“Oh wow, that’s really interesting. What career track is that?”

This is the question faced by Joel, a Nietzsche-reading, Russian Lit/Slavic Languages double major in the film Adventureland. He sarcastically responds: “Cabbie, hotdog vender, marijuana delivery guy. The world is my oyster.” As well as providing one of the funnier moments in the film, this question highlights a major paradox, which exists at the very heart of every academic institution. A tension exists between the university’s imperative to provide qualifications with vocational outputs (gettin’ us the jobs!) and its role as a space that can facilitate a critique of society independent from external influences. We can talk about this in terms of disciplines. Just compare the respective functions of law and philosophy degrees. Upon graduating with a law degree, it is expected that you will pursue a career in law, or at least will leave the university with a qualification that will guarantee your future employment. As for a philosophy degree, well, Joel’s response might be equally applicable here too, but if he was feeling sincere he might just admit that the liberal arts also play an important role within society. The university has always been a contradictory entity, founded upon a deep-lying set of conflicts.

The Paradoxical University

In November 2010, Victoria University axed its Gender Studies program. To major in Gender Studies now will require students to cobble together papers from a variety of different departments. At the same time, New Zealand’s Tertiary Education Minister Steven Joyce outlined the importance of increasing vocational outputs at tertiary institutions, highlighting what Canadian academic Alison Hearn calls “the central tension between the usefulness of the university to its society on the one hand, and its need for academic freedom from external interests on the other.” Hearn calls this the ‘Paradoxical University’. Her argument is that this tension has always existed within the university, but why is it so especially pronounced today?

One reason is the advent of neoliberal politics: an ideological paradigm that promotes a free market and individual autonomy from state intervention. Neoliberalism can therefore act as an economic and social policy imperative, both at the level of the state and also individual governance. Neoliberalism encourages private enterprise, consumer choice, and transactional thinking—in other words, an undertaking of personal responsibility over general wellbeing, based on the logics and language of the market, and a de-emphasis of government intervention in social welfare.

In light of these initiatives, external influences both public and private combine to unbalance the university’s orienting paradox, and we see this at both levels in New Zealand. John Key has made the government’s policy on tertiary education clear in his constant promotion of vocational output in NZ universities. Likewise, the imbalance in private or industry funding between faculties and schools affects the success and growth of each program. As both government and industry move to play a more prominent role in dictating and defining the operation of the university, the university’s emphases on teaching and research shifts toward those fields with a higher monetary yield, both in terms of research (sciences) and the production of workers (commerce, law, etc).

The Vocational University

In July of last year, Tertiary Education Minister Steven Joyce outlined the National-led Government’s plan to directly link tertiary education funding to targeted career outcomes. “I want to see funding linked to employment outcomes, not just internal benchmarks. This will send a strong signal to students about which qualifications and which institutions offer the best career prospects. And that’s what tertiary education has got to be about.”

You can trace a clear connection between this policy initiative and developments like last year’s closure of the Victoria University’s Gender Studies department. Faculties with clear vocational outputs like Commerce, Science and Law stand to benefit, while the humanities (and liberal arts in particular) and languages are more at risk—and these aren’t the only changes that are in store for our academic institutions. National has also begun altering the tertiary sector’s funding structure in order to target better student performance. As Joyce puts it, “In short we’ll provide financial incentives for institutions to continually work to improve the educational performance of their students.”

So New Zealand’s universities will be judged on a mixture of performance-related factors, including successful course completion, qualification completion, and progression to further study, starting with an initial maximum of 5% of total university funding being performance based. This might sound like a potentially positive initiative—until one considers how such a policy would likely be implemented. Teaching staff will now be under immense pressure to reduce their fail rates, whilst simultaneously increasing pass marks across the grade spectrum. The question that needs to be asked is whether this will genuinely precipitate an improvement in teaching standards, or whether it will simply mean that marking becomes more generous. For instance, will greater administrative measures be taken to ensure that students at risk of failing a course are encouraged to withdraw rather than attempt completion, and therefore risk receiving a fail grade?

