Thursday

Live Review: Of Monsters And Men, Sydney


by Poppy Reid

Tuesday January 30
The Metro Theatre, Sydney, NSW

Of Monsters And Men were always going to chart highly on Triple J’s Hottest 100 list. The Icelandic indie-folk band sold out their promo tour of Australia last July, saw their breakout track Little Talks spend two weeks at #7 on the ARIA chart, and sold out last night’s Metro Theatre gig long before the song shone brightly as Triple J’s #2 on the annual list.

But as the six-piece (and their one touring member) spent an hour-and-a-half transporting the crowd inside the fables of their songs, most were curiously quiet for the tracks that weren’t Little Talks or more recent single Mountain Sound.

It could be put down to the fact Australians are spoilt when it comes to live music; catching an overseas act on a school night has become part of our week and committing full albums to memory, or even buying full albums for that matter, hasn’t been the norm for years.


That said, co-singers/guitarists Nanna Bryndís Hilmarsdóttir and Ragnar ‘Raggi’ Þórhallsson have lead a notable transformation over just two years; what started as an acoustic solo act's project to tell stories is now a famed addition to most mainstream playlists and forever sandwiched between Macklemore (#1) and Alt-J (#3).

During tracks like Love Love Love and King and Lionheart - the song which tells of a world where Hilmarsdóttir and her Canada-residing brother can be together - barefoot touring member Ragnhildur Gunnarsdóttir exhibited her chops on trumpet, accordion and keyboard. While the band’s stripped back version of Yeah Yeah Yeahs’ Skeletons could have been taken straight from their debut album; the harmony between Þórhallsson and Hilmarsdóttir is an indelible force. But the most beautiful expression from this collective of gypsies was in final track Six Weeks, OMAM loosened their collars and lost themselves in the percussion and swaying of their zealots in a spirit that seemed suppressed beforehand.

From winning an annual battle of the bands competition in Iceland to selling out venues more than 15,000 kilometres from home, Of Monsters And Men have inadvertently opened hearts to the art of storytelling and proven that sometimes a meteoric rise to global consciousness is best proffered to the faintest, most unassuming voice on the chart.

Album Review: Bad Religion, True North


by Poppy Reid

Bad Religion have lived and recorded through five U.S. administrations, and the now fifty-something-year-olds are still waxing lyrical about political injustices and socialism without an assumed tired reiteration.
 
Albeit, a meaty 16-strong tracklist can be off-putting, but when you’re only just getting warmed up and you’re three songs in on the 35-minute ride, it’s clear the band aren’t resting on their laurels. Interestingly, they’ve taken cues from Tom Waits for album #16; naming the record after Waits' Bad As Me single True North and mapping it on the indelible artist’s plans to write a record of two and three-minute songs. Some tracks are as short as 1:02 (Vanity), the longest track falls just shy of four minutes (Hello Cruel World), and each is a feverish bombast of past grievances (and some new re: the Occupy movement), except there’s a difference: this time they’ve taken a playful stance to their delivery.

In tracks like True North, the band show they’re still gusty but without the grit, the gorgeous harmonies are a welcome surprise from the punk rock magnates. In album highlight Robin Hood In Reverse, vocalist Greg Graffin is less lecturing and more story-telling, and the fast-paced, rap-rock of Land Of Endless Greed marks the record’s swindler – pure enjoyment overrides the message of America’s shame and a disgust in humanity. Bad Religion have fun with this record, the ethical standpoints, pointed warnings and altruistic relevance are all there, but it’s a step-up from a list of objections doused in aggressive percussion; this time it's a play on everything: genres, double entendres and Graffin’s vocal melisma.

While nothing can top Suffer and Stranger Than Fiction, it’s easy to forget Graffin has been offering his two-cents on U.S. government since he was fifteen, and co-founding member/Epitaph Records owner Brett Gurewitz since he was just seventeen. Presidents, policies and opinions have changed but Bad Religion have owned a sense of immediacy for 34 years.

