If they were characters in a sprawling nineteenth century novel, Alyx Dennison and Freya Berkhout might be described as ‘ardent spirits’. As kyü, the electronic pop project that brought them together, the pair impart a sense of limitless expansion; they’re brave enough to allow themselves to be led musically by a shared sense of epiphany, following their instincts towards a point of revelation in a way that is endearingly vulnerable, completely genuine and utterly captivating.
When they aren’t doing that, they do things like bake brownies, listen to the Spice Girls and watch Doctor Who. Alyx does convincing impersonations, and also likes to paint. Freya speaks Hindi and aspires to make film soundtracks. Both would like to travel more; both are buoyant, bright-faced, smiley-eyed and completely disarming to talk to. And then of course there’s the small fact that they’ve created one of the most exciting sounds to come out of Sydney in a very long time.
kyü came together at the beginning of 2009 as a swift consequence of the duo’s newly-fledged friendship. Alyx needed someone with a student card to enter the Sydney University band comp, and Freya volunteered. Although their initial attempt at rehearsal was “pretty awful”, a second try produced their now-signature song, ‘Sunny in Splodges’, in just a couple of hours. Realising that they didn’t have enough material, and with the band comp imminent, they wrote almost all of the material that makes up their self-titled and full-length debut release in a single creative burst, the week before the first heat. Legend has it they reduced a judge to tears the night they won the grand final.
“We never consciously made a decision to be that band” says Alyx. “We never thought ‘oh let’s be experimental’ or ‘tribal’ – all those phrases really weird us out … It really kind of evolved naturally, it was all stuff that was lying around the studio as well.” She says that the week before the band comp they felt as though they were waiting for something to start: “We refer to that period of our life as limbo.”
Plural personal pronouns are par for the course for kyü, both girls picking up each other’s sentences, filling out the other’s thoughts and chasing each other down inviting tangential trails – so that it often becomes difficult to determine who said what. The impression of a single mind at work is at times uncanny, each being the perfect foil for the other. And they don’t disagree. “We are one brain when we’re writing,” says Alyx, “it’s a strange experience.” “It’s weird though,” adds Freya, “they’re not the same – they’re so different that they just fit together.”
Although Freya has had the benefit of formal vocal training, Alyx is essentially self-taught. Each arrived at similar musical conclusions by circuitous routes of their own. Both have a solid grounding in the Western classical canon – Alyx admits to an (as yet) unrequited love for Beethoven, while Freya thinks that Mahler’s 5th Symphony has “the most amazing chord progression in the history of the world”. But they also draw inspiration from sources as diverse as Indian classical music and the soundtrack to Akira, while being rabid fans of bands like Animal Collective and Grizzly Bear.
Not that the kyü sound can be reduced to a catalogue of influences; their lush mix of electronics, synths, glockenspiel, drums and strong, startling vocals produce an almost primal alchemy. But both are quick to dismiss any accusations of derivation on the one hand, or originality on the other. “People say we’re like Björk or Fever Ray” comments Alyx, “not because we are, but because we’re girls who’re belting… We do stuff with our voices that isn’t particularly dignified or pretty – we use our voices instrumentally,” she explains, before Freya continues: “I don’t think our music is hard to listen to. Some of it isn’t middle of the road, but it’s not ‘pushing boundaries’. If we’re experimental it’s because of the way we sing – but it’s not like no one’s done it before.”
Either way, an air of timelessness pervades the kyü LP. Dan Johnston (of local folk rockers Big Smoky) drew on his filmic sound design background to lend the recording an almost cinematic sense of space. Suggesting a shifting series of emotional states rather than any conscious narrative, the music nonetheless follows a definite arc, moving from the midnight awakening of ‘Sistar’ through to the ecstatic dissolution of ego in ‘Sunny In Splodges’.
“We spent a lot of time designing the track listing,” says Freya. “I hate the word ‘journey’, but there’s a progression … It is projections from the same time. It’s all a response to the same thing in our life.” Which was? “When we met each other, a new life really did start for us,” she explains. “We were meeting new people, and just kind of finding the ropes with them and ‘our sound’ … [It was] the most amazing, crazy time.” ‘New people’ here is a euphemism for the fellas from local group Megastick Fanfare, who provided the catalyst that kyü bonded over. “They’re the reason why we started. We just decided to go to every show. We wouldn’t be making the music we’re making if we didn’t have them in our lives.”
While a Megastick collaboration is still up in the air, the girls have been open to allowing other musical cross-pollinations to occur – a stint as the guests of Parades lead to friendship and mutual remixes with Jonathan Boulet (“I don’t think anything anywhere will ever be as good” says Freya of his kyü remix, “it’s going to blow everyone’s minds”), both drawing inspiration from the local music scene. “Sydney music is amazing” declares Alyx, “the world’ll catch on soon.”
Since their victory at Manning, kyü have had a crash course in performing, refining their act and building confidence while supporting local lights, as well as opening for an increasingly high profile series of touring groups including Why?, Yeasayer and High Places. “I would like people to love it or hate it, because I don’t want anyone to feel middle of the road.” says Freya. “And I think so far we’ve had pretty good evidence of that. There are people who love us and there’s people who detest us – and we just want to send out love to those guys. We love you guys!”
With things off to a sparkling start, for kyü the future seems alight with possibility. So, what’s next? “I think things will be happier, brighter maybe,” muses Freya. “We’ve been through a lot since we met, and have evolved a lot as people and evolved a lot as musicians and songwriters. We wrote a song recently which is really different. Vocally it’ll be a bit more weird.”
“Stimulation is to be had before we do any more writing” adds Alyx. “We’ve written about everything around us, about the things that we love and the people we love and the things that we’re doing – and now we need to move on and do other things.”
