Whooligans Connect on the Release of "Losing Control" and Unveil the Story Behind the Anthem
- STAFF
- Aug 23
- 11 min read
By: Staff
“Losing Control” is a blistering anthem that perfectly fuses raw emotion and electrifying energy.
Whooligans are back with a storm, unleashing their latest anthem, "Losing Control," a track that captures the chaos and raw emotion of the human experience like nothing else. From the first note, the gritty guitars and punchy drums pull you in, but it’s the unmistakable vocals that set the song apart, crisp, commanding, and laced with an emotional intensity that resonates long after the final chord.
We spoke with the band’s frontman to explore the magic behind Losing Control and the unique approach that fuels their music. In this interview, the artist delves deep into the personal and artistic journey that shaped the track, offering rare insights into how the raw, fragmented moments that form their songs come together into something powerful. From the DIY ethos that drives their sound to the emotional authenticity that fuels their lyrics, we uncover the untold story of their creative process. We also touch on the symbolism behind the name Whooligans, the significance of the tools they use, and what comes next for this rebellious force in music.
Intrigued? Read on to find out what makes Losing Control more than just another rock anthem, it’s a statement, a story, and a reflection of a spirit that refuses to be tamed.
Here’s how it went:
Begin Interview:
Hello Whooligans, we’re thrilled to have you here for this interview! We've had an amazing time exploring your music and diving into your creative journey. Now, we’re even more intrigued to get a deeper look into both your brand and your personal and professional inspirations.
Q. We really loved “Losing Control.” The bassy, downtuned guitars and punchy drums create such an exhilarating intro. But honestly, the real magic of the track lies in your vocals. While the guitars blaze and the supporting track is fiery, your voice is crisp, commanding, and powerful. It's emotional and stunning, with each word striking with clarity and depth. When did you first discover your voice, and what moment in your life made you shift from seeing it as something intimate to using it to share with a global audience, setting the stage for the career we see today?
A. I first asked my mum for a guitar when I was 14, after watching an old VHS tape of Oasis – There and Then that one of my uncle’s mates had lent me. I never actually gave it back… sorry about that! Picking up the guitar felt like the start of everything. Singing wasn’t some big decision, it was just a natural progression. As I learned chords and started stringing them together, I felt this urge to make something of my own. At first it was just humming, then gradually I built the confidence to let people hear it.
The fact that you describe my voice as ‘emotional and stunning’ is humbling, because it’s hard to ever see yourself that way. For me, it’s always been about chasing honesty in sound, not perfection. And the moment I realised people connected with that — that something so personal could resonate beyond me — that’s when I shifted from keeping it intimate to wanting to share it with the world.
Q. Can you tell us how you landed on the title of “Losing Control”? Was the title “Losing Control” your first choice, or did it evolve over time?
A. Picture this: I’m sitting at my grandmother’s kitchen table after moving back home from a pretty rough breakup. I’m slumped in the chair with a bottle of Jack, not sure what to do with myself. I pick up my guitar, and the opening riff comes out almost instantly — exactly the way you hear it on the recording. Then I just started screaming. It was like my war cry, almost like Matthew McConaughey beating his chest in The Wolf of Wall Street. All the anger and frustration I’d been carrying suddenly poured out, and that moment became the chorus. I’d lost control for a split second, and that’s where the title came from. It wasn’t a calculated choice, it just felt right — it was the truth of the song.
Q. You’ve compared your writing process to Jackson Pollock’s paintings, fragmented, chaotic, full of raw moments. How do you take those disjointed pieces and turn them into something that feels cohesive? And if you had the option to repair those ‘broken’ moments, but in doing so lose your ability to make such raw and powerful music, which would you choose?
A. My process is very instinctive — I don’t start with order, I start with chaos. Like Pollock, I throw everything at the canvas: memories, feelings, scraps of conversations, even the ugly parts of life. At first it’s fragmented, messy, even uncomfortable. But the cohesion comes later, when I step back and see the bigger picture. The raw edges end up connecting in ways I couldn’t have planned — that’s where the honesty comes from.
And about those ‘broken’ moments… I wouldn’t change them for nothing. The cracks are what give the music its power. If I smoothed them over, I might gain polish, but I’d lose the truth. I think people connect with music not because it’s perfect, but because it mirrors their own fractures. So I’d rather keep the brokenness if it means keeping the honesty.
Q. As a songwriter, you’ve got this incredible ability to blend the personal with the universal. How do you decide what to share in your lyrics and what to keep for yourself?
