Triosk

December, 2004

The scene? Sieving through the countless records released in that year I settled on an album by a band from Sydney as my favourite for those 52 weeks, irrespective of origin. The band? Triosk, with their phenomenal Moment Returns. What I liked most about it was the way that it captured thoughts, then left them – sometimes returning to them, fleshing them out and embedding ideas in its listener’s listening, but at other times just leaving it there for the listener to take from it what they wanted. It had that rare quality of endless possibilities. I fell in love.

It was later that I learnt the tracks that made up this record were relative offshoots of the project Triosk did with German electronic composer Jan Jelinek (refer to 2003’s 1+3+1 collaboration on ~scape). It made me question my taste, or my ears, or something to do with my listening, and made me think that for some reason I shouldn’t have heralded the release in the way that I did. I put it on, again, in 2006.

Nup. Still great.

So what began as an afterthought (Moment Returns was a collection of the tracks that were the fruits of leftover studio time from the Jelinek project) became a springboard for a lot of how I began to view music – it asked so many questions about music and refused to provide a conclusive answer. Am I going to sound like an idiot if I say it was empowering to listen to, making that act active rather than passive? I am, and I do. But who cares?

The lack of recognition both the album and the band received at home continues to perturb me. International indie tastemakers Pitchfork oddly got it right when they said Triosk were a (jazz) band “driven by ‘feel’ rather than tradition” and commended the three piece on their ability to craft surface prettiness with “enough detail and depth to survive close scrutiny,” and if they could be so on the money I’m at a loss as to why those constantly dissing on the lack of musical goodness in this country couldn’t quite grasp the band’s brilliance. If the forthcoming record, The Headlight Serenade, continues to unfairly occupy the position of “obscure” in this country then I’m quitting my day job. Here’s why.

Since Moment Returns Triosk have been catching up, passing the time that followed the 2004 release of an album whose material was already dated. Recorded in a day, the album grasps a certain fraction of who Triosk were, but fails to deliver the intricacies. Or this is what I’m told.

“When you’re dealing with acoustic instruments like that, the process of recording is sometimes more in depth. I think we just wanted the instruments to sound good [on this one], but not in a pristine or polished way. We had a lot of ideas – particularly because we were more focused on playing as a group – so that rather than using the electronic element as being really static like it was on Moment Returns, we were more interested in focusing on the performance aspect of what the band does and then manipulating our acoustic performances digitally in the post production process. And so a lot more layering of us playing instruments and making sounds live. Doing a take of me throwing heaps of sheet metal around the room and seeing how that adds to the textural element, then doing something weird to that.” Laurence Pike, percussionist for Triosk (also in Pivot, an international superstar in Flanger, a humble solo percussionist, and available, on occasion, for weddings), describes the process of recording The Headlight Serenade.

See, Triosk, for those of you who haven’t heard them, are an interesting beast. Part jazz trio, part band, they started up as a way of pursuing the sounds they were after, and exploring those sounds, seeing where a collaborative project could take them. Which underscores all their parts, so they’re not a jazz band. They don’t play indie. They’re just Triosk.

In recognizing a gaping hole in the distance between jazz and its counterparts, Triosk saw the space for themselves to contribute something, not intentionally – but in hindsight their reluctance to stay within the confines of the jazz academy is what makes them different to any other band you think they might sound kind of similar to. And then there’s the electronic aspect.

“One of the things I was interested in in the original premise of the band was the way electronic music is structured compositionally. It doesn’t necessarily rely on the old traditional idea of verse-chorus-verse-chorus, but it’s more about developing levels and developing mood and developing movement.” With different qualities at the fore, Triosk, in whatever category they fall in, will always represent something different.

Always. And they know it.

“It’s an area of grass that’s illuminated by headlights, but it has quite a surreal quality to it – some areas look like it’s been painted, even though it’s a photo. The headlights kind of alter your perception a little bit of the grass.” This is Laurence, describing the cover of the sophomore Triosk album, The Headlight Serenade. Gracing said cover is an image of headlights softly, well, serenading with the effect being that altered perception, that surreality. A literal translation of the record’s title – but much more, as well.

“The idea behind the title of this album is that when headlights pass onto an object they create something like a microcosm within that space, they change your perception of what you’re looking at. So, in some ways the album is about evoking a particular moment in time, or a particular freeze frame of something, or a particular memory.”

From this spurs my entire appreciation for Triosk – their attention to subtlety, and the intangible craft with which it’s executed.

Okay, so I’m a fan. Sorry if that kind of subjectivity irritates you.

