The Slowfoot Label & Snorkel

interview with Frank Byng & Ben Cowen
text & interview by Paul Hawkins

Snorkel (promo photo)

Paul Hawkins talks with Slowfoot label men Frank Byng and Ben Cowen. Frank is a member of Snorkel, a percussionist and producer and runs the label with Jeremy Wood. Ben is one half of electro outfit 7 Hurtz who released two albums on the Output label. He recently toured with The Sparks doing their visuals, and like Frank, is closely associated with the Slowfoot label as a member of Snorkel and of Charles Stuart`s live band.

We talked about the roots and the journey of the small, perfectly formed south London based Slowfoot label. Slowfoot nurtures, explores and releases music that blurs the boundaries between popular and experimental music. Frank and Ben talked about the labels humble birth right up to its flourishing incarnation in 2007. We also chewed over the influence that Snorkel, an avant-whatever collective exploring the nether regions between the groove and free improvisation, has on the label. Snorkel have their début album Glass Darkly released by Slowfoot in early 2008. -Paul Hawkins

PH: Frank, so where did it all start? The Slowfoot story?
FB: Hhhmmmm, OK, I was part of Charley Marlowe, along with Piers Faccini and Francesca Beard. I met Piers through 129 (Jeremy Wood - Slowfoot artist, producer and MC) and I bought Lucas Suarez into the equation on guitar. We were a culty underground band, played gigs and wanted to release an EP. We had a few near misses with some labels, and decided we would release it ourselves. The this could be you EP was released in 2001. We had no experience of releasing music before and unfortunately Piers decided to leave for a solo career just after it was released, so we ended up with an attic full of CD`s.

PH: Shit, that's bad timing, where did you record back then?
FB: That EP was recorded in my bedroom, it was later we moved to a studio in Bermondsey. So we recorded drums in the toilet, that sort of thing. It was a shame Charley Marlowe stalled, Piers wanted to move on to new stuff. I think he became impatient with our slow progress. He has done really well since as a solo artist and recorded his second album with producer JP Plunier out in America.

PH: And then what happened?
FB: Well, a little while later, Oren Marshall approached me. We had re-released his album Time Spent At Traffic Lights, in 2003 in fact. I first met Oren in 1995 or 96 out in Ghana when I had gone out there to study music. I was studying with The Pan African Orchestra, Oren was playing with a trio as well and was also collaborating with The Pan African Orchestra. They released an album on the Real World label, it was brilliant concept. A 36 piece orchestra playing traditional African music.

PH: And what was happening with Slowfoot then?
FB: Well, we had 3 or 4 projects on the go and we moved to the studio in Bermondsey. Charles Stuart`s album was started around then in my bedroom. Oren asked if we would re-release his album, which we did, and released another album of his, Introduction To The Story Of Spedy Sponda. It was good to have somebody else's music to work on, a refreshing change. Good to use it as a platform to learn more about running a label. We released that album in 2004.

PH: Ben, did you know Frank back then?
BC: Yes, we go back a fair way.

PH: You were releasing music as 7 Hurtz then ? ( they released two albums for the Output label; Electroleum and Audiophilliac)
BC: Yeah
FB: Anyhow, we put out the re-release, with no fuss. Spedy Sponda was then released.

PH: How did sales go?
FB: Well, Spedy is our best seller which is not bad for an avant garde tuba album. We got a press agent for that one, I have always been in awe of Oren as a musician. He has played with everyone, and when it was released there was buzz - when is Oren releasing his album? ....that kind of thing....

PH: So that helped everyone out, releasing that album?
FB: Yeah, it helped the label and we learnt stuff, and it gave us confidence. The Times called it the best avant garde tuba album to be released that year. In the meantime we were trying to put the finishing touches to the Charles Stuart album.

PH: Yeah, in fact I was talking with Charles before the Slowfoot label gig at The Spitz , he was saying the album was finished for a while, and it just wasn't released there and then.
FB: Yeah, there was a few factors involved...............Charles got kind of caught up in the Oren Marshall and Robert Logan release schedule and the work we put into those. It took him a while to get a live band together and its great that it has finally seen the light of day. I think it sounds great!

PH: It is a beautiful album, the production is so good
FB: Yeah, we put a lot of time into that

PH: Ben, did you play on that release?
BC: No, I didn't, but I do play as part of his live band now.
FB: Charles and I met at college, he joined a performance group I was part of, he got on the piano and I thought.... wow! I was saved.

PH: Charles talked a lot about that in an interview I did with him a few weeks ago. I guess Cognessence, Robert Logan`s album, was next?
FB: That album came about through an old friend of mine, Ivor Guest, who is a producer who had been working with a viola player who was teaching Robert piano. She mentioned him to Ivor, and said that he should go and hear his music. He was blown away and wanted to help him. Ivor discussed it with me and suggested it might be nice to release Roberts album on Slowfoot, rather than a label like Warp, a quiet release, you know? We whittled an album down from 80 or so electronic tracks. Robert had composed loads of songs since he was 11 in his shed or bedroom. Ivor was producing Grace Jones at the time and he pulled Robert in to do some work with her and he collaborated alongside Brian Eno on a film soundtrack.

PH: I have only recently got into Cognessence, it has been a bit of a slow burner. So he has already worked with some very impressive artists, how old is he?
FB: He is nineteen now, and has had some great experiences. He has clear headed talent and is very adept at coming up with the goods. I really enjoy playing drums for him, he just keeps churning out really interesting music. Not sure he knows how to cook an egg mind you.

PH: So, how does Slowfoot go about getting the word out about gigs, news and releases?
FB: Well, we have a press agent, a guy called Jim Johnstone, who has been great. We work with him, adding to what he does. He does a lot of work for the Norwegian Rune Grammafon label.

PH: Yeah, I am familiar with that label
FB: They do some great stuff, electronic jazz crossover stuff. I run a lot of the Slowfoot emailing side of things too.

PH: Does that take up a lot of time?
FB: Yeah, a hell of a lot of time! I have had to learn how to do that really, I am not naturally prone to big up and push my own material, it works ok though.