A. I think the art is in walking that line. When I write, I always start from something personal — a memory, a feeling, a moment that hit me hard. But I don’t feel the need to put every detail of my life into a lyric. Some things are just for me. What makes its way into a song are the emotions that other people can grab onto — heartbreak, longing, frustration, hope. The specifics might be mine, but the feeling belongs to everyone.
For me, it’s about finding the truth inside an experience and then shaping it so people can see themselves in it. That way, the songs stay honest but they don’t feel like diary entries. They feel like stories we all carry.
Q. Whooligans seems to represent a sense of rebellion, a refusal to conform. What is it about rebellion that feels essential to the music you're creating and how do the fans react to this?
A. Rebellion’s at the heart of everything I do. Not rebellion for the sake of chaos, but rebellion as in refusing to just accept the script you’ve been handed. Growing up on a council estate, you see quickly that if you don’t question things, you get boxed in. Music became my way of pushing back, of saying, I won’t live by someone else’s rules. That spirit is what ‘Whooligans’ is about — it’s messy, it’s loud, it’s unapologetic.
The fans connect with that because deep down everyone wants to feel free, even just for three minutes in a song. When I play it live, you can feel the energy shift. People let loose, they shout every word, and for that moment, it’s not just my rebellion — it’s ours.
Q. In a time when pop culture often sanitizes emotion, your music feels visceral and real. How important is it to you to maintain that authenticity, even if it means discomfort?
A. Authenticity is everything to me. I don’t write to make people comfortable, I write to make them feel something. Life isn’t polished — it’s messy, it’s painful, it’s beautiful — and if my music didn’t reflect that, it wouldn’t mean anything. Pop culture often smooths the edges off emotion, but I think the cracks are where the truth lives.
So if a lyric or a performance makes someone uncomfortable, that’s fine — because it means it’s real. I’d rather have a song that cuts deep than one that just floats by unnoticed. For me, music should be lived in, not airbrushed.
Q. With your recent high-profile performances, there’s been a lot of attention on your live shows. Can you describe how your fans should expect your live shows to differ from your studio recordings?
A. The studio is about capturing a moment in time — clean takes, layering sounds, chasing a certain mood. But live, it’s about danger. The volume’s higher, the tempo’s looser, the songs breathe differently. There’s sweat dripping, amps buzzing, strings breaking, and I love that because it keeps everyone — me and the crowd — on edge.
So fans shouldn’t expect a carbon copy of the record. They should expect something rawer, heavier, more jagged — but more alive. It’s not about perfection, it’s about electricity. That’s the difference: the record is controlled, but the live show is unpredictable.”
Q. The way you speak about your gear, like building ‘Bella’ yourself, shows a deep connection to the tools you use. Does the physical act of creating your instruments have a spiritual or artistic significance for you?
A. Yeah, absolutely. Building Bella wasn’t just about having another guitar — it was about putting a piece of myself into the instrument. There’s something spiritual about shaping the wood, wiring the pickups, feeling the imperfections in your own hands. When I play her, it’s not just strings and wood, it’s hours of work, mistakes, sweat, and patience all tied up in one sound.
I think there’s a real poetry in that — the idea that the instrument itself carries your story before you’ve even played a note. To me, it’s no different from songwriting: both are about turning raw material into something that speaks. So yeah, creating my own gear definitely has an artistic weight to it. It makes every performance feel that much more personal.
Q. It seems like there’s a cinematic quality to your music, especially with the energy of “Losing Control.” When you’re crafting a song, are you thinking about how it fits into a larger narrative or visual landscape?
A. I’ve always seen songs like little films. When I’m writing, I’m not just thinking in chords and words, I’m picturing scenes — the kitchen table at 2am, a streetlight flickering, the feeling of running until your chest burns. That’s probably why there’s a cinematic quality, because I write as if I’m scoring moments in my own life.
With Losing Control, it wasn’t about fitting it into a larger narrative so much as capturing a single explosion of energy — like a scene where everything finally boils over. But I do think of my songs as connected, like chapters. Each one builds its own mood and imagery, and when you line them up, they tell a bigger story without me having to spell it out.
Q. Your music has such a distinct personality that feels driven by a fierce need to be heard. Is there something you feel compelled to communicate with the world that you couldn’t do in any other medium?
A. Yeah — for me, music isn’t just a choice, it’s the only way I know how to say certain things. I can sit across from someone and try to explain how I feel, but it never comes out right. Pick up a guitar though, and suddenly all the anger, heartbreak, joy, frustration — it pours out in a way words on their own never could.
I think that’s why my songs might sound urgent or like they need to be heard, because they do. Music gives me a language I don’t have anywhere else. Without it, a lot of what I carry would stay locked up inside me. With it, I can turn all that weight into something that might actually connect, maybe even help someone else who feels the same.
