The lead up to the inaugural Harvest Festival in Parramatta Park was one rife with trepidation and questions. Would the event be plagued with the same problems as Soundwave, the flagship festival of its promoters? Would the venue work well, or would the long trek out west for some be fruitless? And dear god, why did those timetables take such a long time to surface?

As it turned out, it couldn’t have been a more perfect day. Minimal queues, beautiful art installations around the grounds, a mostly chilled crowd and, of course, brilliant music made Harvest a total success. This is me eating my words of worry. It was amazing.

KEVIN DEVINE

Opening the day’s musical festivities was Kevin Devine, one of today’s most underrated songwriters who really deserved a much later timeslot. Touring on the back of his newest album, Between The Concrete And Clouds, the shy Brooklynite offered a humble acoustic set that allowed his unique voice to tell fanciful stories buoyed by his thoughtful lyrics. His musical personality traverses everything from subdued troubadour to impassioned preacher, best illustrated on closing track Brother’s Blood, where he stepped away from the microphone to deliver earth-shattering screams at the track’s powerful climax.

HYPNOTIC BRASS ENSEMBLE

Over at the Great Lawn stage, the sounds of Hypnotic Brass Ensemble stirred the crowd into a frenzy. The band of brothers threw in a set that mixed traditional big band sounds with some truly exciting hip hop sensibilities, an atmosphere that would be carried on later by The Family Stone who, though without main man Sly these days, still managed to crank the funk up as the heat poured sweat down punters’ backs, sequins and glitter blinding eyes as the joyous music spilled from the stage. Sets like these were part of what made the festival so unique; rather than just the usual indie rock fare, there were very different elements on display at Harvest that allowed audience members to taste new flavours.

At the same time as HBE, over at the Windmill Stage, Brits This Town Needs Guns were spinning their math rock tunes with amazing precision, also showing off some new tunes, including the brilliantly named Cat Fantastic, while they were at it. Making the set all the more impressive was the fact that it was one of the first shows they were playing with their new line-up – they were a well-oiled unit and, in the spirit of Movember, sported fine facial hair (some better than others).

The dapper gentlemen in The Walkmen followed, and while their set did have the pleasantries of finely crafted indie rock, after a while it felt a little pedestrian and it was onwards to the previously mentioned Family Stone. In a similar funkified vein, TV On The Radio drew a massive crowd and proved that they’ve still got it following the year’s earlier tragedies. They were impeccably tight and very, very, verrrrry loud, a band perfectly suited to a festival, and tunes were drawn from all across their discography as the sweaty crowd screamed its approval.

BRIGHT EYES

What can you say about finally seeing a band you’ve desperately wanted to catch live since you were 14 years old? Last time Conor Oberst came to Australia as Bright Eyes, it was 2005 and at 17 years old, attending the headlining Metro show was sadly not a possibility – but hello, it’s 2011 and Bright Eyes are back and hey, they’re still awesome! Oberst was much happier than he was during his 2008 Mystic Valley tour, often joking around and displaying the most bizarre dance moves.

The jaunty Four Winds kicked off the set, which was largely a crowd pleasing selection of songs from across Oberst’s many albums. Of course the biggest cheers were saved for Lover I Don’t Have To Love, but Landlocked Blues was no doubt a highlight, with Oberst’s voice shining on its own as he carefully made his way through the emotive track. He and his backing members went a little mental during final song Road To Joy, as they always do, and by the time he strolled off stage everyone was that much closer to the end of that road. A pleasure and a privilege, finally, to hear songs that have as much meaning today, in a totally different way, as they did in the angsty teenage years – the mark of a fine songwriter, surely, to remain relevant throughout so many life changes.

THE NATIONAL

The National’s two shows in January remain some of the best of the year so far, and so it was with much anticipation indeed that they returned to Australia not even a year after their last visit. Matt Berninger and friends are one of modern music’s most inspiring success stories, living proof of slow and steady winning the race.

The band’s Harvest set drew heavily on tracks from the last two albums, High Violet and Boxer, and needed little more than Berninger’s deep vocals to be deemed life changing, incendiary, all those other words you hear thrown about. The addition of a brass section added that extra punch to some of the tunes, and Conversation 16 was a particularly moving inclusion, with thousands singing “I’m evil” in unison with Berninger. The National doesn’t need bells and whistles to deliver an utterly convincing performance, and Berninger’s customary descent into the crowd for closer Terrible Love was one of the day’s most uplifting moments.

