‘People just take the music industry way too seriously’

Roisin O’Connor, The Independent

Clams Baker Jr doesn’t seem like a man suited to army life. In fact, it’s hard to imagine any member of Warmduscher, one of the UK’s most eccentric (even aberrant) bands, following orders from a barking drill sergeant — but their American frontman especially. Stamped on the back of Baker’s body is a large tattoo of a laughing hyaena. Despite his mother’s wishes, then, army life just wasn’t for him. He wanted to fight for his country in a different way. As the lead singer of Warmduscher, Baker tackles themes of authority, inequality and capitalism through a potent punk and funk-rock sound. Happily, they have skirted the sprechgesang trend perpetuated by bands such as Black Midi and Black Country, New Road, as well as the more literal soapbox politics of Idles or Shame. With their music, fans have to dig a little deeper into Baker’s frequently abstract lyrics while also enjoying their innately danceable tunes.

They’re now on their fifth and best album, Too Cold to Hold, an ambitious and restless mix of jagged punk-rock riffs, hypnotic gqom grooves and hip-hop beats. There’s an introduction from Scottish author Irvine Welsh, whom Baker met years ago at a gig in Miami, and whose deft, unsparing depictions of class, identity, substance abuse and society’s seedy underbelly pair wonderfully with Baker’s lyrics: “He’s Walt Clipper, the Midnight Dipper/ With a pocket full of grease and a finger on his zipper.” Recorded with his British bandmates Benjamin Romans Hopcraft, Adam Harmer, Marley Mackey, Quinn Whalley and Bleu Ottis Wright, and co-produced by Jamie Neville (Kae Tempest, Gentle Stranger), Too Cold to Hold embodies what Warmduscher are all about: the clashing of cultures to create something new, exciting, and distinct. “We’re lucky,” Baker says of the band’s dynamic. “There’s no preciousness when it comes to making decisions, compared to other situations I’ve been in where everyone’s egos are on the line.”

Certainly, Baker and Hopcraft make for delightfully ego-free company. We’re in London but find ourselves surrounded by people dressed in lederhosen and dirndls. I’d thought German Gymnasium a suitable interview spot, given their band name translates from German to “someone who takes a warm shower” (it’s also a slang term for wimp). I neglected, however, to remember Oktoberfest. But they lean into the spirit of things; Baker nurses a stein while Hopcraft chews on a pretzel as they discuss the ideas that brought this record to life.

“Body Shock”, for example, is about the near-violent effect words can have on us. Baker sings in his drawling growl over a menacing bass riff and nervous, skittery percussion as guest artist Lianne La Havas croons in honeyed tones. Meanwhile, “Fashion Week” is an observational account of the coutured and coiffed hustlers that queued to see the latest spring line back in September. The track zigzags around an off-kilter beat, while Baker squawks: “Got yourself some new shoes/ 50 hours overtime/ Fashion week/ Can’t get no sleep”.

Hopcraft spotted these influencers in the wild after a heavy night out in New York. “They take it so seriously,” he says, “and a lot of them don’t even seem to work in the fashion industry.” Writing the lyrics, Baker intentionally blunted his typically razor-sharp teeth. “The easiest thing to do — and what we would normally do — is eviscerate them. I wanted to do something a little bit different,” he says. Perhaps he was softened somewhat by his own experiences in the industry, building sets for brands such as Ralph Lauren. “I’ve been immersed in that world for a long time, and yes, it’s ridiculous, but I wanted to actually try and put a positive spin on it,” he adds.

Baker has no taste for the zealous patriotism Trump engenders in his followers, having spurned it early on when his mum was encouraging him to join the army. “Being in that situation, growing up in a working class, small conservative town, when you’re finishing high school, the army is presented as a viable option,” he says. “And I was never like, a nationalist or a ‘patriot’ or anything, but I knew I wanted to get away — and part of the army’s (pitch) is that you get to see the world. But these kids that go into it believing all that, they end up being sold this dream that turns into a nightmare. They come out of it with no money and nowhere to go.”

Hopcraft, meanwhile, attributes his empathy to his mother who raised him and his siblings on her own in an ex-council flat. “She very much feels the brunt of society when things aren’t going her way, so most of my politics are based on her experiences,” he says. “I never think of it as being related to any kind of agenda — it’s about family, and compassion.”

A single mother takes centre stage on “Staying Alive”. There, Baker whoops and hollers in between bitter narratives about “Poor kids leading the way/ Dying on either side ... You wonder why your kids are high/ Told to study, work, and go and fight”. Hopcraft says the song taps into the idea that society “has created medication, be it illegal or legal” as a way of numbing ourselves enough to get by. “(Those themes are inspired by) us going through our own lives — none of us are rich,” he points out, referring to himself and his bandmates.