Bearded sage and musical barometer of the gay malaise, John Grant, has named his latest (sixth) album after a twisted derivation of the 1987 Donald Trump handbook, The Art of the Deal. Made mostly in London and produced by Grace Jones’s partner, Ivor Guest, The Art of the Lie brings a lavish theatricality to bear on Grant’s typically noirish sensibilities. If Grant’s career was a rolling shaggy dog American novel, which it often feels like, The Art of the Lie is the chapter when the ugly sisters go to the ball to trample all over Cinderella’s train and smash her tiara to pieces.
Grant is speaking to us from his home in Iceland, at the remote edges of the earth he fled to after the western disasters of 2016. Namely, Trump’s election as president. He’s slouched in front of his couch, grey sky through the window, a picture of Mel Brooks’ favourite actress, Madeline Kahn, just about discernible over his right shoulder. I can only see a corner of the logo of his T-shirt. He’s in good spirits, gently inquiring “the fuck was that?” when a Nicorette lozenge falls out of my mouth mid-question. There has been worse, I tell him. “Good man,” he says.
Have you ever read The Art of the Deal?
No.
Would you ever read it?
I don’t think so. I mean, I’ve thought about reading Mein Kampf, also.
Does one need to understand one’s enemies in order to defeat them?
In some ways, yeah, we do. But I feel like I understand enough.
What would a second Trump presidency mean for you personally?
The last one was bad enough. And now he’s really pissed off. I think it’s just the fact that the gloves are off and he’s not really pretending. It’s going to be revenge on all the people who don’t support him, and the people who have tried to hold him accountable for his crimes. He’s supported by The Christian Nationalist Movement, so he’s trying to give them what they want, and pretend that that’s what he wants, too. But obviously he doesn’t give a fuck about anything they want. He’s just doing whatever it takes to [win] power. I truly believe that if the trans community were the people who were standing up for him, he’d be all about trans issues. He’s just a particularly malignant conman.
This is a real state of the nation record. Does it surprise you that more people aren’t making them?
I think we all struggle with this concept of a tightrope walk. People are trying to figure out, should I be positive and talk about the good stuff? Or should I be talking about the way things are? There are a lot of people I know who say this is all affecting them too much, that they should be worrying about stuff that they can actually do something about.
It’s not like you’re subsumed in polemic, though. You bring your own flavour to the table.
I guess. But even I wonder, is it worth it? Does it matter at all? It’s interesting to think about the trauma of an individual as opposed to the trauma of a nation. I suppose I don’t think that anything I do really matters, but I’m doing it anyway because it has to be documented for me. I’m trying to figure my own mess out – how to be a citizen, a part of the world.
Are you wearing an Alison Moyet T-shirt, John?
It’s Fad Gadget.
That makes more sense. Is there still great American art being made?
Oh yeah.
Have you heard the Beyoncé record?
No.
It’s really good.
It would be a shame if you could have that much money and not put out a good record.
There are plenty who don’t.
That’s true. I don’t have any desire to hear that record, though.
It actually shares a couple of themes with The Art of the Lie. There’s a lot about the sins of our fathers on both. They both deal with daddy stuff.
Oh, really? That’s cool. Maybe she and I have more in common than I could possibly imagine. I can’t engage with that hyper part of the industry, though. It feels like part of the art of the lie to me. It’s about taking the idea of capitalism to its extreme, which is always monopoly. These are the new monopolies. I guess they have to figure out a way to have rock stars and pop stars like they used to have. And it’s not really possible to have that any more, because everybody can be a pop star now. Everybody is a pop star. But I do think that great art is being made. Absolutely.
Is everybody a pop star because everybody understands the metrics of a public profile?
Yeah. Although the people who really make it, in terms of business, are dealing with a whole different setup. [laughs] Everybody thinks they’re on the same level, though it’s not that way. You didn’t have access [before]. You couldn’t see these people being people. But I guess in some ways, the internet is like the subway. Everybody is thrown together. Everybody is equal in some ways. The influencers are trying to portray… it’s all about appearance and perception. Everybody’s a baller.
What was the last piece of music that made you think, “Fuck, they’ve got it.”
A lot of it is stuff I constantly go back to: Mort Garson, Cabaret Voltaire, Grace Jones. I keep going back to Colder. Those dudes do really incredible stuff.
But what about singer-songwriter stuff?
I don’t know.
Did you love the Adrianne Lenker record?
I haven’t heard it.
It’s very good. Almost painfully intimate.
She’s in Big Thief?
Yeah. It feels like a big 2024 record, even though it’s so self-conscious and small. Do you think that Grace Jones has heard your record?
I know that she’s heard tracks. I’ve listened to some tracks with her.
Oh, come on!
Right? She’s in a league all of her own. An incredible artist with great instincts and great taste. Her voice is still in tip-top shape, she takes good care of herself. She’s still got it.
The Grace Jones Project never faltered, and there are so few artists you can say that about.
Yeah, it’s pretty much a flawless execution.
What’s your ultimate Grace record?
Um, I mean… [thinks]… I suppose it’s Nightclubbing, you know? Living My Life? The way she did ‘Private Life’, too. The delivery on that song is so heavenly. I mean, hearing my record with her was just scary. It makes you think about every single tiny flaw, whether you deserve to be in the room with that person. This was at Ivor’s place. We were all hanging out. Grace’s son, Ivor, me and Grace, just listening to stuff. I don’t think I would’ve chosen to put it on, but she was grooving to it, really digging it. She pays attention to lyrics.
That puts forthcoming reviews into perspective, somewhat.
Yep, totally.
Do you think you’d be a fan of The Art of the Lie if you hadn’t made it?
I think I would. There are certain things that aren’t fully realised but the lyrics really work.
What’s the line on the record that makes you proudest?
The opening lines of ‘All That School’: “I lost my patience several decades ago / Around the time I was in utero / They taught me all about hyenas and vultures / I saw them worshipping their tyrants with sculptures.” Also: “I saw them worshipping large pieces of fabric.” I was thinking about the worship of the American flag. What people need to feel. You have the collective and the individual, but really there is only the individual, which sort of brings us back to when my sister and I argue about me taking too personally what’s going on in the USA.
Obviously you’re very different artists, but to me your project is similar to Grace’s in the sense that you’re always pushing yourself forward musically yet we know exactly who the central character is at the centre of a John Grant record. You’re artistically dependable. I hope that doesn’t sound like damning with faint praise.
That’s nice. That’s really lovely to hear. It’s hard to be a solo artist. It’s so much harder to do it all on your own, although we see people who are really capable as producers and artists, like Tame Impala. Somebody, just sitting in their house doing it on their own. He feels very in touch with himself. It doesn’t feel like a fabrication of a person, more like an embellishment of a person. I believe it. And that’s all I want with art.
I think what really gets you is when you’re having a glimpse of actual human experience. There’s so much lifestyle music, background party music, cleverly crafted pop with all the right elements. But a lot of the time, it leaves you feeling flat. Like eating too much sugar.
But we have to do something. We can’t just let it happen. This idea of ‘what can I do?’ often ends in paralysis for me. You’re left with the conundrum of looking at the world and feeling paralysed because it’s too much. I suppose that’s what I feel like when I go into the studio, from an artistic perspective. I feel overwhelmed with the possibilities. It’s the same with being a man. Men were paralysed by what we were supposed to be. I guess that making music is my way of dealing with that.
ENDS
