THE DEFINITIVE ARTICLE
Chris Bohn - NME - 1983

THE THE? An agitated stutter? No, the definitive article, boasts The one and only The Matt Johnson with a cheeky, if none too convincing grin.

Though The The – founded as a duo, expanded into a four-piece and finally shrunk to its present singular state – is Matt alone, the group still suffers from internal conflict. Indeed, it – he – is wracked by self doubts, even now, when things couldn’t be better. But then, if he had any more confidence in himself he would have settled for just Matt Johnson, the signature he put to one of last year’s more neglected LPs ‘Burning Blue Soul’.

‘The reason I re-adopted the name The The,’ clarifies Matt, ‘was so I’d be able to put a barrier between people and myself. I dunno why, but I just like to have it there. Partly because people tend to be put off when they see the name of a solo artist, I suppose. It kind of weakens the impression. Also by calling me The The, it allows me more flexibility, styles will constantly change, anything can actually happen. The The – the ultimate thing. The definitive…’

Which isn’t to say he’s trying to hide anything. On the contrary, his songs are almost intimately confessional – without being excessively self-indulgent or particularly purgative, Instead, they register his naïve capacity to be amazed by the world and his struggle to make sense of it. The music is correspondingly inquisitive, thirsty for new – at least to him – textures, which he discovers through fresh, brash fusions of acoustic and electronic instruments.

If at first they sound familiar, they are not quite what they seem. His forthcoming 12” ‘Uncertain Smile’, released by Stevo’s Some Bizzare via CBS, exemplifies his approach. A disconsolate, unrequited love song, Matt’ brittle blue tenor describes his melancholy condition, unashamedly inviting the listener to dwell in it while luxuriating in the music’s lazy flow; yet the listener leaves it at the other end perversely bright and refreshed.

Matt Johnson’s presence is similarly invigorating. Despite the introspective nature of his songs, Johnson is a cheerfully garrulous talker, whose nervous non-stop banter begins from the moment we enter his few North London rooms and spin dizzily through countless anecdotes, quips and ideas, converting fret into self-effacing comic monologue. Should I have expected any different?

‘Well, years ago I used to bore myself an’ everyone else worrying about things,’ he confides, ‘ but people don’t really want to know. They go off to the toilet and never come back! So I got to thinking people don’t wanna put on music and think, oh no, this is terrible. But on the other hand you get some reassurances through recognition. Like I used to get some from reading Sylvia Plath, whose stuff is a lot more extreme than me. Like the Bell Jar, even though it had a happy ending – excepting she killed herself after that – well, I thought it was great. Because I could really relate to that, I felt more comfortable.

‘I had this really terrible flu once,’ he continues, ‘ I thought, fucking hell, I’ve got consumption. I was in bed sweating, my mind was moving so fast, and for some reason I picked up Nausea by Jean Paul Sartre, and again because I could relate to it’s agitated state, I felt somehow consoled .’

The point being?

‘I would like to do music that does just that for people.