Songs and Sonics

While MySpace is often a fantastic place for checking out new music, the Swedish band Testbild! can’t be properly represented within that site’s conventional ADD-friendly structure. Then again, there’s very little about Testbild! that’s conventional. (Yes, there’s an exclamation point at the end of their name, and no, they don’t show their faces in their band photos.)

Testbild!’s latest release, Une Teinte Intense, is an atmospheric concept album about adventurer Isabelle Eberhardt. Sometimes the album sounds like a Middle Eastern Free Design playing lite jazz. (!) At other times it sounds like what might’ve happened if Pink Floyd recorded an alternate soundtrack to Lawrence of Arabia.

But even those far-out comparisons don’t quite describe what Testbild! sounds like or what the band is about. The only thing that can probably be said is that Testbild! doesn’t make background music; this is most definitely art which demands and rewards attention, preferably with a good set of headphones. And there’s some pop thrown in for good measure. If you’re willing to go along for the ride on Une Teinte Intense, the experience is one you won’t soon forget.

Petter Herbertsson is Testbild!’s mastermind, a polite yet slightly mysterious gentleman who prefers the shadows instead of the limelight. And as you’ll see in the following interview, he’s got ideas about art, sound, and making music that differ from the norm. And if you’re as taken with Testbild!’s sound as I am, you might be able to record your own Testbild! album one of these days. What does that mean? Read on. (Studio photos by Moa Andersdotter.)

Petter: Well, the short answer would be that we get inspired by artistic people, or visionaries, who do exactly the opposite of what society expects of them. Further examples would be Chris Marker, William S. Burroughs, Jorge Luis Borges, Bas Jan Ader, Mike Alway, Ferdinand Cheval (the French postman that singlehandedly built a fantasy castle called Palais Idéal in his garden), Delia Derbyshire, etc., etc.

Isabelle Eberhardt was the daughter of Russian nobles, had an anarchistic upbringing in Genève, converted to Islam, and travelled around in North Africa in the early 1900s dressed as a man. She was elected to a mystic Islamic brotherhood called Qadriya, wrote articles for French and Swiss newspapers (but weren’t allowed to return to her home, since she was considered a dangerous and subversive character by the government). And as if that wasn’t enough, she drowned at Aïn Sefra, in the middle of the desert, at the age of 27. Her life was fascinating, as was her personality. She seemed torn between her Islamic religious ideal, and her at some times wild way of life with the cross dressing, lots of alcohol and kif, etc.

And at the same time, she was an artist by definition; her descriptions of the myriads of colours in the North African sunset is totally unique. To make a themetic album about her is simply our way of paying our dues to one of our greatest heroes.

The manifesto said that Testbild! is a band wich doesn’t profess itself to a single musical genre, that one of the main assignments should be to investigate and dwell on the relationship between pop music and sounds that could be described as noise. Total honesty was also a key conception, i.e. the music could never have a commercial purpose, and had to come from our personal musical tastes only. These things are still followed, I guess, but if we were to write a manifesto today, it would be more developed in a way. But also more or less non-existing, depending on points of view.

We strongly believe that it’s an artist’s (artist in a broadened sense) duty to avoid clichés at all cost, to at least try to kill your darlings every now and then, to never underestimate the audience and to create something that is far beyond the music business and the establishment. On the other hand, Testbild! should be a band based on ideas of any kind; in that case you could say that the only rule is that there are no rules.

I started the band ten years ago, because I was fed up with playing with “normal” bands where you were supposed to stick to a genre, wear a certain type of clothes, write prefab songs that people could dance to, etc. Testbild! was supposed to be the antithesis to all that.

Back then, it was just me. Today we are at least eight members, and we’re still growing. I want Testbild! to be around when I’m dead too. I want the project to be immortal. I have suggested to other bands that they could perform as us, and do more or less exactly what they want, but so far no one has dared.

Absolutely. The thing is, confusion is something good in our opinion. You have to keep moving forward all the time to develop as an artist, and as a human being. I may have started the project ten years ago, but at that very moment I had to resign as a leader, since the whole thing was supposed to be idea-based. You can’t have a leader if you want to be a part of something that opposes authorities and the establishment, can you? If some people decide to “kidnap” the idea, and release an album under the same name, playing indie rock in leather jackets and sunglasses, that’s a good thing too, because there is always a small chance that reviewers or journalists eventually will find out that there actually is (or was) another band with exactly the same name, with a totally different approach. And then you have a discussion, a debate on the subjects that we’re interested in.

I’m not saying that there ever will be a debate, but anyway… I know all this sounds terribly pretentious, but that’s something we just have to accept. There used to be at least one band from Sweden calling themselves Testbild, but I’m not sure if they’re around anymore. And I know for a fact that there is a German band with the same name; I think they’re into metal stuff. There’s also a Danish collective, but they’re concentrating on video art. I contacted them about six years ago, and asked them if they thought it was a problem that we had the same name, but they were just amused.

At my place we have Fender Rhodes, piano, electric bass, acoustic guitar, a couple of analogue synths, lute, kantele, vihuela, glockenspiel, banjo, chromatic harmonicas, melodica, violin, oud, hand drums and other percussive instruments. At Douglas’s place there’s lots of guitars (both acoustic and electric) and analogue synths, a vibraphonette and other stuff, and at the rehearsal place there’s a Wurlitzer piano and drums.

We go out on excursions in the city or in the nature where we happen to be, and just record everything we can come up with on our mini disc. We keep these recordings in what you might call sound libraries at home, and whenever we need a special kind of sound, we just look through our files.

We’ve done some odd stuff when it comes to our field recordings. For example, I borrowed a professional microphone from my stepbrother — he’s into filmmaking, so he has incredibly expensive stuff — that was rather long, like a forearm maybe. It had a pink angora cover to protect the recordings from wind sounds, and the handle was shaped like that of a gun. I walked around at the docks in Malmö last year, recording water sounds and sea birds, and people just stared at me like I was some kind of maniac. It was summer and very hot, so imagine a sweaty guy in sunglasses, pointing a pink angora gun at everything!