There’s not much to say about this band that hasn’t been said before but if you’ve yet to check them out live, get along to a show if you can. Truly life-affirming stuff, every single time.

THE FLAMING LIPS

The Flaming Lips’s live show hasn’t changed much since it began, but it doesn’t need to. Though Wayne Coyne and co. were late by more than half an hour, much to the annoyance of many, by the time they finally appeared on stage all was forgotten as they emerged from a neon vagina. Surfing around the crowd in an enormous bubble, Coyne led the way through a colourful adventure as the audience reveled in balloons, confetti and of course music, with the mass singalong for Yoshimi Battles The Pink Robots Part 1 a particular tear-jerker.

The musical and visual aspects of the performance tied together to create something truly special, and by the time it all wrapped up with a blissfully spaced out Do You Realize??, all in attendance were on cloud nine. Rainbows raining down on a crowd with the warm almost-summer air kissing the tiny pieces of coloured paper. The perfect way to let those freak flags fly.

The closing set from headliners Portishead, delayed because of the Flips’ lateness, was one that proved ideal for lying down on the grass, listening while letting feet have a rest for the first time all day. The ethereal soundscapes, and Beth Gibbons’ haunting voice, were spellbinding, whether one was up front staring into the laser projections or hanging back, simply allowing the ears to bathe in the sounds around them. Glory Box was unsurprisingly the highlight, as suited to an expansive western suburbs field as a smoky bedroom with the lights on low.

For the first year of a festival especially, Harvest was a remarkably smooth and enjoyable day, with plenty of incredible live music to experience and an atmosphere both comfortable and exciting. Here’s hoping that next year’s edition is just as brilliant – this one looks like a keeper.

Queensland troubadour Darren Hanlon was an unlikely support act, but the crowd quickly warmed to his earnest personality both musical and otherwise. First performing solo with just a guitar, then joined by a drummer and Portland musician Shelley Short, and finally singing gently with a ukulele, the set rested on Hanlon’s conversational tone and the harmonies he wove with Short. When he was alone his manner resembled a Play School telling, with chatty interludes, but when his voice was doubled by the percussion-shaking Short’s the tunes took on a whole new life – Scenes From A Separation allowed her voice to shine. A highlight was I Waited For The 17, a grand display of Hanlon’s self-effacing humour.

2005 was the last time Sydney was treated to a full Bright Eyes set, with main man Conor Oberst retiring the name several years later and embarking on an entirely separate adventure. This year the moniker returned with The People’s Key, and tonight’s set comprised tunes from across Oberst’s decade-plus career.

Opening with the foot-stomping Four Winds, the ensuing set showed an Oberst in fine voice and form – surprising, considering his notoriously volatile nature – whether raucously yelling, with bodily actions to match, or solemnly enunciating. His backing musicians helped matters too, with Nate Walcott adding a beautiful muted trumpet to back the acoustic Lua and keyboardist Laura Burhenn’s vocals adding a sweet layer, particularly during the climax of Lover I Don’t Have To Love and the female-driven We Are Nowhere And It’s Now.

The audience sang along with reckless abandon, often lunging forward, attempting to touch Oberst’s hands. You could hear a pin drop when he offered more sombre numbers, like the piano-driven Ladder Song and the haunting No One Would Riot For Less, his voice shaking with emotion. Old songs like Bowl Of Oranges and The Calendar Hung Itself… were just as warmly received as newbies like the joyous Shell Games, and Cartoon Blues saw Oberst make use of silence as much as sound, often stopping for dramatic effect.

A manic Road To Joy was thrown in as an encore, with Oberst showing his unique sense of humour when introducing his bandmates before wrapping up with One For You, One For Me. It’s somewhat ironic that one of music’s most infamously depressed figures could evoke such joy from both himself and the audience, but it happened tonight. Bravo.
Giselle Nguyen

It’s all a bit of a hazy dream, with rainbow colours drifting lazily across the subconscious as the music swirls on. It’s the definition of a bedroom project, warm and fresh and utterly comfortable.

The Year Of Hibernation, the first album from Trevor Powers AKA Youth Lagoon, feels familiar and exciting all at once, a deft mix of reverb-drenched instrumentals, androgynous vocals and poppy electronic sounds. While opener Posters begins as a peaceful swirl, Powers’ voice almost a whisper, it soon morphs into a catchy electro-pop blip that’s propelled by a mixture of sounds, without needing to consistently rely on vocals. His voice never explicitly takes the fore, so covered in fuzz that it often simply becomes another instrument amidst all the other stacked lo-fi sounds.

