To quote the Comic Book Guy, ‘loneliness and cheeseburgers are a dangerous mix’. Well, the same might be said of tape recorders and eight-tracks. Especially if you’re Ariel Marcus Rosenberg, AKA Ariel Pink. Ariel has spent the better part of the last fifteen years famously and obsessively compiling a seemingly endless catalogue of reconstituted pop, 60s surfer tunes, advertising jingles, stadium anthems and 80s cheese, integrating them all into a style that might be thought of as Prom Queen meets Horror Show.
But for every critic repulsed by the lo-fi imperfection and seeming amateurishness of Pink’s analogue recordings, another has recognised that the sheer mediocrity of the sound quality – and it is bad, at times almost unlistenably so – is as much of the point as is the mishmash of genre that makes up the songs themselves. Pink has chosen to scrape away the studio polish of disposable product, to expose a vehicle capable of bearing his wounded, abject voice.
“I cut my teeth early on sub-par equipment,” he tells me, with an almost audible shrug. “It wasn’t so much being attracted to the sound of shittiness per se … It was a means to an end. [It was about] making something sound good out of it, rather than blaming the lack of quality on the lack of gear.”
The outsider mystique that grew up around his wretched loner shtick, as well as the undeniable quality of the songs, yielded paydirt eventually. A union with Animal Collective’s Paw Tracks back in 2004 resulted in the release of selected material that had previously only existed on CD-Rs. Subsequent releases such as The Doldrums (2004) or Scared Famous (2007) have simply mined the back-catalogue however, the music carrying no sense of growth or progression. Rather, it expresses a bizarre time-warped sense of stasis, as well as a loneliness so hyper-aware of itself that its bruised misery is immediately erased by the self-reflexive piss-taking that’s present in its very articulation.
That was then though and this is now – for Ariel Pink has turned a corner. Last year’s sprawling double-disk opus Grandes Exitos marked the end of his DIY era. “Music is a means to an end y’know,” he says. “You should make your art and purge those demons that you so desperately need to exorcise. I’m over that stage of my life where I’m just a heart bleeding onto a tape deck. I’m very anxious to get some sort of feedback, some reflection on what I was doing. I’ve got a whole different set of circumstances now.”
Among other things, Ariel Pink’s Haunted Graffiti is no longer simply a moniker for the artist’s bedroom project. It’s a full band now, feathers and all. Previous attempts at performing his music solo produced less than stellar results (“I think it came off pretty bad”, he admits), but Pink is quick to staunch any doubts regarding the group’s ability. “Who says that it’s impossible to do this stuff live? All we need is commitment, people to be on the same page.
“The live part is what I have to do in order to continue playing my music. Otherwise I’d need to get a job and continue to make a bunch of tapes in my bedroom. It’s [been] this total lesson in how to handle one’s affairs.” He laughs, adding, “I’m a lot more of a social butterfly; I like the attention, too.”
Other positive life steps have included being signed last year to UK indie label 4AD; any former recalcitrance towards participating in the monster that is the modern music industry eventually gave way to the desire to reach an audience. “It was no secret; we needed to get signed to a real label,” he says. “I’ve made every mistake in the book in the last five years, and I’ve continued to, I’m a slow learner … but I’m lucky, I feel like I’m chasing heights. The longer I do it, the more I feel I’m in control of my craft. It’s a new trajectory in my life that I’m really into at the moment; it’s very different.”
Before Today is the first album of this new period. At an even twelve tracks, it is easily Pink’s most coherent and accessible statement to date. Songs like ‘Fright Night (Nevermore)’, first single ‘Round And Round’ or the wonderfully Billie Jean referencing ‘Menopause Man’ benefit from digital production with a rich day-glo sound, while retaining the knowing wink and disruptive sexual overtones of his previous work.
Pink seems reconciled with the excesses of what he obviously sees as a previous incarnation – there is a clear sense of him having passed through the crucible, arriving on the other side by and large intact, and with a renewed thirst to create. “At the risk of being a cartoon of myself, I do like to lead the life that I want to lead, and kind of lead by example. I really feel like there’s no reason to be just a stupid entertainer for the sheeple… just the heroin for the masses – we don’t need anymore of that.”
