HIS RULES: An interview with Justin van der Volgen

After 11 years as bassist for !!! and the last 6 years building a reputation as a killer DJ and remixer, JUSTIN VAN DER VOLGEN brings his show to Melbourne Music Week. ANDY HAZEL pulls on his dancing shoes.

‘Do I dance in my studio? Yes! For sure!’ Justin Van Der Volgen expounds enthusiastically from his home in Brooklyn. ‘I’m a fan of dance music in general so I try to go out a lot. I still enjoy being in the club and hearing stuff I’ve never heard before; I want to dance!’

As bassist for !!!, member of renown underground electro band Out Hud, and currently one half of production/label outfit TBD with Doug Lee, van der Volgen has been working far harder than his output would suggest. ‘I try to do lots of remixes however I only release the ones I feel come out very well,’ he explains. ‘That’s why I only release maybe two a year. I don’t want to do stuff that is ‘just OK’. I want it to be really good, or at least the best I can do. I try to make it special and have a good feeling about it’.

Plainly, others agree. In an incredibly crowded marketplace for dance music, this quality control lends a buzz to what he chooses to be associated with. As a result, when van der Volgen thinks something works, it usually does. ‘I get good responses from my friends. If they tell me they are playing the stuff or sometimes I hear people playing my stuff out, I think it works.’
 
Though he’s never stopped going to clubs, van der Volgen doesn’t find it hard to switch off and have fun when he’s out. When we chat, he’s on his way to see friend and collaborator Eric Duncan (aka Dr Dunks) play a show at their beloved A1 Record Store, a source for much of van der Volgen’s legendarily large record collection. ‘I’m always trying to learn from what other people are doing,’ he explains. ‘Sometimes I’ll hear a song and think about the arrangement and how I would change it, and then I do! I edit new music for myself all the time. I only do a few mixes a year for blogs and zines,’ he says, reinforcing his quality over quantity manifesto. 
 
Striking out on his own and taking on greater responsibilities characterises the liberation that infuses his music. From the popping basslines that drove his work with !!! via the summery disco of his legendary Try To Find Me 2 mix and acclaimed reworking of Maserati’s pulsing Inventions, van der Volgen brings a hint of his underground electro upbringing in Sacramento to the ‘Brooklyn scene’ that he is most commonly associated with. ‘I was in !!! for eleven years and many things changed over that time,’ he explains. ‘I had achieved my adolescent dream of being in a band with friends and travelling the world, so really I left because it was time for me to do my own thing.’
 
After spending the years since leaving !!! jumping between labels for his releases, van Der Volgen decided now was the right time to start his own. It’s name? My Rules. ‘I’ve worked with many labels in the past, so it’s good to have that experience. Because it’s my label, I can do things as fast and slow as I want. I oversee the mastering and all the costs, so if it goes well I can keep all the profit - what little of it there is in making records now - or all the loss.’
 
No stranger to collaborations, van der Volgen’s individualistic take on naming his projects (Try to Find Me, My Rules) suggests a clear line between working on his own and with others. ‘I like to collaborate, but it’s really nice to have things you do on your own as well. With collaboration comes compromise but it can also get you to a place you may never have been able to go on your own, so I like both.’
 
The ‘Brooklyn scene’ of DJs and producers that van der Volgen often finds himself lumped in with isn’t something he thinks exists at all, but it’s also not an association that bugs him, given he plied his trade for years beforehand. ‘I think many artists here make a lot of music that sounds very different, which is a good thing! I moved to New York in the beginning of 2001, so I’ve been here a while, but I’m not sure if I’d be considered a native New Yorker. Sacramento, at least when I was there from the mid 90s to 2000, was cool in the sense that there isn’t much to do, so you have to find out for yourself what you’re into and go with it.’
 
While My Rules recently released its first 12” (van der Volgen’s own More Fry), with more to come and several buzzing projects on the go (though names are still secret at the moment), this an exciting time to catch van der Volgen live. ‘I’m doing a project with Eric Duncan, Pete Z, Johnny Sender and Aaaron Bondahoff. I’m also getting some more TBD stuff done in Berlin,’ he states effusively, ‘but really, I’m trying to focus on my own productions. All this stuff comes out in a show; all the good stuff!’

Live Review: THE 2013 AGE MUSIC VICTORIA AWARDS

Billboard the Venue

Kicking off the night with victories for the Theatre Royal Castlemaine and the Corner Hotel in the Best Regional Venue and Best Venue categories, it’s hard to recall a better host for anything ever than footy-loving soul man Chris Gill.

Local combo Big Scary regale us with textured cuts from their Best Album nominee Not Art. Those not caught up in chat and schmoozing are seduced by their intriguing, layered take on trip-hop flavoured psych rock.

Back to the awards and Music Victoria’s ever-dapper Bek Duke reads a telegram from Aunty Meredith, accepting the Best Festival award. Best Regional Band goes to Stonefield and the Drones take Best Live Band, both wresting the award from stiff competition. While Vince Peach spins American soul cuts, the night begins to build toward the induction of Renee Geyer into the Hall of Fame. Fellow inductee Michael Gudinski is celebrated in a video outlining the long success of Mushroom Records, and similarly accepts via video.

The EG All Stars and Saskwatch Horns back stabs at soul songs from some of the city’s most noted singers. Kylie Audlist and Lance Ferguson open with Renee Geyer’s Stares and Whispers, Ella Thompson owns Geyer’s Be There in the Morning before Linda Bull and Daniel Merriweather stun with their takes on Paul Kelly’s Sure Got Me (Where You Want Me) and Cold Chisel’s Four Walls respectively. 60s pop hit Simon Says will never be the same now Dan Sultan has had his way with it, and Remi, representing the hip-hop soul connection, reminds us where much of Melbourne’s creativity now lies.

The final awards given see Best Male and Best Album go to Paul Kelly, the Drones collect a second for Best Band, Adalita take Best Female and Vance Joy’s Riptide a surprise but deserving Best Song.

