Martin Stephenson, supreme singer-songwriter and entertainer opens up about punk beginnings, new albums and his Irish connections.
FT: Martin, it’s been a few years since your last appearance in Belfast, and there have been a few albums to catch up on. Your latest is the intriguing ‘Chi Chi and the Jaguar’. What’s the story behind the title?
MS: Chi Chi is Chi Chi Nakamura, a Japanese surf guitarist I’m a big fan of. She plays a Jaguar guitar – a Fender Jaguar. They came out in the 1960s, quite an odd shape, Tom Verlaine used one. There’s a phenomenal thriving surf instrumental scene in Japan, and Chi Chi is just a lovely character. She’s in her early 40s and she just loves her music. All her band is female, with the Fender gear and big hair. They’re like something out of a 1963 beach movie. She’s really got her act together and it’s just fantastic. I just became a fan of Chi-Chi. I love her attitude and we started to chat via Facebook. So I wrote this instrumental in homage to her.
FT: Your music covers a lot of bases. The previous album, ‘Brady Square’ was about a source much closer to home.
MS: Brady Square is where I grew up so it’s about the memories I have of the people there and the changes it’s seen over the years. I was 17 then. I had written a couple of things that I hadn’t realised I had channeled. I didn’t realise I had channeled them, ’cause when they came through, I just had an image and I knew what to do. I didn’t realise I was channeling. I was just imagining in my mind. These idiots who pretend to be mediums… it’s just listening, it’s learning to listen.
FT: I read a piece where you spoke of this channeling but does that not do your talents as a songwriter a disservice? Are you not playing down your own skills?
MS: No, not if you believe in a higher consciousness. Because you as a person, to keep it simple you are a puppet and a master puppeteer. You are responsible for your puppet. You’re an angel and a man. You are celestial. You are energy. You are made by the stars and the universe, and you have the option every moment. Meditation is a great way to escape the imagined future and the dead past. It’s a great way to step into the here and now. Mindful breathing is the first step. Disconnect the ego. Disconnect the thought process.
FT: And do you see yourself as a conduit?
MS: Yeah, I’m that puppet I talked about and a master puppeteer. I was a carpet fitter for a bit you know? I’ve had a little dance in life, but seriously I’m an energy and a soul, the same as you are, and we share the collective consciousness. And as much as we are separate little cells pottering about, we are also merged, so I never had a resistance to the bigger picture. I’ve always admired the bigger picture.
FT: And the daily meditation is a way to reflect on that?
MS: It’s a tonic. It’s like an island you can row to, and have a break from all this insanity! The first thing I learned going to an AA meeting as an observer – as well as a participant – was alcoholism, which is just a symptom of the bigger picture, and the whole cake is called co-dependency. There’s no one on earth that doesn’t suffer from that! I’m the first to admit to my girlfriend that I’m a screw-up. I mean, you don’t want to go broadcasting all your darkest secrets, but that honesty is important. There is that fear of being judged!
FT: You have a long history and connection with Irelan and the last time you played Belfast, you left a little tribute to Bap Kennedy and that resonated with a lot of people.
MS: Bap was a special man. It was funny ’cause we ended up hooking up in our 30s. Bap and I just hit it off. He was a hospital porter who didn’t give a fuck. He was talented and he knew himself. That’s why I liked him. He was himself. I ended up doing a few little gigs with him. I just loved him. I thought he was great!
I remember having a gig in Belfast – a Sunday afternoon gig – and he had been sitting at the bar during soundcheck pretending to read a paper. When he put his paper down, I said you bugger! He just sat there and didn’t let on. That was the last time I saw him. Lovely man.
FT: But you made a lot of friends in Ireland.
MS: Do you Know my first connection with Ireland was in 1987? I did four nights in the Baggot Inn in Dublin. Two of the first people I met in Dublin were Mary Coughlin – and I didn’t know anything about her. I just met her in the bar downstairs. I liked her and I got on with her, just the real deal, you know, and she scares men!
And I met Mary Black. I was staying in Barry’s Hotel in Dublin, and our cello player had just gone up to her room, and I was just about to have my first Guinness in Ireland, and this lovely lady came into the hotel and asked if Caroline Levelle was in the building. So I said she was in my band. Would she like me to tell her? She said that would be very kind so I came back and told her she was on her way, and we chatted for a while, and she was really lovely. Anyway, Caroline came down and they went for coffee, and it was only afterward I was told it was Mary Black. Great people and artists too.
FT: Martin, you’re a great artist yourself. You’re very welcome back in Ireland at any time.
MS: That’s very kind of you to say. Don’t worry, I always come back here!