Scott & Charlene’s Wedding: ‘There’s No Metaphors’

Blue-collar slacker? Jangle ambassador? Leader of the new Australian underground? Amid the buzzy lead-up to a second album and with a suddenly global profile, JEREMY STORY CARTER parses Scott & Charlene’s Wedding with self-deprecating Melbourne-to-NYC transplant Craig Dermody.

[Historical image is withheld pending rights review.] We’ve never met, but Craig Dermody welcomes me from the Curtin Bandroom’s stage like an old friend, interrupting a Scott & Charlene’s Wedding soundcheck to shake hands. Admittedly, he thinks I’m from one of the bands supporting his homecoming gig that night and, with a room littered with musicians and sound techs, I briefly consider not correcting him. He offers to cut short the soundcheck to sit down for our interview, but I say I’m happy to wait and return to the Curtin’s downstairs pub as Dermody calls out that he’ll only be another five or 10.

More than an hour passes, which is enough time to read Beat cover-to-cover for the first time in years and drink slightly more than I intend to. When Dermody shows up, all six-plus feet of moppish blonde hair and broad, boyish grins, any grumbles quickly wear off. The guy is extremely likeable and, over the course of the evening, plenty of others will gravitate towards him.

We stand outside on Lygon Street opposite Trades Hall for a few minutes, so Dermody can smoke and quiz me about things that have happened since he last visited from New York. He asks about Kirin J Callinan’s set at Sugar Mountain, and I make a note in my head to cleverly juxtapose the two at a later stage. Thankfully, Scott O’Hara from Bitch Prefect interrupts that thought, wandering up to give Dermody the warmest of ‘welcome back’ hugs. Eventually, we break away and slump onto a couch where I attempt to wrangle some sort of focus to our discussion.

Take him for example [pointing at O’Hara, who has walked off to join friends]. Since you left, they’ve put out an album [Big Time] and done pretty well for themselves, and several like them have done the same. Coming home to that, is that a bit strange?
It’s awesome. It’s fucking awesome. I felt like it was going to happen, because I listened to that album while it was being recorded and I knew that they were going to do good. I didn’t realise they were going to do that good, but it’s amazing.

I went and saw Full Ugly the other night and was I like, oh fuck man, this is good! It’s good to come home to it because it doesn’t seem like there’s as many of those sorts of bands in Brooklyn.

We’re talking relative success – obviously these bands still need to work jobs and all that – but these bands have done well…
They’ve done very well.

…and have a lot of people listening to them now. Like Twerps, for instance – before you left they’d achieved a certain amount...
But they weren’t selling out The Tote nights in a row and that kind of business.

Is that weird to see how that has all evolved since you have been away?
No, I kind of thought that was the way it was going. I thought that it was growing and growing, and I just assumed that that was the way it was going to go.

It’s good for me when I come back, because all my mates’ bands are massive and then when I play shows with them, there’s heaps of people there [Laughs], so it’s great.

Your band gets dragged up as a point of reference when talking about a lot of these bands, and you have had this unusual position of living outside of it all. How do you feel about that?
I didn’t even know. Somebody said to me the other day, “You helped start it” and I was like, “Nah, no I didn’t.” It’s nice, but there were heaps of others around when we were cracking at it. It might have something to do with the fact that I went away. If I stayed, I would have been the same as everybody else and maybe not used as a point of reference.

Do you ever think about that – what might have come about if you had of stayed?
I probably would just be playing with Bitch Prefect every weekend, and just doing pretty much what I’m doing over there but having a few more mates around.

“I have to come back every year because I miss it so much. I miss my friends.”

The way Twerps have done it – obviously they gigged the hell out of it for awhile but once their record came out, they became this bigger thing, toured and played Meredith. Do you covet that kind of success?
It’s definitely never been on my mind. Like, I would love to play Meredith – I email [music director] Woody [McDonld] all the time and say “Reckon I could play?” Because I’ve always wanted to do Meredith or Golden Plains and it would have been good to hang around and see if I could have got a sneaky spot on there. You never know.

