Seven Songs To Leave Behind, 2010: (review)

Starring: Sinead O'Connor, John Cale, Me'Shell N'Degeocello, Rickie-Lee Jones, Dan Sultan and The Black Arm Band. 

Venue: The Myer Music Bowl 

 

Tonight the Sidney Myer Music Bowl hosted the finest example of a tribute show possibly ever offered. Several of the world's greatest performers came together for a single mission; to pay respects to some of the world's greatest songs and writers. Prince, Bob Dylan, Bob Marley, Paul Simon and eh, Coolio among others made the lists that the stars of this event hold in highest regard. Categorically, each artist chose seven songs that had impacted on their lives in different ways – plus one compulsory Leonard Cohen cover. The head-spinning mesh of legendary singers and some of music's all-time greatest songs was an overwhelming proposition bought to life by the Melbourne International Arts Festival organisers for an unbeatable finale to their 2010 festivities.

The embarrassment of international talent on display is barely even the beginning of what Seven Songs To Leave Behind had to offer. Most performances tonight are backed by Orchestra Victoria and propped up further by the Black Arm Band Indigenous vocal group, whose contributions to the songs cannot be understated. The inevitable all-in finale feels a long way off as the first performance of the night - Gurrumul Yunupingu absolutely slaying The Surfaris' Wipeout - greets the jam-packed arena. He opens the first bracket of the song categories – the tunes to share – which is continued by the deadly combination of Me'Shell N'Degeocello's voice, bass playing and a lost Prince classic (Pop Life). Providing extra value for her fans, N'Degeocello is rarely off stage tonight as she, quite wonderfully, plays along with many of her co-stars.

Certainly Sinead O'Connor is a huge drawcard here tonight as she's not prone to touring and when ever she does get on a stage, it's usually memorable for reason other than just her singing. The crowd weren't to be disappointed on either front. O'Connor is a woman of many contradictions, and as she bounds on stage in a slinky, sequined dress, tribal jewellery and with bare biker-tattooed arms, it feels like just about anything could happen. Still, I doubt anybody could've predicted L7's Shitlist as her 'song-to-share' or how easily how she blew the place apart with it. Truly great artists can always sing outside of their zones, but seeing Sinead perform this feisty grunge classic, it's clear her zone is almost boundless.

The rest of her covers set later tonight feels closest of all the acts to the artist's heart. Sinead's versions Bob Marley's Natty Ride and Bob Dylan's Serve Somebody are played with such conviction, they're akin to peeking into her private diary. The self-penned section of her catalogue was Catholic-baiting new song, Take Off Your Shoes, and in true Sinead style, was preceded by a speech in which "The Vatican" subtly became "The Vaticunt"! Much like Basil Fawlty, there's enough material there for an entire conference, but O'Connor had some serious rivals for moment-of-the-night, and Rickie-Lee Jones just may have shone the brightest overall.

Jones took the crowd on the wildest ride in respect to her song choices, starting with the gorgeous Sailor Song, before pulling out surprise number one. It was announced at the start of the night Archie Roach had to cancel after suffering a stroke, but Rickie had decided we deserved to hear our beloved Archie none-the-less. Thanks to the smart cookie who recorded all of tonight's rehearsal sessions, an especially moving Jones/Roach duet on Somewhere from West Side Story, was made possible. It was both pure magic, and a dose of 'ball's-in-your-court' to everyone else from Jones. But nothing drives a touching song home more than when it's followed up with some levity, and Jones knew a great what-the-fuck moment is exactly what we needed. Coolio's Gangsta's Paradise apparently serves as her 'song-to-covet' and, complete with orchestral backing and a black beanie, she absolutely pulls it off. Sorry, other legendary artists, but nothing beats a rapping granny.

Dan Sultan and the Black Arm Band bring some local flair back with Sultan generously performing Cohen's If It Be Your Will above the seated section especially for the thousands huddled on the hill. The John Cale set also bought a slew of musical thrills, as if anything else has dominated this jaw-dropping event. His band brought the first rush of rock to the proceedings, working through Cale gems Dirty Ass Rock N' Roll, Pablo Picasso (Never Got Called An Asshole) and Letter From Abroad. The lack of covers in his own set says a lot about the man's musical status as a 'coveted songwriter' in his own stead, yet it's his version of Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah - the only possible choice for the finale - that brings the house down. Cale is naturally joined by tonight's complete line-up following each acts final song to leave behind – the one that paved the road for them. Many had waited for this moment, so when Sinead O'Connor at last delivered Nothing Compares 2 U it was simply heart-stopping.

No one act could claim absolute dominance over the night's unrelenting pleasures. This was more a celebration of those freakish songs that have power beyond even the greatest conduits. Every one of them was delivered with care and passion as though they were fragile artefacts being put on display. One by one the pinch-yourself moments piled up as we were privy to never-to-be-repeated collaborations, seasoned artists throwing caution out of the window and total setlist heaven. Monster tours will continue to come and go in Melbourne and the Arts Festival organisers probably have something equally impressive up their sleeves for next year, but Seven Songs is the one they'll still being talking about years from now.

lEIGh5


SIDNEY MYER MUSIC BOWL SETLISTS: 23/10/10

Wipeout – Gurrumul Yunupingu  
Djarrimirri – Gurrumul Yunupingu  
Pop Life – Meshell Ndegeocello  
Shitlist – Sinead O'Connor  
The Moon Is Made of Gold – Rickie Lee Jones  
Heartbreak Hotel – John Cale  

The Sloganeer – Meshell Ndegeocello  
Chelsea Hotel #2 – Meshell Ndegeocello  
Lola – Meshell Ndegeocello
Look Around – Meshell Ndegeocello  
Crying in Your Beer – Meshell Ndegeocello
 

If It Be Your Will – The Black Arm Band  
Old Fitzroy – Dan Sultan 
Boy In The Bubble – The Black Arm Band 
Bapa – Gurrumul Yunupingu  