PH: Jeremy, (129 and Slowfoot label man), was unfortunately not able to make it today. He runs the label with Frank.
FB: Jeremy and I go back a long way, we played together in our first band, when we were at university together, a stoned mess called Lunatic Picnic (laughs)......we cut our teeth with that band, Jeremy introduced me to Eno, Laswell, that kind of stuff. We listened to a lot of stuff then.
PH: What music were you into at that time Frank?
FB: Well, The Stranglers, The Damned, the post punk stuff and then Gong, of course, and the hippy student trail vibe. Jeremy got me into Soft Machine. Still one of my favourite groups of all time. We checked the whole Bill Laswell New York scene, he was bringing so many different styles together. Laswell opened the doors to all that for me; funk, improv, jazz, drum and bass. Not all of it is good, but the ethic of bringing together those varied styles I think lives on in what we do at Slowfoot. Jeremy has a career in Fine Art, he teaches and works on installation projects. So he deals with all the artwork side of the label.

Snorkel (cover art)

PH: The artwork is really nice on the releases, a lot of thought and work has gone into it. He writes music as well, doesn't he?
FB: Jeremy plays under the name of 129. He has an album on the way, its quite a surprising record. He suddenly emerged to me as a vocalist/lyricyst. He does stuff, keeps it quiet and then presents it, I was like (laughing) "fucking hell, did you do that?"

PH: A Slowfoot release then?
FB: Yeah, its got a hip hop feel to it, and a 80`s electro feel, along with an Eno-ness and probably a release for next year.

PH: And Jeremy also plays with you in Snorkel, how did that band start then?
FB: After I had met Oren in Ghana, later on we got together in a rehearsal studio in Peckham to play, to jam. That was me, Oren, guitarist Lucas Suarez, bass player Nikko Grosz as well as melodica/clavinet- player Dean Brodrick and a saxophonist called John Telfor.

PH: When was this then?
FB: Back in 1996 playing in rehearsal spaces, exploring the notion of improvisation. We did a few gigs, and our first one with Ben was, Ben, do you remember where?
BC: Yeah, I do, it was way back in 1996 in a £4 million penthouse, a luscious Tower Bridge flat. Before the owner moved in they had a hat show, an exhibition sort of thing and we kind of sound-tracked the event.
FB: I remember it now, so that was your first Snorkel gig?

PH: And at the Spitz last night, a lot of the Slowfoot Posse all came together in one room.
FB: Yeah, we did gather together at the gig last night. Jeremy being the notable absentee. So Snorkel just ticked along. I am the only key central member, the current line-up started about a couple of years ago?
BC: Yes, that's right, we had the idea to just play, and see what happens.

PH: Is Snorkel a departure from what you were doing in 7 Hurtz then?
BC: Errmm, yeah, it is a lot different. 7 hurtz is more of a studio based scene, writing in the studio. Snorkel is live improvisation and recording that, listening back, trying to fathom out what it is, what music we have made.
FB: We got together, and we brought in Tom Marriott on trombone.

PH: Yeah, he was on fire last night, the icing on the cake I thought. He made things leap out and was really vibrant, there was a hell of a lot going on last night at the gig
FB: We feel the same, there is a lot going on live with Snorkel.


PH: The bottom end notes via Oren`s tuba were sounding really good.
FB: Yeah, there is a lot to do with the space or spaces we play in, insofar as how much we can listen to each other. Last night there were some frequencies flying around and, well, you think.....is that supposed to be there?........
BC: We tried different things when it came to recording.
FB: But we recorded the band, a 5 piece (Ben, Frank, Lucas, Tom and Charles), which was different to the line up last night, we did some warehouse gigs and it felt good. Then we went to a studio in Willesden, with Antonio - one of the most eccentric engineers I have ever worked with. We completely filled his studio with the aroma of weed, and played non-stop for 3 days. It was fucking cold, and at times we couldn't hear a lot of what was going on really. Out of this a fighting spirit came out, you know? We had to come out of there with an album. The band went through the tapes, editing and restoring some parts added a few overdubs.
BC: That is the thing with improvising, when we play in a smaller space, we have more clarity of sound, we can usually hear far more rehearsing, you know? Its more organic in how it comes together. Recording is a little forced, with headphones, it did come out really well, when there were times we felt it was falling apart.

PH: Which is the nature of the improv beast?
FB: It was like the gig last night, when you play songs, say with Charles, you all know your parts and you play them. When we do Snorkel, there isn't that kind of backbone to fall back on, the professionalism then allows you to get through it, when we feed off each other and the audience.

PH: Sounds like the space you play in becomes another instrument, doesn't it?
FB: Well that's right. I love all the squeaky bonk electronic improv stuff, you know, having to find spaces within the sound. I love all that. And we don't all like the same music of course!

PH: Its cool how you can keep all these different projects together.
FB: The label is basically Jeremy and I. Ben Clarke left at the beginning of the year. We realised that we didn't really know what we were doing on a business level really. We needed to sort out these different projects, get the music done really and tie up the loose ends.

Snorkel (promo)

PH: Yeah, the pop industry artists always reminds me of hundreds of tins of value 7p cans of baked beans, and the real good shit, the top notch organic Whole Earth beans are labels such as yourselves, whose primary drive is to create innovative music, regardless of the business plan and projected sales figures, buying on tour fees and ringtone revenue. The industry has its business plans, but its music is mostly shite.
FB: Well, we try to be true to ourselves, our music isn't for everyone.

PH: So what's cooking at Slowfoot?
FB: We have an album by Crackle going out soon, that's Nick Doyne-Ditmas and I . He currently plays in Shape Moreton and with Charles Hayward, that album should be coming out October time. We have a vinyl Robert Logan EP finished and soon to be released. Jeremy and I have a project called Invisibles, which takes us back to doing computer based stuff with samples, we have an Invisibles EP coming up, with Ben, 129, Charles, they are on it. There is plenty going on.

PH: Cool, looking forward to hearing those.
FB: I could talk for hours on this.............

PH: Lets stop for a fag shall we?(Sated with nicotine, outdoor sunshine, and lime and soda we reconvened to talk some more about Snorkel.)

PH: So we were talking about the dynamics of Snorkel, how you work together.
BC: Well, there is nothing set, so we cant really change stuff, there is no structure there, we don't have a set theme, like in jazz, where you have a theme you play around. We have to think of textures to blend.
FB: We do have a few tunes we can drag out, which are there as props if things dry up, or need a kick start.