Any chance of you doing Meredith this year?
I’ll be around, I’ll come back for that. I’ll have to tell people I’m available and spread the word. [Laughs] I love those festivals; it would be awesome.

So what are you doing back in Melbourne?
I sort of have to come back every year because I miss it so much. I miss my friends. Also, this timing was for a high school friend’s wedding. I went to a buck’s weekend last weekend and have felt like fucking shit all week. I took drugs for the first time in fucking forever and had an awful first couple of days back here in Melbourne after it.

Whereabouts was it?
The Gold Coast. It was very sophisticated – the Para Vista people. So I did that and then it’ll be my mate’s wedding and my sister’s birthday, so I’ve coordinated playing all these shows around that.

Do these shows help with tickets back and forth or is just beer money?
Yeah, it just sort of all blends together – like the money that I make working in a restaurant and doing set design – I earn money, and then once I pay off certain band things, it all melds together.

It definitely helps with these shows when I come back and I have to buy tickets for everybody that’s in the band to fly. Ela [Stiles] is in Sydney, so I’ll buy a ticket for her to come down here, then I’ll buy a ticket for everyone to go up to Sydney, fly to Brisbane.

So the band who is playing tonight isn’t just mates from around here?
No, but it’s like mates from within the scene. Ela is from Songs and Buswalking and I’ve known her for a long time. Then there’s Gilly [Gil Tucker, Beaches], who played in Spider Vomit with me and is my best mate and then Joel Carey [Peak Twins], so yeah, just people who have been around for a long time that I’ve always played with. We’ve had a hectic couple of days showing them the songs though.

Is it sounding alright?
Yeah, I love it. It’s pretty rambling but that’s what I like. There will be some fuck-ups tonight.

So, a couple of years ago, why did you leave?
It was just time for me. I had a pretty tough couple of years. My mum passed away, and I had done all the things that I was trying to do. It was all building up, I wanted to go, and New York has always been a place – because of basketball and things like that – that I love. It was just like, get this record [Para Vista Social Club] done and then I’ll feel like I’ve achieved something and move on. It was just time for a life-change. It was a tough one at first.

You hear of a lot of people making that jump and it can be pretty grim.
The first year was the grimmest, grimmest – some of the toughest times I’ve had. Before I even left, Scott & Charlene’s wasn’t … I was pulling five or six people to shows. Then I got a few to the launch but by the time I got over there, I couldn’t convince people to play with me. Couldn’t get shows, bookers wouldn’t reply to emails. For a whole year it was like, “Why am I even doing this?” I was just plugging away in my room writing songs and then eventually – same as the way I did here – just go to every single show, and then you end up meeting people and they help you to get shows. At first I had to find the bands that I liked.

Was that hard? It’s such an insanely big city.
It was hard. You would sort of think that the regular pop bands would stick out at you, but they were hard to find. And then, it was a bit of a turning point when I found that band Woods. Then Twerps put me in touch with the Real Estate dudes. It was because of the Twerps that I found my drummer, who puts out the Twerps records in America [through Underwater Peoples]. So once I found him, then all these other doors started to open – found people to play in the band, got shows.

So you really need that in.
It’s good to have an in. It’s a tough slog though.

“I write down-and-out pop songs – nothing better than being down and out then.”

That first year, did you ever consider...
Coming home? Nah, I just knew this is a challenge; this is what I had to do. I write down-and-out pop songs – nothing better than being down and out then. I knew I was going to get some songs out of the whole experience [Laughs], even if I was miserable. And now it’s starting to turn around a little bit.

Well you’ve pulled together a band on the ground over there. Do you feel you can now approach bookers and promoters with confidence?
There was a period where I could start to approach bookers and starting to get shows, and now it’s turned into this thing of getting asked to play shows, which is the best. When we go back, we’ve got a bunch of shows set up, and we’ve got a booker to get us a USA tour and go do a European tour. Now it’s gained a bit of momentum and it just goes on its own now.

The other day I was reading that Kitchen’s Floor…
The diary.

Yeah – and you cropped up.
I haven’t read that yet. Yeah, they stayed over.

