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Dawn Breaks Through: In Conversation with Jeff Kandefer of the Daysleepers

I cut my shoegaze teeth on The Daysleepers back in 2008. To me they were the most enigmatic of the new lot of shoegazers, dropping the majestic Drowned in a Sea of Sound and immediately vanishing into the ether leaving the rest of us hanging on for a decade before announcing their next full-length. Creation is out Fall 2018.

As it turns out they aren’t all that inaccessible – they’re just regular, busy humans. Jeff Kandefer kindly consented to being interviewed for AE and I had the chance to ask ten years worth of questions about the band, their new album and marine life.

AE: There’s this music review trope that goes ‘no review of a shoegaze album released after 1995 is complete without a reference to how it is influenced by MBV/Slowdive/Ride.’ While I am sure this is not entirely untrue, I feel it’s unfair to the work and creativity the bands put into defining their sound. I can tell a Daysleepers track apart from a stack of other bands by the music alone, and I know I’m not the only one. This is just a really round-about way for me to ask the question – how did you and the band come to discover the sound that defines The Daysleepers?

Jeff: The sound in a way just defined itself. A happy accident I guess. When we first started this band my intention was just to make more shoegaze in the style of some of my favorite bands like Slowdive, which you mentioned. At first that’s pretty much what we did, but the sound evolved into something else by the time we got to Drowned in a Sea of Sound. Back in 2003-2004 I was really not able to find too many new bands making shoegaze music, at least not in a manner that I wanted to hear, so really we just set out to make our own. I guess others had the same idea because the scene started to grow again around the same time we put out our first two EPs.

I think our sound is defined by what influences us and those influences are not confined to the shoegaze genre. So even though we use the tools of the genre (reverb, delay, chorus, fuzz…) there are influences that take it in other directions too. I think we have a new wave feel at times and even some post punk elements here and there.

Your new album, Creation, releases later this year. Can you tell me a bit about your journey from Hide Yr Eyes to Creation? How have you seen your aesthetic evolve in that time – musically, lyrically etc.? 

I just think as we mature as individuals the music matures naturally. Creation has a way more mature, developed, big sound and because we are producing it, every decision is one made by the band, not anyone else outside of it. We have been able to take more time experimenting and exploring guitar and vocal sounds which is really fun. Also I feel my songwriting and lyrics are the best I have written yet. They are really meditative and personal to me. When I listen to the old stuff I still love it but with the ten-year gap between Drowned in a Sea of Sound and Creation to me, I feel we have stepped up to a whole new level. I can’t wait for people to hear it!

The music industry is not the same beast it was in the OG shoegaze era and the odds of ‘profiting’ from music aren’t as high anymore. What are your thoughts on the Bandcamp and/or Spotify models for musicians? What would your idea of an ideal platform for listeners and musicians be?

All of these models have positives and negatives. I don’t think there is a perfect solution to it. Bandcamp is great and probably the closest thing to being perfect. I mean you can upload lossless audio, high-res artwork, sell merchandise and post a release immediately. It gives the artist so much control and I think it can bypass the need for an official website which can be an added expense that an artist no longer has to deal with. It pretty much is your own simple website. I just wish it had a blog feature and It would be perfect. Actually it would be perfect if they took 0% of sales but I think we need to be reasonable.

As far as Spotify and Apple Music go, I think these streaming services all serve a purpose. What they pay artists seems almost criminal but they are very helpful in making music accessible to more people. I can’t help but think it makes music less valuable and more disposable. It’s hard to value music and focus on specific albums when you have millions of songs at your fingertips. I stream and I buy digital tracks. I like the convenience of just being able to cull up a song when you want to hear it anytime and anywhere, but I have also started getting back into vinyl so I can just sit in my living room with the TV off and appreciate an album. It’s nice to hold an album in your hands and see and hear an entire artistic vision.

When I was younger often times I would buy an album because of the cool artwork or maybe because it was a band I knew but didn’t hear that particular album. Sometimes the album ended up being good, sometimes it didn’t. Other times I didn’t like the album at first but because I committed to the purchase I focused on it and gave it a chance. Some of those albums are my all time favorites now. MBV‘s Loveless was one of those albums for me. If I was a kid now I might have missed out on that because If I started to stream it and didn’t care for it immediately I’d probably just switch to something else and never go back. That’s kind of scary to think about.

What inspires the lyrics to your songs? What are you usually writing about?

