Jen Cloher and her Endless Sea

There is an awkward and sensitive relationship between a writer and their subjects. Some are long lasting: like that of writer Truman Capote and Perry Smith as depicted in Capote, or that of Helen Garner and Maria Cinque in Joe Cinque’s Consolation. Both texts deal with this subject in detail. I find the dynamics in these relationships fascinating even if mine are much shorter lived than the aforementioned. And, in this case, even when the subject matter is only music, not murder.

I indulged in this detail because I feel that I can’t tell you all that much more about Jen Cloher than you would already know from googling her name. I don’t know that our interview was very successful and unfortunately there was no time to rectify the situation. Nevertheless I managed to extract a few small details that will hopefully help me paint an honest and realistic portrait of her.

I can see how artists become frustrated with the same old questions, consisting of the same old things that silly journalists have read in someone else’s interview or record company’s press release. And so it continues: those idiosyncratic hooks stay with them for the rest of their career.

In Cloher’s case inspiration for her single 'Rain' has firmly secured its place at the forefront of her profile. Rain was inspired by the writings of Raymond Carver. She burrowed into his short stories four years ago when she moved from Adelaide to Sydney. “He has a way of stating things plainly but still conjuring up fantastic imagery,” Cloher tells me.

The other media ‘hook’ that plagues her is that she started playing guitar in the bathrooms at NIDA, instead of being where she was meant to be: on stage. Cloher doesn’t “think it matters how long you’ve been around if what you are doing is inspired” and she “respects her journey” from acting to singing. She sees the significance as being one of performance and inspiration. Irrespective of the medium, she tells me it is all about “being in the moment”.

'Rain', like most of the songs on her debut album, Dead Wood Falls, are fragments of a love story.

“I watched her mouth the words through the glass...
Joy in a woman is as good as her touch.”

She sees musicians and writers as both being artists of narrative. “I have never made a distinction between the two. It’s all story telling.

”Carol," she tells me, "is dedicated to Patricia Highsmith’s novel by the same name. “It’s kind of like the female version of Brokeback Mountain. Highsmith has a formal way with language that makes the passionate moments in her work all the more awkward and vulnerable. She’s all class.”

My favourite track from Dead Wood Falls is 'Red Room', for its seedy undertones:

“The Red Room’s out the back now
Cost you just seven – o
You can have me all to yourself
If you enjoyed the show.

But don’t make me beg
Don’t make me beg…”

The story ends with the reality of any lasting relationship. Cloher reminds us that love will be more like Streetlights not the Stars.

“Get used to this…
Get used to me my love
Its streetlights not the stars.”

Cloher’s music reminds me of Melbourne folk bands Clare Bowditch and The Feeding Set and Tin Pan Orange both in style and content. Cloher’s voice bares a striking resemblance to Emily Lubitz’s (Tin Pan Orange) particularly evident in The Longing Song and Better off Dancing. In songs like Fingersmith, there are certainly hints of her alt country inspiration Neko Case, who she hopes one day she will support.

Cloher’s perfect day consists of friends, food and music but unfortunately is mostly spent hunched over an ibook, as she is self-managed. She finds this to be the most difficult and the most wonderful aspect of being involved in the music industry. As I re-read her description of her days at the computer and her praise of her Osteopath, Lee, I roll my neck and wonder if I should book that massage. I consider whether in fact we connected more than either of us realise.

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