Triosk arrived at album number two in much the same way any band would come to a follow up album. Scared. Anxious. Excited. For so many reasons, but predominantly because once you’ve given something to the world (a debut) there’s something to live up to. It’s the clichéd second album blues. But it’s a cliché for a reason.

“This is the first album I’ve ever been involved in that I’m a little bit nervous about. I don’t know if it’s because I have expectations of what I wanted it to be … I feel like the previous albums I didn’t even have expectations of them being released, of anyone actually hearing them. [Whereas] people have an expectation of what we do now, we’re either going to gain lots more fans or we’re going to piss a lot of people off that liked our last album,” Laurence says, more thinking out loud rather than as a direct response to my questioning.

“There has been a process for the new album because there is an expectation from ourselves but also from other people.” When Laurence identifies a process, there’s an implicit reference to the relative lack of it previously, so that where earlier records (both 1+3+1 and Moment Returns) saw acoustic instruments performed over electronic loops, a negotiation of the improvisational elements in both the jazz and experimental scenes, The Headlight Serenade has made Triosk a different band.

“There was a lot of mental planning for the album, and I think we were quite wary of things we wanted to achieve, at the very least, and a couple of things we wanted to try and achieve that we had been doing quite regularly for a few years live that we had never really achieved in the recorded form … We actually rehearsed before we went to the studio because there were certain parts that we wanted to try and play together as a group, which sounds weird because that process is quite normal for some bands, but we tend to avoid it …”

Pike is obviously conscious of the bizarre route Triosk have taken to become songwriters. Conscious, and bemused, but ultimately excited about the record – what it might do, where it might go, but most importantly, what people are going to think of it.

“I’d like to think the album builds on where we’ve been, but at the same time explores some new ideas,” he states over zealously. “Do you think it does?” Humble, and anxious to hear my thoughts, I can tell Triosk reckon they’re on the cusp of something, but they’re not quite sure what. Our interviews (two) are littered with queries seeking external affirmation, not of fame or fortune, but of some sort of appreciation, and an understanding that, yes, Triosk have progressed.

“We wanted to consolidate the things we’d already done, but at the same time make some new statements. But then it became a matter of knowing whether we were simply trying to make those new statements to please ourselves, or … I think it was mainly to please ourselves, I think we wanted to try and feel like every time we release something it was a step forward in a direction.” I’m sure in the bible of recording second albums that ‘step forward’ thing is the bit that induces cliché, but that Triosk are willing to embrace any progression is what makes the possibilities of both their music and their future endless. Plus, I totally dig the openness and honesty in approaching an album and letting it go anywhere.

“In my head I had the colour of the album, it was a little bit different before we started, but that was the nice thing about recording the album. The one thing we really learnt when we did a lot of playing, especially when we went on tour in Europe, is that one of our strengths is playing together as a band.” I don’t want this to sound like Triosk have found their inner John Hughes flick and come of age, but they’ve managed to identify who they’ve become remarkably well, at least at the moment.

I’m finding it really hard to put what I mean into words, why this band is so important on both an international musical landscape and an Australian cultural one. Why you should take the time to listen to them. Maybe they’re two different things, the why they’re important and the why you should dig.

So they’re important, huh?

Triosk blur boundaries. They draw your attention to your assumptions – about songs, structures, arrangements, instrumentation, and music. They’d belong just as well in a rock club, a jazz club, or a dingy warehouse where experimental music is the order of the day. They challenge you, not because they experiment (which they do), but because they do it alongside traditions you’re familiar with, and alongside traditions your parents are familiar with too.

Laurence has, perhaps, a more appropriate way of putting it: “I don’t think it has to be confusing to the audience, it just makes things a little awkward.”

Yes. Awkward.

But there’s still the overt prettiness that Pitchfork referred to two years ago, so if you’re shy of a challenge, you can pretend it’s not there. They’re not wankers. It’s not music you scratch your chin to. But it might inspire an itch.

I think they do it because otherwise it’d be post rock. Which would risk being tedious. And these guys aren’t tedious.

“I feel like if our music was really easy to understand it’d probably be boring, and we wouldn’t do it. I’m not saying we want to be difficult or we feel the need to sort of be misunderstood, but I feel like in a lot of ways we are trying some different things in this band and that there’s always going to be that tension point. You’ve got to crack a few eggs if you want to make an omelet. It’s funny, I always think of that saying when I’m making omelets, and, yeh, they’re right. I’m getting better at omelets.”