I almost always write the lyrics last. Most times, as we are writing the music I develop a melody that I like and then at the end I fit words to it. The sounds and mood of the song often times pushes me in a direction for the lyrics. Lyrics are easily the hardest part of the process for me. It always seems like a struggle for the longest time and then all the sudden they just start to come together and in the end I am usually pretty happy with them. As far as what the songs are about it is pretty varied from song to song. Often times I’ll write about big abstract ideas but I still try to keep a human element there. I’ll write about life’s struggles, experiences, dreams, fears, nature/creation, moods…all kinds of things. Creation is a bit more of a concept album. There is a theme that runs through it and it is more of a spiritual one. Meditations of the universe, how it began, where it’s going and how we move along with it. While it seems like a big theme, I also think it is very human and relatable.

A little while ago I wrote a few lines on my interpretation of ‘The Soft Attack’ – the first song I heard by The Daysleepers, and one I never grew tired of. One interpretation was instinctive – it felt like it was about flying and freedom. The other I developed after I paid attention to the lyrics and then it sounded to me like someone throwing themselves into the ocean (seagulls, waves, drags me down… etc). I can’t stand the conflict – what is it about?

Interesting interpretation! I’m glad you told me that because I purposefully write songs so that there is room for the listener to interpret the words and sounds however they want. They all do mean something specific to me though.

‘The Soft Attack’ was written about a reoccurring dream I used to have where I am swimming in the ocean on a peaceful evening and meet my end at the jaws of a Great White Shark. For some reason the dream is always in black and white. If you wonder why the song sounds so liberating for something that subject-wise is kind of morbid, there is a reason for that. In the dream, the whole experience naturally seems terrifying at first but as the blood drains from my body I enter this peaceful, euphoric state. Everything feels warm and numb, and I sort of accept this as my end. In those moments where my vision starts to go dark it does feel like a very freeing, beautiful thing in a weird way. Leaving the world in a beautiful ocean, by a primitive creature, but somehow enjoying the last few minutes left in the world… there was something sort of beautiful in that.

If you know anything about Great Whites often times they’ll just take a bite or take off a limb and then swim away. Most times people die from bleeding out rather than a relentless attack. That’s the case here. So it’s not like a violent attack, it’s more of a soft one – get it? The original artwork I designed for the EP cover had this awesome image of a shark lurking just under the surface of dark water. It was both terrifying and beautiful but sadly the photographer wanted way too much money for me to use it, so I went another route and decided to leave that theme more of a mystery.

Can we talk about ‘Dream Within A Dreamworld’ for a hot minute? I feel like it popped up during the long break after Drowned in a Sea of Sound, hinted at the promise of a new album that year, and then vanished. Where did it come from? Where did it go? What’s the story?

Sure – that song was an experiment and really kind of a one-off. It was never meant to be the start of a new album, just a single. At that time we had been talking more about recording a follow up to Drowned in a Sea of Sound but we weren’t sure how to go about it. We didn’t want to record in a studio like the previous releases, we wanted to record and produce new material ourselves, but we didn’t have all the equipment necessary at that point to do it right. Our drummer, Mario, had the closest thing to a home studio at the time and he showed me an early demo of ‘Dream Within a Dreamworld’. I loved it so much that I asked him to send me a copy of it so I could record vocals for it. I had some recording equipment at home so I put down vocals and some keyboards. After Scott recorded bass we decided to mix and master it and use it as an experimental track to see if people would respond to it. I sort of didn’t expect anyone to care about it and all of the sudden we started getting fan mail and people raving about it on the internet. That track started us down the path of where we are today. We have much better equipment to record with now. Once I got everything I needed for my studio setup in late 2016 we started on Creation. ‘Dream Within a Dreamworld’ is pretty unique for us and favors a more New Wave sound. When I started writing the songs for Creation I knew I wanted to go in a very different direction than that.

You’re not the first shoegazers ever, but you’re definitely the one of the first bands responsible for the resurrection of the genre. I’m not from your country or continent, but I believe the scene was pretty tight in the late 2000s/early 2010s – I’m basing this assumption on band lineups I’d see littered  ​across  my Facebook. Is there anything you can tell me about how this scene (re)emerged in the States and what it was like then?

I didn’t know much about the early 2000’s shoegaze scene back then. All I knew was that my favorite bands were not making this kind of music anymore so I was determined to put a band together and make it myself if they weren’t going to. I saw Mojave 3 live around that time. I talked to Neil about Slowdive and at the time he was so dismissive about it. He was focused on different things. I thought to myself that if these forefathers of the genre don’t care about it then I guess I will have to. Out of that The Daysleepers were born. Like you said, we weren’t the first to bring it back. Bands like Airiel, Bethany Curve and Air Formation were doing their thing before we formed but I didn’t find out about them until a little later. By the time Drowned in a Sea of Sound came out it seemed like this revival was really picking up.

