James Lavelle and the Mo’ Wax business
This article is an excerpt from an excellent book by Cynthia Rose titled “Trade Secrets, Young British Talents Talk Business” (Thames & Hudson, 1999) which features a chapter on Mo’ Wax and an excellent interview where James Lavelle goes deeply into the process of launching and running his record label, and the A&M deal.
The baby Bransons: British music’s mini-moguls
Corporate fashion – from style magazines to actual makers-around the world are quick to co-opt British style. But can corporate ears from abroad detect the best in our brands of music? In the case of massive export campaigns like Oasis or Blur, it’s simply a question of marketing, touring and media flackery. But what of the UK’s true indie scenes, everything from junglist to ”trip-hop” or bhangra? Whose ears can hear the hits from Stevenage or Bury St Edmunds?
Since the advent of land-based pirate radio and rave culture, the answer to that question has encased a fascinating development. A new kind of entrepreneur has evolved – the twentysomething mini-mogul who shapes a personal label. Scornful of working slowly up through the corporate ranks, these fans find and market what they want to hear. In doing so, they have plugged a gap in the music business But in the ’90s, their sort of hobbyist labels made a huge transition. Suddenly, they have became desirable, viable companies, capable of cutting meaningful deals with major Labels.
Those behind this coup began as pushy, cheeky and irreverent, the children of rare groove hustling and pirate knowledge. But there are sure reasons for their sense of self. Each began with a roster of artists – or friends – a clear sense of purpose, and ambitions. Though some of their labels handle records by non-Britons, all pride themselves on showcasing a British identity. Like their inventive predecessor Richard Branson. such rogue moguls keep an eye on their global clout. This time, it is digital and image-based. But, in many ways, they are the country’s new Bransons.
When he began at the age of 19, James Lavelle was one of the youngest. Known on the British dancefloor circuit as “The Holygoof”, Lavelle had already been part of the business for seven years. Before making his début as label owner of Mo’ Wax, he had worked as a shop assistant, journalist and a tireless DJ. Until his own business was quite successful, he still managed to hold all four jobs at once.
Holygoot now has a posh office in west London; one he purchased from his own manager, then a neighbour of rock video company Oil Factory. lavelle has a staff in London and one in New York; he has a smart home and a new family; he now dines on Thai food instead of Burger Kings. Although known for keeping close friendships few and private, he remains out and about and he still DJs.
James Lavelle also buys art and stages exhibitions (his deal with A&M Records hinged on a rider which specified the purchase of a Basquiat painting. He has also helped revive appreciation of graffiti’s Futura 2000). But Holygoof still displays small regard for a life outside “beats”. Music is what he walks, talks, eats, shops and – when he does sleep – sleeps. It’s a single-minded passion which produces big business.
By the spring of 1994. Lavelle’s record label Mo’ Wax was two years old, and was launching its eighteenth release. It had just recently moved into West End offices. Its records were being sold in America, Europe and Japan. Asian marketing was helped by a partnership deal with Major Force, a Japanese label Lavelle had tong admired. He was embarking on more and bigger negotiations – with Virgin and the entertainment conglomerate Polygram. At the time, each hoped to back his first big league label. But, before the meetings even came about, he had a sexy name for the venture. James hoped to call it SFT, for “Smoke Filled Thoughts”.
Putting image first is characteristic of ‘90s moguls. Their labels favour catchy names, striking slogans, memorably quirky graphics – or the opposite: total mystery Some have debuted under the guise of imports; others have been “compilations” down to a single maker. Behind every artifact, however, are hard workers – not trend-hoppers or fashion victims. Lavelle’s originat flat showcased the toll of their lifestyles: overflowing ashtrays, unsteady stacks of vinyl, stacks of magazines left to moulder in corners.
Everywhere one could see the souvenirs of airlines: British Airways socks, Air India eyemasks, little red zipper-bags stamped with the logo ”Virgin”.
But, then, James Lavelle was always a man in motion. “I started at 13”, he says, “in a rural sound system. Actually. I wasn’t even aiming to DJ. I wanted some real job in the music industry.” Throughout his school days, Lavelle worked in record shops and, most nights, he DJ’d in some club.
