Noah And The Whale

Noah And The Whale are planning to make a film to run alongside their new record. I talked to frontman Charlie about it.

Can you explain what the plan for the film is?

Essentially it’s a visual accompaniment to the music of the album, so its running time is synched with the record. The film itself is a thematic representation of the narrative of the album and fleshes out the universal themes of the story of the album rather than the more personal themes. It has three stories that will run around that.

How will people see it, ideally?

The cinema is the ideal for me, I’d like people to see it in the cinema. Essentially, as much as anything I’m trying to create an environment as much as anything else. Part of the appeal of this project was that my concern about this album as a piece is that with iTunes etc, it’s very rare that people consider albums as a whole. We were discussing that Grouper album, and I know if I came to that album and just listened to a couple of tracks I’d never feel the worth of it as much as if I’d listened to the whole thing. I guess part of it is by doing it in the cinema, you’re putting people in this environment where they’re almost forced to absorb the whole thing as one. And not only that, but by having a visual thing to it you’re not only putting them in the position where they’re absorbing the album as one thing but also you’ve created the environment for them to hear it in.

Do you think it’s a reaction to how you perceive the first album was perceived?

I know what you mean. Maybe it’s a subconscious thing. With that first record as well, I tried to make it a coherent piece. I feel like I realised that project as I intended. With this project it’s not like we’re changing our stance, it’s just a more realised version of what we were doing. It’s hard for me to say; I feel like it’s not a reaction but a continuation.

What was the inspiration for the making of the film? Why do a film?

Well partly it’s that idea of creating an environment to hear the record, but I don’t wanna make it seem like I’m considering the film to be a smaller priority that the music, I do consider it to be one thing. It’s not a film or an album, it’s a weird combination of both. I think it was because we talked about, on the first album, doing a video for every song – which is something I think Radiohead did on their latest album; that eventually turned into the idea of something that runs the whole length, of making a film for it.

What will the actual film be about, and how will it be structured?

It’s hard to talk about it in too much detail. The narrative of the album is about the end of a relationship, it’s one voice, the same narrator in every song. Whereas the film divides itself into three separate characters in separate times in their lives who are all affected by similar things. The things affecting the narrator of the album are the things affecting these three characters in different ways. Essentially the way it’s going to be filmed is like you’re watching someone’s memories; I want each character to be shot in a different format, one in super-8, one in super-16, one in HD. As you’re watching the film, you watch their memories, and the inconsistencies in their memories will be shown by the inconsistencies in the footage. For example, when a character remembers something wrong, that sequence will be in black and white. Essentially the main theme that binds them is how the one moment in your life that you hold as the happiest memory can be something you fight against for a long time, something that you glamorise, and can become more significant than it ever was.

Did the film influence the making of the album itself?

It was a weird writing process; I kind of let the album change the direction of the film, the film was definitely more malleable. I guess it’s more come down to the production of the album than the writing of it. For example in Peter And The Wolf, whenever Peter shows courage, there’ll be a melody that occurs during those moments. The album itself is very cyclical, the second half of the album returns to the first half of the album. It’s that thing of reconstructing memories, the second half of the album comes back to the first half and retells it, almost. So when in the second half you’re returning to earlier moments, there’s melodies that repeat. Hopefully the film will bring that out even more.

How will film in general be involved in the next tour?

The plan is that we’re taking the theme of the night as ‘illusion in film’, so we’re gonna be showing some Andy Kaufman stuff, and some Marx Brothers.

Is that part of the same thing of wanting the audience to view the show in a certain way?

Yeah. We’re gonna have archive footage and film footage that we think corresponds to the music we’ll play. But at the same time we kind of want to include a certain element of entertainment to it! It’s constructing a show that I think I’d really like to go and see.

http://www.myspace.com/noahandthewhale

Hessle Audio

Ben UFO is one of the founders of the Hessle Audio imprint, a label which has come to symbolise the forward thinking in dubstep. At a time when the genre has threatened to go in the same direction as drum ‘n’ bass – that is, becoming a generic cliché – Hessle have continued to release records that push dubstep forward, into atmospheric, techy realms (Ricardo Villalobos has been known to play fellow Hessle founder Ramdanman’s ‘Blimey’). Ben here chooses his top ten tracks of the year, all of which demonstrate that dubstep has life in it yet. From the squelchy glitch of the Vex’d remix of Scuba, the playful atmospherics of Untold’s discipline, to the taut power of Martyn’s virtually anthemic remix of TRG, these are the ten tracks that defined dubstep in 2008 for Hessle Audio, the label redefining it themselves.