First published in The Brag (Cover Feature), Iss. 381, September 27th 2010
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Monday, September 27, 2010
Robert Plant - Band of Joy
Robert Plant
Band Of Joy
****
While other survivors of his generation do fun things like undergo high-profile divorces, languish in obscurity or snort their father’s ashes, Robert Plant has managed to perform that most difficult of manoeuvres over the last few decades, The Post-Mega-Success Reinvention; honouring the Led Zeppelin legacy by becoming, well, Robert Plant.
To get this one together, Plant utilised the momentum from last year’s sessions for the abortive follow up to Raising Sand – his lauded collaboration with country goddess Alison Krauss. Band Of Joy sees him resurrecting the spirit of his first group of the same name – pressing his fingerprints all over songs that come from a diverse range of sources. While the aura of the Krauss alliance hangs around the edges in a ragged shroud, Band Of Joy also recalls Led Zeppelin III – it’s a heady blend of rock, country and half a dozen varieties of folk.
There are some wicked moments here. Plant pays homage to selected sixties fellow travellers, with a leanly electric version of Richard Thompson’s ‘House of Cards’, and a deceptively easy-going rock-rendering of Townes Van Zandt’s devastating ‘Harm’s Swift Way’. Less successful is the early sixties pop of ‘You Can’t Buy My Love’, which sits uneasily alongside the cleanly pure lines and spine-itching harmonies of Low covers ‘Silver Rider’ and ‘Monkey’.
Plant has an excellent production and arranging partner in Buddy Miller, while the new ‘Band of Joy’ seems to consist of a cherry-picked best-of Americana session musicians – including a more than adequate Krauss-replacement in the form of Patty Griffin.
This is a warmly generous collection that suggests Plant’s best days are by no means behind him.
First published in The Brag, Iss. 381, September 27th 2010
Band Of Joy
****
While other survivors of his generation do fun things like undergo high-profile divorces, languish in obscurity or snort their father’s ashes, Robert Plant has managed to perform that most difficult of manoeuvres over the last few decades, The Post-Mega-Success Reinvention; honouring the Led Zeppelin legacy by becoming, well, Robert Plant.
To get this one together, Plant utilised the momentum from last year’s sessions for the abortive follow up to Raising Sand – his lauded collaboration with country goddess Alison Krauss. Band Of Joy sees him resurrecting the spirit of his first group of the same name – pressing his fingerprints all over songs that come from a diverse range of sources. While the aura of the Krauss alliance hangs around the edges in a ragged shroud, Band Of Joy also recalls Led Zeppelin III – it’s a heady blend of rock, country and half a dozen varieties of folk.
There are some wicked moments here. Plant pays homage to selected sixties fellow travellers, with a leanly electric version of Richard Thompson’s ‘House of Cards’, and a deceptively easy-going rock-rendering of Townes Van Zandt’s devastating ‘Harm’s Swift Way’. Less successful is the early sixties pop of ‘You Can’t Buy My Love’, which sits uneasily alongside the cleanly pure lines and spine-itching harmonies of Low covers ‘Silver Rider’ and ‘Monkey’.
Plant has an excellent production and arranging partner in Buddy Miller, while the new ‘Band of Joy’ seems to consist of a cherry-picked best-of Americana session musicians – including a more than adequate Krauss-replacement in the form of Patty Griffin.
This is a warmly generous collection that suggests Plant’s best days are by no means behind him.
First published in The Brag, Iss. 381, September 27th 2010
Still On Form - Die! Die! Die!
There are big things stirring across the Tasman, and we’re not just talking about seismic instability and tectonic plate grindage… Although with their new album Form, Dunedin punk-pop outfit Die! Die! Die! have supplied an appropriately abrasive soundtrack for any nonchalant stroll through the wreckage of downtown Christchurch.
Although more melodious than the almost icy sonic assault of 2007’s Promises, Promises, Form is still a furious dervish of an album. Andrew Wilson builds richly layered guitars over Lachlan Anderson’s sturdy bass and Michael Prain’s unsettled yet relentless machine gun drumming. “We were throwing up names for what we were doing,” says Prain from Auckland, where the band are currently laying down some new songs in between tours of New Zealand (and the rest of the English speaking world.) “And that [‘Form’] summed up the album best in a way, keeping things really simple. If you look up the definition of ‘form’ [as a verb] it’s like a new beginning, a new start – it’s quite a blocky record, it’s simple and to the point.”
Unlike their previous two efforts, which were recorded in a matter of days, with Form the band consciously tried to allow a bit more time in the studio to see what might develop. Good friend, and The Skeptics alumnus, Nick Roughan provided a fruitful sounding board as producer. “We were never like, ‘Fuck, we want this really intense layered album,’” says Prain. “It was never super intentional. As we went along though, we were like, ‘This sounds cool, we should pursue it.’ It was sort of like one of those happy accidents – listening back, we were all a bit shocked, like, ‘this definitely doesn’t sound as nasty as we thought it would!’”
While journalists tend to throw around adjectives like ‘relentless’, ‘blast’ or ‘onslaught’ in describing the Die! Die! Die! sound (as is our wont), Prain is bemused by the hyperbole. “I think our band has always been described as being a lot more outrageous and angry than we ever intended to be. Reviews use words like ‘jack hammers’, but we’ve never been about that; when people see us it becomes apparent that it’s not like that.”
On release, Form enjoyed an entire fortnight at #19 on the official NZ chart, which Prain describes as “kind of a weird thing for us!” Playing no small part of the band’s gradual ascent into the public eye is their internationally cemented reputation for delivering live shows that leave punters dazed, sweat-drenched and plastered with big happy grins. “We want to take different angles on how we do it,” says Prain. “For our last NZ tour, we took our own PA with us and just set up in warehouses and stuff. They were really wild and fun and cool; we really like mixing it up and doing that sort of thing. It’s a lot easier and not as contrived as some other things.”
