Andy Welch catches up with the Manchester band James as frontman Tim Booth reveals the emotional story behind their latest album

JAMES returned with a new album earlier this year, six years after their previous work. In the life of most bands, it would seem monumental, a comeback or heralded return.

While there was some fanfare about the release of Le Petit Mort, it’s merely the latest in a long line of interesting points in their CV. Compare it to the time, after the release of their debut album, that members of the band enrolled on medical trials to earn money, or the bank loan they secured to record their second album, not to mention the ever-changing early lineup and serious drug problems that almost ended them several times, splits and reformations, and a long gap between albums looks like a tiny bump in the road. Their path has never run smooth.

“There was always going to be another album,” says singer Tim Booth, adding that the band didn’t reform in 2007 to play endless greatest hits tours. “We were born to play new music,” he says. “We’re cautious with those old songs, and we didn’t want to do what Pixies did, with nostalgia tours. It became too rote, but you have to challenge yourself and take risks as a band.”

Le Petit Mort, their 13th album, could certainly be described as taking a risk.

It’s an album inspired by the death of Booth’s mother and his best friend, and features not only suitably emotional lyrics, but some of the most experimental music of their career, too. It began back in November 2012, shortly after they’d finished touring.

“We locked ourselves into a house by a loch in Scotland, in the middle of winter,” says Booth.

“We knew we had an album,”

continues bassist Glennie, the band’s longest-serving member. “We weren’t just jamming, these were songs at four or five minutes. Normally, we find it very tedious editing down massive amounts of music, but this was different, it was all in more order and it was a very productive time.”

Despite the break since 2008’s Hey Ma, time was of the essence when it came to making Le Petit Mort, the band keen to record the album in the small window they had available. Now signed to BMG and indie label Cooking Vinyl, James had the money behind them to afford a stay in some of London’s most-established studios.

One such studio was RAK, founded in the 1970s by producer Mickie Most.

“It was funny when we were there,”

says Booth. “We all got on so well with the staff, but after a couple of weeks, we found out that they’d been warned before we arrived. The manager of the studio said ‘They might look a mildmannered bunch, but they were here in the 1990s and they’re the most rock ‘n’ roll band we’ve ever had’.”

Booth can’t understand why so few writers pen songs explicitly about birth, sex and death, citing Nick Cave and Leonard Cohen as two who buck the trend.

“They’re the most primal things, after food and shelter. For me, they’re the moments where you get a glimpse of something that makes everything else seem like a bit of a dream. Birth and death are quite similar, too. A lot of the women I know who’ve given birth say they feel like they’re going to die, because they’re so close to their edge. And in a weird way, my mother dying in my arms was like a birth, there was something very strong there. I don’t think there’s anything depressing about Le Petit Mort, it’s the cusp of love, death and sex. How wonderful.”

  • James’ 13th album Le Petit Mort is out now
  • November 17 – Newcastle O2 Academy