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THE MWNG DON'T GIVE A FUCK
& THE ENGLISH LISTENER'S GUIDE TO MWNG
by Simon Price ~ 2000
~ reprinted with kind permission ~ not for republishing elsewhere

Nicky Wire calls them the best band in the world. They've been voted Best Live Band In Britain. They have a legion of devoted fans all over the planet. And they're about to release a new album...entirely in Welsh. Simon Price asks: what are the SUPER FURRY ANIMALS *on*?!

THE first question, of course, is WHY?

Why on earth have the best band in the world (copyright: Nicky Wire) chosen to record Mwng, their fourth studio album, in a language comprehended by only 539,757 people (Welsh Office estimate, 1994) on the entire planet? Its a question the band ~ who all had bilingual upbringings, always converse with each other in Welsh, and mostly even *think* in their native tongue ~ might rightly feel they shouldn't need to answer...

'No no no,' concedes Gruff, 'we're asking for it now. In the past it's got on our nerves, because it's irrelevant to what we've been doing, but this time...' He trails off.

'We haven't thought about how to answer this question, interjects Guto after a pause, 'for us making a Welsh album is not a big deal, it's as normal for us...even more normal for us than to do an English album. We don't see it as an issue. So now we come across sounding naive. The real answer is...we don't know.

THE five Super Furry Animals are gathering at the Cardiff headquarters of Ankst, the pioneering Welsh record label run by their manager Alun, one by one. Two have travelled down from London, one from Bangor, two from down the road.

They're variously assembling the first roll-ups of the day, giggling along to a version of Cypress Hill's Insane In The Brain *in Spanish*, and chatting about football, a major SFA passion. The band have sponsored Cardiff City's shirts (you can't get much trendier than that, can you?, said midfielder Willie Boland), featured CCFC's wayward Seventies hero Robin Friday on a CD sleeve (The Man Don't Give A Fuck), and even been written into Actua Soccer 2 as an optional team (the computerised SFA team can be seen beating Brazil in the video to The International Language Of Screaming). The Ankst offices, non-coincidentally, are painted in Cardiff City blue-and-yellow. From another room, in reference to the loathed Swansea City, someone utters the words: Bloody Jack bastards!) Such trivialities are abandoned upon the delayed arrival of the undisputed Leader Of The Gang (he's been having a grand piano moved into his flat). Gruff Rhys, the bonily beautiful singer/guitarist (he plays right-handed but with left-handed strings, like Jimi Hendrix), is the Super Furries' gentle genius, soft and slow of speech, deep and lateral of thought. When Gruff talks, his bandmates fall silent and listen attentively. Whatever he says is usually worth the wait.

Gruff was previously the leader of Ankst's Welsh language legends Ffa Coffi Pawb, along with sardonic SFA drummer Dafydd 'Daf' Ieuan, after Gruff the most talkative Super Furry, and reputedly the main musical force behind the band. Cian Ciaran, the quiet and smiley keyboardist with the appearance of a de-spectacled Milky Bar Kid, was originally in Aphex-esque bleep fiends (and FCP's Ankst labelmates) Wwzz. Guto Pryce, handsome, serious and startle-eyed bassist, was previously a member of Cardiff alternative band U Thant, as was Huw 'Bunf' Bunford, SFA guitarist, co-vocalist, and enigma.

To the general disbelief of anyone who meets him, Bunf used to be a schoolteacher. 'I couldn't have carried on,' he admits. 'I'd have been sacked.' As Daf puts it, 'when the kids have to wake you up at your desk, you're in trouble.' The kids called him 'Mr Stoned-Eyes,' and not without reason. He'd habitually hide in the book cupboard skinning up, intermittently poking his head into the classroom to instruct them 'just get on with reading or something.' At SFA's first ever gig (Llanbed, March 1994), a posse of pupils greeted him with a chant of 'Bunfy! Bunfy!' He responded with 'School's out...let's rock!'

DOING things the traditional way has never been the Super Furries' style. This is a band who once threw everything *except* the TV out of a hotel window, a band who spent their Creation Records advance on a Sherman tank, which they painted blue, mounted with a 20K speaker system and drove into festivals booming out hardcore techno (they've since sold it to Don Henley out of The Eagles), a band who once released a single with 52 fucks in it and still made the Christmas Top 30. A band, in essence, whose every action is characterised by what one fan describes as 'serious lightheartedness and lighthearted seriousness.'

