On first listen, the sounds of Mancunian duo Lamb's debut album are like oil and water. Andy Barlow's jungle-bent breakbeats hyperthwack through most of the tracks like a flyswatter-armed exterminator in a termite nest; meanwhile chanteuse Louise Rhodes flutters gingerly above the roiling mix, a soft, delicate cecropia moth that's always just out of pest-control reach. After a few spins, however, these ingredients start to homogenise, turning Lamb into a free-floating colloidal system that didn't initially seem possible. Not quite drum-and-bass, not quite techno-diva... What to call this surreal new sound? The last folks to ask, it appears, are the Lambsters themselves. Composing music is the least of worries for 32-year-old Rhodes and 21-year-old Barlow. They're still trying to figure out how to sit together in a room for an hour without seriously injuring one another.
Rhodes is adorned with the trappings of youth: Nikes, knee socks, a sky-blue babydoll dress, her short brown hair pulled back into playful pigtails. But she speaks with educated refinement, discussing at length her prior career as a freelance music/fashion photographer. Her worst assignment? No contest: "It was Mark E. Smith from The Fall. He was a nightmare - I was nearly reduced to tears. He was the most belligerent bastard, not wishing to mince any words. He was drunk, very uncooperative and very aggressive."
A longtime fan of Diane Arbus, Richard Avedon and Cindy Sherman, Rhodes preferred to shoot fashion because "it's very creative. Fashion photography, more and more, is becoming more about the art form and less about the clothes. Her best session ever, she adds, occurred while she was still at college, working on her master's degree. "Part of my dissertation was to go 'round and photograph other photographers and talk to them, because I was concerned about the ethics and the philosophical implications of photographing people, since people are quite often uneasy about being photographed. What is it that makes them uneasy? So I was photographing quite well-known photographers, and one of them was Jane Bown, who's done a lot of books. She's quite old now, so I went to her house, this beautiful little cottage in the middle of the English countryside, and had lunch with her and her sister-in-law.
"They were just two eccentric old ladies, and it was like some sort of Merchant-Ivory film - we had gin-and-tonics on the front lawn. And she'd been quite offish on the phone, saying she didn't have any time, and when I got there... well, it was just one of those experiences that's really moving. I think the thing with photographing people is that sometimes you see something in them that you don't necessarily see otherwise, or maybe you have the excuse to look a bit deeper. Sometimes it's just a look in someone's eyes. But you get a real glimpse of their humanity in the middle of shooting a portrait. And that was one of those times - a really lovely moment.
Barlow - who looks every bit the trip-hopping street kid in his T-Shirt, baggy trousers and carefully dyed skull cut - has been sitting quietly all this time, arms folded, scowl cemented in place. Finally, he explodes. "Can we talk about something real?" he barks at his stunned partner.
"This is real!" Rhodes snaps.
Barlow rolls his eyes. "Well, it is real... to you! I don't understand all those guys, you know... But I've got a Mapplethorpe book! I own a camera!" The podium his, he proceeds to tell his side of the Lamb tale. How did he become so fascinated with percussion? He grins - he's on familiar turf. "It was Animal from the Muppets! Animal ruled as a drummer! And the simplicity of it is great - you don't have to sing along or get in that sort of a mindset. I think I was about nine, and I just had some saucepans and spoons, and I remember hitting along to Boney M's 'Night Flight To Venus.' And I thought 'Fuck! This is the thing for me!'"
Still in his teens, Barlow moved with his family to Philadelphia, where he discovered - and hung out with - hip-hoppers like Cypress Hill. "But hip-hop had heavy drums that didn't do anything," he recalls. "That was one of the most important things I learned in America. And funk from before, I realised, was just like you standing there with your dick in your hand a lot of the time."
Rhodes clears her throat. "Sorry? Where does that leave me? And that's a very reductionist view of funk music..."
"Yeah, but I didn't say anything during your photo thing," Barlow interjects. "So you've gotta shut up now!"
"Because you couldn't say anything!" snickers Rhodes.
