Geese and the Return of From the Basement

I was delighted this week to see the return of Nigel Godrich’s From the Basement series. As any Radiohead fan worth their salt knows, From the Basement is responsible for some of the best raw, band focused live studio recordings going. Like most, my first exposure was to those fabled In Rainbows – era sessions, but I was quickly led on to watch the other videos and discover many of my favourite artists today. The original idea stemmed from older music shows of the 70s, such as Old Grey Whistle Test, with Godrich’s intention of capturing artists in a relaxed, pure studio format – no interviews, no comping of takes, no biased lens – just the music itself. For me, this gives a sort of timeless quality to the show, especially in a time now where music videos are less popular than they used to be and most content is consumed in small mobile formats on low budgets. Of course there’s nothing wrong with that, it’s wonderful to see how inventive artists are becoming with their self-promotion and I’m met with inspiring content with my fingertip. However, I do find it sad to think that often the larger corporations won’t dedicate more resources or budget to music-centric programmes. It feels almost as though the middle ground has fallen out a bit and I find myself mostly scavenging on YouTube at American radio channels. I know for sure that my own musical knowledge would be weaker if From the Basement didn’t exist – I can name several of my now favourite artists through the show, such as Squid, The Raconteurs, and Idles being most recent. All these artists have carved their own sonic niche, and so I know that whenever I watch an episode, I will be challenged in my listening and may not even immediately like what I hear. Anyways, I believe there’s a reasonable suspicion that should arise when a song is immediately enjoyable, and sometimes it is just a good song, but a lot of the time – as with albums – I eventually find myself in more of a love affair with the less immediate tracks.

So with that sentiment in mind – I think I’ve come full circle this week with my discovery of ‘Geese’, the next best big post-punk band to come on to the scene. A band which admittedly I was aware of back in 2023 (with 3D Country) but that wasn’t the right time for my then-unenlightened mind. My renaissance has since come about with the parade of music chatter about the new album, Getting Killed, cheery eh?

The opening track of the episode, ‘Trinidad’, is punctuated by disorderly Hendrix-style flourishes amidst ticking drums, ones which later explode to Cameron Winter’s almost jubilant yell: ‘there’s a bomb in my car!’. From that moment I was sold, and seemingly so was Nick Cave in this week’s Red Hand files, who extolled the universality of the opening lyric: ‘I try, I try, I try so hard’. I think it’s this juxtaposition between verse and chorus which had me listening to ‘Trinidad’ so many times over, before finally venturing into the rest of the set. It’s a song that starts in media res, with a tense atmosphere that continuously teases its chaotic payoff – or rather, the kind of song that puts all worry out of your mind at the start of your day – at least if you’re me. The subject matter – from what I can tell is a rebellion against mundanity, with metaphors of sensory deprivation in the face of everyday life: ‘when I went deaf / I used my eye / They stood me in line / Till I went blind / Get in Asshole, let’s drive’. In the face of dulling monotony, the chorus’ car speeds on as its own vehicle of personal liberation and into a cacophony of blaring guitars. It’s brilliant. On some level I wonder if the song’s sentiment is a wider reflection of the band’s image and experiences with recording – though maybe only coincidentally. Winter himself said in a recent interview with Rolling Stone that he ‘was unhappy until the last possible moment’, even having lost a day to finding a handclap sample amidst a library of thousands of files. While the latter part may sound comedically precise (trust me, it’s a real issue!) I think it reflects more widely on the fraught nature of writing, recording, and producing a full album as a band in the current day. I have seen interviews with Winter describing the way in which money disappears quickly over recording days, and having to continuously promote, perform, and evaluate a project during that becomes a herculean task. Thankfully the result is fantastic but that maybe doesn’t feel that way once a thousand people listen and try to pin it to every genre, texture, or style imaginable. I’m conscious I’m too participating in that… sorry Cameron. I digress.

In contrast to ‘Trinidad’, the next track ‘Husbands’ offers a slower pace with Americana lines layered over a walking drum rhythm section. I think the great focus here is Winter’s vocals, they’re raw and emotive, building and carrying the song as it details the disintegration of a dwindling relationship. This is partially in contrast to the denial of ‘Au Pays du Cocaine’ – the song title itself playing upon the projected paradise of Bruegel’s The Land of Cockaigne.  Here Winter’s plaintive vocals repeatedly offer transformation and idealised scenarios as an alternative to reality, backed up by a lullaby of dreamy guitar lines and mellotron chorus. With their relaxed pace, these tracks feel as though they were drawn from a lost 60s album – I think it’s hard not to hear the influence of the Velvet Underground on these tracks, whether directly or spiritually. A win for me. Lyrically, I’m enamoured with the universality of the lyrics – repeated mantras such as ‘will you know what I mean?’ or ‘you can change’ all contribute to a bigger picture whilst seeming direct and every day. Actually, ‘you can change’ is pretty much the tragic mantra of denial that underpins ‘Au Pays du Cocaine’, as though repeating the phrase will instigate any real change for the song’s voice. I always think a song’s power lies in its ability to become personal to a listener and take on its own meaning – even if it wasn’t perhaps intended. I can’t think of many other formats where you can send someone a song to explain a feeling or mood.

