Mark Hamilton (Ash) interview: 2013

'1977' - DON'T LOOK BACK

You couldn't, quite frankly, invent a band like Ash. This group of teenage Star Wars-obsessed Black Sabbath-fanatics’ endless bubble-gum punk anthems stopped everything Britpop in its tracks - at least for a moment - in the mid-‘90s. Their very specific obsessions culminated in acclaimed debut album 1977, which legend has it, was partly funded by stolen cash and, depending on what you believe, the lads’ double lives as rent boys. But whatever the truth of the matter, Ash bassist Mark Hamilton proves to be little help in sorting fact from fiction. His blurred memory defeats him at most every turn as he trawls the past in search of answers to what happened in order to land Ash in the ‘rock legends’ basket.

“I don’t remember, honestly, a lot about that time (recording 1977).” He offers after a prolonged pause. “All I know is we were desperate to get out of school and make something of ourselves in order to get out of having the drudgery of work/life balance - whatever that is supposed to mean!” Speaking to me ahead of the Australian leg of their 1977 ‘don’t look back’ shows, Hamilton finds himself a last minute stand in for vocalist Tim Wheeler who has disappeared somewhere within the band’s hotel. One ‘fun’ past-time Ash have never tired of is checking in under assumed names, making it impossible for journalists and crazed fans alike to track their movements. “Our thing is to check in under the names of our road crew, and they use our names… It just means we can get a bit more privacy.” He laughs, “The guys (crew) don’t mind. They filter our calls… it’s all part of the service!”

Mark’s notorious cheeky side is still well intact, but his memory lacks the same prowess. Perhaps even more than the other two, Hamilton famously wiped himself out in grand style, long before Russell Brand made such activities into a full-time career. His memory of Australia however is simple. “I always think of Australia as being very clean and plus we have a lot of friends there, so I associate it with the people I know. It feels very familiar now, because we have been touring there since our first album came out.” In 1996, Ash toured internationally for the first time. They had yet to complete year 12 but instead found themselves learning what it meant to be ‘stars’ on a global scale. “We had no concept of society outside of Ireland. Not even outside of our own backyards really. What made it so great was everywhere we went we found the people who were most into us were just kids like us. We weren’t playing to older audiences really and now, our fans have grown up with us and even bring their own teenage kids to our gigs. So in some ways it feels like that aspect to playing live has stayed the same.”

The topic of Oasis rears its head, as 1977’s producer, Owen Morris had recently completed a successful session on Liam and Noel’s monstrous (What’s The Story) Morning Glory album before ‘taking a chance’ on the little known Irish combo. “Owen was still pretty young at the time, and he was all about creating a certain vibe in order to capture the mood on record. That would often mean taking drugs, drinks or being in drag in the studio.” He laughs, “It was all about keeping it on the edge and capturing that spontaneous magic.” The vibe at the sessions was, it turned out, ideal for Ash. “To be honest, it didn’t take much prompting from Owen. He was really curious about us and he heard something in our music – even in the early days before Oasis got really big – and we were probably a greater risk to him as a producer, which seemed to motivate him.” 1977 has often been cited as a ‘tribute’ album of sorts to the Ash’s heroes, such as Star Wars creator, George Lucas, actor Jackie Chan and bands like Black Sabbath and The Ramones. Mark recalls.

 
“When it started out we didn’t have too much of a game plan to be honest. We wrote what we thought of as a bunch of singles and a few extra songs to finish the album off.  I mean there are obviously influences in there… I don’t really know what to say… I can’t remember what we were doing and if we had a plan or not!” He laughs, and begins to suffer amnesia. “I think songs like Lose Control had a lot of Sonic Youth influences, and…” he pauses again, “Ask me about a song on that album, and I can tell you about where what influenced it.” Considering Ash’s run of short, sharp pop punk singles – Kung Fu, Girl From Mars, Angel Interceptor – was broken by slow burning, almost goth-rock ballad Goldfinger, I choose this one to question Mark about. “Goldfinger …?” He says sighing. “This was us trying to show that there was maybe more to Ash as a band.” He decides. “Tim (Wheeler) had this James Bond-like guitar sequence already written, and he kept playing it at rehearsals. I didn’t see what the appeal was at first but Owen kept on at us to do something with it. I didn’t think of it as a potential single, but it ended up going Top 5 in the UK and I am kind of glad about that because I think we were in danger of being seen as one-trick pony’s.”
 

At this stage in their career, the former teen punks are still on an ‘onward and upward’ trajectory in many respects. While the current tour is all ‘blast from the past’, never have they been more prolific in turning out new music. The recent A-Z series saw the band record and release a new song every two weeks over a twelve month period as a nod towards more contemporary music-buying trends. “It was so liberating to that. It was much more of outlet than what recording an album is because no two songs had any relation to each other and we weren’t restricted to making songs that would work as a collection of tracks with a running order and all that… It isn’t something we could ever re-create either,” He pauses, “much like recording another 1977. We could never expect to have another number one album.” 

 
“The days of having ‘massive albums’ are behind us because we don’t have the huge label machine working for us, you know. For the last 7 or 8 years that’s how we’ve been working. We tour our ‘major label hit album’ in cycles and record and release music as an independent band, so it’s a bit of double life we’re leading in a way.” As Ash’s debut album is allegedly to be ‘played in full’ on this tour, the closing track on the album – Sick Party - raises a serious question. Is the track - a tape recording of Hamilton vomiting violently while Wheeler and drummer Rick McMurray cackle insanely in the background - worthy of a live recreation? “I just wanna say that, it’s never planned but sometimes it just happens. Let’s face it, we are the kind of band people expect to see passing out in a pool of sick, but you’ll have to wait and see.”

lEIGh5
 

Manic Street Preachers: live in Melbourne, 2013

Venue: Festival Hall
Date: 28/06
 
The Manic Street Preachers have evolved beautifully over the years into a band comfortable with what they are. The early cockiness, the time of uncertainty and the wilderness years are all behind them and despite having no new material to promote or even having been on tour at all, they display a refreshing, well-earned confidence tonight at Festival Hall. Having refined their strengths and shed a few old ghosts, they stand today as the very picture of ‘triumph against the odds’. The current set list alone represents a ‘chop off the slack’ approach to fulfilling what they themselves see as a ‘dream Manics set’, and while there will always be a few who go away disappointed, for the vast majority who attended tonight’s gig, it was pure heaven.