Company – Rickie Lee Jones 
Sailor Song – Rickie Lee Jones
Somewhere – Rickie Lee Jones & Archie Roach 
Gangsta's Paradise – Rickie Lee Jones 
One of Us Cannot Be Wrong – Rickie Lee Jones 

Letter From Abroad – John Cale  
Dirty Ass Rock N Roll – John Cale  
Magritte – John Cale  
Fear Is A Man's Best Friend – John Cale 
Pablo Picasso – John Cale 

Fool For You – Sinead O'Connor  
Psalm 33 – Sinead O'Connor 
Natty Ride – Sinead O'Connor  
Serve Somebody – Sinead O'Connor  
Tower of Song – Sinead O'Connor 
Take Off Your Shoes – Sinead O'Connor  

War – Meshell Ndegeocello  
Bayani – Gurrumul Yunupingu  
Swept Away – Shellie Morris  
Last Chance Texaco – Rickie Lee Jones  
Nothing Compares 2 U – Sinead O'Connor  
Hallelujah – John Cale with the full line-up


 

 Sinead O'Connor Shitlist live from Seven Songs

photos by me.
 

Concrete Blonde - 20 Years Of Bloodletting (live in Melbourne, 2010) review

 Venue: The Palace

In the twenty years since Hollywood natives Concrete Blonde released their defining album, Bloodletting, interest in all things vamp has skyrocketed, perhaps loosely benefiting this once nearly forgotten group. The title and content does reference Anne Rice's Vampire Chronicles, true, but the songs on Concrete Blonde's third album were never meant to be taken as literal tales of the freaky un-dead. Addiction and consequence were the songs thinly disguised subtexts – many of which were veiled pleas from the band's singer/bassist Johnette Napolitano to the people closest to her, including the rest of Concrete Blonde. But original drummer Harry Rushakoff and, to a lesser degree, guitarist Jim Mankey's substance abuse basically sunk the band less than four years after Bloodletting broke them out of obscurity.
 

In the last decade a rehabilitated and revived Concrete Blonde delivered the self-reflective 2002 sobered-up sequel to Bloodletting, Group Therapy and found their way out of the haze and put the wasted years behind them. Last year Napolitano paid a fleeting visit to Melbourne to test the waters with a small-ish solo gig and seemed genuinely surprised by the amount of slavering fans turning up she could still lay claim to. The time was right for her long-awaited musical return and both the artist and any fan despairing over Johnette's fellow Californian, seemingly plague proportion pop bitches, felt it at that show.

Napolitano is one of a dying breed of front-persons which has helped to keep her in good stead despite years of relative obscurity. The Concrete Blonde faithful don't waste any time - or volume either - in letting her know how much she's adored tonight at the Palace, as the dirty opening bass chords of Bloodletting's title tack are beaten into our ears. Australia was the first country outside of the US that Concrete Blonde toured, prompted by the album's reception here, and specifically the second single, Joey. It receives no encore placing either, but rather runs straight out of Bloodletting's feedback finish. Joey, like much of Bloodletting, runs at a mid-tempo pace, so the band hurl in a few bigger-sounding rock crowd-pleasers from other albums. Breaking away from Bloodletting - so far in running order - God Is A Bullet, Happy Birthday and True from Concrete Blonde's late '80s period, are especially well received.

Tonight's support band Graveyard Train had been the perfect pre-cursor to Concrete Blonde. The eight-member gothic blues group whipped up a bone-rattling storm that Johnette and co. rode in on, harnessed and wrestled into submission. Continuing their diversion from Bloodletting, the band haul Graveyard Train out from backstage to join them – as a kind of ghostly choir - for a momentous romp through Ghost Of A Texas Ladies' Man . The night was almost stolen by this near-forgotten single from the band's Walking In London album. The thrills were far from behind us though, and as Leonard Cohen's Australian live dates approach, a reminder that if he wants his song, Everybody Knows back from Napolitano, he'll need to pick up his game. Following that, a surprising cover of Hendrix's Little Wing gives guitarist Jim Mankey a chance to indulge himself a little - but not to be outdone, a barefoot Johnette indulges us all with some spirited flamenco dancing during two cuts – Heal It Up and the title track - from Spanish-flavoured album Mexican Moon.

The return to the Bloodletting tracks actually means some lost momentum built up over the side serving of nostalgia, a fact not lost on Johnette as her movements become noticeably exaggerated, including plenty of compensatory eye-bulging and eye-brow raising. The album was always more 'eight-parts-soulful and two-parts-rawk', so the decision to drop its beefiest moments – The Sky Is A Poisonous Garden and The Beast – is a very odd one indeed. The concert felt just a little incomplete from those song's omissions, but the frankly pissed-and-out-of-control audience don't seem to mind, especially once the stand-out sing-a-long moment Tomorrow Wendy begins. Johnette's near-accapella reading of the albums only cover track (it was an Andy Preiboy song) is a seriously powerful end to the set. Concrete Blonde receive a deafeningly raucous hand on their exit which is sustained for a good five minutes before the final encore of It'll Chew You Up And Spit You Out, which again is out of step with the mood built up by Tomorrow Wendy, but is no less a satisfying all-in-rock-out for the group and fans.