We’ve also done stuff like breaking into abandoned buildings and attics to capture the inherent sounds. There are recordings of Pontus playing accordion to cows, of Mattias playing a satellite dish with a bow, of me sitting at an old chair and moving backwards and forwards all the time to get a creaking sound, of Siri picking mushrooms in the woods, of fighting cats, etc.

Once I had the idea that every song of mine should contain an element of chance, to get a mystery feel to it. You can hear traces of that on our second album, The Inexplicable Feeling of September, but we abandoned the idea rather quickly, since it tended to limit the possibilities rather than broaden them. It turned out to be just another type of musical straitjacket or uniform that we’ve always tried to run away from. So it’s not a rule anymore. But I think it’s sometimes just a way of reasoning when you compose, like, “Now let’s see, what does this song need after the chorus — an anarchistic noise part maybe?”

I’m also somewhat fascinated with the idea of sound that suddenly stops and changes perspective, like a meta listening. We did that a couple of times on our unreleased “real” second album The Lolita Wagner Case (to be released some time in the near future on Radio Khartoum, it’s the second part of a thematic trillogy starting with The Double Life of Testbild!). First you have a proper song. Then in the second verse, you hear someone putting on a cassette recorder, and the song continues on the tape while you hear the person breathing in the background. There are many more layers than you think. You are listening to a record, but at the same time someone is listening to you, listening to a record, and a person listening to the person who’s listening to you, listening to a record and so forth. Very John Cage indeed!

Oh, thank you! But getting back to song structure: it’s a very delicate matter and should not be taken lightly. The key word is listening, of course. You have to listen carefully to where a melody line or a chord progression wants to go, and then the music actually writes itself. It takes a lot of time and effort, and sometimes you don’t have the patience for it, but when it happens it’s the most wonderful thing. I think you can tell when you’ve been careless about a song, but usually not until after a while.

I’m not ruling anything out, but for my own part I’m through with writing conventional songs. I’ve done that so much in the past. I guess you can see that as part of a learning process. And I should stress that it does of course happen that we write conventional stuff every now and then, but these songs are always thrown away. I don’t see the point in keeping something anybody could do; you should listen to your own inner voice instead.

Oh you know, just fooling around with EQ to get that old, fractured sound. There was also a great deal of voice direction; the way that Katja was supposed to read the text was in a kind of slow and half whispery tone to strengthen the dream-like atmosphere.

It depends on the circumstances. I personally have an indestructible passion for great songwriters, i.e. musicians that really treat the song like the work of art it is, people like Louis Philippe, Brian Wilson, Laura Nyro, Paddy McAloon, George Gershwin or Dorothy Ashby, people who are in love with the songs they write. I want to become one of them myself, and I hope that maybe I will some day.

On the other hand, I get obsessed with artistic ideas all the time, and perhaps it’s easier to find those in movies than in music, I don’t know. I love directors like Andrei Tarkovsky and Victor Erice; they have the aesthetics and a poetic attitude that’s very close to my own, describing the beauty, the mystery and eternal sadness of the world and its inhabitants.

When I get obsessed with something, I have to find out everything there is about it. My latest infatuation is French film maker Chris Marker, who is mostly known for a short low budget science fiction movie from the early sixties called La Jetée, entirelly composed of black and white stills. Apparently Terry Gilliam was very influenced by this when he wrote Twelve Monkeys, with all its time travel business. But La Jetée is something completely different, of course.

Sans Soleil, a full length movie from 1983 that is a unique and puzzling mix of documentary footage, apocalyptic science fiction, meditations on what memory is, and a highly intellectual and essay-like voiceover, is even better. Chris Marker (it is said that he took his name from a Marker pen) is an enigmatic character who’s been around the business since the fifties. He rarely gives interviews and almost never shows his face. The images of him that exist has him most of the time standing behind a camera, and nowadays he’s been known to send pictures of his cat Guillaume to journalists who contact him.

You’ve obviously taken a Residents-like approach to band photos, yet — correct me if I’m wrong — that’s your face singing in Testbild’s “ENIAC vs. UNIVAC” video. So the cat’s out of the bag, at least as far what you look like. Why bother hiding now?

First of all: that’s not me in the video, it’s a friend of director Angelique Clark. I don’t remember his name, but I think Alexander Bailey (of our American record company Radio Khartoum) mentioned that he actually is Scandinavian, and I guess he was chosen to play the part because he looked like our friend Magnus Löfgren (the guy impersonating ENIAC and UNIVAC on the cover of the first album).

You won’t find any pictures of me anywhere, not of the band with uncovered faces either, and there are no pictures of the whole band together. On the other hand, there are images of several of the other members out there (most of them have other musical projects on the side), so I guess you could cut them out and make little Testbild! collages of your own…

We chose to have it this way for many reasons; one is to emphasize the fact that it’s all idea-based, and that no member is more important than the other. In our modern society, you tend to put focus on the artist rather than his or her work, which is a rather twisted way of looking at things. So that’s of course something we want to protest against. The fact that we sometimes use anagrams instead of our real names is another manifestation of these thoughts.

We have an album coming up in September, it’s called Aquatint, and will hopefully be our most conceptual piece yet. Apart from the music and lyrics, there’ll be a movie and a short story. And if everything goes as planned, the nice digipak will smell of tar.

Well, apparently we have to do it ourselves by hand, so it all depends on if we get the CD’s before they’re sent out to the shops or not, I’m not sure about these things.

Anyway, we’re still working with Bed Stilt, our orchestral and apocalyptic third part of the trillogy I mentioned earlier, an album about Belka and Strelka (the two Russian space dogs from the sixties that actually came back alive) and other things. Oh, and we’re supposed to go on a small tour in Sweden and Denmark in August. We like to keep busy!

The seaside. Everything about it really, water, boats, lighthouses, sand, shaped rocks, fishes, the horizon, the smells and sounds.

Rain. The sound the raindrops make, and just the plain fact that there’s actually water coming down from the sky.

Coloured lamps hung in the trees on summer evenings (is it called Chinese lanterns in English?).

Shortwave radio. I can sit and turn the knob backwards and forwards for hours, the sound has a completely absorbing effect on me.

Used copies of The National Geographic Magazine, preferably from the sixties and seventies. Older copies is OK as well, but never newer.

