Mountains in the Sky interview by Tom Smith

Interview by Tom Smith

The man behind Mountains in The Sky is one John Lee, a down to Earth Melbournite with some interesting ideas about music. Those ideas and hours of studio hibernation are distilled into an emotive set of sounds spread over his two releases for Trifekta – the 2004 debut entitled Celestial Son, and 2006′ Accipio. Lee’ music incorporates so many reference points that it’s difficult to avoid using adjectives like eclectic or syncretic. The most obvious comparison is to seminal instrumental hiphop, (DJ Krush is an acknowledged influence) but it’s much broader in its scope and ambition than that comparison might suggest. There are moments that call to mind the recent trend for evocative processed guitar pop, moments of free jazz drumming ecstasy, blasts of distortion, odd samples languidly placed between sections of beautifully produced drums, and painstakingly layered loops and samples. All of this subtly building from melancholy breakdowns into a sophisticated form of reverie – at once cool and controlled, but suggesting something else.

Speaking with John, it became apparent that my interpretation of his music was close to the mark. He told me at one point when we were discussing our mutual fascination with the oft-namechecked Sun Ra, that “Celestial Son is pretty much about him, in a lot of ways.” Things fall into place for me at this point; even though the music doesn’ make it obvious through literal references, it is infused with the same principles as avant jazz of the sixties and early seventies – those of unmitigated personal expression. Though John confesses to not actually listening to a lot of jazz, he says; “it’s more just that those guys and their music existed, it’s amazing, just that they did what they did… it sounds really corny, but Celestial Son was about being able to make the choice to be whatever you want to be”.

On close listening, this slightly disarming honesty reveals itself in the music. Both records, to slightly varying degrees, fit into a certain category of introspective, idiosyncratic, personal musical expression. It’s the type of music that seems to be almost the exclusive domain of solo producers – individuals working in relative isolation to produce a certain reality. On that note John tells me, “when I started off with Celestial Son I had no idea anyone would ever hear it, so I was doing it basically for myself.”

I ask him about this tension, between the studio and playing out; “I find I can’ really do both at the same time, it’s always one or the other… Accipio is more beat driven”, he responds. “I just wanted to create some songs I’d enjoy playing live, when I started I didn’ think I’d be interested, but it’s a lot of fun.”

I ask him about this transition and whether it’s inevitable, particularly in Australia given that it’s difficult to release a record and not back it up with a live show. “I like to believe if it’s a really great record it’ll do well no matter what, though certainly in Australia I don’ know of any acts that can really do that,” John explains. “But you should be able to make a record that can’ be played live, and you shouldn’ be expected to try to if it doesn’ fit in with what you’re trying to do in the studio.”

It’s this slightly iconoclastic outlook, an almost complete lack of artifice, and a faintly idealistic tone that attracts me to the music. The arrangements are imbued with these qualities; “A lot of people hear something and try to replicate it in the studio, I can’ do that, if I like something I’ll just put on that record. A lot of my inspiration to make music comes from not being able to find anything out there that I like, or that I can really connect with. I’m not saying what I’m doing is any better than what’s out there, but I’m definitely trying to do something a little different.”

The arrangements, particularly on Accipio reflect this. They sprawl and develop unexpectedly – the songs spread and morph into seemingly indeterminate structures. “It’s instrumental, so if I wanna get a story across, I have to elaborate a little more, have intros and spread it out and make it longer to put that initial idea in context. I don’ have an understanding of music really. I just play around. There’ a lot of trial and error until I come up with something I like. I don’ really know what I’m doing, it’s not really conscious, but I think that’s maybe what makes it a little different. I think naivety is really good in music… although now I’m talking about it, I guess structurally it was a conscious thing with Accipio. I started off with a single and had a whole bunch of other songs tacked on the end, but it didn’ mean anything to me. If anyone bothered to buy it I hope they get that feeling, that it’s more than just a few tracks somebody felt were worth releasing.”

Accipio is an interesting release for this aspect alone – it’s almost like a comment on the ADD culture of the iPod and the download. Perhaps arrangement could provide a way of subverting inattentiveness, by creating something that must be understood in its entirety.

