Mike Skinner is a disembodied head floating on a tropical Zoom background placed there by his 11-year-old son. “I don’t know how to change it,” he says, barely making an effort to stifle the yawns that arrive in quick succession, one after the other. Last night was a late one, out recording Later. with Jools Holland, and he admits he could do with a day off, rubbing a hand over his close-cropped hair. “I quite like it, though,” he says in his distinctive voice, noting the palm tree and soft lap of waves against the sandy beach. “I think I’ll just leave it.”
Mike Skinner is a disembodied head floating on a tropical Zoom background placed there by his 11-year-old son. “I don’t know how to change it,” he says, barely making an effort to stifle the yawns that arrive in quick succession, one after the other. Last night was a late one, out recording Later. with Jools Holland, and he admits he could do with a day off, rubbing a hand over his close-cropped hair. “I quite like it, though,” he says in his distinctive voice, noting the palm tree and soft lap of waves against the sandy beach. “I think I’ll just leave it.”
The era-defining musician spent a decade making his first feature film almost entirely by himself. He discusses creativity, avoiding musical nostalgia – and why he loves the National Trust