Giant Swan: The Lord Edward
© Isabel Farrington
Matt told me to meet him and Harry and Robin of Giant Swan in The Lord Edward. The pair had just got the train down from Belfast. It was a last-minute rendezvous before their Sleepless Hours gig.
Saturday, January 21, 2023
Matt plonked a round of drinks on the small, round, wooden table. Two Guinness and a soda and lime. One of the pints of Guinness was crying a white, creamy tear. He tore open a bag of crisps down the side, leaving the packet as a blanket for the crisps to rest on. “We'll split these, lads.”
Robin was showing myself and Matt a picture on his phone of a pint of Guinness he once received at a pub in Salisbury. So impressed he was, that he took a picture. Naturally. Matt wasn’t prepared to be outdone by an English pint of Guinness, so he also showed a picture on his phone of a Dublin pint of Guinness he once had. They proceeded to wave their phones in the each other’s face as they compared pints of Guinness.
I inspected Robin’s. “The head is teetering on the edge of being too big, I would say. But, the bigger the head —”
“I'm not averse to a big head,” Robin said.
“I've got a massive head,” I said, “so I'm happy to hear.”
Harry had taken off his large hooded coat and kept his cap on. He settled himself beside us on the wraparound couch in the corner of The Lord Edward. You could see Christ Church Cathedral resting in the night through the diamond patterned window. “Are you guys talking about head?” he asked.
“Various kinds of head,” Robin said.
Harry pointed at the picture of Guinness on Robin’s phone. “This kind of head?”
Robin looked at Harry and pointed at me. “But then also his head.”
“You've got a massive head?” Harry enquired, unconvinced by my assertion.
“Well, I've been told,” I said.
“By who?” Harry asked.
“Young kids,” I said.
“Young kids?!”
“When I was young,” I quickly confirmed.
“Alright, that's fine then,” Harry said. “None of this would have been noticeable to me. Kids are cruel as well. You can't trust them.”
“He's got a bigger head than you,” Robin said to Harry.
“That's very loaded, the way you said that,” said Harry, wondering how the size of his head was now being used as a comparative tool.
“I've got big ears,” said Robin, “so it makes my face looks smaller.”
“You haven't got big ears,” said Harry.
“They're massive.”
“Are they?” Harry wasn’t convinced by any of this self-deprecative talk.
“They're big.”
“You've got big lobes.”
“I've got massive, detached lobes.”
Red velvet interior covered the pub. A smoldering fire rested beside us. Wooden cylindrical beams held up this room that overtly expressed homage to the failed Irish rebellions against the Crown around the turn of the 19th century. Above our heads, the walls were adorned with two paintings. One a portrait of Robert Emmet. The other of his execution for high treason as a result of the failed Irish rebellion in 1803. The public hanging took place down the road on Thomas Street.
I said, “The narrative back in the day with the inception of punk was, I remember seeing The Sex Pistols for the first time and I'd never seen anything like it. Naturally, punters wouldn't have been exposed to something so unsettling and jarring, but because we're so desensitized to graphic, grotesque content on the internet, can that voyeurism still exist in a live music setting?”
“Interesting,” said Robin.
“Where you walk away saying you've never seen anything like that? Because I'm two clicks away from hardcore porn.”
“Yeah.”
“I'm probably three away from a decapitation.”
“I think it's hard,” said Harry, “because even within that question it holds a lot of assumptions about the person that's going. Yeah, we're in this Information Age where we have access to all this stuff, all this knowledge, but the actual experience of it, you can't access that on a —” An air of self-awareness befell him. “I sound like a boomer — You can't access that on a phone!”
We all laughed.
“And,” Harry continued, “I think it's really specific to each person. I don't feel like there's this universal feeling of newness, because everyone's got very different lives, everyone's got different cultures. Like, yeah, maybe in western European culture, to see something like punk music, I kind of understand that it might feel like it's been done or it's easy to access what that means, but I just think it feels like the goalposts have just changed now. I don't ever feel like stuff is just done and that's it. Because, yeah, punk back then was significant because of what else was going on around it.”
“Yeah,” said Robin, “it's about context.”
“Yeah, and so right now the context has changed and the stuff that has such an impact is gonna be different. It might not be the same three-piece punk band because the times have changed. It could be Overmono for someone, d'ya know what I mean?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I said.
“But I think because everyone's got all these different awarenesses and different contexts, I think it's no longer this unified thing, because everyone's got totally different lives. And even if you've got the same life in the same town, you've got different online lives. I think, for me, the experience is a lot more individual rather than this collective feeling.”
