For the last couple of weeks, what with the Felt Q&A at Rough Trade, my continued enjoyment of the bookzine compiled and edited by the folks at foxtrotecholimatango.blogspot.com and the arrival of the very nice Felt book from www.firstthirdbooks.com I’ve been putting up a pretty much unedited Q&A with Lawrence, which was the product of a piece I wrote for Uncut magazine before Christmas. One of the subjects alluded to artfully in Paul Kelly’s Lawrence Of Belgravia film is that of Lawrence’s problem with addiction, which seem to have begun around the time of Denim’s demise.
I felt this was the sort of thing to bring up, if not to exactly press the point on. So, about an hour and forty minutes into the interview, as he talked about the end of Denim’s particular road, I did, and Lawrence, not angrily or with any side at all, simply said, “I don’t want to talk about that.” He may have added “…if that’s all right” because I do remember saying, “No, that’s fine.”
He liked the way the subject had been treated in the film, and suggested that equally, it was my job to handle it somehow, not his to explain it. I can’t quite face transcribing the exchange word for word, because, if I’m completely honest, I’m in no enormous rush to listen to it again. The interview didn’t, happily, end there, as I asked a bit more about Felt (which I have cut into the Felt part of this transcript, which can be found in earlier posts) and we talked a bit more about that.
We finished talking about twenty minutes afterwards, and I got up to leave. Lawrence, someone with no shortage of enthusiasms to expand on, said ,“Oh, are you going?” signed my record, gave me the notes he’d prepared for me and gave me a quick tour of his flat. A room with many shelves, housing his magazine collections (“Pared down to the absolute minimum,” he said, indicating several substantial stacks). Some pieces of cardboard with quotations ascribed to himself. This room, he said, will be his studio when it’s finished, and its transformation was chiefly the handiwork of a young man called Ralph, who appears in the film, and who in addition to his practical talents is, Lawrence says, “the world’s best drummer” and has played with Scritti Politti.
A detour into his hallway reveals his bookshelves (“all curved edges”), filled with vaguely esoteric cult lit and, on the way out, his records – again with some inessential items put to one side to sell. One of these is an album by The Butts Band. “It’s just total shit,” Lawrence explained. “How could you go from the Doors to this?”
Lawrence accompanied me to the lift and then out of the building, and on to the Hot Dog Streets…