Moving Mountains

"If you're not touring in a rock'n'roll band, then what the bloody hell else are you doing?” Simon Neil shrugs with a laugh. He does that a lot during our chat. The frontman is disarmingly affable – it immediately feels like we've known each other a lifetime – and is reflecting on the summer that was for Biffy Clyro, a time that featured the biggest ever moment in the Scottish trio's 18-year career – headline billing on Sunday night at Reading Festival, over a vocally unimpressed Trent Reznor no less.

“It was the one festival that right since we were teenagers, when Nirvana headlined in 1992, it was always on our radar,” begins Neil. “And to be honest, we never thought we'd headline it. I made a fake poster when I was fifteen, with our band name at the top – I think we were called Screwfish at that point – and we were headlining with Nirvana below us and Pearl Jam. It only really occurred to me a couple of months before the festival happened, like, 'Shit, this is actually what I dreamed of'; it's so unusual to have a specific dream in mind and it actually came true. It feels like we – I don't want to say earned it because there's a lot of bands that work their fucking arses off – but it felt like the time was right.”

Since their 2002 debut Blackened Sky, Biffy Clyro have long represented a rock band for the people. Beneath the tangled structures and jagged riffs are some serious anthems, while the players behind the music – Neil and sibling rhythm section James [bass] and Ben [drums] Johnston – are humble, hardworking and without airs and graces. They never expected anything from this music game, and still don't, which makes every accomplishment all the more special for the 34-year-old.

“We're not worried about being one of those bands that breaks big everywhere – if we get to go to a place then that's a success,” he states with no apprehension. “The fact that we're coming down to Australia for the fourth/fifth time is just mind-boggling; as long as there's somebody there that gives a shit. Right from the start we always said we'd rather be a hundred peoples' favourite band than a million peoples' tenth favourite band, and I do feel we've managed. People get drawn in, and I love that.”

As a lyricist, Neil puts himself out there for the world to hear. And even though the band are now venturing deeper into foreign waters to places like Hungary, Poland and Japan, fans continue to find their voice, a feeling the frontman calls “unbelievable”.

“There's a lot of joy in knowing you're sharing that kind of sadness,” he informs. “I know that sounds pretty fucking depressing, but there's a joy in that, when you're looking at someone who cares as much as you do – it's such an amazing feeling. Whenever we record I can never imagine anyone singing the songs back, even after six albums. It just doesn't dawn on me. And then when we go out and play and I'll be like, 'That's right, these songs are about all of us', it's not just about me at that point. That makes me definitely happy.

“That's what travelling has made me realise – people are the same everywhere,” Neil continues. “People have the same worries, the same troubles, they want to be happy – it's as simple as that. All the other stuff is just detail, and I think that's why music is so good and powerful... Shit, I sound like a philosopher,” he cackles. “But it's so powerful as an art form because it's one of the few that genuinely works on anyone, like a melody can work on anyone – it's just a beautiful thing. The more we've toured the more we've realised that music's special.”

Although Neil might not share DNA with the Johnston pair, the three friends have experienced more as a band than most families go through in a lifetime. There's been many times where the train could have derailed – the most recent being Ben's booze battle in 2012 – but it hasn't, it continues to rumble on. And now with dreams as realities for Biffy Clyro, it seems that, almost two decades in, anything is possible.

“That was the final hurdle, it was like, 'This is the final thing that could tear our band apart in the usual list of things',” Neil remarks in reference to Ben's alcoholism. “The fact that we survived it, as friends and a family as opposed just to being a band, [is amazing]. Because a band can survive, a band can be a job if that's what you want it to be, but we have no interest in it being that. We don't want it to be work; we want it to be what we started when we were [teenagers].”