England’s teen heartthrob Jake Bugg on music, hangovers and starting a new chapter
Welcome to CHEW THE FAT WITH…, our long-form profile series where we invite you to sit down with fashion’s next generation as they dig deep into their memories. To chew some fat - defined as an informal conversation brimming with small talk - we encourage you to pull up a chair and take a big old bite as we spill the tea on the life and work of the industry’s need-to-knows. Just remember to mop up after yourself.
Cast yourself back to the halcyon days of when devouring music meant trips down to HMV, cheeky Limewire downloads, iPod click wheels and endlessly playing your favourite tunes on repeat until you became bilingual in the lyrics. This was the journey for most teens, myself included; a means to articulate the pangs and irritation that amass with coming-of-age, to the soundtrack of JAKE BUGG.
Almost a decade later, it’s been two weeks since Bugg released his latest track, Lost, and with that came the influx of press dubbing the Nottinghamshire musician’s return. “Jake Bugg is back,” they’d hail through the headlines. But a homecoming suggests a prior exit. Mr Bugg might be ‘back’ in our conversations but, in fact, he never left. While it might have been four years since Bugg’s last offering in 2017 with his fourth album Hearts That Strain, the timeless songs from his self-titled debut and the records that accompanied were the raw, unfiltered poetry anthology for a generation grappling with identity and trying to break out of societies rigorous structure.
Bugg’s trademark songs that led him into the public eye from Two Fingers to Seen it All, weren’t simply three minutes of gripping melodies, they were provocative manuscripts to help navigate teenage angst and shared frustration. One of the first concerts I went to without the supervision of my parents was in Birmingham’s cramped O2 Institute, where Bugg took to the stage and became a salve to the strife of growing up and figuring out my identity. His music was bold and brash, but deeply resolute as the words diffused into the air and helped to mould the vulnerable teens looking for an outlet.
I was fifteen when I was standing in the crowd, hanging onto his every word. Nine years later we finally meet, this time on the same side of the stage. On an unsurprising grey day in the capital, Bugg arrives at a studio in Hackney, understated in all black apart from a pair of GIVENCHY trainers with extravagant white chunky soles. “I like Givenchy, or however you fucking say it,” he laughs. Despite his taste in shoes, there’s nothing ostentatious about him. He grabs a pack of cigarettes, coffee in the other hand, pulling one to his lips ahead of the busy morning. He cracks his knuckles, not nervously, but it’s apparent Bugg is still waking up. “I never not wake up hungover,” he quips. “I need a few tins to get to sleep.” Apt for the title of his fifth studio album set for release later this year: Saturday Night, Sunday Morning. “It makes sense because the songs that are more up-tempo are for that Saturday night feeling and then it’s got some more ballad-y hangover tunes for the next morning.”
The hangover is one of his classic Buggisms, he notes, somewhat of a trademark in his creative process too. “I've been writing some good stuff. Like when you get in the studio with a bit of a hangover you can come up with some good stuff because you're not overthinking it.” Naturally, overthinking comes with not only entertaining but maintaining a position in the limelight, however it's not the limelight Bugg is after. It’s about conjuring a feeling and sustaining that nurtured relationship between music and listener. There’s almost a sense of separation between the music and himself that Bugg thrives upon; he doesn’t call his listeners fans per se, but refers to them as his audience. “I've always kind of felt like people know the songs more than they know me and I quite like that. A lot of people probably hear Jake Bugg and know the song but not me.”
While this principle remains the same for Bugg, for his next album he’s decided to try something a little different. Deviating from his usual lilting melodies, Saturday Night, Sunday Morning captures a more electric and upbeat tempo. “I’ve been trying to have a more open attitude and work with other people too. It’s been really fun making this record.” Newly signed to Sony’s RCA Records, Bugg felt spurred to explore new terrain with his sound. “I really wanted to get this record right. I felt like, you know, I kind of needed to push myself to a more contemporary modern sound.” Referencing an early deviation from the distinct indie rock of his debut, Bugg partnered with the British production duo CAMEL PHAT back in 2019 on Be Someone which opened his eyes to pursuing new tones throughout his music. “I know people might have thought it an unlikely pairing but for me personally, I just wanted to see if my DNA could fit into a more contemporary sound overall. I guess it’s up to the public to see what they think.”