The Corporatised University

With New Zealand universities being under increasing pressure to reduce costs and generate revenues, while catering to a growing demand for tertiary education, as well as to redefine themselves under the contemporary Neo-Liberal paradigm of increasing privatisation and free-market rule, we have also seen a clear movement towards operational practices that are commonplace in the private sector. In 2010 the Wishbone food chain opened a store on Kelburn Campus as part of a redevelopment of the Cotton Building that foreruns the imminent arrival of the Campus Hub, a space which will provide further opportunities for businesses to open storefronts at Victoria University. These developments will do more than simply alter the social and physical spaces on campus. They will also have implications for the university’s orientation as an independent site for cultural discussion and societal critique. How is it possible, asks Hearn, “to successfully teach students to think critically about their consumerist environment, for example, when they are sitting in a classroom named after a corporation?” Although the presence of a multinational corporate entity such as McDonald’s at Victoria University remains unlikely, the sanctified status of the campus as a space free from the presence of private enterprise can no longer be guaranteed.

Major in Yourself

Students are faced with a choice of direction in the type of study we wish to undertake, which is, of course, part of a much larger formation of selfhood. The discourse of personal transformation has always been part of higher education, from the stereotypical freshman to the mature student: both are entrenched in a journey to, as academics James Cote and Anton Allahar put it, either “find oneself” or “better oneself” as “architects of their own destiny.” However, the rise of the promotional, neoliberal university brings with it a language of personal responsibility and a mentality dictated by market logic, where the journey of becoming is much more defined—that is, to pursue a career.

If the university is indeed dictated by an increasingly neoliberal mentality, then what can we expect from the student body? The answer to this question lies in another set of questions that all students, especially first years, should ask themselves: Why am I at university? What do I want from the university, my lecturers? What do I want from my degree? These seemingly simple questions are likely to be met with a predictable, straightforward progressive answer: degrees get jobs, which pay the rent. However, upon scrutiny this mentality challenges the fundamental (albeit idealistic) purposes of higher education. Within this relatively consumerist mentality, students start to appear as autonomous ‘choosers’, perceiving education as what Hearn calls a “zero-sum game, where they get (in the form of grades) what they pay for (in the form of capital or fees)”.

Likewise, the university becomes less a space for the production of knowledge: instead, as Vice-Chancellors’ Committee chairman Derek McCormack commented to Nathan Beaumont in the Dominion Post (16/07/2010), the university “becomes more and more like an employment agency”. Alison Hearn has suggested that this consumerist mentality, prevalent in many universities around the world, can be seen as a major factor in the obsession of ranking and comparing various institutions. Take Victoria University’s current marketing slogan, “Get amongst the best”. This marketing strategy certainly doesn’t mean to be taken literally (the QS World University rankings put Victoria at 225th); rather, it is an imperative for consumer choice. It upholds a predictable neoliberal stance on education—that it is purchased, and added to a list of numerous other qualifications in order to build a well-rounded, productive workforce. If students are encouraged into a “get the most for the least” mentality, then where does that leave student organisations such as clubs, sports and the student community in general?

Clearly, the balance of orientation within the paradoxical university is becoming more and more one-sided, with worrying implications for students, staff, and the nature of tertiary education itself. If the contemporary university continues to be subservient to commercial pressures, then developments like the axing of the Gender Studies programme are likely to become increasingly commonplace. As students, we need to carefully consider our place within the academic institution, as well as that institution’s place within society as a whole.

Artist: Surf City
Album: Kudos
Label: Arch Hill Recordings

They’re on Arch Hill, their name is a reference to a Jesus and Mary Chain reworking of a Brian Wilson standard, and the first track on their debut album sounds like all of the above. The reverb on each snare hit could be direct from Psychochandy, and the submerged vocals could easily be mistaken for those of a young David Kilgour.

Okay, so the surf rock guitar lines from their self-titled debut have been chucked skipways, but you still shouldn’t expect much from Kudos that isn’t pictured on the Surf City tin.
None of this need be a bad thing though. Given that Surf City make little attempt to shy from their influences, it would be unfair to judge them on anything other than execution, and in this respect they score pretty well. Heck, they even manage to ride out ‘Icy Lakes’ through upwards of four riffs, various breaks and a killer chorus (which they play three times). It’s almost eight minutes long, but the band are careful never to digress too far from its core melodic line; even when they do begin to steer away one can rest assured that a return to a catchy hook is never far around the corner.

On closer, ‘Zombies’, although they trade the driving riffs for chanted vocals, chiming sampler loops and a tambourine driven beat that recalls the Beta Band’s ‘Dry the Rain’, the barbecue haze aesthetic remains intact throughout. I’m even reminded of the Flaming Lips in places, with the backwards cymbals and distended bass that open ‘Autumn’ suggesting a bit of Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots, at least until the band’s warm-tone guitars squawk their way back into the mix and reassert the status quo.