When they choose to record an album in Welsh, then, you can rest assured that they aren't doing so entirely out of deference tothe Welsh Language Society, or any kind of officially-sanctioned heritage program.

'When we were starting out,' Gruff explains, 'we were reacting AGAINST the Welsh language bands, who were very insular, not welcoming of people who weren't Welsh speakers, but the reality was Wales was a place with all kinds of people, bunged into one space that they call Wales.' There's no such thing as one monoculture. The best conversations about Welsh identity I've had have been with 60ft Dolls, from Newport, who don't speak a word of Welsh, rather than some Welsh language media-band from wherever who just accepted and never asked any questions.

Before performing at an Eisteddfodd (Welsh arts festival), SFA were told they weren't allowed to sing in English, so they *whistled* their English hits instead. The truth is that the Super Furries can't win. When they sing in Welsh, they're called elitist. When they sing in English, they're called traitors.

'Oh yeah,' says Daf wearily, ''Sell out!' all that. We've been accused by people who want us to sing exclusively in Welsh of being populist! The only thing we can do is be true to ourselves.'

BEFORE Mwng, SFA's Welsh songs have been relegated to B-sides, or tucked away unobtrusively three quarters through their albums.

'We don't write songs specifically as B-sides, y'know...' says Bunf, affronted. 'It's based on quality, not what language it's in.'

'And we've done it before,' points out Daf, 'before we were in SFA.'

But if 'why?' is an unfair question, what about... why NOW?

'Our English songs aren't played on the radio,' says Gruff pointedly, 'so we thought we might as well write Welsh songs that aren't played on the radio! And we thought it might enrich British music, and music of the world, to release Mwng, and that's why we're releasing it now and not 5 years ago. We had Welsh songs for Guerrilla, and we decided to keep em.'

Because people are listening now? You have the ear of a sizeable audience?

'Yeah. I think the greatest human virtue is tolerance, and by the very nature of the band, people have to be tolerant to accept our music. So maybe we'll make the general public more tolerant!'(laughs)

'There is that,' chuckles Bunf, somewhat bewildered by Gruff's theory.

'The reality for most people in the world,' Gruff continues, 'is they speak more than one language, or live in a society that has more than one language. It's quite unique to Britain to have just the one official language. But the Welsh language has no official status. You've got a disadvantage with Welsh, even in Wales. It doesn't even appear on the Microsoft list of languages. So it is important and *political* ~ indirectly ~ to make an album like Mwng because of the precarious situation of the Welsh language. It makes it more valuable.'

In what way?

'Nations are becoming more irrelevant, with globalisation, the world is being taken over by big business, which is taking over from sovereignty. And I think singing in your own language is a statement against globalism. And it doesn't mean you have to buy into concepts of nationality if you're trying to protect your endangered culture. We obviously have a lot of affinity with it, but if you go to towns in America, then go to France and see exactly the same things that America has on the outskirts of a French town, it's a shame sometimes. Because who says America has the best system?'

In any case, Gruff, who listens to large amounts of Brazilian, German, French and Japanese music, is a firm believer that 'meaning' in music is not always verbal.

'It's like, Pavement are a Top 40 band in Spain, and even though the lyrics might be the most important part of them, and no-one has any idea what they're on about, they sense that there's something else there. Or us, listening to Cypress Hill in Spanish earlier. It's almost like telepathy.'

Even when SFA do sing in English, Gruff's thick Bangor accent can prove problematic. There's a story that Creation supremo Alan McGee, when he first saw SFA live, advised them: If you stuck more English songs in your set, you'd be stars...unaware that the band had been singing in English all night.
'I can't understand *American* accents,' says Daf. 'Like Kurt Cobain, I couldn't understand the fucking lyrics to...what d'you call it...Teen Spirit. I was in a karaoke bar in Tokyo, and I saw the words, and it was like 'Ah, fucking hell, that's what he's singing, I thought he was singing something else!'

