Cantinero

Cantinero is the nom de music of Chris Hicken, a prodigiously talented expatriate Brit who has made New York City his home for more than a decade. With his Artemis Records debut, “CHAMPIONSHIP BOXING,” the Birmingham, England-raised singer/producer/songwriter has fashioned a strikingly ingenious collection, blending organically created experimental textures with classic confessional popcraft. The songs of “CHAMPIONSHIP BOXING” veer from aching introspection to enlightened positivity, touching on a range of life’s big issues – wrenching world-weariness (“So Low”), romantic ennui (“Make Me An Offer”), the death of his father (“The Conversation”), and questions of faith (“Jesus Loves You”). Recorded at NYC’s Lovely Studios – a.k.a. a spare bedroom in the East Village apartment Hicken shares with his wife and two dogs – “CHAMPIONSHIP BOXING” marks a potent introduction to a resourceful and gifted new artist.

Hicken first arrived in America in April 1993, a veteran of a number of unsigned bands, including his then-combo, Bigmouth. In a self-described “state of perpetual ennui,” the singer considered chucking away the rock ‘n’ roll life (though, admittedly, he didn’t have a clue what else he could do). When Bigmouth’s guitarist suggested a visit to the Colonies, Hicken “thought it was a ridiculous idea,” and challenged him book some gigs. Of course, the guitarist proceeded to do exactly that. Hicken had made his bed – he was going to America.

One British Airways flight later, Bigmouth was in New York City, where they found themselves welcomed by the city’s British community. The positive response reinvigorated Hicken. “It was one of those moments in life, where you’ve given up on everything and an opportunity presents itself,” he recalls. “It felt like we’d arrived.”

After two weeks (and a handful of triumphant gigs), Bigmouth returned to Birmingham, but by then their hearts were in NYC. “Everything had changed,” Hicken says. “It shows how if you put yourself out there for opportunities to present themselves, you can just flip your life around.”

Bigmouth made their American comeback a few months later, ostensibly to support fellow Brummies UB40’s US tour. The band turned up at Toads Place in New Haven with a one-way truck rental full of hired gear only to discover that no one in UB40’s camp was expecting them. Fortunately, the pop-reggae hitmakers allowed Bigmouth to do the show, which went so well they were given the opening slot on the next six dates of the tour. The success of the UB40 trek confirmed Hicken’s belief that Bigmouth’s left-of-center pop-rock was best suited for American audiences. With that in mind, the band decided to make New York their new home.

“We would no longer be visiting minstrels,” Hicken says. “We were going to live here.”

Over the next few years, Bigmouth gigged all over town, building a substantial following via energetic performances and a self-released CD. They were courted by a number of major labels, but never quite closed the deal. By 1997, Hicken was as disillusioned as he’d been back in Birmingham and decided to call it quits.

“I couldn’t do it anymore,” he recalls. “I was in pieces. I’d show up for rehearsal and have these massive anxiety attacks. I was 33 years old, I’d spent my whole life telling myself I was going to be a rock star, and then I realized it wasn’t going to happen. I felt old. The thing I thought I was going to be, I wasn’t going to be. Dealing with that really crushed me.”

Hicken put his rock ‘n’ roll fantasy behind him, earning a living tending bar in the East Village. His intellectual energies were redirected towards a new goal –studying philosophy at the New School.

“I hit the midlife crisis and became really introspective, asking questions I’d never asked before,” he says. “Rather than looking towards some mythical goal – like being a rock star – I found that getting out of bed was about learning something new everyday. I became excited by the idea that there was so much to learn.”

Of course, Hicken maintained a healthy obsession with music, with a growing interest in electronic artists such as Boards of Canada. When his roommate – Spacehog drummer Johnny Cragg – invested in an assortment of computer recording gear, Hicken began reimmersing himself in the creative process, gradually getting his head around the idea of making music again.

“It became my solace,” he says, “learning my way around the technology, making these one-minute pieces of electronic music.”

He played some tracks for a friend – Michael Chambers, former drummer in NYC combo, the Phoids, one of the founders and owners of Artemis Records – who liked what he heard and pushed Hicken to further his musical experiments.

“I wasn’t really interested,” Hicken says. “I didn’t want to get back into music. I was just doing it for my own pleasure.”

Nevertheless, Hicken was burnt out from years of bartending and decided to take a shot. In May 2002, he finished a five song demo and soon found himself with the very thing he’d been waiting for his whole life
– a record deal.
“It was so odd,” he says. “It was like I had to stop looking in order to find what I had spent a lifetime searching for.”

Hicken invested the advance money in a home recording setup, converting a spare room of the four bedroom flat he shares with his wife and two dogs into Lovely Studios. Moved by Ken Burns’ Jazz docuseries, he decided to focus on a more traditional sonic approach, opting to use acoustic instrumentation rather than computer-based technology. That said, Hicken remained resolute in his plan to invest his record with the innovative spirit of electronic music.

“I wanted to record instruments like piano, guitar, and drums in their natural ambiance, with no effects on, then chop them up to make a record that sounded like a band playing but was actually created electronically,” he says. “I got in so deep. I wanted everything to be perfect. I wanted everything to have its place and to have its place for the right reasons.”

Determined to capture a truly natural quality of sound, Hicken invited a number of musicians to rerecord the parts he’d written on the initial tracks. Among those lending their talents to “CHAMPIONSHIP BOXING” are Hicken’s Bigmouth mate, bassist Martin Ewens; guitarist Richard Steel and drummer Johnny Cragg, both formerly of Spacehog; pianist John Deley (Dido); bassist Christian Bongers (Page Hamilton, Botanica); drummer Frank Ferrer (Robi Draco Rosa, The The, Love Spit Love); plus barking and baying from Hicken’s beloved dogs, Ruby and Max.

Multi-layered and intricately textured, tracks such as “The Machine” are directly informed by Hicken’s experiences in New York. In fact, the album as a whole bears a distinctly urban flavor, which its creator credits to a simple detail of its production.

“It was recorded with the window open,” Hicken explains, “which allowed a lot of street sounds to seep into the mix. Consequently, I think it bears a certain New York ambience, though it could well be that of any big city.”

Understanding that complex production is meaningless without songs to produce, Hicken threw himself into writing, penning fragments and pieces of more than 40 songs. From there he chose the 12 strongest melodies and ideas, specifically looking to capture the mood of the moment in his music. His philosophical pursuits – along with a number of fruitful years of therapy – allowed him to reach into his soul to express a heretofore untapped emotional reservoir on songs such as the album’s final cut, “Happy When I’m Down.”

“It’s such a catharsis,” Hicken says of the songwriting process. “If you delve deep, and you’re really honest with yourself and examine the way you feel about something, fleshing it out and clarifying the way you feel enables you to move on to whatever life has to offer next.”

Having spent most of his life in pursuit of an inaccessible dream, Chris Hicken found peace and success through accepting that which he could not change. As a result, “CHAMPIONSHIP BOXING” stands as a frank and remarkably mature artistic expression. In his guise as the smooth crooner known as Cantinero – a moniker bestowed on him during his bartending career –Hicken is reveling in the latest phase of his journey.

“The hardest thing is being ok with being a grown-up,” he says. “You have to make music that reflects the age you’re at. People have different emotions based on where they are in life. I just feel it’s better to be the young old guy, than the old young guy.”

-Michael Krugman