THE JEEVAS
Around the table his fellow Jeevas (a derivation of the Indian term for "life-force") nod approvingly. At the far end sits drummer Andy Nixon. A vision in black corduroy and beads, he appears to have been beamed in from a particularly beatific student sit in at the University of Do As You Please, California. To his left, chiselled, Easy-Riderish, bassist Dan McKinna strokes his beard and remains silent. The collective impression is of three twig-thin drifters who've just hitched a ride in a boxcar across the prairie to be here. Clearly, they're not hanging around.
For those absent throughout the Britpop explosion, Crispian spent the mid-nineties surfing the top of the charts as singer-guitarist with Kula Shaker. Boasting their own personal guru, interviews strewn with references to Arthurian legend and the knack of writing top five singles sung entirely in sanskrit, they brought a sense of joy and irreverence with them that delighted an instant army of fans and bamboozled the critics. With debut album "K" soaring to number one in (nb: which month was it?) '96 (second only to 'Definitely Maybe' on end of year sales) Kula Shaker seemed unstoppable. The inevitable backlash came when Crispian, exhausted by the promotional treadmill, disingenuously suggested that flaming swastikas (an inversion of an ancient Indian peace symbol, remember) might look good as part of the band's light show. Little more than a flippant aside, and in an industry where every rock revolutionary from the Stones onward has flirted with nazi chic, it was for the press, finally, a chink in Kula Shakers armour. As a consequence, they didn't so much have a field day as attempt to re-enact Agincourt. Not that the band or their ever-increasing audience were remotely phased. With the band riding higher than ever, they launched epic second album "Peasants, Pigs & Astronauts"(recorded on Dave Gilmour's Victorian houseboat, no less) and glided straight into the top ten. All the more surprising then, that with the band at the peak of their powers and all set not so much for conquering America as acquiring rights to the known universe, that Kula Shaker split suddenly, after five glorious years, in September '99. Spiritually the band's last farewell came at the Lizard Eclipse Festival in Cornwall that August. One of the few place in Britain to witness "totality", for Crispian it signalled, if not the end, then at the very least, the end of the beginning. With the fans still in deep shock, and sane sections of the press bemoaning the loss of the most far-out group to hit the top ten since T Rex, Crispian decided to leave the country to clear his head.
Next stop, New York.
Months came and went, and with them, line-ups of a band which came to be known as "Pi".Things reached a nadir with an arena tour supporting the absurd Robbie Williams.

Something had to give. Reunited with his former "K" management, Crispian set about returning to what he was best at: writing the streamlined psychedelic pop which had made Kula Shaker one of the great cult pop bands of the nineties. Having been introduced to Andy and Dan via mutual friends in Bath, the band gelled over a shared love of local heroes Bucky and set about forming a group who, as chance would have it, looked like extra's from Antonioni's "Zabriskie Point" and sounded like the Who with sunburn.
The Jeevas debut album "1-2-3-4!" tells the story. If in the past Crispian's musicaL touchstones had been the talsimanic trio of the post-Rishikesh Beatles, Deep Purple and the Small Faces, this time around he's entered into what was, for Kula Shaker, a self-imposed "Forbidden Zone". The seventies. Debut single "Virginia" sounds like "Transformer" period Lou Reed reciting the lyrics of Syd Barrett, "Ghost (Cowboy's In The Movies)" nods to a free fallin', peak-period Tom Petty, whilst a foot-on-the-gas race through the Undertones "You've Got My Number" speaks for itself. The nearest comparison you can make is to the spine-tingling treble assault of Big Star mixed up with the acid on the lawn harmonies of "Relics" era Floyd. Having had an entire century's worth of pop-faced Noo Yawkers and miserable gloom rockers assaulting us via the airwaves, it's like waking up and finding out someone's cancelled Monday and installed a triple Bank Holiday instead. Better still, lyrically, the Jeeva's are like "On the Road" re-written by Will Self. Tumbleweed, witches and magic bicycles arrive with every chorus. Not that Crispian's lost his self-effacing sense of humour since his brushes with the press. Just check out "Ghost": ""Skipping school/ Cutting class/ I'm never gonna pass/ I was predicted an "F" in all/ But religious education..."
The Jeevas, then. A great, grungy three piece rock band from Bath at your service who look like friends of "Serpico" and sound like Hendrix if he grew up on an acid and strawberry farm in Somerset. If you've got any sense of humour or any standards at all you'll love 'em. Hitch a ride.

*back