With a recent move to iconic Dunedin record label Flying Nun streamlining the operational side of things (“they’ve still got the same really good ethos about music, which we can totally relate to. It’s good to be releasing on a label that we’ve always identified with,” comments Prain), album number four or possibly a 7” single is in the oven, and tours to Australia, the US and the UK have been lined up. Die! Die! Die! seem to have their feet firmly on the accelerator. “We haven’t changed – the way people receive the band and react to it have,” says Prain. “It’s an exciting time to be doing stuff.”
First published in The Brag, Iss. 381, September 27th 2010
Although more melodious than the almost icy sonic assault of 2007’s Promises, Promises, Form is still a furious dervish of an album. Andrew Wilson builds richly layered guitars over Lachlan Anderson’s sturdy bass and Michael Prain’s unsettled yet relentless machine gun drumming. “We were throwing up names for what we were doing,” says Prain from Auckland, where the band are currently laying down some new songs in between tours of New Zealand (and the rest of the English speaking world.) “And that [‘Form’] summed up the album best in a way, keeping things really simple. If you look up the definition of ‘form’ [as a verb] it’s like a new beginning, a new start – it’s quite a blocky record, it’s simple and to the point.”
Unlike their previous two efforts, which were recorded in a matter of days, with Form the band consciously tried to allow a bit more time in the studio to see what might develop. Good friend, and The Skeptics alumnus, Nick Roughan provided a fruitful sounding board as producer. “We were never like, ‘Fuck, we want this really intense layered album,’” says Prain. “It was never super intentional. As we went along though, we were like, ‘This sounds cool, we should pursue it.’ It was sort of like one of those happy accidents – listening back, we were all a bit shocked, like, ‘this definitely doesn’t sound as nasty as we thought it would!’”
While journalists tend to throw around adjectives like ‘relentless’, ‘blast’ or ‘onslaught’ in describing the Die! Die! Die! sound (as is our wont), Prain is bemused by the hyperbole. “I think our band has always been described as being a lot more outrageous and angry than we ever intended to be. Reviews use words like ‘jack hammers’, but we’ve never been about that; when people see us it becomes apparent that it’s not like that.”
On release, Form enjoyed an entire fortnight at #19 on the official NZ chart, which Prain describes as “kind of a weird thing for us!” Playing no small part of the band’s gradual ascent into the public eye is their internationally cemented reputation for delivering live shows that leave punters dazed, sweat-drenched and plastered with big happy grins. “We want to take different angles on how we do it,” says Prain. “For our last NZ tour, we took our own PA with us and just set up in warehouses and stuff. They were really wild and fun and cool; we really like mixing it up and doing that sort of thing. It’s a lot easier and not as contrived as some other things.”
With a recent move to iconic Dunedin record label Flying Nun streamlining the operational side of things (“they’ve still got the same really good ethos about music, which we can totally relate to. It’s good to be releasing on a label that we’ve always identified with,” comments Prain), album number four or possibly a 7” single is in the oven, and tours to Australia, the US and the UK have been lined up. Die! Die! Die! seem to have their feet firmly on the accelerator. “We haven’t changed – the way people receive the band and react to it have,” says Prain. “It’s an exciting time to be doing stuff.”
First published in The Brag, Iss. 381, September 27th 2010
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Don't Think, Just Write - Emma Davis
Emma Davis doesn’t put people in boxes so we should probably return the courtesy, and abstain from labelling when speaking of her music. Categories like ‘Female Singer Songwriter’ for example, while accurate, are singularly unhelpful in describing her style; her clear, sweet voice, her sure instinct for a story, and the way it’s all clothed with deft picking, folksy hooks and gently precise turns of phrase.
Meeting for a leisurely breakfast of avocado on toast ahead of the release of her self-titled debut album, Davis seems like the sort of person who may not always feel the need to offer an opinion – but will deliver it with unerring aim when provoked. “I don’t think of myself as a singer, [but] as a guitarist who sings,” the Sydney-based artist tells me, with trace remnants of a London accent still clinging to her speech. “I feel like a lot of people use guitar as a way of accompanying singing, so it’s just this thing that’s there for the sake of it. For me, the songs get their character from the guitar.”
Davis began writing songs at a tender age under the influence of the Beatles and Simon & Garfunkel albums slipped her way by her classical guitar teacher. A stint as the “gimmick” lead guitarist in an otherwise all-male, Chili Peppers-idolising high-school rock band allowed her to deal with the “terror of hearing the sound of one’s own voice in a microphone,” before she decided to forgo the Oxbridge future of her peers to pursue music at Boston’s Berklee College of Music – and finally followed her family to Australia.
In between studying Italian (“you might not know this, but to major in something you don’t actually have to be very good at it”), learning to talk Aussie and schlepping in hospitality, songs began to be written. “I always start with the music,” she explains. “I always try to think as little as possible when I do that. If I sit down to write a song, I won’t write a song. If I sit down to play my guitar and am sitting there and not thinking, something will come. Because I have such a non-methodical way of working, writing a song might take a long time…”
As might recording an album. Davis spent the last year working sporadically with Sydney troubadour Brian Campeau in his homemade Newtown studio, placing older songs that were weighing down her pockets alongside newer material written over the last few months. “I think we worked well together, because we both had a similar idea of what should happen,” she says of the production partnership. “Both of us kind of felt like the songs were quite delicate. We tried to add to it really slowly so that we weren’t piling things on for the sake of it. [Campeau] inspires me because he doesn’t give a shit – he wants to do what he wants to do.”
And what does Emma Davis want to do? “If I try to write a song that’s going to relate to everyone, then it’s going to sound like a load of wank, and I’ll start saying things that I don’t really think. [I want my songs to] sound like that’s just how it was, like someone didn’t even write it, it was just there,” she continues. “That’s what I’m trying to do, and that’s why I try not to think when I write.”
