Splendid: You've had many working titles for your upcoming "autobiography"; what made you decide against The Chicks Were Gone, The Drugs Were Dodgy, and I Never Did Get the Bastard Loot?

Martin Newell: I always have loads of working titles for everything I do. The title you mention is very funny but obviously too unwieldy for most commercially minded publishers. Current hot favourite for this title is THIS LITTLE ZIGGY... Everyone seems to like this.

Splendid: Is there a writer, or specific book, serving as a working model for THIS LITTLE ZIGGY and the way you're framing it?

Martin Newell: I didn't have a working model for the book...but I will admit reading P.J. O'Rourke's memoirs of his earlier hippy days if I ever felt unsure about the rectitude of what I was doing. The lesson I learned was honesty, admission of fallibility, all tempered with humor and self-deprecation. The humour is good, because when you finally do say something sad or serious, the effect is like a smack in the face.

Splendid: In the six years separating The Off White Album and The Spirit Cage, your poetry gig took off with The Independent, and you also participated in a reunion tour with your old prog-rock band Gypp. Were they better received this time around than in the seventies?

Martin Newell: My poetry career had already taken off before I started working on Englishman and Off White Album. Okay, I had to backburner it slightly, but it always ran concurrently with whatever else I was doing at that time. The Gypp reunion was just a fun thing -- a few nights rehearsing and a mad five days in Germany.

Splendid: Was your poetry ever incorporated in the longer instrumental passages?

Martin Newell: No, I never mixed poetry with the music...or at least not unless the words were sung as lyrics. I've contributed to the Independent for over ten years now.

"The art and money equation is never an easy one, reader. Such experiences coarsen the delicate sensibilities of musicians and we sometimes forget ourselves and behave badly." -- from Chapter 13

Splendid:From your poetry, and the chapters from your autobiography, I'm reminded of writers like Dylan Thomas (as in your book,Under Milk Float), Henry Green (a similar personality: he loves bars) and Flann o'Brien/Myles Na Gopaleen (particularly The Hard Life and the Myles pieces in the Irish Times).

Martin Newell: I hugely admire Dylan Thomas, yes. The other two writers aren't influences at all. Before I began this book, I was far less sure-footed with my prose than with my poetry.

Splendid: From what I've read, a likeable aspect of your satirical poetry is its general kindness toward its subjects (David Bowie, Morrissey). When it pokes fun, the claws are gentle. Do you feel a general solidarity with all artists?

Martin Newell: I see no point in generally hatcheting the people I write about. Many of them have been more successful and have had harder times as well. Often I write about them as a fan or former fan mystified by their eccentricity. And anyway, best not to be too rude, I might meet them one day. I don't like being too destructive. It never does any good. And it's not entertaining.

Splendid: I've read about, but have not heard, any of your poetry that you've set to music. Does it come off like Chuck Berry's "My Dream", where the words are recited, or do the poems get sung and treated like actual songs?

Martin Newell: The only poetry that I set to music was "Black Shuck", a poem about the Ghost Dog of my region. A local legend. I wrote a kind of film soundtrack for my reading of it to give it atmosphere. It was the only time I've ever done anything like that. I don't sing the lyrics or anything.

Splendid: The present structure of Ziggy is interesting, what with your views on chronological order ("I believe it would be wrong of me to try and construct it in a linear fashion. We don't remember our lives in straight lines....at least I don't. therefore, I am writing in flashbacks. You might read something from 1964. Only to have it followed by something from 1982").

Martin Newell: I have rescinded my ideas about chronological order in the book. Someone much more objective than me said it would be very confusing to my readers to pursue my flashback method. It also occurred to me that I wasn't a good enough writer to pull it off yet. I want to communicate ideas. If I get too arty over it, I risk blurring that communication.

Splendid: That makes sense, but do you think a lot about the presentation of a product -- for example, with your music?

Martin Newell: No, none of this applies to my records. They're made in chaos anyway.

Splendid: Have you noticed any sections your memory seems to block out, and do your stronger memories all tend to revolve around music?

Martin Newell: Pop songs trigger memories for me. If I ever wanted to remember details for my autobiography, I played a record from the time and shut my eyes. It was amazing what came back. My memory is a mystery to me. Some of my friends think it's very good. On the other hand, I seem to forget really basic things sometimes. I remember what other people said and did...but not always what I said or did.

Splendid: I've read that Terry Hall, and other such performers, are unable to maintain friendships with bandmates from previous lineups. Do you think the purity behind your recordings -- always playing to have fun -- has helped along these lines?

