Sideshow season in Sydney provides all manner of opportunities for Aus acts looking for a leg up in the support slot sweepstakes. Taswegian three piece Tiger Choir got the nod this evening (possibly as much thanks to extra-leaved clovers as the strength of last year’s self-titled debut EP – judging by the grin glued to his face, singer Elliot Taylor, for one, seemed unable to shake his disbelief at the band’s presence) and made the most of it, mixing zippy little pop punk numbers (in the vein of Die! Die! Die!) amongst some less inspired electronic fare. Promising, but nothing to write home about, on this occasion anyway.
Deerhunter did their thing at The Annandale when last they were in town. They’ve had a leg up or two of their own since then, Bradford Cox’s stellar songwriting chops (and whimsy) taking the group in a poppier direction, and reaching a wider audience, with last year’s stellar Halcyon Digest. Which isn’t to say that they don’t do convulsively brain-churning quarter-hour effects-pedal-offs anymore, but rather that they’ve simply learnt how to keep themselves in check, Cox foregoing the gloriously odd-ball rants in which he’s sometimes indulged with the band themselves barely stopping for air before an apparently capacity crowd.
While they’re masters of ironic delivery (right down to the cutesy half-smiled bows by which bass-player Josh Fauver acknowledges audience enthusiasm at the close of each song), the overriding impression Deerhunter give nowadays is of an earned effortlessness, Cox and guitarist Lockett Pundt playing with an unfussed, I Could Keep Doing This All Day sense of containment. Highlights tonight come in two flavours, the punchy day-glo pop of the former (such as the harmonica-riffed ‘Memory Boy’) and the tightly interlocking, carefully choreographed guitar jams of ‘Desire Lines’ or ‘Nothing Ever Happened’, powered by the latter’s meticulous picking.
Even the most ardent fan’s patience was tested come encore time however, the band, their duty done, using the nostalgic waves of ‘Cover Me (Slowly)’ (track one of 2008’s breakthrough album Microcastle) as the launch-pad for a twenty-five minute descent into Clive Barker-esque psychedelic sound sculpture, culminating in the aforementioned Cox-Pundt pedal-off. You’ve gotta love a group that can empty a place as surely as they can fill it.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Monday, February 14, 2011
Martha Wainwright
In the oft-played musical game of Whose Yards Were Done The Hardest, Edith Piaf must surely come out on top: parental abandonment, an abject childhood amongst her grandmother’s stable of prostitutes, singing for her supper on the streets of Paris, goodness knows how many failed love affairs, multiple car accidents, substance abuse, and a long, agonising premature death to top it all off. Indeed, her biography presents a lay down misere of uncompromising sufferance for art, a life spent at the coalface of reality producing one of the most spectacular pop catalogues of the last century.
There’re certainly worse acts to ape. For Martha Wainwright, Sans Fusils, Ni Souliers, A Paris: Martha Wainwright's Piaf Record, her live-recorded 2009 homage to the diminutive French songstress, was as much a welcome respite from her own material as the product of a lifetime love of the little sparrow’s music. “My brother introduced me to her music via my mother’s record collection when I was eight or so,” she explains, on the phone from her Brooklyn brownstone ahead of her forthcoming Australian tour. “I was completely excited by her abandon, her reckless abandon in her vocals. She quickly became my favourite singer … I admire her for wearing her heart on her sleeve and for, y’know, destroying herself for her art and for her audience … I suppose that she really seems to have given herself over completely to music … which is kind of amazing.”
Though she shows no sign of wishing to emulate Piaf in this respect, Wainwright has certainly passed through her own share of upheavals in the past twelve months. Having given birth to her first child in late 2009, joy became quickly mingled with anguish with the death of her mother, the late, great Kate McGarrigle several weeks later. One year on and although the demands of motherhood provide some daily sense of purpose – young Arcangelo (no jokes) is on the verge of crawling, though this remains somewhat difficult as “he’s really quite substantial” – grief continues to make its presence felt, the catharsis of songwriting following only gradually.