For a band who didn't have an answer prepared, they've done well. But they're beginning to tire.

'For me,' says Bunf, 'the main pain in the arse has been people going on about it all the time, and I keep thinking 'Fucking hell, I'm not the Welsh tourist board...' On the contrary...

'IT'S a very negative thing for us to be releasing a Welsh language album this year,' Gruff admits, 'in this cultural climate, because it's not a celebration of nationhood, which could be read into it. It's about personal experience rather than collective experience.'

Indeed, SFA have viewed the five-year upsurge in Welsh nationalism that has accompanied the Cool Cymru hype with resigned disappointment.

'My mum's Irish,' says Daf, 'my Dad's from Manchester, so I was surrounded by that growing up, and I always thought that insular pro-Welsh/anti-outsider attitude was fucking stupid.'

SFA, like the Manics, refused to play at the opening of the Welsh Assembly...

'Because it was shit!' Bunf explains. 'It would involve miming two songs with Shirley Bassey. And the European football final was on. And The Queen and Tony Blair were there. And anyway, how many English bands would play at the opening of the English parliament?'

The first year of the Welsh Assembly has been an inglorious one, with Blairite puppet Alun Michael installed as leader (with disastrous consequences).

'It's backfired on him, hasn't it?' says Gruff. 'But things should devolve further, you know what I mean? Bangor should have its own parliament!'

It's a subject which interests Gruff greatly. At various points in this interview, when he has nothing to say, he starts reading a book called Dragons Led By Poodles by Paul Flynn MP, a first hand account of the whole Welsh Assembly fiasco. We discuss the corruption of Cardiff Council and Welsh politics in general, registering various levels of indifference and despair. Is there anything anyone can do? Daf has the answer.

'Buy that tank back from Don Henley!'

AS a 9 year old, rumour has it that Gruff tried to set up an anti-English terrorist group (It wasn't *anti-English* as such he corrects), but he's over it now. SFA ~ who, in their early days, used to appear at Celtic festivals across Europe and mix with the anarcho squat scene in Germany ~ are, to the core, an *internationalist* band.

In an era where Catatonia's International Velvet ('Every day when I wake up, I thank the Lord I'm Welsh') has become the unofficial National Anthem and Stereophonics sell the Welsh dragon at their gigs, SFA's suspicion of flag-waving fervour is refreshing.

'That's GOT to be debated,' insists Gruff. 'It's important that people know what they're messing with. There's a reason we've never flown flags.'

'Because you know what the extreme of it is,' adds Daf. 'I've encountered it...I don't like flags anyway, I don't agree with them, it's disappointing when people turn up to our concerts wrapped in them.'

'Someone like Nicky Wire flying the flag is different,' argues Gruff, 'because I think he knows what he's doing, I think he can be trusted. Because he's using it in an interesting way. When Nicky Wire started flying flags it was the uncoolest thing to start doing in the world, and very entertaining. I think it shows a lot of humour and there's many levels to it. But obviously not everyone has his political insight.'

And the fact that Wales is seen as the 'plucky underdog' doesn't alter the basic principle...

'Every flag is tarnished,' Gruff agrees. 'Having a national flag was an 18th century fashion, the whole concept of nationhood was just a trend, like national dress: the kilt was invented for American tourists...'

'Flags were so you knew what side you were on in battle,'adds Daf. 'Oh, it's the red dragon, fuck, I'd better go over here...'

Patrick Jones trampled on the Welsh flag at the Manic Millennium gig...

'...and he burnt it at the Welsh club (Clwb Ifor Bach, Cardiff)!' Gruff grins. 'Good for him!'

'I got chucked out of the Welsh club,' Daf reveals, 'for not standing up for the national anthem! I was just there for a late night drink on a Tuesday, 2 in the morning, and all these folkies were standing up, and we were like 'Fuck that!' and they were going 'Stand up, you bloody traitors, or get out!'

A deceptively simple question...but are you proud to be Welsh?

'We're just proud to BE,' corrects Gruff. 'Nothing else. Pride is a vague concept that belongs in U2 lyrics.'

'I'm proud to be half Irish and a bit of a Manc...'

'Drop the Welsh,' Bunf agrees. 'I don't know if I've ever felt proud. I can't remember ever feeling the emotion of proud'!