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TRG - Broken Heart (Martyn's dcm remix) - Hessle Audio
Joker - Digi-design - Forthcoming hyperdub
Rustie - Tempered - Kapsize
Untold - Discipline - Hemlock
Pangaea - Router - Hessle Audio
Zomby - Aquafresh - Hyperdub
Peverelist & Appleblim - Circling - Skull Disco
Scuba - Twitch (Vex'd remix) - Hot Flush
Mala - New Life Baby Paris - Deep Medi
Ramadanman - Humber - forthcoming applepips

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What have been the musical highlights of the dubstep/bass scene in 2008?

It's been a highlight in itself seeing UK dance music reinventing itself constantly throughout the year. The rise of the funky scene has been a spectacular example, and it feels like part of a resurgence in percussive, unashamedly dancefloor-friendly music in London. Hyperdub injected a refreshing hyperactivity and brightness that's quite far removed from the clichés of the both the traditionally dancefloor, and the 'deeper' side of dubstep, which have felt equally functional recently.

What next for Hessle Audio?

We have the next couple of releases planned, and they should be coming out in fairly quick succession in the first few months of 2009. We haven't announced them yet but if you check our recent radio shows you might be able to guess the next one.

http://www.myspace.com/hessleaudio

Zombie Zombie

Zombie Zombie are a divine, scary space-rock duo from Paris, France. Questions answered by Etienne Jaumet.

How did you meet? What are your musical backgrounds?

We shared a music studio in Paris for few years now. And it that we started jamming together, I'm a sax player and Neman's a drummer, but we have the same interest in Analog keybords from the 70/80’s and the early guru’s of electronic music… we play in different bands in the same time in different kind of music… HERMAN DUNE/THE MARRIED MONK and more…

Why did you decide to start making music together?

Just to have fun and do something personal…

The album seems seeped in the sound of the 60s and 70s – from musique concrète to b-movies to kraut-rock. What is about this particular period in popular culture that you like?

I don’t try to make the same music as Can or goblin because they are so good… I just try to let my imagination go…

What does ‘analogue’ mean to you? How does it compare to digital sound?

Neman and I share the same passion of collecting old analogue keyboards. You can’t reach this warmth with computers. I find computer music deadful. Everybody uses the same software. It’s so boring…

What aspect of old horror movies were you trying to capture on the album? What is it about them you like?

We want to experiment the different emotional stages as result of the analog effets used throught the record while the rythms are intended to make your heart beat faster, like in a horror movie when the car won’t start…

What film soundtracks that inspires you?

« Tenebre » /GOBLIN! from the film of dario Argento. « Assault on precinct 13 »/CARPENTER. « Solaris »/Cliff martinez from the film of Steven Soderbergh…

What was the process of creating the album like? Was it mainly improvisational, or more carefully planned?

Mainly improvisational, because this very hard to translate our sound from live to the recording… so we have deal with the atmosphere of the place and the sound of the room…

Considering that the album is in many ways quite ‘difficult’, have you been surprised by its success?

Yes!! I’m not a hit maker! I don’t try to be catchy! I let the andorphine created by my brain when I play driving my way of playing…

Do you consider yourselves in any way a ‘dance’ act?

I love dancing but i don’t listen at home techno or house music…I use a very simple and repetitive rhythm to create the trance sensation, and the psychedelique sound to blow your mind…maybe our music is more phycical than « dancable »…I don’t try to understand myself…

What artists inspired the album, and in what ways?

