More than 25 years after their first chapter came to an abrupt and complicated end, The Samurai Seven are not interested in simply replaying the past. For the Oxford punk-pop four-piece, the reunion that began almost accidentally in a rehearsal room in 2025 has become something far more meaningful: a chance to rediscover the chemistry that first brought them together, confront unfinished creative business and, perhaps most importantly, make music that feels relevant to who they are now.
Formed in Oxford in 1997, Simon Williams, Matt Williams, Jimmy Martin and Chris Hayward quickly became part of a thriving British guitar scene, earning early support from John Peel and Steve Lamacq, recording multiple sessions at Maida Vale and releasing music through labels including Shifty Disco and Fierce Panda. Their sharp combination of punk urgency, pop hooks and vocal harmonies marked them out as a band with genuine momentum. Then, in 1999, everything changed when frontman Simon Williams was shot in a drive-by incident in Oxford. Although he recovered and the band continued, the interruption proved difficult to overcome. Momentum faded, confidence shifted and, eventually, the original line-up went its separate ways.
What brought them back was not a grand comeback strategy, but friendship. A one-off rehearsal with the original four members reminded them why the band had worked in the first place. “We hadn’t really expected anyone else to care,” Simon admits, recalling the unexpectedly enthusiastic response after photographs of the reunion appeared online. Gigs followed, then new songs. Before long, what began as an exercise in nostalgia had turned into a new creative chapter.
That distinction matters to The Samurai Seven. Their latest single, “Duck and Cover”, is not a backward-looking attempt to reproduce the sound of their youth. Recorded with Grammy-winning producer Hugo Nicolson, the track slows some of the band’s trademark velocity while retaining the harmonies, melodic instincts and live energy that first won them attention. Beneath its infectious surface sits something considerably darker: a song shaped by nuclear anxiety, political strongmen and the unsettling sense that parts of history once believed to be safely behind us are beginning to repeat themselves.
Simon describes the song as an expression of frustration at a world that appears to have moved backwards, but rather than allowing that anxiety to consume the track, The Samurai Seven transform it into something joyful. It becomes a reminder to live fully in the present, a philosophy that feels particularly resonant for a band whose own history was so dramatically interrupted.
That perspective runs throughout their forthcoming Make It Real EP. The title speaks both to the seriousness with which they are approaching their second chapter and to broader questions around authenticity in an increasingly artificial culture. For Simon, that means resisting the temptation to chase external definitions of success. Having experienced the excitement of early momentum and the disappointment of losing it, he now views success in simpler terms: making music the band believes in and enjoying the process of making it.
Time has inevitably changed the group. They have built families, careers and lives beyond music, but returning to the rehearsal room revealed something remarkably intact. Matt describes rediscovering the camaraderie and instinctive chemistry between the four members, while Simon compares the band to “four very different, weirdly shaped jigsaw pieces that somehow fit together”. Their differences, he says, now bind them as much as their similarities.
As The Samurai Seven prepare to release Make It Real and return to the road, including dates supporting The Boo Radleys, their story is no longer simply about what might have been. It is about what can still be created when ambition becomes less about recognition and more about purpose. Older, more reflective and perhaps more comfortable with themselves than they were the first time around, The Samurai Seven are not trying to reclaim their past. They are finally allowing themselves to continue it.
Your return comes more than 25 years after your last new material. What convinced you this reunion was about more than nostalgia, and how did you know there was still something new worth saying?
Simon: Initially, the idea was to just have a single rehearsal with the original four of us, with no expectations or plans beyond that, because we had missed each other.
As soon as we got together, it was obvious that the chemistry between us was still there, both personally and musically. Chris, our drummer, posted a couple of photos on social media and the response was surprisingly enthusiastic. We hadn’t really expected anyone else to care. Suddenly, we were being offered gigs and it all snowballed from there.
It would be putting it too strongly to say that we had a reunion by accident, but it’s more a case of us having got to this point one step at a time than us arriving at that first rehearsal with a longer-term plan in mind.
As exciting as it was to play our back catalogue at that first rehearsal, I started having ideas for new songs pretty much right away, and so the focus shifted to looking forward rather than back quite quickly.
“Duck and Cover” uses the threat of nuclear conflict as a backdrop but ultimately becomes a song about living fully in the present. Do you think music has a responsibility to confront fear, or simply help people survive it?
Simon: Music in general definitely has a role in providing an escape and transporting the listener to a different place, however briefly.
However, we live in tense, divided and dangerous times, and anyone doing anything creative has the choice to either distract from or ignore the social climate, or to say, “Have you seen this? What the hell is that all about?” Of course, either direction is valid. For me, lyric writing is the hardest part of songwriting, and I find it easier to get over that hurdle if I write about stuff I feel strongly about or am aggravated by, and so that often pushes me down that route.
