Ezekiel RodofiliBenjamin Shannon is a musician in a long list of bands and projects. Ben also helps run Art As Catharsis in Brisbane. He’s someone I’ve had the good fortune of seeing perform, and also the good fortune of sitting down with to discuss the music he’s involved in and the AAC fifteen-year celebration gigs, of which one will be in Brisbane.
Photo by Kate O’Sullivan.
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Ben: Something I’ve noticed in Melbourne is that, because there are more people there, there kind of are scenes within scenes. There’s so many jazz and improv-related pockets. The difference is quite interesting as with Brisbane, it’s more centralised, and also in Sydney to a lesser extent. It seems like there’s some really good things building at the moment with people like Clayton Thomas and Jacques Emery and what they’re doing.
It’s been quite cool and quite serendipitous, your timing, because I went on radio the other night to talk about fifteen years of Art As Catharsis and that forced me to go “Well what have we done in Brisbane?”
Joseph (Rabjohns) and I did a Kodiak Empire show with Hashshashin back in 2016. Shortly after that, I was like “Can I put some gigs on for AAC through whatever in Brisbane?”. Lachlan said “Why don’t you just do them under Art As Catharsis?” So since then I’ve counted over fifty gigs in Brisbane of AAC ilk across all genres and styles. Residencies, gigs for the Brisbane International Jazz Fest, charity fundraisers… it was actually nice to stop and take stock. I don’t ever really do that. It was nice to go “Fuck yeah, this has been great!”.
Ez: Let’s go back to the scene thing for a moment. Maybe the reason why Brisbane is so united is because it went through such abysmal conditions, whereas Melbourne has had more of a freedom of looseness, so it’s had that ability to go deeper and go more on the micro level, as it were. Whereas Sydney’s always kind of in a constant state of flux where it’s just really push and pull, you know? Venues close, new venues open, they survive a while, start thriving, then due to whatever reasons or interferences, things start slowing down and venues close down again.
I guess all three cities – and obviously there’s other Australian places that have survived and thrived – have faced different sets of adversity at different times in their history to different levels. They’ve evolved in different ways, but still have maintained a significant passion and bands in these three cities, especially local, tend to go hard regardless.
Ben: Before moving to Brisbane, I was putting on shows in The Sunshine Coast in the hardcore scene. That’s really the genesis of my working with bands and gigs came from. I didn’t realise it until I was a bit older, but it was borne out of something to do, you know? At that time around 2007 to 20011, metal and hardcore shows were booming.
There’s a lot of great musicians that have come from The Sunshine Coast and I think that this kind of regional community, it’s interesting that Brisbane has tapped into that. I think that there could be something to be said for a smaller city, particularly in Brisbane around the seventies, eighties, nineties, 2000’s; Something to be said for things coming out of boredom or a response to things happening politically or socially at the time.
When I moved to Brisbane to study, West End had at least five, six, maybe more venues on Boundary Street. Now there’s one, and there was none for a while there. That venue, Mirrorball Ministries, that opened about a year ago, and West End’s been gentrified heavily. It’s quite interesting in how it had a pretty bad rap in the eighties pre-World Expo 88.
A lot of these venues closing down, but before then it was a really prolific stage in Brisbane, and I feel like I was in the guts of it and caught the end of it, and I’m sure it was going on for a long time before I came here.
I teach a lot and work a lot with young musicians, and it’s really infectious, this insatiable energy and wanting to get involved and put things on and not wanting to be marred by how much things have changed. Rather than thinking of what is not there, it’s like “What can we create”? I love that youthful enthusiasm. And it’s not exclusively a youthful thing. I think what Lachlan and I are trying to do is just continue contributing ’cause there is so much great music and great stories to be told, irrespective of genre and style, you know?
Joe and I did these seasonal showcases gigs between 2018 and 2022 at The Bearded Lady. We would do three to four of them a year, sometimes more. They were targeted at different parts of the scene and it was great. Most of them were sold out, and they were really cool because it was just bringing together all different people and exposing them to really diverse lineups. I know a lot of people would go to Bearded Lady ’cause they know the kind of music that’d be programmed there, irrespective of if they were aware of who was playing. That was a venue that generated that kind of buzz.
The Junk Bar is doing really well, and they always let us put on a lot of different, eclectic events.
As a side note, there’s a cool Instagram page called Brisbane Scene, and it documents a lot of events that happened in Brisbane over the 2000’s and 2010’s. Quite fascinating.