“I know you're diametrically opposed to this idea of the underground scene being hypermasculine,” I said to Robin and Harry, “but do you ever catch yourself screaming at the television, THE REFEREE'S A WANKER, and think, I'm being a brutish lad right now?”
Robin laughed. He was wearing Docs and Adidas trackies. “Not really. We mainly say it to each other. We support the same team as well, so it's quite nice.”
“Who do you support?” I asked.
“Everton,” Robin replied.
“Oh,” I said, aware that Everton had just lost 2-0 away to West Ham earlier that day. I had been watching the match with my Dad, who also supports Everton. Their manager, Frank Lampard, was coming under increasing scrutiny for his inept handling of the team.
“Yeah, it's a bad day today,” said Harry.
“A bad day,” I said.
“I mean, everyday is a bad day at this point,” said Robin.
“Do you think Lampard will go?” I asked.
“I hope he does,” Robin said. “I've wanted him to go for the last few weeks. Harry has been a little bit more diplomatic. But the board's gotta go. The board's gotta go.”
“Even with the whole sacking the board thing,” Harry retorted, “yeah, but we've still also got a shit manager. We're twentieth.”
“Aye, we're bottom now.”
“Are you bottom?” I asked.
“No, no,” Harry corrected himself. “We're nineteenth, because Southampton lost.”
“Oh, did they?” said Robin, relieved. He snapped his fingers. “Come on! Thank you, Southampton!”
“I hate Southampton,” said Harry.
“Yeah, we hate Southampton,” said Robin.
“You just can't ever rely on them,” said Harry. “When you need them to lose or you need them to win, they just don't do it and then they just beat us. Great. Fuck you.”
“They're bastards, Southampton. They're just a shit team,” Robin laughed. “They really are. They belong in the Championship. I know I'm saying that as if we don't, because we fucking do.”
“We deserve to be, but we don't belong there.”
“Exactly.”
“But you're gonna look good in that new stadium,” I said.
Harry laughed.
“With no fans in it,” Robin said. “Half full.”
“It will be like the Covid times,” I said, “when they had the screens up in the stands of people watching over Zoom.”
“Oh my God, yeah.”
“We'll pay actors,” said Harry. “We'll pay Liverpool fans to come in.”
Robin turned to Harry. “What was the club that put cardboard cut outs of fans?”
“I think it was in Korea that they had that.”
Matt perked up. “Korea?”
“Yeah,” said Harry. “During Covid they had all these cardboard cutouts.”
“North or South?”
“South. . . But it sounds like a North idea.”
Matt sprung up with vim and let out a roaring laugh. “It does, right?!”
“They put in the odd famous person and I swear to God,” said Robin, “it was the guy from Spandau Ballet —”
“Martin Kemp,” Harry confirmed.
“Martin Kemp. And Osama Bin Laden.”
Matt let out another roaring laugh.
“And Justin Bieber as well was in there. Just enjoying the match.”
“Finally,” Harry said. “That's the dream blunt rotation. Those three.”
The pub was starting to fill up and a cacophony of people shouting over each other was now filling this ruddy room. “. . . In a castle somewhere in Scotland,” I overheard.
So, at some point, I turned to Harry and Robin and said, “When I told a mate I was interviewing you guys, Giant Swan, he responded in a typically brash and cynical fashion for a Dublin man: Are they owned by the Queen?”
It took them a moment, but upon recognising the inference, they each let out an animated laugh.
“She owns the big ones, yeah,” Robin said. “We're actually owned by Princess Beatrice. She's funding the whole thing. We owe her a lot.”
“We got a grant from her royal highness,” Harry joked.
“Beatty,” Robin said. “We call her B. Princess B. . . Could you imagine that, though: Music getting subsidized by royals. It will come out in the next Prince Harry book where he's like, I really like Overmono.”
I turned to Matt for a moment. He was being respectfully but atypically subdued. I urged him to get involved. Harry and Robin were muttering to each other. I turned back around. Robin was wiping away tears with one hand, while clasping on to his pint of Guinness with the other. “That's fucking class!” he exclaimed to Harry. “That might be one of the funniest things you've ever said.” I didn’t hear what was said. I didn’t ask for clarification.
“Do you ever get sick of each other?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Robin replied, in a slightly obvious tone. “For sure.”
“Yeah, but do you ever announce that you need to take a break?”
