A Certain Trigger, A Certain Legacy: Maxïmo Park At 20…

UK alternative rock icons Maxïmo Park are making their long-awaited return to Australia, for the first time since 2009! And they’re bringing a celebration two decades in the making. In April 2026, the party will be in full swing as Maxïmo Park marks the 20th anniversary of their seminal debut album A Certain Trigger. To honour the milestone, the band will perform tracks from the Mercury Prize-nominated record alongside fan favourites from their expansive catalogue, spanning eight albums and twenty electrifying years.

A Certain Trigger burst onto the scene with a trio of iconic singles; Apply Some Pressure, Graffiti and Going Missing, songs that still ignite indie dance floors and festival crowds to this day. With their debut, Maxïmo Park emerged as the bookish, livewire outsiders: fusing punk urgency pop precision, and literary flair into a sound that was as smart as it was explosive. To this day Maxïmo Park remains a driving force, a band that moves the head, the heart, and the feet in equal measure. This tour promises a dynamic blend of nostalgia and fresh cuts, as they tear through Australia with a setlist spanning decades, bending genres, and bringing nothing but raw, euphoric energy. Paul Smith talks to Hi Fi Way about the album and upcoming tour.

It is staggering that we are celebrating twenty years of A Certain Trigger. Where’s that time gone?
I have no idea. We’ve just kept ploughing on, and now we’ve got eight records and all sorts of collaborative projects behind us. Thinking about two whole decades is pretty daunting, because you suddenly start breaking time into chunks, how many more times will I see my friends, how many more burgers will I have, even though you shouldn’t have too many burgers. I’ve started thinking like that. And the guys in the band all have children now, so the whole “twenty years” thing feels astonishing in its own way. We never thought this far ahead; we didn’t imagine we’d still be going in twenty years or think about any of those forward‑looking things. I feel very lucky. That’s one of the reasons we wanted to celebrate the anniversary, in pop, it’s like dog years. We should be dead and buried by now, but instead we’re alive and thriving. We still feel excited about music, and we still love the songs from the first record, which is lucky in itself. A lot of bands look back and think, “I can’t play that song anymore,” or feel disconnected from their old lyrics. We’re in a fortunate position, and I guess that’s the overriding feeling after twenty years.

I still remember that very first tour when the band came out, and you were playing really tiny venues here, back when it was called Fowler’s Live, that was was an incredible show. That gig was just so impactful in so many ways. I’d almost given up hope of actually seeing you guys again, and when it was announced, I had to read it twice, thinking surely not. I can’t honestly believe it….
It’s such a long way for us to travel, and at the time we were very much in a whirlwind of “next, next, next.” We had some tour support back when we first started out, something a lot of bands would struggle to get now without a bit of financial help. When we signed to Warp Records, it was a huge moment for us. We were really proud to be on such a great label, and they basically said, “Here’s enough money to go and start your career.” I try not to think of it as a career, because it still feels vocational, I love writing songs, I love words, but having someone believe in you like that gave us a real head start. It meant we could tour around Britain, then Europe, and keep building.

These days, with the cost of going to America, visas, flights, accommodation, the reality is that touring musicians are just as affected by the cost‑of‑living crisis as anyone else. After the pandemic, you really do wonder whether you’ll ever get to the other side of the world again to play your songs, even if you desperately want to. So when the offer came in, we just said, “Let’s do it. We might never get another chance.” After being away for so long, you start to wonder if you’ll ever return, so I’m genuinely glad we can.

Those early Australian shows, and honestly, pretty much every show we’ve played there, were incredibly sweaty and full of energy from the crowd. You want to experience that again and again. That’s the addictive part of performing: you’re on a stage in front of people, anything can go wrong, you never know who’s going to turn up, and that unknown is exciting. Those early Australian gigs will stay with me forever.