So what lies ahead? “Same thing only better, hopefully. I don’t want to punish the crowd or chastise humanity or whatever … Whatever I’ve already laid the groundwork for – it’s all tacky already. My job is not anywhere near done.”
First published in The Brag, Iss. 365, June 7th 2010
Monday, June 7, 2010
Monday, May 3, 2010
The New Pornographers
“Every time I’m doing an interview for an album I tell the person ‘just wait for our next record’” says Carl Newman, “that’s my stock quote”. Speaking from his “idyllic” home in Woodstock, New York, Newman is articulate and friendly, though his conversation is littered with what one suspects are many such standard responses. But then, the lead singer, primary songwriter and general guiding hand behind the New Pornographers has had plenty of time to hone the subtle art of the soundbite.
It’s getting on ten years since the Vancouverite collective released their ebullient debut Mass Romantic. In that time they’ve cemented a reputation as generous purveyors of pop exuberance, while never quite seeming to reach the same giddy heights promised with that initial release. The guarana kick of tracks such as ‘All the Things that Go to Make’ from 2007’s Challenger have become the exception to the rule, spacious power ballads rising to the fore as the group have gently matured.
So, has the energy been difficult to sustain? “I think we’ll always have that, [which] makes me want to always push out and do different things” says Newman, “it makes me wanna go and be more minimal. It’s important just to be happy with what you’re doing and not feel like you’re just doing the same thing. If we’re not America’s Number One Party Band anymore then, well, that’s just our fate.
“I think we will always be a rock group, it’s our default setting. Even on this new record, it’s pretty much an upbeat rock record. When I listen to Grizzly Bear or Fleet Foxes or Bon Iver, I think, yeah we sound like AC/DC!” The new record in question is Together and is certainly at odds with the introspective nostalgia currently doing the rounds, songs such as ‘The Crash Years’ matching Newman’s obliquely recalcitrant lyrics with blithely hummable hooks.
Although the name suggests warm and rosy inclusiveness, as Newman explains: “in its way, Together was a little bit defiant. Because everybody’s doing their own things [people are] always like ‘the New Pornographers are about to break up. They’re on their last legs.’ Also, when we first started ten years ago we used to do this cover of the song ‘Together’ by the Illusion, so when I remembered that I thought ‘things have come full circle’. Calling it Together in a way was a very elliptical way of calling the record Get Back.”
Given the part-time status of most of the band’s members – Dan Bejar is more widely recognised for the whimsical complexities of Destroyer, while Neko Case is better known asan unstoppable force of nature Neko Case – the New Pornographer’s continued existence has at times indeed seemed unlikely to outsiders. For Newman though this is simply the way of things: “we’ve done it for so long – you just get used to it. Neko doesn’t write any songs in the band, so it’s not like she’s making this massive shift.”
Things aren’t so clear cut for Newman himself, balancing his New Pornographer songwriting duties with his own solo work. “There isn’t really a clear line,” he says. “There are some songs on my last solo record [last year’s Get Guilty] like 'Prophets', where I listen to it now I think ‘I think I should’ve made that a New Pornographers’ song’. But what can I do? Of course I could play those songs live with the New Pornographers. I might try it.”
Perhaps the collective’s (Newman dislikes hearing the words ‘super’ and ‘group’ spoken in the same breath) resilience comes from the flexibility of their approach, the ability to absorb differing levels of involvement and seamlessly incorporate whatever’s on offer. Together is a case in point, featuring guest contributions from Zach Condon (aka Beirut), Annie Clark (St Vincent), the Dap-Kings as well as Will Sheff of Okkervil River. “It was a last minute thing” explains Newman. “We were getting to the end of the record and we were trying to fill in the blanks. We were just very lucky that we happened to be in New York and all these people were around. It’s such a collecting place for interesting people. You’ve got a giant talent pool to choose from.”
Although keenly aware of the debt he owes the land of the maple leaf – “Canada is really good [when it comes to] supporting their own culture; I think we’ve gleaned some of the fruits of that” – Newman seems happy in his adopted home, particularly in light of political events of the last eighteen months. “It’s amazing to have Obama as president. Now you hear all the wingnuts, right wing people talk, and it’s nice to know that they’re not in power, that they’re on the fringes and that they’re getting crazier. It gives you some hope definitely.”
