| Issue #009 (November 2004) |
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| Gail Priest Selects |
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Gail Priest Selects
Interview by Sebastian Chan
Everyone has those special records that changed their lives. And they aren’t always just teenage songs. The most memorable music makes an emotional connection, more than just a ‘dope beat’ or a ‘hot dsp effect’. This issue’s Selects comes from Newtown in inner city Sydney. Gail Priest is a sound artist, new media curator, and works for the bi-monthly arts magazine Real Time. Gail’s background is in composing and producing sound for theatre and it is from this background that she approaches her sound art. Early on in her career she appeared on seminal Australian soap, E-Street, where she was promptly killed by ‘Mr Bad’. In 2003 she became one of the directors of the annual Electrofringe festival in Newcastle and, along with co-director Vicky Clare, introduced a more formalised festival structure establishing the event more concretely in the Australia new media art landscape. In between house inspections and with a plate of sweet delights from local cake shop Caketown, Gail trawled through her record collection to reveal some of her musical trajectory.
The Beatles
Sergeant Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band
(Parlophone/EMI 1967)
When I was about 14 my mother came home from Bankstown tip with a box full of records. It contained a pretty complete Beach Boys collection that did nothing for me. There was also Sergeant Peppers, complete with cut-outs and the thickest slab of vinyl I'd ever seen. I listened to it and wasn't too fussed, but thought that perhaps it was something important, so kept it when we got rid of all the rest (I don't want to think what other gems may have been there). I revisited it two years later after being given the lyrics to “She's Leaving Home” in my English class, and it unleashed an unholy obsession that saw me collecting the entire Beatles output over the course of a year. In 12 months I transformed from choir girl to rebel child, following the lads from skiffle rock’n’roll, through the drug revelations of Rubber Soul and Revolver, finally finding my spiritual home in the conceptual explorations of Abbey Road and the White Album.
Joni Mitchell
Clouds, Blue & Hejira
(Reprise 1973, Reprise 1971, Elektra/Asylum 1976)
From my Beatles obsession developed a deep love of all things folk, and as a wannabe singer/songwriter, what better role model is there than Joni? I found Clouds first —a straight shot of acoustic pleasure. Then I bought Hejira and didn't know what to do with it – all that dark, moody jazz. I forced myself to listen to it. Now there is nothing like the incredibly agile, dark, funky basslines of Paco Jastorian on “Coyote” and “Black Crow” for a road trip. Blue came to me a lot later. Joni's tinny guitar style and liquid lyrics never cease to do it for me. I will unabashedly say that “Case of You” is one of the greatest love songs of all time.
Laurie Anderson
Big Science & Strange Angels
(Warner Bros 1982, Warner Bros 1987)
It's pretty evident that lyrics do it for me. So not surprisingly, Laurie blows my mind. I first heard “Walking and Falling” when I was 17, as a soundtrack for a dance work in which the dancer lay on the floor and blinked in time. I love the linguistic logic, the philosophical nuances — Laurie's conversational style creating a less cock-driven beat poetry — and of course all her early explorations with electronics and multimedia. I have since repelled many a housemate, having my own personal Laurie Anderson festivals when I listen to the box CD set compilation of the six hour “Unites States of America” concert. I was particularly influenced by her in my earlier sound works, in the use and manipulation of text, which provided me with a bridge from my performance practice to an electronic-based and audio-focussed approach.
PJ Harvey
Dry & Is This Desire
(Shock 1992, Island 1998)
The feisty rock-babe in me got really excited by the bold and blatant tracks on Dry. It was the early ‘90s and I was big on the assertive-female-perspective thing, so her bolshy lyrics really appealed. She was one of the first heavier, dirty-rock sounds that I was attracted to after all that folk. But what I really loved was her conversion from the punky, rock style to the intricate sonic depth of Is This Desire. Here she built a whole other world both lyrically and sonically. The restraint in the production and integration of electronic content has a real brooding, darkly sexy quality about it.
Björk
Human Behaviour & Vespertine
(Bapsi/One Little Indian 1993, One Little Indian 2001)
When I'm not wanting to be Laurie Anderson, I'm wanting to be Björk. Everything on Debut opened my eyes. Her vocal abandon, more akin to a jazz singer or wailing harpy than pop utilising every possible timbre; the fusion of beats and found sources; down to the atmospheric recording techniques of “There's More to Life Than This”. I love everything she does, but book-end Debut with the very other-worldliness of Vespertine and you see how she goes from strength to strength. The fusion of Matmos' masterful sampling and the extraordinary choral and orchestral moments is something only the weird Icelandic princess could pull of without it every becoming excessively saccharine.
Tricky
Maxinquaye
(Island 1995)
A friend gave me a tape copy of Maxiquaye for my 25th birthday, and the world has never been the same since. I was still in acoustic singer/songwriter mode and hadn't really listened to any electronic music (besides Björk) but all of sudden everything became clear. I could see the structure, loops, layering, texture and then text. The greatest revelation was (and it still is) those spiky rhythms that emerge out looping unusual sources, the uneven beats and lurches that works so well with the voices.
Belle & Sebastian plus The Reindeer Section
Tigermilk, Son of Evil Reindeer
(Jeepster 1996, BrightStar 2002)
Obsessive home listening for me is bitter sweet Glaswegian pop, and has been for a few years now. After bagging Belle & Sebastian as limp and sappy on my first listen, they grew on me – now it's like a nasty skin condition. Tigermilk is on high rotation. There’s nothing like “She's Losing It” to set an ugly morning on the right vibe. But my ultimate favourite is a CD compiled by a friend of mine from singles. Nothing beats the three-chord catharsis of “This Is Just a Modern Rock Song”. And just when I thought I might be kicking the bad habit — post Electrofringe 2003 when I needed some acoustic distraction — I found Reindeer Section's Son of Evil Reindeer. Those painfully sweet melodies with the most devastating lyrical content you'd ever hope to find perfectly articulate every kind of heartbreak you have experienced.
‘Now that I've exposed my tune-based listening passions, I'm meant to tell you my favourite sound art epiphanies, but I don't listen to sound art at home for my own pleasure. I have been known to play Peter Blamey's Felt, Joel Stern & Anthony Guerra's Stitch (Impernanent.recordings 2002, 2003 respectively), or Scott Horscorft's 8 Guitars (Quecksilber 2003) from time to time, and quite recently been mesmerised by Robin Fox's DVD Backscatter (Synaethesia 2004).
But it just doesn't seem to work by myself — I don't have the same attention to detail and absorption in the texture. This is not helped by the appalling quality of my stereo equipment, but it doesn't hold the power over me that the collective listening experience does live, and by live I don't care whether it's knob twiddling or email-checking laptopping. What I love about live audio art events is being gathered in a room with other people sharing that listening experience, having a single uninterrupted focus for a specified time, capturing the sound in time and listening to people listening. In this context I've had plenty of epiphanies – the Husbands at Space 3 in September 2003, Kaffe Matthews in a Berlin cellar in February this year, and Anthony Pateras on prepared piano at Impermanent Audio in April this year. When it comes to art, that initial demand for "performance" will just never lay and down and die.’
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