Ahead of the band’s appearance at Between the Bays festival – their first live performance since 2013 – McCormack happily discusses the foundations of his songwriting approach.
“It’d be equal parts country and Western music, Beatles and Go-Betweens and then probably the Pixies or Pere Ubu or Jonathan Richmond,” he says. “Especially Robert Forster from The Go-Betweens, he’s got that great balance of heartfelt and also distant and ironic, same with Jonathan Richmond. Morrissey does that as well, humour and emotion. Morrissey’s one of the funniest lyric writers ever, but he also occasionally really nails a true emotion. The stereotype of The Smiths and Morrissey is that they’re misery guts. But they’re hilarious.”
Custard formed in 1990 and came up with five full-length releases before calling it quits in 2000. When the band was at its peak, writing killer tunes came easy. At least that’s the impression given by records such as 1995’s Wisenheimer and‘97’s We Have the Technology, which both feature 16-plus tracks rich in melodic immediacy and comical insight.
Custard never crossed over to a mainstream audience, but they achieved a decent amount of Australian success during their heyday. This was greatly influenced by years of heavy triple j rotation (during the era of triple j that everyone moans about having disappeared), which led to several Hottest 100 entries, including Girls Like That coming at Number Three in 1998. In spite of this, McCormack’s major goals were artistically motivated.
“When I was in the band in the ‘90s and that was all I was doing, whenever I’d hear a good song it’d make me anxious again because I’d want to do something that had a bit of that element in it,” he says. “There’d be like some chorus and then I’d try to write a song and steal that bit. Definitely if I heard a Pavement song or a Pixies song or a Blur song you’d go, ‘Wow that’s good, what have they done? Can we do that’?”
As mentioned, McCormack’s lyrics are a definitive feature of the band’s work. Even just the titles of seminal hits Music Is Crap, Girls Like That (Don’t Go For Guys Like Us) and Anatomically Correct are amusing. Still, it isn’t goofy joke-rock, and a closer look at Custard’s repertoire shows that McCormack’s lyrics often contain an emotional undercurrent.
“The whole quirky comedy thing comes from a fear of being too sincere and open in front of people,” he says. “If you just sort of make a joke of it then you can get away with stuff. If it’s too close to the bone, you can say, ‘Yeah I was only joking. See, it’s funny.’ I think there was genuine emotion in those songs, then you try to hide it a little bit.”
At various moments throughout the Custard catalogue, McCormack’s lyrics appear to be a collage of randomly selected observations or else just plain absurd. He singles his primary mentor for writing in this manner.
“One of my favourite bands is Pere Ubu and I’ve always felt David Thomas the singer from that band… It’s almost just like a sound poem. The words have a meaning if you want to interpret them, but they can also just work as a sound. That’s always fascinated me, that sort of thing.”
Custard started playing shows again in 2009. Unlike most reformed acts, they’re yet to stage a triumphant large-scale reunion tour. Rather, all of their gigs during the last five years have been one-off appearances. There’s no doubt the band’s catalogue still stands on its own two feet, and fans new and old are more than willing to head along to see them play. However, the idea of a lengthy slog on the road holds no sway for McCormack.
“We certainly don’t chase gigs,” he says. “So it’s just whenever someone has an inkling to organise something then we’ll play. It’s a great relief doing this compared to 20 years ago when the band was in full flight and you’d be having meetings to talk about tours and promo. It’s really not a pleasant part of the business, trying to make people like your music. It’s a really horrible sort of thing, trying to convince people that this tour’s going to be great and this album’s incredible. I’d much rather play a gig every two years when people want us to play. And then not play.
“I used to do lots of gigs in my 30s,” he adds. “With my band The Polaroids, we’d put out albums and we used to tour heaps. Then as you just get a bit older, the idea of sharing a hotel room in St Kilda and hiring a van to drive to Geelong to do a gig becomes less… I don’t know. Something about when you’re younger and it’s all beer and ciggies and hanging out, that’s fun. But now once every two years feels like the right amount of gigs for me.”
BY AUGUSTUS WELBY