“It’s been pretty hard for me to write cause I already write pretty depressing songs,” she comments, “after my Mom died, I’d pick up the guitar and it was just too much … now things are starting to calm a little bit. Because all I really think about as a songwriter is what’s happened to me … that’s obviously what the new stuff seems to be about. Kate, really.”
That personal tragedy is feeding the creative process should come as a surprise to no one familiar with Ms Wainwright’s previous material, the Canadian having never been shy of feeding the grist of life’s downsides into the songwriting mill. Walking aside from the long shadow cast by the incomparable talent of her Judy Garland-singing, opera-composing, prima-donna brother Rufus, Martha began to cast a pretty lengthy one of her own with the titanic emotional swell of her 2005 self-titled debut. Making an immediate impact thanks to a pair of lungs capable of turning sultry purrs to an unhinged snarl within the same phrase, it was soon followed by the inimitably-titled follow-up I Know You’re Married But I’ve Got Feelings Too (2007), in which the stark confessionals of the first record gave way to more sophisticated imagery and a richer harmonic palette. However, drawing something of worth from the dregs of her experience has remained a constant.
“That first record came out of songs I’d written between the ages of 18 and 24, where it’s very much a naval gazing period. So for the second record, although they are just as personal, they’re kind of more couched … I make it a little less obvious, but in truth they’re actually almost just as autobiographical, they’re just more abstract. But in the second record, the people who are referenced in the songs certainly know who they are! They recognise themselves for better or for worse, but I thought it would be good not to let anyone else know.”
Indeed, Wainwright has learnt the hard way about the pitfalls of throwing her dirty laundry around the public sphere, as it’s hard to control where it lands. “I think that I particularly hurt my father’s feelings by writing ‘Bloody Mother Fucking Asshole’ and telling people it was about him … as you get older you have to be a bit more careful that you don’t shit on people all the time.”
It’s no wonder then that Martha has found the urge to slip into somebody else’s musical clothing difficult to resist, though her by now standard claim of song-writing amateurism fails to convince. “I always have sung covers because I’m not terribly prolific … I love to sing other people’s songs which are often times better crafted than my own, so I think it’s a good idea. My songs are so personal that it’s kind of a relief sometimes to sing about something else other than my own exact experience.”
Good news for audiences keen to hear Piaf classics delivered by someone well aware both of the act she has to follow and the transfiguring power of music in hard times. “Even though I did not try and conjure her [Piaf] up, before performing the songs or recording the songs in the life performance, she automatically seems to show up in the room anyway every time. She’s hard to run away from and I’m very glad for that.”
Martha Wainwright strut her stuff at the Sydney Opera House on Thursday the 24th of February.
First published in The Brag, Iss. 398, February 7th 2010
There’re certainly worse acts to ape. For Martha Wainwright, Sans Fusils, Ni Souliers, A Paris: Martha Wainwright's Piaf Record, her live-recorded 2009 homage to the diminutive French songstress, was as much a welcome respite from her own material as the product of a lifetime love of the little sparrow’s music. “My brother introduced me to her music via my mother’s record collection when I was eight or so,” she explains, on the phone from her Brooklyn brownstone ahead of her forthcoming Australian tour. “I was completely excited by her abandon, her reckless abandon in her vocals. She quickly became my favourite singer … I admire her for wearing her heart on her sleeve and for, y’know, destroying herself for her art and for her audience … I suppose that she really seems to have given herself over completely to music … which is kind of amazing.”
Though she shows no sign of wishing to emulate Piaf in this respect, Wainwright has certainly passed through her own share of upheavals in the past twelve months. Having given birth to her first child in late 2009, joy became quickly mingled with anguish with the death of her mother, the late, great Kate McGarrigle several weeks later. One year on and although the demands of motherhood provide some daily sense of purpose – young Arcangelo (no jokes) is on the verge of crawling, though this remains somewhat difficult as “he’s really quite substantial” – grief continues to make its presence felt, the catharsis of songwriting following only gradually.
“It’s been pretty hard for me to write cause I already write pretty depressing songs,” she comments, “after my Mom died, I’d pick up the guitar and it was just too much … now things are starting to calm a little bit. Because all I really think about as a songwriter is what’s happened to me … that’s obviously what the new stuff seems to be about. Kate, really.”
