“Heavenly Twins”

• By Helen FitzGerald
• Melody Maker
• 19-Mar 1983

Last September a very strange thing happened.

Three unknown scruffy Scottish urchins took the indie charts by storm with, a debut album, called Garlands, an unbelievably fluid chunk of sultry passion, and a spiralling frieze of images with a lyrical, haunting emotion that boldly and defiantly insinuated its way into the mind and heart.

But who on earth were these Cocteau Twins and where had they come from? Were they the willing puppets of yet another conniving industry hype? And how else could they have sprung from nowhere to the forefront of our attention?

The curious enigma that enveloped them was further heightened and propagated by an appalling lack of media coverage, initiating even more rumours, speculation and distortion.

The three individuals at the centre of this maelstrom were, in fact, even more bemused than the rest of us! Thoroughly taken aback by their success and the sudden spotlight of interest, and totally naive about the machinations of the music biz, they shrank gratefully into the wise and gently cocooning arms of their record company, 4AD, where, as Liz jokingly comments, “we hid our head in the sand and hoped the hulabaloo would disappear!”

From Falkirk — a nowhere town between Glasgow and Edinburgh — our three reluctant heroes, Liz, Will and Robin, are endearingly bumbling characters, who in no way could be pigeonholed with the new “hip” Scottish scene — awkward, self-conscious and shy, their impetus is forged from a far deeper source than mere style.

Their curiously structured music, woven magically from intricate guitar/bass/rhythm box interaction, is injected with the stamp of something extra-special by the rich, twisting empathy of Liz’s rising and ebbing vocals, creating a flawless mirage of colour, and proving that the ungainly nervousness they display with strangers belies a stronger, more decisive core.

Their story began when schoolchums Rob and Will spotted Liz at a local hotel bar “hop,” and singled her out as the only girl in the room who could dance!

“We sort of assumed that if she could dance she’d be able to sing as well,” recalls Robin, “so she got roped into it! She was really shy at first, and would only sing if we left the room!”

“We wanted something radically different from the dreary cabaret acts that played the local pubs,” adds Will. “We pinched the name from an early Simple Minds song we thought would be long forgotten — we’re a bit cheesed off with it now, but I guess it’s too late to change.”

“Another reason we formed the band,” volunteers Liz, “is that we just didn’t fit in with the people of our age group. We used to take off all round the country to see the Birthday Party, and blag our way into every gig!”

It was at one of these gigs that Rob asked the ‘Party for advice about the London record companies. They told him to contact 4AD, and bingo, the unbelievable happened; they not only liked the material, but offered to release it as well!

Now, six months after Garlands they’re poised to launch their third single “Peppermint Pig” (available on seven and 12 inch), which shows a growing maturity, a stronger confidence in their material and, curiously, Alan Rankine at the production controls. How did that strange partnership happen?

“He was cheap,” snorts Will, rolling his eyes to the heavens, in a contemptuous gesture of disgust. “And that’s about all he had going for him — he was about as much use to us as a sandpit in a desert.”

“He was totally apathetic,” choruses Rob. “It was really obvious from the start that he didnae care for our music, and essentially we had to produce it ourselves. Och he did help with arrangements and things,” he concedes. “But it was good that he was there,” reasons ragamuffin Liz, the peacemaker, “even if he didn’t do very much.”

“But what we really needed was someone authoritative,” persists Will, not to be appeased. “Someone who’d at least give us their opinions on things — Alan was so vague and disinterested.”

Strong stuff from a still fledgling band, but added proof that they’re not content to be fobbed off with anything less than wholehearted enthusiasm — an attitude that’s helped to spread their almost underground popularity.

With little press and purposely muted promotion (apart from John Peel who, in a rare moment of animation, pronounced them to be “Probably my favourite band in the world”), they’ve rapidly gained the respect and admiration of their musical colleagues — OMD have just invited them onto their nine-week European tour, but the Cocteau Twins, with unfeigned coyness, are still bewildered by it all.

“They just rang us out of the blue,” explains Will, arching his bushy eyebrows in surprise. “I mean, we’ve never met them or anything, and there were dozens of bands after that slot, and we didnae have to buy onto it or anything.”

They’re stunned by the implication. Entertainingly self-deprecating, they genuinely believe their success has been precipitated by some inexplicable quirk of fate and will be snatched back from them any moment. Trying to persuade them to talk about themselves simply induces embarrassed blushes and nervous hilarity.

“We’re dead lazy,” Rob volunteers. “Lazy and fat. We just sit around all day and play with the Atari.”

Do you associate with any other Scottish bands or play much locally?

“Oh noooooo,” winces Will. “You see, we’re not sussed enough for all that.” He says it with a strong hint of sarcasm.

“We tried to break into the Glasgow/Edinburgh gig circuits when we started off,” says Liz, “but we weren’t a part of any clique so they just wouldn’t let us in.”

So what have you been doing since Lullabies (the EP follow-up to Garlands)?

“Well, we did our second Peel session recently,” enthuses Liz. “We’re really pleased with it, and the new songs came up better than they do on the EP — I shouldn’t really say that, should I?” she chuckles, “but Gordon Sharp, a friend of ours who used to be in The Freeez came along and added some vocals, and it came up really well. It’s not that we’re unhappy with the record, it’s just that we’re quite apprehensive of the reaction to it.

“I mean it’s a lot more beaty than anything else we’ve done, an’ we’ve used piano, an’ vibes and things,” she explains, waving her arms about in illustration. “People will probably hate it,” she adds somewhat despondently, but I reckon it’s a misplaced pessimism.

The Cocteau Twins have, to their total disbelief, made it big in Holland — the January issue of Amsterdam’s Vinyl magazine even attributes them with “cult” status, while harping on what they term “Liz Frazer’s romantic death obsession!”, which she finds a bit perturbing.

“Yeah, apparently in Holland we’re superstars,” Will shakes his head in amazement. “We played there to packed houses, and despite a series of hilarious mistakes (he grins pointedly at Liz), we went down really well.”

It’s a pity that accolades like this haven’t rubbed off on this side of the channel, but the ‘Twins aren’t too disgruntled about it. They’ve just signed to 4AD on a five-year contract, so their future seems a lot brighter than it did earlier in the year; and they are, by their own admission, quite happy to gradually pervade and enfold public consciousness, rather than be herded into a category, picked up on some passing whim, and then discarded.

See, these people are wise as well as clever. ▣

Read the full article online from its source.