Other people's expectations are none of your business

Jon Fratelli sounds exhausted on the phone. The Fratellis' frontman—real name John Lawler—has just returned from America. The purpose of his trip, he says, was both work and play. “I have friends over there,” he says. “I go over quite a lot to work, and travel, and just have a good time. There's something about sun when it comes to writing songs.”

A year has passed since The Fratellis suddenly announced their "indefinite hiatus"—that venerable euphemism employed by bands who aren't quite ready to admit that they're done—but the singer hasn't been resting on his laurels. Barely a month after The Fratellis were put on ice, Fratelli announced the birth of Codeine Velvet Club, a collaboration with Glaswegian singer-songwriter Lou Hickey. But in May, after just one release – a self-titled album far more warmly received than The Fratellis' lukewarm second effort – he announced (unilaterally, according to some reports) that Codeine Velvet Club too was finished.

When asked about that decision, Fratelli toes the party line, claiming that the band's style was too particular for a second album to prove rewarding. But he does confess, somewhat reluctantly, to a certain creative restlessness. “It was probably my attention span as well,” he says. “I definitely have problems concentrating on one thing for any length of time.”

“It was exactly what I needed at the time, but I couldn't do that forever. Everything's got to have a beginning, a middle and an end.”

Now, however, Fratelli has turned his attention to a solo career. The appearance of a few Fratellis-flavoured demos on his MySpace earlier in the summer lit the inevitable furnace of hype, but he is reluctant to delve too deeply into the musical heritage of these early recordings. When asked if they set the tone for an eventual Jon Fratelli LP, he vacillates. “I guess so. They are just demos, though.”

When it comes to making music, Fratelli is a man of simple desires. “I just want to go out and play some rock music. It can sound pretty basic, just plugging in a guitar and playing some rock, but there's a lot of life left in that music,” he says. The upcoming solo set at Electric Circus will be his first major exposure as a solo artist and as with the recordings speculation is rife about what the punters should expect from his live show. On this, Fratelli's feelings are clear: “The whole point is just to play what you want to play on a given night, so there's definitely going to be some Fratellis songs that I'll play, and some solo songs, and a couple of Codeine Velvet Club songs. I definitely want it to be as loud and unhinged as The Fratellis were.”

Although he can come across as somewhat cagey when pressed on creative points he's not ready to discuss, Fratelli is pleasantly unpretentious about the art of performance. “Playing's the easy part. I just want to sweat," he says. "There's something good about coming offstage and there's not a part of you left dry. It feels like you've done your job.”

It's not hard to trace where Fratelli's career struck gold. 'Chelsea Dagger' was an indie megahit, its infectious chorus echoing from festival fields to football terraces and propelling the band to their fifteen weeks of fame in the summer of 2006. But when discussing the place his song occupies in early 21^st century pop culture, this is a crown the frontman seems reluctant to accept.

“I never liked it. I don't dislike it either, but it's not my cup of tea. I probably wouldn't listen to it. But I don't mind playing it. I mean, asking people to come to a show and then refusing to play the songs they want to hear, that's just pretty fucking childish.”

It's not that he's ungrateful for his success, but Fratelli seems determined not to be mistaken for some kind of one-hit wonder. Asked if he's afraid that people listening to Jon Fratelli the solo artist are likely to harbour preconceptions, he ruefully agrees. “I guess there always are, but it's absolutely the worst thing you can do to pay attention to that. Other people's expectations are none of your business.”

The success of 'Chelsea Dagger' and songs like it, he claims, was never premeditated. “They're just really good mistakes,” he says. “And for it to happen again all you have to be is lucky – and awake.”

“The thing about pop music is that it's usually not the most interesting thing in the world to play. It tends to be quite simple.”

In distancing himself from the track that undoubtedly defines The Fratellis, some would accuse him of shying away from the limelight for the sake of rock credibility, but that's not how it comes across. Fratelli just seems unwilling to play games with his music. He's not looking for critics to align him with anyone else – indeed, he freely admits a certain disdain for current music. “It's like all the life has been knocked out of it, all the mistakes,” he complains. “It's very precise. I mean, there's twelve notes there, but nobody seems to want to hear them all that often.”

It seems Fratelli just wants to be left alone to make music; even this interview seems vaguely tedious to him. But while that may not be the most PR-friendly attitude, he is honest. He doesn't bemoan the rockstar life, but he's not going to let what is in the past be the final word. After all, he says: “If you're going to play one song over and over for the rest of your life, it might as well be one you like."