Foxes. Red foxes, that is. It’s been my favourite animal since I was a child, and I used to dream of them all the time when I was in my early twenties, I even dreamt that I had this fox alter ego, called Kani. I guess you could call the fox my totem if you’re into new age mumbo jumbo stuff (god knows I’m not).

The night sky and the stars.

Dreams. I find it eternally fascinating that ones subconscious is crammed with poetic images and abstract art. I used to have this dream diary where I wrote down everything; many passages in the lyrics and stories are taken from there. I’ve been neglectful to it lately though, maybe I should start again.

Old libraries and dusty archives. I’m a librarian by profession, and have always loved the somewhat archetypal idea of a forgotten, hidden room somewhere in the basement of a public building, stuffed with old books and files with subversive information.

Tea. Preferably Lapsang Souchong or Russian Earl Grey.

Testbild’s web site | Testbild’s MySpace page | Buy “Une Teinte Intense” from Friendly Noise (Sweden) | Buy “Une Teinte Intense” from Amazon

What does Todd Rundgren’s A True Wizard, A True Star, Prince’s Lovesexy, and Paul Steel’s April & I have in common?

Glorious studio bombast. Song suites. Total record production mastery. All three albums are the sound of an artist at the top of his studio game.

Except Paul Steel’s album isn’t a pinnacle.

It’s a debut.

And it was recorded as a mostly one-man-band effort when he was eighteen years old.

His followup album, Moon Rock, is, for the moment, doing the unfortunate record company shuffle. But April & I — praised by such musical heavyweights as Sean O’Hagan, Van Dyke Parks, and Wondermints — is available now, and it recently found a home on iTunes.

In the following interview, this virtuoso of hyperactive overdubbed pop assures us that — despite having written lyrics to the contrary — he’s not on crack. It’s always good to clear that up.

Paul: It’s my bedroom, so a bed and a wardrobe! Got a desktop PC and monitors hooked up to a rack of preamps and FX. A MIDI keyboard and drum pads for programming. A percussion box full of bells, shakers, scrapers, whistles, and other useless nonsense. A Wagner U47 mic. I like to collect instruments, so I have a cupboard containing my banjo, ukulele, electric sitar, Quattro de Puerto Rico, mandolin, baby accordion, lap steel, and melodica. I keep my favourite guitar and bass with the monsters under the bed.

A few years ago, when I had started recording the tracks for April & I, I was invited to a party at the other end of town. So I took my laptop and microphone along and recorded a gang vocal for a song called Honkin’ (On My Crackpipe). I recorded loads and loads of shouting, inhaling, and some crack-addicted Aberdonian slang.

After the party, at about 3am, a bunch of us headed up the road. One person was dressed as Spiderman and another had a guitar. We found an old alcoholic lady in the street who joined us and penned the Little Tiny Bill song with us. If you type in “Little Tiny Bill” in YouTube you might be able to find it somewhere. So the backing vocalists in Honkin’ (On My Crackpipe) ended up being the Little Tiny Bill Symphonic Choir.

I was always knocked out by the coda to God Only Knows by Brian Wilson. I wanted to do something similar with interwoven counter melodies and stuff.

It’s a lot less specific. I can write about anything I want, and still put a lot of myself and my personality into it.

One day I would definitely like to. I think I want to live a bit more and find a way of translating my thoughts and emotions into standard music notation.

Yes, my mother. Everyone asks, “Do you take crack then?” I say yes, but of course I don’t. I don’t know anyone who does either. It’s part of the story where “I” get corrupted. I am a little bit concerned that kids might listen to it and grow up to be addicts.

Ha ha, I am a fool to myself. I’ll leave the crack for my hardcore techno phase.

I can’t say without relistening to it, but it’s “like the time when my dad caught my trying on old womens clothing”… Don’t ask!

Yes. Yes. I’m obsessed with a Japanese electro-pop artist, Cornelius. April & I’s production pales in comparison to the crazy shit he gets up to! He uses guitars and drum samples in a really insane and creative way that I’m certain could be applied to pop music in a tasteful way. It sounds like it takes a lot of work and attention to detail, though!

I would definitely like to explore more extreme production ideas and techniques, but I’m also keen to master more traditional styles. It’s all educational!

I do get a lot of ideas and write a lot of songs, but I find it difficult to identify which ones are good and which ones are terrible. I’ve been on complete bummers for months just because of a lack of confidence. When I get any writer’s block, I turn into a bit of a workaholic and try to compensate by writing or recording lots of music. But I think it’s a lot more sensible to take break or try writing with other people. Try something different.

Melody: To me, there is no song without a strong, engaging melody. Which is ironic considering most chart-topping tunes are void of any melodic interest!

Arrangement

Harmonic structure

Rhythm

Lyrics

Audio engineering

Solos: Solos can be really good and really lift a song if used cleverly, but they’re not important at all. I particularly hate improvised blues guitar solos and saxophone solos.

Lots of sunshine pop bands like The Association, The Free Design, and Millennium. A friend of mine turned me onto Todd Rundgren’s A Wizard. A True Star and I can’t get enough of it… It’s insane.

Weirdly enough, no. I was on the phone to a producer friend of mine, Charlie Francis, telling him what I was working on and that it was a continuous piece of music. He mentioned that album, and I bought it a few days after I finished April. I wish I had heard it beforehand cause Todd Rundgren used lots of different interesting ways of linking up the tracks that I would’ve liked to employ in my stuff. I’ve only really gotten into it recently. International Feel is one of my favourite tracks ever!

There isn’t a week that goes by that I forget to listen to The Beach Boys or The Super Furry Animals. My friend Ralph told me to “only study greatness,” so I don’t listen to the radio or watch any music television or anything. Most new music is written to be talked about, not listened to.

I’ve just got out of the record deal that has been holding Moon Rock back for the last nine months, so we’re going to be making plans for the release of it soon. We’re getting a animated film made for April & I using ten different animators and filmmakers. It’s looking amazing so far.

I’m hoping it will get into film festivals. The guys making the film are doing things that I think will really blow peoples minds, and they’re all so different. We’re thinking about doing a re-release of April & I with a DVD and maybe a live performance… Maybe.