That personal tragedy is feeding the creative process should come as a surprise to no one familiar with Ms Wainwright’s previous material, the Canadian having never been shy of feeding the grist of life’s downsides into the songwriting mill. Walking aside from the long shadow cast by the incomparable talent of her Judy Garland-singing, opera-composing, prima-donna brother Rufus, Martha began to cast a pretty lengthy one of her own with the titanic emotional swell of her 2005 self-titled debut. Making an immediate impact thanks to a pair of lungs capable of turning sultry purrs to an unhinged snarl within the same phrase, it was soon followed by the inimitably-titled follow-up I Know You’re Married But I’ve Got Feelings Too (2007), in which the stark confessionals of the first record gave way to more sophisticated imagery and a richer harmonic palette. However, drawing something of worth from the dregs of her experience has remained a constant.
“That first record came out of songs I’d written between the ages of 18 and 24, where it’s very much a naval gazing period. So for the second record, although they are just as personal, they’re kind of more couched … I make it a little less obvious, but in truth they’re actually almost just as autobiographical, they’re just more abstract. But in the second record, the people who are referenced in the songs certainly know who they are! They recognise themselves for better or for worse, but I thought it would be good not to let anyone else know.”
Indeed, Wainwright has learnt the hard way about the pitfalls of throwing her dirty laundry around the public sphere, as it’s hard to control where it lands. “I think that I particularly hurt my father’s feelings by writing ‘Bloody Mother Fucking Asshole’ and telling people it was about him … as you get older you have to be a bit more careful that you don’t shit on people all the time.”
It’s no wonder then that Martha has found the urge to slip into somebody else’s musical clothing difficult to resist, though her by now standard claim of song-writing amateurism fails to convince. “I always have sung covers because I’m not terribly prolific … I love to sing other people’s songs which are often times better crafted than my own, so I think it’s a good idea. My songs are so personal that it’s kind of a relief sometimes to sing about something else other than my own exact experience.”
Good news for audiences keen to hear Piaf classics delivered by someone well aware both of the act she has to follow and the transfiguring power of music in hard times. “Even though I did not try and conjure her [Piaf] up, before performing the songs or recording the songs in the life performance, she automatically seems to show up in the room anyway every time. She’s hard to run away from and I’m very glad for that.”
Martha Wainwright strut her stuff at the Sydney Opera House on Thursday the 24th of February.
First published in The Brag, Iss. 398, February 7th 2010
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Unda Da Sea - Deep Sea Arcade
According to Mr Tim Morrissey, head honcho of The John Steel Singers and recent tour mate (read: partner in debauchery), Deep Sea Arcade collectively possess “the largest penises in Australia”. Unfortunately (or otherwise), a Darlinghurst cafe didn't seem the best place to substantiate the claim, although Nic McKenzie, DSA’s frontman, probably wouldn't have minded too much. Possessor of a friendly face, a floppy fringe shading keen eyes, Nic is “absolutely rock bottom broke at the moment”. He has a tendency to erupt into an endearing cackle when something piques his fancy and dreams of “rolling down rolling hills” – preferably in New Zealand, a nation near the top of his ‘to visit’ hitlist.
DSA is the pop-rock baby of McKenzie and school friend and bass player Nick Weaver, the pair sharing music writing duties while the former arduously polishes the lyrics himself. Drawing on a shared love for groups such as The Smiths, The Kinks, and The Beatles as well as assorted nineties Brit-pop, the pair are certainly adept at effective hook construction. Theirs is a pop music of watery, reverb-soaked daydreams, its surface buoyancy undercut by lyrics with a tendency to dwell on the twisted longings of the unconscious.
“I spend a lot of time on lyrics,” says McKenzie, “I’m a perfectionist when it comes to that … I try and make them about something ambiguous so that you can bring your own experience to them. I think that that’s actually how you communicate with people, that’s how you make something an interesting piece of work to experience, not just a self-indulgent write-it-for-yourself … Often I write about stories and how I’m feeling as well … I certainly don’t just write about my experience, I bring my experience to what I’m writing about.”
