RMIT 'CATALYST' MAGAZINE INTERVIEW 2011
by Soren Frederiksen
I have never called Japan. Maybe I never will. Today, Japan calls me. One of its honourable residents—Andrez Bergen, a journalist, musician and author—has promised to ring, so now I write notes and wait for the phone to buzz, rumble and come alive. He’s also the son of Desmond Bergen, a man better known as ‘The Belgrave Wizard’ who I interviewed some months back. Andrez read the piece and was pleased, so this was arranged and now I sit having read his new book, Tobacco-Stained Mountain Goat, and try to calm my nerves.
I turn over the content of the book in my mind. It’s one of those slippery new works that warrant a hyphenated mess of an introductory sentence, so promiscuous has its author been with the genres on offer. TSMG is a curious, whiskey-sipping ride through the lanes and ways of a Melbourne less pleasant and more fenced, segregated, crumbling and hostile than our own. The weather hasn’t improved, but has changed to a constant downpour of acid-rain that at least provides more certainty than today’s climate. The rich rule while the poor scuttle through their decaying city trying to live, love and enjoy themselves—a struggle we witness through the chain-smoking, hard-drinking, tragic figure of Floyd Maquina. Sydney is not an option for these Melburnians, and not just because of some stubborn hatred of their northern neighbours. Melbourne is the only game in town, or, rather, the only town in the game, as the rest of the play-board has been burnt and ruined by some apocalyptic disaster never named as the story flows.
I like it. It’s quirky, fresh, riddled with references to noir classics, but written with a self-deprecation that douses any cries of pretension and a black humour that sees you in wry smirks when reading.
The phone rings, I pick-up and it’s him. Best clever journalist voice.
We begin with a brief bit of background, as Andrez recalls a young life in Melbourne, a year in London and ten more in Tokyo. I listen, interested but impatient, as he describes the scarce snippets of imported film and video that first drew him to Japan.
My mind is on other things. I’ve wondered for a while what kind of nest Andrez’s father, the turban-wearing eccentric, activist, healer and non-conformist might have provided, and am determined to steer the discussion in that direction. What was it like having such an interesting character for a parent?
‘When my mum was still with him, Des was not quite so whacky,’ says Andrez. ‘He always was a little out there in terms of his mentality, but he was playing the family father most of the time. Once my parents got divorced, he just went off on his own tangent, which was a really good thing for him. It’s freed him up to do what he loves and dress as he wants, which is great.’
The question is a little self-indulgent, I guess, but I can live with it. With The Belgrave Wizard’s muggle past revealed, we return to relevancy. Books aside, how do you pay the bills?
‘I’m a journalist and English teacher,’ says Andrez. ‘The teaching pays the bills, but the journalism is what I really want to do.’ A quick glance at Andrez’s work-history backs this claim of enthusiasm. He’s written for a long list of publications, from the mainstream (The Age, Herald Sun, The Daily Yomiuri) to the cardigan-clad alternative fringe (Mixmag, Impact, Geek Monthly). He writes on movies, art, anime and, another passion, music.
‘I try to make as much music as possible, but it’s tough to make any money out of it,’ he says. Perhaps adding to the hurdles posed by life as a musician is the music this one has embraced. Take a soundboard of strange samples down to a vacant warehouse and play them repeatedly and with increasing intensity. Occasionally get somebody to say something that doesn’t seem to relate to anything else, kick a typewriter down the stairs and you’re coming close. I’m musically illiterate. Industrial electronica isn’t my cup of tea. At the time, I wasn’t even sure it was a cup of tea. But, as I read Andrez’s book and listened to his music by its side, it began to make sense—the strange tracks seem at home in TSMG’s bleak, dystopian future, as if one is just another way of expressing an aesthetic described in the other.
I mention this to Andrez in a garbled, tongue-tied manner. “I think there is a direct connection between the way I write the written word and the way I write music, because they’re done in the same head space,” he says. “Sometimes I’ll make a track, and then get back to writing or editing the story within the hour, so I think they’re really directly related.”