Cheerful whistles are coupled with a thumping bass line on Afternoon, while 17 and July trade in the dance-ready rhythms for a more sentimental and emotion-based approach, with more traditional instruments, like piano and guitar, introduced as Powers tones it down a notch. The atmosphere especially
builds on Montana, where sounds continually pile onto each other as the motif, starting very humbly, grows into
something much bigger than itself by the end, but retains its heart as Powers’ vocals remain unassuming.

There’s something very personable about The Year Of Hibernation that allows it to stand apart from other dime-a-dozen chillwave and electronic acts. You can see Powers hunched over in his bedroom as you listen to this album – it’s modest and yet utterly enchanting, equally suited for parties and lazy afternoons.

Out now on Fat Possum/Spunk

Without his usual backing band tonight, Ohad Rein’s Old Man River songs were carried by only himself and a loop pedal. Opening with Sunshine, on which he accompanied himself with the acoustic guitar as percussion, the ensuing performance was quietly charming in its modesty, and the man himself displayed an endearingly self-effacing humour in between tunes. Highlights included the insertion of a spoken word Kerouac recording in one of the songs, a sweet call and response section in Religion and a stripped down cover of The Flaming Lips’ Do You Realize?? Though some of Old Man River’s songs are slightly pedestrian, Rein’s sheer likeability made his performance convincing and enjoyable.

The spirited fingerpicked opening of I Won’t Be Found began The Tallest Man On Earth’s set, utterly entrancing from start to finish. Often called this generation’s Dylan (and that’s not an overstatement), Kristian Mattson writes brilliant songs that are stylistically simple, but arresting in their stark honesty and intimacy. His voice tonight rang loud and clear, with less of an obvious twang than its recorded self, and the sold out room fell silent throughout to drink in every nuance. Changing between electric and acoustic guitars, Mattson casually admitted that many of his songs were “fucked up” – the haunting Where Do My Bluebirds Fly was one such song, in which his emotionally strained voice, over the sombre minor key plucking, was heartbreaking.

Mattson’s songs do not change much live, but they don’t need to – they possess such an enchanting closeness recorded that when they come to life before your eyes, it’s like greeting an old friend who you understand every part of. He took to the keyboard briefly, sang gently in unison with the guitar on Love Is All and soared spectacularly on The Dreamer, one of the more hopeful and uplifting songs he’s penned that was even more powerful on stage. King Of Spain was one of the evening’s sing-along moments, and during the encore the amicable Swede bantered playfully with an audience member who was adamant to hear Into The Stream. She got her wish with a beautiful rendition, before Mattson closed with a cover of Nico’s These Days.

Music like this needs no bells and whistles to be utterly captivating – it’s deeply emotional and simply true, which is all that music should be.

Originally published in The Drum Media

Carrying on from the pop-leaning electronic sound introduced on 2008’s Saturdays = Youth, Frenchman Anthony Gonzalez’s offers a double album influenced by two-disc wonders like Mellon Collie And The Infinite Sadness and The White Album.

Signature M83 moves are retained – the whispered utterances on Intro, in French on Echoes Of Mine and the ostinato-driven OK Pal; slowly built layers introduced separately on Another Wave From You; relaxed atmosphere on Fountains – but he really plays up his pop sensibilities on this album, best explored on the explosive single Midnight City, which combines his echoing vocals with a synth riff that dances its way through the track, joined by an ‘80s-tastic sax solo approaching the end.

Claudia Lewis and Steve McQueen see some electronic acrobatics that evoke overjoyed feelings of freedom and height, while Wait and Splendor allow Gonzalez to create harmonic layers and slow the pace, as do spacey instrumental interludes. The adorable Raconte-Moi Une Histoire builds from clicks and a repeated key pattern to a child recounting an encounter with a magical frog, sounding quite like a G-rated psychotropic experience and inciting a real sense of freewheeling childlike wonder. He even echoes entirely dissimilar groups like Fleet Foxes on tracks like Year One, One UFO, where electronics are used in a more pastoral, lush way.

Hurry Up… is bursting with unique ideas that are executed beautifully, proving that a double album isn’t redundant in an age when attention spans are probably otherwise dwindling. Every second is a revelation and, when all sewn together, the tapestry is a dazzling dream world of its own.

