Jewel in the crown
Piano Lesson
Their lead singer is in his 50s, but they are still the reigning kings of pop. The Pet Shop Boys discuss dictators, ambition and beards with Dorian Lynskey
On a balmy summer's evening, the grounds of the Tower of London shudder to the art-disco thunder of the Pet Shop Boys' 1988 hit Left to My Own Devices. In an empty hospitality tent some distance from the speakers, the two men who wrote it look up abruptly. The soundcheck has started without them. "That's noisy," tuts Chris Lowe, almost unrecognisable without his familiar public accessories of sunglasses, baseball cap and scowl. "What about the ravens? If they leave thanks to us, it's all over, isn't it?"
En route to the stage, Neil Tennant, in his own jeans-and-T-shirt mufti, encounters Jeffrey, the Pet Shop Boys' ebullient Welsh stylist. "Jeffrey makes all the mad things because he is himself insane," Tennant explains. Jeffrey brandishes a red fez with plastic carnations sprouting from it, which will be worn by one of the backing singers for approximately three seconds during Always On My Mind. "Two pounds!" he declares. "He's very frugal too," Tennant says approvingly.
The Tower of London might seem like the last place you'd expect to find Britain's most avowedly anti-royalist pop duo, but the Pet Shop Boys have made such a habit of performing in unusual venues, from the Savoy theatre to Red Square (they headlined Live 8's Moscow leg), that it's par for the course. Festival madness has gripped even the guardians of the Tower and the venue's inaugural series of gigs opens with a full-scale pop spectacular. "I realise when we do festivals that we are so not a rock group," says Tennant. "We're more like a touring fringe theatre company." They've always liked to do things differently. "In the 1980s we used to try to take something to a mass pop audience which doesn't actually belong there. It was interesting doing a song like Rent at the London Palladium. It seemed amazing doing that on a show where you were introduced by Jimmy Tarbuck."
It is 21 years since West End Girls gave the Pet Shop Boys their first No 1 and their enthusiasm for pop, in all its big, daft, brilliant glory, remains palpable. Tennant is often compared to a headmaster but that underplays his playful streak. His conversation is alive with italics and exclamation marks and bursts of laughter. Lowe, meanwhile, punctuates his bandmate's monologues with one-liners. "We make music for other people and if we like it ourselves it's a bonus," he says, and they both explode with mirth.
The Pet Shop Boys have always been sui generis but the longer they continue, the more valuable they seem. No one else makes pop music of such maturity and ambition. "We did T4 on the Beach," says Tennant, "and I thought, 'I am the oldest person on this stage by ... I dread to think.' It's quite an achievement to still be marketed as a pop band when you're over 50."
Tennant, 52, and Lowe, 46, are currently enjoying a fresh surge of public affection on the back of their latest album, Fundamental, which intertwines the personal and political in the bosom of Trevor Horn's extravagant production. It has been widely described as a return to form after 2002's intimate, low-key Release album, but they're not too sure about that. "We hate 'return to form' because you're making it in changing circumstances at a different time in your life," grumbles Tennant. "I think the songs on the last album are just as good."
They never distance themselves from perceived failures, whether it's their West End musical Closer to Heaven or their puzzling arthouse travelogue It Couldn't Happen Here. "What's wrong with the film?" asks an indignant Lowe. "I've seen much worse Hollywood blockbusters."
Fundamental hasn't garnered so many column inches on musical merit alone. Tennant and Lowe decided before they started that it would be a record about the world around them, especially the bits that annoyed them: identity cards (Integral), the George'n'Tony love-in (I'm With Stupid) and the politics of fear (Luna Park). The upshot is their most political record since 1987's Thatcherism-inspired Actually. The men who once helped swell Labour's election coffers recently incurred the disapproval of Top of the Pops for wanting to appear with a troupe of dancers dressed as Bush and Blair. "We had to have political balance," he explains, frowning.
