Listen to the Cult's "Dirty Little Rockstar" here:
You say you want an evolution? Well, if you come to Cult frontman Ian Astbury’s door, you’ve come to the right place. Ever since he emerged from the murk of post-punk England with the dark and stormy Southern Death Cult—a combo that added an incendiary touch to the gloom of the monochromatic goth scene—Astbury has been confounding expectations left and right. After altering that band’s course and renaming it Death Cult, he dropped the fatalistic bent altogether in 1984, bringing the Cult into the rock mainstream. Amidst the crunching classic-rock riffs guitarist Billy Duffy coaxes from his EDS-1275 and his collection of Les Paul Customs, surprisingly idealistic anthems like “She Sells Sanctuary” have emerged.
Over the last 20 years, Duffy and Astbury have had their share of disagreements, leading to several splits. During the Cult’s most recent hiatus, Astbury filled the void left by Jim Morrison in the reformed Doors of the 21st Century. But now Astbury’s back, helming what might be the most powerful Cult lineup ever. That configuration just issued Born into This, their first disc in six years, and it boasts all the innate power and good old-fashioned rock-star attitude that the title promises. “We’re reaching for things we hadn’t reached for before,” Astbury says. “The Cult was always live performance first, but we were incredibly inconsistent when it came to that aspect. Some performances would be garbage. I’d fall off the front of the stage drunk. The band would be loud and out of tune, but now we’re trying to get into that pantheon of excellence.”
What made this the right time to do a Cult album again after such a long break?
Everything has a season and a time, and there’s a time for the Cult and a time not for the Cult. I’ve had the experience of making records when you have nothing to say and you’re trying to sort of maintain the brand, so to speak. When you’re trying to force creativity, I don’t think you always get the best results, and I think our best works have always been when we've had something to say. Everything has its season and it’s our season again.
Did you not have much to say on your last album, Beyond Good and Evil?
That whole cycle was a bad experience. We were basically objectified as a certain kind of group, particularly on the record company level, and I was trying to pull it in a different direction. It was difficult to have so many people interfering in the process and then the Doors opportunity came along, which I did for three and a half years. But during that period, I kind of reconstituted myself and songs started coming along that I thought would be appropriate for the Cult—hence, my playing with Billy again.
Would you say you and he work together the same way you did 20-odd years ago?
I think we’re a lot more aware of each other—more aware of what each other’s strengths and weaknesses are. What we’ve developed that we really didn’t have on previous records is the idea that the song takes precedence over ego or insecurities. We know we have to serve the song. I know I can’t play guitar like Billy can play guitar, so I have to allow him to explore an idea fully and when he goes “I’m done,” I can come in. Like with “Dirty Little Rockstar,” he came up with that riff after being in the room for 30 seconds.
You mentioned strengths and weaknesses—what are Billy’s strengths as a guitarist?
The thing that he’s amazing at is coming up with signature riffs, signature melodic passages. That’s really his trademark and he’s gifted at it. He respects me and my vision, and he gave me a lot of room to work within the constructions I’ve set up. He allows me to get out there and not hide behind a wall of guitars, even though he could set up a wall of guitars if he wanted to—he’s capable of doing anything that’s asked of him. Here, it’s a lot more simple, rhythmic, all downstroke, three-chord aggression.
Is the first single, “Dirty Little Rockstar,” about you?
Of course. Certainly, I’ve been a complete dick at times—an egotist thrown into the back of a cop car, but that was a byproduct and not my way of trying to make a name for myself. The song “Dirty Little Rockstar” is more of a pop culture Polaroid.
As far as the Doors period, what did you take away from that?
In my mind, hands down, the Doors are the greatest American band there ever was. Layer after layer after layer, the expandedness, the awareness, the technical abilities they have. The thing I really got was that craft and performance is a serious business and that great performers work at their craft.
Did you have any reservations about headlining the Jägermeister tour?
My manager put it very astutely. He said, “Do you realize every time you go into a venue there’s always a beer banner somewhere? You don’t get paid for that. You’re always promoting alcohol in a venue. Alcohol’s always available, why not take the sponsorship?” Our sponsor was one of the only companies that said, “We’ll allow you to work with the artwork and how we image this.” ’Cause a lot of the companies were basically like, “We want you to be photographed using our brand, holding our brand.” We were like, “We can’t do that.”
Is that mentality a product of your experience in the original punk rock scene?
We were the kids in the audience for those first Sex Pistols and Clash shows—post-punks, I suppose. We were around it enough to experience the energy and the ethos. Even during the Sonic Temple period, when I had my hair down to my ass, I still thought of us as a punk rock band. Now, we’re even closer to those roots—a sort of post-modernist, urbanist primitive thing.