Maybe some director like peter walkins with his film « Punishment Park »…

We’re making music for renegades!

http://www.myspace.com/therealzombiezombie

Grouper

I can understand the appeal of the Bon Iver story. All music publications look for a hook to hang an album on, and the shack in the country angle was too good to pass up. After all, isn’t authenticity what we really crave in our artists? That the creative process should mimic the actual art-work itself; as sad as Daniel Johnston’s mental problems are, they undoubtedly make his music that much more poignant. And why shouldn’t they? After all, material events, the context around which a album, or a film, or whatever, is created obviously has a bearing on our perception of said artwork. Yet what if there is no defining ‘story’ behind a record? Shouldn’t our role as discerning consumers/listeners be to be able to pick out and appreciate music without needing or relying on a clear narrative to sell it/be sold? Not that we should disregard how an album has been made, or the circumstances that surround it, but rather not see it as the defining characteristic; or rather, see things as less black and white.

It’s exactly this preoccupation with shade that, for me, makes Grouper’s Dragging A Dead Dear Up A Hill the album of the year. Most of Liz Harris’s previous output had been equally arresting: thick, rich atmospheric songs wrapped in layers of reverb and lo-fi crackle. Here, however, for the first time, she chose to peel back some of that protective scar tissue, leaving the songs themselves exposed and, partially, audible for the first time. Not that these can be described as ‘traditional’ songs – on almost all the tracks its still impossible to make out most of the lyrics, whilst the vocals and guitar still have an almost choral coating of feedback.

Yet by opening her songs up, Harris has made them more affecting, more approachable. Indeed, what makes Dragging... such a touching, remarkable album, is its vulnerability, the songs themselves seeming extraordinarily fragile and dreamlike. The overarching theme of the record is the very subtlety with which the tracks themselves are created, the thin dividing line between shadow and light, decay and life. So there are numerous references to dreaming and sleeping, alongside titles that reference gutting fish and dragging dead dears. Perhaps the most significant imagery is that of the sea, something that crops up over and over again in the album’s words and song titles. The ocean best exemplifies the impression that Dragging... leaves you with: that the same thing can be at once terrifically cathartic and painfully overwhelming. What makes Harris unique is that rather than delve further into the murky realm of the self – emphasising the ‘story’ behind her music, or even making that music about her – she explores what happens when you step into the shade, the grey areas where individuality breaks down, merging into the background, the wider picture.

The half-audible lyrics make this process all the more powerful, allowing you both to interpret them as you chose and to place the emphasis on the overall effect of the music. In that respect, Dragging... perhaps most closely resembles Panda Bear’s hypnotic 'Young Prayer'. Yet even that album doesn’t quite achieve the almost tragic scope of the soundscapes here. On one track Harris sings, “invisible, I’ve become invisible”, and you realise that it’s possible to feel both scared and enchanted by that sentiment. Here, there is no quantifiable ‘story’, but rather something altogether more challenging – a journey into the shadows, a place at once beautiful, complex and frightening.

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Before you made the album, did you start out with any specific aims? For example - what did you want the album to sound like? What emotions did you want to convey/express?

Most writing for me feels half pre-meditation, half shaping it as I go. I don't really go looking for something, it's more like answering the door when someone's knocking, but sometimes the door takes second to find. I did set out to create a cohesive vessel from pieces I had been recording which all felt like they should go together. And I did want it all to feel fluid and connected, and have tried to do that with the other releases I've done as well. The composition of the entire thing always feels at least as important than the perfection of each individual song.


Was this album borne of, or inspired by, any specific events or a particular era of your life?

It was shaped by broader elements than that, but it ended up being tied to memories of childhood in some ways. Also to emotions in the present, and to metaphors about the nature of the things around us, in a very open sense, and to an internal dream world.


Were there any other artists or albums you had in mind when picturing how you wanted 'Dragging…' to sound?

No, not consciously, though I appreciate other albums where the songs all feel like different parts of the same dream, where its spun together somehow.


Was the process of writing and recording it broadly similar to your other records?

It took longer, I chewed on it more. Like carving something as opposed to pouring cement. I had little free time on my hands to work on it, was trying to travel, doing more sound work details, and changes were slow. John (Type) and I joked about how I'd cursed the album by its name—that it's making became an example of the action in the title. Specifically, each part of the process just took a long time. In the end I just felt that it needed to do that, and didn't worry about it, just let it spin out at its own pace.