Although the running order of the songs needed a rethink, it feels like a triviality when in the presence of Johnette Napolitano, who never once failed to be completely mesmerising. Drummer Gabriel Ramirez and guitarist Jim Mankey made for outstanding accompaniment, but it was Napolitano's show for her sheer authority as a vocalist and bass player. The 20 Years Of Bloodletting tour winds down soon and the demand for them to tour again may never be overwhelming enough but Concrete Blonde proved tonight they are much, much more than just a 20 year old album.
 

lEIGh5

THE PALACE SETLIST: 22/10/10

BLOODLETTING 

JOEY

I DON'T NEED A HERO

DAYS AND DAYS

LULLABYE

SCENE OF A PERFECT CRIME

GHOST OF A TEXAS LADIES MAN

SOMEDAY

EVERYBODY KNOWS

CAROLINE

WHEN I WAS A FOOL

GOD IS A BULLET

RUN RUN RUN

LITTLE WING

HEAL IT UP

YOUR HAUNTED HEAD

MEXICAN MOON

HAPPY BIRTHDAY

TRUE

TOMORROW WENDY

BEDS ARE BURNING

IT'LL CHEW YOU UP AND SPIT YOU OUT

Photos by myself and Fruitbat

Rufus Wainwright performs All Days Are Nights: Songs For Lulu live (review)

Venue: The Palais, Melbourne. 24/10/10

In the time it takes many artists to work out what they want to do/say with their music to leave a decent mark, Rufus Wainwright crammed practically a lifetime's work. His un-relenting recording/tour schedule over the last decade, it has been suggested, is the result of the ethic bestowed upon him by his doting mother, Kate McGarrigle. At 14 Wainwright first performed with his legendary (in folk circles) mother and her sister Anna as part of the family's regular jaunts around Canada and America. These concerts, incorporating lengthy sing-a-longs to everything from Kate and Anna McGarrigle originals to depression-era anthems, helped build young Rufus into a confident 'old-hand' with an appreciation of his musical history. The importance of his mother's influence can't be underplayed when appreciating Wainwright as a performer in his own right, and so her death at the start of this year has obviously impacted greatly on his current stage show.

Rufus's solo return to Australia – his first visit since January 2008 – comes straight off the back of the Wainwright-penned opera, Prima Donna, which also seems to have had an influence on his concert presentation. The first indication that this was not going be your regular-type live show was the request for absolute silence during the first act – the current album All Days Are Nights: Songs For Lulu in complete form – and no applause between songs or until Mr Wainwright has completely left the stage. Sounds easy enough in theory, but over the course of the show a bizarre tension builds in the capacity crowd. The room suddenly falls silent as the curtain raises and we are faced with an almost completely blackened stage bar one spotlight above a baby grand piano positioned on the far right. A few gasps can be heard as a barely visible figure slowly emerges from the left and pads slowly and silently across the stage. In the darkness, a long flowing black garment with a shoulder bustle takes shape as our eyes adjust to the low light; then with cat-like grace, Rufus lowers himself onto the piano stool and elegantly and tilts his face towards the spotlight. He freezes with hands poised above the keyboard and the whole place draws its breath as one.

Before a note is even played, the sombre mood is set for this recital and all that's left to do is maintain the composure Rufus has requested of his us. He performs Who Are You New York? – the album's opener – and stops only briefly between songs until the final track, Zebulon. For the most part, we sit in a kind of outward silence as our minds fill with imagery and impressions of what we are witnessing. The most rewarding part of sustained silence, in any case, is an exaggerated awareness and with All Days Are Nights being such a personal and difficult album – both technically and conceptually – the emotions start to run high. The fruity, Judy Garland-singing Rufus we knew so recently, appears now as the cloaked apparition of some deceased opera singer, doomed to perform for muted, passive theatregoers. Of course transforming himself this way is all part of the recovery process of losing his mother, but it's also an exercise in restraint and the want for his audience, to not only see the live concert experience as a way to forget about trivialities but perhaps to re-think what we call trivial and what we take for granted.

Even Wainwright's positioning on stage seems significant after a while as the backdrop gradually fills up with mournful, heavily made-up eyes blankly staring out into the auditorium. He's made himself into a spectral, barely visible figure and turned the gaze onto us, effectively reversing the standard performer/audience roles. The melancholy tunes, many of which are derived from Shakespeare sonnets, are some of Wainwright's most demanding, from a listener's point of view, as well for him to perform. He has created with Songs For Lulu an exhaustive regime of classical pieces basically designed to torture the artist's concentration level and force audiences onto the edge of their seats. I would like to say he made it look easy, but Rufus demonstrates through this act the extremely high standard he sets himself – again a by-product of his mother's influence at a young age. And then there's that voice – Wainwright's instantly identifiable nasal/croak which - when described, sounds far better to the ears than on paper - riding over the octave scale in implausible fluidity. Also it's rare for him to dig into its lowest register, but tonight many a long guttural note punctuates the air in between those operatic highs.

At the end of act one, Rufus exits just as he entered – a shuffling ghostly figure, oblivious to the packed room barely restraining themselves from applauding until he is completely gone from view. The curtain falls and Wainwright's devotees erupt with gratitude, relieved to finally break their imposed silence. The next act is a much more relaxed, 'hits-and-favourites' set – with the comfort of welcomed applause and friendly banter thrown in. When Wainwright re-emerges, he's clad in orange tights and a pink scarf, while the crying eyes have been replaced with a deep, red sunset sky. He fairly skips onto the stage grinning and all memory of the first act has been unceremoniously eradicated. However the audience are not so quick to be distracted and now await Rufus's word on whether to applaud after some awkward silences between songs and comical stories of his adventures in Australia. Stunned as we were, I note that one benefit from act one's vocal workout is the ease at which Rufus sings his more familiar pieces. It was his best Hallelujah, his loveliest Art Teacher and his finest Poses, all thanks to Lulu and her demands on his voice.

This tour will no doubt become his most heavily criticised work – after all it was an extremely self-indulgent move, but fuck it, give me that kind of drama and theatrical pomp over wilting wallflowers or sulky indie boys any day. Wainwright has always been about the biggest wow and cockiest strut, so it stands to reason that this sad time in his life has bought out a no less extreme side to him. It may take him a long time from now to feel it himself, but from a watcher's view point, the man is totally and utterly fearless.

lEIGh5


PALAIS SET LIST: 24/10/10

ACT I:

WHO ARE YOU NEW YORK?