From hear on out, the night is about one woman. A tribute video featuring Bonnie Raitt, one time Beach Boy Ricky Fataar, Ella Thompson and Gudinski highlights Geyer’s easy move between styles and wide influence. Inducting her into the Hall of Fame, Minister for the Arts Heidi Victoria calls for a ‘bit of shush’ to read a quote from Geyer’s father: ‘All modern music is shit. But my daughter’s shit is the best’.

Geyer and her 9-piece backing band are on stunning form. Combining her pop hits with soul classics (and Paul Kelly’s phenomenal Difficult Woman) we are left in no doubt as to what she was born to do, and how lucky we are to see her do it. Her voice, as Gill pointed out earlier, is only getting better. Closing with her 80s hit Say I Love You and the ever-stunning It’s a Man’s World, Geyer brings out Dan Sultan to duet on A Change is Gonna Come. Introducing him as ‘our Elvis Presley’ it’s hard not to see the torch of soul-powered rock legend not be passed from one to another, but shared and redoubled, ending a killer night.

Live Review: PALMS, BORED NOTHING

The Shadow Electric

One of a number of cavernous rooms within the Abbotsford Convent complex, the Shadow Electric is tucked away near several other noisy affairs. Tonight, a Greek wedding and a disco compete with the sounds of the clanging guitars and squeezed, impassioned vocals in the courtyard outside.

Singer and songwriter Fergus Miller (who essentially IS Bored Nothing) has such an affectingly creaky voice and arresting way with hacking at his guitar that you can almost forget you’ve heard much of it before. His tender, bruised lyrics and piercingly vocal melodies betray a youth spent listening to Big Star, Elliot Smith and Triple J and more recent infatuation with Pitchfork-lauded guitar pop. In many hands this would be a bad thing, but Miller has a fascinatingly unique voice that is beginning to find its own way and with him, it’s wholly arresting. The slacker vibe that infused his 2012 debut album is being honed into something compelling, and his homemade band t-shirts, ironically self-deprecatory banter betrays a smart sensibility. Burst of howling feedback are never uncontrolled, and the other three members of Bored Nothing are excellent players, well attuned to the slovenly mess that comprises his secretly confident songs. Closing with a cover of Weezer’s Undone is done with a compelling finesse and doesn’t come across as the lazy choice it may seem.

Channeling the affectionate sneer of Paul Kelly, Palms’ singer Al Grigg opens the band’s set with the largely solo In the Morning, setting the stage for some raucous Rickenbacker-driven clamour. At times reminiscent of You Am I, with their squalid euphoria, Palms are a fantastically effective live band. While the musicianship is fine, it’s the songs that really show the chops at work here. Tracks like I Wish That You Were Mine, This Summer is Done With Us, Rainbow and the closing This Last Year are gloriously ramshackle and more than worthy of the legacy that Grigg and drummer Tom Wallace blazed in Red Riders, one of Sydney’s most underrated bands of recent years. While Grigg’s Dylanesque chewing of lyrics, softens the otherwise blazingly confident delivery, it’s not enough to undo a pithy set from a great band in an interesting and underused locale.

Live Review: THE STILLSONS, THE BASTARD CHILDREN, BILL JACKSON AND PETE FIDLER

Northcote Social Club

Outside, the cold damp streets are devoid of people, but within the bustling Social Club, a very particular type of warmth is drawing in a thickly cloaked huddle. The type of warmth only bluegrass, country and beer can bring.

Compelling duo Bill Jackson and Pete Fidler bawl lonely, heartfelt stories about pilgrimages to Tennessee and how to turn the tables on Jehovah’s Witnesses. Fidler's inspired lap steel and guitar playing seems to draw down streaks of silver rain whenever he drags his slide or slips a sprightly lick between Jackson’s lyrics. Any excuse to hear this man embellish a sorry tale is valid, such is his talent, and it’s a testament to Jackson’s charisma and songwriting chops that he’s not sidelined.

The Bastard Children offer irreverent busker-y bluster to their folk rock. Banjo, mandolin and harmonica push their Celtic soul from middling fare to something that will hopefully be enlivening festival bills throughout the summer. Songs about long journeys with ferrets, whales falling in love with lifeboats and broken hearts intermingle with none seeming out of place. Songs like Come On In showcase their prodigious multi-instrumentalism and songwriting skills and offer and as the set moves from intelligent balladry to knees-up/elbows-out accordion-toting folk dancing, the audience loosen up and move forward.

By now nearly filled, the room is humming animatedly with plenty of drink assisting the warm reception The Stillsons receive as the curtains part and the band’s new album Never Go Your Way is launched. With carefully constructed alt-country ballads and superlative live mixing, the Stillsons have punchy, spacious songs that drummer and vocalist Cat Canteri’s warm tones spread over like hot molasses. Fellow songwriter Justin Bernasconi’s considerable skills as a guitarist and singer never overcome the classy songwriting. 

Occasionally drifting into soft rock territory (Family on the Run), or barroom boogies (Small Things) the sounds are always warm. The acerbic Go Home and Stay Awake tackle racism and tenement living in a Costello-esquely effective way, and lends some gravitas to the mix.

Despite songs falling into predictably wholesome patterns, the band clearly aces everything they set out to do. Pedal steel maestro Ben Franz elevates and distinguishes the band with a gritty grace and a litany of guests including Jeff Lang only reinforces the band’s rare ability to support a song as a collective rather than enhance the product of one ego. The more rockin' Dish it Up shows us the band riled up, and it's a good thing. Closing with the righteous swagger of You Don't Know What I Need, the band return for an encore of Another Lover and the massive Charity & Ghosts to which were are rendered nothing but raucous shouters with massive smiles. Win.

Live Review: TELEVISION

MONA, Hobart  
Occupying a high, narrow room four stories underground, the long-sold-out Void (a bar within the Museum of Old and New Art) is a weirdly appropriate place to see one of the world’s greatest post-punk bands. From the towering concrete walls of New York’s Bowery slums, to the towering concrete walls of a slick bar in Hobart within a world-class iconic art gallery.