PH: Is it tiring, the improvising?
FB: It is demanding, you have to have your wits about you all the time, listening. I was worn out last night, but my brain was buzzing.

PH: Have you ever thought of providing the music to an improvised play, a performance?
FB: Now that would be great to do, you know I have a friend who asked me if I would like her to turn up wearing a Burka and just walk around when we played.
BC: Yeah, that would be good.
FB: It would, I like the idea of that, whatever her idea is, I mean, I have no idea what she means when she suggests that, what it would be like.

PH What, in just a Burka?
FB: (shrugs shoulders) I don't know..................(smiling)

PH: I have done some projects using improvised music and movement, it can be a really empowering way to express yourself, as individuals and as a group of people.
FB: Yeah....

PH: There is something that is deeply spiritual about music which is difficult to ignore. So I want to come and see Snorkel and a Burka later this year. Will you be doing some gigs outside of London?
FB: Well, we go back up to Coventry next month and we hope to do more and more gigs, all over..............Oren plays a lot around the world, we would like to do that too.

**********************

We call it a day and switch off the mini disc player. Frank picks up the tab and we go our separate ways. The Slowfoot label is releasing some more very cool electronic timbre tones and rumble ringing soon. Albums that will cause involuntary limb shudder at beautifully inappropriate moments.

Check out all their artists, gigs, releases and more at Slowfoot.
Many thanks to Frank Byng and Ben Cowen. Best wishes to Jeremy Wood ,who couldn't make the interview.

Undertaken with zero stress and a fistful of liquorice papers by Paul Hawkins.

See Links Below:
Slowfoot
Snorkel
7 Hurtz

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Ghost Club Live

@ Bar Bodega
(Wellington, New Zealand) 4 January 2008
by Jim Ebenhoh

Ghost Club (promo photo)

“Made a New Year’s resolution…to try and stay alive…” This timely but rather pathetic kernel of hope from the song “Subterranean” came wrapped in a walloping firestorm of high-energy desperation known as Ghost Club, who graced the shores of Wellington as part of a four-city New Zealand tour to kick off 2008. With former New Zealand legends David Mitchell (Exploding Budgies, Goblin Mix, Plagal Grind, 3Ds, Chug) on guitar, Denise Roughan (Look Blue Go Purple, 3Ds, Renderers) on bass and drums, and Jim Abbott (no known pre-affiliations) on drums and bass, Ghost Club has been based in the UK for over 10 years, releasing the albums “Ghostclubbing” in 2001 on Flying Nun and “Suicide Train” in 2006 on Hellsquad/Flying Nun. Both albums range from full-on sonic assault to tunes with more of a “pop” sensibility, evoking some of the off-kilter genius of the tunes like “Summer Stone” and “Ritual Tragick” that Mitchell penned for the 3Ds.

I found 2006’s show at the inexplicably named and somewhat soulless San Francisco Bath House to be a bit flat, but this year Ghost Club pulled out all the stops for a rip-roaring fiesta at the more intimate and legendary Bar Bodega. David Mitchell, who still manages to produce intricate depraved pointillist masterpieces (see tour poster below) despite being nearly blind, doesn’t even bother with his eyeglasses while playing guitar anymore. This suits his playing style; rather than lovingly stroking and focusing bedroom eyes on his guitar like fellow NZer Shayne Carter, Mitchell seems to engage in fierce hand-to-hand combat with his instrument – spanking, thrashing, throwing and banging it around, as well as torturing it with injections from a deadly array of foot pedals and inducing wails of feedback through forced copulation with his angry amplifiers. Enablers Denise and Jim watch voyeuristically while providing a chunky, choppy accompaniment that tethers David to some sort of structure. Denise’s basswork is comfortable and solid, honed through her years in the 3Ds, and Jim’s forte is bashing away on the skins, but they each hold their own even when switching instruments, as they did halfway through the set.

Tour Poster

With only one acoustic 7” single (recorded in 1996 when Ghost Club was a David/Denise two-piece) and two albums’ worth of recorded material, the live set was full of familiar highlights, mostly from the most recent album. Its leadoff rager “Sea-Shaped Stone” kicked off the set, followed soon by the aforementioned holiday-appropriate slow-burner “Subterranean,” which featured Denise on co-vocals. A nice surprise was hearing “Above the Slaughter,” an almost pretty tune (putting aside the lyrics) from David’s acoustic side-project Leather Apron (10” vinyl on Long Lost Music, also containing an acoustic version of “Subterranean). The scorching title track “Suicide Train” sent the crowd off the rails, with David and Denise almost shouting over each other to express their unique perspective from this blistering doom machine. “Mother London” paid angry tribute to the group’s new home, and “La Maree” provided another melodic side to the evening’s proceedings. Only a few songs from “Ghostclubbing” surfaced, which I think included the standout rockout “Punch (your brother),” and one punter’s request was fulfilled with “Unterwasser Fotos.” At least a couple new songs were unleashed onto the appreciate crowd, and there may have been a cover along the way (or maybe it was just a newly-minted classic that sounded so good it was hard to believe it hadn’t been written before).

Word is that Denise and Jim are planning a move back to New Zealand later this year, while David will stay in the UK. This probably means the end to Ghost Club as we know it. So keep your fingers crossed for an upcoming tour to your part of the world, and in the meantime grab a slab of recorded goodness from the Ghosties, available via http://www.ghostclub.co.uk/. -Jim Ebenhoh

Links:
Ghost Club
Bar Bodega

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Best of 2007

Best Shows of 2007

Damo Suzuki Network (with Bardo Pond) @ The Rotunda (Philly, PA) 10/2007 Major Stars @ The Milkway (Jamaica Plane, MA) 6/2007
Shinsuke @ Big Jar Books (Philly, PA) 6/2007

Acid Mothers Guru @ Johnny Brenda’s (Fishtown, Philly) 9/2007

Empty Shapes & Ugh God @ 700 Club (Wilmington, Delaware) 12/2007

Acid Mothers Guru, Bardo Pond & Friends Jam @ the Lemure Abode (Fishtown, PA) 9/2007

