Gareth Liddiard’s reputation strides ahead of him. Enviable to most musicians and indeed writers in Australia, it’s the well deserved mantle of one of the country’s most celebrated songwriters. As the chief songsmith for The Drones, it could be tempting to sit back and enjoy the modest fruits such a position entails in the cottage industry that is the music business in Australia. Employing a Protestant work ethic, Liddiard has instead recorded a solo album – the production of which was completed at a relatively fast pace, in a turnaround that sees only a few weeks between completion and the press preview. Jim Murray gets the preview and sits down with Liddiard for a yarn.
Strange Tourist captures Liddiard with just vocals and acoustic guitar, stripping back the noise and often aggressive rock of The Drones to present the essence of his work: gently picked chords turn into hammered strings, and Liddiard’s voice shows a hitherto previously unrecorded fragility. This is not to suggest that the album is easy listening – it’s far from it. Lyrically it’s as dense as Dylan at his outraged best, and takes no prisoners with its ability to peer deep into the human psyche, with an unnervingly Australian twist. Gareth Liddiard’s lyrics are like opening a vein with a scalpel – sharp, and often painful as they cut with their searing honesty, but there’s also a strange attraction and resonance in them; like the weird beauty in seeing fresh blood drip off a stainless steel blade.
Resident now in the Victorian countryside near the town of Havilah (after which The Drones’ last album was named), Liddiard is in town for a day of press interviews. Like the man comes across in person – it’s just an unassuming yarn in the back room of a Fitzroy back street pub, but it also reveals plenty of Liddiard’s searing honesty and ability to cut through the bullshit when it comes to the ins and outs of politics, music, the music business and nay; life as we know it.
Discussing the genesis of Strange Tourist, Liddiard reveals that it was only recorded six to seven weeks before release – ‘It was down to the wire’. The album only contains eight tracks, although most are in excess of five minutes, with the last track, ‘The Radicalisation of D’ clocking it at a whopping 16-odd minutes. They were the only tracks recorded for the album. ‘Yeah eight only. I never have enough spares.’ Liddiard explains. ‘ What you see is what you get pretty much’.
Asked about what defines a Gareth Liddiard solo record, apart from the obvious notion that it’s just he and his guitar, Liddiard declares it to be precisely that. ‘I don’t know … pretty much that. It’s just … it seemed pointless to get musicians on it because it would’ve … [album] it would’ve just been The Drones yeah, either you get the Drones and a full orchestra or you might as well go me by myself. It just made sense to do it like that. The dictionary definition of solo is alone.’ Liddiard also says that while recording a solo record was a different experience, it didn’t necessarily end up ‘freeing up’ his creative process. ‘Freeing isn’t the right word. Like, it’s like an acoustic guitar and a voice. There’s not a lot of options going on there. It’s either kinda guitar noodling, or singing accompanied with a guitar, so like, it’d be a bit boring if I just noodled around; so therefore I had to stick a lot of words in there. And another would be like, when you’re talking about singles and that, there’s no point trying to get a four and a half minute song, because there’s not going to be a single anyway because it’s an acoustic guitar and a singer, so go nuts…’
While The Drones have never been one to pander to commercial radio and have made the antithesis of the three minute radio friendly pop song an art form, with Strange Tourist Liddiard has nonchalantly again shown blatant disregard for the convention. Indeed, some of the varied influences in making the record ensured that it defied ‘normal’ song writing conventions. Speaking of these influences, Liddiard says ‘Well, I mean there’s lots of stuff i’ve listened to in the past, someone like Lightning Hopkins who just is relaxed, the timing is relaxed and the arrangements are just, kind of amorphous and just … and it’s sort of stress free. I went with that, without having to worry about too much structure and without having to worry about anything. That and just listened to a bunch of African shit. I don’t care about four and a half minute songs, because they never had restrictions of a 45 record… You know, because they never had radio stations back then, it’s going to be 20 minutes.
Liddiard is also cheerfully cognisant of Strange Tourist’s departure from standard ideas of acoustic balladry, laughingly describing himself in the third person(as he does several times through our yarn): ‘He can’t sing, he can’t play.’ To let his self-deprecation fulfil its purpose would be disingenuous, however, as the album is dense with storytelling – a lyrical walkabout through the minds of characters as diverse as an alcoholic high rise wire walker’s assistant, the madness of former housemates conflated in to one narrative, collaborators in Vichy France and 19th century mailmen on horseback. For such varied subject matter, Liddiard’s lyrical influences are diverse. Pried as to Strange Tourist’s lyrical genesis, he reels off his reading matter. ‘Les Murray, Kurt Vonnegut – this is shit I always read anyway, but then I was just reading it again this time. Fuck knows. Brendan Behan, the Irish guy. Stuff people have bought me. A book about sort of Aboriginal artefacts, or things called frontier artefacts which are say, like an Aboriginal club that’s been made in to a cat o’ nine tails by some, you know … so it’s like a mongrel object and it tells a story in once sense. I just try to absorb as much stuff as possible.’