SAD WITH WHAT I HAVE

MARTHA

GIVE ME WHAT I WANT AND GIVE IT TO ME NOW

TRUE LOVES

SONNET #43

SONNET #20

SONNET #10

THE DREAM

WHAT WOULD I EVER DO WITH A ROSE

LES FEUX D'ARTIFICE T'APPELLENT
ZEBULON

ACT II:

BEAUTY MARK

NOBODY'S OFF THE HOOK

MATINEE IDOL

MEMPHIS SKYLINE

ART TEACHER

COMPLAINTE DE LA BUTTE

HALLELUJAH

VIBRATE

DINNER AT EIGHT

CIGARETTES AND CHOCOLATE MILK

POSES

GOING TO A TOWN

THE WALKING SONG

Manic Street Preachers - Postcards From A Young Man (review)

MANIC STREET PREACHERS
Postcards From A Young Man
(Sony)

Before its release even, the latest Manic Street Preachers album was heralded with a kind of surrender entirely out of character with the band; "Last Chance To Get Our Message Out There" was the cry from within – and what could that possibly mean for an act eleven albums old, and seemingly cursed and weighed down by misfortune and unpopular viewpoints? Were they surrendering or posing a threat? If they truly are considering a break-up, their detractors can at last say 'saw that coming years ago', but this possible last chapter in the Manics story will in no way be a bitter one for fans, who can comfortably celebrate Postcards... as one of the band's strongest albums in their 24 year career.

The Manics have survived against some pretty big odds all along. Missing-presumed-dead members, songs built around socialist meanderings and obscure literary references, (surely enough to drive many a  rock fan away?) but mostly a lack of broad, consistent interest. The Manics could easily be saddled with a 'glory or death' tag, but their refusal to be defeated even in some pretty glory-free times means either incredible unity within their ranks or sheer stubbornness has kept their fire burning. Which ever is true, I'd back them over a frothing Beta Band, a rearing Catatonia or a six-legged Super Furry Animal any day.

The Welsh trio have remained largely unchanged musically since first injecting their melancholy punk anthems with a little stadium pomp on 1996 classic, Everything Must Go, but subsequent releases often struggled to match that album's rich offerings. All but the hardcores probably shrugged at the band's post millennium releases, which up until last year's outstanding Journal For Plague Lovers, were met with little acclaim, but Postcards From A Young Man is a vital sounding push to the front of a once disappearing line, and the sound of a band mad at themselves for resting too long on their laurels.

All of the regulation MSP fare is still present in 2010; the history book rifling, communist values, Britain in crisis etc… but these touchstones are delivered on Postcards without any of the awkwardness of the sometimes over-wordy early records. Confidence reigns and, although orchestras and choirs feature throughout this album, a lot of the excess fat found on such releases as 2000's Know Your Enemy, for example has been shed. You can almost hear the conversation between Bradfield, Wire and Moore as they embarked on their 'last chance' effort, which probably concluded with a remark close to 'never mind the bollocks, let's just make the album we've always wanted to'. Whatever thoughts they indeed had, this band knows its true strengths and unabashedly plunders them for all they're worth. The title track for starters is almost a cobbling together of the 'old' and the 'new' Manics' sound, acting as an awareness-metre of how much they have grown musically over 24 years. It also tidily announces the album's concept - the artist's present selves weighing up the value of progress against their past selves' quaint existences.

Being a Manics record, of course they're cranky about mindless consumption over elementary pursuits - and they've never written more clearly on the subject. Take A Billion Balconies Facing The Sun for example – guest bassist Duff McKagan (ex-Guns 'N' Roses) adds some fat 'n' heavy licks to Bradfield's no-nonsense rail against online bullying. It's worth noting that McKagan's presence, along with other guests Ian McCulloch (Echo & The Bunnymen) and John Cale, is down to a few Manics' childhood dreams being fulfilled. If you'd ever wondered who they count among their heroes, (Stephen Hawking was busy), there's the top three. Ian McCulloch's duet on Some Kind Of Nothingness – actually the dark twin of Kylie Minogue's Some Kind Of Bliss, which the Manics wrote for her - is celebratory, but one of the less impressive moments overall, in spite of the tricked out full choir backing. Cale meanwhile is more impressive on the Radiohead-esque, Auto-Intoxication, adding keys and 'non-descript noise' to this track about being slaves to the world wide web.

The album's powerful rock 'n' prose single, Its Not War (Just The End Of Love) – a paean to the media-driven divide between East and West - and All We Make Is Entertainment are probably the ripest fruits on offer overall. But following run of (what would be) easy choice singles - take your pick of Hazelton Avenue, Golden Platitudes, The Descent - the album hits you with a kicker of a finale - the beautifully titled Don't Be Evil, which makes me want to praise and damn them for the same reasons. There they go, being all articulate and irritatingly correct about lost humility through online social networking, the old grumps. But damn them if they aren't right on the money with this, and damned if any band's who've actually sprung up in the internet age could nail this topic so accurately and awesomely as the Manics have. Not satisfied with this triumph alone, it also happens to be one of the best rock songs of the year.

Yes, there is a vague, unsurprising concept running through Postcards From A Young Man, but it never feels whiny or self-important. As much as it is an album concerned with our increasing reliance on the virtual/digital world, it equally mourns the lost art of tactile communication and by proxy, the band themselves have whole heart-idly reconnected with their audience.

lEIGh5

"Postcards From A Young Man" video.

Sean Moore (Manic Street Preachers) interview (2010)

COMBAT ROCK

Manic Street Preachers could've been willfully obscure as their often confronting topics are on Postcards From A Young Man – their tenth album in 24 years. Yet their cold-hard tales of degenerative diseases, sold-out Britain and virtual-world obsession are instead served up with some sweet cock-rock riffing, big choruses and an orchestra. Initially these Welsh communist glam-punks were a reaction to mindless stadium rock – and not much has changed in that regard – but what better way to mock your enemy than to become them - with a knowing wink? Their strength has always lied in their understanding of the importance art plays in critiquing humanity, yet they are also a rock band and nowhere near as "Preachy" as the name might suggest. Instead these childhood friends, James Dean Bradfield, Nicky Wire and Sean Moore, now in their 40s, continue forging a quiet battle against accepting the status quo.