On this album, more than ever before, the vocals and lyrics are reasonably clear. Why did you make that decision?

It was a natural progression.

On the same note - many of these songs, whilst still abstract and dreamlike, feel much more 'traditional' than your previous work, with a defined progression and arc. Was this something you were consciously trying to achieve? If so, why?

Not consciously. I have always been playing songs with structure. I guess that the gauze around them various in its thickness. I think the biggest change in that sound feel has been due to production and equipment change (I bought a 4 track that works), and to gradually getting a bit less shy.

A lot of the songs mention transitory states ('Sleeping', 'Dragging', 'Falling'). What is it about these states of being that interest you?

I can't say that all that is conscious. The world does seem to constantly be moving. I do like to stay moving, I'm very watery. Very into the idea of accepting and going with constant change, into adapting and trying to expand outwards. I'm going to cloud her memory with my blockish paraphrasing, but Octavia Butler said through one of her characters in the Earthseed series that change is the only real force consistent and strong enough to be considered a god, the only thing worth worshipping with your awareness and submission.


Can you explain the relationship between the violent imagery of some of the tracks ('Gutting' a fish, 'Dragging' a dead deer) and the seemingly more innocuous thoughts other songs express (like, 'I'd rather be sleeping')?

There has to be some blood. Darkness and decay are fundamental as happiness and longevity. My friend who writes poetry, and who I admire the brain of, said to me that a hard thing to convey, and an element she always finds admirable in a creative vessel is the presence of both light and darkness, in a way that still acknowledges the beauty of both. We all have both in us, moving around and taking turns. "'I'd Rather Be Sleeping/Heavy Water" is about how I'd rather drown in the ocean than live in the real world without the freedom and the emotion that can be felt in dreams and the internal world, because then at least it would be near as intense—I think if you could see the lyrics of the other songs too you'd see that none of them are really just happy or flitty. All of them have a rust.


What significance do these images of decay have for you?

Decay is a reminder of the temporary nature of the vessel we're in. A fascinating reminder. To decay is to return your clothing, to give back the shell. Have been thinking a lot about the relationship between the spirit and the vessel, definitely see them as separate though close, like a hand inside a glove. Sometimes it feels like a trap, sometimes it feels like an amazing synthesis of spirit-with-intent and capable machine.

This may be related to the last question, but can you explain how you came about the title of the record?

Seems like we all make our own history with our own mile markers, turn moments into symbols that serve to explain something about how we are who are we are in the present. I dragged a dead deer up a hill as a child and the image stayed in my mind. That was a mile marker for me, I've woven it in, made all the lines bold.

What does 'becoming invisible' mean to you? Is it a peaceful, or a painful process?

It's both. I think ultimately I cherish being able now and then to fade in to the background and not have to interact with anyone, not be subject to the everyday kind of glancing on the street, being in close proximity to other people, talking to other people, etc. As a child I spent most my time finding a quiet spot to be alone in, my friends were in ghost worlds and in dreams. I wanted to be invisible, to go to one of those other worlds. At times you feel invisible because no one is seeing you though, and you don't necessarily want to be invisible then, you want to be seen or thought of, remembered.


What role does the sea play in the imagery of the album? Is it a benign or a threatening presence?

A benign surrender to its threatening presence. Seeing a tidal wave rear up and throwing myself in to it. Being lured off shore by the horizon in to deep water and then letting myself drown peacefully rather than turn back. Preferring to be offshore treading water or at the bottom of the ocean than on dry ground.

To me, much of your work has a meditative, almost spiritual quality to it. Do you view music-making as a cathartic process?

Yes

Would you describe 'Dragging…' as a hopeful album?

I wouldn't use the word hopeful, but I would hope it's a balance of light and dark that ultimately moves forward despite the nature of its separate parts.

What are your plans for the future? Have you started thinking about the next album?

