Behind The Noise

It's impossible to discuss Kirin J Callinan without discussing his reputation. There have been increasing reports of his activities over the past handful of years that have given the guitarist a perhaps unflattering public profile within his industry. There's been the reports of him performing in a lace nightie. There's been the reports of his and Kris Moyes' attempts to induce a seizure as part of their combined set at the Sugar Mountain festival.

In short; he's known as a provocateur. An artist who invites controversy. A reputation not exactly dispelled by the fact that Callinan hasn't actually released much music under his own name. To date, there's been 2010's She EP and 2012's W II W single. An argument exists that it's impossible to discuss Kirin J Callinan without discussing his reputation because there's little else to discuss.

This isn't strictly true. Callinan may not have released much music under his own name – but he's already something of a veteran of his community. Beginning his career with respected Sydney outfits Lost Valentinos and Mercy Arms, Callinan has also played with Jack Ladder and Lost Animal. In that time, he's toured, released albums and supported seminal groups like the Pixies. There's significantly more to his career than his mythology.

“Yeah, that is strange. It's certainly not anything I've ever tried to actively pursue or proliferate,” the guitarist says of his public profile. “I mean, it's flattering. That anyone would even care, you know? That anyone would be interested in writing articles or writing reviews or what have you. I mean, the Australian music industry is pretty insular. I think to have anyone think you're doing something unique is a good thing.”

Nevertheless, Embracism would seem to have a lot riding on it. Released this week, Callinan's debut album arrives after literally years of myth-making and hyperbole. Written over two years, produced by Kim Moyes of The Presets and released internationally on Grizzly Bear Chris Taylor's Terrible Records (and Midnight Juggernauts' Siberia Records locally), it can't help but feel like a make-or-break for Callinan's reputation.

“Well, it'd be nice for it to be successful. It wasn't really part of the intention, though,” he disagrees, untroubled. “There's never been any great expectations or even ambitions for the album, commercially speaking. I just wanted to get ten or X amount of songs that have built up over the years out, off my chest and done as well as they could be. The main intention was to capture these songs the best they could be captured.

“And, you know, not think about what my sound has been to date or what people are going to expect or want,” he adds. “Not to surprise anyone or take anyone off-guard but simply to do away with any preconceived notions of the songs and just show them in the best light possible. To create a bigger picture overall from start-to-finish. To paint not just a picture of what I'm currently about but of what I want to do and the grander overall trajectory.”

There's little about the provocateur in his conversation. He neither rails against his reputation nor offers anything particularly controversial to reinforce it. The only hint of rock star indulgence that makes its way into the discussion is his accidentally locking himself out of his hotel room at the start of the conversation. Callinan doesn't seem unaware of the impact of his work – but he also doesn't seem to put much stock in that impact.

“I think what I do comes from a personal space. I don't think you can look at any one of the songs and say it particularly sounds like anyone else's songs or even anyone else's type of music,” he says. “In that sense, I guess it is by default, though it's certainly not by intention, a little bit unusual. Simply because, as I said, it comes from a very personal space. It's honest. And real.

“You know, I'm not trying to trick anyone or hide behind something. It's my name. It's my image. The cover art is kind of a joke on that. The idea that, if I'm hiding behind anything, I'm hiding behind myself,” he chuckles. “Obviously, there's an element of character and fiction to the lyrics but it ultimately still comes from a very personal place. And I think people can smell that. If it is unusual, I'd like to think it's because of its honesty.”

Embracism is Kirin J Callinan, in that regard. Seemingly defined by layers of artifice (cascades of guitar noise; warped, wobbling electronics; yowling, menacing aggression), it's ultimately a record of unflinching, disarming veracity. Upon listening, the prevalence of nudity and frailty in Callinan's media profile becomes less surprising. For all of the muscle on display, it's a painfully vulnerable album.

“Kim did rein in the more outer ideas I gravitate towards. I have a tendency to like things that are really bad and like them because no-one else will,” Callinan laughs. “Kim was really crucial for those kinds of decisions. You know, he gave me complete control but, of the times that he did make suggestions, I'd say he was right 100 per cent of the time. And he was very careful about it, too.

“You know, there'd be times where I'd feel like we were compromising on something in a song. That, by taking a certain approach, we were watering down whatever it was that made me unique as an artist,” he says of his producer. “And Kim would always really maturely and carefully explain how that wasn't the case – that we could really deliver the best versions of these songs and performances without compromising who I was.”

In a weird way, Callinan's work is best represented by his accent. The guitarist sings in a strident Australian yowl. While initially an affected rendition of his own spoken accent, it's since grown into a more guttural, honest and visceral tool of expression. Similarly, his music and aesthetics may seem highly stylised – but they're honest extensions of Callinan's identity. It's not mere provocation.

“It feels very natural. Even as I've gotten older and a bit more mature, I've still tried to make instinctual decisions. It felt right at the time to sing in that accent and it still feels right to do that. I think to change it would be strange,” he offers. “And, yeah, to be honest, I always hated when I heard an Australian band putting on an American or English accent. Fucking hated it. Maybe it represented a rejection of that idea as well...”