What did you grow up
listening to and what do you listen to now?
I grew up listening to anything and everything. And that
sounds like I’m trying to avoid the question!
No, not at all.
It would have been from The Who, early days, to Paul
Williams, ‘Just An Old-Fashioned Love Song’, the Stylistics right through to
Focus. Then these days back towards one of my great Australian loves, Graeme
Connors, and his Road Less Travelled
album was a bit of a watershed for me back when it was released because it felt
like I was in the wilderness, but when I heard that I went, Ooh, it’s possible. I love his stuff.
And today I don’t really get time to sit and listen to much, to be brutally
honest. We own three cafes in Yass, Goulburn and Mittagong here in New South
Wales. Running those, recording with my good friend Herm Kovac and everything
else that goes with it, no, I don’t listen to much these days. [But] I grew up
listening to everything – whatever was good music. My favourite, of course, was
Rodgers and Hammerstein as a kid.
Very well-composed
songs, and songs that were for entertainment.
Very, very well-composed songs. I listen to that and think, Geez, who am I pretending to be?
[laughs] They’re very good. [I had] a very diverse background. Rock ’n’ roll –
I think I was in a band that was one of the first to play Black Sabbath in
Australia, back in the day. And then you go from that to listening to Paul
Williams, with his lines ‘If I can make you cry just by holding you, that’s
enough for me’.
When it came to
forming your own sound – and I know that you had a previous pub-rock existence
– is that something that’s organically developed over time, or do you feel that
there’s one influence or a few influences that are stronger than others?
No, I think it’s just organic. The one thing that has always
been a dilemma in my life, and a positive, is that it’s very difficult to stay
true to what you are, to not try to diversify and go away from what you think
is right but to copy another genre. And I’ve stayed at that and been like that
for years and years and years – hence, maybe, there’s no success [laughs]. The
old story. But that’s the joy of what I’ve done with Herm [on the new album] –
I’ve stuck to what I did. I dropped six songs off to Herm, who’s been a mate
for many, many years. I said, ‘Mate, I’d just to record a couple of songs for
the kids’, who are now young adults, so that they knew that Dad really wasn’t
fibbing all the time about what he did [laughs] and who he met and who he knew
and all those sorts of things. Anyway, so I dropped the songs off to him and he
rang me the next day and said, ‘Well, where’s the rest, mate?’ And I said,
‘What do you mean?’ He said, ‘But haven’t you got heaps yet?’ I said, ‘Yeah’,
and he said, ‘These have developed beautifully – let’s do an album’. Give Back the Night is the consequence
of that. Those songs range from … ‘I Heard a Voice’ I wrote in my parents’
bathroom – best acoustics in town – when I was probably twenty, twenty-one. One
of the songs was written a year ago because of an incident we had in business.
To be brutally honest, it’s very nice to finally have something that I’m
really, really comfortable with, because it is me. It’s not someone I’m trying
to be. And I’ve spent a lot of my life trying to do that, either through
feelings of inadequacy or ‘I want to be this’ or ‘I want to be that’. Now I’m
very content in my own skin. It’s a nice place to be.
It’s the best place
to be as a creator because you’re coming from an authentic pace and audiences
tend to recognise that.
I hope so. I’ve had a couple of people say to me about ‘Fat
Little Boy’ that they got a little misty when they heard it – that’s what it’s
about, that’s why I stick to what I do. Whether any success ever comes of it is
irrelevant – I haven’t chased it for the kudos, I’ve chased it for the idea
that I’d like to play my music and my songs and see if somebody actually likes
it. And if they don’t, fine, I’ve worn that for many, many years. I’m quite
comfortable with that too [laughs]. That happens in every life – it doesn’t
have to be music, it can be in any career, in any place in life where you have
aspirations and dreams and goals. You turn round and you go, ‘I’ve either got
to remain true to who I am or I have to change.’ A lot of people change things
to chase things, and I think that would be even more heartbreaking. For me,
being able to say this time, looking from my hill here, going, ‘Well, I’m a
failure’ … [laughs]
If the definition of
success is material success and you’re changing what you do so you can fit into
a vertical idea of what things are then, yes, you might have material success
but if you look back on the work, or if that person looks back on the work, are
they proud of it?
