21-year-old Alfie Templeman, an English singer-songwriter born in Carlton, Bedfordshire, UK, is a musical prodigy who honed his skills under the tutelage of trailblazers like Nile Rodgers and Todd Rundgren. He certainly still falls under the contemporary umbrella of pop and alternative, having climbed the ladder with friends and collaborators Thomas Headon and chloe moriondo, but has presented himself as a deep-rooted savant of funk music, as well as progressive, psychedelic, and soft rock.
Earlier this year, this writer semi-jokingly quipped that Templeman’s song “Hello Lonely,” off new album Radiosoul, would be well-suited for the eventual Calvin Harris record Funk Wave Bounces Vol. 3. When asked if a statement of this nature diminishes the art in favor of desired relatability amongst general listeners, or if the impact of those that paved the way for funk, like Sly and the Family Stone, Earth, Wind & Fire, and even Rodgers himself (with Chic, of course) was enough to justify any iterations of modern pop-funk, Templeman embraced the latter notion. He added names like James Brown and Parliament Funkadelic to the mix, but reiterated, as he would many times throughout the conversation, that funk music is in a class all its own. It is replicated, but never duplicated.
His new record, Radiosoul, out now, follows hisdebut, 2022’s Mellow Moon. The tunes of the latter, while establishing the framework of his funk roots, lacked the immediacy of the instrumental hooks, and the broad stroke of color in Templeman’s head voice-heavy vocal performances, that are displayed across Radiosoul. A mix of the immediate (“Eyes Wide Shut,” “Just A Dance” with Nile Rodgers) to the more unconventionally artsy (“Drag,” “Beckham), by simply finding the groove, Radiosoul gave Templeman permission to, finally, call himself a funk artist.
The term ‘coming-of-age’ has been used in the press materials for Radiosoul. Do you, in any way, think that that underplays the music itself? Basically saying, ‘Oh, my experiences are the driving force, and not the music’?
Yeah, I guess so, to be honest. I’ve been making music for so long now, and I think I’ve had enough experience under my belt. If, say, I released this album when I was 27. I don’t think it would have that attachment to it. But, I do see why people would do that. It reels people in. It’s just all about the experience. If the music is good, it’s good. I don’t care too much about the pretentiousness of over-hyping something and trying to make it good by describing it instead of listening to it.
You’ve talked about making music in people’s bedrooms, and that being the studio setting as opposed to a bigger room like, say, an Electric Lady. Is there anything more organic about making ‘bigger’ music in an enclosed environment, but still hitting the vibe of the genre?
I definitely go by a less-is-more kind of theory. If I walk into a massive studio and there’s a million musical instruments scattered around, as much as I’m intrigued by it, I think it’s like being a kid in a candy store. ‘Where do I start?’ ‘What do I do?’ It becomes a big sense of being overwhelmed, and distracts me from writing the song itself. I also have a small fear of big spaces. It’s hard to be vulnerable in a big corporate kind of room.
You’ve also talked about not wanting to put too much stake into the critical lens. Do you have conversations with people like Thomas and chloe, who don’t live or die by a Pitchfork article, as opposed to someone like Nile, or Todd Rundgren, who came up in an era, pre-social media… when music criticism was an important part of it?
That’s it, isn’t it? The peak of that, in the 70’s, everyone formed opinions about what CREEM or Rolling Stone had to say… and all they were listening to were the records or the radio. In this present day, things like Pitchfork still hold a lot of weight. I see a lot of musicians who have been lifted by that, especially more artsy stuff like Black Country, New Road.
I feel like music criticism is just as important now as it ever has been, and I think it’s a necessary evil. I take it really seriously… I like reading my reviews. I don’t think Thomas or chloe would… the internet is such a big sea of people, and everyone has their own way of looking at it. I’m still just very much aware of how that stuff goes on, because I grew up listening to a lot of 60’s, 70’s, 80’s records that I loved, and I’d find a lot of music through the Village Voice, and whatever.
Do you feel like funk music, especially a young artist making funk music, is in any way critic proof? More protected?