Less interested in pouring his battered soul onto a tape recorder than lending slices of reality an edge that is slightly creepy, manic and grinning, McKenzie’s method seems to be working. Singles ‘Crouch End’, ‘Don’t Be Sorry’ and ‘Lonely In Your Arms’ have received widespread radio airplay, their wholesome musical vibe recalling for many the easy-going sound of sixties surf bands. McKenzie however is bemused by the comparison: “to be completely honest, I haven’t ever been a big fan of surf music. People say that surf music comes out in our sound, but I guess it’s just an accident. That’s the honest truth. I’m not aiming to write surf music. It just so happens that some of the songs have that vibe.”
Perhaps it’s just a by-product of the DSA Writing and Recording Standard Operating Procedure, in which McKenzie and Weaver immediately demo newly minted songs before re-tracking and mixing as necessary under the watchful eye of producer Simon Berkleman (of Philadelphia Grand Jury). Of utmost import is the desire to maintain the home-recorded quality of the demos, which will be showcased on the band’s forthcoming eight track mini-album, slated for release in March.
“For the mini-album we’re absolutely embracing DIY”, says McKenzie. “It feels like a good thing to do, having some way of bridging the singles that we’ve released but keeping that flavour and vibe. For the album [we’ll] step up the production quality, [but] it would be a shame not to release that kind of DIY home recorded thing as a whole entity as well … We wanted to capture that rawness. Demo-itis exists because you come up with a lyric, you record it and there’s a naturalness and a vibe that you just can’t recreate. That’s the thing that we want, we want to have a mini-album that is our own masterpiece and then license it and put it out.”
Indeed, McKenzie is committed to keeping DSA a truly indie band for as long as is practical, self-funding and licensing the band’s recordings to ensure any revenue returns to the group. “[It’s] off our own bat which feels good” he remarks. “It’s hard to do that with an album because it’s like twelve songs and you actually need to have a budget, but for a mini-album you can do it on a shoe-string budget.”
Not that remaining independent is by any means easy, all band members keeping their day jobs (McKenzie works as a freelance film editor, making the DSA video clips himself) to support their music. “For so many bands, that is a real struggle … That’s the shit thing about being in an indie band in Australia. I mean, we’re not out to make money, but it’s difficult, and not many people want to talk about it … the cost of it is never ending, you’re always having to pay some kind of overhead … It’s not about the money, it’s just about being able to keep on going. If you could break even for ever than that would be cool, but the reality is that it’s difficult even doing that.”
The main thing however is to focus on what’s important: the debauchery. Although DSA has toured extensively over the last eighteen months – supporting Cloud Control, Hungry Kids of Hungary and Blue Juice among others – McKenzie drools uncontrollably at the prospect of the band’s upcoming tour with Surf City, the Sydney show at Oxford Art Factory promising to be a unique experience.
“We’ve been working a lot on our live show, it’s become kind of a bit of an obsession for me… I saw Jinja Safari at Peat’s Ridge and was blown away by their live show. When I saw their show, it just felt like the energy never lagged. That’s something that I want, having a live show that never lags, is just full of flavour and has different atmospheric things … creating this sort of ambience that’s relentless that can be experienced from beginning to end. "That’s the thing that I’ve got in my head, that’s driving me, and making me want to do it."
First published in The Brag, Issue 397, January 31st 2011
Deep Sea Arcade are supporting Surf City at the Oxford Arts Factory this coming Friday the 11th.
Happy Happy Fun Times: Evil Bee!; Best Eerily Compelling Mind And Space Traversing Fictional Exploration of Consciousness Eva; Summer Cooling Drink of Yumness.
DSA is the pop-rock baby of McKenzie and school friend and bass player Nick Weaver, the pair sharing music writing duties while the former arduously polishes the lyrics himself. Drawing on a shared love for groups such as The Smiths, The Kinks, and The Beatles as well as assorted nineties Brit-pop, the pair are certainly adept at effective hook construction. Theirs is a pop music of watery, reverb-soaked daydreams, its surface buoyancy undercut by lyrics with a tendency to dwell on the twisted longings of the unconscious.