I’ve read that you have a 9 to 5 job as a designer and your own freelance business, which sounds pretty gruelling. You also make music. I, too, have a 9 to 5 job and I struggle to juggle that and maintain this blog. Tell me the secret behind your time management skills.

My secret is that I deprive myself of sleep in order to make progress on the music. I’m probably taking years off of my life but it is working! I’m getting the results I want but that is why it takes us a little longer. We really have to work around a busy schedule. There is something so meditative about writing, creating and producing late at night when the neighborhood is asleep. It’s so quiet and calm. I don’t really freelance anymore so that frees things up a bit. I know what you mean though. It is a juggling act for sure but I make sure I don’t overdo it too much. I want to enjoy the process and not feel too stressed to do it. I feel like I have a really good system to manage all of this now. When the album is finished I plan on getting a lot more sleep though.

Your comment on my Life on Venus post made my day. I know you’ve been asked this question before, but the answer must keep changing: What are your (other) favourite shoegaze bands from the last year or so?

That’s nice to hear. Thanks for writing about them! In my opinion I think Life on Venus is the best new shoegaze band in years and I think they deserve a lot more attention than they get. They nail all the classic elements that I love about shoegaze music, but they add something fresh to the genre too. The vocals and guitars are so beautiful and they strike that great balance between sadness and hopefulness. I’ve listened to that album so many times it’s ridiculous!

Over the last year I have been heavily involved in making our new album so I purposefully don’t immerse myself in new shoegaze bands because I don’t want to be influenced by trends or where they are taking the genre. I want to do what comes natural to us and go on those instincts. I think that’s how we get a great and genuine sounding Daysleepers album.

Having said that I do tune into my favorite shows on DKFM (When The Sun Hits & Somewherecold) to see what’s going on in the modern shoegaze world. Besides Life on Venus I really like Lowtide, Yumi Zouma, Softer Still, Nothing, The Morelings, Bellavista… A lot of other stuff I’m sure I’m forgetting. There’s so much shoegaze now and that is a great thing!

Finally, let’s not kid ourselves: We pretend we listen to nothing but shoegaze, post-rock and other musical intellectualisms, but our lizard brains crave a periodic dose of pop. What are some bands/artists you listen to who we wouldn’t have expected you to listen to?

I was raised on pop music in the late 80’s/early 90’s so I think that’s what drew me to dreampop. Under all that noise there are some really catchy pop tunes. Unfortunately, I don’t like hardly anything on the radio these days. I like some Lana Del Rey songs quite a bit though.

One thing people might not expect is that I am a huge fan of the more ambient sounding R&B artists like Sade, Maxwell and Eryka Badu. Sade is a huge vocal influence for me. She holds those long, beautiful, melodic notes that just drip like honey. Her album Love Deluxe is in my top 5 favorite albums of all time. I would love to see her live.

I love trance music and electronic stuff. I’m also really into Post-hardcore bands like Mars Volta, Circa Survive and Coheed & Cambria. I love old and modern Jazz. I’m a huge fan of all kinds of Indie rock/alternative acts like Interpol, The Shins, Bjork, Washed Out, Stereolab, Dinosaur Jr, The Mary Onettes, Bon Iver and so on. I love experimental instrumental bands like Tycho, Bonobo and Jaga Jazzist. I love 80’s music, 90’s grunge music… I’m all over the place. Of course my staples are The Cure, Slowdive, Cocteau Twins, The Smiths, The Chameleons and Depeche Mode.

 

Past albums, EPs and, soon, Creation available on bandcamp

Categories
Familiar Sounds

DEAFCULT vs. pinkshinyultrablast

DEAFCULT‘s Auras made it into every Best of 2017 Shoegaze list I came across, but I wonder if they named ‘Echoes’ for the not-so-subtle throwback to pinkshinyultrablast‘s BTWF*-era ‘Blaster’

 

 

*BTWF = Before They Were Famous

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Discover Feature

30 Songs That Blew My Mind (that you probably haven’t heard of) – Part 3

You could’ve knocked me over with a feather. Tracks 11-15 are here:

11. Distressor EP – Whirr: This isn’t a track, but I’m making an exception for one of the most significant releases of my lifetime. I used to listen to Distressor every day on my 1.5 hour commute home from work back in 2010. It ‘spoke’ to me, for no discernible reason. If you ask me today, I could swear that every year since 2010 was composed solely of Whirr (who I called ‘Whirl‘ till the bitter end). One day we must have fused into one because five years later I saw my life play out to Distressor, and this time when it spoke to me I understood what it said.