It should be a prerequisite when making music, the breaking of eggs, taking of risks, and reaching tension point, over and over and over again. Triosk’s music’s not important because it reaches that tension point. Rather, it’s important because it makes you think about what gets you there – to that point – and offers you your own space to define that point for yourself. Empowering, we’d say, if we were in a self-help group. But we’re not. So let’s just say it’s great to have a more active role as a listener.

So why you should take the time to listen to them?

Ultimately it’s what’s listed above, the fact that they traipse so much territory they’re likely to pick you up somewhere along the way.

Figuratively speaking.

I think of Triosk in kind of the same way I think of Buffy, and admire them as individuals in much the same way that I admire Joss Whedon (director of Buffy, for the uninitiated). At its peak, Buffy had thousands of fans, not universally accessible by any means, but a show with a cult following because of the multiple conversations it tapped into. In terms of popular culture, it had the hot lady, the love story, and the conflict and resolution elements of your favourite sitcoms. In terms of cultural theories, it appropriated several for the medium it chose (television), and explored those themes with the tools that medium offered up. In terms of feminist politics, it engaged with gender stereotypes and subverted them. And queer culture? Did you see the episode where Willow went down on Tara!? That was a landmark event for a program watched so religiously, so widely.

In short, it’s communication. And the ability to interpret what is communicated however you want, on whatever level, in several different ways, if that’s your jam.

I’d hope that that’s what’s at the core of any band you dig, that idea of communication, and effective communication. So that music is an exchange between two parties – 1) the musician (in this case the three, Adrian Klumpes, Ben Waples, and our friend Laurence) and 2) the listener (potentially you) – and the music you dig is always going to be the result of an effective exchange, whereby the listener gets something out of what the musician provides. When the musician’s providing more, they’re providing more of themselves. It doesn’t have to be the intended message, it’s not like there’s one unified way of hearing anything, but the most rewarding music is the music that delivers something of its maker to via the record.

“Hopefully it communicates a small piece of what I am, what I’m about,” Laurence says, thoughtfully. “That’s the reason I do it, I guess. I feel like Triosk is kind of an element of the way I think about things, through the form of music. Along with the other music I make it’s a combination of the things I like to feel I am.”

“There are thoughts that are far too abstract for me to articulate or represent in day-to-day life that you can do through combining sounds. If I didn’t have music to do that I would probably be running around with my pants down, and have Tourettes syndrome, or something.” Like air, or bread and water, music’s a necessity to people like Laurence.

Going back to the process, and Triosk, with their layers, and their multiple levels of appeal (yes, just like Buffy) their music becomes about a lot more. The product of varying processes, varying genres and varying approaches means that it never enters the realm of tedium, and instead always offers something different. Like discovering old songs with new meanings, which is kind of great. “The thing that I really like about Triosk’s music is that feeling that things are happening underneath the surface, and I find that interesting. By doing it it kind of reveals stuff to us.”

Reveals, eh? Like what? There’s a self consciousness in the way Laurence listens to his music, like what emerges in the process as a relevant motif, rhythm or idea to carry through and what becomes one of the ephemeral elements that you glimpse only a second of. I think that’s what he means when he talks about Triosk’s music revealing something, that the revelation is of which parts of the sum of Triosk make it onto the record.

What I love most about people is how different they are. How they engage differently. Seems like that’s something I share with Laurence, the protagonist of our tale. And that The Headlight Serenade is the outcome of how Triosk are, and in some ways how they’ve changed.

Music, for him, is about memory. He loves some things, remembers some things, and in making his music – predominantly improv – I’m sure this process of memory comes into play at each performance, and when performance meets recording.

“There’s a lot of things that people remind me of that I have no recollection of, and I wonder why they chose to remember that and I didn’t. Or why I remember certain things from the past five years, or from ten years ago, and not other things …”

“My ultimate ambition in life is to listen to my favourite albums through someone else’s ears. What would you give to actually hear something you know so intimately, but to hear how others perceive it? You assume that everyone hears music in the same way, but definitely not.” It’s perfect. By the way, this totally buys into my Buffy theory, like when a spell shadows over Sunnydale and a parallel universe emerges. I reckon that’s what you get from a Triosk record, and more appropriately, from this Triosk record. The Headlight Serenade exists in a way that it offers as many different ways to listen to it as you offer it listeners, many different universes to fall into. Endlessly interpretable. This is how music changes – through progression and through hearing and through hearing differently. This is why Triosk are important, they’re the collective three that have heard your favourite records differently and added to the conversation accordingly. And this is why you’ll dig ‘em.

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