Del Amitri's Justin Currie: Four Decades of Wit, Melancholy and Music That Still Matters
Interview by Paul Marshall
There are interviews, and then there are conversations you've been waiting nearly forty years to have.
Today, I had the genuine pleasure of sitting down with Justin Currie, vocalist, bassist and principal songwriter of Scottish legends Del Amitri, a band whose music has soundtracked much of my life.
My own story with Del Amitri began back in 1988 when I saw them perform at Bristol Polytechnic. I can still remember the feeling walking out of that venue. As a young musician it was one of those defining concerts that quietly changes the way you think about songwriting. There was no unnecessary spectacle, just exceptional songs, understated musicianship and lyrics that stayed with you long after the amplifiers had cooled.
Few bands survive four decades. Fewer still do so with both dignity and relevance.
Formed in Glasgow in 1980, Del Amitri released their debut single "Sense Sickness" on the independent NoStrings Records in 1983. From those humble beginnings they would go on to release seven studio albums, with five reaching the UK Top 10, sell more than six million records worldwide, enjoy major success across Europe, Canada and North America, and score their biggest US hit with "Roll To Me" in 1995.
Yet despite all that commercial success, Del Amitri have always felt like a songwriter's band.
Perhaps that's why their music has aged so gracefully.
Ironically, despite decades of international success, Del Amitri didn't perform their first New Zealand concert until 2023, when they played Auckland Town Hall. Naturally, I was there. The years had melted away. The songs sounded as vital as they ever had, and for nearly two hours I wasn't standing in Auckland, I was transported straight back to the late eighties.
When I ask Currie what he remembers about finally making it here, his answer comes instantly.
"It was a special treat. I really loved Auckland."
Still living in Glasgow, he admits New Zealand left a lasting impression.
"The South Island of New Zealand is just like a much bigger, more dramatic version of Scotland."
It's easy to picture him returning, not just to play shows, but to explore the landscapes that clearly resonated with him.
Anyone who's read my interviews knows I like to begin somewhere unexpected.
Looking back over more than four decades, what do people still misunderstand about Del Amitri?
Currie replied.
"Oh, that's a good question... oh God, that's a really good question."
He pauses before answering.
"I don't feel particularly misunderstood. Some people think we're too mainstream, and I don't think we are that mainstream. Although we did very much aim for the mainstream in the beginning of the nineties because we wrote a bunch of very accessible songs."
Accessible? Certainly.
There's a vast difference between writing songs people can sing and writing songs people still care about forty years later. Del Amitri have always lived comfortably in that rare space where sophisticated songwriting meets broad appeal.
That naturally led us to Roll To Me, the song that cracked the American Top 10 and introduced the band to millions of listeners.
Its groundbreaking music video remains one of the most memorable of the era, so I wondered whose idea it actually was.
Without hesitation, Currie gives all the credit to Dutch director René Eller.
"It was his idea. We always struggled to get top-notch video directors because we weren't really cool and we only had medium-sized budgets. The American record company got so behind Roll To Me that they doubled the budget."
That extra investment opened doors.
Currie remembers seeing Eller's showreel and wondering why someone so creative would even consider working with them.
"He phoned me and said, 'If I don't have an idea, I'm not doing it. But if I have a good idea, I'm doing it because the budget's really good.'"
Then came the phone call.
"He said, 'I've got it. It's a cross between Absolutely Fabulous and The Stepford Wives, and you're all going to be babies.'"
The revolutionary Flame visual effects technology allowed painstaking image compositing that was almost unheard of at the time.
"I just loved the idea straight away. He was an absolute pleasure to work with and a very funny guy."
Sometimes great videos aren't born from committee meetings.
They're born from one wonderfully bizarre idea.
I ask Currie which Del Amitri song deserved far more attention than it received.
His answer comes from 2002's Can You Do Me Good.
"There's a song called Just Before You Leave. You can dance to it, and it's the only Del Amitri song you can dance to. I'd love more people to know about that and dance to it."
Then came one of my favourite questions.
What's one question you've never been asked but wish someone would?
Currie says.
"That's so hard."
He explains that releasing his memoir, The Tremolo Diaries: Life on the Road and Other Diseases, unexpectedly changed the way he approached interviews.
"I've talked a lot more about my personal life because I put a book out. Touring the book and being asked quite personal questions by the audience, I found a bit of a relief. I thought I would hate it."
For years he deliberately kept his private life separate from his music.