I know I’ll always be booking gigs and playing music and that, but I guess as… I’m thirty-two now. I don’t have less energy, but I put it into other things that are part and parcel of getting older and more study and working a bit more. I really enjoyed this period in my low, mid and even start of late twenties where I had the time, facilities, and obviously I’m in a very privileged position as a white person in Australia. I’m very lucky to be doing what I’m doing, but things were easier when I was younger.
All these little things adding up, and things like cost of living and rent make things a little harder, but it is refreshing seeing all these young people doing things and making it happen. I’m still trying to contribute as much as I can whilst balancing the many hats of life, but it’s refreshing when you see new energy coming through. I’m really proud and know that that energy and what these people are doing, I can’t fully accredit to Lachlan, Joe and myself, but at least I know it’s played a part.
There’s people I know that are now putting on gigs or creating bands, these kinds of things. I know that the opportunities and platforms that we’ve provided have contributed to the next generation of what’s coming through, and that’s a really important to the cultural lineage of any scene or city or country. You can zoom in and out on that sentiment as much as you like.
Ez: Knowing that you came up in the metal scene on the coast, and having seen you drum a few times now, your approach makes sense. Obviously I’m not the reader here though, so the question is: How do you go about shaping and approaching your drums to be more narrative and emotionally driven in Milton Man Gogh and the other acts you play in, and how has your history in extreme music influenced that?
Ben: I think it comes back to a foundation of playing a lot of rock, metal, hardcore, but also in school bands, community orchestras. My parents were awesome, they got me into anything that was happening musically. I worked for this organisation Sunshine, Coast Youth Partnership that mum randomly found that was putting on gigs and stuff. I think this is related in terms of a more DIY ethos. I think that definitely comes through in my playing, but that’s probably more of a mindset kind of thing and not related to any sort of technical things that are happening on an instrument
But the amalgamation of different things that I love doing and have done, and specifically to more emotive playing, something like Milton Man Gogh… The kind of music I enjoy playing most has notated and improvised elements, and the way I think about a band like Milton Man Gogh is that the music is all composition but every time we play it’s vastly different. We have a shared musical understanding and language from playing together for so long.
But I would describe it as when you go into one of those art shops and you see a canvas and it’s already got a drawing on it that’s outlined. Say you were to purchase this and you were to paint it how you want, with that band, I feel like the outline is always there, but how we’re painting and the colouring differs each time.
I would say that that’s a hard question to answer without me rambling for ages.
Ez: *laughs*
Ben: There are just so many components to that. The multiplicity and experiences of bands and projects that I’ve done that result in my artistic approaches to drumming or composition and otherwise… Trying to channel a lot of my personality and experiences into the music, I think that’s really important. Free improvisation is a really good way to channel more expressive parts of your creative voice. Inversely, if I’m playing in other projects like Kodiak Empire or Big Dead, where they’re more songy for lack of a better word, I’d like to think I’m playing expressively in those bands but it feels different. It can be flow statey, but it’s not as flow statey as something that’s way more improvised.
I had some free improv gigs in Melbourne recently with some friends, Julius Schwing and Scott Tinkler, and they were more flow statey, very emotive, expressive. I’m not really thinking; it’s all in movement and shapes and reacting. Inherently, there’s technical things of this and that happening, but it’s so far removed from that when I’m playing.
There’s a little bit of that in Milton. Shamin, a duo I play in, used to do with little drumming vignettes that are inherently these technical, compositional things but trying to express them in a way that’s not that. And it can be quite tricky to do.
Something I really like is my orchestra, Brisbane Conduction Orchestra. It started in 2017. It’s all about community and people bringing in their own unique, artistic voice.It’s conducted improvisation. It’s based on Butch Morris’ conduction process, which came out of the New York Loft scene in the seventies and eighties.
I was really fortunate to learn about that doing a residency program in Canada in 2017. We would do these conduction sessions that would go for one to three hours with up to eighty musicians. It was this beautifully cathartic, out of body improvising experience.
It’s not quite notated. It’s not quite improvised; There’s a numerical and gestural system. The conductor might give you a number one, which means long notes. So you’re now making long notes how I see fit. There’s a whiteboard too, so I could write ‘Pig City’, or ‘Concrete in 4/4’, or ‘Queenslander’, as in the style of house. So the whiteboard gets really instinctive responses that I think draw out people’s personality and emotional expression. I can write anything on this whiteboard, and for Joe, I remember we were doing one and I wrote the name of his son and gave that to him in his section, and he played this really beautiful, emotive music. That was his musical response to that stimulus.