Although political punk has taken the back burner since the everlasting ascent of bubblegum punk - whose leaders top alternative charts and sing about girls and disowning their parents - as long as bands like Bad Religion exist, those in their formative years may toy with the idea of insurrection and vigilantism, which is infinitely more interesting than floppy hair, auto-tune, and the artists who perform the President’s inauguration.

Live review: Mariah Carey

                                                                               Photo credit: Ken Leanfore

03 January 2013
by Poppy Reid

Tuesday, January 1
Gold Coast Convention and Exhibition Centre


For a woman renowned as a domineering diva – a trait which has only served her well along her 22-year career – Mariah Carey showed an undeniable vulnerability at her first Australian concert in fourteen years.

Bringing the glitter, five octave vocal range and a practised calm to the Gold Coast Convention Centre, the five-time Grammy Award winner may not have offered the concert she visualised, due to ongoing technical difficulties, but not once did she attempt to pull a woollen guise over her 4,500 capacity crowd. Instead she kept her ‘lambs’ informed every step of the way, even if that meant expertly turning her frustrations into a song.

Opening her first concert since June last year was husband Nick Cannon, despite his embryonic status in the music industry, the rationale behind her #1 supporter being her support act is obvious. “It’s my job to get the party started,” he yelled from behind the white DJ decks. Cannon’s set involved consistent advocacy of his wife’s upcoming performance, plugging the party that was happening ‘in the house tonight’ and singing over his iTunes playlist, which was more eclectic than a technicolour dreamcoat with songs from Blur, Michael Jackson, Whitney Houston and Gotye.

When Carey stepped out onstage, a sparkling hourglass walked by one of her six, vested male dancers, the sound problems had already begun during opener Can’t Take That Away . Her crowd paid no attention however, to make a Mariah Carey performance astounding, the only ingredient needed is her voice.

“Anything from last year or any year that you didn't like - play that track because I would like to shake it off.” through four outfit changes, hits like Shake It Off, Touch My Body, Always Be My Baby, Don’t Forget About Us and a reeling Jackson Five cover (I'll Be There) with special guest Trey Lorenz (initially recorded in 1992 for a MTV Unplugged set), Carey was transparent in her annoyance with her crew and her band.

“I know there's like 200 of you, can one of you fix the ear thing?” she laughed before settling us with an impromptu rhyme about the Gold Coast. “And you're not starting the song without me being ready. What are we thinking?!”

Long-time fans of the 42-year-old almost praised Carey for being the diva she has long been publicised as, but for an artist who has sold over 200 million records on the back of thirteen albums, a little upset is apposite. The true surprise for her zealots though, was how humbling her helplessness was; the Gold Coast witnessed a rarity in the stunning career of a pop superstar. “I would say thanks for nothing if the band didn’t hear it though,” Carey only half-joked.

Closing with Hero and We Belong Together before a festive mash of All I Want For Christmas Is You and Auld Lang Syne, Carey had come out on top, her fans swayed their homemade signs, danced between the confetti and lost themselves in her songs that shaped an MTV generation.

Brian McFadden: When Irish eyes are smiling



14 March 2013
by Poppy Reid

It’s almost 1am and minus four degrees in Glasgow, and Brian McFadden is standing outside a pub, glass of wine in hand, relaying his next career move to become the antithesis of everything he’s ever been.

“I did it with Just Say So and a couple of songs over the past few years, they’ve not been my best work but they’d been tailored to fit a radio programmer’s brief. I’m not doing that anymore. I wanna make songs that I’m proud of, that don’t fit into any kind of template.”

After an almost two-decade career which saw him recover from a boy band stint (sans publicised drug abuse), come out on top of a plethora of tabloid-making relationships, moonlight as a shock jock and talent show judge in Melbourne, and record three solo albums, McFadden wants to quietly ease away from the limelight.

“This is kind of hard for me to say but I started making my most successful music in Australia on radio, but by far my least quality work,” says the 33-year-old, “they’re the weakest and poorest songs.”