There really is a wide range of influence across this set, and Geese’s music as a whole, with so many colours, structures, and images that keep me finding new musical relations across their songs, and in a way that’s a pleasant reminder rather than derivative. My thoughts immediately went to Can upon hearing ‘Islands of Men’, with its 70s Motorik rhythm underpinning the song. Likewise, the final track ‘Bow Down’ comes across as a gritty funk-oriented offering, riding the band out with an electric energy. Every song feels honest and natural in its construction, something with extends into the band’s live chemistry. The set is remarkably tight, it’s exciting to watch a band be in so sync with one another and it makes you wonder how the songs ever came from 30-minute jams once presented with the potent energy of the final tracks. On rewatch I’m amused by Dominic Digesu’s (bass) nonchalant look of approval around the one-minute mark and then the intense concentration between Winter and Emily Green at the beginning of ‘100 Horses’. All of this is underpinned by Max Bassin’s powerhouse drumming, and touring member Sam Revaz’ keyboard layers on top. If I haven’t praised enough – I’d end by saying that this episode of From the Basement encapsulates the joy of being in a band, or recording a band, or being in any musical space. It’s the small discrete moments of being totally immersed in a performance and locked in with fellow musicians that is one of the best feelings. Is it safe to say I’m a Geese convert?

You can watch the set here.

Pieter Brugel - The Land of Cockaigne

First Response: Avoiding Decision Fatigue in the Studio

Behold, my first entry into the world of blog-posting and the perilous descent into the murky depths of self expression! So with it comes my recent thoughts on ‘first response’, or rather my term for acting intuitively and trying not to think too hard in the studio. Tread lightly…

I always feel that the greatest challenge of any recording session comes about in the face of direction and decision making: there’s always the inevitable rush of set-up, the ‘thrill’ of finding why that one input fails to show up, and of course trying to capture the same purity and emotion of a demo track. But, there is always that certain point where the voice of doubt creeps in, wondering whether the entire direction of a track is working.

My remedy to combat this is to always consider what my gut-feel, or first response is to an idea. In basic, does this support, develop, or further the sense of emotion in a recording, and if not then does it need to be poured over? That’s not to say that no idea should present itself immediately, but when in a pressured recording environment there is a need to quickly capture a shape or outline of a recording. It is always crucial to make decisions fast and early, and to stop that conscious brain from influencing a response which most of the time is subconscious. In fact, I’m always chasing for that part of a performance or song where you just find that point of transcendence - where you feel or experience something that commands your attention or hits you with an emotional punch that you never saw coming.

So, if you’re like me - prone to chronic overthinking - it’s these sort of moments where you have to acknowledge that responding quickly with intuition to ideas is far better than adopting a rational approach. You can save that for later, and trim the fat once it’s there in the first place. The goal is to get a shape, and lean into it - like a sculpture. You’re always making thousands of decisions every minute anyway and, on some level, you’re already filtering ideas down so that they’ll pair together later. In my mind, I’ll be recording a track and thinking of where the key element is - what is it I want to push forward and make my listener pay attention to? What’s the focus of this verse, and what part is integral to this idea? From there, other elements tend to fit better as they’ll purposefully sit back to support or reinforce an idea without taking the limelight. I always find mixing to be the worst part of a project, so if you can get that locked in place before the session is over - you’re onto a good foundation.

Speaking of spotlights - I often try and remind myself that when recording an artist, the first three takes are likely to be the most emotionally engaged. As a producer, you’re really just trying to frame a song in a way that facilitates its message, so chasing the ‘correct’ take nearly never exists. Instead, it’s better to re-contextualise an idea if it’s becoming turgid, maybe with guiding questions - ‘sing it as if you were…’ or ‘what if the voice isn’t who they seem?’ - simple ideas, or twists and turns, just to get a performer thinking from an outside angle. It’s often not even reliant on a good question so much as reversing or breaking out of habitual thinking - especially when the artist is attached to a demo. From here, any technological decisions should just be to reinforce any sentiment being expressed.

Maybe this approach is also futile, but I wonder if redirecting an urge to repeat an idea into an urge to reframe an idea is better for maintaining the pace and enthusiasm of a session, and often the best ideas seem to emerge unexpectedly, not by following a devised formula. Ultimately - I try not to think in terms of comparison, or with set objectives beyond ‘complete the track’, because I find it stifles creativity. It’s far better to just build on decisions, quickly, and if the final result isn’t what you want - flip it over and start again. But to some extent, it guarantees a final result, and in any session - both the producer and artist’s fundamental goal is to create something beautiful, not mediocre. I think it’s inevitably easy to be critical ‘in the moment’, when a new idea is proposed - but often when revisiting old ideas there is an ability to listen with fresh ears because you’ve established that critical distance from the core emotion of an idea - instead you become more impartial as a listener.

So then, I fear, as my overthinking sets in, that a lot of this sounds hideously saccharine, but I do believe there is something concrete in putting intuition and emotion first in a creative endeavour. Ultimately, you can wear a theatrical mask in any performance, but at some level it’s still your own character looking through a lens, and hopefully with some hard work you end up with a song that resonates with someone.