Interview: Cleaners From Venus

Ria Sagoo

Many moons ago, I had the good fortune to speak to lo-fi extraordinaire (and now Facebook friend!) Martin Newell, best known as the talented maverick behind Cleaners from Venus.

Newell’s discography reads like a love letter to the eccentricities hidden within life’s mundanities. Full of poetic anecdotes, jangling melodies, and his signature wry charm, his music captures the true essence of English whimsy and wistful nostalgia.

I first discovered Newell’s music via the algorithm, like many fans who’ve recently begun to unearth Cleaners from Venus’ extensive catalogue. With a new generation falling at the feet of  this cult icon, I felt this interview needed to pay proper tribute to the man whose name is attached to beloved tracks like Only a Shadow, Helpless, and The Jangling Man to his name.

When I got the green light from Martin’s management, I knew I’d already achieved a kind of personal magnum opus. Newell is no ordinary subject. He’s a polymath in the truest sense - a poet, artist, writer, and comedian -gifted with a deft hand in all things creative.

I wanted our conversation to showcase his absurdist humour, intellectual wit, and the deep sensibilities imbued in his work. Yet, Newell dispels all notions of pretentiousness. In conversation, his quiet humility only added to the warmth of our interaction. His music feels made for the oddballs, the deeply sensitive, and the ones who walk slightly out of step with the rest of the world.

A man as introspective and authentic as they come, Newell freely embraces the quirks and the off-beat rhythms of the human experience - scoring them with jangling guitars, his distinctive tape hiss and that unmistakable English charm.

His personal style, too, deserves its’ flowers! A figure of whimsy and gentle oddity, Newell appeared for our conversation donning his signature eyepatch, which he later revealed was covering the eye he’d lost his vision in.

There was something I found to be deeply endearing about Newell. Like his mismatched outfits, he had the unpolished elegance of someone too busy dreaming than to give care for what others thought of him, and I greatly admire him for this.

Ria: Cleaners from Venus has become a cult favourite and you’ve risen from that obscurity which has been unearthed by a new generation. Could you have predicted that musical arc where you’re coming back into prominence again?

Martin: No, I thought I’d have to wait until after I was dead. I knew what I was doing but it never appealed to people of my generation. People who I grew up with tended to like Americana, what you call 'Heritage Rock', and if they did listen to new stuff, it’s what they were told to listen to by Radio 2 for instance, who’ve been frantically pedalling to keep up. I’ve never fitted in with the music industry, the system, the people who run it. It got to a point where I thought, 'Why don’t they like me? Why won’t they review me?', and when they did, sometimes they said uncharitable things. In the end, I just stopped trying to impress them at all and just go on with what I was doing. I now say, 'well, I don’t respect the music industries’ authority, or anybody in it, or any of the prizes they give out to themselves, or their charges and I don’t acknowledge their judgement'. ‘Cos look at the shit they turn out that gets played on the radios that they control! For an old geezer, I’ve got a kind of teenage obstreperousy, but it was, 'oh he’ll grow out of it, he’ll come round' and I didn’t, and I won’t because I think they’re rubbish.

Ria: You’ve explored many avenues of being a creative and what is it you identify with most? Being a poet, a musician, an artist?

Martin: I’m a writer and a musician in about equal measure but if I have to take a Desert-Island choice, I’d probably say musician first, just because it’s kind of not as solitary and I’m quite a social animal. It means I get to play with other people sometimes and just have a laugh. It’s a passion, music. Writing is a compulsion, but music is a passion. I’ve always written things since I could write. I just thought there must be something abnormal about me that I wrote things and kept diaries and stuff like that. It was unusual in my time. I never went to university. I left school when I was 15. I probably had learning difficulties. I think they were calling it Aspergers. A  little bit of that there…I was diagnosed as such. 'Yes, you’re on the spectrum', and I thought maybe I was on the border, and they said, 'no, you’re over it y’know’ (chuckles). That was my former partner, but it taught me a lot of things about myself. I’d say, 'Why can’t I do this?' and she’d say, 'because of your dyspraxia'. 'Dyspraxia, what’s that?' and she explained to me what it was and it’s when I’m not coordinating things. But they used to hit you in school and shout at you and call you stupid, because that’s what they did in those days. I just accepted that. That’s what they did. I think they call it neurodivergent now and everyone’s kind of got it. But I don’t want to have it. I’d love to be normal and then I’d be saying the right things. It was a nightmare when I was a teenager trying to meet girls…

Ria: You love to 'be normal' but then you’ve got the eyepatch - which, I kind of think of is a statement!