‘This is a band confession,’ says singer and arch-icon Tom Verlaine in his only moment of conversation during tonight’s show. ‘We thought Tasmania was 30 miles north of Sydney,’ he smiles sheepishly.

Smiling is something that happens a lot tonight, between chilled Tasmanians and excited mainlanders as they chat animatedly, awaiting the arrival of the band. It also happens on stage as Verlaine, drummer Billy Ficca, bassist Fred Smith and longtime collaborator guitarist Jimmy Rip ease their way through a set that ends up being very different to that bestowed upon ATP the previous week.

Opening with Prove It and weaving a set out of their long history, the foursome seem relaxed without ever actually expressing emotion. Labeled ‘the Ice Kings of Rock' by the British press in their heyday, there is still an arch languor in the way Verlaine spreads his virtuosity across the band’s seething post-punk. Looking like Kasparov mid-chess tournament as he casually throttles a guitar string from one end to the other, drops icy piercing swelling notes, his playing is never less than galvanizing.

Glory, from 1978’s Adventure album follows, before we get the early highlight Little Johnny Jewel, where the interplay between Verlaine and Rip reaches near telepathic heights. 1880 or So from their eponymous 1992 comeback album, and unreleased epic Persia pepper an otherwise Marquee Moon-dominant set.

The cascading bell-like guitar lines tumble over each other with stunning clarity. Arpeggios, spiky chord slashes and fluid lines build, burst and recede, their taut splendour accentuated by Verlaine’s straining neck, and flinty voice.

Closing with a searing Guiding Light and the high point of musical history that is Marquee Moon, Verlaine breaks both a plectrum and a string during the extended solo section yet finishes the song brilliantly. Unsatisfied, and brandishing a fresh guitar, the band return to encore with another, even better take on the plus-five-minute solo (not the song, just the solo). Returning again for a stunning take on Friction the band share another smile and leave the stage to even louder howling, ending a night that transcended the regurgitation of a classic album, instead showing how 30 years of life experience can enhance songs that were already showcase for a rare intellect.

Live Review: FUCK BUTTONS

Festival Hub

One of the big drawcards to this year’s Melbourne Festival and one of the organiser’s more leftfield choices, Fuck Buttons are a duo never known to disappoint. Selling out within hours and playing their first Australian show since being a highlight of 2009’s ATP Festival, the venue is packed and buzzing for an hour before the band begin.

Thick, shifting synth chords hang in the air, the room similarly twilit as the night outside and the stage hosting a perfunctory table littered with Casios, synth pads, Fisher Price karaoke machines and dozens of leads running from mixers. A mirrorball hangs waist height and a large screen stands behind the table completing the carefully arranged chaos. Andrew Hung and Ben Power wander on, deliver an acknowledging wave, and proceed to rupture the space-time continuum.

Opening with the relentless drum loop and disembowelling synth of Brainfreeze, the first track from their latest album Slow Focus, the screen bursts to life with shimmering silhouettes of the two men looming over fractured images of the Victorian coastline. Patterns and images come, go, are refracted and mixed with unusual colours and are never less than arresting. Bass tones shudder up through your shoes and slabs of synth pad push the limits of what ears can stand, but Fuck Buttons seem to intuitively know the right frequencies to push and to which levels. Their complex layers of tones and filtered sounds clash brilliantly with the visuals; no sci-fi landscapes here, just deep, rich colours, strange shapes and silhouettes.

Following up with the immense and blazing Surf Solar the duo seem to operate without any need for visual communication. Sounds like tuned fire extinguishers explode over tsunamis of ball bearings moving through aluminium canyons as Colours Move melds into Olympians; the sound of lush, violent euphoria.

The swaggering beats and pinging melody loop of Slow Focus highlight The Red Wing announces the arrival of the mirrorball, splattering shards of bronze light around the room. Bursts of jungle drums and Badalamenti-style refrains give a melodic depth to aural assault as the audience begin to dance as only a crushed crowd, half of whom have their eyes closed, can.

Despite remaining expressionless throughout, Hung and Power raise their empty beer bottles, nod, smile slightly and depart the stage to the dying sounds of album closer Hidden XS. The crowd roar until they return, whereby they again annihilate us with previous album Tarot Sport’s epic track Space Mountain. Spilling out into the cool night the lingering sense of a typically Melbournian repressed euphoria is silently communicated between rapt punters and loudly expressed between friends. Yet again, Fuck Buttons move onward, upward and outward blazing a path we’re more than happy to follow.

Live Review: THE CARIBS, STRANGE TENANTS, SKA VENDORS

Festival Hub

A full moon hangs over the Festival Hub, as ska fans of all ages are drawn to what promises to be one of the finest Australian ska line-ups in history. Not only are all the legendary clichés out in force (pork pie hats, mod suits, Specials t-shirts and moonstomp boots), but the true multicultural nature of the genre, lifestyle and its current status in the music firmament is out in all its glory.

The Melbourne Festival’s idea of celebrating ska involves engaging more than the ears tonight; the scent of jerk chicken wafts over a booth that shows 1950s instructional videos on how do dance ska, but the main reason we are here is for the music itself.

Twelve-piece collective Ska Vendors pack out a sweaty room by 8PM and show you what it is that is so fantastic about ska. The energy, talent and sheer danceability of the music is undeniable and the audience respond enthusiastically. After a short, exuberant set, two women, Marie and Victoria teach us basic ska dance moves before Melbourne legends Strange Tenants take to the stage. Opening with the searing Soldier Boy the band, apparently showcasing their original lineup for the first time in around 30 years, show their political stripes. With so little change in social concerns since their formation the songs feel as vital as when they debuted at the Lygon St Festival in 1981. The blazing Two Steps Back, the mellow Grey Skies and the furious Zombie Killers inspire a passionate response from the audience, many of who look over 60 but dance as if they were 16 and drunk for the first time. It’s an exhilarating sight. Guitarist Johnny Holmes and the peerlessly tight rhythm section are the highlight, as is the introduction to the two youngest members of the band, sons of Holmes and singer Ian Hearn, inspiring hope that the band will be around for another 32 years.

