An obvious choice perhaps, but a band which I feel deserves more attention than they've received in its wake. Nizlopi are Luke Concannon and John Parker, two local lads who eat, sleep and breathe music. A charming and organic mixture of folk, jazz, roots and hip-hop (complete with human beat-box to compensate for their lack of a drummer), they played every coffee-shop and house-party in the region before starting to make a name for themselves on the national festival circuit with their spontaneous and disarmingly intimate live shows (which often involve wandering out into the crowd and singing right to your face). It’s precisely this sense of familiarity and connection with their audience which has earned them one of the most devoted cult followings in Britain, a tireless mob of supporters known as ‘The People’s Republic of Nizlopi’.
I was introduced to the band fairly late on when a friend sat me down in front of his computer and showed me the now-infamous animated video for this track in the closing months of last year. What perhaps surprised me most was that not only had I somehow managed to never catch them live, but I’d even been on the same bill as them on several occasions and they’d still never crossed my radar. As the video began to unfold, I immediately regretted this scandalous oversight, as it quickly became apparent that the chance of seeing them up-close and personal for a £1 entry fee was about to become a thing of the past.
JCB went to Number One for two reasons: one, a really cracking promo which rightfully became one of the most talked-about links on the internet; two, the fact that it’s a truly wonderful song capable of uniting people from all walks of life (for better or worse, you couldn’t wander through a single town centre last Christmas without hearing hoards of revellers spilling out of pubs singing “I’m Luke, I’m five and my Dad’s Bruce Lee / Drives me round in his JCB…”). They’ve arguably written better songs - check out the lush orchestral swathes of Sing Around It on their debut album or the witty diary confessions of Clear - but few which are able to rival the unassuming potency of this track.
You know the drill by now: an autobiographical meander along the roads of the Midlands from the perspective of a five-year-old dyslexic kid, listening to the irate hoots of the drivers behind him while his Dad sings along to Christy Moore. However, it’s the attention to minutiae that really makes the song come alive: the wilfully naive turns of phrase (“The engine rattles my bum like berserk”) and references to childhood touchstones capable of summoning nostalgic memories of a forgotten innocence - The A-Team, Zoids, Transformers. When the song reaches its memorable coda and Concannon’s joyous proclamation of childhood invincibility rings out, just like the digger in the video it spreads wings and soars.
When I went home that night and showed the clip to my housemates, they too were utterly captivated and immediately voiced their enthusiastic approval for these heroic regional troubadours. After they went to bed, I stuck it on once more and a strange thing happened: I burst into tears. I don’t know what it was - I’ve never had a Dad who works in haulage, I’ve never held traffic up on the bypass from inside a big yellow digger, and I’ve never suffered from learning difficulties which had me removed from school. Perhaps it was an accumulation of everything that was going on in my life at that point, and perhaps it’s the fact that there’s something undeniably touching about hearing a bullied child’s wonder and excitement at finding sanctity with those he loves most. Indeed, perhaps it was just a natural reaction to hearing something so perfectly realised and heart-wrenchingly beautiful, but I’ve honestly never experienced a reaction so visceral to any song that wasn’t fuelled by violent angst. Lord knows what Concannon’s father made of it upon first listen, but to this day it remains the most affecting tribute to any individual I’ve ever heard - there’s just something about it which seems capable of striking a chord in anyone who hears it.
With a song like this, the sincerity of the performance plays a vital role in determining whether it succeeds or fails, and it’s here that Nizlopi’s forthright honesty really comes into play. Luke Concannon’s voice is soulful without resorting to Mariah Carey-esque histrionics - its effortless musicality bears the hallmark of a truly great singer, with notes literally just tumbling out of him to the point where you really believe in every word that he’s saying. Consequently, the track is cute without ever being cloying, and moving without ever resorting to sentimentality. It may well also be the last truly great Number One single for several years to come – with the exception of Gary Jules and Michael Andrews’ anomalous Mad World, it’s been a long time since such a genuine and heartfelt record hit the top of the charts (prior to that I’d say it was probably Sinead O’Connor’s Nothing Compares 2 U way back in 1990).
I met the pair recently backstage at Warwick’s Graduation Ball and they honestly couldn’t have been lovelier if they’d handed me a tenner and told me to go buy myself something nice. John recognised me from the local area and was more than happy to stand around chatting about music, distribution and all the other trivial concerns of the independent shoegazer attempting to make their way in the big, bad world. I told him my own personal JCB story and he took it with admirable grace and modesty, even though he must’ve heard similar recollections a thousand times before.
My principal worry was always that Nizlopi would go down in history as one-hit wonders – sadly given JCB’s kiddie-friendly appeal it seems inevitable that it might become tagged as a novelty hit, and it’s just a fact that bands this offbeat and soulful rarely find a mass audience. But of course that’s far from the whole story in this case - I think it’s fair to say that the kinds of people who just buy singles and don’t bother investigating a band further were never really going to ‘get’ Nizlopi or their ethos. I asked John how he felt about the song in light of their second single Girls making so little impact and his reply was typically insouciant – they never really expected to achieve any level of commercial success, so to have one song put them in a position to advance their careers on their own terms is an absolute godsend. They’ve used the money and exposure gained from its success to fund future releases, shed light on other local artists and continue their work for charities which encourage youngsters to pick up an instrument rather than simply buying into pre-packaged karaoke acts - so while they may have been beaten to the Christmas Number One by X-Factor winner Shayne Ward, they’ll have the last laugh a generation from now.
Nizlopi can often be found perusing the racks in the Leamington Spa branch of Fopp, and humbly downplay their own celebrity when approached; round here they’re literally just the local lads made good - or, by their own admission, “two blokes who are still learning how to play music and get as good as they can”. Regardless, even if history does only remember them as ‘the JCB band’, that’s still a hell of an achievement: it’s a fantastic song from a marvellously innovative act who I’m proud to be able to cite as an influence and an inspiration.
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