The fact that the band are here at all is a pleasant surprise to their multitude of devotees, making this one-off show all the more delicious. A tie-in with the British and Irish Lions rugby match in Australia was the given reason for a fly-in fly-out visit, while back home in Cardiff, the band were up to now putting the final touches on the follow up to 2010’s Postcards From A Young Man. The buzz about new music from the band has yet to really take hold, so focus tonight is on a no bullshit straight-up greatest hits package, with a few surprises thrown in for good measure.
 

The biggest surprise however is not band-related so much, as their audience tonight. Whereas the Manics dial has most often been tuned somewhere between glittery glamour and muscular rock n’ roll, tonight the switch has been given a hefty shove towards the latter. The Manics found their inner brute in an effort perhaps to appeal more readily to the present boof-head contingent. This is after all a show designed to bring together the many rugby loving ex-pats in Melbourne as well as appease the already converted. But then it’s just like the Manics to pull a mob of beer-soaked lads and wags only to lead them in a cheery sing-a-long about tackling an anxiety disorder (Send Away The Tigers) or the evils of consumerism (Motorcycle Emptiness).

It may all have been a little ironic, but not in such a way as to spoil the glory of their performance. James Dean Bradfield – looking fiercely fit – commanded our attention in that remarkable voice of his, and remained the undisputed ringleader throughout. His spirits are notably up as he jokes and banters with the crowd and his band-mates, loving every minute of the gig and perhaps riding high on the knowledge that there’s no nerve-rattling 50-date tour penned in this time round. Nicky Wire, always the elegant, if not mouthy one, is however short on words and even shorter on his usual drag tonight. That is to say, we didn’t get a much anticipated sighting of those marvelous legs dangling down from beneath a netball skirt or some such, and had to make do with a mere sparkly unicorn decal on each cheek as compensation. Despite such setbacks, he still has the power to get a large number of fans swooning, and remains one rock’s most beautiful creatures.

In light of the band’s more recent overseas shows to promote their singles collection National Treasures, there is a somewhat retro feel about the song selection. There are a number of fans here who weren't born when Generation Terrorists came out, but it is the early tracks (You Love Us, Motown Junk) that get the biggest response. A now long tradition in Manics gigs is the acoustic interlude where James belts out The Everlasting - with full-crowd backing – only tonight we get the added bonus of some classic Bacharach in the form of Can’t Take My Eyes Off You. The surprise cover delights us all and sets up nicely a grand finale in the form of Little Baby Nothing – which featured a rather goofy looking Jamie Roberts of the British Lions as surprise guest on acoustic guitar – Tsunami, Motown Junk and If You Tolerate This bring the set to a blinding close. But as tradition dictates, there’s no encore despite James’ teasing us with the possibility.

The show was a full body saturation of the Manics power as a live band and even a somewhat sad reminder of how many genius songs they have in their canon which have been largely overlooked. For the devoted here though it was just not enough. The knowledge that it may be several years before they come back hangs heavy at the conclusion. Talking to fans outside the venue in the cold night air, there is a mix of elation and gloom. This was after all only the bands third visit to Australia in their 26 year career. Love for the Manics is so strong among those who invest in their songs and it’s the kind of devotion many bands could dream of. The reason being, they are a band you can care about and they mean something to people which – like their peerless stage presence witnessed tonight at Festival Hall – is something worth celebrating.

lEIGh5

 

meeting Nicky Wire

FESTIVAL HALL SET-LIST (28/06/13)

 Motorcycle Emptiness
Your Love Alone Is Not Enough
You Stole The Sun From My Heart
Ocean Spray
Australia
Suicide Is Painless
It's Not War (Just The End Of Love)
La Tristessa Durera (Scream To A Sigh)
Revol
Everything Must Go
Send Away The Tigers
A Design For Life
The Everlasting
Can't Take My Eyes Off You
You Love Us
Little Baby Nothing
Tsunami
Motown Junk
If You Tolerate This

 

The Stone Roses: live in Melbourne, 2013

Venue: Festival Hall
Date: 07/03/2013

For their sideshow in the 'Manchester of Australia' – as Mani once lovingly dubbed Melbourne - Stone Roses demonstrated that when they're good, they are very fucking good indeed. It's widely known that the lads have a patchy past in terms of pulling off great live shows, but that along with their music in general seems to be a thing of the past. It isn't terribly surprising that there is no new music from the band tonight, but at one stage during his almost flawless performance, Ian Brown hints at a future for the Stone Roses beyond the current reunion gigs.

Re-emerging in late 2011 to tour was a great move considering how closely guarded a secret it was that the band were even on speaking terms again, but Ian mentioning possible new songs without presenting any comes off as a bit of a bluff. Not that anybody could complain about the almost 20 year-old setlist which ignores most of The Second Coming in favour of that album. As debuts go, The Stone Roses simply could not be beaten. Not even by The Stones Roses themselves in fact. What is interesting though is how each song from the album performed is so very different to anything that did not make the cut. Early singles like Sally Cinnamon and several of the b-side tracks performed are all distinct in that they don't quite have the same magic as the material off the album. Of course there is one colossal exception to this rule. Nobody here at Festy tonight could argue that Fools Gold – a song they initially threw away as a freakin' b-side – was not the absolute highlight.

