* Come Home For Autumn - 2003*Trimble's Over solo tape - 1996
Tracks: Hercules, Up On Your Bike,
Liberty Ran, Ablett, Gough, Letter
Tracks: Hercules, Up On Your Bike,
Liberty Ran, Ablett, Gough, Letter
*'Flipside' Candle Compilation - 2004
'Break In The Weather' Remixed By Machine Translations
'Break In The Weather' Remixed By Machine Translations
*'Hamper' Candle Compilation - 2006
'Residental Change' & 'The Government Line'
*Loyalty Songs album - 2006
'Residental Change' & 'The Government Line'
*Loyalty Songs album - 2006
Anthony has a Myspace page at www.myspace.com/anthonyatkinson
Audio Samples - Real Audio
*Self-Confidence from 'Loyalty Songs'
*She Let Him In from 'Loyalty Songs'
*Mental Notes Aplenty from 'Come Home For Autumn'
*Where Were You Tonight from 'Come Home For Autumn'
'Loyalty Songs' Notes From Anthony Atkinson
"To those of you interested enough to read on within the next few paragraphs I will give you a little heads up on what went on with this new offering of mine. To those of you who are bored already, well at least you know I’m offering something new and if you now make your way to the online store section of the Candle website I’d be much obliged.
The recording of Loyalty Songs started in early June and was completed this last week or so. We tracked with our good friend and all round guru Phil Romeril from the Small Knives and mixed with Craig Pilkington. Working with Phil was a pleasure and he added an element of assured classiness to the whole project being the tasteful fellow that he is. Craig came in at short notice to mix and we think he did a splendid job.
The most pleasing aspect of this recording from my point of view was the contribution made by my band. This as yet unnamed group of gentlemen contributed good will, good humour and good faith to the record and their influence on these songs shouldn’t be underestimated. Marty Donald and Louis Richter have been in the band for a good while now and their musical nous and sensibility is so in tune with my own that it makes the creative process somewhat luxurious. Dave Rose (drums) and Chris Baker (pedal steel) are newer members and the way they have shaped the construction of these songs and the sound of the album is undeniable.
As an album I think you’ll find it’s a much more coherent group of tunes that sound very much like they are the result of a group collaboration. While there are some more vulnerable moments throughout it feels like it has a harder edge to me. At first I was concerned for the fact that it seemed to be written primarily in the third person about women in fragile or fraught situations so for good measure I threw in some less gender specific moments.
I’m quite happy with the title and methinks that loyalty is a trait being celebrated, questioned or sought pretty much throughout all of these songs. The other joyous point worth noting is that for the first time in 10 years I’ve managed to crack the 45 minute mark. This album comes in at a slick 41 minutes and 55 seconds."
'Come Home For Autumn' Album Information
Anthony's debut solo album 'Come Home For Autumn' is full of emotive and honest songwriting, that captures the essence of life. Inspired by the likes of Richard Buckner, Damian Jurado and Joe Pernice, ‘Come Home For Autumn’ chronicles the small important things in life with an underlying melancholy and quiet desperation. Recorded by Matt Hills and mixed by Greg Walker from Machine Translations, the album highlights the strength of Anthony’s storytelling and insightful lyrics.
The album starts slowly with the folky ‘Summer’s Out’ and ‘Half An Hour In The Afternoon’ with its seductive refrain. Personal politics is never to far away with the pleading rock-out ‘Rediscover Me’. The beat backed ‘Where You Were Tonight’ forms the heart and soul of the album with its mournful story about loss.
The sombre ‘Sidestep’ literally makes way for ‘A Break In Weather.’ The dirgy ‘Opposite Ends’ is helped along the plodding rhythmic double bass. The album closer ‘Shifting Sands’ is probably the best duet you’ll hear this year with the pain of relationship disintegration clearly on display.
Apart from the great songwriting, the album’s subtle use of instrumentation (organ, horns etc) and arrangement is indeed a highlight, and rewards repeated listens. Every note and instrument is in its perfect place and Greg Walker’s mix gives the album the space to catch its breath.
Like most solo albums it was a collaborative effort. There are plenty of guests who helped including Louis Richter (Mid-State Orange) who played all the guitar parts and co-produced the album, Mark Monnone (The Lucksmiths), Stanley Paulzen (Ruck Rover) and Kim Parker (The Mabels) who did the wonderful vocals.
Anthony’s Notes On The New Album
“Hi Candle friends, I was asked me to write something about my new record so here’s something to read about my new record. ‘Come Home For Autumn’ was recorded over a couple of months earlier this year above the Rob Roy hotel on the south side of Fitzroy. I had lots of friends help me out on this album and I think they’ve all had a hand in making this a subtle departure from the records I made with The Mabels. Some of the guests include Mark Monnone, Stanley Paulzen, Kim Parker and Louis Richter. Speaking of Louis he was a champion for the cause co-producing the record and playing guitar, keyboards and percussion. Greg Walker from Machine Translations mixed the album and added another perspective to the project for which I am really grateful.
Overall I think this album has some broader strokes lyrically and is musically more diverse than past efforts. While there is still a first person narrative to some of the songs I don’t think that it’s as strict in its story telling elements and as a result I hope this stretches the themes and moods captured in the songs a bit. The music on the album comes from a slightly different place because for the first time the songs were written primarily as solo songs and then filled out by different players where required.