There’s a message in some of the songs if people want to hear it, and if they don’t, hopefully they might enjoy the hooks and harmonies instead.
Regardless of lyrical content, when it comes to gigs, it’s all about a hot, sweaty, joyful release for us and also, hopefully, for everybody in the audience. We love to play live and that energy translates to the crowd.
The title references Cold War language that many people thought had become history. What made those themes suddenly feel relevant enough to revisit now?
Simon: A few years ago, it felt like the world, though imperfect, was generally headed in the right direction: more peaceful, tolerant and understanding.
It felt like we had left the 1930s-style political strongman and the Cold War tension that followed behind in the early to mid-20th century.
Turn on the news now and you can see and hear those same themes and characters reappearing, so part of “Duck and Cover” is expressing exasperation that we seem to have gone backwards.
It’s quite a depressing thought, so I wrapped it up in a bouncy pop song.
When you first formed in the late 1990s, there was an optimism around British guitar music. Today, the mood feels very different. How has the emotional climate of Britain influenced this new chapter of The Samurai Seven?
Matt: There was certainly something exciting and celebratory around guitar music in the late ’90s. Having grown up in the ’80s, there was something genuinely thrilling and optimistic about the end of Thatcherism. Of course, looking back, it all feels a little naïve, but guitar music was part of that movement in British art, fashion and cinema. I never liked the term “Cool Britannia”, then or now, but it captured the mood. I also think that the pre-9/11 era was less fraught socially and politically. There was an optimism in the air which, ultimately, could not withstand the reality of geopolitics or economics.
Simon: The problem with optimism is that it often leads to disappointment. Noel Gallagher hanging out with Tony Blair was all very well, but we still ended up here.
It’s a very different time now. If someone were to wear Geri Halliwell’s Union Jack dress in 2026, it would be interpreted very differently.
Simon, your life changed dramatically after being shot in the 1999 drive-by attack. Looking back now with decades of perspective, how did that experience reshape not only your relationship with music but also your understanding of ambition, success and time?
Simon: We tried to carry on after I recovered, but the world had moved on and we had lost too much ground. The guys had all waited for me during my recovery, and I guess I felt somehow responsible for us losing our momentum, although the guys never did or said anything whatsoever to make me feel that way.
Looking back, my sense of purpose got confused by all this. Instead of writing songs to please myself, as I had always done, I started trying to write songs that might help us regain the ground we had lost: first by writing songs that I thought “the industry” might like, and then by writing songs that might surprise people or challenge their expectations of us. This was a mistake, at least for me.
I have had plenty of time to look back at this. The only things you can control in a band are a) how much fun you have, and b) how “good” the music you play is, which is subjective and where your own opinion is the only one that you can judge by. For me, these are the only meaningful ways you can measure success, and therefore the only things you should point ambition at.
Any other criteria, fame, radio play, concert attendance, favourable press coverage, etc., might be indirectly influenced by the quality of music you come up with, but there are so many other factors at play that to set any as a benchmark of success is to focus on the wrong thing.
Since we reformed, I try to focus my perception of success only on the factors I can control. Anything beyond that is out of our hands.
The band’s original momentum was interrupted by circumstances completely outside your control. Did returning to these songs bring back any unresolved feelings, or has enough time passed that you can finally see that chapter differently?
Simon: A lot of time has passed and, over that time, I have made peace with what happened. As unlucky as I was to find myself in that situation, I was lucky that the amazing NHS was able to salvage some sight in my eye. The outcome was a lot better than the prognosis.
I hadn’t thought about it, but now you mention it, since we got back together, we haven’t played any of the songs I wrote in the year after I got shot. I don’t know if that’s because of the associations they have. I lost my way creatively for a while after I got shot, so it could also be that they just weren’t very good!
Many bands reunite because audiences want to relive the past. Your new material suggests you’re more interested in starting another conversation than recreating an old one. Was that an important distinction for all of you?
Simon: I never felt we achieved anything close to our potential the first time around, and I mean more musically than commercially.
The new songs are better, and we’re a tighter band than we were before. If we are not somehow relevant to ourselves in the present, then we don’t deserve to exist in it.
Matt: It was humbling and moving that so many people were glad to see us playing live again. There was a point to prove: that we could still deliver the goods in terms of the music, the harmonies, and the live energy and “show”. But once that box had been ticked, we wanted to do something new and start fresh conversations. We want to be writing, recording and performing our best material ever rather than looking backwards.
Your music has always balanced punk energy with melodic pop songwriting. Has age changed what you value more, the adrenaline of making noise or the craft of writing songs that stay with people?
Simon: I have always enjoyed the tension between the sweetness of the harmonies and pop hooks, and the raw urgency of the guitars and drums.
