Legss
Words by Willow Shields Photographs by Rosie Carne
The day I went to meet Legss was the hottest day of the year, and it was only April. I had seen the band live a handful of times and met them in passing through friends of friends. I thought and still think they’re the coolest band in the world. I met Rosie in the Richmond Park car park, sweat dripping from every part of my body. And we walked down the hill towards the gated garden that we were to shoot in. Quickly finding out that the band and their manager Liv were on the other side of this park inside of a park, we ran through to the other side. Past bubbling fountains, lush trees and brightly coloured flowers I’d never seen in my life, it felt like a dreamscape. After getting out of the gate opposite from the one we had started at, we walked towards three half-dressed men playing Frisbee with a beer in one hand each. Due to my nervous disposition, on any regular day I would’ve walked straight past with my head down. But since we were there to actually meet them, we had to face the music, or rather the three giggling grown ups running around like teens on spring break. The group was comprised of Max, plays guitar, Louis, plays drums, Jake, plays bass and their aforementioned manager, Liv. Frontman Ned was late, and as we later discovered, cycling around the park being lost.
Walking around this oasis, I discovered how normal these four men are. I know everyone’s normal-ish but you know, it’s like when you saw you teacher at the supermarket and had a world- shattering realisation that they are in fact a real person, buying carrots or something. They chat frankly with us about music and plans for the future. And they run around together looking at different plants and remarking on how beautiful it is. Ned growing ever so slightly more agitated every time the rest lagged behind, obviously being the mother of the group, or maybe he just wanted to get out of there, who’s to know. After feeding ducks you’re not supposed to feed and climbing trees you’re not allowed to climb and getting a lot of half confused but mostly vexed looks from the promenading older generation, we make our way out, just after closing time. Then meeting the cover star herself, Iris the greyhound, Rosie and her parents’ dog. While Rosie’s dad talks to the band about their shared love of The Pogues, Liv and I shovel in hummus and bread. The shoot is done; it was time for my brain to switch on, which it hadn’t.
We said our goodbyes to Rosie, her parents and Legss’ new best pal Iris and then made a tiresome trek across Richmond park, past a heard of deer and an ice cream van, to a tiny pub in Kingston. The sun was setting, the sky was that perfect almost lilac colour and we had arrived, the smell of floor beer wafted and we were collectively, spiritually home. The Park Tavern Pub: I cannot recommend it enough. It felt like an actual country pub, vintage tap covers filled the ceiling and where we were sat outside, some sort of climbing plant with purple flowers covered the walls and hung off the mini pergola above our heads. The air was still warm and sweet, it felt like a coming of age movie. Beginning the recorded portion of our encounter felt odd and unnatural, maybe it always feels like that and I’ve never noticed, but I was genuinely having a lovely time just hanging out with them and I didn’t want it to end. But alas, all good things.
As all of my interviews begin, an awkward “how are you guys?” which seems to make me cringe even more every time I say it. They politely humoured me, making small talk about recent musical affairs and adventures. And while listening back to this interview, I can almost confidently give you a profile on all four members of the band, a preface if you will; Louis says fuck/fucking a lot as a substitute for the usual ums or likes one is normally confronted with. Jake and Max are both incredibly well versed, and although on the day of the interview they didn’t speak as much, when they did it was incredibly interesting to listen to them speak. Ned tends to go on tangents, philosophical, thought provoking, and mindboggling tangents. The group together are a sight to behold and they make for very engaging chit chat.
Earlier in the day, my brother drove me to the station in our hometown, him being a fan of the band I asked him what he would ask them. And via me he asked who writes the songs. Max answered, “It’s a real mixed bag, I guess we write them together really. Collectively, but I guess they kind of originate from quite different points but it’s a very collective thing..” Louis then chirped up, “It’s pretty democratic as far as the writing goes... you don’t want any anxiety to feel like if you’ve got an idea, you want to be able to have that space to be able to bring ideas to the table. But it just is always fair game. Everybody can bring ideas.” Ned agreed and continued, “It depends on the song to song, you know? You could say that there was more prominent writers in certain songs but as a whole it’s fairly equal. I think songwriter is a bit of an outdated term anyway. I think the way in which we view song writing is maybe different to how it has been traditionally viewed.” Louis laughed, “It’s not really The Beatles.” And Ned continued his train of thought, “even in contemporary bands, they still sign some things off as the lead guitarist or as the vocalists. Appreciating that there’s melody in drums, harmony in bass and rhythm in vocals; they’re all equally as important. There’s varying elements in all the different instruments. I guess if one of us wasn’t there the song would be different and so therefore they are a writer as such.”
