Taxiride ProfileI thought of the High Fidelity line while listening to Dan Hall’s 2011 album A Parting Shot:
“What came first, the music or the misery? Did I listen to pop music because I was miserable? Or was I miserable because I listened to pop music?”
“I love that book,” Dan told me. “I believe misery and pop music go hand in hand. Music is a form of therapy. It really does help me get through tough times. It’s a great way of conveying how you feel when you can’t say it in words.”
Dan – a fine songwriter who found fame in Taxiride before issuing a string of excellent independent releases – has died, aged 48.
Dan obviously had his demons, but he was damn fine company. Smart, cheeky, instantly likeable. A loveable rascal.
And he was a prodigious talent.
One day, Dan was surprised to discover that I possessed a copy of a demo tape by a band called Stove.
Stove featured Billy Baxter from The Hollowmen, Liz Aldridge from Pale Blue Eyes on vocals, and a young Dan Hall on drums. “I was a young punk, all of 16 back in ’94,” Dan recalled.
Stove didn’t progress beyond that tape, but they did a number of gigs in Melbourne, playing with Even, Glide, Swirl and The Killjoys.
Dan then stepped out of Melbourne’s indie scene as a founding member of Taxiride, alongside Tim Watson, Tim Wild and Jason Singh.
Taxiride’s debut album, 1999’s Imaginate, hit number one in Australia, going double platinum. They signed to Sire Records internationally, won an ARIA Award for Breakthrough Artist – Single, and toured Europe with Tina Turner, playing Wembley Stadium twice.
It was an amazing ride.
Dan exited Taxiride after their first album, resurfacing with his own band, Airway Lanes, who issued their debut album, In Vino Veritas, in 2008. At the time, I compared the record to Crowded House and U2.
The title translated as “in wine is truth”.
“I’ve always been moved to write a song when the shit’s hitting the fan,” Dan told me.
I was close enough to Dan that I felt I could ask: Is there a danger that as an artist you will deliberately cause pain in your life so you can write songs?
“I don’t know about deliberately inflicting pain,” he replied, “but there have probably been events I could have dealt with better, which have shaped some of the music. My songs are quite reactionary to what’s going on in my life.”
One line on In Vino Veritas intrigued me: “You’re afraid to face the music in your head.”
“That whole song [No One Dares] is written about me from someone else’s perspective,” Dan explained.
“And it’s outlining the fall from grace into the darker existence I was leading at one point. That line in particular refers to the fact that the music I was actually playing was rubbish compared to the stuff I was writing or wanting to write.”
Whenever Dan posted new music on Bandcamp, I would always buy it. We all get so much music for free; it was my way of telling Dan I was a genuine fan.
When I heard The Village Bell, the opening track on 2024’s Daniel James Hall EP, I told Dan it reminded me of Ron Sexsmith. He was chuffed.
“Wow, that is a huge compliment,” he smiled. “I’ve loved Ron for years. I saw him at the Corner in 2001, and he was so bloody good. Break-up music, ha!”
A Parting Shot, released under the name South Side Rebel, was definitely a break-up record. But, as with everything Dan did, there was a wry sense of humour.
“The title has two meanings,” he pointed out. “One is a final word before walking away, and, on a lighter note, I like drinking shots. Not as many as I used to though, they get me into lots of trouble!
“I used to say, ‘I’ll have a parting shot’ to the bartender before staggering home.”
Dan was living above Richmond’s Nash Hotel when he wrote the record. And he recorded it at the studio belonging to his old Taxiride buddy Tim Wild.
“I could have done anything, I could have been anyone,” Dan sang on the record, which was released on his own label, which he called Missing Presumed Dead.
“That refers to people in the music industry who burn brightly for a short time before vanishing altogether. There’s a lot of it around. I’ve felt like that a lot over the years.”
“You should be proud of things you achieve,” Dan sang in Dust on A Parting Shot, “know when it’s time to leave … Everything turns to dust.”
As for that line in High Fidelity?
“I really don’t know what came first,” Dan said. “But my money’s on misery.”
As I write this, I’m listening to Dan’s last release, the EP For The Window Shopper.
This line, from the opening track Window Shopping, is making me feel both happy and heartbroken.
“And I’m still signing off with a smile.”
And that’s how I’ll remember Dan Hall. Amidst all of life’s trials and tribulations, he was such a sweet guy. And that smile? Well, it always made me smile, too.
