Photos by Sophie Jouvenaar
Pissing it down and I’ve forgotten my coat; a lifetime here and I’m still none-the-wiser to how miserable the weather can be on an August bank holiday weekend in Leeds. Still, a trek through its sheltered city centre is considerably better than the one thousands would be making across the badlands of Bramham Park for Leeds Festival this weekend if not for the pandemic. The destination? A cult house just outside Headingley where I, alongside the multi-talented Sophie Jouvenaar, are heading down to the basement…
We’ve all seen the documentaries. The ones with Charles Manson and Jim Jones and the like. Such charming characters! The films with a giant man made of sticks or a Scandinavian summertime festival. You’ve got to be a fool to fall for it! I think as I approach the house on the hill where three men stand. D’ya wanna come in? D’ya want some tea? they ask as I realise I’ve been recruited. Shite.
The three men in question are George, Harry and Joe; The former two live in this house and make up two thirds of the prolific Leeds wonk-pop group, Spacey Basement Cult. The third goes by Yusuf Yellow – a rapper who made acquaintances with the cult when final member, Theo sat next to him in Leeds College of Music’s canteen.
‘All I wanted was to sit and eat my tuna pasta!’ Joe looks longingly at a bowl of cold penne being picked at by Harry. All the pasta in the world if ya join the cult! And just like that, the spaghetti lasso grabs him; ‘Now we are working on an EP together, which is crazy.
It’s no surprise that these musicians – all completely immersed in Leeds’ vibrant arts scene – have come together. It’s about championing their peers, showcasing the talent around them. These values are evident as we move around the house; vivid and colourful homescapes adorn the walls – a product of painter and Harry’s partner, Julia Pomeroy. A stack of Nice People – a nice pile-on where no one gets hurt. Even talk dips in and out of other ongoing projects – of other cultists.
Up the stairs: into a small room, made smaller still by the abundance of synthesisers, amplifiers and rack units. ‘As soon as lockdown was announced I ordered a new synth online. I needed therapy,’ Harry laughs. Behind us are a series of classical art prints, and in front a pineapple tapestry. Oh, and Theo as he walks through the door, having just returned from a socially distanced gig.
Harry continues: ‘There was nothing to do apart from play with some new toys in this new studio set up where me and George have linked up all our gear for the first time.’ Every recording, regardless of its length, is given a ‘basement number’ on George’s computer. Since the start of lockdown, there has been 104 files saved to the folder.
Today’s focus is vocals. I can’t help but feel redundant as the cogs of this well-oiled machine start to turn; Theo is setting up a make-shift vocal booth in the wardrobe, Harry is checking all equipment is working, George is loading the necessary instrumentals – Joe in a trance as he goes over the verse he is about to record, all written this morning.
‘We’ve definitely got a different angle when Joe is working with us,’ Theo, the cult’s main lyricist is enjoying experimenting with new song-writing dynamics: ‘I’ll study what he writes and work around that or vice versa. It makes something quite abstract and that works with the musical side of it.’
Abstract! Of course! From the recording kit made out of a box of Swan filters and electrical tape, to the woozy electronica re-run that envelops the room as the two lyricists aim for a perfect take. It’s not strange, it’s just abstract! It’s an amalgamation of ideas and past collaborations; Yusuf Yellow’s style has evolved into something between steezy hip-hop and garage having worked with Sheffield/Manchester based Blancmange Lounge and Leeds’ Readymeal Sound collectives – the cult’s sound perpetually changing as they enlist an array of local musicians, from neo-soul artist B-ahwe to the experimental Inside the Ghost House.
‘We all have such different backgrounds musically,’ Theo has just finished recording the song’s chorus, now featuring ethereal backing vocals from Sophie. ‘When me and George started writing together we were constantly surprising each other. Neither of us would think of what the other was doing. I think if you can get different perspectives on one thing, you get all these different sides of it.’
Down the stairs: into the garden for a smoke. Harry is relieved to be out the studio – his efforts to distance the cult’s music from the bedroom pop of Billie Eilish wouldn’t hold up from the converted bedroom we’ve been sat in the past hour. ‘A lot of it is Ferb anyway. Is that his name?’ The quiet genius of Ferb should never go unnoticed, though the inadvertent praise of the less-pointy innovator is intended for Eilish’s brother and producer, Finneas.
There is a shared, DIY ethos with bedroom artists everywhere however. The sheer number of recordings and releases from both artists is a testament to their love for music. ‘I got two albums, two eps and a bunch of singles that I’m working on at the moment so I’ve just gotta decide when to drop it,’ Joe is working with several artists currently. ‘So much I need to finish…I’m getting a bit overwhelmed!’
As for the cult? ‘We’ve probably got a single coming out before the end of the year; we’re going for Christmas number 1! One of our songs is going to be the next John Lewis Christmas advert!’ Talk turns to the group’s festive headhunting scheme. It starts with a cover of ‘Rockin’ Around The Christmas Tree‘ to draw you in: ‘We can do an advent calendar in the spacey basement grotto!’ scattered voices across the room grow in excitement: ‘Every day you can get an unreleased beat! We can put them in cereal boxes! I’ve just started doing deliveries at Waitrose! I can drop in a mixtape every delivery!’
‘Or we could pay Daddy Cool Ice…’ Joe looks confused, though the look quickly turns to amusement as we’re told Daddy Cool Ice is the ice cream man that goes around the neighbourhood playing cool tunes. According to him, there’s another local ice cream man who rides around playing trap beats: ‘it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever seen, he’s definitely shottin.’ It’s like those smarties ice creams with the smarties at the bottom, but every time you twist it a nug comes out.
Leaving the warmth of the cult house: the sky is brilliant and golden despite the sun now hiding behind the houses in the distance. Hindsight is a bitch I think as Sophie and I head to our taxi. What a lovely experience it was – but we have been completely indoctrinated! I concede; there is no point hiding from the cult and their latest preacher. Soon they will be in our cereal boxes, in our advent calendars – and undoubtedly in our venues when the time is right. You can try and resist, but the pull of Yusuf Yellow and his new found Spacey Basement Cult may just be too strong.
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