“This album is a weird, important record for me on the basis of where I am as a songwriter.” Jamie Treays looks thoughtful. We are reclining in his daily place of work, a small, scruffy recording studio in Hackney. He is wearing a nicely appropriate, but seemingly uncontrived mix of mod classic clothing and a very un-mod baseball cap. Today, on a hot Spring day in 2016, Jamie T seems very at ease with who he is, and has been. “A lot of my identity as an artist was forged when I was about 23. And I really enjoyed writing songs in that vein. But this feels like the last record where I’ll do that. Getting my last enjoyment out of reminiscing about my past and being that 23-year-old. Being thirty feels like a good chapter ending and a good turning-point.”

Jamie’s fourth album, which takes its one-word title from album opener and single ‘Tinfoil Boy’, is a weird, important record. At beginning and end, it is the darkest, toughest and most pessimistic of his decade in the limelight. But in the middle, it’s a rock ‘n’ roll party album: albeit an edgy, punky reggae party where lost girls clash with 17th century prophets of doom, exiled Brits clash with deserted American cities, trad-rock guitars clash with speed raps and dubby basslines. A lot of Clash, then, in more ways than one.

Read more