Martin Newell: I'm happy to say that most of the musical projects I've been involved in have yielded enduring friendships with almost everyone involved. I can think only of a couple of exceptions where there were difficulties. I think if you do a project because it's fun, large amounts of ineptitude among musicians can be overlooked and overcome. Great music can be made from musicians' limitations, and very boring sterile garbage can be achieved with great musicians. The best pop is found by people stumbling in the dark. Happy accidents, in fact.

Splendid: When I first heard "Wake Up and Smell the Offy", I thought the chorus might have been dragged out a bit. Then, the morning after, it had become an immediate and very pleasent part of my daily routine, with me singing it ("Wake up/forget the coffee/Me and Mick we're going down the offy") as I pass my coffee pot. And now, it lives in me like the Bay City Rollers' "Saturday Night". Do songs have to reach a stage like that in your own life before you choose to record it?

"Reader, you have no idea how heavy a Tombola drum half full of piss is, once you've lifted it out of its stand." -- from Chapter 13

Martin Newell: I liked the chorus of "Wake Up and Smell the Offy" so much that I probably did carry it on for longer than was strictly necessary. But so what. I haven't got a record company or a producer breathing down my neck. I just write the song and record it. It ends when it ends. Like poems...they're rarely finished, just abandoned at an appropriate time.

Splendid: Has there been any push to get "Wake Up" some radio play?

Martin Newell: Nah... I never push for airtime. I don't expect any quarter from the commercial world. Although I think that "Sugarcane" is ultimately playable or coverable, if anything on the album is.

Splendid: You dedicated Spirit Cage to Malcolm Burch, a fellow bandmate in the Stray Trolleys (a group briefly discussed here), and mentioned him as an inspiration. In terms of inspirations, who or what seem like the most prominent things which have shaped you?

Martin Newell: Inspirations. Hmmm. The inspirations, the true inspirations in my life are those people who I've thought were so good that they energised me into thinking "Wow, that's brilliant" to such an extent that I wanted to go out and do something as good...but of my own. These people vary from week to week, but constantly on the list are of course the Beatles, Kinks, Beach Boys, Punk Rock generally. Certain poets: Houseman, Betjeman. Writers: Orwell, Wilde and your own, your very own P.J. O'Rourke, who is just one of the cleverest blokes I've ever come across, despite his love of cars. Cherish this man...one day he will be up there with Mark Twain and Groucho Marx.

Splendid: Living With Victoria Grey and The World's Greatest Englishman are two records that deservedly keep popping up on "Best Of" Lists. Do you have a personal favorite among your records, and what's your criteria behind what makes a successful Martin Newell song?

Martin Newell: I had no idea that Greatest Living Englishman or Victoria Grey were on any lists. Where?

Splendid: Richie Untberger, the critic largely responsible for leading me to your work, places Greatest Living Englishman as the best cult record of the eighties. Which is essentially calling it the best record. As for Victoria Grey, Randall from Jetenderpaul places it #32 among his 50 favorites. And Jetenderpaul are a cool band. New Jersey's DJ Irene places a bunch of your records among her all-time favorites too, including the two mentioned and In the Golden Autumn. As for Rolling Stone or NME, I don't recall what they think. Anyway, do you have a favorite among your material?

Martin Newell: As a great French lawyer once said, when asked about his favourite case, "My favorite? The one I do tomorrow."

"...[The band onstage] Just Didn't Care. A whole row of girls stood looking up at them while the boys stood at the back looking slightly impressed. Me? I was fucking gobsmacked. I just thought, 'WOW. That's the job for ME.'" -- from Chapter 3

Splendid: I really love the times you dabble in psychedelia, like the rather freakout ending to "My Funeral". I guess I appreciate it as I do the Stones' Satanic Majesties Request, where it's like you're experimenting for the first time with something foreign and unnatural. How do you maintain this?

Martin Newell: When I'm recording, instead of thinking "What might be suitable for this point in the song?" I think, "What might be patently unsuitable for this part of the song?" In the case of "My Funeral", it was a large, echoey mourning mother guitar lick.

Splendid: Is that the way your songs achieve their great rate of success?

Martin Newell: A successful Martin Newell song? There's no such thing, my dears. Check out the pop charts. Not a glimmer.

Splendid: A lot of fans might, like me, know you more immediately through your work with Captain Sensible. Did you create the concept behind The Universe of Geoffrey Brown, and could you explain it a bit? Were you aiming, as I've wondered, for a spacier equivalent of the Kinks' Preservation?

Martin Newell: I wrote and helped to develop large parts of Captain Sensible's Geoffrey project. But the ideas behind it are mostly from the considerable imagination of the Captain. I acted as his amanuensis or interpreter when he was perhaps a little more fragile and less self-assured than he is now. I think if Captain had any vague role model for his space opera, it was closer to the Pretty Things' San Francisco Sorrow than to Preservation. But I could be wrong.

Splendid: How did Andy Partridge get involved with the mastering of The Spirit Cage?

