July 5th 99 (exact date unknown)
The Boys Are Back In Town
Revolver
Anna Sarrls
When listening to the Watchmen sing "My life is a stereo" one cannot help
but ponder what kind of stereo would represent one's own life. A few spring to mind - the
light pink 1984 model, one metre long, portable, sitting on top of the shoulder of a sweaty
guy wearing a tracksuit with shoulder pads, strutting down some dodgy westie street. Or
perhaps a monstrous car stereo laid out the back of a pristin 1992 white Commodore with
tinted windows, fluffy dice and a sound that shrieks at the townsfolk on the street "can't
you just hear how big my balls are!" The Watchmen's singer/songwriter Daniel Greaves, however,
does not attach such meaning to the band's hit single Stereo. For Greaves it has less to do
with electronic metaphors and is more a reflection on claustrophobia.
"It's about a lot of different stuff", Greaves explains. "I started out with the line "My
life is a stereo"...that's probably pretty stupid or it's brilliant, it was just the right
thing to say. The line "one of a million" is basically saying we're cattle. I was walking
downtown Sydney today, there was construction everywhere and there's millions of people and I
just felt like cattle, I don't like it very much. I was ready to kill somebody getting off the
plane today, looking for my bags, a million people around. I thought okay, I'll just wait
here until at least 300 of these thousand take off and find their bag...a lot of people think
I'm singing "one in a million" and they're like...right on, he's quite humble saying he's one
in a million."
Unlike many a successful, slick performer, Greaves actually doesn't mind if you get the words
wrong, or the meaning wrong in one of his songs. "I like people to take the song and run with
it", he asserts. "I'm not the boss of these tunes by any stretch". The immediate reaction to
The Watchmen's fourth album Silent Radar is one of extremity. The overpowering sound produced
at Stone Gossard's studio in Seattle is guaranteed to intensify any emotion that is barely
hanging around in your demented little psyches. With all Greaves' singing of loss, change,
and earnestness one cannot help but be moved...perhaps towards lighting a few candles and
writing poetry about your longlost mustard knickerbockers from kindergarten.
"I like moving people, it doesn't really bother me if someone really hates out band. The worst
thing would be to be indifferent. I don't think it's a depressing record, although I've heard
that before like "god...cheer up you bastars" kind of thing. But I love listening to stuff that
makes me sad, I do that intentionally, like put on some Nick Drake or Simon and Garfunkel and
I just want to be moved by something."
So what happens when seeing the intense, slightly angry band live. Does this melodic forceful
rock and roll leave a crowd happy, sad, little peeved, or just plain 'ol cockrocked?
"The shows have a lot of energy. I can't think of any of our songs which are about happy things.
The sweat we put into it is a positive thing, an interactive thing...I see people leaving our
show smiling. It's because of catharsis, jumping around and you're sweating like we are, it's
energy...not because we're saying feed the starving, we love everybody. People just get off on
the energy and so do we."