Out now on Pod/Inertia

So far this year, no other song has come close to this one for me. I was immediately drawn to it the first time I heard it, and not too long after that I lost a close childhood friend to suicide just after dealing with some other intense personal issues. I was scared and I was heartbroken and I had little to turn to for comfort, except for this song. Though the lyrics on Bon Iver’s latest album are quite cryptic, there was something about Holocene that really gave me such deep assurance, and I listened to this song literally hundreds of times during those weeks, which were some of the hardest of my life. The song feels desolate, but at the same time I felt a glimmer of hope from it every time I hit play. Some nights tears streaked my eyes and I stared out blankly into the black street, numb and grieving, but this song reminded me that it was okay to feel.

The official video is now out and though the imagery here is nothing much like what I see when I hear the song, it’s absolutely beautiful. A young boy explores the Icelandic wilderness on his own, sometimes looking scared and lost, other times looking completely liberated. The scenery is truly breathtaking in this video, from ice-capped glaciers to vast, moss-covered mountains and endless lakes. He is alone, but he is free, and as the video ends he closes his eyes, completely at peace. For me the song lives in a darker place than this because of its associations, but this video does it justice despite the fact that it’s not necessarily my interpretation.

I encourage everyone to listen to the song and watch the video and make what they will of both. The beauty of these ambiguous lyrics is that each individual will take something different away from them, and for me, this song was as close as I’ve ever come to a saviour.

Rachel – this will always be your song for me, even though you never heard it. I hope wherever you are is as beautiful as the places this video takes me.

My very valid question is – why, in my own state of not-marital-but-happy-in-a-long-term-relationship bliss, am I inexplicably drawn to sad songs by artists I don’t normally listen to? These two have been swirling around and around in my head for the last couple of weeks and both stir something up inside of me that I can’t quite explain. I suppose there’s a reason why people are driven to write so much more about heartbreak than anything else – I know myself that some of my own creative bursts have been inspired by similar things, and it’s easier to write about being hopelessly sad than it is to write about being happy, because really, how many ways can you rewrite a smiley face?

For a while on my iTunes I had a playlist of sad songs, prepared for any kind of break up or heartbreak that might be lurking around the corner. Don’t have that anymore, but every once in a while I’ll pop on Elliott or I Know It’s Over by The Smiths, as a reminder of the very raw centre of music. And hey, sometimes I’ll have a sneaky cry, even though I’ve got nothing much to cry about. Not too afraid to admit that I tear up a bit every time that god forsaken Adele song comes on in the shops, even though it’s been quite a while since I could relate. I’m one of them, aren’t I?

And on the topic of relationships, mine hits the two year mark in a week or so. We listen to things like Belle & Sebastian together, and he’s not such an Elliott fan. Probably a good influence.

It is with great sadness that we announce the cancellation of the Revolution Festival.

Tickets purchased online will be refunded automatically as soon as it can be processed. If you purchased from an outlet, refunds will be available next week from point of purchase.

So reads one of the most personally devastating music-related press releases of the year. While a lot of the music I write about on this blog isn’t what Soundwave normally covers, I was extraordinarily excited to go to the festival in September and see some of my favourite bands from my teenage years – Sum 41, Dashboard Confessional, Yellowcard and The Used, to name just a few – as well as more recent favourites, like Kevin Devine. It was truly an impressive line up, one that caused me to think that Soundwave had really outdone itself. Unfortunately that seems to be the case.

Rumour is running rampant about the real reasons behind the cancellation. We’ve been told that it’s because a headliner (Van Halen) pulled out, and a second co-headliner, due to be revealed in the twice-postponed second announcement (rumoured to be either Aerosmith or Limp Bizkit), also pulled out. It seems that the Soundwave team has pushed forward the statement that although it would have been more financially profitable to go on with the festival anyway, they weren’t willing to put an incomplete, or “inferior”, festival out there. To me this smacks of complete falsehood – out of the 60 or so other bands on the line up, surely people were attending for more than just the headliners – but it looks like this is the final word, and it’s a damn shame.