Whatever fools like me might think of the music, Andrez’s various acts, notably Little Nobody and Funk Gadget, have sold more CDs and more tickets than my cheap jokes at their expense ever will. He’s performed across four continents and his work has inspired remixes from dozens of artists better qualified than me to judge.
Knowing he’s travelled widely—London, Amsterdam, Hong Kong—one might wonder why Andrez chose Melbourne, above these cities, as stage for his story. ‘I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty sick of New York being the last city in the world, or London being the last city in the world,’ he says. ‘It’s a tribute to Melbourne, I love Melbourne.’
But TSMG pays tribute to more than just its author’s hometown. Andrez mentions the film-noir and sci-fi he watched as kid, the literature he loves, the TV he grew up on and the way the quirks of those he grew up with have sewn their way into the fabric of the novel. Somehow the book doesn’t come off as a patchwork piece, but as a blend of its ingredients that has its own flavour, identity and feel. ‘It’s everything I’ve known shaken up into a great big martini,’ Andrez says, with a laugh.
I ask what he’s doing now and what he might serve up next. ‘At the moment, I’m planning the next novel,’ Andrez replies. ‘I don’t know when it’s going to happen or how long it’s going to take, but it’s based in Japan and Australia, as well. The basic synopsis surrounds an identical twin Geisha who lives to be 100-years-old and the rest of the story I’m still working out. Laurel [a love interest and friend of TSMG’s protagonist] might weave her way into the book, making it a prequel for TSMG from her perspective. So, I’m thinking about that.’
Andrez makes obvious that these are very, very early days. He has, after all, got more pressing matters to attend to. ‘In the mean time, I’ve got a five-year old daughter and I’m supposed to be focusing on her life at the moment,’ he says, with an audible smile. ‘The past year was spent entrenched, focused on the release of this novel, doing all the promotion and propaganda. So, I think I need to spend a little more time hanging out with her. I’d say that’s my main project for the next few months.’
----------
Tobbaco Stained Mountain Goat was launched in Melbourne on August 10 and is available at selected bookstores. It is also available online at Amazon.com, Anothersky.com, Powells.com and elsewhere.
Soren Frederiksen
I turn over the content of the book in my mind. It’s one of those slippery new works that warrant a hyphenated mess of an introductory sentence, so promiscuous has its author been with the genres on offer. TSMG is a curious, whiskey-sipping ride through the lanes and ways of a Melbourne less pleasant and more fenced, segregated, crumbling and hostile than our own. The weather hasn’t improved, but has changed to a constant downpour of acid-rain that at least provides more certainty than today’s climate. The rich rule while the poor scuttle through their decaying city trying to live, love and enjoy themselves—a struggle we witness through the chain-smoking, hard-drinking, tragic figure of Floyd Maquina. Sydney is not an option for these Melburnians, and not just because of some stubborn hatred of their northern neighbours. Melbourne is the only game in town, or, rather, the only town in the game, as the rest of the play-board has been burnt and ruined by some apocalyptic disaster never named as the story flows.
I like it. It’s quirky, fresh, riddled with references to noir classics, but written with a self-deprecation that douses any cries of pretension and a black humour that sees you in wry smirks when reading.
The phone rings, I pick-up and it’s him. Best clever journalist voice.
We begin with a brief bit of background, as Andrez recalls a young life in Melbourne, a year in London and ten more in Tokyo. I listen, interested but impatient, as he describes the scarce snippets of imported film and video that first drew him to Japan.
My mind is on other things. I’ve wondered for a while what kind of nest Andrez’s father, the turban-wearing eccentric, activist, healer and non-conformist might have provided, and am determined to steer the discussion in that direction. What was it like having such an interesting character for a parent?