I’m playing bass for a Brighton band called Stars and Sons. I’ve just finished a song called Ocean that I wrote with Beach Boys collaborator Stephen Kalinich. It’s on my MySpace right now. I’m also doing a project with Nick Littlemore, out of Australian electro band Pnau. Of course, I’m still writing and recording and making plans for myself!

Brighton beach

Pet Sounds

Comedy

California

Rhapsody In Blue

Sunshine

Fruit

Outer space

1960s

Super Furry Animals live

Paul Steel’s web site | Paul Steel’s MySpace page

Hey there — just a quick update about The Bridgadier, who was interviewed on Songs and Sonics a little while back.

One of the songs we discussed in detail was The Melancholy Days — a fantastic song from The Brigadier’s latest album, The Rise and Fall of Responsibility. Now you can hear the song yourself over on The Brigadier’s MySpace page.

If you enjoy ELO, 10cc, or late ’70s pop, do yourself a favor and check this song out right now!

If you’re a late ’60s sunshine pop fan, you’re in for a treat.

Margo Guryan was a well-educated jazz pianist in the mid-’60s when a friend played her the song God Only Knows, from The Beach Boys‘ (then) brand-new album, Pet Sounds. That one song altered her musical direction permanently:

She became a full-fledged pop songwriter, and her songs were covered by the likes of Jackie DeShannon, Mama Cass, Glen Campbell, Astrud Gilberto, Claudine Longet, Julie London, Spanky And Our Gang, Dion, Harry Nilsson, and others.

In 1968, Margo was given the opportunity to record an album of her own songs. The result, Take A Picture, is a collection of solid Brian Wilson-influenced pop, jazzy psychedelic grooves, and sweetly sung vocals. “I never thought of myself as a singer,” Margo says. But her breathy, multitracked babydoll vocals are made of the stuff that make men swoon, even 40 years after it was recorded.

Unfortunately, because of Margo’s refusal to perform live, Take A Picture went nowhere. No followup albums were released. Margo eventually became a piano teacher.

But about 30 years after Take A Picture’s original release, something unusual happened: Japanese record collectors discovered it. And subsequently went wild over the album.

One thing led to another, and Take A Picture was reissued on CD multiple times in several countries. Bonus tracks were unearthed. A companion album of unreleased recordings, 25 Demos, surfaced in 2001. Accolades from modern pop stars, like Beck and Garbage’s Shirley Manson followed.

And Take A Picture, the little album that hardly anybody paid attention to in 1968, is now widely regarded as a sunshine pop classic.

A chance MySpace encounter led me to asking Margo if she’d like to do an interview for Songs and Sonics. However, just as I was about to send a list of questions, I stumbled across this excellent recorded interview which covered nearly everything I was about to ask! So, armed with this new information, I went back to the drawing board and promised I would ask her “different” questions which were not covered before. In the following interview, we cover both her ’60s work and her return to releasing pop music with her political 2007 single, 16 Words.

Margo: I really don’t know. Take A Picture has been released three times in Japan, the latest being on Sony/BMG. The first release in the late ’90s came as a complete surprise.

I’d really love to know how this started. One day (1998, 1999) David [Rosner, Margo's publisher and husband] received a call from a guy at a small label called Distortions Records. He wanted to re-release Take A Picture because he catered to record collectors and said my album was a frequent request. He said, “Margo’s a star in Japan.” We thought it was pretty weird and David told him to get in touch with Arista (the former Bell Records).

Sometime later, David received a publishing royalty statement from Japan and noticed that all the songs listed were from “TAP.” That’s when we found out a “pirate” version of the album had been issued. I was happy about that, because up until that time, I had only an old-fashioned LP of my record. Now I had a CD…. Wow! I wrote to the company to ask if I could purchase some copies at a publisher’s discount. They responded that they were all sold out, but would send me their last copy for free.

That, to our knowledge, is how it started. Then Cornelius, a Japanese recording artist who had a label, wanted to release it. That was the Trattoria release.

But, Jeff, that’s just how we found out. Though David has sub-publishers and other contacts in Japan, we have never been able to learn why it happened.

I don’t feel I’m living a “parallel life”… it’s the same one. I’ve always written words and music (and words & music) as ideas occur. There was a long period of time when I felt no connection with pop music. I began studying piano again, then teaching. I wrote just words then, or just music (The Chopsticks Variations is a piano piece I wrote for my “kids”.)

I guess The Chopsticks Variations might have been the next thing I wrote (in the ’90s). In teaching Mozart’s variations on Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star (Ah, vous dirai je, maman), I found that children loved to play something that was familiar to them.

Anyway, I wondered what I could write that children would know and relate to. The easier variations, as written, have Chopsticks in one hand while the other makes it become a simple piece… Easy to learn!

The impetus for 16 Words began, I think, while reading Joe Wilson’s Politics of Truth. Those words were also prominently featured in Frank Rich’s The Greatest Story Ever Sold. It occurred to me that that lie was representative of all the lies the Bush administration spouted to get us into the Iraq war, wire-tap Americans, torture, etc., etc. And I thought I’d write music to it.

Well, look at the comments on YouTube. There are obviously some people who didn’t like it.

When I was a child, I “made up” poems. As I learned music (I began piano study at age 6), I “made up” songs. My models were the songs I heard, and the songwriters were usually good ones (Cole Porter, Rodgers & Hart, etc.). You absorb form and style (the words always rhymed) when you’re a kid. I was encouraged by my parents (there were only hand-made greeting cards in my home) in every creative field (took art lessons, dance lessons, etc.). But my father once told me, “Songs like yours are a dime a dozen.” He changed his tune after Chris Connor recorded a song of mine (Moon Ride) on Atlantic Records!

I think all writing begins with an idea… a thought, word fragments, a snippet of melody. I’d go to the piano and (more or less) let it happen.

My father once asked me if I could make myself get an idea. I said, “No.” He said, “That’s God.” I thought that was interesting, but I don’t really buy it. You’d have to be some kind of brain surgeon to even begin to understand where ideas come from.

The “idea” for Thoughts was to write a song containing only two-word phrases. The answer section and vocal backgrounds in the bridge occurred while recording.

I thought at the time that Sunday Morning was much more risqué: do what other people do on Sunday morning. But no one else seemed to think so.

