Pioneertown in California looks exactly how it sounds, which is like an old western movie set, which is what it was when it was founded in the 1940s. It is the kind of place you can imagine drinking the heat away with Gene Autry. Instead, I am discussing the joys of speedskating with Swedish electro band Little Dragon.
“It’s just a very nice thing to have in your life,” says drummer Erik Bodin, earnestly. “I feel like I have the same drive as somebody who could get to the Olympics. But I’m too old.”
“It’s never too late,” says the singer Yukimi Nagano, patting his shoulder.
Are all those bruises on Bodin’s legs from the skating? He looks down at his calves. “No, those are from weightlifting,” he replies phlegmatically.
“And helping me move rocks,” chirps keyboard player Håkan Wirenstrand who is building a stone house just outside Gothenburg with his family. “It’s a very fun activity,” he adds and, just in case this conversation wasn’t making Little Dragon sound sufficiently wholesome in a distinctly Swedish way, here’s an image: Wirenstrand, who has the beard of a wizard and the long thinning hair of a trendy geography teacher, is wearing knee-length shorts, sandals and socks.
We are in a small cottage behind Pappy and Harriet’s, a frankly brilliant Tex-Mex restaurant and improbable music mecca out in the desert. It’s definitely the most happening place in Pioneertown. Paul McCartney, Arctic Monkeys and Robert Plant have all played here – and in six hours Little Dragon will too, launching their new album, the charmingly upbeat Season High, and kicking off their US tour.
The band are visibly nervous about this, their first gig for three years. Nagano, bassist Fred Wallin (no beard), Bodin (beardier) and Wirenstrand (beardiest) are all very friendly, but their answers are stilted. When I ask the softest question about whether there’s anyone they’re looking forward to seeing at Coachella, the festival we’re heading for tomorrow, they look flummoxed. After a few seconds, Wirenstrand replies: “We’re very focused on just getting our stuff together.” The other three nod tightly.
Still, at least they have a lucky mascot. Jaxon, Nagano’s 14-month-old son, has come along. When I arrive, he is in his mother’s arms, grinning happily at his three surrogate dads. Although Nagano recoils from questions about his father, it is rumoured to be a hip-hop legend. So it is not surprising that Jaxon is the coolest 14-month-old I have ever seen. Over the next two days, I spot him at various points bopping away to Fleetwood Mac and, of course, Little Dragon.
“He’s the love of my life,” Nagano murmurs, nuzzling his cheek.
“I’m very impressed by the strength you have, grabbing this kid under your arm and being like, ‘OK, we gotta go hunt!’” says Bodin. “It’s impossible to separate your music from your life.”
“Yes, music was my first baby,” Nagano agrees. “And we are like a family,” adds Wallin.
The most commonly repeated line about Little Dragon, who have been together since becoming friends at school in Gothenburg more than 20 years ago, is that they’re the band that almost made it. But this isn’t really fair, not least because it depends on the idea that there was a specific level of success the band were aiming for, which would require far more careerist calculation than they could ever manage. Their biggest success remains the 2011 single Ritual Union, which you have heard at every hipster party and in every high street store. Any other band would be tempted to knock out more of the same, but Little Dragon’s reaction was precisely the opposite.
Nagano explains: “There are comments people make, ‘Oh, there’s no Ritual Union on the album!’” She karate chops the air, as if fending off such advice from label bosses. “Or, ‘You should do an acoustic album because Radio 1 is playing a lot of acoustic!’”
“Ugh that finger! I want to cut it off!” cries Bodin, grabbing Nagano’s scolding digit. “The real template is doing something you like yourself, that makes you think, ‘This is strange and groovy! WHAT is going on?’”
Season High is definitely strange and groovy. If their previous album, Nabuma Rubberband, was influenced by the wooziness of Janet Jackson ballads, then here the sound is reminiscent of the more energetic back catalogues of Prince and Kelis. This is partly because, for the first time, the band brought in an outside producer: Simian Mobile Disco’s James Ford. Was it hard letting someone else into the hermetic world of their Gothenburg studio?
“You know,” says Nagano, “we’re a band with a history and we have an easy time coming up with songs, but we sometimes have a struggle finishing them. So having James Ford come in at the end was really helpful because it was someone from the outside. He was like, ‘How about … ?’ And we were like, ‘Yeah!’ It was really simple.”
A few hours later, the sun has set and, in the back garden of the restaurant, hordes of hipsters are eating barbecue. When Nagano climbs on stage, wrapped in what looks like a giant bridal veil, she looks at the crowd anxiously, but visibly relaxes as they cheer. The show has the usual Little Dragon psychedelic feel, but the songs have surprising heft, coming mainly from Bodin’s drums. Turns out all that weightlifting helps give percussion oomph.
The next day, the band spend a few hours in Pioneertown before heading over to Coachella. When they arrive, they try to find some food, but a 10-minute walk in the sun now feels like an hour to Nagano, worrying about her baby. “Having him definitely makes the touring experience less chill,” she says, with some understatement. Given that she was pregnant when working on the album, does she think that contributed to its happy mood? “Almost certainly. It also made me hurry up because I was like, ‘OK, gotta get these lyrics down before that baby comes!’”
The band played Coachella in 2014 and, in two months, will be returning to Glastonbury. How do the two festivals compare? “It’s very clean here,” says Nagano a little sceptically, looking at the picture perfect Empire Polo Club, where Coachella takes place. You can see why American artists are so bewildered by Worthy Farm after playing here, I say. “Well, we play Swedish festivals, so we know it can be worse,” says Bodin.
In the evening, they hang out while Jaxon settles down for the night, blissfully unaware of the excitement generated by the rumour that two Kardashians have been spotted. Nagano looks brilliant in a satin sports jacket and pleated lurex red skirt pierced with safety pins, but this is casual for her, and she excitedly shows me her stage outfit, which I can only describe as punk kabuki. Does she feel pressure to be the sexy frontwoman? “A bit, I guess, but that’s just not me, that’s not this band. I was more surprised when people described me as ‘quirky’. I didn’t know I’m quirky – I’m just being me!”
When they head off for their set, the tent is only half-full but the band seem delighted to be there, especially Nagano whose veil looks like a giant flame flying out of her head. They play a few old hits, but the emphasis is on the new album. The combination of dreamy psychedelia and dance pop is perfect for this California festival and the tent is soon packed. Little Dragon brought people to them, doing things their way.
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