Junior girls' own!

"Halfway through one song that we were blasting out in this barn, we had a tambourine on top of one of the beams and the vibrations at a certain point rattled it. No matter how softly or how loud we'd play, it'd alway rattle at this certain point, we kept it on. And mics would blow up at exactly the right time. It was the angels, you see."

Righto, and the Tooth Fairy did the mixing, the Loch Ness Monster produced, and the aliens from Hanger 18 made the tea. Mind you, listening to TRAVIS's debut single on Independiente, "U16 Girls"--essentially the sound of a ripped-to-the-tits Earl Brutus dragging Radiohead down the footy--it's easy to believe they had some help from higher forces. Simply because it achieves the miraculous feat of being raucously delicate.

Unlikely, though, that St. Peter had a hand in the lyrics. "Make sure that she's old enough / Before you throw your mind / She may look like she knows enough / But look her in the eye," you say? Can this really be a reference to jiggery-pokery of the underage variety, young chaps?

"It's not about it," Fran explains, "it's a warning against it, to be careful of young girls who look older than they are. The songs are so diverse in their meanings and the ways they can be interpreted. It's great to be lodged on this single 'cos the next one is gonna fuckin' pulverise it. The same with the one after that. We just wanna keep pulling the rug out from under people's feet. Keep them thinking."

Bassist Douglas Payne leans intently across the pub table. "I should point out," he booms, "that none of us have ever fucked a 15-year-old."

Perish the thought. And, while you're at it, trash those preconceptions of Travis as narcotic-guzzling rock monsters that were kick-started by last year's brooding and beautiful limited-release single, "All I Wanna Do Is Rock." Indeed, Travis--suaveness personified to a man--balk at the more Carl Bevan side of rock deportment.

"We hate all the sensationalist bollocks because it only helps to sell records that aren't very good," says Fran. "We want the music to speak for itself and if that doesn't work we're not gonna fuckin' pull our dicks out and try and sell records by doing that."

Integrity? Heartfelt belief that feedback must be a cure for cancer? Classic rock influences that don't sound like The Beatles? A drummer? No wonder Travis were outcasts from the clique-ridden Glasgow scene when old art-school chums Fran, Douglas, guitarist Andy Dunlop, and drummer Neil Primrose formed Travis in 199l. Cue a move to London last year ("you gotta think globally rather than colloquially," according to Douglas), a record deal, and the arrival of their heavenly percussionist.

And, with their debut album already recorded, the future looks blessed alright. But what if tragedy strikes (or the drugs wear off) and the angels opt out and desert them?

Fran grins broadly. "By then, we'll be able to afford our own angels."

Vox
April 1997
by MB
photo by Andy Willsher

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