Ken Davis: ‘I Feel Everything I Play’

He’s one of Australian music’s biggest independent success stories, enjoying platinum album sales while maintaining complete control of his catalogue. His name is indelibly associated with New Age, a genre that is starting to be re-examined by a new generation of synth explorers. RICHARD MARTIN visits Ken Davis in his luxurious home on Sydney’s Northern Beaches to discuss music, love and healing.

[Historical image is withheld pending rights review.] When did you start playing music?
I started off with trumpet in school when I was nine ... but even then the guy had to write the notes over the valves. I could play the melodies straight off; he’d play the melody and I’d just learn it. But learning the notes ... then, when I was about 20, I got a big spiritual calling from somewhere.

Was that scary?
No, it was wonderful; it was three days of bliss. It was just as if someone had beamed a big beam of light on me and said, “OK, this is what you’re gonna do now,” and I just followed that and developed such a love for music and feeling for music. And it’s been there 18 hours a day, most days.

So your first serious band was pretty rock and roll?
Yeah, Khan. We did songs called ‘Black Stallion Woman’, things like that. That was a good band. Full-on rock; Status Quo and that sort of thing. My first song was ‘Do They Have to Kill the Whales?’ – that was an environmental song. I took the band to Perth and then, after several line-up changes, I ditched Khan and formed IQ.

OK, so IQ was your synth-pop act of the early 1980s. Who were the main players apart from you [playing keyboard and guitar]?
The keyboard player was a young guy called Mars Lasar. He was only 17. I poached him from his brothers band, called Matarga Brothers. I saw them on Young Talent Time and there’s this guy playing Jean Michel Jarre’s ‘Oxygene’ note for note. Perfect. Mars could see that IQ was going somewhere. He was so talented, he won the piano contest at the Opera House – he was so highly trained. I can play leads and all that, but he was a chord man.

Then after that we had Henk [Visschedijk] join [on vocals]. He was an incredible actor that could’ve taken us to the very top as well – he’s now called Darpan. He’s an international spiritual leader.

What were the highlights of your time with IQ?
We did the Bondi Lifesaver, all the big gigs around. Our biggest gig was a Friday residency at the Woollahra Hotel, and we packed it out. In the end the manager said, “We can’t have you here anymore, Ken, you’re too big.” It was packed; you could not move.

We did the Midnight Oil support, we supported Mi-Sex, we supported Pseudo Echo, all those great bands. Pseudo Echo – wow, the first time I supported them I thought, “Bang, they’re gonna make it huge.” And they did.

We played as support to Mike Oldfield [around] Tubular Bells. Lots of people remember that.

Who were you influenced by?
I loved all the big ones from England ... not so much Bowie, although I liked Bowie. Human League ... I met New Order when they came to Fairlight. Midge Ure [of Ultravox], he was a big influence on me – and Iva Davies [of Icehouse], I love Iva. Definitely Kraftwerk. In the early days I loved Kraftwerk. Tangerine Dream I loved; that guy [Edgar Froese]’s guitar playing – amazing.

“Every synth I got, I just loved everything about them.”

When did you first start getting into synthesisers?
In 1974 I bought my first Minikorg 700s. Kitarō and I have that great rapport because he used a Minikorg 700s. When I met him, backstage at the Universal Amphitheatre, he said, “Every time I find one, Ken, I buy it. They’re gold.” I’ve got two but over the years they go out of tune. You’ve got to really work at it to keep them in tune.

After playing guitar in rock and roll bands, what appealed to you about synthesisers? Every synth I got, I just loved everything about them.” I’d play and play them in the shops. I had the Roland SH2 ... then I had four Roland drum machines before I bought the big LinnDrum. The Linn was just another level. I had SH-101s, I had the JX3P, I had the Juno. I had all that before I got introduced to Fairlight, and then Fairlight was good because it was an internationally recognised synth made in Rushcutters Bay.

I’m also very good – or I was in the early days – at getting into the logic, and programming them all myself: putting in my own reverb, putting in my own release, plenty of sustain and things like that. Plus the echo units: if you work with echo, you’ve got a whole new dimension of sound that comes out. You’ve got these counter rhythms all happening, and my mind was like, “YEAH YEAH!”

It was always fun, and that sound of the Minikorg 700s – there was no other sound, and there still is no other sound today like that. There are lots of synths that do a similar thing, but they don’t do that incredible melody line right across the spectrum.

