Both records have taken the band’s sound and thematic focus into newly hair-raising territory, and done so via distinctly different means. I See Seaweed upheld The Drones’ guitar-driven sound and frontman Gareth Liddiard’s organ-extracting snarl, while also introducing grandiosity worthy of a film score. Feelin Kinda Free, meanwhile, boldly departs from all that’s come before.
“There’s always something – like I’ll go, ‘We didn’t do this last time. Let’s try this,’” says Liddiard. “Simply because we haven’t done it, that’s why we’d be interested in it. We just try not to get bored.”
Feelin Kinda Free still sounds unmistakably like The Drones – to be sure, anything featuring Liddiard’s voice will be instantly recognisable. However, the album sees Liddiard and fellow guitarist Dan Luscombe throttle their instruments in order to produce unsettling electronic sounds, ably complemented by Steve Hesketh’s synth work. Holding things steady is Fiona Kitschin’s pert bass playing, backed up by some serious grooves from drummer Christian Strybosch.
Front and centre are Liddiard’s vocals: his diction is sharper than ever, allowing for the lucid transmission of some of the most disgusted and politically incisive lyrics of his career. Nowhere is this more evident than on lead single Taman Shud – a three-minute vitriolic outburst that shoves a spear into the manifold moral failings seen throughout Australian history. However, despite such moments, Liddiard wasn’t looking to make a political album.
“I’m not being Warren Jeffs or David Koresh or some cult leader. I don’t want to go down that route,” he says. “I think it’s silly that anyone would want to listen to me. I did an interview [recently] and the guy was asking me all these really political questions. It’s like, I don’t fuckin’ know. I’m a guitar player, I’m a musician, I make albums. It’s not didactic. It’s almost like I’m broadcasting a situation of the emotional weather in my head.”
That may be so, but Feelin Kinda Free’s political relevance cannot be denied. Then They Came For Me alludes to the millions of refugees currently living in limbo all across the planet, while Boredom is more specific, adopting the perspective of an Arabian native who has migrated to Australia. Then there’s the closing track, Shut Down SETI – a grotesque indictment of the ongoing search for extra-terrestrial intelligence.
“The SETI thing… [it’s] a bit silly to worry about that,” says Liddiard. “I don’t think they should shut down SETI. Their modus operandi for the last 40 years has been to listen, and they’re always going to do that. That’s fine. I don’t think we should broadcast it, but I don’t think it should be shut down. I just think it’s a really stupid thing to write a song about. So [I thought], ‘Let’s write a song about it.’”
SETI might seem like an odd send-off for the record, but given Feelin Kinda Free’s preoccupation with human fuck-ups, it proves an apt conclusion. The actual finale consists of a conceptually motivated sequence of truly diseased white noise.
“It has the end of the world there. There’s a big fight at the end,” says Liddiard. “It’s based on Orson Welles’ The War Of The Worlds. In the end it’s like static noise and a guy off in Coney Island or somewhere trying to radio Manhattan. He just keeps repeating, ‘Do you read me?’ and he’s not getting any reply. It’s really eerie and creepy. It’s genius. That last [sound] at the end of SETI, it’s the end of the world – it’s the desolation. That bit before it with all the synthesizers and shit, that’s the aliens killing us. It’s silly. People go, ‘Oh, that’s really intense.’ No it’s not – it’s a bunch of drunk idiots fucking around. It’s funny to do that. It’s good to be obnoxious.
“Taman Shud too, while it’s depressing, it’s completely hilarious. It’s over the top. Shit like Blag Flag or any kind of obnoxious thing, it’s good. There’s Bob Dylan stuff where it’s so overly intellectual, so impenetrably vague. He’s laughing at you. He’s just going, ‘There’s nothing. This is just empty bullshit.’ And you’re listening to it like it’s amazing. He’s taking the piss. Music… you play music – you have to play it. Like little baby deer in the field, they play. That’s us at Tropical Fuck Storm studios.”
Feelin Kinda Free was recorded at the band’s recently established Melbourne studio space, and released via the corresponding Tropical Fuck Storm Records. The fact Liddiard and co. have taken such matters into their own hands implies a desire to avoid any outside intervention. This isn’t too far from the truth, but The Drones are also eager to keep expanding their following. However, Liddiard scoffs at the notion of commercial concerns impacting on their creative process.
“It’s not a noble thing, it’s nothing to do with integrity; it’s just we can’t be fucked. It’d be really boring to have to sit there in a recording studio and make something that you didn’t want to make. But then, we want to get bigger, just because we’d get paid more. We don’t get paid much. It’s a bit above the poverty line, but then we get all this spare time. If we can get into, say, America, if we can make that bigger, it’ll help. If we can’t, then it’s a bummer, but we can’t, eh? You want to take advantage of what’s there, but it’s solely economical. And I know that sounds mercenary, but it’s not egotistical. It’s solely, ‘I wouldn’t mind a bit more money so I can fix the car.’ ”
Feelin Kinda Free is The Drones’ seventh album, and it’s set to preserve their standing as a great Aussie band. More significantly, though, it’s indicative of the group’s unblemished creative curiosity. More often than not, bands struggle to retain the vitality of their early material, which causes them to either capsize or fall into a path of formulaic repetition. But Liddiard and The Drones see no choice but to keep moving forward.
“I’m in it to win it, and that’s just ’cause I’m a knob, ’cause it’s fun. We did a tour years ago with You Am I, and they’re the same. They’re not where they are because they’re sitting around smoking bongs all day. They’re in it to win it, and there’s nothing wrong with that. When we toured with You Am I, from the get-go it was like, ‘We’re going to try and play you off stage every night. So be ready.’ And they were like, ‘All right, you fuckin’ dickheads. Do your worst.’ Some nights we’d win and they were like, ‘Fuck you.’ And then other nights they’d destroy us and we were like, ‘Fuck you.’
“As long as you listen to everything, you’ll be alright. We listen to everything, from Hungarian folk music to Stravinsky. All sorts of guitar music, all sorts of music, whether it’s Steve Reich or Schoenberg or just anything. If you only listen to the Ramones and Johnny Thunders, you’re never going to get anywhere. You will just stay in one place. And the Ramones are great, Johnny Thunders is really good, but fuck listening to that shit when you’re in your 50s. It’s like adults who read Harry Potter. It’s bad. Dostoevsky is for adults, not Harry Potter. It’s like a 50-year-old listening to Led Zeppelin and not getting that it’s really corny. It’s like a 25-year-old listening to The Wiggles and not getting that it’s a bit simple. It’s so strange to get stuck.”
BY AUGUSTUS WELBY
