Billy Fuller’s Fragments: Nine Years of Home Recordings Finally Surface on Invada Records

Transmission 333: Interview with Billy Fuller

Billy Fuller is a Bristol-based bassist, songwriter, and founding member of Beak>, the band he has built alongside Geoff Barrow and Will Young across four albums, numerous singles, EPs, and soundtracks over the past sixteen years. His bass guitar has been the initiating force in Beak>’s compositional process throughout. Outside the band, Fuller spent seventeen years as Robert Plant’s bassist from 2003, contributing as co-writer on Mighty Rearranger, Lullaby The Ceaseless Roar, and Carry Fire.

Title: Fragments
Artist: Billy Fuller
Release Date: 2026-04-03
Genres: Experimental Music, Krautrock, Psychedelic Rock
Label: Invada Records
Description: Billy Fuller of Beak> talks Fragments, his debut solo album of home recordings, out 3rd April 2026 on Invada Records.

In 2010 he played on Massive Attack’s Heligoland, his bassline forming the foundation of ‘Paradise Circus’. He has also appeared on four albums by Baxter Dury and recorded with Alicia Keys, Billy Nomates, Rachid Taha, Anika, and Lucrecia Dalt, among others. On 3rd April 2026, Fuller releases Fragments on Invada Records, a solo album assembled from home recordings made over the past eight or nine years, played entirely by himself.

Why did you decide to start making your own music and what were some of your earliest influences?

I’ve always made my own music since the age of 15. This album is a collection of home recordings I did all by myself over the last eight or nine years. Some of them were intended as demos for Beak>. Some of them were just for the joy of creating, of being on my own and not trying to please anybody apart from myself. Musical influences — things that go on around you, life, pain, happiness, work, not work, love, not love. And then the Jimi Hendrix Experience.

What specific record first convinced you the bass should be your instrument?

It wasn’t a record, it was a band — The Jam. I’m sure you’ve heard of them. Bruce Foxton, the bass player, because I’m the youngest of three brothers. The three of us shared a bedroom — we only had a two-bedroom house — and my eldest brother Alan used to play The Jam, soul and reggae. So I’d listen to The Jam and I thought the bass playing on those records was brilliant. But I didn’t know what a bass was then. I just liked the sound of it — what’s that sound? Soul records and reggae were just great for bass. I was always listening to the bass very early on, and no other instrument really interested me at that point.

How do you describe the atmosphere of Bristol when you start?

I just felt very normal. There were lots of bands playing and I wasn’t really part of what they called the trip-hop scene. I knew about it and I liked some of the records, but I didn’t know any of those people at the time. I was just playing in guitar bands, wanting to do a Tim Buckley type thing, acoustic stuff, and then I was in a sort of jazz, free freak-out band playing upright bass. Just anything I wanted to do really. I was never looking at what was going on in the charts and thinking that’s what we need to do to have a music career. I never thought about it like that. I just wanted to be me.

What were some of the difficulties you had to face at the beginning of your career?

Finding places to rehearse, being able to afford good equipment — we were all working terrible jobs for no money. We had to make do with crap instruments, crap amplifiers, cassette four-track Tascam recorders, which, to be honest, still sound great, but it was a very primitive way of recording and making demos. And if you did save up some money to spend a day in a studio, it would cost £250 in the early 90s and you’d be really excited. You’d finish your demos and they’d play them back on the big speakers, really loud. And you’d think, fuck, this sounds amazing. Then they’d put it onto a cassette, you’d take it home, put it on, and it would sound like fucking shit. And that was your £250. So that was a difficulty as well.

Is there a common thread that connects the tracks of the album, even if they are scattered?

The common thread is that they are me on my own, not working to any kind of brief, not trying to please anybody apart from myself. I found about 80 pieces of music and got it down to 16 that seemed like a story being told from beginning to end. It had a narrative in my head anyway. I don’t know about anybody else, but in my head it has a narrative.

What was the narrative?

Just a feeling. Being somebody who’s listened to music all his life, worked in a record shop for many years, listened to lots of records — just the general feeling of how you should feel when you listen to a collection of somebody’s work. I had one eye on there being some sort of common thread, atmospherically more than anything, because there’s not a lot of singing or lyrics. It’s more about feeling, mood and sounds.

How much of this material had to be recorded versus simply polished?

All of it was recorded very simply, done here at home with only two or three microphones, some pedals, a keyboard, some synths, my bass guitar, a drum kit and drum machines. Most of the songs are three or four channels of audio each, so not very much, and I had to work hard to figure out how each one would be formed. But there’s one song, Three Blind Mice, that’s 35 channels of audio because it was a song that demanded more until it was finished. It was like a hungry animal.

Does this album represent a break from Beak Sound or an extension of it?

An extension, because I’m in Beak> and I write Beak> music, and that’s always been normal for me. It’s attached to Beak> because some of it was intended to be part of Beak>, but it never got used.

The track Last Train to Yeaton closes the album. Is that the title a reference to a specific personal memory?

It’s specific to a place where I live — Yeaton, which is also a Beak> song on Beak 2. I often get the last train to Yeaton from Bristol, which is only a 15-minute journey. The last train on a Saturday, everybody’s drunk, and I’m just trying to be quiet and invisible because I don’t want anybody to talk to me.

Do you have plans to perform these tracks in a live setting?

Yes, we start rehearsing this Sunday and there are already some shows being booked — France, Belgium, Holland, and some UK dates coming in.

Are there any external influences on these albums such as artists, cultural events?

There’s one record I really enjoyed that came out last year — Bill Orcutt. He’s got an amplifier on the cover and it’s just him playing guitar along to easy listening records. It’s nothing like my record, but I really admired the freedom of it. It was a great idea and when you listen to it, it sounds beautiful. Let me find the name of the album — sorry about this. It’s called How to Rescue Things. Just him on his own with his guitar playing along to easy listening records. A really interesting concept. Not that my concept is the same or that my record sounds the same, but something about what he did made me think, maybe I’ll do that next — play bass along to big band music or something.

Why do you choose to play every instrument yourself on this record?

Because I’m the only one who wants to do it in my house. My kids weren’t interested.

What’s the most practical lesson you learned from working with Robert Plant?

Work hard and love it. Love music. Robert’s still doing it because he still loves music and he buys music. He likes going to record shops, he listens, he’s a fan. He just likes to be out playing live, as do I.

Are you working on new material right now?

I’ve been working on a new Beak> record with a new drummer.

Photos courtesy of Billy Fuller

Matteo Damiani

Matteo Damiani is an Italian photographer and author. Curator of the sites Retrofuturista.com; weirditaly.com; china-underground.com and others