See also: Stay With Me

12. Skies You Climb – Highspire: If Distressor plays out my life, ‘Skies You Climb’ is my persistence beyond life. One day I will no longer exist but ‘Skies You Climb’ will remain and with it so will I. It’s my ashes in the air, my ‘soul’ liberated, my atoms clinging to vapour and coalescing wherever the song goes. If you’re listening to this in 2100, say hi to that dust cloud in the room.

See also: Persistence 

13. The Soft Attack – the Daysleepers: It feels like you’re flying but recently I’ve come to figure it’s actually about dying. The sound of seagulls and crashing waves, memories of the sea, being dragged down and a cold snap give ‘The Soft Attack’ a more insidious meaning than the one I had originally interpreted. At the time, ‘The Soft Attack’ sounded like freedom. Even today, I hear it and I don’t see death. ‘The colours in my head‘ and ‘watching the seabirds dive‘ sound, to me, transcendent. There’s not a note of despair or despondency on this song. Whatever the intended meaning, it sounds to me like a passage to paradise. I can’t speak for what The Daysleepers wanted but we can make what we want of ‘The Soft Attack’ and boundless freedom is what I’ve always heard.

14. Hey – Blind Mr. Jones: To this day I fail to understand how a community as tightly knit as the shoegazers could let a band like Blind Mr. Jones slip into oblivion. My own attempts to locate them – if only just to say thank you – have failed.

I first heard ‘Hey’ back in my Shoegaze 101 days and I still struggle to find a fault with the track beyond its unsatisfying fade-out. How I lap up every note and how I used to – and still do – delight in spitting out the final, disdainful verse: ‘Oh it’s another mess of a day/I’m lifeless and I’m sick and tired of what you’ve got to say/Oh it’s another waste of a day/I’m listless and I’m so, so bored of what you’ve got to say.‘ The lines were an anthem when I first heard them and they still stir up the same warm, fuzzy misanthropy.

15. Achilles’ Heel – Toploader: I tracked down ‘Achilles’ Heel’ two years after I first met it. In a rare moment of taste, the television threw it at me late one weeknight and left me transfixed. I was positive it was a programming error and that, surely, they meant to play twee people-pleaser ‘Dancing in the Moonlight’. I was probably right because that was the last time I saw it on TV. It was only a year or two later, with nothing but the melody that had been echoing in my head and a new, blazing 56 kbps internet connection, that I found it again. I call it a chance weeknight, but was that moment really a coincidence or were we always meant to find each other?

Categories
Discover Feature

30 Songs That Blew My Mind (that you probably haven’t heard of) – Part 2

Five more tracks that stopped me in my… tracks.

6. Chromium – The Church: I didn’t meet The Church through ‘Under The Milky Way’ like most of the world. I met them when I was 17 and Pandora (which was in India at the time) played me a track called ‘Chromium’ which, I would later find out was not the original recording from After Everything Now This, but the acoustic version that appeared on El Momento Descuidado. I struggle to tell you what it was about this track that made me stop and listen and, once it was finished, rejig my radio station genres so it would play again. I could be as simple as the stripped down opening. It could also be the meaningfully meaningless lyrics (‘neo maniac in the cul-de-sac’ was my forum signature back in my Songfacts days). Maybe it was just the name of the song? Whatever it was, no other track by The Church – and I love every song they ever made – came close to doing for me what ‘Chromium’ still does.

7. Soul One/Mouthful of Cavities – Blind Melon: I still don’t know of a voice as emotive as Shannon Hoon’s. Blind Melon may be seen as one-hit wonders for ‘No Rain’, which is beautiful in its paradoxical pairing of uplifting melodies with lonely verses, but ‘Mouthful of Cavities’ and ‘Soul One’ (and St. Andrew’s Fall/Walk) are more than just the best of Blind Melon. They’re among the best things to have ever happened to us.

I’ve never seen Shannon Hoon’s face on a t-shirt but I wept for him, for Nico and for the songs I would never get to hear, when I heard ‘Soul One.’ I cried for his bitter little heart (Inside – pain in my heart often made her cry. Outside, I cursed the birds and the sugar skies‘) for his childlike joy (‘you know it felt like she was the only one’) and for his unresolved grief (‘but I never – no I never got a chance to say goodbye.).

Like ‘Soul One’, it’s the devastation in lines like ‘see I haven’t seen him smile in a little while,‘ on ‘Mouthful of Cavities’ that breaks my heart. Hoon says the line twice, first with desolation (it’s almost a question with the lilt at the end of the sentence), and then with frustration. And when he says, sadly but matter-of-factly, ‘One of these days this will die – so will me and so will you,‘ you know it turned out of to be true.

The more I listen to Blind Melon, the more I fall in love with them – for their words, their music and their raw emotion. But today, I live in a world without Shannon Hoon and there’s no one to warble ‘Life Ain’t So Shitty’ into a tape recorder kept by the window of a hotel room and make it sound like a masterpiece.