It’s a simple formula, and one which they stick to for most of the rest of the album. To their credit, Surf City are comfortable enough in their sound not to fuck with it, and as a result, when they do make departures they tend to come off with an easy and casual panache. Sure, they’re treading in relatively familiar sonic seawater, but, given the appeal of its frequent and likeable hooks Kudos is a hard album to dislike. Furthermore, Surf City’s willingness to flirt with alternative approaches to their principal sound (fleeting though they may be) suggests that they have plenty of avenues for growth in the future.

4/5

Xiu Xiu, with support from Glass Vaults and Siamese
Live at San Francisco Bathhouse, 11 Sept.

Xiu Xiu is one of the more polarising bands to have visited Wellington in the last couple of years. Given the relatively small size of the night’s crowd it struck me that most of us are firmly entrenched in the ‘no’ camp. This is perhaps understandable, as their emotional intensity, schizoid approach to songwriting, and confrontational lyrics all make for a pretty difficult package, even on record. Live, Jamie Stewart is howling lines like “Beat beat me to death, I said it / Beat beat me to death” into the faces of the crowd from a couple of metres away. Clearly this isn’t for everyone, but I was still surprised to find San Fran much less than half-full, especially given the band’s stature, the relative dearth of quality international acts to have visited (at least since the Galesburg ‘summer of plenty’), and the reasonable ticket price ($25). Even worse, some of those who did show up seemed to think that it was cool to talk, giggle and pop balloons during some of the band’s quieter songs. Even in my drunken state I can recall being most unimpressed, and Stewart didn’t look particularly enamoured with the reception his music was receiving either.

Given these trying circumstances, I feel I must give ample kudos to both him and new member Angela Seo for forging on, and treating those of us who held their music in higher regard to an impressive and varied set. Although they tended to favour the poppier moments of their discography, I wouldn’t shy from using adjectives like noisy, uncompromising or dissonant to describe the experience of seeing them live. Make no mistake, though Xiu Xiu employs the odd disco beat, they are by no means a dance band, regardless of what some of the more wasted members of the audience seemed to think. Even a recognisable crowd favourite like ‘I Love the Valley OH!’ saw its ostensive pop structure subverted by the band’s trademark dentist’s drill approach to percussion, as well as by blasts of noise from Seo’s synth and Stewart’s abusive treatment of a Nintendo DS.

Unsurprisingly, their set was weighted towards their more recent material, with both ‘Gray Death’ and the brilliant ‘Chocolate Makes You Happy’ (“Chocolate makes you happy / And it keeps you awake / As you unbutton your top button / Bewildered by the pain”) from their new album, Dear God, I Hate Myself, given faithful and effective renditions. As they wound their way through these songs Stewart’s energy and intensity saw him work up quite the sweat, while Seo navigated her arms through an intricate choreography of percussive motions with unwavering focus and intent. Together, they operated in juxtaposition, albeit one which collapsed when each successive song descended into the obligatory whiplash of its noise assault breakdown.

I departed the Bathhouse with mixed emotions and ringing ears. As engaging as Xiu Xiu had been, I couldn’t help but feel that the night would have been greatly enhanced by a larger and more appreciative audience, but perhaps that’s typical of their gigs, and apt given the kind of art that Stewart has chosen to produce. Should a Xiu Xiu show ever be euphoric, let alone fun? Probably not.

It was fitting that they didn’t bother to return for an encore.

The Clientele—Minotaur
Label: Merge

There are few bands I can think of who have simultaneously been as prolific and as consistent as The Clientele. By my count they’ve released four EPs, five LPs, and a singles compilation, and, in this author’s opinion, every one of them is worth a listen. With each release, the band has managed to simultaneously retain its core sound (literate, wistful, and surreal pop-songs) while also gradually developing, either through the addition of extra members, glossier production values—the first LP, EP and singles comp were all completely submerged in gauzy reverb—or by expanding the scope of their songwriting.

With Minotaur, the band continues to diversify its palette; the opening and closing tracks are classic Clientele numbers, bookending a six song stretch that contains a noisy guitar workout, a cover (West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band’s ‘As the World Rises and Falls’), an instrumental, an underwritten pop gem and a lengthy spoken word piece. In other words, it picks up nicely where their last LP, last year’s superlative Bonfires on the Heath, left off. Given that most of these songs are leftovers from those Bonfires sessions, it’s a pretty generous offering, and there’s much to like here, regardless of whether the band’s music is familiar or not. New listeners will marvel at the eloquent lyrics and catchy melodies of Minotaur’s poppier moments (‘Minotaur’ and ‘Paul Verlaine’ and the economical ‘Strange Town’ are all highlights), while veterans will appreciate ‘Green Man’s’ titular reference to a lyric from 2008’s That Night, A Forest Grew EP.

