Monocled Alchemist

Dave Lewis travels to Australia to join the congregation in THE CHURCH

Article published in Sounds, 13th March, 1982

The Church | Altared Images | PICTURE THE scene if you can. Having escaped from the seemingly endless ravages of the British winter, you’ve been catapulted across to the other side of the world to the sea, sun and Castlemain XXX of a charismatically christened resort called Surfers Paradise.

Still wobbling from something like 33 hours of flying, you stroll into the darkened and plush surrounds of the beach-front Grand Hotel, which more closely resembles an up-market version of a Northern working men’s club than a git-down rock venue and where a crowd of ‘surfies’ in shorts and beach shirts are bustling round the bar bellowing for voluminous jugs of foaming lager and occasionally chatting to the sun-beached honies they have in tow.

Every sip of beer you take seems to be topping up the bottle of vodka you wiped out to break the tortuous tedium of the harrowing air-flight and you are starting to become just a little unhinged when suddenly . . . the deafening disco is abruptly cut off and four shadowy figures troop onto the dimly-lit stage and the air is filled with a moody, churning drum and bass beat before being cataclysmically split asunder by a spine-tingling wall of richly jangling guitars.

The surfies carry on downing their schooners like they’ve just staggered in after a ten-day trek across the Outback and the biceps-bulging bar staff continue to career around the room with teetering towers of empty glasses, but there is no way you can drag your attention away from that stage — and that sound.

The Church | Altared Images

This, then, was my baptism to The Church and, while not a true religious experience in the absence of any thunderbolts or plagues of frogs, I can think of few, if any, bands who have inspired quite so forcibly that feeling that they are really something very special, something that has only time standing between them and that elusive crock of artistic gold.

Mesmerised by ethereal cloudburst of notes from the ringing 12-string Rickenbacker, coupled with the dirt-digging drive of the rhythm guitar , the Doc Martin thud of the drums and the eerie talk-sing spell of vocalist, bassist and Church high priest Steve Kilbey, I feel rather like the eulogising bozo on that TV ad who sings the praises of some obscure Australian margarine that he claims is going to take over the world any day now.

He’s just hyping, of course, but if The Church don’t follow the Antipodean trail to glory blazed by the likes of AC/DC and Rose Tattoo into this nation’s rock consciousness then I’ll . . . I’ll . . . well, I’ll swear to read Melody Maker from cover to cover for the rest of my life. That’s how confident I am about the potential for success phis band.

12-string Rickenbacker

THE ONLY stumbling block I can foresee making The Church falter, in fact, is the band themselves; onstage they are an indivisible unit welded seamlessly together in their own musical vortex, but offstage they are as diverse a collection of individuals as you could imagine.

Hailing from the murky grime of Liverpool and only two years in Australia the purveyor of that jangling 12-string is Marty Willson-Piper, a jovial 22-year-oldwith a pure love of his guitar in the traditional muso mould.

Fellow guitarist Peter Koppes, on the other hand is of more intellectual middle-class stook which on the few occasions when the band aren’t hard at work, lives a sort of bohemian hippy existence in a beat-up flat facing Bondi beach that he shares with two struggling French painters —one his girIfiend and the other her more experienced mentor.

The Church | Altared Images

Drummer Richard Ploog is, at 18, both the youngest and most recent recruit to The Church and perhaps the only one of the band who displays that naive teenager’s excitement and enthusiasm for the stardust touch of the rock business.

In sharp contrast, driving force Steve Kilbey is something of an enigma. Blessed with the skills to write practically all the band’s outstandingly original material in the hideaway of his tiny home studio, he can be both shy and introverted and alarmingly cocksure of himself, displaying the kind of snot-nosed arrogance than can ruffle and offend others, yet balanced by a degree of self-confidence, and shining talent that completely vindicates his apparent conceit.

It’s the same streak of insolent brashness that made heroic frontmen out of unloveable egotists like Jagger and Rotten and, while Kilbey’s voice may lack true tunefulness and power at times, in the context of the rich pattern of harmonies that pours out of the two guitarists with their sharp musical twists and turns, slow involved build-ups and deliriously explosive climaxes, it works just fine.

