By Sean Lawrenson, Co-Deputy Sport Editor
Yann Tiersen is a name that will be instantly recognisable to some of you, but for many, the name will leave you drawing a blank. You may not know him, but you will certainly be familiar with some of his music. The man behind your favourite musician's favourite film soundtrack, Amélie, propelled Tiersen into fame and stardom, something he has letter admitted he regrets.
As we sit in the deafly quite and enormously echoey Rough Trade stage, Tiersen surprises me when he talks about his relationship with the instrument he is most associated with, the piano. ‘I’ve never really been into piano. I have a love / hate relationship with [it]. More hate than love. It’s really strange. I wanted to do violin and guitar, but I was far too young’.
Tiersen began playing piano at the age of four, though he tells me his reason for wanting to play violin was filled with childlike innocence. ‘I was obsessed with violin, because I thought the bows were kind of, crystal swords. I thought it was a laser sword, like in Star Wars’.
However childish his reasons may seem, the result of his sustained dedication from an early age is clear to see. His new album, Rathlin from a Distance | The Liquid Hour, is a powerful 80-minute exploration of what Tiersen sees as heavily based both in natural and political spheres.
‘The idea was to have this piano be really minimal, and it’s about being in a natural environment, just with nature. Suddenly you don’t have any social pressure. It’s an album about identity, gender, deconstruction and nature. Holistically, it’s about what it is like to be human’.
Our conversation moves onto the second half of the album, which sees Tiersen collaborate with his wife, Émilie Quinquis.
Describing ‘The Liquid Hour’ side of the album, Tiersen states: ‘Liquid is really, more political. It was because it was the French elections and the far-right was really high… it was a nightmare’, Tiersen manages to chuckle.
‘I would sometimes listen to podcasts while doing the takes. And I had this idea to do a marching band, to take to a protest. But doing it with weird, old electronic instruments. I always dreamt about that, to have a ‘fake’ orchestra, to play with the old instruments’.
Tiersen comes across as immensely passionate when speaking about politics, and I feel compelled to ask him about what he thinks about social media, and its role in shaping the political world.
'I mean, socials saved my life, in a way. A long time ago, I decided to leave my record label because it was major, and it was going crazy. So I changed everything. And I live on a small island, working on new albums but they weren’t out. And it was actually Myspace, that kind of stuff. It was wonderful’.
‘It was a link with the audience. I’d put music on socials, and people from everywhere [would listen]’.
Connection seems of inherent importance when Tiersen describes his values and his music. The ability to draw together strands of oneself and create, over the course of an hour set, something communal.
Tiersen’s initial response speaks to a belief that human connection is the pinnacle, and social media can be a tool for good. However, he stops short of pronouncing a new utopia.
‘The problem, I think, is it is just a really big propaganda tool. I love socials, and the internet, and all of that, but the problem is we are just giving money to these companies by being active on socials. And I’m exactly the same’.
‘And also, we wanted to do an equal tour, focussing on climate change’, he continues, ‘as a part of that, I want to be really active on socials, but the only way to do that is to use Starlink and that’s Elon Musk’.
His final two words on Musk seem to aptly sum up the state of a generation terrified by the prospect of billionaire involvement in politics: ‘Masculinist asshole’, Tiersen says.
‘I think, strangely, it came first from social [media] manipulation, like Brexit first. There is no reality to that, and it’s just like propaganda, how you’re using the algorithm. What can you do to avoid being tracked to something and being linked to something?'.
He describes the impact of social media on climate activism. ‘It’s like green bashing now. It’s more and more, and eco-activism is almost not there anymore. I mean, it is, but there was this agreement and it’s starting to disappear because of this propaganda. And even me, you’re kind of influenced by the fact it’s not a subject anymore’.
In an attempt to move the conversation into slightly happier waters, I ask Tiersen his favourite gig he’s been to. ‘I really enjoyed a Sonic Youth gig, back in the day. And My Bloody Valentine as well, two gigs from them’.
In terms of venues he’s played himself, Tiersen tells me two of his favourites. ‘They’re favourite classic actually. One is kino šiška, in Ljubljana, because I love the people they’re and it’s a really good club. The other one is 9:30 in D.C. It’s a cool club, and there’s really good gigs there. Also, the Cornish Bank was really good’, he tells me of the gig he played the day before the interview.
‘And you know, I was drinking a lot! But I love the smaller venues, when you’re queuing to have your drink in the middle of the people, and some recognise you and some don’t. Waiting to go on stage and you’re standing with the audience'.
'With other gigs, it becomes heartless. They’re not connected with one another. It will be one company that works the bar. It will be another company that do the catering. Another company that cleans the rooms, but then nobody will actually have interest in you playing. It can happen, and it’s so weird’.
So much about Tiersen’s personal character and the way it shapes his music seems clear to me despite our interview only lasting for twenty-five minutes. The way in which he articulates his beliefs are admirable, and his music is a delightful and insightful result of the moral code he holds so close to his heart.
Featured Image: Aurélie ScouarnecDo you think social media is a force for good?
