It’s the week before the release of Biffy Clyro’s tenth studio album, Futique, and the excitement and anticipation in the central London hotel room they’re holed up in for a day of promo is palpable. Sitting in their on-stage formation – frontman Simon Neil and bassist James Johnston to the front, Johnston’s twin brother, drummer Ben, between them to the back – they’re buzzing at the idea of sending it out into the world.
“I love this moment just before a record comes out,” says James. “It's like that feeling when you've got a little bit of a secret to share. I can’t wait for people to hear it.”
They’re right to be excited. Futique finds them firing on all cylinders, that uniquely Biffy combination of huge, heartfelt, singalong choruses and just the right sprinkling of weird.
But the road to this point has been a rocky one. Biffy came together as school kids 30 years ago, and have always presented a united front, a band of brothers with a seemingly unbreakable bond. They last two albums, however – 2020’s A Celebration Of Endings and 2021’s The Myth Of Happily Ever After – were released under the shadow of Covid-19 and its attendant lockdowns.
Tours were planned and then repeatedly cancelled. Isolation inevitably set in, as it did for millions. The weirdest era most of us have ever lived through took its toll, and for the first time, the future of the band looked decidedly uncertain.
“We were all just fucking knackered, we didn't know which way was up or down,” says Simon. “We released a second album, but we were still touring the first album, and it was just weird, and we needed a break. When we parted ways normally, we'd say, ‘I’ll see you in a few weeks.’ And it was the first time we'd ever been like, ‘See you soon’. And there was no endpoint to that. I think we all knew subconsciously that we were all fucking worn down, and it wasn't time to get straight back on the horse.”
Simon’s response was to disappear into his metal project Empire State Bastard, where he, alongside Mike Vennart, Naomi Mac and Dave Lombardo, “made some beautiful noise for a couple of years”. Apart from fleeting meet-ups at ESB shows, he didn’t see the Johnstons properly in 18 months – the longest break they’d experienced in 20 years of intense touring, shared triumphs and close friendship.
“I fell out of love with melodic music for a couple of years after those two [last Biffy] albums,” he explains. “I couldn't look at a guitar. I didn't want to pick one up. It was a really simple couple of years, just getting in the van. I needed to fall in love with melody, and I needed to want to write songs again. Having done something so insular and aggressive for a couple of years, I realised there's such a beauty in writing a piece of music that makes people want to sing along. It's like a magic trick.”
After all that time apart, the first meet-up was awkward. Simon is the first to admit he misread the room, coming in like a bull in a china shop, ready to hit the ground running. James and Ben laughingly acknowledge that it’s an energy that fuels the band, but can be difficult to match, especially after a couple of years in the wilderness.
“I came in fucking full steam ahead, 10,000 miles an hour,” says Simon. “I wanted to talk straight about the band and the music, and I guess we needed to reconnect on a more personal level. We needed a reset, and sadly, resets happen because you have a wee fallout. We were all in different beats of different drums. For two years, we did different things, and we all felt differently coming out of that.“
James, particularly, seems to have struggled with the in-between times, with the uncertainty not just of the band and his own identity outside of it, but the world at large. The pandemic and its lockdowns had a profound effect on millions, the bassist included. And with their frontman disappearing into the sunset with his other band, it’s understandable that the rhythm section were left to start questioning who they really are, as individuals, outside of the Biffy bubble.
“You can't really overstate what an isolating period the Covid crisis was,” James says. “Everyone was stuck at home, and we talked, as a society, about what kind of impact this is going to have on our mental health. And then it was like, ‘Oh shit, the pubs are open, let's just get back to life’. There wasn't really an acknowledgement of how difficult that had been. It takes a little bit of time to process that and to pull yourself out of the gutter. And combine a bit of existential crisis in there as well, and it became a difficult period.”
“Initially the downtime was most welcome, we needed a break,” Ben adds. “But fairly quickly, we both started missing it. We both started to get a crisis of identity, and imposter syndrome. [The band] becomes such a part of who you are. Then when you're not doing that, you just don't know what you're meant to be doing. So we both suffered from that.”
“I don't think I quite realised first how burnt out I was after the previous couple of years, and in need of doing a little bit of growing up,” James continues. “Having had an extreme and busy life for 20 years, there’s not always much opportunity to grow up. There was certainly, on my behalf, some changes to make. And not being in the same busy lifestyle, you can't hide.”
A little therapy helped Biffy get the wheels back in motion. But it was stopping to take a breath and indulge in a glimpse back down the road they’ve travelled together that laid the foundations for Futique, and the continuing existence of the band.
“Last year, after not seeing the boys a while and not dwelling on family memories, I went through all my old photos, and I just started to realise what a strength it is to have this journey together,” says Simon. “And that's where our superpower comes from. It's not necessarily the things that happen along the way; it's what you get through as a team. So a lot of this album is about our friendship, about our relationship in the band, and those moments where we've struggled, but it's been worth it.”