Sixties influences

VISUALLY THE Church reflect the Sixties influences in their music in both their manner and style. They are thoughtful, often serious individuals, all pudding basin haircuts, bright colours and cuban-heeled boots in a Granny Takes A Trip At Oxfam kind of fashion sense. But perhaps because they have already been the victims of invidious comparisons and jibes of cheap revivalism, they are wise enough to want to steer clear of being lumped in with any vacuous ‘new psychedelia’ movement and very wary of putting any label to their music and singling out past influences.

The Church | Altared Images

“With reservations”, Steve finally agreed that The Church’s music has very definite comparisons and reminiscences of mid-Sixties psychedelia in both the whimsical imagery of the vocals and the intricate, rich texture of the music, highlighted by the tingling charge of Marty’s Byrds-esque jangling guitar and the weird and wonderful arrangements and effects.

Steve: “Yes, I would say our music is kind of psychedelia, but there were many forms of psychedelia – from Pink Floyd in their ‘Ummagumma’ period to the psychedelic pop of the 13th Floor Elevators to other bands like Love and so on. But our music just doesn’t sound like anybody else. There are some similarities, yeah, but there’s no one particular influence.”

But what about the obvious Byrds-like jingle-jangle guitar sound?

Marty: “I never even had a Byrds album until about six weeks after I bought my first 12-string guitar — and that was quite recently. Playing 12-string wasn’t something that I’ve been doing for years, it was a sound that was formed out of playing with this band. It’s just the sound that a 12-string guitar naturally makes.”

Steve: “As honestly as I can say this, we are really not trying to sound like anybody else in the world. We never formed the group with the intention of being a ‘psychedelic’ band, it’s just purely accidental that we sound the way we do.

“Controversial, aren’t we?” concluded Steve acidly as he lounged back in my Sydney hotel room two days later and following a night of magic mushrooms and deep conversations back in Surfers Paradise.

The Church | Altared Images

Seated on the couch, Marty is busy sticking cigarette papers together and, as neutron bomb of a joint was almost the first greeting the band had given me, you didn’t need to be head of Operation Julie to suss that these boys had a penchant for the illegal substances — especially since none of them now bother smoking ‘straight’ tobacco or drinking booze very much (though when you consider the ‘taste’ of Australian lager, who could blame them?!)

So, assuming the Forces Of Evil aren’t listening in, is smoking dope very much a part of the band’s lifestyle and even a stimulant to their creative processes considering how much they smoke before they set foot on stage?

Steve: “Yes, unfortunately.”

Why unfortunately?

Marty: “Well, it does help to have dope and it’s always a bit of a strain when one thing needs something else to make it work.”

Steve: “If this group has one collective weakness or fault, then it’s dope. It attracts us like moths to a flame.”

HAVE YOU already run into trouble with the Powers That Be over this pleasant but potentially hazardous taste?

Marty: “Well, people don’t think of The Church as a drug band, if that’s what you mean. We are not a drug band, we just can’t possibly go on stage straight!”

At this we all broke up into a helpless fit of laughter. In fact, the ensuing hour’s conversation was punctuated by bouts of laughter and giggling and it was curious how I found myself discovering strange faces peering out at me from the patterned wallpaper and how much brighter the colours in the carpet had become.

“We should stop talking about this, you know,” Steve suddenly decided, trying hard to look serious.

“Yeah, and roll another joint,” enthused Marty in another explosion of giggles.

Who’s got the drugs?

Steve: “You see, out here it’s the accepted thing that you go to a gig and there’s always clouds of smoke coming from the band room. If you go backstage to see the band in Australia, then you take them a joint.

“Like, we played a gig the other night and Richard (Ploog) was just leaning out over the monitor system and yelling out into the audience ‘Who’s got the drugs?’ (Marty explodes into laughter again) It’s not a joke or anything, it’s a bloody necessity to him and he expects the roadies to take that as seriously as anything else.”

Marty: “Yeah, the drugs are just as important as the microphone stands being on stage and so on.”

Why? To loosen you up and kill any stage nerves, or just to get your creative juices flowing?