Although he’s just finished his support tour with ex-Westlife manager and regular collaborator Ronan Keating, McFadden realistically could be touring his own album at this point; it’s been a work in progress for over a year now but riding on his Irish ally’s coattails was a conscious step outside his commercially-influenced mentality. This month, McFadden will release his digression: The Irish Connection, a covers compilation featuring many of the artists he pays homage to.

“This project was so quick, it’s not like an album where you end up releasing three singles and it can last up to a year, this kind of project you don’t even put out a single,” he explains. “It was good for me to steer away from writing, kind of concentrate of the production and the performing of songs.”

The Irish Connection is McFadden’s revolt, despite the fact it features tracks by Snow Patrol, The Cranberries and Damien Rice, and duets with Sinead O’Connor, Aslan’s Christy Dignam and of course, Keating, the album is an anti-hit, it hasn’t got a chance at commercial airplay, but that was precisely the point.

“The last few years I’d be writing songs and the first question I’d ask is ‘would radio play it?’ and that’s a stupid way to look at things. So I think doing this covers album where the #1 rule was that it was never going to be about radio, it was just about making a record. I don’t have to worry if radio stations are going to play it or not.”

Finding collaborators was somewhat of a cakewalk for McFadden, the track with Keating (U2’s All I Want Is You) was arranged via text (“I sang on your last album, you’re singing on mine”), and his duet with O’Conner on traditional folk song Black Is The Colour, was arranged via email. “I just sent her the song, I didn’t really have to try, I just sent the song to the people that are on it,” he says lightly, “and they all came back straight away.”

Following each of the ten tracks’ recording, it didn’t even cross McFadden’s mind to approach the original artists for their input; not even O’Connor has heard his version of Nothing Compares 2 U.

“I wouldn’t give a shite,” he laughs. “I’m not into that, kind of, when people get too critical about their art. I think a song’s a song, I did my own version and I wasn’t trying to justify it to anybody else.

“She hasn’t heard it yet. She came into the studio and she goes, ‘Did you do Nothing Compares 2 U?’ and I go, ‘Yeah but I haven’t got it here.’ I wouldn’t play it to her. She can buy the album like everyone else!

His duet with O’Connor is arguably his most important yet, as McFadden tells it, the courageous Dubliner was generous during their time in the studio.

“She was almost teaching me the whole time and giving me tips, you know, even though I’ve been doing this for nearly twenty years, I’m still learning everyday,” he says, “and someone like her, she’s one of the most amazing singers on the planet, she has the most incredible voice… It’s a machine in itself.”

At 33-years-old, McFadden has come to a very crucial fork in the road; he’s been both in the wings and the hot fog of commercial limelight, and his recent shift of ambition, helmed with the recording of The Irish Connection, has put him in a very unique place.

“I found a comfort zone in making this album,” he says. “I’m starting to see more the direction I want to go and develop a more adult sound. I think Wall Of Soundz (2010) was a huge departure from my first two solo albums. I think I may have steered a bit too far away from where I actually sit.

“I probably tried to make a radio record rather than make a record for me. This covers album has given me direction again for where I want my sound to be. Sounds a bit wankery,” he laughs, repaying his words. “I hate people that talk about their art and their direction.”

While his first collection of originals since Wall Of Soundz won’t be finished until late this year, McFadden seems phlegmatic about the effects his decision will have on an Australian chart placing. Perhaps it’s the Irish blood that keeps his thoughts nonplussed, but it’s more likely the thought of making music on his terms.

“If people like it they’ll buy it, if they don’t at least I know I gave my best effort on it,” he says bluntly. “I’m not even considering about 2Day FM or Nova; how are people going to hear it is the next problem, but that’s for the record company to figure out.”

Bad Religion: Finding True North



26 February 2013
by Poppy Reid

In an age where more than three decades together habitually equates to a band’s brand-making, Bad Religion have maintained immediacy and a new collection of followers with each album cycle, sans trite propagation.