Fools Gold the song is of course great and was the band's most successful track, but live in concert, it is a whole other level of genius. It begins with Reni teasing us with a few pitchy cymbal smacks while Mani plucks out a slightly menacing, fat bass line which he maintains for the entire 13 minutes. Then, when John Squire begins the hook that kicked off Madchester and the whole rave-rock shebang, the crowd completely lose it. Why this song works so well live is because of the  combo of Mani and Reni as a rhythm section, but there's also much to love about Squire's unpredictable guitar playing and the soft echo of Brown's voice, surfacing occasionally in the mix. It's a cliché, but this really was Stone Roses at their most untouchable. So they serve up their 'it's funk Jim, but not as we know it' monster half way though the set tonight, leaving many here wondering just what they must be planning for an encore. But then, the answer could be found all along written on the back of The Stone Roses album sleeve.

Opening the show with I Wanna Be Adored – just as the debut album began – sets up a kind of 'running order' formula they only occasionally divert from. Ten Storey Love Song from The Second Coming is the first real shift, and while it isn't a bad tune, it's no Love Spreads. The strongest cut from the 'difficult second album' heralds one hell of a hit-fest. She Bangs The Drums – a song that too often fails in a live setting, emerges as one of the strongest tonight as it leaps out at us with every gun blazing and is rewarded with the biggest sing-a-long moment. This Is The One stands out as the  'one that really should have been a hit', and Brown is completely loving the all arms raised crowd response. It should be noted that a lot goes on around Ian during the gig and he makes for fascinating viewing. The expression 'calm like a bomb' comes to mind as he does his famous monkey shuffle dance, elbows stuck out horizontally as he bobs his head and glares out into the crowd. One moment he is almost whispering a trance-like mantra, the next he's inaudibly blasting a sound tech or hurling a full rubbish bin off stage at a security bloke for getting too physical with one of the fans.


Meanwhile, Mani – usually the mouthy one – remains the very picture of blissed out concentration, while Squire refuses to even look up from his shoes. Drummer Reni on the other hand is starring in his own movie up there behind his kit, which is adorned in 'Roses-esque lemon slices. It's quite telling how the band members' each seem so lost in their own worlds during the show. Their tense interpersonal relations have surely healed over time, but perhaps not entirely. There is a definite sense of 'we're back together because of the music', which they show absolute solidarity in.

Tonight, it was a very different Stone Roses to the band who were booed off stage at Reading in 1996 and quickly dissolved in a whimper. The reunion shows have clearly been a chance for the Roses to not only bury a few hatchets but also to change the history book entry on a band that seemed so vital before success ultimately dug them an early grave. But here at one of the most unlikely reunion concerts ever, Stone Roses conclude their set with a song almost perfectly designed for such an occasion - I Am the Resurrection. It is a triumph and it, along with nearly every song that preceded it, proves that they had never really lost 'it'. There is no encore as the work had all been done by the finish of Resurrection. Instead they close the show with group hug, a bow and a shower of praise for all who'd stuck by them. For us fans it's been a long and unlikely wait for tonight, but nobody who turned up to Festy Hall could claim it wasn't all worth it.

lEIGh5
 

FESTIVAL HALL SET-LIST (07/03/13)

I Wanna Be Adored
Mersey Paradise
Sugar Spun Sister
Sally Cinnamon
Ten Storey Love Song
Where Angels Play
Shoot You Down
Fools Gold
Waterfall
Don't Stop
Made Of Stone
This Is The One
Love Spreads
She Bangs The Drums
I Am The Resurrection
 

Meeting John Squire!

Einstürzende Neubauten live in Melbourne, 2013 (review)

Venue: The Palace
Date: 19/02/2013

The excitement of what to expect from one of the world’s most unusual and  notoriously ‘challenging’ bands begins as soon as I enter the Palace and  catch sight of the darkened stage. One almost expects to see emergency relief workers attempting to deal with a recent ceiling collapse that occurred as some band had been setting up their gear. The sight of a few recognisable instruments jutting out among PVC tubing and compromised steel wreckage creates a sinister image. Although it’s just another gig for Einsturzende Neubauten, it is  essentially anybody’s guess what terrifying racket the monstrosities before us will create once the Berlin band begin to hit, throw, rattle and blow into them.

For long-time followers of Neubauten, many things have changed considerably over the course of their 33-year career, and yet a few have not. A wrecked shopping cart, masses of wire coils and front-man Blixa Bargeld’s banshee-like scream equal familiarity, but whereas Bargeld once held court in leather bondage gear and a haircut that looked as though he had been attacked by a stylist with cerebral palsy, he now more closely resembles a pre-Jenny Craig campaign Barry Humphries in all his dandy-ish finery. Gone also is the guitar he once brutally assaulted - and occasionally played as a member of the Bad Seeds - and the earth shattering electric-hammer. All this means very little however to what is a thrilling career retrospective which never feels lacking despite the aborted, more cacophonous instrumentation.

Song wise, the band choose a lesser-played set for Melbourne - Blixa’s second home for many years. Although we miss out on gems like Halber Mensch and The Garden there is still plenty to get roused over. Headcleaner goes where a lot of Neubauten songs only hint at and for that reason it stands as their true monster-piece. Played in three parts - two brutal, one mellow - it’s a relentless insanity-inducing brain hammering, that teases us with short bursts of calm only to come round again for another pummeling. Die Interimsliebenden ebs towards ‘one you can almost dance to’ but instead evokes some more suitable head-banging from the packed crowd. Armenia is played to demonstrate Bargeld’s signature horror-screech to it’s fullest, and allow custom-made instrumentalist Andrew Chudy to show off an impressive range of percussive flostum, including a bucket of metal scrap which he showers onto an amplified plate near stage front. It’s during Chudy’s carefree hurling of dangerous objects that the venue security become visibly alarmed and brace for possible intervention.