Being happy with that answer, I continued, “He also wanted to know what’s been your favourite show to play?” Ned began immediately “I know what my favourite gig is we’ve played. My favourite gig we’ve ever played is Sebright Arms at the tail end of the tour. I felt like we were so well rehearsed from the tour and we didn’t have the added pressure of being the support band for Pompoko because we were headlining.” As if they were still a well-oiled machine thinking from the same brain, Max continued “We had one free day in the middle of the tour where we got offered this gig a couple of days before or whatever, and we just squeezed it in and we were just a well drilled machine at that point weren’t we? For 2 weeks we’d been playing support with someone else, we’d been playing gigs to people who didn’t know our music for the most part and weren’t fans of ours, and we got there and you’re used to that feeling and then the room’s packed to the back and everybody’s there to see you.” Jake added, “I think that was one of those ones as well where, the whole night, I just really enjoyed hanging out around the pub. There’s so much more to just playing a gig as well.” They went on to muse about other travels they’ve had, playing in techno venues in Rotterdam that used to be a school, or a post office. Then asking me what my favourite gig of theirs I’d seen. About five whole minutes of me using the term ‘fell in love with’ later, we were back on track.
I asked if they’re criers, and what makes them cry. With total excited honesty, Max said, “I’m a weeper! I just cry at TV and films all the time, I just get a lot out of it. Like a Hugh Grant rom- com really sets me off... I only ever cry when I’m watching things, I remember watching the recent James Bond with my dad and my brother and it got to the end and the lights were coming up and my dad was shoving popcorn into his mouth. And I looked at him and we both just started weeping.” Then Ned flatly stated, “I didn’t cry for like five years, I couldn’t really be incredibly happy or incredibly sad for a long time. I remember being quite physically aware of the fact I was trying to cry,” breaking into a laugh, “but it’s all sorted out now I can cry now.” And feeling slightly like I was imposing on a special moment between best friends Louis replied, “I had a similar thing, when I do get to cry I stop crying because I get too excited about it. It’s such a pure [form of expression], you know when you’re really fucking upset and there’s nothing that can break that feeling except having a good cry.” Jake then started, “I think there’s something so special in crying, I had a nice moment the other day that was just so lovely I couldn’t help but tear up. But as soon as you acknowledge it, the tears stop coming. I think it’s nice to acknowledge it and be vulnerable, to show it in such an obvious way is quite nice.” Ned then said, “It seems like crying is an uncontrollable truth. If you’re embroiled in ideas of the self and worried about anxiousness and how you feel in certain situations that bleeds into even when you’re on your own and you’re struggling to cry, it can be very, very depressing not being able to cry, when crying is usually the endgame. And when I did cry I forgot how salty tears were.” All laughing, I attempted to dig a little deeper into the psyche of Legss.
