'It smells in here," says Skunk Anansie's singer Skin, leading the way into the band's east London rehearsal room. It is small, crowded with cables and drum kits – and it does smell of mould. "We call it black mushroom HQ," says guitarist Ace, "because when we came in there were black mushrooms growing by the door."
Ten years ago, Skunk Anansie were used to swankier surroundings. The London-based fourpiece – fronted by the shaven-headed Skin, who combined the vocal range of Mariah Carey with the swagger of Michael Hutchence, alongside bassist Cass and drummer Mark Richardson – had sold 4m albums, headlined Glastonbury, and played at Nelson Mandela's 80th birthday party. In 2000, Skin, in what must rate as one of the more bizarre moments in the history of rock-classical crossover, duetted with Pavarotti in the presence of the Dalai Lama. But in 2001, after six years and three albums, the band parted ways.
Now they're back, having spent the last few months putting together a new record, Smashes and Trashes. It's a greatest hits compilation, essentially, taking in their 12 singles, from 1997's full-throated Hedonism to 1999's anthemic You'll Follow Me Down. But there are also three new tracks, a sign that the band really are back together, not just cashing in on the current nostalgia for everything Britpop.
Skunk Anansie weren't exactly Britpop; their sound was too jagged. They got lumbered with "Britrock", which Skin jokingly turned into "clit-rock" in an interview; the term has followed them ever since. "It was just a complete piss-take," Skin says now, laughing.
Skin is softer-spoken than you might expect from her rasp of a singing voice, and more polite; her on-stage antics (screaming, licking Ace's stomach) and her forthrightness have earned her a reputation for ferocity. ("As a black lesbian," she once told a US interviewer, "I'm the living nightmare of every conservative suburban house owner.") But she gives this reputation short shrift. "Every black woman is described as scary, from Naomi Campbell to Mel B to Grace Jones to Skin. We all get tarred with that brush. I remember one gig, there were these two 14-year-old kids, and one turned to the other one and went, 'I'm really scared, are you?' And the other one went, 'Yeah, I'm really scared, too!' They were so excited to be scared. It made me laugh."
The band met up about a year ago, and spent a couple of weeks in Kenya, drinking and writing. They hadn't all stayed in touch. Skin – who has released two solo albums, as well as DJing and making the odd foray into modelling with her friend Naomi Campbell – would bump into Richardson, who was then drumming with Feeder; she and Cass had remained friends. Ace, meanwhile, was teaching with Richardson in Brighton. Finding the group dynamic again was, Skin says, surprisingly easy: "We always had this amazing chemistry. There weren't really any isms and schisms, any bad vibes. We burnt out."
First time around, the band set themselves a punishing schedule: the two-month break they took in 1999 before recording their third album was their first proper holiday in six years. This time, they're taking things slowly. There's a five-date UK tour in November, then they're getting back to writing.
But all in good time, they say. "Before, we were like: we've gotta do this, gotta do that," says Skin. "This time we said, let's just take our time, dip our toe in here, dip our toe in there, work on the songs. When you haven't played for nine years, it's like a boulder at the top of the hill. You kind of have to move it and move it. Once it starts rolling, then it's fine."