What Happens When Your Biggest Hit Leads to an Existential Crisis?

The Ting Tings needed a lot of spins to hit the jackpot. After struggling for years in Manchester, England’s underground scene, Katie White and Jules De Martino signed a record deal with a small label in the mid-aughts thanks to, as White puts it, their “authentically punk, angsty, and naïve sound.” The label just didn’t know what to do with it. A full year languished, and the group, then known by a different name, was dropped with nothing to show but a bruised ego. “I thought, at 22, my career was over,” White says. “But the experience gave me a song idea.” Yeah, you know the one. “That’s Not My Name” became one of the most ubiquitous hits of the decade upon its release in 2007, and it was inspired by the incompetent suits White and De Martino had been forced to work with.

The duo soon found themselves playing to enormous crowds on what felt like a never-ending global tour. But after the initial shock of success wore off, another harsh reality set in: They no longer recognized the audience they were playing for. “We went from rocking out in seedy clubs to parents and children coming to our shows,” De Martino recalls. “ You’d go to shout something and there would be a 10-year-old girl with a mom who wanted to hear ‘the name song.’ And you’d be like, Oh, shit, I can’t.” While the couple, now married with a daughter, finally have a better understanding of how this massive single influenced the direction of their subsequent four albums — which they expound upon in our newest “Song Roulette” column — it took a bit of trial and error to get there. (Home, their fifth record, will be released in June.) “We were getting off on not being the same band,” De Martino adds. “We decided we would never make the same album twice.”

The Song

Katie White: We were living in a disused factory in Manchester. The musicians who lived with us used to put on illegal club nights. We got offered a small record deal after playing a set there. Straightaway, it didn’t feel like the right fit. They trapped us for a few months until they officially dropped us. “That’s Not My Name” came from that. It’s a very frustrating song about feeling invisible and forgettable.

Jules De Martino: We started getting some radio play while still doing gigs in our living room. Outside the factory wasn’t the safest of areas to walk around after dark, and one night, there was a line of limos and cars from industry people who wanted to sign us after the first label dropped us. I’ll never forget the sight of it.

K.W.: I’d grown up listening to the Spice Girls. Then I found Le Tigre, Talking Heads, and Blondie. I like to think you can hear them all in “That’s Not My Name.” It’s not really dated because it wasn’t the “hip” sound of that time. It’s like its own weird amalgamation.

J.D.: We hadn’t mastered any other instrument besides the drums. So it has a lot of smashing drums.

The Bet

K.W.: We also had “Great DJ” and “Fruit Machine” recorded at the time, so there were options. But it was always going to be “That’s Not My Name.” No question.

The Payoff

J.D.: I was more negative than Katie. As soon as we went No. 1 and had a global hit, the audience changed overnight. I felt like we needed to develop more.

K.W.: Everybody knows that song, which was amazing because we didn’t expect it to do anything. As soon as we put it up on MySpace, it instantly clicked with people. But you could feel it was oversaturated. Our new record company was like, It’s getting pushed so much because it’s doing so well! But there was no space for it to breathe.

J.D.: To be clear, we loved the song and loved touring at that point. We got to see the whole world six times over. But we knew once that song got so big, it was going to be much more difficult to be the people we were when we made it.

The Song

K.W.: We didn’t go home for four years because of all the touring for We Started Nothing. I distinctly remember everybody going, “How’s the second album going? Have you finished it yet?” We hadn’t even started. We were addicted to touring and found it difficult to stop. I understand why artists get really fucked up from it. Real life feels boring after years of that. It took us several months to settle down. We rented an old jazz club in East Berlin. The club was in the basement, and we got the apartment above it. We just smoked loads of weed and felt stressed.

We sat at the piano to write “Hands.” The final song is almost too overanimated. There’s no space between words, and everything’s overdone. It’s like a steroids version of what we would do live. Our label also didn’t like that we moved to Berlin. They told us, “We had a meeting about what you should sound like.” We were mortified. That’s when we started to feel friction.

J.D.: That’s the problem with commercial music. There’s no one around before when you need help, you’ve got no money, and then everybody’s telling you what to do. Going to Berlin was us deconstructing the Ting Tings. We couldn’t think of anything worse than being A-listers in Manchester. In hindsight, it was really tough. The record company kept badgering us with, “Let’s get the next ‘That’s Not My Name’ out of you guys.” But we were already moving on into a more industrial sound.

K.W.: It’s probably to our detriment. “Hands” confused a lot of people. But as creatives who want to get old writing songs, as opposed to cashing in after five years, it felt like the right move.

The Bet

K.W.: The label wanted “Hands,” they put it out — and it didn’t fly quickly. It was all a bit rushed. They had forgotten to see us as writers who produced an amazing debut album that got nominated for Grammys. Suddenly, we were treated like a pop act.