So yeah. Slight tangents there, but it’s all related to trying to get across your musical personality and how that’s best represented in a musical scenario. I think that’s the key to playing expressively and playing ultimately like yourself, whatever that looks or sounds like.
Ez: The reason why I asked is that I recently finished a review of Fully Stretched, and the key for me in actually understanding it better was “5c Grinder”. I realised it was a very narrative-heavy record, and on that song you’d start going on these pummels really quickly behind the whole sort of slowness and the sort of mundanity the two other guys are playing. And it’s like “Huh, this sounds like a sort of frustration, maybe in a hardware store of sorts”, and that’s when it all clicked, and I realised “This guy drums in a very specific way”.
Ben: It’s funny you mention that song, ’cause that’s probably the most jazz we’ll get at this point in time. That was one we worked on in Canada, and the title behind that is hilarious. We went to a shop to buy some things and at the checkout they were like “Do you want to add a grinder for five cents?” It’s just a stupid tile, but a lot of the Milton lore and titles… there’s some really serious songs about some pretty personal shit, and then there’s some that are about everything and nothing.
We’re trying to capture a lot of the larrikinism of Australia through that band. The name… I’m not sure if you’re aware of the name-
Ez: The Milton Mango.
Ben: The term for a XXXX Gold, our cheap, domesticated beer that we love. There’s many layers to that and, at least for me, relates to helping express ourselves musically and honestly, because we’re channeling all our favourite things into the music.
But yeah, that song is a lot of fun to play and its funny thinking about it. Zach and Andrew are really holding it down and I’m playing quite, almost combative in parts, juxtaposing against the stillness of what they’re doing.
Ez: Is the character that appears throughout the songs on the album a way to channel and try and explore and understand these more personal elements?
Ben: I think so. I mean, talking on behalf of the fellas here, it definitely started out as a bit of a meme [on] Australiana, and it’s always been “What do jazz bands do? Let’s do the opposite of that”. We always have walk-on music and uniforms and we’re always chatting with the audience. The music is very serious but we try to present it in a way that is not that. I think that it’s all relative, but I don’t things need to be serious all the time.
I think with Milton maybe it is a muse for channeling really expressive things. I can think of a song on The Great Reset that I wrote shortly after my grandad passed away. We played it at his funeral. It was just a really cathartic experience.
And Zach wrote a song about a shoe shop for short men he used to work at called Taller. I’ve written a song a song called “Service 80”. When I worked at Woolworths they’d call a service 80 and they had this jingle to put the bins out. I thought it was a shit jingle, so the song I wrote is about a jingle to put the bins out at Woolworths. Andrew wrote a song about losing his license, and a song about a failed holiday trying to climb a mountain with his partner at the time.
The songs always come from somewhere, whether it’s something really stupid like an inside joke, a meme of sorts, or a really personal thing. There’s a lot we cover. I realised quite a while ago that when I start it seems like a no-brainer to me, but I say this to a lot of my students: If you’re composing music, it has to be about something or someone. You’re telling a story and I’m really big on that with my bands that I compose for that are more compositional in the sense of more rock bands or like Kodiak or Big Dead. I’m drumming on those records; I don’t compose the music as such in the same way that with Milton or Shamin, where I write a lead sheet and bass parts and melodies, then we workshop it collectively.
That’s kind of how Milton works: we bring in tunes one-by-one and workshop them and see what is left after they hit the cutting room floor.
Ez: What do you find the challenges and freeing spaces are in playing something more structured and “song-like” vs. your more improvisational projects?
Ben: Something like Milk Buttons, that’s like a folk band I play in with members of Big Dead and other Bissie bands, that’s more playing tunes and songs. Something I wouldn’t have thought that I would have been playing in maybe ten years ago, but it’s beautiful music with great friends, and it’s still quite cathartic. Just in a different way.
It’s maybe a lazy answer to say that improvising can be conducive to having more flow statey, out of body experiences. I think something like Milk Buttons, Kodiak and Big Dead, it’s a different kind of cathartic flow state. I think when you’re playing more improvisational music, it’s really hard to put my finger on it, but it scratches a different itch. So the limitations that come with bands that are more songy, is naturally I improvise parts in those songs, like doing different fills or different bits and pieces, but the majority of those songs are the same structures and beats and grooves. But then it’s also nice to relax on that stuff. I can be playing a little bit less, more maybe reciting the songs as opposed to creating new things. I don’t know if that answers the question exactly, but it’s just different.
