“I always get nice compliments from people who are seeing the show for the first time or hearing the music for the first time,” he says. “It’s always funny hearing what people hear. I’m actually blessed that they usually say I’ve got my own sound. That’s probably the nicest compliment.”
Of course, discerning a work’s major influences doesn’t mean that the artist consciously borrowed from these stylistic forebears. The extent to which influences are actively incorporated varies from one songwriter to the next. Smyth readily admits that he “always liked Howlin’ Wolf or Screamin’ Jay Hawkins – all of those boys,” but he doesn’t use them as a creative crutch.
“I’m not looking to copy or plagiarise. It’s just what the song needed to be expressed properly. I don’t think I would be comfortable putting a song out if I actually was referring back to a favourite artist or something like that.
“When you’re songwriting,” he adds, “to be honest, you don’t want to be thinking about anything. It’s about pushing yourself into a meditative state. That’s usually where tunes come. There’s all those wanker analogies, but it’s like, things come through when you’re an open window or you’ve got an open door.”
Smyth’s second LP Exits came out last weekend and there’s much more to it than the wolf-voiced barn-stompers that he’s become renowned for. Granted, lead single Shake It feeds the Tom Waits impression. However, on follow-up single, Written or Spoken, Smyth adopts a sullen croon, which recalls Augie March’s Glenn Richards. Either way, Smyth emphasises that such instances of familiarity aren’t the result of premeditation.
“A lot of the time you’re just a vessel that these different things move through. I know there’s a lot of songwriting classes and there’s some pointers that you can get, but at the end of the day you’ve got to be open for things to move through you and different energies and memories. It’s like being in the subconscious and a lot of experiences that you’ve gone through, whether that be relationships or family or travel or dreams, [come out]. I find that whenever you try to push something it doesn’t flow.”
Yes, you could even posit that eschewing conscious thought and yielding to creative energies is what allows writers to access substantial and communicable ideas. Smyth believes that an egoless approach to composition is integral for attaining longevity.
“You’ve got to do your time as a musician. It’s a craft. It’s not textbook and you just find these experiences that you learn and they just give you the biggest kick. If you were doing it for a pat on the back, you’ll be a flash in the pan and you might do well for five seconds, but I’m wanting to do this when I should be retired.”
He’s certainly a hard worker. Along with a bass player and drummer, Smyth’s currently in the midst of a massive 45-date Australian tour. He might have some lofty thoughts about the creative process, but rest assured the Steve Smyth live experience is an occasion of unhinged physicality.
“A lot of people think I’m drunk or out of it,” he laughs. “You close your eyes and you’re pushing the tune and you do get a bit disorientated. There’s a lot going on, there’s a lot of things flying about and lights and communication with the band. It’s all a pretty wild experience. It’s just about holding onto the reins and letting it lead you.”
BY AUGUSTUS WELBY