Headlining the night, and indeed the history of ska in Australia, are the ska/calypso/mento legends The Caribs, reuniting for only the second time in 52 years. With a near-unbelievable story of moving from Melbourne to Jamaica to become the country’s first studio band, performing to Winston Churchill and backing Ben E King, the fact that the founding members are here at all is a privilege all appreciate. Backed by members of the Melbourne Ska Orchestra and the Strange Tenants, the septuagenarians resurrect pioneering cuts such as Taste of Honey, Your Eyes are Dreaming and their sultry Jamaican hit Taboo inspire euphoric responses. Guitarist Dennis Sindrey (now living in Florida), keys player Peter Stoddart (still living in Jamaica) despite being the true stars, effortlessly hand the stage over to a litany of guests; Patou Powell, Rodrigo Pino and Sarah Heffernan all shine, but the Caribs made the light.

PROVING THEMSELVES: An interview with Stonefield

While the pressure of cashing in on the buzz surrounding their Unearthing may rush other bands to release their debut album, Stonefield have taken their time as Amy and Hannah Findlay explain to Andy Hazel, they want to do it right.

With the release of their debut album, Stonefield move from being a band about which the talk of their gender, age and hype may actually be drowned out by the music. Many have opinion about the Findlay sisters (and some who have an opinion can even name a Stonefield song), but soon their crashing riffs, pile-driving drums and full-throated vocals look likely to be leaving firm impressions the nation over. When making the album, bigness, the sisters agree, was the goal.

“It’s so nerve-wracking,” says drummer, singer and songwriter Amy Findlay with a laugh. “You distance yourself from it, and you’re not sure if it’s big as you think it is. You keep on listening more, and as time goes on you think: ‘Ahh, maybe it’s not that good,’ she laughs nervously.

Nerves are to be expected for an album on which so much is riding. Since exploding onto the scene in 2010, the four sisters released singles and EPs that garnered high rotation and quickly saw their fanbase expand. Touring followed, including a set at Glastonbury, an all-important ‘whoah!’-inducing visit to the Corner to see Band of Skulls that resulted in the band using their producer Ian Davenport, and hours and hours of practice.

While three years may seem a long time, it’s also a mark of careful confidence. ‘I think it worked out perfectly,’ says Amy. Guitarist Hannah agrees, ‘It was good for us because we had that extra time to write. Our songwriting developed and it gave us time for our experiences to sink in so we knew that this is really what we want to do.’

The album itself is the product of much collaboration. Not only with Davenport and engineer Tim Palmer (U2, Pearl Jam) but for the songwriting too, a worthwhile experience says Amy.

‘We didn’t want to write with anyone, we had to feel like we had the same vibe going on,’ she says evenly. ‘We wrote a few things with Adalita, that was really, really fun, but that song didn’t end up fitting with the album. It’s an awesome song, but it was a completely different thing to everything else. We also wrote with the Delta Riggs, which was completely cool. They came up to our place, set up in the lounge room, we kicked mum and dad out for a couple of days and jammed,’ the sisters laugh. ‘That was fun. Jared from Eagle and the Worm as well, those two made the album,’ says Amy.

While fun is definitely an energy coursing through the album, lyrically several themes recur; power dynamics and proving yourself. ‘Because we’re all sort of at this age where everything changes and so much happens in your life, becoming an adult, that kind of thing,’ she says matter-of-factly. ‘The whole ‘proving yourself’ thing…obviously that’s a big part of it and it’s important because…debut album, here we are. Especially because it’s been three years since we were Unearthed by Triple J, so it was important that we came back with something really good and we weren’t just a hype band. We definitely wanted to prove ourselves,’ she says pausing. ‘I think that we’ve got good instincts, that’s pretty much what we’ve run off of the whole way through. Even picking a manager and label and all that stuff, it’s all about instinct.’

Amy’s instinct is a guiding force for the band as Hannah explains. ‘Mostly we do agree on stuff, but if we don’t normally it’s just one person that doesn’t agree - Holly, the youngest,’ she laughs. ‘Normally Amy is the leader and if she thinks really strongly about something then we have a lot of trust and faith in her.’

A word likely to be used a lot over the coming months, and one they’re not bothered by, is ‘mature’. ‘I feel like we have probably matured,’ says Hannah laughing before Amy continues. ‘As people and musically…I don’t know, we’re still very youthful,’ she says, continuing to laugh. Hannah responds, ‘I guess we are for 15-23 year olds, compared to when we first started. I guess we have matured a lot’. One thing that hasn’t changed however, is a love of rock. Other teenagers might go from twee-folk to hard house in the space of three years, not the Findlays.

‘Well, Sarah who plays keys is really into bands like Parkway Drive,’ says Amy outlining the diversity of her sisters’ listening habits. ‘Which is weird because she’s probably the most placid…very pretty and cute,’ the sisters devolve into laughter. ‘But she’s into…’ starts Amy, ‘really heavy stuff as well,’ continues Hannah, ‘and you pretty much did a jazz course.’

‘Yeah,’ she agrees ‘but I was never really into jazz. I was open to trying it and learning about it and stuff but always felt out of my depth singing anything but rock,’ she laughs again. ‘It’s so true that as teenagers you’re into rock and later something else. So many people we know were into grunge when they were teenagers and now they’re into tekkers (laughs), which is weird. But we’ve carried through with a love of it.’

Live Review: STEVE MASON

Melbourne Festival Hub

Oh good, you're reading this, because seeing Steve Mason's name on the Melbourne Festival lineup was something few people remembered doing and most ignored. With the words ‘(ex-Beta Band)’ taking up a small amount of space, Mason is the definition of unjustly overlooked, though this is partly by his own design. Recording as King Biscuit Hour before releasing Boys Outside in 2010 and this year’s Monkey Minds in the Devil’s Time regardless of what name he is using, his songs are about the vibe, and tonight’s performance is redolent with it.