I wouldn’t say so, no. Most of the reception I’ve got from this album has been great… but I think some people have picked up on the fact that I’m not really doing anything new, which is fair to say. What IS new? I can’t think of a genre, apart from hyper-pop, the last 10-15 years. It’s pretty much impossible. Pop music is such a broad thing. There are some people that could release that kind of stuff, but I can also think of examples where people aren’t as happy about it, like Greta Van Fleet. People were pissed off that they’re like… a second coming of Zeppelin. I don’t know if it’s automatically a seal of approval, I think it’s just playing it overly safe. What I try and do is blend all of my favorite soundstogether… just one big amalgamation of things that I love instead of being like, “Here’s 10 folk songs that sound like Bob Dylan.” I think, because I blend things, I get away with it more than someone just trying to make a psychedelic 70’s record, or someone trying to be the second coming of CCR.
With Greta Van Fleet’s first album, people were saying, ‘They’re trying to be Zeppelin, but it sucks,’ while THEY were saying, ‘We don’t even listen to Zeppelin.’ Then, with their second album, everyone said, ‘Oh, this is much better!,’ but they were saying, ‘We’re STILL not going for that.’ So, the perception from artist to critic to general public is so different.
Yeah… yeah, it is. That’s just something that’s never going to really align, is it? unless you’re the biggest artist on the planet, or Pink Floyd, or whatever.
Now we’re getting people interpolating, or using samples from, songs from 2010. Or they’re singing, “Hey! Remember One Direction?” Yes. We were there.
That was yesterday!! That’d be like… The Beatles singing about John Kennedy on Abbey Road. I wonder if in five year’s time, people will start referencing 2020 like that.
That’s a solid transition to your album, because “Hello Lonely” is presented as a COVID-era song in an era far removed from COVID-era songs. Do you feel any long-term effects from isolation, and is that what went into this song and others like it?
The main thing is that I lost a year of my life at a time where I think you should be experiencing a lot of things. I was 17… it was a time when I should be figuring out more about myself, and how to, “be an adult.” I didn’t go outside, talk to anyone, do much for a year. Then, all of a sudden, I’m plopped back into a post-COVID society a bit confused. I got so used to being in the pandemic… that it was just really weird when I got out, because I just didn’t really know who I was.
Songs like “Drag” and “Vultures” are the most progressive, almost hyper-pop leaning, on this album. When you were going in to make those instrumentals… is there any fear of going against the grain? Of experimenting to create something more modern?
It’s a natural thing. I think, once again, if it feels good to me… and it sticks in my head and other people’s heads, that’s a really good sign. Before releasing ‘Drag,’ I was slightly worried… thinking about how people would respond to it, but what I admire about my hero Todd Rundgren is that he just changed every time. He made music that felt good to him. That’s something I admire and always put first, and I think the true fans of mine love that and accept it.
Can you quantify what you’ve learned from working with Nile and Todd to a specific metric?
With Nile, he just helped me be more comfortable, more spontaneous in the studio. I was going really crazy after tour, and I was finding it hard to make things. I wanted to make really weird stuff. I was making prog songs… stuff in like 11:8, I bought a double-neck guitar. What he brought to table was, ‘Chill out, enjoy that it’s just good music. If you feel good about it, I feel good about it, everyone’s going to feel good about it.’
With Todd, he’s just always trying to push the bar out, always ahead of the curve. If he wasn’t a musician, he would have been a computer scientist. I think we’re very different, actually. He likes to make everything digital nowadays.
An early song of yours, “Things I Thought Were Mine,” maintains the spirit of funk music without doing a lot. All the songs from this album really get into the feeling of what funk is. Do you think that that feeling is an important part of how people perceive these songs, or do you feel like there’s no scientific formula…?
I don’t particularly follow too many formulas, because I think it takes away from the actual feeling of the music. As far I’m concerned, the main thing with making something funky is establishing the beat… the actual feeling of it. If my back is getting tense, that’s what does it.
Once the beat is established, I go into the writing of the actual song itself. The musicality, the melodies, everything else that goes in between. The thing that I like about making music is every time I just naturally change because something else happens… like when there’s a new sound or sonic that I’m in love with. Funk always comes along with me. It just shapeshifts in different ways. It’s just down to do what it wants to do.”
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Words: Noah Wade