Tapir!’s Cambridge show was very much a family affair. As I sit down in the Portland Arms with keyboardist Will McCrossnan and lead singer Ike Gray, they’re surrounded by a host of excited fans. Will lets me know that he grew up just outside Cambridge, and that they are, in fact, his relatives. It becomes a sweet staple throughout the evening, a middle–aged woman descending to wish good luck, and Will gently turns them away. “Oooh, you’re very important!”, one exclaims when told of the interview, to humble laughter from the band. But off the back of a European tour, a sold–out headline at London’s Kings Place, and with hundreds of thousands of streams on their album, Tapir! are starting to look so.

Known for their unique sound and theatrical performance, they made their name with their first release The Pilgrim, Their God and The King of My Decrepit Mountain. The album revolves around the pilgrim: a red, elephant–like figure, the papier-mâché heads of whom the band wear on stage. Through three acts, it tells a beautifully unusual musical folk tale. But where did this story come from?

“Over lockdown, I just started painting these red creatures”, says Ike. “The story is a simple narrative, a journey that the pilgrim takes. We drew inspiration from folk tales, and in the second act, biblical references too.”

“By wearing the heads at a show, we are trying to take the people, us, out of the music”

When asked how these ideas translate to their song ‘Gymnopédie’, a cover of Erik Satie’s composition, they reply: “That song was about (whether) maybe heaven’s not all it’s made out to be. I drew inspiration from Greek mythology, trying to work out what the song is about and putting my own spin on it. It actually wasn’t written with the idea of releasing at all. To use a song that popular, and with such history, is a bit scary.”

The song’s origins were quite personal and private, emerging out of “phone recordings, sharing them with friends, putting them on Soundcloud at most,” before something changed.

“Our friends encouraged us to release,” they explain, “it’s nice being motivated by other people to share stuff. We wrote some [of the songs] just before lockdown happened, then I started painting, and we started jamming as a four piece after lockdown. […] It just snowballed from there, it felt very organic.”

An audience’s eyes may drift to their pilgrim heads, and when asked about their origins the band explained: “We started doing live shows before lockdown with a different set up, and after, once concerts started developing, we wanted to focus on the performance elements more than live shows. […] By wearing the heads at a show, we are trying to take the people, us, out of the music.”

“You can’t keep doing the same thing forever. Once you become signed, you’re a business, it becomes a lot more serious”

It’s clearly a successful strategy: “It’s a good USP! It means we can get loads of people involved, it involves the audience.”

Their nostalgic visit to the Portland Arms has us reminiscing, and I ask about earlier important places to their development: “The George [Tavern], was something at first I was reluctant to give up, our friend worked there and was always super supportive of us. He let us keep sets there overnight and do whatever random stuff we wanted.”

“We first started releasing stuff with our art collective, with the people working within these communities and grassroots venues, and that becomes harder if you’re successful.”

They continue, “You can’t keep doing the same thing forever. Once you become signed, you’re a business, it becomes a lot more serious. You have lots of people working with you, everything’s part of a strategy.”

With such success, it must be hard to access the grassroots community. The band try “to incorporate that [into our shows] as much as possible, especially with the Kings Place show.” For their fans, they “do listening parties and play lots of different music.”

But the challenge of engaging with their community persists; it’s a tough time to be an up–and–coming artist. About this the band are honest: “Most people these days, even if you have a certain intention and want to do something that is non–profit and community based, you are forced into going commercial. Everything’s about that.”

“Especially music venues are struggling so much as it is, you must become more strategic. It would be better if there was more funding for spaces that aren’t trying to be the most successful thing in the world, it’s good for them to exist.”

“Coming back from Europe, we saw there are models of doing things well, the UK is just not the best place. France was very good, everywhere in Europe really, it’s crazy. Most venues you go to, they’d have home-cooked meals for the artist.”

“It’s good for community spirit, it makes a difference when you go somewhere new, you have no idea about anything, so it’s nice to be introduced to people!”

And that was it: the band ran off to soundcheck, and I returned to the Portland later to watch their characteristically emotional and fragile set, and Ike’s haunting vocals brought me to the edge of tears an embarrassing number of times. The afterglow of a lovely, friendly evening warmed me all the way home.

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