The hours he put in on many different dancefloors are entirely typical of young label proprietors. There, whether nodding to beats or raving with jungle, they learn what compatriots want to hear, what trends are being born, and how to sell. They also forge many international connections. But, says Lavelle, “It can really be quite manic. Probably my toughest experience was going to LA for three days. getting to London at 10 am, flying to Germany at noon, then driving to Lyon, There, I DJd for 10 hours straight, then drove back and flew right home to London.”
“Still,” he shrugs, “I’ve done a lot of that. Because, to get things out, you put things in. I’ve spent money to become what I have. Its Iike – you earn fifty quid when you DJ, then you spend all the damn money on new records. Early on, people said, ‘You get to go to America’. Well, the first time I went I certainly paid to go. If you want to crack New York – no one’s gonna bring you there. No one’ll help you do it. You just get yourself there, meet people, do some gigs”.
Early on. Lavelle also garnered a column in Straight No Chaser, a music mag for jazz, “world beats”, and hip-hop. He called the column Mo’ Wax, after his club in Oxford. The Holygoof work schedule expanded exponentially: in addition to London clubs and self-financed trips, he was invited to DJ in California and Tokyo. “Delicious Vinyl in LA brought me out, and I played some clubs. There were major scary gang types there, but I didn’t know enough to even see that. How should I know? Eighteen hours later, I’m back behind an English shop counter”.
But Lavelle did know he was engaged in serious business: he was “creating a vibe” around the words Mo’ Wax. At one point, Island Records asked him to start a label. Holygoof knew what he wanted, and when negotiations failed, he refused to give up. He borrowed £1.000, pressed up a track, and launched Mo’ Wax as his very own label.
Over the next 18 months, it issued 16 records. Lavelle publicised them via Straight No Chase, spun them at his gigs and sold them via his job in Honest Jon’s Record Shop. It was the perfect system: a grass-roots monopoly. Through it he ascended, too, as a personality. In Phat #3, he appeared as the subject of their “Career Guide for Losers”. (ed. note : read the article here)
It cited the first Mo’ Wax forays into lifestyle – merchandising T-shirts and record bags. “Not content with this,” read the article, “he also wants to produce totally collectible items such as plastic candy novelties like bubble bleepers and Star Trek tribbles.” Mocking his then residence a west London council flat, Phat zeroed in on Lavelle’s recipe for success: 1. “Have a good idea, it helps!” 2. “The shit’s got to be original, something that people want but haven’t got” 3. “You’ve got to deliver a package, not just music but a whole lifestyle.” 4. “Be totally open minded. Look around and use what you need.”
By 1996, these words from Lavelle were enshrined on the World Wide Web. And, thanks to his US deal, he was also popping up on “enhanced CDs” – Like Om Records’ “Mushroom Jazz” or Planet E’s “Header”. Here, when slipped into a fast computer, James would surface in a video clip, once more detailing his label’s aims – through Quicktime soundbites.
Mo’ Wax even made it into Rolling Stone, that most corporate of music magazines. The occasion was the ascendancy of “trip-hop”. publicised in the mid ’90s by artists such as Tricky and Portishead. Trip-hop was descended front a whole line of Bristol artists: Massive Attack, the Wild Bunch, Smith & Mighty. Although Lavelle was a big fan of Massive Attack and had once attempted to sign Portishead, he had few other connections with it. Nevertheless Rolling Stone decreed his label trip-hop’s founder.
Rolling Stone critic Peter Margasak called Mo’ Wax: “the label which gave birth to the hip-hop hybrid that has been dubbed trip-hop. Produced outside the usual American urban centers [sic], trip-hop replaces rapping with a head-tripping spaciness, creating a sound in which hip-hop, experimental rock, jazz, ambient and techno vibrantly co-exist.” From the magazine’s July, ’96 perspective, the “Mo’ Wax sound” had not been fully established until ’93 – with the release of “In/Flux” by DJ Shadow. This was in fact the Label’s 14th release. It came well after Repercussions had departed for Warner Music; after the huge success of record #2 (Raw Stylus’ “Many Ways”) and the UK-wide “buzz” of Palmskin Productions (whose first EP was already deleted by ’96).