Still, if you’re new to the band you might be better off starting at the beginning (I’d recommend their singles comp, Suburban Light), as the songs here aren’t quite on par with the band’s finest moments; but this is still a worthwhile release, and, if you’re a Clientele devotee like yours truly, an absolutely mandatory acquisition.

3.5/5

The Burgundy Room is an underutilised space. Its small dimensions, low ceiling, underground location and twilight-style (think circadian, not vampiric, guys) lighting ensure even an audience of thirty will make the venue feel both intimate and well attended. Here there were probably around 80 people in attendance, making for a pretty optimal size of crowd, and rightly so, given that the night’s lineup made for a fine showcase of all-Wellington talent. One man + Gameboy act Old Grey Wolf kicked off proceedings with a hard-todislike set of dance beats and videogame glitch. He probably played a couple

songs too many (given the nature of his setup it’s pretty hard to differentiate most of the tracks), but his energy and enthusiasm was largely appreciated.

Up next were Glass Vaults, whose unhurried approach and delicate vocals immediately distinguished them from the dancier acts that made up the rest of the bill—TV DiSKO’s eclectic between set beats all but demanded headnoddery. Live, Glass Vaults more than match the command of tension and dynamics that marked out their recently released debut EP as a local release of the highest calibre. Richard Larsen’s achingly gorgeous voice was all the more compelling when experienced at close quarters, and drummer Rowan Pierce turned in a potent shift on the skins.

Complaints? It would be interesting to see them stretch everything out a little more, but this was neither the time nor the place, and after one last round of tasteful TV DiSKO disco it was 47 Diamantes’ turn to take command of the room. The effect was not dissimilar to a mass contraction of nerve stimulant; everyone danced in a convulsing frenzy, while synthist Kelvin Neal played massive drop after massive drop (and also mashed a keyboard with his beardface). Unleashing her trademark shriek, vocalist Gemma Syme swooped into the crowd and was soon thrashing about on the floor, catching the audience in two minds. Did we keep dancing, or get the hell out of the way? By the end of their set it didn’t really matter, as nothing was going to stop the duo from having their way with us. In the best way possible. Thanks guys.

Of course, this kind of appropriation has a long, storied, and at times highly controversial history. “There’s long been an interest [in Asian culture] in the West. You could trace it back to the Greco-Roman world, with exotic products coming overland from the Silk Road,” says Professor Stephen Epstein, Director of Victoria University’s Asian Studies Programme.

Appropriation can occur in a variety of ways, and can be as simple as purchasing a piece of kitsch from Iko Iko, getting a tattoo of a Kanji character on your wrist, or even preparing a plate of sushi for dinner. Although these examples may seem trivial, the processes of appropriation, which extends to the ownership of artefacts from a foreign culture, can at times be problematic.

A Brief History of Orientalism

To explain, Epstein points to Edward Said’s book, Orientalism. Here, Said traced the history of western fascination with eastern cultures, and their depiction as an exotic “Other” with promises of the unknown, mystical properties and distinct aesthetic qualities. “The East,” Epstein says, “was positioned in binary opposition to the West. It was a mirror image, an inferior image, and a feminised image.” Throughout the ages then, western travellers have returned from the East bearing exotic artefacts, which showcased these oriental qualities, and in turn began to influence western culture. And, as Epstein explains, these processes continue today.

“You still see a lot of orientalist tropes in action, particularly in mainstream western culture, emphasising the mysterious East, as it were. Take Lost in Translation, which really polarises people. It’s both critiquing Bill Murray’s character, but also making fun of ‘wacky’ Japan, and presenting Japan as unknowable. Remember tall Bill Murray in the elevator scene, where he’s towering over all the ‘identical’ Japanese? So there definitely still is a lot of orientalism going on.”

Burger Fuel, Star Wars and the Zen Masters

Films like Lost in Translation and The Matrix can be seen as a continuation of this Orientalist process, producing an idealised image of Japanese and pan-Asian culture which does not necessarily reflect their contemporary cultural makeup. For instance, when we think of Japanese television, our minds might instantly jump to the clips of bizarre gameshows featuring slippery obstacle courses, human Tetris and Matrix-style ping pong that Burger Fuel seems to be so obsessed with playing on those wall-sized LCD screens of theirs. But does this really represent the makeup of terrestrial Japanese programming? In fact, the most popular genre on Japanese screens turns out to be the light serial drama, which receives more airtime than either the madcap gameshows or the even more familiar export, anime.

