“My favourite word at the moment is ‘insulting’,” sighs Isobel Campbell. “I seem to be using it all the time right now.”
Vexation is not a state one would normally associate with the gossamer-voiced Scottish ingènue. But at the moment the ex-Belle And Sebastian singer is in no mood to pander to lazy expectations.
Given the word-of-mouth heat being generated by her new album, Ballad Of The Broken Seas, you would think that we would find her in upbeat, optimistic form. As it is, a few misguided journalistic barbs have soured her mood.
Sympathy levels for pop stars, quite rightly, run in short supply these days. However, in this case, I’ll plead for the defence.
Previously viewed as a wounded-wing, fey indie archetype (a perception that, by giving her records names like The Green Fields Of Foreverland, she seemed in no rush to dispel), the ‘who’d-have-guessed-it?’ ambition and creative assertiveness on display in Broken Seas should force her detractors to take Campbell more seriously.
Blending Wicker Man folksiness, amber-lit torch-songs and brooding death-balladry, it’s a rich, atmospheric and sonically imaginative record that will provide ideal company during dark winter nights.
Unfortunately, sceptics have used the presence of co-vocalist Mark Lanegan to dismiss the record as a conceptually baffling curate’s egg, of little interest to the wider world.
So much has been made of the odd-couple relationship between the gravel-throated rocker and breathy songstress that Campbell believes it has obscured the quality of the record.
“One review said that the idea of Mark and I collaborating was an April Fool’s joke,” she says. “I’m soft spoken. I like to be nice to people and I like to laugh at myself. I know some musicians who want to make people walk over broken glass to listen to their music. I don’t want to do that. I like being accessible but I don’t think it does me any favours. I’ve been put into this girly, airy-fairy little box. It’s so rude. I think I deserve a bit more respect.”
Initial encounters with Ballad Of The Broken Seas may lead one to conclude that Lanegan’s deep, bubonic, voice is the central presence in the enterprise. However, prolonged exposure reveals that, in fact, it is his whispering counterpart who is the real driving force behind the record.
Not alone (with the exception of one Lanegan song and a cover of Hank Williams’ ‘Ramblin’ Man’) did Campbell write and produce the record herself. Following a crash course in the labyrinthine ways of arts council funding applications, she also financed its recording.
In its own way, it’s also a quietly subversive release. From Jack and Meg, through Nick and Kylie and all the way back to Lee and Nancy, male rock stars have been applauded for giving voice to their l’il women. Campbell has reversed this brilliantly, providing Lanegan with the kind of elemental, old-time, persona (romantic blackguard, absent father, wronged lover) that’s not a million miles away from a certain much-missed man in black.
“Mark was my muse,” she laughs. “He was amazing to work with. So respectful. He didn’t once sneer at any of my ideas or suggestions. He was nothing but supportive throughout. I appreciate that this was a big risk for him too.
"He’s probably getting grief from some of his goth-metal fans at the minute, but fuck them. He was a joy to write for and he interpreted the lyrics brilliantly. I was very lucky.”
Campbell continues: “My real ambition, my real, huge dream is to write and produce for other people. That’s my way out.”
So successful was the finished album, however, she is now giving serious consideration to writing another to be performed with a guest vocalist.
“I’d like to do a record with another girl,” she says. “Did you ever see High Society, the bit where Bing and Frank sing ‘Did You Ever’? Same sex duets can have a real intoxicating atmosphere. There are so many people I’d like to sing with – Polly Harvey, Marianne Faithful. But I wouldn’t know how to even begin to approach people like that. I tell you what – I’d actually love to sing a song with Kate Bush. That would be mental.”
With all this talk of collaborations, you have to wonder if Campbell is secretly pining for life in a band.
“Funnily enough, I really do at times,” she says. “It does make me sad that, although I was in Belle and Sebastian, I never feel as if I was in my dream band. I was very young at the time. When I was 21 I was slightly more arrogant and nutty than I am now. I think I’d be able to compromise an awful lot better now. But there are restrictions to being a member of a group. I enjoy having the freedom to drop in and out of other people’s records now.”
A recent example being the last solo LP by Scottish folkster, Alasdair Roberts, on which Campbell provided cello and, along the way, got to hang out with the record’s producer, Will Oldham.
Well, how was he?
“He was kinda good,” she says after a pause. “We had a lot of fun at times, getting down to 50 Cent for example. But he certainly is a bit of an enigma. Creative types can be quite slippery customers, will-o’-the wisp types. It’s a bit like [Belle and Sebastian frontman] Stuart Murdoch – tricky but intriguing. Arrogant, slippery, very clever guys.”
Would you like to sing with him?
“Why not,” she says. “I have to say, though, that Leonard Cohen would be my absolute dream collaborator. I’d love to be one of his little choir of devoted girl singers. He’s a bit of a boy is Leonard.”