Words and Pictures Adrian Hextall / (C) MindHex Media
The Unbreakable Brotherhood
Forty years into their career, British AOR legends FM are more prolific, more vital, and having more fun than ever. As they launch their acclaimed new album Brotherhood, drummer Pete Jupp talks beakless birds, South American adventures, and the poignant reality of living for the moment.
The sweat-soaked intimacy of London’s O2 Academy Islington is a world away from the arenas FM once shared with the likes of Foreigner and Journey, yet as the house lights dim, the roar is just as primal. On stage, frontman Steve Overland’s voice remains a golden arrow, Jem Davis’s keyboards swirl, and the twin-guitar attack of Steve and Jim Kirkpatrick is a masterclass in melodic muscle. Behind them all, driving the engine, bassist Merv Goldsworthy and, with a grin as wide as his cymbal spread, sits Pete Jupp, a man clearly having the time of his life.
For many in the room, this is a long-term love affair. I count myself among them. My own journey with FM began in 1989 in the hallowed, dusty halls of Shades Records in Soho, queuing for the band to sign my 7-inch copy of ‘Someday’. Earlier that same year, I stood in the Birmingham Irish Centre for the first night of the Tough It Out tour, my third-ever gig. Thirty-six years later, FM are still here. I’m still here. And crucially, they seem to be enjoying it more than ever.
“We’re getting on a bit now, so every day is precious,” Jupp tells me a few days after the triumphant London show, his voice a warm, no-nonsense London brogue. “We can’t be messing around too much. If an agent says we should take a year off the road, we’re like, ‘Excuse me? How old are we?’ We just need to keep working.”
This sentiment, a blend of cheerful realism and an insatiable appetite for the road, is the driving force behind FM’s incredible second act. After the grunge tidal wave of the 90s made them, in Jupp’s own words, “the most unfashionable thing on the planet,” the band took a well-earned sabbatical. Their unforgettable 2007 reunion at Firefest wasn’t meant to be a new beginning, but the spark was undeniable. Since their official return with 2010’s Metropolis, they’ve been on a creative tear, releasing a string of high-quality albums, culminating in their latest, the aptly titled Brotherhood.
“The title sums it up,” Jupp confirms. “The camaraderie, the fact we are all in this together. And it isn’t just us, our fan base is the same. They’re so much a part of the show. It’s like a brotherhood of AOR.”
“I find it a real privilege. I remember standing on stage in Dublin, thinking, ‘Bloody hell, you’re a lucky bastard to still be doing this.’” – Pete Jupp
That brotherhood is built on a foundation of timeless songs, but sustained by the band’s relentless work ethic. While many of their peers are content to trade on past glories, FM continue to push forward, delivering new material with astonishing regularity. How do they maintain the quality control?
“When we do an album, we can then tour. So, it’s kind of a means to an end,” he says with a laugh, undercutting the romance with a dose of pragmatism. “The sooner you get the album out, the sooner you can go out and have all the fun! We’re lucky because everyone writes in the band. There are a lot of ideas kicking around.”
The process, however, has evolved dramatically from their 80s heyday of block-booking residential studios for months on end. “Back then, you’d have to go to a studio to do a demo. Whereas now, you can do it in your bedroom,” he explains. “It’s a lot more cost-effective. Someone can present a finished article to the rest of the band, and then we can take it apart, add bits, and FM-ize it. It’s quite a healthy way of doing it.”
This modern approach allows for a more fluid, less-pressurised environment. A stark contrast to the old days, when the stakes felt impossibly high. Jupp recalls the nerves before that Birmingham gig back in ’89. “We were so nervous. Everyone was just pacing up and down in the dressing room. It felt like life and death back then.”
