Deaf Wish

You could clear a room with Deaf Wish’s 2007 debut album, originally released on CD-R in a vomit bag. PATRICK EMERY reviews a new reissue of it.

[Historical image is withheld pending rights review.] Amongst the gems of management jargon that cross my desk is the concept of an employee being ‘outcomes focused’. It’s a phrase that always says so much more about the subject than they’ll ever know: while a car company might advertise its new vehicle on the basis of the quality of the journey, and not the destination, does anyone really think it’s necessary to explain that they don’t see process and planning as an ends in itself?

But maybe Deaf Wish is the exception to prove the rule: Deaf Wish guitarist Jensen Tjung once mused that Deaf Wish songs “are never really finished or worked out ... it’s very process based.”

And putting aside Tjung’s irreverent world view, the observation makes sense: from its conception Deaf Wish has never really seemed to have an end goal in mind: the band’s recordings have included a CD-R and a VHS (!) single, on top of sporadic live appearances and a deliberately chaotic existence. There’s no corporate plan, no key performance objective, no performance review, no post-project critical appraisal: Deaf Wish is forever in the moment, as loud, abrasive, obnoxious and comical as that moment may be.

Deaf Wish formed in 2007, recorded a collection of songs, played two or three gigs, then disappeared briefly when guitarist and vocalist Sarah Hardiman moved overseas for a couple of years.

“It’s not for everyone, but punk rock never is.”

Consistent with the band’s derelict commercial attitude, the first Deaf Wish album, Green Flame, was released on CD-R, the first choice copies presented in a sick bag – now there’s a marketing gimmick few PR flunkies would be game to embrace. Over succeeding years Deaf Wish would go on to reform with a slightly modified line-up, release the odd follow-up record (including a VHS-only single!) before falling loosely back into its original formation.

This self-titled first album is a snapshot of Deaf Wish’s artistic process, circa 2007. There are 10 tracks in 24 minutes, the collage of noise and lyrical assault punctuated with the occasionally cheesy spoken-word interlude that elevates the concept of Deaf Wish to some sort of B-grade punk horror event. It’s not for everyone, but punk rock never is.

The album starts with a veneer of humour: Hardiman muses that she’s always wanted to say ‘Africa’ in a song; Tjung responds with a goofy manner. Acceding to Hardiman’s request, the word ‘Africa’ is uttered solemnly, before the title track opens the album with a flurry of noise. There’s a sense of catharsis in Tjung’s vocal rant, a rhetorical protestation against everything that’s wrong in the straight world. There’s screeching feedback, pummelling beats and the obligatory sloppy finale.

After the fight of the opening track, ‘Take What You Want’ suggests resignation: “Take what you want, take what you need” – the band is punch-drunk, up against the ropes, daring its antagonists to do their best, yet somehow you know Deaf Wish will rise again.

With barely a missed beat, the album segues into ‘Mum Gets Punched in the Face’: Hardiman’s vocals are charged with emotion, and you shudder to think at the domestic tragedy that lies at the heart of the song. Typically, the song lurches between melody and white noise, before petering out with a belch of feedback.

“Is this a message of despair or reality?”

The spoken-word ‘Zen Arch-Ade’ smacks of a cheap and nasty attempt at sampling a ’50s movie soundtrack or a Raymond Chandler novel, except that it’s the band themselves intoning words of apparent wisdom, with all the production merit of a lost UCLA film studies project. With that interlude over, ‘Make It Hurt’ is back in your face, a simple call-and-response punk rock track that’s equal parts hope and tragedy: “Some people try/Some people die.” Is this a message of despair or reality?

‘I Traded You’ locates emotional angst in a primitive economic context: psychological attachment is nothing more permanent than a trusted piece of clothing exchanged for a better item, an old vinyl record bartered for a slab of beer or a piece of equipment hocked for some nefarious purpose. ‘Mai Tai’ is probably closest thing to a pop song on the album: it could be Deaf Wish’s twisted take on ‘Ticket to Ride’, the soundtrack to romance lost in the wake of a departed lover where melody can only briefly disguise the depth of emotional torment. ‘Nerve Damage’ is a variation on a theme: there’s real psychological pain going on here, exaggerated by the sprawling SST noise of the song itself (and with a brief, mock-horror explanation of the violent reality of a Deaf Wish headbutt).

‘Freeze the Sound’ is the most restrained – and longest – track on the album, coming in at an epic four and a half minutes. “If I could freeze the sound, and stick it right through your heart,” Tjung yearns, as the song builds to a climax: it’s sonic statement as psychological torture; there are distant screams and crescendo beats a sense of impending danger. The song ends, and there are no prisoners to be found.

‘White Heat/Bikini’ concludes the record: it’s less a song in the traditional sense than an insane rant rendered against a collage of abrasive sonic elements. Hardiman whispers “Is everybody gone?” and the album is over, but can never be forgotten. You could clear a room with this album, and the people who stayed would be the best people you’d ever want to meet. Deaf Wish.

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The ‘Deaf Wish’ reissue is out now on limited green vinyl and digitally through Homeless Records.