Anyway, having initially approved of Saddam Hussein's removal, he is now seething about Iraq. "Well, you have to be angry about the mess that's been created," he says. "It appears that they hadn't planned what to do with the country afterwards. That to me seems criminal. I mean, I still agree with getting rid of psychopathic dictators. The unfortunate thing is that psychopathic dictators probably sleep more soundly now. It drives me mad to think of the people of North Korea living in this mad acid-trip of a state."
Of greatest concern is the government's expanding authoritarian streak. "I think politicians are haunted by the thought of any terrorist situation and how it could be their fault," says Tennant. "Therefore they try to control more. We're reintroducing warlike measures when we're not part of a war. It's alien to me. I don't like people stopping me and asking me things."
Surveillance culture, Tennant suspects, is now unstoppable. He wonders if he and Lowe are old-fashioned with their high regard for privacy and their scepticism towards the gleaming, digital future. "So much technology becomes about technology," he complains. Although they sometimes post messages on their website, they do not believe in blogs. "Blog is such an ugly word," says Tennant, witheringly. They have, however, written exclusive ringtones. "The difference between them is incredible because we immediately go back to where we were on the day we met," says Tennant. (That day, incidentally, was August 19 1981, in an electronics shop in Chelsea.) "Chris's is simple electronic disco and mine is a moody piano ballad. It's called Hello, Where Are You?"
The Pet Shop Boys like to keep busy. Since Release, they have produced records for Pete Burns and Sam Taylor-Wood, remixed Yoko Ono and Rammstein, and composed a new score for Eisenstein's Battleship Potemkin. Recently, they've been working with Robbie Williams. They've known each other for years and Lowe met him again in London's Soho House. "He was with David Walliams," says Lowe, confirming the common suspicion that famous people spend all their time hanging out together. "He just came over and said, 'Hey, do you fancy forming a supergroup?' Absolutely. Why wouldn't we? And out of that came these two songs. Not quite the supergroup that we imagined. We could never think of another person. Maybe Guardian readers could make some suggestions." He grins impishly.
"One of the songs is called She's Madonna," reveals Tennant. "Apparently Madonna likes it, which is quite nice to hear. Robbie thought she might think he was stalking her."
Even in the year that finished off Smash Hits (where Tennant was once deputy editor) and Top of the Pops, the Pet Shop Boys are optimistic about pop. "When I see someone like Brandon Flowers who has the appetite, and possibly the talent and looks, to be a star, I find that enthralling," says Tennant. "I'm worried, though - and I hope he's reading this - that he's grown a beard. It means he's saying, 'I'm not pop. I mean more than that.'"
Tennant has told Trevor Horn he should make a record with Pete Doherty. "I know it's not his thing but to surround him with pop perfection would be amazing," he raves. "You could make a River Deep, Mountain High - this incredible rock voice with this ludicrous overproduction around it."
"He could take the shambles out of Babyshambles," agrees Lowe. "You could call him Baby."
Perhaps the reason the Pet Shop Boys are so warmly regarded is their palpable belief that pop is every bit as rewarding and grown-up as its earnest older brother, rock. They love its joy and wit and heroic absurdity and they make music which has those qualities in spades. They show absolutely no inclination to stop.
"I'm always having this discussion with taxi drivers," says Tennant. "'So are you retired now, Neil?' I say, [sighing] 'No, you're driving me to Top of the Pops at the moment.' And I say, 'Do you listen to pop music?' And they say, 'No'. And I say, [triumphantly] 'Well, there you are! It's you that's retired, not me.'"
Later, half an hour before showtime, Tennant emerges from the Pet Shop Boys' dressing room looking like a circus ringmaster. The tour manager rushes up to secure an autograph for a couple celebrating their 19th wedding anniversary. "Oh, they got married when Actually came out," Tennant calculates, smiling. As he scrawls a message, he arcs a meaningful eyebrow. "And they said it wouldn't last!"
' Pet Shop Boys play Thetford Forest Park on July 21 (01842 814612). The single Minimal is out on Parlophone on July 24
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