1
... 54 . . . ... 55 . . . Hailing from the city of Gothenburg in the south west of Sweden, González is a very atypical Swede - he’s a lot shorter than the average height of six foot five, he has dark features, deep brown eyes, dark hair and dark skin, and he doesn’t wear ridiculously tight trousers. is is explained largely by the fact that he is the son of Argentinean parents. ey are also responsible for some of his early musical influences – giving him e Beatles and Bossa Nova classics to sing along with as a kid. Everyone at home spoke Spanish, and González grew up in a Swedish speaking country, yet his first language in song became English. “It just turns out that way,” he explains, “it’s pretty common for Swedish bands to sing in English…It came naturally when I was young and playing in Punk bands. One of the best things about writing in English, not being the first language, is it becomes like a shield.” It’s the classic thing of putting on a mask in order to get at the truth. And as for singing in Swedish, he’s not so keen: “Maybe some day, but it sounds corny, so…I mean there are two or three Swedish bands that sound good singing in Swedish but then the others sound corny.” What with the huge folk revival and everything, it’s Nick Drake this, Vashti Bunyan that, and people are hungry for the new generation. Mellow is taking over. Even e O.C. has played José González. His ringtone is becoming a bestseller. e time is now for an amazing singer songwriter to emerge. González started playing in his first band at the age of fifteen. He played bass in a punk band, with e Misfits being their top influence. I asked him if the reason he wasn’t the singer in the punk band was because his voice was too quiet: “No,” he replies, “I have recordings where I was screaming, which is kinda funny now, but that was a long time ago.” He’s a bit of a giggler when he talks. “en we started playing, like hardcore,” he continues, “there was a while when I played electric guitar in the rock band and did some backing vocals, but mostly bass guitar.” González formed the band Junip in 1998, long before he started releasing his solo material. ere’s a much heavier sound from them, with a drummer, Elias Araya, and an organ player, Tobias Winterkorn. It’s an indie rock band; just imagine González with drums and synths. “In the band we do the music together. I write the lyrics. We rehearse together and record on MiniDisc and come up with the music together and then I usually take it home and do the vocals. We’ve done a couple of tours and now it’s all been taking off with my solo stuff, so it’s a bit difficult, but the plan is to rehearse when I get home and do an album, and eventually tour.” Junip’s drummer is the man responsible for the amazing artwork on the Veneer album sleeve and website. ey are drawings of everyday things, but with a ghostly, dreamlike twist – a horse standing on two legs, its forelegs becoming a bucket of a digger, about to scoop up a horse foetus. González says that Araya never offers any explanation for them. At the end of 2000, González took a little break from music to concentrate on doing a PhD in Biochemistry. But before he did this he released a 7”. e following year, the right people came across that release and started things rolling. “When the two guys from this Swedish label found my 7” and decided that they wanted to start releasing my music, that’s when I started [again]. I took many of my old songs and recorded them… When I released the album, I had done one and a half years [of the PhD]. I tried to do shows and still keep doing my research but it didn’t work, so I just quit.” It seems so arbitrary that González didn’t end up working in a lab in Gothenburg. But lucky for us he quit university and took to the road as a travelling musician, to be welcomed with open arms in every town. So here he is in this town. Sitting across from me drinking coffee, paying no heed to our new friend “the moustache.” He talks about what was going into his ears when the songs from Veneer first started to come from his mouth. “I was listening to a lot of instrumental music, like Tortoise, and some Pastorale music [instrumental composition of Latin origin] which is usually very repetitive in it’s nature, and [I was] kinda using the same chord progressions over and over again, and just doing some variations, and not working with verse refrain style…” e instrumental influences come as no surprise: it’s the twilight atmosphere evoked by the balance of his guitar interwoven with his vocal tones which is what sets his sound apart from the countless others using similar formulas. e plucking guitar and repetitive melody set the framework for the intriguing stories he tells in each song, or rather, the stories he suggests. Sometimes his dark side comes across - listen to the lyrics of “Save Your Day.” ”Poke the body with a stick and roll it down / Ignore the moaning as it tumbles to the ground.” Maybe that’s what the album title is about. Veneer – something pretty, covering up something not so great. Maybe the songs just seem really sweet and gentle but they’re actually about murders and stuff. Or, maybe not. ere’s no further explanation, it’s left to the imaginings of the listener to finish off the story. ere’s a lot of that type of vagueness, hints that different people pick up on in varying ways. at’s why it’s the perfect music to think to, it directs your own little in-brain movie. e fact that his words aren’t exactly distinct further emphasises this: “I always thought that it’s not like super important to hear the lyrics while you’re listening…but I haven’t done that consciously.” González’ first appearance in Ireland was as support to Buck 65 last October; his second trip was on the Twisted Folk tour with the Scottish act King Creosote in November, and at that stage he was still pretty much unknown. By the time December came ‘round he had exploded and his headline gig in Dublin was sold out way in advance. When he first walks on stage he looks swamped by it, but immediately the audience settles to listen when he sits and takes his guitar in hand. He doesn’t talk much between songs; mainly he just rolls out one after another from the album. Amongst them of course is the one off the ad, “Heartbeats,” which is a cover of a song by fellow Swedes, e Knife. ere is a further three covers included in his set – Joy Division’s “Love Will Tear Us Apart,” and Massive Attack’s “Teardrop.” Kylie’s “Hand on Your Heart” is given a new poignancy as the final song. It sounds really odd, removed from all the beats and funky dance moves. Four cover songs in one gig is a lot for any artist. González has said before that he admires the way people like Cat Power and Johnny Cash play covers and make them their own. He definitely puts his own stamp on the songs he chooses, reinterpreting them to suit his own requirements, stapling his own reality onto the words and melody he steals out of them. He hears the parts he wants to hear and leaves the rest. e audience observe all this with dreamy eyes. It seems like everyone attending is on a big date. e place is filled with tall guys with a pint in one hand and an arm resting around the shoulders of a not too tall girl. By the end of the gig all the couples were “officially going out”. ere’s probably another baby boom on the way too… --------- *********** --------- words............................................................ Melissa Doran J osé González speaks quietly. So quietly that the guy with the massive coat and even more massive moustache sat at the table next to us in the café has to really lean in to hear what he’s saying. Neither of us know who yer man is but it’s a good illustration of the musician’s ability to command attention without even slightly raising his voice. He comes across as an unassuming character, maybe even a little shy. He wouldn’t stand out in a crowd, yet his music is everywhere. His fame mushroomed with a lot of help from the Sony Bravia ad, aka the “bouncy ball” ad. He became a hit worldwide from that tiny clip long before anyone even knew his name. When the ad comes on TV everyone goes shhshh to whoever is rambling on at the time, and they’re only let continue when the coloured balls have disappeared down the San Franciscan avenue and been replaced with a big blue telly. Whatever magic González has, it’s contained in his music alone, something that emerges from the mix of his soft hypnotic voice and his classical guitar accompaniment. His album, Veneer, is really gorgeous. It’s simple and direct, the mood a little sad sometimes, but never dreary or depressing. When you get to the end of the album you just play it again.