Due to the fact that I haven’t played live much over the last 12 months many of these songs will be new to the listener. This was a conscious decision in order to introduce the songs as recordings first and then interpret them for the live shows after the record has been released.
Some of the new songs differ quite dramatically on this record. There’s a song called ‘Opposite Ends’ which is a dirgy folk tune that features soundscape guitar and double bass and is written from the perspective of a man looking back on his relationship and lamenting how it seems that he and his partner never stopped growing apart. This is in stark contrast musically to ‘Rediscover Me’ which while it still deals with a whiny fellow it features loud and layered guitars. While the album as a whole couldn’t be called a pop record some of the songs were given the pop treatment in the studio. ‘Mental Notes Aplenty’ has a couple of keyboard parts and a big horn section at the end and ‘A Break In Weather’ features sleepy slide guitar, gentle backing vocals and a reprise complete with a chorus of bah bah bah’s.
I think ‘Come Home For Autumn’ is representative of a few different styles that make up my musical background while at the same time being held together by a common thread that I hope is unique to my songs.”
_____________________________________________________________
BLUE MOON OF FITZROY - Anthony Atkinson Story By Richard Vogt
Chapter One: The Premise
Take life, 'frinstance. Life doesn't necessarily work out how you'd like. It stands to reason, then, that the history of The Mabels will not be one doused in hyperbole and with snooker rooms full of trophies and medals. And without wanting to make that seem like too much of a tragedy, it's a fucking tragedy. See, Anthony Atkinson (singer/songwriter of aforementioned band) is one of the finest songwriters I have ever come across. It matters little that only a few thousand people have ever heard these songs. Because this is life, remember, and people do get retrenched and lose limbs because of another's stupidity and then their dog ends up being allergic to bees and so it is almost impossible to have fun with her without a knot beneath the solar plexus which tightens when she goes near flowers and clover, and then you have to keep a needle full of cortisone at hand. But I digress. Ahem.
The Mabels. My favourite band in the world (okay, it’s a dead heat between them, The Cannanes and Beat Happening). Ever heard of them? It was probably 1997 I first heard them. I was stickering CDs in a tiny stockroom in the centre of Melbourne, bemoaning the lack of ventilation while cursing the fact that I had to go to my second job that night. I was doing it so that I could release records by people whose names I now forget. It was summer. There was cricket on the radio most days. And in a box of MDS stuff, the 'Caravan Park Girlfriend' EP. Once I had got over the fact that I hated the artwork, I managed to listen to it a few times. Yeah, not too bad, I thought. Some of those songs ain't too shabby at all, I foolishly surmised. It sat in a pile by the stereo all summer. The rest, inevitably, was all bells and blinding lights.
Like myself, and nearly everyone I know, Anthony Atkinson (almost universally known as Atko) is clever without being a genius. He is not ugly nor is he likely to stand out in a room packed with other gents. He's definitely not rich but he's getting by; he has enough to shout a round occasionally or buy that latest favourite record. He's happy most always but he still finds himself a couple of times a month lying awake at three in the morning wondering what it all means, and why should he really bother anyway. And, like myself, he has absolutely no idea what to do with his life. All he knows is music and that somehow it must all come back to that.
And because he's honest about all this and dares put it in his songs with various buffers of fiction and fancy it is hard not to love the man. And though The Mabels would be nothing without the other three members - well, no, they'd be pretty much better than any of your favourite bands whichever way you look at it - it's his openness which brings the guts of their worth to the fore.
"Without sounding too wanky," he confides on one of the handful of tapes I record this particular afternoon, "there is a real distinct sense of feeling and emotion that comes out in our music."
Chapter Two: How To Follow Greatness With Silence
Normally, you can't shut him up. He's foaming at the mouth, piling up empty glasses of ale and perfecting anecdotes. This unnecessarily hot March afternoon in Melbourne, Atkinson sits opposite me struggling for the words that have stuck in his gums. Don't believe me? Consider this particularly erudite exchange: "So, do you want your solo album to sound like The Mabels or not?" "I don't think... I don't think... (heavy exhale) I reckon... Oh, geez, I don't know... “(He tries to restart but stares at the trees in the beer garden instead, praying for interjection from across the table).
Yeah, it's not exactly the script from a Mensa convention. It's not exactly the type of quotable we have come to expect from the man in the past - known for more casual theories on sport and relationships than anyone this side of (dare I say?) The Footy Show. Here, mid-March 2002 I present to you the new look Anthony Atkinson: a man who can no longer hide beneath the comfort of a rock band, a slightly more confused and professional songwriter who has realised - whether from the strange shadows spilt on the backyard of his new share house or by the repeated warnings of those around him who have run out of patience with his self-abuse of talent - the writing is on the wall. Or, if I may, I present to you the best songwriter in Australia.
We adjourn swiftly and thirstily to the Standard Hotel (you'll find it parallel to Brunswick Street if you look hard enough) and in particular the warm embraces of its never-ending beer garden. Along the way we catch up on the brief essentials - who's doing what with whom and where. We manage to sink a couple of ales before I even bother to get out the dictaphone and press record. This is the way it has always been with Atko. I am loathe to formalise proceedings: it seems almost wrong. But still I do: trying to straddle that line which blurs fanatic and friend.
I'm in Melbourne for a few days forced holidays and it's bloody hot. The sun is burning a screwdriver shape into my recently shaved head. And the fact that I'm millimetres from bald isn't exactly helping the fact as I reach for the terry towelling hat in my backpack. I sense that he'd approve. Or maybe I'm just romanticising those bits about Atkinson I know. (Weeks later we would share a tipsy cavalcade of reminiscences concerning the pure joy of test match cricket - the excitement of that first session of five days of white-clothed chess. People walk by as our voices rise, giving concerned looks and trying not to stare too directly.)