'...to the extent that you've got tears in your eyes,' jokes Daf. 'Christ, I'm proud to be Welsh!'
'There's no logic to it,' says Gruff. 'If you look from space, there are no borders. It's a man-made concept that is constantly changing. But that's not to say that using English as some sort of universal Esperanto is the way to do it.'

MWNG is a great album in anyone's language.

The title means 'mane' (as in a lion's, or a horse's).

'There's no specific animal in mind,' says Gruff, 'but I suppose it's an extension of a Super Furry Animal, something that keeps you warm. It's a winter album.'

And it's the unparalleled human warmth of Gruff Rhys' singing ~ the loveliest male voice in rock ~ which helps transcend the language barrier. Plus, of course, the tunes. Gruff once told me pop tunes come out of our arses. We can shit them out in any required number. If so, Mwng catches SFA in a particularly fertile bout of diarrhoea.

In its more placid moments, it could be Love, the Beach Boys, Nick Drake, Cat Stevens, Welsh troubadour Meic Stevens, and the David Bowie of The Man Who Sold The World and Hunky Dory. (One fan on the internet reckons Ymaelodi A'r Ymylon sounds like The Laughing Gnome.) When they kick out the jams, it's back-to-basics Seventies rock. (Tellingly, as a teenager, Gruff used to walk around in a Sabbath Bloody Sabbath T-shirt).

Where its predecessor, Guerrilla, was a multi-layered extravaganza of state-of-the-art FX ('We did that to hide mistakes in our singing and playing!' confesses Daf), Mwng, recorded 'as live' over less than three weeks in Cardiff, Anglesey and Bath, is more intimate and instant. This time, rather than his bank of Roland electronics, Cian is playing a harmonium and even a Stylophone.

For reasons related to the sudden demise of Creation Records (which the band unanimously insist made them very happy), Mwng was recorded with a budget of just �6,000, as opposed to �100,000 for Guerrilla, and leaves the Furries with the job of releasing it on their own Placid Casual label (via Ankst).

'Often when bands start out,' says Daf, 'they make quite simple recordings because that's all the means they have, and we found ourselves doing that on our FOURTH album. Often it brings some sort of vitality into the recording, because you don't get served three-course meals every night. You survive on Pot Noodle, so the sound you make is more...uptight. Not that it's very uptight, but...'

'I think every album should be different,' Gruff opines. 'With Mwng, it was a case of we can't just re-do Guerrilla, so let's do a live album in two weeks, let's do it... what's the word...'

He closes his eyes, brows knitted, searching his English vocabulary...

'When you rely on instinct...'

Spontaneously?, I prompt.

'That's the word! Thank you. Keep it spontaneous. To ensure that whatever the next album will be different again.' He goes off on a tangent.

'Musically there's nothing indigenously Welsh about it at all: it's a record of our obsession with Anglo-American pop culture of the 60s, 70s, and 80s. We've always actively reacted against folk music, y'know?! Playing harps or whatever...'

But how would you feel if it wasn't heard by anyone outside Wales?

'Well, Mwng isn't necessarily a pop album. We have no commercial expectation of it. But we're putting it out worldwide. It'll be available in all the Westernised world.'

'We certainly don't try to underachieve,' says Guto. 'We make the records that we want, and we think they're shit-hot pop records. I played the album to some mates in London,' says Guto, 'and they don't give a fuck about the lyrics...and they didn't go 'switch this crap off, I don't understand it.' And if there was a reason our record wasn't heard on every single radio station, I'd love to know the answer.'

THE next SFA project may well circumvent the language problem completely by being entirely instrumental. There have been rumours among SFA insiders for a while now of an electronic album. (SFA were originally conceived as a techno project, and Cian, of course, comes from an electronic background.) Will it ever happen?

'I dunno,' says Bunf, coyly.

Eventually, they come clean.

'We'd already recorded it,' admits Guto, 'but the discs got lost, which was a setback!'

The very possibility of an SFA techno album reflects the glorious eclecticism which makes them so unique. Each member brings whatever they like to the Super Furry party, without feeling the need to go solo. In this instance, it's telling that Cian is not tempted to go off and do a Brian Eno...