Does that happen a bit as bands from here blow through?
The first Total Control and UV Race tour I had Georgia [Rose] from UV Race and Mikey [Young] from Total Control all sleeping in a blow-up bed together in my house in Bushwick. Then the Kitchen’s Floor dudes actually stayed on my kitchen floor. Joe was like “Don’t tell anyone about this,” and I was like, “Come on man – this is fucking hilarious.” They got stuck at my house with the hurricane – that first hurricane. I’ve still got a box of Kitchen’s Floor records in my cupboard that they couldn’t take home. I always love having mates’ bands coming through and staying over.

What’s the perception of those sort of bands over in New York? Do they even rate a mention?
Yeah, yeah Total Control gets a big smashing. Twerps – big smashing. Royal Headache gets a big smashing. Woollen Kits did really well, UV Race did really well. Basically all the usual suspects from here that you could think of, there’s sort of some swell for them over there.

I remember awhile ago listening in to a gig you were playing with Royal Headache.
Man, that was one of the best shows we’ve played. That was actually some of the best leg-ups we’ve had, because I still wasn’t pulling anybody. I still struggle to pull people now, but we’re opening for good bands now, and some of the shows where people saw us first was when we were supporting Twerps and Royal Headache – those were the shows that got us going a little bit. Thanks to those fellas.

That’s just what you need, I guess. It’s kind of funny, you offer up a kitchen’s floor to these guys and maybe get a support slot.
It was awesome.

In that Kitchen’s Floor thing, they were talking about you working as a bouncer somewhere…
Oh yeah, there’s been lots and lots of weird jobs that I’ve had to do. I had to be a security guard at this weird VIP celebrity place. I just had to knock back everybody unless they were like models or celebrities.”

How do you even find yourself in that situation?
Just a friend of a friend. You just stumble around until you find something. So working in nightclubs, just fucking anything.

Is it true that you knocked back Kirsten Dunst?
Kirsten Dunst, I asked her for ID and she kind of just rolled her eyes and was like, “Really?” Ryan Gosling I knocked back.

“There were big stars that I got in trouble for not letting in … It was a fucking awful job. It’s totally the opposite of my whole personality.”

Oh really? Shit…
And the dudes from The Strokes. There were a few people that were big stars that I got in trouble for not letting in. Lindsay Lohan … no, Scarlett Johansson came in with three dudes and I said to her, “You can come in but only with one dude, because there are too many dudes in here. You can’t bring in three dudes!” She was like, “Really? Really?” and I was like, “Yeah.” This dude standing behind me said, “It’s Scarlett Johansson” and I was like, “Oh shit, shit, shit.” It was a fucking awful job. It’s totally the opposite of my whole personality.

I can’t imagine too many people going through those doors who would have listened to your record.
Yeah exactly, I didn’t talk to anyone about music or anything. Basically, it was the who’s who of New York. The dudes put me on the door because they thought, “You’re a nice fella, you’re not going to be mean to them. Just reject anyone who isn’t famous.” And I was like, “Mate, I don’t know who the fuck is who. I’m a fucking furniture removalist from Adelaide. I don’t know who the fuck these people are.” It was awful.

Where do you sit now, when you go back to New York?
I work in a set design place now, and that’s really good. My bass player, he’s got a company and we do that – he helped me get my visa. And I work at a restaurant in the day, making coffees and pouring beers. I like it. It pays the bills and it’s not too stressful.

[Historical image is withheld pending rights review.] It must be pretty tough though, working a couple of jobs and still trying to play music?
It’s full-time, but everyone over there is like that. You bang out your 10 or 11 hours a day, then you come home and try and bang out whatever your personal shit is. I realised as I was coming home that I didn’t know what to do with a day off. When I came back, I was hanging out with Gilly and was like, “Gilly, we’re going to go do this today, aren’t we?” and she’s all “Yeah, yeah, we’ll get around to it.” Everything took Melbourne time, and I was so used to “Let’s do this, this, this and this.” All efficiency. Now I’m starting to mellow out again.

