BY STEPHANIE ESLAKE
Living in Tasmania carries with it a feeling of remoteness. We are far away from the place we call “the mainland”, yet our isolation permits the development of a vibrant culture and artistic landscape. We feel connected to nature, bound to our local community, and inspired by the knowledge we have space to create.
Julius Schwing is a guitarist who lives in Tasmania, though his day-to-day life is far more remote than for those of us in the capital. Julius lives on a smaller island, about an hour away from Hobart, where he spends time creating unique soundscapes and original instrumental techniques.
Julius tells CutCommon how he crafted new solo album Wagtail from his Bruny Island studio The Hall, and how we can all connect to this feeling of isolation and find our inner worlds through music.
Julius, thanks for the chat! Tell us about Wagtail, which you created on Bruny Island.
Thanks for having me! Wagtail is a collection of improvised acoustic guitar pieces I recorded in my home studio. It’s the product of me finally setting up a bunch of recording gear, and being really pleased with sound I was able to get.
This turned into a month-or-so of just enjoying playing and capturing these little improvisations, listening back, and learning a stack about sound production on the instrument and the power the small things have on the music. Things like tiny variations in touch and articulation, pick angle, string buzz. The recording process allowed me to get microscopic and hear things I wasn’t aware of initially while playing.
To be honest, I didn’t set out to make an album as such — rather just capture a part of my process as I develop as an improviser.
Each piece takes inspiration from life on the remote island, where you have your home studio. What’s it actually like living on Bruny – an island off an island off an island…?
Living on Bruny is beautiful. There is so much space, and you’re constantly surrounded by the natural world and its rhythms, all of which have an impact on your day-to-day life. There are always chores that need doing, firewood, maintenance, gardens, animals. We grow a lot of our own produce, and I’m on or in the water a fair bit fishing. Life here is very intertwined with nature.
Still, you said in a statement that you don’t represent Bruny directly in your music; that its influence is distant and deep. I’m interested in the way you feel your environment, as opposed to translate your environment through music.
I believe in the power of osmosis when it comes to manifesting a sound that has a sense of place. It feels very clear to me that I am in many ways connected to, and a product of, my environment. And with that in mind, I don’t need to pick any specific elements of the environment and think, ‘How should I portray this musically?’. The fact I live and am present within the environment feeds into my process naturally, and if I am aware of this as an improviser I can create music from that feeling.
I’ve known Bruny Island for 34 years, and am always observing and learning.
Though your album is a product of Bruny Island, I’d suggest that living remotely is a feeling we can all relate to, in some way — during the pandemic, we have all experienced moments of isolation. How might your album offer comfort or a reflection of our collective experiences?
I would say the album is the result of settling into an inner world, and finding stimulation and adventure within that. I think that would be something we can all relate to — having more time for our minds to wander. For me personally, that is a very positive thing and has always been a big part of my creative process.
One technical side of the music I’d like to ask you about is “crumbles”. It’s a word that finds its way into your piece Crumbles After Rain on the Pobblebonk Dam, and refers to the “crumbles” technique you’ve created. Why did you want to stretch the limits of the guitar, and how would you describe this new technique?
Crumbles started off as a textural exploration, and within that I discovered opportunities for a slightly more structured and technical approach to making these flowing rhythmic sounds.
I find it hard to describe, but I hear them as pointillist spheres of notes; a repetitive pulse that is dictated by physical impulse rather than a metric grid — falling and breaking clusters of notes and sounds that phase and layer as I try to disconnect the left and right hands and listen to the way the two interact.
It’s also fun to try to separate the hands from the mind and just watch them go. They make some great decisions!
You’ll be touring this music across what we in Tasmania call “the mainland”. What do you hope your interstate audiences will take away from your island creation Wagtail when it’s performed live, especially when you consider the improvisational aspects?
I hope I can bring the audience in to my soundworld and share that space with them. Different rooms have different sounds, feels, and even just the layout can really affect the performance for me.
I really enjoy improvising in a live setting. I like the pressure and discomfort, the nerves, the constant inner dialogue, doubts, the click when things flow, everything about it. I feel very alive in those moments.
Rather than hearing the album played live, the audience will hear the process with which it was made, and the parameters are pretty wide — guitar, humans, room — so a lot can happen.
Before we go, what’s the secret behind the name of this album?
No big secret, really, it just seemed to suit. Something lighthearted. And our dog Sulty is on the cover — he’s a pretty happy hound!
Wagtail is the sixth album released on Julius’ Isthmus Music label, and is now available on Bandcamp. Julius will perform at Canberra’s Sound Out festival in June before a tour of the mainland to launch Wagtail. Keep up to date with Julius online.
Images supplied.
