Summer is coming! Time to rolling depths of Middle England. No cackling old crones casting spells on A faceless industrial unit outside Aylesbury, rather disappointingly, is where Marillion have based their global empire for the past decade.
This is the band rsquo;s rehearsal space, recording studio, record label and management office combined. Alas, it does not even have a moat. An affable bunch of divorcees and middle-aged dads, Marillion are as English as a pub darts team.
The guitarist Steve Rothery, the keyboard player Mark Kelly and the drummer Ian Mosley share 25 years of history. Even the singer Steve Hogarth, the new boy, has notched up almost two decades of service. The band have just released their 14th album, Somewhere Else, which is really rather good.
Containing tracks that shimmer like Coldplay, ache like Radiohead and thunder like Muse, it is better than 80 per cent of this month rsquo;s releases. But you are unlikely to hear Marillion on British radio, This is largely because Marillion have mdash; how can we put this kindly? mdash; an image problem.
Their music is still perceived as bloated, bombastic mullet-haired prog-rock, even by people who have never heard it. In fairness, they did once release an album called Script for a Jester rsquo;s Tear. But, come on, we all had bad hair days in the 1980s.
ldquo;We have got a bit of a reputation, rdquo; admits Kelly. ldquo;I had a conversation with Noel Gallagher at a party once and said to him, lsquo;I rsquo;m in a band but it rsquo;s the most uncool band in the world ndash; Marillion rsquo;. He went, lsquo;Yeah, you rsquo;re right.
rsquo; ldquo;It is kind of like musical leprosy in this country, rdquo; sighs Hogarth. ldquo;But fortunately the rest of the world doesn rsquo;t share that view. rdquo; he left in 1988.
ldquo;Fish had a personality that appealed to the heavy rock, hard-drinking, Scottish loudmouth sort of . . .
er, I rsquo;ll stop there, rdquo; says their acrimonious divorce, although they have thawed in recent years. ldquo;I rsquo;m going to his wedding in August, rdquo; grins Mosley. ldquo;I was his best man originally, but he doesn rsquo;t want me to be this time.
He said I put a curse on it last time. rdquo; ldquo;He hasn rsquo;t invited me, rdquo; says Hogarth glumly. Still the new partner in the To tackle the Fish problem, Marillion discussed changing their name after his departure, but eventually decided against it.
ldquo;Although there rsquo;s a lot of baggage with the name Marillion, it rsquo;s probably much better than no baggage at all, rdquo; shrugs Rothery. ldquo;We may be musical Marmite, but at least you rsquo;ve heard of Marmite, rdquo; grins Kelly. Let rsquo;s be frank.
Even at their mid1980s chart peak, Marillion were never cool. ago. Fifteen years into their career, after eight albums for EMI and three for Castle, their manager advised them to get day jobs to make ends meet.
Instead, they sacked him, making an instant saving of 20 per cent. Soon afterwards, they left the label altogether, but only after a brilliant act of guerrilla marketing. Inspired by an unofficial web community of American fans who had donated $60,000 to subsidise their US tour, the band tapped into the potential of the internet years before most of their peers.
Their final album for Castle, released in 1999, was archly titled Marillion.com.
ldquo;That was all part of our leaving plan, rdquo; says Rothery.
ldquo;We had one album to go that we were going to do everything via the internet from then on. They didn rsquo;t twig it at all. rdquo; Necessity being the mother of reinvention, Marillion pioneered a powerful new business model by becoming their own online record label.
Armed with thousands of e-mail addresses, they even took the revolutionary step of asking fans to finance recording of their 2001 album, Anoraknophobia, by preordering copies 12 months in advance. An impressive 12,000 took the pledge. Years before the rise of MySpace, Arctic Monkeys and Lily Allen, ldquo;Everybody talks about Arctic Monkeys becoming huge on MySpace, rdquo; laughs Kelly.
ldquo;That rsquo;s bollocks, of course they didn rsquo;t. They had a couple of tracks on MySpace and then a big record company push. rdquo; ways.
Further fan donations helped finance the marketing of their 2004 album, Marbles, complete with a targeted e-mail campaign that secured the band their first Top Ten single in 20 years, You rsquo;re Gone. Bypassing conventional concert promoters, they have also hosted four of A decade after they were advised to get day jobs, Marillion remain full-time musicians earning more than they ever did as label slaves. How much?
ldquo;Less also employ five full-time staff, sell around 100,000 copies of each album and fill venues of 3,000 capacity and bigger. Most important, they have freed themselves from the ldquo;gatekeepers rdquo; of public taste such as A R men and radio pluggers. By turning an image problem into a marketing advantage, Marillion have secured an enviable degree of ldquo;The holy grail is if you can make exactly the music that you want to make, for no other reason than that you want to make it, and still make a living, rdquo; says Hogarth.
ldquo;I know a lot of musicians, and they rsquo;re all jealous. rdquo; Jealous of Marillion? That rsquo;s a phrase you don rsquo;t hear every day.
But love them or loathe them, Marillion are having the last laugh.
On the upside I have a new coaster for the coffee table.
Maybe the answer is in a desk and NOT on stage and on studio. Marillion have making superb MUSIC in last 23 years. Even their 80 s songs still sounds great today.
But if the band and the fans changes, the critics (the guys who decides what s cool or uncool for many people who pay to others decide for them) still in 80 s, talking about things that they don t know.
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