With an extended tour of North America in the works over the coming months, and an Australian tour (with the full lineup) slated for early next year, cautious hope seems to be the order of the day. Not that Newman will be satisfied anytime soon. “Together is the definitive New Pornographers record. Not as good as our next record is going to be though. That’s going to be the ultra-definitive album.”
First published in The Brag, May 2010
It’s getting on ten years since the Vancouverite collective released their ebullient debut Mass Romantic. In that time they’ve cemented a reputation as generous purveyors of pop exuberance, while never quite seeming to reach the same giddy heights promised with that initial release. The guarana kick of tracks such as ‘All the Things that Go to Make’ from 2007’s Challenger have become the exception to the rule, spacious power ballads rising to the fore as the group have gently matured.
So, has the energy been difficult to sustain? “I think we’ll always have that, [which] makes me want to always push out and do different things” says Newman, “it makes me wanna go and be more minimal. It’s important just to be happy with what you’re doing and not feel like you’re just doing the same thing. If we’re not America’s Number One Party Band anymore then, well, that’s just our fate.
“I think we will always be a rock group, it’s our default setting. Even on this new record, it’s pretty much an upbeat rock record. When I listen to Grizzly Bear or Fleet Foxes or Bon Iver, I think, yeah we sound like AC/DC!” The new record in question is Together and is certainly at odds with the introspective nostalgia currently doing the rounds, songs such as ‘The Crash Years’ matching Newman’s obliquely recalcitrant lyrics with blithely hummable hooks.
Although the name suggests warm and rosy inclusiveness, as Newman explains: “in its way, Together was a little bit defiant. Because everybody’s doing their own things [people are] always like ‘the New Pornographers are about to break up. They’re on their last legs.’ Also, when we first started ten years ago we used to do this cover of the song ‘Together’ by the Illusion, so when I remembered that I thought ‘things have come full circle’. Calling it Together in a way was a very elliptical way of calling the record Get Back.”
Given the part-time status of most of the band’s members – Dan Bejar is more widely recognised for the whimsical complexities of Destroyer, while Neko Case is better known as
Things aren’t so clear cut for Newman himself, balancing his New Pornographer songwriting duties with his own solo work. “There isn’t really a clear line,” he says. “There are some songs on my last solo record [last year’s Get Guilty] like 'Prophets', where I listen to it now I think ‘I think I should’ve made that a New Pornographers’ song’. But what can I do? Of course I could play those songs live with the New Pornographers. I might try it.”
Perhaps the collective’s (Newman dislikes hearing the words ‘super’ and ‘group’ spoken in the same breath) resilience comes from the flexibility of their approach, the ability to absorb differing levels of involvement and seamlessly incorporate whatever’s on offer. Together is a case in point, featuring guest contributions from Zach Condon (aka Beirut), Annie Clark (St Vincent), the Dap-Kings as well as Will Sheff of Okkervil River. “It was a last minute thing” explains Newman. “We were getting to the end of the record and we were trying to fill in the blanks. We were just very lucky that we happened to be in New York and all these people were around. It’s such a collecting place for interesting people. You’ve got a giant talent pool to choose from.”
Although keenly aware of the debt he owes the land of the maple leaf – “Canada is really good [when it comes to] supporting their own culture; I think we’ve gleaned some of the fruits of that” – Newman seems happy in his adopted home, particularly in light of political events of the last eighteen months. “It’s amazing to have Obama as president. Now you hear all the wingnuts, right wing people talk, and it’s nice to know that they’re not in power, that they’re on the fringes and that they’re getting crazier. It gives you some hope definitely.”
With an extended tour of North America in the works over the coming months, and an Australian tour (with the full lineup) slated for early next year, cautious hope seems to be the order of the day. Not that Newman will be satisfied anytime soon. “Together is the definitive New Pornographers record. Not as good as our next record is going to be though. That’s going to be the ultra-definitive album.”
First published in The Brag, May 2010
Monday, April 19, 2010
The stem from the seed - Pikelet
Evelyn Morris is a busy sort. When she’s not managing Melbourne’s Hell’s Kitchen, there’s the small business of writing, recording and performing as Pikelet, her acclaimed psych-folk project. Since the release of her self-titled debut in 2007, she’s toured with the likes of Sufjan Stevens, Beirut and The Ruby Suns as well as been featured at Laneway and Golden Plains. Not that any of this seems likely to go to her head any time soon.
