For nearly 40 years, Half Man Half Biscuit have played clever, funny, religious songs. By superfan Robert Bathurst
Just my cup of tea
Singer-songwriter Nigel Blackwell performing in 2015, with Ken Hancock
M
ention Half Man Half Biscuit to anyone and you will get one of three responses: a blank uncomprehending stare; a wistful frown at some vague memory of the band in the 1980s; or the person freezes like a pointer, all time stops and they almost cry with joy, quoting their favourite lyrics. Half Man Half Biscuit draw big live audiences today, more than 37 years after their debut LP, Back in the DHSS. The latest album, The Voltarol Years, is their 16th. I make no presumption that anyone apart from their legion of fans would agree, but the noise they make and the words they utter give me as much artistic 22 The Oldie Spring 2022
thrill as the work of any other composer and songwriter. They are lyrically inventive and poetic; the work is laden with acute social observation and references to, inter alia, sport, religion, popular culture, literature, holidays, gardening, geography, art, the music business and cycling. It is underpinned by an unusual and strict moral view about, for example, graceless behaviour, drugs and any show of self-regard. Half Man Half Biscuit are a four-piece band; the lyricist and leading force is Nigel Blackwell. I’ve never seen him smile and yet – or perhaps because of this – I laugh more freely when listening to him than to anyone else. The effect is physical and exciting – a warmth similar to any encounter with Spike Milligan or John
Lennon. Blackwell’s ideas come tumbling out with a startlingly nimble wit and playfulness, while the guttural bass guitar of Neil Crossley grabs hold of you. How to define their musical style has been argued about for decades: postpunk, say some; others call it variations of indie/rock/folk. However people might try to categorise HMHB, they’ll get no help from Blackwell, who rarely says anything publicly about his work. There is no PR machine behind him, he doesn’t see the point. It’s not arch or disingenuous; he just doesn’t like fuss. To the fans, this lack of fuss makes him all the more appealing. The band’s rare performances, heavily attended and always on a Friday, usually take place in the
