British trio White Lies—guitarist/vocalist Harry McVeigh, bassist Charles Cave and drummer Jack Lawrence-Brown—just released Ritual (Geffen/Fiction), which follows up To Lose My Life…, the band’s commercially successful 2009 debut. The 10-track sophomore LP was co-produced by Alan Moulder (Depeche Mode, Killers) and was written over a five-week period when White Lies wasn’t crisscrossing the globe in support of its first album. Though McVeigh, Cave and Lawrence-Brown are all barely old enough to drink legally in the U.S., the threesome has been playing together as a band since their mid-teens, first as Fear Of Flying, which released two singles produced by Stephen Street (Smiths, Blur), and then under the White Lies moniker. The trio will be guest editing magnetmagazine.com all week. Read our brand new Q&A with them.
Lawrence-Brown: A slice. Is there anything better than a fresh slice? The answer is undoubtedly no. No, there is literally nothing better than a slice. A fresh slice of piping hot pepperoni from San Francisco’s very own Escape From New York Pizza. Coming from the U.K., White Lies really only get to experience the majesty of a slice when we travel. There are one or two spots popping up in London at the moment that seem to serve a decent slice. But it isn’t the same. To get a slice in the U.K., you have to go to something more along the lines of a posh deli or just go for an all-out pizza restaurant. This is completely different across the Atlantic. In America, you can go into a shop which only sells pizza and, what’s more, sells it by the slice. Personally, if I’m just after a snack, I’d have just the one slice, but if I was slightly more worn out and in need of rejuvenation, I’d go for three slices plus a Dr. Pepper. I know there are tons of great slice places all across America, and my knowledge of them is fairly limited. All I know is that this is my favorite so far, and realistically it is going to take a lot to beat it. Its location is also key to its brilliance; it is a mere 100 yards from Amoeba Records (which we’ll get to shortly). Following a good two hours of rummaging through Amoeba’s shelves, I will need something to kick me back into life and help me drag my haul of records up and down San Francisco’s obscenely steep streets. Two slices at a table in EFNY, followed by a cheeky two slices for the road, does the trick just fine. It is no wonder I gain so much weight when I tour in the USA.