J.D.: I think “Hands” was the right single at the time. It was one of the most commercial tracks on the album. It wasn’t like we were hateful of the decision, but we were kind of lost on that record in terms of coming off a long tour and not having the support. We actually wanted to name the album Kunst, which is German for “art.” We thought, What a perfect title, because we’re making a German art industrial pop album. The label said we were crazy. They said it sounded rude and harsh. We were running our heads through a brick wall.

The Payoff

J.D.: It’s a rotten feeling. We could see “Hands” was struggling in relation to “That’s Not My Name.” It was still successful in terms of radio play, but it wasn’t anything like that first record. You compensate with touring, because you can still ride the wave of the previous hits. “Hands” is one of our best live songs. And we felt we were still accomplishing a lot as artists.

The Song

J.D.: A remix of “Hands,” done by a DJ named Michael Woods, became very popular. That introduced us to more of a disco feel. We thought, Wouldn’t it be cool if we started to think more about the Bee Gees? So we moved to Ibiza. We later bumped into Andy Taylor from Duran Duran, who was living on the island at the time. We hit it off with him straightaway. The great thing about Andy is he lived during the Studio 54 era, so we just sat, drank with him, and asked him to tell us stories. We finally got the courage to ask him to co-produce the record with us.

K.W.: It was summer in Ibiza, but we didn’t even set foot on the beach. We didn’t live this glamorous lifestyle. I thought the idea of “realizing you’re not having a good time at the club” in the early hours of the morning was funny. Oh, shit, how did I get here? This sucks. I’m smarter than this.

The Bet

K.W.: “Wrong Club” was the song that came out best. We all felt excited about it.

J.D.:  We had quite a few other major labels wanting to sign us for the third record. But, emotionally, we just couldn’t go through that again. I’m sure it would’ve gone further if we had the support. But if we were going to carry on writing, we couldn’t be washed over with a label’s emotions.

The Payoff

K.W.: We had parted ways with Sony and managed to get our independence back. We were so excited, but it was a crash course. We just didn’t know how to do it. Suddenly, you’re like, Oh my God, there’s 400 emails we have to respond to, when all you want to do is rehearse. We knew we still wanted to remain independent, because even with that stress level of trying to deal with it all yourself, it still felt more authentic than being signed.

J.D.: We weren’t strong enough, focused enough, or educated enough about how to put a record out by ourselves. But we were learning and enjoying the process of not being stifled by the industry. You can always say, “Well, ‘That’s Not My Name’ would’ve connected like it did even if we hadn’t signed a label.” I don’t know, maybe not. If you start creating music to determine what the outcome is going to be, you’re fucked.

The Song

K.W.: “Blacklight” is difficult for me to listen to now, because we were so isolated in our writing world. We moved to Spain in the middle of nowhere. I started having panic attacks, which you can sense in the lyrics. It reminds me of a dark time. I was inspired by a shouty-punk band called Sleaford Mods. We were writing poetry like Johnny Marr and Morrissey.

J.D.: The syncopation was weird. It takes a minute to get used to. We were so jealous of Sleaford Mods. We were like, It would be so good if we could be that band again.

The Bet

K.W.: We chose “Blacklight” because we thought it would be a good live song. It has good energy despite being dark. We were also gearing up to think about having a child, so we knew we weren’t going to do an extensive tour.

The Payoff

J.D.: It was a reckless record. There’s nothing wrong with that. We’ve learned from other artists we’ve worked with that when they’re reckless, we love them even more. We also decided to pretend we were a brand-new band and only use $2,000 to promote it. It did really well underground, as it was meant to.

The Song

K.W.: We had our daughter during the COVID lockdown. We decided when she was 11 weeks old to shove all our lives in an RV and move back to Ibiza. There’s this radio station called Smooth FM that we listened to on our phones. We were playing a lot of Toto, Fleetwood Mac, and Dire Straits. We stopped trying to be cool, which was a massive thing for us. We just didn’t care.

J.D.: We didn’t even want to be the Ting Tings. We considered calling ourselves Martino and White. We started playing some lovely old acoustic guitars. We got on the grand piano. Everything we were playing sounded like early Elton John. Normally, we’d go, Why do we sound like old-man music? But it felt like we arrived home.

K.W.: This is what happens when bands are allowed to get to five albums. We got to this point because we were a couple and fiercely independent. Most people have to give it up and go and find another job, but because our first single was so successful, it freed us up so we could still pursue music and pay our bills. I’d love to be an old lady writing these types of songs. They’re good for our souls.

The Bet

J.D.: There’s no better song to introduce this new record or to tell our audience this is going to be another shocker.

The Payoff

K.W.: People are rooting for us. But no one knows our story, really. If they actually knew the story, they’d like it. They probably just know our first album. When they listen to “Down,” they’ll go, Shit, that’s a big difference.

J.D.: We started our record label and self-released it. We didn’t worry too much about how it was going to reach people. There’s no big marketing campaign or big money behind it. Our independence is even more important now than it ever was. We’ve grown out of our initial lifestyle. The music industry is in bad shape. A lot of people will go, Where have you been? Why did you leave a record label, you idiots? They don’t understand the mechanics of being an artist. I hope they can understand us a little better now.