Steve: “Because that’s our ritual.”

Marty: “It’s good to play music when you’re absolutely wrecked, you know!”

Doesn’t being wrecked restrict your ability to play as well as you might?

Marty: “Not with us it doesn’t!”

Steve: “We always have played wrecked so we don’t know! Actually, the odd times when we have played straight people have told us ‘God, you played terrible tonight’, so . . . ”

Marty: “We honestly all play better when we’re stoned. A lot of other bands who’ve played with us have said they couldn’t go on stage stoned like us because of the way it affects them and their playing, but with us it just makes us so much better. It’s great cos you can get off on playing the guitar and on just being stoned as well — it’s fantastic!”

“Yeah, fantastic,” I murmured as I stared through a cloud of gun-metal blue smoke at a fly crawling up the window pane. Errrr, and would people get more out of watching and listening to you play if they were stoned too?

People appreciate us

Steve: “Oh yeah, definitely! It’s almost a prerequisite. We would like to have given away half an ounce with the next album, but EMI (their record company in Australia — in Britain it’s Carrere) wouldn’t have it. Nah, not really, but everyone I know who’s seen us when they’ve been tripping has really enjoyed it too.”

Yeah, I’m sure. But this was getting out of hand (and so were what remained of my grey cells). How have the great Australian public reacted to The Church so far, considering most Aussie bands seem to fall into either the very butch or oddball humorous mould?

Steve: “Well, not ecstatically — they don’t go beserk over us, but I think a lot of people appreciate us.”

Marty: “We’ve had a Top 25 single and a Top 25 album so we’re doing moderately well, but we’re not raking it in or anything.”

Steve had remarked earlier how the band felt a bit daunted by the prospect of having to wade once again through the quicksand of total obscurity and avoid getting sucked under before they could establish a firm footing in markets outside Australia and start moving forward again. Where will they try first, Britain or America?

Steve: “Basically, I think we may be too off-beat for the Americans and perhaps too conventional for the British, but just for the rest of Europe, especially France and Germany. But it’s just really nice to be able to get up on stage and play, though it does help if people have heard the songs before and know what to expect. It makes things a lot easier.”

The words create stories

YOU HAD also said earlier (perhaps under the influence of those magic mushrooms!) that, despite the apparent deeply significant nature of The Church’s songs and the seemingly intellectual content that lies just obscured beneath the florid obtuseness of the lyrics, there is in fact nothing about the band’s image or music that has any real significance. Was that just flippancy or a genuine own-up?

Steve: A bit of both really. There’s no real ulterior motive about this group. There’s no message in the songs, no points being put across.”

So why do you say it’s important for people to listen to the lyrics to fully appreciate the music?

Steve: “Well, it’s just like poetry, you know. The words just create stories, images and moods that are not necessarily about great truths — it’s unimportant whether they actually mean anything or not.”

If you had to explain your music to a total stranger, how would you describe it?

Steve: “Ummmm, luxurious and decorative music, I suppose – escapist and a bit decadent..

“Whenever I sit down to write a song I’m always trying to capture this same feeling, and it’s hard to describe. It’s kind of a feeling of sad triumph, longing for something. It’s a very hard feeling to capture, it’s not like going out and trying to excite an audience, cos that’s fairly east to do, or going out to try and depress an audience, or make them laugh and feel happy, that’s quite easy to do too.

But to go out and make them feel wistful, especially when they’re all boozing at the bar and so on, now that’s quite an achievement.

“I treasure that feeling more than being excited or happy, they are quite commonplace feelings. But that other feeling makes you seem superhuman or something. It’s quite supernatural.”

I miss England

SO MUCH of the mysterious and complex nature of The Church’s music must be derived from the equally intense character of the band’s spiritual leader, Steve.

Despite having been taken to Australia by his parents at the age of four, his accent is still more Pom than Digger and he has none of the brutish ‘ocker’ loves of typical Australian youth for surfing, sport and boozing, which had earlier provoked him to describe himself as an outsider in both the country he has grown up in and the country he left behind and for which his parents still hanker.

