frontman

Duvetyne, or in this case the alternative spelling Duvateen, is a twill fabric with a matt finish that makes it ideal for blocking out light.

In its black fire-retardant form, it has widespread use in the film industry to ensure the right controlling effect.

In the first season of the ­original Star Trek for instance, exterior shots of space, “the final frontier”, were created by gluing glitter to it.

As you’ll discover, it was also used by The Afghan Whigs’ frontman Greg Dulli — and now it’s the name of a pivotal song on the band’s tenth studio album, Soft Control.

It is 40 years since he formed the Whigs in Cincinnati, Ohio, later moving to Seattle to become Sub Pop label mates with grunge pioneers Nirvana, Mudhoney and Soundgarden.

But Soft Control, their first LP in four years, has to be one of their most urgent, textured and captivating efforts yet.

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When he calls from America’s West Coast, it’s the first time I’ve spoken to Dulli since 2008.

He was in London then during an extended Whigs’ hiatus, promoting The Gutter Twins’ album Saturnalia, made with the late Mark Lanegan, one of the grunge movement’s defining singers both with the Screaming Trees and as a solo artist.

Lanegan died aged 57 in 2022, a year after battling a severe case of Covid at his adopted home of Killarney, Ireland. “Mark is someone I miss . . . every day,” Dulli tells me.

He returns to the subject in hand and provides a fulsome explanation of his song Duvateen.

“There was a time in my life when I put it on all my windows,” he admits. “I kept my house in permanent night, living the vampire life.

“I had a friend in the movie business so I went with her to get some. I saw what it could do for me.”

So, what DID it do for you? I venture with a degree of trepidation.

“It was decades ago and I just didn’t have any use for sunlight or for being outside,” replies Dulli, before adding with a knowing sigh, “It was clearly not a healthy time for me.”

By calling the piano-led song Duvateen, Dulli, who delivers the lyrics with white-knuckle intensity, is using it as a metaphor for the infinite void — or, if you like, ­mortality.

He admits: “The symbolic nature of it is not lost on me.”

With lyrics that span his childhood, “teacher gonna chase us down the hall”, to the grave, “dig somebody’s hole”, it encapsulates the circle of life and serves as the album’s heartbeat.

Its sound is in stark contrast to the more rock-heavy numbers, drawing this response from Dulli: “When I get a piano song like that, it’s an exciting moment in my life.

“It’s the sort of thing I could play to my mom.” As for the idea that Duvateen is the album’s centrepiece, he says: “You write songs and, as some emerge, they state their alpha-ness.

“Duvateen got my attention very quickly. It started out differently — a bit like Honky Tonk Women for a minute — but I completely changed it.

“It was one of those songs when you feel as if your hand is being guided from beyond.”

I suggest to Dulli that listening to Soft Control’s ten tracks “feels like an emotional rollercoaster”.

“Well, life in general is an emotional rollercoaster for me,” he replies. “It would stand to reason that any art I put forth would be a similar thing.”

Next the single-minded singer describes his path to the album: “We did a Covid record that came out in ’22, then we toured it for a year.

“Then I took some time off and travelled. I didn’t start working on a new record until ’25.

“But once I began writing songs again, they were happening fast and furious. I did 20, 22. Cut them down to ten. And here’s the ten.”

The result is a concise, dynamic punch of an album. “I like 40 minutes or less and I like ten as a round number,” says Dulli. “I’ve been landing on it for the past four or five records.

“They’re like a little family and sometimes they waiting for a little brother or sister to show up. I wrote the final song, Loose Talk, earlier this year.”

The album comes bursting out of the blocks with taut Jungle Roux and riff-heavy House Of I.

Elsewhere, My Lover leans into the band’s R&B credentials while stately The Deepest Part Of The Darkest Shadow serves as a companion piece to Duvateen.

There’s a song called Memphis, Texas, not as strange as you think because there is such place, along with the famous Memphis in ­Tennessee where Elvis made his name.

The album ends with A Simulation, 70 seconds of ambient beauty segueing into one of Dulli’s most tender vocals and a gorgeous string arrangement.

He calls it one of his “most existential songs”. “I get overwhelmed by injustice, sadness, and people and animals being hurt. I know I’m not the only one wondering, ‘What the f*** are we doing here?’”

But now, before we go any further, it’s time to tell Dulli’s story beginning with his teenage dream of fronting a band, inspired by a legendary psychedelic soul band.

He recalls: “I went to see The 5th Dimension. When (singer) Billy Davis Jr. took off at the end of Let the Sunshine In, it was the most electrifying thing I’d ever seen. I knew I wanted to be a lead singer.”