8. You Look Fine – Pia Fraus: Let everything I say about ‘You Look Fine’ be as beautifully simple as it is. If I had ever done music theory, I would have used this track as a study on the significance of composition, of silence and of chaos, and propounded a corollary on the irrelevance of complexity. Pia Fraus don’t tell me anything beyond ‘you look fine’, but I believe them. Their musicianship isn’t masterful, but it’s exactly what I need to hear. And they throw in a wall of chaotic noise – why? I don’t know, but it was meant to be there. Walk down a busy street with this song in your headphones and let Pia Fraus be the voice in your head, your armour against interaction, and your boost of self-confidence.

9. Do You Feel Loved – U2: One day I will write a 12 page paper on how Pop is U2‘s best and most underrated album. Maybe it’s the natural successor to their experiments with Zooropa and Achtung Baby, but Pop is more innovative than both – nothing like its name suggests. I still wish they could have taken the maturity they showed on that album further. Instead they followed up with the palatable All That You Can’t Leave Behind, and got more and more formulaic with every successive release.

It took me a decade of listening to Pop to realise that ‘Do You Feel Loved’ was the standout track on the album because I would keep coming back to it. For the first and only time in my life I wished more people knew about this obscurity because it was made to be danced to with wild hair and wild arms and not an inch of space between two bodies (‘stick together man and woman‘*). ‘Do You Feel Loved’ is orgasmic, but it remains one of the many dog whistles on Pop, an album that most know for its most mediocre track – ‘Discotheque.’ Make love to ‘Do You Feel Loved’ or just dance to it with someone, or by yourself, or in your mind. You’ll find yourself transported out of this world.

*please ignore the heteronormativity this is 1999

10. Standing Outside a Broken Phone Booth with Money in my Hand – Primitive Radio Gods: I’m almost willing to go as far as to say that this song is meant to be listened to with someone else though, personally, I would never do such a thing. ‘Standing Outside a Broken Phone Booth with Money in my Hand’ is a quiet companion – reassuring in nothing but its presence. It’s rare I meet a song that paints such vivid images with nothing more than a few words and fewer sounds. You can see how ‘Moonlight spills on comic books and superstars in magazines.’ You can hear the plane take off from Baltimore and touch down on Bourbon Street. I think I hear coins dropping in a phonebooth when the song opens, but is that just a jukebox scratching a BB King record? Friends or more-than-friends talk about god and conspiracy theories into the night. ‘Phone Booth’ is the soundtrack to our solitary evening reflections. It’s profound, cynical and possibly meaningless – like most of us.

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Discover Feature

30 Songs That Blew My Mind (that you probably haven’t heard of) – Part 1

Celebrating 30 (and a half) years on the planet with a six-part series on the 30 songs that changed my life and blew my mind. Here we go:

1. El Topo – HANDLINGNOISE

Two. That’s how many times I’ve listened to ‘El Topo’ in my lifetime.

I don’t recall how I found HANDLINGNOISE or where I was when I first heard this album, but I recall my heart coming to an abrupt halt at the clap that falls at the start of the track. I remember it staying that way for the next few seconds before picking up and racing ‘El Topo’ all the way to the end.

I listen to ‘El Topo’ sparingly. I wait for stars to align, darkness to fall, and for people to leave. Doors are locked and devices silenced. There is likely no other track that I am as selfish about. I’m an overzealous parent, forbidding it from reaching the ears of those unworthy of its magnificence.

Perhaps I should learn to share.

Is the rest of this album as good as the first track? I have no idea. I’ve usually ceased to be a sentient being by the time it ends.

2. Zoë Machete Control – [The] Slowest Runner [in all the world]

Another album opener that had me at first listen. I don’t remember my first [The] Slowest Runner [in all the world] experience either, but I do remember the smug satisfaction with which I killed a party when I played this track. Drinks paused, phones drooped, eyes glazed over. Someone tried to be cool and I heard them attempt to croak their approval but their voice was puny and insignificant, whipped into oblivion by the tornado in the room. If there’s another group that carries the label ‘neo-classical’ as gloriously and as genuinely as this one, I am yet to meet it.

3. Prodigal Summer – Snow in Mexico

‘Never gets old’ is the new ‘awesome’ – a phrase reduced to flippancy through overuse. But use and overuse it all you like when you’re talking about this track, and tell me – how is listening to ‘Prodigal Summer’ every time like listening to ‘Prodigal Summer’ for the first time? How does it compress every ASMR-trigger the world has ever known into just four and a half minutes? How is it so flawlessly composed of a thousand analogue childhoods when it was released in 2012? How is this song so new and, simultaneously, so, so old?

