SIMON BREED

 Biography

Simon Breed has been playing under his own name and steam around the UK and Europe for a decade. The size of the gigs has varied from the several  thousands on the huge support slots he's been asked to do personally by the Bad Seeds and the Magic Numbers, to the crowd who regularly cram into London's tiny 12-bar club. Two things have kept him going: a faithful hardcore following and the respect of his peers.

Three performances opening for Nick Cave at the Brixton Academy in 2001 were described by online zine Drowned in Sound as "a revelation". On the first night, about one third of the audience was in on time for Simon's set; by the final night, the house was full and down the front for the first song - Simon's calling card, 'Cunts, Pricks, Wankers and Shits'. (Which won a place in the hearts of the Brixton Academy's security staff, who put bets on the actual title, and berated a critic who insisted that "swear words aren't clever" for missing the point of the song's angry beauty.)

The Magic Numbers tour opening slot in February 2006 was bizarre but brilliant. Some were perturbed to be met by lyrics about insect dismemberment, bullies, women's  evolution. A child reporter from CBBBC was particularly unnerved: "The tall man had a nice voice but he said some very bad things." They were soon won over. Awestruck silence in a massive venue is something to experience. The reaction wasn't untypical. At first many gawp at his not inconsiderable height (at 6"6' it's fair enough) but they end up entranced by his lyrics' unflinching engagement with meaning, the voice, the "How the hell does he do that with an acoustic guitar?"

Over the last few years, Simon has sold several albums' worth of songs on self-made CD EPs out of a suitcase or via Rough Trade or Selectadisc. But his first conventionally commercial release will be Devastating Sky, available as a download on March 5th. Incorporating a kid's xylophone and an expiring £10 keyboard from Brixton market, Devastating Sky is a raggedly ecstatic freakout in an acoustic song's clothing.  It's a two-chord plea to someone strung out in that wretched state of perpetual self-'improvement' which keeps the girls chucking up and the lifestyle outlets humming, set against the florid urban sunsets of flame orange that burnish those riverside gated-community flats you could never afford. It is also one of the few of Simon's songs not to contain some poetic obscenity. (Perhaps it's no coincidence that this song has already received BBC 6 airplay.)