Q. You’ve had a varied journey, from the streets to the stage. How does that evolving sense of place, both literal and metaphorical, shape the way you experience your success now?
A. ‘Place’ has always shaped me. The streets I grew up on taught me resilience, gave me my perspective, and they’re still in every lyric I write. It wasn’t glamorous — It was busted pavements, footballs smacking against walls, neighbours kicking off over the fence — but it gave me grit. Those sounds and stories are the backbone of my music.
Now when I step on a stage, that sense of place hasn’t left — it’s just evolved. I carry both worlds with me: the kid who felt trapped and the artist who gets to travel and play his truth loud enough for people to hear. Success doesn’t erase where you come from; if anything, it makes you value it more. Because every time I look out at a crowd, I know exactly how far those streets carried me.
Q. The way you’ve crafted your sound, DIY, from the gear to the overall approach, speaks to a deeper philosophy. Is there a specific reason why you’ve chosen to embrace that method? Also, there’s a lot of technology available today, and some artists have described it as overwhelming or too much. With computers playing a more prominent role in both creation and correction, do you feel this has a positive or negative impact on the final result of music?
A. For me, the DIY approach isn’t just about saving money or being stubborn, it’s about ownership. Building my own guitar, messing with amps, recording in imperfect spaces — it all means the sound is mine. Every squeak, every crackle, every imperfection has my fingerprints on it. That’s the philosophy: music should feel human, not manufactured.
Technology is a double-edged sword. On one hand, it’s incredible — it’s opened doors for people who might never have had the chance to make records otherwise. But on the other hand, if you lean on it too much, it can strip away the character. Computers can correct your mistakes, but sometimes the mistake is the magic.
For me, the challenge is using tech as a tool, not a crutch. I want my songs to sound alive, not polished to death. So I embrace the DIY side because it keeps the music honest — and that honesty is what people connect with.
Q. Is there a song by a band you grew up listening to that still resonates with you today? One that you’d love to cover in the studio, because it feels connected to who you are or played a role in shaping your career?
A. Definitely. ‘Like a Rolling Stone’ by Bob Dylan still hits me every time I hear it. That song was one of the reasons I picked up a guitar in the first place. There’s a defiance in it, a belief in something bigger than the everyday grind, and that really spoke to me growing up in the flats. It wasn’t just a song, it was like a lifeline.
Covering it in the studio would be my way of paying respect to where I came from and what lit the fire in me. I wouldn’t try to replicate it — you can’t outdo a classic — but I’d love to put my own spin on it, almost as a conversation between the kid who first heard it and the artist I’ve become now.
Q. We’d love to dive deeper into the story behind your artist name, “Whooligans.” Now that we’ve had a chance to experience your music, it’s clear that your fans will be equally curious about the meaning behind the name that accompanies your sound. How does ‘Whooligans’ connect to the music you create, what significance does it hold for you personally, and what is the origin or backstory behind the name?
A. The name actually came about when I first landed in Vienna. Being English, there’s this stereotype in Europe that we’re all hooligans — drinking beer, playing football, getting into fights. Within ten minutes of stepping off the plane, someone called me a hooligan. At first I laughed it off, but the word stuck with me.
I decided to flip it on its head and make it my own — that’s how ‘Whooligans’ was born. For me, it’s never been about violence or chaos, it’s about rebellion, raw energy, and refusing to be boxed in. The ‘Who’ is the twist: who’s the hooligan, really? It could be you, it could be me. It’s all of us. We’re all cut from the same cloth — that’s why I made it plural, even though I’m a solo artist.
It connects directly to my music because the songs carry that same spirit: loud, raw, unapologetic, but also with heart underneath. The name is a reminder to wear where I come from on my sleeve, but to turn it into something positive and creative.
Q. And finally, we can’t thank you enough for sharing these intimate details! So, what’s next? Can you give us the inside scoop on your upcoming projects and what fans should be excited about? We’d love to be the first to share the news!
A. Yeah, I’ll give you the scoop: my new single Banshee drops on the 8th of September. Where Losing Control was like a war cry, Banshee is full throttle — darker, wilder, and straight in your face from the very first second. It’s probably the most unhinged track I’ve written so far: all raw power and energy, no filters, no compromises. Fans can expect even more chaos and live energy after that, but Banshee marks the start of a new chapter — louder, heavier, and unapologetic.
Thanks for having me, it’s been a pleasure.
Whooligans, thank you so much! We appreciate you taking the time to talk to us.
End Interview
We’re happy to have shared Whooligans’s exciting journey with you and uncovered such inspiring insights about their creative process.