Doubts about his popularity and the oddness of his selection for the Melbourne Music Festival are confirmed when the excellent makeshift venue that constitutes the Festival Hub sees around 100 people at the outset of his set. Leading a four-piece band onto the stage, Mason seems chipper and eager to work his way through the intelligent yet slack funk that epitomises his style; like a warmer Ian Brown. Opening with Lost and Found from Boys Outside the whole room is instantly switched on. With Scottish accents peppering the crowd and occasionally bursting forth in affectionate heckling, Mason seems to be right at home, his own brogue lending his lyrics a melodic fluidity.

‘So uh, does everybody know who I am?’ he asks bashfully, wearing old paint-spattered shirt and jeans. The crowd respond resoundingly, as they do throughout the set. Listing his favourite things about Australia as he works his way through highlights from his albums (a list that includes Bad Boy Bubby, the Saints and more bizarrely Alan Jones - a name that does not go down well with his fans though confusion between the racing driver and the radio DJ seem to explain it), Mason invests as much energy in examining his sexuality (Am I Just a Man?) as he does with ‘fighting back against the established powers, who are revolting in my opinion’ (Fire and Fight Them Back). Ending his set with the euphoric Beta Band highlight Dry the Rain he is brought back by an insistent crowd for an encore. ‘Well, we’ve only learned the set so we’ll read out the names of the songs we played and whichever ones get the loudest cheer, we’ll play again’ he says. And so we hear Lost and Found, and a fantastic Oh My Lord and Boys Outside one more time. No bad thing at all.

NOT THE END: An interview with SUZE DEMARCHI of BABY ANIMALS

Following the release of their first studio album in 20 years, and on the eve of their tour, rock legends Baby Animals are young once more, and as ANDY HAZEL finds out singer SUZE DEMARCHI is full of fire, even if she’s not a tech head and calls the music industry "a fucking nightmare".

"Oh it is," says Suze DeMarchi, looking quite possibly the same as she did when caught in the glare of the spotlight in the early 1990s. "The music industry is a fucking nightmare. Last night we played a show at this pop up venue for Rolling Stone in Sydney," she says, keenly expanding on the point. "Afterwards we did a Q&A and this young girl from a band asked me this question – she was so upset, so angry - 'can you tell me how do you make it in this industry? It’s a joke this industry. It’s a fucking joke.’ I told her ‘first of all you have to really love music. Second, you have got to have a great team around you. Without my first manager John Woodruff we would never have got anywhere, because we were young and just wanted to play. I felt bad for her. Now for kids…it’s difficult. We were lucky."

Luck may not play as big a part in DeMarchi’s career as she claims. Leaving school at 15, quitting a nowhere job at 16 and living on the road with her band at 17 shows a confidence and a willingness to fast-track experience that seems rarer now. "Sometimes we’d do three shows a day," she says of her beginnings in Perth rockers Photoplay. "We’d do a university lunchtime show, then a pub gig, which would be three sets, then we’d do a nightclub gig, three sets again; three different 40 minute sets." She says laughing. "That’s where we learned how to play. I did that for two years. I got my work ethic from thinking it’s no big deal to drive [from Perth] to Geraldton to do a set or three. Now I wouldn’t want to - I have enough trouble getting through a one hour 40 minute set!"

Despite the lifestyle change from platinum-selling, world-touring rock star to being a mother and wife (of guitar icon Nuno Bettencourt), DeMarchi claims that her new life in Sydney and reinvention of the Baby Animals doesn’t feel like a job. "When I’m on stage it doesn’t, the other stuff does," she laughs. "I hate the music business. I really, really loathe it. I hate the way it’s structured. I mean, it’s changing but…" she trails off shaking her head. "We’ve gone independent now because I was so tired of signing deals with labels that just fuck you over. The worst thing about it is that they have control over you forever - they own your copyrights forever. This way we own it, we can share the load, you can do things that you want to do. You’re not going to reach as many people as you would if you were on a massive label, but we’ve got the Internet now."

With the release of new album This is Not the End, DeMarchi has eased into the role of a youthful rock legend, dispensing wisdom and dividing her time between parenting, performing and writing. While there are many album highlights, for DeMarchi two songs stand out. "We recorded Stitch on [previous acoustic album] Il Grande Silencio, but I didn’t think we did it properly; I always wanted to give that song the right treatment. I wrote You Still Need Me with Andrew Farriss when I was talking to him about all the INXS stuff [DeMarchi was in discussion about becoming the singer for INXS before they went the reality show route], I love that song."

While there is a buzz about the new album and its single Email, September 2013 marks the 22^nd anniversary for the band’s eponymous debut album; the most successful in Australian music history until the landing of Jet. "It doesn’t feel like 20 years," she muses. "And I think that’s a testament to that album; those songs and [producer] Mike Chapman. He very rigidly made us pull things back and just concentrate on the essence of the song rather than being fancy. Mike was really anti-‘ooh, look what I can play! I can play this in 7/12 timing or whatever’. I always fucking hated that stuff. Everyone got a bit too fancy on the second album [Shaved and Dangerous]," she pauses before returning to the debut. "Mike was the taskmaster – ‘Let me hear the hooks’. Like Early Warning - that tag at the beginning ‘too young to know too old to listen’ - Mike said ‘I’m going to take that part of the chorus, let’s put that at the front; that’s the hook."

Recently making the 100 Best Australian Albums of All Time list, Baby Animals was a primal beast of its time, yet still forms the backbone of the band’s powerful live shows. Though the newer songs don’t elicit the same reaction, DeMarchi is happy to celebrate the older material. "It doesn’t bother me," she says breezily. "I’m really proud of all that stuff and it was a really good time. We did a lot of great things; we travelled everywhere and we were really lucky. We had a fledgling label that had a lot of money – they were like ‘take it!’" she laughs, pushing an invisible pile of money. "Just to keep us on the road with Van Halen for six months cost a million dollars in tour support; we couldn’t have done what we did without it…it’s a lot of money," she says slightly in awe of her own adventures. "It always comes back to having a good team around you, I think that’s 70% of being successful."