Early stardom can often promise an uneasy terrain. And for Bugg, who joined the foray at the ripe age of 18 with a roster of songs that quickly fostered the attention of a frustrated youth, this was a distinct possibility. The sequence of introspective songs that narrated the anguish of his youth growing up in Clifton, Nottingham, spoke to a crowd of teenagers looking for an outlet for their own spectrum of emotions. For the most part, it was a soundtrack to the precursory years before adulthood, full of teenage strife, awkward angst and uneasy passages.
Bugg reflects on this period and the quick ascension into the public eye. “Was it overwhelming? Not really and I don’t mean that in an arrogant way,” he justifies. “I always imagined I would be doing it, but never at this level. I always thought it would happen even if it meant staying in terrible hotels. It just felt like it would happen no matter what, so when it did, there was a lot of pressure, but not so much about joining the industry.” And while Bugg questions his own DNA, it’s clear that modesty remains at the core of it. “When we play Two Fingers or Seen it All, it definitely puts you back in that place of how you felt when you wrote it. Basically you’ve got a product that you’ve pulled out of thin air. You can never really hold onto it or keep it, it’s just three or so minutes, but it lasts forever.”
And that’s why it’s misleading to brand Bugg’s next chapter of music a return. Rather, it’s a continuation, sharing the same sense of vulnerability, if not more so as his teenage self. “Some of the best songs come from leaving yourself vulnerable. I think when you show that vulnerability through music, I think the audience feels that.” Of course, that’s not to say it comes easy bearing his heart on stage. “Growing up the way I did and where I did, you don’t show how you're feeling, no matter how bad it is.” Disagreeing with this attitude of his upbringing, music became the vent to express such internalised discontent.
But Bugg doesn’t tend to look back too much. “I look to the future, but that also means I’m quite apprehensive and worried about what comes with that. But I’m not one for getting too nostalgic for the past. It’s done.” Instead, he’s navigating the next page in his story. “I think there was something lacking on the last couple of records, it was something I was conscious of, and I was more curious than anything to see what I could do next and see where my sound can fit.”
In between shooting looks, we pause for another cigarette break and discuss the prominence of Bugg’s East Midlands twang, untouched by his new life in Kensington. Does he still feel like Jake from Nottingham, I ask. “Yeah,” he smiles. “But I think I’ve grown up as well.” He winces slightly at some of the early statements of his younger self. “I do sometimes reflect, but not too much!” he interrupts himself laughing again. “I also feel like moving culturally into the dance world, there’s a lot more openness and less competitiveness to the band world. There’s a lot of egos there whereas in the dance world, people just want a good time and some good music.” A lesson Bugg learnt from his time with Camel Phat, Bugg recalls how the duo would play a more lolling tune for the audience as tribute to the next artists. “In the band world, that would never happen. It’s a case of ‘I’m playing my best song!”
Throughout the learning process, Bugg’s next lesson came through the entanglement of video as seen in his latest single Lost where the young star is depicted traversing through space. “It was quite bizarre, I was on a harness and it was tough. I’d be rotating against a green screen and it really made me come out of my comfort zone.” Admittedly, for the man so tied to lyrical poetry, music videos have always proved tough. “I hate when there’s a narrative involved or a dialogue or anything like that. I feel the message behind songs should be up to the people who receive them. There’s a danger that videos can put an idea in someone’s head.”
Challenges aren’t obstacles as such to Bugg though, rather, reasons to work harder. While his lyrical dexterity cannot be denied, naming is the caveat in the writing process. “It’s always hard to find the title and for me it’s the last part. Some people have it straight away, but you’ve got to have an explanation for all of the songs that have different subjects. You’ve got to cover it with just a couple of words. Saturday Night, Sunday Morning takes its title from a Nottingham-based writer, Alan Sillitoe, who wrote this romantic drama about working class characters and it just made sense. It was a nod to back home.”