“I spend a lot of time on lyrics,” says McKenzie, “I’m a perfectionist when it comes to that … I try and make them about something ambiguous so that you can bring your own experience to them. I think that that’s actually how you communicate with people, that’s how you make something an interesting piece of work to experience, not just a self-indulgent write-it-for-yourself … Often I write about stories and how I’m feeling as well … I certainly don’t just write about my experience, I bring my experience to what I’m writing about.”
Less interested in pouring his battered soul onto a tape recorder than lending slices of reality an edge that is slightly creepy, manic and grinning, McKenzie’s method seems to be working. Singles ‘Crouch End’, ‘Don’t Be Sorry’ and ‘Lonely In Your Arms’ have received widespread radio airplay, their wholesome musical vibe recalling for many the easy-going sound of sixties surf bands. McKenzie however is bemused by the comparison: “to be completely honest, I haven’t ever been a big fan of surf music. People say that surf music comes out in our sound, but I guess it’s just an accident. That’s the honest truth. I’m not aiming to write surf music. It just so happens that some of the songs have that vibe.”
Perhaps it’s just a by-product of the DSA Writing and Recording Standard Operating Procedure, in which McKenzie and Weaver immediately demo newly minted songs before re-tracking and mixing as necessary under the watchful eye of producer Simon Berkleman (of Philadelphia Grand Jury). Of utmost import is the desire to maintain the home-recorded quality of the demos, which will be showcased on the band’s forthcoming eight track mini-album, slated for release in March.
“For the mini-album we’re absolutely embracing DIY”, says McKenzie. “It feels like a good thing to do, having some way of bridging the singles that we’ve released but keeping that flavour and vibe. For the album [we’ll] step up the production quality, [but] it would be a shame not to release that kind of DIY home recorded thing as a whole entity as well … We wanted to capture that rawness. Demo-itis exists because you come up with a lyric, you record it and there’s a naturalness and a vibe that you just can’t recreate. That’s the thing that we want, we want to have a mini-album that is our own masterpiece and then license it and put it out.”
Indeed, McKenzie is committed to keeping DSA a truly indie band for as long as is practical, self-funding and licensing the band’s recordings to ensure any revenue returns to the group. “[It’s] off our own bat which feels good” he remarks. “It’s hard to do that with an album because it’s like twelve songs and you actually need to have a budget, but for a mini-album you can do it on a shoe-string budget.”
Not that remaining independent is by any means easy, all band members keeping their day jobs (McKenzie works as a freelance film editor, making the DSA video clips himself) to support their music. “For so many bands, that is a real struggle … That’s the shit thing about being in an indie band in Australia. I mean, we’re not out to make money, but it’s difficult, and not many people want to talk about it … the cost of it is never ending, you’re always having to pay some kind of overhead … It’s not about the money, it’s just about being able to keep on going. If you could break even for ever than that would be cool, but the reality is that it’s difficult even doing that.”
The main thing however is to focus on what’s important: the debauchery. Although DSA has toured extensively over the last eighteen months – supporting Cloud Control, Hungry Kids of Hungary and Blue Juice among others – McKenzie drools uncontrollably at the prospect of the band’s upcoming tour with Surf City, the Sydney show at Oxford Art Factory promising to be a unique experience.
“We’ve been working a lot on our live show, it’s become kind of a bit of an obsession for me… I saw Jinja Safari at Peat’s Ridge and was blown away by their live show. When I saw their show, it just felt like the energy never lagged. That’s something that I want, having a live show that never lags, is just full of flavour and has different atmospheric things … creating this sort of ambience that’s relentless that can be experienced from beginning to end. "That’s the thing that I’ve got in my head, that’s driving me, and making me want to do it."
First published in The Brag, Issue 397, January 31st 2011
Deep Sea Arcade are supporting Surf City at the Oxford Arts Factory this coming Friday the 11th.
Happy Happy Fun Times: Evil Bee!; Best Eerily Compelling Mind And Space Traversing Fictional Exploration of Consciousness Eva; Summer Cooling Drink of Yumness.
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