For Bargeld however, the tense moments are not during the crashing of metal on metal or glass on metal but rather when one note is played off key in the sombre Sabrina, completely throwing the singer into a very visual tantrum. It’s a very telling moment on how much Bargeld requires total perfection from his band when he berates keyboardist Ash Wednesday and insists they begin the song again from the top. The apparently short temper and commanding presence of Bargeld make him a fascinating subject to fix eyes on throughout the melee that is happening on stage. The lack of guitar means that he is free to mess around with various objects throughout the show and as such add libs with a loud-hailer, a drill with a vinyl record attached to the bit and various voice-enhancing gizmos. Though if there’s another, equally bright star on stage, it has to be drummer Rudolf Moser. His kit is the perfect enviable big boy’s toy. Much bigger than probably required and composed of chunky wire coils, steel cylinders and saw blades - it ranks as the coolest thing ever seen at a concert. Ever.

It’s impossible to end this review without mentioning the biggest and best non-drum kit related part to Neubauten’s show; the catharsis of sheer non-conventional expression through screams and grinding machines clashing with sounds so intimate, they are little more than a whisper in your ear, or - as is the case of Silence Is Sexy - a drag on an amplified cigarette.

lEIGh5

 
PALACE SET-LIST:

Ein Leichtes Leises Säuseln
Die Befindlichkeit des Landes
Von wegen
Die Interimsliebenden
Dead Friends
Unvollständigkeit
Youme & Meyou
Let's Do It a Dada
Haus der Lüge
Rampe
Armenia
Sabrina
Susej
Headcleaner

Encore:
Silence Is Sexy
Redukt

Lisa Gerrard (Dead Can Dance) Interview: 2013

RESTLESS SPIRITS

While somewhat distracted by the possibility of having to evacuate, Lisa Gerrard from her home in Gippsland, is watching the threatening orange glow of near-by bushfires while valiantly remaining focused on the task promoting the first Dead Can Dance album in 16 years. An impending home-land tour in which the release - Anastasis - will be performed in full is also going ahead now the singer's recent throat-bothering flu has been beaten 'just in time'. “I was seriously close to having to cancel the shows... all that time spent in aeroplanes is what made me sick.” Gerrard has just returned home from Argentina, one of the many non-Anglo countries where her band - a 30 year-long partnership between herself and one-time husband, Brendan Perry - are lauded as musical icons. Yet despite forming in the Melbourne suburb of Prahran, Australia has long remained their final frontier in terms of wide spread acceptance.

“Somebody once asked me, 'why don't we make Australian music'?”, A mental 'face-palm' hangs in the air as Gerrard begins. “It was as if we had to tick certain boxes to be considered Australian.” The daughter of Irish immigrants remembers this throw-away question posed to her long ago, and which has bugged her since. But to argue the case for Dead Can Dance's place in the Australian music scheme, she need only have retorted with AC/DC's Scottish-ness, or Crowded House's Kiwi-ness for effect. “Basically what they were asking was, why don't we sound like a white suburban band, which is after all what we were!” In fact the Prahran which Lisa left behind in 1982 for the excitement and uncertainty of London, provided the ideal foundation for what would become Dead Can Dance. Gerrard recalls unfamiliar and exotic languages and most importantly, music in abundance in the tiny suburban street. “So many of our neighbours were a mix of Greek and Turkish immigrants, many of who couldn't speak English very well, if at all, and because their sort of connection to the countries they had left behind was this very traditional music, it would blasting out of their windows on a hot night.”

The title of the new album, Anastasis, translates (from Greek) as 'resurrected'. Apart from the obvious self-reference following their long break, it could also relate to Dead Can Dance's choice of gear. They employ instruments so ancient their true origins have been forever blurred by time as they changed hands along the Silk Road. Gerrard meanwhile has often sung in a curious, non-specific language; resulting in a suitably inclusive form of expression. “When I was growing up, you didn't get Irish people speaking Italian or Greek or anything like that, so my experience of hearing these other languages on a daily basis meant I could just listen to the tones and patterns and there was a kind of music to that in itself.” She adds, “The Irish have a strong tradition of story-telling and so to me singing without using words to tell a story was such an exotic idea.” Once the foundation for what Dead Can Dance would become was set in place, Lisa and then live-in boyfriend Brendan Perry re-established themselves in London during 1982 at the height of post-punk only to find themselves suddenly starved of the cultural diversity they had become so used to.

















“We were in this very poor, white part of London for a time in this council flat and it was quite depressing when we first arrived.” Gerrard recalls, “But we kind of lived as though we were in this private school by spending all our time in the local libraries and music archives, just absorbing all this literature and music which was beyond what we could have found in Australia. Our own identity really began to develop from that time, so ultimately it wasn't wasted time.” After signing a deal with 4AD, Dead Can Dance quickly established their niche throughout the '80s and '90s as a 'world fusion' band. Releases like Into The Labyrinth and The Serpent's Egg became celebrated classics, and even drew the attention of Hollywood. During DCD's hiatus, Gerrard became an award-winning film-score composer in her own right, and along the way found time to establish her own label, Gerrard Records, with generosity as the driving force. “I wanted to be able to give more to artists signed to my label than I was given when we were on 4AD.” She explains, “That was the idea, but by the time everyone involved grabs a piece of the action, there's really nothing left. I wanted my artists to feel liberated to work on their music and not have to worry about money, you know. I mean when I think about the amount of dough that 4AD made out of us when we had so little... it's kind of criminal!”

