A tin of chicken soup, a Kinder egg, a bag of salt and vinegar crisps, and a sponge. These are the things I am offered, in a carrier bag, when I arrive in Shrewsbury to set off on tour with Kitten Pyramid – Britain’s most current, and probably most surreal, purveyors of prog rock. “Your welcome pack,” says bass player Mark Hamon, who has a tufty yellow beard and a tattoo of an octopus on his proper shin. “What is the sponge for?” I request. Hamon’s smile broadens. “You will locate out.”
In the globe of Kitten Pyramid, such a random assortment of objects tends to make a kind of sense. Formed in Burton upon Trent in 2010 by songwriter Scott Milligan, the band is a loose 5-piece, swelling to 14 for some gigs (when the core guitars, bass and drums are joined by trumpets and strings). Out this month, their very first album is called Uh-Oh! and is pitched someplace between Talking Heads at their most fractious and unusual, and Syd Barrett-era Pink Floyd.
Lyrically, Milligan’s songs are each hilarious and bizarre. “I want to see you naked in a caravan,” he reveals on Chester. Elsewhere, he sings the praises of “gorilla fajitas”, “ladybird jumpers”, and a “pyramid army with their bags of peshwari”. Clearly, Milligan is bored by typical pop. But significantly of Uh-Oh!’s freshness and richness springs from the fact that it truly is a concept album inspired by Milligan’s late Uncle Jarek, a Polish immigrant who had schizophrenia.
To launch it, and to draw interest to the issues all around psychological overall health, Kitten Pyramid have place together their personal idiosyncratic tour – of psychiatric hospitals, performing for sufferers and personnel, with each daytime hospital session followed by an evening gig in a pub. Their aim is to increase funds for, and awareness of, Arts for Wellness (AFH), an arm of the band’s local NHS trust, South Staffordshire and Shropshire, which organises arts events for sufferers.
All of which explains why, even now puzzled by my welcome pack, I am watching Kitten Pyramid complete in Redwoods hospital on the outskirts of Shrewsbury. The gig requires area in the vibrant, domed foyer, all around a splendid grand piano, with a string of fairylights marking out a makeshift stage. The band kick off quietly, strumming through Red Footwear, a song that traces feelings of alienation in a supermarket. “You can’t look down,” Milligan sings, “since she’ll consider you happen to be weird.” The lady sitting beside me has a complaint. “I can’t hear you!” she shouts. “Louder?” asks Milligan. “Yes!” the audience phone back as one.
John, sitting subsequent to me, tells me he lately misplaced his wife, Glenys, to early-onset Alzheimer’s. They employed to go to singing workshops run by AFH. “Even when she was hardly able to communicate,” says John, “she could even now sing total lines from her favourite songs. Music is incredibly effective for folks with dementia. It seems to stir up so many memories.”
Surely, one thing equivalent seems to be happening nowadays. As the band play Whale, a track that calls for the audience to shout the song’s title at standard intervals, even the most distracted patients look to sharpen their target. An elderly girl with a cotton cloud of white hair taps out a regular rhythm on the footrest of her wheelchair. “It was wonderful,” she tells me afterwards. “I used to be a ballet dancer. Listening to the music brought it all back.”
Jessica Kent, the AFH manager behind the concert, thinks the band went down properly. “Kitten Pyramid have a exclusive sound,” she says. “It really is like a musical patchwork, with some thing all ages seem capable to relate to. It’s so crucial to have occasions like this in psychiatric hospitals. The age of the asylum is in excess of. New psychiatric hospitals are really different areas.”
As we all sit down to post-gig fish-finger sandwiches in a nearby pub, Milligan tells me the album’s notion began with a bus. “Exactly where I used to live,” he says, “was opposite a bus-quit. I was sitting in my bedroom a single day, seeking out the window, when a bus arrived. I started thinking how weird it would be if I climbed into a bus with no driver, no passengers, and the bus took me to Burton, and there was nobody anyplace. Then I started to feel that possibly this was the type of issue my Uncle Jarek utilised to knowledge.”