Seeing the band live, it’s easy to imagine why a label would feel comfortable in spending that much on a foursome of Perth rockers, and it’s live the band still shines. Despite a long break from the stage, DeMarchi is comfortable back in the spotlight. "Sometimes it’s difficult, but there’s no better way to make a connection. There are people there, and they wouldn’t be there if they didn’t want to be, so you’re starting already ahead of the game. All you want to do is your best for them and to enjoy yourself," she says instructively. "I remember the first time I went on stage and people clapped," she laughs. "I was like ‘they fucking liked it? This is great! I can make money doing this? Not much, but I can make money?’’  She laughs. "I never was good at any other job, and I’m not crazy about the industry – it’s a shit industry, but it’s really a very, very good job."

FACE THE FACTS: An interview with Ian Jorgensen aka Blink

“Fuck Game of Thrones! The main threat to the live music scene isn’t downloading music, it’s downloading crazy-good TV,” says Kiwi legend and Face the Music guest BLINK. ANDY HAZEL laughs, and then feels awkward.

Ahead of his contribution to the Face the Music industry chat-fest, New Zealand music mogul and man of action Ian Jorgensen, better known as Blink, is, as ever, full of ideas. The man responsible for the legendary Camp a Low Hum festival, November’s five-city Square Wave Festival and manager of Wellington’s latest venue Puppies, is always happy to share advice.

“I think I’m just confident in my ability to take on anything. I’m also a bit of dick,’ he says casually. ‘I’ve had my fails like everyone else, but I’m always willing to take on a massive risk, and New Zealand is a small place. The benefit of being here is that it’s easy to reach out to everybody; you only need to make an impact in four cities, so it’s simple for me to raise the profile of an artist or band. In the US, you have to work hard for a long time and you probably still won’t make a dent. The problem with New Zealand is that it’s easy to get to the top and once you’re there, there’s nowhere to go. With my festival [Camp A Low Hum] it’s a big as it can get, which makes you think, right, now what can I do with this?’

Having taken his can-do attitude around the country and around the world, Blink collated his experiences in the book D.I.Y Touring the World; a repository of advice on how to travel on next to nothing. ‘Part of the reason I wrote the book is because every time someone wanted to know anything, they’d email me; ‘Who puts posters up in Dunedin? Who can mix us in Auckland?’ So I put out a book that featured everything I knew about touring. Since I’d toured overseas, I put out another book that had everything I know about touring the world.’

‘The same piece of advice I tell everyone,’ he continues, ‘and what everyone at this conference will be talking about, is this; people underestimate how hard they have to work on any project,’ he pauses. ‘When I booked my first tour, I wouldn’t start the day until I’d emailed at least 20 venues. I did that every day for six weeks. Sometimes it would take an hour or two, sometimes most of the day. Setting little goals before you relax achieves a lot. And another thing’ he says warming up, ‘people never think big enough either. With [his new festival] Square Wave, it’s the first year I’m doing it; I’m kicking it off straight away in 5 cities with 70 artists. If you’re doing the work anyway you may as well make it big.’

Despite his litany of impressive efforts and inspired bands, there are sad facts that enthusiasm can’t overcome. “If anything, the music scene is dying in New Zealand,’ he says unemotionally, “and it’s not because people are downloading music. It’s because they’re downloading TV; that’s my competition. It’s Breaking Bad, Mad Men, Game of Thrones and these amazing TV shows, that’s why people stay at home, and everyone I know does this! No one stayed at home in the early 2000s, back then it was just…Friends, now TV is crazy good. If it weren’t my job, I’d be home watching TV too. Fuck Game of Thrones!’ he laughs. 

Live Review: T:DY T:WNS, MILK TEDDY, HELLO SATELLITES, THE MOTIFS

Spotted Mallard

The Spotted Mallard is bustling as chatty diners, sitting at lamp-lit tables, have their attention drawn from each other to the stage by opening act The Motifs. While the pre-programmed drum loops splutter emphatically from diminutive Casios, and Alexis Hall’s wonderfully intimate voice and guitar playing is as warmly appealing as ever, the songs themselves seem undersold and the band under-rehearsed. Playing their first show in many months, even a below-par version of a song like Backwards is still a cause for celebration, and the crowd respond warmly, glad to have them back.

Six-piece Hello Satellites follow and bewitch the attentive with their arresting, twisting four-part harmonies. The intricate arrangements for voice, bass, drums, accordion, viola and violin betray the professionalism and attention to detail that infuses the work of singer/songwriter Eva Popov, and almost seems out of place tonight it is so good. The tight rhythm section leavens the songs a Lamb-like subtle dance-ability, while intricate Sweet Honey in the Rock-style vocal arrangements lend the songs an exotic flavour. Closing song Won't You Dance With Me? is especially powerful. 

Hitting the highlights from their beloved 2012 album Zingers, Milk Teddy set about spinning webs of dour indie pop. The unpretentious, matter-of-factness to their music belies the talent involved in their creation; singer/songwriter Thomas Mendelovits sings almost as if he’s ashamed of his songs’ pop sensibility. The set, while well played and full of their trademark wry intelligence, doesn’t see the band breaking any new ground; fine for fans such as those here tonight, but does make you hope their momentum hasn’t slowed.

Sweet Fantasy is the first song for headliners T:dy T:wns, and within its opening seconds you know something very special is happening here. The dual vocals of Louise Terry and Sez Wilks are jaw dropping in their harmonic strength and fluidity. Guitarist and songwriter Peter Head boasts a Flying V guitar with an iPhone-keyboard plugged into it and makes noises just as sweetly odd as you’d expect. Popov returns to the stage for Bask, one of the A-sides of tonight’s launched single, and with it the gig really takes off. While Pikelet isn’t available for the band’s radio hit Dear Joseph, Terry, Wilks and copious handclaps drive the song to its satisfying conclusion.

St Clare joins them for the other A side, the knowing Goldfrapp-esque I'm Gonna Get Dressed Up, and it too is a triumph. Terry’s Elizabeth Fraser-esque take on Once a Year silences the room, which then sings along to closer Bare Chested Boys. A major addition to Melbourne’s music scene has arrived, and they’re glorious.

