The Duke Spirit are a spitting, firing, stampeding five-piece rock band from London that you need to see, hear, and be swallowed by. Singer Liela Moss is a lithe, blond cross-up between Björk and heyday Axl Rose. As a unit, the Duke Spirit drive with '60s-torched, dual-guitar garage momentum. Toby Butler (guitar), Luke Ford (guitar), Marc Sallis (bass), and Olly Betts (drums) circulate and build behind the throat of Moss's sugar-dusted sonar. For eight months, the band holed up writing and recording their third album, Bruiser. They had just come off two years of touring and wanted strip down their sound, to put it on a diet. The result is effective—Bruiser is big and bare, pounding at times, and elsewhere receding into subdued dynamics. Working with producer Andrew Scheps (Johnny Cash, Weezer, U2) helped whittle and prod the arrangements into the leaner, sought-after modes. Alan Moulder (the Jesus and Mary Chain, Depeche Mode, My Bloody Valentine, Smashing Pumpkins) handled additional mixing. Moss spoke from the Fillmore in Miami as the band was loading in. She is not down with Mickey Mouse.
Shouldn't you be helping the guys carry gear in?
I should be, but you've done me a great service, because now I get to talk to you and not carry shit in. Ooh look, there's our fruit basket—very gourmet. We've been obsessed with Clif Bars lately. They have flavors here we've never seen, like coconut and carrot cake. The carrot cake one blew our minds. Fucking hell, man, the quicker we get out of Miami the better. I can't take this much humidity and the ridiculous amount of tourism going on. We just had a moment in the sea, though, which was perfect to clear out a late-night hungover vibe. But it's too much, I can't take it.
You're not into the Mickey Mouse aspect?
No, not really. And not into the cruising Miami Beach thing, either. I've been here three times, and I can safely say I've had my fill now. But we found this brilliant little dive bar last night and met this young punk band from Puerto Rico that were just totally fucking on it, so we got a little excited about it. We got their 7-inch and their e-mail address, because I want to make sure we play with them next time we're over here.
The Duke Spirit tour so much. For Neptune, you were basically on the road for two years. What does touring that much do to your psyche? How does it affect you?
I ask myself that same question. I think I've learned to find a personal home within my mind, and to find home within a relative calm. It's kind of a Zen experience after a while, because your possessions can't sustain you, and the things that you have back home can't help you. You really only have your appetite to get to the next place and meet new people and put on a good show. Everything external falls away and is ephemeral, and what really matters is getting my voice to connect with people, and meeting people. I love meeting people—strange people, funny people, people who tell us strange stories in hotels and elevators—it all draws in a beautiful humanity.
Touring can get boring at times, with the long drives. I've gone to new levels of boredom. Then it gets so boring [that] it's meditative. You get to the other side of boredom.
What place has surprised you in a good way?
New Jersey. We had the best show there. When our second album called Neptune was out, we played in a small town there called Neptune. They had slightly redeveloped the boardwalk, and it was just a trip. It was a rammed show in a shifty bar, and it went off. Then we piled back to the hotel and there was a Hasidic Jew convention with 3,000 Jewish kids running around. They thought we were the Kings of Leon.
How do you describe yourself to people?
I say we're a heavy rock-and-roll band that also has moments of extreme tenderness.
What albums helped form you?
Spiritualized's Ladies and Gentleman. It's so intense and rocking and psychedelic, then everything drops away and there's stillness and a single voice and tenderness. I remember that record really affecting the way I thought about things. And Björk when I was a teenager—her albums have these total pop moments, then these absolutely hard-slamming and crunching sounds, industrial and digital noises. I wanted to cultivate that feeling, where one moment you're exploding toward your audience, where you're riding them on this dangerous wave and frequency, then pulling back and being still.
You say your new album, Bruiser, is your nurse, your horoscope, your map, and your punching bag. Explain.
A lot of it engages slight melancholy, of being away from home and those you love. And watching people you know fall in love, and meeting people and falling for them, not like sex, but falling for who they are. The experience of what we do touring, being in places, then establishing bonds, then leaving. And contemplating separation and distance and place—the map of it all—and pouring it into song. That's where the nurse part came from. Taking care of feelings. The punching bag is being pissed when you haven't brought the best out of a situation.
How is it your horoscope? Is that seen in your lyrics?
I have no idea. I'm a Ram, an Aries. Sometimes I still feel like such a child when I'm writing lyrics. I really enjoy when pictures start emerging. It might just be that I've got half a sentence. I'm observing myself and observing someone I'm with, then I'm remembering something I heard someone say in the elevator, and stories come through. It's like channeling information that's not necessarily about you or for you. It's written in the stars and you're just churning it out, and I like that. It's like switching on an antenna and tuning in to something more complex than the story you thought you were going to tell. You've thrown in these symbols and words you heard, and it becomes this bigger collage of dimensions and an alliteration of words. That's my astrological bullshit there for you [laughs].
Speaking of rams, what's that on the cover of Bruiser? That's a ram, right?
It is. It's a rare breed called a piebald, a four-horned ram. I like its gothic, British, farmy elements. We didn't choose it because it's my sign, actually. I realized that after the fact, then thought, "Oh goody! More things I can relate to myself" [laughs].
In your song "Procession" you say, "Promote yourself into heaven." What are you speaking to there?
I'd say that's a byproduct of spending lots of time in America, and I say that with full respect. I think it's all the advertising and the ridiculous shit you see on the TV. The shocking amount of crap and slogans being thrown around in the 17 minutes of commercials in between whatever it is you're watching, all this stuff that's constantly stuffed in your face for purchase. Cars or beer or insurance or whatever. I'll be half asleep in a hotel scribbling notes.
You guys worked with Andrew Scheps on the album to strip back the sounds. You say you've put the songs on a diet. How did he get your sounds leaner?
Several things: In one song, he wanted just voice and piano, and he wanted me to play it slowly and not have a click track. He didn't want me to try to keep time; he wanted it to be fluid. And at times, he had us repeat things in odd numbers. You know, we're so programmed with 4s and 8s. It makes turn-arounds land in different places, puts songs in a different shape. And he's such a relaxed person. It's hard for me to work with someone who's a hard-ass or who has an ego. I mean, he'll tell you what he thinks, but his temperament is perfect. He'd challenge me about words or phrasing and ask, "Why are you putting extra words in there?" He's like the cool teacher at school. He gets you to do shit, but you don't realize it.
Is it ever an issue with drunk guys hitting on you after a show? Do the guys in the band have to step in and protect you? Do you have a distress signal?
We do have a band glance that means save me, if someone's been cornered with a conversation or something. Generally, it's not a big problem. There was one guy, a perfectly fine, sweet person who we've met before. But he'd cornered me and decided to reveal to me the dominatrix side of his sexual personality. I'd given the save me glance across the room for someone to save me. But then it started to get juicy with the descriptions and details and terms for various games, so I didn't need to be saved.
So no guys have gotten your name tattooed on their chest or their neck or on the inside of their lip?
No. Can you arrange that? I would enjoy that. 
