The Toronto Star
May 13, 1993
If Robyn Doesn't Sing It, He'll Paint It
by Jennie Punter
"Psychedelic campfire music" is how Robyn Hitchcock describes the vibe of the show he'll play at El Mocambo Friday night.
"The whole set is acoustic," says the British songwriter, who just released his seventh album, Respect, with his band The Egyptians (Andy Metcalfe and Morris Windsor).
"We don't use amps at all. If we use electric instruments, we just put them straight into the PA system.
"We have masses of keyboards. That's what this has evolved into. Andy and Morris use a lot of MIDI gear -- which only occasionally goes wrong."
The prolific Hitchcock has been creating exquisite Pop music for more than 16 years: first with the legendary Soft Boys, then with The Egyptians. A perennial college radio favorite, he has loads of cult cachet -- especially in North America.
But -- like so many great songwriters -- Hitchcock's artistic eccentricities and commitment to his unique vision have kept him from drifting into the mainstream. This is probably a good thing, since he uses the time he would have spent as a Pop star making beautiful, provocative oil paintings and writing capricious short stories (some of which he includes with album lyrics).
"I like to put a story with the record, just so there's something else to do when you get it," he says.
"Music is so linked with TV these days. I just like to steer people towards the written word."
Hitchcock has a cartoon appearing in the July edition of Details magazine, and the first public exhibition of his artwork is planned for next year.
"The guy who manages R.E.M. is acting as my art broker. The whole thing's a great adventure. When we're done promoting this record, I have to go back and paint."
Hitchcock "goes back" to his adopted hometown, Washington, D.C., or to his island home in the UK (where Respect was recorded with the help of a 40-foot-long mobile recording unit).
"I wrote a lot of songs in my kitchen on The Isle Of Wight. I have to be in motion. I don't write songs much on the road -- but I start to have ideas for them.
"If I'm static, if I'm not going anywhere for a while, I can paint. But I can't write words. I can't write stories or songs."
Hitchcock's artwork often graces his album jackets, and sometimes ideas for paintings and songs cross-fertilize. "Serpents At The Gates Of Wisdom", from the new album, was a painting first.
"I painted it, and I thought, 'Aha, this could be called "Serpents At The Gates"...,' And then I said, 'That sounds like a song.'"
"So I went back to England and wrote it. And then I thought, 'Hmmm, sounds like The Band.' But it didn't turn out that way."
The acoustic guitar, simple structure, and straightforward lyrics of the song are typical of the material on Respect -- perhaps Hitchcock's most accessible and poignantly direct album yet. He likely will play a lot of that record on Friday.
"We're sick of the old songs. We're not doing 'The Dead Wife' on this tour. We did that to death last year. We're not doing 'Uncorrected Personality Traits' or the, sort of, radio hits like 'Balloon Man' (from his first major-label album, Globe Of Frogs).
"We've got so many records, to go back to even 1986 is old for us. So I think the oldest stuff will be from '86 (and there's one Soft Boys tune)."
Even a brief conversation with Hitchcock reveals a mind constantly bubbling with inventive ideas. Realizing them, however, is a different story.
"Well, I really dislike learning things," he admits. "I'm one who prefers to talk than to listen. One who prefers to write rather than read.
"I like fiction. But I hate absorbing information. My father, by contrast, never read fiction. He was always reading reference books.
"Dictionaries are great," he continues, veering onto one of many tangents.
"I mean, you can't put a good dictionary down. You always find a word that you didn't want.
"But instruction manuals, I don't feel drawn to try to comprehend them.
"If someone tries to show me something, I might imagine what they look like without any clothes on. You know, when people try to explain something to you, it's great to think of a completely different thing.
"What's the most embarrassing personal thing I can think about this person?"
It's enough to make someone on the other end of a phone conversation nervous.
"I never think about that with the people I talk to on the phone," Hitchcock reassures.
"People on the phone are disembodied spirits to me. And when I see someone making a phone call, they just look like they're praying. If someone from a primitive culture were to see someone walking along and talking into a phone, they would think, 'Who are they praying to?' And that's what I think.
"Your head's bowed and you're chattering: like you're confessing something."
Sounds like an idea waiting to work its way into a Hitchcock song or painting.
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