Martin Newell: Oh, this is such a strange story. Most record companies master their records in London. Especially if, like Cherry Red, that's where their offices are. Cherry Red master in a tiny place in Swindon. I only discovered this a few days before mastering was to take place. I immediately got on the phone to Andy (who has hearing like a bat!) and he jumped into a taxi to assist as consultant midwife. I was lucky he was even in. He did help to make the overall sound quality better, with judicious use of some compression. Another happy accident.

Splendid: While the connection with you and Andy Partridge is evident by shared musical influences and goals, Louis Phillippe seemed, to me at least, an unexpected choice as producer for The Off-White Album. How did that relationship come about?

Martin Newell: Louis was signed to Humbug at the same time that I ws. He liked the Englishman album and the record company decided that we should try working together. I've always admired the French and I like a lot of French music. I wanted to make a good Anglo/French record to see what might happen. In fact, Louis is a very talented string arranger and all-round studio rat. He had some very interesting ideas.

"Tony Blair by this time was probably at Oxford. Other young men of our age-group were pushing back barriers, and forging important careers. Everywhere the evidence spoke for itself. Our contemporaries were dynamic and go-ahead. Laying down the foundations for families, mortgages and empires. They were making the world a better place. But we were waving our whangers in the back of a Transit van up and down England's great highways." -- from Chapter 4

Splendid: Is there any point or connection made by the "Sugarcane" guitar intro (which seems appropriated from XTC's "Dear God") and the song's meaning?

Martin Newell: "Sugarcane"'s intro is not taken from "Dear God". On the contrary, I think that the intros of both songs are subconsciously lifted from "Rocky Raccoon" by the Beatles. Another thing that Andy (once nicknamed Rocky because he played this song a lot) and I played quite separately, in our pub rock youths. In fact, the changes in the intro of "Sugarcane" are lifted from Tom Waits' "Black Market Baby"...which I love. What a confession! The rest of the song, however, is as far as I know my own.

Splendid: Two of my favorite songs from The Spirit Cage are "The High Clouds of Summer" and "The Boys of September", both of which are dominated by piano. Do these take longer to create, or has piano become as natural to you as guitar?

Martin Newell: I play piano as much or more than I play guitar now. I find it a more interesting songwriting tool now that I can play it a bit better. "Boys of September" took a lot of fiddling around with because the ideas in it are more sophisticated than what I could actually play.

Splendid: Do you think you could you ever confine yourself these days simply to music or poems?

Martin Newell: Music and poetry seem to run in tandem. They draw on the same mental muscles. I think they're both with me for the duration.

Splendid: Do you ever see Helen Terry anymore? (*Readers may want to check out this other Newell interview which elaborates who she is.*)

Martin Newell: I haven't seen Helen Terry since I was nineteen. But if I ever met her, I'd buy her a drink. She did all right. I hope she's well.

"...we thought he'd be pleased with us. Not a bit of it. He shouted that if we didn't hurry up and get the gear out, he'd throw it out himself. And I will never forget his following words. 'We've 'ad some TOP CLASS acts in this club. But you lot...were FIRST RAIRT ROOBISH! Now tek yer fookin' money and fook off.' In the van Ex said, 'I think one of the things about The North is that the people are so friendly.'" -- from Chapter 4

Splendid: If your ears start to develop a greater appreciation for something other than British pop and your early musical loves, would the change be so immense it would depress you?

Martin Newell: I have always liked more than British pop. It was my first love and it's what I do; what I listen to, however, is music. All kinds of music. You'd be bloody amazed at what I listen to. There's very few things which I can't stand. One is opera, and one is Wagner. And I don't much like modern dance music or clever, clever jazz. I'm fairly set in my musical ways. I don't think much could get me down.

Splendid: I guess I was a little confused by liner notes in The Spirit Cage, and how you mention you won't be "collaborating with Burt Bacharach" anytime. Anyway, I was struck by this since I thought "Your Winter Garden" recalled some latter-day Elvis Costello.

Martin Newell: "Your Winter Garden", if anything, is an approximation of the kind of torch song which Chet Baker used to do. It was my attempt to do that. I'm pretty sure Elvis Costello is, or was, a Chet Baker fan at some point. I admire Elvis Costello, but like Andy Partridge, I regard him as a contemporary, mining the same seams as me -- albeit more successfully. Of course we have these nasal smoke-clogged English voices, so you can see why someone might draw conclusions of similarity.

Splendid: Are your visits to bars pure pleasure, or does much of your songwriting happen there? Is it treated like a tax write-off?