Martin: (Removes eyepatch) It’s cos I got a bad eye! I’ve only got one eye that works and then I’ve had this eye (points to said eye) fixed recently so the eyesight’s much better in this one. But this one (point to the eye patched eye) we’ve lost the sight of it and somedays, it’s a bit painful and red. 

Ria: Detached retina?

Martin: (Gasps) That’s what I’ve had! I had a detachment that wasn’t fixed in time because the day I was meant to be having it fixed, I collapsed and died briefly. It was a brain seizure, due to an insufficiency of potassium phosphate which is an essential electrolyte. I was sort of hungover at the same time and also exhausted from work and one morning, I just woke up and went out (tilts head back). And the same woman, who was luckily around, she thought she was ringing up an ambulance to pick up my body because I had just stopped breathing and everything. As they were coming up the stairs, I woke up and said, 'Who are you?' and it took me a little while to get back…there’s a big, long story, during which time the chief neurosurgeon found out I have a very unusual brain! Incredibly developed on one side and that’s what explains my strange, very good memory! But that’s another story… I hadn’t done anything. I wasn’t taking drugs or y’know, drinking a gallon of whisky in the back of a car or something - I was washed out from too much work. This was about ten years ago.

Ria: Would you say that’s kind of altered your brain chemistry in the sense of how you make music having that sort of proper-like death experience?

Martin: Not at all. It hasn’t had any effect apart from the fact 2 weeks after I had this experience, I wasn’t afraid of death. I thought I would go somewhere good after this. So, I really have been briefly dead. A lot of people say that I was sort of elated. The neurosurgeon said I probably have some sort of emotional catharsis. In actual fact, we went to Waitrose, and the sun came out and it was like a biblical thing…like 'wow, we’re at Waitrose!' It was a bit peculiar!

Ria: Touching on that idea of death and the afterlife, I was going to ask what was that experience like?

Martin: I didn’t get the classic white tunnel of light or the staircase or anything like that. I just felt somehow that I was going under a beautiful green sea - but it was momentary! I don’t remember after that, but I do remember when I woke up, thinking it’s all going to be alright, and it doesn’t matter if I do die, and I felt like that for a while. Then after a couple of weeks, I would say, my normal sort of fear of death came back ‘cos you have to have that. I just got on with my work. It didn’t change me as such, but it made me be a little bit more careful of myself ‘cos I was 60 at this time, and I still thought I was Superman. I still thought I could get up and work round the clock and all the rest of it, and now I’ve learned to recognise signs of tiredness - like if my body says rest, I will rest. And I guess that just happens. I don’t like it much but as you can see (gets up) I’m walking around. I can still bounce up and down a lot, but I can’t walk everywhere!

Ria: You have a very distinct sound (jangly-pop, and lo-fi) which is what I always associate with your discography. How did you know ‘what fits the groove’ in relation to the sort of person you wanted to come across as being an artist? How did you realise that you had stumbled across a unique sound that was your, and yours only?

Martin: I didn’t really. I liked the Beatles, they were the kind of benchmark. Well, there were a bunch of pop groups, say, pop that was made between 1964 and 1968, when everything had to be packed into about 3 minutes. You could have a symphony providing it was packed in 3 minutes, and it constantly was, and if you look in the charts, say May of 1967, you’ll find probably Penny Lane and in the same charts as Pictures of Louis by the Who, Waterloo Sunset by the Kinks…and all manner of brilliant songs, all in one Top  20 chart, and you think, pop was better then. So, it’s not so much a sound, it’s a feel. There was an optimism. Bear in mind, I was only, between then, 11 and 15 when all of this was going on, so it really sunk into me! After about 1968, I thought things were getting worse. I came into the game when it was glam rock - I loved all that. But it was always the song, which was good for me, you know, I liked the song!