Much of this, is thanks to wide-eyed linchpin Greg Graffin, the band’s own punk professor. Graffin is on the phone from his farmland home in Lansing New York, and he’s got just over a week before rehearsals begin in support of album #16 True North. He’s avoiding the writing of his second book The Population Wars, the overdue deadlines of which are ‘hounding him,’ but he’s surfeited with the fact his most recent frustrations he sees both in himself and in society have been partly purged.
“We tend to want to blame people and hope they’re responsible. We try to find scapegoats and people we can pin the problems of the world on and we want to believe that people have free will and they’re not exercising it if they do something wrong,” he says, speaking slowly and ruminative. “But at the same time that’s human nature,” he laughs. “The more I think about it the more I realise we can’t be calculating and we can’t all predict the outcomes of our behaviours.”

As a lecturer at New York’s Cornell University where he’s currently teaching evolution, and as a doctor of zoology, Graffin could be discussing a number of issues really. But he’s referring to the first track on True North called In Their Hearts Is Right, the track which kicks off 35-minutes of intellectual anarchy overlayed by Bad Religion’s trademark pummelling punk rock, three-part harmonies and themes of the Obama administration, generational unity and philosophy inspired by Sagan and Chomsky.

But while Graffin has been commentating on culture since he was 15 with Bad Religion, and later studied anthropology and geology, his frustration in humanity, unlike most who educate themselves, has softened with age.

“I think I’ve grown more tolerant,” he says. “A lot of people get older and they grow less tolerant. I struggle with that too because part of me wants to be very calculating and precise, that’s kind of the science background I have. Part of me wants to be unforgiving. But there’s something in my bones - I don’t know what it is, it’s just the way I’m made - that I tend to be very accommodating and forgiving of people and I think I struggle with that.”

Thankfully, his bandmates share the same ideological values, it’s surprising though, considering their different upbringings. 50-year-old guitarist/vocalist and Epitaph/ANTI Records owner Brett Gurewitz was raised Jewish; bassist Jay Bentley was brought up in Kansas and was part of the skate-punk surge; guitarist Greg Hetson was a member of innovative hardcore bands Circle Jerks and Redd Kross before Bad Religion; guitarist Brian Baker is a founding member of minor threat, his first album with Bad Religion was 96's The Gray Race, and drummer Brooks Wackerman - who recently filled in for Travis Barker on the current Soundwave tour - started his career in '91 with heavy metal band Bad4Good. His musical background before he joined Bad Religion in 2001 ranges from pop punk and funk metal to comedy rock and industrial rock.

“We all had varying backgrounds when we were young kids but pretty much we were all from very liberal households that were pro-education. Even though I’m the only guy in the band that went to college, the other guys are intellectuals in their own right in terms of they all read books and see movies. It’s kind of like those cultural things that some families don’t expose their kids to.”

Having basically grown into their own together, it wasn’t always political punk and mosh pits. Bad Religion, like any band who has reached global stature, have experienced their own tumultuous times. The negative press surrounding Graffin and Gurewitz’ fallout, Gurewitz’ drug abuse in the early ‘80s and the myriad lineup changes may have stunted their ascension, but 34 years on, the band are still questioning establishment and provoking chaos at their shows. Graffin has a tradition where at each show he’ll ask who is experiencing them for the first time – “and remarkably it’s like 60% of the audience.”

“That’s not just true in the United States,” he enthuses, “that’s true in Australia and Germany, all over Europe and all over South America. It’s almost like every year there’s a new generation of people that decide they’re gonna turn punk rock and they come out to our show ‘cause they’ve heard so much about us but they’ve never actually seen us live. I realise it’s a privilege, because it means our audience is continually getting refreshed.”

While Bad Religion aren’t active members of the Hollywood club scene anymore – they’re each entering or nudging their 50s – Graffin says the fact the community even exists makes him very hopeful.