Another minor change within the band's ranks is the promotion of their latest album, which has been unusually high for the Manics - as their loyal fanbase like to call them. Much of their post-millennium output has suffered largely from a growing indifference towards the Socialist rockers, but it seems they are determined that Postcards From A Young Man won't suffer the same fate. It's been 11 years since the trio toured Australia, but providing further evidence of a Manics resurgence, a long over-due reconnection with the anitpodes was planned. Anticipation for both band and fans is naturaloly high, but as I chat to drummer/trumpet/player-cum-co-writer Sean Moore pre-tour, it soon becomes clear that anticipation for him can be a killer. Backstage at BBC studios, pre-warm up for the Manic Street Preachers' appearance on Later With Jools Holland, Moore sounds worried, "It's Holland's 250th show, so it's supposedly going to be a big one." He begins, while drawing a sharp breath, "I just saw Phil Collins in the hall and Klaxons are here…" He pauses as there's a knock on his dressing room door. "I better get that… It's okay, it's only my breakfast!" Moore doesn't like doing live TV, and the arrival of his first meal of the day is of greater relief than usual. "Sorry, I was expecting to be hauled out to do rehearsal then," he says with a nervous laugh. "I do find live television extremely nerve-racking. I've never been able to just slip into 'performer-Sean' mode. I'm always teetering on edge, and it either goes one way or the other. Hopefully we won't fall off on this occasion though.

As it's a landmark show for Jools Holland, he's pulled out all the stops and employed a full choir and string section to back the Manics umpteenth showcase. The new album is after all a heavily layered set, bursting with anthemic numbers, largely devoid of introspection. It has been described by the group's bassist and writer Nicky Wire as "their last shot at getting on the radio" following the quite modest reactions to the group's previous three albums. However, the Manics have never really sat very easily on radio playlists; If You Tolerate This, Your Children Will Be Next was as close to radio-friendly as they came, and so a battle plan was drawn up to get their message out to as many listeners as possible by dressing up their already solid tunes, and calling in some help from their peers. "We asked Ian McCulloch, John Cale and Duff McKagan to play on the album because we're fulfilling a lot of our boyhood dreams this time around," Sean states. "Echo & The Bunnymen was the first gig we all went to see, and my first album I ever bought was actually Porcupine." He says, brightening up. Arguably, the antithesis of the Manics on their angsty debut was misogynistic himbos, Guns 'N' Roses, which makes the appearance of ex-Gunner's bassist Duff McKagan on A Billion Balconies Facing The Sun seem all the more strange. Sean responds.

"In a way, you're right, but at the same time Guns 'N' Roses introduced James and Richey to rock music," he reasons, "Whereas Nick was more into Rush, for me AC/DC was about as heavy as it got." He laughs. "We met Duff when he presented us with an award and we reciprocated our appreciation by asking him to play bass on one of our songs. Turns out he's right into what we do as well, surprisingly." Ian McCulloch duet-ing, John Cale playing piano and a Gunner could all easily be seen as unduly ambitious, but the album was designed to be a sharp turn away from 2009's Journal For Plague Lovers and its bleak outpourings. Comparing the recording of Postcards… with Journal For Plague Lovers, Sean is very clear. "This album and Journal... are basically Jekyll and Hyde," he confirms. "Recording Postcards… was quite easy by comparison. We had our objective and we stayed put until that was seen through, whereas Plague Lovers was a collection of Richey's final lyrics that we painstakingly built music around and it became a kind of Holy Bible part 2." In 2008, an official verdict of 'deceased' was finally reached after the 1995 disappearance of Richey Edwards - the Manic's troubled guitarist/songwriter. His wise but often gut-wrenching lyrics were always the starting point of every one of the band's albums, making him a kind of thematic guide which the band then followed. 1994's The Holy Bible - The last album Edwards made with the band before vanishing - was also their most disturbing and most successful. 2009's Journal For Plague Lovers being an actual sequal to Holy Bible, meant that the latest album would have the task of following the last words of Richey Edwards - a man who for many fans was the true genius in the band. Sean discusses.

"We were quite aware of following up that album with something much brighter, as we did when we released Everything Must Go." (in 1996 - their first non-Richey album - and a total career-saver). We did two or three albums of that nature – heavy, Richey albums - but you just can't do that every time. If we did, I don't think I'd be speaking to you now," Sean says ominously. "The record-buying public don't want to hear that, and we have always said that we want to be heard by as many people as possible because we feel we have something worthwhile to say." Reactions to Manic Street Preachers entire canon of work are, in many ways, typical. There are those who yell 'sell-out' at anything but the band's purest angst period – Generation Terrorists, The Holy Bible – however the post-Richey following still see the band's passion as firmly intact. Sean considers the widely varying perceptions.

"I agree that we have a divided audience, but I don't believe we have released anything we didn't wholly believe in," he continues. "We always need something to react against to even begin to get our creative juices flowing and if we ain't got that, we don't do anything particularly well." All Manics albums are angry at something; their debut, Generation Terrorists (1991), was the truest example of a punk record released in many years. The band, dressed head-to-toe in glam-rock regalia, dug their heels deep into their own generation's apathy (all while resembling a bad '80s metal group). So began the wild ride of album upon album spiked with wake-up calls or ripping in to the cold truths on all manner of subjects, with a particular lean towards human rights injustices in and outside of the developed world. A few mis-fires and failed attempts were clocked up along the way, yet, unlike U2 for example, the Manics never made the mistake of patronising their fans; they have always presumed the listener to be curious, informed, or wishing to be challenged. However, Sean understands, the songs don't always translate. "You know, I wouldn't want to be in a band making music that meant nothing to people, and I get that people don't always see the meaning in our songs, but when they do it feels like we've achieved something." Moore explains, "I don't make any apology if that's not the case, but it would be quite boring for us if we made it too easy or over simplified it." He adds, "We were criticised for being too flamboyant in the past, and for having overly wordy songs, but sometimes I think you need music that goes that bit further than just rocking out."