Maxïmo Park are always very much a forward‑thinking band, but is it hard not to get swept up in the nostalgia of such a significant album like this one?
It’s difficult to define. When you see so many bands doing twenty, thirty, or forty‑year anniversary tours, you start wondering what people are actually coming for. Do I want to do this? Is it just looking back? What even is nostalgia? That’s what I’d been thinking about. And then, the other day, I was in the car about to get out when Jeff Buckley’s Grace came on. I hadn’t listened to that record in years, but when I was about fifteen, I was obsessed with it. Hearing it again gave me this rush, the song, the voice, the production, all of it hit me in a way I probably appreciate even more now, having made a lot of records myself. And I thought: this is why people, hopefully, will come and see our band. Because a great song is timeless. It still feels alive.

Some people will come because they want to be reminded of being young, or of the old days. But for me, the songs live in the present. My job as the front person is to tap into the energy and emotion of each one. The lyrics I write are very emotional, and that’s the core of how I connect with them, finding the reason to sing them now. When people come to the gig, some will think, “I remember that name, that was one of my favourite records when I was at uni or in my first job.” And that’s fine. But once they see the band, I think they’ll realise we’re not phoning it in, we’re rekindling what the songs are about. Otherwise, there’s no point.

We could just cruise through the old songs, and plenty of bands do that, there’s definitely a financial incentive. But there isn’t much financial incentive for us to come to Australia. We’re not coming to make loads of money. We’re coming because we love playing, we’re lucky to have the opportunity, and we want to show people how good a band we think we are. If you don’t go out with that attitude, then it really does become pure nostalgia.

And listening to that Jeff Buckley song made me wonder: is this nostalgia? What am I feeling? And sure enough, I thought of my fifteen‑year‑old self, and how life has changed. That’s part of looking back, you’re constantly coming to terms with your life, asking what these songs mean to you now. Nostalgia is definitely involved, but it’s only one part of the puzzle.

Do you remember when the album came out, and how much life actually changed for you and the band?
It wasn’t a dream come true, because I’d never actually dreamt of it. I just wanted to make great music. I wanted us to be the best band in Newcastle, which is ridiculous, really, because I had loads of friends in bands and they were all great too. But there was that element of wanting to prove you were worth listening to, because nobody knew who we were. The music world, especially the business side, can be very competitive, and I’ve never liked that. It doesn’t connect to the actual act of making music. But once you’re out there playing the songs, you want people to listen; you want to grab their attention with how you sound, how you look, even what the album sleeve looks like.

That whole period felt like pure excitement and discovery. My life changed in so many ways, but at the time it just felt like a snowball gathering speed, “we’ve sold out that gig,” “we’re being asked to play here,” “we’re getting on a plane to go there.” It felt like the songs were driving everything, not some ego trip of “we’re the best band ever.” Even now, every time we make a record, I never know if it’ll be the last one, because I don’t want to release music just for the sake of it, just because it’s supposedly my job.

We’ve tried to carry that same questing spirit from the early days into the present, even though life is very different now. Back then I had no real attachments, I was living in a flat in the centre of town next to the train station, no TV, just hopping on trains to the next place. Things were happening fast, and I didn’t know any different. I didn’t realise bands often struggle for years before finding the right line up or the right moment.

When the guys asked me to join, I’d never sung before. For me it was something new, something stimulating and artistic, a challenge to fit in with these other guys, some of whom I knew well, others not so much. My head was all over the place, just trying to do something good. And when you’re living it, everything is incremental; you don’t think in milestones.

Now, looking back, I can map my life by when our records came out. “Oh, that was 2007, I remember exactly where I was.” “2006 St John’s Wood, making Our Earthly Pleasures, going to this gig and that gig.” It’s still hard to quantify what that time was really like. But it was clearly something I loved, not a dream come true, but the thing I’d always wanted: to make music for my whole life. And here we are, doing it.

When A Certain Trigger came out did it feel like a moment of triumph when that album came out, not being from London, per se?
A little bit, yeah. I think we’ve always felt like outsiders, but now we’re almost established outsiders, whatever that means. The first time we went down to London it was exciting, of course; it’s the big city. But you also have to hold on to who you are. A lot of bands get swallowed up by a scene, and sometimes that can be positive, being part of a musical community matters. That’s how I think of our upbringing in Newcastle. We were mates with bands from Sunderland like the Futureheads and Field Music, and I’m from Teesside, a smaller area south of Newcastle. The North East can feel a bit out on a limb, but you build your own community. And once the spotlight turns on you, people start judging you, your accent, your background, and sometimes we were framed as the “odd Northerners.” Whatever that means. We were odd in our own way, sure, but people love to define you.

