When the world’s best artists want a former weed-smoking, drum-playing, psych rock-loving, non-weirdo to produce their latest opus, who they gonna call? James Ellis Ford of course. From jamming along to obscure electronica with a double bass player to taking the stage with Arctic Monkeys at Glastonbury, Ford’s ascent to this generation’s must-have knob twiddler might have been unexpected, but it’s certainly been deserved. So, how’s he done it? “Not being a dickhead helps,”
he tells John Burgess…

As he neatly surmises James Ford has stuck his oar into lots of different places. Since his student days in Manchester, he has worked with artists and bands, initially as an amateur – jamming along to music in clubs – and then forming the psych rock band Simian in 2000. When they splintered five years later he continued with Jas Shaw as rave-up duo Simian Mobile Disco and in 2007 produced the zeitgeist-seizing, Mercury Prize-winning debut by Klaxons. 

Ford has since been involved in a myriad of Mercury-nominated albums producing most of Arctic Monkeys’ output, Jessie Ware, Foals, Florence & The Machine and – this year alone – helming the recent work from bona fide legends Depeche Mode, Pet Shop Boys and Blur. Not one to get lost in this starry sky and 23 years into this business, Ford was deemed ‘One To Watch’ by The Guardian in April on account of his first solo release ‘The Hum’. 

Inviting us into his home studio in Clapton, east London, for an afternoon chat in late-June, the super affable Ford brews us a cup of tea that rests upon a tray recently used by Carly Rae Jepsen and Perry Farrell. Able to play 18 different instruments with varying degrees of competence, a flute rests on an analogue synth next to an array of guitars. We discuss a lovely piece of vintage synth hardware which Ford claims was the type used to give R2D2 a voice. Apparently Martin Gore has three of these Ark 26100’s so he can play chords on it. 

We are both fresh back from the Glastonbury festival when we meet, Ford shyly boasting of the frills of being an artist – you can park near the stage you appear on for the weekend and get the hell off site with relative ease… 

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At Glastonbury you played two sets starting off on the Park Stage…

“(Interjecting) I started off on the Pyramid Stage actually! I did three tracks and keyboards with Arctic Monkeys. I was just going to play ‘Four Out of Five’ but then, Alex Turner said 15 minutes before they went on: ‘You may as well stay on for the next few songs.’ I was like: ‘I don’t know your songs though?’ So, ten minutes before I listened to them on Spotify and I worked out the chords. And then the first time I ever played these songs I was on the Pyramid Stage which was mad. My own gigs were fine. We played pretty early doors on the Park Stage on the Saturday and up at the Crow’s Nest that evening. Me and a couple of people in the band thought it would be a good idea to do a microdot beforehand. Halfway through the gig we started tripping.”

Did that change the music at all? 

“Maybe it made it a bit more jammy. Glastonbury is my favourite place. My mum took me when I was six and then I went every year in my teenage years. It’s partly why I got into music. I suppose at festivals you see the way music can affect people. I remember seeing Pulp when they filled in for The Stone Roses. Seeing bands on that scale on the Pyramid Stage, it gives you a feeling how important music is to people.”

What do you think people were expecting from you when you played live? I knew there was live sax on the album, but I thought you may also just be doing it all
off a laptop. 

“I sort of made the album in here on my own, just because I had a bit more free time than usual and a bit of impetus to do something. My management played it to a few people and Warp wanted to put it out so then I thought: ‘OK then I had better get a live show together.’ I did consider doing a few little shows on my own, but then I thought I should at least try a band out, see how I enjoy it; get lots of friends involved who can pick it up pretty quickly.”

How did you end up in bands like Toolshed with Graham Massey of 808 State? You’re nearly 20 years younger than him.

“I started playing drums in clubs. Just for pure enthusiasm at this (Manchester) club called Head Funk. It would be me and Sneaky, this double bass player, and then Andy Votel or Mr Scruff would be DJing.” 

You were like Shovell from M People jamming over club music? 

“(Laughs) Yes, it literally was like playing bongos with sax in a club. And then I think Graham Massey saw us and he asked us to play and tour with 808 State. That was the first time I ever went to America playing to the Day-Glo candy raver scene with them. At the same time, in Manchester, Kieran Hebden was around our weird student house. This was around the time of the Twisted Nerve stuff – you know Badly Drawn Boy and Andy Votel – so I was hearing weird psych records and all of that. It was a great space to be in at the time. I met Jas (Shaw) and Alex (MacNaghten), within the first few weeks of arriving in Manchester. I answered a notice looking for a drummer and went into their bedroom in student halls and they were there with long hair playing Primus and smoking weed. We started a band which eventually turned into Simian with the addition of Simon (Lord) the singer. We got signed and moved to London.”

