Despite playing Roy Orbison and being a teen pin-up, Johnathan Rice just wants to work on his songwriting, he tells Tony Clayton-Lea
Every week it seems as if there's a new pop star du jour; they're trotted out with mind-numbing regularity, thrust into the eye of the media storm. They have their say, and then they retreat back into their niche corner, polite, well fed, and safe in the knowledge that they won't be disturbed until something very interesting happens, like, say, gossip about their relationships. Or, even, a co-starring role in a major movie.
Say hello, then, to Scottish singer-songwriter Johnathan Rice. He's very much the new pop star du jour - polite, too; he likes his sushi and his haggis, and there are some very interesting things happening to him Stateside. There is, for instance, the rumour of his relationship with Jenny Lewis, lead singer of the much lauded US band Rilo Kiley ("this is mistaken information," says Rice, not so much miffed as bemused, "I've been single for a very long time"). And then there is his co-starring role (as Roy Orbison) in the forthcoming movie about the early life of Johnny Cash (which features Joaquin Phoenix as Cash, and Reese Witherspoon as June Carter). And then, of course - for those readers whose daughters have recently graduated from Barbie comics to Elle Girl - there is the not-so-small matter of Johnathan Rice, Mr Pin Up for the OC generation.
"It's flattering to have anything remotely positive written about you," he concedes, "but I think some coverage lasts and others do not. I'm only 22, so youth is on my side for the next few years, but I put more stock in the likes of Mojo and Q - even though I've seen those magazines immaturely turn on artists as well. To be honest, the minute the good stuff starts, you're just waiting for the other shoe to start kicking. Maybe the haircut I have is appealing, which is why Elle Girl likes me. Ultimately, though, I'm shocked at how little coverage there is about the music itself."
Rice's family background is Scots-Irish; his grandparents originated from Donegal, and his parents are both from Glasgow. Regular travel to the Virginian backwoods, as well as being based in Los Angeles on and off over the years, hasn't dented Rice's Scottish burr one bit.
"It surprises me as well. Although my first memories of being alive were in Glasgow, I've been living outside of Scotland for most of my life. The accent can change from morning to afternoon, or from how many drinks I've had. Sometimes it goes further across the Atlantic, and sometimes it swims back. I was always criticised for my American accent when I lived in Glasgow, and vice versa. I always remember my family telling me to hold onto the accent, almost deliberately, because it's part of my identity, part of what I am. And let's be honest - it's far more charming than a Virginian accent."
RICE'S DEBUT ALBUM, Trouble is Real, is something of a charmer, too. Eclectic in its spread of styles, it bubbles over with the kind of music and lyrical smarts that benefit from a grounding in his parents record collection (Beatles, Neil Young, Dylan), his own burgeoning musical tastes (Pixies, Nirvana, Ramones), and a voracious reading appetite that embraces Camus, Joyce, Poe, Rimbaud, Kafka, and Flannery O'Connor. The album has been clocking up the type of positive coverage that borders on the hagiographic - not that Rice believes it.
"I've always been a stringently self-critical person," he states. "But that's just Catholicism for you, isn't it? There's such an emphasis in cities like Glasgow and Dublin, such an attitude within these cultures of not getting too big for your boots and not overstepping perceived boundaries. Especially those who leave the respective countries of Scotland and Ireland; you're congratulated for travelling to say, America, but the attitude is - well, sometimes - that perhaps you think you're too good for your own country." Growing up in this kind of environment, Rice learned to self-criticise in order to be prepared for the time when others criticised him. He also seems to have something of a problem about his Catholic educators.
"I'm happy that I was put into those awful oppressive Catholic schools, where the nuns rejected original thought, and punished it. And I'm happy for that oppression because if you've got real spine it brings it out a lot quicker. It's almost as if they don't mean to do it, but they end up building little antichrists. If Stephen Dedalus had been at Clongowes and they were all lovely to him, I don't think we'd have the books we have."
Did his schooling, and his dislike for its methods, bring out the creative side of him? "I'd like to think so; it's difficult enough to know what are the roots of creativity. Is it inherent, regardless of who a person is or what their background is? It's probably a mixture of both."
For someone who felt so out of place all the time, being thrust into new environments, says Rice, gave him a "certain comfortable loneliness" that he could retreat into. "It's an intimidating thing to walk into a new school as a teenager, which I did in Glasgow," he relates. "It made it easier for me to just go home and put records on, or to go into my bedroom and read books. Certainly, there were years of my childhood when more time was spent listening to music and reading books than playing with the kids down the street." Had Rice gone out more often to play football, it's possible that Trouble Is Real might not have been as good as it is.
HE SAYS HE has always felt out of place; indeed, he seems to enjoy the familiar singularity of it. Yet he knows that being out of place in an out-of-place environment can ultimately turn an individual into a member of a pack. I ask him where he is at right now - his record's positive coverage, his upcoming movie, and his present status as young girl pin-up is something of a head spinning mixture, isn't it?
"Less than half of me is very pleased, and very eager as to what might come next," he replies, "but since I'm so busy and moving around so much I think I'll have to forget myself for a while, and maybe even put myself away. To protect ourselves - musicians, that is - we just have to sometimes put ourselves on hold. So I don't necessarily know where I'm at right now - I lead such a disruptive lifestyle."
The only thing that Rice is remotely concerned with is, he says, getting better as a songwriter. But there is a high, unenviable price to be paid for such an ambition.
"What I'm starting to understand about this way of life is that if you're really going to live for it then everything has to be put on the back burner - including happiness."