So the next Scott & Charlene’s record is just going to be a bunch of intense, frantic one-minute power-pop songs?
It’s frantic. I realised afterwards when we were listening to it that there’s nothing jangly about it at all. The recording dude said, “It’s hyper-pop – the songs are fast and it’s tight.” I brought it home and I have to work out what I’m doing with it. There’s some mixing to do. The blue-collar thing [of the first album] has kind of been taken over by a dude working on the door at nightclubs. I write songs about every job that I do, and working on the door at some celebrity place isn’t quite as endearing as being a furniture removalist or something.

I’m interested about that, because that’s one of the real successes of Para Vista Social Club – it’s impossibly honest and personal, and yet somehow is able to…
It’s been what lots of people do.

[Historical image is withheld pending rights review.] And by virtue of giving across your own experience, that’s something that others can strongly relate to and identify with.
It’ll be interesting to see what happens with the new [record] because it’s still the same deal – it’s still incredibly honest. There’s no metaphors. It’s straight-out and you understand everything that I’m saying, but now I’m going through all this weird shit and working at weird places.

It just sounds like a totally surreal environment for you to be in.
Oh it’s fucking weird man. There’s also all that getting-dumped shit, though. Girl problems are universal. New York, here or anywhere, they’re all still around, for sure.

“Hopefully people can relate. People still get dumped.”

Did that concern you at all – sitting down to write a song and realising you weren’t writing about a train station any more, that your subject matter has all changed?
It only really made me feel weird the other day, when I got back the other day. Someone was like, “Oh your songs are so blue collar” and I thought, “Shit” … I mean, they are still blue collar, but blue collar is a totally different game over there. The idea is just to make [the songs] just as honest as possible, which means just writing about what I’m going through. The whole year and a half of writing that record, it was just “This is what I’m going through, this is what’s on my mind.” It’ll be interesting to see how it pops out.

Well, you’d be going down a bad path if you were still trying to write about being down and out in Melbourne while living in New York.
Exactly. Hopefully people can relate. People still get dumped. [Laughs]

With Para Vista, it’s a good year or two on.
Yeah, about two and a bit years.

How do you feel about it looking back? Can you still relate to it?
Oh yeah, I still play those songs. Sometimes I still play those songs just in my room, like ‘Footscray Station’ and stuff. That’s the song that when I was feeling down and trying to get up, it helped me get up. You know, like ‘Epping Line’ is about my mum, and I still think about her all the time.

So it’s not just that you can relate to the guy who wrote those songs – you still are that guy?
Yeah, I still probably play four or five songs off that record in the live set, and still every time I play them I think about those things that were happening, and they still feel relevant.

I think that’s the key with that album. The amount of times I’ve poured myself out of The Tote or somewhere at the end of a night, and that album has just made perfect sense. People have been there, they’ve done those things and they’ll probably do them again.
Definitely, those themes will probably hang around our whole lives. Those big, big things that happen to you that you just totally pour your guts out about – they don’t go away.

The curious thing is that a couple of years on, you’re beginning to enjoy some strange international success with Para Vista.
It’s fucking weird, man.

What do you make of all that?
I just be happy about it, and try not to analyse it. Sort of, “That’s good that that happened, now some more people might come to shows.” And it’s helped.

[Historical image is withheld pending rights review.] Do you notice a difference from the day someone like Pitchfork makes mention of you?
It was noticeable immediately, with more people coming to shows. I didn’t realise, but they hold a lot of cards. They are very powerful, in terms of a band like mine. It’s crazy, I had no idea about them but after that I realised, “Oh shit, that’ll make or break you.” It was good to get a sneaky mention, that’s for sure.

You want another beer mate? I’ll get it. Hang on a tic…

I fumble meaningfully with my phone while he’s at the bar and take stock of how drunk I feel. Dermody returns with a couple of pints of Coopers, beaming about how nice the staff at the Curtin are and rejecting the $10 note I try to slide across the table. I resolve to ask more direct questions, but we end up talking about venues, bookers and recent gigs for several minutes. When I bring up UV Race’s February launch at Ding Dong with Deaf Wish, The Clits and Peak Twins, he sighs and I spot a brief chance to get things back on track.