Briefly - The Mabels. Who the hell are they? Why should you care?
Simply, and without hyperbole, The Mabels are pretty much my favourite band. If you've heard them and got them (and I mean got them; say it in italics) then you will know what I'm saying. If you've heard them and dismissed them as a bunch of mates writing solid but forgettable roots tunes - and if you have seriously understood where they are coming from but still written them off as amateurs - then you're a fucking idiot and it's probably best if you read no further. Because, not only are you likely to not give a shit what the next few thousands words are all about, you're likely to not get any of this haemorrhage of adjectives and ill-formed sentences. To those of you whom I now address, please close the door quietly on your way out. Feel free to ask for a refund.
Chapter Three: Of Labels and Good Intentions
Having existed for about five years in a couple of different guises - originally named The Troubadours, believe it or not - The Mabels have always fallen in between the cracks of the Candle Records stereotype. Bands whose fans all wear glasses and cardigans and can most likely recite all the lines to Withnail and I as readily as they can tell you who is most likely to win the AFL grand final this year. Oh, and they're most likely vegetarian (if not vegan). With his upcoming solo album, Atkinson is hoping to make this difference even more obvious. "I want to make it even more polarised, more definite, that this is a different thing.
"My ex-girlfriend used to say to me 'You guys suffer from being on Candle Records as much as you benefit from it.' I find that hard to believe because I so love the label, love what Chris has done for me, and love the fact that everyone still works their arse off for us. And I think the benefits definitely outweigh that. But her point was - in terms of perception - fair enough."
We are silent for a tiny moment, one that seems a hell of a lot longer. There are words that must be carefully chosen here. For some reason neither of us can put into words, one that he has almost summed up - something which has bugged me about the band almost from day one - when I finally did get (remember, italics) their first EP and flogged it like nothing I have obsessed over since. There's a sort of bogey on the band that Candle cannot be blamed for. But which no doubt is about Candle Records. It's just that, if they were on Spunk or Trifekta or any other 'boutique' label, chances are they would have... well, yeah, chances are. But as it is, they don't fit in the cute librarian-fetish music Candle is most successful with.
"The band I equate ourselves with, on the label, more than anyone, were The Simpletons. I reckon The Simpletons genre-hopped a lot and I reckon we do a bit also and it's because (mimics geeky music fan) 'oh, I love that sort of music, oh and I love that sort of music, and that...' and I'm loving all these different sorts of records, and (with The Simpletons) that's why people didn't get it."
As he veers off into another of his customary rants - this time about what made Shane Simpleton such a good songwriter - I zone out a little and wonder whether to mention that he has named one of the few bands on Candle whose shelf life has struggled to last beyond their break up. Or is he trying to explain to me the reason Darren Hanlon helped produce the 'Scenes From A Midday Movie' album?
Instead, refreshed glasses in our hands we turn to gossip concerning recent AFL affairs. It lasts long enough to approach the problem from a different angle. "Maybe all I'm really saying is that I do want it to have the ambiguities and differences that The Mabels had, but in a solo record. And to capture that just with the songs."
In other words, leaving aside the multi-talented Kimba and Lobby and David Kneale, Atko has no grounds for a weak chorus line this time out. There'll be no cotton wool on the mixing - which is not to say that they won't be involved on the album; I daresay they'll feature on the album more than even Atko would have wished as he sits opposite me struggling for the ideal. It's just that, well, I've heard a few of the new songs played live and they shit all over even something as good as ‘Streets of Brisbane’. They're assured but timid in the way people spoke of Gram Parsons' gift. Sad and true to life as Atko has always been.
"I'm trying to get to the core of how deep, how serious or how honest I want to be," he says, trying to sum up a five-minute monologue that has said next to nothing other than chasing the same idea in circles. That idea has no real theology other than I Really Fucking Mean It This Time. I'm Turning Thirty This Year and I've Had Enough Of Dicking About In Pop Bands.
Chapter Four: All My Friends Are Getting Married
(or, Seven into four just doesn't go)
‘The Closest People’ is an extraordinary album. End of sentence.
In the first draft I had of this, you would have had to hear a gruesomely tiring essay on why that is a fact. This time round I haven’t been nearly so self-righteous. The sentence will have to stand uncontested. And, like a previous chapter alludes to - How do you follow greatness with silence?
After doing the Candle shows up and down the Eastern coast in January 2001, The Mabels were put in self-imposed exile for most of the year. They played two small gigs in Melbourne, no more. Atkinson worked at Polyester Records part time. He moved house after many years of being able to stumble home from the Punters Club to Cecil St. The Punters closed when their long-term lease expired and the agent demanded triple the previous rent. Everything was changing. Relationships weren’t working, people were moving closer and further apart around him - and within the band itself, life was blossoming for the other members.
In February 2002 Kimba got married to a nice lad named Mark. He had helped hang out on the North American tour that Atkinson and Kimba had done the previous year. A fortnight after this interview took place, Lobby was finally going to be married to Sarah. Meanwhile cross town, as they say in the movies, Ryan moved in with his girlfriend.
“And you,” I say, “All you’ve got is a picture of your sister in your wallet.”