Mo’ Wax tunes – which are often fusions of jazz and hip-hop – come from America, Europe, England and Japan. But they are united by a strong label identity. In the benning, this was the (unpaid) work of Ian Swift, also Straight No Chaser’s graphic mainstay. Says Lavele, “Mo’ Wax was mixing up a lot of things, at a crucial time. From the time when I was 13 to 19. British music split in a big, big way… When I started DJing, we played house, hip-hop, jazz, soul. funk, reggae, we had a graffiti artist, it was all one thing. I didn’t hear Soul II Soul at the Africa Centre, I never got to go. But I know they had visuals and I know guys who would go and play a load of house and a load of dub, and everybody would dance; then you’d have someone else play a load of hip-hop, then a load of funk then spin some rare grooves. Now, for peopte who care, i’s very hard to do that. That’s why, for me, the jazz scene has been so cool. Because, at this time, it’s quite eclectic. It’s a scene where, if you like a house record you go and play it. If you like jungle beats, airport records- play’ em. Play Boogie Down Productions, play a soul classic, then play Masters at Work. You can’t do that at many other gigs.”
At this point the article stops talking about Mo’ Wax and features Trevor Jackson aka The Underdog and his label Bite It!, and Rough Trade’s Wiiija. That’s quite cool but out of topic. The following James Lavelle interview starts a few pages further on.
James Lavelle: from clerk to CEO
James Lavelle served a musical apprenticeship behind shop counters and club turntables. When he founded the label Mo’ Wax, he married dancefloor sounds to street marketing savvy. The result? By the time he was 23, his label was wildly successful, thanks to a major-label deal with A&M Records. He talks about what helped him learn and why it works.
How did this really start for you?
I went to Paul Bradshaw at Straight No Chaser magazine, and had an interview about doing a column. We did the column and it’s become a culty thing. I was 17 when I started – and they needed somebody young. They really needed a column about new music. Plus, it had to be written for no payment. Of course… I cant write to save my life.
But you had experience with music?
Yeah, and I’d met everybody before: all the DJs and the writers, because I’d worked at Bluebird Records in West London. I started there at 14, on a work experience program. I’d served names like Norman Jay, Gilles Peterson, Jeremy Healey – and some posses like the Stussy skateboard boys. I started DJing, though, in my home town of Oxford, at the age of 13, with a local sound system. We were called Underground Movement and there were half a dozen of us.
Bluebird was the dance thing: rare groove was happening. I was at school and working there on Saturdays. Then that finished and I went to this sixth-form business college, the Oxford College of Further Education, to do business studies. I really loathed it but my attitude was, “You’ve gotta do something”. It was either stick at business studies and go to university – or get a job that had to do with music. By then I was working three days a week, commuting from Oxford to London. I worked for Jon Clare at Honest Jon’s in Portobello.
So I decided I’d beg Jon to let me work full-time. Because his shop was about more than the music. It meant being mixed up with amazing people, which to me, at 16, was a real experience. We had gay people, anarchists, reggae experts. Canadians, jazz buffs, plus this totally mad boss – Jon. He was studying to be a psychiatrist.
I remember the first day I went in there, I was asked something like “Have you ever fancied your father” Well: get through that, you can get through anything! Plus, the whole work atmosphere is amazing. You get hardcore raggas and these Ladbroke Grove kids. And your worst kind of pretentious trust-fund types. But you can build up a real street following. It was just the best experience for learning. It was totally unique, this amalgamation. One of the hardest things I ever did was leave; I had worked in record stores five straight years.
The opportunity you found at Honest Jon’s was special?
Yeah. The first year was spent kind of doing my thing, building up the stock, selling soul and hip-hop and acid jazz. The second year was building my DJing. Then the third year was getting Mo’ Wax started. Honest Jon’s is how I started to get known. I was building up my reputation. Of course. also I filled up a hole; they had no hip-hop, no music like that. I built on that, then I did the Label. I was just lucky I was accepted there. A lot of kids would have known about hip-hop. But they didn’t have the attitude those guys were looking for. You had to be, like, exceptionally open-minded. Plus, they really put you through the hoops. But we got on. And there’s no place in London like it. I could not have asked for anything more.
What did you bring to them?
Well, my lucky thing is I’ve always been on a street tip, able to mix all these different scenes together. I think it’s the thing which everyone lacks; people who are part of one thing don’t want to look anywhere else. I like to keep in the middle of things, try and get to know as many people on as many different sides as possible. I know the old school and I know the 19-year-olds. But I’m also down with Slam City Skates. Or the clothing guys at Fuct and Xtra Large and Pervert. Streetwear, skatewear, I’ve been into that.
