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“In this week’s issue, we’re on the cover,” said Reggie Youngblood, singer, guitarist, frontman and drama queen of that frothiest of buzz bands, Black Kids. The feature in question appeared on Sept. 11 in the Folio Weekly, Jacksonville’s equivalent to the Mirror. It was the first time the newspaper had even mentioned Black Kids, not because the editors disliked their homies’ petulant pop tunes, or resented their rise to fame in the U.K., but because two members of the band worked for the publication—Owen Holmes was a writer, Kevin Snow a graphic designer. “I was the news, really,” jokes Youngblood (whose day job was—wait for it—nanny). “They asked Owen and Kevin if they were bitter that the paper had refused to write about us, and they weren’t. They thought it was funny, if anything. But, you know, one of the writers has no problem talking about his Frank Zappa cover band. He plugs that every chance he gets! Whatever.” But Youngblood isn’t bitter. He and his bandmates have been playing music together and apart for nearly a decade, but, with the addition of his sister Ali and her best friend Dawn Watley, Black Kids was formed less than two years ago. The band’s very first gig outside of Jacksonville sparked fanaticism in several American bloggers, which in turn attracted established publications and industry heavyweights such as Quest Management, who also handle Arcade Fire and Björk. Not surprisingly, given the band’s penchant for absurd, perverse lyrics, sugary choruses, dancefloor rhythms and shades of Robert Smith (in both the peaks of Youngblood’s vocals and the largesse of his hair), Black Kids soon had the British hype machine at their service, securing them a label, Almost Gold (home to Peter Björn & John and Does It Offend You, Yeah?) and a name producer, former Suede guitarist Bernard Butler, who’s worked with such acts as the Libertines, Sons and Daughters and Veils. After their singles hit the British charts earlier this year, the quintet returned triumphant to their own country, where critics seem to love and hate them in equal measure. For every scrap of praise in the glossies, a blogger will rip them apart—one writer at Idolator.com responded to the band’s ascendance with a lengthy, self-loathing editorial questioning the very validity of music blogs. And after Pitchfork built them up on the strength of the Wizard of Ahhhs EP (i.e. four songs on MySpace), the Web site tore down the band’s debut album, Partie Traumatic, with possibly their strangest review ever: a photo of a pair of sad pugs, and one word: “Sorry.” With a band name like Black Kids (the Youngbloods are half black, half Filipino), the realm of provocation and controversy is hardly virgin territory. As the band prepared to play their hometown—at Freebird, a venue owned by the widow of Lynyrd Skynyrd’s Ronnie Van Zandt—Youngblood dished a little dirt the Mirror’s way. Mirror: You’ve said that you guys have always been outsiders in Jacksonville. Reggie Youngblood: Oh, yeah. Playing effeminate pop music makes us stick out around here. M: What’s your average Jacksonville band like? RY: It would probably be a pop punk band or a Southern rock band. Some of the kids on the block have similar tastes, but otherwise we’re surrounded by hostiles. I have friends who are in hardcore bands—we’re all in the fuckin’ indie ghetto over here, so we gravitate towards each other. M: Isn’t Florida also known for boy bands? RY: Oh, yeah—O Town, Orlando, they produce the top-notch boy bands. God, I wish we had some boy bands out here. That would be something I could get behind. I wouldn’t mind being in an R&B group—if you’re black, it’s an R&B band, like New Edition, but if you’re white, it’s a boy band, like New Kids. M: Ever tempted to choreograph your shows? RY: It is a constant temptation. We have to fight it. Actually, I was busting this choreographed move last night—it kind of falls into the rhythm of the songs that we play. It would be embarrassing if anyone was paying attention. England for the English-ishM: Why do you think England likes you? Is it more about your style, or the way their industry works? RY: It must have to do with the British sense of humour. They’ve produced bands like the Pet Shop Boys, who’ll say some pretty ridiculous things and no one will bat an eye, it’s understood to be part of their art. So when I say something inane in a song, they don’t think I’m handicapped, they just realize we’re trying to make it amusing. M: If you hadn’t broken overseas, where would the band be now? RY: We’d be doing it the proper way—touring regionally, then nationally and then making that trip over there. It was easier for us to tour when we were kids. We didn’t have a lot of responsibilities or student loans, we could just fuck everything off and go, without repercussions. But the older we got… I mean, Black Kids never played outside of Jacksonville until that small festival in Athens, Georgia, and that’s when everything started happening. We bypassed the normal channels, which has its good points and bad points. M: What are the bad points? RY: It really depends on who’s observing us. If you’re anal and you want your entertainment to be very precise and professional, then you probably don’t appreciate us running all over the place. But if you’re just inclined to like the tunes and you wanna have a good time, then come out and see us and witness our shambolic performance. M: Isn’t that part of what people like about you, that you’re kind of fresh and informal and maybe a little awkward? RY: For those who like us, that’s where they’re coming from, and for those who hate us, that’s where they’re coming from as well. M: You’ve said that your shows go better with alcohol. RY: I was probably drunk. M: Were you referring to the band or the audience? RY: Mostly the audience. We’ve got a job to do out there, there’s no drinking on the job. But they should be enjoying themselves, they should have a G&T or two, or be under some sort of influence. Think of it as a party. I don’t understand people who pay to see us knowing they’re not gonna like us. They just stand there, miserable. M: So you would invite those people to keep their distance? RY: Well, hey, if you want to chip in for the gas money, by all means. But come on, man. Knocking boots, or notM: I like this term that’s being used to describe Black Kids: “smut pop.” But most of the bands you guys get compared to aren’t very sexy. Who are your favourite smut acts? RY: Hmmmm. Old Prince. This gentleman Momus is quite a pervert. Some Cinerama stuff is pretty sordid. R. Kelly. Oh yeah. [Conversation turns to R. Kelly’s Trapped in the Closet, and the commentary on the deluxe edition DVD, which Youngblood insists is “one of the 100 things you have to do before you die.”] M: What’s more inspiring to you, lyrically, sex or lack thereof? RY: You have to have a bit of both, really, sometimes even within the same song. The withholding of gratification always heightens the experience when you eventually… (giggles). I don’t know why I’m getting all shy all of a sudden. M: Don’t worry about it. RY: I always talk about sex. Damn! I’m so dirty. M: I understand you went through a celibate phase. WTF? RY: I was just Southern Baptist, is all. It’s expected for you to save yourself till marriage. That was… horrible. The repression—you’re just set up to fail, there’s no way you’re gonna make it. You can if you get married very, very, very young, which I’ve seen so many times. These kids get married, and I’m sure they have some affection for each other, but really, they just need to knock boots. Once they do, they realize they don’t like each other that much, and inevitably they get a divorce. It’s sad. M: I know you’re a Smiths fan, so I was going to ask you if this had anything to do with Morrissey’s early asexual phase. RY: Oh, I should probably say that in future. M: What’s that line? “The hills are alive with celibate cries.” RY: Yeah. It’s so horrible when people aren’t givin’ it up. WITH THE VIRGINS AND |