“We do it without even saying anything now. But, it's also, like, we grew up together. We're brothers. You know what I mean?”
“Yeah.”
“You get sick of your brother. But, also, I trust him more than anyone. I know I can say what I need to and same,” said Robin, nodding at Harry. “You know what I mean?”
Harry hummed in agreement.
“You know,” continued Robin, “we both do stuff on our own. And I'm so glad that I've got someone to do this with, because fucking doing it on your own is hard. It's a very weird place to be. When you've got someone that you can share a joke with, just to maybe ease the strain of whatever the fuck is going on on tour and stuff. Yeah.”
“We're quite lucky,” said Harry, “because touring solo is difficult. It feels a bit like you against the world sometimes. Or you're joining something that's already there. At least with two people, you can start something because there is more than one person.”
“We don't need anyone,” said Robin.
“Yeah.”
“I think that's why we started the band.”
“It's a sense of self-sufficiency,” said Harry. “I think we're quite lucky to have had that experience growing up. And, yeah, we trust each other. A lot of our standards and our knowledge about certain things are based off of our experience with each other.”
“Completely.”
“What would be your Mastermind topic?” I asked. “Or rather, what is the one thing you'll go to the other person for if you need to know something about a certain thing?”
“Football,” said Robin. “I would go to Harry if I needed to know about football.”
“Eh, I don't know,” said Harry. “There's too many things. I'm not sure you're somebody who just has one thing.”
“I'm a fucking genius, me,” laughed Robin.
I laughed. “So talented. It's all in the lobes.”
Robin jokingly gave me a death stare and then relaxed and smiled.
“I have a very specific memory,” said Matt, “about the three of us in the car on the way back from the airport, the last time you came over. You were talking about the history of Bristol in a way that I had never heard. You were talking about the slave trade.”
“Oh, aye, yeah,” Robin said. “I dunno if that would be my Mastermind subject. The Bristol slave trade,” he said, with a stately cadence, as if introducing himself on the famous Mastermind hot seat.
“You know loads about techno,” Harry said to Robin. “That would be your Mastermind subject.”
“I dunno. I don't think I know that much.”
“I mean, you would be the person that I would ask about techno.”
“Ok, or The Simpsons,” said Robin.
“Who's your favourite character out of The Simpsons?” asked Matt.
“Ralph,” answered Robin.
“Ralph? Ralph Wiggum?” Matt said, scornfully.
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“What do you mean, why?” said Robin, through a laugh. “He's clearly the best.”
“What do you mean why? Come on!” said Harry, jokingly, as if interrogating Matt.
“Tell him why he's not,” I said to Matt.
“I like Dr. Nick,” said Matt. “I always thought Dr. Nick was pretty funny.”
“Yeah, Dr. Nick is alright,” said Robin. “But yeah, I would go to Harry for football.”
“That's funny,” said Harry, “because I don't know that much about football.”
“You know so much shit about football.”
“Like what?” I asked.
“Just stats,” said Robin. “He's a stats guy.”
“What's the general sentiment in Bristol in terms of their affiliation to England?” I asked. “As a football team, even?”
Robin pondered the question. “Interesting. I mean, Bristol's football is healthy.”
A man came over and pointed at an unoccupied stool. “Sorry, can I rob that?” he asked. We nodded and he took the stool. Harry noticed a chair sitting idle by the fireplace and brought it up to his table, suggesting he should take it instead of the stool and returned back.
“But even during the World Cup,” I continued, “was there a fervent patriotism?
“England is just like that,” Robin said.
“Ok.”
“All of England. Other than maybe in Cornwall. It’s all like that.”
I asked, “What do you think is more galvanizing in England; the royal family or football?”
Robin had a quick intake of breathe. “That's a great question, that.”
Harry let out a pensive grunt.
“To be honest,” Robin said, “I didn't really know what was going on with the royal family and then I watched that documentary about Harry and Meghan. And it is a load of piss.”
Matt jolted up. “It is, right?!”
“Like, it is a load of shit. And, you know, I feel sorry for him.”
Matt scoffed. “I don't feel sorry for him. What are you talking about?”
“Nah, I mean, he's a human being too.”
“He is.”
“Well,” Harry jokingly inferred otherwise.
“I dunno, I dunno,” said Matt.
“What he's going through,” said Robin, “I think there's a massive impasse. He cannot deal with the fact that his family is racist.”
“Right, yeah, yeah.”
“And he's trying his best to be the best royal that he can be. Do you know what I mean?”
