COOPER T

Words by Connor Cooper

Photography by Samantha Corcoran (@samcorphotos)

The northern sound has been defined by many artists and movements throughout time. Strong voices or figureheads that can spearhead the narrative of this little corner of the world. Cooper T seem to be stepping into this role year on year, providing an honest, authentic narration for life in Manchester and its surrounding cities. The mysterious masked duo are masters at blending sounds and genres but also emotions; they can equally make you feel furious and riled up for a good old fashioned pub row, but soft and enamoured and inspired by their poetic smooth lyrics and detailed melodies that intertwine in a perfect storm that is so uniquely them.

Now in their 5th year of collaboration with an arsenal of singles and EPs that see them tour across Europe, including sell out support slots with the likes of Viagra Boys as well as high energy, packed out UK shows, they are paving the way for themselves to become one of the most exciting live acts coming out of the British Isles across the last decade, inviting special guests and frequent collaborators to elevate their onstage performance consistently. Now is Cooper T’s time, but at this rate, the next ten years might be too.

Having jumped into the studio after meeting via a guest show on Manchester radio station MCR Live, the pair entered the space with no real expectation of what was to come next. Both producers in their own right and with a relatively focused history in dance music and its associated sounds, little did they know that they would lean into this ska, punk, and indie fusion of sonics; in fact, it all started as a bit of a joke. "We realised we were into the same music growing up and we started making more indie music, taking the piss really." It wasn’t then until they took those sounds out of the studio that they realised there might be something solid to run with. "We showed people and they were like, 'This is pretty sick this.'" Very much to their surprise, the pair didn’t dwell on this for a second, taking their market research and turning it into an idea without hesitation. "We wanted to make a concept where it wasn’t about us, it was more of a movement." Originally wanting to go down the cartoon character route, akin to the likes of Gorillaz, they hastily realised that financial barriers would limit them from the offset. The next best possible route? "Get £5 masks from the army shop on Tib Street." A compromise that has defined their visual identity ever since.

There is something inherently Manchester about finding a solution in an army surplus store on Tib Street, embodying that DIY attitude that defines the city’s creative spirit. But what started as a budget friendly alternative to expensive CGI animation quickly morphed into a profound statement on modern culture. In an era where musicians are expected to be lifestyle influencers first and songwriters second, the masks provided a sanctuary for Cooper T.

"With the generation we are in right now of being super over exposed and super visible, your image is constantly being monitored." The masks were a way to reclaim the narrative. If you cannot see the face, as a listener, you have no choice but to listen to the words. You have to engage with the essence of the production rather than the image that comes before it. It was a move that forced the music to stand on its own two feet, and in the case of Cooper T, those feet are wearing well worn Nikes and stomping through the streets of Manchester.

Yet, as the project evolved, the masks have taken on a weight of their own. They have become a symbol that carries baggage the duo did not necessarily pack themselves. A balaclava is rarely just a piece of knitwear but often more of a social signifier.

"As soon as someone puts a balaclava on, especially not in drill music, it turns a bit more political," they admit. They have found themselves frequently compared to the Irish trio Kneecap, a comparison that, whilst flattering in terms of energy, misses the mark of what Cooper T, as a project, is trying to achieve. They are not trying to start a revolution in the streets; they are trying to document the one happening in their local communities, in their local pub, and for local northern people. They are social realists, not insurgents. This misinterpretation has led to a re-evaluation of potential realignment within the project. The masks that once offered freedom are now, occasionally, felt as an alienating burden.

To understand the sound of Cooper T, you first have to understand that they are, at their heart, a self-contained and highly disciplined production unit. While many bands rely on outside producers to dictate their creative direction, Tom and Kong are both seasoned producers in their own right who build their world from the ground up. What may have started years ago as a loose experimentation with indie sounds has matured into a serious, focused operation; they are the sole architects of their own sonic landscape, meticulous about every frequency and lyric they record to tape.

However, even the most self-sufficient units value a space to evolve and sharpen their output. Every Wednesday, the duo makes a pilgrimage to work with Dub Phizix, a legendary figure in the Manchester production scene. "We make the tunes... then we go to Dub Phizix every Wednesday, he helps with the writing when it comes to additional production." This collaborative session serves as a final layer of quality control for a project that is already deeply personal. As they put it: "We make all the music and create everything together... it is authentically us." It is a ritual of consistency and graft that comes before any external input. Much like their high profile collaborations with the likes of Murkage Dave or Sleaford Mods, these sessions are about bringing respected peers into a world that Cooper T have already precisely built themselves. It is a commitment to the craft that is increasingly rare in a world of content over quality.