“We are not living the life of punk rockers anymore,” he chuckles. “It’s not exciting to me go to a club and come home at 2:30 in the morning… But even if the community isn’t as small and intimate as it used to be you can see it branching into other areas of culture too, where people actually do put a premium into ideas and art. That’s very rewarding to see that.”

It would be easy to surmise that Bad Religion are more influenced by Graffin’s studies now more than ever, but as he tells it, his higher education has very little input.

The intellectual portions of it helps to stimulate ideas but I think the emotion in the song, the melody, even some of the phrasing, that comes from feelings. Those feelings were stirred I think more from my own personal relationships, my family, my friends.”

The title track on True North was greatly influenced by his immediate surroundings. With a son in his early twenties and a daughter away at university, the generation they belong to are just now discovering themselves, their ideals and thankfully, Bad Religion.

When kids decide to go punk, it’s when they first start experiencing the world on their own and they head out into that world with some direction, usually what their parents tell them, but also their teachers and their religious leaders,” he says thoughtfully. “But they head out into this world and they realise nothing that they’d been told makes any sense at all, and it’s completely out of touch with what they really have to experience. So the idea from that obviously came from my own kids who are now teenagers going through what we went though, exactly a generation later.”

The truth is that while his children are one of his greatest inspirations - they’re a direct portal into the mindset of the band’s newest group of followers – that’s as far as their involvement with Graffin’s music goes. To him, it’s his most personal project and his two offspring sensed that at a young age.
“Even though the kids are aware of what I do for a living and we’ve got a pretty normal family life, we don’t really talk about, that’s kind of like ‘dad’s work’ we don’t sit around talking about music at the table. I don’t share any strategies with them. I don’t talk about songwriting.

“I have to say though, it would hurt me very badly, if it was embarrassing. I’m very proud to say that they’re not embarrassed by what I do for a living because I can’t say that about Dick Cheney,” he laughs. “His kids must have it a lot harder.”

Bad Religion’s back catalogue is a weighty, all encompassing one. Over sixteen records and five U.S. administrations, the band have an ongoing relevance that, because of the state of society, won’t taper off anytime soon. Even during early records like Into The Unknown and seminal album Suffer - when the six men were just boys – they were touching on issues denoting universal themes and modern life.
21st Century (Digital Boy) was written what, 25 years ago?” Graffin remembers. “The metaphors we were using in that song are still very viable today and we’re happy to play that song live almost every concert.

“The first album we asked the question, ‘how could hell be any worse when life alone is such a curse?’ If society would have cured all of its evils that we were talking about in 1982, that song would quickly become irrelevant but that’s not the case, things have just gotten worse it seems.”
Forever the intellect, Graffin has been awfully aware of the influence Bad Religion has on youth since he was one himself. Unlike a lot of frontmen in the heavy music realm, he feels a responsibility to enlighten fans and use the music as a medium to fuel self-reflection and awareness.

I always thought, if you’re gonna be in a rock band or a punk band, there’s been so many of them throughout history that I always wanted to add a little added value. There’s got to be something more than just going up there and parading around as a rock star,” he states. “I believe Bad Religion’s tradition has always been to stimulate thought in the areas of philosophy and cultural significance and current events rather than fashion and hairstyle and what the latest trends in New York City are.”

True North is out now through Epitaph Australia

Ronan Keating says it best

                                                                                                  Photography: Ken Leanfore
13 December 2012
by Poppy Reid

"I didn’t want to tell stories of other people, I’m very adamant about that. I’ve hurt enough people. I didn’t want to hurt anyone else.”

Spring feels more like summer at a bar in Darling Harbour today, and in black jeans, shirt, waistcoat and jacket, Ronan Keating is dressed much warmer than Sydney requested. It’s only been a few days since the release of Fires, his first album in six years, but he’s wholly relaxed. Coming back from a hiatus whilst on the judging panel for X Factor Australia has provided an immediate soapbox, but perhaps it’s the safety net he found in recording a completely fictional pop album that sees him so at ease.

