It’s a cruel quirk of artistry that praise is often at its most fervent when the artist is no longer around to hear it. When news broke of Silver Sun singer James Broad’s death from bowel cancer, the internet was duly awash with acclaim for the songwriter’s innate grasp of melody. You dearly hope Broad – who was in his late 40s – knew just how appreciated his talent was in life, too.
Sadly, that is unlikely. Though his band were familiar on the Britpop scene – the band’s self-titled 1997 debut and helium-throated breakout single Lava are widely regarded as genre classics – what became apparent during the collective grieving of Friday night was that few were aware of Silver Sun’s creative output after being dropped by Polydor in 1999. The band’s excellent sixth album, Switzerland, was released in April.
Britpop was Silver Sun’s blessing and curse. It brought the band to prominence during an era when chequebooks were open and advances were big, but the band, with their crunchy barre chords, big choruses and complex multi-layered harmonies, were much more suited to the American powerpop or pop-punk scenes than they were the larks of Camden in the 90s. Silver Sun were more Big Star than Blur, more Green Day than Gene, much more akin to the great Cheap Trick than Cast.
While the quality of Broad’s songwriting crossed three decades, it was the single Lava that remained their signature song. Released twice (it failed to hit to the Top 40 in 1996, then crept in at No 35 a year later), it’s a wholly unique composition: whippet fast, fizzy, with a lyric sheet that confounds even now (“Bull’s blood for baby Jesus, for lava, for lava”). The song, and its parent album – produced by a young Nigel Godrich and containing similarly hook-heavy singles Last Day, Golden Skin and Julia – are key documents of an era when indie was the pop of its time.
It’s also cruel, for a band led by a songwriter of Broad’s ability, that their biggest hit wasn’t a composition of their own. Released in 1998, their crunchy cover of Too Much, Too Little, Too Late – by the Australian songwriter John Vallins and a 1978 US No 1 for Johnny Mathis and Deniece Williams – unlocked the doors to TFI Friday and Saturday-morning kids’ TV. “Not really my favourite thing,” said Broad when I interviewed him just a week ago. “We did it for fun as a B-side, and then some fuckwit said, ‘Why don’t you do a covers EP?’” A further Top 30 single, I’ll See You Around, followed, but second album Neo Wave reached only No 74, and they were dismissed from their major-label home.
I wasn’t aware that Broad had cancer when I contacted him for a project where I interview the unsung indie heroes of my teenage years. In years gone by I had seen him around – no pun intended – frequenting supermarkets and pubs in east London, without ever having the steel to approach him; I’d coveted the imported bicycles and T-shirts he sold as part of his online business, Old Skool Hooligans.
And I’d kept abreast of Silver Sun’s output, almost becoming blase about their consistent quality even as their lineup concertina’d. Broad plays all the instruments on Disappear Here (2005) but the group reconvened for Dad’s Weird Dream a year later, before dropping back to its sole constant on the eclectic A Lick & A Promise (2013). When the original lineup of Richard Buckton (bass), Paul Smith (guitar) and Richard Sayce (drums) joined Broad to support a newly reunited Sleeper at the Shepherd Bush Empire in late 2017, it felt as if they hadn’t missed a beat; the future felt open.
So it was a shock when he told me of his terminal illness. “I probably have about four years max left – unless someone comes up with something pretty impressive soon to fix me up,” he said. “I am learning to live with that fact. It’s not easy. I don’t really worry about myself as such. It’s hard to worry about something you really don’t have any control over. I worry more about my wife, daughter and my mum who all kind of rely on me for various stuff. I’m doing all I can to try and sort all my shit out so they don’t have too much crap to do when I’m not around.
“Sorry to end this chat on a down note,” he continued. “I’m not walking around in a gloom all the time. I try and stay pretty positive. I haven’t done much recording as singing loud is quite hard, but I’m sure I’ll get around to some new stuff soon.”
I am at least grateful that in the days prior to his death he received a volume of emails from me informing him he was a genius. If Broad has a legacy – beyond the volume of brilliant songs to bear his name – it should be that we tell creators that their art does so much for us, when they’re here to hear us say it.