'Cian's gonna buy a cloak,' laughs Bunf.

'Grow my hair,' Cian grins. 'Welcome to my world!'

'We've never limited what we do,' Daf explains, 'or said 'We can't do that, it's not an SFA thing', or 'That's not rock'n'roll'. We take what we want from where we want.'

MWNG is probably unique among SFA albums in that it has no overtly druggy song.

We're talking, ironically enough, on the day that a Police Foundation report sponsored by the Prince Of Wales has called for a relaxing of rules/partial decriminalisation of cannabis. But the very subject is one SFA seem reluctant to broach in interviews these days, perhaps since Daf was busted by Dyfed/Powys police with a small amount of cocaine in his car (the story was sufficiently newsworthy in Wales to justify a TV re-enactment!), perhaps just because they're sick of being referred to as 'pot-headed popsters' (a recent copy of The Guardian). But there's no denying that drug imagery has played a huge part in SFA's aesthetic. One rejected name for the fledgling band, suggested by former flatmate and part-time member Rhys Ifans (yes, THAT Rhys Ifans), was American Heroin Addicts. Their muse/mascot/cheerleader/town crier, to this day, is Howard Marks. In the press, however, it's become the great unmentionable. But even so, I'm surprised by what Bunf says next...

'We've never written an overtly drug song!'

Splutter! What about Something For The Weekend, Smokin', Northern Lites...

'Northern Lites isn't!,' they exclaim in unison.

Everyone thinks it is...

'They're wrong!' Bunf insists. 'Way off the mark!It didn't even cross our minds! There's not a single reference! It's a celestial phenomenon!'

It's not even a double meaning?
'It'd be such a crap double meaning!' says Gruff. 'It'd be the naffest thing, d'you know? I could have called it 'Aurora Borealis', or 'Born In A Manger', or 'Blow Me Far Away'...'

'Alriggght!!!' cackles Daf. 'Blow me!'

'We had a letter from the National Skunk Society,' says Gruff with disbelief, 'and this guy was saying 'How DARE you be in denial of what the song is really about?!' And it's like 'How the fuck do YOU know what the song is about!''

Daf is horrified.

'It's not even our favourite ganj!'

I HEARD a terrible rumour recently, whose impact is comparable to a child's emotions upon hearing that Santa Claus does not exist. Apparently, the five giant space monsters who appear to wave at the crowd during the finale to SFA's live show (the mashed-up techno mayhem of The Man Don't Give A Fuck) are NOT the five band members.

'Ahh, that would be telling!' smiles Daf.

'It might be!' says Bunf.

I have insider information, I tell them. Literally. A regular occupant of one of the suits...

'The thing is, yeah, Cian's PLAYING when they come on!' laughs Guto.

'The last thing you wanna do when you've just been playing for an hour and a half,' adds Daf, 'is jump into a heavy suit and stand there for 20 minutes. I stand behind the desks and watch. It's superb. It honestly never occurred to me that anyone thought it was us. But someone came up to me at Glastonbury and said 'Aah, that was brilliant when you came on in the monster suits. And Gruff was in the middle, cos he's the tall one!' So I said 'Ohhh yeah...''

FOR my final question, I take a bit of a flyer. I know what I mean, but there's every danger the band might take me for some sort of crystal-wearing, whalesong-listening mooncalf. But anyway...

Do you think SFA affect people on a *spiritual* level?

Immediately, the discomfort in the air is tangible.

'I presume people get out of music the same that I do,' Bunf begins. 'Some people are into music a lot, some people just wanna hear it on the radio...'

'I dunno if you could ever answer that,' says Daf. 'It's another emotion I haven't tapped into. I'm thinking of the *extreme*. The ones that you avoid. When they say the word 'spiritual', I always go 'Ahhh, Gruff's over there...''

'Aye, you can connect to the music on a level separate from the literal meaning of the words,' reckons Gruff, 'after some pondering. But it depends what vocabulary you use. You could use the word 'spiritual' to describe the way you react to music, but you could use a word which is less...dramatic, y'know? Personally I'm a bit shy of spirituality. I'd prefer a word that has no religious connotations.'

You do seem attracted to supernatural themes...