Could you play 18 instruments by that point? 

“I’ve always been fairly gung-ho at trying things. Looking back, I’m thankful I grew up in a little town called Leek in Staffordshire as there wasn’t anything to do there. But it had this pretty vibey pub rock scene. I was just surrounded by good musicians from a very early age. We’d all just be playing in different bands, above pubs. It was a way to drink underage and we’d change the name of the band every few weeks. That was like my teenage years: taking mushrooms, drinking cider and playing in pub bands. My dad had a basement, so I had like a crap drum kit and a bass, a four-track tape machine, this maxi Korg synth. As a mid-teen I was making squelchy noises into the four-track and playing drums over it. I thought I was in like, Head Hunters, thinking this is literally the best thing ever. I just wanted to do this as much as I could. If I had to pick anything, I’m a bass player. I’m not like, brilliant on anything but I’m good enough to play most things. I’ve got a decent ear. Just being in the studio every day, I get to play a lot. It kind of helps you win trust. Because you can talk to musicians on a musician level.”

Was this solo album a lockdown project?

“It was already in the works. The main reason was I had built this studio in my house, so it’s given me a bit of space. The other big thing was Jas getting sick (Jas was diagnosed with the rare disease AL Amyloidosis in 2018) which put a hard end to touring – and with a pandemic even put a hard end to us being in a room together. Jas is such a brilliant person to be around, and he would come up with ideas and had this energy, so there was a hole left. I just put that energy into doing some stuff on my own. There was always this thing of: what happens if I don’t collaborate?”

You’ve worked with Gorillaz twice, so leave the special guest collabs to them?

“Yes, that’s the thing, I actually remember doing the second SMD record, we did this guest album, but we went overboard and had a guest on every song and lost our own identity within that. The whole point of me doing my own thing is to put my own flag in the ground, because I’ve made so many different types of records. It felt like a good idea to do something for myself under my own terms. It’s hard making music on your own. With Jas or with one other person, you’ve always got this kind of sounding board. When you’re on your own, it’s difficult, you get lost in the mire quite easily. But I was up for a challenge. And, you know, I got through it, and I made a thing.” 

How do you know when to stop? 

“I think time is the limiting factor in a lot of these projects. I always listen back to something I’ve made and think I could have done that better. It’s harder on your own. Because you’re not coming to a consensus, like everyone’s energy for this is dissipating. You’ve got to finish it off quick before it gets put in the bin. I’m fortunate that I’m busy. I’ve got more projects than time. So really the thing that stopped it is that the next project was coming up.” 

Going back 15 years ago to when Simian Mobile Disco became your primary thing. Do you look back on that rave era fondly? 

“Yeah. I had a really good time, there was something in the air. The second Simian (band) album was really difficult. I felt like we were out of time with what was going on. It felt like we were pushing against lots of closed doors.”

Did it feel weird having the door opened by the Justice remix of ‘We Are Your Friends’? 

“Yeah, but the whole dance thing going on looked really fun. It just seemed like what we were doing with Simian seemed quite serious. This whole melding of dance and rock music was happening with bands like LCD Soundsystem. So, it was an obvious thing to move towards. And then when that remix happened it was like letting off this flare. There was loads of opportunities to DJ everywhere and travel. We had a slightly weird relationship with the remix, where we resented it slightly. We would never really play it DJing, we’d play our version because we thought it was better. We were booked at clubs off the back of it. But then that sort of Ed Banger sound turned into what ultimately became Skrillex, and all that sort of stuff. We wanted to do the opposite to that. So, we were always sort of pushing against it in an odd way.” 

I remember people turning up expecting ‘We Are Your Friends’ and you’d play deep techno. You could see the crowd going: ‘Oh, we weren’t expecting this.’ But then you also weren’t techno enough to be playing Berghain.

“Yeah, we were never going to be accepted as like fucking Richie Hawtin or whoever. In our heads, that’s the music that we were into more. So, we caught ourselves in this middle zone.”

But there’s an element where you were out playing techno, but you’d make a largely choral album like ‘Murmurations’. 