That’s a very good saying – ‘vertical’. I love it! You hit
the nail on the head. How do you judge that? And I can’t talk for everyone
else, it’s just for me. Those moments in my life when I’ve felt the most
desperate and the most … the feelings of failure have been the ones when I
actually did stick to what I thought and you put it out there … I’ve had
producers in the past say to me – one in particular, who I won’t mention, said,
‘Your voice is terrible, mate.’ And you go, ‘Oh, okay, well, you’ve just
produced how many hits? Okay. Right. I’ll just quietly go away. No drama.’ And
those sorts of things, they do affect you, but in the end I couldn’t be anyone
else but me, and I’m sure you can’t be anyone else but young Sophie. [laughs]
It’s such a
subjective thing, too, to say, ‘I don’t like your voice.’ If you’re singing off
key, that’s one thing – but you don’t sing off key. So from an objective
definition it’s not a terrible voice.
But that’s the industry we’re in. It is subjective, and
that’s fine – you’ve got to understand that.
I don’t watch The Voice often but every now and again
I catch wind of what’s going on, and I know there’s been the occasional country
music artist on it who hasn’t gone very far – people who already have careers.
It really shows that difference between focusing on just the voice and trying
to make that slot into something, and then the artist who is separate.
I have an inkling who you’re talking about.
Lyn Bowtell, yes.
Lyn won Star Maker back when – 1990-whatever it was. And a
recent song I heard of hers – it was beautiful. I thought, That’s really cool, Lyn – you’ve got a beautiful voice. And a
little bit of envy – a little bit of green monster comes up and you go,
‘Bugger, how come you wrote that?’ But we all have that. But if you’re chasing
the fame and the glory for the sake of the fame and the glory, you tend to fall
on your face. Maybe I could be wrong. Lots of people have achieved lots of
things in life with not doing that. But at my ripe old age, I look back at it
all … I sound like my father. I look back at all this stuff and think it’s got
to count for something. I am a happy person. I have a great business and wife
and kids, and we all have our ups and downs, but it’s so nice to get to this
stage where the things I’ve written and the stories that I’ve told – and it’s
basically my life written down in Give
Back the Night. Episodes from when I was twenty and being an idiot and
questioning myself, and all those sorts of doubts. They’re here, they’re out
there and I’m really comfortable with it.
You talked about the
songwriting, and I do have some questions about that. You mentioned ‘Fat Little
Boy’, and when I listened to it I thought that it’s so rare to hear something
expressed so baldly. That emotion, that experience, often metaphors are used to
skirt around it and you just came out and said it. And it’s not the only
personal song, of course, on the album. There’s the emotion in writing the
song, and then the emotion in recording the song – what is it like to try to
bring that up in the studio when you might be doing several takes? How difficult
is it to access that emotion?
It’s funny, when I wrote the songs – and there’s one in
particular we’re putting on the next album – I wrote them because of that
emotion, and you either come up with a couple of chords or whatever and
suddenly the words start pouring out. It was easy doing it in the studio with
Herm. The emotion was still there. And with Michael Carne and a couple of the
other kids – blokes I know … I call them kids because they’re younger than me.
But everyone is [laughs]. They said, ‘That’s really harsh.’ And I said, ‘Well,
it happened.’ And it does happen. It’s life. The one thing I’d like to get
across with ‘Give Back the Night’, the song, that was done because I felt
guilty about something someone said to me. The story goes that a beautiful,
bouncing lady – she was gorgeous – somebody said to me, ‘You see her? She’s
good looking.’ And I said, ‘Yeah, she’s very attractive’. And this person said,
‘He beats the shit out of her.’ And you go, ‘Oh, oh – what have I done? What do
I do?’ This was twenty-odd years ago. I went home and started writing that
song. The fear of being … she must be suppressing that feeling all day to be
bright and bubbly. And then knowing a misplaced word or action ends up in … and
that’s where that song came from. That emotion came through in the studio and
everyone was involved in it, which was really tickling for me too. Everyone
that was involved in the production of it and finishing it off all said the
same sorts of things. Even when we did the film clip with Duncan Toombs. I was
standing on – I think it’s Elephant Rock, on the other side of Gosford from
Pittwater in Sydney, and I walked down the hill – we’d done all the filming up
on the rock, and they were all singing it. I was back down on the road
listening to this, thinking, That’s
really cool. If nothing ever happens,
they’re into it, they’ve felt that emotion that’s come out of it. Something’s
gelled … But that comes back to
the same thing: it’s not contrived, it’s real. When they hear me singing it, or
when Herm hears the song, he puts into it what he puts into it, the other guys
put into it what they are, and I think that makes the process easier.
