The Brag

Lawrence Arabia
Wayfarer
By Oliver Downes

Back in the olden days, when folks took the march of civilisation seriously and intercontinental travel took years, sailors would get a sparrow tattoo (or swallow, depending who you ask) upon successfully voyaging across the equator or clocking up 5000 miles of time at sea – and another to mark the journey home. ‘Safe travel, safe return’ went the thinking, in what seems a pre-modern take on earning one’s stripes.

It thus appears entirely appropriate that globe-trotting kiwi songwriter James Milne, AKA Lawrence Arabia, should name his third record in honour of the diminutive bird. Having spent much of the latter noughties throwing himself at the London scene, Milne returned to Aotearoa towards the end of 2010, older, wiser and ready for a rest – though as it turns out, the title’s historical significance is entirely coincidental. “I’d written down the words ‘The Sparrow’ in my notebook,” explains Milne from his bed in Auckland, “as some sort of guide title for the album. [I’d imagined it as] some sort of innocuous-looking, malevolent creature that was going around ruining things. I’d always envisaged that I’d change the title of the album, but could never come up with anything different, and The Sparrow was catchy somehow – and in some sort of subtle way, it does underpin the thematic content of the work and the sound of the album. But maybe that’s just me.”

What is clear is that The Sparrow is an immaculately produced collection, its many charms proving Milne’s ear for unusual melody and nuanced lyrical wit. Unlike 2009’s Chant Darling, which was the product of a determinedly one-man-band approach, this time around Milne elected to work with friends, with Connan Hosford (AKA Connan Mockasin) and Elroy Finn (younger son of Neil) providing the rhythm section. Lush horn and string arrangements provide some ornamentation, with Milne’s searching warble (which seems to effortlessly channel the spirit of George Harrison) sailing above the mix. “I went in with the idea that I would try to capture interesting musicians in a state of unpreparedness,” he says, “[and] let them use their instincts to create something interesting. It was a definite reaction to the previous record – I was getting into all of these crises during the recording of that one … so I just wanted to simplify the process and do as much of it live as possible. Because I had this aesthetic limitation that I put on myself, it never got to that level of woe that can happen when you’re trying to pursue your vague idea of wanting to make something sound awesome, and not knowing how to do it.”

Though it may be thoroughly infused with the sounds and textures of the late-‘60s, Milne is certainly a songwriter of the moment. Alongside autobiographical sketches and whimsical musings, his lyrics often directly address the modern musical scene of which he is irreducibly a part, with songs such as ‘Talk About The Good Times’, ‘Beautiful Young Crew’ or ‘Perfect Specimens’ casting a scathing eye over a generation characterised as bloated with self-absorption and ennui, while being blithely unaware of its own privilege. Which begs the question: might Mr Arabia not be pissing in the well from which he drinks? “Yeah probably,” chuckles Milne. “Maybe it’s some sort of perverse, self-defeating thing that I’ve got going on. I’ve never wanted to pander to people… I don’t consider my audience when I write songs, unless I’m writing songs about them specifically. I often feel quite bombarded with modern music; you get so much information about people – [and] they’re all just like me, predominantly middle class people with no interesting stories,” he says. “There’s no mystique in modern music.”

Boredom with the mundane realities of pakeha life seems to drive much of the Lawrence Arabia M.O., from his fascination with the music industry of the late-‘60s (“there’s a real romance to it”), to his restless pursuit of fame (if perhaps not fortune) in the northern hemisphere, to his choice of such a heroically over-blown moniker in the first place. “I’m not sure how successful it is all the time,” he says. “My innate New Zealand-ness tends to sabotage things – being ostentatious is kind of foreign to the New Zealand psyche, but it definitely was part of my rationale for having some kind of persona. I feel it does free me more than if I was just James Milne, singer-songwriter – which is also very unmystical and boring.”

Though pursuit of dreams and stardust remains the goal, these days Milne is reconciled to the realities of life as an independent touring musician. “It really requires a philosophical mindset that accepts failure as the most probable option, and is willing to endure tedium, but also enjoy it for what it is,” he muses. “The reality and what you might dream of are pretty far removed from each other…

“Now I just think of success as being able to keep doing it,” he continues. “The reality of people’s careers, the expenses and the mental travails they go through – I just think that keeping on is a huge measure of success. I mean, I’d still like to play big shows and theatres and stuff, it’s still there as a dream – [but] as an ideal of what I’d like to do with my career, I’d like to still be touring every couple of years, see the world. You can get a sense of being trapped in New Zealand, it’s so expensive to get anywhere and it’s so far. That’s a humble goal for me, to still be able to travel the world.”

What: The Sparrow is out July 13 through Spunk
Where: The Green Room, Enmore
When: Tuesday July 3