INTRODUCING: Clock Radio

For anyone who's spent time with Turfin' Out the Maniacs, it won't come as a surprise that Clock Radio's Oliver Daltrey is a student of great songwriting. Across the band's acclaimed debut, echoes of literate indie, timeless pop and leftfield folk weave naturally through a record that feels steeped in musical history while remaining unmistakably its own.

In a recent Gimme 5! feature, Daltrey pulled back the curtain on the five songwriters who helped shape the album, paying tribute to the razor-sharp lyricism of David Berman and Dan Bejar, the disarming honesty of Jonathan Richman, the dreamlike minimalism of Jessica Pratt and the enduring pop brilliance of Dolly Parton. More than a list of heroes, the feature offers a fascinating insight into the records, writers and ideas that informed one of the year's most rewarding indie debuts—revealing how those influences quietly found their way into the world of Turfin' Out the Maniacs.

1. Turfin' Out the Maniacs feels rooted in the great lineage of British indie—from Creation Records to Rough Trade—while still sounding distinctly your own. How do you strike that balance between paying homage to the music you love and making something that feels fresh rather than nostalgic?

We definitely love a lot of bands from those labels, and on our early EPs and singles the influences were much more obvious. You could probably tell I'd just bought a Parquet Courts record or was trying to nick something from Belle and Sebastian.

By the time we made Turfin' Out the Maniacs, we had a much clearer sense of what Clock Radio actually was. We weren't looking over our shoulders at other bands so much—we were taking little things we admired and folding them into our own sound.

Influence is funny because it's often about mood rather than copying chord progressions or production. Mountains Beyond the Sun, for example, came from hearing Purple Mountains and Stephen Malkmus's more reflective solo work. I wanted to capture that bittersweet feeling rather than recreate the songs themselves.

Then there are influences you don't even realise are there—songs your parents played growing up, whether it's Gerry Rafferty, Fat Larry's Band or Clifford T. Ward. Those things seep into your subconscious.

Ultimately it's about staying open to influences while avoiding imitation. Creative limitations help too. I'll never play guitar like Maurice Deebank or sing like Sam Cooke, but aiming for something just beyond your reach often leads to the most interesting results.

2. You've spoken about drawing inspiration from songwriters like David Berman, Jonathan Richman and Dan Bejar, all of whom have very different approaches to lyricism. When you're writing, do you consciously think about storytelling and language, or do the songs tend to reveal themselves as you go?

Those three almost sit on a spectrum. Jonathan Richman has this wonderfully open-hearted sincerity, Dan Bejar can be brilliantly arcane and aloof, while David Berman somehow balanced emotional directness with extraordinary precision.

I'm definitely a word nerd. I obsess over lyrics and spend a huge amount of time on them. Over the years I've moved away from being deliberately cryptic towards something more grounded—writing about relationships, getting older, everyday indignities and small consolations—even if the songs still end up feeling impressionistic.

I think a lot of songwriters from my generation are wary of being too earnest, so I often undercut emotional moments with humour or pop culture references. There's a song called Cactus is Cooler that's really an apology to my bandmates. Right in the middle I sing, "I was vain, I was scared, I'm sorry," but it's surrounded by references to Ferris Bueller and debating what makes a good fleece. That contrast between genuine emotion and everyday absurdity often makes the sentiment hit even harder.

3. Clock Radio has been together in one form or another since you were school friends. How has that shared history shaped the chemistry of the band, and do you think there's a level of trust in the songwriting that only comes from knowing each other for so long?

Our shared history is everything. Honestly, I'm lucky my bandmates still reply to my texts, let alone make records with me. Chris and I started writing songs together over twenty years ago. Things happened incredibly quickly—we were playing packed shows, getting Radio 1 support and attracting major label interest. Unfortunately I became unbelievably arrogant and managed to derail the whole thing.

The band fell apart and I disappeared into making deliberately obscure home recordings, but my friends never completely disappeared. Eventually we found our way back to making music together, and that's how Clock Radio was born.

That history gives this record a real sense of redemption. You can hear how much fun we had making it, particularly on Lines of Passion, which is probably the closest we'll ever come to gospel music. Chris and I always promised we'd make a great album one day. Whether Turfin' Out the Maniacs becomes a huge success or not, we kept that promise.

4. You've hinted that the next album will lean further into pop while introducing more electronic elements. What inspired that shift, and how do you see your sound evolving without losing the jangly, off-kilter identity that's become such a hallmark of the band?

If you asked my bandmates, they'd tell you I change my mind every week about where we should go next.

Pop music has always been my first love. Most of what I hear these days is whatever my kids are playing—Chappell Roan, Olivia Rodrigo, Sabrina Carpenter—and I'm constantly amazed by how inventive and detailed modern pop production is.

I'd love to bring more of those ideas into Clock Radio, whether that's synths, electronic percussion or simply thinking more like pop songwriters. That said, our band chat is full of me suggesting wildly different reference points. One week it's Pet Shop Boys, the next it's The La's. Ask me next week and it'll probably be Kenny Rogers.

Whatever direction we head in, I suspect it'll still come out sounding slightly wonky, jangly and unmistakably like us.

5. At a time when algorithms often reward immediacy and short attention spans, Turfin' Out the Maniacs feels like an album that reveals more of itself with every listen. Is making music that rewards patience something you consciously aim for, or is that simply a by-product of the way you naturally write songs?

It's probably a bit of both. We grew up loving albums that took time to unfold. In the '90s you'd spend your hard-earned money on a record, live with it for weeks and gradually discover songs that ended up becoming your favourites. Those slow-burn moments are something we really value.

One of the joys of making an album is overdubbing. Once you've got the core recording finished, you can spend days adding harmonies, percussion, piano, textures and little melodic details that listeners might not notice until the fifth or sixth play.

Chris even played French horn on No Death. That stage of recording became hugely collaborative, and we were incredibly lucky to work with producer Dom Bailey-Clay at Nine Volt Leap, whose ideas elevated the record throughout.

Hopefully Turfin' Out the Maniacs is the kind of album that keeps revealing new little details every time you return to it.