The figure of the venerable Asian spiritual master, at one with the world via some kind of Zen mind conditioning, is equally stereotypical and familiar to us. I need only mention the words Star Wars, Yoda and the order of the Jedi to remind you of just one example of the sorts of pseudo-mystical philosophising that is constantly dredged up in mass-media depictions of Asian or Asian-inspired spirituality. These kinds of depictions are often superficial, if not downright wrong, and may draw as much on western new-age wish-wash or bastardised Freudian theory as on any genuine eastern spiritual practice.

Re-Appropriation and Lolita Fashion

However, cultural appropriation does not necessarily have to be harmful, or stereotyping. It can also be playful, curious or thought-provoking, and it can often be multi-directional. At the same time teenagers across the world don Sailor Moon outfits and upload cosplay (an abbreviation of costume roleplay) videos to YouTube, the Japanese have been engaging in Lolita fashion. An incredibly popular subculture, Lolita fashion draws on Victorian-era clothing (think frilly blouses and petticoats) and updates it by applying gothic-era aesthetic tweaks. Naturally, this style has since produced a veritable cornucopia of offshoots, some of which incorporate traditional Japanese (Wa Lolita) or even Chinese (Qi Lolita) styles into the Victorian outfit. And if that somehow wasn’t culturally complex enough for you then there are plenty of videos to be found on YouTube featuring westerners showing off their finest Lolita threads to the invisible hoards that frequent the internet.

As Epstein notes, “appropriation involves increasing interconnection, movement of people, and cross-fertilisation”. The result is an increasingly blurred set of notions of cultural ownership. Does Lolita fashion encapsulate something quintessentially Japanese? Or is it really just an appropriation of an anachronistic mode of dress? Is it a dead culture, which has become fair game for appropriation by anyone, anywhere, or an unfortunate revival of an oppressive mode of dress? Is an English teenager wearing a Lolita outfit more or less authentic than a Japanese teenager doing the same? At some point these kinds of questions simply stop becoming interesting. It might sound banal, but at the end of the day culture is just culture.

That Fluoro Green Digital Rain Shit

What we do want to be aware of though is the moment where appropriation becomes more troublesome. Commoditisation of culture, where one group gains monetary benefits by mining the culture of another, is particularly problematic, especially when it occurs in a manner that fails to engage in any kind of dialogue or exchange with the source culture and its heritage. Think of those descending Katanaka characters in The Matrix. Their usage in the film serves little purpose other than to function as a bit of extra window-dressing, or as a sprinkling of what Epstein calls Japan’s “Gross National Cool” to make the Nebuchadnezzar and its crew seem that much more multi-cultural. Japan, and therefore anything vaguely ‘Japanese’, become signifiers for the cool, the edgy and the high-tech. Call it Neo-Orientalism if you will. Sigh. Oh, and did I mention that they ripped the ‘digital rain’ directly from the opening credits from the anime feature Ghost in the Shell?

Samurai Code +Hip Hop + Chess

In spite of all this, some of the more wonderful exponents of cultural appropriation and re-appropriation should not be disregarded. Think of the Wu-Tang clan, and in particular GZA’s three-way mashup of hip-hop, Samurai philosophy and chess in Liquid Swords. In the words of the man himself:

“Liquid Swords comes from a kung-fu flick… But the title was just… perfect. I was like, Legend of a Liquid Sword. Damn, this is my rhymes. This is how I’m spittin’ it. We say the tongue is symbolic of the sword anyway, you know, and when in motion it produces wind. That’s how you hear ‘wu’.That’s the wind swinging from the sword. The ‘Tang’, that’s when it hits an object. Tang! That’s how it is with words.”

Anyone who has heard Liquid Swords will know how perfectly this metaphor applies in the context of GZA’s music. If the tongue symbolises the sword, than what is the art of the MC if not the art of ‘liquid’ swordplay? Not only has GZA appropriated (by way of samples from Samurai flicks, as well as from a lyrical and philosophical standpoint) the Samurai code, he has also engaged in a cultural dialogue, drawing parallels between both sets of aesthetics (and chess!) in a manner that extends beyond mere fetishisation or fascination with Otherness. If the example of Liquid Swords tells us anything then, it is that culture is always in a state of flux. Simply put, culture changes, and regardless of whether different kinds of appropriation are ‘good’ or ‘bad’, they are still going to occur, and produce (potentially new) meanings as a consequence.

