How did you meet and what’s the story behind your band name?
Dave (bass) and I are from Cheltenham – a quaint little Cotswold town full of horses and spies. Our parents are spies.
We went to college together there and started playing in a couple of bands. After Uni we moved to Bristol and Charlie Charlie (drums) was one of the first friends I made – at the time he was musically-engaged elsewhere but we spent many an evening jamming at inappropriate volumes in the terraced house we shared. It was around this time that we met our previous drummer, Dan Frost. The band really started to take on an identity and, when Dan decided he wanted to concentrate on his career baking cookies, Charlie was the first person we called.
‘Armchair Committee’ is some sort of super-deep, highly intellectual snipe at particularly vocal people who reckon they can change the world whilst faffing around ultimately doing sod all.
How would you describe your music?
Akin to month-old bed sheets: pretty damn dirty and dripping with the sweat of more than one person.
What have you been up to so far and what can we expect over the coming months?
We’ve spent the last couple of years playing gigs, writing, more writing, and then playing more gigs. It’s a constant cyclical thing that all bands need to do in order to get good and find a sound.
In 2014 we moved into Coach House Studios in Bristol which was previously home to Portishead and Massive Attack. It’s the hub of all our operations now and it feels great to be noising in a pretty mythical space. Everything we do is recorded in there.
The next couple of months are busy. We’re releasing our upcoming single, ‘Rawgabbit’ on 11th December (the b-side is a cover of Portishead’s ‘All Mine’). We’ve got a little tour lined up and then it’s debut album time early next year.
If you could duet with anybody who would it be and why?
Tom Waits. The idea of him doing a ‘Hell Broke Luce’ kinda pirate scat over some West Country swamp rock, is the stuff of dreams. Well, mine anyway.
What’s your desert island disc and why would you take this one album?
Metallica (1991). I could cover myself in beach and pretend I’m the Sandman whilst listening to Enter Sandman on repeat – you know, to pass the time.
No, not really. It’s an impossible choice. I’d probably go with ‘One World’ by John Martyn. It’s an incredibly atmospheric record and would be a great soundtrack for my evenings spent by the sea sipping coconut milk. I have a very optimistic view on these kind of things.