This disciplined approach to the studio is what allows them to blend such disparate sounds. One minute you are hearing the ghost of 2-Tone ska, the next you are hit with a bassline that feels like it was ripped straight from a 2004 grime track. It is a sonic representation of a walk through Manchester’s Northern Quarter: where the club bass leaks through the brickwork and into the traditional boozers where the old boys are nursing pints of Crystal Gold.

It is a sound that refuses to be pigeonholed. While many artists from the region feel the need to lean into the Madchester tropes of the 90s, Cooper T are looking forwards. They are influenced by the past, citing the social commentary of Terry Hall and Ian Brown, but at the same time not cosplaying these iconic figures that walked before them. They are taking that lineage of the working class poet and updating it for a generation that is struggling with rent, over-exposure online, and a crumbling social fabric.

While the studio is their sanctuary, the stage is where Cooper T truly catches fire. Their live shows have become the stuff of local legend, characterised by a level of energy that feels like it could blow the windows out of any venue. But behind the masks and the bravado lies a true human vulnerability that the boys carry with them wherever they go.

"I am a fucking nervous wreck," Tom confesses. "I don't mind if I'm playing to four people or if it's fucking insane… I'm fucking everywhere." It is a refreshing admission in an industry that prizes cool above all else. That nervous energy is exactly what makes their performances so visceral. It is a high-wire act where everything feels like it could fall apart at any second, but never does because the connection between the two is so ironclad. “I just neck a bit of tequila me,” Kong chimes in with a much more nonchalant pre-gig ritual.

"If one of us isn't up to scratch, the other just leans in a little more," they explain. It is a partnership in every sense of the word. They recall two recent and pivotal performances, including a set following the Fontaines D.C. show at Wythenshawe Park and a private 70th birthday party. Both were performed without their signature masks, with close friends and family in attendance. Witnessing the audience’s reaction to their facial expressions allowed people to connect to the raw emotion of the lyrics without the barrier of the woollen mesh. This experience has sparked a new conversation about their visual identity. "People can see the emotions in our faces now," they note. "It’s a lot easier for people to connect to that."

As the conversation turns toward the music industry at large, the duo gets reflective about their home towns. Manchester & Barrow has always been a hotbed of talent, but it has historically lacked the back end infrastructure that London enjoys.

"In London, you have the industry at the back end. You have the labels, the management, the videographers," Jack notes. "In Manchester, for years, everyone has just been an artist and hasn't even considered wanting to do any of the other things." This lack of a localised industry has led to what many call the Manchester Ceiling: a point where northern artists feel they have to move south to truly make it.

But Cooper T sees the cracks in that ceiling. They see the success of local labels and management companies like NQ, and they see the global reach of artists like Aitch The tide is turning, and Cooper T are perfectly positioned to lead the charge. They are fiercely proud of their roots, but they are not limited by them; they want to prove that their brand of northern social commentary translates just as well in Berlin or Paris as it does in Bolton or Preston.

They are also vocal about their frustration with the slow-moving nature of the modern music industry. In an age of instant gratification, the traditional six week PR lead up to a single release feels like an antiquity. "Why can't we just release tunes? That's what we're good at," they say. They have a mountain of unreleased material, including a third EP slated for October plus a burning desire to just "pump them out."

At the heart of everything Cooper T does is a deep respect for the art of storytelling. They are not interested in the vapid, self indulgent lyrics that dominate the charts. They want to talk about the man at the end of the bar. They want to talk about the reality of the streets they walk every day.

"That’s what I like, the social commentary," Tom says, citing The Specials as a major influence. "It’s that thing of just describing a man in a pub drinking a pint and making it feel like the most important thing in the world."

This is the secret to the Cooper T recipe. By combining high concept production with down to earth storytelling, they have created a concept and sound that feels both world dominating and intimate all at once. They are the voice of a city that is constantly changing, yet fundamentally stays the same. They represent the grit, the humour, and the undeniable heart of the North.

As we wrap up our chat, Cooper T are looking toward the future, whether that involves masks or not. They have the songs, they have the live show, and most importantly, they have the authenticity that cannot be bought nor manufactured.

If they continue to document the world with this much honesty and fire, there is no limit to where the band can go. Whether they are playing a sold out show in London or a 70th birthday party in a local social club, Cooper T remains the most exciting, unpredictable, and essential band coming out of Britain today.

The North has found its new narrators. And they are wearing balaclavas they bought on Tib Street for a fiver.