Maybe the cons I can associate with improvised music is that maybe it’s not always working or you’re not feeling like you’re approaching the music in a certain way, but I think in the last little while that seldom happens. I feel like I’m really able to get into the zone and get into that mindset relatively easy now.
And something like with Milton at the gig we played at Lazy Thinking, that one we had a very short rehearsal before that gig. The morning of. We played bits, we didn’t solo because we have this shared language and we just got up on the gig and knew that it’d be fine.
I’ve had gigs with Shamin where the music’s quite challenging, but once we learn it, it’s all autopilot and it’s conscious and all these kinds of things, and stuff where we haven’t been able to rehearse. We did a gig in Canberra at the start of the year and I hadn’t played with Sophie (Min, Shamin) in months. Went down and we played, and I think as we’d been playing together so long we weren’t worried about if the music was perfect.
So having that shared improvisational understanding, and friendship… most of the things I have done and put time into musically are just with friends. I think that’s where the most fruitful, musical situations are.
The simple way is that when I’m playing songs, the pros are it’s all set and the cons are it’s not improvising, and when I’m improvising the con is that it’s not as set, and the pro is that it’s improvising. I’m looking at a Freddy vs. Jason or something. Quite a strange analogy, isn’t it? But it kind of works! I think that works. *laughs*
Ez: *laughs* Well, we’ll now move onto AACK. Acka Dacka, if you will.
Ben: Acka Dacka fifteen.
Ez: From your perspective, how is it that AAC has even been able to survive and keep going, even after it took a bit of a blow from lockdown?
Ben: I think Lachlan created such a strong foundation, and I’d like to think we’ve been quite consistent over time with the amount and quality and diversity of releases, and have been hitting a different kind of niche in Australia and internationally. Working with international artists whether it’s releases or shows we’ve booked.
There’s definitely a few. I was putting on gigs before I met Lachlan, then when I met him I was getting more involved in the Brisbane scene. I wanted to put on more gigs, and then I met all these wonderful people from all around Oz; not only through AAC but other bands and things. I know that’s all contributed to developing my contribution to not only AAC, but to things that have been happening in Australia.
I think of artists that we’ve brought to Brisbane; artists like Bonniesongs, Brian Campeau, Helu, Instrumental (Adj.). I’ve met those people and then I’ve come to Sydney to see their gigs or play with them and vice versa. They might have friends who play in bands who would then hit me up for shows, and the network then continues to grow, irrespective of if it’s an AAC artist or whatever.
The AAC family has grown quite organically through all the different gigs and releases that we’ve all been doing over the last fifteen years, and it’s been really nice to observe that growth. I’m really grateful for being involved in the label, and because of it, it’s not only allowed me to contribute to the Australian and Brisbane music scenes; it’s really helped me to grow in my own capacity as a performer and improviser and curator.
I’ve received a lot of encouragement from Lachlan with taking on gigs for the Brisbane International Jazz Fest. We’ve worked with bands like Knower from LA or artists like Rafiq Bhatia, a guitarist from New York. Joe and I worked on a tour with a band called hubris. from Switzerland. Having the backing and advice from Lachlan has helped myself and Joe with things, and he has helped out with Brisbane over the years, too.
But yeah. I know that having the label behind me has really helped me for confidence in booking. And I have heard many people over the years say “Oh, I love what the label’s doing, I saw that there was a show in Brisbane, I thought I’d come and see who’s playing”. Which has been really, really cool.
Ez: So then, with that being said, you must be pretty excited for the upcoming show.
Ben: Yeah, I am! I’m really excited. I have the stressors, but it’s not a massive amount. I guess it’s just the impending things that need to be done before the show that maybe aren’t inherently stressful, but naturally take you away from the excitement. On the day of the show I’ll be a lot better at taking it all in. Very excited for the lineups across all three shows, and a great venue in Crowbar.
Not everyone on the shows are on the label. It’s just bands we love. There obviously are quite a few of them that are, but yeah. Really excited.
Ez: I’ve a fear of causing you to repeat yourself, but what does Art as Catharsis mean to you?
Ben: It means a community for those that need a place to play, listen to or experience music that may not get the chance to be recognised. It means a community of people who play, listen to, attend, celebrate or release music that is alternative, experimental or thought-provoking; that represents a diverse array of sounds and perspectives and experiences from the Australian underground, and it really prides itself on trying to represent those in the community that might not have the platform to showcase music that is potentially a bit different, whatever that means.
It means a lot to me. But just a shared community that loves celebrating alternative music in Australia.
It’s the classic, you want to pull out of thin air some poetic closer, right? *laughs*