Photo Band, Caterpillar & Brother JT Johnny Brenda's & M Room (Fishtown, PA) 12/28/2007

MV/EE @ Big Jar Books (Philly, PA) 11/2007

Best Albums
Bottomless Pit: Hammer of the Gods (Comedy Minus One)
Dead C: Future Artists (BaDaBing)
Kinski: Down Below is Chaos (Sub Pop)
Animal Collective: Strawberry Jam (Domino)
Future Rapper: A Land of a Thousand Rappers Vol. 1 (Asthmatic Kitty)
The Underpainting: (S/T) (Catbird Records)
Soul Junk: 1959 (Quiver Society)
Origami Arktika: Trollenbotn (Silber Records)
The Places: Songs For Creeps (High Plane Sigh)
Low: Drums & Guns (Sub Pop)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Tara Jane O'Neil Interview

conducted via e-mail
text and photos: Dan Cohoon
artwork : Tara Jane O'neil

TJO @ Satyricon (2000) Portland, Oregon
Photo: Dan Cohoon

Tara Jane O’Neil was a member of Rodan, one of the most important bands that the early 1990’s produced. Tagged unfairly as the children of Slint, this Louisville, KY band, while exploring the same quiet then loud territory of their predecessors, Rodan was making music that was far more complex and multifaceted. Tara, being the sole female member, added some subtlety to all the over the top male aggression. When she left the band she went on to explore the quieter end of the musical expression in Sonra Pine and Retsin. In her solo work she started using delay pedals to make striking & austere sound-scapes for her vocals and guitar to inhabit. Her music is complex and subtle, stunning in its starkness and beauty. -Dan Cohoon

Dan Cohoon: Let's start at the beginning. Tell me about the history of Rodan. How did you meet those guys? Were you involved in any other projects prior to Rodan?
Tara Jane O’Neil: We met somewhere in the suburbs of Louisville. It was easy to identify like minded folks then. We stuck out like sore thumbs.

DC: Rodan: Rusty was my Led Zeppelin in high school. It was the first CD I listened to when I woke up and the first one I listened to when I got home. Did you have any albums that had a profound effect on you when you were growing up?
TJO: Jefferson Airplane, Joni Mitchell, Prince, Leonard Cohen, local hardcore bands, Joy Division, Velvet Underground, Patti Smith, stuff like that, can’t even remember all the smaller groups.

DC: How were you introduced to underground music?
TJO: I listened to a lot of psychedelic music in high school and this led me to a lifestyle that didn’t quite fit into my parents’ world. Finding shows and loitering teenagers is what saved me. Finding underground stuff on tape or at shows was pretty easy once you got started. There were maybe two venues for stuff like that in Louisville, and then a few house parties.

Artwork: TJO

DC: It seems that Jason with the Rachel's and you with your solo work have moved away from extremely aggressive music (although Jason still explores it with RMSN). What do you think led you to explore the mellower end of the sonic palette?
TJO: I've always liked quiet music. I like space and sustain. I like songs and textures. I like fast and loud and jagged stuff. I like music without edges. I like Philip Glass and Laurie Anderson and Brian Eno. I like Yellow Swans and Deerhoof and Merzbow. I play a lot of music that’s harsh and noisy and improvised; that stuff never gets recorded or released. But there is a musical balance happening in my life. I just end up recording and releasing quieter, song based stuff.

DC: How does your solo work differ from the work you did with Retsin and Sonora Pine? Are there any overarching themes in all your work?
TJO: It's all different. Every new record is different. Every band different, I have had a similar sonic vision quest the whole time. Now I'm changing a bit. Can’t wait to see what happens…

DC: How is Portland different from other cities you lived in? What do you like and hate about Stumptown?
TJO: It’s kind of a fusion of other cities I’ve lived in. I can hide out and keep my living pretty cheap, like in Louisville, and I can go see a good movie or art show or music show, or play with some awesome people from time to time, more like New York. There's a bunch of queers out here too, kind of living the life we want to. That’s pretty unusual I think. I like the progressive bubble that Portland is. I like my musical and artistic community. I don’t like the growing homogenization, boutique culture, and rising rent prices.

DC: In your solo work you make use of loops and effect pedals. What is your set-up like? What challenges and opportunities does this set-up provide?
TJO: I use loops as a kind of improvised jam thing. Sometimes I use them for texture within a song, but really it’s like I’m playing something off the cuff with another person. The boomerang I use is more esoteric than scientific and I just have to kind of play with it as it decides how it’s going to play. When I do solo stuff this is a great chance to get loose and pretend that I’m playing with other people. The challenge is that I have to resist the temptation to just do a whole set of loops and forget the songs stuff. Or maybe I don’t.

DC: On TKO you moved towards a more electronic exploration. With You Sound, Reflect you moved back to more acoustic-based sound manipulation. What caused you to move back from the more electronic sound?
TJO: TJOTKO was an experiment. It was fun. I used elements of that on the You Sound record, and live arrangements.
DC: How did your sound evolve from You, Sound, Reflect to In Circles?
TJO: Not sure. I think I wanted to strip things down a bit. I think I did.

DC: You are also a visual artist. Do you have a formal art background? Do you have similar themes in your visual art and your music?
TJO: I’ve been making drawings and paintings since I was a teenager. I didn’t go to school. I illustrated some books of poetry for Cynthia Nelson back when I was a baby. Done a lot of art shows and have one book out and another on the way. [and here is the plug for that, Wings.Strings.Meridians. (a blighted bestiary) comes out November 2007 on Yeti Publishing. It’s 96 color pages of images and there is a 15 song CD included with live looping, discovery demos of your favorite songs and other ephemera]. It’s all coming from the same place, the art and the music. I’m just some kind of processor. Different themes are more suited to visual expression than musical expression. It’s a fine line.

Artwork: TJO

DC: What does the future hold for you? Are you involved in any other projects besides your solo work? TJO: [Doing an] art book, releasing some instrumental music I’ve done for film, finishing some collaborations with friends, starting a good time band, hopefully going out in the spring to do some art and music shows, art show in Istanbul, Japan tour 2008, continuing my career as hired and un-hired gun for friends’ bands.