For me, the songs spoke for themselves. I felt like we’d released a classic album, which sounds ridiculous, and I try to say it without ego, but you have to believe in what you’ve made. I thought the record took listeners somewhere. Even with songs like Acrobat, you weren’t just getting the rat‑a‑tat pop‑punk thing people tried to label us with. There were nuances throughout, but also this urgency. So yes, it felt like a triumphant moment. But you never know how people will take it. I always feel triumphant just before a record comes out, but there’s also that anxiety: will people feel what I feel? You spend so long writing the songs, weeks in the studio, a lot of money, and you never know how it’ll land.

When it came out, it was a slow burn. I don’t think the reviews were particularly good, mostly “this is all right” or “slightly above average.” And I paid attention, because I was a music‑magazine reader. I bought NME, Melody Maker, Q, all of them, because back then you couldn’t stream anything. You had to research and hunt for new music. So when you’re judged, you think, “Right, this is the other side of it. People aren’t necessarily on board.” But then the snowball started: more people at shows, Radio 1 play, Top of the Pops, a Mercury Prize nomination, awards ceremonies. By the end of the album cycle, it really did feel like a triumph.

But honestly, just getting the album out felt like a triumph. Whoever heard it, however well it sold, we felt we’d made something worth listening to. We were on one of the best independent labels in the world, not the richest, but full of passion, and we wanted to get out there and play live. That’s what really supported the record. Every show we played, even now, I give one hundred percent. Hopefully they’re exciting, interesting shows. And I think that helped convince people who might never have heard the record otherwise. There weren’t big adverts everywhere, you had to come to the show. That word‑of‑mouth energy, which is getting rarer in the age of social media, was huge for us. People telling their mates, “You’ve got to see this band.” I think that played a massive part.

Do those publications ever say anything positive? Sometimes you read them and you think, am I listening to something completely different here? Must be frustrating?
It is a bit frustrating, but it’s part of the deal, you just have to stomach it. I often joke that we’ve had about seven “returns to form” now, because every review seems to say that. You think, well, if the last one was a return to form, what does that make this one? But people have short memories, and that’s why you have to keep getting out there and proving yourself again and again.

How do you find playing the album, start to end?
We’re not going to do that, we’re going to shuffle it up. We actually did play the album in full for a few shows on the tenth anniversary, just as a little celebration, like, “We made it to ten years, who knows what’s next?” And doing it in order was great. We really believe in the album format, so sticking to the track listing we’d agonised over felt right; it takes people on a journey. The album ends with a bang, it could have ended with the epic Acrobat, but that didn’t feel like us. It felt too easy. We wanted to finish with another melancholy pop banger, or whatever we called it at the time.

This time, though, we want a different approach. We’ll end up playing most of the record, but we’re also really proud of the other albums we’ve made. We’ll have at least one song from each of them, as well as most of the debut. And there are a few old B‑sides people know well from back when there was only one record out, so we might throw one or two of those in too.

We want every concert to feel satisfying, and there’s something fun about adding a few curveballs. It would be easy, and probably pleasing, to play the album straight through, but instead we’ll mix it up a bit, like an iPod shuffle.

Are there any sort of plans for new music, whether it’s the band or your own solo work?
Yeah, I mean, we’re always hoping to write a new record. Our lives are a bit different now, we all have different schedules, and things happen at different times in people’s lives, ups and downs, but the aim is definitely to make another album. Because we’re not writing together at the moment, I’ll probably put out another solo record this year, maybe something a bit quieter. The three solo records I’ve done so far have all been upbeat‑ish, melancholy indie‑pop, but I also made a folk‑leaning record with my friend Rachel Unthank, and that gave me a real taste for singing more quietly and mixing things up. I’ve got quite a few quieter songs that need recording, and it feels like there’s a full record there. So maybe after the anniversary shows next year, I’ll put that out, and in the meantime, I’m always wanting to write Maximo Park songs.

Interview By Rob Lyon

Catch Maxïmo Park on the following dates, tickets from Destroy All Lines…