I didn’t recognize that line as risqué until you mentioned it… Now I’m trying to think of other dirty lines in your songs that I might’ve missed!

Keep looking.

Just for fun, actually. If you listen to that song in demo form (25 Demos) you won’t find the burlesque atmosphere. I wanted to write an old-timey song a la Harry Nilsson. I think the crowd was (producer) John Hill’s idea. Gave me a chance to invite some friends and relatives into the studio. The whistle belongs to GayeAnn, my cousin Peter’s wife. None of the guys could match her construction worker gusto!

Nothing mysterious or arcane about this one! It’s exactly what it claims to be: telling someone who was a good friend that a change had occurred. (I married him.)

Still is!

Ooh…cornered. I don’t have an iPod. I listen to Thom Hartmann and Randi Rhodes and watch Keith Olbermann. I do check out some of the music posted on MySpace and have found occasional gems.

There’s a song I love on the 20 Minute Loop page. I think it’s called Ambassadors.

This is “iffy.” I had recorded 5 tracks when the idea for 16 Words hit me. I wanted very much to finish that song first. While working on it, one co-producer left and John Hill helped finish it up. Then John left for the East coast. John had written some gorgeous string parts for a few of the other tracks and I didn’t want to proceed without him. I may decide to finish them up… and may not. Don’t know.

I don’t like rites! I never wanted to get married, I just wanted to be married. I don’t like funerals… gone is gone. A diploma is great, but graduations are a bore. Awards are nice, but earning the award is where the satisfaction is. I’ll do without the ceremonies, thanks.

Thanks, Jeff… You too! Good (and different) questions!

A child doing anything well.

Discovering a new Bach or Scarlatti piece.

Discovering an old Randy Newman song.

Barack Obama.

Learning a mystery’s solution.

Dreams. (But only good ones.)

Surprises. (But only good ones.)

Watching kittens play.

Seeing a great performance.

Silence. (Especially at the dinner table when I’ve prepared the dinner.)

Margo Guryan’s official web site | Margo Guryan’s MySpace page | Order “Take A Picture” or “25 Demos” | Order “16 Words”

Some artists make recordings. The Brigadier (a.k.a. Matt Williams) makes records.

The Brigadier’s albums sound as if they were meticulously assembled in a 1979-era world-class million dollar studio. Electric Light Orchestra, 10cc, and Queen are all sonic reference points, as well as more recent artists like Teenage Fanclub.

Except that Matt doesn’t utilize a world-class studio. Instead, he uses a computer, a keyboard, and a guitar in the corner of his living room. And he posesses a very interesting microphone preamp, as you’ll discover in the following interview. If The Brigadier isn’t a great example of imagination triumphing over gear, I don’t know what is.

The Brigadier’s brand new album, The Rise and Fall of Responsibility, is a solid collection of Teenage Fanclub-meets-Jeff Lynne studio pop goodness. And at precisely the point in the album when you think you’ve got his sound pegged, he throws in two superb electro-disco tunes (The Melancholy Days and This, is Why) that amazingly don’t feel out of place with the previous guitar-centric tracks.

If you’re looking for a good soundtrack to accompany this interview, look no further than The Brigader’s MySpace page. If you’re not won over by the end of Some Sort of Magic (from The Brigadier’s 2007 release, View from the Bath), you should probably have your pulse checked.

Matt: I did the usual route of playing in bands throughout my teens and all that, though just initially as a guitarist playing rock stuff. I’d always been able to come up with tunes since I was young, and by my late teens was able to form them into songs. Then I started recording them on a four track.

To cut a long story short, I went through some more bands but got fed up with all the stuff that comes with being in a band. So I decided to go “solo,” as it were. I didn’t want to go under my own name, as there were already several other artists called Matt Williams and I thought it would be a bit boring to go under my own name. The last band I had been in was called Brigadier, so I decided to keep the name.

When thinking of the name I wanted something a bit authoritative but also with a twinkle in the eye. All the regal names had been taken — Queen, King, Prince, Princess — so I decided to go with a military name. The only one which popped out as sounding interesting was brigadier. I just kind of found it funny!

Then I bought a computer to see if I could give it a go on the internet, largely because hardly anyone had heard my songs and I had no idea how they would be perceived. I went on loads of sites, but eventually settled down on MySpace, as I found it the easiest to use. Suddenly, I was getting a lot of feedback from people who really liked the stuff — which was a real boost to my confidence. Then, when I started making CDs to sell, people actually bought them! Which was the best thing, as it really validated what I was doing.

I kind of just picked it up by doing it again and again. I used to record everything on four track tape. When I moved over to a computer, I utilized it in the same way — just as a glorified four track. I used to be very sloppy with my recording. But the more I did it, the more my ears became attuned to hearing everything, and the better the sound became.

I like fuller productions, like what you would hear on mid ’60s Beach Boys and ’70s Queen records. I like to bring out as much of the song as possible in the production without suffocating it. Sometimes I try to strip things down and do something with just my voice and piano or guitar — but I don’t often get there!

I play live as often as I can. Some songs I just sing playing along with my guitar. For the others, I sing and play guitar along with backing tracks from my mp3 player. It’s basically the same tracks off my albums, but stripped of lead guitar and vocals — so it’s kind of like Karaoke!

It’s not ideal, but until I can find a band, it’s the only way. Surprisingly, it doesn’t sound that bad, and the songs seem to go down well in the live environment.

It’s quite a skeletal setup, I use one microphone (Beyerdynamic) for everything, mostly because I never got around to buying any other, then that goes into a Tascam four track tape recorder, which is sort of my preamp, as I don’t have a mixer.

The mic is a Beyerdynamic M300 TG. It’s one that my dad gave me years ago when I started recording. To be honest, I don’t know that much about mics, so I’ve never used any other!

The Tascam is a Porta 03 MkII. It has a stereo input that I use for my keyboards, which you can switch to a mic input for the mic. Then, I plug the output of that into the computer.

The audio is going straight in. I use an old Apple Mac G3, on which I’m running Logic Audio 4.7, an old but trusty program! I don’t use any MIDI instruments, as there’s a fault with my setup which won’t allow it. But I do have some internal synths on my computer which I can use, like Mellotron samples and old ’70s analogue keyboards.