“Exactly!” he laughs sadly. “That says it all.” Atko found himself sharing the happy hours, though - MC at Kim’s wedding, and grooms man at Lobby’s. “See: they had roles for me.” he offers, suggesting again that they will all feature on his ‘solo’ record.
Do the rest of the band find it ironic that you’re the relationship song-writing guy but you are the only one without one?
Atko melts into a sort of soundless laughter that sees him come up for air with his finger pointed accusingly at me. “Thanks mate, thanks a lot! Just when I get the feeling that I’m divulging myself, talking about the slow process I need ahead...”
The writing was on the wall of North Fitzroy share houses by mid 2001, however, when it was plain that The Mabels existed in nothing but name and back catalogue. That was around the time that both Kimba and Lobby were engaged to their partners, within a fortnight of each other, and though shacking up with one’s beloved doesn’t automatically spell a life of Tupperware and doilies (off the top of my head; The Cannanes, Sonic Youth, Yo La Tengo), it is equally safe to assume that neither band member were banking on a life as a Brian Wilson dilettante type.
“They turned in on themselves,” Atkinson explains, “and thought: ‘well, this is the most important thing in our lives’. I think everyone moved into that level of security which made it easier for me (to assume the band was no longer a going concern).”
The last performances by the band, on a grand scale, at the Candle 2002 concerts were so much better than anyone else those nights that it is a shame for the band to have faded away at their peak. But fuck it; it’s better than turning into Lou Reed I guess.
Chapter Five: A Sporting Declaration
The sun is just getting worse, I reckon. I can fell my neck colouring where the brim of my hat ends and my flesh begins. Time for another beer? My shout. When I return, Atkinson is sitting opposite me finishing an anecdote I’d skipped out on halfway through.
“Okay. The issue at hand,” I prod.
“Which is?”
“So, you’re sick of sporting metaphors?”
He pisses himself; whether because he knew that question was coming or because he’d been thinking that very thing while we’d been discussing football.
“Life isn’t sport, or something,” I paraphrase. I’m sure I’d heard him say that recently in print or in person.
He regains composure: “Yeah I’ve said that a few times. That’s been my mantra, buddy, for the last six months. ‘No more sporting metaphors’. Only because - ” he says, tapping on the table, once again stuck for the right words.
“Because people don’t take it seriously?”
“Yeah, I guess that, but also - it’s kind of like a show pony that has lost it’s trick, you know what I mean? The connection obviously has a humour part to it. But it’s also a bit too blokey, the whole sport thing. But God knows, I’ve found it hard not to write any songs without sport in them!”
Deep breaths give us room to work on our cold ales. He restarts: “There’s also this little cocoon that is me that’s trying to... trying to.. Like: I live in Fitzroy still, and work at a record store - I don’t know...” You’re trying to kick against it a bit by seeming more working class and blokey?
“Yeah, well, but also - sport is a massive (and here he emphasises the word with two lines of an imaginary Artline texta firmly scribbled beneath it), massive part of my life.”
So, no sport. More romance? What conclusions have you come to?
“Well, I don’t have to write about the things I’m most interested in all the time. I love food, maybe I should just use more food metaphors?”
And the mood changes within a moment. Between the time his mind had thought of the last sentence and then said it out loud. Atkinson leans forward, across the table. He has a habit of leaning in close toward you as he talks. It’s not like he is trying to keep (or, even, share) a secret, nor is he trying to make you feel close to him. It’s just that he leans in close to you sometimes as he talks. He does the same thing in his songs, you might notice.
“To be honest with you,” he starts as he puts his glass down and stares, “I want to do the solo record or EP this year because there is a lot of change in my mind set. I want to change the content.”
We’re not going to get MA content, then, are we? Somehow, implausibly though not unexpected, we find ourselves taking another five minute detour which takes in scenic sites such as Darren Hanlon and Richard Easton. About how there is a “bit of wave that comes with Crouchy and Candle”, that wave being Crouchy’s enthusiasm. “Every time he sees you, it’s ‘How’s the song writing going? Are we going to get a record out this year’?”
And thank our lucky stars he’s around. For all the talent he has, I get the impression oft times that Atko might have been spending his time pissing against the troughs between Collingwood and Fitzroy were it not for the expectations that Crouchy places upon him. Not that I’d do any different, mind you
Chapter Six: Cheesy-Fries
My partner and I sit with Atko one evening a little while later, enjoying cheese-covered fast food somewhere on George St, Sydney. He’s discussing the pending tour with Darren Hanlon (if memory serves me right, it was the first night of a month long jaunt) that will take our two heroes from North Queensland to Perth and then back to the East Coast via Tasmania. He’ll turn thirty on the road, he announces; somewhere near Margaret River he’s guessing. What do I have to show for it? he wonders out loud.
We reminisce about the good old days: being a kid with no responsibilities, nothing to worry about and nothing to have to look forward to. His dad was a commentator at the local speedway, he remembers. Once, he took a girl on a date to some local show, and as they were walking around his dad spotted him from the commentator’s box. “And there’s my son with his date,” Mr Atkinson bellowed through the loud speakers, “over there by the track!” Both Amber and I curl with embarrassment as he recounts the night. “Give us a wave, son,” he said.
