Views from the couch.
I write this after a drink or two, because the interview was conducted as such. And I write this with a bottle of wine labeled “Re-Write” from De Bortoli winemakers, because I suspect this process will go accordingly. Last minute, down to the fizzling fear-filled wire of Sunday’s publication. In part because that seems to be my self-inflicted lot, and partly because I can’t seem to get through the interview’s transcription without stopping again and again to cringe at the sound of my own voice, and my tepid attempt to follow a line of questioning that would somehow suit the group of people I sit with, in the dying sun, burning orange and red over Coolgardie’s landscape. How does one, donned in a striped woolen sweater, sitting next to a rock star dressed in a Black Sabbath t-shirt and his cohorts, choose the appropriate line of inquiry?
On the phone with Mom as I sit to write this now, she says, “well you’ve got a few options, and the best one is self-deprecating”.
I whinged to her, across the pond in Rhode Island, I am getting no sleep tonight. She proceeded to inform me that she once met a deadline at five am, three hours before giving birth via C-section to my older brother, Sawyer. Well, kinda rockstar. And so my complaints are moot. And self-flagellation gets old pretty quick. And thus I will try to leave both out of this article—read me now knowing I tried my best.
It starts like this. I’m just about to call Oli and admit that with Google Maps and his written directions, I still somehow managed to get lost. One more cow in the road and I’m calling it. Calling him. But eventually by some grace of God, I see a line of cars parked on a hill and hedge my bets. I swerve up the dirt road and avoid getting bogged.
“Otherwise it’ll make it rough,” Luda says.
I ask them to tell me about the property, the house-meets-studio on a 360 revolving view of the landscape, with a homemade half-ramp on the right and a succession of beehives just beyond it. Luda points out the big prawn to me, dotting the skyline if you’re standing in the right spot. “The pride of Ballina,” he says.
We situate ourselves on a couch on the front lawn—myself, Oli, Luda, and Ben, core members of Red Belly Records. You may also know Oli and Luda from the band Couch Wizard, which includes Ben—sometimes.
Luda says to the boys, “let’s start something else. We could do open mic nights here. Karaoke night? Outdoor cinema night. Nice faerie lights. Everyone has their little pillows. Grass couches. Grass stadium! The cows will love it”.
“Yeah the grass stadium, I’ve always wanted one of these!” I don’t remember who spoke for the cows.
Do the cows ever wake you up?
“Yeah sometimes you hear them right outside your window in the morning, munching. We can kinda nearly talk cow now. Mooo.” Luda.
“The coffee machine wakes us up. Whoever’s first up making coffee.” Oli.
“The kettle mate. Flip the kettle on and everyone’s still sleepin’. Silent killer.” Ben.
Did you get any sound complaints during Snakes in the Grass?
Snakes in the Grass, the music festival Red Belly Records held during the last weekend of April this year. A conglomerate of bands, Byron and beyond. Three nights of camping. Bush, bands, good people.
“Nah,” Oli says. There was a complaint one of the nights, but there was also a 70th birthday going on somewhere nearby that evening. Later Oli is informed: ‘their complaint has been diffused’. Or something.
“I’ve never been more stoked to hear the word ‘diffused’”, he says.
The festival. A labour of love; crafted, collected, and constructed by the Red Belly guys. Stone structures carved for the land, stages made in-house, fitted with sound systems to rival Splendor in the Grass. And tarps. Thank god for the tarps.
“When we played with Wet Drip, it just started pissing down. But there was an overhang at the front of the stage. Like two meters in front, out of the weather. It made people come closer, rather than all fuck off to find cover. So it worked well.”
“Such a luck!” Ben.
“We definitely meant to do that!” Luda.
“Yeah, it was so on purpose.” Oli.
“We love you blue tarp. We’re sorry we said you were ugly.” Luda.
“It was cool because when you were going around the stage,” Oli explains, “you kind of had to duck under it too.”
“Yeah, you were getting tubed.” Luda.“Bit artsy, really. But if you’re any sort of tradesman, don’t look too hard”.
How did you choose the bands?
Turned out it was a bit difficult, as not as many said no as they thought. A medley of bands local to Byron and beyond—Couch Wizard, Wet Drip, Royal Ratbags, Ugly Mug, to name a few. All out there in the bush, jamming and getting tubed.
“We didn’t want it to be all about the Byron thing. We have that already. Yeah you want to see the bands you know, but when you go to a festival, you also want to get sideswiped by bands you’ve never heard of before,” Oli explains.
‘I’ve found my new favorite band this weekend’. Was music to their ears.
Stills from footage of Snakes in the Grass captured by Tahnee Stautner of 47 Studio
Erecting a monument takes balls. And time, and diligence, and hard work. But a lot of balls. How many? I forgot to ask for a headcount.
One band, Shock Value, didn’t even have its lead singer. The singer, George, happened to have had a big night in Coffs Harbor the night before. Age eighteen—we’ve all been there. “The rest of the band ended up driving from Coffs without him,” Oli explains. George, if you’re reading this (unlikely), you’re eligible for compensation. “He ended up getting a ride from this random dude. But he dropped him off at the bottom of the hill.” It took George two hours to walk up to the festival.
“It was the most punk-rock thing I’ve ever seen,” Oli says. Finally making it to the top, “he came up through the trees, leather jacket, bottle of wine in his hand, ciggy in his mouth”. Just in earshot of the festival noise echoing through the bush, and the chanting: “where’s your fucking singer?”
“George, don’t worry about it,” Oli told him. “I’ve fucked up and missed a whole tour”.
My conversation with Oli, Luda, and Ben is wrapping up. The sun had set. The guys fancy their home some haven for musos, but honestly the mozzies are ruthless.
How did you guys meet? One final question.
Oli says, “I met Luda at the same house we started Couch Wizard in. It was my mate’s birthday and I came round for a party”.
I turn to Ben. How did you get involved?
“I just kept showing up.”
The place is jam-packed with everything in its perfect place. Think NPR Tiny Desk with a couple more cow skulls and fewer books. A place to write, record, create.
“That’s where we come in,” Oli had said. “That’s where Red Belly comes in. We’re building a community, creating new events which take people by surprise. We’re doing as much as we can do, making it the best experience we can make it. For our friends.”
As an interviewer, I like to arrive clueless and learn as I go. But speaking with these guys—their passion for music permeating through the studio more powerfully than the tacos Oli generously over-spiced to eye-watering satisfaction, Ben in the next room playing guitar with only four fingers (not my story to tell)—I was left wishing my knowledge of music extended far past what it does.
“We’ve created a space for musicians to come and write,” Oli explains. “Because that’s how we do it. We get away from all the shit. You read all the old books, Black Sabbath and those, and that’s how they would do it. We want to bring back that old rockstar mentality. Where you just have the house all to the band, and a week to write the album, and have fun. Feel free, and not have your shit from the day-to-day get in the way.”
become a contributorpartner with ushosting an event?
we only email just enough