The beauty of the Manics is you can invest in the often intricate song meanings as many fans would want, but engaging with the well-defined passion of their delivery is a rich enough reward in itself. James Dean Bradfield has one of the strongest voices in music, plus the trio have never allowed a gigantic, memorable hook pass them by. Sean explains, "The way we see it, you have to make the music as accessible as possible especially with this album (Postcards…) because Journal… was a lot more edgy, or less musically direct." Sean adds, "We are guilty of being a bit obscure at times, but we wanted this album to rise up out of that." Postcard From A Young Man is nothing if not direct. It takes hold from the very first listen with all the strength of a greatest hits CD. Yet within is a loose, but prevalent theme of longing for simpler times, or at least criticism of the crap-tastic 'world of purchase power' we find ourselves in. Sean discusses.

It's Not War (Just The End Of Love) on Later With Jools Holland

"The title refers to more tactile forms of communication which have all but been replaced by things like e-mail. It's very easy to gain information about a person, but any kind of personal touch is fading away rapidly." The cover image features actor Tim Roth (Lie To Me, Reservoir Dogs) shirtless, his face mostly obscured as he takes a Polaroid picture. The dated photo summarises beautifully the tactile world to which Sean refers - Roth as he was 20-odd years ago embracing a long-lost artefact. Moore continues, "It's just something that harks back to when we were young, I suppose, when you had to sort of maintain and care for the condition of a record or a photo. Now digital images and mp3s are forever frozen in a kind of stable perfection, and none of these things have a chance to wear." He sighs, "But we still like the strange beauty of seeing tangible objects gradually fray at the edges."

Manic Street Preachers can claim a roaring return with Postcards From A Young Man. If their wish to 'get back on the radio' comes true, the album's first single (It's Not War) Just The End Of Love - a commentary on Russia and America's forever damaged ties despite the Cold War ending years ago – would be a delicious prospect. Yes, they are willingly living in the past on this album, and their paranoia of an Orwellian future seems as dated as the idea of 'infiltrating the mainstream'. But the Manics' greatest drive is that there's still room in popular music for renegades, and share their fan's hope that that's something which will never fall out of fashion.

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In the weeks before the Manics Melbourne concert, I was invited onto local community station JoyFM to do a two hour special on the band just playing faves and talking a bit about the group in between songs. The program was called "Raise Your Flag", a kind of all-things-punk weekly show... Funny thing is, we got complaints that the music wasn't suited to the theme of the program! What do you think, reader?

Manic Street Preachers "Raise Your Flag" playlist

The Bedroom Philosopher interview (2010)

ON THE RIGHT TRACK

Melbourne Music's 2010 calendar is all about getting some pretty fresh ideas up and out there all in the name of nurturing our local talent. Events ranging from an awards ceremony for independent bands, to live street performances and stage musicals will run all throughout the city. Literally moving amongst the festivities, for his Live On The Tracks tram performance, will be none other than Justin Heazlewood's side-splitting alter-ego, The Bedroom Philosopher fresh off his Songs From The 86 Tram tour. He and his band of mis-fits known as The Awkwardstra will be emerging from the bedroom to share their particular brand of philosophy with Melbourne's commuters on board the 86, 96, 112 and City Circle trams at the request of Metlink and Yarra Trams.

Before Justin packs his guitar, public transport meanderings and gold-plated Myki and heads off to the station, he discusses iPods, private loos, dead chooks and owning his new tag. "I guess I turned myself into the poster-boy for public transport, so it seems logical I'd get the call to do this." Justin shrugs. "I was the obvious choice, wasn't I?" He adds cheekily. "Also I think Melbourne really needed another festival, things were getting a bit dull around the place, so it's nice that people will finally have something to do for a change."

Comparing live music venues to trams is a long stretch, but Justin happily runs with the notion. "I see it as a bit like The Tote crossed with a rollercoaster," he smiles. "People seem to be able to source alcohol pretty easily and it's got pretty good opening hours. The only downside is I won't be getting a curtained off area or private toilet, alas." Justin adds. "Also I'm gonna have to get used to people leaving during the gig, without taking it personally. My hope is that people find it so utterly captivating that they stay on board all the way to Bundoora." It's here that Justin prompts a possible concern that he'll in effect be competing with the scourge of public transport – the iPod army. So what plans does he have to distract his audience from their world of mp3 entertainment? "I was thinking maybe everyone could download my album to their iPod's and listen to it while I mime. I think that'd be quite a good post-modern gesture." He giggles. "Also because each track on the album corresponds to the suburbs the tram travels to, it'd be great if those actual characters from the songs get on the tram at the right intervals creating a kind of living film clip." The city tram is of course a haven for budding musicians in search of a captive audience – the singing driver has struck on many a visit in my own travels, not to mention the odd overzealous busker down the back. So what, I wonder, are Justin's thoughts on impromptu Awkwardstra wannabes? "Actually I'm really looking forward to the Smith Street leg of the journey – there's always the chance some dude with a harmonica might jump in, but in reality, we're a pretty reserved bunch in Australia." He pauses. "Whenever anything slightly unusual happens on a tram people tend to bury their faces in their books, so I hope that the good old combination of comedy and music will help ease some of that tension."



