Jens Lekman. Photo: Getty
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I’ve been remixed so many times – you hand yourself over and wait to see what they do

I like it when musicians break out of the bands they’re supposed to belong to, the box they’ve been put in.

Ben and I were both surprised a few weeks ago to see an unexpected Tweet from the US rapper Tyler, The Creator saying he was listening to our first single “Night and Day”, a minimalist indie cover of the Cole Porter jazz standard recorded back in 1982. This was followed up by an interview where he said that he had almost asked me to sing a guest vocal on his new album:

“One of my favourite songs of all time is ‘Night and Day’, and I just love how it sounds… I wanted her on ‘November’, so that first singing part on ‘November’ was a reference to her, but I never went through with it.”

I say we were surprised, but then I listened to the track and I can see what he means – the opening verse has a vocal with a muted, mellow melancholy to it. I could have sung that, it would have worked. Anyway, those moments when musical opposites meet are the moments when the magic happens. Songs are partly about expression but just as much about connection – which is why we need them. It’s about seeing links between genres, hearing echoes that float through time and space, connecting songs and singers and listeners. When you’ve been remixed as much as I have – handing yourself over to someone else to see what they’ll do with you – it’s impossible not to be excited, especially when you get taken somewhere new and fabulous by Todd Terry or Underworld, Ada or Dillinja.

I think about all the guesting and collaborating I’ve done over the years, from Paul Weller to Massive Attack, Tevo Howard to the Go-Betweens. It used to be considered surprising, but nowadays it’s so much the norm that it’s a rare new track which doesn’t “feat.” someone else on vocals. And that’s a good thing. I like it when musicians break out of the bands they’re supposed to belong to, the box they’ve been put in, shaking off the label that’s been stuck on their back.

Tonight I’m here to see Jens Lekman play at Koko in Camden. In the 1970s, when it was the Music Machine, I saw Swell Maps here, and in the 1980s it was Camden Palace, where I saw Prince. Jens is quite like me: a bit bedsit, a bit disco queen. On the one hand he’s a ukulele-playing troubadour; on the other, he samples Ralph MacDonald, the Stylistics and Charles Mingus. His latest album is as dancey as it is introspective, and perhaps because of this, we’ve worked together a lot.

In 2009 we covered The Magnetic Fields song “Yeah, Oh Yeah!”, recording a slightly funereal version of this darkly funny Stephin Merritt murder ballad in a hotel room, on guitar and omnichord. Then he sang with me on Lee Hazlewood’s “Come on Home to Me” for my album Love and its Opposite. On that same record I had a song called “Oh, the Divorces!” in which I’d sneakily used Jens and his songwriting as a youthful counterpoint to my older, world-weary take on love and romance: “Oh Jens, oh Jens, your songs seem to look through a different lens/ You’re still so young/ love ends just as easy as it’s begun/ Now there’s kids to tell, and legal bills, and custody…”

Jens returned the compliment and wrote a verse back to me, in his song “Become Someone Else’s”: “What Tracey sang about me was true/ It all depends what lens you’re looking through, maybe/ But all I know of love I learned from you, Tracey”. Even that wasn’t the end of the story. In 2016, I joined him on a duet called “Hotwire the Ferris Wheel”, in which we play a couple on a night out who decide to “do something illegal”, breaking into the fairground for an illicit turn on the ferris wheel. Once again, we sing about singing : “I say, ‘If you’re gonna write a song about this then please don’t make it a sad song.’”

We’ve been having a conversation with each other for the past seven years, through song, about the process of songwriting. As I watch him on stage tonight, I think about how no collaboration leaves you unchanged; you always take away from it something new,
a slightly changed perspective, a little bit of fresh air.

Tracey Thorn is a musician and writer, best known as one half of Everything but the Girl. She writes the fortnightly “Off the Record” column for the New Statesman. Her latest book is Naked at the Albert Hall.

This article first appeared in the 07 September 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Corbyn’s next move

Photo: Getty
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The Universal Credit nightmare shows there’s nothing more dangerous than a good idea

The hardest thing to build into any benefits IT project is common sense.

The trouble with Universal Credit is that everyone thinks it’s a good idea. Labour has long backed the concept of rolling multiple benefits into one payment but studiously refused to implement it when in power. Why? Because it takes all the mess and complication that claimants have to navigate and transfers that to the government. It’s like Whitehall volunteering to find your next house, sort out the survey and fix the best mortgage for you. It sounds brilliant – and that should make you suspicious.