Today, the repetitive jerk of the Maneki Neko (Beckoning Cat) arm is one of the most familiar sights in quotidian Wellington life. I cannot accurately imagine Wellington’s Cuba Quarter without thinking of all those delicious (and cheap!) Malaysian restaurants. Sushi bars are equally ubiquitous, and there are more than a few Korean joints (and Karaoke bars) nestled about as well. Doubtless, my own desire to seek out these imported flavours is in part the result of an ongoing fascination with their Otherness. However, just as we have imported Asian cuisine and culture, the process, as Epstein concludes, goes both ways: “A lot of it is back and forth, and it becomes difficult to talk about things being specifically eastern or western anymore.”

Glass Vaults are a Newtown-based duo comprised of Richard Larsen and Rowan Pierce, and have been making quite the buzz around Wellington with their excellent live set over the last few months. With the release of their excellent self-titled debut EP they’re proving that the attention, which is rapidly spreading throughout the interwebs, has been more than justified.

The website for Sonorous Circle, the artist’s collective which released Glass Vaults, describes the EP as “a cloud-dwelling pop delight”. It’s a description so apt that I won’t bother to attempt to top it. Producer Bevan Smith (of Signer fame) will inevitably receive much of the credit for his spacious and airy mix, which makes Glass Vaults perhaps the most impressively recorded local release I’ve heard in some time. Crucially though, Glass Vaults take full advantage, blending together an impeccably arranged array of guitars, synths and delicate falsetto vocals into a set of tracks that cover the spectrum from ambient mood pieces (opener ‘They Will Grow’) to Sigur-Rosian epics (‘Set Sail’, ‘Forget Me Not’). And while much of the album is relatively accessible, the third track, ‘New Space’, also demonstrates a pleasing experimental bent, with its jittery percussion and reverb-heavy vocals reminiscent of the better work of Christchurch’s Mount Pleasant (which these pages praised so effusively last year).

For such a short release—Glass Vaults clocks in at just under 25 minutes—the band manage to weave in an enormous variety of sounds, bending genres at will, and generally coming across as original and underivative. There’s plenty to praise here, but I think I’ll settle on two qualities in particular. The first is Larsen’s high-pitched vocals, which manage to convey plenty of emotion without ever sounding overly affected or shrill. Given the risks inherent in such an unrestrained style of delivery, this is quite the achievement. But perhaps even more impressive is the band’s approach to percussion. Simply put, the drums on Glass Vaults sound fucking immense. Mixing both acoustic and digital percussion, the drums are usually juxtaposed against the ambient backdrops, and the result is a spine that is both powerful and dynamic.

All up, Glass Vaults is a truly remarkable debut, and given that the band sounds at home in its more drawn out moments, it also bodes well for any future transition to the long player format. Oh yeah, and did I mention that it’s free? Just fire up Google…

Before launching into the review proper, let’s spare a moment for some a modicum of praise for Flying Nun’s decision to make Grayson Gilmour its first new signing. Having him on board makes several quite significant statements. Firstly, it reasserts the label’s commitment to an underground, DIY aesthetic, as Gilmour is well known for his commitment to self-release and retention of artistic autonomy, both in his work as a solo artist and as a member of So So Modern. Secondly, it demonstrates a willingness on the part of Flying Nun to avoid being typecast as an exclusive club for jangly guitar bands. Sure, this stereotype has always been somewhat unfair, as the label has always had a diverse roster, but the signing of Gilmour renders any accusations of conservatism invalid from the outset.

Given all this, it’s a shame that No Constellation itself isn’t a little bit more substantial. It begins strongly enough, with opener (and advance single) ‘Loose Change’ sketching out a sonic blueprint for the rest of the album by the fourth bar. After an idly plucked bass note, a stacked procession of piano, glockenspiel and drums pound and arpeggiate their way up the scale before dropping out. The melody is carried on only by Grayson’s right hand on the piano, and then everything else cuts back in. Loud/Soft, Loud/Soft, Loud/Soft.

To anyone who has heard Grayson’s earlier albums it’s an instantly familiar device, and it makes up the entirety of ‘Loose Change’. It’s a brash statement, but one that also reaffirms Grayson’s commitment to an approach which has served him well throughout his solo recording career. And this is the primary complaint with No Constellation, because for all its embellishments (pellucid production, prominent use of glockenspiel and strings) it’s hard not to see Grayson himself stuck in the kind of holding pattern which Flying Nun paradoxically seem to be striving to avoid by choosing to release his album.

