“Finding what I can share and write songs about has been the journey of my lifetime”: Inside the karmic circularity of Laurie Vincent’s new band Big Truck

“Being in the city is something that I have to do,” begins Laurie Vincent, Ordnance Survey map in one hand, Kerrang!’s microphone in the other, “but I need to come out here to recharge.” Hiking through greenery, it feels poignant that the SOFT PLAY guitarist is looping back around to his car, as he explains why his newly-formed band, Big Truck, is rooted in circularity, duality and nature.

“The overarching theme of the album is about the dark and the light,” he explains. “The yin and the yang, and how they inform each other.”

Reconnecting with kind-hearted drummer Sam Coppins, who Laurie met in the Tunbridge Wells scene 20 years ago, the pair had something of a turbulent relationship before they buried the hatchet. In 2024, an uncharacteristic two-hour phone call brought them closer. Believing in Laurie’s demos, Sam recruited Bring Me The Horizon superfan Asa Thallon on guitar and keyboard wizard Justin Myles. Before they knew it, Big Truck had recorded a debut album.

The first taster, Central Reservation Blues, landed last week. Over fragile, sun-soaked guitars – half the world away from SOFT PLAY’s frenzied punk – a guilty Laurie, on tour in 2025, confesses ‘I’m sorry that I missed your birthday’ to his partner and children…

How did you celebrate your partner’s birthday this year?
“For the song to come out on the week of [her birthday] can't be a coincidence, it feels like the universe in action. We went to Alfriston, took our picnic blanket, and I made a chocolate Guinness cake. It was very English and beautiful. This project, it’s absorbing everything about my life now, slowing down and engaging with what’s important. The music feels like an extension of who I am, and it's a place where I can live comfortably.”

Much like how you’re on a walk right now…
“I only really became self-aware on a deeper level in my late 20s. I used to feel all these feelings that I guess would be anxiety now, but I wouldn't have any words for it. Whereas now, through going to therapy and doing the work, I am so much more engaged. I can't deal with crowded places for a sustained period of time. A connection with nature gave me the inspiration to write these songs.”

There’s a lyric on the album about that: ‘Crowded places don’t make me feel safe / I need open fields and ocean’.
“My lyrics, I'm aware they traverse from poignant to tongue-in-cheek to flippant remarks. When they’ve come to me, I've just allowed them to come out, and that's been my journey as a musician, my whole life. I remember listening to Sex Pistols and going, ‘I'm not that angry,’ listening to hip-hop and going, ‘I don't come from Compton, so I can't sing about that.’ Finding what I can share and write songs about has been the journey of my lifetime, and it sounds dramatic, but my whole life has built up to accessing that voice. It was as simple as singing about what you know.”

In the same song, you sing, ‘The ocean and the forest / I need both / But I’m stuck between the two’. Have you learned to be okay with feeling caught in the middle of different realms, whether they’re emotional, material or sonic?
“The album title [Midday At The Middleway] is [inspired by] a Buddhist teaching, finding comfort in accepting the ups and downs. To live, we have to exist with both. We feel deeply, and that's a blessing and a curse. We get to love, but we also have extreme traumas and grief. A lot of Western religions – not naming names – lean into that puritanical abstinence, ‘If we're good, we will ascend.’
“I relate to Buddhist teachings a lot more. Heaven and Hell are on Earth, and we are traversing them every single day. Learning about that has given me great comfort, and putting it into music has been my way of coming to terms with that. It can happen on a minute-by-minute basis. You're in the best mood of your life, you stub your toe, and you're back down there. And there's a comedy in that as well.”

What happened between you and Sam to light the Big Truck spark?
“We reconciled, which was a beautiful thing… he saw huge potential in [the demos], and that sparked something in me. There's this karmic connection between us. I've been reading books about soul journeys – and Buddhism – and they all say the same thing: we are karmically tied to certain people. Some people call it God or spirituality. I haven't found a word that sits right yet, but having faith in a higher being and karmic pattern, there are people that I'm definitely drawn to with a lack of explanation.”

You formed LARRY PINK THE HUMAN with Jolyon Thomas in 2020. Why did the demos need their own space in Big Truck, versus building on that blueprint?
“Jolyon and LARRY… showed me that I had potential, but it also made me realise what I wanted to do. I knew I had to do it all. Big Truck had to become as close [to a] solo project as it could be, without it being one. LARRY PINK THE HUMAN was an attempt to not be myself, to be the furthest thing from SOFT PLAY I could possibly be, and in reality, that was inauthentic. You can't escape yourself. If you are, you're not being real.”

When SOFT PLAY released HEAVY JELLY in 2024, you told K! how you started to embrace your love of emo and nu-metal instead of “trying to be cool”. Did that ethos flow into Big Truck, given how you’ve just described LARRY PINK THE HUMAN?
“When I started playing Central Reservation Blues, the producer was like, ‘Wow, this reminds me of The Cure or New Order,’ and it lit me up, because I am such a broad music fan. I grew up listening to Cajun Dance Party, Yuck, The Cribs, Joy Division, New Order. I love The Gaslight Anthem, Bruce Springsteen, Elliott Smith, punk rock, and this album has moments of fucking jazz and spoken word. I wanted to write a song like [Jamie T’s 2009 album] Kings And Queens, and I'm owning it. I even namecheck him, to give him props! Another song has punk outbursts. I love Talking Heads, Gang Of Four.”

You’ve toured the world with SOFT PLAY for over a decade. Why, at this point in your life, did you realise a need to articulate the sentiments in Central Reservation Blues?
“There's this weird divide that's [growing]. My cost of living is going up because I've got a family and mortgage. When I was younger, the money went further, but also because the cost of living was cheaper. SOFT PLAY are getting paid more than ever, but it's going less far to cover our costs. Eighty-five per cent of our touring last year broke even. I'm going away without even the incentive of bringing home money.
“Obviously, my partner loves the fact I'm following my dreams, but there's a very real-life part to it. ‘If you're not here with us and you're not making money, what are you bringing to our family?’ It’s a perspective shift, and it's tricky. I don't want to moan, because you see Lambrini Girls and Kate Nash talk about it eloquently, but what do we do? I'd call SOFT PLAY a big-ish band. But bands smaller than us, how do they exist? The melancholy of my life's choices are laid out on that song. It's meandering. There's no conclusion.”

How does it feel gearing up to play live with Big Truck against that backdrop?
“I am consciously approaching the sacrifices I'm going to make, whereas maybe a year ago, I'm booking gigs and not remembering people's birthdays. At first, the shows are one-offs or on weekends. It's still an experiment, but it's about consciously trying to make it better.”

With that mindset, is sustainability and longevity the goal for Big Truck?
“I'm all-in. I had a real epiphany this weekend, and I'm truly humbled by the reaction. Being who you are can open doors, but you have to warrant staying through that door and being part of the conversation. Let's pay it all back and fucking go for it. There's room enough for SOFT PLAY and Big Truck. But this year, I'm gonna have a go.”

Big Truck’s new single Central Reservation Blues is out now via Marshall. Stay tuned for news on the debut album.

Read this next:

• SOFT PLAY: “We need to do this together… the magic of our band is both of us”
• Lambrini Girls: “It’s time for the genre of ‘women in music’ to be put to bed”
  
• The story of British punk in 23 songs