Latest news with #RossPhillips
The Guardian
9 hours ago
- Entertainment
- The Guardian
‘People thought I was off my face': indie rockers Hard-Fi look back at adrenaline, addiction and a life of excess
Hard-Fi formed in 2003 in Staines, Surrey. Frontman Richard Archer, guitarist Ross Phillips, bassist Kai Stephens and drummer Steve Kemp released their debut album, Stars of CCTV, in 2005. Featuring Cash Machine, Hard to Beat and Living for the Weekend, it reached No 1 in the UK, sold 1.2m copies worldwide and earned Brit awards and a Mercury prize nomination. The band released two further albums before going on hiatus in 2014. They reunited in 2022 and released a new EP in 2024. This shoot was for an interview in the Big Issue. I still wear those clothes now, but back then a good jacket or pair of sunglasses was a suit of armour. With the right pair of shades, I could face the Terminator. The more extrovert elements of being a frontman didn't always come naturally, so at times I was playing a larger-than-life character. I wasn't that confident performing – not to the extent I'd puke up backstage, but I'd get nervous and try too hard. I was also a bit gobbier and swearier back then. A lot of people thought I was off my face on coke, which I wasn't. Adrenaline is powerful stuff. I often had this outsider feeling – as if there was a party going on we weren't invited to. We'd go out in Staines rather than Camden, but, even though we weren't part of the 'scene', our shows kept selling out. By 2006, it felt like we were on a train that was getting faster and faster. For years, we'd tour and do promo, with no days off – all of which was exciting but exhausting. The whole time I thought: 'We can't stop, we can't screw it up.' There was so much pressure that I didn't get a chance to stop and soak it in. After our third record, the label said: 'We're not going to make another album with you.' I wanted to keep the band going, but the energy wasn't there any more. Ross had his first child, money was getting tight and I realised we should move on. In the years since, I've been writing and producing for other artists. In 2020, I got in touch with the guys and suggested we do something. I was thinking, 'Will people actually turn up?', but we sold out the Kentish Town Forum in 10 minutes. And here we are! I had never worn a flat cap in my life. It was not my thing, so I felt self-conscious. But this was 2005 – I felt self-conscious permanently. I was almost certainly thinking: 'Right, a flat cap, is it? I'll just stand here and try to look tough.' Before Hard-Fi, I was on the dole. I'd go in and say: 'We've got meetings at a record label, the band might actually happen.' They'd reply: 'Sure. Have you thought about getting a job at HMV?' When we signed to Atlantic in December 2004, the dole office thought I was making it up. I was shocked, too – so much so that I wanted to hide my portion of the advance in a pillow case. That approach continued whenever the band had success. As soon as anything good happened, I couldn't celebrate. I just felt fear. Our debut album was recorded in a taxi office covered in cheap asbestos tiles that looked as if they'd been painted yellow, but it was nicotine. They'd turn to dust if you touched them, and there were rats living in the roof. It was grim, a really nasty place. All of which made the more glamorous parts of the band more surreal. James Blunt invited us to a party at his place once. I was introduced to Paris Hilton. She looked me up and down, twice, then turned and walked away. Being in Hard-Fi is half family, half military operation. Rich is the colonel. I am the sergeant – I crack the whip. Ross is a private – 'Yes, sir!' – and Kai is more likely to be awol. We are solid, but we can bicker about all sorts. I get wound up the easiest. I get the hump about anything. After the group went on hiatus, I wanted to use my brain, so I ended up retraining as a nutritionist. Do I help the band eat healthily now? Not remotely. Twenty years later, I am still the same guy. Although, these days I would have the confidence to say no to the flat cap. Those Versace shades definitely helped me get into character. When I joined the group, I realised I was probably not in the best place for what could be a really exciting opportunity. I wasn't getting enough sleep or living my best life, so I had to sharpen up and straighten out. I had a lot of respect for Richard, I had come across Steve at university, and I got on with Ross straight away – we were both just lads from Staines. Before Hard-Fi, I was doing pest control. We used my van for some of those early gigs, and, as I had tough guts, I wasn't bothered by much. Once someone dropped something down a toilet and I grabbed it out with my hand. When the taxi office had an ant infestation, I said: 'Why do you think they're here? It's not for the tunes. There's sugar everywhere.' When our first single made the Top 20, I couldn't believe it was happening. Looking back, I don't think I responded well. Artistically I stepped up to the plate, but personally I lost the plot. My impostor syndrome was huge, and I was dealing with it by becoming dependent on alcohol. There wasn't much talk about addiction back then. To some extent, it was encouraged by the industry. After we were dropped, we had a good break from each other for a fair few years. During that time, I went on a real journey – bad habits returning, and losing a loved one. But I also got the chance to become a good father. I feel positive about life now, but mixed about what's happening with the band. As much as it's exciting to live a bit of 2005 again, because of the crazy curve I've been on, there's apprehension there, too. We were considered 'urban' by the press, so most of our early shoots were done in car parks or bus shelters – anywhere that looked grimy. This one would have been a pleasant change. My outfit is standard Hard-Fi clobber – a black polo and army surplus. I felt comfortable in that – ready to go. I was only 21 when Hard-Fi took off, and the last one to join. I was nervous, but they were an easy bunch of fellas. I'm the youngest of three siblings, I go with the flow, and I applied that same mentality to being in Hard-Fi. It's almost impossible to wind me up. Only my kids can – they've got special skills. In 2005, we were out every night and away from home for months on end. It was great, but I found doing red carpets stressful. Even after four pints, I look like I'm thinking: 'Ahh. What the fuck.' When the third album came around, I started having kids and I thought it was time to get a job. Music stopped for me for a few years – my guitars were put in a cupboard to keep them away from the kids. As we started up the group again, I realised I had forgotten how much I loved playing. But it is a different dynamic this time around. Back then I was just making music. I had zero responsibilities. I knew absolutely nothing at all.