First published in The Brag, Iss. 385, September 25th 2010
Meeting for a leisurely breakfast of avocado on toast ahead of the release of her self-titled debut album, Davis seems like the sort of person who may not always feel the need to offer an opinion – but will deliver it with unerring aim when provoked. “I don’t think of myself as a singer, [but] as a guitarist who sings,” the Sydney-based artist tells me, with trace remnants of a London accent still clinging to her speech. “I feel like a lot of people use guitar as a way of accompanying singing, so it’s just this thing that’s there for the sake of it. For me, the songs get their character from the guitar.”
Davis began writing songs at a tender age under the influence of the Beatles and Simon & Garfunkel albums slipped her way by her classical guitar teacher. A stint as the “gimmick” lead guitarist in an otherwise all-male, Chili Peppers-idolising high-school rock band allowed her to deal with the “terror of hearing the sound of one’s own voice in a microphone,” before she decided to forgo the Oxbridge future of her peers to pursue music at Boston’s Berklee College of Music – and finally followed her family to Australia.
In between studying Italian (“you might not know this, but to major in something you don’t actually have to be very good at it”), learning to talk Aussie and schlepping in hospitality, songs began to be written. “I always start with the music,” she explains. “I always try to think as little as possible when I do that. If I sit down to write a song, I won’t write a song. If I sit down to play my guitar and am sitting there and not thinking, something will come. Because I have such a non-methodical way of working, writing a song might take a long time…”
As might recording an album. Davis spent the last year working sporadically with Sydney troubadour Brian Campeau in his homemade Newtown studio, placing older songs that were weighing down her pockets alongside newer material written over the last few months. “I think we worked well together, because we both had a similar idea of what should happen,” she says of the production partnership. “Both of us kind of felt like the songs were quite delicate. We tried to add to it really slowly so that we weren’t piling things on for the sake of it. [Campeau] inspires me because he doesn’t give a shit – he wants to do what he wants to do.”
And what does Emma Davis want to do? “If I try to write a song that’s going to relate to everyone, then it’s going to sound like a load of wank, and I’ll start saying things that I don’t really think. [I want my songs to] sound like that’s just how it was, like someone didn’t even write it, it was just there,” she continues. “That’s what I’m trying to do, and that’s why I try not to think when I write.”
First published in The Brag, Iss. 385, September 25th 2010
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Brian Wilson - Just Keep Breathing
Brian Wilson is a survivor. It can be heard in his voice; in a life which has overcome more than its share of turbulance, his is a stubborn yet graceful vitality that has found its purpose and expression through a persistent dedication to music. “Love means… to breath is to love I would say,” he affirms. “I’ve got a lot of love in my heart; all you gotta do is breath to love.”
At 68, the pioneer of Californian surf pop, iconic frontman of The Beach Boys and composer of one of the most influential pop albums of the sixties, Pet Sounds, isn’t resting on any laurels. Speaking down the wire from Los Angeles ahead of an extended tour of the Australian capital cities, Wilson is crisp, matter of fact and to the point. That he’s still performing at all is in no small way miraculous – but a mechanical quality to some of his responses and a tendency to repeat himself are the only audible scars of the psychological illness that has ravaged his career.
As principal songwriter of The Beach Boys, Wilson propelled the group to international fame in the early sixties with singles like ‘I Get Around’, ‘Surfin’ USA’ and ‘California Girls’. Pet Sounds, generally regarded as Wilson’s masterpiece, was released in 1966 to muted acclaim, its import only becoming clear in subsequent decades. But his lush vocals, innovative production and densely experimental arrangements did have an immediate impact on at least one other group… “Pet Sounds inspired the Beatles,” he explains with enthusiasm, “which I think – the most famous group in the whole world, influenced by us? That’s a trip for me! John, Paul called me when they heard [it] and they both said they loved it … they flipped for it.”
Tragically, from this watermark, Wilson imploded; band and label turmoil, the birth of his first daughter, the release of Sgt. Pepper (Wilson felt he was in deep and personal competition with the Beatles), and LSD overuse all combined to send him into a creative and psychological no man’s land. His follow-up to Pet Sounds, Smile, emerged stillborn as Smiley Smile in 1967, Wilson only returning to complete the project as originally envisioned in the early noughties.
Releasing new material only intermittently through the 70s and barely at all through the subsequent two decades, Wilson’s creative stagnation was accompanied by an ongoing battle with inner demons. He was diagnosed with schizo associative disorder in the late 1980s, the development of which he directly attributes to his drug intake. Considering the enormous personal cost his youthful experimentation has exacted from him, it’s perhaps not so surprising that his views on psychedelic substances are these days less forbearing than in the past.
“Do I have any regrets? Oh, of course I do!” he exclaims. “I wouldn’t have taken DRUGS if I’d had a marble in my head – if I’d had a brain in my head – and thought to say, ‘Well, what does this do to you when you take this drug?’ Well, I wouldn’t have taken the drug, right? When I found out how much damage it did to my brain?” – he chuckles, drily. “Very bad. That’s what I would have not done, taken drugs – and I would advise young people who get this interview not to take drugs.”
The last decade has been considerably kinder to Wilson; his wife and four adopted children, as well as many productive collaborations, have provided him with much-needed stability. “I keep myself motivated by exercising, and I’ll play the piano and keep in touch with music, y’know? I walk about two and a half miles a day. Which is pretty damn good.”
Apart from concluding his thirty-plus year labour of love with the release of Smile in 2004, he has released two collections of original material, as well as this year paying homage to one of his own idols on Brian Wilson Reimagines Gershwin. The result of an alliance between the Gershwin estate and Disney (Wilson is to record an album of Disney covers as part of the deal), the collection features a dozen covers of Gershwin classics as well as two Wilson originals, constructed from fragments left uncompleted at Gershwin’s death. “It was a joy because I love Gershwin, and I love his music,” he says. “They sent us over 104 unfinished Gershwin songs, with George himself playing piano. Can you believe that? That I’d get to work with George that way? This Gershwin album was a rough album for me to make, because I didn’t want to let my band members down or anyone down with the vocals, y’know?”