Categorising Dead Can Dance's music may be a frustrating task for genreists - and the new album will do nothing to change this – but at it's core, Anastasis is less 'viva la difference' and more about what connects us all across language and cultural barriers. It's a concept album in that sense, and will be performed in full during this tour. “It is important that in concert the work is allowed to tell its whole story. I think it takes on a life of its own that way.” Gerrard explains, “We used a lot of organic instruments on the recording, but touring with a full orchestra wasn't practical. Brendan plays a variety of instruments, and I play my Yangqin and dulcimers... but I think the main detail in our music is the cavernous, 'big sound' that we do. It's very much about creating a landscape of sound when we play live... It's how our music is best enjoyed I think.”

lEIGh5

Mike Scott (The Waterboys) interview: 2012

STORIES FROM THE SEA

Mike Scott is so much the archetypal quirky, poetry-obsessed troubadour, it's as though he was written into being by the very scribes who inspired his love of words. As a young man, the Scottish-born singer made no real distinction between the value of The Beatles or Bob Dylan and the poets CS Lewis and WB Yeats as artists. They simply all wound up in his pot, along with a well-considered fascination with paganism and non-religious spirituality, which resulted in The Waterboys; a band he has remained the sole ongoing member of the 30 years now. Over the course of ten albums, Mike explored in great depth several points of fascination, but arguably none more than the work of poet, William Butler Yeats. To understand the impact of Yeats on Scott's work, you only need delve into a random selection of Waterboys songs. The early 20th century Irish poet's own interests – paganism, the occult - heavily reflect those of Scott's greatest works, so when The Waterboys released an entire album of Yeats' words set to music last year, it was somewhat inevitable. Discussing the album – An Appointment With Mr Yeats - and  the tour, which will include Australia for the first time, Scott from his adopted home (and Yeat's birthplace), Dublin, is finding the concept of embarking on new terrain strange and delightful.
 
“I only have a vague outsiders perspective of Australia, but I do also have a kind of expectation I guess.” He explains, anticipating his impending visit. “I completely expect my preconceptions to be shattered, but that's the exciting thing about travelling to new places.” His band's invitation to bring their Appointment With Mr Yeats show to the Sydney Festival prompted a long-overdue full major cities tour. On the origin of The Waterboys' Yeats project, Scott explains, it was an idea planted within his psyche from a young age. “I knew about Yeats when I was ten or eleven, because my mum was, and still is a university lecturer in English and she would often  mention this Yeats guy, but I didn't start to really focus on him until I was in my teens. At the same time, I was discovering music and the two things were very closely linked for me, and still are.” He recalls, “But I envisioned doing this show as long ago as 1991, so it only took me 21 years to make it a reality.” While developing his style, Scott was not only drawn to the poets his mother lectured about, but also literature on maritime symbolism, faeries and folk music which set his band well apart from many of their British contemporaries in the '80s.

Yet in the post-punk era, The Waterboys managed to remain accessible, however traditional their influences, and even found themselves lumped in with the media-hyped Scottish 'Big Music' scene along with Simple Minds, Big Country and World Party. Big Music was at the time defined simply enough as having 'big, powerful choruses in the vein of U2'. Scott, however was far from interested in contemporary Edinburgh. Preferring instead to split his time between Dublin and New York, environments which inspired his writing as much as any book of verse. “Dublin in the 1908s was such a wonderful place to come home to after being on tour. It's where I wrote a lot of The Waterboys songs and the music for the Yeats poems, but also I've found that New York has had a profound effect on my work. It's this huge melting pot of all the world's music, and is a place where I feel quite creatively unrestrained.” By the time The Waterboys had released their third and most successful album, This Is The Sea in 1985, they had already introduced listeners to Celtic folklore, Native American Indian rites, political scrutiny and pre-religious spirituality. The latter, a topic which has often been widely mis-interpreted by groups claiming Waterboys to be both Christian and heathen, depending on who you ask.

“I never subscribed to any religion. I always found magic to be much more interesting. When I was in my early 20s, I discovered spiritual literature and found there was a much greater depth to non-religious ideas about the world.” The deity Pan, from Greek mythology, is a favourite of Scott's, turning up in a number of songs (The Return Of Pan, The Pan Within), he discusses, “To me Pan represents our connection to one another and to nature. A lot of Christian religion seems to be about escapism, but Pan is a reminder to me that being connected is what's important.” Amongst the magic and mythology, on one occasion Waterboys did weigh-in on then current issues. Old England - an anti-Thatcher statement, put Scott among the many writers to 'turn political' in the '80s. “Well no bands emerged because of Thatcher and her government, but many songwriters were driven by a hatred of her. All I can say is, I wasn't immune.” While his ability with words seemed clear cut to the listener, Scott's signature tune - The Whole Of The Moon - was an admittance of the author's inadequacy, as he saw it, compared with 'the master writers'. CS Lewis is often cited as the song's inspiration, as is 18th century lyricist, Robert Burns. Burns - the Scottish poet, who is credited with  penning the original New Year's party anthem, Auld Lang Syne - was renowned for adapting old folk tales into his 'contemporary' lyrics; a tradition that Scott has carried on.

“I recently wrote my autobiography, and you know... what I found is that I have learned so much from making music and being musician, but it never stops. It's like everything I've written is me working towards something that I only glimpse now and then. I need to read to make me feel like I am living a full life, and writing is less a decision I make – it's more a task really... but I have to do it so I can know what lies ahead.” A lyric from Scott's, A Pagan Place; Drink my soul dry/There is always more – seems to describe a triumphant writer, never in fear of failing in his work. However, Mike points out, autobiographical it isn't. “That should be read as; the more you give, the more you get back. If you're willing to be fearless, you can always give more. I try to live by that rule.”

lEIGh5
 

Blixa Bargeld (Einstürzende Neubauten) interview: 2012

ENGEL OF CONSTRUCTION

Ear, nose and throat specialists everywhere would probably cut off a limb for the chance to examine Blixa Bargeld. Nowhere short of an old miner's club would they find a better study of the long-term effects of industrial noise pollution on the human body. His signature 'inward scream' alone has meant scarring of the larynx and multiple throat nodules are a constant companion. “I have many, many doctors calling me... all the time.” Further more, for the last 32 years, the original 'grinder-man' has been flanked by more eardrum-punishing power tools than most tradies would see in a lifetime as leader of the - quite literally - industrial Berlin group, Einstürzende Neubauten.