Word from the promoters is that “mini festivals” will be planned for each city, possibly one for metal bands and one for punk bands. I’m intrigued to see where this goes, and to see which bands will still be appearing. Most of all, the price tag on these mini festivals is a matter of great speculation – will they carry the same $170 demand, or will we be paying less for less bands? Part of the fun of a festival for me is checking out bands I’d never pay to see headline their own show – I was quite looking forward to seeing Van Halen and Hole, in particular – so I wonder how much of the festival experience will be lost with these new boutique line ups.

I attended the first two Soundwave festivals in Sydney, in 2007 and 2008. I have some wonderful memories from both, but also some extremely unpleasant ones – missing bands because of inordinately long lines for water, timetable shuffles that weren’t notified to anybody, a complete lack of signage at the actual venue… From the very start Soundwave has had organisational problems, and as much as I hate to say it, the cancellation of the Revolution festival is, while disappointing, not so surprising. It’s become routine for bands to drop out of Soundwave – it’s a very strange festival indeed if that doesn’t happen – and it’s incredibly upsetting that it’s come to this, the canning of a festival that possibly held a lot of promise, even if it was only supposed to be a one off event.

Looking forward, one of the worries on many music lovers’ minds at the moment is what this means for the upcoming Harvest, Soundwave’s new indie-orientated festival featuring Portishead, Bright Eyes, The National and more. It’s a completely amazing line up and I’ve already got my ticket, but right from the announcement of this new festival I was already trembling – what if Soundwave continued its streak? What if bands cancelled last minute, as they’ve been known to? We can only speculate for now, but as November draws closer we’ll be more in the know.

Was absolutely humbled several months ago to interview Munaf Rayani, guitarist for Explosions In The Sky, about their latest album, Take Care, Take Care, Take Care. This man was one of the most eloquent people I’ve ever had the fortune of interviewing, and I got off the phone feeling thoroughly enriched. Beautiful, just like the band’s wordless, but amazingly affecting, music. The album is out now on Spunk, and we can only cross our fingers that a tour might follow.

What are you up to at the moment?

We just got home a few days ago from doing a couple shows out west in California. We just did a couple of opening slots for the Arcade Fire. We’re taking off tomorrow morning to head over to Europe.

That’s incredible! How were those shows?

With the Arcade Fire? It was amazing, I think it was a great match and it usually makes for some of the best shows when there’s two bands that aren’t, you know, anything alike but hopefully offer a strong sound and a strong show. To double up on that I think makes for a great show. We felt very lucky that we got the opportunity to play with them.

Your songs are very intricate. How do you usually begin the writing process?

Right, well usually we start with one of us will work out a melody in our room and make sure that whoever is writing it is into it and then we present it to each other and if everybody’s liking from then we’ll expand on it, but a lot of times you can bring a melody to the table and you might get ‘oh I dunno, I’m not into it’ and it gets lost in the shuffle. It’s all very working together and hashing out melodies and working around different parts and seeing what we can do, but definitely a collective effort.

So how long does a song normally take?

I think the quickest we’ve ever written a song is two weeks and the longest we’ve taken to write a song has been two years, so it can just vary anywhere in there, you know. It’s just about patching the certain stride. There are times when we are so hyper critical of what it is we’re trying to write that it’s hard for anything to get through, so whatever does get through is only the best.

There are songs that sound like they have sections completely divorced from each other that could be different songs altogether – how do you decide when a song is finished and when to let it continue like that?

Just generally how it’s sounding to us, if it sounds complete or not. I mean, I definitely understand what you’re saying, it could sound like two different songs and often we consider breaking it up, but we end up thinking that a better story is being told with three parts than just one, because all of those parts are connected in one song, relate to each other and matter to each other. The first part could maybe not be as strong without the second part to follow it up or the third part wouldn’t make sense by itself without parts one and two that kind of lead you up to it. The songs just kind of…when they’re finished, they’re finished, never we know absolutely that we’re only gonna write this much and that’ll be that, it’s just kind of what it finds itself as.

I read that you had around 50 demos for this album. What happened to all of those? Were they fully fleshed songs or just ideas?

Exactly, a lot of ideas. Some of them were 20 or 30 second clips of guitar lines or drum beats or a couple of guitar lines together, just melody ideas, and others were two, three, five minutes long and a very extensive filtering process occurred over the last two or three years to whittle it down to the six, and it’s funny to say that only six made it out of the fifty that were presented.

Are there stories to go along with the songs?

