There's a lion in the road, there's a demon escaped.

With many impending dates and their third album out now, Grand Prix is racing ahead.

Ditching the racing helmets and trumpet in favour of a boys' choir and percussion, Grand Prix is shedding previous pigeonholes 'tex-mex' and 'mariachi', in favour of a more accessible alt-country/indie sound. But it's not that simple. Vocalist and guitarist Andrew McKenzie says "It's been hard to talk about it [the new album Terraplane Twilight] in the interviews that we have done because we're not quite sure ourselves about what references we should be using or not, you know?"

Over-conceptualisation of their old attire and the fact that it "wasn't actually very good for hearing what was going on," the band have abandoned their quirky look and instead embrace a quirkier sound. Fearing that "anyone thought it was sort of gimmicky; we didn't want that to shoot ourselves in the foot", they now don suits and ties and flaunt a "recorder of death".

But Grand Prix's image has matured along with their sound. Recruiting friends Luke Buda, Age Pryor and Craig Terris for the Grand Prix Boys Choir featured on the Roy Orbison ode 'A Moment In Time', was easy, McKenzie says, and adds to the diverse nature of the album.
"Age Pryor's got a room next to Brett [recorder/producer of Terraplane Twilight] in the studio village where he works, and Craig Terris, he's always around everywhere, and Brett just asked Luke Buda if he could do some as well. So it was very easy, cos everyone sort of knows eachother. All the la la la's at the end, that's all those guys. You can't really distinguish all the different voices, they've been all mixed in together to sound big."

The cavernous Car Club hall where the band recorded over nine months, could be attributed to the album's atmosphere. Add to that harmonica, glockenspiel and Farfisa organ and you have a majestic yet disparate collection of songs. The recording of 'The Devil' was plagued by vexing technical difficulties that were then exaggerated for dramatic effect in the album's press release, but this is quickly downplayed by McKenzie.

"That was just slightly weird, but I think it might've become something to use as a line, sort of thing. I mean it was a pretty bizarre night that night, but I don't think it was that big a deal... [We had] temperamental gear as well, preamps just sort of turning on and off and doing weird things. Although, it's an old hall, maybe it's haunted! Who knows. It's certainly a weird place to be if you're by yourself."

It hasn't been particularly easy riding for the racing-themed band. McKenzie speaks frustratedly of funding difficulties, the repeated pushing-back of the album release date, and journalists pigeon-holing the band.

"Those ['mariachi' and 'Tex-Mex'] are the references with the last album, and that was mainly because of the trumpet stuff, and that was definitley a mariachi type of influence. But I think that might have put some people off listening to it before they'd even heard it, because I think maybe some people hear the word 'mariachi' and think 'oh, it's probably not my cup of tea'."

Burying their humour in lyrics and doing away with the obvious, the band remain positive and quite unlike any other local act. They aim to tour the South Island and Australia later this year.

Eat to the Beat

Pig Out make self-proclaimed 'strange dance music', but this doesn't stop them from getting indie kids to dance again.

“You don’t have to be a nerd to appreciate Pig Out,” MC/rhythm programmer Kit Lawrence says. The acid house, minimalist techno band’s energising spontaneity, baffling originality and all-inclusive party style, stamps out any preconceived notions of pretension in the club genre.

Joyously ardent Lawrence is refreshingly upbeat and excited about the band’s impending trip overseas to play the MIDI festival in France.
“Some guy in Paris was into us and recommended us to them, and it really blew me away because there’s only like four bands playing there per day, and everyone who’s playing is kind of like the best in their field, like Animal Collective. I’m just really flattered and humbled to be playing. I only just realised the other day how incredible it is, so I’m really psyched.”

Noted for their ability to transform Chicago acid-house and Detroit techno into a modern synthesis, Pig Out is progressive and Lawrence is adamant about this.
“We have been listening to this stuff for a very long time, but also we feel like we’re adding something to it; we wouldn’t be doing it if we were just repeating what someone else had done.”

Pig Out’s strengths lie in their ethos of fun and experimentation in creating a lively atmosphere, where indie kids and seasoned clubbers can all get along and smear leaking glow sticks on each other. Though for their upcoming final New Zealand tour for 2007, they ask us to leave the glow sticks at home.
“Me and Marie [synth/programming] are old enough to remember going to raves or after-parties or clubs, and glow sticks just represented everything dodgy about that kind of thing. But I think it’s really nice the way kids who go and see bands like Klaxons and stuff all have glowing bracelets.”