For the opening suit of the aforementioned ‘Loose Change’, the more varied (and very glockenspiel-driven) ‘Chromosomes’, and the anthemic ‘I am a Light’ (one of the most potent songs Gilmour has ever written), he gets away with it on the strength of their songwriting and melodies. Unfortunately, the predictable switch to ballad mode for the unremarkable and overlong piano lilt of ‘Fire Downstairs’ releases much of the tension that its predecessors had worked up. The rest of the ride is riddled with further inconsistencies. ‘Circa Skeleton 31’ is an inconsequential instrumental interlude, and ‘Gem Apple John’ is a self-indulgent attempt at introducing variety through diversionary tangents into finger clicking and jazz-inflected piano workouts.

There’s no doubt that Gilmour is a gifted technician, but he’s always been at his best when channeling his off-kilter efforts towards the service of melody and songwriting (his more muscular songs tend to be his best). On No Constellation he doesn’t quite get this balance right, and the result is an uneven record whose opening promises plenty, but delivers without decisiveness. It’s a bit of a shame, but as a (re)start for both (post-So So Modern) Gilmour and Flying Nun there’s still enough here to suggest that the future could be plenty bright.

3/5

Album: No Constellation
Artist: Grayson Gilmour
Label: Flying Nun

In the seven years since the release of his DIY debut, Grayson Gilmour has firmly established himself as a leading light in New Zealand’s underground music scene. He has released four albums, an EP, and has been one quarter of Wellington’s peerless synth-punk powerhouse, So So Modern. Flying Nun has just announced that his fifth LP, No Constellation, will be their first release since their re-acquisition by its original owner, Roger Shepherd.

If that doesn’t deserve some press then we don’t know what does, so Salient sent Kim Wheatley on a mission to track down the famously hermetic musician and procure the low-down on the Flying Nun alliance, a recent mix up in the Dom Post, and on the rumoured So So Modern break-up(!).

I met up with Grayson in the back room at Olive, where he explained the intricacies of a little bit of a press mix-up.

Turns out a recent Dominion Post article on Grayson was published over a week early, messing up the press schedule for his new album, and forcing the crew at Flying Nun into a scramble to bring its promotion forward. To compound matters, The Dom Post misquoted him in their article, creating the impression that Grayson didn’t know who Flying Nun’s owner, Roger Shepherd was.

We laugh about this, and I assure Grayson that I’ll do my darndest not to misquote him, while also promising to use the images Flying Nun provided Salient with in their press kit (The Dom Post used a six-year-old press photo for their piece instead). Once all this has been cleared up, I ask Grayson if he can explain the backstory to signing with Flying Nun.

“It started about two years ago, just in little drips and drabs. My friend suggested I meet up with Roger, and then [flatmate and former VBC head-honcho] Matthew Davis [ended up] taking on a bit of a role within Roger’s working circle of friends. It was kind of an uncanny development, and it makes for funny living arrangements now.”

Intrigued, I ask how far in advance Grayson knew about the iconic label’s potential rebirth, and if he had recorded the album in the knowledge of it being released on Flying Nun. 
“The initial [expression of interest by Flying Nun] was in the loop about a year ago. And then I started recording [No Constellation] itself in about May last year, and I finished it in about July. It’s been a long wait to release this album!”

So why didn’t No Constellation come out sooner then?

“Well, it wasn’t set in stone at the time, but after hearing it a few months later they were like, well, we’re going to come back, and we’re keen to work with the album, let’s see how things go and we’ll try and have it out before the end of [2009].”

Unfortunately, the re-purchase of Flying Nun was held up, and Shepherd was forced to find new backers, a delay which had knock-on effects for the release of Grayson’s fifth LP.

“It was definitely weird [sitting on the album]. My subconscious was thinking ‘Maybe the album’s already been released, and that maybe no one liked it, which is why nobody’s said anything about it yet!’ … It’s definitely been a wait, but at least it wasn’t fatal or anything.”

I asked Grayson about the possibilities for international distribution through Flying Nun, and whether the label will be able to draw on its considerable reputation to get albums like his out beyond New Zealand’s shores.

“Because all of those relationships have been reformed we’re now in the process of finding out who we’re going to go with in the United States and in the UK. At the moment New Zealand is confirmed, Australia is confirmed, Japan is in the works, America is almost confirmed and Flying Nun and I are comparing forces for Europe because I’ve got a lot of friends over there through the connections So So Modern has made, so we’re trying to set up a complete network.”