Before we head back into the Metro, Amber turns to him and lets him know just what he has to show for it – being used to placating difficult boys like myself – ticking off all he has going for him. Yeah, he says, nodding his head. She tells him about when I got the ‘Shifting Sands’ single and played it back to back for about two hours, looking all sad and sulky for the couple depicted in the song. We wonder if he is judging himself against those around him enjoying far more success and material gain. Nah, he says, wiping his greasy hands on the cheapest little crumbly napkin you ever did see. Nah, I gave up that game long ago, he confesses. For tonight he seems to admit that life is pretty good. It could be better, sure, but it could be a hell of a lot worse.
Audio Samples - Real Audio
*Self-Confidence from 'Loyalty Songs'
*She Let Him In from 'Loyalty Songs'
*Mental Notes Aplenty from 'Come Home For Autumn'
*Where Were You Tonight from 'Come Home For Autumn'
'Loyalty Songs' Notes From Anthony Atkinson
"To those of you interested enough to read on within the next few paragraphs I will give you a little heads up on what went on with this new offering of mine. To those of you who are bored already, well at least you know I’m offering something new and if you now make your way to the online store section of the Candle website I’d be much obliged.
The recording of Loyalty Songs started in early June and was completed this last week or so. We tracked with our good friend and all round guru Phil Romeril from the Small Knives and mixed with Craig Pilkington. Working with Phil was a pleasure and he added an element of assured classiness to the whole project being the tasteful fellow that he is. Craig came in at short notice to mix and we think he did a splendid job.
The most pleasing aspect of this recording from my point of view was the contribution made by my band. This as yet unnamed group of gentlemen contributed good will, good humour and good faith to the record and their influence on these songs shouldn’t be underestimated. Marty Donald and Louis Richter have been in the band for a good while now and their musical nous and sensibility is so in tune with my own that it makes the creative process somewhat luxurious. Dave Rose (drums) and Chris Baker (pedal steel) are newer members and the way they have shaped the construction of these songs and the sound of the album is undeniable.
As an album I think you’ll find it’s a much more coherent group of tunes that sound very much like they are the result of a group collaboration. While there are some more vulnerable moments throughout it feels like it has a harder edge to me. At first I was concerned for the fact that it seemed to be written primarily in the third person about women in fragile or fraught situations so for good measure I threw in some less gender specific moments.
I’m quite happy with the title and methinks that loyalty is a trait being celebrated, questioned or sought pretty much throughout all of these songs. The other joyous point worth noting is that for the first time in 10 years I’ve managed to crack the 45 minute mark. This album comes in at a slick 41 minutes and 55 seconds."
'Come Home For Autumn' Album Information
Anthony's debut solo album 'Come Home For Autumn' is full of emotive and honest songwriting, that captures the essence of life. Inspired by the likes of Richard Buckner, Damian Jurado and Joe Pernice, ‘Come Home For Autumn’ chronicles the small important things in life with an underlying melancholy and quiet desperation. Recorded by Matt Hills and mixed by Greg Walker from Machine Translations, the album highlights the strength of Anthony’s storytelling and insightful lyrics.
The album starts slowly with the folky ‘Summer’s Out’ and ‘Half An Hour In The Afternoon’ with its seductive refrain. Personal politics is never to far away with the pleading rock-out ‘Rediscover Me’. The beat backed ‘Where You Were Tonight’ forms the heart and soul of the album with its mournful story about loss.
The sombre ‘Sidestep’ literally makes way for ‘A Break In Weather.’ The dirgy ‘Opposite Ends’ is helped along the plodding rhythmic double bass. The album closer ‘Shifting Sands’ is probably the best duet you’ll hear this year with the pain of relationship disintegration clearly on display.
Apart from the great songwriting, the album’s subtle use of instrumentation (organ, horns etc) and arrangement is indeed a highlight, and rewards repeated listens. Every note and instrument is in its perfect place and Greg Walker’s mix gives the album the space to catch its breath.
Like most solo albums it was a collaborative effort. There are plenty of guests who helped including Louis Richter (Mid-State Orange) who played all the guitar parts and co-produced the album, Mark Monnone (The Lucksmiths), Stanley Paulzen (Ruck Rover) and Kim Parker (The Mabels) who did the wonderful vocals.
Anthony’s Notes On The New Album
“Hi Candle friends, I was asked me to write something about my new record so here’s something to read about my new record. ‘Come Home For Autumn’ was recorded over a couple of months earlier this year above the Rob Roy hotel on the south side of Fitzroy. I had lots of friends help me out on this album and I think they’ve all had a hand in making this a subtle departure from the records I made with The Mabels. Some of the guests include Mark Monnone, Stanley Paulzen, Kim Parker and Louis Richter. Speaking of Louis he was a champion for the cause co-producing the record and playing guitar, keyboards and percussion. Greg Walker from Machine Translations mixed the album and added another perspective to the project for which I am really grateful.
Overall I think this album has some broader strokes lyrically and is musically more diverse than past efforts. While there is still a first person narrative to some of the songs I don’t think that it’s as strict in its story telling elements and as a result I hope this stretches the themes and moods captured in the songs a bit. The music on the album comes from a slightly different place because for the first time the songs were written primarily as solo songs and then filled out by different players where required.
Due to the fact that I haven’t played live much over the last 12 months many of these songs will be new to the listener. This was a conscious decision in order to introduce the songs as recordings first and then interpret them for the live shows after the record has been released.