It also begs the question of how much of the lyrical content of the album is based on personal experience, and how much is ‘storytelling’, for wont of a better description. Is any personal? Liddiard nods. ‘Yeah, for sure. Yeah, 75% would be shit that’s happened, 25% would be total bullshit. Even the shit that’s happened … it’s like i’m just trying to fit stuff into the song, you know. It’s like writing a novel or anything. It’s actually easier to take material from your own life, than it is to just [clicks fingers] puff of smoke, invent this situation that you never went through … that’s just genius shit. And no-one’s a genius … well, not many people are.’ There’s a line in the song ‘Strange Tourist’ which comes across as the most ‘personal’ of the songs, in which Liddiard laments ‘I wound up working in a hospital / renting TVs to the bored and the blind / seems the DSS got sick of my BS / and had my unemployment privatised’. Mentioning in an interview some years ago that he was forced to rent TVs to hospital patients while doing a work for the dole scheme in Melbourne as The Drones were first unleashing their incendiary squall, Liddiard confirms this as the basis for that particular couplet. ‘That’s right, I did that. For sure. It was horrendous.’
‘I mean, Fi’s [Kitschin – Drones bassist and Liddiard’s partner]always demanding a love song from me, but she’s in the band, and i’m not going to write a love song and then tell her what the fucking chords are, you know what I mean ? ‘Sing backing vocals in the chorus, if you can?’
Venturing the suggestion that an almost pastoral song on the album, ‘She’s My Favourite,’ might be the closest he has ever come to penning a love song, with the paean to a loved one: ‘but she’s my favourite / where she’s bound / honey, who can tell / she’s my favourite /where i went wrong / honey, I can’t tell’ Liddiard reflects ‘Yeah, pretty much. And then there’s that other one, ‘You’ve Scared All Your Friends Away.’ I mean, Fi’s [Kitschin – Drones bassist and Liddiard’s partner]always demanding a love song from me, but she’s in the band, and i’m not going to write a love song and then tell her what the fucking chords are, you know what I mean ? ‘Sing backing vocals in the chorus, if you can?’’ Liddiard is also acutely aware of the complexity in finding the simple truth of the love song, while also ruminating on the intra-band complications it caused acts such as Fleetwood Mac. ‘Yeah, you don’t want to go down that path. I’ve always avoided that. And as well, they’re fucking hard things to write. You can’t compete with Leonard Cohen and Bob Dylan. They’ve written the best there are to write. It’s like Bob Dylan said; ‘we don’t need any more songs at all’. There’s plenty. And they’re all universal, they’ll all work for any place or any time. So I just, you know … that’s like a red rag to me. So it’s like rather than try and reinvent the wheel, the love song … I go down different routes and try something a little bit more different than that. Because there is no reinventing the wheel. You can’t – no-one ever could. There’s always the illusion there … so I just stick with the weird shit. Let Leonard Cohen do the rest.’
The solo nature of Strange Tourist also highlights Liddiard’s voice, leaving it exposed in a way that the often primal howl summonsed in The Drones’ recordings blended it into the feedback. Those unfamiliar with Liddiard’s work might point out that technically, he’s an untrained vocalist to say the least, but that would also be missing the point. Like many icons of rock n’ roll – from Lou Reed to Bob Dylan, Neil Young to Ian Curtis – it’s the sheer conviction, emotion and interpretation of the human condition contained in his voice that sets Liddiard apart as a contemporary icon in Australian music. This album also finds his voice embracing the conversational style employed by French chanteurs Serge Gainsbourg and Charles Aznavour (the latter’s ‘I Drink’ covered by The Drones). It’s a style that places huge emphasis on the lyrics and delivery, which Liddiard acknowledges. ‘Yeah, I mean I’m not a proper singer, so, you know … I know that and I don’t try to do it … Serge Gainsbourg, same with him, so having people like him or Lou Reed around, that’s a comfort to know that you can get away with that. And with me, it’s just about the song, i’m not a great singer, not a great guitar player … i think i’m pretty good at writing songs. I just stick with my strengths. It’s like Angus Young said: ‘We’re actually a really good funk band, but we’re still better at playing rock n’ roll.’ That’s why you haven’t heard AC/DC do funk, you know. You just go with your strengths and work from there. That’s all I do.’