Mo’ Wax does reflect the clothing thing, though I’ve kept away from focusing on style as much as Talkin’ Loud and Acid Jazz. I didn’t want that whole “Cinzano Bianco” flavour, I wanted something just a little more rough. The Acid Jazz label borders on an indie thing. Talkin’ Loud borders on sophisticated London jazz – but with an angle; kind of elitist. Mo’ Wax, it’s younger, a bit more out of order. Like we did this Japanese ad with a picture of David (Kung Fu) Carradine. And the slogan read. “Kicks more funk than a Shaolin monk”, “Kicks more flavours than a pair of old-school Rod Lavers.” That sort of thing, it’s a different generation. I mean, I grew up with Star Wars.
There’s another thing which was good for me: I’m not from London. I don’t have those London strings attached. I always Dj’d a lot out of town. That’s what my real thing was, working out of town and in Europe. Even when I did my US deal, I was still not a London jockey, not really part of that scene. A lot of those people, you know, went to school together. In the late ‘80s, the deep club scene was very exclusive. Then, with raves and that, it became more open.
Let’s hear you actually got the label started.
Well, me and all the guys at Honest Jon’s, we were acquainted with the Groove Keller in New York. They had this band called Repercussions. At the time. I was talking to Island Records about a job, (was really hoping to work at their offshoot, Antilles – and start a label. And sign Repercussions. But – so typical! – it never happened. One of the guys in the band, said. “Look, just give us a grand; you can put it out anyway.”
So I thought. “OK, fine, I’ll start the label myself.” I went off to the New Music Seminar in New York, and I hooked up with Repercussions. Mark Aintey – who was then one of Hones Jon’s managers – he lent me the £1,000 I needed. I did the track. I sold a couple of thousand. And there was my Label on the way. Originally, Mo’ Wax was a club, I used to do with Tim Goldsworthy. Then it turned into my Straight No Chaser column. Then I couldn’t think of another name for a label! But “Mo’ Wax” works welt; it’s short and quirky and there.
All I’d wanted to do was work for a record company. But there was no space to do that. I had to create it. To create a product someone would want. All along, people constantly tell me, “Christ, you’re so lucky!” Well, it’s not about luck. It’s about finding something people want which they haven’t got. That is how you make successful products, whether they are washing-up liquid or records. I mean, I was doing it for the love of it. Only slowly did it turn into a career, a life. It was started out as a laugh.
But you had a vision behind the label?
Oh yeah. As much as I love jazz, I’ve always been into hip-hop. I came from hip-hop, that’s my biggest influence. Then came Soul II Soul, who merged hip-hop with soul music and created a special, British thing. Smith & Mighty, Massive Attack, Wild Bunch, Soul II Soul: they’re my ultimates. A British sound with an American element: phat beats, but with vocals on the top. When I started out, that was very important. Then the acid jazz thing came along, which was merging old records with new ones. That was a British thing as well, because it could be instrumental. It didn’t need rap.
Really, it all comes down to one thing: my age is the age of mixing. I mix fashion and different sounds and lives – and I’m mixing continents as well as beats. Separate modes of expression, that s what Mo’ Wax is about. It’s not just music, but everything around music. That’s why it’s done all right. It’s got a whole identity, it’s got a vibe. My whole thing as a DJ, as a person. within the music, was to be more transatlantic than other people.
What about your deal with A&M Records?
I came to a point where Mo’ Wax couldn’t really go on the way it was. It had to go to the next level or stay the same. You want to move forward and I desperately wanted to move forward. Be able to sign different people and get bigger production. And be able to do what I want to. Plus, I was never interested in the business side and I wanted that taken care of. I didn’t want to have to think about it.
When you’re a small label, you constantly get things taken away from you, Or you’re creative and you build something, then you lose it. The major label’s view of the independent has always been that you’re a good way to build bands up so they can poach ’em. Sign them for bigger money because the major acts as a bank and they’ve got the resources.
Is it why you did the A&M deal, to get resources?
Originally, I was going to do a label with London Records – just as a sub-Label, I was gonna call it “Smoke-Filled Thoughts”, run it, get paid for it. Then I met Steve Finan. He began managing me on an artist level. But not on a business level, I was always afraid of that, because you always want to be in control of your own destiny. But I got a bit scared with the London thing. So I showed him the deal – and he just laughed. He said, “You know, this is ridiculous, if you split the label up and do different labels, you’re not really benefiting Mo’ Wax as a label. You’re detracting from what it is. If you have Smoke-Filled Thoughts and our own label, it detracts the emphasis from what you spent three years building.” Then he said, “Just Let me introduce you to three people.”