“I think we’ve always been fairly contrary. There is an instinct in making music to not go with the flow and to try and push against it or go somewhere different with it.”

Like the Arctic Monkeys on ‘Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino’ after ‘AM’? 

“Well, kind of, yes. Career wise, you’re probably better off just sticking to what people are expecting of you. But you’ve got to push yourself, haven’t you, otherwise you end up like Coldplay, a big stadium entity. It’s a funny line to tread.”

You became a producer around that time as well with albums for Test Icicles, Mystery Jets, and then obviously big success with the Klaxons debut? 

“I’ve always been interested in what it takes to make a record, how’d you make that sound? So, there was a bleak point where Simian split up, but I was definitely like: I’m going to fucking keep going. I’ve come this far; I’m going to take on the rent of the studio. I’m just going to try and be a producer and see what happens. I’ve never been to engineering school and am not really trained, but I knew my way around my little system and I produced a bunch of friends’ bands. Me and Jas were DJing so that kept us ticking over. We played a gig at this night called Everything You Do Is A Baboon at The Old Blue Last (in Shoreditch). And the guy who put it on was: ‘Ah I can’t pay you. But I’m a music lawyer. And if you need any free legal advice, let me know.’ I remember going for this free legal advice. And it turned out to be Oli Isaacs. I wanted him to get me out of my old management contract – which he did – and then once he’d done that, he asked if I needed a manager. He was pretty tapped into what was going on. I think maybe he introduced me to Klaxons or at least tipped me off about them. One thing led to another and eventually Test Icicles happened. That was on Domino, and I met Laurence Bell and he’d liked what I’d done on that so he introduced me to Arctic Monkeys. There was just a bunch of different threads that happened at once. Suddenly you’re this new producer. Once you’ve got a bigger thing through the door – like for me it was Klaxons or the Arctic Monkeys’ second record. Since then I haven’t been short of work.”

Back then why do you think people took a chance on you? 

“You have a meeting with them initially. So, there is a whole bit which is: ‘Can I hang out with this guy?’ ‘Do I trust this guy?’ ‘Is he a fucking weirdo?’ The social aspect of it is quite important. And I feel like I’m able to read a room in terms of how people are feeling and even just by having broad taste, so I can get down to brass tacks with people about a certain type of music and be able to back it up. It’s a very multifaceted thing. But yeah, not being a dickhead helps.”

When you work with an artist do you suggest a route, if they’re not quite sure where to go? Or do you try and harness something out of them they probably don’t know is there?

“The process often gets proposed. ‘Do you want to work with these guys?’ And then I’ll get some demos. I’ll probably get an idea in my head; this album should sound like this. Then you meet them and sometimes that matches up and it feels like your instincts are heading in the same direction. Sometimes I’ve gotten into projects where it doesn’t match up and you can convince them that this is a good idea. And depending on their personalities, they’ll agree, and then they’ll get into it during the process. I’ve also had personal arrogance in the past. I think it was hubris that made me do a Mumford (& Sons) record. I can make this into something really cool. And actually, in the moment, you can’t change it that much. If you want to be realistic about it, it’s other people’s songs. For the most part, even with the Monkeys, I can’t tell them what kind of record to make. At the end of the day, Alex can only write the songs that he writes in that moment. I then help him present that in the best way possible.”

Can you remember what Alex Turner said to you about making ‘Tranquility…’? Did he come to you and say this is the route we’re going down.

“Because me and Alex go such a long way back, I was in touch with him all the way since ‘AM’. So, I saw the transition, it didn’t seem that weird to me. But it seemed like a massive departure for most people. They’ve been on such an extreme journey from their first one, through all these different phases. And I still think he’s making the best music of his career. But you’re either along for the journey or you’re not and some people get grumpy, because he’s not making ‘I Bet You Look Good On the Dancefloor’ again. He’s not that guy anymore, he couldn’t write that song even if he tried. Before this last album (‘The Car’) he literally came back off tour and said: ‘I want to make a more outward facing thing that we can play at these big gigs.’ And he went away and then he basically couldn’t write any of those. So, he wrote an album about how he can’t really write those songs anymore. You know, like saying goodbye to that phase of his life.”

How does it feel when Neil Tennant or Dave Gahan walk into your bedroom studio, what goes through your mind?