Some of the new songs differ quite dramatically on this record. There’s a song called ‘Opposite Ends’ which is a dirgy folk tune that features soundscape guitar and double bass and is written from the perspective of a man looking back on his relationship and lamenting how it seems that he and his partner never stopped growing apart. This is in stark contrast musically to ‘Rediscover Me’ which while it still deals with a whiny fellow it features loud and layered guitars. While the album as a whole couldn’t be called a pop record some of the songs were given the pop treatment in the studio. ‘Mental Notes Aplenty’ has a couple of keyboard parts and a big horn section at the end and ‘A Break In Weather’ features sleepy slide guitar, gentle backing vocals and a reprise complete with a chorus of bah bah bah’s.
I think ‘Come Home For Autumn’ is representative of a few different styles that make up my musical background while at the same time being held together by a common thread that I hope is unique to my songs.”
_____________________________________________________________
BLUE MOON OF FITZROY - Anthony Atkinson Story By Richard Vogt
Chapter One: The Premise
Take life, 'frinstance. Life doesn't necessarily work out how you'd like. It stands to reason, then, that the history of The Mabels will not be one doused in hyperbole and with snooker rooms full of trophies and medals. And without wanting to make that seem like too much of a tragedy, it's a fucking tragedy. See, Anthony Atkinson (singer/songwriter of aforementioned band) is one of the finest songwriters I have ever come across. It matters little that only a few thousand people have ever heard these songs. Because this is life, remember, and people do get retrenched and lose limbs because of another's stupidity and then their dog ends up being allergic to bees and so it is almost impossible to have fun with her without a knot beneath the solar plexus which tightens when she goes near flowers and clover, and then you have to keep a needle full of cortisone at hand. But I digress. Ahem.
The Mabels. My favourite band in the world (okay, it’s a dead heat between them, The Cannanes and Beat Happening). Ever heard of them? It was probably 1997 I first heard them. I was stickering CDs in a tiny stockroom in the centre of Melbourne, bemoaning the lack of ventilation while cursing the fact that I had to go to my second job that night. I was doing it so that I could release records by people whose names I now forget. It was summer. There was cricket on the radio most days. And in a box of MDS stuff, the 'Caravan Park Girlfriend' EP. Once I had got over the fact that I hated the artwork, I managed to listen to it a few times. Yeah, not too bad, I thought. Some of those songs ain't too shabby at all, I foolishly surmised. It sat in a pile by the stereo all summer. The rest, inevitably, was all bells and blinding lights.
Like myself, and nearly everyone I know, Anthony Atkinson (almost universally known as Atko) is clever without being a genius. He is not ugly nor is he likely to stand out in a room packed with other gents. He's definitely not rich but he's getting by; he has enough to shout a round occasionally or buy that latest favourite record. He's happy most always but he still finds himself a couple of times a month lying awake at three in the morning wondering what it all means, and why should he really bother anyway. And, like myself, he has absolutely no idea what to do with his life. All he knows is music and that somehow it must all come back to that.
And because he's honest about all this and dares put it in his songs with various buffers of fiction and fancy it is hard not to love the man. And though The Mabels would be nothing without the other three members - well, no, they'd be pretty much better than any of your favourite bands whichever way you look at it - it's his openness which brings the guts of their worth to the fore.
"Without sounding too wanky," he confides on one of the handful of tapes I record this particular afternoon, "there is a real distinct sense of feeling and emotion that comes out in our music."
Chapter Two: How To Follow Greatness With Silence
Normally, you can't shut him up. He's foaming at the mouth, piling up empty glasses of ale and perfecting anecdotes. This unnecessarily hot March afternoon in Melbourne, Atkinson sits opposite me struggling for the words that have stuck in his gums. Don't believe me? Consider this particularly erudite exchange: "So, do you want your solo album to sound like The Mabels or not?" "I don't think... I don't think... (heavy exhale) I reckon... Oh, geez, I don't know... “(He tries to restart but stares at the trees in the beer garden instead, praying for interjection from across the table).
Yeah, it's not exactly the script from a Mensa convention. It's not exactly the type of quotable we have come to expect from the man in the past - known for more casual theories on sport and relationships than anyone this side of (dare I say?) The Footy Show. Here, mid-March 2002 I present to you the new look Anthony Atkinson: a man who can no longer hide beneath the comfort of a rock band, a slightly more confused and professional songwriter who has realised - whether from the strange shadows spilt on the backyard of his new share house or by the repeated warnings of those around him who have run out of patience with his self-abuse of talent - the writing is on the wall. Or, if I may, I present to you the best songwriter in Australia.
We adjourn swiftly and thirstily to the Standard Hotel (you'll find it parallel to Brunswick Street if you look hard enough) and in particular the warm embraces of its never-ending beer garden. Along the way we catch up on the brief essentials - who's doing what with whom and where. We manage to sink a couple of ales before I even bother to get out the dictaphone and press record. This is the way it has always been with Atko. I am loathe to formalise proceedings: it seems almost wrong. But still I do: trying to straddle that line which blurs fanatic and friend.
I'm in Melbourne for a few days forced holidays and it's bloody hot. The sun is burning a screwdriver shape into my recently shaved head. And the fact that I'm millimetres from bald isn't exactly helping the fact as I reach for the terry towelling hat in my backpack. I sense that he'd approve. Or maybe I'm just romanticising those bits about Atkinson I know. (Weeks later we would share a tipsy cavalcade of reminiscences concerning the pure joy of test match cricket - the excitement of that first session of five days of white-clothed chess. People walk by as our voices rise, giving concerned looks and trying not to stare too directly.)
Briefly - The Mabels. Who the hell are they? Why should you care?