You took him up on it?
Yeah. He introduced me to three people he felt were really exciting people in the industry, who would want to work with me. One ran Deconstruction Records; one was chief head of A&R for Virgin, who signed Massive Attack and Neneh Cherry. One was the Managing Director of A&M Records and was on the Board of Directors of Polygram. I met all these labels and I really liked Virgin, actually, because of their history in music, and because of Massive Attack. All of them made me offers and I thought about each of them. But I was all ready to do a deal with Virgin. Then Steve told he was going to A&M, and it freaked me out, because I realised – it wasn’t really about any of these three labels. It was actually about my and Steve’s relationship. That was the most important thing. So, I changed my mind and went to A&M.
A business relationship kept you away from Virgin?
Yeah. It was all to do with Steve, completely to do with him. And if I hadn’t gone with him, Mo’ Wax would be fucked. I knew that within four months; you know, I spoke to him twenty times a day. Also, Virgin’s idea of Mo’ Wax was really about a logo within Virgin. Whereas, with A&M, it’s about building a company. Essentially, we are a joint venture with A&M. We are not a subsidiary, but a joint venture. Mo’ Wax is a proper record company: one day, we could be viewed in the same way that A&M is within Polygram.
But it has less cachet than Virgin.
With A&M, they’ve got eight domestic acts over here; Virgin have got a hundred and fifty. So its pretty small, really. They’re very boring in a sense, which is another thing. Virgin’s all about trend and fashion – and that’s cool. But, ultimately, you’ve got to build that within your own company.
Mo’ Wax, it’s got that to a certain extent, so we might be better off with a company that’s going to spend more time building us as a company, rather than building you as a fashion item. Especially where we’ve already attained some of that, and we can continue to do so on our own. From a record company, here’s what I need: support, faith, money, and distribution. But we also don’t even go through A&M. We’re independently distributed. We have our own rules and regulations, so we’re unique there. We can basically do whatever we want.
Is there some special pressure you think young Britons feel?
In a way. Here, we always think America’s a better place to be successful because “Over there, that’s what it’s all about”. That’s sort of the American culture: money and power. As a basic thing, it’s like the more successful you are, the more you’re accepted. Whereas here, the more successful you are, the more people dislike you. The harder it is to convince them you did the right thing. A bigger consideration is that there are lots of successful people in both the British and American music industries. Very clever people. So if you don’t rise to certain standards, you’re never gonna compete. Because they are creating the stakes, and you can only change that by attaining their level.
There are lots of people out there who constantly repeat, “I do this for the music”, and blah blah blab. Well, I do it for the music, too. But at the end of the day, I want to be here for twenty or thirty years. This is my career. I don’t want to be selling two thousand records when I could sell half a million, because people want to hear the music. What is music about anyway? It’s about getting what you do out to people.
There are people out there that have worked to make it harder than I have and haven’t been paid. But it’s all about the way things are presented. And the thing with Mo’ Wax was: I never marketed myself to make money. I marketed myself to give back a bit more to people, to those people who were buying the record. I made more expensive covers. I did different formats, different-coloured vinyls. Things people just got into. So they felt you weren’t trying to rip them off, but that you were trying to give them a tittle bit more. In a certain way, that is why we’re successful.
Because it wasn’t just about the music?
Yeah. It was also about the people behind the records, what they would think and what they might want. Basically, I just put everything about my childhood into a little box and gave it to people. It said “I like Star Wars, I like graffiti. I like pop-orientated records. But I like it when it’s a little bit different. Like this.”
It’s all about marketing, whether you like it or not. A group tike the Beastie Boys. they wear the clothes, they break different styles, they add a bit more to the records. They give a bit more away, they look good – and they still come out and do a great show. Life’s fickle like that. What girlfriend does everybody want? If you’re a guy, is it the brains or is it the body? Eight men out of ten say it’s going to be the body, it’s the look, because you’re geared towards that. A guy’s not going to walk into a club and say, “I’m going to go out with the girl that I get on with the best.” The first thing a guy’s doing when he walks in a club is looking which is the dopest girl – that he’s attracted to.
