Interview
Charles Macleod is a beautiful boy. Actually, that's completely untrue. Even OxStu's Seafood-obsessed best friend refers to their guitarist as "the geeky bespectacled one". Which, despite being a fair enough description, completely fails to acknowledge the rather important fact that Charles is the demon guitarist of a truly vital band. 'Splinter', the second single from second album proper When Do We Start Fighting..., is the apex of Seafood's jagged guitar pop, a considered assault dealing in desolate beauty and desperate loss, oblique documentation and thrilling cataclysmic noise. A furiously contagious race through singer David Line's insecurities, it's apparently about his fear of being forgotten. Not bloody likely. Charles points out that the lyrics are very much under Line's control ("I don't know about that. He writes the lyrics, but obviously if it sounds wrong we'll say so"), but denies that the new material is a deliberate move towards a more polished sound than the raging extremes of 2000's Surviving The Quiet. "It had more to do with the production side of things. We were working with a proper producer, someone more experienced [Eli Janney], so we didn't have to have the guitars wailing and screaming all the time. We moved it down a bit. The songs are similar, but I wouldn't say it was more polished."
After all, it's live, with free rein given to their exhilarating exuberance, that Seafood really shine. Charles remembers their final gig at The Point, condemning its closure when canvassed for support ("we've always had a good time there, there's a good vibe. There's too many of these sports bars!"), but admits to a recent below-par support slot with The Fall in Oxford. OxStu tells Charles that being told to fuck off by Mark E Smith at that very gig was the rock'n'roll highlight of our life. He laughs. "He does have an interesting reputation - he's very feisty. He was alright towards us, but we acted with professionalism - we stayed out of his way!" Having recently supported Placebo, Seafood are now back out on the road with My Vitriol, whom we all know to be a "fly-blown pile of shite on legs" (astute NME reader, 2001); but Charles, of course, is far too tactful to be bullied into an admission of this fact. "I can't comment!" he insists. "They have a big fanbase...it's a similar sort of music…", he flounders. Alright, we'll leave the spotty bastards alone.
Speaking of whom, an otherwise supportive NME received the album with the dubious compliment that they've "made the best album they're ever likely to". The comment seems to reflect a widespread press perception of Seafood as obsessed with the American underground, limited to releasing a series of highly proficient Sonic Youth tributes and little more. "Yeah, I didn't know how to take that myself," muses Charles. "The thing is, unless you're American you're not going to get any credibility if you just happen to be influenced by an American sound." And, despite the US-led resurgence in guitar bands, anything straying from the Strokes blueprint can currently only receive short shrift. "Starsailor interest me a little bit, but I'm not a big fan of The Strokes," Charles reveals. And, of course, there was the NME-fuelled spat between Seafood and the short-lived gimp parade formerly known as Terris. "Haha, that backfired, didn't it?" he chuckles. "We've taken a few knockbacks, too, though." It must be frustrating to write a pop song as perfect as the American Psycho-referencing 'This Is Not An Exit' and see it disappear without trace. "We do find it a bit disappointing. But with this new album, there's renewed vigour," Charles laughs, with relish. "We might have to give up when we hit fifty or something, but until then..". Seafood, then, are in for the long haul. If you make it to fifty, cross your fingers they're still around.
Ria Hopkinson
8th Nov 2001