Both were plugged into an Orange AD30, with the only pedals an Ibanez TS9 Tube Screamer and on I Don’t Know Who I Am, a track featuring Sonic Youth’s Lee Ranaldo, a Mr Black Eterna reverb. Jarman’s white 1970s Mustang is pretty much the only guitar on Night Network, with a fleeting appearance from a 1960s Epiphone Coronet he keeps close by his side at home in Queens. The writing process was something we were doing as escapism it was the only enjoyable thing we were doing at the time.” It’s surprising it came out the way it did, it would have been so easy to write an angry, bitter record. Our first album cost £900 to record, we saved up for that working in a factory, and there was no way we were going to allow it to be owned by a major label. “It was a miserable couple of years, but ultimately the principle of the matter is what kept us going. “I’m really happy we got to the other side of it and have the ability to still be musicians,” says Jarman having just emerged from two 14-day quarantine spells either side of a live-streamed show at Liverpool’s iconic Cavern venue that was the band’s first gig in nearly two years. Fuck all that, get it sorted and come out and make a record in our studio’. Dave was like, ‘Look, that’s not why you become a musician, this isn’t what you dream about. “We were chatting to the Foo Fighters afterwards and telling them what the situation was. “It was the perfect final gig for us, we played the show and it went great,” recalls Jarman, a Mustang obsessive who now lives in New York. Booked for a one-off stadium show with Grohl’s Foo Fighters, the Jarman brothers were emotionally exhausted, financially imperilled and drowning in paperwork. Unable to record while a dispute that threatened their very existence as a band rumbled on, most frustratingly for one of the UK’s most visceral live acts, they were prevented from touring. The band were mired in legal quicksand and surprised to discover they didn’t own any of the rights to their entire back catalogue. Having released their fourth successive Top 10 album, 2017’s Steve-Albini engineered 24/7 Rock Star Shit, relations between The Cribs and their management company had broken down. Step forward the undisputed nicest guy in rock, Dave Grohl, to save the day. In what seemed like the blink of an eye, it was June 2018, backstage at Manchester’s Etihad Stadium, and it looked as if The Cribs had just played their final show. Three decades ago, in a Wakefield living room, Ryan Jarman and his brothers Gary and Ross sat transfixed by the site of Kurt Cobain tearing away at a Fender Mustang on TV. It all started with Nirvana and it very nearly ended in the company of the Foo Fighters.
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