I am recording music, I have a lot of recorded music right now. It's hard to keep track of. I have a list of songs I need to either bury or finally record. I have to think about what to do with it, take some time. Don't want to do things one way just because I have done them that way before.

http://www.myspace.com/grouperrepuorg

Rozi Plain

Sometimes when I read articles in the music press, there seems to be a concerted effort to decontextualise the music. The other day I read the lead article in a London-based magazine, and the whole thing was based around this one, tortuously dragged out analogy. Not that that’s necessarily a bad thing in and of itself, but when the actual content of a critique is little more than ‘what does it feel like to be successful?’ or, to paraphrase Lou Reed, ‘how does it feel to be cool?’, and the main hook and interest of the piece is centred around dragging this analogy to its conclusion, then you have to wonder at which point the critique itself - the attempt to understand where some particular music came from (what makes it popular and why) got lost along the way.

What makes DIY music so interesting is that it’s all about the context – people taking the time to put energy into making their own records and organising their own tours. I first met Rozi when she was on one such tour – one of many for her – playing as part of Francois Marry’s band, in support of Adrian Orange. Since then she’s established herself as that rarest of things in Britain: a female songwriter with an interesting, innovative approach, who makes genuine, unmannered music. Her songs are of the same dreamy ilk as much of that to have come out of Bristol’s prolific lo-fi/DIY scene, sharing the beautifully pared-down simplicity of Francois or Sleeping States, whilst at the same time retaining a refreshing sense of innocence. Above all I’d say it’s honest and real; qualities not to be sniffed at, but rather cherished. Indeed, it can be easy to lose touch with the real world when describing, or making, music.

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How did you get started – where did you come from and how did you end up moving to Bristol?

I grew up in Winchester and I moved to Bristol in 2004 to do a foundation course at the art college there. Lots of people from Winchester moved to Bristol so it seemed like a sensible place to go.

Is that close to Bristol?

It’s by Southampton so it’s a couple of hours on the train. This Is The Kit – a good fried of mine – she moved to Bristol; Rachel Dadd did too. It seemed like a good place to go…so I went there!

How did you begin writing songs?

I started playing the guitar when I was about twelve, because my friends and my brother did – he taught me my first chords on the guitar.

Was it Nevermind, stuff like that?

‘Fake Plastic Trees’! My brother used to run an open mic night in Winchester so I’d play there sometimes. I wrote some silly angsty songs, on a four track. But it was only when I got to Bristol that I felt like I meant it, that there was something I could do with it.

What about Bristol made you feel like that?

I met Francois and I played loads with him, which was really helpful. It just made me feel so much less nervous, because I played with him so many times, ‘cos he played all the time. I’d play in his band.

How did you meet Francois?

I met him…on a street corner! He was gonna go to some party and it had just been closed down by the police, and we were gonna go there as well. I just met him a little bit here and there, at the Cube.

He had a big effect on you then?

Yeah, completely, completely. He recorded stuff all the time, so many evenings just recording stuff on his four track, and then I started doing that more. Recording is a really helpful process, I think, it just makes you feel like you’ve got loads done. I found him really inspiring, all the instrumentation he used and all the things he found to play with. And the way he played was really relaxed – sometimes his band would be ten people, and sometimes it would just be him, or him and me. It wouldn’t be a big stress. Bristol’s a really good place – there’s a lot of people there who can play with you.

Did you release stuff in Bristol?

My brother – Romanhead – started Cleaner Records. We were all working as cleaners in some way. Sam was a pot-wash in Pizza Express and I was cleaning a guitar shop. When we moved to Bristol we made CD-Rs and wrote ‘Cleaner Records’ on them. It wasn’t a ‘label’ as such, just a thing we could call ourselves to give it a bit of…something. Francois was on Stitch-Stitch. Me and Francois made this DVD for them.

So how did you meet the Fence Collective?

Well my brother listened to a lot of their things, and I listened to a lot of that because of him. And then once King Creosote was playing in Bristol and we each gave him a CD. They released Sam on a CD-R release. And then I went up to play the Homegame Festival – this little festival they have in Scotland. And then…one thing led to another!

Was the album more a collection of songs you already had, or more of a purpose written album?

A lot of it is older stuff. It took a while to do, and I did a first version of it, and then ended up changing masses of it, and then instead of redoing those songs – I was a bit bored of them – I did a lot of newer songs.