Bargeld and his band of racket-mongers are Australia bound for next year's All Tomorrow's Parties festival, and as a former long-term Bad Seed, Blixa, who's services to Mr Cave's ceased in 2003, is keen to get back. “I haven't been to Australia since we (the Bad Seeds) recorded Nocturama, but there was a time when I was there for a few months out of every year.” Bargeld begins via our Skpe conversation, “I can't talk on the phone... I am the same as Nick (Cave) in that regard. If this was a phone interview, it would be over in about 5 minutes, I can promise you that. I love Skype though, I can stay home and still see who I am talking to. In the past I would have to get on a plane and get flown to meet the journalist... that is how much I hate talking on the phone. This is better hmm ...Don't you think?” From his rather cold, clinical office/study room, Blixa Bargeld comes across as a man who has heard it all before, and many times. Bizarre rumours and legendary stories about his band's activities have elevated them to cult icons among fans of industrial, new wave and experimental music. But Bargeld himself is most contented by the fact that there really is no other band like his. “You have heard of this thing called 'google notification', yes?” He asks without waiting for my answer, “Well I find it very amusing to see what context Neubauten is mentioned on the internet.... and it is usually in reviews for albums by bands I have never heard of... 'these guys sound like a cross between Neubauten and some other thing'.... Many bands have been compared to us, but at least I am 'not like anything else' or Neubauten are not 'like' X, Y, Z bands out there.”

It's a fact that Neubauten didn't have any kind of pre-existing blueprint to work from. Their music was devised from a combination of the band member's imaginations and found objects in the form of power tools, shopping trolleys, suspension coils and building site waste. Although Blixa finds it is near impossible to explain how his band found a way to compose cohesive music with no instruments, musical training or influences, he offers, “All I can tell you is, when we make music we always have done so with the idea that you don't think about it, you react to it. You listen and you add to what each person in the band is creating on his own... It was never about artistic decisions. We never decided to get our instruments from building sites, they were the only things we could get our hands on. We had no money for new instruments or any of that sort of thing. You could say that for a band from West Berlin, this way of finding materials to use for music was easy. There was still so much urban decay in the early '80s which became a resource for us when we were starting out. I always thought that it was strange that more bands hadn't thought to do something like what we were doing with so many materials just left to rust.” Blixa speaks passionately about his memory of Berlin as a city divided. In his sector, wreck and ruin were a part of everyday life and whether consciously or not, it influenced his unique form of expression. Einstürzende Neubauten were simply born out of a very human need to create when destruction is seemingly all prevailing. As we talk about his youth spent scavenging in his neighbourhood's many gutted buildings, Blixa occasionally glances out of his window at  Berlin: the 2012 Model.

“I don't recognise this place any more.” He says, deflecting attention from himself. “When the Wall came down it looked as though World War II had only just ended the week before. It's all gentrified now and it is taking its toll on this city. It used to be so much cheaper to live here than most other European cities, and Berlin suddenly became very appealing for the wealthy to move to. It's like being in a brand new city now.” His tone of voice suggests Blixa would be quite happy if the shiny new apartment blocks and multiplexes indeed did collapse, as his band's name - which translates as Collapsed New Buildings - would suggest. It doesn't even feel like a stretch of the imagination to think Neubauten are driven either by love of, or a desire to punish architecture as if its perfect dimensions and stubborn inflexibility is both admirable and an affront to them. Either way, from their debut album Kollaps to 2005 release Anarchitektur, the subject is hard to avoid when browsing their catalogue. Perhaps it is this particular fascination that has fueled the endless wild stories about Neubauten's alleged venue-destroying live shows. Some stories are even true, but reminding Blixa of the often-referenced jack-hammering of Manchester's Hacienda club's ceiling support beams at an early show, has him battle-worn.

“We never had a jack-hammer on stage.” He says sharply. “We had an electric hammer, it is a very different thing. Besides, I still have a video of that show, and I can tell you, that did not happen. Neither I, or anybody in the band tried to drill through the Hacienda ceiling support beams. That story came from (Factory Records honcho) Tony Wilson's autobiography? ...Well you should know autobiography's are always great works of fiction.” Still, the classic image of Neubauten as a group of leather-clad, heroin-eyed noise-terrorists, intent on burrowing through stages rather than actually playing on them, has been hard to shake off. So when Bargeld joined Nick Cave's own band of brutes - The Birthday Party - in 1983, any pre-existing opinions were unlikely to change. More practically though, Blixa's new double role meant for the first time he would analyse his approach to guitar playing, and to performing within the relative confines of a more traditional band set-up.

“Well first of all, if Nick had've asked me to join his band on clarinet, I still would have said 'yes'. But the thing is, I have always looked at the outside techniques of what is considered 'normal' use of an instrument. What is the word in English... when the rabbit runs back and forth....? Zig-zag! This is how I play, using this zig-zag strategy to make music that nobody would expect whatsoever. In The Birthday Party and the Bad Seeds, although the music was very different, I could still play guitar without actually playing it in any conventional way. I approached singing in the exact same manner... If you don't do the 'normal thing', you are free to make discoveries, like finding I could scream while sucking in air to get a much more powerful sound to come out.” Bargeld was by no means a casual member of Nick Cave's band, but his role had diminished considerably following Murder Ballads album in 1995 when the Bad Seeds began to explore their softer side. He finally left in 2003 among rumours that he was annoyed about the direction they had taken.

“There was no quarrel between Nick and I. I left only because of my personal life, I mean I had gotten married and playing in two bands was no longer an option for me. But we are good.... There is no bad blood there.” The 'distraction' from Neubauten resulted in a much more focused Blixa, he admits. “Neubauten would not exist any more if everybody in the band wasn't busy with other things. It helps us to clarify what it is we do as Neubauten, because there are things we can only do within this band... If someone wants to go off and write music for a jeans commercial, then that's fine, but we could never do that as Neubauten.” For a band heavily reliant on improvisation, recording their albums was more a process of rehearsing as if for a live show than trying to get a perfect take. In Einstürzende Neubauten, a successful studio session is when nobody has be told to 'come in on the fourth scream'. “When we are playing together, of course it can sometimes be awful, but then you don't have to release those things. What you need to make a band like ours work is a metre level of communication which is without words. I know some bands who are able to do this well, like Can for instance, who famously improvised most of the time and the results were quite magical I think. They could sound like they were working with arrangements that had been written before, and I'm happy to say that Neubauten, when we are good, are playing like that too. We are improvising in a way that sounds like we have fully composed it beforehand and that is a very, very satisfying way of making music... using pure instinct.” Not surprisingly, in the band's beginning stages, Blixa's lack of any form of musical training was crucial to how he would ultimately function within the band.
 