“There’s things I’ve been through in my life, situations in my personal life,” he trails off in that swift Dublin dialect. “So I just didn’t want to go there. I didn’t want to bring up old stories; I was the cause of these problems, so I don’t want to talk about that.”

At just 35-years-old, Keating has a musical and personal past that has given him enough fodder to record another Bring You Home, but it seems the divorce to his wife of thirteen years last year, was enough to have him re-evaluate his comeback.

“I didn’t know what I was doing,” he admits. “I was a bit lost, musically, I didn’t know where I wanted to go or what I wanted to do. After being in the industry so long you kind of question what’s next.”

Having sold 25 million records worldwide as a solo artist and 30 million alongside the recently reformed Boyzone, Keating shows artistic integrity in wanting a transformation. However, after his lowest charting record in Australia since 2005’s Turn It On (#25), moulding Fires (#12) on the type of pop topping recent charts may have backfired Down Under.

“It’s pop’s turn: girl bands, boy bands, Justin Bieber, Katy Perry, so it’s alive and well - we’re all riding that way. That’s why I felt it was the right time for this album.”

Keating explains his writing process as “flowing” – he wrote the track I’ve Got You in an hour and with the help of 23 songwriters including Shelly Poole (Janet Jackson, Massive Attack) and Rick Nowles (Lana Del Rey, Weezer), Fires was one of his most pleasant opuses to create. “It just felt good,” he smiles.

It wasn’t too long ago that Keating was as renowned for his philandering and infidelity as he was for his philanthropy and innocent serenades about love. Roguish media whispers created an image that, as a father of three, painted him in a cripplingly unflattering light.

“I think it was wholesome for a while. You don’t want to be one of these people who are in the press for negative reasons, I never wanted that.”

One constructive outcome of the past decade though, is Keating’s firm sense of self. Now dabbling successfully in film - his first project, Australian film Goddess, premieres in January - and with a Boyzone reunion tour in the works, Keating now boasts he is at peace with any self-appointed epithets.

“As a kid I battled with who I was, what I sounded like, the respect, the credibility as a boy band member,” he notes. “It’s just naivety, and immaturity. You grow up and realise it just doesn’t matter, that kind of rubbish.”

It’s clear that, although Fires is Keating’s first record with no autobiographical leanings, it has nothing to do with his musical morality. Protecting his loved ones is paramount and as he suggests, if you’re good enough, then it is enough.

“I think it comes down to the live performance. If you can make people believe it when you’re performing it live. I’ve always had a connection with that - it’s in the song.” It’s unlikely that any future releases will eclipse his 3x Platinum debut Ronan (2000), but you sense that for Keating, a man regaining his impeccable aplomb, making headlines for the right reasons - whether that be for his performances or whatever the mischievous tabloids choose to publish - is now right on the top of his list.

“It’s hard, you just want to live a good life, I have kids, and you’re leaving a legacy behind - you’re leaving a story. I want to leave them something good. I try my best.”