It’s the same way with records. People look at the artist they’re most attracted to, or the labels that they think give the best overall value. Al first, they’re not going to care so much about little things because it’s an overall package. It’s like the guy in the club: “All right. I might not be able to talk philosophy with her. But I’ll go out, that’s what my life’s about.” It’s like why are people into Björk – and not some other girl that writes great songs? Why are people into the Beastie Boys, not Lords of Brooklyn? Or why aren’t they into House of Pain? Why are people so into Massive Attack – and not another band with hip-hop beats on an indie Label? Because they’re what people want to be a part of.
Doesn’t that become a little elitist?
Yeah and, sadly, you piss off lots of people. But, as with anything, either you are going to be there or somebody else is. You just be as constructive and nice about it as possible. I had a hard time, because a lot of people think “he’s this” and “he’s that – or “he doesn’t deserve this”. But, if I wasn’t here, somebody else would be.
And I am here. It is me. So l have to do it, and I try to do it in the best way possible. I’m not a Don King; I’m not trying to take away people’s creativity for my personal benefit. But I am the person that’s had to sit here for nine hours a day, talking to twenty people, trying to get them to do one thing.
I’ll probably make more money than my artists will. But not because I’m trying to rip my artists off. It’s because I’ve got twenty artists to make money out of. They’ve only got one label. That’s not me being evil! I’ve got to sacrifice things that a lot of people wouldn’t know what it’s like to sacrifice. So, I just do my thing, and try and be the best person I can be.
Has your age made things harder?
Let’s say when you’re my age, you know there’s a lot to learn. A lot about growing up. People that are around me who are older are never going to accept me as they would someone their age. I just get an instant look-down. It’s as if a twelve-year-old came up to me. I’m not going to accept him in the same way that another twelve-year-old accepts him. If I’m dealing with a 30-year-old, on some level, they’re gonna talk down to one. That’s human nature; it’s the way things are. I just have to deal with it. But, in a certain way, maybe it makes me stronger. In what’s coming out now, lots of much younger kids have positions of power. So they’re going through stuff which others didn’t go through. Because those people, they were 25 or 26 when they got that power. I think there’s a great difference between being 18 and being 24.
What advice would you give to that generation?
I just think living day to day is an experience. My biggest thing is I don’t think going to university or college is always beneficial. Within both media and entertainment, lots of people who are successful on the business level are just people who slog at it for years. Everybody thinks success is given to you on a silver platter. But it just isn’t. I started my work from a thousand pounds I borrowed, and support from my mum – who had no money. Then I worked in a record shop for £130 a week. Now. I have my own record label. I’m very, very lucky but, by the end of the day, I know I fuckin’ well worked for it, too. It’s a more American view, but it’s spreading. You just get up and do things. You don’t just fuck off and hope you’ll be rewarded. Here in the UK, we’ve got an elite. If you’re not aristocratic, you’re never going to be a part of that. Because you can’t be.
What can help young Britons most?
It’s just down to the way people grow up. Here, you’re led to believe that you can’t be as successful as everyone else; that reaching such a pedestal is impossible, In America, everybody knows that they can do it, because they show that everybody can. Here, nobody’s shown they can do anything. I remember when I left Oxford; everybody said “Man, you’re mad. You’re not gonna to make it. Why even bother?” That’s the English attitude: “Don’t bother because you ain’t going to make it”. But, to me, it’s more like, “You haven’t even tried. Why don’t you try?”
I’m not a happy person all the time, because you’re always struggling to be something else, to try and attain a thing which is never quite there. I’m totally guilty of that. Before I had any ounce of success or money, I just enjoyed things. When everybody’s attaining, there’s a constant pull. You’re constantly trying to be the person people pay attention to. The other hardest thing in this business is change, learning to deal with change. One reason people don’t like successful people is because those people have to remove themselves so much. My whole thing has always been built on friendships. But there comes a point when shit changes. If you get too close to people and things change, it can be horrible. It’s happened a lot to me, people that I know just changing. But it’s change, that’s life, so what do you do? You owe everybody, all the time, all your life. You’re always gonna awe somebody. You just get on with it.
I highly recommend you to pick up a copy of the book. It’s 240 pages and contains a lot of excellent interviews and articles. I got it very cheap from Amazon : http://www.amazon.co.uk/Trade-Secrets-British-Talents-Business/dp/0500280835