"I was very guarded about my personal life, which kind of made my interviews a bit boring because all I could really talk about was albums and music."
It's fascinating considering how emotionally revealing many Del Amitri songs feel.
But Currie quickly dismantles one of songwriting's biggest myths.
"Most songwriters will tell you don't assume songs are autobiographical. Even the autobiographical ones, you’ve got to add a bit of drama to make them work."
Then comes the line every aspiring songwriter should remember.
"The songs aren't the writer. They are fabrications."
It's an important distinction.
Truth often inspires great songs.
It doesn't necessarily define them.
Few albums influenced my own songwriting more than 1989's Waking Hours.
Kiss This Thing Goodbye.
Stone Cold Sober.
Empty.
Hatful of Rain.
And, of course, Nothing Ever Happens.
Its lyrical imagery remains among the finest of its generation.
"And ignorant people sleep in their beds, Like the doped white mice in the college lab…”
"And bill hoardings advertise products that nobody needs, While "Angry from Manchester" writes to complain about All the repeats on TV..."
Then there's that immortal observation:
"The Martians could land in the car park and no one would care."
I had to know where that song came from.
Currie remembers every detail.
"I had a flat one floor up in Kelvinbridge in Glasgow on Great Western Road."
Looking out over one of the city's longest roads in the early hours became the catalyst.
"I had the idea of writing a song about how my generation were politically apathetic during the Thatcher revolution. Instead of going on protests we all signed record deals and went to nightclubs."
The city outside his window completed the picture.
"The rest of it came from staring out the window at two in the morning watching a desolate city shut down and then open up again."
Great songs often begin with ordinary observations.
The genius lies in recognising them.
Touring has changed dramatically since Del Amitri first climbed into vans in the early eighties.
Has it changed for the better?
Not entirely.
"When we started touring it was subsidised by the record company, which kept ticket prices low. After recorded music became free at the end of the nineties there was really no money left, so record companies stopped subsidising tours and ticket prices went up and up and up."
It's a sobering reminder that streaming may have transformed how we consume music, but someone still has to pay for live performance.
Increasingly, that's the audience.
Of all the concerts he's played around the world, one still stands above the rest.
"Selina's in Sydney in 1990."
Why?
"It was half full of Glaswegians and half full of Australians... it was mayhem in a really good way. And everyone was singing our songs. That was completely new for us."
You can almost hear the grin in his voice.
When he's not making music?
"I watch far too much football."
After the World Cup finished?
"I went into a state of grief because there was no football to watch."
Rock stars.
They're just like the rest of us.
As the interview drew to a close, I couldn't resist asking one final question inspired by Nothing Ever Happens.
Suppose aliens really did land in the car park tomorrow and asked you to play one Del Amitri song that best explains the band.
Which one would it be?
Currie laughs.
"That's hard... really, really hard."
After a long pause he settles on one answer.
"I'd have to say Be My Downfall... but I'd really need more time to think about that."
His hesitation says everything.
Artists rarely think of their catalogue in terms of favourites.
They're all chapters of the same story.
Before we signed off, I squeezed in one quick-fire question.
What's the most Scottish thing about Del Amitri?
Currie doesn't hesitate.
"That we're shy. Ian's very shy. Scottish people are kind of reserved. They disguise that by being very exuberant when they're drinking, we kind of need to change personalities to pretend we're not shy."
That observation felt strangely familiar.
Perhaps that's why Scots and Kiwis tend to understand one another so well.
Twenty minutes.
That's all I had with Justin Currie.
Yet it felt less like interviewing a rock star and more like talking to someone who still genuinely cares about songs, about words and about getting the details right.
Del Amitri have sold more than six million records worldwide, earned platinum albums, written songs that have comfortably outlived changing fashions and trends, and continue to attract audiences who aren't simply chasing nostalgia, they’re celebrating craftsmanship.
Currie remains refreshingly thoughtful, disarmingly funny and completely without ego. In an industry often obsessed with image, he's proof that authenticity still matters.
If you've never experienced Del Amitri live, now is the time.
Their upcoming show at Auckland's Powerstation offers the rare opportunity to see one of Scotland's greatest songwriters in one of New Zealand's most intimate concert venues. Some bands fade into memory.
Del Amitri continue to remind us why great songs never do.
And if the Martians really do land in the car park, I suspect they'll leave with a Del Amitri record tucked under one arm.
Get your tickets now as this show will sell out: https://www.powerstation.net.nz/shows/del-amitri-past-present-four-mar-2027