TJO @ Satyricon (2000) Portland, Oregon
photo: Dan Cohoon

DC: One magical night at the Blackbird in Portland, Oregon you serenaded me personally. Do you always pick the biggest dork in the crowd to sing to? It was simultaneously the most amazing thing, and terrifying thing that have ever happened to me.
TJO: Takes a dork to know a dork

Links:
Tara Jane O'Neil
Touch & Go
MySpace

The Dead C (live)

@ The City Gallery (Wellington, New Zealand)

Words: Jim Ebenhoh

Photography: Stephen Clover

Dead C Montage (photo: Stephen Clover)

After about eight weeks of having my parents in town, I was starting to scrape the bottom of the barrel in terms of fun things to do with them. Not wanting to have to resort to a daytrip to Owlcatraz or a leap-of-faith night venture like the free but unbearable Barbara Morgenstern concert, I was looking for something tried-and-true yet preferably affordable to a civil servant and impoverished recent retirees. So when I came across the flyer advertising “The Dead C: a free event” for 31 March at the City Gallery, I thought, “Natch!” What could be more affordable than FREE, and what could be more time-tested family unification therapy than simultaneous eardrum-bursting at the hands of New Zealand’s most revered noise merchants?

Dead C Poster (art work by Michael Morley)

Actually, the truth was I wasn’t sure whether my parents would like the Dead C. They’re both pretty open-minded people, and my mom seemed to enjoy the Dog-Faced Hermans and God Is My Co-Pilot concert I took her to during my college’s Parents’ Weekend in 1993, but I still acknowledged that this would probably be a stretch for them. I just couldn’t miss a free performance by the Dead C, who very rarely play in New Zealand and even less frequently venture overseas. Despite living in the country for six of the past 12 years, I hadn’t seen them play (or heard of them playing) since their gig at the Wharf Hotel in Dunedin in February 1995. That was my first week in New Zealand, and I was fortunate enough to see this outfit plus Gate and A Handful of Dust for $5, amongst cheap jugs of Speights beer and the gauzy waft of clove cigarettes, patchouli, other incendiary herbs, and old wool sweaters. While I don’t remember much about the sonic landscape of that evening other than it was rugged and expansive, I recall a feeling of elation at being where I was. My spirits were only slightly dampened by the fact that my attempt to make this event a “first date” with a young woman I had set my sights on had been met with a confused no-thank-you (note: we later married, but this required a first date of The Clean and the Verlaines, whom she still enjoys far more than the Dead C and their ilk).

Michael Morley (photo: Stephen Clover)

Anyhoo, this recent concert in Wellington was brought to the City Gallery by wunderkind Amy Howden-Chapman to complement an equally challenging exhibition of works by emerging New Zealand modern artists, called “Prospect 2007”. Apparently Michael Morley (of Dead C and Gate) is one of these artists. His radiating shards of psychedelia incorporated in “Midnight Cowboy” and “The Lost Weekend” (pictured on the flyer) and his primitive rendering of a needle on a turntable (entitled “There Is No One What Will Take Care of You” in reference to the Palace Bros lament) were accompanied by other artists’ works such as a crocheted barbecue, photos of sheep in shit-stained but colourful wool sweaters, a video of quarrelling medieval musicians, multiple pinhole cameras based in a giant wooden reclining figure eight, and a video of young Maori Aucklanders arguing whether 50-Cent or Eazy-E was the best rapper in the world.

Bruce Russell (photo: Stephen Clover)

It was within this rarefied hipster milieu that Thought Creature kicked off the evening’s aural festivities with a herky-jerky, frantic but persistent pulse that drew people to the second floor balcony to peer down at the ruckus, and others to congregate in front of the nonexistent stage in the ground floor lobby. A couple folks even danced. I hadn’t heard of this band before, but they weren’t too shabby.

Robbie Yeats (photo: Stephen Clover)

After a lengthy break following Thought Creature, allowing more time to absorb the deeper meaning of cling-wrap “waterfalls”, I began to hear what sounded like very large speakers suffering a seriously unpleasant trip to the dentist. I knew what this meant and hurried to the second floor railing to peer down at the perpetrators. Yes, it was indeed Messiers Michael Morley, Robbie Yeats, and Bruce Russell of the Dead C. No spring chickens anymore, they wore their nascent decrepitude with a sort of rumpled dignity that almost brought tears to the eye. Stage left: Michael Morley, with trademark black thick-rimmed glasses, mumpsy cheeks, frizzy grey/black hair, and guitar. Stage right: Bruce Russell, with signature oversized t-shirt, cultivated mead-gut, droopy pants struggling to find an ass to cling to, short-cropped grey hair, and a collection of amps and monitors with a guitar for playing them. Centre stage: Robbie Yeats, looking like a sunburnt South Island shepherd, with thinning curly reddish hair, sad but friendly eyes, a bottle of Mac’s Gold, and a wiry frame hunched over a vastly simplified drum kit.

Michael Morley & Robbie Yeats (photo: Stephen Clover)

There was little if any on-stage banter, and only a few times during the 90-odd minute set did the music stop long enough for the audience to applaud the previous “song,” but this worked just fine. What we got instead of rehearsed off-the-cuff witticisms were lengthy sonic explorations that were pretty darn transcendental. More than one person just closed their eyes for a while and let it wash over them. This was especially rewarding during the drumless periods, when Morley’s distorted chords and Russell’s orchestrated feedback swelled to form a shimmering, pulsating wall of sound. When Yeats’ syncopated bass and snare drums entered, it seemed to become the melody or lead voice, and I found myself visually and aurally drawn to the passion and power coming from the wizened figure at centre stage. Morley’s occasional monotone moaning served more as a background anchor like a bass guitar than a lead vocal. Due to the not-unexpected high volume and Morley’s understated utterings, the lyrics were pretty indecipherable. This, and my incomplete knowledge of the Dead C’s recorded catalogue, led me to believe that their compositions were either (1) unrehearsed improvisations, (2) pieces from albums I’m not familiar with, or (3) vastly reworked and unrecognizable versions of songs I do know. Maybe it was a combination of all three, and someone more in the know who was there can shed some light. I definitely didn’t hear “Miiiigghhhhtyyyyyy” or “Bad Politics, Baby!” through the sonic morass. But I’m not complaining.