“What is something that someone’s told you that’s changed your life?” Louis and Jake shared a moment of brief giggling before saying that Jake’s friend Cameron Mitchell’s uncle told him once ‘If you can’t fart in a toilet, where can you fart?’ and went to ask me not to print that, with Louis insisting I do. Ned brought it back to a serious level in saying, “I guess the obvious Legss’ fictual answer would be ‘if it isn’t broken, break it.’ On a very genuine vibe, my mum said ‘You’ve always got to put yourself in the other person’s shoes’ which has always stuck with me. Which is a very base, easy thing to follow, always.” After a giggling Louis states that “No-one’s ever given [him] a piece of advice in [his] life” Jake continued on the genuine route “I think empathy is the best life skill to have. It just makes interacting with humans so much easier. You can understand why people are making the decisions they’re making.” Ned then sparked back up “Musically, I don’t think we’ve listened to much advice... We listen to everything Liv says.” Liv replied with a false sharp tone “That’s not true.” After flipping and flopping about what is worthy life advice and Ned stating that “if you have one mantra [it] is probably a dangerous thing to do,” and “People are inspiring but never that inspiring that it stays with you.” Max brought the tone back up, “My granddad said ‘you can’t shake hands with someone like your hand’s a wet fish.’ A firm handshake is the best thing.” What ensued was unexpected but totally describable, Louis asked Max to shake his hand, one, two, three, four times with Max refusing more profusely each time, then eventually giving in and reacting as you’d probably expect, “That is a wet fish, that’s a trout, a soggy trout.” When the laughing subsided, Louis said “I do have a friend who always tells me, if I’m ever feeling strongly a certain way and not in a nice way and I’m getting quite heady about it, he always tries to spin it like ‘at least they’re emotions man and you gotta embrace it’” And then on a totally different track, Ned declared his own advice, “I think the best piece of advice you can give anyone in this day and age is anything which struggles against the neoliberal capitalist way of thinking, anything which averts you from being totally ambitious is good. Going against anything that isn’t natural. Those mini realisations; like you don’t have to work 50 hours a week. Anything that counters the way that we are told to live within a metropolitan society.”
Then I went onto ask about their favourite or best train journeys, Louis opened with “there is a gorgeous train from Paddington to Truro in Cornwall. You get to Plymouth and the train tracks go right next to the sea, you go through caves, it’s super nice. I like that one a lot, a bit nostalgic for me.” Max then said “I don’t really get the train, I’m a cyclist.” Ned, agreeing continued, “I think I haven’t got a train in about a year. But I have the most love and candour for the TFL.” Louis, with an air of whimsy said, “I also really fucking like the overground, the one that we got today actually, that goes past Brixton from Clapham. I was saying to Jake earlier there’s something about when you first move to south east London and you go on the overground so much more and the trains are flooded with sunlight in the summer which made this perfect movement. And all the first years are filming it, I don’t know there’s something really nice about that.” Ned then stated, “I’d like to think I sit on a train and enjoy it for the genuine cerebral experience it is at the time. But I look out the window for two seconds and I’m on my phone. That’s the reality... I’ll tell you what’s become a bad train journey, the DLR from Lewisham up to Shadwell. It’s about 20 stops, there was a time when you just skirted the outskirts of the Thames and you saw all these dockland areas that were very post industrialist and flat and wide and colourful. I got that journey quite recently and you can’t see a thing, because there’s new builds absolutely everywhere. Each side of you, every single stop of the way. And they’ve all got these unreal names [like] Paradise Island. These incredible stations that they’ve created out of nothing and given a name. I did that journey when I first moved to London, I remember thinking it’s like the overground but better. It’s a tall gorgeous way of seeing this unseen part of the city. And I got it now, six years later and there was no view, it was all completely blocked by these things.” That last bit had a bite to it, feeling like Ned has a particular bone to pick with the DLR. We then went onto talk about their various journeys around the country via tour-van, Almost Famous, a film that changed both mine and Max’s lives, on their Almost Famous Tiny Dancer moment, Louis recalled “when we were going over the moors in the south Pennines and we were blasting Pavement.” Max, smiling, said, “screaming out the window. Lovely drive, spirits were high.” Which is the band moment that everyone dreams of, in my experience. We all then learned that Ned once had a zoom meeting in his sleep.
