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."