Simply, and without hyperbole, The Mabels are pretty much my favourite band. If you've heard them and got them (and I mean got them; say it in italics) then you will know what I'm saying. If you've heard them and dismissed them as a bunch of mates writing solid but forgettable roots tunes - and if you have seriously understood where they are coming from but still written them off as amateurs - then you're a fucking idiot and it's probably best if you read no further. Because, not only are you likely to not give a shit what the next few thousands words are all about, you're likely to not get any of this haemorrhage of adjectives and ill-formed sentences. To those of you whom I now address, please close the door quietly on your way out. Feel free to ask for a refund.
Chapter Three: Of Labels and Good Intentions
Having existed for about five years in a couple of different guises - originally named The Troubadours, believe it or not - The Mabels have always fallen in between the cracks of the Candle Records stereotype. Bands whose fans all wear glasses and cardigans and can most likely recite all the lines to Withnail and I as readily as they can tell you who is most likely to win the AFL grand final this year. Oh, and they're most likely vegetarian (if not vegan). With his upcoming solo album, Atkinson is hoping to make this difference even more obvious. "I want to make it even more polarised, more definite, that this is a different thing.
"My ex-girlfriend used to say to me 'You guys suffer from being on Candle Records as much as you benefit from it.' I find that hard to believe because I so love the label, love what Chris has done for me, and love the fact that everyone still works their arse off for us. And I think the benefits definitely outweigh that. But her point was - in terms of perception - fair enough."
We are silent for a tiny moment, one that seems a hell of a lot longer. There are words that must be carefully chosen here. For some reason neither of us can put into words, one that he has almost summed up - something which has bugged me about the band almost from day one - when I finally did get (remember, italics) their first EP and flogged it like nothing I have obsessed over since. There's a sort of bogey on the band that Candle cannot be blamed for. But which no doubt is about Candle Records. It's just that, if they were on Spunk or Trifekta or any other 'boutique' label, chances are they would have... well, yeah, chances are. But as it is, they don't fit in the cute librarian-fetish music Candle is most successful with.
"The band I equate ourselves with, on the label, more than anyone, were The Simpletons. I reckon The Simpletons genre-hopped a lot and I reckon we do a bit also and it's because (mimics geeky music fan) 'oh, I love that sort of music, oh and I love that sort of music, and that...' and I'm loving all these different sorts of records, and (with The Simpletons) that's why people didn't get it."
As he veers off into another of his customary rants - this time about what made Shane Simpleton such a good songwriter - I zone out a little and wonder whether to mention that he has named one of the few bands on Candle whose shelf life has struggled to last beyond their break up. Or is he trying to explain to me the reason Darren Hanlon helped produce the 'Scenes From A Midday Movie' album?
Instead, refreshed glasses in our hands we turn to gossip concerning recent AFL affairs. It lasts long enough to approach the problem from a different angle. "Maybe all I'm really saying is that I do want it to have the ambiguities and differences that The Mabels had, but in a solo record. And to capture that just with the songs."
In other words, leaving aside the multi-talented Kimba and Lobby and David Kneale, Atko has no grounds for a weak chorus line this time out. There'll be no cotton wool on the mixing - which is not to say that they won't be involved on the album; I daresay they'll feature on the album more than even Atko would have wished as he sits opposite me struggling for the ideal. It's just that, well, I've heard a few of the new songs played live and they shit all over even something as good as ‘Streets of Brisbane’. They're assured but timid in the way people spoke of Gram Parsons' gift. Sad and true to life as Atko has always been.
"I'm trying to get to the core of how deep, how serious or how honest I want to be," he says, trying to sum up a five-minute monologue that has said next to nothing other than chasing the same idea in circles. That idea has no real theology other than I Really Fucking Mean It This Time. I'm Turning Thirty This Year and I've Had Enough Of Dicking About In Pop Bands.
Chapter Four: All My Friends Are Getting Married
(or, Seven into four just doesn't go)
‘The Closest People’ is an extraordinary album. End of sentence.
In the first draft I had of this, you would have had to hear a gruesomely tiring essay on why that is a fact. This time round I haven’t been nearly so self-righteous. The sentence will have to stand uncontested. And, like a previous chapter alludes to - How do you follow greatness with silence?
After doing the Candle shows up and down the Eastern coast in January 2001, The Mabels were put in self-imposed exile for most of the year. They played two small gigs in Melbourne, no more. Atkinson worked at Polyester Records part time. He moved house after many years of being able to stumble home from the Punters Club to Cecil St. The Punters closed when their long-term lease expired and the agent demanded triple the previous rent. Everything was changing. Relationships weren’t working, people were moving closer and further apart around him - and within the band itself, life was blossoming for the other members.
In February 2002 Kimba got married to a nice lad named Mark. He had helped hang out on the North American tour that Atkinson and Kimba had done the previous year. A fortnight after this interview took place, Lobby was finally going to be married to Sarah. Meanwhile cross town, as they say in the movies, Ryan moved in with his girlfriend.
“And you,” I say, “All you’ve got is a picture of your sister in your wallet.”
“Exactly!” he laughs sadly. “That says it all.” Atko found himself sharing the happy hours, though - MC at Kim’s wedding, and grooms man at Lobby’s. “See: they had roles for me.” he offers, suggesting again that they will all feature on his ‘solo’ record.
Do the rest of the band find it ironic that you’re the relationship song-writing guy but you are the only one without one?