'Aye, but because they're *normal*, you know? Not because they're...because it's not something weird. It's totally acceptable for totally mad things to happen.'

'Some of the things we write about do actually happen,' says Bunf. ''Chupacabras' isn't exactly a flight of somebody's imagination.'

'We wanna normalise what is considered abnormal,' Gruff continues.Make it acceptable, make a point of it being...out there, you know? Like the Welsh language. I think it's acceptable as a cool rock'n'roll language. And I think it's acceptable for giant bats to go around eating goats. If they wanna. I mean, it's quite out-of-order, I know, but if that's what they wanna do!'

'Even if they are specifically picking on Spanish-speaking goats,'Bunf interrupts.

'It's acceptable for someone to speak Welsh,' Gruff concludes, '...and it's acceptable for someone to walk through this wall, you know?'

©2000 Simon Price


THE ENGLISH LISTENER'S GUIDE TO MWNG

DRYGIONI (BADNESS)
Gruff: 'It's a song about sleaze. It's about good versus evil, and a person's need for both. One verse is about badness and one is about goodness. Musically it's coming off our more glam-based rock songs, but think we've managed to liquefy our previous influences away, so it doesn't sound like anybody else. It's one of the shortest songs we've written, just over a minute long.'

YMAELODI A'R YMYLON ('BANISHED TO THE PERIPHERY')
Gruff: 'Because I write in the Welsh language, I use a lot of Welsh idioms. There's a saying in Welsh, 'y cythraul canu': the demon in the music. It's the idea that you can't make music without this demon in you, Because there's this tradition of jealousy in Welsh music. Rivalry between singers and musicians is considered normal, musicians in Wales have always hated each other. An Eisteddfodd isn't just a festival, it's a competition. In English, music is not as light rally competitive, it was there for hymns or singing or rejoicing but in Wales it's about proving who's best. This song is partly about being prone to getting bouts of this 'demon', turning our backs on the Welsh language scene, turning our back on any scene. It's about feeling left out.'

Y GWYNEB IAU ('LIVER FACE')
Gruff: 'In my village, 'liver face' is a common phrase! An insult...'

Daf: 'But not anywhere else! Like, 'you what?!'' Gruff: 'It's a song about war, so I thought it made sense, a visual image of what people's faces look like in war. All purple...'

DACW HI ('THERE SHE IS')
Gruff: 'It's about Miss Rushden, a school teacher. She was Fucking dangerous. She used to teach me when I was about 5. She used to have eyes in the back of her head. I brought an egg to school, and I was going to break it on her desk when she wasn't facing me. And she caught me! I dunno if she used a mirror or something... I referred to her on 'She's Got Spies' as well, but this song is older than 'She's Got Spies'. But this is a complimentary song, almost a love song about someone that's funny. The image of someone with two sets of eyes...'

NYTHOD CACWN ('BEEHIVES')
Gruff: 'Usually I've sweated over my lyrics and rewritten them ten times, but this was made up on the spot, so they're very simple. This is also a Welsh language idiom about if you've fucked up or got yourself in the shit, you pull a beehive on your head.' Daf actually did once pull a beehive on his head...'

Daf: 'I wanted to build a fire on the beach, so I pulled a stick out from what turned out to be a bee's nest. It was like a cartoon, I had to run to the sea, chased by a giant cloud. The tide was out as well, so I had to run for ages!'

'PAN DDAW'R WAWR ('WHEN DAWN BREAKS')
Gruff: 'I make an apology for how bad some of these lyrics sound in English. Cos some of them sound so fucking bad, know what I mean? When you translate, it sounds like Spandau Ballet or something!'

Daf: 'Through The Barricades!'

Gruff: 'For instance, Pan Ddaw'r Wawr' sounds great in Welsh, it sounds cool, but in English it reads terrible: 'Grotesque ghosts distort my vision, their mute whispering deafening my world...' (mass laughter from band mates) It sounds like bad heavy metal! 'As dawn breaks I am an abandoned ruin...No sight or sound or bells upon thehour...' It's actually about the death of rural communities. it's a silent tragedy, these communities are falling apart. Like industrial areas during the miners strike, it's happening in rural areas as well...I've got a lot of family from that background, hill farmers who make, like, 4 grand a year, and it's really heavy. They're getting starved out. A lot of them are topping themselves...'