My parents didn’t complain either, though halfway through they informed me that they were “stepping outside” to “get some fresh air.” I suspect it wasn’t completely their cuppa tea, but they were cheery enough when I emerged into the sparkling night of Civic Square. I was cheery too. The show had ended with roars of approval from the 100+ attendees, Robbie flashing an aw-shucks grin, Bruce waving and bowing like the one-man symphony orchestra he is, and Michael reservedly nodding before offering a battered suitcase full of vinyl and CDs to a smattering of money-wielding aficionados. Cheap bastards like me slipped away with smiles on our faces. I felt like I had attended some sort of “be-in” led by sonic spiritual gurus and like-minded soulmates, and I guess I had. The music was a generation removed from my parents’ experience of similar events, but they recognized the blissy glow and reckoned they had seen something that meant something to me. Group hugs ensued (not really), and we rested our weary eardrums for another day.

Links:
The Dead C
Ba Da Bing Records
City Gallery

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Alastair Galbraith Interview

conducted via e-mail
photography & interview by Dan Cohoon
Alastair Galbraith has been making beautiful and harsh music (sometimes at the same time) for almost a quarter century. He has the ability to transform the mundane into the magical. He took a memory of a terrifying bag pipe concert (His grand mother told him that the bag pipes would cause his blood to boil; poor Alastair believed her) and made the wondrous “Screaming E.”

Alastair Galbraith @ The Middle East (Cambridge, MA) 1996
photo: Dan Cohoon

Over the years Alastair has worked with what seems like every musician on the South Island of New Zealand (and a few from the North). From his earliest collaborations with The Rip started with his school yard chum Robbie Muir, to his later collaborations with the brothers Jefferies on various projects, also with his noise workout with Bruce Russell in Handful of Dust and later as a solo artist, he has made music that is deeply felt. It has been rumored that Bruce Russell started the Xpressway label just so he could release Alastair’s work (for that I am eternally grateful).

Alastair Galbraith now is a proud poppa. Table of the Elements will be re-releasing four of his solo albums. He continues to make music and collaborate with musicians in New Zealand and across the globe. From the first time I heard Alastair Galbraith’s South Island drawl across static-y college radio airwaves I have been entranced by his music. I am very happy that Alastair took the time to answer my questions. –Dan Cohoon (June 2006)

Dan Cohoon: What is your earliest and/or most powerful musical memory? What kind of music did your family listen to growing up?
AG: My earliest memory of becoming aware of the quality of sounds was playing with the tone control on my parents' radiogram, spending hours adding and subtracting bass and treble. But my mother recently told me that when I was less than one year old traveling in the car (in the days before baby car restraints) I would struggle to escape from her arms and would not stop till I had one ear resting on top of the gear-stick! My father just got used to changing gears with me there!

As soon as she told me this I recalled the sensation of doing it; I'd have the most detailed mental journey-pictures produced by the variations in the vibrations, and I saw the hills in terms of accelerating noise! My mother played classical music on an old upright piano and I loved sitting right against it while she played, feeling the music going through my body. I also remember going to an unfamiliar house and asking if they had a washing machine I could listen to.

DC: What do you think it is about Dunedin, New Zealand that caused it to produce so much great music and artists? What was the scene like (if there was any) when you started? How has it changed? Is there still a sense of community there?
AG: Once upon a time I felt like that - that there was almost a glut of talent at the one time and place, co-operative and friendly, a party community, because pubs closed at 11 so you went to people's houses for parties. Gigs started at 8, finished at 11--same two bands Friday and Saturday

It helped the atmosphere that The Empire had maximum band room occupancy of about 60. Every weekend you could hear truly inspired music, so many tickets to heaven, the clear sharp sea of ringing metal that was David Kilgour's guitar in which The Clean so powerfully boated, some kind of honesty personified. Incendiary Stones gigs - streaming blazing true sarcasm and deep power grooves and blinding guitar strum - Wayne had this clear guitar sound, a haze of bite. Lush intense chiming Chills evenings, Terry Moore the bass-player a conduit of pure concentration blinking each time Martin Bull smashed the cymbal near him. Empire birthday parties, with free cocktails for musicians; people stood on tables to see better, hoarding sidecars and fluffy ducks and whisky sours. Verlaines transcending in a bleeding blur, when they were still rough and honest.

It is a strange notion that Dunedin caused this; perhaps it was just coincidence. Perhaps it was the wake left by the early Clean. Something shifted for me when Wayne [Elsey, of the Stones and Doublehappys] was killed and the endless drinking parties seemed much darker, and I drifted away to hang with the Jefferies brothers who had arrived swaying into town. Years later in 1991 I really missed that sense of a large community of friends, all artists, so I started Super 8, an arts co-op in an old 3 story warehouse down by the wharves. 300 musicians, painters, writers, film-makers etc joined and each paid $30 membership which covered a year's rent. That was a wild exponential time as well - the Dead C, the 3ds, Snapper, Tongue, Dadamah, Peter Jefferies solo.

Morse & Gaudylight (cover art)

DC: Besides being a musician, you are a visual artist as well. Is there a relationship between your sound work and your paintings? What visual and sound artists inspire you?
AG: I don't know how the paintings relate to the music except that they both are sort of leaves of diaries. It’s just plain old life that inspires me - so much more than art or music. There are artists whose work I love, but eventually it's just you and an instrument and whatever's going on at the time, or you in a room full of boards slippery with house-paint feeling your way. In either case - towards something inside – not outside -that's where most of what I’d call inspiration comes from

DC: When and how did The Rip come about? Were you involved in any other projects previous to The Rip?
Robbie Muir and I decided when we were 14 or 15 to start a band. We'd been pretty inspired by some of the gigs we'd seen. We were called Doppelganger to begin with, then The Rip. At first it was just me and him playing guitar and bass through the same little practice amp in his bedroom, then we got Nicholas Neill from pushbutton death! to drum with us. Our first gig was at the Empire supporting Gamaunche, but Nick's mother wouldn't let him come cos he was 14 and us two were 15. Gamaunche’s drummer, who was a pretty scary guy, played with us instead, crashing around insensitively and mockingly, and I think we only finished 2 songs and were ready to slink off forever till Wayne Elsey took me aside and said he'd seen something that meant we had to keep going. He loaned us stuff, and Sneaky Feelings gave us gigs, and from there we were launched to be the perennial support band. For a few years we played about 30 weekends a year.