Driven by a prodigious work ethic, Wilson continues to perform as much for its rehabilitative effects (“there is a therapeutic element to being on stage, it is good for you”), as for a belief that someone really needs to bring back the good vibes. “The music nowadays is not as positive and as warm, y’know? The music of this time, 2010, is very, very, very, VERY unbecoming to how I think music should be … I think people should write better melodies and sing a little sweeter, and knock off that stupid rap crap, y’know? Rap is really ridiculous.”
What matters most, though, is to just keep on breathing. “What I most want to do is I want to get my health to the point where I’m not like, ‘Oh I can’t do this, or I can’t do this tour, I can’t write songs’ you know, stuff like that,” he says. “That’s where I want to be.”
First published in The Brag, Iss. 385, September 25th 2010
At 68, the pioneer of Californian surf pop, iconic frontman of The Beach Boys and composer of one of the most influential pop albums of the sixties, Pet Sounds, isn’t resting on any laurels. Speaking down the wire from Los Angeles ahead of an extended tour of the Australian capital cities, Wilson is crisp, matter of fact and to the point. That he’s still performing at all is in no small way miraculous – but a mechanical quality to some of his responses and a tendency to repeat himself are the only audible scars of the psychological illness that has ravaged his career.
As principal songwriter of The Beach Boys, Wilson propelled the group to international fame in the early sixties with singles like ‘I Get Around’, ‘Surfin’ USA’ and ‘California Girls’. Pet Sounds, generally regarded as Wilson’s masterpiece, was released in 1966 to muted acclaim, its import only becoming clear in subsequent decades. But his lush vocals, innovative production and densely experimental arrangements did have an immediate impact on at least one other group… “Pet Sounds inspired the Beatles,” he explains with enthusiasm, “which I think – the most famous group in the whole world, influenced by us? That’s a trip for me! John, Paul called me when they heard [it] and they both said they loved it … they flipped for it.”
Tragically, from this watermark, Wilson imploded; band and label turmoil, the birth of his first daughter, the release of Sgt. Pepper (Wilson felt he was in deep and personal competition with the Beatles), and LSD overuse all combined to send him into a creative and psychological no man’s land. His follow-up to Pet Sounds, Smile, emerged stillborn as Smiley Smile in 1967, Wilson only returning to complete the project as originally envisioned in the early noughties.
Releasing new material only intermittently through the 70s and barely at all through the subsequent two decades, Wilson’s creative stagnation was accompanied by an ongoing battle with inner demons. He was diagnosed with schizo associative disorder in the late 1980s, the development of which he directly attributes to his drug intake. Considering the enormous personal cost his youthful experimentation has exacted from him, it’s perhaps not so surprising that his views on psychedelic substances are these days less forbearing than in the past.
“Do I have any regrets? Oh, of course I do!” he exclaims. “I wouldn’t have taken DRUGS if I’d had a marble in my head – if I’d had a brain in my head – and thought to say, ‘Well, what does this do to you when you take this drug?’ Well, I wouldn’t have taken the drug, right? When I found out how much damage it did to my brain?” – he chuckles, drily. “Very bad. That’s what I would have not done, taken drugs – and I would advise young people who get this interview not to take drugs.”
The last decade has been considerably kinder to Wilson; his wife and four adopted children, as well as many productive collaborations, have provided him with much-needed stability. “I keep myself motivated by exercising, and I’ll play the piano and keep in touch with music, y’know? I walk about two and a half miles a day. Which is pretty damn good.”
Apart from concluding his thirty-plus year labour of love with the release of Smile in 2004, he has released two collections of original material, as well as this year paying homage to one of his own idols on Brian Wilson Reimagines Gershwin. The result of an alliance between the Gershwin estate and Disney (Wilson is to record an album of Disney covers as part of the deal), the collection features a dozen covers of Gershwin classics as well as two Wilson originals, constructed from fragments left uncompleted at Gershwin’s death. “It was a joy because I love Gershwin, and I love his music,” he says. “They sent us over 104 unfinished Gershwin songs, with George himself playing piano. Can you believe that? That I’d get to work with George that way? This Gershwin album was a rough album for me to make, because I didn’t want to let my band members down or anyone down with the vocals, y’know?”
Driven by a prodigious work ethic, Wilson continues to perform as much for its rehabilitative effects (“there is a therapeutic element to being on stage, it is good for you”), as for a belief that someone really needs to bring back the good vibes. “The music nowadays is not as positive and as warm, y’know? The music of this time, 2010, is very, very, very, VERY unbecoming to how I think music should be … I think people should write better melodies and sing a little sweeter, and knock off that stupid rap crap, y’know? Rap is really ridiculous.”
What matters most, though, is to just keep on breathing. “What I most want to do is I want to get my health to the point where I’m not like, ‘Oh I can’t do this, or I can’t do this tour, I can’t write songs’ you know, stuff like that,” he says. “That’s where I want to be.”
First published in The Brag, Iss. 385, September 25th 2010
Tame Impala, The John Steel Singers @ Enmore Theatre, Thursday October 14
Three years ago, the friend I brought along tonight saw Tame Impala play in a scunge ridden hole in the wall at Hoxton, to about fifty of London’s most in-the-know drop-outs. Oh how things have changed. The hordes were out in force tonight, Kevin Parker and Co. pulling an apparently sell-out crowd to the Enmore.