I would say there are. I mean, definitely for us as we’re writing them, we think about a lot of different images and themes and storylines that we follow. The beauty of instrumental music is that the story is open for interpretation. I think that’s why it probably has the universal appeal, is that there’s no language barriers. The language is the music and while not everybody can read or write that, most everybody can understand it. It’s yours to do as you like. So yeah, a storyline is there for us, even in the album titles and song titles and artwork, is a very loose outline of a story that we’re telling but then it’s left to your imagination.

So could you describe one to me, or is it up to my interpretation only?

I could tell you what I maybe thought of it or what we were collectively thinking of it, but by no means is that the story at hand. The first track is called Last Known Surroundings, and our interpretation is the leaving of a familiar place and the landing in a new world. In Last Known Surroundings, we begin where we once were, where the foliage is familiar, where the angles aren’t so foreign, and as the song progresses and as we fly away you end up landing on a new planet. And this is again our interpretation of lush and exciting new landscapes and imagery, but even still in that place there’s a sense of familiarity even though you’ve never been there. So as obscure and vague as that may sound, that’s the storyline for us on that track.

So do you come up with the story first and then make a track to match?

In some instances we do, we come up with a story and try to follow that. Other times the song is writing itself and the story is being told, we’re figuring out the story as we’re writing it. So there’s never a particular method to completion, it’s just it all varies song to song.

Are there many disagreements between you all about the direction of the music?

Many of them. Something that is a part of what we do is that we’ve known each other for a long time in our lives, we knew each other long before we wrote any songs, so just think of your old friends and who you hang out with regularly – sometimes disagreements come up. So same thing. Going from ‘what are we gonna eat tonight?’, somebody might wanna go here and somebody might wanna go there, the same thing can kind of relate as we’re writing. One might say ‘well, I think we should go in this direction now’ and the other will say ‘well no, I think it’s more this direction’, and so conversation and compromise is brought to the table and nobody leads, we all follow. One hundred per cent, I mean that’s how it has to be with our band. If there’s any one man who’s not feeling good or strong about the entire song beginning to end, then it won’t make it, and I feel as though while that can be a detriment, it’s also been part of our success. We’re doing this together, there’s not one person making all the decisions.

People can always recognise music as yours because you’ve got a very distinctive sound. How do you try to progress from album to album?

I personally think that’s a really good thing, to establish a distinct voice in any work of art, any line of art, then you’re doing something right and so the way we evolve from album to album is just how we are growing in our lives, how you get older and your thinking changes and your thoughts are adjusted and when once you were so adamant about this side or the other, your priorities are now elsewhere. Just with age comes hopefully a maturation and hopefully even further that that’s heard and seen in our music.

What are the differences on Take Care… as opposed to earlier records?

I think subtle things are really showing up. Essentially if you listen to this particular album – well all of them I think have this quality too – but this particular album, if you listen to it on headphones, a couple of different times you might hear some things… The way things are moving from left ear to right ear and all around. So we tried to be a little more elegant in our movement, but melodies are our melodies. The way any one of us plays our instrument is because that’s who we are, it’s a reflection of a personality and no matter how hard you change throughout life, you’ll always be you and I think that’s what shows up in our music, is that those melodies and those techniques. Nobody is a virtuoso in our band. By ourselves we might be mediocre at best, but together, together I think we’re doing something exceptional.

Did you decide to be an instrumental band for a reason?

I don’t know if there’s anything specific that made us want to be instrumental or make the music that we’re making. We listen to all sorts of music and we’re just moved by it, so I think even, if only subconsciously, we wanted to make music that moved us, that moved ourselves and if we were lucky, then it might be effective in moving someone else. So that’s what it was – just what music did for us, I think at this point we are trying to turn around and do for someone else with our music.

Do you listen to many other instrumental acts, or are you trying to carve out your own individual sound?

The latter of the two. We’re just trying to do what we do. We don’t listen too much to other instrumental acts. We’ve been lucky to become friends with some other instrumental acts along the way – Mogwai has been a great champion of ours and vice versa for other years, this other band Mono from Japan, we have a friendship that’s far beyond music now. But other than those two instrumental bands, we don’t listen to anybody else. We listen to other things. We listen to the Arcade Fire, we listen to this new album I’ve been listening to by a person called Lykke Li from Sweden, I think. But that’s the new stuff. I mean, I’m still personally listening to soul music almost every day – Sam Cooke and Gladys Knight and The Four Tops – and stuff like that. Inspiration in music comes from all genres, there’s no specific genre that we are attached to. We’re attached to melody. If something has a strong sense to it, even if it’s sung in a language that we don’t understand, that’s what we’re looking to hear.