Liddiard’s deft eye for detail in a lyric is best epitomised in Strange Tourist’s epic closer, ‘The Radicalisation of D’. Loosely based on the life of convicted Adelaide-born ‘Al-Qaeda Terrorist’ David Hicks, the song stretches to over 16 minutes, with not a word wasted in the often coruscating lyrics, which examine in excruciating detail the events and actions in the protagonist’s life which may or may not have led to his eventual capture in Afghanistan and the international campaign to secure his release. The lyrics come across like a detailed profile of a disaffected suburban boy turned reviled terrorist, which Liddiard explains was inspired by his reading of a profile of Caucasian terrorists. ‘Yeah, they’d done a profile of Caucasian extremists, whether they’re Christian or Islamic and … greenies of whatever. You know. It’s a pretty classic profile. And it’s not the same profile that would fit someone who say … like a Sri Lankan that goes to England. A Sri Lankan couple goes to England and has a baby and anyway … yeah it’s like white guys only. And it’s always the same. I wrote it around that really. ‘
The lyrics are arguably Liddiard’s best to date. They trace the upbringing of a suburban Adelaide boy and manage to weave his early experiences (perhaps coloured by some of Liddiard’s own) into a conclusion which neatly summarises the world geo-political situation over the last ten years. In short, they’re breathtaking.
A young boy busts his dad’s Hills Hoist, using it as a swing
kills a magpie in the backyard with a homemade ging
steals chlorine from the neighbour’s swimming pool
puts it in a coffee jar and pours brake fluid in
makes a pipe bomb using match heads, and it fizzles when he runs
tries again using the power from the shells of his old man’s shotgun
it hisses like a feral cat he’s seen, slithers like the snake he killed
leaves a scorch mark on the pavement, and he’s badly beaten for it
finds a Playboy on the way to school, tries remembering his mum
throws rocks at a girl he likes, and he’s sent home before lunch
finds a King Kong doll beneath a bush, probably some rich kid’s
but it roars ants when he shakes it, so he drops it in a bin
later on dinner time comes, he puts tinned beans on white Tip Top
halves it with his fingers, shares it with the dog
jumps a cyclone fence to the sound of his old man fucking through the evening
finds a severed kangaroo hind leg just laying in a clearing.
And that’s just the first few stanzas.
Liddiard has never been shy of offering his opinion on politics and as he speaks with Tone Deaf, it’s the day after Australia’s hung parliament has been resolved and a regional independent supported minority Labor government has assumed power. Noting the clear verdict from Australian voters that says they’re not keen on any of the major parties, Liddiard notes the seismic shift in what Australian political parties appear to stand for, and moreover, the dramatic shift in voting patterns, particularly in regional areas. ‘I think the way those independents … what they were saying in the press conference was interesting as in once upon a time or not very long ago all … most of the people in regional Australia would have voted National, and then National would have given their preferences to Liberal who would have taken that for granted, and Labor would have taken that for granted so the didn’t bother trying to sell their thing to regional Australia, and now that’s kinda, Nationals are out, and these guys have gone independent. Yeah it’s interesting. And now these guys, ex Nationals dudes have gone for Labor and so it’s a big mix up and I think that traditional right/left mix up doesn’t apply. Conservative’s not what it used to be. Like if you said Regional is … if you took it for granted that regional’s going to go for Nationals you’re probably being more conservative by having an assumption than they are.’
I think it’s all shit. I think they’re all cunts. They really are. Most rock n’ rollers say … almost all entertainment people are there because they’re seeking attention.
This isn’t to say that Liddiard has the least bit of sympathy for the plight of politicians in a fast changing political landscape. On the contrary, although it is apparent that the redefining of political labels needs to occur, it doesn’t change his opinion one bit. ‘Yeah, because they don’t mean what they used to mean. So what we’re in is the crossover I guess, but apart from that I don’t know enough about that. I think it’s all shit. I think they’re all cunts. They really are. Most rock n’ rollers say … almost all entertainment people are there because they’re seeking attention. And it’s like … it’s kinda, it’s not a positive thing, they’re trying to have their ego propped up. Ego fed. So they seek the stage. Why do politicians seek power? It’s not to make things good, like in the same way 90% of the music industry isn’t there to make good music. It’s … same with politics. What are they there for? It’s a bit suspect.’