I had limited facilities, and in the earlier days, the record companies were the gateway to the studios ‘cos studios were expensive. You couldn’t make a great record in a cheap studio. I was saying, 'Can’t we make this stuff at home so the record company can’t tell you what to do?' And as the kit got better, I learnt to use it better. I did go back into big studios, once people recognised I had song-writing talent. I was invited to bigger studios, but I still had to have some bearded git telling me what to do. I just thought, 'No, I’m right and you’re wrong'. I brought my own cheap mic in, and I said, 'We got to make this record, it’s going to sound a lot better through a cheap mic!' They said, 'we can do that on the desk', and I said, 'no! Use the cheap mic'. In the end, I thought, 'I should be in charge of this. I should make my own decisions about music'.

I’ve just gotten better at it in my own isolation. I don’t do too many drop-ins, as I learn the part, so it’s made me a slightly better musician. I’m a bit of a clumsy musician, I’m not a virtuoso on any particular instrument. I’m not particularly interested of whether I’m a good musician or not. I don’t like Fenders and Gibsons very much either. I like Höfner’s and Rickenbacker’s, because they sound like my 60’s heroes. I’ve got about 3 Höfner guitars, and a 12-string Rickenbacker hidden somewhere.

Ria: I stumbled upon this comparison which I really feel does sum you up. Someone wrote how you’re this 'tuneful British eccentric' and your humour 'rivals Monty Python and Bonzo Dog Band' - when I saw that connection, I was like, 'hell yeah!'…

Martin: The Bonzo Dog Band were nearly as much of an influence for me as the Beatles. Through that I got to like ‘30s and ‘20s music and learnt how those songs were written because I still play a few sometimes. I’ve met one or two of the Bonzo’s aswell! I met Rodney Slater and Roger Ruskin Spear. They were sort of comedy heroes. I discovered them when I was 16/17. Monty Python…all that stuff - that was really me. The Beatles, the Who, the Kinks...and the Small Faces. Ray Davies is another guy, and it’s funny, he wasn’t a huge influence on me initially - the Beatles were and Pete Townsend. Gradually, I came round to Ray Davies. 

Ria: You have a song called, 'A Song for Syd Barrett' - was Syd a big influence?

Martin: Not really, I liked the idea of Syd Barrett. The thing that I got about Syd Barrett was around 69/70, when I was listening to his solo albums...The Madcap Laughs and also the first Pink Floyd album. The thing was that he sang in an English accent, and he wasn’t twanging along because everyone had to sing in an American accent, even when I was in a glam rock band. I just wanted to write English-sounding songs because I thought they were funny and good. So, I will defiably sing in an English accent. You can understand it better sometimes…

Ria: Relating to that whole idea, I think part of the reason why Cleaners from Venus is such an appealing project is because it channels that typical English sarcasm and wit. You’ve carved out your niche in the musical realm, and I was going to ask, how does it feel to be kind of synonymous with the typical quirks and charms of the quintessential British gentleman? 

Martin: It’s not achieved, I didn’t decide to do it, but I think I’ve grown into it as I’ve got older. People just thought I was pretentious when I was younger. Men of my own age and older didn’t like me. I was probably, from some aspects, reasonably good looking as well - I didn’t realise that. I realise looking back at my younger self, I was probably a threat to these sort of bearded blues, prog rock types. They did feel threatened, men felt threatened - they’ve got worse as well! 

Ria: How do you find your next source of inspiration? I know you’re from Wivenhoe -

Martin: (Laughs) It’s the town that psychiatry forgot!

Ria: (Chuckles) You have a whole song attributed to it! I really like that you’re deeply introspective about 'the everyday' and I wanted to know how you find that next inspiration? 

Martin: Yeah, I write about the things that are around me. I (points to the window) 'I just heard the train go by, and there’s a guy on the corner giving a goodbye kiss by the train' and that sort of thing. I just put that in like I’m taking a photograph. I didn’t sort of take a political stance like Hogarth, I sketched a thing in and write a song about it. That’s mostly what I do but sometimes I just have fun! (notices my top) is that Young Marble Giants? I know one of em. I know Stuart Moxton. I’ve done gigs with him! He’s in touch with me occasionally. We all know each other, there’s only a few of us..

