Telling the Bees are an exquisite four-piece folk group from Oxford, UK, and with the recent release of their sophomore effort An English Arcanum I decided it was more than high time to interview these horribly talented maestros. Luckily for me vocalist Andy Letcher was more than up for the challenge, with results that you may read for yourself…
Heathen Harvest: First of all, could you tell us a little about the band’s line-up and how you came to be?
Andy Letcher: We are a four-piece: me (Andy) on vocals, mandolin and pipes; Jane on fiddle, viola and concertina; Colin on bass and Josie on cello. We all met through Oxford’s legendary Catweazle Club, a weekly, open, acoustic performance space where you can expect only the unexpected. With an attentive audience and a cult following it’s a great place to cut your teeth. I was joined originally by Josie, and then by Jane and Colin in quick succession.
HH: The arrangements of your songs are invariably exquisite, especially with the new instrumental elements you’ve introduced on An English Arcanum. Could you explain the process by which you work out who plays what, and when?
AL: I start by writing the songs on mandolin, providing the lyrics and the broad harmonic structure, the mood, if you like. Everyone else writes their own parts to flesh out the bones. Parts evolve through careful thought, jamming and the spontaneous free-flow of ideas between all four of us. We have developed a fantastic level of trust which means we feel safe to experiment. Everyone feels involved in the creative process and has great freedom to express their own ideas. Often arrangements only come together at the last minute, just before we record them. It’s exciting when things are flowing between us, an exhilarating feeling. We all know when it’s working, when we’ve got the sound we were looking for. We work on the instrumentals in a similar way. ‘Sweet Dream’ began as a short mandolin lick. Something about it appealed to the band and it grew into this imaginative and evocative journey, complete with gongs and chopped up samples of musical boxes.
HH: Jane and Josie’s sensitive and intricate strings bring an overt classical influence to bear on the very folky core of each of your songs; is it ever a challenge to meld the disparate influences that inform your music?
AL: Not really. Jane and Josie (not forgetting Colin!) are both adept at using their instruments to paint pictures. Sometimes the song requires a strong folky hook but often a more classical line can conjure just the right picture or feeling that the lyrics require. The boundaries between folk and classical have always been permeable, thin even, and today most folk musicians have at least a modicum of classical training. In truth there’s no longer an extent folk music in England, in the sense of an unbroken oral tradition. Rather, there’s a lot of people making art music based upon traditional sources. I spent my formative years listening to prog, rock, funk and techno – all these influences too work their way into the mix. In that sense, we are doing what folk musicians have always done, which is to blend traditional sources with contemporary rhythms and sounds.
HH: I notice your music is entirely self-recorded and produced, with bassist Colin Fletcher in particular having a central role in the production process. Given how warm and full your recordings are, I wonder if you would care to enlighten us as to the equipment and facilities you use?
AL: Everything is recorded live onto Colin’s laptop via an Edirol soundcard. Colin uses (and helps develop) the Linux-based Ardour DAW software (it’s free and available for Mac OSX too). He’s mobile (though now has his own studio, Starling Audio) so we usually try and hole up in a cottage in the countryside somewhere for a week. That way we can dedicate ourselves to the process. We do everything live, recording complete takes until we have one that has the right feel. We can do minor edits and repairs, and add overdubs, effects, samples and what have you (on the latest album there’s a purring cat and Jane playing a shower hose like a bugle). We mix and master ourselves and with four pairs of acutely trained ears we eventually end up with a mix that we’re all happy with. An English Arcanum took almost exactly a year to make, from start to finish.
HH: On your first album is a song about the making of your mandolin; the liner news of the new album proudly proclaim Colin’s use of a Shergold electric guitar on some of the tracks. You guys obviously have a reverence for unique instruments… any stories you’d care to share about the musical gear you use?
AL: We all have strong attachments to our particular instruments. My mandolin was made by Paul Hathway in London. I went down to his workshop and he sat me down in his showroom with a cup of tea and left me to it. The walls were covered in instruments but one repeatedly caught my eye. Scroll-ended, inlaid with mother of pearl and possessing a tone that was round and rich and perfect for me to sing with. Needless to say it was twice as much as I’d wanted to pay but I had to have it! I’m a sucker for beautifully made things that are well-designed. My pipes are exquisite too, made from ebony and animal horn by Somerset maker Jon Swayne and his assistant, Mike York. The other band members all have similar stories to tell about how they found their instruments. There’s an old idea that some instruments have souls (why else would people carve heads on the end of them?). I know my mandolin has ‘shown’ me new chord shapes, and new tunes and ornaments have tumbled out of my pipes. In ‘Wood’ I wanted to honour both the instrument and the maker, without whom there would be no music. That said, me and Colin are also fans of classic analogue synths – anything that has a bit of character.
