Day ‘n ‘Night: Crookers

When I arrive at Rough Trade records in east London to meet Crookers, they’re being hustled into a corridor by a Gok Wan lookalike. Bot and Phra are surly and humourless as they pose for pictures for a fashion advertorial spot in a music magazine. After the shoot, I break the ice by asking if they’ll be keeping the clothes. “Why would I want clothes from a label I don’t wear?” sneers a downbeat Bot as he throws a jacket into a heap. When asked why they are prostituting themselves to a clothing label, their PR girl says: “In order to be popular and successful as an artist, sometimes you have to make compromises.”

During my day with Crookers, I learn that the lives and careers of Andrea Fratangelo, 30, and Francesco Barbaglia, 29, AKA Bot and Phra, are determined by the ability to compromise. Albeit the kind of compromises a lot of people would be thrilled to make. Such as the compromise where Crookers have to somehow find it in themselves to curate their own radio station on the new Grand Theft Auto video game. Or the compromising position of dragging the makers of a Converse shoe commercial out to Phra’s home in the mountains of northern Italy to film the promo for a song they’ve produced. In his defence, Phra claims no-one had asked if they wanted to do the shoot at Rough Trade. “I had no idea who those people were. They just said stand there, wear this, look into the camera. I don’t know who these people are,” he says. But his record label guy was standing there all the time, and no-one had a gun to their heads telling them to pout, you understand.

Initially they seem like divas and sell-outs, whingeing about the perks of a lifestyle coveted by millions. But Bot and Phra turn out to be more than affable, even to curious journalists come to linger in the wings for a day. No wonder their album is called Tons of Friends – they have an infectious social manner, and their knowledge of music has earnt them universal respect among the artists they have worked with. Phra talks incessantly about beats per minute and how Flying Lotus is a genius. But they don’t seem to take themselves too seriously, as their MixMag cover shoot dressed in dinosaur costumes suggests.

They do a comedy rendition of MF Doom and wax lyrical about Daft Punk, the Gaslamp Killer and Madlib. “We were lucky with our album,” which has 27 guest spots including Kelis and Soulwax. “Nobody said no to us. The only person we wanted but didn’t get was Madlib, but we didn’t even ask. He said no to Radiohead, so why would he work with us?” says Phra.

“I got no money for 'Day n Nite',” he says sombrely when asked how he feels about the success of their biggest hit to date, which was ubiquitous all over Europe for two consecutive summers. “Not a penny. For us it was a normal remix, just what we were doing in that period. Then it exploded without us. You can’t have control of that stuff.” It would be wrong to say he’s bitter for what it has given them. As Bot says: “If it wasn’t for that song, I would probably be working in an office like my friends. Now I live very comfortably.”

It’s difficult to see how they’re living comfortably at all when they reveal that they don’t get paid for their Rough Trade set. Apparently they had to pay the shop £100 for the privilege of playing there, which seems like downright cheek on Geoff Travis’s part. And they didn’t get paid for the clothing endorsement either. Someone is either telling fibs or Crookers need to get some new management.


Rough Trade

Their Rough Trade set is borderline farce. It’s not like they have any instruments to play or anything to sing, so they spin some deafening techno, house and hip-hop records to around fifty sober folk at the front of the shop at 5.30pm. Some of them begin to sway towards the end, but nobody really dances. After they’ve signed posters and had their photos taken with the enthusiasts, I ask what now? Their record label guy says they have an interview with Belgian radio (which they give in a variety of silly voices), and then they’re going to bed before their set tonight at Fire. Phra has brought his girlfriend along, and they need some ‘alone time,’ and Bot will return to his flat in Kensington for some rest. “All my friends tease me about living in Kensington, but it’s the first place I saw. I didn’t know it’s the posh area,” he says.


Enthusiasts

A few hours later at Fire nightclub for their album launch show, I’ve been drinking the Jack Daniel’s and vodka on their rider as I wait for Bot and Phra to arrive. They turn up without any equipment, no samplers or keyboards, just a small wallet of CDs which Bot carries around. Inside, it’s nearly all CD-Rs of obscure dance compilations they’ve burnt themselves. There’s also a copy of Soulwax’s remix of MGMT and a Bob Marley CD in there. It’s like the Beastie Boys video where they turn up to the recording studio and the guy asks: “Where are your instruments?” and they show him their records. For the modern DJ, it’s the innate knowledge of what will please and challenge their audience, while taking them on a journey within or between genres that really matters. In this sense, they’re more like curators than musicians.


Drinking

I ask how much preparation goes into their DJ sets. “We never prepare for our set, it’s always totally fresh. It’s the best and worst thing about us,” says Phra. “It can be whack,” says Bot. “Oh yes, but it can also be great!”

Tonight lies somewhere between the two. At 3am I’m stood by the exit, asking why people are leaving less than halfway through the headliners’ set. One guy shakes his head: “I can’t find any drugs in there, man.” A more philosophical Canadian guy says: “They’re playing different stuff to what I like. I was expecting things with vocals, you know, more like what they used to play when I saw them a couple years ago.” You mean like ‘Day n Nite?’ “Well yeah, I really liked that tune. But I’m just not feeling this as much.”


Djing

In the bar afterwards, they clown around at a piano while having a drink, when I tell them what the guy at the door said. Phra shrugs. “Who cares?” I don’t believe that he really doesn't care what people think, and that he has no desire to please his fans. I suggest that if they really didn’t care, they wouldn’t play the song ever again, and wouldn’t have even included the a-capella version on their album. Or they could play really difficult, un-danceable DJ sets, but they don't. Whether he cares or not, they “still play bangers".


Piano

“Well, we sometimes play a reggae version [of ‘Day n Nite’] at festivals, and that’s it, people don’t know what to make of it. You can’t please everyone, I know that. But I am still proud of what we did. It’s about showing we have moved on.” And then he utters the magic word. “Sometimes you need to compromise a little.”