Last time I met James Mercer was on the eve of the release of
Wincing The Night Away. Today’s meeting is a little different. I’m in Sony Records’ London offices, the British home to Columbia Records who look after Mercer s new label Aural Apothecary.
I’m told “you’ve got 25 mins”, and the door swings shut, leaving the pair of us sat in a sound proof room with gold and platinum discs for pop records sparkling on the walls.
It’s a far cry from our previous meeting, which took place in a pub. You couldn t have wished for a better drinking partner. Mr Mercer was one of the most considerate and thoughtful gentleman I’d met, let alone interviewed, and forced me to question many of those ‘never meet your heroes’ theories. Back then, we talked over pints for an hour or two about everything from televised war to literature so bleak that it should come with a suicide warning. Dictaphone switched off, interview over, we went for a steak and he told the folks from his