People who write honest and wry pop songs about ordinary things are something of a rarity these days, but for Ray Davies it's a compulsion. The leader of The Kinks is wary, however, of being branded a diehard obsessive in documenting the banalities of life. He also claims that it's a tad too simplistic to describe his songs as either "humanist" or "satirical".
ve written recently, those elements are there. But Im hoping that I work more from character and subtext. Certainly, my one man show is more an overall narrative evening. Humanistic or satiric? Its a fair layman s opinion of what Ray Davies does *SDA but only if youre saying it in a sentence."
Ray Davies no longer trawls the arenas of the world belting out versions of Lola and Waterloo Sunset. The Kinks currently exist in name only (the band hasn't played since 1995, at the Rock & Roll Hall Of Fame inaugural concert in Cleveland, Ohio. "It was a great gig," recalls Davies, "and if it was the last gig then it was a great gig to go out on.") Instead, he is touring small venues with what he describes as an "elaborate" book reading.
Initially reading from X-Ray, his semi-autobiography published in the mid-1990s, Davies slowly begins to integrate songs. Booked into 300-seater venues, the size-matters debate kicked in with the author/songwriter quickly realising how wonderful it was once again seeing the whites of the eyes of the audience.
"It's easier to take people inside the song and into your performance in an intimate theatre than it is in larger venues," he reasons. "For the most part, larger events have to be organised and rehearsed for about three months before they go on tour. I always found that difficult. I'd receive complaints from the lighting designer and the sound people because I happened to change a few things in the shows.
"At the smaller venues, there's more room for spontaneity and to take people inside what you're doing. I find night after night that every audience is a new audience. The flexibility of the one-man or me-and-the-guitar-player show is that you can bring it into another direction.
"Sometimes, the arena shows become fake. You are not performing the show, the lighting designer is. It got a bit like that. I guess actors doing a one-person performance or a theatre piece are dependent on the lighting designers, but for the most part the actors steer the show. The one-man show allows me to approach it in that way, rather than waiting for lighting to blow up when I play a particular chord. It's a more personalised event, and it's therefore more theatrical."
Interestingly, Ray Davies's first love was not the written word but visual art. Then came theatre. Admiration of O'Casey and Shakespeare was galvanised by the anti-social stances of Britain's Angry Young Men playwrights such as John Osborne and Alan Stillitoe. Their work, says Davies, had a huge effect on him and his generation. The French New Wave movement also helped him in this regard, stimulating him to read more than the traditional schoolboy fare of Shelley/Byron/Keats/Wordsworth. Although Davies responded to the these writers in a cerebral way, he nevertheless looked upon school as "always a chore".
Throughout his career as frontman for a group that will forever be as much a cornerstone of 1960s British pop music as The Beatles, The Rolling Stones and The Who, Davies was never as iconic a figure as John Lennon, Mick Jagger or Pete Townshend. An inherent lyrical sentimentality and a reluctance to overreach himself ensured that, while cherished by pop music fans, The Kinks' crossover success never reached the same dizzy commercial heights as that of his contemporaries.
Troubled by the usual aspects of a pop star's lifestyle (drink, drugs, marriage difficulties), Davies even retired from the limelight for a period in the 1970s. Twenty years apart, both punk rock and Britpop movements cite the band as an important influence. The Jam and The Pretenders covered Davies's songs in the late 1970s (David Watts and Stop Your Sobbing); The Pretenders' Chrissie Hynde went a tad further by marrying him. Cast, Supergrass and Blur, meanwhile, are some of Davies's most fawning students. He's a well respected figure who has been in and around pop music for almost 40 years. What has he learned from his experiences?
"That today only lasts until tomorrow," he replies baldly. "What I mean is that it's fashion-based - you bang your head and something else comes along. It's a bad idea to follow a fashion or a trend, because you'll suffer for that. You'll find your own time, and it might not last that long. This is a very ephemeral existence if you choose you live like that." Despite his best intentions, Davies was himself a follower of fashion, however. Each Kinks single might have been different, but it was so within a stylised and structured 1960s pop format. He disagrees, saying "Looking at my old career, so to speak, every single was different. Each song was like a new artist. "The art of the three minute single has created a world that changes constantly. That's the pity of new acts these days - they have to make an album before they can release a single. They live in a world where the profit margin is all, because an album make more money than a single. Record companies are now veering artists away from making singles."
Davies looks upon this increasing marketing trend with a mixture of ho-hum resignation and pity. "A lot of new writers have got two or three good singles in them, but not necessarily an album. It's a shame that albums are quite weak. It used to happen that the record company would find other songs for you by other writers. In the current artist/singer/ songwriter world the act has to write all the songs on the album.
"This will probably lead to another type of artist coming through, which is one that is even more manufactured by the record company. The great thing about bands is that they put a sense of anarchy into the music business. Solo acts are easier to manipulate for some reason. Bands, groups, however, are a world unto themselves. Somehow, it puts a lawlessness back into an industry that is otherwise very staid and safe."
Combining humour, pathos and reflection with an awareness of the mundanity of life, Ray Davies defined the character of the True Brit through songs that were far removed from the fastidious iconoclasm of his contemporaries.
It was his common touches, his references to football on Saturday, roast beef on Sunday, ballroom dancing, housing estates and holidays in Blackpool, which have made him such a treasured reminder of the glory days of British pop music. One can only presume he harbours a strong sense of achievement.
"I think so," he remarks warily. "But the world moves on. Whilst the songs are great, I'm like many other artists in that I work from a base of insecurity. I say to myself, you've had number one records and you've had great songs, but now you've got a blank page and you have to start again. Every writer goes through that. It's not the same person who wrote a hit song 10/15/20 years ago who attempts to write a song today. In a sense, it's regeneration. I want to do the best I can. What I do is a craft and I'm still learning and there will always be something else to learn. I never put myself on a pedestal."
What do you think of people who do? Another cautious rejoinder, another funny lugubrious answer: "Hmmm, you have to bear in mind that in normal life I'm not as good as my records! To people who put me on a creative pedestal, I say, yes, it's good stuff but a lot of it was inspirational. A lot of hard work was put into getting that moment of inspiration.
If you're talented and you think art will come, you're wrong. It's actually 99 per cent perspiration and I've always applied that to my work. I've kept that in the back of my mind when I've reached the dizzy heights of success. If you believe it's all your natural, God-given talent, then the fall is harder when things don't work out."
Ray Davies plays the HQ Hall of Fame on Sunday, May 21st and Monday, May 22nd. He tours to Limerick UCH on Friday, May 26th and Galway's Black Box on Saturday, May 27th
