A Contender by Any Name

It’s not easy to figure out from the delicate and sometimes mysterious textures of Damon Gough’s debut album just where this singer-songwriter fits in the pop world, but lots of people are suddenly taking up the challenge.

Though Gough’s album, “The Hour of the Bewilderbeast,” has just been released in the U.S., it has been earning raves for months in England, where Gough, who records under the curious name Badly Drawn Boy, has been compared to everyone from pop-rock auteur Beck to melancholy ‘60s and ‘70s folk singer Nick Drake to the mystical 18th century English poet William Blake.

The London Times called “Bewilderbeast” the debut of the year in July, and Britain’s influential Q magazine described it as the “indie rock ‘Pet Sounds.’ ”

The real bombshell, however, came in September when the album won England’s prestigious Mercury Music Prize as album of the year. After three years of near anonymity on the indie circuit in England, Gough, 31, suddenly surfaced on the pop-media radar screen.

Until then, “Bewilderbeast” was simply one of dozens of debut albums sitting on critics’ shelves in the U.S. and around the world. But the Mercury honor--over such critically admired finalists as ex-Verve leader Richard Ashcroft and Goth-dance stars Death in Vegas--moved it to the top of the stacks.

And the album proved to be a captivating work--a series of endearing reflections on romance that have only intensified curiosity about Gough himself.

But all this sudden attention has the shy songwriter a bit unsettled on this rainy afternoon in a hotel near his home here. He knows the growing media interest is good for his career, but he worries that it’s making him a target.

Wearing one of his ever-present wool caps pulled tightly over his ears, Gough paces his hotel room with a Bloody Mary as he waits for a photographer to set up his equipment, and thinks about what to say to a TV film crew that is on its way.

“My whole idea has been to build up a solid base of support so that there would be a group of people who really knew what my music was all about before the album was ever released,” he says, settling into a chair with a cigarette in one hand and the drink in the other.

“That’s why I put out seven EPs before I ever released the album. I had a very supportive group of fans. They would even write nice letters to the press. But success breeds cynicism. Now, I’m starting to see letters that go, ‘What’s all this fuss about Badly Drawn Boy? He’s just a pile of [expletive]. Who does he think he is?’

“In a way, I can understand it. No record is meant for everyone, so a lot of people who just check mine out because I’ve won a prize are going to be disappointed.”

If Gough is sounding like another whining musician battling stardom, he is quick to counter that perspective.

“Ultimately, I know that I’ve got to look at the prize as a positive,” he says. “It means someone on the other side of the world is more likely to hear it now, and some of them will probably like it.

“It goes back to the old Bruce Springsteen quote about when he was on the cover of Time and Newsweek and he worried about a backlash. He asked his father what he thought, and his dad said, ‘Better you than another picture of the president.’ That’s the way I’ve got to look at it too.”

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Gough’s reference to Springsteen isn’t casual. The Englishman became obsessed with the American rock star in the ‘80s, collecting bootlegs and reading every Springsteen article he could find. He even tells about the time he met his hero in a Manchester hotel after a Springsteen concert.

“He’s been this huge influence on me,” he says. “I was living in a place called Belmont Village and there are a couple of references in Springsteen songs to a Belmont, probably a place in New Jersey.

“But I’d hear the name and think, ‘Oh, there’s a connection there.’ It was like a sign from God when I was trying to decide what I wanted to do in my life.”

Given this fascination (Gough even claims his jaw is identical to Springsteen’s), it’s surprising that there is scant trace of Springsteen in Gough’s music--perhaps only in the unchecked idealism of “This Song.” The only real connection is the two artists’ shared sense of passion.

You know Gough is following his own musical path when he opens the album with nearly two minutes of cello and French horn.

When the vocal does kick in, the voice reminds you most of the sensitive, almost wistful observations of U.S. singer Elliott Smith, who became something of a pop-world curiosity himself after the longtime indie artist’s “Miss Misery” was nominated for best song in the 1998 Oscar competition.

Like Smith’s music, there is a touch of early, folk-period Paul Simon elegance in Gough’s music--though he adds a far more aggressive, techno-dance sensibility than either.