Here’s another overused word in shoegaze circles – ethereal. Again, use it all you want here. ‘Prodigal Summer’ doesn’t give you anything to grasp. There’s nothing by which you can pin it to your memory, no catchy hooks or sticky riffs. So you listen to it again, and again, and again, hoping that this time – maybe this time – it stays.

4. Fake Lights in the Sky – Last Leaf Down

I remember this vividly. It’s 10 am in the office. Under stark white lights I decide to listen to a track a friend of mine has assured me I will love. A minute and a half in and I can see the world around me slowing to a crawl. By 2.30, the earth has stopped spinning, time has stopped (naturally), and the outside world is frozen in place. Two minutes later, it’s all over. I’m looking at the post-its on my pinboard and I could swear I had only just blinked.

See also: Discover: Last Leaf Down

5. Symphony No. 3 – Gorecki

Pet peeve – people talking during concerts. I don’t go to many gigs in Delhi, but I remember timing a trip to Paris so I could see Ulrich Schnauss perform. As I stood in the audience, I stood out as the lone foreigner, watching as the young’ns around me raised their voices so they could carry on their conversation uninterrupted over the din of Schanuss’s set.

Fortunately, I didn’t see much in the way of such interruptions in Melbourne, except one time – the gig was Mono and it was at the Forum Theatre. Seating was unconventional with the audience in intimate booths looking out at the stage. In these booths, groups and couples chatted merrily all through the opening act and would have carried on through the filler music ahead of Mono’s performance if it wasn’t for what Mono (I presume) had chosen to play between acts.

Flashback to when I was 9 years old and playing video games with my grandfather in our den in the basement. He plays classical music while we play Battle City, and I suddenly stop, transfixed, by what I hear. My eyes tear up, my skin breaks out in goosebumps and my heart feels like it’s breaking. That was the first time I heard Gorecki’s ‘Symphony of Sorrowful Songs’.

A roomful of chatty concert-goers went through the same life-changing experience before my eyes. Undeterred through most of the first movement, one by one, they fell silent to the second. Mono, and I will forever be grateful to them for this, played the composition in its entirety – the entire 56 minutes. When the third movement ended the room was noiseless, and Mono stepped out. No one spoke again.

See also: Gig Guide 2011 #3: Mono

Categories
Familiar Sounds

Balms vs. Nothing

You have to wonder if in naming their track ‘Nothing In’, Balms aren’t giving a tip of the hat to the band of the same name (that’d be Nothing) whose track, ‘Fever Queen’ opens the best album of 2016.

Categories
Familiar Sounds

The Sorry Shop vs. My Bloody Valentine

While I agree that My Bloody Valentine and the Jesus and Mary Chain should be exempt from any and all soundalike competitions, the sheer audacity of The Sorry Shop’s ‘Anxiety’ as it rubs up against a (probably oblivious) ‘You Made me Realise’ makes this comparison worth a listen.

 

NB: Added lols for ‘Anxiety’ itself being a cover of the Ramones.

Categories
Discover

Life on Venus – Encounters

If you’ve been missing The Daysleepers since the cruel taunt that was ‘Dream Within A Dreamworld’ 3 years ago, word on the street is that they’re releasing an honest-to-goodness album this year. Take it from DKFM.

I am yet to see news of said album out in the wild, so forgive me if I don’t hold my breath.

2017 has been kind in other ways, however. Shoegaze superpower, Russia, has given us what is NOT a cheap imitation of the Daysleepers BUT RATHER a worthwhile adversary.

Encounters by Life on Venus is one of the most authentic shoegaze albums to have come out this year.

And how fortuitously do they just happen to hark back to the days of ‘Drowned in a Sea of Sound’ and ‘Hide Your Eyes’

Listen to ‘There Will Be Blood’ and tell me it’s not ‘Run’ and ‘Stars On Fire’ having a session in the sheets.

Pick up Encounters here. It’s pay what you want, but it’s always nice if you pay a little for it.

Categories
Feature

The war is over, they won

Philip Seymour Hoffman’s Lester Bangs was as eerily prophetic as his IRL counterpart when he said these words.

Let’s recap. The line crops up twice in the film. The first when Bangs is cautioning young William from becoming a rock writer, warning him that he’s made it just in time to witness the death of rock and roll (aka the commercialisation of subculture aka the creation of ‘the industry of cool’), just before commissioning him (William) to write him (Bangs) a thousand words on Black Sabbath. Given how the kid is so romantically oblivious to the possibility that there is anything else worth doing with one’s short life apart from writing about music, it’s easy for us to get sucked into our protagonist’s dream and to write off Bangs’ words as excessive and reactionary.

