With his 1978 debut single “Is She Really Going Out with Him?,” Joe Jackson showed how adept he is at writing pop rock that’s exceptionally clever as well as instantly catchy. He proved this wasn’t a fluke with his impressive string of hits through the next 10 years, including “Steppin’ Out,” “It’s Different for Girls,” and “Breaking Us in Two.” In the subsequent decades, Jackson’s songwriting has expanded even further: Though his songs are always anchored around his nimble piano melodies, always-witty lyrics, and expressive singing, he’s been musically adventurous with the nearly two dozen albums he’s released so far, exploring jazz, blues, salsa, and swing. He even won a GRAMMY in 2001 for his modern classical collection Symphony No. 1.
On his latest release, Hope and Fury, Jackson plays what he calls “bicoastal Latin jazz funk rock,” and the songs tell fascinating stories about a fictional English seaside town. Although it’s possible to draw comparisons between this and the challenges and contradictions of the real world, Jackson is careful to make it clear he’s not trying to make any particular statements. “I’m not interested in being overtly political and partisan or anything like that,” he tells me over the phone. “I have a horror of coming across as being didactic or preachy. I really try to avoid that.”
Ahead of Hope and Fury’s release this Friday, Jackson unpacks the unique sound of his new record, as well as its aim to find love and humor during hard times.
Why did you choose Hope and Fury as the album title?
I have to partly thank my manager, because he pointed out that this is quite a more “English” album than some others that I’ve done, and the title should really reflect that. I thought about expressions and words and phrases that are very typically British, and maybe twisting something a little bit. I even started re-reading some very classic English books that I always loved by Graham Greene and George Orwell, for instance, just to see if something would trigger a title.
Then I thought of [the British patriotic song by Edward Elgar] “Land of Hope and Glory,” and that was it. I have a bit of a love/hate relationship with my home country, and I thought it reflected that quite well. I think it’s not a very happy country at the moment, in a lot of ways, but I think that there is hope, and there has to be hope. Otherwise, what’s the alternative, really? So there is some of that frustration with the country, and some anger and so on—but there’s also hope and love and a lot of humor in it, as well.
You still get your point across by writing about a fictitious place in these new songs—and you’ve always had a knack for lyrics that are clever. How did you learn to write like this in the first place?
I think I have some talent for music, and some talent for words, and for not much else, so I try to make the most of it. There’s certain themes that have been constant in pop-rock music: the songs are saying “I want to have sex with you,” “I’m so happy because I’m in love,” “my heart’s broken because my baby left me,” or “fuck it, let’s dance!” [laughs]. I mean, those are the themes that are repeated over and over. And from very early on, I thought, “Maybe I can try and do something a bit different.” I’m always trying to think of different angles. Just about the only rule that I give myself is to avoid clichés.
You’re calling this album “bicoastal Latin jazz funk rock”—how did you decide that this is the musical style you wanted to do this time around?
It’s not a conscious or deliberate thing at all; it’s intuitive. When I first started studying music at the age of 11, I was always really interested in all kinds of music. So what you get is someone who has an interest in all kinds of music, and a lot of experience playing different kinds of music, so it just comes out the way it comes out. I would never do something as contrived as saying, “I think I’d like to have an element of this genre in here.” When I came up with the idea of Latin jazz funk rock, I thought, “Well, here we go again, another album that people are going to argue about what the genre is.” So I thought I’d make one up.
“I think it’s not a very happy country at the moment, in a lot of ways, but I think that there is hope, and there has to be hope. Otherwise, what’s the alternative, really?”
[As for] the “bicoastal” part, I used to say that as a joke, because I go back and forth between New York and my hometown, Portsmouth, which is on the South Coast of England. So I sometimes said I’m bicoastal—not New York/LA, but New York/Portsmouth. Musically I’m bicoastal, too, because my musical roots are in my childhood in England, growing up and hearing ’60s British pop music on the radio. But at the same time, I’m a really big jazz fan and a really big Latin music fan, and those are things that I associate with New York, and it’s one of the reasons why I was so drawn to New York back in the ’80s when I first started living here.
How did you know that you should become a professional musician in the first place?
I was a really sick kid. I had chronic asthma, and I dreaded school sports. I would just always try to get out of, because it would just be an excuse for people to beat me up. And then there was an opportunity to join a violin class at my school. It took place during the school sports period, so you had to miss sports, so that’s why I did it. After struggling with the violin for a year or two, I got really fascinated by learning about music and I just thought it would make more sense to do it on the piano than the violin. And I started to get this idea that I would like to write music. I was 11, 12 years old. My parents were able to get a piano from someone who was giving one away.
Was it always your plan to play the piano and also be the vocalist?
No, I didn’t think I could sing; I didn’t see myself as a singer at all. When I first started writing songs and playing with a couple of different bands, I would try to get other people to sing my songs, and it never sounded right. It was really frustrating because they never phrased it the way I would have phrased it. So I started trying to sing myself, and everyone I knew laughed at me. And I didn’t even think I could sing. But I was a big fan of Steely Dan, and I thought, “Donald Fagan isn’t exactly Frank Sinatra, he has a very distinctive, unusual voice.” And Graham Parker, as well. And it seemed like my voice was a bit like that. I thought, “Well, maybe if he can do it, I can, as well.” So I started singing more and more. I’ve gotten a lot better as a singer.
When I started touring a lot, I realized that I had to do something to avoid canceling shows, so I started taking singing lessons and learning some technique, just to be able to get through a tour. I think as a result of that, my singing improved a hell of a lot, and it’s at the point where I almost don’t mind it now!
“I thought, ‘Well, here we go again, another album that people are going to argue about what the genre is.’ So I thought I’d make one up.”
It’s good that you’re prepared for touring now, because you have a gigantic one coming up later this year: 14 countries!
I know, it’s frightening. Someone said to me, “You’re doing 80 shows!” I said, “What? I am? How did that happen?” I must be crazy.
Do you find it gratifying to see that songs you created have stood the test of time, where people still want to hear you play them four decades after they first came out?
Yeah, I absolutely do. I’m delighted every time one person buys a ticket to a show, or every time one person buys an album. I think that’s the only way to look at it, because otherwise you start this really pointless game of, “What’s enough?” At what point do you say it’s a success or a failure? You go down a deep, dark hole if you think like that.
Having said that, what do you think about the legacy that you’ve created with your career so far?
I think some of it’s pretty good. Some of it is not so good, but I felt good enough about it at the time to put it out. But it’s not over yet: I’m still going, and I think this new album is one of my best, actually. I don’t think the story’s over yet. FL
