The Wrong Boyfriends: "Our acoustic sets were crap. Really, really crap"

“So that was what the first line on the album was about – saying ‘no’ to a prostitute in Brussels.” On the basis of a soundbite like that, it’d be all too easy to get the wrong impression about three-piece The Wrong Boyfriends, or at least guitarist and de facto spokesman Sean Murphy. But finding polite ways to refuse ladies of the night is just the tip of the iceberg of this Glasgow-based trio's lyrical inspiration.

It has led to a debut that is packed with moments of darkness and questions raised, such as: “You protest so much but is your brain really necessary” from Scientist, a song inspired by a scientific paper on the operational limits of the human mind. “It was a scientist who was questioning whether the size of your brain is really necessary for you to function properly,” says Sean, before deadpanning, “I’m sure it’s not necessary because for a lot of people I’ve talked to, it seems their brain’s not even fully engaged.”

If thoughts like this seem cynical, they are. Then again, life isn’t always pretty, a sentiment that is accurately reflected by the smashed collage that is their debut full-length Wrong Fucking Century Darling; this is 45 minutes of lo-fi sleaze, stylistic schizophrenia and punk abrasion. The origin of this is, according to Sean, the band’s wildly diverging musical tastes.

Looking pointedly at bassist Pete Knox, he tells us: “I mean, he likes Pulp, The Fall and Super Furry Animals. Dom likes Joanna Newsom and I like Burzum, Darkthrone, Girls Against Boys and Skinny Puppy.” The Dom in question is The Wrong Boyfriends’ drummer, still new to his role on the stool, although certainly not the first to find himself there.

Sean offers to elaborate, although it’s clear that personnel changes have given the band a lifetime of headaches. “It’s a lot like Spinal Tap but they don’t explode, they just go and do something much worse than being in The Wrong Boyfriends.”

Case 1: Kyle. “He left to join my brother’s band,” he says, before being superseded by Pete. “He and the guitarist left at the same time, after a gig,” something which Sean casually dismisses with “we weren’t too sad to see them go.” Case 2: Dave. “Him, I was impressed with because he was tall, physical and muscly,” Sean grins. “He was really good for heavier stuff but unfortunately even when he wasn’t playing heavier stuff he’d still be rattling the kit like he had a badger up his arse.”

Finally, and perhaps most memorably for the band, was Guillaume – the primary tub-thumper on their debut, whose inclusion helped to formulate the band’s sound in the most poetic of ways. “He and Dom were in love for a time, which explains why the drums and bass on the album are so good.”

The origin of this forbidden love came in the form of a poster placed by Guillaume simply stating ‘I am a drummer looking to play with a band,’ which Pete promptly followed up with a phone call. Sean picks up the story, even lapsing into an occasional atrocious French accent à la The Holy Grail for a more authentic experience. “So we met him, and he says, ‘Ah, my name is too complicated for you to pronounce, so you may call me William but my name is actually Guillaume!’ Nah, we’ll just call you Guillaume then, but thanks for anglicising it.”

While they are keen to emphasise his technical skills, describing his playing as “just fantastic,” it became apparent that his timekeeping skills didn’t match up with his performing skills, which the guitarist now retrospectively puts down to a sideline as a pizza chef.

“I didn’t realise how demanding it was. You couldn’t take a holiday; you had to be an on-call, 24-hours-a-day, pizza fucking chef!” Pete has his own thoughts on this, though, confiding “I think he was playing with two other bands as well.” The situation eventually led to numerous last-minute live cancellations on the Gallic sticksman’s part, often compensated by Dom bringing his own instruments for impromptu acoustic sets. “Those acoustic sets were crap. Really, really crap,” sighs Pete.

Eventually, the time came for Guillaume to return to his homeland, necessitating a somewhat rushed recording schedule which Pete is particularly eager to discuss. “It was very quick and painless. Basically, we had two three-hour sessions, and we were late for both of them.” Both despite and because of this, they’re more than proud with the results. “We only had two or three takes each, so there’re a few mistakes. It’s the sound of a band playing live.”

Not only playing live, it seems, as at least one of the album’s cuts, Voodoo Corkscrew, was written mid-recording, as Pete details. “I love the riff! Sean played it and I just scribbled down a lot of lyrics, we went back, I wrote a keyboard thing and we recorded it. We’ve only ever played that song properly once, maybe twice. I think that’s kinda cool.”

Those lyrics are possibly the darkest the album has to offer, a twisted love story involving rewritten Valentine’s cards, discovering voodoo dolls in your girlfriend’s possession and fish paste. “It’s one of the most disgusting things I can think of,” Pete shudders. “I mean, fish paste…”

With such an eclectic mixture of sordid tales and scattershot influences, what would The Wrong Boyfriends like their legacy to be? Dom and Sean have no agenda, but Pete has his own, though perhaps not entirely serious, goal. “I’d like us to be perceived as really cool,” he smirks. It might be a while before Grimmy comes knocking.