Strange Tourist is also littered with un self-conscious Australian references, something many Australian indie bands deign as beneath them. Liddiard has earned his reputation over the last 10 years for precisely this approach and certainly feels no need to change it. ‘You can’t help it. Yeah, i’m not an American, so I’m not going to sing about American songs. I don’t ride trains, I never went to the crossroads and I don’t sit by rivers very often. So i’m not going to write all these American things … I’m Australian. I’ve found a severed kangaroo leg in the bush so i’m going to put that in a song. I don’t see why I need to feel bad – not that i’m saying people make me feel bad, but Australians have this internal thing, this internal guilt, that colonial mentality’. It is interesting, therefore, to note that the main audience for not just Liddiard solo, but also The Drones, tend to largely be inner city hipster types; often aping music and fashion trends in Dalston, East London and Williamsburg, Brooklyn. Does Liddiard see any irony in that?
‘… if they do turn up they throw bottles at us, because they just think we’re shit. Like … we make regional music for the city, I guess.’
‘’Maybe, maybe that’s so. I mean on the other side, someone the other day was saying that, some journalist was saying that … it’s rural. ‘Oh, you’re making music for rural Australia.’ And I was like, dunno about that, but even if I was, they’re not listening to it, you know what I mean? They don’t get it, whatever.’ Liddiard notes somewhat forlornly, ‘if they do turn up they throw bottles at us, because they just think we’re shit. Like … we make regional music for the city, I guess.’
The acclaim given to Liddiard and his songwriting, while almost universal in the media now, appeared to begin and gather pace on music websites, forums and blogs written by inner city hipster types, who were first to latch on to his ‘regional music for the city’. It therefore appears relevant to bring up a comment he made in an interview back in 2008 in which he decried internet writing about music, saying ‘blogging has cut the balls of music criticism.’ Giving a look of resignation as this comment is brought up – probably far from the first time either – Liddiard is quick to qualify it, and also to point out that there is no animosity between he and any particular music publication. ‘It’s part of the work. I’ve long since accepted that. I mean, with that journo, with that comment, if you take it out of context it sounds pretty bitchy. I mean the minute before that, I was expounding on the virtues of you know, Nazi eugenics, kind of thing, saying how we… You know … so it should be taken in context.’ Liddiard continues: ‘At that point in time, that was two years ago, that whole blogging thing was relatively new as far as it … the Mess+ Noise structure of article, then blog right below it, you know, saying what do you think about this … you know like before that there had always been that shit, I can’t remember, those other websites before, but they seemed just blogging only … but once they met, yeah, this thing is just evolving so fast … now you see journalists jumping in to the blog, [it] changes the whole game. It’s just forever changing.’ Liddiard also appreciates the ability of websites and blogs to qualify comments and fix errors quickly, while also provoking deabte. ‘Totally … they’re called forums for a reason. That shit in 2008 is so old. Socrates and all his friends were doing that.’
‘For me this record is like an amorphous bunch of ideas thrown together and played and sung out of tune.’
Despite his nonchalance towards people’s views of The Drones or his solo work, Liddiard does read his own reviews from time to time. ‘I mean we see the reviews that we get. Because you’re interested. When your album comes out, you have no idea … like with this, I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t expect to get good reviews, because it’s just … you don’t know. You do end up looking at reviews because it’s feedback. You certainly don’t take them as seriously as you would have like 10 years ago, especially with the bad ones. For me this record is like an amorphous bunch of ideas thrown together and played and sung out of tune. That’s the way I see it. I’ll see it different in two years. And like seeing other people’s reactions to it and the easiest way to do that would be reviews to help me get a perspective on it too. So I use all of that. Bad reviews, good reviews, it’s all the same. It’s like … I guess good reviews are better, but that bad reviews shit is just … no-one is going to like everything. My Dad doesn’t really like what we do. He likes me, he gets the point, but he doesn’t chuck the record on in the car. So that doesn’t upset me – why should it upset me if someone else … sometimes it’s actually funny seeing why someone doesn’t like something.’
It’s perhaps uniquely Australian that even as one of the country’s most celebrated songwriters, Liddiard is very much human enough to read his own reviews. In Strange Tourist, he may struggle to find many bad ones to balance out the glowing plaudits.
Strange Tourist is out now through Shock Entertainment.