Atko melts into a sort of soundless laughter that sees him come up for air with his finger pointed accusingly at me. “Thanks mate, thanks a lot! Just when I get the feeling that I’m divulging myself, talking about the slow process I need ahead...”
The writing was on the wall of North Fitzroy share houses by mid 2001, however, when it was plain that The Mabels existed in nothing but name and back catalogue. That was around the time that both Kimba and Lobby were engaged to their partners, within a fortnight of each other, and though shacking up with one’s beloved doesn’t automatically spell a life of Tupperware and doilies (off the top of my head; The Cannanes, Sonic Youth, Yo La Tengo), it is equally safe to assume that neither band member were banking on a life as a Brian Wilson dilettante type.
“They turned in on themselves,” Atkinson explains, “and thought: ‘well, this is the most important thing in our lives’. I think everyone moved into that level of security which made it easier for me (to assume the band was no longer a going concern).”
The last performances by the band, on a grand scale, at the Candle 2002 concerts were so much better than anyone else those nights that it is a shame for the band to have faded away at their peak. But fuck it; it’s better than turning into Lou Reed I guess.
Chapter Five: A Sporting Declaration
The sun is just getting worse, I reckon. I can fell my neck colouring where the brim of my hat ends and my flesh begins. Time for another beer? My shout. When I return, Atkinson is sitting opposite me finishing an anecdote I’d skipped out on halfway through.
“Okay. The issue at hand,” I prod.
“Which is?”
“So, you’re sick of sporting metaphors?”
He pisses himself; whether because he knew that question was coming or because he’d been thinking that very thing while we’d been discussing football.
“Life isn’t sport, or something,” I paraphrase. I’m sure I’d heard him say that recently in print or in person.
He regains composure: “Yeah I’ve said that a few times. That’s been my mantra, buddy, for the last six months. ‘No more sporting metaphors’. Only because - ” he says, tapping on the table, once again stuck for the right words.
“Because people don’t take it seriously?”
“Yeah, I guess that, but also - it’s kind of like a show pony that has lost it’s trick, you know what I mean? The connection obviously has a humour part to it. But it’s also a bit too blokey, the whole sport thing. But God knows, I’ve found it hard not to write any songs without sport in them!”
Deep breaths give us room to work on our cold ales. He restarts: “There’s also this little cocoon that is me that’s trying to... trying to.. Like: I live in Fitzroy still, and work at a record store - I don’t know...” You’re trying to kick against it a bit by seeming more working class and blokey?
“Yeah, well, but also - sport is a massive (and here he emphasises the word with two lines of an imaginary Artline texta firmly scribbled beneath it), massive part of my life.”
So, no sport. More romance? What conclusions have you come to?
“Well, I don’t have to write about the things I’m most interested in all the time. I love food, maybe I should just use more food metaphors?”
And the mood changes within a moment. Between the time his mind had thought of the last sentence and then said it out loud. Atkinson leans forward, across the table. He has a habit of leaning in close toward you as he talks. It’s not like he is trying to keep (or, even, share) a secret, nor is he trying to make you feel close to him. It’s just that he leans in close to you sometimes as he talks. He does the same thing in his songs, you might notice.
“To be honest with you,” he starts as he puts his glass down and stares, “I want to do the solo record or EP this year because there is a lot of change in my mind set. I want to change the content.”
We’re not going to get MA content, then, are we? Somehow, implausibly though not unexpected, we find ourselves taking another five minute detour which takes in scenic sites such as Darren Hanlon and Richard Easton. About how there is a “bit of wave that comes with Crouchy and Candle”, that wave being Crouchy’s enthusiasm. “Every time he sees you, it’s ‘How’s the song writing going? Are we going to get a record out this year’?”
And thank our lucky stars he’s around. For all the talent he has, I get the impression oft times that Atko might have been spending his time pissing against the troughs between Collingwood and Fitzroy were it not for the expectations that Crouchy places upon him. Not that I’d do any different, mind you
Chapter Six: Cheesy-Fries
My partner and I sit with Atko one evening a little while later, enjoying cheese-covered fast food somewhere on George St, Sydney. He’s discussing the pending tour with Darren Hanlon (if memory serves me right, it was the first night of a month long jaunt) that will take our two heroes from North Queensland to Perth and then back to the East Coast via Tasmania. He’ll turn thirty on the road, he announces; somewhere near Margaret River he’s guessing. What do I have to show for it? he wonders out loud.
We reminisce about the good old days: being a kid with no responsibilities, nothing to worry about and nothing to have to look forward to. His dad was a commentator at the local speedway, he remembers. Once, he took a girl on a date to some local show, and as they were walking around his dad spotted him from the commentator’s box. “And there’s my son with his date,” Mr Atkinson bellowed through the loud speakers, “over there by the track!” Both Amber and I curl with embarrassment as he recounts the night. “Give us a wave, son,” he said.
Before we head back into the Metro, Amber turns to him and lets him know just what he has to show for it – being used to placating difficult boys like myself – ticking off all he has going for him. Yeah, he says, nodding his head. She tells him about when I got the ‘Shifting Sands’ single and played it back to back for about two hours, looking all sad and sulky for the couple depicted in the song. We wonder if he is judging himself against those around him enjoying far more success and material gain. Nah, he says, wiping his greasy hands on the cheapest little crumbly napkin you ever did see. Nah, I gave up that game long ago, he confesses. For tonight he seems to admit that life is pretty good. It could be better, sure, but it could be a hell of a lot worse.