On the subject of being a band and having these special moments as a band, I got to wondering how Legss became what they are now. “Quite simply really, in a very, very traditional standard band way. We were all in bands beforehand and we all broke up, blah blah, ended up in a place where we didn’t have bands and wanted to play music and started rehearsing.” Relayed Ned, when I posed the question to the band, he continued, “it started out with me and Lou, and I only knew of one other guitarist who was available and that was Max. We had a previous bassist called Rob, and he went to uni in Warwick for a masters and then I texted a few people ‘does anyone know of any bassists’ and someone suggested Jake and [he] was the only person I could find who played bass who wasn’t in a band.” Louis smiled, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Ned continued, with a hint of pessimism, “I’m scared of creative grand narratives out of something that was sort of very rudimentary and simple.” I then started asking about how the band see themselves: “I don’t know how you see yourself as a band, but would you say that the outward perception of Legss is something you’ve created stylistically or is that something that’s happened naturally?” Ned began, “I think it’s very much created.” Max proceeded, “it’s more thought out than it was, which I think is normal for absolutely every musical group that’s ever begun. That at the beginning it’s very much natural instinct and reaction, when you find yourself bouncing off each other and working out where you are.” Louis continued, “I think it’s also a hyper-realised version of what was there already in a sense,” and with a slight overlap, Ned said “you want to afford fans enough ambiguity for them to be able to take what they want from things as well. So you want to have an identity, an outward persona but you also want it to be open and free, understandable and accessible.” Jake then concisely said, “I think we ourselves are still shifting what our ideas are.” Ned then, with an air of seriousness, said, “I think that’s also an answer to the previous question, which wasn’t answered very well is that we were mates before we started the band. We’ve always enjoyed time outside of creating music, as people. Therefore we can see a separation between those two things, so when it comes to creating a musical persona, creating a ‘brand identity’ type thing. There’s always been a clear distinction between that. We can be Legss and think about the artwork for Legss, and think about the position of Legss, and song titles and the whole world building and after that just go to the pub and have a chat. It’s there for everyone, it’s there for us but it’s not set in stone, it’s not the be all and end all.”
I then asked the band if London was influential for them, Ned began, “definitely, it’s the most influential.” Louis filling the silence that Ned left, “massively, in anything- for me especially - well I’m sure for everyone, even exterior to the band. anything we do creatively.” Max, almost philosophically said “I think only in the way that the most influential thing is your direct environment.” Which sparked Ned and Max having a miniature debate about how the band would function say, in Bognor Regis. Jake rationalising the situation said, “I suppose what Ned’s saying is that we’re working within this system, the way we have to work to survive. Make the band work in that, and think creatively and hang out.” Louis declared, “I think that’s the main thing, like fucking... we’ve got all of our friends and loads of likeminded creatives around us all the time, which is very influential all the time. It’s a fucking really weird situation to be in, making music being our age, living in London. Because it’s like you kind of have that thing in the back of your head like do I?... like when you make it this far almost, where you feel like you’ve got some people to listen to you, it’s very difficult to pursue the desire to keep creating music when there’s not really... you don’t get anything back for so long. Because it takes up so much of your time it’s hard to pursue a career in anything else. I think the harshness of how London works especially. It’s like it’s what makes the content in a sense.” The way that Ned spoke was as if he’d been thinking about these answers for his whole life, like a great playwright or philosopher. “London is inorganic. It’s an industrial created area and it’s constantly developing and you cannot be truly genuine. There’s always affectations and there’s always influencing forces and changing ideas and for that I love it. If we were from Bognor Regis we’d probably be more authentic but potentially not have the same dearth of ideas and influences to draw upon. Just taking a cycle through south, over Waterloo and then going up, you get so many ideas in just one short trip. It’s unparalleled and horrific. At times all the better for it.”
The next question I asked sparked a huge debate in the band (a jestful argument) I said “Do you think Legss would be able to function in a different environment?” Max and Louis suggested moving to Hawaii, paid for by the label but Ned maintained “Of course we’d all be able to function if we were all together, the elements were there. We’re an unashamedly privileged but not posh metropolitan band, and that’s what we are. And you’ve got to be honest about that. If we were playing the countryside, you know, Devon I’m sure we’d have a grand old time. It would be great for the soul but the London body doesn’t care about the soul. But it’s an interesting question, I’d say not. I think if any of us were to move out of London it wouldn’t work.” Louis then suggested a more realistic New York, Max proposed “shacking up in a cabin somewhere,” Ned, tough, countered with “Totally, for a period of time. I don’t imagine living there and functioning as a band and surviving. But this comes back to my impracticality dilemma. I can’t imagine us doing anything other than what we’re doing anyway, because we’re so entrenched in a dark purple coloured suburbia.”