DC: You started out recording in studios and then started making home recordings (the reverse of most artists). What advantages or disadvantages does home recording offer?
AG: The Rip won the “Battle of the Bands” and the prize was recording time in a really fancy studio, and so finally Roger [Shepherd, founder of Flying Nun Records] agreed to release an E.P. on Flying Nun, pestered as he was to do so by Hamish Kilgour who then worked there. We went to a really bizarre studio called Cavendish or something in Christchurch, and Terry Moore came to engineer it. The equipment was over the top; the monitor speakers were so good that they made everything sound wonderful (till we got home). Nothing was properly explained to us; we just watched in awe and went home with a really weird thin sounding record.

Skip to when This Kind of Punishment played at the Oriental and Peter [Jefferies] showed an interest in recording The Rip, which barely existed by that stage. Robbie and I would go round to the New Joy ice cream shop, a dingy brick Coronation Street house where Peter and Graeme [Jefferies] were recording “In the Same Room” and eat ginger nuts and drink coffee and learn about the marvels of an immediate sound, the clarity of the 4-track, the presence it conveys (so long as things aren't swamped in effects), and the idea of artist as his own best engineer. I think they were right and I've stayed recording that way ever since, owning the time it takes me and the gear to do it.

DC: How did you meet up with Peter and Graeme Jefferies? What projects have you worked with them on? What is your relationship like with them now?
AG: Peter Jefferies and I went through a lot together, him recording The Rip, then Plagal Grind, then being friends and confidantes, culminating in a grueling tour of the States and then one of Europe. By the end of that we'd seen enough of each other for a while, and he moved to Canada and we pretty much lost touch. I phoned him to see if he was into the Plagal Grind reunion in 2000, but he wasn't, so Robbie Yeats filled in (beautifully). Graeme and I had an intense friendship for only several weeks at a time, recording Timebomb in the Dominion building in Christchurch, and then when he came to stay with me for a month while recording World of Sand. Your interview with him [Ed. note: Jim Ebenhoh did the interview with Graeme Jefferies] really brought me up to speed with his life.

Alastair Galbraith @ The Middle East (Cambridge, MA) 1998
photo: Dan Cohoon

DC: How did the Xpressway label come about? Did you realize at the time how important the record label would become? What are your feelings about people thinking of Xpressway as a golden era of great music?
AG: Bruce Russell worked for Flying Nun when they were still based in Christchurch, and he's such an efficient, intelligent guy - he just picked through their mail-order and when they dropped half their acts at once and moved to Auckland he stepped into that breach with the (then) cassette-only label XPRESSWAY. It was supposedly a co-operative, but as far as most of the label work went - Bruce did it, Peter Jefferies mastered a lot of stuff, I held gigs at my warehouse with lucky ticket numbers winning a bottle of port, Bruce as master of ceremonies, or Dave Merritt. Plagal Grind played there and the Dead C and The Terminals and Peter Jefferies solo, and Chris Heazlewood and Olla, and Stephen and Angelhead and me and maybe the last ever This Kind of Punishment.

I only knew the music was very good, not whether it was important or not. But Bruce probably had a good idea where it fitted in the “world" of music at that time and he just kept pushing the thing, without pay, for years.

DC: Talk to me about your project Handful of Dust. How is it different from your solo work, your work with The Rip & Plagal Grind?
AG: Way back in the days of The Rip, Bruce had a solo act involving intoned poetry and cassette manipulation and strangled detuned guitar and he called it Handful of Dust. After a few years he stopped doing it much, and then later he and I made Concord for Twisted Village. Bruce said “Let's make a record where we both play string instruments without plucking the strings, live onto a 2 track. Let’s not talk about what we're going to do. But whatever we do will be the record.” He had a shocking hangover, and at one point rushes off to vomit.

It was a magic I hadn't experienced so intensely before – communicating about the music through the music only, and letting the stuff come from the great nowhere. I've rarely had my eyes open during Handful of Dust, and the time just flies.

John Darnielle & Alastair Galbraith
@ The Middle East (Cambridge, MA) 1996
photo: Dan Cohoon

DC: How did you hook up with John Darnielle of the Mountain Goats?
AG: He was on the same bill at a show I did in Pomona outside L.A. He played first and I wrote him a note of how the immediacy of his lyrics placed me. I played, he wrote notes, and we went to a barbecue at Dennis Callaci's house - scrubby land with prickly bushes; there were a few tiny foil windmills in the sand picking up the low desert winds, and we all kept passing a guitar around for hours. John Darnielle wrote a year later, suggesting we tour the States together, and we did in 1996 and had a really great time, mainly staying on people's floors and couches and one incredible mansion in Detroit. He was newly vegetarian and preaching maniacally and insisted we stop at a Buddhist temple and asked a monk to bless us, and we were given tiny Buddha amulets to wear around our necks!

After the East Coast shows we got to Chicago, and he and I and Bill Meyer flew to Texas and rented a car, and Bill was the driver. Craig, who runs Emperor Jones, met us and we rented a motel and I swam in the swimming pool and it felt like my only rock star photo moment. Stayed with Tom and Christina from Charalambides used a Butthole Surfer's megaphone in Austin!

We saw the Grand Canyon and communed with ravens there, perched above the oranges, reds and yellows of prehistoric time. I found a deer-antler toggle in the car-park there! It had 6 red triangular mountains etched in it and was very old, and years later I presented it to a Native American singer whose grandmother had just died after finishing his cloak.

We did another tour together in ‘98 which culminated in our shows at Terrastock in San Francisco. I got to play violin for Tom Rapp and Neutral Milk Hotel and the Lothars, and raised money from the crowd to buy a blow-up boat and go paddling in the bay outside the venue (which was non-smoking). I can't remember what year we made Orange Raja / Blood Royal which came out on Walt Records in New York.