Milligan fleshed out his daydream until he had a thorough therapy for a movie (his day work entails making lawyer education video clips). In the meantime, he set about bringing together musicians to function on songs he’d composed above the final decade. He soon realised most of them touched, to some extent, on Jarek’s condition. “One song, Fire, is about the time my uncle set fire to a brand-new mattress,” he says. “Not all the songs are that specific, but a great deal of them seem to relate to what my uncle went via.”
Kitten Pyramid have been born. Milligan secured a bank loan to record an album and, in January 2013, the core five-piece – Milligan, Hamon, drummer Rob Redfern, guitarists Chris Baldwin and Dan Baker – went into the studio with producer Nick Brine, best recognized for his work with Oasis, the Stone Roses and Super Furry Animals. Uh-Oh! was the result.
The difficulty with concept albums is that they can be a bit, effectively, conceptual: they can risk sacrificing musical coherence to higher-artwork pretension. But Milligan’s songs would even now make an affect without having any expertise of the underpinning concept. “What sets this apart from other notion albums,” says Baker, “is that we’re not ponces.”
Milligan is still arranging to make his movie. Every single band member has been assigned a character: Milligan a psychiatric nurse, the luxuriantly bearded Baker a bear. There is also talk of a musical. All this from a band that are unsigned. When I ask if they’re seeking for a significant label, Milligan looks anxious. “This way,” he says, “we have more freedom.”
They are creating no cash from their tour: the hospital concerts are unpaid, and they are donating a pound to AFH from every single CD sale. What’s more, they’ve all had to consider time off from their day jobs, which assortment from teaching to construction. There is no tour bus both: sustained by Coca-Cola and elaborate in-jokes about dolphins, they are travelling in a Ford Emphasis and a Volkswagen Polo, despite the fact that occasionally they get to pile into the “jaffa cake”, Hamon’s orange and brown VW campervan. Their stimulants of decision are “dad naps” (they range in age from 31 to 45, and they all have younger youngsters) and vitamin drinks spiked with Solpadeine.
It is all really un-rock’n"roll – and rather refreshing and cheering, specially when it’s clear how nicely the band’s gigs go down, the two in and out of psychiatric hospitals. Following Redwoods, they hit an open-mic night in the Wrekin Inn in Telford, in which the walls are lined with posters for the 1960s psychedelic band the Groundhogs (its founding member Tony McPhee’s spouse, Jo, runs the open mic). Kitten Pyramid blow the spot away, with shouts of “Whale!” threatening to lift the roof. By the end of the set, two locals (“Juke Joint” John and “Dead Hand” Terry) have joined them on harmonica and kazoo.
The subsequent day takes us to St George’s in Stafford, where Milligan’s uncle was once admitted. Kitten Pyramid are playing two concerts. The very first is on a ward filled largely with elderly sufferers. Amongst songs, an previous man in a hospital gown shouts huskily: “Brilliant!” His name is Tony and he loves the blues. “Loved this, also,” he says. “They blew my head.”
Later, in a treatment room, the band carry out shoeless and cross-legged beneath a board advertising lessons: Monday is rest, Wednesday coping abilities. I am not confident which category Kitten Pyramid fall into, but their flight-of-fancy lyrics and helter-skelter guitarwork go down a storm. After the concert, one patient comes above. “Hopefully I’ll get out quicker now,” he says with a grin. “You’ve put me back on my feet.”
It is this kind of response that makes all the hassles – the lengthy drives, the dad naps, the Solpadeine cocktails – worthwhile. “Which is what it really is all for,” Hamon says as we load the products back into the vehicles. With my relatively surreal stint as roadie now at an end, I seem yet again within the bag they gave me. I never got the opportunity to eat the chicken soup – and I nevertheless have no notion what the sponge was for.
• Uh-Oh! is out on 26 Could. Kitten Pyramid play Newhall Social Club on thirty May possibly and the Alsager Music Festival in Milton Park on twelve July. Particulars: kittenpyramid.squarespace.com
Revolution in the head: Kitten Pyramid carry rock to the psychiatric ward