Having dropped out of studying film at the University Of Cincinnati and flirted with the idea of becoming an actor, Dulli formed his first band, The Black Republicans, in the mid-Eighties.

Did they find it hard to get noticed at first? I ask. “When you’re 20 years old, nothing’s hard, man,” he answers. “You’re literally immortal.

“We all had regular jobs. I drove a taxi. I cooked in a restaurant. I painted houses, put roofs on houses. I was a roadie-type guy at the big theatre in town.”

Crucial to Dulli’s trajectory was the recruitment to The Black Republicans of bassist John Curley, the only Whigs founder member still by his side today.

He says: “We would see this bearded dude at our shows. We all thought he was about 40.

“Then one night after the show, he walked up and introduced himself to me, saying, ‘I’m better than your bass player.’ John came by our rehearsal place and played his way into the band.”

Dulli describes what happened next: “I moved to Arizona for six months and wrote a bunch of songs.

“Then I came back to Cincinnati and started the Whigs with John, Rick McCollum (guitar) and Steve Earle (drums).”

He remembers the Midwestern city on the Ohio River being a “great jumping-off point” because so many towns “weren’t that far away from us”.

Dulli rattles off the places in the manner of Johnny Cash singing I’ve Been Everywhere — “Louisville, Lexington, Kentucky, Columbus, Athens, Cleveland, Toledo, Detroit Chicago, Indianapolis, St. Louis, Pittsburgh.”

But most inspirational to Dulli was a venue in Newport, Kentucky, just across the river from Cincinnati, The Jockey Club.

“Back in the day, the jazz dudes Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Sammy Davis Jr. played there,” he says.

“Then it fell into disrepair before opening again as a punk rock club. When I got to college, my roommates were deep in that scene and that’s how I got into The Jockey Club.

“I saw The Damned, Ramones, Johnny Thunders, Violent Femmes, Hüsker Dü, The Replacements, Killing Joke, so many great people.

“And everybody in the area cut their teeth there. If you were in a band, you played The Jockey Club and you played it multiple times a month.”

In 1989, the Whigs self-released debut album Big Top Halloween caught the attention of Seattle-based Sub Pop’s boss, Jonathan Poneman, who offered them a contract.

Suddenly, they were label mates with grunge pioneers Nirvana and Mudhoney — but they were a very different beast.

Dulli says: “We were outsiders in more ways than one. We were from Cincinnati and we weren’t from the Northwest.

“Our covers were R&B covers instead of Stooges’. I love The Stooges but we had bonded over The Temptations. At our first rehearsal, we played Psychedelic Shack.

“We formed in October, 1986, and played our first gig in January the following year — and I guarantee you we played Psychedelic Shack at that show.”

Dulli was also infatuated with a Midwestern powerhouse in the shape of genre-defying Minneapolis-based Prince.

“We weren’t trying to sound like Prince,” he says. “But you could grab elements of him and stick them in your quiver.”

So what was it like heading to Seattle and mixing with Kurt Cobain and Co?

“It was like seeing people our age doing cool things,” says Dulli. “When Nirvana knocked Michael Jackson off No.1 on Billboard, I thought, ‘Wow! One of our own is at the top’.

“It was an exciting time, certainly in Seattle, where we had a front-row seat to it all.

“We loved all those guys and we loved those bands, played with everybody, and got to know everybody.”

When it came to meeting his biggest buddy from the scene, Mark Lanegan, it was via a different route.

“I met Mark in Boston when the Screaming Trees, Primus and the Whigs were on the same bill but we didn’t start hanging out until around 2000.”

The Whigs enjoyed a stellar Nineties, navigating their way through the music industry “machine” on various labels but coming up with at least three first-rate albums, Congregation (1992), Gentlemen (1993) and 1965 (1998).

In 2001, frazzled Dulli decided to take a step back and the Whigs disbanded. Aside from a brief recording reunion in 2006, the ­hiatus lasted ten years.

He says: “I had absolutely no intention of being in the Whigs ever again. In my creative life, I’m so proud of the things I did during that time — The Twilight Singers and The Gutter Twins.

“But when the door opened to the Whigs again, I was a different person and ready to step through it.”

Dulli remembers the times he would pass through his home town of Cincinnati where bassist Curley and his wife were raising their two daughters. “We were all pretty cooked from the Whigs experience but John would come to the shows and would get up on stage and play with either one of my bands — and everybody loved it.”

In 2010, when Dulli was on a solo tour, Curley did his usual thing but was then persuaded to do the next night in Chicago, a five-hour drive away.

He says: “It was the first time in 11 years that anyone had seen John Curley and I on stage together outside of Cincinnati.

