“I know, lets move to an industrial wasteland and form an art noise pop band!” is not a turn of phrase commonly heard in Sixth Form common rooms across the country. But then Middlesbrough-based Das Wanderlust are smarter than the average band. Thanks to their mix of equal parts shouty girl-scratchy guitars-wonky keyboards, the North East of England hasn’t seen so much fun since hordes of Vikings raped and pillaged the neighbourhood hundreds of years ago.
Front girl Laura spills “Our drummer left a week ago. She did it all over email. It’s a modern break-up.” Guitarist and keyboardist Andy says “It left us about a week and a half to prepare for this tour.” This jilting at the altar is not a new scenario for the pair. Andy explains the Spinal Tap-esque revolving door policy “We’ve had eleven members so far.”
joined. Bam! Ian left (got married) Wham! Another new member Phil joined. Double Wham! Another new member Emma joins. She played flute. But not the drums. But practiced really really hard and nailed it. Bam! Phil left (to learn blacksmithery?). Double Bam! Natalie left (didn’t want to tour anymore). Triple Bam! Emma left (‘bit of a falling out’). And then there were two…
Das Wanderlust However, its not all powerpop giggles for Das Wanderlust. From Billy Elliot’s unsympathetic father to Gazza’s sad realisation that he’s actually grown a real pair of those comedy breasts he used to lark about it in, the people of the Tyne-Tees hinterland have always had a cross to bear.
To summarise, Laura starts band. Records demos with Henry and Natalie. Bam! Henry left (too embarrassed to play a gig). Wham! New members Andy and Nobby join. Bam! Nobby left (joined a cult?) Wham! New member Ian
After shedding their skin more times than, well, a very old snake, it’s as if Das Wanderlust have become a new band every few months… but with the old two of Laura and Andy as constant
as Andy Capp’s wife’s nagging. If they ever hit the big time, there’s gonna be (a) lots of bitter Pete Best characters sniffing about and (b) lots of action figures for die-hards to collect. The band’s onstage solution to touring sans drummer seems to add to their ramshackle charm. “Our old drummer recorded for us, using real drums at home” says Andy “We wanted the sound of acoustic drums and turned the tape up loud to get a kinda lo-fi sound. A lot of bands sound like they’re trying to be cool when they’re using drum machines”… Laura “…and we’re really not cool.”
While new member, the recorded drum, might be a new addition to the onstage percussion, Andy still carries a flame for an old faithful “I still use a toy keyboard that I had for Christmas when I was seven. I wrote a song on it using all the black notes and called it ‘The Chinese Song’ cos it sounding stereotypically Chinese. Do-do-do-do-do-do-doo-do-do-do-do-do… I’m not saying that all Chinese people make music like that but c’mon, I was seven.”
now, so we must be the newest new ravers in the world. Or postnew rave. Bands are forming now to fit this new thing the NME have latched onto from a joke by Klaxons. It’s a ridiculous situation. It’ll be post-skiffle next week.”
The new and old discussion turns to genre de jour new/nu/poo rave. Andy reckons “We’ve got three keyboards and a drum machine
New single ‘Sunday School’ isn’t likely to start the post-skiffle revolution but it does have has recorders in it. Which everyone loves. Washboard or no washboard, it should be your new shit.
Last single ‘The Orange Shop’ was an apology song to Laura’s boyfriend after she said Sherlock Holmes was better than him. In spite of, or perhaps because of, his opium addiction and latent homosexuality, Holmes was a great man. To be called inferior to Poirot, now that’s break-up stuff.
“Our drummer left a week ago. She did it all over email. It’s a modern break-up.”
Words and photos by Dan Tyte 22
Illustrations by Lucy Begent