“I had an idea that music could be anything you wanted it to be. We were very indignant about this because it meant we had no rules to follow. We knew no other way than that way, but then, you can't be involved in making music for as long as I have without learning a lot about how it is made. You can't keep approaching the guitar as if it is the first time you picked it up. I am 54 years old now, I know how to write, I know about music theory... I even have an invalid pass I can use here in Germany for the bus.” He laughs, “Also I had to learn how to produce when we made our first album. Our record company had no money to pay a engineer, and so the guy who owned the studio just showed us what buttons to push and then left. After that if a producer tried to tell me what I could and couldn't do in a studio, I would say well yes I can, I have done it before. Over time these limitations on how to make music in a studio have become silently accepted, but if you don't destroy all these rules you become enslaved by them.” Blixa says, suddenly becoming agitated. “Nobody can tell me how to record music because I have done it in ways a lot of producers wouldn't even dream of,” He adds, “and no doctors can tell me how to use or not use my voice because I have been singing like this for over 30 years, and my voice is still here.” He snorts.

In light of Bargeld's solid grasp of his own capabilities, I wonder if intentionally shocking or frightening of his audience was ever a motivation. It's hard to think not, judging by output like the 1986 collaborative conceptual film Halber Mensch, which saw Neubauten along with Japanese director, Sogo Ishii create a nightmarish, subterranean world where half-human beasties scurried about to the strains of nails-on-blackboard screeches and rattling chains. “No, I think in your more democratic, free speech Western societies, provocation is very outdated concept. I never employed that as an artistic strategy. How people react to our music, is a personal thing for them, it is not something I can control.” However, during their most intense industrial period, Blixa concedes, there was a genuine risk to one's safety coming to an Einstürzende Neubauten show. “There have only been a couple of injuries to people in the audience, but it was always accidental.” He reassures, “I have learned to know when to duck if Andrew (Chudy – percussion) is wielding some huge piece of metal around on stage, but our audience were usually in no danger at all... it was always bouncers that got pissed off with us. They thought we were just trying to destroy the place... they had no clue.” Despite their notoriety, Neubauten faced quite a lot of ignorance over their 'strategies' as Blixa puts it. At a show in America, they were booted off stage after just half hour, once the angle-grinders were wheeled out; and again when opening for U2, they were forced to pull out of their support slot on the massive Zooropa tour for 'causing an affray'.

Their intention however was never to destroy. From Berlin's shattered urban landscape, where work to mend the city was minimal at best, came the sudden, long-absent sound of men building. Neubauten could be seen as an expression of your average Berliner's feelings about their neglected environment and its constant reminder of war. The band grew fast though, and coincidentally or not, changed their approach to music almost overnight following the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989. Blixa discusses. “There was a show we played in a haunted house in Copenhagen, where Andrew climbed up the wall at the back of the stage, and did some let's say, 'architectural improvements' by drilling into the ceiling and removing the decorations that were there, and some people saw that as an attack on their house. As a result of this, Andrew had his electric hammer stolen from our van, which we never were able to recover.” He recalls, “So from that moment on, we never had an electric drill, but we went on to find other ways of making music.” In advance of the band's first show in Australia in many years, Blixa ends our conversation by enforcing the point, Australia's popular live music venues are quite safe, and more than likely to survive his band's visit. “I hope nobody is going to be disappointed, but when they come to see us, there's won't be any fire, or anybody drilling holes in the stage or tearing down the walls... It's going to be some middle-aged men playing what I think is some pretty interesting music... not sawing their arms off or anything like that. If people want to see that, they should go and see Rammstein instead... We are NOT Rammstein!”

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Blixa: enjoying a rare moment of peace and quiet.

Iva Davies (Icehouse) interview: 2012

GEM FROM A GOLDEN AGE 

For Iva Davies, the clichéd mullet and leather jacketed Aus-rocker image was never a good fit for him, even in the 1980s. In fact the Sydney native multi-instrumentalist, while writing future classic singles for his band Flowers (and ultimately Icehouse), was in the late ‘70s, moonlighting as a bow-tied oboist in a symphony orchestra, in order to give himself options. “I was living a real double life back then!” Thankfully, the rock path held greater appeal, and in the coming years, Iva would find himself front and centre of one of the most successful bands in the country, before inexplicably disappearing without a word in the mid-‘90s.

Equally unexpected was the break in Icehouse’s 17 years of inactivity, when in July last year, an unannounced ‘secret’ gig at the Espy was swamped by hundreds of fans who’d turned up in the hope the rumours were in fact true. The huge response soon prompted further dates being booked, and ultimately lead to a tour in celebration of the respective anniversaries of the band’s two biggest albums; Primitive Man and Man Of Colours. Before the so-named Primitive Colours tour hits town, Iva looks back at the songs that made him a household name and tells why he decided make such an understated return.

“Part of the reason we did that show was basically to see if there was still interest in the band. Before that show, I really wasn’t confident at all but when the word got out that the surprise guests were us there were lines around the block, which was a huge relief.” Davies recalls. “It was also quite appealing playing a proper pub gig again. It was a bit of a return to our roots as well.” After Icehouse called it quits in 1995, Davies, holed up in his home studio, threw himself into writing scores for films (Master & Commander), the Sydney Dance Company and a Millennium performance piece called The Ghost of Time, which centred around an updated version of the Icehouse classic, Great Southern Land. For all intents and purpose though, it seemed as if Iva had suddenly turned his back on Icehouse and pop music in general.