“When I introduced him, the ovation was so unexpectedly loud and long. That, effectively, was the catalyst for the Whigs reforming.”

Since getting back together, they have made four studio albums, Do To The Beast (2014), In Spades (2017), How Do You Burn? and the imminent Soft Control.

The current line-up is Dulli, Curley, multi-instrumentalist Rick G. Nelson, Christopher Thorn (guitars) and Bryan Lee Brown (drummer who recently replaced Patrick Keeler who tours with Jack White).

Forty years on since the Whigs formed, Dulli says: “I’m still smiling at my good fortune. Still putting out music, playing live, the whole works. I’m a lucky fella.”

He accepts that he used to be “an angry young man” but, at 61, he has found a degree of peace.

“I had an imaginary chip on my shoulder that I needed to get rid of,” he says.

“You can tame yourself but you can always go back to the wild side — just in case you need to explore.”

It’s fair to say that The Afghan Whigs’ latest album is one of his walks on the wild side.

THE AFGHAN WHIGS

Soft Control

★★★★☆

On Sunday, Mexico will take on England at Mexico City’s famed Estadio Azteca for a round of 16 World Cup match in one of the most hotly anticipated contests of the tournament so far.

But days before anything goes down on the pitch, Mexico and England fans have already started bickering with each other online — from cheeky jabs to heated debates about which country does beans on toast better.

Joining in on the soccer smack talk are two of the biggest rock stars from the countries — Liam Gallagher of Oasis fame and Maná frontman Fher Olvera.

The beef kicked off Wednesday morning when Gallagher replied to a fan question on X about the possibility of England playing Mexico on their home turf before the Three Lions sealed their win against DR Congo.

“Liam how do you feel about England being crushed at the azteca,” the X user @angelchilddemo asked.

Gallagher answered by writing, “I think we’ll beat Mexico 5-0.”

The “Wonderwall” singer’s prediction was so audacious that Olvera took it upon himself to publicly respond with an Instagram video Wednesday evening.

“The singer of Oasis said that Mexico will lose to England 5-0,” Olvera said in Spanish with a giant grin on his face while draped in a Mexican flag. “No way! Check yourself dude! 5 to 0? Calm down! We’ll see you Sunday to see how it goes, dude. Don’t play with me.”

By Thursday morning Gallagher amended his prediction for the match.

“[L]et me just clear someting up I was obv kidding when I said England will beat Mexico 5-0,” the English rocker wrote in an X post. “I reckon it’ll be more like 3-0 to England.”

While Olvera and Gallagher will be at odds over the next few days, the two singers shared parallel experiences as Maná was one of the bestselling Mexican rock bands of the ‘90s and Oasis was the bestselling British rock group of the ‘90s.

Maná already made its mark on this year’s World Cup when it played its 1992 hit “Oye Mi Amor” at the tournament’s opening ceremony in Mexico City ahead of the Mexico-South Africa match on June 11.

Sunday’s contest between England and Mexico also marks the first time the English side will play at Estadio Azteca since the 1986 World Cup when they lost to eventual-champions Argentina in a quarterfinal game infamous for Diego Maradona‘s “Hand of God” goal.

The last time Mexico and England squared off in a World Cup setting was during the 1966 World Cup in England where the Three Lions beat El Tri 2-0 in a group stage match at Wembley Stadium.

Ben Gibbard remembers late 2023 as a time of competing realities.

Onstage, the frontman of Death Cab for Cutie and the Postal Service was thriving as his two bands toured together to mark the 20th anniversaries of Death Cab’s “Transatlanticism” and the Postal Service’s “Give Up.”

Behind the scenes, Gibbard’s personal life was in shambles.

“I was getting off phone calls — very difficult phone calls — 20 minutes before going on in an arena,” he says. The singer and his wife, photographer Rachel Demy, were in the middle of an agonizing breakup that would eventually lead to divorce. Yet audiences in the thousands were turning up nightly to see Gibbard reanimate the peak-millennial classics that made him one of indie rock’s defining stars.

“I’d just tell myself, You’re a professional — you’re gonna go out there and do it, and no one’s gonna know,” he recalls. “It was all waiting for me when I got offstage, of course. But for two hours I was able to disconnect and be a performer, which was incredibly …” Gibbard, 49, trails off into a laugh.

“I don’t know if it was healthy,” he says. “But it was helpful.”

Two and a half years later, that split-screen experience — “this idea of how we compartmentalize our pain or our grief or our trauma,” as Gibbard puts it now — forms a through line of Death Cab’s ruminative new album, “I Built You a Tower.” Due Friday from Anti Records, where the group landed after leaving its longtime home of Atlantic amid a corporate shake-up, the LP sets thoughts of broken fences and never-ending storms against tuneful arrangements that can churn, shimmer or chime.

