'It is music and storytelling that invites us to consider everything that has come before, and everything still to come.' strong fourth wall, I think. Whereas if you're watching two people slapping their thighs and singing, you think 'Ah, I've got these instruments too!" Instantly I think you connect to it easier!
Our conversation coincides with a gentle easing of lockdown restrictions in the UK, and a tentative move toward the resumption of live music. Test events have been successfully trialled, vaccination numbers continue to soar, festival line-ups are being announced. But across all the arts, there is a clamour for the creative industries that return to be better than the ones that were so abruptly shut down in 2020.
The topic of inclusivity is one that comes up regularly, and both Carli and Clair feel there should be a greater structural approach from the industry at large to ensuring this is addressed. 'Programmers have a responsibility to include everybody. Carli says, 'there has to be a vigilant process that every time you're looking at the question of 'have we got a diverse group of people? Or have we forgotten about Black Lives Matter and gone back to booking the white guys who sent the email first?" Their thinking on these matters is intersectional, as Clair explains: "LGBTQ+ appeals need to phrase themselves as human appeals and be aware about the risks of putting a rainbow heart around it. The more and more the media gets into that culture war, 'anti-woke' thing, the more and more fragile our position's going to become. It has to be about solidarity across groups-stuff like Kenmure Street, the protesting and rescuing people from immigration vans. That's what we need!
An accusation occasionally thrown at artists - particularly musicians, it seems - who deign to voice a political opinion is that they should 'stick to what they're good at. It seems to stem from a desire for music to be a space for escape, away from the in-fighting and messiness of the political sphere. I sometimes wonder if folk has bought into that too much over the years, whether by not challenging the 'nostalgic nationalists' it has not only created a more inhospitable environment for people, but also an inhospitable environment for the genre itself to grow and thrive. Lunatraktors are not the only group happy to counter this. Listening to them I'm reminded of Lisa O'Neill's astonishing Violet Gibson, the story of an Irish woman who attempted to assassinate Benito Mussolini, which in O'Neill's hands becomes a powerful anti-fascist, anti-misogynist statement. Or even the gesture from the Irish band Lankum, who changed their name from Lynched in the wake of the Black Lives Matter movement, accepting that despite the word being a play on their family name, it carried too much baggage.
Lunatraktors' politics makes their music richer, more interesting. Makes them as artists, particularly artists if not at the beginning of their careers, but at the beginning of this particular project, more exciting.
Early on in our conversation, Clair mentions the Turner Prize winning artist Tai Shani, who described Lunatraktors as 'conceptual art disguised as folk music! It's a neat line, but pondering on it I wonder if it should be the other way round, or whether the comparison should be more broad, more declarative. Folk music is conceptual art, and not only do Lunatraktors understand that, but they run with it. It is music and storytelling that invites us to consider everything that has come before, and everything still to come. Weird time travel music. All music. All music is folk music. I ain't never heard a horse sing a song.
Photo: Paul Emery