Info about The Concretes
The Concretes were too many. They really were. Not creatively, oh no!, at least they didn’t think so. But when it came to biography-writing, or making quick decisions (which was yet to happen) , they clearly had a lot to gain by reducing themselves to a duo, or at least a quintet. But who could be spared? Who wouldn’t mind? And how would they stop it from affecting their music?
For the first time, they quickly agreed on an answer. And it was: No-one, and they couldn’t. Because it would affect their music, their moods, and everyone involved. It could dissolve the band even. Sure, there were a lot of things the band had different views on, like where to live, how to live, how to make a living, and what made life worth living (shopping or the no-shopping day) for starters.
The best band ever, the worst movie of all times, exactly what counted as turquoise (this was more important back when they still color-coordinated their shows, but still, confusing it with green?!), and the wine vs. beer issue were a few other things. Which is why they’d decided upon a democracy, of sorts. Decisions were based on votation. The most votes won. Except, of course, if someone used their veto. They all had one, to be used moderately, if they felt strongly enough against something. The veto meant “no”, no matter how the rest of the band felt about it. But it also meant a lot of strong feelings and harsh words, so they tended to use the veto only for very important stuff.
And a biography could be considered pretty important stuff, so they had all decided to take part in the writing, hence all the rambling.
There were a lot of them, eight actually, counting only the core. And the core included some city-kids (Stockholm that is, and the popular building-material used mainly in cities also explains their choice of name), some out-of-towners (two), a father, a band-father (a guy who, “just in case”, checks the tires on the rental van they use for touring), at least one hippie, a smart-ass (at times), a shoe-fetishist, a cat-lover, and a great lover (if you ask him). To name but a few.
Anyways, despite the amount of people, and their differences, they all agreed on one thing: the greatness of music, and the fun it meant creating it. And considering the amount of people, and their differences, it was kind of amazing that they did just that. Managed to create it. This album excluded, they had already put their name on three 10” EP’s and two singles. The first EP came out in 1999, and so did the second one. On their own label, Licking Fingers, which they felt obliged to start because, well, because most of the other labels out there sucked one way or the other.
Incidentally, they were to find out, that one American label, called Up Records, didn’t. Instead what the label did, was that they contacted The Concretes the moment the bands’ 10” hit the bottom of its Seattle-based mailbox, to let them know just how great they thought it was. That thing led to another, and by summer 2000 the two EP’s were put out in America as an album called Boyoubetterunow.
The band got some pretty great reviews from “over there” (not counting the one that said they sounded “like The Cardigans but with a ton less talent”) and the future admittedly looked bright.
But, to make a very sad story short, the truly great man who started Up Records, Chris Takino, tragically died, which meant, among other much, much worse things, that The Concretes were back at square one.
They took things slow, and by the time for this record they even rehearsed the songs prior of recording them! (A difference they hope and think is noticeable). They rented a house and a studio and then recorded pretty much around the clock for five days . (You see, if Jari Haapalainen, their producer and fellow mandolin-player and percussionist, believed something to be a good idea, then that meant that was the way it would be. So much for that famous democracy of theirs. At least they got back on him by referring to him as “The Little Führer” behind his back).
So, now The Concretes are back on their own label again and the moment they got their first proper album in their hands, they found there were one more thing they agreed on: they really weren’t that many. Eight was perfect. (If you could put in an extra, say, twelve people every now and then.)