“I think it’s quite a good idea, having it all in one go,” says Jo Whitaker when I speak to her at home in Moulton, North Yorkshire. Unfortunately, the reality fell short. Diagnosed with breast cancer in late 2016, Whitaker had to give up her cleaning business as she underwent chemotherapy. She was told – oh, happy day! – that her local jobcentre was one of those testing Universal Credit ahead of its countrywide roll-out.

There was a catch. In order for her to claim Universal Credit, her existing child and working tax credits had to be stopped for six weeks, while her eligibility for the single monthly payment was assessed. She created an online “journal” to record her income and provide supporting evidence and was told that she could apply for an advance, which would have to be paid back later, to cover the time she spent waiting.

She received her payments in November and December, then ran into a problem. Whitaker, a mother of three, owns a house jointly with her ex-husband, but it was on the market and had no tenants. (She was renting elsewhere.) This seems to have given the jobcentre computer conniptions: did Whitaker have an asset that meant her housing benefit should be reduced, or not?

She received a demand in her “journal” a few days before Christmas: show us that you’re paying rent, or we’ll stop your benefits. “I was on my fifth round of chemo and I wasn’t well at all,” she says. “After Christmas, I couldn’t get hold of anyone to give me a straight answer. This went on for about a month.” The January payment didn’t come. Whitaker spent hours on the phone – her mother, listening to our call, chimes in to amplify this point – and she eventually received a letter admitting that it was a mistake to withhold her benefit. “I can remember being on the phone, crying my eyes out,” she says. “Chemo, it does your brain in. It was the last thing I needed. It was an absolute nightmare.”

Yet Jo Whitaker’s story is not a particularly extreme one. She is, she says, lucky to have a great support network, and she never felt truly helpless. Her business experience helped her budget and cope with rectifying the jobcentre’s error. I’ll also admit that when I heard she had a house, I thought: hang on, why is she claiming benefits when she has an asset? As she talked, the situation became clear. But this is the kind of detail that computer systems struggle to deal with: the hardest thing to build into any IT project is common sense.

Many aren’t as resilient as Whitaker. New figures from the Department for Work and Pensions show that around a quarter of new claimants wait more than six weeks for their first payment. And because Universal Credit is paid to tenants, rather than directly to landlords, it has significantly increased the number of people falling behind on their rent.

There’s a cruel double bind here. Most people claim benefits precisely because they are in difficult personal circumstances. They have lost their job, got sick, or broken up with a partner and had to move house. Those same circumstances make dealing with bureaucracy more challenging. When the computer says no, it doesn’t just take away one of half a dozen benefits; it can disrupt the only assistance people are getting.

The quiet unhappiness of Jo Whitaker’s story should worry the government. In 2015, the possibility of cuts to tax credits caused enough concern on the doorstep and in constituency surgeries that even Tory MPs quailed. George Osborne’s resulting fudge was to kick back the cuts, promising that “savings” would be found anyway as more people moved to Universal Credit.

The idea that this can be accomplished without people feeling noticeably poorer is optimistic. That it can be accomplished using the existing IT system is even more so. Universal Credit should be a pragmatic project, but it has always been politicised: first by Iain Duncan Smith’s evangelical insistence that he would “make work pay” (even though 60 per cent of UK households in poverty have at least one member who works) and then by his flouncing anger that the project was being used as a cover for “salami-slicing” the welfare budget. IDS must have been the last man in Britain to work out that Osborne wasn’t just pretending to be into austerity; he really loved it.

In 2013, the National Audit Office found that the Universal Credit programme was struggling with a “tight timescale, unfamiliar project management approach and lack of a detailed plan”. The Labour MP Margaret Hodge, then the chair of the public accounts committee, concluded that most of the £425m spent so far would have to be written off. The programme was “reset”.

That, in effect, is what Citizens Advice wants to happen again. The organisation is calling for a pause on the roll-out, which is scheduled to accelerate next month. “[It] is a disaster waiting to happen,” says its chief executive, Gillian Guy. “People face severe consequences, like visits from bailiffs and eviction, when they can’t pay their bills.”

Like Jo Whitaker, she believes that the “principles behind Universal Credit are sound”. But that won’t be a consolation to anyone left cold, hungry or homeless over Christmas. In politics, there’s nothing more dangerous than something that everyone thinks is a good idea. 

Helen Lewis is deputy editor of the New Statesman. She has presented BBC Radio 4’s Week in Westminster and is a regular panellist on BBC1’s Sunday Politics.

This article first appeared in the 21 September 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The revenge of the left