Hookworms conjure up mind-imploding intensity

As an increasingly in-demand producer, Hookworms’ vocalist and organ player MJ probably spends the majority of his waking life in this space. It was here that he adopted an insomniac’s schedule to meticulously craft the band’s excellent 2013 debut album Pearl Mystic – a record of emotionally uplifting and krautrock- driven psychedelic punk which cathartically alleviated him from a depression caused by the disintegration of his relationship, the loss of his job and the flooding of his previous studio. Once a week, the rest of the band meet him here after work to master the art of being one of the most visceral live guitar bands in the UK.

Pizzas are ordered and the band are happy to sit around chatting for 45 minutes, even as our interview begins to overlap into their precious rehearsal time. Due to the band’s adversity to music industry bullshit (amid the hype of Pearl Mystic last year, Hookworms were – and still are – hesitant to do photo shoots), you could have wrongly presumed that this interview would be in someway hard work. MJ, in particular, defies preconceptions. Onstage, he’s an intense presence, breaking out into a frenzy when the music reaches its peaks, scowling as if in pain as he screeches in an aggressive style he learnt from his previous role in a Rites Of Spring-influenced post- hardcore band.

But, of course, performance is a transformative process, and MJ’s polite, self-deprecating manner is at odds with his ferocity on record and onstage. He dismisses his production work on Pearl Mystic as “shit” and claims he distorts his voice with so much echo due to his lack of confidence. He’s also (perhaps unintentionally) become something of a spokesperson among the UK’s indie community due to his socially-aware Twitter activity – namely confronting the bizarre prevalence of misogyny in music journalism and at indie gigs. But when pushed on the subject, his response is in line with Hookworms’ rejection of rock music’s traditionally egotistical nature. “I just care about certain things. I’m definitely aware of the pedestal … But I don’t really care about being known, I’m not really interested in it. I don’t like the idea of being a frontman, I’m not particularly interested in being famous or anything like that, I just want to play music with my friends”.

Our interview takes place as Hookworms are gearing up for the release of their sophomore album The Hum, which sees them make the transition from Nottingham- based independent Gringo Records to Domino offshoot Weird World. The anticipation is considerable – Pearl Mystic was a prominent record in 2013’s end-of- year-lists, reaching the #1 spot in Loud and Quiet, Drowned in Sound and Brooklyn Vegan. The band’s debut self-titled EP was initially released on a limited cassette run via Sun Ark, the imprint run by Cameron Stallones, aka Sun Araw. If Stallones hadn’t suggested it, they claim, they wouldn’t have thought of putting it out on a label at all. “I mean, we’ve been a band for five years now, and it’s only the last year anyone’s paid attention,” MJ says of the organic hype that surrounds the band. “But the whole thing’s been amazing. And to get to release music through someone like Domino is beyond anything I expected to do, because it’s like a dream label. But I’d still be doing it if we weren’t.”

“I don’t think it’s ever been a conscious effort to do anything for the purpose of people buying it or writing about it,” adds guitarist JW. “In a weird way, it’s just happened. We just started doing it as a hobby, in my cellar … and it has become a more time-consuming hobby than it was four years ago.” While it might seem overly modest for a band with such a high profile to describe the project as a ‘hobby’, the band are simply acknowledging the realities of being in a band during a post-recession, digital era. “I’m not sure what people’s concepts are of how many records we’ve sold, but in my head we’ve sold an astronomical amount for who we are,” says MB, the band’s bassist. “But yeah, if you take all the stuff we pay for out of it, like rent and all that kind of shit, then you’re still in the minus once you’ve split it five ways. There’s no way on earth we could live off this band.”

While MJ’s achieved a steady enough income as a producer, the band also still hold down full-time jobs. So are they content with their circumstances? “Still good,” drummer JN nods. “Pretty solid for me,” shrugs SS, “it’s a nice balance”. And with some band members working in schools, Hookworms can only feasibly tour during term breaks, a limitation which MB claims maintains their passion for playing live. “I quite like that it’s restricting. Because there’s bands who tour for six months of theyear, and I wouldn’t be able to do it. We still play a fair few shows, but I think it makes them more special when it’s not day in, day out, same set over and over.”

