| The way James Blunt sees it, we may get older, but nothing changes much from
elementary school. “We seem to be in exactly the same state as when I was
8 years old. In the school playground, children gossiped about who kissed who,
who said what about who, who wasn’t cool because they weren’t wearing the right
clothes. Now, on a global scale, people write about who kissed who, who said
what, and who’s wearing what clothes.”
In the three years since Blunt released his debut LP Back to Bedlam, it has
sold 11 million worldwide, going No. 1 in 18 countries and top 10 in 35. A
short list of his accomplishments includes being nominated for five Grammys,
landing the first No. 1 single in the U.S. (You’re Beautiful) by a British act
since Elton John’s Candle in the Wind 1997, and winning two MTV Awards and two
Brit Awards.
That seemingly sudden rush to global superstardom and the attendant
experiences make up much of the lyrical content of his second Custard/Atlantic
album, All The Lost Souls, September 17th. The 10-song cycle about life – and
death – shows tremendous growth from Back to Bedlam, which Blunt calls “a
very honest, slightly naïve collection of thoughts, emotions, and
experiences. I wrote them without any knowledge that anyone would hear
them.”
This time around, he knows there’s an audience eager to hear his songs about
“the ups and downs of his journey.” Blunt bristles at the notion that his
now-lofty perch distances him from his listeners. “Just because I’ve been given
the fickle title of celebrity, it doesn’t mean I’m any less human. I go
through the same things, only my mother hears about them first now,” he says,
laughingly referencing his frequent appearances in the tabloids.
Indeed, one listen to All The Lost Souls and it is clear Blunt is talking
about what unites us, not what divides us. We all crave love, comfort, and
security, especially in those times when they seem the hardest to find.
Those intersections are the ones that interest Blunt the most, and on All
The Lost Souls, he brings a focus, clarity and, at times, urgency to our
travels.
“We go through this really amazing experience called life, and we’re trying
to understand it and understand why the hell we’re here,” he says. “I really love life. I really enjoy it, but it does trouble
me. And as it goes and it ticks by – it’s not very long – you kind of
wonder what you’re going to get out of it, where to look for greater depth and
meaning, and why we do the things we do to fill it. I think we all
experience that.”
All The Lost Souls was found as James toured the world in support of Back to Bedlam. He wrote five songs while on the road, testing them before
a very willing audience. When it came time to write the remaining songs,
Blunt needed to get off the merry-go-round of the last few years and be
still. In the summer of 2006, he retreated to Ibiza, off the coast of
Spain. After the constant cacophony, the silence took some getting used
to. “It was the first minute I had to stop and look around at what had
really happened over the past three years and have a think about it,” he
says.
James returned again to Ibiza last winter and received songwriting assistance
from a most unlikely source: “Someone had stolen my boiler, so there was
no heating,” he explains. “I was in the house wearing an overcoat, a hat,
and fingerless gloves playing on the piano. The builder said I lived like
a monk. When you’re cold, no one’s around, and you don’t speak the
language, then you can write the songs: ‘This is a miserable
experience.’ The songs I’d written in the summer, having just stepped out
of a club, were much happier.”
Seeking some different flavors for the album, Blunt asked his publisher to
pair him with “people who weren’t necessarily the obvious writers… to just free
myself.” While James wrote the bulk of the album himself, his request led
to collaborations with Mark Batson (Dr. Dre, Dave Matthews Band), Jimmy Hogarth
(with whom he also wrote for Bedlam), Steve McEwan, Eg (cq) White, and Max
Martin.
Musically, the album draws much of its inspiration from great artists of the
‘70s: “Fleetwood Mac, Don McLean, Elton John, maybe a touch of Steely Dan in
there, and if I’m lucky, a bit of Bowie,” he says, before cheekily adding, “and
if I’m lying I might as well add Zeppelin as well.”
The album opens with the layered, rollicking 1973, a nostalgic look back at
sharing great times with friends. Songs such as One of the Brightest
Stars and Annie deal with the vagaries and distortions that fame can
bring. Carry You Home and I’ll Take Everything tackle our fragile
mortality, while I Really Want You and Same Mistake showcase Blunt at his
most vulnerable.
The Sandhurst graduate who served in Kosovo admits that he finds language
limiting, but, in song, he finds the freedom to write what he can’t speak.
“My music is autobiographical. It’s my expression and it’s for me,” he
says. “It’s a necessary expression; otherwise I’d just be this Brit that
has a shell.” As for those who may find his confessions too dramatic, he
quotes Jeff Buckley: “Sensitivity isn’t being wimpy; it’s about being so
painfully aware that a flea landing on a dog is like a sonic boom.”
When it came time to record in Los Angeles with Back to Bedlam producer Tom
Rothrock, Blunt brought in the boys from the road. The recording marked a
sharp contrast to Bedlam, which was tracked with studio musicians and then
with Blunt overdubbing many of the instruments himself. This time, “I sat
behind a piano or a guitar and played the band the songs and described what I
wanted from them,” he says. “We’d been touring together for two-and-a-half
years. They know exactly what it is I’m after, and it takes very little
time for them to put the flesh on a skeleton.”
With the recording behind him, Blunt is eager to get back before his
fans. “Touring is the most fun you can possibly have,” he says.
“It’s the best invention anyone ever came up with.” Yet even he imagines a
day – hopefully in the far, far future – when the audiences are no longer
there. On the album’s closer, I Can’t Hear the Music, he sings with a
quiet resolve that even after the fans’ applause has faded and the curtain has
come down for the last time, the music remains. For Blunt, it’s a song of
hope and an ultimate reminder of why he’s here. “The chorus sums it up:
‘And if I can’t hear the music and the audience is gone/I’ll dance here on my
own.’ It’s about saying I’m in it for the passion,” he says. “I’m in
it for the love of it, and the audience may be a temporary thing.”
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