Chubby And The Gang: “It’s me vs. the world. If the world don’t like it, f*ck ’em!”

In a sense, Charlie Manning has come full circle. He’d probably cringe at the suggestion, mind. He’s not really one for going too deep on stuff. That kind of self-reflection seems to touch a nerve, instinctively setting off a finely-tuned radar for bullshit.

“I don’t like the way some musicians are quite pious,” he argues. “It’s important not to get too wrapped up in your own shit. At the end of the day, you’re just a fucking bloke. Know what I mean?”

But it does feel like the Chubby And The Gang man has ended up in a somewhat inevitable spot. Right now, he’s effectively a one-man gang, having done everything on the 16 songs of new record And Then There Was… himself, save for mixing by James Atkinson and production by Fucked Up drummer Jonah Falco. They’re the only mainstays since the full-band affairs of 2020’s debut album Speed Kills and The Mutts’ Nuts a year later, though.

“I’m quite an abrasive character,” is about as far as he’ll be drawn on the subject. The 34-year-old doesn’t seem to dwell on too many whys in life actually. That extends to what his music means, too.

“I find it funny when people ask, ‘What does this song mean?’ I’ll be like, ‘A lot of it doesn’t mean anything, mate. It’s just fun,’ which is just as important.

“Sometimes you want to go to an art gallery, look at a blue square and think,” he continues, “and sometimes you want to see a picture of a guy on a horse. Chubby And The Gang is just a guy on a horse!”

In relatively recent times, it wasn’t even a pony. Go back further still and it was just a lad riding a bus on his own, knocking about in London feeling lost.

Charlie was 15 when his life found its purpose, though he’d likely rankle at that idea, too. He remembers it well. Someone on the street handed him a flyer for a Prowler and Justice show, and within 30 seconds of popping his head in, everything changed.

“I saw people doing front-flips off the stage and thought, ‘That’s what I want!’ I just knew it was for me. I remember thinking I needed my own band. So, I went up to the [London hardcore label] Rucktion Records distro at the show, they recommended a bunch of stuff and it snowballed from there. That was it, I was away.”

Music had always been there, though, when Charlie thinks back. His grandparents played a lot of soul classics. His parents were into The Ramones. All of which ruled. But realising that there was something he could call his own around the corner lit the touchpaper. “When I found out about hardcore, it was like, ‘This is punk!’”

He counts himself lucky to have found it. Or that it found him. Either works, because prior to the discovery of a scene on his doorstep, life was lacking any meaningful direction.

“I was in a lot of trouble growing up,” Charlie admits. “I wasn’t the easiest kid [to be around]. I was out sniffing glue, sleeping on buses and doing raucous shit. That’s not necessarily anyone's fault but mine, but I just didn’t feel at home anywhere. That’s what attracted me to the hardcore subculture. A good friend of mine said, ‘It’s open to anybody, but not for everyone!’”

For a teenager struggling with dyspraxia, learning difficulties and attention deficit problems, school stood no chance. Unsurprisingly, he dropped out early (later finishing his GCSEs in his 20s), pouring all his time and energies into music instead. Experience in a number of bands followed, and many lessons were learned along the way.

“I always wonder what things might have been like, if I’d never found what I found when I found it.”

By day, Charlie now works as an electrician to get by and fund his passion. At night, he kips on his parents’ pull-out sofa bed, an arrangement he’s grateful for given the exorbitant state of London rents. Despite the many ups and downs he’s endured over the years, gratitude is a recurring theme. Left to his own devices he’ll write two songs a day, just because. When he doesn’t have gigs to play, he likes boxing. When he plays a gig, he attacks it like a fight.

“It’s me vs. the world and if the world don’t like it, fuck ’em!” he says. “When I play live, I come out ready for war. In person, I find it difficult to hear people saying they love what I do, because I get imposter syndrome. I deal much better with people being confrontational.”

That undercurrent of self-doubt comes up a lot. Where it comes from is anyone’s guess.

“Fuck knows, man. Is this any good? I don’t fucking know. It’s probably a lack of confidence. I’m getting to grips with it better, but at the start [of the band], I felt out of my depth.”

Given that the band emerged in a wave of hype as punk rock’s most exciting new prospect just a few years ago, he’s never let it go to his head. Perhaps the setbacks have been chastening. Maybe he’s just a born pessimist. Or learned to become one.

Despite others not sticking around for the ride, he promises he’s in it for life, no matter what.

“Maybe I'll get to an age where I’m too old, but until that day comes, I’m in for a penny, man. I’ve never even thought about not doing it, to be honest.”

Conviction and authenticity. Put all else aside and that’s what you’re left with. That’s the point proved on And Then There Was…

“I was doing this for years without getting anything back and I will do it for years without getting anything back,” Charlie doubles down. “It beats laying cable through asbestos all day. Starting music to achieve something is a strange concept to me. If it’s money you want, get a job in a bank. If it’s fame, go fucking rob the bank!”

And Then There Was… is released on October 4 via Flatspot

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