There’s a liberating honesty to Hookworms’ approach, and wisdom in shunning a careerist mindset altogether during a time when record sales are excruciatingly low and the profit generated via streaming sites is practically nonexistent. But a lot of the time, there needs to be some finances for bands to exist at all. So, as musicians who were spawned by Leeds’ strongly-principled DIY scene, how do they feel about the awkward, increasingly common subject of corporate sponsorship? “When you’re deep in the DIY thing and you’re like 18, and someone you knew did a sponsored show you’d think ‘fucking sell-outs’ or whatever,” says MB, “but I’ve stopped thinking like that, I do understand it when you see how little money people make off bands,” he admits. MJ looks as if he’s thinking carefully about his answer.

“I’ve done records that have been paid for by people doing sponsored shows and things like that. Like, I did a record that was paid for by a band that were doing, like, a Made In Chelsea show, and they could never have afforded to record with me if not. So I can’t really say anything about that, because I paid my rent off it as well. It’s hard, isn’t it? Because that’s pretty much the only place where the money is. I mean, look at what happened to ATP, who were strongly anti-sponsorship, I mean regardless of anything else with them…” “They still owe us a grand,” MB interjects, “and I bet we’re at the bottom of their fucking list!”. The room erupts with laughter.

During our conversation, the band are eager to shout out the underground bands among the UK’s indie community who’ve inspired them along the way. They speak passionately of the bands on Dan Reeves of Cold Pumas’ Brighton-based Faux Disc label, the work that Richard Phoenix (who plays in Tense Men and Sauna Youth) does with musicians with learning disabilities with his Constant Flux organisation, they cite Nottingham drone metal trio Kogumaza as a major influence and their deep knowledge of the North East’s scene ranges from now-defunct bands like Red Monkey and This Aint Vegas to newer projects such as School of Language, Field Music and The Week That Was. And, of course, they’re deeply affectionate about the heritage of Leeds’s music scene, name-checking acts such as Bilge Pump, That Fucking Tank, and the musicians in and affiliated with the Vibracathedral Orchestra ensemble, whose founding member Michael Flower, coincidentally, was the IT technician at the college JW attended.

Hookworms are both proud and fully content with being based around the city. But a mentality exists, particularly within London, that to achieve a certain concept of ‘success’, bands should flock to the capital, where the vast majority of the England’s music press, promoters, labels and A&Rs congregate. But Hookworms don’t feel like being based in the North has hindered the project at all. “Some people, they get into their late 20s or early 30s and they’re still wanting to move to London to ‘make it’, that’s still a thing and it seems like such an outdated point of view. Especially with the internet,” MB argues. And then there’s the bleak socio-cultural consequences of London’s excruciatingly high rent and living expenses, which mean that young people without considerable financial backing from their parents are pretty much excluded from less profitable creative pursuits and careers in the industry. It’s a predicament which resonates with the band. “I have massive issues with both the London-centricity of the creative industries and the culture of internships,” MJ declares, “there’s a huge barrier which means that they’re only open to privileged people.”

We leave the band to get started with their rehearsal, and a few weeks later, we attend a sold out gig on The Hum’s promotional tour. The volume is ear- punishingly loud, reverb-drenched guitars swim between MJ’s organ and JN and MB’s rhythmic pulse, which ensures that the sweat-soaked crowd keep dancing during the aural assault. Sadly MJ overstrains himself, and Hookworms’ following gigs in Newcastle and Glasgow are cancelled as he’s completely lost his voice. The band’s statement seems regretful, but we expect more due to the disappointment of their fans rather than the fact they’ve got a new album to push. Because regardless of whether or not they’re selling any records, or if people are showing up to their gigs, or if any publications such as the one you’re reading are giving a shit, this is the kind of band who’ll always be making noise, whether it be in a garage, a basement, or the relative luxury of a dark, soundproofed unit in an industrial estate.