Back from the brink

The band went on hiatus, which its members thought might be permanent, having decided collectively that without Primrose there would be no Travis. Six months later, the drummer had made a miraculous recovery, and Travis set up a makeshift studio in an isolated house on the Isle of Mull, in West Scotland, where the foursome drank wine, played Scrabble, and contemplated the meaning of life.

Within two weeks, Travis had written and recorded almost the entire new disc. ``12 Memories'' is a somber, reflective collection, brimming with beautiful melodies and serious subject matter. The group's singer and songwriter Fran Healy called recently from London to talk about the band, the album, and coming back from the edge.

Q. There's a depth and a darkness on ``12 Memories'' that Travis hasn't really explored in the past.

A. I think that a vague unease has always been there, lurking in some songs, but on this album we've fallen into something quite a bit darker. Politics has encroached on people's lives. The situation with Iraq is a massive red flag. We're [ticked] off at Mr. Blair. It's like seeing a freight train crashing in slow motion and not being able to do anything about it. I don't

think I'm the only one feeling these feelings, but I can writetunes that stick in your head. That's my talent. So I'm up here shouting ``Iceberg!'' We've had our fun, we've had our big records. There's a point, and an urgency, to these songs.

Q. The first single, ``Re-Offender,'' is about domestic violence that took place in your family. Were you apprehensive about revealing something so personal?

A. Not really. I'm just telling my truth and hoping there are people out there going through it who appreciate hearing it. Music does many things; it becomes the shape of whatever you pull it into. When we learn to talk, we're taught not to say things, and sometimes music can reveal things to you that the adult in you daren't go near. I think [this subject] is a reality for so many people.

Q. Travis took a six-month break after Neil injured himself. How did you spend your time?

A. I grew my hair, grew a beard, swam every day at the local swimming pool. When you're on the radio people say, ``There goes that guy,'' and it was brilliant being anonymous. What happened to Neil was unfortunate, but it was great having time to play with the cat, go to the shops, watch the telly. I loved it.

Q. What was the mood like when you all reunited at the end of last year?

A. Before the accident we'd flatlined as a band and as a group of people. We didn't know what was happening. We'd always felt charmed, and when things start going well, it's like magic. But that disappeared.

Q. What happened?

A. The way you lose it is by being in the music business, which is like living on Mars. You can only survive for so long, and then you just die. When the thing happened to Neil it was like when they give you the heart shock and the beat comes back. We'd had a trauma that made us realize we'd lost sight of what made it vital. We went up to Scotland to be together, to have a second honeymoon.

Q. You've worked with A-list producers, among them Steve Lillywhite and Nigel Godrich. Why did you decide to produce the new album by yourselves?

A. To be honest I was fed up playing second fiddle to Radiohead. We're like Nigel's part-time lover. He was so frazzled after ``Kid A,'' we were his therapists after those sessions. He's one of my best mates, but I'm so happy we did it this way. I think he missed us, though. I played some of it for him in the car when we were recording, and he turned around and said, `` Why weren't you writing like this when you were with me?''

Q. How literal is the album title?

A. Totally literal. That's exactly what it is, 12 memories from as early in my life where I hardly have memory to really current points. I had no agenda. I just turned off my cellphone, sat down with an instrument - anything that made a noise - and switched off my filters. It's a random assortment of songs, connected by pure chance. The thing that unifies it is a spirit we've got now, having come back from the edge of the precipice.

Q. It sounds like you've gone through some profound personal and professional changes. Has your definition of success changed?

A. Definitely. There's a brilliant Tony Bennett song ... [he starts singing] ``Fame, when you win it, comes and goes in a minute, love is the answer.'' Fame is transient. If you become a big fat famous person, you're tomorrow's chip paper. And you can only come to this conclusion after having a lot of success, selling millions of records. We've been lucky enough to have that. But it's remembering moments of pure joy, goofing off with my Uncle Bill, that's success. Not this. I've got my feet nailed to the ground.

Travis plays Sunday, oct. 26, at the Orpheum. For info and tickets: 617-931-2787 or visit www.ticketmaster.com

Joan Anderman can be reached at anderman@globe.com.