When you are writing
songs from that authentic place, so often there must be a temptation almost to censor
yourself or edit yourself. I imagine there’s a process whereby you’re thinking, People are going to hear this – what are
they going to think? And that’s a normal thing. But it seems like you didn’t
censor yourself and there’s really sense of open heartedness in the songs.
And, to be honest, it’s actually bounced back and bitten me
with one of the songs in there. Somebody said to me, ‘How dare you write that.
Nobody ever knew that.’ And I said, ‘Hang on – it happened, it’s real. I didn’t
do it. It’s real. It’s part of my life. But that’s it – that’s what this person
thought of me back in those days.’ But it’s one of those things where you go, ‘If
the honesty’s not there, what else have I got to build on? And if I lie about
it – not being a very good liar – I’ll probably trip myself up.’ [laughs]
And it’s hard to
perform those songs if you’re lying, because the voice is a reflection of what’s
going on inside, and if you’re feeling blocked then it doesn’t come out.
Yes. You’ve nailed it [laughs].
Listening to your album
was almost like eavesdropping on your thoughts, and that’s an unusual
sensation. It felt like a privilege, actually.
I find that very flattering, thank you. That’s a really nice
sentiment. And you’re more than welcome to eavesdrop on my thoughts. Everyone
is. Because I can’t hide who I am. I keep telling my kids: you have to be
honest and straight to who you are. Yes, we all fib at times and life’s not
always the straight and narrow, and you won’t get what you think you deserve
sometimes, and sometimes it can be wonderful. But unless you get out of bed in
the morning and have a go at it, and keep a smile on your face, doing those
sorts of things and be honest and candid about it, you carry around an awful
big suitcase, don’t you?
You do, and it gets
exhausting.
Very. I had enough trouble being overweight – I don’t need
any other suitcases [laughs].
Obviously part of
this process is bringing your songs to an audience, but given you have all
those businesses, do you have much time to play gigs?
Yes, I do. It’s been wonderful. My wife and kids are all part
of the business. I have four daughters and they’re partners, running the shops
with my wife. And my wife is a terribly strong woman. She’s the one doing overarm
in the pool and I’m the little fella behind doing dog paddle, trying to keep up
– and happily so. It’s been a wonderful relationship. And with all of this [the
album], they’ve all gone ‘Dad, this is fantastic, you do what you’re going to
do.’ So we’re looking to do some gigs in the new year ... You make the time.
And life has given me now that space. I’ve spent those few years working really
hard. My dear wife said to me, ‘You’ve got to chase this. You love it and that’s
what you’ve wanted to do all your life.’
And one of your daughters
sang on the album as well, didn’t she?
Yes, my third daughter, Alison. We wanted to have a
representative female – I know that sounds condescending, but it’s not. At the
end of ‘Give Back the Night’ I wanted an uplifting female voice in there and I
said, ‘Do you want to have a sing of this?’ and [Alison] said, ‘Oh Dad, I’ve
never sung behind a microphone before.’ So we took her up and Herm was
wonderful. And out of my young daughter’s mouth came this wonderful voice – no autotune,
no prompting. I said, ‘Alison, I’ll be supporting you! [laughs] As long as you
make lots of money and pass it down!’
Or you can be her
roadie.
Oh, thanks. No, I’m too old for that! I’ll need to have a
walking frame.
Give Back the Night is out now.
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