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FEATURE
MUSIC
MUSIC
goes unheard. I wanted to get to a point
where I could sit down and go [mimicking
drums]: ‘chak-ah-dff-dff-
kah
-ah-chak-ah’, and
that’s sweet, I can play that, I can put that
down. It’s instantaneous, almost a flow of
consciousness.”
Of all the instruments he learned to play,
you’d have guessed the flute would be the
most difficult – you’ve got to get your mouth
into that spout shape, and for a guitarist, a
wind instrument must be a challenge. “Well,
being a singer – [voice] is a wind instrument,
in a strange way,” he says. “You already
know half the dynamic process of pushing
out tones, you just have to find a way to get
the tone to work. But I think the
drums have been the most
interesting thing for me.
I’ve just completely
fallen in love with
them.” The drums
and percussion
do constitute
a gorgeous
component of
the record; on
We Could Be
Friends
, Corby
uses little crushed
rolls and a crisp
hi-hat, leaving gaps in
the beat in odd places.
“It’s so left and right brain
at the same time,” he says.
This new-found confidence with
instrumentation led him to question some
of the dictums he’d long held for himself
when it came to his voice. Particularly on the
fantastic
Knife Edge
, it’s clear he’s become
far more confident with falling back on the
beat, just like those rubato-happy jazz singers.
The possibility was opened up to him through
his decade-long friendship with alt-pop singer
Jarryd James. “He’s a really good buddy of
mine, we used to live together actually, he’s
a mad dog,” Corby chuckles. “He has always
sung behind the beat, and I never understood
it because I’m
so
on the beat, in the way that
I feel like that’s how you drive a song. Once I
started playing all the other instruments I was
like, ‘Oh cool, I can do that Jarryd method; I
know where the tempo is and I can just fill in
all the space behind it and create this drag.’”
Corby’s courage also led to a change
in pitch – or rather, an embracing of his
natural range. Both
Oh Oh Oh
and
Wrong
Man
display this deep voice that is a little
gobsmacking to hear after the whoops of
2012’s
Brother
. Corby says as a child he
excelled at singing (“It was the one thing that
I really cared about”), and was trained by an
opera vocalist. “I’ve always been a really low
singer as a matter of fact, but was insecure
about how high I could sing,” he explains.
“So I continually pushed it, in order to write
a ‘good’ song. I thought for it to be good,
and for me to be operating at a really high
capacity, I had to sing up high, to
prove myself. Which is stupid.
It’s just an ego thing that
I’m getting over. But the
moment that you do,
you’re liberated and
it’s kind of nice.”
These personal
insights of
Corby's reflect
off a little story
he tells towards
the end of our
conversation, about
the first time he
ever recorded himself
singing. He was ten
years old, and did a version
of
Amazing Grace
on an eight-
track he bought with his dad. “I still listen
to it to this day, and I tear up in a weird way!
Because it’s like, ‘Aw man, I was so good
back then.’ As my voice broke, it became
a bit of a problem. But then you’re given a
new voice. Once you do, you have a whole
new set of rules, and a whole new way of
manipulating it. It’s the weirdest thing.”
An album that is very much intended for listening to on your day bed, probably on the balcony of your Great Ocean Road-side holiday
house, in Lorne or its surrounding suburbs. Put on your noise-cancelling headphones and herald the return of the assuaging Aussie
legend, with new tracks like
Monday
and
Sooth Lady Wine,
to return you to the comfy enfold of his muscly hipster arms.
Knife Edge
A great place to start. The
sauntering bass and organ
riff is inspired, and Corby’s
relentlessly sensual, gentle
vocals march through lyrics
about feeling embarrassed
and angry at yourself in the
presence of a potential lover.
We Could Be Friends
There’s a Prince-like vocal
kaleidoscope towards the
end of this one with amazing
jazz harmonies.
Why Dream
You can hear the space
between the hammers and
the strings in “the oldest
piano in the world” on this
track, which Corby bought for
$1000 and says doesn’t stay
in tune for more than a day.
He recorded the verses while
holed up in Berry, NSW, but
the chorus was laid down at
Melbourne’s Sing Sing studio
with four other musicians
from his band.
Good To Be Alone
Each meticulous note of
the electric guitar has its
own character on this
beauty, which suggests the
beginning of Jeff Buckley’s
Hallelujah
.
Monday
You might have heard that
this one is comprised entirely
of sounds Corby is making
with his own mouth and
body – impressive.
Telluric
by Matt
Corby is out March 11
via Universal.
Long-time Corby fan and recently upgraded Padawan in the
STACK
office,
Alesha Kolbe, lends her opinion on
Telluric
:
I thought for
[
a song
]
to be
good... I had to sing
up high, to prove
myself