“Playing in a band is actually a very gruelling lifestyle.” He reasons, “I’ve always needed to offset all that by grabbing as much quiet time as I can in order to work, which means pulling the phone out of the wall just so I can avoid any distractions. That’s how I’ve always made music; whether that’s pop or film scores.” He adds, “I look at someone like Prince, who I know for a fact had a studio on 24 hour stand-by while he was in Sydney a few months ago, just in case he had an idea for a song but for me, I’ve never been able to stop and start the process at will. It’s a bit of fragile bubble that once broken can never be regained.” His method of music making no matter how isolating resulted in a tonne of credible hits throughout the 1980s. Radio in particular loved Icehouse so much that based on playlists alone, one would have assumed they were the most popular band in the country for a time. Davies’ memory of such support however, is a little less than enthusiastic.
 

Davies: Not just the 'Electric Blue guy.'

“I never wanted to be known as the ‘Electric Blue guy’.” He laughs, distancing himself somewhat from the 1987 single, which was famously a co-write with John Oates (of Hall & Oates). “That song was actually our only number one hit in Australia, but it wasn’t what I thought best represented Icehouse as I saw us. Still it is the song that I get asked about more than any other even to this day.” Electric Blue was in truth far from the band's only moment in the sun. Second album 1984’s Primitive Man, was Icehouse’s first real mover on the local and overseas charts, however label doubt over the finished product’s hit-potential pushed Iva into an unexpectedly rewarding situation. “The American record label, who wanted to push the Primitive Man album, sent us back to the drawing board because they didn’t think we had a big single on there.” He explains, “Basically I ended up sleeping on the floor in Giorgio Moroder’s studio – who was of course this massive disco producer in Hollywood, where we had recorded most of the album – and in the wee hours, using this guitar with a missing string, I wrote Hey Little Girl, which became our first international hit.” The mention of Moroder prompts Davies’ to quickly remind me his allegiance was always to the rock world and that Icehouse were never in real danger of making a disco record.

“Back then, you were very much into one or the other, and I was never a disco fan at all.” He confirms, “Led Zeppelin and T-Rex was what I really was into at the time, although I did like what Moroder was doing with synths and sequencers.” As it happened, it was during the same year Moroder was enjoying success with the uber-cheesey Together In Electric Dreams, that Icehouse delivered what would become their signature single and sure-fire Aus anthem; the haunting Great Southern Land. “That song went through quite a number of changes before it was completed.” Iva recalls, “I remember the producer on that track had just done Billy Idol’s Hot In The City, which was a massive record at the time, and he replaced all of my synth parts with live drums and so on, and basically made it into this big Billy Idol-type production piece, but it was just awful.” He laughs, “But the finished version you know today was basically the untouched demo that had taken me around two hours to mix and complete and it ended up becoming this massive thing that has become our real defining moment. But I really was disconnected with what it was people seemed to love about that song at the time. All I knew was I’d written a song about Australia and if I got it wrong then there was a real potential of it blowing up in my face!”

The simplistic beauty of how Southern Land was ultimately completed indicates a high level of self-belief in Iva’s way of working. While he generally allowed producers and labels their input, trust in his own judgement delivered the best results. Furthermore, while sales and accolades have informed which Icehouse albums are the most loved, In Iva’s own view, 1986 album Measure For Measure was closer to Icehouse’s defining moment. “I’m not necessarily consistent about it, but if pushed I would say that album was the most pivotal for us.” He considers, “It turned out that that album was only the third fully digital recording made ever, but we didn’t know that at the time.” Davies recalls, “How it happened was, a few years before we made it, we met a guy in London called Rhett Davies, who was a penniless roady at the time, but in the space of a few short years he had amassed this warehouse full of amazing gadgets, including a brand new digital multi-track.” Iva continues.

Big Wheel and its floppy attachment.

“As with anything new, there were more happy accidents when recording in digital than there were plans. Having said that, Rhett wasn’t in any way flying blind. This is a guy who had produced all early Roxy Music and Brian Eno albums, and so we were very lucky to be in his company at the start of the whole digital music thing.” After embracing digital recording and the CD in the mid-‘80s, Icehouse were again at the forefront of a burgeoning technology in 1993. The band’s seventh album, Big Wheel was initially packaged with a floppy disc – only the second album in the world to do so – although it would prove to be a much more short-lived diversion, Iva recalls the “bonus floppy” with fondness. “It was actually developed by our keyboardist Tony Llewellyn, who was a real techno-boffin and one of the first people who bought a Macintosh and carried it around in a bag on tour. Once again, I was lucky to be around incredibly clever people, but it was always going to be a risk seeing as technology can be so transient, but it was something nobody else was doing and even though it took a while to fire it up once the disc was inserted, it was a fun little extra to play around with.”

Iva with Flowers; circa 1980

As our interview begins to wind up, the future of Icehouse is only discussed briefly as Iva had revealed earlier in our talk, “I can’t even think about recording or writing when I am preparing for a tour. They exist in two completely different sides of my brain!” He has however been sporadically recording music up until recently for an unfinished project known as Bi-Polar Poems, hinting at a possible further Icehouse album. In the meantime though, Davies is ticking off towns and venues around Australia in one of the band’s most extensive local tours of their career. “Most of the places we are playing this time around will be new to us. I mean take the Espy gig for instance, we had never played that venue before even back in the Flowers days. There was however a whole strip of music venues down that way (St Kilda Esplanade) at the time, one notably called Bananas, which was just tiny and I remember having to walk up about four flights of stairs, carrying all our gear to get to it.” Iva laughs, “We played there a number of times, but by the time the Espy was up and running as a live venue, we had already had a bit of success and were actually able to play bigger venues like Festival Hall.”

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The 'Primitive Colours' tour promo slide.

Iva at the 'surprise' Espy gig, July 2011