We walk slowly back to the studio, musing about the day ahead which seems relatively relaxed. As Bugg’s make-up is wiped away, and his CELINE suit swapped for the black hoodie he began the day with, I ask if he regards himself as primarily a songwriter or a musician. He pauses for some time to think more, unlike his eager 18-year-old self for the answer to follow. “I’d probably say more songwriter. Since Instagram, there’s millions of musicians out there that are better than me. I think it's important for young artists to realise that it's not necessarily about how good at your instrument you are. I'm not the best guitar player in the world, not even an amazing singer. But I think it's the songs that draw people in.”
The Lost singer continues. “Think of Neil Young and Leonard Cohen. They’re not known for their amazing singing voices; they’re known for their great songs and that’s why they’ve had such amazing careers. I think that's what a lot people kind of forget when they're coming through. It’s all about the songs.” His affliction to look to the future rears its head here, the spontaneity that comes with being a musician, never knowing exactly which songs will be received well. “When I wrote Lightning Bolt, I did it in 10 minutes which was the biggest tune I had for ages and I didn’t think anything of it. It’s funny, you think sometimes you’ve got the biggest chorus in the world but it falls flat on its face.”
The unpredictability hasn’t proved so much as a challenge, but more of a catalyst in bettering his craft and himself over time. “About five to six years ago when I was working on the third record, I was getting attention and things were going well. Then all of a sudden, you’re not the new guy anymore and that can be hard to deal with. But the truth is, there’s always ups and downs. Johnny Cash couldn’t sell a ticket in the ‘80s which is unthinkable. It taught me to leave my ego at the door a little bit.”
Ego and Jake Bugg don’t seem to fit in the same sentence, despite early accusations in the press confusing his calm demeanour with arrogance, after all he was just a teenager given a spotlight with no rulebook. In fact, he’s just as conscious of failure as the rest of us. He leans back on the sofa, hands clasped together with a half-smile on his face under the same moppish hair he sported when he first entered the scene ten years ago. It’s somewhat perceptible he’s happy to be talking about his music again, this time with a more atypical agenda of the Jake Bugg who framed our childhoods. “I’m going to quote you on one of your lyrics,” I share, to which he replies looking alert, stirred by the interrogation. “You say, ‘tell me where the high is’ in All I Need. Where is the high for you right now?” The answer follows without hesitation. “I want to get out there and enjoy life. Get that sunshine and a few beers. We’re all craving it, aren’t we? I can’t wait for the festivals and to play live. Every artist is going to be running over their stage times because we just want to get off. The high? That’s the high we’ve got to look forward to.”
As we part ways, I’m inspired by Bugg’s spontaneity and the earnestness of my fifteen year old self abruptly - and somewhat embarrassingly - reared its unexpected head as I asked the singer for an autograph on the back of a polaroid. He starts laughing, unphased and happy to oblige. It’s the same Jake Bugg from my memories, guitar at the ready with a lot to say as the figure who sits before me, only with a bigger appetite to make people sing and dance. “I think the audience is going to be well up for it.” As he finishes signing the paper, I ask one final question. “What’s the last thing you think of before you go to sleep at night?” He looks to the side, picks up his bottle of water before thanking me. “I probably think I shouldn’t have had that.” He exits the room laughing, another cigarette in hand, ready to take to the stage again. And it becomes clear, he’s not lost at all. In fact, he never left.
Creative direction by JEFFREY THOMSON
Photography by GEORGE HUTTON
Styling by CALEB GARFIELD DRING
Featuring JAKE BUGG
Hair and make-up by ALICE DODDS
Production assistance by MORGANN EVE RUSSELL
Special thanks to ASHLEY MATTHEWS and SIMONE BEYENE
Interview and words by SCARLETT BAKER
Jake wears
LOOK 1 Zip-up jacket, trousers and shoes, all by GUCCI; T-shirt and socks, model’s own.
LOOK 2 Double breasted jacket and trousers, both by EDWARD SEXTON; Knitted vest by RALPH LAUREN; White shirt by JAEGER; Shoes by ANN DEMEULEMEESTER; Cufflinks, stylist’s own.
LOOK 3 Black jacket and trousers, striped jumper and shoes; all by CELINE.