If 16 years doesn’t immediately feel like an immense span of time to you, consider this: Band of Skulls’ breakout single “I Know What I Am” launched the UK outfit to stardom after it achieved Song of the Week honors from iTunes. This was well before Spotify play counts became a form of currency for budding musical projects—it was even still a time when music syncs could still afford an artist more exposure than just about any channel of social media.
It’s the tail end of this era that Band of Skulls is celebrating with their new compilation Cold Fame, a box set packaging together their first three albums—2009’s Baby Darling Dollface Honey, 2012’s Sweet Sour, and 2014’s Himalayan—in addition to various B-sides, live recordings, and other rarities from this earliest period of the band’s existence. While revisiting these albums itself can feel like a form of time-traveling, the band’s frontman Russell Marsden recalls the recording of these LPs at storied studios in the canon of great rock records as overwhelmingly visceral. Whether it be sharing a space with fellow icons of the UK’s contemporary rock movement or basking in the bygone periods that felt haunted by idols of classic rock, Marsden seems to have an easier time now understanding how these reference points found their way into his own band’s music.
With the Cold Fame collection arriving this Friday via Artistic Royalties Collective, Marsden walked us through a handful of those reference points on each of these three records, sharing in-depth recollections as to how everyone from Fleetwood Mac to Radiohead inspired Band of Skulls’ initial run of music. Check out his playlist and find his writeups below, and pre-order the box set here ahead of its June 27 release.
BABY DARLING DOLLFACE HONEY
Jimi Hendrix, “Crosstown Traffic”
Jimi is my ultimate guitar hero. It’s not about being a gymnast or a crazy, fast shredder—it’s about playing emotively and from the heart. This song was the inspiration for Matt [Hayward] and me forming the band. Originally, it was this idea of very free, jazzy, expressive drumming, paired with bluesy, experimental, quick guitar playing—and the vocals, I don’t know if you’d even call it singing, but it had a certain energy. I feel like “Crosstown Traffic” and “Death by Diamonds and Pearls” share a common thread. They’re both in B, and “Diamonds and Pearls” feels like our “Crosstown Traffic.” Matt and I were playing that as teenagers, and I feel like it came through in that song.
Fleetwood Mac, “Tusk”
This mysterious fellow, Alex Luke, flew over from LA to our tiny town of Southampton and said, “Are you the band that sings that song, ‘Hollywood Bowl’?” And we said, “Yeah.” He said, “You should do another song.” We had “I Know What I Am,” which he thought was great, but he said, “You need to change it. What about doing a random drum solo in the middle—something out of time with the song, like drums falling down the stairs?” We were very dubious, but we agreed—Alex basically said, “Do a drum solo inspired by Tusk.” We hadn’t heard it, but I started playing this song for people. In the end, Alex helped us get it onto iTunes, and it became Single of the Week. The song went from under 1,000 listeners to, I don’t know, a million in 24 hours. That was a wild ride. It was that song that did it, so we had a special connection to it. And six months later, we ended up at the Village Studios—where Tusk was made—recording the same song.
Amy Winehouse, “Love Is a Losing Game”
If you're choosing a version to stream, I recommend the original demo on the deluxe release. I saw Amy before we got signed—during her Frank era—and there was something special about her. Even before we lost her, she was already inspiring all of us. I really wanted to find inspiration in the way she delivered her stories, which, as it turned out, were all true. We just didn’t know it at the time. And, of course, we lost her not long after, which was one of the greatest tragedies in British music. So yeah, I want to pay tribute to Amy. I haven’t done that before, but especially when you get down to the demos—it’s just a few chords and her voice. And that’s all a great song needs. She was one of the best.
There was something about her vocal and lyrical style—so raw and emotionally exposed—that really stayed with me. When I was writing some of the songs on Baby Darling, like “Cold Fame,” “Impossible,” and “Fires,” I was writing from a real place, from real emotions. And I thought about her a lot when I was trying to express mine.
SWEET SOUR
Prince, “Sign o’ the Times”
On Sweet Sour—it’s funny, because we were trying to be ourselves. Our influences were kind of…us. We were trying not to listen to anything. We even banned music in our rehearsal space and just listened to ourselves, which probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do. But when we got in there and did it, I had this song, “Sweet Sour,” and it wasn’t until later that [producer Ian Davenport] said, “You know, Russell, that song and some of the other stuff you do, the way you play guitar and sing in that high-pitched voice—it always brings me back to Prince.” I hadn’t really thought about it before, but I realized it then. At one point, we were actually a bit worried because it felt a little too similar to Sweet Sour, but it came from a genuine place. I wasn’t trying to copy anything. The idea of playing guitar without following any rules—that’s what [Prince] did. And more and more, that influence came through over time. I also think you can draw a line from Prince back to Jimi Hendrix. I would’ve loved to see them share a stage.
Radiohead, “The Bends”
With Sweet Sour, full disclosure, someone told me it sounded a bit like something else—and they were right. Around that time, we were working out of a studio in Oxford with Ian. The two bands coming out of that place—and that town—were Supergrass and Radiohead, both managed by the same group. We’d go in on their days off and their gear would still be there. We were huge fans—they were the Oxford bands—so just being in that space felt special. When we got to a song like “Bruises” off Sweet Sour, I think we were doing our best to be a true British modern rock band, bringing a great song to life. And it takes me back to that second record. And I think “Bruises” has that, too. There’s a common thread—we were inspired, influenced, and it was all right there.