Exciting times ahead. But Grayson is careful to stress that the new international outlook won’t fully compromise his DIY aesthetic or work ethic.

“One of the reasons why I went with Flying Nun was because they had the same approach or attitude to the music industry [as me]. You share the load, and you all know what’s involved. It isn’t like [adopts a faux-serious voice] ‘Oh, we can’t have the artist understand management!’ The music industry is a weird industry, but it’s not that hard to grasp.”

Case in point is the album’s cover, which Grayson explains is a photocopied scan of an image he found in an old Time magazine in his teens, and which he’d re-discovered on his hard-drive while trying to come up with a new cover. “I guess it has a zine-ish feel. You can even see the trim of the photocopier.” Grayson also assures me that he will continue to provide a DIY lyrics zine (as he has for prior releases) to those who want to purchase something with a little bit more of a personal touch. “It’s just a nice addition… and it’s still applicable for this release.”

As for the sound of No Constellation, Grayson explains that he’s careful to avoid pigeonholing himself. Although the album features a return to his piano-driven sound (which he left behind on his previous release, the largely acoustic Chapters EP) Grayson explains that some of his self-imposed limitations have ensured that there will be some degree of progression from its predecessors. For instance, the recording of No Constellation was the first time Grayson had recorded an album himself. In addition, So So Modern’s intensive touring scheduling ended up impacting on the album’s writing process.

“The way I wrote No Constellation was to start on one instrument and then transmogrify into another. I’d start writing on a guitar and then [when I went to record the part] I’d switch to another instrument… Quite a few of them started as ideas on the guitar because I was on tour and obviously wasn’t able to lug a piano around.”

Finally, I turn to a question which I’m slightly nervous to ask Grayson about: the small matter of the rumoured So So Modern breakup. I needn’t have worried though, as Grayson was happy to clarify matters.

“So So Modern is pretty much on a life sabbatical at this moment. The band has been playing shows for five years now, and we’ve done a hell of a lot. Especially in the last year with the band having to do things as a three piece [while fourth member Aiden Leong completed a medical internship]… I guess all the signs just point to: hey, let’s just have some fun. And this was probably the right time to take some time off. We’re all going to jump into our respective corners of the world in the following months… So we aren’t even going to be in the same country.”

But are they ruling out a reunion in the future?

“It’s hard to say whether something will happen again, or in what sort of capacity, but it’s not off the cards either.”

Grayson Gilmour is playing at Bodega on Saturday 8 May with Seth Frightening and Secret Knives opening. Tickets are $10 on the door or $25 for a ticket and a copy of No Constellation.

Where Salient takes a look at an album that was out of sync with the prevailing musical zeitgeist at the time of its release, but has managed to gain new lustre with the benefit of retrospect.

1987: Big Black – Songs About Fucking (Touch & Go)

“I think I fucked your girlfriend once / Maybe twice, I don’t remember / Then I fucked all your friends’ girlfriends / Now they hate you.”

But you didn’t really fuck her, did you Steve? Not once, not twice, not ever. And the reason you don’t really remember it very well is because IT NEVER HAPPENED.

How can I be so sure?

Because I’ve seen this.

In a weird way though, that desperately dorky-looking bum-bag encapsulates everything that was great about Big Black. Speaking bluntly, Albini and his pals were a bunch of loser no-hope nerds who were jaded about everything that was happening in music during the early-mid ‘80s. Or at least everything that was in any way unethical, pretentious, or which didn’t sound like the aural equivalent of being brutally savaged by a rabies-infected pit bull.

And just like that bum-bag, no aspect of their music was appealing (at least not in the conventional sense) because they were, in short, noise masochists, whose cheap guitars produced the same effect as biting on tinfoil: short stabbing blasts of pain. The subject matter of their songs was equally distasteful. Take ‘Colombian Necktie’, whose title literally references the practice of slashing your victim’s throat and pulling their tongue out through the gash. Its isolated opening chord sounds equally horrific. But for all their sonic and lyrical obscenity, the members of Big Black weren’t even remotely badass in any way, shape or form. They weren’t killers, rapists or thugs, just angry dudes with bad physiques who were compelled to do something a little different from their contemporaries.

And yet, you just can’t help but get a huge kick out of listening to these pathetic dorks rage about how “Sometimes you know you want to fuck somebody up / Sometimes you just want to fuck.” I guess it’s because playing the sadist can sometimes be pretty fun. With Songs About Fucking Big Black showed us why, with each song functioning as a cathartic expression of fantasy, an empowering means of escapism from both their, and our, otherwise banal forms of existence.