Steve: “There’s really a vast difference between the way Australian kids think and act and the way English children do. So I found I was quite alienated from other children out here until I got much much older.

“I found it hard to accept their way of thinking and found it impossible that they didn’t have the same standards that I did, so I sort of tended to just stay with my parents and their friends who were all English of course. So, even though I’ve been here effectively all my life, I still look on Australia as an outsider and I suppose that’s had an effect on my lyrics, because I wonder at things that Australians apparently take for granted.”

And Marty, even though you’ve only been Down Under for a couple of years?

“Oh yeah, I really miss England. I wish I could be doing this there instead of here.”

And presumably a British tour is very much a part of their plans, provided the recently released album does fairly well, even though it is nearly two years old and they’ve already recorded a follow-up’?

Steve: “Yeah, sure. But, and I don’t know how the others feel about this, I am happy to just be successful out here, because I don’t really understand Australians it’s quite a big thing for me to come up with something they like. I consider that a real achievement.”

You don’t really like communicating with your audience face to face, though, do you — be they Australian, British or whatever?

Funny or sarcastic

Steve: “It’s not that I don’t like it, it’s just that I can never think of anything to say that’s particularly glib or whatever. The are traditional ways of communicating with the audience — like some people are funny or sarcastic, some are very sincere, others are insulting or attempt to rabble rouse and so on, but I don’t feel that I fall into any of their categories and talking would just interrupt of the music, so we’ve always tried to make it clear that our music is our gimmick.”

Would you ever like to try out more obvious ‘gimmicks’, like a massive light show or whatever?

Steve: “I would like to have a really good light show, sure. But we really get excited simply about the idea of playing music. We’re very naive in that way and are only just getting over feeling that we’re very lucky just for getting paid for doing this.”

In fact, the Church were on the point of breaking up when they were signed out of the blue by ATV Northern Music on the strength of a handful of gigs and a demo tape. And the band were so euphoric at the prospect of actually receiving money for rehearsals and their own studio time that they even signed on the dotted line of their first contract knowing that their percentage figures on any future profits hadn’t even been filled in!

Steve: “I’m a rather quiet, mild-mannered middle-class sort of fellow, but we’ve already been through some terrible experiences to get where we are now, we really have. Very, very distasteful!”

And if they continue to put their signatures to such one-sided agreements, I fear they are in for some even more distasteful downfalls . . .

Introspective character

STEVE HAD earlier described himself as a fairly introspective and withdrawn character, which hardly seemed the necessary credentials for walking out onto the high-wire of leading a successful rock band.

Steve: “No, there’s no real conflict because all the frontmen I really admire, like Bill Nelson, Tom Verlaine, Brian Eno, John Cale and so on, they’re all fairly introspective too. I would be happy to sit in the studio and churn out music really. it’s fun to be a ‘pop star’, but only in a very ironic kind of way, you know, so you can chuckle at it.”

You say your original drummer left the band because he couldn’t get on with the rest of you, describing him as a very aggressive and typically Australian sort of character. Do you hang around together much socially?

Marty: “We see each other all the time cos we’re always working, but . . . .”

Steve: “We’re not the best of friends. We couldn’t be really, not and work with each other all the time. There’s always little alliances going on and some people ganging up on someone else with arguments and so on. But that happens with all groups, it must do. There’s some pretty childish guys in the group . . . like me, for example.”

In-fighting

(At which Marty bursts out into affirmative laughter). And as you write the songs and play the frontman, do you feel the others should take more notice of what you have to say?

Steve: “Yeah, and that doesn’t really go down very well with the others.”

Is this true? (to Marty, who is rocking back and forth and clapping his hands with glee).

Marty: “Yes!”

Despite your occasional in-fighting, you all seem to share a general dislike of the traditional music biz circus tent lifestyle with its obligatory ligs and hip places to be seen hanging out at, the business lunches with suited execs with dollar signs for eyes and, indeed, smooth talking journalists with voracious appetites for the sensational.

Steve: “Well, we avoid all that other stuff it’s true, but I have always liked doing interviews. It makes you think about what you’re doing yourself, it’s good for you. I particularly like people who ask questions that I can’t answer.” (Dave Lewis)