Alastair Galbraith @ The Middle East (Cambridge, MA) 1998
photo: Dan Cohoon

DC: When did you become aware of the following that New Zealand music had in the States? What was your impression of America when you toured the States—what did you like or hate about America? What were your favorite places to play, and who were your favorite people to play with?
AG: I guess I realized there was American interest when Siltbreeze wanted to release Gaudylight. Then John Henderson of Feel Good All Over (a Chicago label) offered to release a kind of anthology covering the last few years called Seely Girn. He then got this idea of paying for me to go and tour the U.S with a reformed Young Marble Giants (this would have been around 1990 -1991), and he flew over to New Zealand to discuss the whole thing. He arrived on a cold Dunedin day, and we were having a show at my warehouse in Stafford St; I made him come out to Allan's Beach and help stuff bull kelp into the boot of my super minx. Then he had to help me hang it all over the warehouse. Anyway, Stuart Moxham and his wife had a baby so that tour never happened. But around a year later he paid for my ticket and Ajax Records paid for Peter Jefferies’ ticket for the first Xpressway U.S. tour, and Seely Girn finally came out.

My first impressions of America were of stupid amounts of wealth in central Chicago, buildings with domes literally plated with gold. My previous overseas experiences were in Europe mainly, and central Chicago made me think of a hundred great modern cathedrals sitting in each other's laps, built to worship money. The human atmosphere reflected this - the aptly named Division Street. With fresh kiwi eyes I saw lively all-ages street parties in poor black areas and utterly deserted rows of driveways in the rich white areas; they were so lonely to drive through compared to the east side, where men played chess and kids played games and old sofas were dragged outside and barbecues set up on the footpath.

I felt that my life was cheaper than in N.Z. Because I had no money I kept asking people annoying questions like “What is the name of the tribe indigenous to your city?” and “Why are there only 2 political parties?” “Why have you allowed this weird double standard of living -- those with insurance and jobs, and those without literally begging and diseased?” But of course NZ has drifted that way as well over the intervening years.

I loved playing in New York, just because it was New York and the Knitting Factory and there was a Bailter Space after-party on a rooftop, and Philadelphia with the incredible Strapping Fieldhands, drinking tons of whisky, and Maxwell’s In New Jersey, staying at Yo La Tengo’s house where the diabetic cat had to be shot up if he got too lethargic, and forming a band with Peter and Hamish Kilgour and Wayne and Kate Biggar.

In some ways much of it was a dream come true, but I was in personal turmoil. Ten days before I left New Zealand, I got kicked out of the warehouse I'd lived in for years and years; I had that long to find somewhere to move all my stuff and a place for my girlfriend to live while I was away. Also I'd not long found out that my birth-mother had terminal cancer. So I couldn't really celebrate normally, and the pressure of being filmed the entire time - not just while playing, but in the car - and eating at Wendy's and getting drunk - that was awful and made me cringe away a lot. I felt a lot of desolation on the interstates, staring into the chrome hub reflections of 18-wheelers.

Runner compilation
Next Best Way (cover art)

DC: I bought the Runner compilation from you when you played in Boston during the mid to late 1990's. Are you still doing your Next Best Way record label? Does the label have any over-arching goals or aesthetics?
AG: It was Runner that really ended the label. Apparently my packaging aesthetic was largely to blame. I had no idea that compilations in thin cardboard sleeves are normally giveaways in the States. And of course they don't fit anti-theft devices, so they get put in shoeboxes on or under the counter. Plus the artists' share was 30 per cent of the pressing. I had always planned that whatever money it returned was for the next release, but it never returned enough. Recently I've been summoning the courage to maybe take a small loan and start it again, make it a limited edition home-made CDR label, and do great weird packaging. I almost have the first release mixed - a new solo album (with actual songs!) untitled as yet.

DC: Are there any new artists or groups from New Zealand that we should keep on the lookout for?
AG: Since I became a parent I'm a bad person to ask (my son Ra is now 2!). I don't have the time or the discretionary income to see bands or buy CDs. Currently we are swamped with major label "kiwi" pop in this country. It's hyped so hard and often that it suffocates any news about real music that might otherwise have filtered down to me.

Cry (cover art)

DC: On most of your solo work you have chosen to work without a drummer. What led you to work with the drummer Constantine Karlis on your album Cry? Is that a drum machine on "One Method" (my favorite track of the disc) or simply just a reversed drum track?
AG: One method is reversed drum machine. I saw Dino (Constantine) drumming one night at Arc (for h.d.u.) and was spellbound - at one point I heard hoofbeats scattering tripping down a sheer face. There are movements in what he does, and they're moving as thought moves. I told him I'd loved it, and he said let's jam together. When I did finally get round there, he had just had a minor operation on his shoulder and had taken the option of purchasing video footage of the procedure. So we watched that first. The magnification was so intense that the surgeon's scalpel looked like a fat blunt knitting needle, which he kept irritating a miniscule rubber-band of tendon with, till it broke.

We agreed to record what we were about to do, and he set up his cassette deck, and then we just drifted in. Later - several months, maybe a year - he said he was leaving Dunedin, and we decided to do a live gig together, before h.d.u. It was really good, it spoke, but it never got recorded. So the next day - Sunday - we met at Arc with only one other person there cleaning, and recorded the album Radiant in one hit. He e-mailed recently, and we'll play together at the Lines of Flight part of the Dunedin Fringe Festival in October.

DC: Tell me about your collaboration with Matt De Gennaro.
AG: I met Matt De Gennaro in Detroit in ‘93 when he offered to arrange some pretty amazing accommodation for the night, and he did the same in ‘96, (thanks David Di Chiera), and I woke up to what I thought was the sound of great trains shunting - which was Matt, playing the building, by stroking tensioned wires in the attic. He showed me how to do it, and I loved the intense ballet-like physical interaction you can have with such a long instrument, and soon found harmonics and shrieks. In about 1997 he visited NZ, and I was still involved with the arts co-operative Everything Incorporated, and he and I did a show there playing wires down in the bomb-shelter basement and the chip shop gallery above, and he gave a slideshow lecture before. Much of that night became the Corpus Hermeticum album Wire Music.

In 1999 I organized a tour of public art galleries in New Zealand. We wanted to compare the sound of these spaces as instruments. I loved that tour; I kept thinking "we should tour India doing this" perhaps because it was freezing in the middle of winter. Perhaps because I thought the music had some primal, universal quality. We made some really wonde