, and between 1976 and 1980, Eoin and Sandison found themselves living only a few streets apart in Calgary, Canada. âWe knew each other before, but it was just coincidence that both our families went,â says Sandison. âIt was a thing to do in the late Seventies â everyone seemed to be going to try something fresh, to get some mores space.â Canada, they say, wasnât that different from home (âits just a big, inflated Scotlandâ). But the place had a lasting influence, if only in Boards Of Canada name â inspired by the hours they spend watching nature documentaries made by the Film Board of Canada. After their families moved back to Cullen, Eoin and Sandison spent their adolescent years getting into trouble (for breaking windows and stealing things), experimenting with electronic music and making basic stop-start animation with an old Super-8 camera and zombie movies with masks and fake blood. Their work still mines this freewheeling, innocent, DIY aesthetic. Live, Boards Of Canada perform banked by TV sets playing clips from safety information films, grainy images of children in faded rainbow colours, and their own family cine films showing them cycling round in circles in bright suburban gardens. Their record sleeves are decorated with pictures of trees, birds, buses and childrenâs paintings. Itâs a hidden, half-forgotten world, a million miles away from sophisticated, grown-up, personality-led pop music. âCullenâs one of those places where thereâs nothing for kids to do, but thatâs a good thing because youâre creating everything yourself,â reckons Eoin.
âIâm still conscious of being in our own little world,â says Sandison. The pair finally ventured out of village life to study at Edinburgh University. Sandison studied music; Eoin dropped out of an artificial intelligence degree. The students, he says wanted to âdo mad things with like grow DNA and leave it to learnâ, but the lecturers were more interested in equations. In 1996 the pair released Twoism, an EP of grainy melancholia on their own label Music 70,. Autechreâs Sean Booth heard it and hooked them up with Manchester electronic label Skam, who released their single Aquariusâ. Autechreâs links with Skam made a move to Warp almost inevitable: MHTRTC was joint release between the two labels. Driving around the outskirts of Edinburgh, drying off in (the) warmth of his plush, silver BMW, Eoin ejects a Stevie Wonder CD out from the car stereo and rummages through his rucksack. âYou have to hear this. Itâs the Mysterious Voices Of Bulgaria â 30 women in traditional dress singing these unbelievable harmonies! Itâs the kind of music that is totally divorced from normal music, bit I love it. It resets my clock.â
The new album, as yet untitled, also promises to rest your clock. âSome artists air their dirty laundry. We know which songs fit the Boards umbrella,â they say. Neither Sandison or Eoin will be drawn into specifics, although they say things like âmy dream album would be an organic, really melodic electronic albumâ; âitâs a lot darker, and some tracks sound like theyâre 25 years oldâ; and â we use a lot of subliminal messages. You have to reconstruct them in your mind.â They have based a number of new songs on mathematical equations (working out frequencies for melodies that directly correlate to the changing amount of light in one day, for example). Theyâve also painstakingly downgraded the production, so that it sounds like it has been made on ancient equipment: âWe like the nostalgia of it.â
Two books of their photography and artwork are also planned: one to accompany the album, the other a âproper, glossyâ coffee table affair. All of which goes some way to explaining the long gaps between releases. âSomeone wrote that we smoke too much and thatâs why we the music takes so longâ splutterâs Sandison. âThey have no idea!â The fact is that , like the countryside itself, Boards Of Canada canât be rushed. The gentle, ageless beauty of their art is the result of months and years of evolution; and of constant, backbreaking work which brooks no metropolitan distraction. Their sound may happen to be fashionable, but they themselves are beyond fashion.
Mike Sandison once had a dream that he was in Edinburgh, near the castle. All the stonework of the buildings and the roads were covered in flowerbeds sown with a tapestry of bright flowers in concentric patterns. âIt was the most amazing thing, and it stuck with me for ages. It made me think: thereâs nowhere in the world like this! Nowhere at all! So I thought we should try and make tunes that people in that town would be listening toâ.