DOUG WALLEN speaks to Sarah Chadwick from Melbourne expats Batrider about their relocation to London, their ever-evolving line-up and why their new album 'Why We Can’t Be Together' is a natural progression of their sound.

Having formed as a quartet in Wellington in 2002, Batrider later stationed themselves in Melbourne, where they built a confronting live presence and released a visceral debut LP (2007’s Tara).

Now settled in London and scaled back to a trio, the band has led an itinerant existence that’s left singer-guitarist Sarah Chadwick the only original member. They’re now completed by bassist Sam Featherstone and drummer Stephanie Crase on the shaggy new LP Why We Can’t Be Together recorded with Hit the Jackpot’s Kynan Lawlor on a trip to Adelaide last year. No longer drenched in anguished screams and a deafening onslaught, the band’s lurching songs are suddenly exposed to the world, right down to Chadwick’s sandpaper vocals and reflective first-person lyrics.

Batrider have been based in three different countries so far. How do they compare to each other in terms of running a band?
I think they’re really similar. Apart from the basic logistics of the places, the feeling of settling into Melbourne was remarkably similar to settling into London. Relocating is easier the more you do it. My hardest move ever is still moving to Wellington from Hamilton in New Zealand when I was 18 or 19. It all gets easier from there. I’ve been surprised by each place; things that you think are going to be good and easy aren’t, and things that you think are going to be difficult are easy.

London is an expensive city to live in, and I’m sure the music scene is competitive. Have those been barriers for the band?
It’s definitely expensive. There’s a massively negative view of London for music, especially from Melbourne, because Melbourne has reputedly such a good music scene. It’s kind of warranted but also unwarranted. I reckon anyone can make any place good for them. A place is what you make it. London’s definitely got fewer good bands that I would actually listen to, whereas in Melbourne I quite liked most bands that did well. Definitely it’s pretty shit for music. [Laughs] There’s no sugar-coating that at all. But I wouldn’t want to write off our time here, because it’s been invaluable in a lot of ways. It’s worked really well for us.

Have you found any kindred spirits there?
Not at all, musically. [Laughs] This is going to sound like bullshit, but I like that about it. I dislike that about Melbourne, the feeling that there is such a flourishing music scene that if you’re a band, you need to become part of that to be part of something. London’s so fucking uninspiring in terms of good music, [but] I like the feeling of being isolated. I think it has freed us up in terms of what we sound like as a band.

Obviously a big bonus is the proximity to Europe.
Definitely that’s been one of the best things. It’s been amazing. We’ve done three two-month tours of Europe since we’ve been over here. As much as I don’t really rate London, that’s definitely a reason why we wouldn’t move back to either Australia or New Zealand. It just becomes so expensive to come to Europe.

You’re about to do a massive US tour as well. Have you done that before?
No, not at all. I’ve been New York once to visit my friend, and other than that, I’ve never been there before. We’re pretty excited about it.

And you booked it on your own?
Yeah. The Europe tours Steph and I booked them. But I shouldn’t take credit for America. Steph booked 90 percent of those shows herself.”

“I hate when people like Devendra Banhart put on intense singing voices. I don’t like it when it sounds like acting. That’s why actors shouldn’t be musicians.”

How has Batrider’s lineup changed over the years?
We’ve always been a four-piece, [until] this year. We’ve been together over seven years now, and by now I’m the only original member left. So now it’s Sam Featherstone, who plays bass. He’s been playing with the band since the first bass player left, maybe three years ago. And Steph started off playing guitar, but now she’s playing drums. She used to play with Birth Glow and No Through Road. As far as lineup changes go, it’s never been just bandmates. We’ve always been really good friends as well. So, of course, when someone leaves, it seems unnecessarily traumatic, looking back on it. But we’re all mates again now. There’s definitely no hard feelings between anyone that’s left, and the current lineup is working amazingly. I’m lucky to be working with people that are on the same page in terms of what we want to do and what we think is important. It is a lot of traveling, so it’s a big commitment.

From when I saw you play a few years ago to hearing the new album, the band’s sound has become quieter and scaled back. Has that been a natural progression?
Yeah. Why We Can’t Be Together was definitely the easiest songwriting we’ve ever done. It came quite naturally. Things were less of a headache and seemed to fall into place more quickly. It definitely felt like a conscious disregard of what people expected, in terms of aggression and loudness. That became a bit annoying for me. There was a time when it felt like everything had to be so aggressive to live up to what people expected. So I felt like the album does its own thing. It’s definitely, for me, a bit more of a diary entry. The subject matter and the ideas behind a lot of the songs are really personal and really specific to me.

The album is also fairly long. There are 14 tracks plus two hidden ones.
The album was chosen from about 36 songs we had recorded. A lot of the albums I like, like old Sebadoh and Pavement albums, they’re all like 18 songs. Maybe more by today’s standards it’s a long album. But I felt like we culled it to a list [of songs that] was a lot of do with balancing the album and the different tones of the songs. The two hidden tracks are definitely superfluous, but I really, really like them. For me, [with] longer albums, it’s more satisfying because you’ll find a song you like maybe a year after listening to it. I was a bit confused about the whole point of an album, being that it seems like no one really buys them. But Matt Banham from No Through Road talked me around. It’s also made me feel less guilty about putting more songs on it, because we’re doing it for ourselves.

You’ve got a distinctly scratchy singing voice that’s very similar to your speaking voice. Are you comfortable with your singing?
Yeah. It took me a couple years just to come to terms with my normal accent. Listening to old recordings, I can hear myself trying to mask imperfections. Never so much as some people, though. I can feel myself getting more and more used to the bungness of my singing, and enjoying that. I made a pretty upsetting discovery on this last European tour that I can smoke as many cigarettes as I like and not ruin my voice, which might be one of the most dangerous things I’ve discovered. [Laughs] In the old days, I used to lose my voice heaps. But now that I don’t really stress out about it, I never seem to. For me, it adds to not trying to be something you’re not. I hate when people like Devendra Banhart put on intense singing voices. I don’t like it when it sounds like acting. That’s why actors shouldn’t be musicians.

That goes back to the band being something you’re doing for yourself.
“There’s kind of a cold comfort in that, no matter what happens, I’ll have the knowledge that we did it our way and I sang the way that God intended. I don’t think I’m a singer by any stretch, but I reckon [it’s best] doing it the way it was meant to be and not putting too much polish on it.

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Why We Can’t Be Together is out now on Low Transit Industries.