Melbourne Fringe Festival: SABRINA D’ANGELO - WHY DO I DREAM?

Son of Loft, Lithuanian Club

A slackly hanging crocheted tablecloth adorns the black curtained stage, a homely totem giving no warning whatsoever of the bizarre world of psychosexual body poetry to follow. Sabrina D'Angelo's third foray into the Fringe Festival establishes her as a major talent and a pioneer in physical theatre. While previous shows focused on puppets and asked you to ignore the master, in Why Do I Dream? it is impossible for your eyes to leave her. 

Ostensibly a theatrical interpretation of Madam Bovary, D'Angelo uses the text to explore notions of inhibition, desire and satiation, which she excels in expressing using mime, song, interpretive dance, ventriloquism and poetry. Frequently hilarious, occasionally confronting and often poignant, she manages abrupt shifts in tone with a deft physicality, and a constant sense of surprise in a show crammed with ideas. Possibly the first performer to connect Gustave Flaubert, Lionel Richie and an amorous bear, D'Angelo is fast forging a totally unique and utterly arresting body of work. 
One of the few true originals this Fringe is offering.

Live Review: MONTERO, ANDRAS FOX, PRUDENCE REES-LEE

Howler  
Simultaneously dwarfing and inarguably enhancing tonight’s performances is the impression of this new Brunswick venue, Howler. Resplendent with floor to ceiling timber and purple lights and boasting a phenomenal PA system, Howler will hopefully be figuring far more commonly in readers’ gig schedules in the near future. 
 

Tonight begins with chamber-pop songstress Prudence Rees-Lee leading us on the musical equivalent a tour of The Wicker Man’s Summer Isle. Wearing a face-obscuring hat, Rees-Lee and her octet hit highlights from recent album Court Music From the Planet of Love and bewitch us in the process. Intricate and subtly atmospheric arrangements boast harp, strings, guitar and keys and push the richly complex songs. Parts interweave, enhance and echo each other, though Rees-Lee often seems as though she’s singing louder than she’d like to be. Closing with one of the year’s best songs, Morning, this is a set bursting with originality and talent, and a charismatic singer committed to making her own way. 

Oozing in from the electro pop of DJs Darren Sylvester and Hannah Higher Power, comes programmer Andras Fox. Warm bass pulses meld beneath mellow Kompakt-style tones; it's pretty sweet but ultimately samey stuff. Fox dabbles with African percussion and clipped, delayed melodies to inoffensive 80s-ish ends. Claiming he's not dancing due a squash injury, Fox churns through several sound-alike pieces of tinkly warm elevator techno from forthcoming album Café Romantica over which people happily chat.

Beginning with life-affirming album opener Adriana, Montero celebrate the long-delayed release of their debut The Loving Gaze in a glorious rush of bright, fizzing glee. Over projections of colour-saturated explosions, singer and songwriter Bjenny Montero arrives looking like a cross between Chrissy Amphlett and a young shaman. While the band has never sounded bigger, there is a sense of euphoric freedom here that seems rare in other bands.

Montero himself is so committed to the performance and fearless in his expression that the stage is a playground, allowing other personalities in the six-piece to shine through. Guitarist Geoff O’Connor’s slick chops and smoother visage sits comfortably next to Gerald Wells, a perfectionist intently dispatching fluid analogue synth melodies. Guy Blackman’s cheery avuncular electric piano work blends impeccably with drummer Cameron Potts’ wild and accurate additions and the bass and vocal work of Bobby Brave; it’s brilliant stuff.
Mumbai is a glorious spin in the sun, Clear Sailing loses its freewheeling nature in a new rushed arrangement, but the band can’t be blamed for reinventing a song with which the audience are familiar. Dead Heads Come to Dinner and Glam Campbell are closing highlights in a night full of revelations, and one the packed room reward with deafening cheers.

Melbourne Fringe Festival Review: TONY MARTIN: THE YETI

The Butterfly Club
 

While the story behind the warren-like temple of kitsch that is The Butterfly Club would be a show in itself, a glimpse into the fertile mind of comic legend Tony Martin brings a packed room of excitable and well-dressed 40-45 year olds out on this opening night. Even if you don’t fit into this niche, you would be hard-pressed to find a more relatable and better written show this Fringe. 

Presented as an episodic narrative of his life in an Auckland boarding house, The Yeti is an adaptation of highlights from his book Lolly Scramble, and Martin embodies the warmly-written characters brilliantly, with only a slight shift in physicality, relying on his peerless observational comedic writing and voicing to set us right amongst the cheap furniture and smoky fug of the house.

Seeing one of our (seemingly ageless) comic legends at work and maintaining his unmatchable form is not a chance to pass up.

Melbourne Fringe Festival Review: 10:45PM WORLD RECORD SHOW

The Tuxedo Cat 

Despite starting half an hour late, from the moment this chaotically hilarious show begins you know you’re in good hands. The three hosts Adam Knox, Dave Warneke and Andy Matthews are each gifted comedians with timing and improvisational skills that could lead to long careers. The ‘let’s see how many obscure (and previously non-existent) world records we can break’ premise is more a vehicle for some excellent banter. 

Full of unpredictable twists, messy accidents and occasional guest comedians, the hosts seem to be on a steep learning curve. Examining the detritus on stage at the show’s conclusion is testament to the lengths they’re willing to go to; whipped cream, ‘top shelf’ white wine, chocolate sauce, flecks of blood and a huge number of broken eggs. Impossible not to laugh at, this bizarre, charisma-driven show is a safe bet for anyone with a funny bone and a memory of Le Snaks.

Melbourne Fringe Festival Review: BEN POBJIE IS WEARING A TOWEL

Son of Loft, Lithuanian House

Many comedians rejoice at the chance to use the stage as a psychiatrist's couch, but it takes a rare combination of intelligence, wit, courage and commitment to actually make the prospect entertaining. While Pobjie is certainly smart and courageous enough to turn skin-pricklingly honest accounts of self-harm, depression, masturbation and an obsession with Breaking Bad into a galvanising performance, the emphasis on laughs is secondary to the honesty, but this isn't the comedy festival.