I don’t have many sample instruments, but I bought some on eBay, like Mellotron samples which I use and ARP synthesizers. I use them inside the EXS24 sampler in Logic. Aside from that, all my keyboard stuff is played in direct from my Yamaha portable grand.

Most of my keyboards have to be played straight in, which can be annoying. If you make a mistake, you have to start again… But it makes you a better keyboard player!

I use a compressor inside of Logic on a lot of the vocals but not all of them, then I EQ them to make them a bit warmer. I don’t have any external processors, as I don’t want to get overwhelmed by too much stuff! Also, I’m currently trying to upgrade my equipment at the moment, but it’s not working as I keep getting plagued with technical hurdles!

Some songs derive completely from real-life situations and others are exaggerated somewhat. The rest are either fictional or songs about somebody else, so are not applicable to me. Generally though, there is a biographical and nostalgic element to a lot of the songs. In that sense it could be construed as self-indulgent, but that’s just the way it is!

Well, there’s a song on there called Under the Influenza which is written about having the flu or colds and all that sort of stuff. That comes from always being ill when I was younger. I’m generally much healthier these days, but I had the flu earlier in the year. I wrote this song in bed when I was feeling pretty dire!

Rhythm is very important to me, and I try to give every song a different rhythmic feel. There’s nothing worse than listening to a collection of songs which all have the same groove. I think you should be able to move to most music, whether it’s “dance” orientated or not. That said, I do like “dance” music in a traditional pop way. I like a lot of disco, funk, and early 80s dance pop, as its quite fresh-sounding, and most importantly, full of groove — which I think a lot of dance music gradually lost over time.

I don’t know if I would do a whole disco album, but probably after a few more albums you could certainly compile a good dancing compilation!

Yes — I basically borrow a groove off a record that I like. Generally, when I’ve written something, I’ll write down next to it, “The feel is like this song by…” whoever it is. That’s usually the start off point. That’s why it’s good to listen to lots of music — even stuff you don’t like — because you might find something like a rhythm or groove that you can borrow!

It was just something I wrote on guitar. It was going to be a slow ballad, but I thought that might be a bit obvious, so I didn’t do anything with it for a while. One day, I was listening to a song I liked called La Dolce Vita by Ryan Paris, who was a sort of early ’80s Europop one hit wonder. I thought that I should do something with a similar beat, so I basically used the groove off that song, though compositionally they have nothing in common. Sound-wise, then I was just fiddling around with different synthesizer sounds. I had to keep relentlessly stripping it down until it was very sparse, though by the end of the song it gets quite busy again!

I’m quite quick at writing, but the recording takes time as I have a day job and have to fit it in around that. I’m always thinking simultaneously about loads of different songs at any one time. Some songs I finish and some I don’t. Some come back for another day.

Some songs literally are all completely recorded and mixed within a few hours (like This is, Why… off the new album) and others I might start at some point, and then burn off my computer — coming back to them weeks or months later. Usually if you record and mix something on one day, you go back to it a few days later and you want or need to refine it. After a few more times of doing that, it usually sounds finished. The more experienced you become with recording, the easier it is, because you know instinctively how you want it to sound and how to get there. But then that’s like anything, I suppose!

I abandon lots of songs in the writing stage if they’re not keeping my interest, but will usually just throw them into a pile for another day. With recording, sometimes I’ll do a backing track and decide I don’t like it or it’s in the wrong tempo or key — or basically, it’s not inspiring. So I’ll bin it. Then maybe a few months later, I’ll come back to that song and redo it in a different way. I have lots of songs like that!

The best things definitely are being able to do what I want when I want. I can write anything and release it and don’t have to teach someone how to play it. I have collaborated with people before many times on writing and recording, but would generally prefer to produce other people than write with them — but I’m not ruling it out.

The worst thing is that you have to be your own motivator and you have to really force yourself to keep your own morale up. It’s especially evident when I’m doing a gig. It isn’t as much fun doing a gig by yourself. I’d rather play with a band behind me in that capacity.

I think having strong self-belief is the only thing which you can use to motivate yourself a lot of the time. That, and getting feedback from other musicians and fans. You tend to feel validated when people like what you are doing, so it helps keep you on track. That said, there are many dark days where you feel a bit lost and directionless and what you’re doing is not worth anything. But you need to try and not let those thoughts hold much weight.

A lot of my tastes are quite mainstream and go from the mid 50s to the recent day, but that encompasses pop, rock, progressive rock, funk, heavy metal, country, bluegrass, country-rock, disco, electropop, etc. So as far as I can think the overlooked bands that I like did enjoy some success but not enough of it: artists like Saint Etienne, Stackridge, Salad, The Auteurs, Emitt Rhodes, and Mike Scott.

I think as well as bands that are underrated or unknown, there are also “lost” periods in famous artists histories that go completely overlooked, people like Nick Lowe, Dion Dimucci, Delmont Shannon and The Everly Brothers, even The Beach Boys too. People might only know them for a handful of hits, but if you delve in to their back catalogues, there are some really great albums.

My first priority is to try and upgrade my recording equipment to make things easier. I’m also working on an EP for release in the late summer with a loose theme of “Holidays,” but that will probably change. I’ve also started recording my next album for probable release next year. I’ve got so many songs that I’m just going to keep recording them because I can’t think of anything better to do. Thankfully, I have a good fan base who enjoy what I do, and I always sell enough to cover all my costs of making CDs — so there’s no reason to stop!

Food

The weather

Photographs

Nostalgia

States of mind

Going on trips

Films

Other peoples songs

Love

Not going to work

The Brigadier’s web site | The Brigader’s MySpace page | Order The Rise and Fall of Responsibility

His career as a professional recording artist spans over 20 years, his Wikipedia entry calls him one of the “elder statesmen of indiepop,” and he’s worked with laundry list of distinguished artists, including The Clientele, The High Llamas, and former XTC guitarist Dave Gregory.