But everything starts with the song. A song can be good without noise, but noise without the song doesn’t make the cut.
John Peel famously championed the band early on. If he were hearing “Duck and Cover” today, what do you think would surprise him most about where you’ve arrived as musicians?
Simon: John Peel was a music fan, first and foremost, and my impression was that he listened to music entirely on his own terms. If we could send him our forthcoming EP, he would listen through it all and then play the song he liked most, even if it was tucked away towards the end of the EP, rather than any song that was being pushed as the lead track or whatever. I’m sure he would be glad we were back. He told me that he cried when he heard that I got shot, although he also said that he cried quite readily at a lot of things.
Matt: His support was such a vital part of our success and ability to reach a wider audience. I hope he would like the new stuff. He is very much missed, and no one has filled his shoes since.
Working with Grammy-winning producer Hugo Nicolson feels like a statement of intent rather than a nostalgic reunion. What challenged you most during those recording sessions, and did he push you into unfamiliar territory?
Simon: We definitely wanted to push and challenge ourselves in the studio. We wanted these recordings to be a few steps forward from what we had done before, so choosing to work with Hugo was part of that. Working with a producer necessitates people being pushed out of their comfort zones, and I was really proud of how everyone took it in their stride and grew as a result. We were all pretty open to all of Hugo’s ideas. As the songwriter, I was worried I would be more resistant. The key thing for me was to make the songs as lean as they could be, and I think Hugo and I worked well together during the pre-production process. I definitely learned a lot that I will take into future recording sessions.
The phrase “living like there’s no tomorrow” can sound optimistic or deeply unsettling depending on the context. Which interpretation feels closest to what this song is really trying to say?
Simon: “The world might end tomorrow because of very rich, elderly megalomaniacs looking to distract people from holding them to account” and “you might as well live for today” are two sides of the same coin, although there are definitely more layers of meaning in “live in the moment” for me, so I think that is probably the winner.
After spending years building lives outside the band with families, careers and different priorities, what did you rediscover about one another when you walked back into the rehearsal room in 2025?
Matt: That rehearsal reaffirmed all the amazing things about the guys in the band: the sense of humour, the camaraderie, the ease with which we “click” together, both personally and musically. Simon’s skills and ability have always been obvious to me, but I experienced a deeper appreciation for the musicality of Chris and Jimmy. They are a force of nature.
Simon: The first time around, I think we saw ourselves as four identical little Samurai, which in hindsight wasn’t correct. In the intervening years, we have each grown and developed in different directions, and perhaps are more comfortable each being ourselves. Post-reunion, it is very clear that we are four very different, weirdly shaped jigsaw pieces that somehow fit together. Our differences bind us together as much as, if not more than, our similarities.
There is a chemistry between siblings that can be both creatively powerful and brutally honest. Simon and Matt, how has your relationship evolved since the band’s early days, and does that maturity make collaboration easier or more complicated?
Matt: I have always felt fortunate to be in a band with Simon. As you say, there’s a powerful chemistry between siblings and we’ve always enjoyed our own secret code of shared references, music, experiences and our sense of humour.
I have always admired Simon’s songwriting and guitar playing, and these days I appreciate and value that more and more. Bands stand or fall on the quality of their songs, and I am lucky enough to be the brother of a fantastic songwriter. That’s not to downplay my contribution to the group, but I think it takes a degree of maturity to recognise that. As a younger man, I think I took that for granted. But there’s much more to it. I think we’ve got to know each other as adults and have a greater understanding and appreciation of each other. I can hand on heart say that the past year or so has been the most joyful and fulfilling experience I have had working with Simon and the band. I think I am more able to articulate and express my appreciation and love for him too. So, beyond the band and the music, that is a wonderful gift.
Simon: Being in a band with Matt is great. We have complementary skills and personalities, so there doesn’t feel like there is any element of competition between us at all. We each respect what the other does in the band and each has the other’s back 100%. It has definitely got easier over time as our rough edges have been smoothed, and I haven’t always been the easiest person to deal with. But Matt is always the first person I play a new song idea to, and his side of the stage is where I go if I need to get my head together during a gig.
Your first new songs arrive in an era where music is consumed in seconds through algorithms rather than through radio champions like John Peel. How do you navigate making thoughtful records in a culture that often rewards immediacy over longevity?
Simon: A lot of what Hugo wanted during the pre-production process of this record was to make songs shorter, get to choruses sooner, and communicate what the song was about in the first few seconds.
I quite like songs that build and evolve, and our song “Punching Down” originally started softly and gradually built up. Hugo wanted to signal the ultimate nature of the song right from the beginning, so I had to go away and rewrite the intro to reflect this.