Brisbane’s The John Steel Singers have their live set nailed down at the moment, ripping through a medley of material from the soon-to-be-released debut that we’re all hanging out for. They didn’t get the crowd quite as revved up tonight as they have in the past, however; a lack of engagement with the audience, coupled with a certain sense of going-through-the-motions combined to prevent lift-off, in spite of the guest appearance by Tame Impala drummer Jay Watson (double kit action! woo!) for signature track ‘Rainbow Kraut’. Perhaps the band are saving it up for their album launch tour – or the crowd simply hadn’t had enough bevvies.
A half hour later and Perth’s Tame Impala amble onto stage, blowing straight through ‘It Is Not Meant To Be’ and ‘Solitude Is Bliss’. The band have a tendency to play their songs considerably slower live than the recorded versions – and these songs in particular – and the results are laid-back, verging on horizontal.
Fortunately, those unable to concentrate on anything else (hi, how’s it going) could simply sit back and pick out shapes (the ABC logo, love hearts and the marshmallow man from Ghostbusters were all observed) in the synchronised projections that accompanied the expansive, abstract jams that filled out bulk of the show. Although their cover of ‘Remember Me’ is beginning to reach its use-by date, it was great to hear ‘Glass Half Full Of Wine’ off the Tame Impala EP.
But if the JSS had difficulty engaging with this crowd, a spotlight-illumined Kevin Parker barely tried, a tight sense of scripted control emanating from his corner of the stage, accompanied by the odd monosyllabic grunt. An almost total lack of affect succeeded in keeping an entire theatre of fans at arm’s length – not that they seemed to realise. Tame Impala make admirable music. Bloody difficult to warm to, but.
First published in The Brag, Iss. 385, September 25th 2010
Brisbane’s The John Steel Singers have their live set nailed down at the moment, ripping through a medley of material from the soon-to-be-released debut that we’re all hanging out for. They didn’t get the crowd quite as revved up tonight as they have in the past, however; a lack of engagement with the audience, coupled with a certain sense of going-through-the-motions combined to prevent lift-off, in spite of the guest appearance by Tame Impala drummer Jay Watson (double kit action! woo!) for signature track ‘Rainbow Kraut’. Perhaps the band are saving it up for their album launch tour – or the crowd simply hadn’t had enough bevvies.
A half hour later and Perth’s Tame Impala amble onto stage, blowing straight through ‘It Is Not Meant To Be’ and ‘Solitude Is Bliss’. The band have a tendency to play their songs considerably slower live than the recorded versions – and these songs in particular – and the results are laid-back, verging on horizontal.
Fortunately, those unable to concentrate on anything else (hi, how’s it going) could simply sit back and pick out shapes (the ABC logo, love hearts and the marshmallow man from Ghostbusters were all observed) in the synchronised projections that accompanied the expansive, abstract jams that filled out bulk of the show. Although their cover of ‘Remember Me’ is beginning to reach its use-by date, it was great to hear ‘Glass Half Full Of Wine’ off the Tame Impala EP.
But if the JSS had difficulty engaging with this crowd, a spotlight-illumined Kevin Parker barely tried, a tight sense of scripted control emanating from his corner of the stage, accompanied by the odd monosyllabic grunt. An almost total lack of affect succeeded in keeping an entire theatre of fans at arm’s length – not that they seemed to realise. Tame Impala make admirable music. Bloody difficult to warm to, but.
First published in The Brag, Iss. 385, September 25th 2010
Monday, September 13, 2010
When The Devil Goes Blind - Charlie Parr
Charlie Parr
When The Devil Goes Blind
****
There’s something rather lovable about Minnesota bluesman Charlie Parr. His attitude to technology lies towards the ‘Luddite’ end of the spectrum and he’s crafted six albums, so far in relative obscurity. Parr enjoyed a mini-explosion of publicity in this country in the wake of his 2002 song ‘1922’ being used in a TV commercial for mobile phones. This brought him to the attention of Paul Kelly; the resultant tour around Oz acquainted Parr with that other infamous Kelly, Ned. And so it is that the bushranger is invoked alongside an iconic American outlaw on this album’s opening track, ‘I Dreamed I Saw Jesse James Last Night’.
As with Paul, Parr is firmly on the side of the underdog, the outlaw and the ruined, spinning his yarns of big skies and long memories with wry economy. Take the hapless farmer on ‘South of Austin, North of Lyle’ for instance, who happily grows corn, ‘sips his whisky and smokes his pipe’, before hanging himself when the bank forecloses. The songs are filled with a keen awareness of the weight of history – Parr tells of the Indian massacre at Wounded Knee in ‘1890’ with almost documentary horror, and a voice hoarse from grief and disgust.
With his own songs appropriately complemented here by traditionals ‘Ain’t No Grave (Gonna Hold My Body Down)’ and ‘Turpentine Farm’, Parr’s blues feel lived-in, his delivery unaffected, the traditional forms worn lightly by a bloke who’s made them his own.
When The Devil Goes Blind is an album of unpretentious grace and a generous, expansive sincerity – it just makes you wanna give the great shaggy fella a hug.
First published in The Brag, Iss. 379, September 13th 2010
When The Devil Goes Blind
****
There’s something rather lovable about Minnesota bluesman Charlie Parr. His attitude to technology lies towards the ‘Luddite’ end of the spectrum and he’s crafted six albums, so far in relative obscurity. Parr enjoyed a mini-explosion of publicity in this country in the wake of his 2002 song ‘1922’ being used in a TV commercial for mobile phones. This brought him to the attention of Paul Kelly; the resultant tour around Oz acquainted Parr with that other infamous Kelly, Ned. And so it is that the bushranger is invoked alongside an iconic American outlaw on this album’s opening track, ‘I Dreamed I Saw Jesse James Last Night’.