‘So you have to go and work your job’ she explains over the wire, in a voice that sounds like it belongs to someone with their feet firmly planted. ‘And you’ve gotta go home and you might feel like bored or frustrated or lonely from your day. And rather than just sit at home we go and jam together or play shows. For me it’s just the way I live my life – music’s a huge relief for me. It’s about having some freedom from the things you have to do.’
Pikelet has undergone some serious transformations over the last few years. Although it largely remains a solo project for Morris, the addition of three regular band members has opened up the sound palette and allowed things to grow into wild and unexpected shapes. Her second album is Stem, a woozy synth-drenched headtrip, one part Virginia Woolf to two parts Lewis Carroll.
‘The name comes from the initials of all the band members’ she explains over the traffic noise that occasionally blares down the line. ‘I wanted it to be something that celebrated the fact that the boys are in the band now – it was sort of the only one that stuck. It also comes from the fact that it’s the second album’ she adds, ‘kind of like the stem from the seed.’ From small things great things can indeed grow.
While Stem has been heaped with lavish praise from practically every publication of note in the country, there seems to be a tendency to emphasise the lush sonic surface that Morris has constructed. Many have remarked on Celeste Potter’s striking cover art – hapless fluffy bunnies tumbling into a hole leading godknowswhere – while failing to note the bleak implications. And this on an album where the first track is about a bloke doing a Baltimore Quaker and setting himself alight. I take a breath and ask Morris how she responds to characterisations of Pikelet as ‘cute’.
‘That’s one of the things that’s never really stuck too well with me’ she says. ‘It’s not what I’m going for and it’s not what the undercurrent of most of the songs are. Pikelet is meant to be a bit of a surreptitious response or reaction to the way that women generally exist as musicians in Australia. Women in Australian music tend to be either singer songwriters who sing about love and relationships and emotions and stuff OR they might be the rock chick. I wanted something that’s a little more different to that. When people diminish the identity of Pikelet to just being pretty and twee my feminist hackles go up! The music’s definitely more about the darker side of people’s existence.’
Although she doesn’t ‘think about influences too much’, Morris often references sixties psychedelic folk in her music, while pointing to groups such as Broadcast (and by extension the United States of America), the Incredible String Band, Brian Eno or seventies Australian acid-folk Extradition as touchstones. She also likes Scott Walker. ‘His music is just amazing! If you listen to the surface, you just go like ‘I’m just some thirties or forties guy crooning’, but you listen to the lyrics and he’s singing about gonorrhea and being molested in the army.’ I throw out the possibility that she might like to provoke a similar reaction with Pikelet. ‘I want the whole thing can be a little more subtle than that. I want to tread a fine line between things being dark or light, have a bit of a mixture of both.’
So, what does she hope to communicate with Pikelet? ‘People often diminish pop music as being insignificant and pointless’ she muses, ‘but it’s music that’s in the collective consciousness and in the larger community at this point in time. That’s something that I’m very interested in, getting into people’s brains, and figuring out how a large group of people all think at the same time. We’re all living in the same place y’know. It’s kind of nice to imagine that there can be ways to communicate with large groups of people.’ She laughs: ‘Sorry that got really existential.’
Morris is also an enthusiastic fan of emerging acts such as Josh Armistead or Extreme Wheeze – ‘there’s so many good bands in Melbourne - for me it’s inspiring’ – and is understandably concerned by the effect recent changes to Victorian licensing laws linking live music venues with ‘high risk conditions’ have had on Melbourne’s music scene. So much so that she’s been a vocal supporter of SLAM – Save Live Australia’s Music – which delivered a petition of 22,000 signatures protesting the law to the state government the day before we spoke.
So, what’s at stake? ‘The venue that I book and work at Hell’s Kitchen can’t afford to put on gigs, as it’s too small to afford security guards’ she explains, ‘I don’t rely on these small venues for Pikelet anymore so much, but that’s not the point. What about when someone else comes along who wants to express themselves? [Small shows are] SO important for developing a cultural identity. I mean, we’ve all been there plugging away playing these ridiculous little shows, but all of those little shows matter, they all spark something. The small things are the things that we need to protect the most. It’s more about the future than it is about right now.’ Amen.