“Yeah, yeah,” said Matt. “The bar is pretty low on that one.”
“True,” Robin admitted. He turned to Harry. “What's more galvanizing? Probably the royals, I'd say. I think.”
“I'd actually say football,” said Harry.
“Do you reckon?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
Matt and I let out a raucous cheer in support. There was also ebullient-yet-unrelated jeers coming from a nearby table in the pub.
Robin pointed over to them. “They applauded that, they did!”
We all laughed.
I started singing the words of Everton’s famed terrace chant, It’s a Grand Old Team. “AND IF . . . YOU KNOW . . . YOUR HISTORY!”
Robin laughed. (He eventually changed his answer to football. “I’m gonna come over to your side,” he said to Harry.)
Shortly after, Robin arose and squeezed past Harry’s legs, heading to the copper countertop to get another round of drinks. I shouted over to him for a sparkling water. Robin continued walking. Harry shouted on my behalf. Robin turned around. I repeated my request. He gave me a thumbs up before getting lost behind a wooden beam and within the crowd of people at the bar.
When he arrived back with a fresh round, I said to Harry and Robin, “In a very positive way, I don't feel that sense of urgency from you to try and get to the next thing. You seem very settled in what you've done and what you will continue to do.”
“Well,” Robin said, “we want to challenge ourselves and it's an inner turmoil to succeed.”
Harry hummed in agreement.
“We're not in competition with anybody — well, I'm sure there's people that are in competition with us, do you know what I mean? I'm sure there are people that look at us and are like —” Robin made a scrunched and disgruntled face.
I laughed.
“But I think that's probably because of the fact that there's two of us, that use hardware, that are from Bristol. You know what I mean? There could be so many things that people read into. . . I don't know. I don't know what to really say to that.”
“Ok, fair.”
“I think it's because we're still learning,” said Harry, “that there's never a period where we feel like, Right, we're done. We know what we need to do.”
“Yeah,” Robin agreed.
“And it kinda maybe goes back to how we didn't necessarily grow up with dance music in that same way. A lot of people that we play with are like, Awh, I started DJing dubstep when I was like 14 and I learnt to use turntables. We've kind of, fortunately, ended up doing what we do. We never really actively were like, Ok, let's make dance music.“
Robin hummed in agreement.
“We just naturally ended up in this world,” continued Harry, “and now we're here and there's still occasions when conversations will come up and I'm a bit out of my depth in terms of what I can contribute to talk about dance music, for example. It's interesting because, yeah, we've kinda fallen into this and we're learning along the way, so it never ever feels like we're pros at it. And I think even with rock music or the stuff that we used to do before, even that, we're a bit out of touch with that now.”
“Yeah,” said Robin.
“We feel a little bit lost between these worlds sometimes,” said Harry.
“Completely.”
“Do you feel a bit in limbo?” I asked. “Purgatory, almost. Between the two different sounds and styles?”
“I wouldn't call it purgatorial,” said Robin. “It's more just, This is our orbit. This is just where we live.”
“And you're happy to be there?”
“I wouldn't wanna be anywhere else.”
“Fair.”
“You know what I mean? And we've learnt about agency, you know, doing solo stuff with other people and I think if Harry or I went around being in Giant Swan all the time, we'd be insufferable.”
Myself and Harry laughed.
“Really,” continued Robin. “And I think you don't gain anything by throwing your weight around because of what you've— For me, anyway, I don't wake up everyday being like, I'm in fucking Giant Swan. But when I'm playing, I'm definitely thinking that. I'm like, Fuck!”
“Is it almost an alter ego?” I asked.
Robin stopped to think. “Maybe. No. I wouldn't say an alter ego. For me anyway, it's more like a duality. Because there's two of us, as well. We're Giant Swan. You know what I mean?”
Harry hummed in agreement.
“I'm only half of it. And I'm proud to be half of it, but I'm just Robin all the time, who is also in this sick band.”
I laughed.
“Yeah, I don't know,” said Robin, before turning to Harry. “What do you think?”
“It's a two-person solo project,” said Harry.
Robin laughed, smacking his knee. “That's ssssssssooo good!”
“That's genius,” I said, before turning to Robin. “I thought you were the brains?! He's the brains.”
“No,” Robin said. He grabbed hold of Harry’s ear. “It's these nondetached lobes, you see.”
Two days later, on the Monday, Frank Lampard was sacked by Everton. I thought of Robin and Harry and how they might have reacted. I didn’t know. I didn’t ask.