Royston Langdon is 50, full of life, and somewhere between an existential crisis and a Patreon bingo night. “It’s good to be here in the present,” he says, half-zen and half-exhausted, calling in to talk about Chains, his new solo EP. “I’m still full of life,” he adds, like a man trying to convince himself that turning 50 isn’t actually just a slow-motion pratfall toward death.
That’s not fair, though—Langdon’s outlook is far sunnier than his British baritone might lead you to believe. “I’ve still got a lot of work in me,” he says. “I want to get it out.” This is where we find him: no longer the glam-greased frontman of Spacehog, not quite the reincarnated Leeds-era solo act either, but rather, the guy who has lived a few musical lives and just wants to get to the point.
Which brings us to Chains. It's a tidy EP about freedom and entrapment, nostalgia and distraction, though Langdon isn't keen to decode it. “There’s all sorts of metaphors in there,” he says vaguely, the way someone talks about therapy breakthroughs they’d rather not explain. “I think it’s better to be ambiguous.”
Still, the title track feels unmistakably autobiographical. “Being chained to distractions,” Langdon muses. “You know, there are so many these days. Music brings it all back to me. It centers me.” He talks about authenticity like it’s the last real currency, something he’s spent decades trying to earn and still hasn’t finished collecting. “That’s my life’s work,” he says. “Getting closer to being authentic.”
Which might be why, even after a mid-career shift to the Leeds moniker and a pandemic-era reinvention on Patreon, he’s now releasing music under his own name. No alias, no veil. Just Royston Langdon, 50, father, Bowie devotee, Iggy Pop pen pal, and a guy who really doesn’t want to be chained to the past—but doesn’t resent it either.
Take Halfway Home, for instance, a song that sounds suspiciously like Spacehog’s own “Spacehog” to anyone paying attention. Langdon hadn’t noticed. “You’ve probably hit the nail on the head,” he concedes, mid-laugh. “I suppose my palette is a bit limited in scope.” Self-deprecating, but not bitter. He seems genuinely tickled that anyone remembers. “I get bored very quickly,” he adds. “I don’t really look back.”
Still, he gets it. “That song helped me through this,” fans tell him about old hits. “And that melts my heart,” he says. “That’s really it for me as a songwriter.”
To his credit, Langdon isn’t milking nostalgia. His Patreon isn’t some fan-funded museum; it’s where he tested songs, staged weird online bingo nights, and rewrote Resident Alien into something he’s calling President Alien—a reimagining one can only assume is both cheeky and slightly dystopian. “It’s been amazing,” he says. “Everybody wants to support.” He describes it like a utopia for the creatively restless, which is honestly more than most former alt-rock radio darlings can say.
As for the covers on Chains—a respectful Ashes to Ashes and a “wait, what?” rendition of Iggy Pop’s Nazi Girlfriend—Langdon makes no apologies. “Context is everything,” he says, pointing out that rock has always thrived in discomfort. “It’s a brilliant song,” he insists. “And it gets a reaction.” He once wrote Iggy a fan letter as a teen, and the Stooges legend wrote back. Langdon still has the letter. He tells this story like a teenager again, wide-eyed and a little proud. “I think Iggy’s still underrated,” he says. “And I think Bowie knew that too.”
Now Langdon is hitting the road again, opening for the Psychedelic Furs, because the Gen X circle is tight and beautifully incestuous. He’s excited. “I’d love to see you, man,” he says. And you believe him.
Royston Langdon isn’t trying to reclaim glory. He’s not riding coattails. He’s just a guy who knows how to use a coffee machine, used to share stages with Pavement and the Ramones, and still thinks music can make people feel something real—even if it takes a few uncomfortable detours to get there.
Watch the interview above and then check out Halfway Home below.