Far more than most folk-minded songwriters, Gough, who co-produced the collection with various producer-engineers, seems as interested in studio production as in the actual songs. The result is music that is so rich and varied texturally that the album could have been produced by Brian Eno and Daniel Lanois.

The tunes are mostly about love, but the images flicker like candlelight, conveying the delicate nature of relationships. Because the last song is titled “Epitaph,” lots of critics have misconstrued the album as being about the birth and death of a love affair. (“Bewilderbeast,” which is the title of an instrumental track, is a word coined to describe the chaotic side of touring.)

The album is about ups and downs, but it ends on a happy note. “Epitaph” refers simply to the end of the album, not the love affair. The song’s key line--”I hope you never die”--is typical of Gough’s essential optimism.

“I think a lot of my outlook on life has stemmed directly from my parents’ relationship, because I always looked at them as this sort of solid couple that were unbreakable,” he says.

“Most people grew up with that notion that their parents would always be together, only to have them break up, and I’m sure that affects your outlook a lot. But in my case, I never lost that notion about them always being together--and their love is stronger now than ever.

“In the album I talk about my own journey, a few failed relationships and finally ending up with one that I think is right for me. That’s how the album ends, with me talking about the person I’m with--and not wanting it to end. There’s that line, ‘I hope you never die.’ I wondered for a while if I could really say that in a song, whether it wasn’t too honest or too simple. But it’s what I feel. It’s as honest as anything I could ever write.”

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As a native of the Manchester area, Gough joins a long list of musicians from the region--such illustrious bands as Joy Division, New Order, the Smiths, Stone Roses and Oasis. However, he didn’t pursue a musical career with the single-mindedness of those predecessors.

He was born in the small town of Dunstable but grew up as one of four children in nearby Bolton, 20 miles north of Manchester.

Gough’s first musical interest was listening to the Police when he was about 10. By his teens, he had moved on to the Smiths. He eventually started playing keyboards and guitar, and hooked up with a couple of local bands after high school.

Although he was beginning to explore songwriting, Gough wasn’t convinced that performing was his future. He got a job in a recording studio, thinking he might become an engineer. But he didn’t progress very quickly. “I spent a year just making tea for people in the studio,” he says dryly.

Still, he values the studio job because he learned a lot about recording techniques from experimenting on his own during off hours. By 1990, he was starting to write songs in earnest, but it would be seven years before he would get a contract, with England’s XL Records, the home of Prodigy. It was around the time he got the contract that he adopted the stage name Badly Drawn Boy, a cartoon-strip character he remembered from his childhood.

“One thing about growing up in a stable home is that it may leave you a little naive,” he says. “You just kinda think things will work out in time. You’re in no rush. If your parents break up at an early age, you might have more drive to get out into the world and work a bit more. In my case, I took my time. I just kind of felt things would turn out well for me . . . someday.”

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Gough begins his first U.S. tour this month, a series of nine shows that includes a stop Nov. 17 at the Knitting Factory Hollywood.

“There is something unique about Damon and I didn’t want to trot him through the usual showcase rooms around the country,” Marty Diamond, his U.S. agent, said in a separate interview, discussing his decision to sidestep the city’s usual showcase spots such as the Roxy or Troubadour.

“I wanted the setting for each show to be a little special, just like the music,” continues Diamond, who helped organize the Lilith Fair and represented the Verve. “The idea is just to lay a foundation this trip and then return with a bit more ambitious tour next spring.”

Gough, whose live shows tend to be unpredictable affairs that mirror his moods, warns that the music onstage will be a bit harder-edged and more rock-oriented than the album.

He’s looking forward to the show because he’s finally got his band. He has worked with various groups before, including the Doves, whose own debut album was a Mercury Prize finalist. But this is the first time he has been able to handpick the musicians.

“I like to think of it as my E Street Band,” he says with a twinkle in his eye as he heads over to face the TV interviewer.

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Robert Hilburn, the Times’ pop music critic, can be reached at robert.hilburn@latimes.com.