“It’s just a tacky play on words — a typically stupid Supergrass thing to do,” says Supergrass frontman Gaz Coombes when I mention the title of the band’s new album. It seems he’s heard that one before and has grown weary of answering, though his proper pronunciation of “Roo-awhn” — as in Road to Rouen (Capitol) — does betray the Brit singer’s fondness for the little piece of France he purchased as a hideaway for the band back in 2004. “It’s actually outside Rouen,” he says over the phone from his home in Oxford. “You pull off into the countryside and I’ve got a big barn there where we set up all the recording equipment. We did the album ourselves with a lot equipment that we’d bought. But it was still the cheapest record we’ve ever made, though I actually think it sounds like the most expensive one because it just has that warm, deep sound. We were making our own food and drinking far too much wine and really enjoying ourselves in that quiet country environment. I suppose we just wanted to make a country record in a way.”
Country in the sense of pastoral, perhaps, but certainly not Nashville. Yet, in spite of Gaz’s feelings about its name, Road to Rouen still marks a sharp change of course for a band who, having just celebrated their 10th anniversary with the dryly titled Supergrass Is 10: Best of 94–04 (Capitol), were still thought of by most to be the same silly little band of hyperactive kids who’d been England’s best answer to the US Green Day–driven pop-punk explosion when they’d debuted with catchy, Buzzcocky singles like “Caught by the Fuzz” and the shout-along anthem “Alright.” Gaz and his keyboardist/brother Rob’s Oxford neighbors Radiohead were the serious bunch, just as Blur had been the intellectual flip side of the Brit-pop coin in contrast to the hard-drinking, brother-brawling Oasis. First impressions can be tough to shake.
That applies equally to albums. And the initial impression left by the opening track of Road to Rouen is brooding, expansive, and even epic. The spiked hair has gone soft; the buzz of guitars has been jettisoned for a fluid piano played out against an orchestral backdrop. “We hail commercial suicide,” Gaz croons quickly, as if trying to slip the line past anyone at the label who might be listening. Eventually some muscular bass and a pounding backbeat take over, and a sharp electric guitar riff comes into focus. But the introspection and the undercurrent of pathos that wind through “Tales of Endurance (Parts 4, 5 & 6)” are a far cry from the carefree cries of “Alright.”
“The song is about enduring difficult times,” Gaz offers. “And that lyric about commercial suicide is basically saying that we really don’t give a fuck if we’re making a move here that doesn’t comply with the masses or reach #1. This is just exactly where our heads are at, and we feel comfortable doing this. And this is exactly what we want to say right now, regardless of the consequences. We didn’t necessarily think it was commercial suicide, but it was kind of like, ‘Bring it on. Fuck it. If this is commercial suicide, then bring it on. We’re really into what we’re doing.’ ”