‘So you have to go and work your job’ she explains over the wire, in a voice that sounds like it belongs to someone with their feet firmly planted. ‘And you’ve gotta go home and you might feel like bored or frustrated or lonely from your day. And rather than just sit at home we go and jam together or play shows. For me it’s just the way I live my life – music’s a huge relief for me. It’s about having some freedom from the things you have to do.’
Pikelet has undergone some serious transformations over the last few years. Although it largely remains a solo project for Morris, the addition of three regular band members has opened up the sound palette and allowed things to grow into wild and unexpected shapes. Her second album is Stem, a woozy synth-drenched headtrip, one part Virginia Woolf to two parts Lewis Carroll.
‘The name comes from the initials of all the band members’ she explains over the traffic noise that occasionally blares down the line. ‘I wanted it to be something that celebrated the fact that the boys are in the band now – it was sort of the only one that stuck. It also comes from the fact that it’s the second album’ she adds, ‘kind of like the stem from the seed.’ From small things great things can indeed grow.
While Stem has been heaped with lavish praise from practically every publication of note in the country, there seems to be a tendency to emphasise the lush sonic surface that Morris has constructed. Many have remarked on Celeste Potter’s striking cover art – hapless fluffy bunnies tumbling into a hole leading godknowswhere – while failing to note the bleak implications. And this on an album where the first track is about a bloke doing a Baltimore Quaker and setting himself alight. I take a breath and ask Morris how she responds to characterisations of Pikelet as ‘cute’.
‘That’s one of the things that’s never really stuck too well with me’ she says. ‘It’s not what I’m going for and it’s not what the undercurrent of most of the songs are. Pikelet is meant to be a bit of a surreptitious response or reaction to the way that women generally exist as musicians in Australia. Women in Australian music tend to be either singer songwriters who sing about love and relationships and emotions and stuff OR they might be the rock chick. I wanted something that’s a little more different to that. When people diminish the identity of Pikelet to just being pretty and twee my feminist hackles go up! The music’s definitely more about the darker side of people’s existence.’
Although she doesn’t ‘think about influences too much’, Morris often references sixties psychedelic folk in her music, while pointing to groups such as Broadcast (and by extension the United States of America), the Incredible String Band, Brian Eno or seventies Australian acid-folk Extradition as touchstones. She also likes Scott Walker. ‘His music is just amazing! If you listen to the surface, you just go like ‘I’m just some thirties or forties guy crooning’, but you listen to the lyrics and he’s singing about gonorrhea and being molested in the army.’ I throw out the possibility that she might like to provoke a similar reaction with Pikelet. ‘I want the whole thing can be a little more subtle than that. I want to tread a fine line between things being dark or light, have a bit of a mixture of both.’
So, what does she hope to communicate with Pikelet? ‘People often diminish pop music as being insignificant and pointless’ she muses, ‘but it’s music that’s in the collective consciousness and in the larger community at this point in time. That’s something that I’m very interested in, getting into people’s brains, and figuring out how a large group of people all think at the same time. We’re all living in the same place y’know. It’s kind of nice to imagine that there can be ways to communicate with large groups of people.’ She laughs: ‘Sorry that got really existential.’
Morris is also an enthusiastic fan of emerging acts such as Josh Armistead or Extreme Wheeze – ‘there’s so many good bands in Melbourne - for me it’s inspiring’ – and is understandably concerned by the effect recent changes to Victorian licensing laws linking live music venues with ‘high risk conditions’ have had on Melbourne’s music scene. So much so that she’s been a vocal supporter of SLAM – Save Live Australia’s Music – which delivered a petition of 22,000 signatures protesting the law to the state government the day before we spoke.
So, what’s at stake? ‘The venue that I book and work at Hell’s Kitchen can’t afford to put on gigs, as it’s too small to afford security guards’ she explains, ‘I don’t rely on these small venues for Pikelet anymore so much, but that’s not the point. What about when someone else comes along who wants to express themselves? [Small shows are] SO important for developing a cultural identity. I mean, we’ve all been there plugging away playing these ridiculous little shows, but all of those little shows matter, they all spark something. The small things are the things that we need to protect the most. It’s more about the future than it is about right now.’ Amen.
First published in The Brag, April 2010
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