Louis Philippe (real name Philippe Auclair) is a unique figure on the pop music landscape. He has the ear of a seasoned orchestral arranger, yet is musically self-taught. (Anyone with an interest in arranging should check out his excellent blog post on writing for strings.) He crafts sophisticated tunes which pay their respects to the shrine of Pet Sounds, but his music is gentler than anything on that album. And, as you’ll discover in the following interview, he doesn’t employ the methods that a typical pop songwriter might use when capturing ideas.

Elegant is the word that most often comes to mind when listening to Louis Philippe’s latest album, An Unknown Spring. The songs are highly literate, delicately arranged, and supplemented with real orchestral instruments. Make no mistake — this is indeed pop music. It’s just smarter and a little quieter than what typically falls under the pop umbrella. There’s no screaming guitars, no trace of the modern loudness wars. Instead, An Unknown Spring boasts an intriguing mix of confessional songwriting, Brill Building-like pop craftsmanship, and cinematic but intimate orchestral arrangements. And then there’s Louis’s angelic vocals soaring over top of it all.

Not only does Louis make great music, but he gives great interviews too.

Louis: I’d become quite disillusioned, to put it mildly, with what I was hearing around me; most of it seemed very reactionary to my ears, beat-and groove-driven, with hardly any attention paid to melody and harmony in any sense of these words. I wanted to see if I could get closer to my ambition of writing pop lieder, in which repetition would be a device used with far greater economy that is the norm (including in my own work). By the way, this was not a choice as such; it’s the music I was hearing in my mind and that coming out when I walked in the street or sat at the piano. It’s something I’ve been atrracted to ever since Danny Manners and I worked on our album of Poulenc mélodies. When the songs started to take shape, I noticed that my writing had evolved towards more evolutive lines, more fluid harmonies. It was more a matter of going with a natural, ‘organic’ flow than a decision as such.

The analytical process took place afterwards, if you see what I mean, when I had to build the record in Ken Brake’s studio. Another thing: the form of the songs, and the curve of the album were also influenced by a personal necessity: sing a body of songs which would have a common emotional colour, and a very tender one at that. There is hardly any place for tenderness in pop these days, whereas it is ever-present in the music I love. Nostalgia too.

I guess this is more of a constant in what I’ve done over the years than a “new” inclination. I couldn’t say if it is a theme as such… Maybe it’s an echo of Ray Davies’s obsession with weather in albums like Face to Face and Something Else (and Village Green, of course!). Do you think it has to do with living in a country where we experience four seasons in a day? And a clue — every time “spring” is used (and it is quite a few times), it is in all its meanings. What you said about the weather could also be said about water.

Do you mind if I bat this one out of the park? It would be a bit like answering a question like, “How often do you have sex?” But there isn’t a line in this song that doesn’t come from very, very deep within me. “You’re a clock without a hand, a broken shell turning to sand” — when love has gone, death asserts itself.

This is a very flattering thing to say — so much so I’m not sure what to add to it. One thing I remember about writing this song is that I first “heard” the first verse in its entirety, lead line, chords and lyrics all together, something that is (alas) very rare… Don’t forget that the one dream I’ll never fulfill is to be a Brill Building songwriter, banging on the piano from 9 to 5 with the divine Carole King for a neighbour, and looking forward to present a demo to Jackie DeShannon (at which point I made my excuses and left).

Spot on as far as colours are concerned.

I most certainly don’t. I find understanding what Olivier Messiaen said about the purpleness of certain tonalities an impossible task.

That is different. Yes, the combination of the two CR78s is actually meant to reflect the “snowishness” of the snow, the precision of the crystal structures, with its peaks and radiating spikes. As to the adequation of sound and instruments to lyrics, absolutely — very much the arranger’s prerogative. Are we sounding a bit pseud-ish here? Who cares? I’m trying to think of another example… You’d have the french horn on Wild-Eyed and Disheveled, a very sylvian instrument, which seemed appropriate when thinking of the America that Scottish crofters discovered when they landed in Nova Scotia; and the “surf” organ in the same track, a sonic hello to God, i.e. Brian Wilson.

The sparseness is out of fidelity to one of my guiding principles as an arranger: economy. The arranger’s work should consist of taking out as much as needs to be done; ideas can be like weeds, and proliferate to the point when they negate each other’s beauty. I was listening to Ravel’s L’Enfant et les sortilèges a couple of nights ago — and I defy you to find one note that is not “needed” in this luxurious score. As Poulenc said, “I’m not Ravel, unfortunately”; but what was good for him (and how) has got to be good for a minor craftsman like me.

The other thing is: I hear my songs in orchestrated form, not as lead line/chords compounds. It’s a great asset — until you realise to need to work like mad to unravel what is played in your mind’s ear. As an arranger, I do not have a philosophy as such; the work I’ve done for bands like The Clientele or, very recently, Humbert Humbert (a very good Japanese “psych-folk” duet) bears little relation to the way I work on my own material. With other artists, my role is to enhance colours (sometimes find some when there are very few), to enrich the harmonic patterns, draw out the most arresting lines, embellish, whilst remaining in the background; a matter of technique as much as anything. With myself, as songs do ‘come out’ in already-arranged form, it’s a question of finding means to execute what’s been found. In any case, one priority doesn’t change: less is definitely more.

All background vocals on that particular song were recorded part-by-part with three singers singing in straight octaves or unison: Alasdair and Mel of The Clientele, plus me. Each of the four parts was triple-tracked, using a very transparent reverb. There was no use of Auto-Tune or any other gizmo… It’s just the way our three voices combine! We only used a “special effect” on two songs of the album: we put the background vocals to Fallen Snow through an old AC30, whacking the tremolo by hand as we were laying the tracks; and Ken processed the background vocals to An Unknown Spring (the song) through a reverse-reverb plug-in. Other than that, the sound of these harmonies was the result of coaching Al and Mel through their parts, and not just pitch-wise. I’m very pleased with the ghostly chromatic line you can hear, and not hear at the same time, in the bridge. It’s done entirely by multi-tracking my voice, but singing “as a trombone” (can’t put it any other way — a vocal technique I also use in Toi le coeur de la rose) — great fun to do.

Is it 16? You’re probably right. I feel like this after every single record! It’s horrible.