Authenticity, a word being thrown about quite a lot, with the rise of ‘industry plants’ and label made bands, I had wondered how much Legss is actually a projection of the individuals’ personalities and how much is curated; “Do you think that authenticity is needed to be in a band?” Louis, quick off the mark answered, “I guess there’s no point of doing it really if you’re not going to be authentic. The whole point of doing it is for some form of expression. Obviously we’re all human and we all share similar things so it’s all relatable and stuff. I don’t know.” Ned then remarked that it was a massive question and that you: me, maybe them, maybe the audience, needs to set goal posts before answering it. “A lot of my favourite musicians are inauthentic on purpose and adopt personas and are these authentic derivatives of themselves. I don’t know, specifically, lyrically, I try to stray between realism and more abstract ideas and try to portray an authentic self. It’s very selfish really, and I’m aware of that.” Louis laughing, said “I’m trying to get Ned to abolish irony at the moment.” Ned clapped back in jest with, “Lou doesn’t understand what irony is.” After the giggling and various retorts had subsided, Ned began once again, “authenticity is a huge one, and I don’t think it matters.” Jake agreed, “there’s plenty of artists we admire who, like you say, are playing to exaggerated personas or leaning into caricatures or whatever but it doesn’t make me love their music any less.” Max then doing my job for me, “is that inauthentic?” Ned quickly picking back up his pace, “is Ken loach authentic? Is Billy Bragg authentic? Is being overtly political, true to yourself, speaking your mind, making your songs a direct voice of what you believe to be authentic, authentic? I don’t think it is. I think less mantra preaching, is the more realistic way to go about things. No one is authentic in how we go about our way. Linking back into the city, it’s the most inauthentic place you can be, you know. I’ve got 12 different accents. - That’s just how it is. To be in denial of that is more inauthentic than trying to believe that you actually represent it. I think that’s why we’ve never been overtly political. That’s why lyric wise, there’s always been an element of abstraction. Because there has to be ambiguity, there has to be a level of interpretation for the listener and the creator. Also it’s a lot easier to allow yourself to drift between different voices and as long as you know your parameters and there’s no element of adopting things where you don’t have the rhyme or reason to do so. I think you’ve got artistic license with genuine imagination.” Jake agreed, “It gives you agency over time to pivot and shift views, it’s not so much cementing ideas but allowing them to collect a bit. Documenting things in a way that’s a bit more truthful and a bit more organic to how these things work. Nothing is ever set in stone.”
Sensing we had come to the end of things, I wanted to end on a silly question, for a serious band. “Last meal?” Liv then begged me to not ask because we’d be there for years, but the band had already started discussing. Ned laughed, “for context, and you can print this, me and Max this morning, just after ten a.m had vegetable stew and chips for breakfast.” Max, “It was all we had in,” Ned, “I can’t imagine myself actually wanting anything else this morning.” Max, “No, no, no.” Ned, “What else would you have wanted for breakfast this morning?” Max, “Are you kidding me?” They then all debated how they had got to the position of having their last meal, they got to Max has dobbed them in for crimes not committed and they’re all on death row, Max is living it up on Ibiza strip. Anyway what is their last meal? Ned told a beautiful story about potato dauphinoise, then Louis suggested corn on the cob prompting a “Oh fuck off! Fucking terrible,” from Max. Leading Louis to pick celery peanut butter (which he stuck with). Ned then declared it “was always going to be a terrible set of answers,” while Max got disproportionally angry. They then went on to debate the morals of staying veggie if it was your last meal. Ned finally gave up his answer of, “I’m with Lou, I wouldn’t want to deviate from the form. I would probably have falafel and shawarma, with the potatoes, vegetables with cheese sauce. I would get mango juice. I’d get the mezze but in actual portion form.” Max was definitely rattled at this point saying, “you guys aren’t thinking about how to indulge your last 24 hours enough. You’re going for the same old thing. Maybe I’d order a whole menu from a tapas place and try it all out; maybe I go for a traditional roast dinner. I can’t pick. Maybe Pie and mash.” Jake also opting for a full roast dinner, the interview finished with discussing what way we all want to die. The list is as follows, guillotine, hanging, witch hunt, chased through a shopping mall, being chucked out of a plane, choking on a pea, embarrassment, freezing, drowning, shark, scuba diving. Some would prefer their death to be a very public spectacle while others just want it to be as painless as possible,
I’ll leave the guessing up to you.