There are some vocals on this album, which we haven’t heard much from you before.

Yeah, just some chanting really, and some humming. I don’t think we think too much about singing lyrics and writing verse chorus stuff like that, but the introduction of these hums and oohs and ahhs and chants and stuff like that is just to offer it almost as another instrument, another melodic sound that hopefully accents and accentuates other melodies that are being performed on more traditional instruments, like guitars and bass and drums. It’s more or less just for texture, I don’t think it will ever become a focal point.

Would you ever consider it again?

Possibly – if there’s room for it in there and it’s not obtrusive or a forced position then definitely, I think that we will keep fiddling with it and seeing if it’s effective or not. It’s not something that we want to become a novelty and we don’t want to overdo it, so as the new songs get written we’ll see if they make it there or not.

You had an older track with some spoken word on it…

We had the spoken word on it and it was from a film that we were all pretty crazy about and are still crazy about, and it just seemed very fitting for the song, but that’s the only time that we pulled a sample like that.

You’ve done some soundtracking – have you been asked to do more?

We get approached pretty consistently with this. More indie stuff, more up and comer type stuff, but since we’ve done Friday Night Lights, which was a major motion picture, no, they haven’t been knocking our doors down about scoring more films, but we’re gonna try and make it otherwise. That’s something we would definitely love to evolve into fully. Not next year, not in two years, but hopefully five, ten years from now we’re scoring films as we are writing albums. They ask us from the catalogue, especially if something that they’ve heard from us matches their picture or whatever it is, and we kind of do it by a case by case basis. With indie stuff and up and coming stuff we rarely say no and it’s pretty great that somebody finds that our music can help them produce their own art, but for bigger things like scoring wise it would be a very selective process because we want to be a part of the great stuff, not just the good stuff, the great.

How do you find your performances differ from your studio work?

I think that it’ll always differ from the studio because in a live setting mistakes are made, you might miss a transition, you have to adjust on the fly, but we do the best to kind of simulate or reproduce the sounds on the albums. One of the moments in which we can be a little more liberal with the sounds and the melodies is the transitions from song to song, because when we play a set we tend to do it uninterrupted in the hour or hour and 15 that we’re playing. So within those transitions we can be a little more creative. I hope that when they come to see us play and are in that room with us for that hour or more, that as we are getting lost in the music, they who are standing in the crowd are lost as well. It’s an hour for all of us to get away from whatever it is that has been troubling us that day or those days or whatever it is in your life, that in this moment we can all get lost in music and when somebody sees us play they see the sincerity in which we are trying to play, because it matters to us to put on a good show and give it us all, and hopefully that’s accepted and embraced by someone.

You recently played a sold out show to 6000 people in New York. Do you prefer bigger or smaller shows?

I think on Monday I’d love to play in a huge room like that, on Tuesday I’d love to play in a really small room, on Wednesday I’d like to take off and Thursday that’s the big room. Both of them have their place in what we’re doing because in a theatre setting, we can really kind of soak in the room, in a smaller room, the whole crowd, it can become very intimate. So both have their pros and I’m happy with either… If we’re playing a show and you’re there, no matter what the room is, I’m happy.

I used to be strictly a winter person. Summer was my idea of hell – semi-naked brown bodies everywhere, sweat, singlet-clad bogans and beer spilled all over me? Yeah, I don’t think so.

Maybe it’s because this year’s winter has been particularly cold, but I find myself more and more disenchanted with the cold season and, inexplicably, craving the summer warmth. I was okay with this until I heard the new Memory Tapes album, Player Piano – this track in particular. It’s a lovely little slice of electro-pop with a dazzlingly infectious chorus and synth-led ostinato that makes me want to dust off my bikini and drive to the beach with it on repeat. When have I ever wanted to go to the beach before? THIS IS NUTS!

Player Piano is an album that’s got cuts suitable for summer, like this one, but also some that are perfect against the chilly backdrop of the current season with their experimentation and generally chilled out sound. A lot of it sounds like The Postal Service in their poppier moments, and it’s got a real air of continuity about it, whether that’s the almost-bookends Musicbox (In) and Musicbox (Out) or the similarity in vocal inflections between tracks.

It’s out now through Pod/Inertia, and is a serious forerunner for my top ten albums of 2011.