Do you miss it? Do you ever regret leaving?
I fucking miss it, don’t get me wrong. I miss it all the time. This is my home. But I don’t regret it. I had to do what I had to do, and I know I’m on the path I’m supposed to be on. It’s not the easy path to be on for me. It sucks sometimes and I miss my crew so much. This is just what I have to do. It makes good times like this really good though. Doing soundcheck before and just knowing that I’m going to play in Melbourne…

Tonight, or when you played last year at The Tote [with Peak Twins], there ends up being this sense of celebration when you come back.
It’s amazing. I was saying to the others [points to a nearby table of mates], I only live away so I get to come home and everyone’s excited. It is the best time when I get to come home.

Speaking of that Tote show and the split with Peak Twins, were you pretty happy with how that all turned out?
That was amazing. I remember them giving me little tapes of them playing in their bedroom and me going, “You have to do this, you have to keep on.” To see it all come to fruition is great. The [Peak Twins] record, which no one’s really heard as yet, is going to kill everyone. I heard it the other day and it’s phenomenal. Amazing musicians, heaps of heart – my favourite band, definitely.

I’m bummed I couldn’t get them to play any shows. Liam [Kenny] has been out of town, he’s moved to Sydney. I always want to play with those guys, although Jack [Farley] says not to play with them anymore because when you hear Joel’s voice and then you hear my voice, it’s a little bit … rough.

“I thought I was just a whiney bastard when I did that [first] record, and I kind of feel that I’m just a whiney bastard again.”

Do you ever doubt yourself and your ability?
Oh yeah, all the time. I don’t know what I’m doing. The new set that we play in New York ... I get worried about it the same way I did with Para Vista before it. I thought I was just a whiney bastard when I did that record, and I kind of feel that I’m just a whiney bastard again.

I’ve seen you talk yourself down a bit, but you’re usually surrounded by some pretty great musicians…
I’ve been lucky enough to convince people to get on board. A mate came to a show in New York and said, “You can’t fucking sing to save your life, but you can write a song and you can convince people that are good musicians to play with you.” He hit the nail on the head, mate.

[Historical embedded media is withheld pending rights review.]Scott & Charlene's Wedding - Fakin' NYC by FIRE RECORDS

That’s the business plan.
That’s the whole plan. Convince other people that it’s worth it and the voice is just going to have to be what it is. Shit man, I better start getting some food. When does the show open?

Your show?
Yeah.

Couldn’t tell you, sorry.
Have you had dinner? Hey Gilly, have you had dinner? Was it nourishing? Was it enough for me? Alright, I’ll order that,” he says, pointing to an empty box of nachos, before looking down at my recorder on the table.

“We got enough for that?” he asks. “Yeah definitely,” I say, not entirely sure that it’s the truth.

The night’s gig is the full bag of jangled clichés. It’s beer-soaked, sometimes beer-saturated, and Dermody bounces around the Curtin’s stage with all the slacker charm that made him a fitting point of reference for the flood of likeminded records that appeared following Scott & Charlene’s debut release. It’s hardly the most memorable set Melbourne is likely to see this year, but it also isn’t as ragged a performance as he predicted. Gil Tucker’s guitar work extends beyond that of what others achieved on record, and there’s more than a passable sense of cohesion among the band. (He really does surround himself with pretty decent musicians.)

And Dermody, somehow in spite or perhaps because of his self-doubts, nails something common to all of those who have filled out the venue on this particular Friday night. The dumb, intensely profound joy that exists in such low-rent rock and roll. The slight sense of melancholy that strikes as you tilt your head back and briefly stare through the bottom of a pint glass while swilling the last few drops of a beer you were almost too drunk to order. The comforting sense of looking up again, past the back of your mates’ heads and knowing that your own bad decisions don’t matter as much as you thought they did and that for the rest of the night, you are stupidly, blissfully okay.

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‘Any Port in a Storm’ comes out in late July through Bedroom Suck in Australia and through Fire Records internationally.