Opus Kink

Words by Natalia Quiros Edmunds Photographs by Mags Ochalek

Opus Kink's 'happy fuckup'

 Fresh from soundcheck and perched on a picnic table outside Oslo Hackney, the six members of Opus Kink light their rollies and ask me who I'm working for. MI5 is offered as the most likely contender and I'm not about to disagree. They're here, variously donning white vests, leather jackets, and one woollen, bobble-topped beret, to play the London show of their first completely sold out UK headline tour, with support from the formidable queer punk trio Grandma's House. 

For those of you who have somehow missed the racket, Opus Kink is made up of frontman Angus Rogers, saxophonist Jed Morgans, bass and drum wielding brothers, Sam and Finn Abbo, trumpeter Jack Banjo Courtney, and keys magician Jazz Pope. Together they cut a fine figure and have gained quite the reputation for electrifying live shows that not only make you forget your own name, but make you want to do so repeatedly. But they didn't start out with the intention of holding cultic venerations to a crazed incarnation of country-punk-jazz. “We thought we were going to be a jazz band doing little clubs in deep Germany...or something like that,” says Angus wistfully, “but turns out we couldn't do that.” “Can't play jazz” quips Jed. “Not good enough,” laughs Angus. And perhaps that's something to be grateful for because the result is Opus Kink as I, along with four hundred other eager punters, were able to experience them in a sticky, top floor, badly lit room in Hackney; an elusive Frankenstein's monster of jazzed up brass, funk, and relentless energy. 

When it comes to what Opus Kink actually sound like, most describe the band as a jazz-punk fusion but none seem able to define it further than that. “I think keep it that way,” says Angus, “we can kind of pick and choose what we want it to be,” concludes Jed. Their reference points are eclectic and varied, “it's kind of a happy fuckup of lots of different influences and tastes smashed together,” explains Angus, “we listen to punk music, we listen to jazz music, we listen to funk music, you know? So it's kind of more entertaining to hear what people think it is or would like it to be.” Unsurprisingly then, there's no game plan for radical genre subversion, “it's just running down the street grabbing things off different stalls and throwing them at the wall,” claims Angus, “no game plan of, ‘right, we're gonna turn jazz into punk,’ or anything like that.” To which Sam and Jed howl, “we're a rock band with a saxophone and trumpet. Stop beating around the bush!” The others laugh, “we never said we were a rock band until Jack told us that we were,” confesses Angus. “We wouldn't admit it,” adds Jazz. What does seem clear is their drive to keep evolving. Jazz claims that the new material they're working on at the moment is very different to what it has been, “it's always changing, always moving. I think that is the Opus Kink sound.” 

Undeniably though, Opus Kink are key players in the explosion of brass and wind instruments that have quickly become the new trademark of an evolving post-punk sound. Speedy Wunderground and adjacent bands like Black Country New Road, Black Midi, Moreish Idols, and O., being other obvious contributors. Angus recalls discussing this dawning era with a friend from Brighton, who notes how unsurprising this is given that most people now in bands have either gone to music college or private school. “There's a lot of clarinets everywhere,” he concludes. They're careful to add that none of them went to private school. 

Opus Kink's strength is in it’s ability to make space for revelry amidst dark lyrical narratives that embrace the more miserable aspects of human experience. “That's one of the things we're most pleased about in how people perceive this group,” says Angus. Doom-laden poetry grates against frantic instrumentals that border on an insane insistence and celebration of life. The music maintains this explosive tension between conflicting energies, and then runs with it. “I think if it tips too far one way, then it very quickly gets boring,” says Jazz. “We were talking earlier about continuity and I think that's what we gotta keep. Whatever genre we're doing, that's the important thing.” Inspired for the most part by Absurdist and Existentialist sentiment, their lyrics draw directly from literary and philosophical thinkers like Samuel Beckett, Albert Camus, and Sarah Kane; “an approach to bleakness and despair that offers some vague hints of respite,” surmises Angus. “It's a party at the end of the world. That's what it feels like up there, and hopefully what it feels like to other people in the room. The music being energetic, and hopefully exciting, as an antidote to miserable lyrics. I mean, we're far from the first to do that of course,” continues Angus. “It's been tried and tested many times. It works,” adds Jed. “It goes hand in hand with our various neuroses and how we approach unhappiness or fear. How most people do I think,” Angus concludes. 

While their music touches on deeper questions, it also maintains a light-heartedness and readiness to not take itself too seriously. “When we started playing the music to Wild Bill, [Angus] very quickly knew it needed to be about a cowboy” laughs Jack. “It's about the fall of the West, man!” protests Angus, “and a cowboy,” Jed says to nods of serious agreement, “and cowboys, yeah.” It is this playfulness that bleeds into their live shows, which become like unhinged cabarets; one reviewer even boldly suggesting the band could pursue careers as “horn(y) porno actors,” following their performance at Leffingeleuren festival in Belgium in September. “But it doesn't feel put on,” says Jazz, “Nah, since I've joined, I've never felt any pressure to become some sort of like, I dunno, thespian,” grimaces Jack to Jed's scream of “But now you are!” “I dunno, you just fucking do it, you just turn into something else.” The freedom that Opus Kink display on stage is addictive, it's an energy unlike most live bands. There's a madness to it, no doubt, and one that electrifies its audience. Angus adds, “it's just an area in which you can do that. You've granted yourself the licence, the light's low, the smoke's on. You can squirm and do a high kick.” “It's like fucking therapy, I'm not gonna lie,” says Jazz. Amidst what can sometimes feel like a scene full of sculpted men pursing their lips in oversized suits, it's a breath of fresh air; a degradation that fully embraces the magic and energy of live performance. “I think some self-belittlement and deprecation is part of the whole reaching for something past ourselves, or something that's interesting in that hour that we're playing. It's all grabbing at fucking straws and trying to make people clap their fucking hands. So attention seeking really.” Perhaps Angus is right, but it's not without its entertainment factor. The theatrics make for an incomparable spectacle where each song is reserved its own glittering character, “you can feel like Gollum or a spider. Then you can feel like a sexy go-go girl. Or you can feel like a very sedate fisherman. It's all available to us. I can feel like Jason Statham in a sequined dress,” claims Angus, Jason Statham bald head just peeking from beneath its bobble hat. 

When probed on what's ahead, there's excitement; burgeoning releases, support slots, and stages, “we've got a spreadsheet” announces Jack with a dry smirk. “There's things in the calendar,” confirms Angus, “but as to the big picture next step, you never really know, which is fun.” What they term their “vague ambitions” did not see them playing Oslo “in a million years,” says Jed. “We would never have dreamed,” agrees Angus, which makes what's to come all the more exhilarating. True to form, and tongues firmly in cheek, their sights are set variously on being remembered for their hats, Sam's toenails – that Jazz claims haven't been cut in five years – and Jed's metal ribs, which supposedly ready him for the imminent socialist revolution. Finally though they settle on “being the best non-ska band there ever was.” “Because all of the ska bands are way better,” concludes Jed. 

As our chat drew to a close, there was only one obvious final question to ask; are Opus Kink kinky? “We had this conversation yesterday,” says Angus, “but we can't have it here now. We'll just say a blanket yes and leave the rest up to imagination.”