Further unpredictable is their penchant for less obvious pairings, such as old favourite tour-buddies Cut Off Your Hands.
“We got on really well and they really loved our music and we really loved their music. I’d love to tour with them again, because they were just really great guys and I could listen to that music over and over, every night.”

There remains a refreshing openness and honesty about the band. They have fun but also take it seriously.
“The thing that separates us from a lot of bands is that we’re not gimmicky at all, it’s just about music and so we really don’t feel the need to be in matching suits or that kind of thing, because where we’re coming from is just really raw music. What we’re doing hasn’t really been done before, you know?”

Citing tentative booking agent interest and touring opportunities, they look forward to getting a new bass player in London.
“We’ve got a lot of friends over there… it'll be quite nice to have another English kid in the band.” They plan to re-embrace their nomadic roots.
“We really don’t feel particularly that we belong anywhere, and the nice thing is that we’re quite happy just to roam about, and playing club music you can pretty much go anywhere.”

Rightfully excited about the band’s future, it’s relieving to hear that Lawrence is a fan of Auckland and wants to come back, as Pig Out will leave a gaping hole in our local club scene while they are gone conquering foreign dance floors. Eat your heart out, Europe!

Dance This Mess Around

Cut Off Your Hands’ Nick Johnston talks about inspiration, cutting teeth overseas and refusing to stay still.

Dispensing rock n’ roll clichés with sardonic irony is just one of Cut Off Your Hands’ endearing qualities. Their photo shoot is nothing short of parodic excellence.

“We just wanted to look real ‘60s in it, sorta like real pretentious and wear skivvies,” singer Nick Johnston says on the phone from Sydney. Shot in the Datsuns’ hallway, the pictures take a deliberate swing at post-modern poser bands who take themselves too seriously.

Talking about their recent trip to England, Nick cites the culture clash. “Just being over there you realise how seriously people take that kind of stuff. We just laugh at it, that’s kind of a joke for us.” This friendly naturalism is reflected in their latest EP, Blue On Blue, that they’re touring for this month.

Landing “a whole bunch of excitement, um, interest from really cool UK labels”, it seems the band’s tireless work ethic is paying off. “It’s nice to see things coming into place now. I don’t know many bands who can say that they really love their label. They [Speak and Spell] work really hard for us... If it weren’t for them it’d be a completely different story.”

The band’s sound has definitely evolved over the course of these changes. “I think it’s a bit boring to just stay still. We wanna keep pushing, and changing what we sound like.” 'Closed Eyes' exemplifies this newly foreign sound, reminiscent of Scandinavian post-punk; it’s a blissful melting pot of ideas and also reflective of the band’s sprawling hometown, Auckland.

“I think [fame] has affected us in a good way, because there’s a level of expectation every time you play, so we can’t just go out there and have a bad one. Which is a good thing because we kind of pride ourselves on wanting to play it brilliant every time.”

But he says it’s different when they’re writing. “When no one gives a shit about what you’re gonna release, or no one knows who you are, then you can do whatever you want. But as soon as you’ve got the expectations on you, it definitely affects the way you write. You know it shouldn’t, but subconsciously you’re thinking, ‘well what if people don’t think of this…’ It’s annoying; I try to black that out. Even though it’s just a little deal, like how many people know about us anyway, you know?

Apparently quite a few. Lauded by NME for their catchiness, praised as almost-perfect by Drowned in Sound, and craftily compared to jello by Pitchfork, the band are deserving of every compliment. And crazed fans abound, “Fuck a me dead, the Cut Offs, she is beautiful, I love hims. She is great... Banging”. Fortunately the band’s steadfast passion lives on.

“There’s this great band in England we played some shows with called Pete and the Pirates. They’re new like us, but they did this really beautiful melody-based approach to writing, and the singer has this really fragile voice, and it’s cool, like that part in the breakdown of “Oh Girl”, I just kind of like thought ‘oh, what would he do then?’ and just sang like him.”

Cut Off Your Hands will never be one of those self-serving poser bands; their integrity is evident in their nonchalant prose and post-everything pop. You better believe the hype.