London Grammar

When I meet London Grammar’s Dan Rothman, he’s struggling with a coffeepot. In his defence, he’s not used to them. “You can’t get a decent cup of tea outside of Britain,” he laughs; a sheepish reiteration of the plight of many caffeine-deprived ex-pats before him. But Dan is clearly able to figure things out quickly—after all, London Grammar rocketed from obscurity to platinum in under a year, transforming Dan and bandmates Dot Major and Hannah Reid from undergrads to pop stars in a single, reverberating heartbeat. Hannah isn’t here today, she’s nursing an abscessed wisdom tooth and resting the lush, melancholic voice her band mates accurately describe as “dark chocolate.” But Dan and Dot, a puppy-tumble of youthful camaraderie and swoony boy-band good looks, happily pipe up on her behalf. “She used to sound a lot more like Florence,” says Dan of the common comparison between Hannah and Welch, “technically as a singer Hannah is definitely better,” he cheekily adds, “nothing against Ms. Welch.”

But as London Grammar’s artistic identity rapidly solidifies, the initial impulse to compare them with others is waning. “You have to earn your right to be your own band,” acknowledges Dot, and with debut album Metal & Dust, London Grammar has done just that, producing throbbing, atmospheric ballads that sound undeniably distinct.

Their musical identity is aptly conveyed by the title of single “Wasting My Young Years”—this is a band attuned to the anxieties of their generation, expressing them via the kind of wailing vocal gymnastics that would make sense being projected off a cliff in a storm. But that doesn’t mean they don’t know how to have fun with their music (the band’s cover of Chris Isaak’s “Wicked Games” is indulgently on-point) and amongst themselves (tour highlights include nights at retro video arcades and stumbling into the Comic Con after party in a state of giggly, legal Seattle weed-induced beatification). They know who they are (“We’re not about to be all ‘helicopters, champagne bottles and boobs,” says Dot) but they didn’t always want their fans to.

“We took our first press photos two months ago,” says Dan, stirring a creamer into his paper-cupped coffee with a butter knife, “when we started, we just posted tracks online with no explanation or pictures, and it took off. Everyone started commenting on the mystery, so we maintained it.” They weren’t trying very hard, but they blew up anyway. "It was kind of intoxicating,” says Dan. Maybe so, but their coyness was short-lived; fans at their sold-out Commodore show in Vancouver clamoured to see the cute, talented trio of early twentysomethings, as did the crowds of 6000 they played for during last summer’s festival circuit. A packed touring schedule, burbling admirers, and late night talk show sets confirm it; within a single year, London Grammar has achieved cultural resonance.

Now if only they could find a decent cup of tea.