HH: There seem to be recurring allusions to animism and paganism throughout your music. Could you tell us about the philosophy or ideas behind this aspect of your music?
AL: As a songwriter, I find that there is a wealth of inspiration to be found in British folklore, fairytale and mythology, and in nature too, with all of its dark and mysterious goings on. By using such a rich and pokey source, by mining such a rich seam, it allows people to find their own way into the songs. Some see our music as explicitly Pagan; others view it as strictly metaphorical. By leaving that particular door open the music can speak to more people than if the meaning is spelled out or strictly delineated. But bubbling up underneath and through folklore and fairytale is an atavistic feeling, one that slips away the more you try to grasp or name it. It is this feeling that we try and evoke, however obliquely.
HH: Perhaps in that vein, “Saddle the Hare” and “The Language of Birds” seem to reference the shamanistic themes of Celtic (Taliesin) and Norse (Sigurd) mythology. Do you draw inspiration from such mythologies, or is this co-incidence?
AL: No, not a coincidence! I was definitely thinking about Taliesin in ;Saddle the Hare;, and also the hare in Kit Williams’ book, Masquerade. ‘The Language of Birds’ was inspired by Irish myth, but also by the experiences of a friend, a writer, who suffers from schizophrenia. He describes how, at one point, his girlfriend lent forward and spoke to him in bird song. I found this such an arresting image that I wanted to write a song about it. But I am also a bit of a birder, and every spring try and learn to identify a few more bird calls. I’d love to know what they hear.
HH: Your songs have a remarkable feel for evoking the spirit of specific times and places. In what ways do the stories and landscapes of England influence your music?
AL: Certainly I write many of my songs and tunes while out walking the land. Something about the rhythm of walking, the effort needed to climb a hill, the view from the top, the spirit of place - these are all good for the creative process. We’re all very inspired by landscape (hence our going away to the countryside to record and our deliberate referencing of English composers like Vaughan Williams) and also the vexed question of Englishness. Is there a way of celebrating Englishness in a way that is inclusive and relevant to our urban lifestyle, and which can’t be appropriated by the narrow bigotry of the far-right? We’re also very inspired by Oxford, its history and stories. I don’t think it’s any coincidence that so many of the major British imaginative writers have come from Oxford: Tolkein, Lewis, Carroll, Pulman. Something in the fabric of the place seems to lure the imagination. I don’t think our music could have come from anywhere else.
HH: Some of your songs seem like missives straight from some divine source – to me the utterly brilliant “Blackbird (A Crumb for a Song)”, with the twists of its irony, stands out particularly on the new album. Where do these ideas come from?
AL: Um. Next question? I wish I knew. Often it’s something very prosaic. ‘Wood’ began when, after a very bad bout of insomnia, I was looking at a woodpile and the lines, ‘how wonderful is wood’, and ‘the woodsman never cuts against the grain’ popped into my head. Only later did I get the idea to trace the making of my mandolin (though the fact that I used to be a storyteller probably informs me to a big extent – I’ve internalised the logic of stories, how they twist back in and around themselves). ‘Blackbird’ began with me watching a bird opportunistically feeding on the crumbs dropped by people round the back of a sandwich shop in Oxford! I was hoping he might sing, but it was February and way too early – it’s always a breathtaking moment when you hear their mazy song for the first time. I started working on the song and in a moment of inspiration (I remember it clearly – I was sitting in the audience at the Catweazle) I realized that the bird had indeed given me a song for a crumb. Ta da! All the pieces fell into place. I saw how to tie them up, how the story could become a metaphor for winter blues, that melancholic longing for spring.
HH: As with the first release, your new album has some strong political sentiments, particularly about the environment and “progress”. Could you enlighten us as to the experiences and ideas that inform the political aspect of Telling the Bees?
AL: We’re all left-leaning green hippy-types and broadly opposed to the madness of the capitalist machine. During the 90s I was very involved in environmental direct action, and lived in a treehouse for 6 months during the Newbury Bypass anti-road campaign. Folk music has a long political pedigree, supporting the common man and keeping stories of struggle alive. ‘Otmoor Forever’ is a true story about a protest against the enclosures that occurred in 1830, at Otmoor, just outside Oxford. When I heard about those events, and the fact that there had been a riot at St Giles Fair (which still takes place every September), I knew it needed to be celebrated and remembered in song.
HH: Anything glaringly obvious I've missed that just has to be said? I leave the final word to you...
AL: I don’t think so. No, these have been really interesting questions – thanks for asking them! No one plays folk for fame or money so it’s always a delight to know that people are enjoying what we do. Thanks to you, and to all our fans, for your support.