Justin, in standard Bedroom Philosopher mode, continues on a sharp witted analogy most commuters could surely identify with. "I think tram travel as like a detention for adults." He muses. "For ten minutes you have to sit in this room with other people you don't know and think about what you've done that day. I'm not saying it's a bad thing really, I mean they're pretty safe places to be when you think about it. It's not as if someone's gonna go nuts and hi-jack the tram and go for a joyride to Canberra." He adds in a mock aggressors tone; "We taking over this tram – we're going to Bundoora and then to docklands and then back to Bundoora again… And we're gonna keep going back and forth until our demands are met!"

Only at this point is there even a hint Justin's about to crack himself up. To get back on track, he bullshits masterfully about a cinema great that never was. "Did you know the original draft of Speed was set in Australia on a runaway tram?" He adds casually, "Only the bomb was set to go off if the tram went over five kph." He further reveals, "The psychopath was going to be played by Yahoo Serious, with Bill Hunter and Georgie Parker as the protagonists." Apart from re-casting trashy half-imagined films, through his recent single and video Northcote (So Hungover), Justin essentially revealed how he likes to spend his time on a long tram trip -  by casting himself as the as a tragic hipster making his way home from the "Fitzroy Anti-social Club". I question where his well honed fly-on-a-wall interest stems from. "I just find people watching endlessly fascinating - which is probably a bit creepy - but I wouldn't have written half the material I had if it weren't for many years absorbing people on a daily basis." He adds. "I see the trams as a kind of free theatre and as an artist it's a really good resource to tap in to. Plus you get to hear the best stories." He recalls. "One I heard that sticks in my mind was about a woman who apparently got on board with a live chicken and the driver said she couldn't bring a live animal on the tram, and so thought about it for a sec, and just broke it's neck!"

People watching can be a hazardous activity. I'm sure most of us have played a rousing game of 'trying-not-to-get-noticed-by-the-crazed-drunk-bloke', but Justin claims, despite his cracking commentary on Songs From The 86 Tram, he's not there to judge. "The thing is I am wary of becoming this retro bohemian looking down from his ivory tower, but the tram is a really equalizing arena I think. People kind of use the space for their own purpose in a way, whether it's to tell their life story to a stranger or break a chook's neck, everyone's on even ground I suppose." He adds thoughtfully, "I guess I am guilty of using it to my advantage as an observer and songwriter but its all relative really." Melbourne's trams certainly are fertile places for the imagination whether you're faced with little stimulus or grabs of overlapping conversations and colourful behaviour. If you're along for the ride, you'll find yourself among the company of slumbering/observing/participating/judging commuters not unlike yourself. Justin, naturally enough has a final philosophy on the topic. "I think it's important to remember, you can never really know a man until you've sat a mile on his tram line."  


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Lior interview (2010)

COMING OUT OF THE DARK

Sydney artist Lior's move to Melbourne last year and 12 month stint spent re-tailoring his song-writer's suit have resulted a glorious third album, Tumbling Into The Dawn. He's reconnected with his band following his hugely popular solo Shadows & Light tour, and is set to take his new - still proudly independent - set to the masses.

Lior's well rested now that his 'brand' has legs and work means more music-making than publicity. His debut album Autumn Flow and follow-up Corner Of An Endless Road won him global praise, and his latest offering is set to continue that seamless record. Perhaps a less grueling schedule is the reason, but a blossoming optimism is undeniably present on Tumbling Towards The Dawn. Lior describes. "I think there was quite a bit of melancholy about the last album, but I'd say this one's pretty bitter-sweet rather than being overly optimistic. A lot of my songs are about everyday struggle, but I think this album is more direct and less about mood. I wanted to make the songs jump out and speak for themselves rather than hide their emotions." Making album number three, Lior claims he felt a green-light to 'take it easy'.

"You know, this is my third album, so it was time to try new things and there was a feeling of 'okay, I don't have to prove myself anymore – I've gotten past the second album test'. I know a lot more about the recording process, I've become a better songwriter over the years and I allowed myself to have that bit extra confidence this time around." He continues. "Also I guess the first two albums were made during a pretty manic five years, so at the end of the last tour I kind of took a load of time off and tried to challenge myself as a song writer again, and the result of that is an album that moves around quite a bit more I think." Lior took his rest seriously before decided on where to go on album number three. He continues. "I isolated myself as much as possible because I've discovered it takes my mind about two days to fully switch into a creative zone." He explains, "In terms of why the album jumps around stylistically, I was really just trying to avoid repeating myself too much." For this album, Lior's new approach brought with it a few changes in behaviour behind the scenes. He describes. "I wrote most of the album on piano, whereas I'd always used my guitar in the past, so that really forced me to make everything I was writing have a stronger melody. Guitar lets you have a lot more subtlety, and I wanted to get away from that sort of, smaller sound."

Lior's songs, This Old Love, Daniel and I'll Forget You have become his signature tunes over time. Their common thread is memorable simplicity with the slightest of musical backing, in the vein of Damien Rice. He makes the point. "I identify as a singer mostly - that's my main instrument, along with song-writing, but I'm a musician lastly because I'm much more confident singing and writing than playing anything." He laughs. "I much prefer to surround myself with musicians who can play their instruments well rather than trying to do everything myself, because that frees me up to just be a vocalist which is what I enjoy most." He adds. "What always drew me to music was the art of song writing. I spend most of my time on lyrics and really only play guitar or piano to build the basic track around what I'm writing." He continues. "It's an obsession for me to write, but I think it has to be if you want to get better at it." What often resonates with Lior's fans are his clearly defined stories of the relatable moments that make up life. When I point out to him, he never allows himself to get 'too morose' or too 'celebratory' he responds. "I think it's a reflection of my personality, the whole yin and yang thing resonates a lot with me. It wouldn't feel right to do a completely dark record or a sickly sweet one." He says. "When I started singing and playing guitar, I automatically had this fantasy world unfold before me and I could make any situation happen in a song, and always thought it's too easy to just go with extremes, like all bleak or all joyful – life just isn't like that."