Was it an expensive habit?
I’d spend every dollar I had on synths, guitars, all that because I wanted to make it. It was my passion, it was my love, and of course when you’re in that mode and your passion’s there and you’re watching every other band, you’re listening to everything that’s happening and you’re thinking to yourself, “Now with what I have, is the potential there to get where they are?”

You wore some pretty cool outfits in IQ.
We had our own clothes designer. We were in Surry Hills for about four years, so right in the middle of fashion. We had everybody coming in who were friends of the band, [saying,] “We love the band, we’ll do clothes for you.” All the love and respect for the band, we never had to pay for anything.

I get so disappointed when people don’t dress up; [they] look like they’ve just got outta bed. I like somebody who’s put in a bit of effort. Doesn’t have to be much – bow tie, pink shirt – but they’ve made an effort. With us it was part of my plan as an entrepreneur. I was gonna have IQ stores all over the place – shirts, all our gear. It’s just marketing and merchandising.

“We could’ve been bigger than Tears for Fears. Bigger than anybody.”

How did IQ finish up?
Klaus Schulze came to Fairlight, and he was so impressed with Mars and I, he said, “I want you to come on our European tour.” That for me was like the pinnacle: “Ah, here’s the break!” And what did Mars do? “I don’t wanna go. I wanna stay home.” I said, “Pardon me, this is what we’ve been working for for the last six years. This is it, we’re ready to go! Klaus Schulze, once we’re finished with him we’ll be on our way.” “No, I wanna stay at home.”

So that’s when I went off on my own. It never broke up; I went from IQ into solo Ken Davis. He took off to America [where Lasar embarked upon a distinguished career in high-end production and engineering]. I’m still friends with him. Sad, because he and I were brilliant – we could’ve been bigger than Tears for Fears. Bigger than anybody.

So you still feel a sense of disappointment that IQ weren’t more successful?
Oh yeah, very sad.

I’ve written 50 good songs that’ve never been released. They were all top songs – ‘Running Away’ and ‘Island Fantasy’. ‘Please Don’t Change Me’ – it was great song, very catchy! If I’d got even one of my songs away; if it’d got played on Triple J or something like that – I wouldn’t be in the position I’m in now, I’d be a major touring artist.

‘New Tomorrow’ is a cracking song.
‘The New Tomorrow’. It was rock-based. “Think about tomorrow, think about today, think about computers and a better way.”

“I was practising like mad in a warehouse. I had balls. My own PA, only two little synths, the ghetto blaster with backing tapes.”

So when IQ wound down, that’s when you started playing your daytime outdoor gigs in public places like Pitt Street Mall and Darling Harbour.
I was practising like mad in a warehouse. I had a little place in Brookvale. I had balls. My own PA, only two little synths, the ghetto blaster with backing tapes. I was so focussed and nothing was gonna stop me ... when I started [performing] at Circular Quay, that first day I had 60 tapes [to sell] and I walked home with 600 dollars.

I remember seeing you play back in the day with the big MIDI rig. You obviously knew your machines back-to-front. Was it a thrill for you to play the new material solo?
Well, it was a thrill to see so many people buy the music. I mean, sometimes they were three deep when I took my break. I always had good prices: one CD for $25, two for $45, three for $60; everybody bought three. It was just amazing what happened. Darling Harbour bought this house. Laurie [Brereton] built Darling Harbour, and I worked Darling Harbour to buy this house.

Today I could say, “Oh, beautiful day, I’ll go to Parramatta Mall,” and it was great – I’d ring up the council and say, “Hi, it’s Ken. I’d love to come and do a lunchtime.” “Thank you, Ken, love you there. We’ll have the power there for you and everything.” It was fantastic.

Was playing synth gigs in these malls and public spaces a deliberately radical strategy on your part?
I got out there and played, and I think that was the reason it was so successful.

“Now you’ve gotta have your licence, your public liability and all that. It’s taken away all the spark.”

I thought somewhere down the line, someone’s gonna hear me and something would happen. If the right person – like the son of the Opera House manager, he heard it, and immediately he was able to launch me to the next stage, playing at the Opera House. I’d be playing there on a Sunday afternoon, the music would float across the harbour, people would come from miles around, saying, “I was on the other side of the harbour; I heard that music, I had to come.”

There were no mobile phones. There were no officers to ask, “Have you got your licence?” Now you’ve gotta have your licence, your public liability and all that. It’s taken away all the spark. All the spark’s gone.

Did you work hard to get together your signature sound?
I had the CSQ sequencer, I had the SH2, a JX3P and the MK700s and backing tapes. That was the beginning. Echo on everything. I already knew it was good; I’d already recorded the cassettes, and then the public made up my mind. It was such a reward after 15 years of being knocked back, of having doors slammed in your face.