For sequenced music, it’s a very human experience. I ask John about how and why he’ married synths and live instruments with sampled material. “A lot of the human element comes from doing the percussion live, there’ a lot of tambourines, bells, and shakers and things which I play, but I deliberately don’ play them very well. But as far as keys and stuff goes, it’s really about getting more of myself in there, and the fact that open bass lines are very hard to get on records. You shouldn’ be totally reliant on what you can find on records. But the reverse is also true, with sampling it’s like having a whole bunch of other people to produce with. If I did it all myself it would be boring, like, “of course, this goes there and that does that.’ When it gets all too obvious I find a sample and I think wow… I would never have thought of that, it makes things much more interesting.”

Things get much more interesting when we start discussing people’ interpretations, and the elements of nostalgia and sentimentality that are undeniably pivotal to the sound. “It’s pretty obvious to me that anything that comes out is gonna have references to something else. I think my music is quite nostalgic in a lot of ways, not necessarily because it sounds old or references things, but something about it does feel nostalgic. But to put it bluntly, I don’ really care what people think about it …(laughs) there’ no point in caring really, I’m not doing it for other people.”

I feel like this is an attempted conversation-stopper, but on the contrary, from here things pick up a little; “Nostalgia and sentimentality are quite related, they’re closely linked, it’s interesting how in your questions you’ve raised things that are really exactly what Celestial Son and Accipio are about,” he suggests. “Accipio for me was predominantly about trying to be less sentimental about things, not holding onto things, not living in the past and accepting change, whereas with Celestial Son I kind of indulged in all those things. I think this is the first time anyone’ really picked up on these things in the music and let me know, so thanks for putting so much thought into it…”

“No worries” I reply, He continues; “The reason I got into it is because of it’s poignancy, it doesn’ rely on cognition, or fitting into a style, or historical cues or whatever for its effect. It speaks on some other emotive level, which I’m into in music.”

This is really the crux of the whole conversation for me, alluding to the type of purely aural communication that gives me the biggest musical kick of all. John has, at least to these ears, imparted a complex message entirely through auditory alchemy. This might seem like some sort of highfalutin’ claptrap to some, but it’s certainly working for me. Finally John adds: “You know, I’m kind of trapped between the two extremes of being really naïve about things, and being really interested in the perception of music and how people receive it – what it all means. Once upon a time I really had no interest in pop culture, but it seems like now I’m a part of it, and I wondered with Accipio at points whether I was being true to myself by making a really beat driven record. As soon as you put out your first record and people hear it, all of a sudden there’ a whole load of other meanings to what you’re doing, it can become very conscious, which I really don’ like.”

“For sure” I agree, “it’s very difficult to be in a critically and theoretically aware headspace and make honest music at the same time. Music can be reduced to a vehicle for mobilizing conscious ideas, it’s a tough balance I think.”

“Definitely,” John concurs. “I have a similar problem with DJing, I find it really debilitating because it seems it’s (designed) for one mode, and that’s partying, which is not what my records are about. You know, it’s kind of my dream to play in an opium den or something, you could just fill the space for hours, and not have to worry about a dance floor and all that.”

John then tells me about his fascination with Mike Oldfield’ Tubular Bells: “You know it’s fucking amazing, it’s a forty five minute piece of music with no vocals, it’s the first ever Virgin release, and it went to number one, how the hell did that happen? It’s like, when the whole world loved Shaggy’ ‘It Wasn’ Me’ or that Hey Ya’ song, or that Lilly Allen song or whatever – I don’ think these are coincidences.”

I get the feeling maybe John thinks there’ a code to crack, some point at which the reality of the day combines with certain elements in the music to create a feedback loop of production and reception in which people respond to a representation of themselves – that speaks to them. How does it happen? Who knows? I know it happened for me when I heard Mountains in the Sky play live a couple of months ago. With Stuart McFarlane on drums, the show brought the records to life in a way that didn’ seem forced, not like a crass, rocked out recital – but more like a beautifully rendered, energized version.