Hugo’s advice was almost certainly right. Ultimately, the aim of any band with a pop sensibility is to make songs that can be understood easily by a new listener. At the same time, songs with instant appeal are often easier to tire of. The songs that have stayed with me longest in my life are ones with a bit more depth, that maybe take a while to get to know, understand and appreciate. I’m not sure where songs like that sit in 2026. Theoretically, they are album tracks, but streaming services reduce the importance of albums, reducing a band’s output to a series of individual tracks.
We are much closer to pop than prog, so making songs more immediate probably suits us. It’s not like I am capable of writing stuff like “A Day in the Life” or “Paranoid Android”, as much as I would love to be able to, and it’s probably bands with those kinds of strengths that face a bigger challenge with the way music is consumed now.
More generally, it is a shame that bands are assessed by algorithms and like counts more than human ears and hearts nowadays. You wonder how many of the amazing bands that have touched our lives would have done so if it had been determined by an algorithm.
The EP is titled Make It Real. What does “real” actually mean to The Samurai Seven in 2026, especially in an industry increasingly shaped by digital identities, streaming metrics and social media performance?
Simon: There are a couple of meanings to Make It Real that I had in my mind when writing the songs on the EP. Inwardly, I was thinking about our reunion, essentially: if we are going to do this, we need to do it properly, with no excuses or half measures. Otherwise, we shouldn’t bother.
Outwardly, it is partly about AI. There’s so much artificiality in the world today: photos and videos of events that never happened, songs on Spotify written by AI, by bands that have never existed.
I am sure that there are legitimate uses of AI, and I am wary of sounding like a Luddite, but truth and authenticity can be lost. As far as this band is concerned, and as much as I want us to play as tightly as we can live, it has to be raw, human, honest and imperfect.
When people talk about unfinished business, it often suggests regret. Does this comeback feel like you’re completing something left undone, or is it the beginning of an entirely separate story?
Simon: It’s a little bit of both. I don’t think we got anywhere near hitting our potential in a musical sense before we broke up the first time, so what we did before was definitely left incomplete.
At the same time, we are not the same people we were when we split up, so we are starting again from a different place and as different people from where we left off.
Supporting The Boo Radleys places you alongside another band whose catalogue has endured across generations. Does sharing stages with artists who have survived similar industry cycles make this return feel part of a broader story about British guitar music?
Matt: I hope so. It is such a privilege to be sharing a stage with The Boo Radleys. Our bassist Jimmy wore out his cassette of Giant Steps through listening to it so much.
Simon: I saw Super Furry Animals recently, supported by Getdown Services and Gwenno. It was great to see three really excellent bands, all very different in style: SFA, back after a long time away; Getdown Services, ultra-current, vital and new; and Gwenno, consistently making fantastic, challenging music for well over a decade. For me, the most inspiring reflection of British music is that such brilliant bands with totally different styles, some reuniting, some brand new, and some who have never been away, can exist on the same bill and sound great together.
I am really looking forward to touring with The Boo Radleys. They are such a great band, and we will learn a lot from playing with them.
If someone who has never heard The Samurai Seven walked into one of your shows this autumn, what would you hope they take away beyond simply enjoying the music?
Matt: I would expect and hope they would feel uplifted. I think they’d come away smiling, having been well entertained by four guys giving it their all. Our onstage chemistry is pretty infectious, and our shows definitely lean towards the joyful.
Simon: We love to play live, and that energy seems to transfer to crowds easily. Going to see a band has become quite expensive, so we really want our show to give the audience a chance to lose themselves in the moment, the way we do. Not everyone will like what we do, but it won’t be through lack of commitment and effort on our part if they don’t!
You’ve experienced both the excitement of rapid success and the disappointment of seeing momentum disappear. Has that made you less interested in commercial expectations and more focused on creative fulfilment, or do you still have ambitions that remain unfulfilled?
Simon: The only things I am interested in now are that we have fun together and that we make the best music we can make, on our own terms.
Beyond that, especially as we are releasing songs into a tidal wave of other music, I hope that as many people as possible will have the chance to hear it or to see us play live. Whether they like our music or not, I just want us to have the chance to be assessed rather than disappear down the plughole unheard.
Finally, after everything the band has experienced over nearly three decades, what does success look like today? Is it measured by sold-out venues, new records, or simply the fact that the four of you are still standing together making music?
Matt: It certainly is not financial. That bird has flown. But, to be honest, to be able to enjoy making music with these guys is awesome. Experiencing new stuff, having new adventures, playing in front of audiences, making some decent records, the excitement that comes with each plot twist. That is all success.
The first time around, we were young men in a hurry. We were pushing hard and rushing to hit the next thing, the next step. We did some really cool stuff, but we were so busy looking to the future that we didn’t always appreciate it or enjoy it fully at the time.
This time, we are taking it all in. I don’t take it for granted. It is such a buzz and a rush to be part of it all. I love it.
