Unknown Mortal Orchestra: the perfect trip

On your new album, your fourth, you collaborated with your brother Kody and your father Chris, and the song “Hunnybee” is dedicated to your daughter. Is it easy to write a piece specifically for a member of your family?
Ruban Nielson: Not at all. When you’re writing a love song, you can indulge in romanticism. With a track that’s addressed directly to your child, it’s different. It was intended to convey strength, and a huge amount of love, to her in the years to come. And I wanted to give her some advice, without coming off like a moralising father. I also had to express all this in such a way that she could listen to the song repeatedly without getting embarrassed. “Hunnybee” is about a dangerous world. But, in the lyrics, I explain that my daughter has nothing to fear because she is, in fact, the most dangerous person in the world. “Hunnybee” is my favourite track on the album. I am particularly proud of it.

The track “American Guilt” features in the middle of the album. Is it a critique of American society?
Nielson: I grew up in New Zealand. I’ve been living in Portland for more than ten years and, the more time passes, the more I feel a sense of guilt about the US government’s interventions in other parts of the world. My friends, my neighbours, they all suffer from it. It’s a feeling I share as a citizen of Portland. Over the course of the years, I have learnt to live with the weight of this responsibility. Americans are extremely human and warm. No one understands why the US kills people for no real reason.

Sex & Food was created on the road during a world tour. Why travel so much to record an album?
Nielson: It wasn’t planned. I recorded the first sessions with my brother, in Auckland, in New Zealand. Then I set off for Reykjavik. At the time, I was reading a lot and Iceland seemed appropriate given my literary aspirations. It’s a country where reading is very important. Many Icelanders are even aspiring writers. I was also drawn to the topography of the island. I was sure I would find inspiration there. When I returned with my demos, I locked myself in my studio, a converted space in the basement of my house. But I felt hemmed in. After recording two albums in that cellar, I felt the need for a change of scene, to go and discover the world.

What made you go to Seoul?
Nielson: I went there with, at the back of my mind, Iggy Pop and Bowie’s adventure in Berlin, when the city was still separated by the wall. When it comes to separation, you can’t do better than Korea today. My brother and I found a studio at the border. We worked with equipment that’s usually used by Korean pop stars. While there, we discussed the geopolitical situation a lot with South Koreans. Unlike Americans, they are not frightened by Kim Jong-un’s actions. They come across as courageous and optimistic, even though they would be the first to be affected by a possible threat.

The next stage of your journey brought you to Hanoi. Were you retracing the Vietnam War?
Nielson: My whole journey was driven by vague political intentions. I was trying to get a sense of the reasons and effects of some of the US government’s decisions over time. Of course, my choices were also guided by music. When I was a kid, my hero was Jimi Hendrix. I discovered the sound of his guitar watching films about the Vietnam War. I dreamt of visiting the country ever since. I associate that journey, therefore, with a desire to return to my preferred instrument after making two albums using synthesisers. In Vietnam, we recorded in a studio specialising in traditional music. The manager was passionate about jazz, psychedelia, and the avant-garde. In between Sex & Food sessions, we played together and made enough recordings for an album. I am hoping to release it officially before the end of the year.

You finished Sex & Food in Mexico. What memories do you have of your last destination?
Nielson: Donald Trump promised to build a wall on the border between Mexico and the US. It was that election promise that made me want to go to Mexico. I wanted to feel the atmosphere of the country. My brother and I rented a studio there.
While we were recording, there were two powerful earth tremors. Buildings crumbled, and people died. Everyone took shelter in the parks to escape other potential falling buildings. My brother and I were there wondering what was happening to us. We spent a night sleeping under the stars. The next day, volunteers came to bring us supplies. The people started to sing “¡Viva México!” They were happy to be alive, though the city was in disarray. I was overcome with joy. Somebody passed me a cup of coffee. I drank. It was hot water. You could hardly taste it. The way I remember it though, it was the best coffee of my life.

> Unknown mortal orchestra. 28/5, 20.00, Ancienne Belgique