He launches into a classic anecdote that perfectly captures the chaos of the era. The band had just signed a major merchandising deal, and the new t-shirts featuring the iconic Tough It Out phoenix had arrived. “The guy showed me the shirt and said, ‘What do you think then?’ I said, ‘Well, he looks brilliant… but the phoenix hasn’t got a beak.’ They’d done this massive print run of all these phoenixes without a beak!” he roars with laughter. “I’ve still got my t-shirt from that show,” I tell him, “I’m going to have to go and check it now.”
That old pressure has now been replaced by a real sense of gratitude. “It’s not life and death anymore,” Jupp reflects. “Now it’s just, ‘Let’s go and have a bloody good time while we can.’ I don’t take this for granted at all. It’s a complete privilege to still be doing this to great audiences. More of it, please!”
“Going to the gig, for that hour and a half, he was given some relief. You can’t get a better compliment than that.” – Pete Jupp
That good time has recently taken them to some far-flung places. A recent tour of South America was, as he puts it, “an adventure.” An adventure that almost ended before it began. “As the plane landed in Boston, Jim [Kirkpatrick] looks at us and says, ‘Bloody hell. Our promoter’s dead.’ We were like, ‘What the hell are we gonna do?’” he recalls, the shock still evident in his voice. “But his family and other people became involved, and we got the shows together. We did Brazil, Argentina, Peru, and finished in Colombia. It was absolutely so tiring; literally flying, doing a gig, flying, doing a gig, but it was such good fun.”
The biggest surprise was the audience. “In South America, and in places like Greece, the audience is really young. Maybe late 20s, 30s. You think, ‘How have you even heard of us? You weren’t even born when Indiscreet came out!’ They say, ‘Oh, we saw you on YouTube.’ It’s fantastic.” This youthful energy has even led to new milestones for the veteran rockers. “We had our first ever crowd surfer in our career in Greece!” Jupp exclaims. “After 40 years, another first. That’s pretty cool.”
While new fans are discovering them online, the band’s bond with their long-term followers remains profound. Jupp shares a story that clearly still moves him deeply. “Years ago, a guy wrote in before our first Astoria gig. A week before the show, his father passed away, and he was absolutely devastated. He debated whether to come, but he did. He said that even though he was at the lowest point of his life, for that hour and a half, it just took his mind off it.” Jupp pauses. “You can’t get a better compliment than that. It means you’re doing something right.”
It’s a connection that explains why, night after night, venues are filled with people who, like me, have had FM as a constant musical companion through life’s ups and downs. “You are the one constant music-wise throughout my entire love life,” I confess, slightly embarrassed. “Every girlfriend, and now my wife and daughter, has seen FM with me.” He laughs. “That is pretty weird.”
Weird, maybe, but it’s a testament to the enduring, cross-gender appeal of their music. An appeal that makes crafting a 90-minute setlist an almost impossible task. “It is so difficult. You can’t please everybody,” he sighs. “On this tour, we’ve fluked it; there hasn’t been much winging. We try to tailor the set. In Europe, we probably play more of Indiscreet and Tough It Out because those are the more popular albums out there. You just do your best.”
As our conversation winds down, the themes of brotherhood, time, and legacy hang in the air. The on-stage camaraderie, like Merv Goldsworthy mischievously turning down Steve Overland’s guitar during his solo vocal spot (“He’s not being a git,” Jupp clarifies, “he’s stopping it from feeding back! Steve is hopeless at anything technical”), is genuine. They are five men who survived the industry machine, navigated changing fashions, and emerged on the other side with their friendship and their passion intact.
The future holds a European tour next year and, inevitably, another album. The creative well is far from dry. For Pete Jupp and FM, the mission is simple: keep playing, keep writing, keep having fun. It’s an hour and a half of pure escapism, as he says, for the band as much as the audience.
“You forget you’ve got to pay the bills,” he concludes. “You’re in a different zone.” In a world of fleeting trends and manufactured stars, FM’s continued existence is a joyous act of defiance. They are a brotherhood, still standing, still smiling, and still sounding magnificent. Long may they run.
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