Hearing Things

In many ways, the years have been kind to The Ears. Flaring up briefly in Melbourne's legendary post-punk scene of the late '70s and early-'80s, they played little and recorded less. But starring roles in Richard Lowenstein's definitive document of the era, Dogs In Space, saw them attain a cult status that has impelled them forward in recent times, the result being the reformation of one of this city's more worthwhile acts. This year, we are privileged to see a mini album from the group, Deja Moo, an eight-track wonder that, while it may be overdue, music fans should simply be thankful to own. Frontman Sam Sejavka – an important cultural figure in his own right, whether as renowned playwright or frontman for Beergarden – talks about the thinking behind the release, indicating he didn't want the band resting on any laurels.

“We wanted to concentrate almost wholly on fresh material,” he says. “We chose only new songs which had been blooded live, plus one from ages past, The Perennial Boogie. Looking forward, we have a treasure trove of new songs, demoed either by Mick Lewis or me, but working them up with the band can be a challenging process. Putting aside the fact we're physically incapable of remembering anything for more than two weeks, organising a rehearsal is like herding crabs. Members have jobs with weird hours, demanding families and Phaedra (our new cello/keyboard player) lives in the country. The next release might be a double album. It will be called Phosphorescent Toad Hole. Either that or The Haunted Bong.”

When we ask Sejavka about the differences between an Ears show circa 1979 and now, his answer reveals some interesting insights into the nature of the rock'n'roll beast, not the least of which is that, according to him, his onstage persona is, well, pretty mental. “The gravitational centre of the band now is getting the most spirit out of the music and its performance,” he continues. “We still go whole hog, like we used to, but gone is a lot of the affectation, the fears, the deadly seriousness and all the self-importance of youth – all those things that seem so unbearable in hindsight. I guess the whole thing's more ironic now, in some ways. It has to be, given our ages. One big difference is that we're about six zillion times tighter and don't struggle quite so much to play our instruments. Despite this, I don't know if there's all that much of a difference – in style and content – from back then. The quirkiness remains. The madness remains. The disease remains. I know my mental state while performing is always scarily similar – I think while I'm up there I'm technically insane. I doubt younger types, who know us from Dogs In Space, will have trouble recognising the band, even if some of the material is different.”

Interesting that Sejavka should mention age because, as with a lot of us decrepit old punks, the end is never far from our thoughts, even when we're planning record launches. “It's liberating when you don't have anxieties about performing,” he says. “All you're left with is giddy anticipation. Because nothing matters in the end, we're far more unconstrained. There is the dignity of age to be maintained, of course, but because we don't have any, the issue is moot. My only slight worry is death. If I collapse with a myocardial infarction, any member of the audience is invited to perform CPR. If not, I'm happy to die on stage. What better place? Though, I'm reasonably confident I won't die. I actually work on my fitness a bit before this type of event… If you're interested in seeing me die, there's still a chance – I do push myself to ridiculous limits – though I can't crawl across the ceiling like the guy from the Vice Grip Pussies. Don't know if I ever could.”

The Ears will be playing the following dates:

Saturday 22 December - The Bridge Hotel, Castlemaine VIC
Friday 28 December - The Tote, Collingwood VIC