“I do most of my songwriting the minute that I get up,” he explains. “As soon as I get up I’ll walk to the kitchen, flick the kettle on, have a piss and I’m writing before the kettle’s boiled. Both halves of the brain are still operating, the conscious mind isn’t yet as dominant as what it will be, say, an hour after I’ve woken up.”
Fiddling around with songs first thing in the morning might’ve come about by necessity, but Russell’s discovered that some of the most forceful ideas pour out in these stolen moments.
“When I used to play regularly at Pure Pop in St. Kilda, there were two residencies I had there where I was writing songs every week in the courtyard especially to perform that night. Before show time I’d be going, ‘Shit, shit, shit! What rhymes with silver? Oh, nothing.’ That was really good because sometimes a self-imposed deadline, as opposed to an external one, can help the brain sort itself out.”
The imprint of this method is manifest in Chicken Walk’s tunes. The self-branded ‘Chrississippian blues’ showcased on 2012’s self-titled debut and last year’s Shakedown possess both vulnerability and a primal bark. The survival instinct underpinning Russell’s songs reflects his aesthetic tastes as well.
“I like things that are a natural consequence of life or are involved in life,” he says, “as opposed to something apart from life. I liked it when Picasso went primal and started using a leg of a chair, the horn of a bull and lots of plaster and threw some paint at it and that was a sculpture. Sometimes I do listen to stuff that’s wonderfully executed and bespoke almost, but at the end of the day a chair is something that you put your arse on.”
Listening to Chicken Walk’s records, Russell’s aversion to contrived orchestration seems deeply ingrained. It’s actually difficult to imagine him playing in any other manner, but this bare bones ethos wasn’t always in effect.
“I used to be terrible,” he admits. “When I was late-teens and into my twenties if the singer drew breath in the middle of a line I’d jump right in there with a quick spurt of guitar licks.”
He soon saw the error of these garrulous ways. “Listen to early Miles Davis, to his first few albums, then listen to classic-era Miles Davis and he’s playing a lot less. The style that became his signature was a lot more natural. Even though it was very cool and considered, there was so much space in there.”
Of course, an un-decorative creative approach can produce clumsy results if it’s not deftly implemented. Russell’s evidently well-versed in music history and manages to channel distinct blues motifs with great aplomb. Yet, he doesn’t make direct reference to his favourite artists during the writing process.
“Trying to find my voice in relative silence is easier than competing with Keith Richards,” he laughs. “Really, what I’m trying to do is add my little one per cent on top of the blues music that’s come before. I’m deeply in love with that music. It’s almost like breathing air – it’s natural. I consider it my highest creative pursuit to add that one per cent to the top, to find something that is absolutely me.”
Russell’s endeavour to communicate his unique take on blues music isn’t conducted under the pretense of making unheralded advents to the form. “Every artist – even though the canvas is blank – their head’s still full of everything they’ve seen and everything they’ve experienced and tasted and smelt and lived. Even if you’re inventing the newest house in the world, you’re still going to put a roof on it.”
Indeed, each individual carries a stock of experiences and perceptions, which means there’s always something to creatively draw upon even if the output’s originality varies. Judging by Russell’s workflow in recent years, writer’s block isn’t an issue for him. Even so, an inspired connection with the muse can’t be guaranteed.
“It’s a funny thing, writing. Sometimes you try to look for a formula or the telematics coffee cup, like, ‘Oh, this is the coffee cup that I drink out of when I’m writing because it always brings me good luck.’ Then you hit a wall. Any method’s fallible because we change and we don’t even know we change.”
One thing that definitely isn’t changing is Chicken Walk’s regular live presence. In the last couple of years the pair has become a festival favourite and their next appearance is at CherryRock’s final installment. Russell might still be toiling away in the factory by day, but it’s not going to inhibit his commitment to rock’n’roll.
“Writing and playing is the way I process the world. That’s the diary anyway. Any day I get to play music in front of an audience is a fucking great day and any day I get to play music at home is a really good day. So I can’t see a reason to stop.”
BY AUGUSTUS WELBY