As with Paul, Parr is firmly on the side of the underdog, the outlaw and the ruined, spinning his yarns of big skies and long memories with wry economy. Take the hapless farmer on ‘South of Austin, North of Lyle’ for instance, who happily grows corn, ‘sips his whisky and smokes his pipe’, before hanging himself when the bank forecloses. The songs are filled with a keen awareness of the weight of history – Parr tells of the Indian massacre at Wounded Knee in ‘1890’ with almost documentary horror, and a voice hoarse from grief and disgust.
With his own songs appropriately complemented here by traditionals ‘Ain’t No Grave (Gonna Hold My Body Down)’ and ‘Turpentine Farm’, Parr’s blues feel lived-in, his delivery unaffected, the traditional forms worn lightly by a bloke who’s made them his own.
When The Devil Goes Blind is an album of unpretentious grace and a generous, expansive sincerity – it just makes you wanna give the great shaggy fella a hug.
First published in The Brag, Iss. 379, September 13th 2010
Changing Lanes Festival
Moaning about the scarcity of awesome things happening in Sydney is beginning to get a bit old. If the scene is as full of holes as many would have you believe, why not get off the couch and actually do something about it? Such was the thinking of the indomitable Ruby Marshall. Along with logistical juggler extraordinaire Danae Goiser, Ruby has masterminded the Changing Lanes festival, which is set to light up Newtown with some cruisin’ tunes, phat beats and live art this Sunday.
The idea behind Changing Lanes is simple: to shift public perceptions of what kinds of events are possible in Sydney. Not that this was at all the initial plan. “I was volunteering at FBi when the Save FBi gigs came up,” explains Ruby. “I was thinking of doing something like having a few market stalls [to raise funds] on a Saturday outside the Hub.” Realising that her ideas were quickly snowballing, she hit upon Eliza St – bookended by two well-known watering holes, the Courthouse Hotel and Zanzibar – as a more appropriate site. She floated the idea to Danae and from there things exploded: “Before we knew it, we were working on a full blown festival!” laughs Ruby.
Inspired by various events in Melbourne, the duo set out to create a festival that drew upon pre-existing venues, unique infrastructure and the local creative talent in a celebration of all of the above. So, why hasn’t someone tried to put on a festival of this kind before? “Because it’s so hard!” says Ruby. “It’s taken almost two years to get off the ground and we’ve worked seven days a week for the last four months. You’ve got to really want it and believe in it and have a lot of incredible people behind you to make it happen, or it just won’t. With [local] council there’s no infrastructure to help get events off the ground. The paper work you have to go through is so ongoing – it’s not tailored to setting up events.”
For Ruby and Danae, diversity has been the name of the game when selecting the performers most likely to set the streets ablaze (figuratively speaking). With sounds as eclectic as smouldering songstresses Bridezilla, hip-hop crew Thundamentals, pensive tunesmith Ernest Ellis, and veteran beat-benders Itch-E & Scratch-E, they seem to have succeeded, though the late addition of Tame Impala to the line-up was a particular triumph. “It was very last-minute,” says Ruby; Danae adds, “They’re such good-hearted guys.”
The attractions won’t just be musical however, with artists including SMC3, Vars, Gem Lark, Ears and Max Berry set to transform the wall of the Courthouse Hotel with a back-to-back collection of works in a diverse array of styles. While punters won’t be watching the unfolding creation of a permanent Newtown icon (the space is heritage listed), pieces done on the day will be displayed at aMBUSH Gallery after the event. “We kind of wanted to give back a bit to the artists that are involved,” explains Ruby, “and give them the opportunity to get a bit more exposure and sell some pieces.”
Considering the amount of red tape that’s been tangled with, it’s heartening for all involved that community response has been so overwhelmingly positive, with tickets rapidly selling out. And with the first Changing Lanes set to be a roaring success, the organisers are already looking towards next year – though ideally, the idea will spread beyond that. “I hope we do it again or that it inspires people to go away and do something themselves,” says Ruby. “I hope that when people leave this event they’ll go, ‘Yeah, that was really great’ and are inspired to make art themselves.
First published in The Brag, Iss. 379, September 13th 2010
The idea behind Changing Lanes is simple: to shift public perceptions of what kinds of events are possible in Sydney. Not that this was at all the initial plan. “I was volunteering at FBi when the Save FBi gigs came up,” explains Ruby. “I was thinking of doing something like having a few market stalls [to raise funds] on a Saturday outside the Hub.” Realising that her ideas were quickly snowballing, she hit upon Eliza St – bookended by two well-known watering holes, the Courthouse Hotel and Zanzibar – as a more appropriate site. She floated the idea to Danae and from there things exploded: “Before we knew it, we were working on a full blown festival!” laughs Ruby.
Inspired by various events in Melbourne, the duo set out to create a festival that drew upon pre-existing venues, unique infrastructure and the local creative talent in a celebration of all of the above. So, why hasn’t someone tried to put on a festival of this kind before? “Because it’s so hard!” says Ruby. “It’s taken almost two years to get off the ground and we’ve worked seven days a week for the last four months. You’ve got to really want it and believe in it and have a lot of incredible people behind you to make it happen, or it just won’t. With [local] council there’s no infrastructure to help get events off the ground. The paper work you have to go through is so ongoing – it’s not tailored to setting up events.”
For Ruby and Danae, diversity has been the name of the game when selecting the performers most likely to set the streets ablaze (figuratively speaking). With sounds as eclectic as smouldering songstresses Bridezilla, hip-hop crew Thundamentals, pensive tunesmith Ernest Ellis, and veteran beat-benders Itch-E & Scratch-E, they seem to have succeeded, though the late addition of Tame Impala to the line-up was a particular triumph. “It was very last-minute,” says Ruby; Danae adds, “They’re such good-hearted guys.”
The attractions won’t just be musical however, with artists including SMC3, Vars, Gem Lark, Ears and Max Berry set to transform the wall of the Courthouse Hotel with a back-to-back collection of works in a diverse array of styles. While punters won’t be watching the unfolding creation of a permanent Newtown icon (the space is heritage listed), pieces done on the day will be displayed at aMBUSH Gallery after the event. “We kind of wanted to give back a bit to the artists that are involved,” explains Ruby, “and give them the opportunity to get a bit more exposure and sell some pieces.”