I remember on that album—and even on the first one—some of their gear would still be lying around. I’d be like, “Can I borrow Thom [Yorke]’s pedals?” Everyone would say no, and I’d probably borrow them anyway. So thanks, Thom. I did put them back—nothing was stolen. But for us, those were like holy grails. The pedal off OK Computer? Yes, please. It was inspiring to be in the same space where the music that influenced us was made.
Queen, “Love of My Life”
I wanted to choose a Queen song for a couple of reasons. It's a bit of a random one, but I'm going with “Love of My Life,” because I love that song. Queen, as a band, was a great example of what Band of Skulls wanted to be. The biggest thing was that they were equals. Of course, you have the lead singer and everyone has their roles, but Queen famously split everything equally. Band of Skulls—less famously—was the same. We all wrote songs; we’d finish each other’s ideas. It felt right to be in a studio where they’d made some of their most iconic records, doing the same thing ourselves. At that point, we were truly a unit. It didn’t matter who had the idea—just that it was the best idea. For a lot of bands, that kind of creative dynamic can work really well, even if only for a moment. And we had an affinity for that philosophy—like Queen’s.
When we went to record Sweet Sour, we went out to Wales. It’s a different country—it’s like crossing state lines, but I guess you could say it’s like Hawaii: its own place, its own language, completely different from England. Out there, there’s a studio called Rockfield Studios. It has this massive rock and roll lineage—Coldplay, the first Oasis albums—but what really stuck out to us was that it’s where Queen recorded “Bohemian Rhapsody.” I didn’t pick that song because it’s too obvious. So “Love of My Life” felt right to pick. Sure, it’s famous, but when you think about the full story of Freddie, it’s the one that really hits emotionally. I could have chosen another bigger song, but that one just stuck with me. When you look back on your career as a band, you don’t really think about the singles. It’s the album tracks—the ones with no video, the ones tied to a moment, a feeling. It’s the emotional ones, the ones that came from something real.
The studio itself hasn’t changed much—it’s still a farm. So we went there and lived the life they all lived, in the same place those songs were made. Every now and then, you'd flip a switch or walk over to the piano, and the family that owns it—who’ve owned it since the ’70s—would say something like, “Oh, you’re playing that piano? That’s where Freddie wrote this,” or, “That’s the one he used for ‘Bohemian Rhapsody.’” Decades later, not only do you admire these artists, but you’re literally following in their footsteps. And I have to mention this: we had our first animal in the band during that session. My first dog, Queen—named after the band—came with us to the studio. She was there on the couch as we laid down those songs. She’s no longer with us, so it’s a really special memory—to have her there, named after the band, in that moment we were making Sweet Sour. A little tribute.
HIMALAYAN
T-Rex, “Bang a Gong (Get It On)”
I feel like [Himalayan producer Nick Launay] could’ve been in T. Rex. He could’ve been Marc Bolan’s much younger—much younger—brother. (Nick, if you’re reading: much younger.) He had that energy—like glam rock or early proto-punk. Yeah, he’s a bit too young to have been around for glam rock, but he brought that same vibe. We even did some of the tricks Marc would’ve done: plugging the guitar straight into the desk, keeping it raw, swaggery. “Get It On” was the first song I remember hearing from him. It just has that thing—that swagger. It’s beautiful.
David Bowie, “Quicksand”
I think when it comes to the greats—and all of our very precious crown jewels of English rock and roll: The Beatles catalog, The Stones, Bowie—I could give you all the famous songs. Yes, we all love them. But there are a few songs out there that are maybe less well-known or less played. I just feel like when you put yourself out there, you’re not trying to emulate the most famous song. You kind of find yourself making friends with the more secret ones on the album. You know, when you’re a bigger fan. And in the end, I felt more comfortable letting that influence out on a non-single—on a song with less pressure.
I didn’t really know at the time that it was happening, but when I left high school, my dad took me up to Manchester for this one-day event. It was David Bowie. And I wasn’t quite ready to take it all in, but I knew it was important. So I went. I didn’t say, “Dad, no, that’s uncool.” I just went. And what I didn’t realize at the time was that David wasn’t doing any of the old songs—he’d been promoting his new albums and staying current, staying relevant. But on that day, up in Old Trafford in, I don’t know, the late ’90s, he surprised everyone by coming out and doing his greatest hits—for the first time in years. I remember it was raining. He came out in a suit, with a pianist, and just sang “Life on Mars?” I think I was never the same after that. That was my moment—watching the god that is Bowie perform that song.
It took a little while to come out in my own music, but I feel like it’s there now in everything I do. He really is the modern hero—his songwriting, his voice, his choices, his collaborations, his process. But I don’t think you can be a kid and pull that off. I think it comes out when you’re a bit older. That moment stayed with me, and I think it finally started to show on Himalayan—especially on that song. On that record, we did some songs that weren’t singles, weren’t the big tracks, but they meant something. I did a song called “Get Yourself Together.” It wasn’t famous, but it was the last song on the album, and I think it was the arrow pointing toward where I’d go with the rest of my songwriting career.
The Rolling Stones, “Sympathy for the Devil”
I'm going to go for a Stones song, because during the recording of this album we had the famous Rolling Stones EMI red desk that has Keith (spelled “Keef”) scratched onto the fascia with a knife. And so I feel like the spirit of the Stones is on their record, too. And so I want to go for a Keith Richards guitar riff type song, “Sympathy for the Devil.” I'm going to go for that one for, like, groove and fun. And I think that's one that Nick [Launauy] would dance around the room and bounce off the walls to, too. I think that album ended with us in a Mexican wrestling ring in Los Angeles, with a little guy dressed as a devil jumping off the ropes into my lap. So it was perfect.