Which is why he needs to say them again later in the film for you to really hear him. William is on tour with Stillwater who are in the middle of a reluctant talk with a very convincing potential new band manager, while their existing manager looks on apathetically. This is in the wake of a series of tour-related mishaps all which could, according to New Manager, have been turned into a profit had they been better… managed. ‘We’re in it for the music!’ Russell’s attempt at staying authentic cannot stand up to the promise of profit and so, this time, when Bangs is on the phone with William and he says ‘The war is over, they won’ you feel him. In those five words you see sponsorship deals, record labels and ads in glossies. The Hit Machine materialises before your eyes and suddenly everyone’s recording in sleek wood-panelled studios instead of garages, basements, attics and bedrooms.

I think that the best records are made on garbage equipment and played on garbage equipment […] The Dolby’s, the studios and the whole surreality of the thing, it just takes all the mud and the guts out of it. I mean the music is supposed to be distorted in the first place, and the clearer you make it, the more you rob it.

That’s the REAL Lester Bangs predicting the demise of authenticity in music back in 1980. While we could still smell the sweat and taste the grit of rock and roll at least in the early 90s, we also saw ‘CORPORATE MAGAZINES STILL SUCK’ on Kurt Cobain’s t-shirt when Nirvana appeared on the cover of Rolling Stone just two or so decades after Stillwater did, all while assembly lines stamped his eyelinered face on mass-produced black t-shirts. The war was over, they’d won.

Maybe the days of grit and dirty glamour are definitively behind us. You’ll still find dirt in the backs of dingy indie venues, where the beer is cheap and rent not so much. But perhaps the closest we’ll get to glamour is Zachary Cole Smith’s admission that DIIV’s last album is the story of his own struggle with heroin.

Maybe it’s because, as the music video fades, and as bandcamp finds itself saturated with audio, we’re listening more and watching less.And maybe bombastic egoism and self-destructiveness are meaningless in the absence of an audience. What good are sexual escapades if there aren’t any hushed voices whispering stories of the depths of your debauchery? Why drop a tab if you haven’t an awed spectator to narrate your trip to after the comedown? We throw the words glamour, grit and guts at our stars, but we don’t have the time to label anything beyond the music we listen anymore. Maybe it’s not as romantic, but perhaps it’s the best we’ll ever have. Maybe this is the purest music has ever been.

Categories
Album Feature Rediscover

Find Your Way Home: Looking back at K with Crispian Mills

This year, Kula Shaker release K 2.0 – a companion to their seminal debut, K, released in September 1996. At the time of this interview, I’m huddled in a quiet corner of a restaurant in New Delhi and I’m asking the Kula Shaker frontman to walk me through the story of K with 7000 kilometres between us.

I start by asking him to tell me about what it was like to release K twenty years ago. He makes an unconventional Blake reference, referring to Songs Of Innocence And Experience – a book he describes as “one of the great classics of literature.” In it, Blake walks the reader through the joys and perils of youthful naïveté.

“What does that have to do with K?” I ask.

“Innocence. We thought we were smarter than we were. We were speaking to these veterans of the music business and getting ripped off. You tell yourself: ‘It won’t happen to me.’ You’re young. But we were walking right into the lion’s den. A nest of snakes. That was the innocence of our youth ploughing into the adult world.”

He continues, his memory of the spirit of the album as vivid as if it was released yesterday. “And it’s an innocent album. It’s an album that’s asking questions, struggling with identity. It’s an album that’s looking for answers.”

K was – and still is – a landmark album. It reached me through Indian cable television the year it was released, but it wasn’t until many years after that I learned that its reception in its home country was… mixed. I ask Mills what he feels the reason behind its criticism was.

“The musical styles on K are mainstream now. People didn’t know how to understand it or where to place it when it was released, so all that was left to do was deride it. Before K, ‘Indian music’ was the music that played in the background when you were in an Indian restaurant. Before K, Krishna was an image on kitschy poster. It really changed us. More than acid, it was hearing about Krishna and going to India that changed us. Krishna is the unavoidable, inevitable karmic destiny. The crooked, unpredictable, divine lover. It’s very personal. And K is based on very personal beliefs.”

Indian influences aside, K was born in the belly of Britpop and, while that could have worked against it, the album managed to turn the era to its advantage.

“Britpop was very much about being British. Bands really embraced and got off on that ‘We’re British!’ sensibility. We weren’t saying we were Indian or that we were British; there’s a more universal identity on K. Theresa May said something like ‘A citizen of the world is a citizen of nowhere’. People are sceptical that there’s a world out there without flags. We said that and people wanted to kill us. People are afraid of the concept of no flags.”

