Stretching out in the back of their tour bus, Barry Hyde and Ross Millard cut fairly impressive figures. They’re both muscular, well over six feet tall, and look like they could hold their own if an argument ever descended into Marquis Of Queensbury fisticuffs. Believe it or not, they sigh in unison, as kids growing up in the tiny English hamlet of Sunderland, they were virtual sitting ducks for local lager-lout bullies. On an almost daily basis, Hyde recalls, “we were chased home from school, or someone would tap you on the shoulder, punch you in the face when you turned around, and then run away. So it was quite a miserable place to live, especially the more we got to travel and see what the outside world was like.”
So guitarist/vocalist Hyde made a bold decision. With his drumming brother Dave, a bassist known as Jaff and his chum Millard on six-string, they convened an XTC-retro art-rock group in the Hyde family garage. Instead of moving away, they fought from within sorry Sunderland as The Futureheads. Which wasn’t easy, grouses Millard, “since it’s such an ignorant town, and it doesn’t have the multi-cultural aspect of London, Manchester or Liverpool. It’s not ethnically diverse, and all the industry is rooted in car manufacturing and factory work and is typically boring and low-paid. There aren’t any outlets for artistic development.”
“No venue to play, no cinema,” continues Hyde, shaking his head. “There are two strip clubs, about fifty pubs, but not even one movie theater. It’s that old English routine—go out on the weekend for a pint and a fight.”
The Futureheads had to create their own culture. They all sang lead, layering their voices into repetitive four-part, channel-jumping harmonies that magically coalesce into quirky New Wave-ish pop songs on the group’s eponymous Sire debut. And when they finally ventured out in concert, they toured a series of U.K. working-men’s clubs, wowing blue-collar middle-agers alongside the punky twenty-something crowd. The Futureheads have recently been tooling through America, opening for longtime fans Franz Ferdinand, and the buzz has grown so strong, even those old face-smacking bullies have dropped in on their Sunderland shows, just to congratulate Hyde and company. Several, Millard adds, have secretly confessed that they too wanted to be rock stars—they just never had the guts to attempt it. Especially not in Sunderland.