“I went out and we were soundchecking and there were about a hundred people there and I went ‘Huh, yeah, it’s just gonna be chilled, not many people, that’s fine, you know, it’s fine for me’,” she recalls. “Then I went back out onstage and it was packed in, totally packed! You know, it’s just so encouraging. Because the last show we played before Splendour was The Corner Hotel, which we sold out, and that was, uh, six months ago now. So I didn’t know really how things were going – I’ve been in LA for a month. But it was really encouraging – everyone was singing the words to Cameo Lover… it’s got to that point where it’s not just your mates coming down to support you.”
Defying any attempts to pigeonhole her as a ‘nice girl’ singer (hot tip: don’t refer to her as a “songstress” – “I hate that one, ey!” she groans, the Kiwi accent thickening for a moment) Vows is a genuinely eclectic album. From girlish Motown sass to a dark, thrumming Nina Simone cover that shows off her lower register, from Dirty Projectors-esque vocal tics and loops to new jack swing, it reflects the fact that some of it was written by a fifteen-year-old, some by a 20-year-old, and gussied up by two different producers not counting Johnson herself. “Of course it’s not all gonna sound the same – you [go through] a lot of changes from 17 to 21,” she say. “And I think what anchors it is the fact that it’s still my voice and still my emotion throughout the record but I wanted it sonically to go in lots of different places. My favourite albums do that.”
She has nothing but praise to heap upon her producers, Obese Records’ stalwart M-Phazes and quirky composer Francois Tetaz (who also creates film scores, with previous credits including Wolf Creek and The Square). She’s aware that it’s a mixed bag, but she’s not worried about it putting off fans of her more chart-friendly work. “If it feels real, and if it’s a bit kooky or whatever then people will still understand it because it’s honest. If it’s forced, it’s not good. I’ve just been lucky that I’ve been allowed the freedom to explore that stuff.” Despite her astonishing range and smoky, sinewy timbre, she’s managed to avoid being slotted in with the Adeles and Duffys of the world – she signed to Warner just a couple of months ago (after the album was completed) and so was guided only by her own impulses and inspirations rather than anyone’s bottom line. “The artists that I guess inspire me are probably a little bit left of centre – Prince, and Bjork, Rufus Wainwright, stuff that’s slightly, a bit more theatrical,” she says. She reiterates that she’s had loads of time, without the interference of overbearing industry types, in which to develop her own sound.
“I’ve been writing as long as I can remember – it was always natural from a very young age,” she explains, clearly skirting any implications that she’s claiming to be a child prodigy rather than just an early bloomer. “I mean I’m not talking like, genius songs, I’m talking silly songs, but there was definitely an inclination to be writing when I was eight or so, and singing, and so I don’t think there was a conscious moment where I was like ‘I’m going to write a song!’. It just always happened. But probably at the age of 14 onwards, was when it really became something I did all the time. In the sense that I was playing guitar then a lot, bought my first eight-track, which gave me the ability to layer vocals, which was how Settle Down started – ‘Oh, I can put another vocal and another vocal on! I can have EIGHT!’ Now I can have 96, but it was eight then…”
That autonomous experimentation phase is a useful period for young musos – away from the influence of fame-hungry bandmates or restrictive teachers, a more unique style can develop. It’s a model that works well for a lot of the New Zealand music industry as a whole – tucked away from the rest of the world a bit, Kiwis aren’t afraid to make pop music that sounds just that little bit fresher and odder. “It’s true, you’re a little further away from everything, you’re a little less influenced by the world, and I think you kind of have something more to prove,” she muses.
Like any muso nervously unleashing an album upon the world, Kimbra is just hoping people enjoy the music on its own merits rather than dwelling on things like how many people have seen her wearing nothing but body paint on YouTube, or her age. She says people have been dwelling on “the age thing” her whole career, for obvious reasons, and she thought once she hit 21 it might stop being a talking point. “I started releasing songs when I was 16 in NZ, even 15, I had a little song on the radio… And then there was a little bit of ‘Oh she’s only this old’ and that was a bit [scoffs] because you just want to be able to do it because it’s good, not it’s good because she’s young,” she says, with only a hint of exasperation. “I’ve been lucky in the sense that I’ve had a head start. 21, I dunno,” she laughs, “It doesn’t feel young to me because I feel like I’ve been doing this all my life. But I guess it is to other people,” she reasons.
“I think we’re just limited with words, “ she goes on, admitting that even she is often forced to use the same lazy comparisons and reductive genre tags that so frustrate her in reviews when describing her own music. “That’s why I’m a musician – that’s why I write music, because it’s a new language to explain the stuff that goes on in here, because I don’t feel awfully articulate at times with words, you know? But yeah, I think the only way you can avoid being too pigeonholed is to keep people on their toes with what you do and what you put out, not always keeping to the formula but surprising people… It’s hard to escape genre but with certain people it’s possible, artists like Bjork or Prince have always been able to set their own style of music. I guess it just takes time.”