“I’ve been in quite a lot of those situations now. Neil and Chris are so genuinely sweet and lovely. They don’t put on a lot of airs and graces or anything. It’s only really when they start telling you some stories about Bowie and fucking Liza Minnelli and Trevor Horn. The moments that they’ve been part of throughout history are very important cultural moments for me. Same with Depeche, same with Blur, there are a few moments where you zoom out and go, actually, I’m in a room with these people. But like in the nitty gritty, you sort of forget about it. It’s a funny thing seeing people be famous. At dinner they just get bothered and it’s actually a massive pain. It’s an added-on bit to fame that they probably weren’t really striving for.”

How did the Depeche album differ without Fletch because wasn’t he a bit of an editor?

“Yes, from my short experience of being in the studio with him it felt like he had this sort of fans’ view of what people wanted. He’d be very vocal about: ‘That bit’s great’ or ‘That bit is too long’, you know? The dynamic between the three of them: Fletch, being Martin’s old school friend, Dave kind of wanting to do more writing and looking for Martin’s approval and Martin being very protective of his writing space. Martin is quite conflict averse. So often Fletch would step in on Martin’s behalf and get into it with Dave. So, there was this whole dynamic that was just really odd and strange to be around. I just remember that album (2017’s ‘Spirit’) being really difficult to make. There was one bit where Martin was going to walk off the project. The manager, called me at three in the morning to talk to me about it and me and him – with Martin and Dave – sat down and I was tasked with being like a marriage guidance counsellor. How am I in this situation?

“I wasn’t expecting to work with them again, and then I got a call to do another one and I thought, you know, why not? Then Fletch passed away unexpectedly and I expected it to be called off. Martin and Dave agreed that they wanted to carry on. It was literally the polar opposite to the last one. It was just me, Martin and Dave and Marta (Salogni) the engineer in Martin’s house. Martin and Dave had to talk to each other for the first time in a long time, and they were like long lost brothers, reconnecting, and it was just very sweet and melancholy. I was sitting there in this big veranda having long, leisurely lunches. And they were telling stories of the old Basildon days and it was honestly really lovely. That energy made the recording process very easy. I’m very glad it happened in light of the first one, because it sort of repaired a lot for me as well.”

How do you think your approach might differ to the producers Pet Shop Boys have worked with before like Trevor Horn and Stuart Price?

“I’m fascinated in people’s approaches, because it’s obviously a huge part of what I do. Trevor Horn is a hero. I kept digging, trying to get them to tell me stories about how he did this bit and that bit. But really, at the end of the day, you’re in this situation at that point in time, and Neil and Chris have great demos. So, a lot of times I’ll go through and make it sound like I want it to sound. They were fans of The Last Shadow Puppets, which was a surprise, they love that Scott Walker thing. So, we’ve gone in pretty hard on the string arrangements. Neil and Chris are great writers. They’re very switched on in terms of new music. Taste-wise they’re very on point.” 

You worked with Damon on Gorillaz, is that how the Blur gig came along? 

“Yes, but I also worked with Graham (Coxon) on his band The Waeve. Damon and Graham are some of the best writers this country has ever had. It was quite chaotic as Damon has a very short attention span. He’ll generate loads of ideas all the time. But like the minute he gets bored, it’s liable to just get thrown out the window. Graham is the same, he’ll come up with 20 great things on guitar. I’ll say: ‘That one is really good, let’s do that part.’ He’ll start and then literally a minute into it all the pedals come on and we’ll be off in a different direction. It’s like herding cats. Damon would just play half a piano take and just stand up and walk off halfway through. As a fan, I think it’s as good an album (‘The Ballad of Darren’) as they could have made at this point in their career. I think it’s really strong.”

Do you ever take something from one artist to another like when you did the previous Jessie Ware album you were immersed in that early-80s disco sound – does that then influence the next project? 

“Because I do lots of different types I’m always consciously trying to separate them as much as possible, like push a particular project as far down its own wormhole as it can go so it inhabits its own world. I’ve been doing a lot of strings recently so there has been that thread going through quite a few things. The thing that carries between the projects is experience. The more things I do, the more relaxed I’m getting. You look at someone like Rick Rubin and I think that you get to be that relaxed in that situation, purely by having done it a lot. I feel like being a producer, it’s something you can get better at as you get older, as long as you stay in touch with what’s going on and maintain that kind of playfulness and enthusiasm. The benefit of experience goes a long way.” 

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This article first appeared in issue four of Disco Pogo