October 23 is bookmarked in my diary as the night The Divine Comedy return to Oxford as part of their nationwide tour for the new album, Rainy Sunday Afternoon. Having worn out my preview link and listened to all the tracks on repeat in preparation for our conversation, when we meet over Zoom I’m slightly concerned that – as described on one of the songs – Neil Hannon has indeed become the Man Who Turned Into A Chair. I look more closely and am relieved to see he’s actually reclining on a bed. “I don't have to fear that the prophecy has come true, then?”, I ask.
“What was my prophecy? Oh, that I have been turned into a chair. No, I am on my bed. It's a terrible admission to make, but it's just away from any shouty dogs…”. This is accompanied by an endearingly infectious giggle. Some idols can disappoint on real life acquaintance, but Neil Hannon is as charming and mischievous in conversation as he is in his various musical endeavours.
What can Oxford audiences expect?
I feel like that's a bigger question that I can answer. I cannot say what they expect from life…or from the local council, you know? I guess you mean expect from the Divine Comedy. From us you know what you're going to get: it’s going to be a rich array of ideas, a lot of men in their 50s, and some nice music.
You composed the music for Wonka, which was filmed here in Oxford, and you consistently reference a breadth of culture in your music – are there any other soundtracks you would like work on?
That's a good question. I mean, I'm always taken by surprise when I get asked to do things. I could never see them coming; I certainly couldn't see Wonka coming. I did a musical version of Swallows and Amazons about 15 years ago and I saw that coming, because that was my idea.
I couldn't really tell you what I’d want [to work on], because I very rarely have ideas in that direction: I'm more likely to have those ideas for my own records. That’s where I let myself off the leash; imagination is a beautiful thing.
Just before we move on from soundtracks, I wanted to ask a slightly random question. Do you ever use music to soundtrack your days? You know? Power-walking down the street with your headphones on…
I know that feeling, and I like it. It's funny, I go through huge cycles. I can only really listen to music properly and extensively when I feel the freedom that you get at the end of an album tour and suddenly it's like, ‘huh! I can do whatever I want’. I feel like I can just sort of go into – for want of the better term – rabbit holes of musical exploration.
I can't listen to music when I'm in between having made an album and waiting for the tours and doing tons of promo. I end up just listening to podcasts, people talking about stuff. I guess it's like music overload.
The album is just beautiful. I understand it was recorded at Abbey Road, what was that like?
In Abbey Road, you've got an unbelievable amount of classic music that has been made. A personal hero of mine is Kate Bush, and she recorded her first four albums in Studio Two, and then you've got the whole classical music history [starting with] Sir Thomas Beecham in the early part of the 20th century. It was one of the first proper recording studios for music – you’ve got pictures on the walls of Elgar conducting orchestras being recorded in Abbey Road. It's astonishing: Shirley, Bassey, Cilla Black, Dusty Springfield, the Rolling Stones – the list is literally endless – Pink Floyd, Syd Barrett, yeah, it’s an incredible place.
None of that actually means you're going to make a better record if you book it. In a way, I feel like it means that you've got a lot to live up to, so you better just do it bloody right.
I read a quote from you saying that “in pop, we privilege teen angst over the challenges of middle age, and it's a gift if you're able to embrace aging as a songwriter”. You’ve always been very emotional in your music and lyrics, as well as very observational, but do you feel freer now, at this stage in your career?
I do feel a lot freer. I mean, I always relished my creative freedom from the moment I started but I did bend with the wind to a degree. I wanted to be a pop star: I thought that was a cool thing to be. It was hilarious to me, but then in the 2000s I sort of recalibrated because I knew it wasn't something I should aim for anymore; Radio One playlists and Top 10s – it just wasn't going to happen, and that's fine. There are other, better, things to achieve. I turned my mind to exploring exactly the sort of things interested me, and the things I needed to say.
Notably in the new album you voice some very painful things. Once a song is complete and recorded, is that emotion processed, or does hearing it back still affect you?
It's a funny thing. The most emotional song, I suppose, is The Last Time I Saw the Old Man which is ostensibly about my father's last couple of years. I feel like I processed his death before he'd even died because of Alzheimer's and the way it diminishes people, so it’s unsentimental to me. I was literally just remembering what it was like; the observation of what it was like. I thought it was really important not to make any grand statements or talk about how it made me feel because I think it's better to let the imagery and the music make you feel.
I found the song Invisible Thread (about your daughter leaving home) almost unbearably moving, perhaps because my own daughter just left to go to uni …
Yeah, it’s pretty tough. When mine left last year, I was like, ‘what do I do now’? I'll just scratch my chin and walk the dogs.
Did you articulate these feelings to her in person?
Oh, no, we're terrible at talking to each other. She sang on the song, and we still didn't talk about it. We're both Hannons. We talk about jigsaws, maybe history, fuzz pedals – we don't talk about emotions. But that's fine, because it's kind of what the song's about; that you have this connection, and you just know what each other's feeling and thinking. So, who needs the chat?
My mum's the same and my brothers, we're all just wonderfully repressed. It's a mixture of being middle class and also being Northern Irish. So, I'm just really lucky to have songwriting because it's somewhere you can say it all.
Was there ever any pressure on you to follow in the family business?
To be a man of the cloth? No, they knew better than to do that. I think one of my brothers at one point in his teens was wondering ‘is that a good thing to do?’ And then he discovered alcohol and decided, yeah, better not. No, there was never any pressure in that regard. Maybe some pressure to ‘do your bloody homework’, you know? Or ‘do your practice’.
Finally, the Ashmolean in Oxford is currently showing This Is What You Get, which explores the artistic collaboration between Stanley Donwood, Thom Yorke and Radiohead. I wondered what the exhibition of Neil Hannon would look like.
There would be a lot of pictures of me. [I might think of something] for the cover and then Natalie, my manager, says, ‘how about just a nice picture of you looking nice?’ Okay, fine; it's kind of my thing, it's my brand.
The Divine Comedy’s new album Rainy Sunday Afternoon is available to preorder ahead of its release on 19 September. Album formats include standard black, and limited-edition colour LPs; a standard CD, and a limited-edition deluxe CD which includes a bonus disc Live in Paris & London. A nationwide tour starts in October and includes a night at New Theatre, Oxford on Thursday 23 October. For more information visit thedivinecomedy.com.