Ria: You’ve become rather big on the Spotify algorithm. I found you through my Spotify algorithm so that’s probably why you’re amassing quite a following amongst people my age. You’re coming into prominence!

Martin: I know! Johnny, my manager, is always saying 'Martin, you’re not this little, cult indie thing anymore -you’re getting really big!' 

Ria: Do you know how many monthly listeners you have on Spotify?

Martin: Yes I do! I do actually check Spotify - it’s about, I don’t know 270-something…

Ria: 277,000. Only a Shadow is at 9.6 million!

Martin: That’s really annoying some of the people at big record companies I think, because they’re thinking how is this guy doing this? I don’t give in to music papers and I don’t send review copies to gobshite magazines.

Ria: I kind of like that - it’s not fate but you’re putting something out and you’re just letting where the tide takes you…

Martin: That’s where I started 40 years ago because I couldn’t make the music in the music industry, so I thought, 'I’d just have to do it without the music industry!' I thought fame and money were like these 2 princesses on the hill and that’s what everybody wants. But really, the girl next door that you’d always loved and was quietly pretty and not very glamourous, was the music. So, why don’t I just settle down with that and just, whatever happens it will probably be alright. I chose the music. Everything followed after that.

Ria: You spoke about the human condition  and brushes with the afterlife - with other interviews I’ve done, we’ve also weirdly touched on such issues. Talking to you about the death you’ve had and that green sea, I don’t know but there’s something about this calibre of musicians where there’s some pattern of existentialism I’m seeing - there seems to be a recurrent theme here?

Martin: Maybe music wakes that up because it’s very common. With the best things I’ve written that people like or I’ve done, people say, ‘where do you get that?' I say, 'I think I’m just a conductor for it, it comes from somewhere else.' But trying to tell people who are novices, it just doesn’t happen while you’re walking around doing stuff,  you have to be at the workstation: the keyboard or the guitar or in that sort of state…and that doesn’t mean, hanging around and waiting till you’re out of your head then sitting around late at night waiting for it to come because that’s less likely to happen then. I just treat it like 9-5, Ria. Every so often I go see a psychic medium, maybe once every 2 years - someone who is in touch with the other world. I don’t get tit to say what will happen to me in the future but to get someone else’s outside view of me. Someone who doesn’t know me (smiles). It's the mundanity I look for. What I look for in a reading really, is the background to the current situation. I’m not so interested in the future, I want to know what I’ve been doing because very often I don’t! I’ve been travelling along in this vehicle, I want to talk to someone who can see the vehicle from the outside and tell me where I’ve been.

Ria: Do you believe in past lives?

Martin: Oh, memories of a past life I had one or two myself. I couldn’t explain why I believed I’d been in Scotland before. There are some place where I’d go to in the world… but especially Scotland! I went to this place, and I thought, 'that alley will go up there and it will open up into a square'. That’s still a mystery to me. Not always. If I am psychic it is very underdeveloped, and I haven’t tried to develop it. But certainly to do with the writing and the inspiration and the drive of things, I do sometimes think at least half of it is from somewhere else or I am discovering something that I maybe knew. There’s another thing that I believe, which is, sometimes you’re remembering things from the future. You might meet somebody and instinctively like them, like I’ve known them a long time. I mean this is a bit like that, but there’s people I’ve met, and I’ve known their faces,. I know who they are, and I know what they like. It’s not women, it’s geezers. 'I like this guy. I’m going to get on with this guy. Who does he remind me of?', but it’s just I’ve known him before.

My closing remark? ...

Martin Newell is a man of rare integrity, defined by his refusal to conform. With jangling charm, poetic wit, and frank introspections, he reminds us that the most enduring art comes from those who resist concession and are able to embrace their eccentricities with acceptance. It’s those very quirks and unconventional choices which have helped catapult Cleaners from Venus into cult stardom - and I for one, am very grateful to have shared a few laughs, and truly discover the man behind the music!

Ria Sagoo

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Edited by Alice Beard

Images courtesy of Cleaners From Venus/ Martin Newell