“When I was in private schools, they called me ‘common’, and when I was in state schools they called me ‘posh’. It’s made me very cynical about all these labels. Kula Shaker was born cynical, idealistic, and true. It’s born in ancient traditions, the universality of sanatana dharma, jivan dharma, the identity of the soul. We have a lot of people against us who don’t understand what we’re about. I call it an ‘Accident of Chronology’; it was a moment that suited us. Its 60s obsessed, golden age of pop and rock aesthetic fitted quite well with our own.”

Regardless of how neatly it fitted the Britpop mould, K was something else. A band of four Brits turning Hindu mantras into 60s infused pop melodies was bound to stand out.

“We didn’t make an effort to be different. We were different. We were learning music – I was learning sarod – and we were working with Himagsu Goswami, who was living in London, and his niece, Gouri, who sang on all the albums. A lot of our sound developed from playing unconventional gigs; we played squats, we played festivals – it wasn’t just pubs and clubs. We weren’t listening to the radio and saying: ‘Let’s sound like them.’ We felt this was our destiny.”

The innocence and positivity on K lies in stark contrast to its cynical successor Peasants, Pigs And Astronauts – an album whose dystopian lyrics are just as applicable today as they were in 1999. I can’t resist pointing out the dichotomy.

“Peasants, Pigs And Astronauts is the apocalypse and the aftermath. It’s us having fun with the idea of the millennium,” he tells me. “There was angst in K. But it bore fruit in Peasants, Pigs And Astronauts.”

Kula Shaker never really revisited their sound on K. Their style changed across each successive album, seemingly moving away from the band’s original aesthetic. I ask if there’s any chance we can expect a return to their roots in the future. The closest we’ll get, I learned, is the release of their first live album.

“It’s something we’ve struggled with in the past. We’ve struggled to bottle the magic and excitement of a live show in a recording. So we booked a studio in East London and played a show to a few hundred people. This was in May this year. The sound and the atmosphere were great. The album’s going to be called Live In The East (End).”

I ask, and he lets me in on a secret around K’s recording. “We weren’t crazy about how the album was sounding, originally. We originally recorded it with John Leckie. We were huge fans of his work, but we weren’t huge fans of the outcome when we first heard K; we were disappointed. Our manager told us to stop being such perfectionists. We’d recorded a version of ‘Shower Your Love’ that they wanted to release. No one’s heard it yet.”

“We had to record the B-sides in a small studio. ‘Drop In The Sea’, ‘Dance In Your Shadow’ – that’s where we recorded them. Stephen Harris was at the recording session and we ended up taking a lot of the Leckie tracks off the record.”

A lot has changed in twenty years, and if the music industry was a lions’ den/snake pit then, would K have survived today?

“The music business, and the way it works, used to be much more focused. Not only was it signing bands but it was also simpler to navigate in terms of the ways you could promote a band. But now you have this ocean of content – the Internet – that everyone is drowning in. It’s difficult for music to get through. And whatever does get through has a vanilla taste to it. So I think K would struggle, but you never know. K didn’t fit with Britpop either.”

“As for downloading music – it works, it’s easy. But just because something is easy doesn’t mean it’s right. It’s just as difficult for a band today to make it and there’s so much less support from record companies. Musicians have to be part-time, and there’s a huge sacrifice to be made if you have to live that life. Not many people can tour like that. You have to be a bit mad and very clever to make it.”

I’ve caught Mills just ahead of Kula Shaker’s tour of Japan and the UK. “K is an album that was designed to be heard in one go,” he tells me. “When we’re on tour in Japan and the UK, we’re going to be playing it in its entirety.” He doesn’t see me nod and plan my trip to London. I ask him how the shows are doing, and to tell me about the people who come see them play.

“Our fans are pretty devoted, and I’m always amazed. We did a concert in LA – we hadn’t played there in 15 years, so we didn’t know if anyone would remember us. But they were such exciting shows – we’re so grateful to have those fans. We’re very grateful for the people who’ve stuck with us – the kids, now maybe their kids. The band certainly means something to the fans.”

At 9 years old, when I first heard K, I thought it was beautiful. At 29, it’s still beautiful. I’m not yet tired of the chaotically spiralling guitars on ‘Tattva’, and ‘Govinda’ still manages to soothe me at my most savage. The strings that open ‘Hollow Man (Part 2)’ are exquisite enough to have generously ‘inspired’ Radiohead (cough ‘Faust Arp’ cough), while ‘Start All Over’ is as sweetly romantic today as it was then. And then there’s ‘303’, whose whirlwind cityscapes and unrestrained recklessness can still melt my cold, dead heart.

Originally published on Drowned in Sound.