It's notable that Lior, despite his rapid rise to fame was never pushed by a label. In fact he readily admits that he 'made it up as he went along', and only in hindsight realises his obscene good luck. "I wasn't the savviest bloke growing up, I never knew at all how to go about making a career in music. It was only much later when I wanted to get my first album that I realised I was just going to have to learn to do it myself." He adds. "Offers to sign to labels came in pretty quick once I was featured on Triple J and that, but the appeal was lost on me because I already a profile and people turning up to my shows, so I couldn't see what they could offer me that I didn't already have, except for maybe a big budget video featuring me being fired out of a cannon." He laughs. "Having said that, being fired out of a cannon is still one of my main goals."

Last year, Lior embellished his live shows with a shadow-play performance designed by artists Stephen Mushin and Anna Parry. Visual representations of his songs were created on a grand scale for the Shadows & Light tour. But does the project have a future? "I kind of feel like moving onto something else now, but there is talk of doing a tour with some of the orchestras next year and if that happens, I'd be inclined to get that happening again." He continues a little non-plussed. "Although having a visual side to the concerts is great and everything, but I'm not really fussed about laser lights and explosions to be honest. I think that can be seen as an insecurity, like saying the music's not good enough to stand on its own, and I better have something else happening to keep people's attention."

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Suzanne Vega interview (2010)

New York native Suzanne Vega, after 26 years of capturing the gritty tales of her city across seven albums, has re-emerged with a series of acoustic offerings of familiar stories. The four planned releases (two of which are completed) revisit Vega's character-driven narratives carefully catalogued into four overall themes; Love Songs, People & Places, States Of Being and Songs Of Family. Drawing music from her debut self-titled album right through to 2007's Beauty & Crime, Vega's turn away from simply releasing studio-polished tunes follows years of on-tour re-shaping of her hits including; Marlene On The Wall, Luka and Tom's Diner. 

The project follows her divorce from producer, Mitchell Froom, who's two Vega albums where her heaviest in terms of layered noise. Could this 'unplugging' be seen as Suzanne reclaiming her songs from stifling production? Vega – the straight-talking New Yorker – is pragmatic in her response.  "No, this is just how I've been performing a lot of these songs live for a long time now, so it feels right to actually get them recorded in that way." The first two volumes capture love and witness songs, with the "darker stuff" to come on volumes three and four. "Blood Makes Noise and songs of that ilk will be on the next volume." Vega assures. As for what prompts Vega to get as dark, as she does on Blood Makes Noise – a song that recounts the imagined agony of a hypochondriac, she offers. "Well I've always thought, Suzanne, you've gotta have a Morrissey song you know!" She laughs. 

A lot of fans where introduced to Vega's music through her break-through single, Luka. Many will recall the storyteller warming to an abused child living in her apartment building, and note the beginning of a run of frequently confronting tales from the singer. Its Vega's fascinations with these less flattering sides to human nature have perhaps kept her out of the mainstream. "Oh I know that's the truth." She smiles, "Certain subjects just make people uncomfortable, I know but the song writers I've always loved are the ones who can go really dark. Leonard Cohen, Lou Reed, Bob Dylan – those guys go dark as anyone could want." Suzanne explains, "I try and write about what I want to hear, and if you're trying to cover the full spectrum of human experiences, you can't just ignore what's uncomfortable, it makes no sense to me."

"But you know, I kind of set the (re-interpretations series) albums apart for that reason." She continues. "You've got the love songs one because sometimes you just wanna hear that. You don't wanna know about blood and all that other stuff." She laughs, "But then a song like Caramel, which is a pretty straight forward love song, still gets a lot of different reactions from people." Caramel is doubtlessly a love song, but also one packed with warnings. It describes love as an addiction, and one the author is willing to overlook any bad effects from. Suzanne continues. "I'm a pretty fearless person, I'll tackle anything in a song, and that means confronting myself and being honest about what my own experiences have taught me. I'm not saying everything is about me, in fact a lot of what I write, as you've pointed out, is in the third person. I get other journalists saying, 'you're songs are always so personal, why is that?', so you've picked up on the other side of my writing." She informs me, "The truth is I switch back and forth, which I think comes from when I was younger, I liked the idea of pretending to be other people." Suzanne adds, "I've always disliked the more confessional songs, so I struggle to stay within my own headspace when I'm telling these stories." Suzanne allows herself a quick name-drop to illustrate her point. "I had the opportunity to sit with Leonard Cohen and have breakfast with him, and I remember saying to him, 'you tell the truth in your songs, how do you bare your soul so easily?' and he told me 'you tell the truth, you lie, or you do whatever you have to do to make the song work.'" Vega laughs at the memory. "Of course, he was right. Pretending to be someone else is a lie, but sometimes it's practically the only way I can write. I, as a songwriter have to be the journalist, the censor, or the book and other times I can just be me."

Leonard Cohen makes it sound so easy, but Vega knows he's a tireless slave to his work. "Oh brother, and he wrestles for ages over one or two lines, but that's what makes him so good at his craft." She adds. "I get that struggle too you know, I think that's why my career has lasted so long, because I spend years trying to finish songs." The pending second volume of Vega's re-interpretations CDs – People & Places features a new rendering of her classic 'being-someone-else' tale, Tom's Diner. Aside from earning her legions of fans on its release, the a-capella poem also made the establishment of the same name an icon of New York City. Seinfeld fans will have seen the diner in just about every episode of the program, as it's where the characters always met for lunch and hatched their bizarre schemes. "People used to come from all over and go there because of my song initially, but then Seinfeld kinda made it doubly famous." Suzanne laughs, "I don't know if anyone really thinks of it as 'Tom's Diner' anymore because they changed its name for the show, but for a time at least I can say I put it on the map." 

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"Tom's Diner" - also known to Seinfeld fans.

Click to watch:

SUZANNE VEGA - "Blood Makes Noise" video

SUZANNE VEGA - " Caramel" video