Yahoo
17-05-2025
- Sport
- Yahoo
Palace fans scramble from around world for FA Cup final
The jubilant scenes that greeted the final whistle of Crystal Palace's FA Cup semi-final win over Aston Villa soon gave way to a scramble for tickets to the match that can't be missed. For most Palace fans, the commute to Wembley Stadium will be relatively straightforward. But for others, it will be a labour of love as the Eagles take on Manchester City bidding to win their first major trophy. Ross Phillips, 39, grew up in Australia with English parents. But the connection he felt to his mum's Croydon roots solidified on holiday to England in 1994, when he first visited Selhurst Park. "It was an amazing feeling, hearing football fans singing live for the first time," he told BBC Sport. "As soon as mum showed me her old school in South Norwood I had this community feeling and a special place in my heart. This club was for me and I've been addicted ever since." Ross has now lived in 10 different countries, including Ukraine for the last two years as an English teacher. With no flights in and out of Kyiv since the start of the war, he's had to take a 10-hour train to Lviv near the Polish border, a separate four-hour train to Krakow and finally a three-hour flight to London. "It's a nightmare, it's so tiring just to get out of Kiev with all the military stops and trains" he says. Despite the tribulations though, it was unthinkable that he would ever skip this game. "We don't make the final often and I'll live my life in regret if I miss them lifting their first piece of silverware. If they beat City I would die a happy man." You can watch the BBC's live FA Cup final coverage from 15:25 BST on Saturday on BBC One, BBC iPlayer and online, and listen live on BBC Radio 5 Live. How to watch men's and women's FA Cup finals on BBC Season ticket holder Jack Dunn, 30, managed to bag himself one ticket for the final - but when his 16-year-old brother Johnny said he also wanted to come, he knew what he had to do. Johnny was born in England but emigrated with their dad, Gavin, to Adelaide, Australia in 2014 and hasn't been back since. In 2019, Gavin died suddenly in his sleep from a brain aneurysm. Johnny was only 10. This trip is the first time he's ever flown alone. "He' s only ever been to one game when he was four and this is the first game since Dad died, so let's hope he's the lucky charm" says Jack. He will take Johnny to Wembley to meet friends but, if he can't source a ticket he'll watch the match in a pub nearby: "I was sat in a queue for an hour to get that ticket - but giving it up is what you do for family. Hopefully Palace can win it for our dad." Johnny isn't the only one flying in from down under. Nigel Moore is an IT consultant living in New Zealand. He was born in Sutton, south London, and has travelled to England with his 13-year-old son Alfie, who is missing a week-and-a-half of school. Their journey to London has taken 30 hours, with flights costing more than £2,000. Nigel has also spent £2,000 for three tickets from a resale website, after they missed out in the ballot, but says the expense will all be worth it. "The thought of Palace winning and me not being there scares me more than than the positive thoughts seeing them win would give me," Nigel said. "From a family perspective it's massive. It's great having Alfie to come and see my cousins and brother, especially when you live so far away. "I feel fortunate I'm in a position when I can try and ignore the cost of it to give Alfie something he'll always remember." Not all fans are born-and-bred south Londoners. Zane Gresback, 41, and his wife Angelike are travelling from South Carolina for only their second Palace match in person, leaving their 21-month-old daughter for the first time. "In 2015 I was working in Xiamen, China, and went to a pub one evening called the Londoner," says Zane. "Palace were on TV playing Stoke. One year later, on holiday to Dominican Republic, I think I counted 20 different Palace fans from either their wardrobe or tattoos. The club just kind of kept choosing me." Most American fans choose a big-six club, but not Zane: "I wanted to pick an underdog club just because that's been my background - grittiness and hard work to make it is a big sense of pride. So as I learned more about Palace, the club meant something deeply to me on that level. "We just worship Palace and have been so embraced by the fanbase. The final is more like a celebration of togetherness. We want to see a trophy raised, but regardless, it's about seeing these friends from a million miles away, brought together by football." Regardless of the result, it will be an emotional day for the family and friends of Dena Collins. Dena was a season ticket holder at Selhurst Park but the primary school teacher from Eltham, south London, died two years ago from an undiagnosed blood clot, the day after being discharged from hospital. Stephanie Brewer, who went to games home and away with her, said: "Dena's death broke our hearts. It's a cliche but she lit up a room, she bled red and blue. I've never met any fan who loves the club the way she did." Stephanie, along with at least 10 other friends and family members, will wear Dena's name proudly on their shirts at the final, just as they did for the semi-final, along with the number 28 - the age she was when she died. They will also have masks, tattoos and cushions with her face on them. "I think it brings us a bit of peace to know she's with us at the game," adds Stephanie. "Wembley is so special, she'd have loved the final. I think it would be amazing if we win and a comfort to think that Dena's still here with us, when it happens."