“I pledge myself to your misery / I kneel at its throne,” Gibbard sings in his still-boyish tenor over the sleek new wave groove of “Trap Door,” “Respecting your proclivity / To languish on your own.” In the fuzzed-out “Envy the Birds,” the frontman recounts an argument between two lovers “spraying bullets of grievances”; the driving “Riptides” is narrated by a guy “too tired to end the war.”

“This record is definitely the result of a divorce,” Gibbard says plainly during a recent visit to Los Angeles from his home in Seattle. “But I didn’t want to make a score-settling record or an angry record. This wasn’t an opportunity to defame someone or make this about how I’d been wronged. People drift apart — relationships don’t work. And I think how that’s affected me at almost 50 is a very different mindset than I found myself in when I was 33 or whatever the last time it happened.”

Gibbard means his first divorce, in 2012, from the actor and singer Zooey Deschanel — a split that inspired Death Cab’s 2015 album “Kintsugi,” on which one song asks, “Was I in your way when the cameras turned to face you?” and another chides an unnamed celebrity: “You’ll never have to hear the word ‘no’ if you keep all your friends on the payroll.”

“There’s some gnarly stuff on that record,” says Gibbard, who’d moved to L.A. to be with Deschanel then promptly left as soon as their marriage collapsed. “It’s not exactly a kind album.”

Bassist Nick Harmer, who formed Death Cab with Gibbard in the late ’90s after the two met as students at Western Washington University, agrees that “I Built You a Tower” represents a shift in perspective. “There’s so much more self-examination — and so much more self-indictment,” he says. (Death Cab’s other members are drummer Jason McGerr, guitarist Dave Depper and keyboardist Zac Rae.)

Which isn’t to say that Gibbard entirely resists placing blame. In “Trap Door” he sings about “a trap door in your heart and a button on your desk well-worn from being pressed.”

The frontman says that in recent years he’d “tried to get away from using the word ‘heart’ because that had been a touchstone for so many of our early records.” Yet this line seemed worth holding onto when it came to him.

“I Googled it to see: Did I already write this?” he says, laughing. “Or is there a very popular song called ‘There’s a Trap Door in Your Heart,’ and now I’m just rewriting it? We’ve made a lot of songs at this point — you gotta check your work.”

Indeed, “I Built You a Tower” is Death Cab’s 11th studio LP. After the band’s previous album, 2022’s “Asphalt Meadows,” fulfilled its deal with Atlantic, Death Cab reupped with the major label for one more record, Gibbard says, based on its strong relationship with the company’s then-CEO, Julie Greenwald.

“Julie was our shepherd and our protector the whole time we were there,” the singer says of Death Cab’s nearly two-decade run at Atlantic, which began with 2005’s Grammy-nominated “Plans.” Yet just days after they reached an agreement for “Tower,” Greenwald was fired and replaced by a new leader, Elliot Grainge, about whom the band felt less than optimistic.

Ben Gibbard

(Cielito Mercado Vivas / For The Times)

“We weren’t given the impression that Elliot had spent a lot of time with ‘Transatlanticism’ in college,” Gibbard says of the 32-year-old exec, who made his name signing rappers like Ice Spice and Trippie Redd. With Greenwald’s help, Gibbard says, Death Cab negotiated an exit from Atlantic with ownership of the new album.

Did Grainge try to persuade the band to stay?

“Never heard a word,” Gibbard says.

In an email, Grainge (whose father is Universal Music Group Chairman and Chief Executive Lucian Grange) said that Death Cab’s music “has meant a great deal” to him.

“Working together may not have been in the cards for us; however, that does not lessen my enthusiasm for the band,” he wrote. “They have delivered an impressive body of work over their decades-long career, and I am looking forward to their new music.”

Death Cab’s Harmer says he and his bandmates “talked for half a beat” about putting out “Tower” on their own before thinking better of the idea.

“We’re not businesspeople,” Gibbard says. “Music is the only thing we know how to do.”

At a friend’s wedding in 2024, the frontman had been seated next to the musician Allison Crutchfield, who was then heading up Anti’s A&R department; early this year, Death Cab announced that it had signed to the indie label, whose other acts include Fleet Foxes and Madi Diaz.

This summer, the band will tour behind “I Built You a Tower,” including two shows in August at L.A.’s Greek Theatre. After the “Transatlanticism”/”Give Up” anniversary outing — not to mention a subsequent tour on which the group looked back at “Plans” — Gibbard is “very ready to play some new material,” he says.

Doing the hits was fun. “But at a certain point,” he adds, “it’s really about moving ahead.”