What was the recording process like?

I went to Scotland to do some of it, with Francois and Rachel. We recorded it with Gordon Anderson, who’s King Creosote’s brother – he’s The Lone Pigeon. And with the frontman of The Aliens. He was living on this farm in Fife – we recorded about five songs there.

What’s that place like?

It was really lovely! He was really great. He’s quite a short guy; he ate a giant redwood seed every day because he thought it might make him grow taller. He had an amazing collection of parmesan rind, the dotted rind you get at the end of parmesan. Yeah – he loved parmesan.

We recorded one song in Kenny’s – King Creosote – roof, in the attic. And then the rest in Bristol at my brother’s house. We did all the drums in his bathroom, and mixed and mastered it there.

Were you looking for any particular sound?

Nothing too fancy. I didn’t want it to be too girly. I was really conscious that I didn’t want to be lumped into a ‘singer-songwriter’ thing, which happens quite a lot because it’s just an easy thing to write. It has a weird connotation, you just think…‘bit of a boring girl…’. I didn’t want it to sound too slick, or that we had really worked on it in the studio. Most times I’ve recorded, the first takes are the best. There’s no point in ironing everything out.

Are there any definite themes running through the album?

To be honest I’m never really sure what I write songs about; it always happens in five minutes. I write a lot of short songs – I feel like it’s never really right to go back to it. I remember being in school doing pictures in an art lesson, and then sometimes months later coming back to add more bits. It just feels really wrong - when I wrote I song I was feeling a specific thing. I don’t really know if people want stories in a song, but I don’t really have stories. It’s nice people asking you, ‘is that about them?’ My mum is always like [puts on mumsy voice], ‘is that one about…you having a band practise!’

Are there any similarities between the scenes in Bristol and Fife?

I guess they’re both really leading their scenes. When we played End of The Road Festival we got a lift with this lady, and she was like, ‘oh yes, I’ve heard there’s a really good music scene in Fife’. And Johnny’s like, ‘that’s me’. It’s amazing that it’s a tiny fishing village and they’re all in it. There’s a lot of people in Fence helping each other out, and it’s similar in Bristol – everyone joining in.

What is it about Bristol that’s helped it build this scene?

I think a lot of it is people moving there because of it, which really helps to keep it going. If it wasn’t a known fact that Bristol’s got a really good music scene, then people wouldn’t keep coming and doing new things. It has an outside energy. It’s a good size and it’s by water, which makes everyone feel nice. And it doesn’t feel too taken over by the city centre or the shopping centre. It’s accessible, so people see each other all the time.

Is it a consciously DIY scene?

No, it’s one of those things where it’s only when people describe it back to you that you realise what it is. I think it’s hard work to be DIY and organise your tours all the time. It’s funny how when you meet other people who do the same DIY tours, they know about the same promoters in other cities. So in a way, it’s like, if everyone’s still up for doing it, then it’s quite easy. But when it becomes a pain in the arse to be DIY, then it’s not worth doing.

I kind of feel like things like tour managers happen if you don’t go out and look for them. It’s often not a thing you can consciously do. I feel like you can’t say, ‘I’m not going to be DIY anymore’, because you’re only not if someone offers you something else. It depends on how much energy you have to keep doing it.

What do you think the difference is between the DIY scenes in the US and the UK?

I guess a big difference is how huge America is – if you’re going to go on tour there you’re not going to go home for quite a long time. Whereas most places in England you almost could go home almost every night. Like, Viking Moses is on tour constantly, constantly.

It depends what you crave, what you want. At the moment I don’t feel that attached to any place; but I think also that it’s very easy to slip into that and to be dependent on feeling not attached to a place. There is a middle ground but it depends on what you want out of things.

What are your plans for the future – for after this record?

I’d really like to record another album. I’d like…to just be available for stuff! But I think it’s great to have a base. Especially when you’re doing DIY tours, you can forget how good it feels to have your own personal space, to invite people to your house.

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Rozi's debut album Inside. Over Here. is out now on Fence Records.

Autumn way out west