Paddy McAloon had a trick to get over this sense of vertigo you cannot fail to feel when you finish an album. “I’ll never write another line as good as this,” etc. He always kept 3 of the most striking songs he’d written in a kind of musical savings account, if you will! Like a greedy child who puts away the best bits of his meal to have a special mouthful to look forward to (Yes, used to do it). That way, Paddy knew that, should he stumble and have to face a bad case of writer’s block, he’d have something to lean on, a springboard for new songs.

I felt awful after An Unknown Spring, totally dried out, an old jellyfish stranded on a not particularly clean beach… My remedy against this type of hangover hasn’t changed: keep to the discipline of writing, every day, carry on, even if you come out with rubbish; at one point, it’ll click.

Further than that… Arnold Schoenberg used to tell this story about a caterpillar who was asked by an ant: “How do you manage to move all these legs at the same time?” The caterpillar stopped and thought: “Yes, how do I do it?” And it thought for so long, and got so confused, that it never moved again.

It can be. Every song I write is an attempt to bring a particularly intense experience out of the memory, and give it a shape in the timelessness of music. It is already a very narcissistic process, you see.

I’ll probably sit at the piano for a couple of hours every day, mostly in the evening. Playing through bits and bobs I’ve already “found,” refining the harmonies, and, crucially for me, the scansion (almost a lost art form these days). I’ll stand up and walk about, trying to listen to the mind’s ear, and find what I’m doing wrong in transcribing what I’m hearing. I’ll do a lot of work in the street too, walking, shopping, whatever. This may explain why the beat my songs have slowed down in recent years; I’m a more sedate walker than I used to be.

I hardly throw anything away, inasmuch I’ll keep a score of everything (I’ve never used dictaphones or portable recorders, and don’t own any form of recording equipment — pen and paper always), and rummage through the lot from time to time. It might just be that a 4-bar sequence, which was originally the first draft of a verse, and led to nothing, might provide me with just the bridge I was looking for.

Did you know Roy Orbison combined three different songs to create Only the Lonely? And may I just add that I still haven’t got over what his death has robbed us of? This man was more than a genius, he was an angel.

The most important one is: do what you do out of a personal sense of necessity. Then here a few others: never underestimate your audience. Be daring. Don’t be afraid to be naked in front of your listeners, lay yourself bare, until it hurts. Have the spontaneity of a lover, the meticulosity of a craftsman. People like Sean O’Hagan and Bertrand Burgalat are brothers to me, if you need names. But the resistance movement is growing all the time. Think of Testbild!, the Swedish band, The Lionheart Brothers, King Creosote, Brian Campeau…

One confession: I hate ROCK. (love rock ‘n roll, though — the Burnette Trio, Buddy Holly, John Fogerty). I despise every single “value” which is attached to “rock,” in the Bruce Springsteen sense. We’ve just lost four readers.

Good.

The drive of that track is phenomenal. Just phenomenal. That bass line, good grief… It’s just perfection. Born out of precious stone like Venus emerging fully-formed from the ocean. It has a certainty about it that is akin to the certainty of loving and being loved by someone. A statement that is irrefutable, undeniable, which makes you feel drunk.

I first heard that song in 1974, in my father’s car. We were going through a forest in the Auvergne. I still remember the light of the sun exploding on the leaves.

Yes, and there are many. Duke Ellington’s Perfume Suite. All of Ravel. Sibelius’s symphonies… then the Easybeats! Bobby Fuller (Never To Be Forgotten, wow)… Rock Bottom. I am haunted! But The Zombies‘ Odessey & Oracle has, in many ways, had a more direct impact of my way of working than Pet Sounds or any other album. Odyssey is almost something I could conceive myself “equalling,” if you see what I mean (I should be so lucky…), whereas Pet Sounds is a miracle that can’t and won’t be replicated.

I’ve just realised I haven’t mentioned Burt Bacharach. Probably because his presence feels so natural that I don’t even realise it. Sonically, and harmonically speaking, no one, not even Brian Wilson, had had and has as much of an influence on me than Burt has.

Christ — a book, which I need to finish by August. A track for a Joe Raposo tribute album (to be recorded), another for an album dedicated to the memory of Keith Girdler, the Blueboy singer who passed away so tragically a few months ago. Work on Stuart Moxham’s new album (the demos are pure gold); a gig at a festival in Bremen on July the 2nd; another one, hopefully, at the Rip It Up festival in Sweden later on in the summer; knocking into shape the 15-20 songs that will comprise my new solo album; kick-start my own label (Wonder Records) for good with a compilation; help Cathal Coughlan do a new CD; have some rest, some time in the future. A long way away.

Still a secret; in fact, I’m still hesitating between 3 or 4. And it’ll be an instrumental!

THAT is still a secret! Publication date is February 2009.

The best bar none is the unbelievable flexibility, and cheapness of modern digital recording technology. An Unknown Spring hardly cost more to make than my first proper studio album for él/Cherry Red in 1986…and that one (Appointment with Venus) was one of the cheapest ever recorded. Then, the community web sites, MySpace in particular, thanks to which it is now possible to initiate collaborations with almost anyone you care for, and have brought about a tightening of the emotional bond between artist and fan.

The worst… Where to start? The collapse of independent distribution networks, which was a catastrophe in England in particular; the disappearance of “mid-market” recording studios, and of the fabulous craftsmen and engineers who worked in this environment when I started out. There are very few “ears” left in the business today, believe me. The total utter bullshit that is mainstream “independent” music today, with its reactionary music, its vapid acts, its fucked-up obsession with “the new” which almost always turns out to be very old. The unavoidable death of the album format because of the MP3 downloads dictatorship; the cowardly attitude of 99.9% of the music media, or of what’s left of them. I need a drink.

It’s not every day that someone asks you about synesthesia. You certainly won’t read about it in Mojo. So thank you too, Jeff, it’s been an absolute pleasure.

Love, and memories of love.

Memory, precisely.

The generosity of Francis Poulenc.

Pet Sounds, forever.

Odessey and Oracle, for as long as Pet Sounds.

Horace Silver’s piano playing.

Robert Wyatt’s voice.

The sea.

My hatred of violence, in any form.

The poems of Philip Larkin.

Love, again.

Louis Philippe’s web site | Louis Philippe’s MySpace page | Order “An Unknown Spring”