Martin Newell: My visits to bars? Pure research, my boy. I wouldn't go otherwise. Only kidding. These days, however, if I've spent three days writing, on day four I will go to the pub just to get the intolerable echoes of my own thoughts out of my head. I want to hear loud music, stupid conversation, and bad jokes. I want to act like an idiot and be treated as one. Most of all, I want to smoke cigarrettes and drink too much beer. I want to follow this with unwise amounts of Jack Daniels and to wake up with a headache and feelings of remorse. It makes me feel sane and normal.

Splendid: Do gardens still play a major part in your life?

Martin Newell: I don't nearly do as much gardening as I would like to now. I'm too busy writing, etc. I would like to do more, but I must seize the time to write while I'm still being paid for it. I could go back to gardening tomorrow.

Splendid: When you perform these days, is the get-up the same? Is it a "once-a-glam-rocker, always-a-glam-rocker" sensibility?

Martin Newell: No. Of course I don't dress the same as I used to. But there are still certain hallmarks. For instance I still often wear silver metallic Chelsea ankle boots. Sometimes I'll still wear a touch of mascara. So yeah, there's still a certain amount of hammy old showbiz glitter which informs my dress sense. It's informing it incorrectly, however.

Splendid: Do you think the English have it right, and that fashion should play a pivotal part in the music scene?

Martin Newell: Well, fashion has always played a part in the English music scene. This can be an entertaining thing sometimes. At other times the obsession with fashion leads to an overly trend-led music biz to overlook certain acts or artistes. This can be to the detriment of pop music generally. In a small country such as ours, it's easy for one large metropolis, e.g. London, to more or less control everything you hear and buy. As a result, we the listeners don't get a true picture of what's really available. We can get annoyed about this, or we can lampoon it mercilessly when some new industry-created trend falls flat on its face and the stupid bastards lose their money. Hilarious.

Splendid: Is it true that you and Nelson used to play for vegetables?

Martin Newell: No, that wasn't me and Nelson, that was me and Lol who tried to get a Music For Groceries scheme going. Hopelessly impractical, of course, but very funny. I have played for a number of vegetables, however...in fact, I think the vegetables concerned are still attending clubs in the London area.

Splendid: Do you see yourself and Nelson as a team for all future recordings? And are any more tours by bike in the days ahead?

Martin Newell: I intend to work with Nelson for as long as he'll continue to work with me, yes. We're a good team. I doubt we'll do another bicycle tour, but we do occasionally talk about an anniversary cycle ride again one day.

Splendid: The notion of intentionally failing a grade to avoid the added stress from the next year's school work (see Newell's Christmas piece for more detail) seems like an idea only "rock-and-roll" mentalities could possess. Did actions like these make you feel destined for the life you've led?

Martin Newell: I didn't think that failing school work was a rock-n-roll idea. Remember, I just wanted to fit in. People wouldn't let me, so I went the other way. I was lonely. I did always have a strong idea of my own "otherness", if you like. But it was mostly bolstered by rejection.

"I must be the only person in the world who ever joined a rock band to become drug-free." -- from Chapter 9

Splendid: Could you imagine your life the same (or better) without all the events which came before?

Martin Newell: It's difficult to say what might have happened in different circumstances. I do remember, years ago, an old spiritualist medium telling me that I was "behind" where I should have been. I think it all pans out okay in the end. It was a bit of a struggle when I was younger but I appreciate what successes I've achieved now. I wish labels had treated me a little better. But I don't take it personally. A: I was a silly boy. And B: Others have had far worse deals. The music biz is notoriously myopic and wasteful with any talent, which still annoys me. But it's their loss. They're supposed to be capitalists, and yet they keep wasting goods and losing money. Not very efficient, are they? If normal businesses behaved like the music biz, they'd go bust. It's only because of an endless supply of silly and vain young artists who suspend their disbelief, because they want to be pop stars, that the biz manages to keep going at all. Their basic resources -- youth and talent -- are cheap, plentiful, and crucially...stupid.

Splendid: Well, I have two rather bright cats -- one black and the other mostly grey. Both like your Brotherhood of Lizards CD. Curious, do you still have some cats yourself, or just a dog right now?

Martin Newell: I have a dog. An old border collie called Wooly Wulf. I also have two tame rats who live in an old bookcase in my bathroom. They belong to my daughter but it's mostly me who cleans them out and feeds them. If I ever live in a bigger place again, I expect it will become another home for refugees.

Splendid: As a closing question of sorts, should your book be transformed into a movie, who would you like to star in it?

Martin Newell: If the book ever became a film? A smashing idea, if rather premature. Well, I'm too old to play me, for a start. I suppose I'd like a really promising, unknown drama student who needed the break to play me. Because it would be good fun... (As for who should) feature in the music, it should be a young band who needed the break...and I'd like to be authenticity consultant. It shouldn't be bought by Americans and transposed to an American background like High Fidelity. It should be thoroughly English.