Whatever cheap and transient thrills the Fringe may offer up elsewhere, Pobjie has no time for insincerity or pretense. This is a compelling, cathartic, unique and at times challenging show but one that rewards in more ways than Pobjie possibly intended. Plus, any show that ends with a man wearing a towel 'for all the people who were told they couldn't do something but then did it anyway and failed and realised they should have listened in the first place’ is a man worth listening to.

Melbourne Fringe Festival Review: RED LIKE OUR ROOM USED TO FEEL

The Warren, North Melbourne Town Hall 

Fresh from the Edinburgh Fringe Festival (where it was among the best reviewed of all productions) Ryan van Winkle's oddly beguiling show is a truly memorable and disarming discovery. Inviting you, one by one, in to a small curtained-off alcove, warmly decorated as a share house bedroom, van Winkle offers a cup of tea or port and invites you to curate a short collection of his poetry. 

A welcome seduction away from the hustle and clamour of the festival, RLORUTF seeks to make a personal connection more than any show here, and overwhelmingly succeeds thanks to van Winkle's unprepossessing nature (and, perhaps, the port). As a model for poetry it's exciting, as a short, 20-minute dip into an under-appreciated art form it's glorious, and as a way to feel as though something here has been made specifically for you, it's unmatched, finally, and fittingly, it's free. A subtle and dazzling highlight.

Live Review: THE NATIVE CATS, BITCH PREFECT, EXHAUSTION

The Gasometer

Bleeding from a sound check into an experimental noise-fest, three-piece Exhaustion waste no time in confounding expectations about what constitutes a ‘song’. Moving from empty percussion thwacks to full throttle jet engine distortion, the band play hard and loud, bullying their songs with unexpected twists and turns. Almost better suited to a party at a dysfunctional share house than a gig, Exhaustion channel a Germs-like snotty dissatisfaction and rage, expressed via feedback squalls, busy tom-heavy drums, simple basslines and drowned vocal yells. Their short, acerbic set is a powerful blast that keeps their rising profile on course.

Similarly fuelled with bratty discord Bitch Prefect follow and the cut and thrust of rapidly strummed clean guitars fills the room. Dissonant vocals stab and drone as the songs rise and hang. The trio channel the Vaselines and Flying Nun while adding a galvanising neurotic buzz. Dense, dynamically even, their set mostly comprises of songs from 2012’s Big Time album though earlier single and set-closer Holiday in America stands out for it’s brilliant simplicity.

Playing the second date on their national tour, The Native Cats take to the stage to a now-packed room. Bassist Julian Teakle sets the starkly muscular mood, as vocalist, circuit-bent-Nintendo tweaker and melodica blower Peter Escott begins his doleful intelligent intimations. Wearing a long red dress, he cuts a fascinating figure as the duo move track by track through new album Dallas. Escott’s expressive voice and strident lyrics gain strength from their menacing, casual dispatching. Highlights I Remember Everyone, brilliant new single Cavalier and mournful C of O demonstrate their peerless songwriting and disorienting construction; ‘They tell you strangers come and go and if you want you can pretend / Now I’m running out of people I thought I’d never see again / I’m seeing them again” Escott sings archly.

Sometimes danceable, sometimes suited to headphones and a walk through dark streets, their music maintains a delicate balance between knowing irony and galling sincerity. Dallas and this gig make a strong case for the Native Cats being one of the most interesting and strikingly original bands in the country, though it’s highly unlikely they’d give a shit about any sort of assessment like that.

As their dazzling encore of Shovel on Shovel finishes (introduced as "a song about a recurring dream where I smoke a cigarette and regret it") and the noise from the rowdy crowd fades the duo share a glance and nod before leaving the stage. "Thank you Melbourne," Escott wryly confesses. "I'm slowly coming around to you".

Live Review: TULLY ON TULLY, PLAYWRITE

The Toff in Town
Dispelling Election Day blues within seconds of kicking off their set, Playwrite bounce their drama-laden brand of percussion-driven funk rock off the walls of the largely empty room. While claiming influences of Animal Collective and TV on the Radio, the epic grandeur of Elbow and the bongo/floor tom fury of Local Natives are more accurate likenesses, which, in these hands, is no bad thing. Clearly a massive asset to any festival lineup, Playwrite deal in music to feel and dance to rather than just hear. It’s strange to see the smallish room gradually fill and the audience respond with trademark warm politeness (the kind that keeps this country on its knees); when singer Jordan White pushes his impressively powerful voice, these songs deserve an arena of fans, arms around each other and fists aloft. 

To fractured projections of The Wizard of Oz, Tully on Tully take to the stage to wind up their national tour in aid of their new and stonkeringly good EP Weightless. Dancers push their way to the front of the now packed room, as the band launch into opener Hunt You Down. With two years of consistent gigging behind them and a solid, unchanged lineup, tonight’s gig feels like it’s a new high for the band. Always a note-perfect formidable pop machine, ToT tonight seems ready to take it to the next level. Singer Natalie Foster, always a mesmerising presence live, moves with a feline quality as she inhabits her words and entrances the audience. More a band than ever before, radio hit Naked and their sterling So Close to Over really highlight the role of the four-piece backing the ever-moving Foster, not just the musicianship but also the personalities of the band shine through in these songs now. 

It’s as if two years of gigging has finally made the band comfortable to play the parts and be themselves. While highlights Quiet Company and EP-opener Going on Like This noisy-up the crowd, it’s the Hayden Calnin-featuring Triple J hit Stay (absent tonight but ably covered by guitarist Greg Rietwyk and keyboardist Pete Corrigan) that sees the entire room burst into singing so emphatic that it nearly drowns out the band. Watching the Tully on Tully share disbelieving smiles as the crowd lift their voices is the high point of a blazing set and a powerful reminder of what music can do, and that no matter what happens elsewhere in the country, there are still few places in the world you’d rather be.