Wednesday

Alexisonfire: All farewells should be sudden

                                                                         Photography: Vanessa Heins
10 December 2012
by Poppy Reid

When Alexisonfire announced their split in August last year, fans of lactating, contortionist strippers and Canadian hardcore went into mourning, but while most cursed themselves for encouraging linchpin Dallas Green to pursue a solo career, the dichotomy of City and Colour’s success wasn’t wholly to blame.
“The confusion that lies in the whole process about what happened,” says Green down the phone from the US, “was when I left the band, the band didn’t break up. They spent a lot of time deciding whether or not they were going to continue as a four-piece or add another member, or whatever.”
After guitarist/vocalist Wade MacNeil got an offer to front English band Gallows in July 2011, the band accepted their collapse and Green could finally breathe easy. City and Colour interviews and fan interaction underwent a year-and-a-half of white lies and diversions, and for an artist renowned for his blunt honesty and allegiance to his band brothers, the repression was difficult.
“I had been holding the fact that I had left the band in for so long,” he admits. “I had to deal with people finding out that it was me who started the demise of the band. I think that the general response was good because for one, we could talk about it, but it was an interesting period… I sort of twisted [the band’s] arm and forced them into a tough situation, so I can appreciate how they were looking at me-or not at me-at that moment in time.”
With the Australian leg of band’s farewell tour just days away, it’s an awkward feeling to know that their last visit in 2010 was surrounded by tension in the band. “At the time, only ten or twelve people knew that I was leaving the band so we were on the road with all of our friends touring, trying to have a good time and show everybody that we were happy-go-lucky,” says Green. “Meanwhile, every time we played, we knew that we were getting closer to the end, it was hard to celebrate.” The shows were feverish and raw, their onstage brotherhood seemed more devoted than ever; but as Green explains, between each performance came an uncomfortable quiet.
Everyone was really depressed when we were playing that last tour, I think that a lot of that depression had to do with the fact that we weren’t talking about it,” Green considers. “It was really a bummer, but I think it’s good that we didn’t [tell people] because it hadn’t really allowed us to sort of move on with our lives.”
With just fifteen dates and a rightful US snub on their final tour together (“Those people should have come to see us play at any time in the last ten years,” MacNeil told Tone Deaf), Alexisonfire have been marking their ten-year anniversary with the same energy yielded during their embryonic years when they were “five kids who decided to try out this weird style of music and write songs.”
I think everyone is in a wonderful place right now,” says Green sincerely. “Almost back to the beginning in a way, but we don’t have anything to lose or gain from it, it’s more of a twelve-year-old celebration of what we’ve accomplished, which will allow the legacy of our band to live on instead of the hope of that last tour.”
While City and Colour releases reach Gold and Platinum status across the globe, missing the camaraderie within Alexisonfire is only a faint throb. “Even on the worst days we’d still be able to talk to each other and go onstage and put on a great show,” he reminisces. “We’d sort of all forget about it after the show, because of the performance, because of the music, you know?” However, a life that could turn a man into a self-entitled, sycophant-seeking, rock star has only had positive effects on Green, who can thank the band for his “motherly instincts” and accolade acknowledgement.
“In the first few years with those guys, especially in the early years when they were still teenagers and I was at the old ripe age of 21 years old, I definitely had to take on a more responsible role than I thought I’d have to.
“I also think it’s allowed me to develop a sense of appreciation for everything I had accomplished in my life creatively, I had to work from the bottom up. I went through touring in a van where you’d have to sleep in the van - we could never afford a hotel - I had to sleep on people’s floors, things like that, that now whenever something good happens I can look at it and think ‘I earned it’.”
With ten years of nihilistic fervour and poetic anthems for the square-pegged, Alexisonfire won’t be easily forgotten. One could measure their success on the sold-out tours, the myriad independent awards and #1s, or their ARIA chart placings, but for Green, it’s always been about the music’s integrity.
The fact that we went on to make four records, it’s pretty good that it sits how it is, I think that’s far more – that we accomplished – than we had set out to do in the first place.
“To quote a recent comment that I read about myself – Alexisonfire is testament that you don’t have to be attractive to be successful. I’m half joking when I say that,” he leers. “We were just a bunch of weird kids who played this weird sound and people grew attached to that. Hopefully we just inspired that honesty that there is a chance for honesty in popular music, or hardcore music - I wouldn’t call us that popular.”
Green strategically finished his latest City and Colour opus before the tour (“so he could approach it with an open mind”), but while Alexisonfire have released the obligatory anthology collection and a new EP (Death Letter), it would take an ignoramus to not pre-empt and salute their intended parting gift.
“We didn’t start the band so we could become rock stars and make millions of dollars and fly around in private jets,” Green says with his infamous frankness. “I think a lot of band’s probably don’t start off that way but often that’s why they want to get into it, that’s what they deem successful. But with us I mean, we just wanted to play. I still feel that way, I just want to play.”