Considering the amount of red tape that’s been tangled with, it’s heartening for all involved that community response has been so overwhelmingly positive, with tickets rapidly selling out. And with the first Changing Lanes set to be a roaring success, the organisers are already looking towards next year – though ideally, the idea will spread beyond that. “I hope we do it again or that it inspires people to go away and do something themselves,” says Ruby. “I hope that when people leave this event they’ll go, ‘Yeah, that was really great’ and are inspired to make art themselves.
First published in The Brag, Iss. 379, September 13th 2010
Monday, September 6, 2010
Isbells - Self-Titled
Isbells
Isbells
***
It’s not saying much to note that while Bon Iver’s success a couple of years ago was undoubtedly deserved, the whole ‘retreat-heart-broken-to-a-log-cabin-in-the-woods-and-pour-your-wounded-soul-into-sound’ thing certainly didn’t hurt. With their self-titled debut, Belgian folksters Isbells seem to have attempted to ride Mr Vernon’s wake with respectable, but hardly overpowering, results.
Leading man Gaëtan Vandewoude apparently wrote and recorded the material here in a ‘decrepit stable’ in the country, although the buffed Mr Sheen finish to the sound perhaps belies the mythmaking. A pity too, as a more lo-fi recording would perhaps have lent the songs a bit more character than they otherwise seem capable of mustering.
Not that these tracks are by any means bad; Vandewoude combines a crisply efficient picking style with simple but effective melodies, his sweetly soaring voice sitting somewhere between Bon Iver and Jonsi. Lyrically, he’s very much preoccupied with what sort of future the next generation are likely to inherit, with musings delivered in a simple and direct voice. “What do I tell my child / its future’s gone for life” he sings on opener ‘As Long As It Takes’ while squaring his jaw to the life of art – “I can’t change the world with melodies / but I’ll try” – on ‘Without A Doubt.’ Elsewhere things veer towards the saccharine: “a tender word and a sweet, sweet kiss / is what I need from you” he pines on ‘My Apologies.’
What irks me is that although the music compliments Vandewoude’s reflective tone, his insights aren’t terribly insightful – and what drama there is isn’t hugely dramatic. Together it makes Isbells is a peculiarly monotone listen… Sure is purty though.
First published in The Brag, Iss. 378, September 6th 2010
Isbells
***
It’s not saying much to note that while Bon Iver’s success a couple of years ago was undoubtedly deserved, the whole ‘retreat-heart-broken-to-a-log-cabin-in-the-woods-and-pour-your-wounded-soul-into-sound’ thing certainly didn’t hurt. With their self-titled debut, Belgian folksters Isbells seem to have attempted to ride Mr Vernon’s wake with respectable, but hardly overpowering, results.
Leading man Gaëtan Vandewoude apparently wrote and recorded the material here in a ‘decrepit stable’ in the country, although the buffed Mr Sheen finish to the sound perhaps belies the mythmaking. A pity too, as a more lo-fi recording would perhaps have lent the songs a bit more character than they otherwise seem capable of mustering.
Not that these tracks are by any means bad; Vandewoude combines a crisply efficient picking style with simple but effective melodies, his sweetly soaring voice sitting somewhere between Bon Iver and Jonsi. Lyrically, he’s very much preoccupied with what sort of future the next generation are likely to inherit, with musings delivered in a simple and direct voice. “What do I tell my child / its future’s gone for life” he sings on opener ‘As Long As It Takes’ while squaring his jaw to the life of art – “I can’t change the world with melodies / but I’ll try” – on ‘Without A Doubt.’ Elsewhere things veer towards the saccharine: “a tender word and a sweet, sweet kiss / is what I need from you” he pines on ‘My Apologies.’
What irks me is that although the music compliments Vandewoude’s reflective tone, his insights aren’t terribly insightful – and what drama there is isn’t hugely dramatic. Together it makes Isbells is a peculiarly monotone listen… Sure is purty though.
First published in The Brag, Iss. 378, September 6th 2010
Maps and Atlases - Perch Patchwork
Maps and Atlases
Perch Patchwork
****
Perch Patchwork
****
Maps and Atlases took their sweet time getting around to their debut LP. Sporadically releasing three and a half EPs since their inception back in 2004, the Chicagoan alt-popsters seem to have allowed themselves as much time as required to find the right setting for their talents, moving away from the Don Caballero-style math-rock that they were initially attracted to towards a more inclusive, folk-inflected indie style. Their patience has borne some nourishing fruit.
Framed and unified by the brief instrumental tracks ‘Will’, ‘Is’ and ‘Was’, Perch Patchwork is, as the name suggests, a carefully plotted journey through sections of light and shade. Take the exposed electrical wiring of ‘The Charm’ for instance, vocalist Dave Davison’s almost off-hand statement that “I don’t think there’s a sound I hate more / than the sound of your voice when you say you don’t love me anymore” – accompanied by what sounds like a full military tattoo. Or the flashing sun and sparkling water of upbeat pop track ‘Israeli Caves’, which mixes luscious female backup vocals with a cello solo and tubular bells, in a picture of open-eyed optimism.
Even more straightforward indie meat-and-potatoes tracks like ‘Living Decorations’ are regularly punctuated with rhythmic flourishes or touches of instrumental colour – marimba, sax, flute and harp also get a look in – that manage to feel spontaneous while being placed with utter precision. And this is what impresses most about this album: the band forging such cohesive and imaginative material from so many diverse elements.
Perch Patchwork is a sonically diverse, richly textured and unremittingly rewarding listen.
First published in The Brag, Iss. 378, September 6th 2010
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