‘When my mum was still with him, Des was not quite so whacky,’ says Andrez. ‘He always was a little out there in terms of his mentality, but he was playing the family father most of the time. Once my parents got divorced, he just went off on his own tangent, which was a really good thing for him. It’s freed him up to do what he loves and dress as he wants, which is great.’
The question is a little self-indulgent, I guess, but I can live with it. With The Belgrave Wizard’s muggle past revealed, we return to relevancy. Books aside, how do you pay the bills?
‘I’m a journalist and English teacher,’ says Andrez. ‘The teaching pays the bills, but the journalism is what I really want to do.’ A quick glance at Andrez’s work-history backs this claim of enthusiasm. He’s written for a long list of publications, from the mainstream (The Age, Herald Sun, The Daily Yomiuri) to the cardigan-clad alternative fringe (Mixmag, Impact, Geek Monthly). He writes on movies, art, anime and, another passion, music.
‘I try to make as much music as possible, but it’s tough to make any money out of it,’ he says. Perhaps adding to the hurdles posed by life as a musician is the music this one has embraced. Take a soundboard of strange samples down to a vacant warehouse and play them repeatedly and with increasing intensity. Occasionally get somebody to say something that doesn’t seem to relate to anything else, kick a typewriter down the stairs and you’re coming close. I’m musically illiterate. Industrial electronica isn’t my cup of tea. At the time, I wasn’t even sure it was a cup of tea. But, as I read Andrez’s book and listened to his music by its side, it began to make sense—the strange tracks seem at home in TSMG’s bleak, dystopian future, as if one is just another way of expressing an aesthetic described in the other.
I mention this to Andrez in a garbled, tongue-tied manner. “I think there is a direct connection between the way I write the written word and the way I write music, because they’re done in the same head space,” he says. “Sometimes I’ll make a track, and then get back to writing or editing the story within the hour, so I think they’re really directly related.”
Whatever fools like me might think of the music, Andrez’s various acts, notably Little Nobody and Funk Gadget, have sold more CDs and more tickets than my cheap jokes at their expense ever will. He’s performed across four continents and his work has inspired remixes from dozens of artists better qualified than me to judge.
Knowing he’s travelled widely—London, Amsterdam, Hong Kong—one might wonder why Andrez chose Melbourne, above these cities, as stage for his story. ‘I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty sick of New York being the last city in the world, or London being the last city in the world,’ he says. ‘It’s a tribute to Melbourne, I love Melbourne.’
But TSMG pays tribute to more than just its author’s hometown. Andrez mentions the film-noir and sci-fi he watched as kid, the literature he loves, the TV he grew up on and the way the quirks of those he grew up with have sewn their way into the fabric of the novel. Somehow the book doesn’t come off as a patchwork piece, but as a blend of its ingredients that has its own flavour, identity and feel. ‘It’s everything I’ve known shaken up into a great big martini,’ Andrez says, with a laugh.
I ask what he’s doing now and what he might serve up next. ‘At the moment, I’m planning the next novel,’ Andrez replies. ‘I don’t know when it’s going to happen or how long it’s going to take, but it’s based in Japan and Australia, as well. The basic synopsis surrounds an identical twin Geisha who lives to be 100-years-old and the rest of the story I’m still working out. Laurel [a love interest and friend of TSMG’s protagonist] might weave her way into the book, making it a prequel for TSMG from her perspective. So, I’m thinking about that.’
Andrez makes obvious that these are very, very early days. He has, after all, got more pressing matters to attend to. ‘In the mean time, I’ve got a five-year old daughter and I’m supposed to be focusing on her life at the moment,’ he says, with an audible smile. ‘The past year was spent entrenched, focused on the release of this novel, doing all the promotion and propaganda. So, I think I need to spend a little more time hanging out with her. I’d say that’s my main project for the next few months.’
----------
Tobbaco Stained Mountain Goat was launched in Melbourne on August 10 and is available at selected bookstores. It is also available online at Amazon.com, Anothersky.com, Powells.com and elsewhere.
Soren Frederiksen