I remember playing at Chinatown, and the head of Sony was having dinner in one of the restaurants, and where I was playing it was jam packed with people, throwing hundreds, throwing fifties. I ran out of stock. He said, “We should have a talk.” I said, “What about”? They get a lot of artists in, and if you don’t come up to scratch they toss you out – and in the meantime all they are is the bank. I didn’t need them to be the bank. I was my own bank.

“There’s hardly a musician in the country that’s as well off as me.”

You had no reason to give up your independence.
I thought, “It’s the people who are gonna decide, not these stupid A&R record-company guys who are throwing my tapes in the bin.” Then they came chasing me and I didn’t want to know about it because it’s the same old thing – they wanted 90% of what I was gonna earn and I said no. When you look around now and you see what I’ve achieved, I’m right at the very top. There’s hardly a musician in the country that’s as well off as me.

When you started making your own ambient music, did you have a spiritual practice?
I was associated with the Hare Krishna spiritual movement, and was spiritual in my own dimension, because of that three-day amazing spiritual calling.

Do you feel comfortable with the term ‘New Age’ music?
Yeah, well, New Age is about light. New Age is about trying to get people out of the norm [and] into something that is a little bit more esoteric [and] that’s nice. It’s not dark, it’s not evil, it’s not satanic; it’s a consciousness that’s opened up to many, many people around the planet. When I go to America I’m in touch with all those people. I give concerts at the Joshua Tree Retreat Center, in the Sanctuary, and those people are all tuned into this. They live it; they don’t think about it, they live it.

Australia is a bit more judgemental. That’s the mentality; it’s entrenched here.

But there’s still been a big take-up of your music?
There I am playing at the Opera House, the most amazing music, and that was opening people’s hearts. It was opening them to channels that ... they didn’t have any idea that anybody could play music like that that would touch them so profoundly. That’s why I sold so much music.

Now there’s so much pirating and taking off the web that hardly anything has any value anymore.

Does that bother you?
Major. It’s blackened the whole music business to the point that musicians who have calibre are treated the same as anybody else. So if you said, “Right, Ken Davis: enlightened person, Atlantean Priest, can heal” – for me to be happy in what I do, I need to be playing in front of thousands, promoted as the master of ambient relaxation, healing harmonious music, and people – instead of going to church they’ll come and listen to me.

Do you feel your music has helped people?
Absolutely. The letters I’ve got over the years – people’ve been married to my music. One woman in Penrith, she brought her baby up to where I was playing live and I looked down at the pusher, and there was this baby looking up at me with a smile so big I’ve never seen anything like it. And she said, “Ken, you’re not gonna believe this: he was conceived to your music. He listened to your music all the time he was inside of me. He was born to your music. Look at him now.” You couldn’t take the smile off his face. It was the ultimate.

“You could play some bloody jazz thing that’s so bloody intricate only you can understand it and that’s why you’re on the dole.”

Do you pay any attention to criticism of your music?
People say, “You get a theme and you play it and play it and play it and it gets a bit boring” and all that. Well, it may be boring to you but the way the relaxation works is by having a theme. It’s like Keerthana yoga, people love that, chanting. The criticism I didn’t like was the jazz guys who thought that they were 50 times better than me and I only ever pressed buttons. I used to say to them, “I don’t know where you live, but ... I know where I live, and I don’t know how much you’ve got in the bank but I know how much I’ve got in the bank, and that’s all I can say to you.”

It's nothing to do with ego. It’s to do with the fact that this is what I do. If someone presses a button and some amazing song comes out that he’s programmed, am I gonna say, “You're not allowed to do that”? No, he’s made a beautiful song. Whereas you could play some bloody jazz thing that’s so bloody intricate only you can understand it and that’s why you don’t make any money or you’re on the dole.

A lot of the synth textures you’ve used are really coming back into fashion.
Well they were used then, and they’ll always be used because they’re good.

You’ve got some gigs coming up supporting Client Liaison. What can people expect to hear?
They want me to do some very ambient stuff and then fire off the 909 and get more of a kick going: a bit of dance, get your high-energy music out there. I think they’ll be great. A chance for me to get out to a young market and see what they think of an older guy who’s the master of the New Age.

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Ken Davis will support Client Liaison on Saturday, October 19 at The Toff in Town in Melbourne and on Wednesday, October 23 at GoodGod Small Club in Sydney. You can listen to audio samples and order albums at his website.