Daf: 'Working with sheep dip doesn't help. They're all going mad off the fumes! Maybe it should be regarded as progress...'

YSBEIDIAU HEULOG ('SUNNY INTERVALS')
Gruff: 'Sunny Intervals' is about looking back at a relationship and it's quite a dumb, simple analogy. Jeff Lynne was very concerned about the weather, and he made a lot of money out of it! And musically, this song is our concession to E.L.O...but I say that about nearly all our songs! Some of their stuff is fucking awful - that Beethoven one! ~ but the production is totally over the top. It's ambitious music. Jeff Lynne was trying to build on the Beach Boys and The Beatles and take it even further, and it's spectacular. At least he had a go! It's the thought that counts. A lot of people didn't bother to try...This song is just old-time pop music. You've got to imagine the saxophonist from 1972 Roxy Music in a spangly red jumpsuit.'

Y TEIMLAD ('THE FEELING')
Gruff: 'I haven't translated Y Teimlad, because it would sound terrible. It's a cover of a song by Datblygu from 1984. It's a spectacular song. David R Edwards is trying to find out what...means.'

Daf: 'Go on, say it! Say the word...'

Gruff: 'He's trying to find out what the feeling called...love is. [Cheers all round]. You know when you get a lyric so perfect that the words become institutionalised as philosophy? It's one of those songs. But it's not famous, even in Wales. John Peel used to play a lot of Datblygu, but he didn't have any respect from the Welsh media.'
Bunf: 'Probably because he was always slagging them off!'
Gruff: 'All his songs were in Welsh, about Wales, and how much he hates it and wants to get out! He's having a very bad time now, but he's a hero of ours. He's tortured, d'you know what I mean?'

SARN HELEN ('THE HELEN CAUSEWAY')
Gruff: 'Musically it's the kind of song you would be listening to cruising down the A5 to Rome in a two-door chariot. It's like a Ben Hur type song, so it needed lyrics to match the music! Sarn Helen was the road the Romans built to link North and South Wales, and infrastructure in Wales has gone downhill since the Romans left. It's hilarious trying to get from North to South Wales, which is about 180 miles. You can't do it by train and it takes about 5 hours in a car.'

Daf: 'They've got these new tunneling machines now. They should tunnel it. Underneath.'

Bunf: 'We've been talking about having a big dam and flooding Mid-Wales. With a jet foil system over the top. A hovercraft.'

Daf: 'It'd be much easier to pop up from Cardiff to Bangor then...'

Bunf: 'You could get Duty Free as well!'

Gruff [turning serious]: 'Tony Blair's given the go-ahead now for a British firm to build a dam that will flood the Kurds out of Turkey, 52 villages, 15 towns, and the remains of a civilisation, and they'll dry up Syria and Iraq because the water won't get through. There's already been two government reports against it, but Tony Blair has rubber stamped it because it'll bring �200 million to a British firm. The people who are flooded out won't get any compensation.'

GWREIDDIAU DWFN/MAWRTH OER AR Y BLANED NEIFION
('DEEP ROOTS'/'A COLD MARS ON NEPTUNE')
Gruff: 'This sounds terrible in English as well. It's a song about being rooted to a sad piece of land...Hold your waters, the phone's ringing, reflecting a dark vacuum...' I think you write that kind of thing when you're feeling Really fucking low. It's like Scott Walker or Karen Carpenter, when you feel that bad. So it's quite weird to read it in the cold light of day when you're feeling OK.'

Daf: 'It sounds like it should be lovers' reggae: 'Deep Roots'...'

Gruff: 'Cold Mars On Neptune', in Welsh, could also mean 'Cold Tuesday...', and I like fucking around with words, so when I translated it I went for picking out a Mars bar from the fridge on Neptune. Work, rest and play...I'm trying to say it could happen anywhere. It could be talking about a lifestyle on Neptune as easily as wherever I lived.

For full Welsh/English translations, visit mwng.co.uk

©2000 Simon Price

~ reprinted with kind permission ~ not for republishing elsewhere


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