But fears and a sense of awkwardness still remained right up until they entered Berlin’s Hansa studios in December. Simon says he has an innate dread of becoming a nostalgia band - the need to stay current and vital is key. The three of them hadn’t been seeing eye to eye, and unusually, hadn’t even got together to rehearse the songs before heading in to record.
“We were unsure of things right up until December,” Simon says. “Which is horrible, because we had a chat about, 'Are we fucking doing it? Is this going to happen? Are we jacking this in?' And fortunately, every time we got to that level of conversation, it was like, 'Of course we're not!'
"But then we still had to resolve the issues, and that's why it's important for us to know who we are outside Biffy, because if you're unsure of who you are, it's a dangerous place to be, because the ground’s always shifting," he adds. "We just stripped it back to, 'Do we love playing music? Yep. Do we enjoy each other's company? Yeah. So how do we make this work?' And that's liberating and quite empowering.”
Strength comes from adversity, and it was realising how much Biffy mean to each other, personally and musically, that has given Futique a sense of wistful sentimentality alongside an underlying spiky defiance. The difficult times are worn like a fine patina, enhancing the beauty and strength underneath it all.
“That's what this album is about: sometimes it's a battle to stay in the band, or stay in your relationship or stay friends, but it's fucking worth it,” says Simon. “Yes, there's points where we want to strangle each other, but we but we fucking love each other. It feels like this album is a culmination of our entire journey and things that have happened to us, and how our relationships evolved.
"Nothing matters more than our friendship in this band. This has been the biggest turmoil and trauma for us over the last couple of years, but it's amazing to be able to sing about it from the other side of things. The fact that we've made this record together is testament to the fact that we are in this the long haul together - as buddies.”
The mantra now, then, is to live in the moment, to savour the adventures onstage and in the studio, to appreciate the moments big and small rather than rushing on to the next thing. The artistic weirdness of Berlin was an inspiration on the sound of the album, affording it a grit and grime that contrasts with the sunny Californian melodicism of the previous few records.
Biffy say each new album has to be a new step, a progression, but there are nods to their history, too. True Believer, especially, is sprinkled with musical easter eggs for long-term fans, from a riff that harks back to old favourite Bodies In Flight to a lyrical reference to Glitter And Trauma.
“Jonathan [Gilmore, producer] started saying, ‘Let Biffy be Biffy’, says James. “I thought that was quite a good mantra.”
It all ties in with the meaning of Futique, a combination of “future” and “antique” that encourages the listener to appreciate moments in life for what they are while they’re happening, rather than looking back over your shoulder after they’re long gone.
“Last year, for the first time in decades, when I went through the old pictures of my family and saw lots of pictures of us young as well, playing gigs back in the day when we're, like, frogspawn. I realised how many beautiful moments in life that I wasn't really present for, that I was too busy thinking about what was coming next,” Simon explains. “Futique is about trying to embrace those moments, to cherish those little moments you have, with either your parents or your loved ones. It's about trying to be in that moment as it's happening.”
The first single from the record, A Little Love, was a massive statement of intent. Luxuriating in one of those vast, festival singalong choruses they excel in, it’s Biffy reclaiming their own essential Biffyness, and the friendship that has led them to such great heights.
“I wanted us to come back with a song that felt like a big, warm hug,” says Simon “But I really wanted it to be a song that specifically celebrated our last couple of years. I wanted it to be a celebration of our survival.”
Last December feels like a lifetime ago now. Since then, there have been joyful festival sets, high on the Glastonbury bill and headlining a triumphant homecoming at Glasgow’s TRSNMT – a stark reminder not just of how much they had been missing in the time off, but how much they’d been missed by their fans.
“It makes you feel young again,” says James. “It makes you feel very alive, the adrenaline that courses through your body when you're up there sharing with an audience. I think now I really appreciate people coming together. I really appreciate that connection in a post-Covid world.”
Welcome, then, to the next chapter of Biffy Clyro. Older, wiser, and – having weathered the storm – stronger than ever.
“We're in our Futique moment now,” says Simon. “We are making memories and doing things now that are going to be with us forever, and that's what's important. We're trying not to carry baggage, because, you know what, this is a fucking miracle. We're really lucky to have each other, lucky to have the band, and lucky to have fans that give a fuck about what we do. That's a fucking gift.
"And we're going to make sure that each time we make an album, that it's going to be worth someone's while to listen to it," he concludes. "Because we ain't going to waste our fucking time just because we're pals. We'd rather just be pals and not be in a band. But fortunately, we can be both, and we want both.”
Futique is out now. Biffy Clyro tour the UK and Ireland in January. Order your exclusive Biffy Futique t-shirt from the official Louder store
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